Author's Note: First of all, I want to thank you guys for your great reviews—especially for the last chapter. I was pretty excited to finally get that chapter up, so I'm glad you liked it—or were properly frustrated by it. Second, I've got to apologize for how long I took in posting this chapter. It's been the wildest week at school, and I hated leaving the story hanging like that. But, no matter, it's up now for the world to read if they so choose. And now what you all came for: Chapter 14: The Older Brother.
Racetrack wrenched the window open. Lunch Money turned back to face the railing, her back to her brother. She couldn't do this. This couldn't be happening. Lunch Money knew she didn't have the strength to face her brother after what had happened; she was still reeling from the kisses she'd shared with Spot, only minutes ago. Had it really only been a few minutes? Their last kiss felt like it had happened an age ago. Lunch Money was already missing it. Her head was spinning; there was a queer squirming feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her eyes were cast downward, toward the street below. Spot had had already disappeared around the corner at the end of the alley, for which Lunch Money was thankful, because Racetrack started with a less than quiet exclamation:
"What the hell was that?" He demanded, stepping out onto the fire escape. Lunch Money didn't even move. She was frozen, and not just by the weather. "Tell me that me eyes were playin' tricks on me." He said, obviously horrified by what he had just seen, "Tell I did not just see me little sistah out heah neckin' wit' Spot."
When Lunch Money didn't respond, Racetrack turned her around roughly, his hands on her shoulders, "What's a' mattah wit' you goil?" he asked, giving her a little shake, "Are ya outta ya mind?"
Lunch Money glared at her brother and jerked away, her usual temper resurfacing, "Shuddit, Race, it was nuttin'!"
"Oh yeah," Racetrack laughed humorlessly, "That shoah looked like nuttin'! Don't even try lyin', Ava, I saw the whole thing."
Lunch Money jumped at the use of her real name. "Yeah, why were you'se standin' there anyway? Just spyin' on me?"
"No." He defended himself indignantly, "I was goin' upstairs ta talk ta ya about alla' this. I didn't believe it at foirst, when I hoird you n' Nix talkin' last week—"
"You hoird--?" Lunch Money began, outraged, but Racetrack kept talking.
"Yes, I hoird. And after I saw you'se two flirtin' earlier tonight, I was gonna talk ta ya, see what all this was about. But then I catch ya makin' out wit' him!"
"It didn't mean anything, Race." She told him angrily. That's what she and Spot had agreed: it had never happened. It hadn't happened.
"Oh please!" Racetrack snapped, "You don't know nuttin'. You don't know nuttin' about Spot. Of all the newsies in New York! Of all the boys in New York! I don't care what that goil Nix has been tellin' ya, Lunch, Spot ain't gonna fall in love with no one, eveh. Ta him, goils are just a sport." He paused, trying to think of a way to phrase the ideas in his head. "He treats goils like I treat gambling." Lunch Money sent him a sideways look. What was he babbling about?
"I mean ta say, it's all about sex ta him. He don't care about anyone." Racetrack shook his head, disgusted. Lunch Money was quiet, contemplating he brother's words. He was saying everything that she herself had thought about Spot when she first met him. Just a conceited jerk with the one interest of getting a girl into bed.
"I think I can take care a' meself, Race." Lunch Money told her brother finally, glaring.
"No ya can't!" Racetrack snorted, "Dammit, Lunch, When have ya eveh been able ta look aftah yahself? Especially when it comes ta Spot. I woulda thought you'd be the last person I'd eveh see kissin' Spot Conlon— goes ta show, the boy can charm anyone. He really is as good as they say… Lunch, you'se is just a stupid little goil!"
"Race--!" Lunch Money protested.
"Look, if I know Spot, you'se is just a challenge ta him." Racetrack said crossly, not looking at Lunch Money.
"What?"
"He's used ta those sluts like Ritz an' Tease an' Rodeo. He's used ta goils jumpin' at the chance ta sleep wit' him. It's gotten too easy for him; he's probably bored." Racetrack shrugged, "Spot likes a challenge, and you ain't like any goil he's eveh met, I guarantee ya." Racetrack rolled his eyes, obviously not paying her a compliment, "You'se is tough and ya neveh shuddup, like otheh goils. Ya try ta act like a boy all the time." Racetrack was still avoiding her eyes. "I tell ya he's only thinkin' of the satisfaction he'll get when he breaks the s'posedly toughest goil in New York."
Lunch Money looked like she had been slapped. Of all the things Racetrack had said, this one cut the deepest. Did her brother really think she was some sort of whore, like Ritz? But the worst of it was the truth of Racetrack's words. It all fit: Spot had said it himself… "If you'se was any otheh goil, I woulda gotten you in bed and that'd be it… Sex is all goils is s'posed ta be good fa' anyway." Of course! Of course Spot was just bored of his whores in Brooklyn. Just like Tease had gotten bored of the boys in Brooklyn and had moved onto Jack Kelly. Lunch Money couldn't believe she'd been taken in so easily—just like some priss, melting in Spot's arms. How cliché.
