The Royal Flush

By: Racetrack's Goil

Author's Note: Hi everyone…I know, long time no update. My longest absence…but these past few months have been really tough and hectic for me…my mom was diagnosed with a tumor in her brain and was hospitalized about four months ago. She's back home now, but is still, as you can imagine, quite sick.

At any rate, I had hard time writing and I'm sorry for the long wait. The good thing was that I had written about half of the chapter quite some time ago already, so hey, just had to write a little more and end it!

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize from the movie is not mine.

Enjoy!

The next morning was cold and bright. You could see your breath fog up the air the moment you walk outside. I yawned, rubbed my hands and my eyes, stamped my feet, and shivered once before starting on my way to the distribution center. Pithon walked past me, muttering something about umbrellas and icecream under her breath. I hurried on, forcing my feet to move faster. I didn't have all morning to sell today. Manhattan awaited and I didn't want Spot also wait for me to finish up.

"Here," Artemis said gruffly, appearing suddenly next to me. She handed me a thick, warm loaf of bread. She was already munching on another one and judging from the satisfied look on her face, it tasted great. My face split into a huge grin and I took the bread gratefully. I had planned to go without breakfast today.

"Thanks." I held it for a moment, warming my hands, before taking a bite.

"First winter's always da toughest," she remarked, with an air of worldly wisdom.

"Yah," I muttered, trying to savor each bite instead of hogging it down, which I was already doing. She glanced at me and then narrowed her eyes.

"You disappeared real sudden yesterday."

I winced and said, "Oh. I got lost." I looked away, hoping against hope that she wouldn't ask more questions.

Thankfully, she merely grunted and turned away, not pressing the matter. I adjusted my hat and scuttled on. When I first met Artemis, we had started off on the wrong foot, but we'd made up along the way. It wasn't like we apologized to each other. We just became friends. She's fiercely loyal to Brooklyn and to Brooklynites. But you do have to watch out sometimes when you're around her. See, she steals things. Half because she needs to, and half because she wants to.

She did steal this bread though and it was good. Despite my attempts at savoring, it disappeared within seconds. It also awakened my appetite like some ravenous monster. Still, it was a whole lot better than skipping breakfast, since I had actually been too tired to find dinner last night. I rubbed my hands together, feeling somewhat more optimistic about the lessons Medda was going to hold. Maybe I wouldn't make a fool out of myself infront of everyone. Maybe I'd shine.

Right.

I reached the distribution center in no time and took my place in the line that was already forming. In front of me stood the tall – and I do mean tall – figure I knew as Jackal. Déjà vu. The very first day I'd come here, he had been the one in front of me too. He was one of the nicer Brooklynites in the borough and had immediately befriended me when I joined. And, as though he heard my thoughts, Jackal turned around, looked down (heh), and his tanned, attractive face split into a wide grin.

"Hey, hey, if it ain't Lil' Ace," he bowed dramatically and straightened, his eyes laughing at me like they always seemed to.

"Hey, hey yourself," I shot back, "And don't call me that." But my lips were twitching. Jackal always teased, always joked. He was never really serious. Unusual for a Brooklynite, but then, I really can't say anything about unusual Brooklynites. Wasn't I one of the worst?

He widened his dark eyes innocently. "But you're such a slip of a girl. Really, y'need to eat more. Exercise. Den you'll get as big and strong as me and you can beat ol' Spot over the head when he annoys you."

I blinked at the rather alarming mental image. "Er. Okay."

He laughed and flicked my hat. "Jus' jokin', kiddo. So, what's your plans for da day?"

"You don't wanna know."

"Yeah?"

"Well, I'm going to Manhattan."

"For what?"

I grinned. "I wonder if I'm allowed to tell you."

He always did go for the theatrical style, I thought absently as he went down on one knee before me and clasped his hands together. It didn't surprise me as much as it would have two months ago, but I did jump. "O fair lady," he begged plaintively, shaking his head and pulling his lips down into a magnificently sad frown, "O fair, cruel lady. I may be only one of your many admirers, but do take pity. Keep no secrets from me." He proceeded to kiss my hand.

Everyone standing in line either glared at us or rolled their eyes because they were still sleepy and wanted to wallow in their depressed state. I swatted him away, laughing. "Stop that."

He pulled himself up and grinned. "Well? Has my wheedling worked?"

