That Night, 9:35 P.M.
"So ya really can fight!"
Jack's voice was filled with awe. Secret groaned.
"'Course I can fight. Din't I tell ya dat Flick taught me?"
"Any student o' Flick's coitainly oughta be able ta fight," Cowboy admitted as they turned onto Duane Street. "I jist neveh could imagine ya actually usin' dose lessons."
"Well, I shouldn't o' used 'em t'night," Secret sighed. "It was stupid."
"Stupid!?" Mush was still in the shock phase. "Ya pushed Spot Conlon inta da rivah! Try suicide, a'right?"
"Well, I'se still alive, ain't I?" Secret pointed out, back to her logical self.
"Jist 'cause we decided it best ta leave at dat moment," Jack retorted.
The four Manhattan newsies had indeed left Brooklyn in a great hurry after Spot had come to the surface, sputtering and furious. It wasn't until they were across the bridge that Secret had realized she was still wearing Mulberry's clothes. Boy's clothes. Dripping-wet boy's clothes. Her companions were also dripping wet, but at least their attire belonged to them and was gender-appropriate.
They'd stopped on Broome Street on the way home and said good night to David, who had returned to his apartment; Jack had been distracted for a moment from his berating of Secret by the sight of Sarah waving to him from the roof. Now they had arrived at the lodging house, and Secret eyed the door with a feeling of impending doom.
"Flick's gonna kill me."
"Good fer Flick," Mush muttered unsympathetically. "An' are ya gonna tell her why ya pushed Spot in da rivah? 'Cause apparently yer neveh gonna tell us."
"Really," Jack added, "all dese secrets are gettin' old. No pun intended."
"'All dese secrets'?" Secret repeated questioningly as they entered the "lobby" of the lodging house, and Mush grabbed the pen and began to sign in.
Jack snorted. "Oh, jist a few t'ings you an' Flick neveh quite cleahed up," he responded sarcastically. "Like why, 'till recently, da two o' youse was so closed up...barely tawkin' ta any o' us, ignorin' anyone who tried ta be friendly, Flick soakin' someone at ev'ry chance she got." Secret met his eyes with difficulty; his gaze was intense. "An' why music makes you cry an' makes Flick punch people fer no reason." He took a step closer to her, and lowered his voice slightly. "An' why youse left Harlem."
Calm...poifect calm... "Ya betta sign in, Cowboy," Secret informed him, her voice level. "Mush's done."
After giving Secret a long and disapproving look, Jack took her advice. Secret also signed the registration book, and the three of them climbed the steps and entered the bunkroom just in time to hear Flick's triumphant voice crowing, "Straight, in Hearts!"
Mush grinned, walking over to lean on the small table that seated a delighted Flick and a very downcast Racetrack.
"Guess youse jist finished dat pokah game I hoid about, huh, Race?"
"He's found a new way ta lose money," Blink piped up from a nearby chair.
"Yeah, speakin' o' which, how'd da race go?" Mush asked innocently.
While Race glared at his friends, Flick glanced up anxiously at Secret.
"How was Brooklyn?" Then her eyes registered Secret's clothing, and her mouth dropped open. "What da..."
"I'll tell ya how Brooklyn was..." Jack began, striding over to the table.
But before he could do so, Cowboy, the girls, and the Musketeers all realized at once that they had the full attention of an entire bunkroom of boys. Secret, as usual, saw the solution.
"I'll tell 'bout what happened in Brooklyn," she informed Jack, "an' youse..." She turned to Race, Blink, and Flick. "...will tell 'bout da race." She pointed toward the window. "C'mon, ev'ryone."
And with that, Flick and the Three Musketeers obediently followed Secret out onto the fire escape, leaving twenty-seven Manhattan newsboys with a great deal to ponder.
"A'right." Flick whirled on Secret and Mush the second the five newsies were settled on the edge of the fire escape. "What 'appened in Brooklyn?"
"She pushed Spot in da rivah." (No one like Mush fer gettin' straight ta da point, Secret thought wryly.)
"WHAT?!?" Secret flinched. An' dere's coitainly no one like Flick fer strong reactions.
Meanwhile, Race and Blink also appeared dumbfounded.
Well, now it's out. Ya's gonna hafta make up some excuse fer da Muskeeters an' den tell Flick da truth lateh. A split second after this thought, Secret experienced a reality check. Hang on...tell 'er da truth? TELL 'ER WHAT SPOT SAID!? Grisly images of what could result from this flashed through Secret's mind. Okay, scratch dat. Da truth'd kill 'er. I mean, God, it practic'ly killed me. Time fer Plan B.
"Well, see," Secret said aloud, doing some quick thinking, "Spot knew I was yer friend, o' course, Flick...dose 'liddle boids' o' his told 'im all 'bout you an' me comin' ta Manhattan. So 'e started railin' 'bout dat pokah game two yeahs back...still t'inks ya cheated, y'know. An' I kinda lost my tempa an'...well, pushed 'im in da rivah."