That's what Lunch Money's brain told her, at least. But a second voice awakened in her consciousness. It spoke wordlessly, only giving Lunch Money a vague feeling that Racetrack was wrong. At first, she ignored the feeling, but soon her fury at Racetrack spurred her thoughts to agree with the illogical notion. What does he know about any of it, anyway? Lunch Money thought, even as she fought believing in the rather convincing argument Racetrack had presented.
Now severely confused, torn between believing that Spot really was only trying to get her in bed and wanting to believe it wasn't true, Lunch Money only gave Racetrack a murderous glare before storming to the window, sliding it open once again. She hesitated and turned back to her brother.
"You ain't gonna say nuttin' about this ta anybody." She told him firmly. Racetrack didn't say anything. They both knew it was he fully intended to return to the boy's dormitory and give the other Manhattan newsboys an earful about Lunch Money and Spot.
"Race?" Lunch Money prompted, "You swear you won't say nuttin'?"
"I swear."
Without another word, Lunch Money climbed back inside the lodging house, and hastily marched up the stairs to the girl's dorm. Racetrack watched her go, shivering in the light snowfall. He still couldn't believe what he had seen. The real question was, which one would he kill first? And did Lunch Money really think she had any idea of what she'd gotten herself into? She always acted like she knew what doing. This time she had no clue… she was still just a stupid little girl, in over her head.
But Racetrack couldn't fret over this all night; it was already getting late. He clambered through the window, shutting it behind him. Brushing the snow off his vest and hat, Racetrack made his way back to the boy's dorm.
"Heya, Race," Crutchy greeted brightly, still propped up on pillows in his bunk, black and blue. The Manhattan boys had tried to keep it quiet, but Crutchy hadn't been doing so well since the big fight by the newsstands. Still, in typical Crutchy fashion, he was perfectly cheerful and optimistic. "Where were ya?"
"Just talkin' ta Lunch Money." He shrugged, in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner. Behind him, Spot slipped into the room. Like Racetrack, he was covered in snow. Spot only caught the last few words out of Racetrack's mouth, but it was enough to stop Spot in his tracks.
"You'se was doin' what?"
Racetrack turned to face Spot. "I was just talkin' ta Lunch Money." If anyone else had laid a hand on his sister, Racetrack would have jumped him then and there. But it wasn't anyone. It was Spot Conlon. Racetrack still had to remind himself of that fact as he spoke to Spot. He even contemplated for a moment whether or not he should try taking a swing at him. But he thought better of it as soon as he looked at Spot. Besides, Racetrack had promised Lunch Money that he wouldn't say anything to anyone, and the other boys were sure to ask questions if he started beating up Spot for no apparent reason.
"You'se was talkin' ta Lunch Money?" Spot repeated, carefully keeping all trace of panic out of his voice.
"Yeah." Racetrack nodded, eyes narrowed, "Out on the fire escape. Ya know." Spot's heart stopped beating for a second. Racetrack knew! Racetrack must have seen them. Of all the people in the world, it had to be Racetrack. None of the alarms that were going off in Spot's head showed on his face. He wore his usual grim expression, not even flinching at Racetrack's angry stare. For a few moments, neither boy moved. Around them, the other newsboys were oblivious to the situation and happily prepared to turn in for the night.
"Spot! Hey, Spot," Jack said, catching sight of Spot. Jack had been looking for him all evening, "C'mon, some a' us wanted a counsel befoah tomorrow, talk strategy and stuff."
"Oh, yeah. Shoah." Spot answered, still shaken upon discovering Racetrack had seen him kissing Lunch Money. Racetrack gave Spot a final dark look, and Spot followed Jack to the far corner of the dormitory. He and Jack spent the rest of the night quietly conversing about their dire employment situation and how they might overcome it. No solutions were reached that night, but that may have been because Spot was not entirely focused on the matter of newsstands and delivery boys. He was more preoccupied with worrying about a different problem, a problem now involving not only one, but two of the Higgins siblings.
More than anything, Lunch Money wanted to fall asleep. Exactly how much sleep had she lost since meeting Spot Conlon? How many nights had it been that she'd stayed up thinking about him? She didn't want any of this to happen. She was too scared. Racetrack was absolutely right; Lunch Money had no idea what she had gotten herself into. And Lunch Money thought she had been quite confused enough before talking to Racetrack. Now she was absolutely smothered by the arguments circling her brain.
They had agreed: nothing had happened. Every time Lunch Money thought of those words her heart felt heavy. Like lead heart sinking to her stomach, poisoning everything. Lunch Money didn't know what she wanted. She didn't want to forget about kissing Spot. She didn't want to pretend nothing had happened. But she also didn't want anything else to happen between them; she couldn't be with Spot. Everything was too damn complicated. And Racetrack would never understand. Lunch Money herself didn't understand any of it either.