The morning passed fairly quickly. David hung around with Blink and Mush, who couldn't stop talking about a pretty girl he'd met. Pocket and Race picked up some extra money betting on the boxing matches, but soon got bored and rejoined their friends at the diner.

"Hey, Mouth," Pocket said, plopping down in the chair next to him. She chuckled as his eyes darted wildly around the room.

"He ain't here," she said drily.

"Who?"

"The one you'se lookin' for," she answered. "Spot. He ain't back yet. Don't worry."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he bluffed, earning himself a knowing look.

"Look, Dave, I know he said somethin' to ya," she said bluntly.

David just sat there, not knowing what to say. Pocket obviously didn't expect a response.

"Figure there's good odds Jack warned ya too," she continued. "Somebody prob'y told ya 'bout what Spot did to that kid a while back."

She eyed him closely and could see she was right.

David shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unable to recall ever being in a more uncomfortable situation.

"Listen,' she said carefully, leaning forward. "I'm flattered an' all, but they was right ta warn ya. The boys in Manhattan don't care who I talk to, but don't let anybody else see ya lookin' at me. Spot meant whatever it was he said to ya."

She sat back, absently tapping her fingers on the table as she waited for him to say something. She waved at a couple of boys walking in the door but shook her head when they started to come over.

"Why are you telling me this?" David asked her.

She shrugged. "I like talkin' to ya, but the last thing we need right now is Spot wantin' ta soak ya. Jack'll stand up for ya, and Manhattan will back him up. Then Brooklyn and Manhattan will be against each other, and that's a problem we don't need."

After a moment's consideration, David slowly nodded his understanding.

"So what would you do?" he wondered.

"Whatcha mean?" Her brow knotted in confusion.

"If Brooklyn and Manhattan were at odds," he elaborated. "Who would you choose?"

She gave him one of her trademark eye rolls, as if the answer should be obvious. But then her eyes widened when it dawned on her that she didn't know. She blinked at him, green eyes trouble.

"I don't know," she whispered. "Hope I never have to make that choice."

He wanted to say more but Blink came over with his food. Eager for the distraction, Pocket started joking around with her friend. David left to go sit with the other newsies.

Everybody else was already at the restaurant when Jack and Spot walked in. The newsies waited expectantly for some sort of announcement, but neither boy said anything. Spot looked around for Pocket, who was still lounging with Blink at one of the corner tables. She raised a hand to get his attention, and he walked over to her, taking the seat that Blink quickly vacated. The two of them held a whispered conference, ignoring the others.

A bell rang as the door opened, and a chorus of cheers went up as Denton showed the newsies the article in the Sun. They were all thrilled with the sight of their own faces grinning up at them from the front page.

It was the newspaper article that gave Jack the idea for the rally. Anything that got them more attention could only help. It would also be an opportunity to garner the support they needed from the other boroughs. Once again, Manhattan sent ambassadors out across the city to spread the word about the rally. The boys headed eagerly out to Queens, Harlem, Midtown – Brooklyn was covered this time, Spot would inform his boys when he went back. Pocket offered to go to the Bronx, steadfastly ignoring Spot's dark looks.

He stood by the door, arms folded, while she chatted briefly to Jack. After agreeing to come back to Manhattan to go with him to pick up Sarah, she waved a cheery goodbye and walked out. David sighed inwardly as he watched her fall into step beside Spot.

Once they were out of the diner, Pocket slipped an arm around his waist.

"Ya don't have ta worry, ya know," she said softly.

Spot curled his arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer. "I just don't like ya goin' by ya'self."

Instead of getting angry and arguing that she was capable of looking after herself, she tried to reassure him.

"I got friends in the Bronx," she reminded him. "Lucky's boys won't give me any trouble."

Steering her around a puddle, her argued, "It ain't the Bronx I'se worried about. It's Manhattan."

"What?" she scoffed. "I live here, who's gonna bother me?"

"Pay attention, goil," he snapped. "Afta yestaday, the Delancey's will be lookin' ta jump on the foist kid they find out alone. Ya can't take those two on ya'self. 'Specially now they saw ya without your hat an' they know you'se a goil. Ya'd be bettah off comin' back with me."

Pocket bit her tongue to keep her temper in check. It drove her crazy when Spot tried to act like he knew what was best for her.

"I ain't goin' back to across the bridge with ya," she said patiently.

"Why d'ya always gotta fight me?" he questioned. "Why can't ya evah just listen?"

"Why can't you stop treatin' me like a kid and let me take care of myself?"

Spot bit back a groan. He was so tired of having this same argument over and over again.

"Look," he told her, "I don't wanna fight with ya. I told ya already, I know you can handle ya'self. But ya also have a habit of gettin' inta trouble with that mouth of yours, and one of these days you'se gonna pick a fight with the wrong guy. I just don't want ya gettin' hoit."

Pocket sighed and stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his waist. He held himself stiffly but didn't pull away.

"I know ya wanna keep me safe," she said softly, " but ya can't be with me all the time, an' ya can't lock me away where nobody can find me."

Spot wanted to argue, to tell her that he could do exactly that, but he could see her patience was wearing thin. He knew if he made her mad enough, she'd go looking for trouble just to prove she didn't need him. Her stubbornness caused him no small amount of frustration and worry, but he admitted to himself that it was one of the things he liked best about her. She never backed down.

"I'll be careful, Michael, I already promised ya that," she whispered as he gathered her close, stroking her back. "I won't go lookin' for trouble, but I ain't hidin' eitha."

Spot gave in, hugging her close, knowing that was the best he was going to get. They walked along in silence until they reached the bridge. Pocket started to go, headed off to the Bronx, but he didn't release her hand.

"I gotta ask ya somethin' Pocket," he said, his face serious.

She looked at him expectantly, and he wiped his sweaty palms against his pants.

"D'ya wanna go to the rally?"

She gave him an odd look. "Coise I'se goin'. Why wouldn't I?"

"No," he corrected, "I meant d'ya wanna go tagetha?"

"Can't," she answered, missing his point entirely. "Promised Cowboy I'd go with him ta pick up Sarah. But don't worry," she poked him in the shoulder. "I promise ta save ya a seat.'

"No," he tried again, staring down at her with those strange pale eyes, willing her to understand. "I thought maybe we could go togetha."

"I just toldja," she laughed, then froze and looked at him carefully. "Ya mean . . ."

He nodded. 'I thought, ya know, we could walk in togetha, and sit togetha, and . . . . ya know . . ." he trailed off.

Pocket blushed as she realized what he was asking . She'd attended plenty of parties with Spot, but before, she'd either met up with him there or came in with all of his newsies. If she walked in with him, and sat beside him all night, it would bring their relationship into the public eye. All the other newsies, from all over New York, would see her as Spot Conlon's girl.

"Are ya askin' me on a date, your highness?" she teased.

He grinned down at her, knowing that she understood what he wanted. "Well, it ain't a candlelight dinnah or nothin'" he joked, "but I was savin that for ya birthday."

Laughing, she hugged him tight. "I'd love ta go to the rally with ya," she told him.

"Good," he said gruffly, trying not to look to pleased with himself. "You do whatevah you gotta do with Jacky-boy, then come an' meet me at the bridge. We'll walk in togetha."

He pulled her in for a long, lingering kiss that left her dizzy. Releasing her, he tipped his cap and strode across the bridge, whistling a cheerful tune.

Pocket watched him go, a brilliant smile on her face. Having finally realized her feelings for the strong Brooklyn leader, nothing could have made her happier than for him to call her his girl.