CHAPTER 3

Race awoke early the next morning to the sound of muffled voices and footsteps passing in the hallway. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he pulled out his earbuds and headphones, stretched luxuriously, then clambered out of bed, ready to seize the day.

No sooner had he finished brushing his teeth and throwing on his clothes, when he heard his roommate muttering again in his sleep. Now that Davey was no longer interfering with his rest, Race was slightly curious. He crept over towards the other side of the room, trying to catch what his roommate was saying.

"I mean...who in their right mind doesn't use a ladder to reach something that high?" Davey mumbled, his voice dropping so low that Race almost couldn't make out the words. "Impulsive...definitely impulsive….didn't listen to me, either….gonna get herself killed one day, no doubt..."

Race rolled his eyes. Leave it to boring ol' Davey to actively fret about someone's safety even in his sleep. Of all the things he could be dreaming about...

Suddenly, the sound of a rhythmic drum beat filled the room, punctuated by the rattle of a tambourine and the blaring of a saxophone.

"Oh, oh, oh, woke up today, feeling the way I always do! Oh, oh, oh, hungry for something that I can't eat, then I hear that beat!"

Race dove for his phone. He'd forgotten to shut off the alarm.

Quickly (and regretfully) muting the opening number of Hairspray, he snuck a glance over his shoulder, wondering if he'd been quick enough to prevent Davey from waking up. The latter groaned and pulled a pillow over his head.

Apparently not, then.

Race jumped onto the bed next to him. "Hey, you awake, Dave?" he asked, jabbing his roommate with his elbow. "I gotta ask you a question."

No response.

"Daveeey…" Race shoved him again, harder this time.

Still no reaction.

"Ain't no use pretending," Race chided, raising his voice a little. "I know you're awake under there."

Silence.

Race gave an exasperated sigh, then said loudly, "Davey Jacobs, didn't your father ever teach you not to lie-"

"What, Race?" Davey growled, finally emerging from under his pillow.

"Good morning to you, too," Race responded, amused. "Hey, I'm gonna go check out the breakfast downstairs and then hit the pool. What time do we need to be on the road?"

"Shouldn't be swimmin' after eatin,'" Davey mumbled sleepily.

Race ignored him. "What time, Dave?" he pressed.

"No later'n nine." Davey disappeared under his pillow again.

This time, Race let him be.

Breakfast was a quick affair, Race making short work of a couple of danishes and a glass of orange juice. He then made his way to the pool area which was located outside, just a stone's throw away from the hotel proper.

Thankfully, no one was using the facility, so he had it to himself. Race dropped his towel and room key onto a lounge chair, then, with a running start, dove into the cold water.

He'd probably been swimming for the better part of an hour and was about to call it a morning, when he heard the sound of the pool gate squeak open and slam shut, then the steady beat of footsteps walking towards him.

Race glanced up at the new arrival.

"I can't believe you're swimming." Davey stood at the edge of the pool, coffee cup in hand, looking neat and tidy in his flannel shirt and jeans.

"What else am I supposed to do in a pool, genius?" Race snarked.

Davey ignored the sarcasm. "You know, hotel pools are a known source of waterborne illnesses," he remarked. "The CDC did a study and found that about one in six-"

"Ah, stow the seriosity, Dave!" Race interrupted, rolling his eyes. "Ain't nothin' the chlorine an' such won't kill."

Davey frowned. "Kids pee in pools all the time. Think about how many kids have peed in this one."

"Yeah, yeah." Race heaved himself onto the side of the pool, shaking the water out of his hair. Davey moved carefully out of range, draining the last of his coffee and tossing the paper cup into the waste bin.

A small but decidedly wicked smile crossed Race's face.

"Hey!" he called. "You got your phone on you, Davey?"

"No," Davey replied. "I left it in the room."

"Good," Race jumped to his feet. "Then a little dip shouldn't hurt'cha one bit." He tackled Davey before the other young man could react, and the momentum sent both of them plunging into the pool.

Race finished his second Pop-Tart and then glanced at his watch.

9:45 a.m. They'd better be hitting the road soon.

He could hear the sound of the hair dryer running in the bathroom. Davey was taking forever. Probably had to make sure he'd washed all the germs out of his ears. Race crumpled up his Pop-Tart wrapper and threw it away, then knocked loudly on the door.

"Hurry up, Davey!" he yelled. "I ain't gettin' any younger, and we gotta be goin.' You look pretty enough, alright?"

The hair dryer stopped, and the door clicked open.

"Might I remind you," Davey said in a clipped tone, "that we could have been on our way a long time ago if someone hadn't decided to push me into the pool."

The door clicked closed.

