Sorry for the delay. I doubt I still have any reviewers left. Regardless, here's chapter 2, and it's a Race one-shot! Yay. lol, hopefully the rest of these suckers won't take me as long.

Disclaimer: I think we all know I don't own anything.

Love's a funny thing, you know. It's hard to decipher exactly what love is. There's a fine line between lust and love, but sometimes it's so hard to figure out which is which. I mean, lust is pretty common to an eighteen year old guy who isn't in a relationship and can do as he pleases. But in my case…it's different. I mean sure, I like girls, who doesn't? But I'm tired of the one night stands, tired of the flings, the endless flighty flirting…I want to settle down, you know? I want to fall in love, I want to wake up just because I'll get to see my girl that day, I want to be with someone for real, I want to get butterflies, I want to get all that shit. But love's a funny thing.

Now I'm not saying I want a real serious relationship—I'm only eighteen! I don't want to be pinned down for too long…but I just want one girl. A nice, sweet girl that I can be myself around, hang out with, that will get along with me boys, who I can just go to when I'm broken, something special, something sweet, something loose but still monogamous. But it's so much harder than it sounds—not one of me boys is in a real relationship except for Jack who's been with Lyddie for almost a year, but I mean, she's pregnant! Can you believe that? See, that's exactly what I don't want to happen…sure, Lyddie and Jack are in love, but a baby changes everything. I'm not looking for that kind of stuff, just something sweet…nothing that would keep me tied down forever. The other boys of the Lodging House—they all have their girls, but I don't think its love. They'd probably drop their girls in a second for another pretty face.

And that brings me to another question: What is love? Okay, so it's a bit cliché, but seriously, what is love really? I don't know—love isn't too common around here. Love? The only love I know is the love I have for me boys and they have for me—a brotherly love, where I'd die for them and they'd die for me…hopefully…but that loyal connection, that bond that keeps us together…that's not the love I'm talking about—you know what I'm talking about. True romantic love, over the hills, out of the park, World Series kind of love. And it just doesn't seem to exist.

So anyway…I guess you could call me a cynic, a bitter guy who's just not into the whole love thing. But it's really not true—for God sakes, I'm Italian, we all love everything! But I just feel so lonely…and I don't know why or when it's going to stop.

My hands hurt as I sold my last pape and my eyes were becoming heavy. I really wanted to just go back to the Lodging House and lie down for awhile, before the party at Medda's later tonight. As I was walking down the street, something caught my eye on the corner of Fifty first, and I couldn't help but turn my head. I think my mouth literally hit the ground.

There was a girl, sitting on a wooden stool with an easel set up with a white canvas, and a pallet was in her left arm as she stroked the canvas, painting something I couldn't quite make out. Her dark ruby hair was long and flowing in loose curls, and she had most of it pulled in a low ribbon cascading off her right shoulder, curls framing her creamy white face. Her blue hues were concentrated so hard on her painting, and her bag was set out at her feet. She couldn't have been more than sixteen. Her torn skirt blew in the spring wind and her shirt was ripped and frayed. She had dirty smudges on her otherwise flawless skin and she looked kind of tired and beat. But she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen in all my eighteen years of existence. I honestly think time stopped at that moment.

I think I had just fallen in love. Of course, I didn't do shit about it. I watched this beauty paint for a few seconds, and then shook my head. I started to turn away and head toward the Lodging House but then something made me stop. I realized that I was a coward. There was a beautiful girl painting on the corner no more than forty feet away and all I could do was walk away. If it was Spot Conlon he would go right up to her and that was that! But me…Race? Sure, I'd had my share of girls—probably more than I should have had. But when it came to girls I really thought were something, I just didn't do anything.

But maybe it was time that I did something. Swallowing my pride, I turned around and walked toward the girl, only to turn around again. I just couldn't do it. I walked back to the Lodging House, my head feeling heavier than it should have.

"Come on Race! We'se leavin'! Let's go!"

I rolled my eyes at Jack's booming voice from downstairs and trudged slowly to the lobby. I didn't feel like going to Medda's. My spirits were kind of low, and it just made matters worse when I saw that every one of my friends had a girl by their side. I felt like chopped liver, to say the least. I was about to say I didn't feel good and go back to bed when Jack grabbed my shoulder and pushed me towards the door.

"We'se don' wanna be late! Come on ya slow poke." Jack's grip was firm. I was too lazy to resist.

Medda's was insanely crowded. I sat at a table playing my fifteenth round of poker, smoking my fourth cigar, and finishing up my eighth beer. I was a mess. I wasn't drunk, but I felt smashed. My head was killing. All I wanted to do was sleep.

"Uh…guys I'se fold," I muttered. The boys around the table gaped at me. I never, ever folded. Never. But I just wasn't in the mood.

I sauntered off from the table and leaned against a wall in the back of the theater, rubbing my eyes. Someone touched my shoulder and I looked up to find Lyddie looking at me with concerned eyes.

