Chapta Twelve

Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies.

A/N: Hiya peeps! Remember to R&R!

The table was mahogany.

Race decided this as he sat in the Wells dining room, Ali on his right and Arthur, Ali's younger brother, on his left. Victoria and William sat at the ends., waiting for everyone to quiet down. Race had been arguing with himself over the wood the table was made of - it looked like cherrywood, smelled like pine, and was the color of blood. So it was mahogany. He guessed.

He was snapped from his reverie by the voice of Victoria.

"Anthony?"

Race shook himself. "Yes, ma'am?" he asked, in his most polite face.

"Would you care to say grace?"

Ah. This was one thing he knew how to do. Making the sign of the cross, he said some quick words. His mother had taught him to go to church when he was little, but when she moved to Ohio, Race had stopped, except for funerals.

He still came to those.

Victoria smiled at race, and Race smiled back.

'She loves me,' he thought proudly, 'Wait till she sees da chicken.'

Ali grinned. "You have to have some of the corn."

"You'll love da chicken."

"You carved it?"

"Yeah."

William brought the platter of poultry to the center of the table and picked up a large serving fork. Each receiving their pieces, they began chowing down - until Ali started sputtering. She brought the napkin to her mouth and spit something into it. Race's face fell. She didn't like it.

But she must've seen his expression, and after her coughing, put her hand out. "No," she said hoarsely, "It isn't the chicken. The chicken's good. It's just..." She looked at what she spit out in disgust. "It's just, there was a piece of bone in my chicken."

Race froze.

But Victoria smiled. 'It's okay, dear," she reassured her daughter's friend, "Everyone makes mistakes sometimes. So, Anthony, dear, where do you go to school?"

"Ummm.. I don't go ta school, ma'am."

"What?"

"I was in school, but den sumthin' happened an' I had ta leave."

"Oh, really? How upsetting."

"Who's your father?" William chimed in.

Racetrack paused. "Frances Higgins," he said slowly, the name coming out with force.

"Oh. Never heard of him."

"Not many have."

"Do you live with him?"

"No."

"Oh?"

Racetrack had not been looking foward to this part. "He's dead," he said, chewing on a piece of broccoli. The table fell quiet.

"What!"

"Yeah, dere was an accident in da factory he was workin' at."

"Oh, that's horrible!" exclaimed Victoria. "I won't bring it up again."

She cut a piece of her chicken off and started chewing. She nodded, signifying that it was good, and just as everyone started to take a bite, a look came over her face. And she too spit into her napkin.

Race, who had a forkfull of peas in his mouth, stopped and raised his eyebrows.

Victoria pulled something out of her mouth, and stared at it. It was a pointing, white object. Indeed, it was a bone.

"Anthony,"she asked, "I'm hoping this is the last bone we'll find?"

Racetrack shrugged. "I ain't neva - excuse me - I haven't ever carved a boid before," he admitted.

Arthur pulled a huge slice of bone from the meat. "Yeah, we can all tell," he said smartly, being only eleven. Race stared at him, daring him to say more, but the kid didn't. Good. If looks could kill...

William, who found a bone in his too, picked up the china dish and inspected it. From the outside, the chicken looked normal, put pulling the slices apart, he observed that it had been cut through the bones completely. Race gulped.

William stared at him. "You said you've never carved a bird before?" he asked, in disbelief.

"Nope. I've neva even set a table."

William looked at the chicken. "So why, my dear boy, didn't you say something?"

"..."

"Anthony!"

"I thought ya'd be mad, sir."

"Mad! I would've cut the chicken right!"

"I'm sorry."

William had turned bright red, and the table fell silent again. Ali stopped, looking at Race. He might be kicked out. She looked at her father, then Race again. A tiny chuckling caught everyone's attention, and William turned to see his wife stifling a laugh.

"Anthony," she sighed softly, "You didn't know what to do so you cut straight through the whole bird?"

Race found this funny, as did the whole room. He grinned and laughed at himself, while Ali snorted and Arthur was rolling around on the floor. Even William, who had been angry a second ago, closed his eyes and smiled a bit, before sitting back down.

Ali poked Racetrack in the side. "When you're done, go to my room. I'm gonna stay here and ask what my parents think of you."

Race nodded. "Ya want me ta help ya clean up?"

"Lord, no."

Race had been banished from the table, so he retreated to the bedroom, as he had been told, and sat. The sky outside was dark, as it had been getting darker earlier, and the only light in the rooms were from kerosene lamps positioned around, on the desk, the nightstand, and the dresser. He yawned, and noticed how his voice echoed.

