Chapter Text
Chapter 3
The private dorms weren’t as enticing as they sounded. Three tiny rooms only big enough to fit a bed and a small locker, and for almost twice the price of a standard bunk. But they were good if you wanted privacy.
They weren’t used much. Most of the boys felt uneasy being alone at night, or found the size of the room worrying. Jack absolutely hated the private dorms (although he’d stay without hesitating if someone needed him). Smalls had used one for the first week after he’d moved in, and Mike would bring Ike in if he was having a particularly bad night, but mostly they were left unused.
Racetrack couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in one. It felt unfamiliar, and the silence made him feel uneasy. But Kloppman’s reassurances and the exhaustion of the day’s events ensured a full night’s sleep.
When he woke up, Race’s head immediately flooded with plans. He had to wake everyone up, see who should stay and rest, decide whether they were going to make another protest attempt-
“Slow down, Race.” He told himself, rubbing a hand over his face and through his curls, “One thing at a time. Get outta bed first, good place to start.”
Race didn’t like the private dorms much. The sheets were always too stiff and crisp from disuse, and whilst he grumbled about the other boys keeping him up it felt odd to have a quiet night’s sleep. He sat up and stretched, wincing as his sore muscles protested against the movement.
He could hear Kloppman in the main bunk room, waking the other boys. Relieved he didn’t have to take on that job, Race took his time dressing before he headed out. Kloppman met him out in the hallway.
“Kid Blink and Sniper are staying here today.” He informed Race. The old man had never really been one for proper greetings. “Blink’s still very disoriented and Sniper’s so stiff he can hardly sit up. I’d like Tommy Boy to stay too, but you know nobody can get him to do something he don’t want. Keep an eye on him, will you?”
“‘Course I will.” Race promised, making for the bunk room, “Thanks, Kloppman.”
The other boys were in varying states of readiness as he entered. Mush was still fussing over Blink, whilst Smalls was talking softly to Sniper. JoJo was helping Elmer dress; Kloppman had cleared him to go out, but he still seemed quite groggy. He gave Race a sleepy smile as he passed, which eased Race’s worries somewhat.
“Scheiße, I’m hungry.” Henry muttered as he struggled to tie his boots. Race sniggered.
“You’se always hungry, Henry.” Specs shot back, kneeling down and deftly tying the other boy’s laces, “But I know the feeling. Nuns should be out with breakfast soon.”
Race nodded in agreement.
“Everyone ready?”
A chorus of unenthused agreements answered him, and the boys traipsed downstairs and out the front door. It felt strange, being at the front of the group. It wasn’t the first time Race had played leader, but under these circumstances it didn’t feel exciting or fun like usual.
As expected, the nuns were at their usual corner with their breakfast cart. Sister Winifred gasped when she saw them, her hand flying to her chest.
“What happened to you, boys?” She asked softly. Race shrugged noncommittally as he took his coffee and bagel. He still didn’t quite want to acknowledge the extent of their failure the previous day. It made it feel too real.
“Bit of a slip-up in our strike, that’s all.” He answered vaguely, “That’s all.”
Sister Winifred didn’t look convinced, but thankfully she didn’t press any further.
“Jorgelino!”
Sister Meredith reached down, gently stroking her thumb over a bruise on JoJo’s cheek. Her expression was filled with concern and sympathy for her former ward. JoJo forced a smile, trying to ease her worry.
“Who did this to you all?” She asked, addressing all the boys now. None of them could quite meet her gaze. Race liked Sister Meredith. She was more lively and energetic than the older nuns, but right now he wished she was as blunt as Sister Ethel. Her sympathy made him feel even smaller.
“Don’t worry about it, Sister.” JoJo finally spoke up, “We’ll take care of it. Thank you for breakfast.”
The other boys mumbled their thanks, handing back their empty cups. Race felt the nuns’ eyes practically burning into his back as they walked away.
“So what now?” Albert asked. There was a trace of fear in his tone.
Race fought back the urge to scream that he didn’t know. He didn’t know because the plans they’d made had gone so horribly wrong and they’d never thought of a backup idea. He struggled to think of something to say, saved when two familiar faces came down the street from the opposite direction.
“Race..!” Davey’s smile quickly faded when he took in the sight of the other newsies. Very few met his eye. Les looked concerned, his eyes darting between his brother and the older boys.
“Is Jack-?”
“We’s gotta make a decision.” Race cut him off, trying not to be angry at how uninjured Davey looked. He should be glad one of them escaped relatively unscathed, not bitter. He turned to face the other boys, heart heavy and pounding in his chest as he addressed them.
