Medda's theater broke into frenzy as Jack bolted from the stage down the aisle of the house, a panic of guilt coursing through his veins.
"Treason!"
"Jack!"
"What the hell was that?"
"Get back here!"
"What about us, huh?"
But Jack's flight was the least of their problems now. On the parallel aisle, a pair of snakes slithered in from the city sewers.
"'Ey, 'ey, let's break it up, huh, guys?" Morris shouted as he hopped up on stage beside the confused Davey and Spot Conlon. Oscar followed. "We don't wanna start a riot, now," he continued with a coldly casual sneer to Spot. "Do we?"
Spot Conlon walked straight up to Oscar and punched him right in the face.
Oscar slowly brought his head back into place, a snarl curling up at the corner of his lip. "Wrong move, tiny guy."
A team of six cops started racing down the aisle, keeping the hoards of newsboys back as they started to charge the stage. They didn't stop their constant roars of defiance, however, or Oscar and Spot getting into a fistfight.
Smalls watched wide-eyed at the events transpiring below. How could it have all gone sour so quickly?
"Jules," She indicated, gripping the railing of the balcony and looking back. "You ready?"
Jules hesitated but then proceeded to nod her head vigorously. "All right, I'm comin'."
Smalls threw her body weight over the rail of the balcony box and dropped down to the carpeted floor below, a jolt shaking her legs but not hurting her otherwise. Her cap and sign fell beside her. She didn't have time to find them, though, before someone grabbed both of her arms from behind. She tensed.
"Specs?" She whispered hopefully.
"Guess again, Sweetheart."
It was Morris's sickening rumble of a mutter.
"Best be on your way, little girl, before someone gits hurt," He mocked, twisting her right arm behind her back like a playground bully.
Smalls folded over and threw her leg back, coincidentally (or so she would describe the action later) kicking Morris in where Morris really didn't want to be kicked. He barely restrained a howl of pain through tightly-closed lips. His grip let up for only a moment long enough for her to turn around and raise her hand to the sky, and Morris caught Smalls' wrist just before it came crashing down on him.
But then, a third hand clamped around Morris's arm. Smalls flicked over her head. Specs was there next to her, an unfamiliar fire blazing within his glare at Morris.
"Oh, how cute," Morris sneered, shaking all grips out of his arm and swinging around his other hand to grab Smalls by the hair and pull her stumbling closer.
Specs threw his arms around Smalls' waist and yanked her away from Morris' hold, hurriedly setting the thrashing and cussing girl ("You're gonna hafta go through me, first, you God damned, rotten – Put me down, Specs, I'm not finished yet! – grimy scoundrel son of a …") down behind him. He turned back to a Delancey ready to pounce and swung him into a headlock.
"Try picking on someone your own size," Specs growled.
"Get yer dirty paws offa me, Kid," Morris bit in return, attempting to pry Specs' arm off of his neck.
Specs fought back, breathing hard through clenched teeth as he tightened his grip on Morris's throat and yanked him up by his jaw.
"You hurt Crutchie ever again…" Specs threatened as Morris began to wheeze. "You hurt her ever again..." He braced and pulled him up to mutter in his ear. "I'll kick your ass so hard, ya won't stand for months."
Suddenly, Morris dropped limp in Specs' arms, holding the backs of his knees. Smalls stood over him, her wooden plank of a "Bronx" sign in her white-knuckled fist.
"Turn 'im loose," She said.
"Smalls-"
"Specs, we better get lost. Quick," she told him. "Come on."
He dropped Morris, who was already halfway on his feet, and ran.
Davey, still trapped onstage, begun an attempt to sneak out into the aisle the way Jack had before Oscar intercepted him.
"'Ey, Jewsie," he called. "You at the head of this gutter rat revolt?"
Davey stood his ground, picking up his indecisive fists. Just then, out of nowhere, a figure behind Oscar slugged him so hard around the head that he instantly went stiff and toppled to the ground. Jules stood behind him, cracking her knuckles.
"It's Street Rat Revolution to you, you sick bastard," She spat, glaring down at Oscar's unconscious body. She glanced up at Davey, urgency thick in her expression. "We have to get the hell outta here."
