Author's Note: Yeah, I'm alive! Go figure! Sorry about the lack of updates and review-age—I've been pretty damn busy lately. Freshman year! Ooooooh!

Disclaimer: The newsies belong to Disney, any song lyrics belong to their respective bands/artists, and Spot's car belongs to me.

I will paint my picture
Paint myself in blue and red and black and gray
All of the beautiful colors are very, very meaningful
Yeah, you know gray's my favorite color
I felt so symbolic yesterday
If I knew Picasso
I would buy myself a gray guitar and play

-"Mr. Jones," Counting Crows

Racetrack, Swifty, and Bumlets had made a tradition of walking home together after school every day, and nobody in the entire school (including Specs, the "shrink") could figure out why. They didn't talk to each other much during the day. They disagreed on almost everything. They didn't even live near each other. And yet, since halfway through the seventh grade, the three boys had been walking buddies.

That, in the eyes of the rest of school, was a sure sign of mental disease. Or else a daily gay orgy at Swifty's house. Most people brought both up when mercilessly mocking the three rejects.

Today was a miserable, cold, icy, slimy February day, and it was raining "as though the gods have had a beer party and are now peeing all over us," Bumlets remarked grimly, running a hand through his sopping hair. None of them had thought to bring an umbrella.

Swifty smiled. "I like that analogy," he said with a laugh.

"Thank you!" Bumlets grinned and turned back to his book—Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West.

"Isn't your book gonna get wet?" Swifty asked.

"Nah, it's water-repellant."

"Right..."

A large car slowed to a stop beside them, and the passenger seat window was rolled down. "Hey, can we come to your gay orgy too?" asked Oscar Delancey icily, who was smirking and balancing his girlfriend Amber on his lap.

Racetrack looked up at them. "I wouldn't say that in front of my girlfriend if I were you. She might be a little disappointed that her boyfriend has homosexual tendencies he never told her about. Or maybe she won't be all that disappointed..."

Oscar's smirk faded slightly. So did Amber's, and she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Hey Paredes," Jack called from the driver's seat. "Don't you have anything better to do than fuck your computer-nerd boyfriend?"

Bumlets closed his book. "What else is there to do?" he asked idly. "What do you guys do? Masturbate? Besides, I don't think anyone could resist Swifty's hot body."

Which was Swifty's cue to lift up his shirt and start to do his famed belly-dance, showing off his surprisingly toned chest and stomach.

"He's hot, eh?" Race laughed.

Jack's jaw dropped, and Oscar cringed. "Let's go, Kelly," he said, and they drove off as quickly as they could, leaving a cloud of exhaust to hang over the three boys in the damp air.

"I hate February," said Race, "with a passion." He glared at his surroundings and spat on the ground, pulling his baseball cap lower to protect his face from the rain. "Everything about this month is gloomy and wet and depressing."

"Valentines Day is on Monday, though!" said Swifty cheerily, tucking his shirt back into his pants.

"I'm a single homosexual teenage boy who's roughly five feet tall. How the fuck is Valentines Day supposed to brighten up my February?" Racetrack demanded.

Bumlets looked up from his book. "Point taken."

"Bumlets!" Swifty flicked him in the shoulder before turning back to Race. "Think of it this way," he said brightly. "Maybe you'll find another single homosexual teenage boy who's roughly five feet tall! That can't be too hard."

"Sounds like Spot Conlon," said Bumlets with a laugh.

"Well he's bisexual, but I guess in essence that's the same th—"

"I DO NOT WANT TO DATE SPOT CONLON!" Race snapped, kicking a puddle of slush in a rather violent manner.

"Good, that'll make things much simpler," said Spot, coming up from behind them. "Sexual tension's so distracting, dontcha think? Drives me crazy." He flashed Race a wide, white smile and put his hands casually in the pockets of his blue jeans.

Race turned red. "What do you want, Conlon?"

"I parked up here," said Spot, nodding towards the Mercedes up ahead of them. "Any of you need a ride?"

"No," said Race.

Spot shrugged. "Suit yourself." He pulled his hat lower over his head, cleared his throat, and jogged off towards his beautiful, warm, dry car.

Swifty looked imploringly up at Race. "Can—"

"No," said Race firmly.

"But—"

"We can't. We'd be endangering ourselves and those around us, and I refuse to jeopardize the ones I love."

Swifty blinked. "Um, okay..."

Racetrack smiled slightly.

From behind them came the sound of small wheels on cold concrete. "Heads up, Higgins," called a rough voice, and before they knew it a lanky, blond skateboarder with a cigarette poking out of the corner of his mouth had pushed past them. He shoved Racetrack in the chest, skidded off the sidewalk, and plowed Spot over as he was unlocking his car.

"You dick!" Race called after him. The guy flipped them off without turning around.

"Hey Conlon, you all right?" Bumlets called, eyeing Spot with mild concern.

Spot didn't answer. He stood up and examined his elbow, which was raw and starting to bleed where it had been smashed against the icy road and the edge of the skateboard. It seemed to be slightly twisted at an awkward angle. He glanced up at the three boys behind him and quickly pulled the sleeve of his fleece over his injury.