"Ain't my fault you's such a germaphobe," Race muttered. But he was secretly pleased with the morning's events. They reminded him of his college days, when he and Jack would try to out-prank each other, their practical jokes escalating to epic proportions. Race had always awarded himself an extra point any time he could get a rise out of Davey, too. Jack's strait-laced roommate was an easy target, and Race had taken a gleeful satisfaction out of watching him squirm. The skunk and the shaving cream incident had been a particularly memorable victory, and Race still wondered from time to time if Davey had ever figured out who was behind it.

The bathroom door opened, and the subject of his musings emerged.

"Took ya long enough," Race said, getting to his feet. "I checked us out at the front desk, and Rachelle's loaded. Let's hit the road."

"Rachelle?" Davey asked quizzically as they left the room and made their way down the hallway. "You named the moving van?"

"What's wrong with that?" Race asked defensively.

"Well, generally speaking...I mean...it's just...you don't…" Davey threw his hands in the air, exasperated. "Never mind. Call it - or her - whatever you want. I'm too tired to argue with you."

"You're still tired even after sleeping in so late?" Race queried.

Davey gave him a miffed look. "Actually, after you left I couldn't go back to sleep because I was worried about you getting a cramp and drowning with your stomach full of goodness knows how many Pop-Tarts or cookies or whatever sugar-filled pastry you ate for breakfast this morning. That's why I came down to the pool in the first place." He shook his head. "Terrible decision on my part."

"Awww, Dave, you do care!" Race drawled, mockingly but also secretly touched.

Davey gave a regretful sigh. "Yeah, I guess I can't be something I'm not."

"What, a heartless jerk?" Race teased.

"No, smart. If I'd let you drown in the pool, I could have finished the rest of this trip in peace without any more belittling remarks about my driving or obnoxiously early wake-up calls. I'm kind of wishing I had thought of that earlier."

"Ah, you know you'd miss me," Race grinned, socking him in the arm. "Just you wait, Davey Jacobs, just you wait! You'll be sorry, but your tears will be too late!"

"Is life just one big musical to you?" Davey groused.

"You can't stop the beat!"

The morning drive was surprisingly pleasant, Race already in high spirits and Davey prepared for the day's onslaught with a full thermos of coffee. Race drove for the first leg of the trip, and Davey had to grudgingly admit that, with the other young man at the wheel, they made up for the lost time quickly. Of course, he reminded himself, it was Race's fault that they'd been behind schedule in the first place.

They stopped in Indianapolis to gas up, Race immediately heading to the convenience store to buy some snacks while Davey filled up the van and cleaned the windshield. It would be his turn to drive next, and he didn't want to be staring at the road through a layer of dead bugs.

Returning the squeegee to its holder, Davey noticed an ad for the convenience store's sub sandwiches. His stomach growled. It would be time for lunch soon, but with Race stocking up on snacks, he didn't know how long it would be before they actually stopped for a meal. Deciding that he should probably pick up a few things to tide him over until their next stop, Davey jogged over to the convenience store's entrance and was about to go in, when Race burst through the double doors, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him forcefully towards the moving van. Davey stumbled at the unexpected change of direction, one sandal slipping off of his foot.

"Come on come on get in get in!" Race gave him no time to protest, pulling open the passenger door and practically shoving Davey inside.

"But it's my turn to drive!"

Race slammed the door in his face, scurrying around to the other side of the van. He leapt into the driver's seat, jammed the key into the ignition, and took off, tires squealing. In the rear view mirror, they could make out several cop cars arriving at the scene as they peeled away, leaving the gas station behind them.

The van was quiet for a moment, both of them trying to catch their breath.

Then Davey broke the silence. "Does somebody want to tell me why we're runnin'?"

"Holdup," Race replied. "The guy didn't notice me and went straight for the cashier. I got out before he saw me."

Davey whistled. "Wow."

"Uh huh." Race gave him a quick glance. "You okay?"

"I lost my shoe...but yeah," Davey laughed. "I'm okay."

"Knowing you, you probably have a couple of spare pairs in that luggage of yours," Race remarked.

Davey looked embarrassed. "Well, actually...yeah, I do," he admitted. "And good thing, too. I mean, my sneakers are out of commission right now thanks to you and that pool, and now I've got only one sandal, so if I hadn't planned for the worst, I'd definitely be shoeless by now. I guess it pays to be prepared!"

"Yes, Mother," Race smirked.

"Believe me, Race, you'll be glad at some point on this trip that I packed as much as I did. There's an emergency supply bag in the back of the van, a case of water bottles, reflective lights and flares in case the van breaks down, and-"

"Hold on a minute," Race interrupted. "Somethin's up." He wrinkled his nose. "Dear me, what is that unpleasant aroma?"

Davey sniffed tentatively, noting that, indeed, there seemed to be an odd smell wafting through the cabin. Before he could remark, a loud rattling noise sounded, startling both of them.