He looked down at Oscar, who was completely out cold, and back up to the unfazed Julia. Huh. "I don't know which way there is to run. They got us surrounded. And-" He froze, a look of horrible realization creeping onto his face. "Oh God, where's Les?"
Jules saw Medda hiding in the wing, shrouded in the heavy curtains, quickly beckoning her over. She hit Davey's shoulder to tell him to follow as she hurried over to the woman in pink robes.
"What is it?" Davey asked.
"An escape," Medda explained. "Already gotta bunch a' them kids back there. Your spunky brunette, for one. The police blocked the outside doors, but if you hurry backstage, there's an emergency exit. And Honey, this surely is an emergency if I ever saw one."
"Thank you," Davey nodded and began to run back out onto the stage. Jules beat him to it.
"Jules!" He yelled. "What are you doing?"
"Everyone backstage now!" She shouted into the house at the top of her lungs, cupping hands around her mouth.
She scanned the audience and saw a little more resistance, now that the boys had direction. Here and there, they sneaked up onto the platform and made it through.
She plunged into the tidal wave of newsies when the nearby cop's attention was averted.
"Les!" She yelled. "Les, get up here!"
"Creepy blonde girl!" A voice squeaked back. From the body-to-body masses of newsboys, a little one with his arm in a sling slipped through.
"That's my name, Kid, don't wear it out," She replied, hoisting him up under her arm.
Julia heaved him over the skirt of the stage and hurried him back to the wing where Medda and Davey were hiding.
"Jesus, what have you been eatin'?" She grumbled as she set him down on the ground in the shadow of the curtains. The awestruck Davey hugged him close and exchanged a glance with Julia before grabbing both of their hands and dashing backstage.
Directly behind the first wall of the stage was a dim green room, and down a spiraling hall were the dressing rooms. Right at the end of the labyrinth was a single door, the sole exit, currently clogged up with newsies of all ages.
The orange setting afternoon sun stung in Jules' eyes, but she refused to stop running. Only upon reaching Newsie Square at the foot of the Lodging House did the enormous cloud of news carriers cease.
"Can ya believe he betrayed us like that?"
"I swear, that Jack Kelly is a character..."
Soon the grumbling group milled about the block idly, awaiting an official command.
Davey scaled the pedestal of the Horace Greeley statue in the middle of the square and looked out for any sign of the Union Leader. The streets seemed to be trickling closer to empty by the second.
Soon, Race approached and looked up to him. "Hey, Davey, do you know where Jack went?"
No reply.
"Come on, Smarty, you gotta know what's happenin'," Barney Peanuts joined in.
Davey ignored.
Then came Albert. "Dave..."
"I don't know," He admitted with bitterness to the trio at his feet.
"Leave the poor guy alone. His head is already spinnin'," Jules' voice snapped. "You heard me. Scatter."
Davey gave up on the afternoon city horizon. He exhaled to the sound of boots shuffling away and looked over to Jules. She stood directly in front of him with her hands on her hips.
"Well, David?"
"No clue."
"It ain't your fault, ya know, that Jack can't pull together."
Now Davey sent a dismissive wave to the street. "I only care about what's gonna happen to these boys. It'll be all Jack's fault if this is how Pulitzer gets the upper hand."
Julia looked at him skeptically. "All Jack's fault, huh?" She reflected. "What a real shame. 'Cuz, I mean, I was pretty sure he had a partner in all this."
Davey thought for a second. "Yeah... yeah, he did."
Julia looked at him, prompting.
"Where's Katherine?" He asked.
She shrugged. "I'll go out an' find 'er."
"Good." Davey nodded. "Tell her to go and find Jack. I'll keep the boys in line until he comes back. We'll probably have to hide out in the Lodging House. I'll explain the situation to Kloppman. Then, when the time is right, we'll march on Pulitzer's doorstep."
Julia casually smiled at him before springing off into the direction of the theater. "Aye aye, Captain Jacobs."
Davey stood up tall. He put on his best imitation of Jack's tone of authority and projected out to the newsies surrounding him at all angles.
