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


Chapter 118: Minute by Minute

Jack inhaled, letting the brisk morning air fill his lungs before exhaling in satisfaction as he watched the wisps of breath dissipate in front of him. The streets of Manhattan weren't generally a place where a fellow could catch a breath of fresh air, but this early in the morning the sky was clear and the atmosphere had not yet been choked with the smells of factory smoke and automobile fumes. It was the best time to be walking the streets, and in the dawning of the new day, Jack could feel the invigorating thrill of possibility in the air.

It was a brand new century, and he was more than ready to welcome it with open arms. He'd never been the kind to think about the future - what kind of future was there, really, for a street kid with hardly a nickel to his name? - but the latter part of 1899 had changed all that. And with each passing day, he'd found himself more willing to face what lay ahead and to look forward to what could be, rather than living like tomorrow would never come.

Katherine probably had a lot to do with that. There was something about having a beautiful, smart, and independent woman as a sweetheart that made a fellow inclined to think more seriously about life. And when that same gorgeous, intelligent, driven woman had declared that she was sticking around no matter what, well...there wasn't much a fellow could do besides answer that kind of devotion with some commitment of his own.

It had been an enormous relief to quit his cartoonist job at The World. Almost as soon as Jack had left his former editor's office after turning in his resignation (in writing, as Katherine had instructed him to), a heavy weight had lifted off of his shoulders, and he'd left the imposing building feeling much happier than he had when he'd entered, despite the fact that he knew he'd just closed the door on an opportunity that would never come knocking again.

He'd headed almost immediately over to Irving Hall to speak with Miss Medda. The theater owner had been thrilled to see him, as his visits after the strike had been few and far between due to his job at The World keeping him busy. After some good-natured scolding about his absence and making him catch her up on everything that had happened since the last time they'd spoken, she'd brought up the possibility of him painting some more backdrops for her, the very subject he'd been hoping to explore. It meant that he'd be able to offset the loss of the income from his cartoonist job somewhat, and while the pay wouldn't be nearly as high or as consistent, it was something. If things went according to the plans that were forming in Jack's mind, he was going to have some extra expenses coming up soon, so he needed to save as much as he possibly could.

The next stop after Irving Hall had been the distribution center, where most of the newsies had already congregated to wait for the afternoon edition. They'd exclaimed in surprise upon seeing Jack, for they knew that it was normally a day he'd be working on his cartoons rather than carrying the banner, and he'd taken the opportunity to update them on his situation, jovially declaring that he'd had enough of Pulitzer and that he wasn't going to be taking orders from the old man any longer.

The newsies had been ecstatic and had boisterously welcomed him into the line for the circulation window, pushing him up to the front, and as Jack had taken his place at the head of the queue, he'd felt a sense of satisfaction, for this was where he belonged.

It had been a good week for the newsies between the report that The Refuge had been shut down for good and the announcement that Jack was going to be around much more than before, and the collective jubilation had been almost palpable. The relief in Race's eyes and the smile that had split across Crutchie's face had made Jack even more sure that he'd made the right decision, and he was more than ready to relieve his lieutenants and reassume full leadership of the newsies now that he had the time and freedom to do so.

It had been a difficult winter for many reasons, but they'd made it so far, and though Jack felt slightly out of touch with what had been going on at the lodging house due to his preoccupation and frequent absences, he was ready now to re-immerse himself back into life with the boys.

This feeling of eager anticipation was what now gave spring to his step as he led the newsies to the distribution center for another day of selling. They arrived just as the wagons bearing The World were rolling through the gates, and Jack ushered the boys to the circulation window, the familiar sounds of Crutchie's crutch, Race and Albert's bickering, and Buttons' sleepy yawns following behind and heralding the start of another ordinary day.

Weasel was his usual grousing self, but Jack was in too good of a mood to bother heckling the rotund man, so he simply paid for his papers and then walked off to the side with his allotment, curious to see what kind of humdrum headlines he'd be spinning into sensational stories that day.

He'd nearly finished scanning the morning edition when Crutchie hobbled over.

"Anything good this mornin'?" he asked, eying his own copy of The World.

"Not much," Jack asserted. "That smile of yours is gonna be workin' overtime today."

Crutchie grinned. "Well, I ain't gonna be fakin' it - I sure is happy to have you back. Ain't been the same around here with you bein' so busy workin' for Pulitzer and havin' to put your mind on other things."

