A knock came at the door, and before I could say, "Come in

A knock came at the door, and before I could say, "Come in!" I heard the door swing open.  I looked up from my work to see Racetrack sticking his head in, his cap in his hands.

"Hey, Margaret.  You didn't show dis mornin', so I came to see what was up."  How sweet!

"Actually," I told him, "I'm not going to come demonstrate today."

"Yeah?  Well what're you doin', den?"  He crossed over to my desk and tried to steal a look over my shoulder.  I leaned my elbow over the paper, shielding it from his eyes while trying not to look too obvious about it.

"I've got some stuff to buy," I told him truthfully.  "I'll catch up with you at lunch, okay?"

He paused, and played with his hat.  "Well, if you're shoah you know your way around an' all…"

I took his cap and pulled it on—it's become automatic.  "A course," I replied, in my best NY accent.  "An' when I'se finished, I'll meet ya at da restaurant."

"Okay, den," he agreed, and tried to get one more look at the paper before heading out the door.  When he was gone, I slid my elbow off the page and looked over it.  I'd been making a list of all the newsies I'd befriended over the last few days.  Everyone had been so nice to me, I'd decided to use my dwindling cash supply to buy them each a present.  Next to a few names I'd jotted some ideas, but next to Racetrack's there was nothing but a big fat question mark.  He'd been so great the whole time, taking me under his wing so to speak.  I definitely wanted to get him something great, but what?

I tapped my pencil against the desk and leaned back in my chair.  Newsies don't exactly have a whole lot of belongings, so you'd think it would be easy to get them a gift.  But it really only makes it harder.  What do you get the man who has nothing, right?  I doodled a little face with an eyepatch next to Blink's name, but my mind was still on Racetrack.  I hummed idly as I drew.  "A pair a new shoes with matching laces," I sang under my breath.  Suddenly I sat up so quick I almost fell out of my chair.  Why hadn't I thought of it sooner?  I pulled on my boots, grabbed my purse, and headed out the door, the song still on my lips.

I spent the whole morning getting the presents ready.  Most everybody got some cheap candy or a deck of cards or some new marbles, nothing expensive.  And I bought a whole stack of notecards, planning to write a personal note to each of the guys.  It was a long walk out to the races to make a few arrangements, and then back to my room to write out the cards.  An hour later, my hand was cramping up terribly, not to mention streaked all over with ink—how do they write with those stupid pens?—but I was halfway through the stack.  A glance at my watch told me it was just after twelve, so I hurried to Tibby's.

"Hey Margaret," a chorus of voices greeted me as I entered.

Mush handed me a glass.  "We missed ya dis mawnin'," he said, kicking a chair out from the table for me.

"I was busy," I said airily.  Time to change the subject.  "So how're the plans for the rally coming?"

Everyone started talking about it—who was coming and what they were wearing and who was bringing which girl.  Of course, they'd made arrangements to hold it at Medda's place.  I couldn't help but catch some of their enthusiasm, though I knew how the night would end.

"You'se coming, right, Margaret?" Boots asked me.

"Of course," I said, and smiled.  "Wouldn't miss it."  Even if it did mean getting beat up… arrested… I flinched slightly but forced myself to smile wider.

"You rememba Joey Crow, right Margaret?" Race asked, pulling up a chair beside me and stealing his hat back.

"Sure I do," I responded, remembering the thoughtful Midtown leader with the twisted foot.  "Is he going to be there?"

"Everybody's gonna be dere," Blink said.  "Shy Guy an' Soda an' Fists Malone an' Streater an' Knocks an' everybody."  Yeah, like those names meant anything to me.  The boys started talking excitedly again and I ordered a roast beef sandwich.

"We'se plannin' on goin' around six," Racetrack told me when he saw me getting up to leave.  "How's about I meet ya at your place just b'fore?"

The other boys all went, "Oooh," and elbowed each other like they were reading something into it.  I rolled my eyes and said, "Sure, Race.  See you then."  I left to go finish writing out the cards.

