We do not own Newsies...we do not own Newsies...we do not own Newsies. Maybe If I repeat it enough it wont be true.
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It was just another sunny, typical, cliché' New York afternoon. The markets were bustling, the shops were hopping and a certain pickpocket was running as fast as her not-so-long legs would take her.
"Come back here, you little urchin!" A dumpy man in a plum suit shrieked after her retreating form. Daydream whipped around and gave him a jaunty salute with the hand that held his matching plum wallet. A police whistle screamed and she was off again, her denim bag slapping against her back as she dodged in and out of the crowds. Behind her, the officer was huffing along at a steady pace. He was followed by the businessman who was gasping for breath while his buttons threatened to pop off in rebellion against the physical exertion. Daydream dashed around a push-cart, snatching a piping hot pretzel off the rack as she went. She hissed in pain before stuffing it and her burnt fingers into her mouth.
The owner shook his fist in the air, his face contorting in fury. "Hey, you, get back here. You didn't pay for that!"
"It ain't very good anyway!" Daydream shouted back, her words distorted by the bread in her mouth. Too much pretzel and not enough salt, she thought privately while trying not to choke while running.
"Stop her!" the police officer commanded, swinging an official arm in the air. Daydream grinned and looked over her shoulder.
"Who, me?" she quipped with an impish air, cocking her head to the side. The officer made a flustered noise at the pickpocket's cheekiness. The businessman had dropped out of the chase all together, leaving the capture to the well-paid law enforcer whose duty it was to catch such horrendous criminals. Daydream's boots pounded out a steady rhythm as she scampered down the street. She was leading her shadow in a ridiculously long game of follow-the-leader and was quickly becoming bored. A fire escape caught her eye and she veered off towards it, an extra spurt of adrenaline helping her on her way. The officer roared furiously as the girl grabbed onto the bottom rung of the ladder, climbing up it as naturally as a cat up a tree.
"Get down here!" the policeman demanded, his skin turning an ugly shade of enraged red. His huge brown moustache twitched back and forth as he glared up at her. Daydream leaned over the rooftop wall above. Hazel eyes gleaming with mischief, she held up the stolen wallet then dropped it over the edge. It landed with a thud on the officer's black bowler hat, jamming the rim down around his eyes.
"Thanks for the exercise, sir," she exclaimed, sticking the hard-earned money into her trouser pocket, "but I've got otha business to attend to." The little thief skipped off across the rooftop, lifted her cap to a startled housewife who was hanging up her laundry, and walked across the boards to the roof next door. Heights didn't bother her anymore after spending a few months as a window-cleaner back when she was fourteen. At seventeen, Daydream was an up and coming jack-of-all-trades, a job title that had, for the last half of her life, found her working in a plethora of both pleasurable and miserable careers that did nothing for her so-called reputation. So far she had been a maid, a house cleaner, a chimney sweep, a factory worker, a window cleaner, a laundress, a seamstress, an actress, a musician, a pickpocket, and on a few dangerous excursions, a cat burglar. She loved adding to the list; it was becoming a hobby just to see how many jobs she could dabble in at one time. At the moment, she was working as a shoe-shiner on 42nd and a back-up singer in at a semi-respectable vaudeville in Midtown. Not to mention her occasional pick-pocketing adventures that she indulged in just to spice things up.
Daydream whistled a lively tune as she dropped off another escape ladder a few buildings down. She took her bag off her shoulder and began to riffle through it, taking out a dark blue skirt. A scowl marred her childishly cute features. Daydream did not like skirts at all; she was always tripping over the hem. Muttering angrily, she pulled it on over her pants then, letting the skirt cover any indecencies, yanked her pants off. It was a maneuver perfected over years of changing clothes in record time. She balled up the pants and stuffed them back into the bag along with her favorite blue vest and cabby hat. She tucked her blouse into her skirt. Running her fingers through her thick tangles of blond hair, she smoothed it out before tugging it into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. If she was even planning on making another theft today, she couldn't look the same; the bulls were probably all on a look out for a little blond person in a blue cap running the other way. Grinning at her own cleverness, Daydream strutted out of the alley with an air of hoity-toity aristocracy. Unfortunately, someone was running in the exact path where she was walking. There was a magnificent crash and Daydream was thrown backwards onto the cobblestone. She looked up and gasped in disbelief; it was the police officer. He looked at her suspiciously for a minute before his eyes landed on her denim bag. Immediately color began to rise in his cheeks and he began fumbling for his billy stick; he had recognized her.
"You!" he spluttered, spitting into his moustache. Daydream bit her bottom lip. Getting out of this one was going to be fun…
"Um, no?" she said, scrambling to her feet. The officer blinked rapidly at her then scowled.
"Shut up, girl," he snarled and reached for her. He was about three inches away when she let out an ear-shattering shriek, starling him into leaping backwards. Taking the chance, Daydream burst off down the street, creating obstacles out of boxes and crates as she went. The sky above had taken a nasty turn, thunderheads massing to make a dark quilt of clouds. She dreaded the first roll of thunder; heights might not scare her but thunderstorms did. She suddenly wondered what time it was; she was supposed to be at singing practice at the vaudeville by one o'clock. She looked around to see if anyone nearby was sporting a watch. Sure enough, a short Italian boy in a horribly clashing blue and brown plaid outfit was walking her way, a gold watch chain snaking out of his vest pocket. Daydream glanced behind her to make sure that a short break would not be too endangering to her escape. Luckily, the officer was lagging far behind, puffing along like a dying steam engine. She snickered and slowed down to a nice lope. She plastered a pleasant smile on her face as the gap between her and the boy closed.
"Heya," she greeted him congenially," You wouldn't happen to have the time, would you?"