“None’a us can pretend like yesterday didn’t go to shit. Jack’s missin’, Crutchie’s been arrested, and we’ve got two guys laid up too hurt to walk. Nobody came to help us, so it’s up to you’se what we do next.” He took a deep breath, “We can continue the strike, or we can give in and accept the new price. I ain’t gonna be mad whatever y’pick, and I’se still proud of ya all.”
Hushed murmurs spread between the newsies for a while. Race waited patiently while they conferred, Davey and Les thankfully stayed silent.
Eventually, Buttons and Elmer stepped forward.
“We’ve got families to provide for.” Buttons said, sharing a look with Elmer, “It’s already been a few days, things are harder than ever at home. If- If the strike continues...”
“...We’re not sure we can be part of it.” Elmer kept his gaze fixed to the cobblestones, “My family already can’t afford to keep me at home. I need to contribute something, even if I can’t be there.”
Nobody challenged the young boys, although Albert’s eyes flashed with anger. Race knew his friend had family to help support too.
“I’m scared,” Mush confessed, shifting uneasily, “Yesterday I watched my best friend get his head cracked open, and he’s just barely alive. What about next time? What if next time a bull hits one’a us.. and he don’t get back up, huh? I don’t wanna face that risk.”
“Our ma and Sarah’s needlework won’t bring in enough income to both put food on the table and keep our apartment.” Davey muttered, “Our family needs us to work.”
“M-Maybe the sweeps’ll take us back..” Ike said, sharing an anxious look with Mike.
Race’s heart plummeted. He wasn’t mad, he could never, ever be angry at his friends for being scared, but somehow he’d thought everyone would be staunchly in agreement to keep striking. Although truthfully, Race wasn’t fully sure he wanted to keep going either.
“...Alright.” He agreed, oh so reluctantly, “We’ll sell the mornin’ edition, at the very least. We can figure somethin’ solid out later.
So in subdued silence, they made their way to their usual distribution window. Racetrack felt a rush of satisfaction when he caught sight of the Delancey brothers; both looked half-dead on their feet. Oscar’s lip was split and his eye so bruised it had nearly swollen shut. Morris’ nose was definitely broken; he still had some dried blood crusting on his upper lip.
There was no jabs or barbs shared today, the newsboys too angry to participate in their usual banter. Race would’ve been lying if he said he didn’t want to bruise up Oscar’s other eye or make Morris’ nose bleed again, but now wasn’t the time. They couldn’t afford to get angry right now. But something caught Race’s eye.
The Delanceys looked nervous. So did Weasel.
Oscar and Morris shared a look of unease, and Mr. Wiesel took a slight step back. Race’s heart skipped a beat; they’d got them worried. They’d scared ‘em yesterday.
Smalls was the first to walk away. Splasher and Henry followed suit, and soon the entire group had turned away.
Finch was the first to speak up.
“We give up and Crutchie got arrested for nothing.” He stated bluntly. Specs nodded in agreement.
“And Blink an’ Sniper got busted up for nothing.” He added, “We’ve gotta keep going.”
Murmurs of agreement sounded throughout the group. Race’s heart started to lift.
——————
Race felt like his heart was back in his stomach before noon.
They’d gone to the other distribution windows in Manhattan, making a desperate attempt to convince the other newsies. Their attempts had failed pitifully, and Albert was sporting a new black eye for their troubles.
They convened at Jacobi’s Deli, knowing the old man would let them stay until the lunch rush. Some of the boys were already flagging, still exhausted after yesterday’s events and a restless night’s sleep. Race hated to admit it, but he felt equally tired. His muscles screamed at him to sit down and rest, and his bruised leg protested with every step.
Finch collapsed directly on top of a table as they entered, throwing aside what little dignity he had left. The other boys found seats in chairs or on top of tables (or under one, in Les’ case). A few boys dozed off almost immediately, whilst the rest fell into an uneasy silence. What was there to say?
Mr. Jacobi came round with glasses of water, rambling something about fish in deserts. Race wasn’t really paying attention, until Finch finally stopped hogging all the table space and sat up.
“Why do old people talk?”
A few boys snorted, whilst others rolled their eyes and dropped their heads back onto the table.
“Same reason they snort: To prove they’s still alive.” Race muttered, chewing absentmindedly on his cigar. He was still trying to think of the best plan of action. They needed to look for Jack, and soon. Was it worth the risk trying to bust Crutchie out of the Refuge? The obvious answer was yes, but there were so many ways it could go wrong.
