Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Anything recognizable from Newsies belongs to Disney and not to me.


Chapter 6: The Newsies

David guided Les over to the queue of newsboys, pushing down the nervous feeling in his stomach and trying to look as unobtrusive as possible. It was probably a lost cause; he and his brother stuck out like sore thumbs among the jostling, scruffy crowd, and more than one disparaging remark had already been made about their "fancy" attire and unexpected appearance in line.

It was early in the morning, and on a normal day, he and Les would have been passing the distribution center on their way to school, not waiting in line to sell papers, but things had taken a turn for the unexpected, and like it or not, here they were.

Straining to overhear the conversations taking place at the circulation window as the jocular newsboys paid for their papers and hounded the exasperated-looking Mr. Wiesel, David played nervously with the change in his pocket. He wasn't sure how many newspapers he should buy; he didn't want to take too few and end up with nothing to sell later in the day, but if he took too many, he wasn't sure if the distribution center would buy them back or not.

Most of the boys ahead of him seemed to be purchasing fifty newspapers, so David figured that he would start out conservatively and take twenty. If he ended up managing to sell his entire stock that morning, he'd be more ambitious when it came time to purchase the afternoon edition.

No sooner had he settled on this course of action, when it was his turn.

"Hey, look lively, new kid!" Wiesel barked, motioning for David to move forward. "We don't have all day!"

New kid - well, he'd been called worse. Stepping up to the window, David said politely, "I'd like twenty newspapers, please."

"Give him twenty, Oscar!" Wiesel ordered.

David placed his dime on the counter. "If I don't sell them all, you'll buy them back...right?" he asked hesitantly.

Wiesel's look was one of incredulous derision. "Buy them back?" he scoffed. "You're a riot, kid! Come on, I don't have time for this nonsense. Do you want your papes or not?"

Disconcerted, David pushed his dime forward and took the stack of papers that he was handed in return. Walking a few paces away, he pulled Les, who had already purchased his own "papes," over to the side and began counting the copies. Les's stack was fine, but when David counted his own, he came up one short.

Frowning, he counted again. No, he hadn't been mistaken. There were only nineteen papers there.

David sighed. They hadn't even started selling yet, and things were already off to a flying start.

"Sorry, sorry...excuse me," he apologized to a few slightly annoyed newsboys as he shouldered his way back to the window. He caught Wiesel's eye and, trying to sound more confident than he felt, said aloud, "I paid for twenty papers, but you only gave me nineteen."

The affronted Wiesel began muttering accusations, but before David could answer, his nineteen papers were unceremoniously whisked out of his hands.

Looking up indignantly, he watched as the pilferer, a newsie wearing a bright blue shirt, quickly counted the stack and then proclaimed loudly, "He ain't lyin', Weasel; you've shorted him a pape." Flashing an impish grin, he added, "Now, I'm sure it's an honest mistake, seein' how Oscar here don't have enough fingers for countin' all the way to twenty."

The newsboys jeered, and the insulted Oscar made as if to lunge forward, but he was held back.

"All right, all right," Wiesel groused, clearly ready to wash his hands of the whole thing. "Here's your paper. Now beat it."

David took the proffered copy of The World and was about to retreat, when the newsboy who had just helped him tossed a coin onto the counter of the distribution window and called out grandly, "Give him another fifty papes, Weasel!"

David cringed.

"Thank you, but I don't want more papes," he said shortly. He wasn't sure what kind of angle this newsboy was trying to work, but he wasn't going to be suckered that easily into being beholden to a stranger. Who knew what might be expected in return? Despite the other boy's earlier aid, David could see the calculating look in his eye, and he knew that there was more to this offer than simply trying to help out a naive new kid.

His protests were met with a disbelieving look.

"What are you talkin' about?" the newsboy scoffed.

"Look, I appreciate the gesture," David replied stiffly, "but I don't even know you."

The other boy regarded him for a moment before an easy grin split across his face.

"Well, pardon my rudeness," he drawled, a bit mockingly. With a flourish, he stuck out his hand. "The name's Jack - Jack Kelly, leader of the Lower Manhattan newsies."

David found himself unwillingly shaking Jack's calloused palm. "I'm David," he said reluctantly. "And this is my little brother, Les." He motioned to the younger boy, who was staring at their new acquaintance in awe.

"Nice to meet you, kid," Jack winked at Les. "I can tell you's the brains of this operation. Davey here already proved he ain't too smart by turnin' down my generous offer of fifty more papes."

"Well, he can be a bit dense," Les agreed without missing a beat.

