I stayed in Manhattan last night. There really wasn't a way that I couldn't. The rest of the boys went back, with Rabbit in charge, of course, under strict orders not to sell.

I was talking to Jack about the strike this morning. He's worried, though you wouldn't know it to see him. Worried about his boys, that they would be hurt, that the strike would go on too long and they would go hungry. A true leader, he is. Like Rabbit.

We went to Tibby's for lunch. While we were eating this reporter who had apparently made friends with Jack came in with a copy of the Sun. Immediately, and uproar started in that side of the restaurant. I headed over and got the surprise of my life. There, on the front page, was a huge picture of all of the Newsies, myself included, and an article about the strike. Me, on the front page. Who would've thought?

There's to be a rally tomorrow. Newsies from all over New York are coming to hear Jack speak about the strike. He asked me if I'd stand with him. Guess I have to.

Damn, he's cute. A few bucks away, watching me. I'm trying my hardest not to return the favor. I still can't believe what just happened. A little while ago, he came over here and sat, facing me. After a minute, he spoke softly.

"Spot? Is something wrong?"

Was it that obvious? I didn't say anything.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes."

I wanted to stop lying. Of course I'm not okay. I wanted to tell him everything. But he's the one person I cannot tell. Suddenly, he interrupted my thoughts.

"Spot, let me see your hands."

Damn. Damn, damn, damn! But what could I have done. I extended them carefully, palms down, and kept my eyes on his face as he gently turned them over. The expressions that fought for control would have been amusing at any other time, but I was not particularly in the mood to be amused.

Wordlessly, he pulled me into a hug and held me for a long moment. I'm ashamed to say I enjoyed it, despite everything. He didn't say anything when he finally let me pull away, but his question was clear anyway. Everything in his manner begged me to trust him, to tell him. I couldn't, though.

It took him almost an hour to give up- though I have a feeling I'll be going through the same thing tomorrow night, and the night after, and until this strike is over and I can escape back to Brooklyn. I can't help but wonder what he'll do about it. If he tells Jack…. But I don't think he'd do something like that. At least I hope not.

I turn the other way and close my eyes, wishing they were all asleep so I could do what I have to.