I rolled my eyes, but I gave in. I explained about the invitation, the dinner, and the dreaded lessons. When I finished, he went: "Spot? Manners? You?"

I sniffed. "Well, yeah. Among other things. So sympathize, or I shall tell Artemis that you were the one who put that can of cockroaches under her pillow."

He blanched. "You wouldn't."

"I would too."

Subdued, he muttered, "Heartless, awful Ace. That's what we should all call you. Awful Ace."

I laughed and prodded him forward. "Go on. The line's moving."

After some time, Jackal's turn came and as usual, he flicked the coin at the man who was in charge of the center. The man caught the coin with practiced ease, his face bland and bored as usual. Jackal moved on with a jaunty wave of his hand to me and I took his place. The man sighed, looking very tired of his life as I paid for my papes. He gave them to me and waved me on.

"Thank you," I said and received a suspicious look from him. I laughed and went on my way.

Same as ever, the headlines were incredibly pathetic. Shaking my head, I proceeded to head to the docks, belting out nonsense about scandalous affairs between the mayor and some lowly commoner. Honestly, I reflected, considering all the stories we make up about the mayor, he must be the most colorful man in New York. But then again, he was the easiest one to lie about because he was the one most mentioned in the papes.

By the time I finished, the sun had come to a point right above me and the coldness of the day seemed to fade a little. Along with the sun, my mood rose and I started to actually look forward to going to Manhattan. Sure, the lessons might be a Pain, but meeting Race and Jack again might be nice.

Then I wondered: Hmm. Maybe Race might not come? David had said the 'key figures' were invited. Was Race a 'key figure'? I wasn't one, but I was going as Spot's date. Wait a second, who exactly was coming?

Key figures as Manhattan and Brooklyn (Brooklyn because Spot had triggered everyone elses' support)? Or leaders from every borough?

Could it be that Philip was going too? Because he was Queens' leader?

Of course, all this time I was trying to avoid thinking about Philip. I'm actually not really sure why. He was the kind of person I enjoyed spending time with but then later on, the things he said and did confused me. Like our conversation in the Queens LH. I couldn'tbelieve that he had started it because he thought I was all philosophical and wise. He knew I wasn't. I didn't even want to think about the nonsense I probably spurted out. Then there was that whole undertone running beneath it all while we were talking. It was like he was waiting for me to say something. Except I didn't know what and probably disappointed him.

I fiddled with the ends of my shirt, frowning. He was interesting. And not just because he was easy to look at. Besides, I didn't think of him in that sort of way. Sure, he was probably the best-looking person I'd ever set eyes on and I have to admit, I was just a tiny bit flattered that he was spending so much time with me (why was he?), but I couldn't imagine being in familiar terms with him, let alone intimate.

Anyhow, despite his gentlemanly and polite manner, he must be very popular with girls. He was used to being goggled at. I knew that from the way he acted while we were walking back to Brooklyn.

I nearly laughed then: Wasn't he an awful lot like Spot in that sense?

But he wasn't at all like Spot, at the same time. He said he didn't enjoy the attention. But still, that just couldn't be true. A part of him has to like being noticed and to inspire desire all the time. Really, it was rather priggish of him to declare he didn't enjoy it. Such a plaintive, dramatic thing to say. 'Ooo, my beauty is both a curse and a gift!'

Still, he had such fascinating opinions and views of life, even though I disagreed with most of them. Very cynical views, but curiously in depth. What had he gone through to have such ideas? That was what I wanted to know. He had to be more than what he seemed to be. But he was so very nice.

I liked him, I decided with sudden amiability. I liked him a lot. I liked the way he treated me like some high-class lady instead of a meager, ignorant little girl who he just happened to bump into in the streets. I liked his abrupt spurts of humor and his intelligent, stylish remarks. He was becoming a very nice acquaintance, if not exactly friend.

I neared the Lodge and immediately saw Spot, with his dark, blonde-streaked hair hidden with that gray cabby hat. He had his back towards me and seemed to be looking for someone. Me? I quickened my steps and bellowed, "Over here, Brooklyn!"

He half-turned to see me and I immediately knew that something was wrong.

It wasn't that he was scowling with a dark cloud over his head. In fact, his lips curved upwards when he saw me running up. I stopped when I reached him and experimentally grinned broadly up at him. He didn't exactly grin back, but he did smile.

"Hello," I said, as he nodded.

"Hey," he said and brushed his lips against mine.

