Disclaimer: If I owned "Newsies", there'd be a hell of a lot more girl parts... And they'd actually have personalities...

Matchmaker: Chapter Three

The Best Kind of Present

I can't believe it.

I'm still alive.

Not only that, Race is still talking to me. In fact, I'm pretty much the only person he'll talk to.

I expected him to damn me to hell as soon as I got back 'cause it was me who dragged him to talk to Spot in the first place, you know? If I hadn't done anything, he'd still be daydreaming about Spot, which really wouldn't be any better, except that he would be completely oblivious to Spot's newfound hatred of his guts... Yeah, I feel bad enough, all right? You don't got to rub it in...

Anyhow, I thought he'd at least ignore me or something, you know? But instead he turns around and thanks me for making him face the truth. I felt even worse after that, seeing his forced smile and unshed tears. That's another thing that annoys me, you know? Guys have this thing where they never let themselves cry, even though they know it'll make them feel better afterwards. Okay, so maybe they don't know 'cause they've never done it before, but they won't listen to your advice about it, either. Hey. I said I never cried in front of guys. I didn't say nothing about never crying.

But just seeing that look on his face. I really want to give him a hug or something, you know, but it'd be too embarrassing for us both. Mostly for him, and Lord knows that he doesn't need any more junk in his life right now...

We haven't talked about it much, these past few weeks. No word from Spot, of course. Looks like he's pretty shaken up about it, too; the guy's been avoiding Manhattan for four weeks now. Jack's starting to worry that he's suddenly in a bad standing with Brooklyn. You don't hear a lot from Spot, but Racetrack usually brings back a word or two for his closer friends. But Race hasn't been going to Coney Island lately; he'd have to go through Brooklyn to get there, and it'd get too awkward if anything happened. Speaking of which, the boys think he's gone and lost his marbles. Used to be you couldn't pull him away with six horses and a car, and now you can't get him to touch the ground with a ten-foot pole.

Well, today's his birthday, and I don't care what he says... I can tell that he's been aching for the tracks. Enough is enough. Brooklyn's a big place. What're the odds of him running into Spot? Besides, if I'm right in thinking that Spot's doing his best to avoid run ins, too, then he'll be steering clear of the area.

I found myself dragging a protesting Racetrack across the Brooklyn Bridge. Again. But at least this time, he really, really wanted to go.

We spent the morning selling leisurely. The crowd there's big, and they're mostly people who're willing to spend a little money. That's his regular crowd anyway, so they all know him. In any case, we finished pretty quickly and ended up betting. Or he did, anyway. I'd promised that lunch would be on me, and I didn't want to take chances with that. I mean, it's his birthday. I brought him here to have a good time and forget about everything else for awhile. It was nice to see him yell and cheer and jump up and down in anticipation. Sure was better than watching him mope around with that horribly sad little smile on his face.

All right, all right... I admit it. I did it to make me feel better, too. Just because Race didn't think it was my fault doesn't mean that it wasn't. I know it was, and I had to make it up to him, you know? And what better than letting him indulge in his favorite pastime without worrying about saving up for lunch?

After ten wins and two losses, we finally headed off to lunch. I'd scouted out this great little Italian cafe, and I knew he'd love the food. Funny, really, how well we know each other. Sure, I may not have known him quite as long as some people have, but we're close enough that we say things at the same time and finish each other's sentences sometimes. There are times, like this morning, when we've looked through the papes, or, as Jack would say, perused through the papes, and shouted out the same headline, word for word. And there are other times when we can just sit and understand, and we don't have to say nothing 'cause it's just understood. If I ever end up getting married, I'm going to marry someone like that, someone who knows what I'd like without having to ask.

Anyway, so we're eating together, and everyone's probably staring at us - how can two newsies afford to eat at a place like this? I really don't care 'cause I know I've got the money. Ten dollars in my pocket! Come on! I'm proud of myself, you know. I actually managed to save it all up without spending any of it before I was supposed to. He laughed when I told him.

"T'anks for doing all dis... I'm real glad I got a friend like you around."

I rolled my eyes. Some people. Honestly. "Awww... C'mon, Race... You woulda done it fa me, too, if I knew when my boithday was."

"But it ain't just about me boithday, Sneaks. You know it ain't." His voice was dry and cynical, the typical Racetrack.

I wasn't sure what to say. If he wanted to talk about it...

"I know you still feel bad about dat whole deal wid Spot..." He paused to glance at me here, sure that I would deny it. But I didn't. Like I said, I'm not one to beat around the bush. I knew I did, and I wasn't afraid of admitting it. "But it's not yore fault. Think about it. If Spot had found out latah, in a, shall we say, less direct fashion, he'd hate me anyway. Hell, he'd probably have me killed. Dis way, at least, everythin's in de open, an' he can't accuse me o' nothin'."

"You sure 'bout dat?" I asked jokingly. He ain't as pessimisstic as I thought he was... Maybe I don't know him so well after all.

He rolled his eyes at me. "You know what I mean."

I grinned. "Yeah, well, I'm glad we came, too. Uddahwise, you'd still be mopin' aroun' da lodgin' house. Ya know, I only brought youse 'cause da guys were complainin' dat youse were gonna make it pour if ya didn' cheer up soon."

As he opened his mouth to retort, the bell over the door rang.

