A/N: Okay, I thought of some other ways to stitch this story together and I decided to cut some parts, so it will be shorter than I planned. It'll make it easier to update and the chapters won't be too long.

The next few days went by as quickly as that one. Artist remained at the Lodging House and was even thinking about making it a permanent home, according to Race. Though Crutchy had seen very little of either of them since Artist turned up. He had tried to talk to Race about this but every time Crutchy started to turn toward the subject, he had been interrupted, either by the other newsies, or something else. He had been observing the pair of them and decided that Racetrack hadn't changed a bit. He hadn't seen much of Artist; she was always off with Chaos or Trolley or another one of the girls, but when he did see her she seemed to be the same as always. He knew he couldn't talk to her about it. She was a girl, which made it much more difficult and confusing. He decided just to keep watching Race, and to talk with him, at any possible time he could try.

He was waiting outside of the Lodging House. The cool night air brushed over him. He sat on one of the benches, waiting. And then, the sound he had been waiting for. Talking and laughing, Racetrack and Artist turned a corner.

His one worry confirmed, Crutchy drew breath and said, "Where've youse two been?"

Racetrack stopped dead. Artist looked up at Crutchy and stopped too, biting her lip.

"Where've ya been?" he asked again, standing up now.

Artist sent a furtive glance in Race's direction and said slowly, "We've been at the track. Race has been showin' me some... stuff."

Crutchy's stomach dropped again, for the third time in four days. "What kinda' stuff?" he asked, trying his best not to show how worried he was, and failing dismally.

"Nothin' Crutchy, don't worry about it." Race said quickly. "Cmon, I'll explain upstairs."

Artist's eyes widened when he said this and she began to open her mouth to protest, but then he gave her a reasurring nod, and she desisted.

"C'mon," he said, and Crutchy followed him upstairs while Artist went up to the girl's quarters.

Once they were upstairs, Racetrack closed the door, grabbed Crutchy's free arm (the other held his cructh), and dragged him into a stall in the washroom.

"What's goin' on Race?" he asked loudly.

Racetrack put his fingers to his lips and whispered, "Shhhhhh, not so loud. Geez, Crutchy, ya gonna wake the whole room."

Crutchy frowned.

"Look, it's really Artist's an' me's business, okay? I'd appreciate it if ya didn't go stickin' your nose in it all right?"

"Race-," he began.

Racetrack cut him off. "Just stay out of it all right, Crutchy? Please, trust me on this, okay?"

Crutchy nodded, still feeling somewhat skeptical.

Travis O'Brien was a great kid. He was smart and funny, carefree, bold. You couldn't find anyone more honest or sweet. He was shy towards strangers, but to close friends he was loud and quite a troublemaker at times. He was never afraid to take risks, and he was always ready to prove himself. His mouth got him into to some deep trouble sometimes, but never as deep as the Cart Horse Dare.

But this trouble was different then ordinary trouble, where you get yelled at a lot, or get punished or spanked. No, this was much worse. This was the trouble of becoming so angry at one's self that he or she may have fallen into great distress and depression. So great, that he or she might have even considered suicide. It is very different than ordinary trouble. In fact, there is one particular difference. In ordinary trouble, the only way of getting out of it determines your very own actions. But in this kind of trouble, the only way to get out is by the help of someone else.

A/N: Tell me what you think!!!! REVIEW!!!!