"What do you think's going on?" Davey asked, alarmed.

Race put his hand up to one of the vents. "I think it's the AC. It just started blowing hot air."

Davey copied him. "You know, you may be right," he confirmed. He could already feel the van's temperature rising, and reached over to shut off the malfunctioning air conditioner. "Should we pull over, Race?"

The other boy nodded. "We'll take a look when we get to the next rest stop." He patted the van's dashboard. "Hang in there, girl."

Within a few minutes, they were pulling off of the highway.

A closer inspection of the van (as well as some internet research on their phones) seemed to confirm Race's initial diagnosis. The air conditioner was out of commission for the time being, and they would just have to make do without it.

"Could be worse," Race muttered as they piled back into the van. "At least it won't stop us from driving."

Davey agreed, although he was slightly concerned about the remainder of the trip. They would be hitting Texas tomorrow, and a heat wave was in the forecast. Turning the key in the ignition, he eased the van out of the rest stop parking lot and back onto the highway, hoping that there wouldn't be any more breakdowns in the future.

Sobered by the events of the past hour, the boys spent most of the next part of the trip in silence, Race not even bothering to turn on his music.

Once they reached St. Louis, they stopped for a late lunch (Davey was ravenous at this point, and insisted that they sit down and have an actual meal). They then switched seats again, Race taking over the driving and Davey settling into the passenger seat.

"You know, it's been a little quiet," he said, in an attempt to cheer up his uncharacteristically despondent traveling partner. "Do you…" the words almost stuck in his throat, but he forced himself to follow through, "do you want to maybe turn on your music for a while?"

Race brightened immediately. "Why sure, Davey!" he exclaimed. "I mean, especially if you've been missing it so much." He pulled out his phone, driving with one hand as he scrolled through his playlists. "I know just the thing."

Unfortunately, right at that moment, a car pulled out of a driveway directly in front of them. Race recovered just in time, slamming on the brakes and narrowly avoiding a rear-end collision. "What the - !" He let loose a stream of choice words at the other car as it drove away, then huffed out a breath of frustration before glancing over at Davey.

"You all right?"

Davey's heart was pounding, but he nodded. "I'm fine. But I'm pretty sure I heard something crash in the back of the van."

"Great." Race scowled.

They pulled over and opened up the cargo area, carefully inspecting boxes and furniture to determine if anything had been broken. Everything seemed to be intact, until Race found an upended box near the rear of the van. As soon as he picked it up, he could hear the muffled tinkling of shattered dishes.

"Well, it's official," he declared, squinting at the label on the box. "I just broke Katherine's grandma's china."

Davey grimaced. Of all the boxes that could have been damaged… "It was my fault," he said apologetically. "If I hadn't asked you about the music -"

Race gave him a dismissive wave. "Don't try and change the subject, Dave." He sighed regretfully, then held out the van keys to Davey. "So, does the safe driver mind taking another turn at the wheel for a bit while I figure out what I'm gonna say to Kath about this?"

Davey ended up driving the rest of the way. They arrived at the hotel in Springfield even later than they'd gotten to Dayton the evening before, and had trouble finding a spot to park the moving van. Since Race had taken care of the reservation for this stop, he hopped out of the van and went to check in while Davey circled the parking lot again to see if they'd missed any open spaces.

Finding nothing (it seemed to be an unusually small parking lot), Davey pulled onto the street and managed to park the van about a half a block away from the hotel. He grabbed Race's duffel bag and his suitcase, then, after making sure the van was locked, walked briskly down the street and over to the hotel lobby.

The minute he crossed the threshold, Davey knew that something was wrong. Race was waiting for him.

"We got ourselves a little problem, Dave."

Davey tensed, his mind immediately constructing all kinds of worst-case scenarios. "What is it?" he asked warily.

"Well, it seems they're all out of non-smoking rooms here. There's some kinda convention in town this week, so all of the hotels in the area are booked solid. It doesn't bother me...you know I enjoy a cigar every now and then...but -"

"I'll be fine, Race," Davey interrupted tiredly. What choice did they have? It was late, probably too late to try to find another hotel, especially if accommodations were already scarce all over town. He motioned to Race. "Let's head over." His traveling partner looked at him doubtfully, but eventually led the way out of the hotel and across the parking lot to their room on the first floor.

Race turned the key in the lock, the door sticking a bit to the jamb before he jiggled it free and pushed the door open.

The room smelled strongly of smoke and other indiscernible odors. Davey flicked on the light switch and surveyed the accommodations with dismay. Two double beds, sporting garishly bright duvets, took up most of the small space. A narrow nightstand was squeezed between them, and a battered chest of drawers stood on the opposite wall. The mustard yellow carpet had clearly seen better days and was stained in several places, to the point where Davey wasn't even sure he felt comfortable putting his luggage down on the floor.

