This Ain't Just Newsies No More ~ Sprace & Javid

New Beginnings | Race

Oh dear. This is the last Sprace. And then...no more story. Am I mentally prepared for that? Only one way to find out. Oh, also, this has a much bigger time skip than the other one, please don't be mad at me. Sorry if you can't tell what's going on I hope it's clear for sure by the end. If you caught the foreshadowing that I subtly implanted throughout this book, it all comes down to this. Anyway. Enjoy! :)

"In 1899, the streets of New York City echoed with the voices of the newsies, peddlin' the newspapers of Joseph Pulitzer, William Randolph Hearst, and other giants of the newspaper world. On every corner you saw 'em carryin' the banner, bringing you the news for a penny a pape. Poor orphans and runaways, the newsies were a ragged army, without a leader, until one day, all that changed."

He loves telling that story, and making that opening as dramatic as he could with a street-talk accent that had worn away with time, telling it again and again and again, even though it's years later since the actual event. And the kids he tells the story to love to hear it, too; their eyes wide with anticipation for what's going to happen next.

"Ya see, there's this newsie, goin' by the name of Jack Kelly-" he's about to continue, but he's cut off by someone sitting down next to him and saying, "Honey, are you sure you're not the hero of this story?"

"Come on, dear. You know it was Jack Kelly."

"I thought it was the most amazing Racetrack Higgins who led the strike."

"Well, why don't you just throw in the infamous Spot Conlon while you're at it?"

"You got me there." And then kisses him.

He knows this can't get too passionate; they still have kids of various ages sitting on the floor in front of them; but he enjoys the kiss while it lasts nonetheless. He also enjoys their hands together, and stroking his thumb over the silver ring on his partner's left fourth finger.

When they break away, Sean Patrick Conlon is staring right into the eyes of Antonio Higgins, who stares right back with the same love.

They've (unofficially) been together for years now.

"Come on, Papa, let Babbo tell the story," one of the youngsters complains.

Sean smiles warmly at the one who spoke, little six-year-old Anita, with the brightest red hair. "Of course, sweetheart."

Sean and Antonio, in their years of being adults, have adopted and fostered many kids. Their family includes kids with many different backgrounds, and came to them at all different ages. The eldest is Sofia, who is seventeen. Bartolomeo brought her to them sixteen years ago, knowing that she'd be in good hands with them. The youngest is just two years old, Levi, of African American descent. And in between, there is little Anita, who has been with them since she was Levi's age; and ten-year-old Marco, who they have raised since he was just a little baby, whose mind they know works differently from everyone else's; and thirteen-year-old Astrid, a girl straight from Norway, without any family, who came to them just within the past year. They don't look like any normal family, that's for sure. And they all have a few different languages between them. To the kids, Sean is Papa and Antonio is Babbo--another Italian word for father. Right now, it's hard to make a living for all of them. But Sean and Antonio have been through so much together. They can handle anything.

Antonio grins at him, and turns back to Anita, saying, "The only reason why the newsies needed a leader, was because those newspapers that they'd sell for a penny a pape? They'd pay fifty cents for a hundred papes. But all of a sudden, because of one big mean man called Mr. Pulitzer, they had to pay sixty cents for a hundred papes. Sixty cents per hundred! The newsies didn't think that was fair. Do you think that was fair?"