Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies or any other media references I may make throughout the duration of this fic.

A/n: I'm cold! Halfway through typing this chapter I had to go wash my hands with really warm water because I kept stumbling over my words. Too bad, that. This the third story I'm updating in a row! I feel so productive! Go me!

Chapter 2: Keeping Things to Ourselves

Spot

Across the room the phone rings. I reach for it but—being the small guy that I am—fall short of my target. I shrug and let the answering machine pick up.

"This is Anthony and Simon! We're not in right now, being driven to insanity by teachers and papers, but if you'd leave a message we'll get back to you. Especially if you're offering money." The recording of Racetrack and I laughed loudly before beeping. I sigh and wait for someone to talk. Fulfilling my worst fears it is Cherish.

"Hey Spot, it's Cherish. Did you call me today? 'Cause I was checking my history and your number was on it. Anyways...just call me back, I missed you in class today." I hear a dial tone and know she's hung up. At this point I am very happy that I can't reach the phone, I don't know what to say to Cherish, I'd probably slip-up and tell her about Racetrack.

Racetrack. Who would have thought Racetrack? He's so...so...not a guy who would like me. Wait! What am I saying? No guy should like me, especially not Racetrack. He knows I have a girlfriend. He's the one who introduced me to my girlfriend.

He and Cherish were friends since high school. They knew each other for years. I'm going to be the one who looks like an idiot if I follow up on Racetrack's comment. That's probably why he said it. It's probably a joke. They're in on it together to make me feel stupid.

This would comfort me if I didn't know it was a complete and utter lie. He said it and he meant it.

I find myself staring out the window over his bed again and gazing at the giant maple tree outside. It is bare right now; all of its leaves have congregated around its base, looking sad and damp. They're just waiting for a snow to cover them up, erasing all memory of them. It smells like moss and faintly of marigolds. Something about smells makes me think about Racetrack, when I breathe in I can't help but think of him. Maybe it's because I still haven't taken off his t-shirt.

Racetrack

Bumlets and I walk down the street. I pull my jacket tightly around me and sink my head closer to my collar. I can see the tips of his ears from underneath his toque. They're red and chapped looking. Bumlets should be used to the cold by now, but he isn't. Strangely I am even though this is only my first winter in Toronto.

He leads me into his house. It's off of Eglington in a small house with a neatly kept garden and a rickety porch. Bumlets still lives with his parents because he attends a local school and couldn't afford rent for an apartment on or off campus. We take Calculus together but he is definitely better at it then me.

In the small living room that looks out onto the sidewalk that featured us a few seconds ago is his mother. I've been over before so she smiles at me and beacons Bumlets to her side. Mrs Flores is a short old woman. She looks many years older than I assume she really is. Her eyes are surrounded by wrinkles and her hair is a very brittle shade of grey. Her lips are constantly pinched but smiling. She reminds me of a storyteller.

"Come here Mi Vida," she says to him, following her tendency to mix Spanish and English. Bumlets walks to her side and plants a kiss on her cheek. She grins and asks us about class. I think about how close-knit Bumlets' family must be. He's so respectful to his parents even though he's already eighteen. They treat him like he's still their little baby and he lets them.

Mrs Flores chuckles and ruffles her son's hair. "Mi Vida, you're as sharp as a látigo!"

Bumlets smiles and I wait for an explanation. "She says 'my love, you are as smart as a whip'." Bumlets looks pleased at his mother's comments.

The tips of my mouth curve into a half-smile and I watch Bumlets and his mother talk. This is their ritual, everyday after classes Bumlets tells his mother about his day until she's pleased with his report and lets him go study.

Mrs Flores lifts herself out of her chair and lumbers to the kitchen. In a matter of seconds she has returned with a tray holding three cups and a teapot.

"How was your day?" she asks me warmly, pouring the tea for us.

"It was fine." I don't think she wants to know about Spot, even though I'm pretty sure I want to talk about it to someone.

She turns to Bumlets. "Has el gato gotten your friend's tongue?"

Bumlets shakes his head. "No Mama, he's just shy." Bumlets winks at me and I grin.

"There's no reason to me shy mi hijo! I won't bite."

"She called you 'my child'," explains Bumlets.

My mouth forms an 'O' and I clear my throat. "I'm doing OK in classes, thanks Mrs Flores."

She chuckles again. "No girlfriend?" she asks.

A lump catches halfway down my throat and I stop breathing for a second. "No, no girlfriend." I take a sip of tea and wash down the lump.

"Does that mean you like my son?"

I'm confused for a minute, but Bumlets blushes and hisses, "Mama! Shh! That's none of your business!"

Mrs Flores taps him in the arm and 'tsks' him. "Don't you tell me what is and isn't my business!" and quite suddenly she switches into full-out Spanish so that I can't comprehend a word she's saying. Bumlets, however, doesn't seem to have any trouble understanding and keeps up with her in the verbal rally.

Finally Mrs Flores turns away from Bumlets in mid-sentence and says, "My son is a homo-ses-ual."

I look at Bumlets and back at Mrs Flores. "Uh...OK...?"

Mrs Flores smiles triumphantly, smirking at Bumlets.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Your mother knows you're gay?" I light up my cigarette and inhale deeply.

Bumlets nods and sinks down the wall of his house so he's sitting on the perfectly installed brick mosaic. "Yeah, she's the first person I told."

"And she doesn't mind?"

He shakes his head. "Nah, but she had to take down the statue of the Virgin that was in our dining room. Catholicism doesn't approve of homosexuality. "

"What about your dad?"

"He's just happy to get out of church every Sunday morning." Bumlets shrugs.

I exhale. It is very cold out, making the smoke seem more defined them it really should be. It is only five o'clock but it's already dark and the streetlights are on.

"I should head home," I say, stabbing the cigarette against the wall.

"Race? Are you sure you're OK?" Bumlets calls to my retreating back.

I just nod and keep walking.

[End Chapter]

((So, what'd you think of that? Was it as good as the first one? Review and tell me what you thought!))

Shoutouts:

SparkS- ha ha! I always win! But thanks for your opinion anyways, it was much appreciated.

Coin- interaction will come; they're still a little iffy around each other. I have plans though...

Pinky: to take over the world?

Buttons: no, you idiot, I'm not the Brain!

Strawberri Shake- ah yes, you're the fan of the SpRace, aren't you? Well, I hope you liked this. And I don't dislike Cherish, she's OK, I couldn't make people hate her. How could I with a name like 'Cherish'?

Madison Square- I have a plot? Usually I just write and stuff comes. The plot usually builds itself; I never plan it ahead of time. Except for school assignments when I'm forced to.

Erin Go Bragh- is your real name Erin? That's my...acquaintance's name!

Parkranger- Race is only out of character because he's confused. I shouldn't have made him cry though, it seems so girly.

Uninvisible- they talk, Race is just afraid of slip-ups. As is Spot.

Padsfootismyhero- thanks for taking the time to R&R! And look! I'm converting you to slash! Yay!