Chapter Five: In Which Davey is Given Another Nickname and Cassie Has an Important Revelation

Word Count: 1,968

Spot Conlon liked order, and every newsie knew it.

In fact, every person who'd ever met him knew it. It wasn't very difficult to surmise; with the way he stood and spoke – even in his worn clothes and slightly bedraggled general appearance, he emanated leadership and professionalism. Despite possibly being one of the smallest Brooklyn newsies (maybe even one of the smallest newsies in general), there was something about him that commanded respect from everyone else.

The Brooklyn newsies all followed where he led, which was how he liked it.

Most of the newsies in other boroughs didn't mess with them, which was fine.

Today, Jack Kelly visited, which was surprising.

He had another newsie with him. A newcomer, by the looks of it. His skin wasn't browned by the sun as it was bound to be after a while of selling outside, his shoes weren't scuffed or worn and it was very rare for a newsie to be able to afford new shoes as nice looking as his were – this new kid had been there for a week at most.

"Well, if it ain't Jack be nimble, Jack be quick."

"I see you moved up in the world, Spot. Got a river view and everything."

As was (mostly) customary amongst newsboys, they did a spit shake, and Spot didn't bother to mask his amusement at Jack's friend recoiling slightly in disgust.

"So, uh, Jacky-boy. What brings ya here to my humble abode?" he asked, leaning against a pole.

"We came to ask ya somethin'."

"I figured. I'se been hearin' things from all over. Harlem, Queens, the East Side – they all say that Jacky-boy's newsies is playin' like they's goin' on strike. That sound about right?"

"Yeah," Jack said.

"Actually, we're not playing," added Jack's friend. "We really are striking."

"Oh, yeah?" Spot looked at him, and then turned back to Jack. "What is this, Jacky-boy? Some kinda walkin' mouth?"

The Manhattan leader glanced at the Mouth and smirked. "Yeah, he's a mouth. But he's a mouth with a brain, and if you got half of one, you'll listen to what he's gotta say."

Oh, challenging intelligence, are we? Well, go ahead. I could do this all day. He raised an eyebrow, letting them know that he was listening.

"Well," the Mouth started tentatively, "we started the strike, but then we realized that the Manhattan newsies alone weren't enough to change very many minds. So, uh, we split up and now we're talking to other newsies around the city, trying to convince them to join the strike."

"Yeah, that's what they told me." He stood up completely and looked the Mouth in the eyes. "What'd they tell you?"

The Mouth looked away at first, and glanced at Jack, but then looked back to Spot and held his gaze. "They said they're waiting to see what Spot Conlon's doing. I mean, you're the most famous and respected newsie in all of New York." He paused. "And probably everywhere else. If you, Spot Conlon, join the strike, then of course everyone else will, and we'll be unstoppable. That's why you have to join us!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Spot saw Jack give a subtle nod. Stroking my ego ain't gonna work, Jack, but I ain't gonna correct you either...

"You're right, Jacky-boy. Brains. But I got brains, too. And more than just half of one. How do I know you bums ain't gonna fold at the first sign of trouble? How do I know ya got what it takes to win?"

"Because I'm tellin' ya Spot."

"That ain't good enough, Jacky-boy," he replied, shaking his head and leaning against the pole again. "You gotta show me."

"Jacky-boy?" Davey asked when they started the walk back. As far as he knew, no one had ever called Jack that. It didn't seem like something he'd like to be called.

"Walkin' Mouth?" Jack mocked, clearly not wanting to talk about or not knowing why Spot referred to him the way he did.

"So... you've been to Brooklyn before, then?"

Jack nodded. "Spent a month there one night."

Davey started to nod, before realizing that didn't make any sense. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, deciding not to question it. "Is he always that intimidating?"

"He's only intimidatin' if ya let him be, Dave."

"You seem to be the only one that doesn't let him be. All the other newsies seem almost scared of him. I think I was expecting him to be..."

"Taller? More muscular? Scarier-lookin'?"

"...Yeah," he admitted. "One can never assume, I guess."

They walked in silence for a bit.

"Do you think they'll join?"

"Depends. I guess as long as we don't shy away the first time some goon comes at us with a club, they'll be convinced."

"And we won't, right?"

"I dunno, will we?"

Davey shrugged. More silence.

"Spot seems to run his newsies a bit different than the way you do, yeah? More, er, orderly?"

"You callin' me disorderly?"

"Well, not like that!" Davey said quickly. "No, I - "

"I'm just teasin' ya, Davey," Jack replied, chuckling. "Yeah, we don't do things exactly the same. Most of the leaders don't. Stylistic differences, ya know? Spot chooses to run his boys like an army, and I choose to run mine more like...well, a union."

"Oh," Davey chuckled too, though more out of relief that he hadn't offended Jack than anything else. He paused. "Do you...think the strike will go well?" he blurted out.

"Why wouldn't it?"