"For youse, sweetcheeks," he replied with a lopsided smirk, "I've got all the time in the world." Daydream rolled her eyes at the corny line but considered the fact that the smirk was handsome on him. "So where youse goin' so fast?"
"Midtown," she said. His smirk widened and she decided that she really liked that look.
"Really? That's where I'm goin' too," he exclaimed. "Pretty ding like youse shouldn't be runnin' around town by your self, y'know. Neva know what'll happen." He took his time pulling out the pocket watch while Daydream kept throwing increasingly panicked looks over her shoulder. The cop was getting closer, still swinging his billy stick to clear the way. His out-of-breath shouts were slowly becoming audible. Desperate, Daydream stuck her arm through the boy's.
"Well then, you can be my escort, c'mon!" She tugged hard, dragging him along behind her as she raced across the street. A cart almost ran them down, the horse sending up a frantic whinny as they darted out in front of it. The driver yelled out a round of colorful obscenities. "Sorry!" Daydream shouted back as the rain began to drizzle. By now, the boy had figured out what was going on and was, rightfully, furious.
"What the hell do ya think youse doin'!" he yelled at her, dark brown eyes dark with confusion and rage.
"Kidnappin' you, I guess." She suddenly grinned. "I really don't know, what the hell do you think I'm doin'?"
"I dunno, going for a Sunday romp in the park?" he snapped.
"It's not Sunday and we're not in a park," Daydream informed him brightly. She had let go of his arm by now but he hadn't stopped running. 'Too bad for him,' she thought, 'that bull must've seen him by now.' "So, where in Midtown are you headed?"
"What!" The boy looked at her in disbelief. "I'm runnin' from the bulls for Gawd knows what reason 'cause you," he pointed his finger at her, "some crazy goil I don't even knows, 'kidnaps' me and you wanna know where I'm goin'!"
"Yeah, that's about it," Daydream replied, panting a little. The boy gave an incredulous laugh.
"Is dis some kind of ding dat 'appens to youse normally or did youse just wake up dis mornin' and decide 'Hey, I feel like ruinin' somebody's day!'?" he demanded. Daydream shook her head, ponytail whishing around her face.
"Look, you still haven't answered my question and we're almost at the end of the block. Now where are you going!" she yelled at him, her already big eyes widening.
"Left, go left!" he shouted back and both of them turned on their heels. "And I'm not goin' anywheres, I'm lookin' foah someone!" Instinctively, he pulled a couple of crates over, creating an instant obstacle for the very determined cop.
"But that means you're goin' somewheres right?" The boy just stared. "I mean, if you're lookin' for somebody you gotta find 'em somewhere." They were now running right beside each other in an easy jog, making it easier to keep up a conversation.
"Don't be a smartass," he snarled. Daydream smiled puckishly.
"Fine, then, I'll just be smart," she said. He snickered, amused at her quick answer. They ran for a few more blocks until they lost the cop somewhere in a marketplace. That was when the bottom dropped out of the clouds, soaking anyone that was unlucky enough to be caught out in the open. The pair tried to hide under a store awning but they were cleared out by the well-to-do owner. Stuck walking through the rain, they resolved themselves to being completely drenched. Daydream grinned at the boy, rain dripping off her cheeks and the ends of her hair.
"That was fun!" she chimed.
"You're crazy," the boy said but there was laughter in his voice. "Here, wear this." He handed her his sopping wet newsie cap. She cocked her head at him as she took it.
"Thank you." Giggling, she made a show of wringing it out and sticking it on her head. They walked a little ways, him leading and her following. He stopped outside of a crumbling building.
"Well, this is it," he said, looking at the door.
"I guess it is," she replied then started chuckling.
"What is it?" he asked.
"You never gave me the time," she giggled. He laughed and looked at his pocket watch.
"It's two forty-five," he told her. Daydream sighed; she had completely missed practice.
"Well, it's been fun…" She blinked at him rapidly, suddenly realizing that, in all of her inquisitiveness, had never asked in his name. He smirked again; Daydream was starting to understand that this was his favorite facial expression.
"Racetrack. My name's Racetrack."
"Hmm, Racetrack," she pondered, looking up into the rain. "I think I like that."
"Youse think ya like it?" Racetrack ran a hand through his dripping black hair and snorted. "Youse're definitely not like otha goils."
"That's the point," Daydream replied with a teasing smile. As she turned to leave, she was stopped short as a hand landed on her arm. She slowly turned around. Racetrack's dark brown eyes were gleaming with humor.
"Ya know, when someone tells ya dere name, dollface, it's good mannas to give 'em yours," he said, not letting go of her arm. She grinned at him.
"Daydream. My name's Daydream," she exclaimed, giving him the street name she always went by. Racetrack looked up at the sky, mimicking what she had done earlier.
"I like dat," he finally said.
"Good," Daydream chirped and then shuffled her feet together, suddenly at a loss for words. "Well, um, thanks for everything, Racetrack." She stuck out her hand. "You really didn't have to run all that way with me." Racetrack shrugged good-naturedly.
"I was your escort, 'memba?" He bowed dramatically, flourishing his hand in the air. "It was mostly my pleasoire, m'dam." He took her hand, kissed it, then caught her eyes with his. "And I would gladly have it be my pleasoire again." Daydream blushed red and took her hand away.
"Bye, Racetrack," she said, turning and skipping away down the sidewalk, bursting out with a merry whistle as she did. She was already across the street when she heard Racetrack shout out, "Hey Day!"
"What?" she shouted back, earning the condescending stares of several passersby's.
"What about my hat!" Daydream reached up and felt the worn blue newsie hat that was still on her head. She burst out laughing and waved him good-bye.
"You can have it back next time I see you!"