David bristled. "All right," he said, "Well, now that you two have reached an agreement on that point, it's time for us to be on our way." He gave Jack a brusque nod, then grabbed Les' hand and began pulling him in the direction of the street.

"You sure you want to miss out on the chance of a lifetime?" Jack's cocky voice called after them. "I'm offerin' you the opportunity to sell with me, the best of Manhattan's best!"

David turned on his heel, ignoring Les' pleading look and fixing Jack with a level stare. "If you're the best," he said cooly, "then why do you need to sell with us?"

"For cryin' out loud, Davey!" the newsie leader exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. "Are you always this suspicious of folks just tryin' to help you out?"

David folded his arms across his chest. "My question stands." A beat of silence passed, and at first he thought that Jack wasn't going to answer...but he had no such luck.

"All right," Jack said, sounding a bit more agreeable. "I'll let you in on a little trade secret: papes move faster the younger you look." He cocked his head in Les' direction. "And that face could move a thousand papes a week without breakin' a sweat. So, here's what I'm offerin', Davey: you let me sell with your little brother, and I'll teach you both the tricks of the trade. We'll split our profits seventy-thirty - "

"Fifty-fifty," Les broke in forcefully, giving Jack a look that said he meant business.

Jack stared at the boy, his expression both surprised and pleased. "See, what did I tell ya?" he grinned, ruffling Les' hair. "The brains of the operation." He shook his head, amused. "All right, since Les here is already shapin' up to be a quick study, I'll give you sixty-forty, but that's my final offer."

Les glanced over his shoulder at David, who found himself nodding wearily in agreement. Facing off against the persistent Jack was turning out to be a confounding task, and David had the distinct feeling that digging in his heels would only be delaying the inevitable. Like it or not, Jack Kelly had already determined that they would be his selling partners (just as he had, for whatever perplexing reason, determined that David would henceforth be only addressed as Davey). They might as well get on with things; time was wasting, and no one else was offering to teach them the ins and outs of this new profession.

So he reluctantly found himself trailing after Jack and an eager Les with his father's words once again running through his mind:

Make good choices. Keep your guard up. Look out for Les.

David wondered if he'd already managed to fail all three directives.

He adjusted the weight of the newsboy bag on his shoulder, unused to the ungainly burden and to the awkward swing of it against his leg. As they walked along, Jack called out greetings to the newsboys he saw along the way, bantering like he was some politician on the campaign trail. Most of the others he passed gave Les a nod or a grin, clearly used to the sight of a youngster in training with Jack, but David received his fair share of questioning stares, though no one approached to introduce himself until a boy smoking a cigar caught his eye and sauntered over.

"Hey Jacky," he said, pulling the roll of tobacco out of his mouth and greeting the newsie leader. "You got some new friends?"

Jack nodded. "This here is Les," he said, motioning to the younger boy. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, "And that's his brother, Davey. Davey, Les, this son-of-a-gun is Racetrack, but you can just call him Race."

The boy gave Les a wink. "Please to meet ya, Les," he said. "You gonna sell with Jack today?"

Les nodded eagerly.

"Well, you's gonna be in good hands, then," Race replied, ruffling Les' hair. He then turned his attention to David, giving him a mischievous look.

"Heya, Davey," he said cheerfully. Then, to David's horror, he spat in his hand and held it out, clearly in a gesture of affability (though the roguish look never left his eyes). When the shocked David made no move to reciprocate, Race said teasingly, "What's a matter, Dave? You ain't ever shook a fella's hand before?"

"Not like that!" David exclaimed, adding under his breath before he could stop himself, "That's disgusting."

"That's just doin' business," Jack corrected, grinning as he clapped the still-smirking Race on the back. "And it's how us newsies greet each other, so you'd better get used to it, Davey."

David gritted his teeth, knowing that he was being egged on but sensing that there was an earnestness behind the newsboys' teasing antics. It was a test of some kind, this repellent custom, and he instinctively knew that his willingness to participate in it or not could directly impact the ease with which he and Les were accepted into this ragtag band of brothers.

So David found himself doing something he never imagined that he would do: spitting in his own palm, shaking hands with Race, and trying not to squirm as he did so. The satisfied look on Jack's face was enough to assure him that he'd done the right thing, and he supposed that there were worse ways of being inducted into a group.

This was a new world, after all - the world of the newsies - and if the rules and rituals that governed it were a bit off-putting...well, there was nothing David - Davey - could do about it.


After about an hour of selling together, Jack ended up going off with Les, leaving Davey largely to his own devices. He kept his little brother within sight (still a bit wary of their selling partner), but had to admit that Jack knew what he was doing, and that Les was getting the hang of things quickly under the older newsie's tutelage.