He glanced at the line of newsies. "Speakin' of havin' your mind on other things…" he added, his voice lowering a bit, "what do you make of that?"

Jack looked over to where his friend was pointing, and saw that Crutchie's attention had been drawn to the last two newsies in the circulation line.

"Looks like Davey and Jojo are havin' their usual cup of mornin' coffee," Jack observed. It was a routine of sorts between the two newsies, choking down the sour coffee provided by the nuns in tandem as they slowly woke themselves up and mentally prepared for the day. Jack had overheard them discussing some of the material that they'd been going over during tutoring lessons from time to time, so he'd figured that it was also a chance for the two newsies to squeeze in some more book learning, which made sense, as neither of them was particularly inclined to small talk so early in the day.

"Somethin' tells me that Davey ain't hearin' a word Jojo's sayin'," Crutchie remarked, and Jack looked again only to see that his friend was right. Davey, normally an attentive listener, was staring off into space, seemingly oblivious to his companion's conversation. He didn't even notice when the line of newsies inched forward in front of him, and only looked slightly embarrassed when Jojo pointed it out, simply walking forward a few steps and shortly thereafter resuming his absent-minded expression.

Jack's eyes narrowed in concern. Something was wrong. Something had to be wrong. Maybe Davey wasn't sleeping enough, or maybe something else had happened to his family.

"Ain't like that bummer to check out first thing in the mornin'," he muttered. "You happen to know if anything's goin' on with him, Crutchie? I ain't been the best at keepin' up with the fellas lately, so I ain't got a clue what might be upsettin' him."

Crutchie shook his head. "Davey don't really talk much about his personal life," he ventured. "But if he's told anyone anything, it'd haf'ta be Race, or the boys in his readin' group. Guess you could just ask him yourself, too...though that might not help you much."

Jack nodded in agreement; it was far more likely that he'd get a straight answer out of one of the other boys than out of Davey himself.

Resolving to do some investigating later that day, Jack bid Crutchie goodbye and good luck, then headed down the street, thankful once again that he could focus on the newsies under his care now that the disagreeable season of working for Pulitzer had come to an end. He'd have some catching up to do to get back in touch with what was going on in the lives of his friends and brothers, but he was confident that it wouldn't take long to get up to speed. Being the best of Manhattan's best didn't only apply to selling papers, after all, and if there was one thing Jack prided himself on, it was always having the best interests of his boys at heart, so it would only be a matter of time before he figured out what was bothering Davey.


"Meet you at Newsie Square, the usual time?" Jojo asked, tucking his quota of papers into his newsboy bag as he prepared to part ways with Davey.

Davey nodded. "Yes, I'll see you there. If you have some down time between sales today, see if you can pick out some new words you want to learn in the morning edition. We can go over them this afternoon."

"Will do," Jojo answered, giving a little wave goodbye before he turned and headed off in the direction of Mulberry Bend Park where he usually started his day of selling.

Davey slid his own allotment of papers into his bag, keeping one copy out so that he could peruse the headlines.

It was almost as if his equanimity was being systematically tested that morning, for several unfortunate happenings had occurred: he'd overslept, forcing him to scramble to get ready for the day in time, Les had dragged his feet more than usual and had splashed through a puddle of muddy water, soaking both his shoes and the bottom of Davey's trousers, the coffee from the well-meaning nuns had tasted even more sour than usual, and now, on top of everything, there was a particularly uninteresting edition of The World to sell for the day…

...but none of it seemed to have any effect on Davey's satisfaction, and he found himself uncharacteristically content to be striding down the streets of Lower Manhattan in his slightly muddy trousers with a bag full of lackluster papes and hardly anything in his stomach save for the biscuit he'd wolfed down the way to the distribution center and a few swigs of acidic coffee. Normally, any one of those conditions might have put him in an even more irritable mood than usual (for he was never very fond of mornings), but not today.

There were several factors contributing to his unusual cheerfulness: for one, he and Jojo were finally getting into the swing of things with their tutoring after a few weeks of difficulty, and it was gratifying to see some of the fruit of their labor finally appear. The reading group, which now boasted two additional members - Finch and Buttons, who had joined shortly after the lodging house shindig - was making its way through The Second Jungle Book and would be ready to start another novel soon, and all of the boys were enjoying the story immensely. It had been gratifying to discover a regular sense of purpose in even these small things, and Davey had found himself less discontent with his ambiguous role amongst the newsies as these endeavors had unfolded. He couldn't lead like Jack or cheer people up like Race, and he still felt like an outsider on many occasions, but knowing that he'd found a way to contribute anyway gave him a sense of settledness, and this was reason enough to be happy.

