"I'm da King of New York!"

Racetrack finished singing and did a twirl in the street, throwing his hands in the air as an elaborate finish. He shuffled his feet a little while he hummed the tune, not even noticing the stares he was getting from passerby's.

His day was great so far! This truth spell stuff really worked. So far he had gotten two girls to admitting to liking him, three guys he played poker with to admit they were cheating (and a hefty reward for his silence), and a whole lot of money. He had never won so many races in his life! Hey.maybe after the truth spell ran out, Davey could just..do it again. If he made as much money winning races as he had today...

"I'd be the King of New York!" he cried, jumping up on a lamp post and swinging around once before jumping off. He whistled to himself a bit more before a familiar sight caught his glance.

It was the Upper Manhattan Orphanage.

"Do I dare?" Race asked himself out loud. "To go find the hidden source of my existence?" He giggled to himself for speaking like that, and shrugging, headed towards the Orphanage.

He had been left there when he was four. As procedure had it, he couldn't be told who his parents were. That was to be kept a secret. But they had found no foster home for him..and at fourteen he just left. He figured he could make it on his own easy enough. He hadn't been back since.but hey, nobody could lie to him today, and he might as well try to find out who his birth parents were.just for the record. Not that he really cared or anything.

"Mariana!" he cried, entering the Orphanage and spotting the familiar old woman. She had been the one to watch over him while he stayed there, and was probably the one who could tell him about his past.

"Ant'ony?" she asked, squinting. Her Italian accent was as heavy as ever. "Ant'ony! It's you. How have you doing?"

"Wonderful, Mariana, I'se nevah been better," he said. "Say listen, do me a favah, tell me bout me parents?"

"Ah, Ant'ony, you know I cannot.." she said with a shake of her head.

"Oh, but you can. Where am I from?"

"Sardinia, an Italian Island located in the Mediterranean sea, Southwest of Rome." She replied automatically, much like the other people he had fooled with had.

"Really?" he asked with a nod. "That's pretty neat,"

"I shouldn't have said that," Mariana looked worried.

"Ah, don't worry bout it. Nobody'll know. So who were they?" He preceded to the next question.

"Your mother was an Irish maid, your father an Italian duke. They met and fell in love, and as you know, the two countries hate each other. Your father's punishment to their marriage, was to be exiled to the Island. When you were three, your father died of a rare plague, and his family wanted to have you. They felt your mother incompetent to raise you. They wanted to raise you in royalty. She however, wouldn't hear of it and in fear your mother fled to America. She however, already had the illness. On her deathbed, she contacted us, and you came here after she passed."

"Back up, back up!" Race said, excited. "My fathah was a DUKE? A real duke?"

"As real as any." Mariana said. "He was exiled, but never thrown out of Royalty. If he had lived, why, you would have been a prince. In fact, even though he passed, If you were back in Italy, I'm sure you would hold a royal spot in the court."

"Me? A prince?" Race asked dreamily. "Well that proves it! I always knew I was royalty.."

Mariana suddenly looked at him. "How.why.I shouldn't have told you any of that!" she jumped up in panic.

"Don' worry, Mari, prince Race won't tell!" he said, bursting with joy and running from the Orphanage.

"I really am the King of New York!" he cried, running down the street, anxious to tell everyone who would listen to the news.

But the problem was, nobody * would * listen. Every time he would find someone he knew to tell, they'd laugh in his face, or just ignore him.

And finally, discouraged, he kicked his way back to the lodging house. Even with the day's winning's gleefully jingling in his pocket, he felt about as down as could be.

"Heya Kloppman, you know I'm a prince?" he asked dejectedly as he passed the old man.

"Sure ya are, Race. Sure," Kloppman laughed and continued to write in some book.

He stomped upstairs angrily, and sat on his bunk, chewing on the inside of his lower lip.

"Heya Race, hoid you'se been crowned prince," Mush laughed heartily from where he sat, playing poker with a few of the boys.

"Deal me in," Race nodded glumly, choosing to ignore that comment.

"Don't want to, you cheat," Mush said casually and monotonously.

"What?" Race asked, his head snapping up and glaring at Mush.

"I-uh, you, I mean," the boy was blushing now. "I didn't mean that,"

"Yes you did," Race said, his voice level raising.

"Yeah, you'se right," Now he was pale. "Race! I don't know what I'm saying!"

"Yes you do,"

"Yeah, I know."

Racetrack stood up angrily and pointed a finger accusingly in Mush's direction. "I don't cheat!" he shouted. "Unlike you! You'se jus' lucky I nevah told none of them about the time you won dat five bucks by dealin' tha' fake deck!"

And with that, he stormed out of bunkroom and down the hall. He hated this stupid truth spell mess. He had to fix it, now. If David could do it, he could do it.

He entered the attic, full of determination, and easily located the book. It was laying in the same place they had left it.

He went to open it, but before he had a chance, it flew open by itself and the pages started to turn. His eyes widened, but he waited until the pages were finished to make any sort of movement. He looked down at it, and was surprised to see that is was not opened to the "Truth spell", but instead some sort of long poem. At the top it read, "the Spell of Believing," in an old-English style.

"To make ones friends and enemies believe the truth you speak and act accordingly." He read out loud. Could this be for real? And how did this book..thingy know that's exactly what he needed? Cautiously, he looked around to make sure nobody was in there before launching in and reading what it said.

"From now until the end of day, what I speak and what I say." he read slowly, making sure not to mess up any of the words. When he was done, he looked around. Nothing had happened, he certainly didn't feel any different. Maybe it hadn't worked.

"Racetrack?"

He slam-shut the book and kicked it under an old bed, standing up just in time for Mush to come in the attic. He had a surprised, almost bewildered look on his face.

"That is SO cool you're a prince!"

Race did a double-take. "Say wha'?" he asked, just to make sure his ears weren't deceiving him.

"A Prince! I mean, I never thought any of us would be royalty, least of all you! But now that you are. I kind of feel guilty about stealing from you all the time," he babbled on. "Hey, you hungry? I'll go find you something. Something fit for a king!"

And turning on his heel, the poor, spellbound boy raced back down the stairs, whistling himself as he went to serve Racetrack.

"Ha!" Racetrack cried, jumping a little bit into the air. "I tol' ya! I tol' ya!"

And with his newfound fame, he ran down the stairs, out the door, and down the street.

"Wait! Racetrack, where are you going?" Specs shouted after him.

"It's Prince Racetrack to you, and Little Italy! It's full of Italians, they're bound to love me!"

And with that, he tore down the street, the thought of being treated royally giving him speed.

"Here I come!" he said under his breath, dodging vendors and people on the street. "For a prince!" he called back as he swiped an apple from a vendor. Looking back, he saw the man simply bow down slightly. He didn't shout, get angry, or call the cops.

"I could get used to this," Race said with a smirk. "Oh yes, I could,"

*

Alright! There ya have it. I've had a bunch of requests for Spot to be in it..and believe me, he is. *cackles evil-like * keep reading and you'll find out when!