Author's Note: Yeah, I meant to update this sooner... I just kinda spaced out, lol. Sorry about the wait—enjoy!

Disclaimer: The newsies belong to Disney, any song lyrics belong to their respective bands/artists, and I own anyone you don't recognize.

Chapter II.

Maybe I could be the one they adored

That could be my reputation

It's where I'm from that lets them think I'm a whore

I'm an educated virgin

Now sleepwalker don't be shy

Don't open your eyes tonight

You'll be the one that defends my life

When I'm dead asleep dreamin'

-"Sleepwalker", The Wallflowers

"Stupid fucking alarm clock on a stupid fucking Monday morning and I'm fucking tired. Fuck fuck fuck."

Racetrack Higgins was not a morning person. He groped blindly for his cheap alarm clock to shut it off, but soon realized that it was too far away and he would have to actually get out of bed. "FUCK," he said again, and he squished his face into his pillow and swore a little more.

All in all, it was a good ten minutes before he was able to drag himself out of bed, shut off his alarm clock, and get into the shower. The water was freezing cold. "ELIO, YOU BASTARD!" he yelled. "WHERE THE HELL DID ALL THE HOT WATER GO?!"

"IT AIN'T MY FAULT YOU GET UP SO GODDAMN LATE!" his older brother yelled back.

Race rolled his eyes and began to shampoo his hair, still fighting to wake up. He was going to be late to school again. Mrs. Hartline would probably give him a detention. He yawned, got a mouthful of water, and choked.

He didn't have time to dry off thoroughly, so he went downstairs pulling on a pair of blue jeans as he went and dripping all over everything. "Where'd you put my history paper, ya fuck?" Elio demanded, frantically sorting through the heap of papers on the kitchen table. "I'm gonna fail that class if I don't—"

"I didn't touch your paper," said Race tiredly. He opened the refrigerator, stared for a moment at the solitary lump of meat sitting on the shelf, and closed it again. Ah well. He wasn't that hungry anyway. "Where are my sneakers?" he asked.

His brother didn't answer; he had moved on to going through the garbage can.

Race exhaled loudly and made his way back upstairs, scratching and swearing and yawning. "Dad, have you seen my shoes?" he asked, leaning against the doorway to his father's bedroom and squinting in the darkness. "I need to go to school."

There was no response from inside the bedroom, so he took that as permission to enter. Mr. Higgins was fast asleep, obviously completely hung-over, a small patch of drool staining his pillowcase. Race found his sneakers under his father's bed with a knife in one of them, which he pulled out and stuck into the bedpost. "Sleep well," he said dryly. "Please—stay in bed all day."

"Mmrphm," grunted Mr. Higgins, rolling over.

Race left the house at a run, praying that he wouldn't miss the bus. He was holding his t-shirt, dragging his backpack, and almost tripping over his untied shoelaces, and he was not in the mood to walk all the way back and steal his brother's car. Ahh, Mondays...

A car slowed down next to him, and he looked up, flicking his hair out of his eyes. He suppressed a groan when he saw who was inside. "Just perfect," he muttered. "Stupid bald kid. Aaaauugh..."

"Do you always go to school shirtless?" asked Spot Conlon, smirking from inside his black Mercedes.

"Yes," said Race seriously.

"Ah." Spot's eyes traveled down the other boy's chest and stomach, and his smirk broadened. He rested his wrists against the steering wheel and leaned back casually. "Don't you have a car? It's February; you're gonna freeze to death."

Race shifted his bag from one hand to the other and pulled his t-shirt on over his head. "Mass transportation. It's better for the environment, man. Get with the times."

"Well it looks like you just missed your mode of mass transportation," Spot remarked casually, looking down the street.

Race spun around to see his bus pulling away from the bus stop, and swore very loudly. "WHY ME?" he demanded, throwing his hands into the air and staring accusingly up at the sky. "WHAT THE FUCK DID I EVER DO TO YOU?"

Spot seemed to be trying not to be amused. "You want a ride?" he asked, grinning.

"NO."

"Fine." He shrugged and pulled his hat lower over his head. "It's about a mile and a half to school from here, though. Just so you know."

"I don't care."

