Chapter 2:
"Well, well, I must say Happy, ya certainly can hold ya own," Race commented as he and Happy headed back to the lodging house later that evening.
She crammed her hands into her pockets, fingering the coins from her evening sale- amazingly enough, fifty cents- and she nodded. "Yup."
"No offense, but Jack was right... ya need work on hawkin' th' headlines." She shrugged. "Anyway... how'd ya learn t' sell by makin' up headlines? Jack says he didn't hafta teach ya nothin'."
"Watchin' all of ya sell ya papes. I figured, after seein' ya get chased ever' now an' then by folks who bought th' papes that you's makin' stuff up."
Race whistled. "Ya musta watched us all th' time." He shuddered, uncertain that he liked knowing people could watch them- watch him- without him realizing it.
"Yeah, I used t' work in a fact'ry, so I'd see all of ya through th' window." She brushed a strand of black hair from her eyes and glanced at him. "Ya know, ya ain't so bad for bein' a fella who walks in on half-naked girls."
He made a face. "I told ya, I didn't know... but, ya ain't so bad either, for bein' a saucy, cigar-stealin', bad headline girl." He cracked a grin and dodged the hand she moved to give him a half-hearted swat with.
They continued towards the lodging house, comfortable with the silence between them. When they reached the house, they stopped to sign in and pay for the night's stay. When Race passed the book to Happy, she froze, staring at it dumbly.
"Hey, ya gonna take the pencil or what?... What'sa matter?"
Her face turned a deep crimson and she ducked her head, turning away from him slightly. "I uh... I don't know how t' write."
"Oh, that's all?"
She snapped her head towards him, glaring. "Whad'ya mean, that's all?! I's sure you don't have any problem wit' it!"
He shrugged. "It ain't a big deal, not knowin' how t' write. Some of us can only write our names... Mush couldn't read when he first became a newsie. And me, though I seem perfect in every way, I can't spell worth beans."
The corner of Happy's mouth curved ups slightly. Seeing this, Race grinned and took her hand, placing the pencil between her fingers, and held it over the book. Together, they began to write her name. "H... A... P...P...Y... That's how ya spell it, right Kloppman?"
The old man glanced at the scribble and then nodded. He collected their pay and watched with a smile as the two of them raced up the staircase, with Happy's threat "tell anyone about this an' I'll soak ya!" floating back down to him. He chuckled to himself and returned to the back room.
* * *
Happy lay on her back in Kid Blink's bed, staring up into the darkness. She had been very surprised when the boy who had been so adamant against her inclusion to the Manhattan newsies had so readily given up his bed so she could use it. She shook her head, deciding not to ponder it, and moved onto her side, making out the outlines of the sleeping boys in their own bunks. The room was filled with snores, muttered sleep-talk, shifting of weight, and whispers of those not yet asleep. Surprisingly, she fount it all a very comforting medley of noises. With a content sigh, she closed her eyes.
"Happy?"
Startled she opened her eyes again. "What, Race?"
"Sell wit' ya t'morrow, if ya wanna."
She smiled, rolling onto her back again. "Sounds good."
"Shuddup an' go t' sleep a'ready!" Skittery snapped from somewhere else in the room. It fell instantly silent... for about a minute.
"Happy?"
She stifled a giggled. "What now, Race?"
"I's gonna take ya t' Sheepshead Races too."
"'Kay."
"Go to sleep!" Skittery yelled again.
And again, everything fell silent, to stay.
* * *
Happy climbed up onto the railing surrounding the track next to Race and took his cigar from his mouth, clamping it between her lips as she watched the horses thunder down the track.
Race grunted in annoyance. "You's gonna take my cigars ever' day now? Gimme that. It ain't proper for a girl t' be smokin' 'em anyway." He took the cigar back from her.
"Aw, you's no fun." She listened to him groan in frustration as his sure-thing winner of a horse came in third place. "Ya know, we ain't sold hardly any papes yet." She moved her stack onto her lap and thumbed the corners of them absently.
"Jus' one more race," he said, heading to off bet in the next race. "Be right back."
She shrugged. "He's a gamblin' addict." She took the time to glance around the track. All sorts of people roamed the area that day, and she didn't blame them- it was a beautiful morning. Suddenly, she caught sight of a pair of familiar faces bobbing through the crowd. Her eyes widened in panic. Swinging her legs over the fence, she grabbed her newspapers and ducked through the crowd, praying they hadn't seen her. A few minutes later, she was away from the track, and the two faces. Or so she thought.
The two had seen her leave and made it a point to follow.
Race returned to the fence, only to find it empty. "Now where'd she go?"
* * *
Happy dusted her inky hands onto her pants and slipped into the lodging house quietly. Kloppman was busy straightening up his front desk. He looked up in surprise when she entered. "Well, you're back early."
She glanced at him, startled. "Yeah, uh...I finished early."
"Wasn't Race wit' ya?"
"Um, y'know... he got busy, sellin' his own papes an' bettin' on them horses at the races." She turned to head up the stairs and then glanced back at Kloppman. "It's okay I's here... right?"
He smiled. "It's fine."
"A'right... I's gonna go up and relax for a bit..." She turned and ran up the stairs.
A few minutes later, Race burst into the lodging house. "'Ey, Kloppy? Ya seen Happy?"
"She's upstairs. Came in a little bit before you did. Said she finished selling her papers and just wanted to rest."