Something was wrong. I'm not sure what. He was distant in that kiss, like he was thinking of something else that was miles and miles away while being with me here in the flesh. Not to mention that by this time, he would have made a remark about my being late, or my appearance, or how badly I must have sold. But he remained quiet. I bit my lip and looked away. A part of me wondered whether he had found out about why I had disappeared yesterday. Maybe he was jealous about Philip becoming such close friends with me?

That was utterly ridiculous.

But I couldn't make myself ask. I suppose I was rather afraid of his answer. So I simply said, "Shall we?"

He surprised me by shaking his head. "No. Wait."

I waited. Then I asked, "So…are you ever going to come around to telling me why?"

Spot shook his head, "She's never late," he said quietly to himself and added, "Cat was supposed to meet me here today dis mornin'."

I frowned. "That's odd."

Spot rubbed the back of his neck and sighed tiredly. "I know. She went to Queens yesterday to check up on some rumors about Duke."

"Duke's in Queens?" I asked, rather breathlessly. To think that if Philip's newsies hadn't been the one to find me, it might have been Duke. Queens wasn't that large a place.

Spot shot me a queer look. "We don't know, but…well, Cat's late."

I swallowed hard at what he was insinuating. "Surely Cat can take care of herself," I said, not even convincing myself. "She beat Pithon, remember?"

Even though That furrow in his brow lessened and he smiled crookedly at me.

"Well," he said, and I could see him making himself forget about Cat for the moment. It was like he was switching to another state of mind. I wish I could do that. "Let's get goin'. Ready for Medda and her tortures?"

I groaned. "Yeeech."

"Good," he laughed and then we were off. Then he asked, "So, I heard you spent some time at Queens yesterday too?"

My eyes widened guiltily and I felt my face slowly grow red. How did he know? Did someone see me? Did Cat see me? I felt a sudden spur of anger at the thought of being spied on, but then told myself I was being irrational. Cat had gone to find out about Duke, not to spy on me.

But still. Heh.

I muttered a sullen, "Oh." Then I shot him a sidelong glance. "How did you know?"

He shrugged and tugged his hat further down over his head. At least, I thought, he didn't seem angry or upset. Maybe keeping it a secret was quite useless. "I'm supposed to know where my newsies are."

I raised my eyebrows. "I am suspicious."

His lips curved upwards. "As usual. Alright: Cat was dere."

My mouth dropped open. "You didn't ask her to-"

"Don't be ridiculous, Ace. I told you, she was checkin' up on news about Duke," he had the most peculiar expression on his face. "But listen: Queens and Brooklyn ain't in very good terms with each other."

I nodded. "Don't I know it! They were awfully unfriendly."

Like a light bulb, my words seemed snap on a suspicion in Spot's mind. His eyes fixed on my chin suddenly and they narrowed, "They hurt you?"

I remembered Skinny pushing me. I reached up and rubbed the cut. "Well, no. It was mostly me being clumsy."

Which was mostly true…I could tell he didn't believe me. "I tripped. That's all."

I had this horrible thought of Spot raging on to Queens with the rest of Brooklyn behind his back for my sake. Can you imagine? That would really be a nightmare.

He watched me for a second and then his eyes crinkled into a perfectly adorable smile. "You really are a terrible liar, aren't you?"

I laughed, mostly because he just about looked utterly un-Spottish with that Smile. "Hey, by now you're supposed to have learned to let me lie and think I've gotten away with it."

He shook his head then. "What were you doing dere?"

I explained. He laughed when he heard I had gotten lost, as expected. But I didn't mind at all, him laughing. I personally thought he ought to laugh more, as in really, truly laugh. In fact, I've never seen anyone who could make him laugh that way except for me. It's not as ridiculous as it sounds, really. And don't think I need to get a life, being proud of making someone laugh. As a leader, he gets a bit too grim and scary sometimes. It's up to me to loosen him up. Lighten and liven him up a bit.

Of course, in my explanation, I omitted my conversation with Philip. Spot knew he was leader of Queens anyhow, and would have deducted that I met him. So it wasn't like I was keeping it a secret. Anyway, it made me uncomfortable, talking about him to Spot. I wasn't really sure why.

Ah well.

It's amazing how fast time flies when you spend it with someone like Spot. And not just time, but distance. From what I thought with my marvelous sense of direction, we must be nearing Manhattan LH. But we were going to Medda's place, so we skirted around and headed there. It just about came within our sights when we also spotted Jack, standing outside. He noticed us almost at the same moment.