Davey somehow managed to sell all twenty of his papers that morning (a feat he attributed to a minor miracle), but he didn't feel confident enough to try for anything more ambitious, so when the afternoon edition came out, he once again paid for twenty papers at the distribution center, then walked over to the same corner where he'd been selling that morning.

Thankfully, the afternoon edition moved almost as well as the morning one, and Davey was able to keep up a steady (if infrequent) stream of sales, which made the time pass by quickly.

It was well into the afternoon and he had stopped for a moment to count the remaining papers in his newsboy bag, when a shadow fell across the sidewalk, and a familiar voice said, "I wouldn't have guessed you were the headline-hawking type, David."

Davey looked up to see Sadie giving him a half smile.

"But then," she continued easily, "I suspect that there are probably quite a few things I don't know about you."

To his surprise, he actually found himself happy to see her, a familiar face in a day that had been an unsettling whirlwind of strangers and change.

"We wondered where you and Les were when you didn't show up for class," the girl continued, sounding a bit concerned. "Is everything all right?"

"Everything's…" Davey hesitated. He'd been about to brush off Sadie's question, but to his surprise found himself confiding in her instead.

"Actually, my family's in a bit of a mess right now," he admitted softly. "My dad got injured on the job this week and they laid him off, so Les and I had to find work. That's why we can't come to school anymore."

He wasn't sure what had possessed him to disclose so much; after all, he barely knew her...but something about Sadie's open and easy manner was inviting. In this still-unfamiliar place, she was the closest thing that he had to a friend, and with everything that was weighing on Davey's shoulders, he knew that he could use a friend right now.

"I'm so sorry to hear about your father, David," Sadie said quietly. "I'm sure that it's been hard on all of you."

Davey smiled grimly. "It has been hard...but we're adjusting." Impulsively, he added, "And...you can call me Davey." At the quizzical look on her face, he amended quickly, "That is, you can...if you want."

"What's the matter - aren't you sure?" Sadie teased gently.

Davey felt himself blushing a little. "Sorry...it's kind of a new nickname for me. But I think I prefer it, actually."

"Fair enough, Davey," Sadie answered with one of her easy smiles. Glancing down at the newspaper in his hands, she reached into her purse and pulled out a penny. "I'll take a paper," she said, handing him the money. "Papa usually favors The Journal, but he's always telling me to look at things from a different point of view, so I'll bring him a copy of The World today."

"You don't have to do that," Davey said automatically, finding himself in the humbling position of being forced to accept help for the second time that day. In the case of Jack, it had been a little less humiliating - it was clear to Davey that, for all of the other boy's self-aggrandizing behavior, he actually did want them (well, Les, at least) as selling partners. But in this case, there was no reason for Sadie to be buying a paper from him unless she was doing it purely as an act of charity, and Davey stubbornly maintained that he was no charity case.

Sadie put an end to his internal struggle by gently tugging the paper from his hands, saying lightly, "I just want what I paid for."

Swallowing his pride, Davey let it go.

"So," Sadie said, tucking the paper under her arm, "Are you curious to know what you missed at school today?"

Davey tried not to look too eager.

"I'll take those wide eyes as a hearty 'yes,'" Sadie laughed. "It's really too bad that we can't switch places - I'm sure that you'd be much happier in school than I am, and being a newsboy sounds rather exciting."

"You'd probably be better at it than me," Davey admitted ruefully. "Les is a natural, but I'm no good at selling these headlines."

"It's only your first day," Sadie said consolingly. "Give it some time."

Noticing a trickle of passersby headed their way, she added, "I don't want to keep you from any prospective customers, and I'm on my way to the tailor's, so I'll be going now, but if you still want to hear about the lesson, I can catch you up tonight after dinner. Abby and I usually work on our school assignments in Papa's office - just knock."

And with a little wave, she was off before he could answer.


A/N: If you've read my other stories, you know that Race and Davey's friendship is my favorite dynamic to write, so Race, of course, had to make an appearance early on, despite the fact that this doesn't follow canon. He'll have a sizable role and his own subplot in this story (and this is only the first of the many times that he'll amuse himself at Davey's expense), so you'll be seeing a lot more of him as we go along.

If you're interested in reading an additional snippet of Davey's crash course in Newsie Life 101, there's an installment entitled "A Rather Strange Strategy" in SWW's companion one shot collection (Interstices) which takes a closer look at one thing that he did to help himself adjust to this new world he's found himself in. Please give it a read if you find yourself so inclined. :)