"Listen up, crew," He declared with confidence. "We need to regroup."
...
There was waiting. Oh, man, was there waiting. Nobody could help but put all action on pause as they anxiously awaited the retrieval of Jack Kelly. They sat up on bunks, played cards, chatted, even smoked, and uneasily joked around. Jules herself took a few brief drags while talking with puerile Romeo, relaxing and getting her mind off the situation the strike was in. He no longer took the long flirting shots. Rather, he would just go on and on without silence about the urban legends of Newsie Square and holidays and friends and food and selling spots and pranks and games and girls and the weather.
Specs got cleaned up and returned from the washroom into the busy second-story bedroom in his blue flannel, vest, slacks, hat, and socks. He had not been able to find his right boot as he was getting dressed, even though he had set it right beside the left, so he figured he would look less foolish if he was missing both as opposed to only having one on. It was not the first time he had lost his shoe, after all. A figurine laid cradled in his hand, salvaged from the pocket of his other pair of pants. As he made his way through the crowds of the dormitory, he bumped straight into a girl with a colorfully dotted dress.
"My apologies, Miss Plumber," He said, beginning to move out of the way.
Katherine turned and shook her head, her curls dancing across her back. "It's all right," the girl assured him. She stopped him from moving further with her words. "Actually, I could use your help. You know Jack. I've scoured practically every nook and cranny around the square for him... Do you know where he might be hiding?"
Specs looked to the ceiling and considered the question. "He might be up on the roof. He goes up there to think from time ta time. That's where he makes his sketches, usually."
"Would you mind showing me?" She asked.
"Of course not," he answered. "I jus' hope you're not scared a' heights."
…
Silhouette swallowed up by the majestic backdrop of the dying sunset's warm spectrum, Specs made his way back down the creaking fire escape from the roof. He'd been frightened, even terrified of the drop for a very long time after first stumbling upon the Lodging House. But now, he stared down the cracks, gaps, and rust-outs in the metal like they were splatters of paint against a shed floor.
What he didn't expect to find on the landing of the second floor was his missing boot.
He had almost tripped on the shoe and grabbed the railing to steady himself before he could fall on his face. Carelessly he scooped it up and felt that it was the same worn leather he was accustomed to wearing day after day.
"Smalls," He sighed as he turned around. "You can come out now."
After a beat of his silently searching the empty upward stairwell, a green cap and pair of sparkling eyes appeared from the stairs below.
"How'd ya guess?" She asked as she approached him, much quieter than usual.
Specs set down the shoe, not bothering to lace it back on at the present moment, slipped his hand into his pocket, and produced the rook. He held it up, pinched between two fingers. "It's not the first time you've stolen from me," He replied.
Smalls reached out and plucked it from his hand. "How in the world did -"
"It don't matter," Specs told her. "I think I gotta bigger question."
Her crystal eyes flitted back up from the game piece to meet his. They seemed to pierce into his very soul. "Shoot."
Suddenly, Specs lost all of his words. Anything smart he had to say barely came to his throat before being swallowed back down with doubt and nerves. "Was it all this time?" He managed.
As Smalls squinted at the question, he stood terrified that it had come out somehow wrong. A request for him to repeat just might have killed him.
Her eyes thankfully – was it really thankfully, though? Didn't he want to linger in their glow for just a moment longer? – migrated to the streets below, and her hand followed to the railing.
"Was it for you?" She asked after a beat or two of staring into the endless void of the city.
Specs barely took in the question before an idiotic laugh came sputtering out of his lips. He tried to stop it before it happened, but it happened. And he had trouble ceasing.
"You're kiddin'," Was the only thing he could say.
Smalls looked back up. "Well, was it?"
"You're kiddin'!" Specs repeated. He seemed on the verge of insanity as he plunged into a frantic rant. "That strange fascination I had wid' you when we were kids never died. I thought it did. I wanted it to! But when you came back, everything jus' went wrong! Sure, I had a crush on Lauren, but how the hell was I supposed to know I'd fall in love wid' Smalls?"
That didn't come out loud, did it?