He waved at us. I waved back. Spot of course, doesn't do waves. We reached him and he and Spot spit-shook. All the usual thoughts about germs and bacteria assaulted me and I shuddered. If Spot doesn't do waves, I don't do spit-shakes. Unless I absolutely have to.

Jack greeted us and then remarked, "You should see what Medda's done."

The way he said 'done' made me shift. "What's she done?"

He shook his head and Spot, his face impassive and with the resigned air of a man going to the gallows, went in. I swallowed hard and followed him in.

Medda Larkson was a woman who was exceptionally kind to newsies. This was her stage and she performed here constantly. Sometimes she'll let us have parties and she'll provide food and entertainment. It was quite large, with lots and lots of seats and halls and stages. I recognized the place where Jack had fallen in the rally. I also remembered where Oscar Delancey had practically tried to murder me and where Spot had gallantly come to the rescue.

How long ago it all seemed. Like a past life or something. Yet, it was only a few months ago.

Then I entered the main hall and all my memories promptly fled. Right there was a long table with chairs on each side. An embroidered tablecloth covered the wooden surface of the table and fancy-looking silverware (not real silver though, probably) were placed where each guest had to sit. Medda, dressed in a horrendously pink gown, beamed happily at us. Around her number of newsies were piling about. I recognized most of them as Manhattaners.

I stole a look up at Spot and, for the first time, saw him look properly horrified. But only for the briefest second; he went blank again. I noticed David standing at the side of the table. Some kind of ridiculous, classical music was streaming in, but I couldn't see from where. There was no ex food; I suppose Medda couldn't afford that.

"Hello, Conlon!" Medda said cheerily. Spot smiled (how he could smile, I don't know) and went up to her. I stayed with Jack.

Then, all of a sudden, a growing horror and suspicion grew in my mind.

Medda's dress.

Oh no.

Would I have to wear a dress on Saturday too?

The more I thought about it, the more I realize this was probably so. Maybe not a dress like the one Medda was wearing. But the dinner was formal and rich ladies wore dresses to social dinners.

So that was it.

Then I told myself that I didn't have a dress and so, I couldn't wear anything of the sort. Too bad for me. I grew calmer, but only slightly. Because I knew with a dreadful sort of certainty, I was going to be wearing a Dress. And it was going to be hideous.

"Jack?"

He glanced down. "Hmm?"

"Who is coming?"

"Well," he said, "We was hopin' da leaders from every borough."

My eyes widened. So Philip was going to be coming too. But he wasn't here. Maybe not everyone was coming to Medda's…lessons?

Jack mistook my reaction. "Yeah. So dat would be Bronx, Harlem, Queens, Midtown, Battery, and East Side."

"Oh. Wow. All those newsies."

He shook his head then. "But den we found out a whole lot of 'em doesn't want to come. Dey nervous about da whole prospect and some 'don't have da time'," he smirked a bit, "I think dey're scared."

"Hey, where's Sarah?"

"Oh…," he coughed, "Er, we sorta got into a fight da other day. Not sure if she's comin' to da real thing."

I felt sorry for him, even though I knew I shouldn't; I hadn't heard about what the fight was about so I certainly couldn't take sides. I settled for an impersonal nod and then asked, "So…again, who is coming?"

"Only Harlems and Queens'll be comin', with their dates."

I did a rapid calculation. "Eight. Eight people at most."

He shook his head again. "Nope. White wants more. She wants a big fancy dinner. So some of my boys will be coming. So around twelve."

I laughed suddenly then, only then feeling the enormity of it all. "What a mess! That White lady probably doesn't know how much of a fuss she's causing."

He straightened his red bandana. "Ah, well, she's one of dem hoity-toity folks. Dey don't care really, and to people like dem, dis is a tiny affair."

"Tiny affair," I repeated and then moaned. "Oh, Jack."

He chuckled. "What's gettin' you so troubled, huh?"

I opened my mouth to complain and rant, but then paused. Jack and everyone weren't having that great a time either. I wasn't the only one feeling awfully unhappy. So I shut my mouth and smiled tightly.

"Nothing," I said determinedly. "Nothing is troubling me. Brooklyn," I added, some of my humor returning, "is never troubled."

He smiled charmingly. "Good girl."

