Race quietly slipped out the door and down the street. His ribs hurt slightly, but the pain wasn't as before, so he continued towards Medda's. He stopped and looked into the open gates of Central Park. it had gotten dark now, and no one would be in there. He walked in. He had often come to the huge park at night to think, and, usually, no one noticed. He had memorized every spot, every hiding place, and every climbable tree there was. He sat down at the foot of a large tree he had visited so many times before and just thought. He recalled when Liam first came into his life, even though he was only seven. He was a friend of Race's father, who had met his mother a couple of times. Things went well until Race was about ten. Racetrack's father got in a fight with his mother and left them. He could still remember right before his father left. He placed a gold pocket watch in Race's hand and spoke to him in slow, clear Italian. He told him to stay who he was, and to remember him.

He remembered how his father would only speak to him in Italian most of the time. He wanted him to remember his pride and who he was inside, despite what had happened in his life. Race still lived by that.

Then his mother began dating Liam. They married a year later and got along fine but Race never really liked him. Nobody could ever be like that loving caring father that Race once knew, and he knew that. He couldn't except Liam, whether he wanted to or not. And he didn't want to.

Race never found out what happened to his father.

Liam had left to study at a rich university for a year. Though his mother grew lonely, he really wished Liam would never come back. Liam did return. But not as the fun, easy-going Liam Race's mother loved and cherished. He simply stormed into the house one day, startling the eleven year old boy and his mother. His mother went happily to greet him, but he simply told her,

"We aren't married any longer, no matter what the law says."

His mother stared at him. She asked him to explain so many times but all he would say to her was, "I figured out my mistake and I betrayed my own nationality."

It took him a while but Race had eventually figured that out. Liam was Irish. Race and his mother where Italian. Liam had went to an all Irish school. He had no idea, but maybe he was told of the constant spats between the Irish and Italian. Maybe Liam had come to believe them himself. He had certainly changed and seemed to believe more and more in discrimination over the years. He started beating Race's mother. Race had tried to stop him so many times, but only gotten beaten himself. Race still had the scar from when Liam took out a pocketknife and cut Race's mid- forearm to his wrist. It glowed white against his bronzed skin and Race couldn't look at it without remembering. Then there was that one night, nothing particular about it, until Liam came home.

Race leaned back on the tree behind him and closed his eyes. He hated thinking about this.

Liam swaggered in and he didn't look the slightest bit happy. He walked up to Race's confused mother. Race didn't like this at all. He stood next to his mother, as if he, a skinny eleven year old could protect her against this huge man. Liam grabbed her wrist, startling her, making her gasp. He threw her across the room and she landed hard on the kitchen floor. "Liam?" she asked in a scared tone.

Race ran and sat next to her holding her hand.

"Get out, Anthony." Liam growled in a surprising low voice.

Race didn't move an inch.

"Get out!"

Race remembered standing at that point.

"No!" his high voice yelled.

There was a dead silence.

"I won't let you hurt her anymore!!"

Liam gave the small boy a hard backhanded slap and punch sending him to the floor. Then he kicked him. Race looked at his mother who looked scared and helpless, tears in her eyes. She motioned for him to leave, and he did, but he sat right outside the open door ready to barge in anytime.

He remembered it being dangerously quiet from what he could hear for seconds that seemed like hours.

Then, suddenly he heard his mother's voice, but not a tone he heard her use to often. It was terrified. Not pleading, not scared. Truly and utterly horrified. Race swallowed hard and turned to look in the doorway, just in time to see Liam shoot a gun off, and kill his mother.

Liam turned to see the small, white faced, horrified eleven year old boy. He walked up to him wordlessly and picked the skinny boy up from the floor. He seemed sluggish, like what he saw was just sinking in. Liam pushed him backwards, letting in stumble and made him kneel over, taking his shirt off. Liam took out a leather belt and pounded the small boys bare back with it. Race would never forget. Present day, Race found himself shaking. He couldn't tell if it was the anger or the cold, but Race wouldn't admit that anything could effect him so much, so he told himself it was just the cold.

He still had the scars, all of them. The ones on his back, arms, legs, stomach, everywhere. He kept them mostly well hidden, so he thought, but actually everyone knew he had them. They just kept their mouths shut. Lives before Newsies, for almost all the boys, where simple memories that wouldn't be shared. Ever, if possible. Race had learned to leave them behind. So why was he being effected so greatly? Why was he sitting alone, in Central Park, on a cold night, recalling the night his mother died in front of him?

A voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

Jack.

"Race, you in 'ere?"

He ignored him.

"Race?"

"Yeah, I'se in 'ere." He said finally.

He saw Jack wander from the shadows and look at him. "What are you doin' 'ere?"

"Thinkin'."

"'bout what?"

There was a deafening silence.

"About dat guy?" Jack asked. He sat next to him now.

Race looked away from him, rather annoyed that best friends could read minds.

"Yeah." He said quietly, hoping he was to quiet to understand.

"Do ya eva plan on tellin me about him?"

Race turned and looked at him. "Yeah, I guess."

He paused wondering where to start.

"He was a friend of my fathas and then my fatha left so Liam, dat guy, married me mom."

"If he's your fatha, how come 'e's afta you'se?"

Race opened his mouth to tell him that Liam was a great Italian hater but stopped. Liam was Irish and Jack was Irish. How was he supposed to tell Jack this?

"'e's Irish."

"So?" Jack asked.

Race looked at him. He was honestly quite stupid sometimes. Great, but stupid.

"So, afta they got married, Liam ran off with his Irish friends and suddenly he came back, a year lata, and hated Italians, which is what I am."

"So den what?" Jack asked impatiently.

"So 'e started beatin me mom", Race didn't want to see the look on Jack's face, so he turned away. "And me."

The silence continued.

"'e beat you'se?"

"Yup."

...more silence...

"Is dat what your scars are from?"

"Yup."

"So what are we gonna do about it?"

Race stared at him in disbelief.

"Jack, what can we do about it?"

"What does 'e want you for?"

Race thought for a moment.

"He just wants all my money everyday, and then he'll probably just beat me more or somtin."

Jack was shocked.

"Beat you? Again? 'E can't do dat!!"

"Jack, I was da only one who saw him murder me mudda, do ya really dink e's gonna let me get away?"

"You saw him do dat?"

Race told him the whole story, even if he did find it hard. Though he knew his own past was pretty hard, Jack had never suspected Race, the happy go lucky wisecracker always saying silent or loud sarcastic remarks, was a victim of these beatings since he was ten.

"We's gotta keep that guy away from you's."

"It'll only make it woise." Race answered bluntly.

Jack patted Race's shoulder and stood up. "Come on Race."

And with that, the two friends left together, closer then when they had entered.