"And school starts in fifteen minutes."

"Fuck off, Conlon."

"And it's 23 degrees out, and your hair's still wet."

Racetrack paused. "All right, let me in."

Spot grinned and unlocked the door, and when Racetrack had climbed in Spot reached forward and turned the music up about 300 decibels. "OH, SO IT'S YOU WHO DRIVES DOWN OUR STREET IN THE MORNING AND WAKES EVERYONE UP WITH THE LOUD RAP," Race yelled over the pounding music.

"IT'S NOT RAP, IT'S HEAVY-METAL SHOUTING," Spot answered. "THERE'S A DIFFERENCE, YOU KNOW."

Race leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. What the hell am I doing here? he thought irritably. In all honesty, now that he was experiencing Spot's driving skills he was beginning to think that it would have been much safer to walk and get frostbite—in the ten minute ride to school, Spot passed three red lights, almost crashed into two other cars, and just narrowly missing making a jaywalker into road kill. Racetrack Higgins was not the type of guy to get scared, but this was cutting it pretty close...

They pulled into the Knapman High School parking lot, and Race opened the door and climbed out before the car had come to a complete stop. "You're welcome," Spot called grinningly after him. Race flipped him off without turning around.

"Good morning, Racetrack," said Mush good-naturedly, coming up behind his friend and looking far too awake for his own good. "Whom were you flicking off at suck an early hour, pray tell?"

"Aaaaaaauuuuuuugggh..."

"Oh, Spot."

"Yes." Race ran both hands through his hair and closed his eyes, ignoring Mush's grin. This was not a laughing matter. There was something about that Conlon kid that really pissed him off—something hard to explain—the cockiness of his smirk, or the brightness of his eyes, or maybe just how incredibly goddamn comfortable his car had been. Having spent his entire life in the back seat of a beat-up Ford Pinto, the idea of any teenager owning such a nice car as Spot's was both fantastical and disgusting to Racetrack. Plus, he found Spot's lack of hair rather alarming.

"Shit, that's the first bell," said Mush, glancing at his watch and adjusting his backpack. "I've gotta get to bio. I'll see you later, Race."

"Yeah, bye Mush," said Race absently. He stopped at his locker before making his way down the hall, contemplating ways to casually push Spot Conlon off a cliff, and would have continued in such a fashion all the way to English class had he not found his path obstructed by a large, well-built chest. He looked up.

"Must be hard," said Morris Delancey unsmilingly, "being about three feet shorter than the rest of the world. Does it make fuckin' other guys a big of a challenge? I'd say your dick's probably pretty small—"

"Not being a complete prostitute comes in handy sometimes," said Race, looking coldly up at him. "You should try it sometime; you don't have to think about everything in proportion to the size of your penis." He pushed his way past the other boy, calling over his shoulder, "And by the way, Morris, my height does not hinder my 'butt-fucking' capacity in the slightest. I could show you at some point, if you want."

"Fag!" Morris yelled after him.

"Asshole," Race muttered. He dodged the few last-minute stragglers and darted into his English class just as the bell was ringing. Ha. Just made it.

"Mr. Higgins," drawled Mr. Andrews, who was rumored to have come directly from Ferris Bueller's Day Off. "I ... understand ... that ... it ... is ... difficult ... to ... reach ... My ... class ... in ... the ... mornings ... but ... please ... try ... to ... put ... in ... some ... more ... effort ... in ... the—"

"Yes, sir, sorry about that," Race cut in, unable to listen to the droning any longer. "I missed my bus and was assaulted by a sadly obtuse, homophobic cretin in the halls, but it shouldn't happen again."

Yeah, right.

"Thank ... you ... Mr. ... Higgins," said Andrews impassively. Moving painfully slowly, he reached forward and lifted up the role call to take attendance. The class relaxed slightly.

Swifty, who was sitting on the other side of the classroom, caught Race's eye and mouthed, Oscar the Grouch?

Race shook his head. Nah, Morris. Just as bad, but a little less creative and a little more heavyset.

Swifty lifted an eyebrow, and it struck Race that he should have mouthed a little more slowly. Never mind, he mouthed.