He steered me towards Spot and Medda's direction. On the way, I cast a look around at the company I was going to be spending some time in for the next few days. I quickly counted. Racetrack, Mush, Skittery, Kid Blink, David, and Jack were the Manhattaners. There was one boy I didn't recognize, standing in the corner and just watching. He looked tense and all the Manhattaners seemed to be avoiding him.

"Hey," I started again, nudging Jack.

"Yeah?"

"Who's that?"

Jack followed my gaze and saw the boy. To my surprise, his face darkened visibly and he muttered angrily in a voice like stone, "Dat's Verge. Harlems."

I frowned at his reaction. "What's wrong with him?"

Jack shifted uncomfortably. "Harlems and Manhattan ain't doing too well now. Dey sayin' stuff about us we don't like."

"Oh." Annoyingly, my mind quipped: That's exactly what Philip said would happen.

Then Jack's smile returned and, as disarmingly as ever, he said, "Well, don't worry 'bout it. It ain't Brooklyn's problem."

"I suppose so."

Then he left me, going off to join Racetrack and the rest. I stood there, alone, and glanced again at the guy in the corner. I looked him over with some curiosity.

He was fairly tall and averagely built, I suppose. Around my age, maybe, but it was hard to tell. He had sharp-features and a slightly pointy chin. But it was a nice sort of face. Nothing disfavored or ill-looking about it. Maybe a bit sullen, if you squint. But over all cute. But what really caught your attention was his hair, which was an incredibly pale shade of blonde. I mean, it wasn't just blonde. It was a strange, washed out, white sort of blonde. He wore a black hat, which set off his hair even more in contrast.

He looked up then, as though he felt my gaze, and then he flashed me a quick grin. I just blinked at him and turned away.

Harlems?

He seemed friendly, I suppose.

I quickly headed for Spot, who was gesturing and talking with Medda. Well, he didn't seem at all worried or apprehensive now. All brimming with confidence and whatnot. He noticed me standing and held out a hand. I took it and he pulled me to him with a deftness that made me blink.

"Medda," he said smoothly, "Dis is Ace."

She hadn't changed at all since the last time I saw her, which was at the rally. She was tall and very beautiful, with red hair that tumbled past her shoulders. I didn't really know what to think of her. She was one of those adults who try to mingle with you and your friends and try to be all buddy-buddy with you. It's a bit uncomfortable sometimes, because I personally don't want anything to do with her. Well, probably my mild dislike for her was because every boy, even Spot, flirted with her. Nothing serious, of course, but I rather thought it was strange how a grown woman like that just let them do it. Pity and all that, I guess.

Oh well. She was nice, in a way.

So I just smiled and tried to look pleasant. We had met before, but I doubt she remembered.

Then she proved me wrong by exclaiming, "Why, Ace! Hello!"

"Haha," I said eloquently. "Hi."

She took it and laughed. "To think you're the girl Spot finally settled down with. Everyone's been talking about it."

"Oh. Haha."

"But that is nice," she smiled broadly and looked me over with a practiced eye. She nodded then. "Yes. You're just the sort he needs."

I glanced at Spot and gave him a mock-flirtatious smile. "You hear that? I'm just the sort you need."

He sent me a swift, intense look. "You sure are."

I just wrapped my fingers around his hand and decided he was acting quite wonderful. Medda smiled and then looked around. I took the chance to eye her red gown. It was awfully frilly.

I will not wear frills. No matter what they force me into, I shall not wear frills. I won't. I will not. I shan't.

"Everyone!" Medda bellowed and all the newsies turned to her and us. "Since we're all here, shall we start?"

Amidst the groans and titters (Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it's true: Mush titters) she said, "Now, this is a good experience for you all. I'll do my best to prepare you, but really, it'll do you good to learn some manners."

I bet she was enjoying all this. Not enjoying our discomfort, mind you. But enjoying this opportunity to do us all some 'good' and civilize us and whatnot. But I really shouldn't think so badly of her. She was just trying to help.

She made us all sit down first. I found myself sandwiched between the blonde guy (Verge, Jack said?) and Spot. On the Verge's left sat Mush, who was talking to Kid Blink. Spot seemed preoccupied with the silverware. I stole a glance at Verge, who was quietly watching everyone again with a somewhat distant manner. He then flicked me a look. I decided to speak to him.

"Hey," I said amiably.