Life at home, too, was going well; his parents had just received confirmation from Dr. Wright's office that, with the flu cases declining and the doctor's schedule slowly opening up, Mayer's surgery could now proceed, and the operation had been set for a date near the end of the month. Recovery would take some time, but it would mean a much stronger leg and better prospects for work, and the entire family was immensely relieved at the anticipation of things finally turning around on that front.

And then, of course, there was Sadie.

Davey had always considered himself to be a fairly level-headed person, but he'd begun to doubt the veracity of that assessment quite strongly over the past few days, as he'd found himself in a near constant state of absentminded daydreaming about the landlord's daughter. It was as if he saw her everywhere - among the crowds of people rushing by, inside the shops that he passed as he sold his wares, sometimes even hidden among the branches of the trees, her imaginary likeness cheekily teasing him and distracting him from his work. Each time he looked closer and realized that it wasn't her, he felt a little ridiculous, but that didn't stop him from looking again the next time the illusion appeared. And strangely enough, these false sightings only made him more eager to see Sadie again in substantiality, as though his complete and utter preoccupation with her imaginary self wasn't already enough.

It was an extraordinary feeling to have his thoughts consumed by something other than his many responsibilities. Normally, he'd be completely absorbed with his family's finances, Les' ups and downs at school, and whatever was going on with the newsies, all concerns that hovered at the back of his mind, things that he needed to oversee or manage or assist with, all necessarily competing for his time and his attention. And while those duties were important and he knew that it was imperative to give thought to them, it felt...special to have something sweet and lighthearted filling his mind for a change.

He ought to be thinking more sensibly about the matter, of course; feelings were all well and good for a time, but eventually they required a reckoning, and he was far too pragmatic to believe that he'd be able to simply indulge in these sentiments forever without having to face the sobering consequences of his ever-growing admiration. His last conversation with Sadie should have been a significant reminder of this reality. He'd never heard her speak of her dreams to venture beyond Manhattan prior to that evening, and while she appeared to be at peace with the probability that a life of exploration was not in her future, he'd heard a note of longing in her voice and could tell that her heart was still attached to the idea, even if only in part.

It was just another indication that the two of them wanted vastly different things, that their futures were unlikely to converge, and that fundamentally they had very little in common other than living in the same place for the time being. If Sadie were to ever attach herself to someone, it would certainly be to a person with a more adventurous bent, someone who, like her, was eager to see the world and experience all life had to offer, someone spontaneous and daring and fun...not the kind of boy who was only looking to settle down, who could be content to live the rest of his life in New York without ever traveling beyond it, whose most daring exploits involved simply trying speak his mind without stumbling over his words, who found the challenges of daily life formidable enough without going off to look for an adventure...

But none of that really mattered, did it? Because none of what he was thinking was logical, anyway. There was no need for a well-reasoned approach or a plan, for he had no intention of acting on his feelings, and as long as things stayed that way, he didn't need to bother with the practical implications of his sentiments. It was better not to complicate things by making them more problematic than they were, and a minute by minute approach was certainly more appropriate than projecting concerns onto a future that would never materialize.

Pushing the thought aside, Davey pulled a copy of The World from his bag. He was just about to begin shouting the headlines when his attention was arrested by the sight of Race walking up ahead, shoulders hunched and head bowed as he walked briskly towards his destination.

Something about that picture didn't look right, and Davey quickly tucked his paper under his arm and quickened his pace, dodging pedestrians and eliciting more than a few exclamations of annoyance as he wove through the crowd in an attempt to catch up with his fellow newsie.

The gambler probably would have given him the slip, but as luck would have it, a large wagon trundled across the street, bringing the foot traffic to a standstill, and Davey was able to draw even with Race just as the obstruction passed and the other boy was about to continue walking.

"Hey," Davey said, catching the momentary look of despondency on his friend's face before the other boy quickly masked it with a misleading smile. "Are you doing all right?"

"Well, good mornin' to you too, Dave," Race drawled. "You sure is lookin' serious on this fine day!" He nudged Davey in the arm. "What's a matter? Misplace your sunny disposition?"