Lip reading across the English room on a Monday morning had definite setbacks, he decided. He leaned forward and let his head drop onto his desk, trying not to remember how Spot's heavy-metal shouting sounded. Man, that had been way too energetic for so early in the morning; all he really wanted was to go back to sleep.

It was going to be a long day.

Racetrack had always found it vastly entertaining to watch the reactions of teenage girls when Mush Meyers entered a room. Their eyes would widen as they took in his defined cheekbones, dark eyes, amber-colored skin, and sculpted body, and they would sigh involuntarily—and then they would remember that he was one of the Dreaded Social Rejects, and they would turn back to their work in horror and pretend nothing had happened. Before long, however, their eyes would drift back to him and they would sigh again. A little more quietly this time.

Mush, of course, would remain completely oblivious the entire time.

"I just failed my French test," he announced, sitting down at the lunch table and flashing that brilliant white smile of his that was made for toothpaste ads. "I didn't study at all, and I got less than three hours of sleep last night, and I think I just failed."

There was a moment of silence as they all stared at him, eyebrows raised in expressions of mild surprise. Mush smiled again and began to eat his salad, positively glowing. Bumlets blinked. "There is no way someone can look that beautiful on three hours of sleep."

"Bumlets," said Swifty, "you are so homosexual."

"True, but I have a beautiful arch," Bumlets answered lightly, flexing his foot in the air.

Race lifted an eyebrow. "I don't doubt that you do, but we can't exactly see that through your sneakers, can we?"

"Oh. Point taken."

"Sweet shoes, man," said Blink, sitting down and nudging Bumlets' foot out of the way.

"Black high-tops," said Bumlets with a grin.

"Rock on, dude." Blink winked and slid over to make room for Snitch, Dutchy, Specs, Spot, and, a few minutes later, Skittery. The group of social rejects was really growing far too large to remain at one table, but, considering how difficult it was to claim new lunchtime territory nowadays, they were all forced to simply squish together. There was barely enough room to breathe, and, as Snitch had demonstrated one fine Thursday afternoon, it was all too easy to accidentally poke one's friend in the eye when reaching for the Jell-O on his tray.

"God forbid if one of us ever gets a girlfriend," Skittery murmured, digging into his sandwich. "She'll have to lie across all of our laps or something."

Specs snorted. "I seriously doubt any of us will be getting into romantic relationships any time soon," he said, which earned him a flick in the shoulder from Snitch.

Skittery grinned. "So. What'd I miss while I was bonding with my math teacher?" he asked.

"Mush failed a French test, Bumlets has a beautiful arch, and Antonio Banderas is a sexy beast," said Race.

Bumlets choked. "You think so, too?"

"I really don't think we ever mentioned Antonio Banderas, but whatever," Swifty laughed. "He's really not attractive."

"He so is!" Bumlets insisted. "Isn't he, Race?"

"He is."

Snitch flicked both of them. "This is a bit awkward," he said. "What about Nicole Kidman?"

"Let us disregard our undereducated, straight friends," said Race with a grin. "Bumlets, I say we make a list of the Top Ten Sexy Beasts Of All Time in order to convert our friends to the wonders of homosexuality. What say you?"

"Aye!" Bumlets yelled.

"Fairies unite!" Mush laughed.

"Straight dudes unite!" Blink countered, grinning.

Spot coughed. "I'm bisexual," he said. "I feel distinctly out of place."

Snitch laughed loudly and thumped Spot on the back, and Skittery, Mush, and Blink started discussing which side Spot should be on in the battle of the sexual orientations, but Spot wasn't paying attention. Racetrack had looked up from the beginnings of his stupid list with Bumlets, and he was staring at Spot with a really fucking weird expression on his face.

Race tilted his head to the side, thinking, and Spot tilted his head to the other side, wondering what Race was thinking. Maybe I shouldn't have said that, he thought awkwardly, but it was too late now. Shit.

Race bit his lip, tore his eyes away from the strange bald guy who had given him a ride to school, and then ducked beneath the rim of his baseball cap. "All right, Keanu Reeves has got to be number one," he said quietly, and Bumlets grinned and nodded and leaned closer conspiratorially.

Or, as much closer as he could get without being beheaded by Race's baseball cap. They were, after all, incredibly close to each other to begin with.

