Chapta Seventoin

Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies. Holy crap, big shocker.

A/N: Okay, so now everyone has crushes on each other. But if you fear we are drawing to the end, you're dead wrong. I'd say there's gonna be about thirty-five chapters, because there is so much that needs to happen (No, I'm serious. My plot is like seven pages long). Thank you to all my reviewers!

Note: I won't be updating so quickly, because I've fallen behind in my chapter-typing, but they'll come. Patience.

Ali slowly opened her eyes to see sun streaming in through the tinted windows. Realizing that Racetrack had failed to wake her, or even himself up, for that matter, she threw off the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Where her head had been was a soft indent in the fluffy pillow, and Race, who was laying next to her, stirred. He yawned and wiped his eyes.

"Goin' so soon?" he asked, dazed. Ali bent over and gave him a long kiss good morning. After parting, she turned to pick up her kerosene lamp.

"You forgot to wake me up," she noted.

"I can't even get meself up," he laughed, before dropping back onto the bed. He was too tired to function.

She ran her fingers through his hair. "It's early yet," she said, "And you aren't expected to be awake by now or anything, so you can sleep if ya want."

"Nah, if ya get up early, I'm gettin' up early, too."

"Aww," she cooed, "Thank you. But anyway, you'd better pray my mother didn't come up here to check on you in the night."

Race raised his eyebrows. "Den jus' tell her ya were sleepwalkin'."

"...Sleepwalking."

"Yeah."

"...Sleepwalking."

Race smiled innocently. "It's a good idea!" he insisted.

"Sure, she'll believe it," Ali said, sarcastically, "And I just so happened to end up in your bed."

"Yeah!"

Ali made an 'I-can't-believe-you-just-said-that" face. "Never mind," she sighed, "But be ready in twenty minutes. You might have to leave, worst come to worst."

Racetrack gulped, but nodded, and began dragging himself from the bed, something which was extremely hard to do.

Andria crept down the stairs, and as she reached the bottom, she sighed in relief. No one was in her room. Putting down the lamp, she closed the pull-down door that led to the attic, locking Race in. As she began to get undressed, she heard a loud thunk on the ceiling, and looked up.

"What was that?" she called, pulling a new shirt on.

There was a silence, before a low moan. "Ahhhh..." Race called back, "I have fallen an' I can't get up."

Ali snickered to herself and pulled on some work pants. She listened to the amusing sounds from the room above hers, the dragging of a body on carpet, as Race, who had fallen out of bed from being tangled in the sheets, pulled himself around the room, still too lazy to get up. Irony was, that when he did get up, he was dressed and brushed faster than Ali was, so he spent fifteen minutes digging through the boxes in the corner and moping around like a bum.

When Ali pulled open the door, he practically sprang down, tired of being in one place so long.

"Be ready in twenty, ay, Ali?" he asked, teasingly.

"Hey, there were things I needed to do."

"Really. Do ya wanna know wha I wanna do?"

Ali shook her head. "Not really."

Too late. He then preceded to tell her, causing her to snort.

"Race!" she said, pretending to be shocked. Racetrack gave her an apologetic hug.

"Why're you so eager to get around me?" she asked.

Racetrack looked at her for a minute. "Are ya doin' anythin' taday?"

Ali grinned slyly. "Why? Ya gonna ask me on a date?"

"Maybe."

"Well, I haven't got any plans. Where is it to?"

"I dunno. Wherever."

"Where does that mean?"

Racetrack rolled his eyes. "Dat means whereva I wanna take ya. I got a little place in mind, but it's a secret."

"Lemme guess," she said, "The racetrack?"

"No, it's a secret. Ya'll see when we gets dere."

"He stays over here," said Davey, motioning for the group of newsies to follow him, "Hetello hangs out over here. If any of his boys ask, tell them you're with m—"

"--Cowboy," interuppted Jack, causing snickers from the crowd. Seeing the dirty look Davey threw him, he defended, "Dey don know who ya are, Davey. Dey know who I—"

"I met him at the rally!" said Davey, "He knows who I am."

The newsies were now in Coney Island, and were searching for it's leader, a boy going by the alias Hetello. Rumor had it he had committed a few murders and had been sent to the refuge more than Jack himself had. But the mysterious, infamous legend was no where to be seen.

However, the group had come all the way over here from Queens, and they were not leaving without seeing who they came for. Having already been to Queens, they had been searching for it's leader, Whistler, but he was nowhere in sight and his boys had said he was out visiting someone. And they had left, empty-handed.