Davey had been prepared for the brush off, but he was still surprised by how convincingly cheerful Race could sound despite the fact, only moments ago, he'd been a picture of private dejection. It made Davey wonder how often Race was actually hiding more than he let on, and how often the other newsies fell for his act.

"I think we both know that 'sunny' is one of the last words that should be applied to me," he said aloud, willing to quip back but internally preparing to put up a little resistance. "And I'm actually more interested in your disposition, Race. I saw you walking up ahead a moment ago, and I noticed you didn't look like yourself. Is everything all right?"

Race's jovial expression didn't flicker, but Davey caught the barely-perceptible twitch of his fingers as he glanced up the street.

"Even a fella like me has days when he don't feel up to carryin' the banner," he remarked, his voice quieting just a bit.

"Did you sleep all right last night?" Davey ventured, knowing that it wasn't the whole answer but willing to entertain this circuitous method of inquiry if it meant eventually getting to the responses he was looking for.

Race shrugged. "Didn't sleep much...but that ain't unusual." He was silent for a moment, and Davey almost thought that he was going to open up then and disclose what was on his mind, but instead, Race pulled a paper from his bag and thumped Davey on the arm with it, his grin once more in place.

"Hey, don't waste your time worryin' about me, all right? I know you's the kind that always has to have somethin' to fret over, but you oughta try loosenin' up for a change. Think about somethin' that makes you happy instead of all the things that could be goin' wrong in the world, huh?"

That's what I was doing until I saw you, Davey thought dryly.

"If you don't want to tell me what's bothering you, Race, then that's fine," he acquiesced. "I'm not trying to pry. I just want to make sure you're all right. If there's anything I can do, I want to help - even if it's just listening. That's all."

"Well, ain't you a sensitive fella."

"For better or for worse, yes," Davey agreed, feeling a small twinge of self-consciousness at the label and the slightly-mocking tone that had accompanied it, but knowing that there was no point in arguing. "It's something I've never figured out how to fix." He was about to ease into a slightly-sarcastic joke and then back off, assuming that Race's mild derision was an indicator that he was done talking, but before he could follow through with it, the other boy spoke up.

"Ain't sure it's somethin' you need to fix, truth be told."

Davey looked at him sharply, caught off guard by the abrupt change in tone, and Race gave him another disarming shrug in return.

"You's cut from a different cloth, that's for sure, Dave, but it don't follow that there ain't a use for cashmere sometimes when cotton or canvas don't suit."

It was a slightly ungainly metaphor, but the jist of it was clear.

"Anyway," Race continued, "since you's goin' through all this trouble, guess I owe ya a little explanation - at least enough so you can stop worryin'."

The words were reluctant, but the defensiveness had disappeared, and Davey found himself slightly astonished that he'd managed to get Race to drop the act, even if the inciting factor for disclosure had been a self-deprecating statement and not his sincere words of concern. But, he supposed, that was how things normally went with him stumbling his way into a situation and ending up accomplishing what he'd set out to do by way of an unconventional solution.

"We can talk while we sell," he offered, knowing that Race generally liked to move his allotment of papers as quickly as possible so that he'd have some time to bum around before the afternoon edition came out.

The gambler nodded in agreement. "Sure."

Despite the fact that they saw each other frequently on the job and knew each other's usual selling spots and hawking habits, they'd never peddled their papers together before, likely because their methods were so different, but as they began to walk down the street, they fell into an easy rhythm, and a steady stream of buyers kept them both busy for several blocks.

Eventually, though, things slowed down, and they came to a stop a few blocks away from Newsie Square where Race, without any prodding, returned to the subject at hand.

"I dunno if you remember this, Dave, but that one time you came to visit me in Brooklyn, I mentioned I had a little sister over there."

Davey nodded. He hadn't forgotten.

"She lost her job last month," Race continued, "and I tried to get her to come cross the Bridge with me and move here to Manhattan so I could keep an eye on her, but she didn't want to leave 'cause our ma's still back in Brooklyn. Won't bore you with the details, but Sophie's kinda in a fix now, and I'm worried about her."

"Is it the money, mostly?" Davey asked.

Race shook his head. "Nah. I'm worried about the folks she's livin' with. They ain't the kinda people you want your little sister hangin' around."

"I see." Davey paused for a moment, trying to think about how to frame his next question, but before he could come up with an answer, Race continued.

