Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies and/or Specs. I don't own the song Baby It's You by the Beatles, even though the song is only in one little part, either.
Finally! No more writer's block, eh? *kicks writer's block* I had a sudden burst of inspiration with the help of Ghost, of course! Love ya Ghost! *muah*
Ok, this chapter is about Specs and his feelings for Rachel…as it always is. But this chapter is a bit different, which is good. Cuz if all the chapters were the same…how fun would THAT be? NONE! That's right! Ok, anyways, on to the story.
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This day was gunna be weird…
Specs woke up in a cold sweat, his eyes wide and his heart beating rapidly. The worst dream possible had invaded his head while he slept. He was with Rachel…that part was good. Very good. But she didn't speak to him. She didn't notice him. Whenever he tried to call her name or touch her arm, nothing happened. His voice went in one ear and out the other. His hand was like a ghost's. It was horrible. The worst part, something terrible he couldn't possibly imagine: she was with someone else. A guy. A guy hotter then him no doubt. How could she have chosen that dude over Specs?
He slowly got out of bed and looked around him. He was all by his lonesome. The beds were empty and the LH was too, presumably. He looked around once again with a funky expression plastered on his face. Where was everyone? They wouldn't leave without waking him up…would they?
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Specs jogged out of the LH into the cold morning air. This really sucks. It's gunna mess my whole schedule up. He went through the whole routine of buying his papes and such, before heading off towards Central Park to sell them. All the while, that dream was all he could think about. Rachel…she was his love. His one true love.
It's not the way you smile that touched my heart.
It's not the way you kiss that tears me apart.
Uh, oh, many, many, many nights go by,
I sit alone at home and I cry over you.
What can I do.
Can't help myself, 'cause baby, it's you.
Baby, it's you.
He flung some fake headlines out there and sold a couple papes. Nothing more than usual, except he was running late on time. It was already noon and he still had about 30 more to go. He decided to take an itsy bitsy break and go to Tibby's.
The cobblestones were rough under his feet as he walked on the sidewalk. He was deep in thought, reading the paper to get some more good stuff. Unexpectedly, he bumped into something… someone actually. He was knocked pretty hard by the woman, it turned out to be. He dusted his trousers off and apologized to the lady. She was a short, stout lady, like the teapot, ya know? She had flaming red, frizzy hair that went everywhere and green eyes.
"It's ok, dear." She replied, her Irish accent protruding. "Ya look like a nice youn' man, so I'll pass it up this time, eh?" She smiled and examined Specs more closely. "Ya know, ya look a tad familiar tah me…I know! You be one of the newsboys, ain't ya? Ah yes, I know just who ya are." She winked and straightened her green plaid skirt. Specs was just a little frightened at this point…but he was a gentleman, so he stayed. Damn being a gentleman! He thought to himself. "Ya're not busy, are yah boy?"
Specs shook his head…Damn being polite!
"Would ya mind comin' with me? I know something' that'll cheer ya up right quick." She quickly stepped into a small alley way, leading Specs farther and farther into it. Finally they stopped. "I don't want no one seein' us now." She whispered.
What is she gunna do? RAPE ME?! Specs panicked as she pulled something out of her pocket. It was a small, pink stone. She held it in her hands, looking at Specs.
"This…is magic. Don't be scared, now, boy. I know you very well. And I know Rachel." She nodded. "It was me who sent her back tah ya. And I can send ya tah her just as easily."
Specs looked rather skeptical. "How can I trust you?" He asked, shifting his weight and his papers to one side. The woman handed the rock to Specs. He suddenly felt like…well, nothing. He tried to run his fingers through his hair, but he felt nothing. He tried to saying something, but nothing came out. What the hell did this woman do to me? He "screamed''. She looked at him with a smirk on her face.
"This'll take ya back tah Rachel. But there's a catch…"
CATCH?!?! It better be something that won't screw up our relationship…
"I can't tell ya now…you'll have to find out for yerself. Good luck and whatever you do, DON'T let go of that stone, ya hear?" She waddled away, mumbling some inaudible words. Specs stood there, well, kinda stood there. More like floated. Suddenly, he was pulled to the ground. But it wasn't a ground. It was some kind of black hole. Millions of colors passed by Specs' head. He kept falling and falling until he hit something. The ground.
He rubbed his head and groaned. Geez…what was THAT? He stood up, a little woozy, and perused the area where he was standing. Whoa, whoa… These metal things on wheels flew by him at great speed. There were noises everywhere. The air was dirty. And he wasn't in New York City anymore. There was a big green sign near him that read "Lilburn City Limits. A suburb of Atlanta, Georgia." So, I'm in Georgia? Well, Rachel must be here!" He started to run, but found out he didn't have to. In an instant, he was standing right in front of Rachel.
"RACHEL!" He yelled. There were a few moments of silence…Oh no, he thought, This is the catch…and it'll DEFINITELY screw everythin' up…
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*organ playing* Dun dun dun! *big announcer voice* What will happen next? And just what is that pesky little catch?
Thanks, Mr. Big voice guy…Yes, I'm terribly sorry to stop at that, but I gotta make the story interesting so you'll actually read it, right?
SPECS and PETER: Right!
So, please review…*singsongy voice* I'll give you chocolate…
SPECS and PETER: *singsongy voice* She'll give you chocolate…
Wow, THAT'S not getting annoying! Ok, *curtseys* thank you much! On to the next chapter!!! *flies off with Peter*
SPECS: Hey! What about me, huh? *stomps foot , then sees the lovely writer sitting at her computer, typing away and smiling…* Wowza…*jumps out of computer screen and into the lap of the author.*