Ali walked in, smiling. She nodded, and Race smiled. "You can stay."

Race went to give Ali a hug, but she held a hand out, stopping him.

"But," she said, "My father says you have to stay in the attic."

Race shrugged. This clearly did not bother him. "S'okay," he said cheerfully, "Gotta be betta dan tha rooms in tha lodge."

"How bad is it there?"

"Compared to this, pretty bad."

Ali smiled. "Well, now you're here. So you won't have to worry about that."

"Thank ya a dozen."

"'Welcome. Want to see the attic?"

Without waiting for an answer, Andria pulled open the stairway to the attic and began climbing up. Racetrack followed her, and saw the nicest attic he'd ever seen. It was plain, with light blue walls and wood floor. There sat a bed, a little sleigh bed, and in one corner, there were boxes stacked upon each other. He guessed this was the guest room as well as the attic.

But being delighted overcame being polite, and he sprung onto the bed, it's springs making a squeaking noise as he did. Grinning, he looked at Ali.

Ali just laughed.

"So yer in a gang?" Spot asked Natalie, laying on the floor and propping himself up on his elbow. Natalie nodded.

"What is it faw?"

"What?"

"What is it faw?"

"... It isn't for anything."

"What's it name?"

"It doesn't have a name."

"Evwy gang's gotta have a name."

"No, this one doesn't."

"Do ya have a cause?"

"No."

"What kinda gang is dat!"

"Our kind."

Spot rolled his eyes. You couldn't argue with this kind of person.

He looked at her. She had brown hair that went a little past her shoulders, and it was had a little wave to it. She had brown eyes to match, and skin that looked like porcelain, save for a few scars on her arms he had noticed. He began to think.

"Where'd ya get dose?"

"Get what?"

Spot pointed to a tiny scar on her knuckle. "That."

"Oh, this?" Natalie looked at it, as if she hadn't noticed she had it herself. She shrugged. "I don't know. A fall, probably."

"Clumsy."

"No."

"Yeah."

"Whatever." She sighed and checked the clock on the wall. 10:30. She yawned, starting to feel tired. "I think I'm gonna go to bed now."

"Don't fall up da stairs."

"You shhh!"

Spot chuckled at this, and stretched. He was feeling worn out, too, but he wasn't going to admit that. Going into the bathroom, he looked around. He didn't have a toothbrush. God dammit. But Spot hated having morning breath and Spot didn't get what he hated, and cupping his hands under the sink, he gargled a few times. The cold water woke him up even more, which didn't help at all, so he plopped himself down on the living room couch and picked up a magazine. It said something about a farmer's almanac, but he skipped past that part and read about gardening. Boring.

He looked up to see John standing over him. John smiled and took a seat next to him. Spot, who had almost had a heart attack, put the magazine down.

"Yer up late," he commented.

"So are you," said John, and there was an awkward silence. "I've come to talk to you about the rules of this house."

"Excellent!" Spot said, in fake enthusiasm. "Straight from one King to another." He grinned.

John didn't know what he was talking about. "Erm, yes, " he said. "Anyway, there are a few things you will need to know in order to stay in this home."

Spot sat, not doing anything.

"Rule one," said John, "You will have no intimate connections with my daughter. I trust you don't, but if you do, you'd better end it now. This means I don't want to see you to hugging, kissing or," he paused, "No sexual relations."

Spot laughed.

John shook his head. "I'm being frank."

"I'm bein' Spot."

John sighed. "I thought you'd be able to handle this. If not, you'll have to leave."

"Naw, I'm just joshin' wit ya. Continue."

"Number two - You will get a job, if you don't already have one-"

"I have one."

"Oh?"

"I'm a newsie."

"–And fifty percent of all your earnings shall go into this household."

Spot jumped up. "Wha ?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

"If you want to stay, you have to earn your keep-" John started, but was quickly cut off.

"Lower it," Spot said dangerously, "Thirty percent."

"Forty five."

"Lower."

"Forty, and that's it."

"Fine."

"Other things you should follow," John continued, "No swearing. Go to church on Sundays." Spot groaned, and John chose to ignore it. "No drinking, smoking, or bringing your punk friends over here." Spot laughed. "My 'punk friends'?"

"Yes. I've seen how those people are."

"Me friends is in Brooklyn."