"Oh, I don't know. It's just that, well, no one's done this thing before, right? We could be setting a precedent for a whole new generation of newsie-strikers, and we might do it wrong. Also, we're just kids. Look how banged up the trolley workers got, and they're adults!"

"As I recall, Dave, you were the one who suggested a strike in the first place, correct?"

"Yeah, well, that was an accident. And I didn't suggest it, I compared it to what you were proposing. There's a difference."

"Whatever you say, Davey," Jack said, patting his shoulder. "If you didn't suggest it, you at least put the idea in our heads, and ya can't argue with that."

He couldn't.

It seemed, though, that if Spot Conlon decided they weren't worthy of his and Brooklyn's assistance, everyone would be pretty discouraged. Brooklyn was large – like Jack had mentioned, it was the sixth largest city in the world. Admittedly, it would be useful to have them on Manhattan's side. He could also see why Spot would make them jittery, as – Finch, was it? - had put it. All in all, however, he was glad he'd gone. At least he had an idea of what to expect now.

While it didn't exactly prepare him, per se, it didn't make it any less exciting either.

There were two things that Cassie realized on the walk back from Harlem.

One being that she really, really liked Mush Meyers.

Two being that she really, really hated that she did.

Now that she thought about it, she was rather surprised she hadn't caught it earlier. She was always thinking about him, always wanting to be around him, always getting that stupidly happy feeling when she was. She had brushed it all off as enjoying being in the presence of her best friend, but now she saw it was more than that.

There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact – Sherlock Holmes. Or, more technically, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

Why had she asked to go with him to Harlem? Since she'd realized she hadn't said anything to him the entire walk. When he'd asked why she was so quiet, she'd stammered out some pathetic excuse and then mentally kicked herself for sounding so stupid.

Cassie didn't consider herself an especially perceptive person, but she wasn't a good liar, not even to herself, and she'd read enough romance novels to know what was happening to her.

That did not mean she had to like it.

Mush? Really? Of all people, it had to be the one she was expected to hang around the most!

Cassie had always been great with words. With all the reading she'd done, it might have even been a bit strange if she wasn't. So why, then, was it that whenever she happened to be around Mush, she couldn't seem to form them? It was even worse now that she was acknowledging it.

Of course, she'd had crushes before, but they'd only been on fictional people, like Benvolio Montague or Sherlock Holmes. Never would she have imagined Mush Meyers.

At the very least, someone would figure it out and she could go wallow in her embarrassment for a bit and be done.

"Hey, you sure you're okay? You seem kinda out of it," Mush remarked as they walked.

Instinctively, she nodded. "I'm alright. Just...thinking."

"About what?"

You. She wasn't going to say that, obviously. "Uh, the strike. Yeah."

"Why? Are ya nervous?"

"A little," she said honestly. "But all the best things are on the other side of fear."

"Who said that?"

"Me. O-or someone else, probably. Maybe."

Mush chuckled quietly. "You, then."

She nodded. She was realizing something else now: she really liked the sound of Mush's laugh. Mush happened to be the kind of person who laughed often, which was great for her. All she wanted to do was make him smile.

This was all very frustrating to her. And flustering, and exciting, and too many other feelings at once.

Curse her heart for making her feel things. And curse Mush for being attractive.

"So," Mush began in an effort to break the awkward silence that had once again settled upon them. "What are you readin' now?"

"Pride and Prejudice. It's really interesting."

"Oh yeah? What is it about?"

"It's, um, a romance."

"Nice. Is it any good?"

"Very."

"Cool," Mush said, nodding.

"Mush? What, uh, what would you say if I told you I had a crush on one of the other newsies?"

"Wait, do you?"

"Yes. Maybe. Probably. ...yes."

"Gosh, really? Cassie Anderson, attracted to an actual, livin', breathin' person?"

"Ha ha," she said dryly, in spite of herself.

"Who is it?"

"Er..."

"I promise I won't tell 'im." He paused. "But I might hint at it. Just a little. It's revenge for all those times you've teased me."

Crap. How does she get out of this one? "I'm not going to tell you because..."

"Because?"

"I-I dunno. I don't want to."

Mush cast her a sidelong glance but didn't do much else. "Okay, then...I might figure it out though."

"Well, if you do, I'll tell you if it's right or not."

He smirked and said nothing further.

Cassie didn't like the look of that smirk (not literally, she quite enjoyed seeing Mush smile), knowing that he'd probably start guessing soon, and knowing that if he did happen to guess himself it would result in a painfully awkward exchange.

Now all she could do was hope for the best.

A/N: Hello! I hope you enjoyed this chapter of By Words the Mind is Winged! Like I'd mentioned in the A/N of the last chapter, it was kind of direct.

Many apologies for the lateness of this chapter, and the shortness, and the sort of weird writing, but I've been super busy this past week.

Also, today is 9/11, which was a very tragic day for Americans in 2001, so to whomever this may concern, I encourage you to do something today to honor those who lost their lives.

On a brighter note, I had a ton of fun writing this chapter, especially Spot's P.O.V, so I hope you liked it!

-mouse :)