"You all right?" Bumlets repeated his question.

"Bumlets, just leave 'im," said Race quietly. Swifty looked at him.

Bumlets ignored Race and made his way over to Spot's car, his considerate personality getting the better of him. Spot was looking kind of awkward, but Bumlets ignored him and took him by the arm. "Lemme see that, don't be retarded," he said, and he pulled back the other boy's sleeve so the wound was showing again.

"I'm fine," said Spot.

"You're a dumbass," said Bumlets. "This is gonna get infected if you don't do somethin' about it. Give me your car keys."

"I have no car keys," said Spot with every ounce of honesty he had.

Bumlets raised an eyebrow. "Racetrack, tear his arms off."

"Oh you mean these car keys," said Spot quickly, pulling them out of his pocket. Bumlets smiled.

-

Bumlets' family was unusual and yet all too usual at the same time. Mildred was his mother's name, a good, strong name for a good, strong woman. She smoked a pack of cigarettes a day, kept her thick, dark hair back in a tight ponytail all her life, and went jogging every morning at six o'clock sharp. She also had five boys: Ray, Peter, Isaac, Marc, and Bumlets, or Dominic. Ray was fourteen, Peter was eleven, Marc was nine, and Isaac was the baby. Everyone loved Isaac. He was hands-down adorable.

The four youngsters were just getting into the car to go to the grocery store when Bumlets, Racetrack, Swifty, and Spot pulled into the driveway. Mildred didn't trust the younger boys enough to leave them home alone, so grocery shopping had become a sort of a family event.

"Mom, can we get those cookies?" asked Isaac, who was six.

"What cookies?" Peter demanded. "You can't just say 'those cookies' and expect her to know exactly which cookies you're talking about. There are hundreds of cookies at Roche Brothers."

"Hey!" said Isaac, reaching over and trying to hit him. "You're so stupid, Pete. Just because you're eleven, you think you can be bossy!"

"Guys, cut it out," said Ray loftily.

Isaac rolled his eyes. "Marc knows what I'm talking about, right? Isn't Pete mean?"

"I dunno..." said Marc vaguely, putting his hands in his pockets and looking down.

"There you go again, not taking anyone's side," Pete accused, poking Marc in the ribs.

Bumlets sighed as he got out of the car. "Just ignore them, they'll be gone in a couple of minutes anyway," he said tiredly. "Race, could you pass me my bag?"

"Why are there BALLET slippers in here?" Race laughed, pushing them back into the front pocket. "They were just hangin' out in the open—you're lucky Oscar didn't see 'em, he woulda given you hell."

Bumlets grinned, completely unembarrassed. "I had class yesterday after school, I guess I just forgot to take 'em out. Thanks for reminding me."

"Who's this, Dominic?" his mother called while she was buckling Isaac into the car. "New boyfriend?"

Bumlets choked. "Wha—Spot! No, no, he's not my boyfriend—"

"Hello Kevin, why the long face?" Mildred continued, smiling broadly at Swifty. "It's been a while since I've seen you around. You should drop by more often. Is he a cancer patient?" she asked, nodding at Spot.

Bumlets stared in horror at his mother, and Spot blinked. "Pardon?"

"Where's your hair?" she asked, eyeing him with interest as she climbed into the car. "Are you going through chemotherapy?"

"Mom!"

Spot cleared his throat awkwardly. "No, one of my friends shaved my head. It's kind of a long story. Look, Bumlets, if you could just give me my keys back—"

"Don't DO that!" Ray gasped, grabbing his ribs. "Mom, Pete's poking me again! AHH! STOP!"

Pete poked him again, and Ray poked him back, and Isaac reached over and poked Marc, and before anyone realized what was happening their mother's handbag was swinging back at them from the front seat. They all ducked, except Ray who was rather slow and got it full in the face. "Shut it, all of you," said Mildred calmly. "We're not getting any cookies, Isaac. We are going to buy some sandwich bread, a few apples, three boxes of almonds, and another carton of milk. That's it."

"Aww, Mom!" they all groaned.

"It's delicious," she told them firmly.

"No it's not," said Isaac, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the back of his mother's head. "It's healthy."

They left, and an eerie silence settled over the entire neighborhood. Bumlets coughed and shrugged his bag on awkwardly. "I'm an introvert, too," he said. "It's pretty much living hell."

They entered the house and waded through a mass of boxer shorts, baseball bats, diapers, CD's, and a few more pairs of ballet slippers. Never before had the world seen such a mess; there was barely enough room to breathe in that house, let alone walk. Swifty smiled slightly.

"I'm not bleeding anymore," Spot announced.

"Please, go home, then!" Race mumbled, running both hands through his hair. Spot didn't seem to hear him, but Swifty shot him a look and flicked his shoulder.

Bumlets, who was climbing up onto a stool to reach a particularly high shelf, glanced back at Spot's elbow. "Um, yes you are still bleeding," he said, lifting an eyebrow. "Just shut up for a second, I'm getting a bandage."

"This is entirely unnecessary!" cried Spot.

"I agree!" Race declared, and Swifty shot him another look.