Silence. Race, Mush, and Blink just looked confused. Flick was staring at Secret, eyes narrow. Secret's heart sank. She don't believe me. 'Course she don't. She knows me too well...knows I ain't GOT a tempa ta speak of, an' dat it takes a lot moah den dat ta make me lose it.
Flick, however, made a very un-Flick-like decision: she chose to let it go.
Maybe she'll tell me da truth lateh. An' if not...well, if she decides ta keep 'er mouth shut, I'll neveh get 'er ta open it. Dat much I know from experience. She ain't called Secret fer nuttin'.
Racetrack broke the awkward silence. "Pokah game?" Being Racetrack, he'd managed to latch onto those two words.
Flick forced a laugh. "Yeah, ain't I eveh told ya 'bout dat?" And she launched into the story of how, as she put it, "I came dis close ta soakin' Spot Conlon." When she reached the end, where a friend from Harlem came and dragged her home, she phrased it exactly as Secret had in Brooklyn earlier that night: "a friend". And the boys didn't question it.
By the time she finished, the previous tension was forgotten, and they were all laughing.
"Great story," Secret remarked sincerely; she hadn't even minded hearing it for the second time tonight. "Anyway, now youse all know why I was mad at Spot." She shot Flick a sidelong glance. Flick said nothing, though, so Secret went on talking. "Odda den Spot, dough, Brooklyn was great. Real beautiful, an' da rest o' da newsies was real fun...I wouldn't mind goin' back sometime." She rolled over to smile at Mush. Sometime during the course of Flick's story, they had all settled back to lie down on the fire escape, gazing up at the star-spangled, moon-dominated night sky.
"Well," Mush announced, "now dat we's got Brooklyn sorted out, time fer da next topic. How was da race?"
And of course, Racetrack and Flick both started talking at once, eagerly and animatedly describing the horses and their actions, from the sound of the starting gun to the moment when Scarlet Flame crossed the finish line. While they chattered, Mush, Blink, and Secret exchanged knowing glances. It was obvious that Flick had adopted Racetrack's obsession. Pokah an' horse races, Secret thought lazily, smiling to herself. I t'ought Flick an' Jack were alike...an' dey are, in a way dat makes 'em always at each odda's throats. But Flick an' Race are alike in a way dat makes 'em ideal friends.
"...so I canceled dat debt in a fit o' insanity, but den we came back an' finished our pokah game, so 'e jist ended up owin' me money anyway," Flick finished cheerfully. Race swiped at her with his cigar, leaving a thin trail of smoke. "Yeah, yeah, I'll pay ya...someday..."
"Right, like when Midnight Storm wins," Flick predicted, and the two of them laughed, remembering the little black stallion that had trailed so hopelessly behind all the others.
"Y'know, he might actually be my next pick," Race managed to say with a straight face, provoking a groan from Flick and laughter from the others.
"Hey," Blink commented, "dis's nice, y'know? Out heah, wit da wind an' da stars...an' all da odda bums inside wheah dey can't bodda us!" More laughter followed this statement.
"Hang on!" Flick yelped suddenly, voice filled with alarm. The other four newsies started slightly and looked at her quizzically. Flick laughed slightly, shaking her head. "I jist realized...we's friends, ain't we? Da five of us?"
The realization hit Secret just as hard. "God! Yer right!"
Racetrack's eyes widened. "How da heck did dat happen?"
"Yeah," Blink added wonderingly. "It seems like jist yestaday dat we was chasin' youse two all oveh da borough while youse was tryin' ta sell papes."
"An' stealin' Secret's hat, makin' 'er chase us 'till she fell in da pond," Mush added. "While you were leadin' Flick inta dat maniac's apartment, Race."
"We's come a long way, ain't we," Race marveled. "Now we's all lyin' out on a fiah escape, peacefully reminiscin'. Flick ain't even given anyone a shinah yet."
"Well, since ya reminded me..." Flick held up her fist playfully, causing everyone present to edge away from her until she lowered it and laughed.
For a while after that, they just lay there in silence, gazing up at the stars, each carried away by his or her own thoughts. Gradually, they sank so deeply into their private thoughts that all of them began to forget where they were. Minute after minute passed this way, and it was Race who finally snapped out of his own daze and broke the silence.
"A'right, guys, dis quiet's startin' ta bug me. What's ev'ryone been t'inkin' 'bout?"
His words were sufficient to awaken his friends from their stupors. They also gave Mush an interesting idea.
"I know how we can find out," he declared.
"Find out what?" asked Race blankly.
"What ev'ryone's been t'inkin' 'bout all dis time."
"An' how's dat?" Blink demanded. Mush explained his plan.
