Disclaimer: I don't own the Newsies, I'm sure you've figured that out by now.

Author's Notes: Yes, chapter two is indeed up, though it's just a transition chapter until I can decide where I really want to go with this story. So if you have any ideas, let me know. I've kind of lost my train of thought withit and I dunno how I want it to continue. Oh well, thanks for reading and for your comments. Thanks especially to Rustie, who reviews everything I write and for that is myhero lol.

It had been quite a good selling day for the Manhattan boys. The summer heat drove nearly everyone from the humid interiors of their homes, out into the bustling streets of New York, and the newsieswere havinga field day with the abundance of potential customers. Jack, of course, with his good looks and God given talent, was practically a millionaire by the end of the day. Crutchy faired well – it was mostly the ladies who gave a kind smile and a penny when they came across the cripple with the sweet voice. And Blink and Mush, who always sold together, managed to scrape together a small fortune. Even the younger newsies like Boots did well with so many more people out and about.

Everyone was in good spirits that day. Except for Race. He couldn't keep himself thinking straight. It had been almost a week since he and Spot's last encounter: that fateful afternoon he'd learned that Spot Conlon was really a completely different boy named Benjamin. That day, Spot had become human to Racetrack: somehow the King had become a mere mortal like the rest of them. And now, Race began to wonder things like where Spot had grown up, and why he'd become a newsie to begin with. He subconsciously imagined the red-haired Irish woman who would name her son Benjamin and tie a tiny silver key 'round his neck.

This in and of itself seemed a disturbing new development for Racetrack: Spot Conlon was indeed some mother's son. Now, Race wasn't stupid. He knew where babies came from. Obviously Spot had a mother. But somehow it was completely different to think of Spot assomeone's son. His having a real name: Benjamin, suggested that Spot had been loved by a mother and that maybe, just maybe, he might actually have loved that mother of his back. Perhaps Spot Conlon hadn't been cold and heartless since birth after all, as the rumors so often suggested.

"Race!"

Damn Jack and his interrupting people's thoughts like that …

"What do you'se want Cowboy?"

"Ya look awful – why ain't ya sellin'?"

"I'se got uddah things on me mind. But thanks fah da lookin' awful bit, dat really brightened me day." Race cracked a half a grin.

Jack smiled back, glad that Race wasn't truly offended. "Ya bum – ya know what I meant!"

Race nodded halfheartedly, still grinning, staring at the ground.

"So, do you'se wanna talk … ?"

Race's grin dulled slightly. He must really look awful: Jack's voice was full of genuine concern.

"Don't go gettin' all sensahtive jus' fah me, Cowboy," Racetrack teased, trying to lighten the situation as best he could.

Jack frowned. "Fine fine," he sighed. "Joke about it Race, but I'se was serious. If ya need anythin', ya know where tah find me."

Race let Jack walk away, hoping he hadn't hurt his friend too bad. But truly, Race was not the talking type, he was the listening type. That was, after all, what had gotten him into this mess to begin with.

Not that it was a "mess" per say, butthe whole thingwas certainly affecting him in a less-than-desirable manner. He went back to wondering about the human side of Spot. He wondered about Benjamin's childhood again; and whether or not Benjamin might still be inside Spot somewhere, or if he'd disappeared completely the night Spot had killed another king - another boy - to win Brooklyn. Race decided that this Benjamin was someone he wanted to get to know.

Just then, several more New Yorkers passed him by, possibly never even having seen him at all, and Race lost more business. He had to somehow get over his interest in Spot … and his obsession with Benjamin.