He just stared blankly at me for a second, like he wondering whether he should reply or just ignore me. Then I saw that quick flash of teeth that was a grin. "'ello."

"I'm Ace," I said and stuck out my hand. Spot, on my other side, leaned over to see who it was I was speaking to. Verge took my hand in a surprisingly gentle grip and then glanced meaningfully at Spot.

"Dat Ace, eh?" he remarked, a strong New York accent mingling in his words. At that I narrowed my eyes at him, instantly suspicious. That Ace?

"What do you mean?"

He smiled a funny, slow smile that made his blue eyes crinkle and disappear. "It's jus' we've heard all 'bout youse," that smile grew broader and he added, "Pleasure t'meetcha, I'm shuah."

"Hey, hey Verge," Spot said casually, leaning forward a little so he could talk across me.

"Spot," he replied as a manner of greeting.

"How's Harlem?"

The other guy shrugged and finally let go of my hand. "Alrigh'. At least," he said, pointedly giving a nasty look at the Manhattaners, "It would be."

If it weren't for…?

Well, I knew what he meant. We all did. Jack, who was sitting across the table, glowered. Actually, everyone glowered at him, all the Manhattaners. Spot didn't really do anything, just sat there with a curious sort of look on his face. I shifted and looked down at my hands, wondering what was going to happen. Were they all going to gang up on Verge?

Then Medda broke the tension by saying, "Alright now, don't be startin' a fight in my place."

She sounded suddenly very authoritative. I looked at her with new respect. Maybe she wasn't all frills and smiles as she seemed. Verge flicked back his blonde hair and leaned back into his seat, his lips tight and compressed angrily. I could feel his tension and how uncomfortable he was and I glanced at Spot, wondering what he made out of all this.

He met my gaze and just shrugged faintly. I frowned at him, knowing he was just pretending to not care again. Medda was still talking. "The dinner's going to be a very hard affair on you all. So cooperate or we won't be able to learn anything."

"Yes, Medda," chorused the Manhattaners easily. Medda smiled.

"First of all, we are going to learn how to greet people. Pay attention."

Racetrack seemed nonplussed. "Greet people? We know how to greet people."

Medda nodded. "Yes, but I mean properly. Now, I am Caroline White," she tilted her head up and looked down at us in an imperious manner. We all snickered. "Now, how would you greet to me, Verge?"

He stood up and approached her. He took off his hat and bowed, quite gallantly. "'Ello, Mrs. White. Da boys call me Verge. Thanks for invitin' us; da food looks delicious."

Medda looked stunned for a second. Then she said, "Good job."

Then we all had to do it. Poor Mush stumbled over his words and had to do it twice. Spot was so smooth Medda actually laughed aloud. Jack was all smiles and grins. Racetrack was so cocksure that Medda made him do it again, without 'that idiotic smile' on his face. Then she looked at me.

"Ace, let's see you curtsy."

I shakily stood up and was about to sweep her my best when Spot poked me in the back. I squeaked, then turned around quickly, snatched his hat, and swatted him with it. "Funny, really," I shot, trying to sound annoyed and sarcastic, but my smile and everyone else laughing ruined it all.

Then I curtsied, trying to remember everything all the mistresses taught me at the orphanage - back straight, don't wobble… - and then came up with my most polite smile. Inside I was screaming. She had asked me to curtsy. That meant I would have to be wearing a dress. My world was over.

Medda seemed satisfied. Then we had to go on with eating. Play-eating, that is, because there was no food.

"How come dere's so many forks and spoons?" Skittery grumbled darkly, picking up one tiny spoon with distaste.

"For each dish," I said, without thinking, "You have to always use the fork or spoon on the outside."

Medda's eyebrows rose. "That's right. Where'd you learn that?"

"Oh," I shifted uncomfortably as all eyes turned upon me, "Orphanage."

Spot was smiling slightly. "Told ya you'd do fine."

Medda then started explaining about manners at the table. We all tried to follow, to listen attentively. One shouldn't slurp one's soup. Restrain yourself ("Do you understand, Kid?") at the table; don't dive into the food. Don't ask for seconds unless it's offered, which it probably won't. Hold your cups like so. Don't flirt with the girls. Take your hat off. Always bring the topic back around to the hostess, unless asked specific questions about the strike. And don't, for heaven's sake, don't spitshake.

"Oh," Medda added hastily, "And don't make any jokes."