"Are you'se okay Race?" she asked. Her big hues studied me carefully. Lyddie was such a sweetheart. Jack was lucky to have her—someone who was with him for him and not his leadership title. I sighed.

"I'se fine Lyddie, I'se just gonna take off, okay?"

Lyddie nodded and sighed. "Okay…be careful Race." I grinned at her, and nodded. She walked away and I shook my head. I pulled my cap out of my back pocket and put it on my head, heading out of the smoky theater.

The night was cool and calm. It was relaxing. Nothing was going to faze me—nothing! I was free. And let me tell you, newsies hardly ever felt free. Just as I was approaching fifty-first street and not even realizing it, I heard an angry yell. I immediately stopped walking and heard more yelling and then a girl's scream. I started running towards the voices and it led me to the corner of the street. I expected to see a girl being hurt by some punk but what I saw made my mouth drop.

The girl I had seen from earlier—the beautiful painter--had her hands clenched in fists and put protectively in front of her face. A young man, perhaps twenty or so, who was no doubt intoxicated, was swaggering about her and trying to grab, hold of her but the girl had fire in her eyes.

"Get the hell away from me asshole!" The girl shrieked. The man laughed bitterly and attempted to grab her again but the girl was obviously much faster and being sober probably helped. In a blink of an eye, the girl had kicked out her right leg and the man squarely in the one area a man dreads to be hit—I don't think I need to elaborate here. The man fell to his knees in pain. The girl took advantage of this and grabbed her painting she had been working on that morning and hit the man directly over the head with all the force she could muster. The man collapsed and the girl stood there for a few seconds, kind of gaping at what she had just done.

Then she burst into tears.

My muscles decided to start working at that moment and I ran over to the girl, completely forgetting that I had fallen for her beauty earlier. "Jesus miss, you'se okay?" I asked. The girl was sobbing hysterically and looked up at me with her tear streaked face.Tears weremeshed in with snotflowing from her nose, and a clear trail of saliva wasdribblingdown her chin. She was beautiful.My legs would have given out at that moment if I hadn't been afraid of falling on the man lying crumpled next to me.

Her sobs looked painful—she was positively wailing. Her shoulders were shaking and she began to hiccup. "That—that—damn bastard! He…he made me…ruin my…my painting! And…and now I have…nothing…to sell!" She continued to hiccup and wiped at her eyes vigorously. She stopped crying and looked me in the eyes. I thought I might die.

"I hate men."

She said it so simply, so blunt that I had to crack a grin. She stepped on the man, not bothering to watch where she stepped, and gathered her split painting. "Fucking hate them! They are pigs. Did you know that? Men are pigs! Pigs, pigs, pigs."

I just stood there awkwardly, quite aware that I myself was male. I put my hands in my pockets and just stood there dumbly watching her. She finally stopped and sighed. "I guess you don't understand."

I shrugged. "I'se would like ta tell ya that we aren't all like that, but most men are."

The girl nodded sadly and studied me.

"Let me help ya clean up—I'll walk ya home—in case some other punk feels like botherin' you tonight," I offered lamely.

The girl grinned and sighed. "I'm sorry I called all men pigs. They just annoy me." I grinned at her. "Okay they infuriate me. Most of them, anyway. What's your name?"

My heart stopped beating and I immediately lost what little cool I had in my body. "Race."

She smiled. "My name's Kate. And I'd like it very much if you walked me home Race."

I smiled at her and nodded. "Okay…Kate."

She grinned and I felt my heart soar. I was going to walk her home! The beautiful girl from that morning! Maybe my luck with women wasn't so bad after all.

So it went that I walked Kate home. I found out that she was sixteen and lived just a few streets over. Her family had been struggling with money since her father was laid off and she was forced to drop out of school and sell paintings on the corner—she was planning to major in art. She was charming, to say the least. I listened to her talk and found myself falling in…like?...faster and faster.

When we reached the door to her home, I faced her and stuck my hands in my pockets.

"Thanks for walking me home Race." She gave me a smile. "You are one of the rare nice men out there. I appreciate your kindness."

I just smiled, too dazed to do anything else.

"So I'll see ya around," Kate said. "Don't be shy—come say hi tomorrow. I'll be out on the corner painting again." I broke out of my daze and grinned.

"Okay, see ya 'round Kate." She grinned and entered her home, giving me one last smile before she shut the door.

So my night hadn't been a total waste. I had talked to that girl from the morning—and so what, we'd only talked for a few minutes. It was worth it to me. And besides...there was always tomorrow...

I didn't mean for it to end so abrupt, but I didn't really feel like making the end all sappy and whanot. I wanna thank my 3 loooovely reviewers from last chapter!!! THANK YOU!!!!! ducks-go-quack-00, elvenrarehunter, StormShadow21. Thank so much. :) Anyways, I hope whoever read this liked this chapter. With all that said, L&S TGG