Race pushed past him into the room, tossing his duffel bag on one of the beds. "Home sweet home," he said, his attempt at cheeriness falling a little flat.

Davey gingerly set his suitcase down on top of the chest of drawers. "Race," he asked tentatively, "did you read the ratings on this hotel before you booked it?"

"What do you think, Dave?" Race snapped, pulling his toiletries out of his duffel bag. "You're the one with the big brain between the two of us."

"I'm taking that as a 'no,'" Davey said, a bit disdainfully.

"You can take that as no, I'm not a neurotically fastidious germaphobe," Race snarked back.

"Race, that's unfair!" Davey objected. "I'm not a…a..." He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

Race raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing.

"That's unfair," Davey repeated weakly.

Race maintained his offended silence.

Davey sighed. "Sorry," he muttered. "I shouldn't have asked that. I know it's been a tough day for both of us...I'm sure the room will be fine." His traveling partner had probably tried his best, after all, and there was no point in belaboring what could have been done to prevent their current situation. Davey began unpacking his belongings, telling himself that the dingy hotel room was probably cleaner than it looked, and mentally preparing to make the best of it for the night.

His determination, however, went out the window when he found a live cockroach in his bed.

"That's it," Davey declared as the insect scuttled away. "I don't care what you call me, Race; I'm not sleeping here. I'll shower and wash up, but then I'm going back to the van. At least I know it's relatively clean in there." He headed to the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind him.

Race rubbed at his eyes, tired and still a bit put out. He felt slightly guilty that their current lodgings weren't up to Davey's standards, but Race had slept in worse places, and didn't see the problem with enduring a little discomfort for just one night. The smell wasn't really that bad, and if you left the roaches alone, they generally returned the favor. Davey didn't have to be such a prig about it.

Fishing a half-eaten package of Pop-Tarts out of his duffel bag, Race set about devouring the remaining toaster pastry. With critters running around the hotel room, it would be best to make sure that he didn't leave any open food sitting around. Besides, they probably wouldn't be getting any dinner tonight, and he doubted that this hotel would be providing breakfast. A makeshift meal would have to do for now.

Several minutes later, Davey had finished his shower, and Race was washing his hands at the sink.

His phone buzzed.

Race hastily dried his hands on his sweatpants (they were probably cleaner than the hotel towels anyway), then answered the call.

"Hey, Racer!" Jack's voice greeted him. Race moved the phone away from his ear and set it on the nightstand, wincing a little; Jack didn't know the strength of his own voice; it carried as well as if he had been on speakerphone.

"Heya, Jacky," he replied cautiously.

"Just checking in," Jack said, the cheeriness in his voice sounding a little forced. "How are things going?"

"Going swell!" Race answered brightly. Davey, close enough to overhear the conversation, gave him a disbelieving stare and looked like he was about to say something. "Nothin' new to report," Race cut in hastily.

"Good, good. No problems, then...?" Jack asked, still sounding unconvinced.

"Nope!" Race clamped a hand over Davey's mouth. "We's right as rain here!"

"Alright," Jack said. "Well, I gotta run. Say hi to Dave for me, will ya? I'll see you tomorrow in Santa Fe."

"Okay, bye Jac-dszahdhhhh!" Race cut the call abruptly as he felt Davey lick the hand covering his mouth.

"That's disgusting!" Race exclaimed, staring at his roommate in shock. "Geez Davey, where'd you learn to pull a stunt like that?"

"I've got a little brother," Davey said, wiping his mouth on his shirt sleeve. "And I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't seen you wash your hands right before." He gave Race an accusing look. "So, keeping secrets from Jack, now, are we?"

"He doesn't need more to worry about right now."

"Agreed, but lying, Race?"

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," Race insisted. "And he'll find out soon enough. Besides," he shrugged, "it's not lying, just keeping him from the truth a little."

"Whatever lets you sleep at night." Davey stowed the rest of his toiletries away, then pulled his suitcase down from the chest of drawers, ready to retreat to the van. "But if he asks, I'm telling him that you forcibly prevented me from giving the real story."

Race threw a shoe at him. "Am-scray, punk."

A/N: Things are getting a bit more complicated for our traveling newsies, but no one's been soaked yet (unless you count the pool), so hopefully Jack can rest easy knowing that there's only one more day on the road left for Race and Davey. (*Ironic laughter*)

On another note, I'm curious: did anyone get the reference to Race's earbuds & headphones from the last chapter, or the significance of Davey and Race's first hotel room number? What about the "Rachelle" reference in this chapter? No? I'm just in my own category of strange, right?

Hope you enjoyed this!