"Anyway, I try not to think about it too much - ain't nothin' I can do for her, not when she's set on stayin' in Brooklyn - but it eats at me sometimes." He gave Davey a knowing glance. "Worryin' about family's somethin' you's familiar with, so I don't think I haf'ta tell ya much more than that."

It was a clear signal that the conversation was closed, and Davey didn't push further, though he couldn't help but wonder at the parts of the story that Race was purposefully omitting.

"It is upsetting to be worried about your family," he said sympathetically, "and I can't imagine how much harder it would be if I couldn't be near them."

Race nodded. "Yeah. That's the worst of it."

A man approached, hailing them for a paper, and Davey let Race take the sale, reflecting for a bit while the gambler completed the transaction. He wished that there was some kind of practical advice or tangible help that he could offer, for it felt so inadequate to simply listen, but he wasn't sure what he could do other than that, and, knowing Race, he probably didn't want help, anyway…

"Hey, you feelin' all right?" the newsie in question asked, coming over and breaking into Davey's thoughts. "You's lookin' all down in the dumps now, and you ain't even the fella with the problem!"

"I just wish there was something I could do to help."

Race clapped him on the back. "If you wanna make me feel better, Dave, give me somethin' fun to think about instead!" he suggested. "I ain't the kind that likes broodin' about my problems - that's more your style, you know?"

The unexpected and slightly-joking proposition took Davey aback, for he was the kind to mull over problems rather than to shake them off, and it went against all of his natural instincts to simply gloss over a troubling situation rather than dwell on it…but if that was what his friend was asking for at the moment, he wanted to do his best to deliver...

Something fun to think about.

Davey wracked his brain, grasping to come up with anything he could say to lift Race's spirits or tickle his fancy. It didn't help that he was a generally serious person to begin with, and that the things he would consider enjoyable weren't things that the other newsie would find at all appealing, but he really did want to make Race feel better...

Impulsively, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"I had dinner with Sadie's family - a little over a week ago."

Race's eyes lit up, and Davey fought the urge to grimace at his poorly thought out decision.

You're definitely going to regret that.

But there was no going back now, so he might as well get it over with.

"We ate soup," he elaborated reluctantly. "And biscuits. And we talked while we washed the dishes." He knew that his belated attempts to frame the encounter as mundane and uninteresting were futile, but couldn't help adding, "I'm not sure why I even brought it up, now that I think about it. I guess I figured maybe you'd want to know. But we can move on to something else now."

Race waved him off. "Nah, we's in no hurry! Let's hear more about this dinner!"

"There's nothing more to tell," Davey hedged, already anxious to be done with the subject.

The other newsie shook his head in amusement. "You's terrible at this lyin' business, ya know that? Dishonesty written all over your face, clear as day." He grinned. "So, it's gettin' serious, then? You's already dinin' with her folks?"

"I work for her father, in case you've forgotten. It was just a friendly visit, that's all."

"Oh, that's all it was?" Race replied mockingly. "Huh. I guess that makes sense. Seems pretty clear that you ain't got any intention of winnin' Beck over if the best you can do is have a nice friendly conversation with her over washin' dishes. I ain't no expert, but that don't seem like a very romantic way of gettin' a girl to fall for ya."

Davey felt his ears getting warm. "I'm not trying to get her to fall for me."

"Aw, you sure about that?" Race elbowed him in the ribs. "You's lookin' a little rosy in the cheeks right now."

"Yes, I am. Sure about it, I mean." Davey pulled a paper from his bag. "We should get back to selling."

"All right, Dave, if you insist," Race agreed, copying the motion with a clearly amused affability. "I haf'ta say, though...for someone who claims he don't fancy a girl, you sure have a way of bringin' her into a conversation."

"I brought up my dinner with Sadie and her family because I thought it would entertain you," Davey answered shortly. "And I already regret that decision. Immensely. I don't know what I was thinking. But I hope you feel better now."

"I am feelin' better," Race clapped him on the back, smiling. "You's a real pal, Davey. A real clueless fella sometimes, too, but that ain't neither here nor there."

"Yeah, well...glad to help," Davey muttered. He could tell from the gleam in the other newsie's eye that this would be far from the last he'd hear on the subject and was still internally berating himself for opening the door to Race's good-natured ridicule in the first place, but he could tell that the gambler's spirits had been lifted by the brief exchange, so he tried not to feel too disgruntled. It was an unconventional way of being a friend, but it had worked, at least for the time being, so he would figure out a way to live with the consequences.