Race cocked his eyebrow, pursing his lips. "Okay, thanks." Turning, he headed up the stairs. Cautiously, he opened the door to the bunkroom, uncertain if Happy was undressing or not and unwilling to go through another chase around the room. At first, he didn't see the girl, so he stepped further into the room.
"What'cha doin' back so early, Race?"
He turned and saw her, sprawled across a small bed that Kloppman had found for her, with her hands folded behind her head. "I's lookin' for you. I got back from bettin', an' suddenly you was gone."
She gave him an apologetic look. "Aw, I forgot... sorry Race. I jus'... jus' had some business t' take care of."
"Well, jus' lemme know th' next time ya decide t' disappear on me. I thought th' Delancey's got a hold of ya or somethin'."
She sat up, her interest piqued. "Delanceys?"
"Ya mean ya don't know... Oscar an' Morris? Dumb and dumber?"
She shook her head.
"Well, all of us newsies had our run-ins wit' 'em... Not long b'fore ya have yours."
"Run-in?... Like... they'd soak me?"
He made an exaggerated motion of uncertainty. "Well, ya know, I... pshh, I don't know... Since you's a girl an' all... but they don't like us, so..."
She folded her hands into her lap, staring at them, intense with thought. "So... ya think they gonna soak me soon?"
He shrugged, plopping into a chair. "Prob'ly."
She lifted her head and looked at him. "Then someone's gotta teach me t' fight."
* * *
"Happy, this's Spot. Spot, Happy. Spot's th' toughest fighter in New York." Jack pulled Happy over and held her out before Spot. "Spot, ya need t' teach Happy t' fight."
"An' if I refuse?" he asked with an arched brow.
"Aw, c'mon Spot, ya ever refused a lady b'fore?"
Both Spot and Happy rolled their eyes.
"Anyway," he continued, "she can be a real handful-" he grinned when she swatted him and made a distinct noise of protest, "so Skitts is gonna help ya."
"I don't need any help, Jack," Spot replied with a snort. "She's jus' a girl. How much handful could a girl be?"
"Trust us on this one... ya don't know Happy!" Race piped up, giving her a wink.
She made a face. "I know where ya hide ya cigars, Race!"
"You's worse than Snipes," he grumbled. Snipeshooter muttered an incoherent response under his breath,
Jack sighed. "Hey, Skittery. You an' Spot go start workin' wit' Happy."
"I think Spot can handle 'er" was Skittery's flat response.
"I said think ya should start workin' wit' Happy here. If she can't fight, it'll be ya head."
Skittery rose, rolling his eyes, and followed Spot and Happy out of the lodging house to the alley around the back. Spot turned to Happy. "A'right... ya guess is as good as mine why they asked me t' teach ya t' fight but... Okay, hit me."
"What?"
He shifted his weight and dropped his hands loosely to his sides. "I said hit me."
"Spot, ya sure that's a good idea?" Skittery interjected.
"Shut up Skitts, I know what I's doin'." He gestured to Happy. "Now hit me."
Happy glanced at Skittery uncertainly, and was met with a shrug. She turned back to Spot and hit him, like he had instructed. Or tried to. He dodged the first blow, and the one after that, and the one after that... "How'm I s'posed t' hit ya when ya keep movin'?" she whined, thumping her hands on her hips in aggravation.
"When ya fightin' someone, they ain't jus' gonna stand around an' let ya hit 'em." And then, before Happy even had time to compute what he had said, he had her pinned on the ground, twisting her arm behind her back. "Element of surprise always works," he pointed out, almost cheerfully.
"Mind gettin' off me?" she managed to gasp. Beside them, Skittery smirked at the predicament.
"We got a lot of work t' do."
"Yeah, we do," Spot agreed, climbing to a stand.
Happy grimaced. "Well, gimme a break! I's new at this!" She climbed to her feet, and brushed the gravel off of her clothes, watching the two boys warily.
"Why don't ya try Skitts," Spot said, more of an order than a suggestion.
She glanced at the taller boy and shrugged. "Okay, but I ain't promisin' nothin'." He dodged her first strike, and then the next. She scowled in frustration. "Ya know, I really like th' 'you stand still' business much better..."
"Aw," he taunted, dodging another blow, "but then it'd be too easy on ya. An' ya don't want us coddlin' ya, do ya?"
She made a face. "Ya know, Skittery, ya ain't too nice."
He shrugged indifferently. "Well, not ever'one ya gonna meet'll be nice." She stuck out her tongue childishly, folding her arms, with an indignant 'hmph', over her chest.
He began to tap her shoulders in a rough, gibing way. "C'mon sweetheart, hit me."
"Okay, you did not jus' call me sweetheart."
"An' if I did?... Sweetheart."
With a scowl, she lashed out at him. He laughed when she missed. "Can't ya do better than that, sweetheart?"
Spot watched their show with an amused smirk. Skittery would taunt Happy, calling her 'sweetheart', and then Happy would try to strike, miss, and Skittery would laugh. And it would repeat. It was a vicious cycle.
"Stop callin' me sweetheart!" she yelled, kicking him square between the legs. And finally, Skittery was down for the count.
Spot could barely contain his laughter. "Well, I think ya got that move down, Happy."
She dusted her hands onto her pants. "When all else fails, kick 'em where it counts. My ma taught me that."
"Jus' one thing, Happy," he began.
She gave him a sidelong glance, as Skittery continued to remain curled up on the ground, whimpering. "Yeah?"
"Kick me like that, an' I'll murder ya in ya sleep."
She grinned. "Don't call me sweetheart, an' you'll have nothin' t' worry about."
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