"Aha!" Bumlets hopped lightly down from the stool, slipped on a paperback book on the floor, and grabbed onto Swifty's arm to keep himself from falling over completely. He regained his balance and smiled. "Give me your elbow," he said to Spot.

"Take it, by all means."

As Bumlets began to disinfect and then bandage Spot's elbow, Swifty and Racetrack shifted around restlessly; Race located a piano in the corner and decided it was necessary to pick out one of his favorite Coldplay songs as background music. "Can you play?" Swifty asked him, leaning on the keyboard.

"A little," said Race. "I took lessons when I was eight."

"Show me," said Swifty.

So Race, without taking his eyes off the other boy's face, reached down and played the beginning of Hava Nagilah on the piano. Deadpan. Swifty laughed.

"Where'd you get all these bandages, anyway?" Spot asked, going through the enormous first aid box. "Dance injuries or somethin'?"

"Yeah, that and school," said Bumlets, cutting a strip of bandage for Spot's elbow.

Spot looked up, surprised. "School injuries?"

Swifty accidentally stepped on a rubber ducky and leapt backwards in terror from the shrill, squeaky noise that was produced.

"Just Kelly and that crowd." Bumlets shrugged one shoulder and didn't meet the other boy's eyes. "It's not a big deal, they don't do it that much anymore."

"They hurt you?" Spot asked, astonished. "I didn't think—"

Race cleared his throat significantly. "Um, you hurt him. They're your friends, remember? Don't go playin' dumb like you never picked on Bumlets—"

"I never physically hurt the guy!"

"He didn't," said Bumlets, wrapping the bandage around Spot's arm. "It wasn't that big a deal, just the Delanceys, mainly. Pushed me around a little, it's fine now."

"They nearly broke his arm," said Racetrack.

Spot pulled his arm back and shoved the sleeve of his fleece back over the injury. "I don't get you guys," he said gruffly. "Why do you put up with shit like that? I mean... you could probably move up a lot in the social ladder if you wanted to. I don't get why you don't try to fight back at all."

There was a pause. Bumlets was looking fixatedly at Spot. Swifty picked up the rubber ducky between his thumb and index finger and tossed it across the room as though it were a poisonous spider. It landed with a squeak, and he flinched slightly.

"It's almost... It's like it's become a matter of pride or something now. Not having pride," said Racetrack after a moment. "Just sorta standing up for what you as a person believe in, instead of what the rest of the pack thinks is right."

"Making a statement," said Swifty. "In a sick, self-destructive kind of way."

Spot considered this for a moment, and then Bumlets forced on a smile that was almost natural—his changing-the-topic smile. "Well your arm shouldn't be falling off any time soon now, Spot. You guys might want to get the hell out of my house before my family comes back... You really don't want to see Isaac when he's hungry."

Shoutouts

singin'-newsies-goil: Anthony Kiedis is the lead singer for the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and he's really hot in a completely drugged-out kind of way. Bumlets has a major crush on him. -P Anyway, thanks for reviewing!

HAZZAGRIFF: Eureka! I love it-D Thanks for reviewing!

Scout73: Never fear, love! I shall buy you your very own Joey Mcintyre and mail him to your house, and he'll see you and say, "What an incredible haircut! I do believe I'll leave theater forever and come live with you!" ...I've definitely lost my mind. Anyway, thanks for reviewing!

Iambic Pentameter: Thank you so much! I love the word cretin, too; I need to start insulting people more so that I can use that word more often.

blackblood: Johnny Depp is... incredible. No other word for it. And I forgot him. FORGIVE ME!

Dipps: Thank you so much!

XBeLLaViTaX: Thank you so much! Sorry about the slow update, I've been kinda slacking off on fanfiction, lol...

Kid Blink's Dreamer: I really do torture Racetrack too much, don't I? Race and Spot. I'm so fucking mean to them... ;-) Thanks for reviewing!

Dreamer110: I'm glad you dislike Race's dad, lol. If you liked him, I would be severely disturbed...

Madison Square: I do, admittedly, have an ENORMOUS crush on Bumlets. I just want to put him in my pocket. He's adorable. I try not to let that show in my writing when he's not the main character, but I think it's pretty obvious, lol...

Braids21: Oh no, my friend! Keanu Reeves is ALWAYS sexy! At least I think so, but very few people agree with me... I feel so alone. Anyway, thanks for reviewing (three times, lol).

Erin Go Bragh: Wow, sometimes I seriously wish I was asexual. It would reduce so much unnecessary excitement and stress! ;-) Anyway, the boys would never let you feel left out at that table. They'd invite Davey over, who I suspect has no sexual organs whatsoever, and the two of you could make fun of those obnoxious horny boys. Haha, I'm so weird... Thanks for reviewing!

Dakki: I MUST see "Bladerunner". My friend's been trying to get me to see that for the past month or so. She's been like, "It's totally retarded. Harrison is insane. You have to see it!" -) Thanks so much for reviewing! Te adoro!

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Author's Note: That chapter was kinda random, not my best work. Sorry about that! I'm gonna try to update as soon as possible (meaning in less than a year, lol)—leave a review and I'll love you forever!

-Saturday