"Number eleven, salami on Swiss with a side of 'slaw and a sour pickle!"

Race ambled over to the lunch counter, setting his receipt down in exchange for his meal, which he took along with the accompanying (and most importantly, free) cup of water over to the corner table that the newsies usually occupied while at Jacobi's Deli. Sinking into a chair, he took a big bite of his sandwich, feeling the hunger in his belly dull almost immediately as he savored the salty tang of salami and the mellow nuttiness of Swiss cheese on his tongue.

Jacobi's was fairly quiet at the moment, the lunch rush having already come and gone, and surprisingly none of the other newsies were present, perhaps slightly behind in their usual routine due to the lackluster headlines they'd had the pleasure of selling that morning.

Race had expected to sell alone that day, but he'd been surprised by Davey's unexpected appearance and even more so by his concern about Race's wellbeing. He'd thought that he'd hidden his worries well enough under his usual smile and slightly-sarcastic front, for it had served him well in the past and generally none of the newsies ever noticed that anything was amiss, but he'd underestimated Davey's uncanny intuition in this case.

Their conversation regarding Race's troubles had been brief, and Race had purposefully left out many of the relevant details (for something in him was reluctant to disclose the fullness of his family's brokenness to a boy whose parents and home life seemed to be relatively normal), but it had felt slightly relieving to share his worries with someone who could relate to the concerns of an older brother.

The morning had flown by quickly enough, and both of them had managed to move their papers despite some rather uninspired headlines. A healthy amount of relatively one-sided banter regarding Davey's aforementioned dinner with Sadie's family had also helped to pass the time, and Race had found his mood considerably lifted by the time he parted ways with his friend, who'd left after he'd finished selling his papers to meet Jojo for tutoring at Newsie Square.

That bummer sure is a hoot, Race thought, taking another bite of his sandwich. Davey's persistent obtuseness when it came to acknowledging his feelings coupled with his utter inability to disguise how he really felt was one of the most amusing contradictions Race had run across in a while, and he wondered if Sadie found the combination endearing or not, for surely the quick-witted brunette couldn't be completely oblivious to Davey's fascination with her. She didn't seem like the kind to string a fellow along, but also she didn't seem like the sort of girl who would be interested in someone as serious as Davey either, at least not in any significant way, so in Race's mind it was a toss-up as to how she would react.

The door of the deli opened, interrupting Race's thoughts, and he looked up to see Jack sauntering into the eatery, his hands in his pockets and his empty newsboy bag at his side. Catching sight of Race, he sidled over, raising a hand in greeting.

"Hey, Racer!"

Race raised his chin in acknowledgement. "What's up, Jacky?" He motioned to the seat across from him. "You stayin' for lunch?"

"Nah." Jack ignored the proffered chair and hoisted himself on to the table instead. "Just want to ask you a few questions."

"Yeah, sure," Race agreed, taking a swig of water and inwardly preparing himself for another round of questions about his despondent behavior.

"I was wonderin' if you knew what was wrong with Davey."

Race coughed as the water went down the wrong way in his surprise, and Jack reached over to pound him heartily on the back.

"Thanks," Race wheezed, gulping in air. After pausing for a moment to catch his breath, he repeated, "You's askin' me what's wrong with Davey?"

Jack nodded. "Me and Crutchie was noticin' he looked a little out to lunch this mornin' in the circulation line. Kinda absent-minded and dazed, ya know? Figured somethin' must have happened with his pa or his brother or somethin' and thought maybe you'd know, since I ain't been around much lately and ain't up to speed on half the things the fellas is goin' through right now."

It was a frank admission of ignorance, and Race appreciated the honesty, for he knew that Jack prided himself on knowing what was going on with each of his boys, so it must have been a slight blow for him to realize that he had a lot of catching up to do. It was also more than a little relieving to know that the newsie leader's interrogation wasn't going to be directed at him, for Race had disclosed all of the details about his personal life that he was willing to share for the day.

"I dunno that anything's wrong with Davey," he began, brushing a few bread crumbs off of his knickers. "Talked to him this mornin', and he said things are goin' well at home. His pa's gonna have surgery soon for his leg, which should set it to rights, and Les is hangin' in there at school. Seems like there's been plenty of work around the tenement, too, so Davey's bringin' in decent money."