I abandoned the cards and started getting ready around five o'clock.  In my shopping that morning I had also stopped by the dressmaker's and bought something, 1899-style.  The dressmaker didn't seem to know what to make of the fact that I didn't own a corset, even if I was only fourteen, and thought my bra was outrageously indecent.  Since I'm planning on not staying much longer, I said "No thanks" to buying her fancy underwear, and just got a simple red dress.  The red, also, she almost had a fit over, but if she didn't want people to wear it why was she selling it?  People always tell me I look good in red.

I took a bath and washed my hair the best I could and spent a long time brushing it out sleek and straight.  I was just applying my lipstick when I heard Racetrack's knock at the door.

I capped the lipstick, checked my teeth in the vanity mirror, and hurried to answer it.  "I was just finishing getting ready," I told him, pulling on my shoes.  "I'm ready now."

"You look great," he said, looking me over.  "I'd forgotten what you liked like in a dress."

"Whah, thank you, dahling," I replied in a Southern accent, and linked my arm through his.  "Let's get this show on the road."

As we walked to Medda's, I remembered the first time I had walked these 1899 streets, and how strange everything had looked to me.  Now, I had only been here four days, but it seemed so ordinary and familiar.  There were the cobblestone streets, there were the old-fashioned shops and stalls, there was a horse and carriage.  I had grown accustomed to it so easily, it was clear I had always been a Victorian girl at heart.  And eventually, I was going to have to leave it… That's why I had been getting all those presents for the guys.  But tonight, I was determined not to dwell on my leaving.  I hadn't even told Racetrack that I planned to, and now wasn't the time to bring it up.  He kept glancing over at me and smiling as we walked in silence, and he seemed to be in such a good mood.

Outside Medda's, the streets were teeming with newsies, and Race seemed to know most of them.  I got introduced to so many guys, I stopped even trying to listen for the names, knowing I would never be able to keep them straight.  We ran into Joey Crow outside the entrance.

"Racetrack!  Margaret!" he greeted us, walking over. I noticed a slight rocking motion to his steps as he favored his left foot.  I suddenly thought of the fight to come, and wondered how fast he could run.

"Heya Joey.  Nice turnout, huh?" Race said.

Joey nodded.  "Didn't think dere was so many newsies," he agreed.  "Dere's Jack ovah dere, wit your fellas.  Say, who's dat goil he's with?"

Race craned his neck to look over, and so did I.  "Well, it must be da infamous Sarah Jacobs we been hearin' so much about," he said.

"But if you ask me, she looks more like Little Bo Peep," I said, and immediately bit my tongue.  I was about to apologize but the boys were laughing.

"You're right, she sure does," Joey agreed, and slapped my back.  "Well, whattaya say we head inside?"  We followed him in as we heard music cueing up from indoors.  Several other Midtown newsies joined up with us as we all went to sit together, and I was subjected to even more introductions.  I ended up on Racetrack's right, with Joey on my other side.

Jack started things off with the speeches, and Davey and Spot joined him.  At one point even Joey went up to say a few words, and from the way the theater immediately fell silent I knew he was a widely respected leader.

"I don't got much ta say dat dese otha fellas ain't already said," he started.  "But for one thing, I don't think da 'big boys' know who dey're messin' wif, wif us newsies."  The crowd started to cheer and he raised a hand for silence.  "People look at us, and dey don't think we got what it takes.  An' dat's what we're heah ta do.  Show Hearst an' Pulitzah an' da othah muck-a-mucks dat we might not be as smaht, or as old, or as rich, but we got what it takes ta win dis thing!"  The newsies roared their approval and Spot and Jack clapped him on the back approvingly.  When he came back to sit with us, there were handshakes and backslaps all around, and I tousled his hair.

I bent over by his ear so he could hear me over the noisy crowd.  "That was awesome," I whispered.  "Really cool."

He gave me a quizzical look.  "You speakin' English?"

I snorted and covered my mouth, trying not to laugh.  Racetrack glanced over at me but didn't say anything.  I think he's gotten used to the oddities of his 'futcha goil'.

Then the music struck up and there was the redhaired songbird herself.  Oh damn!  I thought.  Already?  Everyone started swaying to the music and belting out the lyrics, but I was starting to feel panicky.  Who can blame me?  When I glanced at Race, the shot of him being dragged away, unconscious, flashed behind my eyes.  I began to feel almost sick with nervousness.  And then I glanced at Joey, singing and swaying with everyone else, and remembered how he walked, his laborious limping gait.  What would happen to him when the police showed up?  Maybe I couldn't interfere with Race's fate, no matter how much I wanted to, but maybe, Joey…

I grabbed his arm, startling him and interrupting him, mid-note.  "Whattya want?" he asked.