Spot rolled his eyes, resisted the urge to flip Race off, and continued to eat his sandwich. What the hell had that been about? He was not the type of guy who enjoyed being confused.

And so the lunch period progressed. Not much happened, apart from Bumlets shrieking "EUREKA!" when he remembered another hot man, and Snitch trying to get up to throw out his lunch but ending up causing half the table to fall onto the ground. "Did I do that?" said Snitch in an incredibly nasal voice, and he winked and crossed the cafeteria to the garbage cans.

"All right, dude, I think we've got it," said Race finally, kissing a sheet of paper that was almost unrecognizable under thousands of scribbled words and calculations in the margins. He turned to the rest of the table, ignoring Snitch, who was pretending to snore loudly.

"All right! So now we'd like to do a salute to the Top Ten Sexy Beasts Of All Time!" said Bumlets.

"Golf claps," said Blink dryly, and everyone clapped.

"Excellent!" said Race. He lifted up the sheet of paper on his open palm as though it were something sacred (which, in his mind, it probably was) and read calmly, "The tenth sexiest guy in the world is none other than our beloved Harrison Ford!"

The list went on as such to include Judd Nelson ("But only in The Breakfast Club, man..."), Matthew Broderick, Bono, Anthony Kiedis ("Who the hell is that?" Smack! "That wash for blashphemy, shon."), Joey Mcintyre, Gabriel Damon ("He looks kinda like Spot, dude!" "NO HE DOESN'T! SHUT THE FUCK UP!" "Well sheesh, Race! Someone's PMS-ing!"), Will Smith, Antonio Banderas, and, predictably, Keanu Reeves.

There was a moment of silence when they finished, and Skittery announced in slight disbelief that Snitch had really fallen asleep. "Well," said Blink after a moment, "that was a complete waste of time. Amusing, albeit, but a complete waste of time."

"Anthony Kiedis… Still doesn't ring a bell..."

"Shut up, Swifty, before I strangle you."

And thus the group left the cafeteria, talking and laughing and, in the case of Snitch, sucking their thumbs, and Race crumpled the list into a ball and shoved it into his pocket. Not the kind of thing he wanted lying around, really.

Spot glanced at Race as he was throwing out the remains of his sandwich, and Race glanced back at Spot, and then they both looked away and Race coughed and sped up his pace. "I have to get to Bio," he said to no one in particular. "I have to hurry out of the cafeteria and get to Bio."

And that was that.

"WHERE TH' FUCK D'YA THINK YER GOIN'?" was the first thing that Racetrack heard as he crept quietly up the stairs. He stopped and leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, mouthing Aw God, no... Why couldn't he have passed out in the night?

"I'm going to my room to do my homework," he said after a moment, choosing his words carefully.

There was a pause.

"Waste of a son," Mr. Higgins muttered, swallowing loudly. His voice was slurred and gravelly and harsh. "Always doin' homework." Then, louder, "Don't you have anythin' better t'do, kid?"

Race cracked the knuckles on his left hand. "No, Dad," he said, fighting to keep his tone even.

Mr. Higgins swallowed again and didn't say anything.

Racetrack came slowly back down the stairs and looked at his father, his breathing slightly ragged. "I think you should lay off of the alcohol for today," he said softly.

"'Scuse me?" Mr. Higgins demanded, narrowing red-rimmed eyes. "Whadja say, ya fuck? Y'know, if it weren't fer my you'd be—you'd—" He coughed hoarsely. "I ain't takin' advice from me own no-good son. Go and do yer fuckin' homework.

Racetrack swallowed with difficulty and tore his gaze away from his father. "Okay, Dad," he said with the slightest hint of sarcasm in his voice. "I'll go and do my fucking homework."

He climbed the stairs to his room, backpack swinging from one shoulder, and slammed the door behind him. It trembled for a second, swayed, and then fell completely off its hinges and onto the floor, nearly crushing him.

There was a pause.

"Perfect," said Race, throwing his hands into the air. "Just damn perfect."

In the other room, Elio was listening to something that sounded suspiciously like Spot's heavy-metal shouting. Race ignored it and began to try to fit the door back into the doorframe. He suddenly felt rather nauseous.