"Aw, why not, Medda?" Spot asked with a smirk. "Can't we have some humor?"

I rolled my eyes. "Your humor will get us all kicked out."

All laughed.

See what I mean about humor?

We went on to comments and remarks to keep the conversation flowing. Amidst all this, Verge was joining in as well. But none of the Manhattaners met his eyes and if they did, I saw some quite top notch glares. Spot, I'm sure, was aware of it all, but pretended like nothing was happening.

But something was. Verge started getting more and more quiet, and his comments more acerbic. He eventually became silent, just looking coldly at those across his table, especially Jack. It was as though something was eating him up inside and he was dying to let it out. I glanced at him and looked away.

"Lovely ring you have on dere, Miss White."

"Jack! Don't you dare say that! She's a widow, isn't she? Perhaps the ring is her wedding ring and she hasn't taken it off? Consider everything you say before saying them, even if they are compliments."

"What a fine dinner dat was. Me stomach's all full."

"My stomach. My."

"Medda, are…are dey gonna have…dancin'?"

"Maybe, Mush, maybe."

"Oh."

"We'll learn that tomorrow, okay?"

"So…Medda, what should we do if she asks about Jack selling us out?"

The room fell into stony silence.

Medda didn't seem to know what to do. Verge looked very satisfied with himself and I suppose he had good right to. It was a question to which none of us knew the answer (except maybe Spot), it was a nasty reminder that many newsies were still angry at Jack, and…well, honestly speaking, it nudged a deep, deep part in all of us where we still had some doubts, mistrusts, and confusion about the entire situation. That was why, I think, it was a while before anyone spoke or did anything.

Then Kid Blink swore, loudly, and shot up to his feet with black murder written across his face. This rather surprised me, since Kid never seemed to lose his temper. Of all people, it was Racetrack who dragged him back down to his seat. Spot leaned back in his chair slowly, as though he was going to let Jack do it all.

"Verge," Medda started, but Jack cut her off with a wave of his hand. He leaned forward and looked at Verge with mock interest in his face.

"I'm curious about dat too. What do you think we should to do?"

Verge glared. "Maybe tell 'em da truth."

Jack suddenly snarled at him, "What would dat be?"

Verge's chair was knocked over as he stood up violently. "You tell me, Jack. You tell me!"

Somehow, this all seemed very tiresome. And repetitive.

"I didn't do it, Verge," Jack answered, abruptly calm again, "You know it. So stop tryin' to make trouble."

Verge looked like he was about to burst. Then Spot cut in out of nowhere, "Don't flatter yourself, Harlem," he toyed with the fork on the table and smiled coldly at the boy next to me, "Don't think you're da only one who'd had da brains to question Jack."

This made him pause. I could see him pedaling back, could see him realizing that of all people, Spot would have gotten immediately to the point with Jack before. He frowned, shooting a morbid sort of glance at the two of them. Then he turned to Spot, who had put down the fork and was now playing with the knife.

"You believe him?" Verge asked carefully, his attitude quite subdued now. Apparently his trust in Spot was a whole lot more than his distrust of Jack.

"Why do you think I'm here?"

Verge fell silent again. He eyed Jack. "So you sayin' you've got yoah reasons but you ain't tellin' us?"

"Dat's right. And not to you, of all people."

I winced, thinking that that remark was a mistake on Jack's part. But Verge just stared at Jack. The tension in the air was so thick you could cut into it with the knife in Spot's hands. I gripped the edge of the table, hoping Verge would let it go. I looked around as the silence grew uncomfortably long and Race's chocolate brown eyes met mine. For a second, he looked stony. Then he winked, quite suddenly. It did nothing with the anger in the room, but it made me relax a bit. If, I mused, I had been a Manhattaner, Race would have been marvelous to hang out with.

It was at that moment when my mind had started to wander when Verge finally said, "Alrigh', Jack."

"Yeah?'

"Yeah," drawled Verge and he turned to Medda with an apologetic smile, "Sorry fer interruptin'. Y'can continue now."

…That was it? No apologies, no declarations of belief? (or disbelief, for that matter)

Well, I was proved wrong quite soon. Before Medda could reply or Verge sit back down, Kid Blink suddenly said a little too pleasantly, "Hey Verge?"

The poor guy only had time to go, "What?" before he went flying backwards from the bad end of a wild punch. Kid Blink massaged his hand with a sort of triumphant air as he smirked down at Verge.

You know what.