"Think maybe he ain't sleepin' enough?" Jack surmised, still set on the idea that something was off.

"Doubt it; at least, he didn't say nothin' about that." Race took a deliberate bite of his sandwich before continuing. "If I was to take a stab at why he's been actin' so strange, though...I'd say it's probably 'cause he's actually feelin' a little giddy."

Jack stared at him like he'd lost his marbles.

"You think he's feelin'...giddy?"

Race nodded.

Despite the fact that Davey had been his usual earnest and slightly uptight self that morning, there had been something else in his manner, too, and as the conversation had worn on, Race had noticed the other newsie's characteristic behavior slipping into something more buoyant than normal. They'd talked about a number of different topics over the course of the time they'd been selling together, but one particular theme had been revisited several times, and despite Davey's previous assertion that he'd only broached the subject for the sake of amusing Race and didn't want to discuss the matter any further, he'd fallen into speaking about it again rather easily after only a few subtly well-timed questions, clearly desirous to talk about Sadie even if he wasn't willing to admit it. And in his effusive remarks, Race had heard the unmistakable warmth of someone who was thoroughly enchanted by the subject of his musing - he'd heard it in Finch's voice when he talked about his latest feat with a slingshot, in the words of Buttons whenever the topic of sewing came up, and even from Jack on occasion whenever he mentioned Katherine. He'd never heard Davey speak that way about anything or anyone...but clearly the other boy was more than capable of it when the circumstances were right.

All of this had led Race to the conclusion that Davey's unusual behavior was, in fact, due to a surprising surge of high spirits and not to a characteristic anxious preoccupation, though he could tell from Jack's reaction that the newsie leader was having a hard time believing it.

"Okay, so…" Jack scratched his head, giving Race a doubtful look, "...if you think Dave's actin' strange 'cause he's giddy...what's he got to be so bubble-headed about?"

"I'm goin' off of a hunch, here," Race admitted, gesturing with what was left of his sandwich, "but I'm pretty sure that sucker's gone and lost his head over a pretty girl. He won't say as much, but I'd be willin' to put money on it. Been seein' the signs for a while now, and I can't say I'm surprised."

The expression on Jack's face was nothing short of incredulous, and Race took advantage of the momentary lapse in conversation to finish eating his sandwich and pickle.

"Geez…" Jack muttered under his breath, finally breaking the silence. "I got a lot of catchin' up to do." He shook his head. "So...you think they's gonna start goin' together soon?"

Race shrugged. He was a lot less sure about that. "Can't say," he remarked, spearing a forkful of coleslaw. "You know how Davey is. Pretty sure that bummer would rather take it on the lam than 'fess up about his feelings."

He grinned. "Maybe you oughta give him a pointer or two on how to charm a lady, Jacky. Seems like you and Kath is gettin' along swimmingly."

"Yeah, well, we ain't without our troubles," Jack admitted. "But we's doin' all right. Pretty sure it's gonna help not havin' that job with her father comin' between us anymore."

"Old Joe's still a rat no matter how you slice it," Race sympathized. "I know I said you oughta try to hold on to your job as long as you could, but it's a good thing you ain't gonna be under his thumb no more, seein' as Kath's bein' reasonable about it."

Finishing his coleslaw, he drained the last of the water in his cup, then pushed back his chair. "Sorry, Jacky, but if you ain't got any more questions for me, I haf'ta run - I told Henry I'd meet him at the distribution center after lunch to pay off the money I owe him for spottin' me yesterday's papes."

"Yeah, sure," Jack agreed, pushing himself off of the table. "I'll head that way with ya. Haven't gotten a chance to talk to Henry in a while, so maybe I'll see if he wants to sell together for the rest of the day." His smile was wry as he added, "Pretty sure there's a lot more goin' on with the fellas that I gotta get up to speed on, so I might as well start now."

Race clapped him on the back, and the two of them left the deli together.


A/N: Not the most riveting chapter, sorry, but it's important for setting up the installments to come - and it's also not common that we get Jack, Davey, AND Race's POVs all in one chapter, so there's that ;). Thank you for hanging in there with this! Next up, it's time for another Becker family celebration, so I hope you'll join Sadie as she hosts her first tenement party. :) And in the meantime, if you'd be so kind as to share your thoughts on this chapter - favorite lines or parts, predictions, anything that comes to mind, I'd be thrilled to hear them!