"I-I-I wanted things to be normal," He continued to stumble. "I-I swear I did. I thought it was a one-time deal. Part a' me hoped you would soon forget about me at the Refuge! But then every damn time I look at you…"
He took a steadying breath. Smalls faced him now. This was still his best friend. He could still talk to her for real.
"Every damn time I look at you, I…I see light. I don't jus' see the little girl who promised to stick by my side through the constant spray of crap this stupid city has to offer. I see everythin' you ever were to me."
Now he slowed down. Gently, he brought his hand up to meet hers on the edge of the railing. Their fingers intertwined in synchronization. He could do this.
"I see your spirit," He said, dwelling his gaze on her ginger grasp on his bulky, always-shaking hand. For once, it was still. For once, it felt safe. "I see your wit. I see your compassion. I see your happiness."
Now he glanced to Smalls' face. A subtle smile was there across the cheeks that turned rosy along with the summer evening sky.
"Can't things still be normal?" She asked timidly.
"Well… what's your definition of 'normal?'" He replied, furrowing his brow. "The pranks? The chess games? The freedom? The childishness?"
"Jus' everything," She said. "The world's movin' too fast, Specs. Faster than me. But I jus' don't want this to change."
Specs gazed over at their interlocked hands on the railing. "Maybe it won't, really," he offered. "All I've known is that I've jus' wanted to be wid' you all the time, no matter in what way." He took another long exhale. "So, was it all this time?"
Smalls set the rook down on the railing and touched Specs' shoulder with her free hand, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek.
"When I first heard ya laugh again," She answered. "I knew."
That was the moment when Smalls leaned just a tad too far and tripped on the forgotten boot.
She began to fall hard, but Specs caught her just as she was about to hit the ground.
"You a'ight?"
"Yeah," She laughed. "Yeah yeah, I'm fine."
Specs grinned as he brought her back up, holding her tight. "It's okay. I got you." He brought her into a close embrace. "And I'm not gonna let you go."
Never again.
…
Author's note:
BACK FROM THE DEAD!
Okay, so this one probably has a good one or two shortie chapters to go before it's all wrapped up. This one was obviously slow, but whatever. I need to get back on CtBTA, but I started this one, a long times ago, and I kinda wanted to see it through. So yeah. Any reviews/critiques are much appreciated!
~CW
BONUS:
"I SWEAR, IF YOU WEREN'T A GIRL, YOU'D BE TRYIN' TA TALK WITH A FIST IN YOUR MOUTH!"
Smalls jolted her attention from the chess board on the floor of the escape and stood up from her cross-legged sitting position on the ground. "Who was that?"
Specs climbed up to standing as well. "Sounded like Jack. Up on the roof."
Smalls raised an eyebrow. "What do ya say we do a little investigation, my dear Watson?
The two crept up the stairs, accompanied by a pair of voices ranting and arguing, throwing across insults that were just barely understandable from the distance.
"Is that Katherine?" Specs asked as they neared the last landing.
"The reporter doll?" Smalls questioned. "Maybe, but why would she be up there?"
Finally, Smalls gestured for him to kneel on the stairs closest to the roof, and there they remained perched, eyes just barely over the concrete to see what was going on.
"Oh-ho-ho!" Katherine reeled, staring down Jack with a glare burning with rage. "And if I was a boy, you'd be looking at me through one swollen eye!"
Smalls and Specs exchanged a look. Uh-oh. This wasn't going to end well.
"Oh, don't let that stop ya, hit me with your best shot!" Jack fired, getting into her face. "Hit me wid' your best shot! Huh?"
Katherine responded by grabbing Jack by the neck and deeply kissed him.
Specs clamped a hand over his mouth and sat back under the couple's range of view, holding back a stupid grin. "Oh my God..."
Smalls sat down next to him, eyes wide as saucers. "But Katherine? Really?"
"Jeez..." Specs whispered. "The boys will flip when they hear about this."
"Yeah," Smalls agreed.
"But we probably shouldn't tell 'em," Specs assumed.
"Nope," Smalls replied.
"...We're totally tellin' 'em, aren't we?"
"Yep."