"Each of us has got ta tell de oddas. An' youse gotta tell da truth," he added, glancing pointedly at Secret and Flick. "But da t'ing us, afta each poyson's told what he or she's been t'inkin' 'bout, none o' da oddas are allowed ta make any comments or ask 'em 'bout it. Not now or eveh." He nodded proudly. "Whadda ya t'ink?"
"Strange idea," Blink observed. "But it might be kinda fun. You start, Mush."
Mush blushed; apparently, he'd forgotten to take himself into consideration when he'd explained this brilliant idea of his.
"C'mon, ya gotta tell da truth, rememba," Race urged, grinning. "What've ya been t'inkin' 'bout?"
Mush sighed and rolled his eyes. "Victoria," he admitted, then flinched as the others burst into laughter. "I shoulda made a rule 'gainst laughin' too!" he moaned. Longing to end his torment, he picked one of his companions at random. "Secret, you go next."
Flick glanced at her friend. Secret was quiet for a moment. "Changes," she murmured, not looking at any of the others. "Why dey happen. An' how ya loin ta accept 'em."
This was a dramatic change from Mush's carefree daydreams about his girlfriend. The little "game" they were playing took on a new solemnity.
"Blink?" Secret asked.
"Trust," replied Kid Blink simply. He sighed and glanced at the last Musketeer. "Race?"
"Flick," said Race.
"Yeah?" said Flick.
"No, dat's what I'se been t'inkin' 'bout," Race muttered.
This was followed by the most eloquent silence yet. Flick stared openmouthed at Racetrack, and came perilously close to shattering the rule about not asking questions. She was so shocked by Racetrack's answer that it took her a few moments to realize that everyone's eyes were on her; she was the only person who had not yet confessed her thoughts.
"Flick?" Secret urged gently.
"Truth." Flick spoke so softly that the others had to lean in closer to hear her. "Truth," she repeated in a steady whisper, "an' lies. An' what happens when ya lie ta yaself so hard dat da lies gets mixed up wit da truth, an' ya don't even know what's real anymoah."
A sort of invisible current seemed to pass among the five newsies, a ripple of thought.
Secret: Oh God...dere's moah ta dis den she's even told me...
Mush: When Secret pushed Spot in da rivah...dere was a lot moah ta dat den she let on...an' I t'ink it's got sometin' ta do wit Flick's troubles too...
Blink: If she'd jist open up like dis moah, we could reach 'er an' find out what's wrong...
Racetrack: I'd do anytin' ta help her find da truth she's lookin' fer, an' heal whateveh pain it causes.
But, because of the rules that Mush had invented only minutes before out of pure fun, no one voiced any of these thoughts aloud. It was Blink who spoke in the end.
"Well...dat was interestin'," he understated. He paused, then added hesitantly, "Dat was real interestin'...maybe we can try sometin' else like dis? Wheah we all gotta tell da truth 'bout sometin' an' no one else can respond?"
Only Secret and Racetrack noticed Flick stiffen.
"A'right," Mush agreed, "but no laughin' dis time."
"I have one," Secret offered quietly. Four heads turned toward her in surprise.
"What?" asked Mush, while betrayal registered in Flick's eyes.
"Why don't we all tell our woist feah?" Secret suggested, meeting Flick's eyes squarely. The redhead blanched.
"We'll jist go real quickly," Secret added, praying that this was a good idea. "Ya gotta tell what yer most afraid of in da woild. If ya don't know, jist say da foist t'ing dat comes ta yer mind. I'll go foist." She closed her eyes and got it over with. "Loss."
Mush went next. "Goils," he admitted sulkily, and everyone had some trouble remembering the new rule about laughter.
"Not bein' trusted," said Blink. "An' not knowin' who ta trust."
"Truth," was Racetrack's response, and Flick glanced at him sharply. Why had her thought become his fear? He met her eyes.
"Yer toin, Flick," he pointed out.
No.
"Flick?" That was Secret.
I won't...
"Ya can tell us," Mush assured her.
If ya knew...
"C'mon, Flick," Blink pleaded.
Her heart was beating so fast...slamslamslam against her chest...leaping up in her throat and trying to choke her...
Dat night...in my hand...on da ground...it wasn't...I didn't...dey said...I hoid...I couldn't...she told me...dat night...dat night...
An' anudda night...at Medda's...da music...flutes...dose memories...my fist flyin' out, an' Race standin' dere lookin' so confused...
"Flick." That was Race again, whispering in her ear so that only she could hear. "Flick, what is it?"
The stars had turned to eyes, evil eyes, accusing eyes, burning holes through her soul. The sky was rushing down to meet her, to engulf her. The whispering of the breeze and the cries of owls and the low murmur of voices from inside the lodging house, all of it was directed at her, malicious...accusing…
"What are ya most afraid of, Flick?"
She murmured two syllables and lurched to her feet, dashing across the fire escape, wrenching open the window, disappearing into the bunkroom and leaving her answer hanging in the air, echoing in the ears of her four best friends.
"Myself."