Sorry it's been a couple of days since I updated, I have been uber-busy. So I will put up 2 chapter to make up for it : ) Also, I think this chapter is a little bit boring, but it needed to be in there, but the next one will be more exciting, I promise. Anyway, on with the show – Review PLEASE! I see lots of you read it, but not so many people review. C'mon people, I need feedback!
Disclaimer: Pocket, Fiver, Slips, and Lucky are my own beloved creations. Spot & co, as well as the main storyline, belong to Disney. Please don't sue me for the 49 cents I have in the bank.
Pocket was gone most of the day, finally returning later that afternoon. When she walked up, David and Racetrack were sitting outside the Lodging House.
"Alright, Pocket?" Racetrack greeted. She nodded absently, lost in thought.
"Where ya been?" he asked.
"Bronx," she answered flatly. "Went ta talk ta Lucky." She paused, lighting a cigarette.
David jumped in anxiously. "What did he say?"
"He's still with us," she told them, and sighed heavily. "Tamarra we'se gonna hafta go back out again, to the othas. Word goes fast. They'll all know about Kelly by mornin."
"Do you think the other newsies will stick with us?" David asked.
"Pends on Brooklyn," Race put in with a sidways glance at Pocket.
"Is Spot going to cause trouble for us?" David worried.
"No." Pocket spoke softly, but with complete confidence. "He ain't with us, but he ain't against us, eitha."
"Gonna be tough though," Race observed. "Not sure the othas is gonna wanna stay in the strike if Brooklyn's out."
"Yeah," she agreed. "I'se gonna hafta go myself, talk ta the leaders, convince 'em that we can still win without Spot." She looked tired, and Racetrack patted her shoulder.
"Give him a coupla days," he told her gently. "He'll come around. The two of ya's had fights before."
She shook her head. "Not after I told him I ain't his goil. He ain't comin' back."
Sadness was written plainly on her face. She took a drag of her cigarette and stared moodily off into the distance. The two boys shared an uncomfortable look, and the darker one hugged her.
"Why'd ya say it, Pocket?" he asked quietly.
She blew smoke in a huff. "He made me mad," she said. "Always tellin' me what ta do. Thinks he know everythin." A note of irritation crept into her voice as she remembered his high-handedness.
"Ya know he don't mean it like that," her friend said. "He's just so used ta bossin people around he don't know how to be any otha way."
"He only tells you what to do because he worries about you," David put in. Discussing the absent Brooklynite made him uncomfortable, but he felt he had to speak up.
"I took care of myself fine before I even met him, and I still can," she insisted.
"Don't mean he ain't gonna try to keep ya outta trouble," Race argued with her. "He can handle hisself too, but that don't stop ya from tryin to look out for him. That's what ya do when ya care about people," he explained, showing a level of sensitivity that surprised David.
Pocket knew he was right, but she wasn't ready to give in yet.
"Then he's always gotta think he's the only one that can do anythin right," she complained. "Sayin we can't keep the strike goin without him, sayin I ain't got what it takes." She tossed her cigarette on the ground in an angry gesture. "Guess he don't rememba who he's dealin with!"
Racetrack chuckled. "Two of ya are too much alike, that's ya problem. Both of ya stubborn as hell and ya both got too much damn pride. That's why you'se mad," he teased. "Cuz he insulted ya pride."
She shot him a dirty look.
"Ya know," David spoke up again, "you should go talk to him. He really does want what is best for you."
Pocket turned to study him curiously. "What's with you?" she asked.
"What do you mean?" he asked, confused.
"I mean," she kept her eyes on him," all of a sudden ya want me ta go make nice on Spot. Thought ya liked me. Shouldn't ya want me ta stay away from him?"
The brainy newsie shifted restlessly under her scrutiny.
"Well," he hedged," there is the fact that if I made a move on you, Spot would beat me up." The other two laughed. "But honestly," David continued," I do like you, only . . . "
"Only?" She raised an eyebrow.
"Well, I don't know how to say this," he blushed, then rushed on. "You're way too much for me. I could never keep up with you." He spread his hands shyly. "You two are perfect for each other."
"He's right," Race confirmed. "He's the only one that ya ever listen to an' can keep ya from runnin wild, an' you'se the only one that ain't scared ta talk back ta him."
She sat quietly for several minutes, thinking. Eventually she stood, adjusting her cap on her head. She grinned at her two companions and hopped off the steps.
"I'll be back," she said, and started away.
"Where are you going?" David asked.
She gave one of her trademark eyerolls.
"Brooklyn. Whaddya think?"
Race jumped up and went to join her.
"Be dark soon," he said. "I'll walk with ya."
David smiled as he watched them go, sure that Pocket would return in the morning in good spirits, hopefully with Spot by her side. He was glad that he'd been able to help convince her to try to work things out.