"Come outside with me," I said, standing and offering him a hand up.

"What?  No!  What for?"

"Please, just come," I begged, my voice coming out strained and whiny.  People were starting to shout for me to sit down and stop blocking their view.  "Come on, Joey.  Please."

"Siddown!" everyone shouted from behind.  "Crow, just go wit 'er already!"

Joey finally gave in and got to his feet.  "What're you all woiked up about?" he asked, as I started to pull him by his hand.  "Jeeze, Margaret, wait a minute, will ya?"

I ignored him and shoved people aside as I headed for the brightly lit EXIT signs.  Oh, and I'd wanted to ask someone about those, too… Right as I was about to shove the door open Joey planted himself and I couldn't pull him any farther.

"I'm not goin' 'til you say what dis is about."

"Joey, I'm not playing," I said.  "Joey!"  My hardest pulls on his hand didn't even knock him off-balance.  Hearing the crowd break into applause, signaling the end of the song, I finally blurted it out.  "Joey, you have to come, there's going to be a fight with the cops and everything and if you stay in here you'll get hurt and, and arrested.  So you hafta come!"

"Dat's what dis is about?" he said, pulling his hand out of mine and looking disgusted.  You'se worried about me?  Think I can't hold me own in a fight?"

"Joey, no," I said anxiously, but my excuse was cut off by the shrill sound of a police whistle.  At the sound, Joey dashed away from me as fast as he could, heading for the fight.  I easily caught up and grabbed his shoulder.  "Don't, please," I begged.  I felt so helpless.

Joey jerked his shoulder away.  "I'se da Midtown leadah, Margaret.  I don't got a choice," he said, then the angry set of his face softened.  "But you gotta get outta heah."  He took my elbow and tried to lead me toward the lobby doors.

"No, not that way!" I said, pulling him backwards.  "Up by the stage!"  He followed close behind me, as well as he could, through the fighting crowd and up to where Sarah and Les were just disappearing through the exit.  I turned once to see a man come after Joey with a club.  I shrieked his name and he ducked the blow and wrenched the club from his attacker's hands, then wielded it as his own weapon.  I shrank away from the sight and then saw another man coming up behind him.

Without thinking, I ran forward and slammed into him, ramming my head into his stomach and knocking him backwards.  He swung his fist at me and I felt it connect hard, and stumbled into a column.  Through the hands covering my face, I saw Joey go after him with the stolen club, and force him back into the orchestra pit.

"Margaret!" he called, and grabbed my hand.  "Are you okay?"  I nodded, and he pulled me upright.  "Come on!"

He staggered slightly with every step as we raced toward the exit again.  I just barely saw Jack running by, pursued by the police, and then Joey was pushing me ahead of him.  "Come with me, Joey," I panted, grabbing his wrists.  "It's almost over.  They're going to arrest everyone; you can't let that happen to you.  Please, Joey."

Blood ran down from a cut above his brow and he blinked it away.  I gripped his wrists tighter and repeated my request.  At last he sighed deeply and let me pull him up and outside with me.  Only when our feet landed on the cobblestones and Joey had checked for pursuers did I start to breathe normally, though the sight of the newsies being beaten still tore at my mind.

"You come back to Midtown wit me tonight," he said.  It wasn't a request; leaders don't usually have their commands questioned.  I didn't.

"And tomorrow morning, we'll see the others in court."

If he wondered how I knew these things, he didn't show it.  He leaned heavily on my shoulder as we slowly made our way back to Midtown.  The cut on his forehead was just now ceasing to bleed, and other bruises and marks were apparent on his face under the light of the streetlamps.  He caught me looking at him and flashed a grin.

"You don't look so hot yourself," he told me.

"I don't?"

"You're gonna have a heckuva shinah dere t'marra," he said, and touched just below my left eye.  I winced a little, then smiled slightly.  My first black eye.  Received defending the newsies at the rally.  That was certainly something to remember.