All of a sudden, this silence falls across the room, so we look to see what's going on, you know? And lo and behold, who is it but Spot Conlon, standing right smack dab in the middle of the doorway. Yeah, the guy commands that much respect. Actually, I think it was just the absurdity of three newsies in a nice restaurant at once that made them quiet. And Spot was carrying his cane. They probably thought he was there to rob them or something. Rich folks. You never know.

I almost blew my top right there and then. What are the chances of us meeting up with Spot? And he came looking for us! Which means that some unbelievably stupid idiot had told Spot that we were here. I settled on Snoddy, who had told me about the restaurant in the first place. Given that they didn't know about the whole situation with Race and Spot, but still! As I watched, Race paled until he was that paler-than-snow pale again, and I knew that a perfectly good day had just gone down the drain. I was about to give Spot a piece of my mind when I look at him and see that he's all...

...Lost? Spot's another one of those people you can always count on to know his way. He's the leader of Brooklyn, for goodness sake!

Maybe I really had left him thinking hard...

"Er... Race? Can I talk witcha for a minute?" I'm hearing things... I'm hearing things, I tell you! Whatever he does, Spot Conlon never sounds timid! Ever! And he never goes to see anybody. They always go to see him.

Race stood up, looking unsure of himself. The effect those two have on each other. Unbelievable. For a moment there I thought he was going to sit back down, but I knew that whether it was good or bad, he'd have to get this over with sooner or later. So, being my good, friendly self, I gave him a little push forward. I say little, but it almost sent him toppling over. How was I supposed to know that his feet were glued to the spot, huh?

Anyhow, he slowly followed Spot out the door. I'm staying out of it this time. I heard the people around me talking like they were from another world. What's going to happen to Race? Is Spot going to beat him into a bloody pulp? In that case, I would soon be very, very sorry that I didn't follow them. But Spot hadn't seemed like he was in a beating mood. Maybe he's decided that he does like Race after all?

I didn't even notice that I'd been shoveling pasta in my mouth until I felt the cold metallic fork prongs against my tongue. Without any more food to distract me, I could only sit and fidget, willing for the time to pass. Why did I not have a pocket watch?

The bell rang, and I jumped, whirling around to see that it was just another customer. I bit my lip. Should I go look for them now? How much time had passed? Is Race okay? But if they're doing anything, do I really want to interfere?

Just as I'd called the waiter over to pay the bill - four dollars and twenty-seven cents - the bell I was waiting for rang again. They walked in, looking smug as anything. Both of their lips looked unnaturally red, and since I'm pretty sure they hadn't been putting lip rouge on each other, it could only have been caused by something shamefully natural. Flushed cheeks and mile wide grins. Mismatched buttoning. I'm no genius, but it doesn't take one to figure out what they'd been up to.

Inconsiderate twits. Leave me here to worry my brains out while they're having the time of their lives.

Men.

I've been stuck lately; where are all those boring yet strangely inspiring geometry classes when you need 'em? Then it hits me: holy schmoly... [Cinderella!mice voice] JUNE 6 IS MAX CASELLY'S BOITHDAY!!!! And I HAD to write something for my favorite actor's birthday, so lo and behold, here comes chapter three. It was written on semi-short notice (all right, all right... I forgot, okay? Shush!), so if it sounds a little hurried, pardon...

Anyhow, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MAX CASELLA!!!! WOOT!!!

Gothic Author

Replies:

Becky:

[sighs in relief] I'm glad you didn't skip over it, too, hon... It's been incredibly slow lately... This story was on the first page for, like, THREE days!! That NEVER happens! Anyhow, I'm glad you like Sneaks and Race. I like them, too.

As for Blink/Mush... You'll just have to wait and see, won't you? [cackles evilly]

hilaRyB:

Awww... [hugs hilaRy] I'm sorry... Did I sound offended? None was taken, I assure you! However, it DID stand as a point of amusement with my friends: I have been called many things in this lifetime, but NEVER ONCE have I been called a heifer...

I'll be sure to add "Emma" and "Velvet Goldmine" to my "Movies To Watch This Summer" list... Ewan McGregor? [sings] "The hiiiills are aliiiiiiive... With the sooouuuund of muuuuuusiiiiiic..." Love that movie!! He's got a great voice... Hmmm... Maybe I'll get him to play Denton when I become a director and decide to remake "Newsies"... XD That'd be MUCHO PHUNNY with a pH of 10!!

HEH. Yeah, I'm a geek like that...

The Omniscient Bookseller:

It's Race/Spotness, baby!! Gotta love it...

...I hope the NowResolvedAndNoLongerAngsty!Race/Spotness is as loverly as UnresolvedAngsty!Race/Spotness...

[ponders very, very hard] Actually, Racetrack can be with many, MANY people [coughFANGIRLScough], but on the slash scene, there's no one for him but Spotty-boy (Skittery and Kid Blink once in awhile, but I have been conditioned by Lute into believing that there is no one for Skittery but Snitch, and it's TOO obvious that Blink and Mush are soulmates). [sticks SerenadingRomeo!Spot before ShyLovestruckJuliet!Racetrack and melts into a shimmering puddle at the cuteness][scratches her now nonexistent head][sticks SerenadingRomeo!Racetrack beside ShyLovestruckJuliet!Spot and nods approvingly]

...I really SHOULD write that out into a story, shouldn't I?

Thanks go to: geometrygal for reviewing!! Thanks a bunch!!!