Not for the first time, he found himself wanting to scream in frustration. Why the hell hadn’t Spot come to help? At least then they’d have had a fighting chance. Maybe then Crutchie wouldn’t have been arrested, Jack wouldn’t be missing-
“Good morning, gentlemen!”
Katherine Plumber’s voice was far too cheerful for Race’s liking.
“Well, look at these glum mugs.” She continued, glancing around the deli, “I must be in the wrong place, I mean... surely these can’t be the boys who made front page of the New York Sun?”
There was suddenly an explosion of movement and voices. Race felt his heart pounding in his chest as he stared down at the paper. There they were. It was real, it was actually real. They’d made front page, their strike was gonna been seen!
“Lookit, that’s me!”
“Where’s me?”
“Front page and ya ain’t even dead!”
“Wait ‘til my old man sees this, I ain’t gonna be last in line for the tub tonight!”
“‘Newsies Stop The World’. That’s a headline even Elmer could sell!”
“Mush, ty chuj!”
Race could see Davey and Katherine talking out of the corner of his eye, but right now he didn’t care. It was a small victory, but enough to lift their spirits. And that was what they needed more than anything right now.
He heard Albert mention something about the Delanceys and Jack. No, no, no, they couldn’t get serious right now. He needed to keep them all happy just a little longer.
“Would you stow the seriosity-“ He slung an arm around Albert’s shoulder, grinning, “-an’ just drink in the moment?”
“We’re famous!”
“..Yeah? What of it?”
Curse Henry and his old-man cynicism.
“Well, when you’re famous... the world’s yer erster!” He made a dramatic flourish to emphasise.
A pause. A longer pause.
“Your what?” If Henry furrowed his brow any further, his eyes would’ve been shut.
“Erster? Y’know, fancy clam, got a little pearl inside?”
Race learned very quickly he’d been pronouncing “oyster” wrong most of his life.
“Alright, alright! And what does bein’ famous pay ya?” Henry asked, looking skeptical.
Race grinned, waving the paper triumphantly.
“Nah, y’don’t need money when you’re famous. They gives you whatever you want, just like that! And that’s what’s so great about New York!”
Another flurry of conversation started up, the boys excited talking about the things they’d want. Katherine sidled up to him.
“They know you still need money for all this stuff, right?“ She whispered. Race shrugged slightly.
“Some of ‘em do, some of ‘em don’t. But they need somethin’ to look forward to, even if it’s just wishful thinkin’.” He paused, his tone becoming much more subdued.
“None’a us have got much. Talkin’ about a decent haircut or a box at Sheepshead is as good as gettin’ it, far as most’a us are concerned. So if this makes ‘em happy, I wanna hear what they want.”
He was grateful when Katherine simply gave a silent nod of understanding. She’d been pretty quiet about her social standing as a reporter, but it was painfully obvious from her nice, neat clothes that she had at least a bit of money to her name. She wouldn’t get what life was like for him and his fellow newsies.
“Race?”
His whipped round, coming face to face with..
“Mack!”
The Brooklyn newsie shifted awkwardly, tossing back her untidy hair. She was Spot’s third in command, just behind Hotshot. Brooklyn had more newsgirls than any other borough, and Race knew Spot respected his girls as much as his boys.
“Got a message for you from Spot.” Mack never bothered with formalities, “‘Next event, you can count on Brooklyn’, that’s what he says.”
Race felt his heart soar. Finally, finally some kind of progress!
“You better not fuck this up, Racetrack Higgins.“
“I won’t, I promise.”
Mack nodded, satisfied. She paused, her gaze sweeping over the battered and bruised Manhattan boys. For a moment, Race saw a flicker of sympathy cross her features.
“They really did a number on you, huh?”
“We’re fine,” Race insisted, “Just could do with some extra muscle.”
Mack nodded again, giving a brief salute before making her way back out. The chatter of the other newsies had quieted somewhat, some of them having overheard the brief conversation.
“Spot Conlon’s gonna help us?” Romeo breathed, his eyes huge with awe. Race nodded, head spinning with adrenaline.
“Yeah. Yeah, he’s gonna help us. And he’s gonna bring the whole’a Brooklyn!”
The excited chatter started up again, louder than before. Davey climbed up onto a chair, gesturing for quiet.
“Okay, we’re getting somewhere now. But we’ll need more than just Brooklyn and Lower Manhattan. We need something that can unite all of the city’s newsies, give everyone a chance to voice their opinions and vote on how best to go forward.”
His eyes gleamed with excitement, a smile forming.
“I’m thinking... a rally.”