"Well, none of those rats are coming in my home - and that's another. No pets."

Spot shrugged. He didn't have any pets to start with.

John smiled. "Well, with that said, I hope you'll enjoy staying here. Tell me, how long will you be?"

"Two weeks, maybe."

"Good. And I trust Natalie's showed you where you're sleeping?"

Spot blinked. "Uh, yes, she has," he lied. No, she hadn't. Well, yes, she had, but she hadn't given him the pillows or blankets she had promised him when Race left. So he'd be sleeping on the straw tonight, again.

"Well then, I bid you goodnight."

Spot nodded and headed upstairs to Natalie's room. Pushing his way in, he saw her, sleeping.

Time for another Brooklyn Wake Up.

Taking a stuffed rabbit with long legs, he hung it from her bedpost, before carefully pulling a pillow from under her head. He raised it, and slammed it down on her back, and she awoke with a start, before seeing a rabbit hanging in front of her and barely containing a scream. Spot laughed hysterically, slapping his leg and doubling over.

Natalie, realizing who and what it was, sighed and pulled her pillow over her head.

"What do you want?" came her muffled voice.

"Gimme dose pillows an' blankets ya promised me."

"Get them yourself."

"I don know where dey are!"

"Then sleep on the floor!"

"Kings don sleep on da floor."

"Then get off your ass and search for them!"

Spot smirked. "Ohhh," he said, "Good girl said a bad word."

Natalie looked at him, her hair tasseled. "I've always said that."

"Say it again."

"Ass. The definition of you."

"Oh, go suck it," Spot replied, and yawned. He realized how tired he was. Too tired to argue. He headed up to the loft when Natalie muttered "G'night." Spot made a noise, and continued up. The strong smell of hay filled his nostrils, and he sighed. The loft was warm, and he decided that he wouldn't need the sheets after all.

That night, he had another dream. It was a continuation of the previous dream. He saw the girl there, smiling, mouthing something, but there was no sound. He felt a nice peacefulness again, and he could tell the dream person of himself was saying something to her, because she nodded and laughed. But he couldn't see her face, it had a blur to it, and he recognized her, but didn't know from where.

Suddenly, it took a turn for the worst. The picture faded, and red and black and white flashed about in his mind, before seeing blood splatter, and with a snap, he was awake.

His heart thudded in his chest, and he was panting, like he had been running a mile. Looking around in the darkness, a chill went up his spine, then down again through his entire body. The heat was gone.

There was a tiny light from the stairwell, and he heard footsteps, but unlike the Brooklyn lodge, Spot knew the door to this home was locked, so it couldn't be anyone trying to kill him. He sat there, in a daze, and pulled a piece of straw from his hair. Natalie came into view, holding her kerosene lamp, not making a sound. He sat up.

"Spot," she whispered, coming over to him and squatting down. He noticed that she had a thick shawl wrapped around her shoulders. "Spot, the furnace isn't working. We lost heat. Dad's trying to fix it."

Spot wasn't all too surprised. "I asted ya faw blankets."

"Well, even those wouldn't do any good now," Natalie said, "It's late autumn. Wanna come downstairs?"

Spot nodded and picked himself up. The coldness chilled him to the bone. He followed Natalie into the kitchen, where Arthur had at least six comforters wrapped around him and Molly was lighting up a fire in the fireplace. From below, they could hear William working furiously away with the furnace.

"Sean," asked Molly, "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Uh, sure," Spot said, hesitating. He had never had tea before, and wasn't exactly the easily-pleased person. But Molly and William had let him stay, so...

A cup was placed in front of him as he sat down, full of a green-yellowish drink. "Sugar or milk?" asked Natalie, and Spot, not knowing anything about tea, shook his head. Natalie stared at him. "Neither?" she asked in disbelief. Spot didn't get the idea that it was extremely hot, so he swallowed the whole thing.

It was pretty funny to watch. He tipped his head back and guzzled it down, and there was a pause before his eyes bulged and he looked like he'd spit it out all over. As discretely as he could when you're stuck in a room full of people, he spit the tea back into the cup, and took a few deep breaths.

"Why's it so hot?" he demanded. Natalie looked at him.

"I asked you if you wanted milk in it," she said, shrugging.

"Ya didn't tell me da tea would be hot!" Spot said.

"I thought you'd figure that out yourself."

"Ya know I can't do dat."

Natalie laughed to herself

Truer words had never been spoken.

A/N: Yeah. The romance is coming, the romance is coming!