"Dammit," he murmured. "I'm gonna kill that bald kid..."

Shoutouts!

lil ms kp: Thanks a lot, I'm really glad you like it!

Hillary: Dude, I remember that! We were both in the ocean and in between ducking under huge waves I was trying to explain to you how Tempest kills Jack but then Blink kills Tempest, and you were so confused... Sorry about that, lol. Thanks so much for reviewing!

Strawberri Shake: Ice hockey rocks my socks too! Dude, have you seen "Miracle"? Fucking awesome movie... Anyway, thanks for reviewing! (Even if you are a Yankees fan. My goodness, there are far too many of you guys on this site nowadays, lol...)

Anonymous: Hooray for SpRace! WOO HOO! Thanks for reviewing!skittery's bad mood: Haha, thank you so much!

HAZZAGRIFF: Thank you! Nice penname, by the way. I'd love to hear the story behind this one...

Iambic Pentameter: Yeah, the image of Spot with no hair disturbs me too... I don't know why I thought it was necessary to shave his head at the beginning. I'm sure there are much easier ways to kill his popularity, but whatever, lol. Thanks so much for reviewing! GO RED SOX!

time is a waste of life: I, admittedly, am not a ballerina, so thank you very much for the correct terminology. ;-) I agree, I don't like imagining Spot with no hair... It's pretty gross to think about, lol. That's why I always have him wearing a hat. Anyway, thanks for reviewing!

Sapphy: You, my dear, write the funniest reviews I have ever read. I remember Dakki saying something about you along the lines of, "She has the most energy embodied into typing that I have ever seen". GO SAPPHY! Thanks so much for reviewing!

Dreamer110: Ohh, West Side Story... Don't even get me started on that movie. I cry so hard. It's awesome, though, which is why I include it in, like, every story I write. Anyway, thanks so much for reviewing!

Braids21: Your review didn't get cut off! OHMYGOSH! I'M SO EXCITED!! ((tackles you)) Thanks so much for reviewing!

studentnumber24601: Well yes... I did recognize that, actually, when I was writing the chapter, but I sort of did that on purpose. I have a really exaggerated writing style, and the whole feminine sobbing-around-the-television-and-singing-along-with-show-tunes was sort of supposed to show why, exactly, they have no friends. ;-) Anyway, thanks for reviewing! Your constructive criticism is always appreciated.

Soaker: Sexual tension? ((laughs)) But of course!

Stage: HAHA! Okay, I must say that this is a bit of a relief that I'm not the only person insanely attracted to Specs. ;-) Thanks so much for reviewing!!

Erin Go Bragh: Hahaha! Again, a brilliant rambling fic from Lyra. I love it! I'm not sure what Snitch is going to play... What do you suggest? I was thinking clarinet or something, lol. Thanks for reviewing!

Aelia O'Hession: Yeah, I do take a little too much pleasure in torturing Spot. I think I just find it vastly amusing how seriously he takes himself in the movie, so it's satisfying to give him self-esteem issues and stuff in fan fiction. (Not canon, I know.) Anyway, thanks so much for reviewing!

Madison Square: Samneric was actually where I got the idea for Sputchy, lol. I love "Lord of the Flies"... ((gasp)) You caught me! I made a mistake! I NEVER make mistakes!! ((starts to laugh)) But you're right, I forgot that Spot didn't have hair for a second there, lol. Thanks for reviewing!

Dakki: I did, admittedly, cry much harder for "Dead Poet's Society" than I did for "West Side Story". I don't know why. Anyway, thank you so much for reviewing! I shall continue working on our masterpiece after I post this—your last contribution was pure GENIUS, by the way. I laughed so hard. Ahh.

Coin: Thank you so much!! ((tackles you into a hug))s

ingin'-newsies-goil: My fellow RENT-head! How I love thee! ((tackles you)) Yes, go and download "You're The Top", for it is now your theme song. (And make sure you get it with Ethel Merman singing it; she's the best.)

Author's Note: HAPPY NEW YEAR, I LOVE YOU ALL!! Make 2005 wonderful for me and leave a review! ;-)

-Saturday