I laughed.

It was awful. A short laugh just burst out of me. I laughed at the look on Verge's face. I laughed at the utter unexpectedness of Kid Blink's violent action. I laughed at the entire ridiculousness of it all.

For a moment, everyone just stared at me. Then Medda coughed. Spot snorted. Race snickered. And then everyone was howling with laughter. Even Verge smiled ruefully as he picked himself up. I looked at him apologetically and he just shook his head in a rather amused manner. "Thanks, Ace," he said dryly, "Rubbin' it in and makin' it worse, dat's what you're doin'."

He didn't seem mad though. He shot Kid Blink an annoyed look and returned to his chair. "Still don't like Manhattan though," he added with that sullenness I thought I had detected earlier. It was coming out quite visibly now. Blink just laughed.

"Dat's alright," he replied good-naturedly, "We don't like Harlem."

This was, I suppose, a wonderful example of people agreeing to disagree.

We were invited to stay on at Manhattan's LH, but Spot hadn't forgotten about Cat. We went back to Brooklyn. The way back was rather boring. He didn't seem very talkative and I was tired in a vague way. It was as though Medda's lessons and that little incident between Verge and Jack had drained me in every way that wasn't physical.

We went to Ray's for some food and, since I didn't have any money, Spot paid for me. It was wonderful of him, really. We silently ordered some food and ate, both of us rather oddly quiet. Then I decided to ask him a question that had been bothering me quite a while after the incident with Verge.

"Spot?"

"Mm."

"You know, if Verge was acting all like that…what about the other boroughs? I should think they must be suspicious of Jack too, right?"

"Dat's right," he said vaguely, "Dey are. But once dey hear Verge is backin' down, dey'll do da same; especially since I'm already vouchin' for Jack. Verge will sorta confirm it."

"But wouldn't they want to know what happened?'

"Well…see, sometimes for newsies things happen that don't have an explanation. Somethin' happened and sometimes you jus' gotta take it as it is. As long as it ends well," he shrugged. "Most of us are used to these sorts of things."

"Except you."

"What?" His eyes came into focus, as though he hadn't been paying attention before.

"Yeah," I continued calmly, "You aren't used to it, are you?"

He just looked at me for a second, with a curious expression on his face. He seemed to be studying me, as though he wanted to see where I was going with all this. Then, quite seriously, he said, "Dat's right. I aint." He sounded somewhat surprised.

"Hm," I smiled, "Good."

"Good?"

"Yeah. It's a good thing. Don't you see? It's because you and some few others, like Jack and Verge, weren't 'used' to taking things as it is that the strike worked out. Isn't that right?"

It was exactly at that moment when the door to Ray's slammed open with a sharp bang. I nearly jumped out of my chair in surprise and dropped my fork. Pithon came bursting into the room, her face pale and white. She looked out of breath, as though she had been running hard. The expression on her face was enough to tell that something had upset her badly, which was an unnerving fact in itself: Pithon rarely got so unsettled.

Spot had shot to his feet in alarm, his reflexes kicking in so fast that Pithon still hadn't seen us at our table by the time he was standing. When she did, her entire body seemed to sag with relief.

"Spot! Thank God you're here!" she gasped out, trying to catch her breath. It took some time for her to continue as she gulped in air, her hand at her throat, "Sorry, it's just…just…oh, it has to be Duke!"

A dead, cold feeling hit my stomach and the world seemed to reel. Spot went very still and his body seemed to tense up. He took Pithon by the shoulders and I thought for a second he was going to shake her. But the only thing he said was: "Take your time, Pithon. Calm down."

Instead of settling down, Pithon's eyes welled up with tears. I stared at her in horror and looked at Spot, scared. He just watched her evenly, but I could tell from the way his eyes darkened that he was worried. This time, he shook her slightly and asked urgently, "What happened, Pithon?"

"It's Cat," she furiously wiped at her eyes while Spot and I froze, "she turned up at the LH…oh, Spot, dere was blood all over…" she looked at us with scared, angry eyes, "Spot, she's been stabbed."

Author's Note: Hmm. Dramatic, huh? This rather takes the story on a darker tone, doesn't it? But don't worry; I'm not going to make it into some angsty story with a lot of character deaths. At least, not too much. :P Well, tell me what you think.

Thank you for reading and I look forward to your comments!

(Hey, guess what? 300 reviews for Ace of Hearts!!)