The troupe kept walking, turning corners under Davey's instructions, like a little army. Christine walked by his side, the two making conversation as they went, and quite a few other boys tried to flirt with her, but she swatted them away.

They reached the beach, where the smell of low tide was overpowering and fog seeped in from the water. It wasn't that great a day to be out, so the boardwalk was completely and utterly empty aside from them. In fact, it was so bad that you could only see twenty feet ahead of you before there was only fog.

"Ya lookin' faw Hetello?"

The deep voice startled them, and Mush turned to see three guys, about nineteen years old, staring at them angrily.

"Yeah, we are," he chimed in defensively, but was silenced by a look.

"He ain't heah," the second boy said. "Who da ya punks think ya are?"

Cowboy stepped forward. "We's da Manhattan newsies, an' we have an appointment wit him. Now."

The third boy, and biggest by far, got up in his face and eyed him. "Yellow baby."

"Dat ain't healthy," replied Jack, tipping his hat, and all the other boys watched, confused. What did that mean? Was it a code or something?

Then, the boy nodded, and from behind him, Hetello stepped foward. He was strikingly handsome, with brown hair so long it was in a ponytail, and piercing blue eyes. He wore a long-sleeved shirt, but rolled up the sleeves, and his hands were rough and calloused from long, hard working.

He and Jack did a spit shake.

"Ah, Cowboy," he said. "It's a good thin ya was heah on time faw yer appointment. I woulda been... upset... if ya hadn't come."

"Ya can always rely on me."

"Well, now ya proved it. What may I be a service faw ya?"

Jack took a breath. "We's lookin' faw a guy named Spot..."

Spot was sitting on the roof.

He didn't know why he bothered - he had been lounging around in the attic, doing whatever it was that Spot did in his free time (Me: Uh-oh), and he got bored and climbed out a window and was now sitting on the roof. Easy as pie.

The day was a cold one, and he was glad he didn't sell papers in the winter, but that meant he'd either have to stop spending money or steal more frequently. The nice gold watch on his wrist, it hadn't been his, but hey. The guy needed to know the time!

A cold breeze chilled him, and he climbed back in and shut the window. Laying down in the hay, he was incredibly bored. He wasn't tired, he wasn't too hungry or too full, and he had no chores. On a day like today he would... Well, this was a first for him.

Footsteps up the stairs told him Natalie was coming, and he almost jumped with excitement. This would give him something to do.

"Hey," she said, holding a cup with some type of fruit in it and eating it.

"Hey."

"Today's boring," Natalie concluded. "What have you been doing?"

"Nuthin'."

"Ah, me too. I wish we could visit Ali and Race."

"Why can't we?"

"They have a date."

"Ah. Well, ain't dat jus' like Race, bailin' on da borin' times. He always got sumthin' betta ta do."

"Isn't that good?"

This stopped him. Spot was sure he'd be happy if he had something to do on a boring day, but... Well, he wasn't about to be taught any morals. He rolled over in the prickly hay.

"Whateva."

Natalie offered him a piece of apple, but he shook his head and she ate it herself. There was an awkward silence between them.

"Y'know," she began, thoughtfully, "About last night..."

Spot said not a word.

"Are you ignoring me now?"

"No."

"Then why won't you say something about it?"

"'Cause I don't."

"That's not a reason."

"Yeah it is."

"Look, please," she asked, "You're going to be staying in here for the next week or so. Just talk to me. Are you embarrassed or something? Because no one needs to know."

Spot opened his mouth and began to say something, but stopped when he heard the last line. No one needs to know. Was she suggesting they have a relationship but keep it a secret?

'No,' he reminded himself, 'It's Natalie.'

But Spot did have a crush on her, and he could not deny it. At times she was a pest, but then again, there were times when he supposed he was one, too. Other than that, he liked her a lot, in every aspect - the way she moved, the way she smiled, looked at him, the expression she had when he made a vulgar joke - it was all good, and twenty-five percent wanted to tell her, while the other seventy-five percent said no.

But if she was willing to admit it first, he would.

But he wouldn't say, "I love you."

No.

The words, he decided, right then and there, would never leave his mouth, for anyone. He'd say other things, sure. But never 'I love you.' That was too sappy for Spot. So he swore to himself he wouldn't, no matter how much he liked someone. Even if he got friggin' married, he wouldn't.

Never.

What a stupid swear.

He'd end up breaking it, anyway.

A/N: Oh, foreshadowing. R & R! The next chapter, Race and Ali's first date, Spot and Natalie crushes, and it's all to a songfic! Carryin' the Banner!