The Queen of Brooklyn~A Spot Conlon Fanfic

Chapter Three: The World Will Know

The next morning, the newsies meet up at Newsie Square to buy our papes. Race steps forward and gasps. "Hold on, hold on!" He turns back to us, glee on his face. "The headline ain't the trolley strike no more!"

"No way!" Pie-Eater (who's never actually had pie) yells. "What's it say?"

"I don't know, but it sure don't say 'Trolley Strike Enters Third Week'. Gimmie a second." Race leans over, muttering to himself as he reads the headline. "Wait. Wait. Red, come over here a second."

"What?" I step forward, patting my messy red bun. "What's wrong?"

"You can read this, right? It says...it says what I think it says?" I can't tell if Race is angry, or stressed—or both. God, what does this headline say? I gently push Race aside to read it. "New Newsie Price...60¢ per...HUNDRED?" I gasp.

We all erupt. "What? That's crazy! We'll starve! Is this a joke?!"

Jack comes forward. "What's everyone standing around here for?" he asks, holding his hands out in a sign of confusion. "Why aren't you in line to get your papes?"

"They jacked up the price!" Pie-Eater cries in anguish. "It's bad enough we have to eat what we don't sell, and now we have to pay more?" He shakes his head in disgust.

Mush turns to Crutchie. "It don't make no sense. I mean, all the money Pulitzer's making...why would he gouge us?"

"Because he's a tightwad, that's why!" Skittery yells, and we all get riled up again, yelling and cursing. 

Jack silences us all as he walks up to the distribution stand. "So, why the jack-up, Weasel?" he demands.

Weasel smiles with a look on his face that makes me want to sock him. "Why not?" He licks his finger and sticks it through the separation bars into the air. "It's a nice day."

"Why don't you ask Mr. Pulitzer?" Oscar adds with a snarky laugh.

Skittery bites his lip, looking anxious (as usual, that's why we calls him Skittery). "They can't do this to me, Jack," he says, desperation in his eyes.

Race scoffs. "They can do whatever they want. It's their darn paper."

Buttons frowns. "What'll we do?" he asks.

"Gimme some time to think." Jack shakes his head. Kid Blink hands him a cigar, and Jack accepts it, taking a puff as he stares into space. 

We all wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Finally Race says, "Jack, you done thinking yet?"

"Okay, here's the thing: If we don't sell papes, then nobody sells papes. Nobody's going to that distribution stand till they put the price right back where it belongs."

"Oh, you mean like a strike," Davey says sarcastically.

"Yeah, I mean like a strike," Jack shoots back.

"What, are you out of your mind?" Race yells. "They'll bust our heads!"

"Jack, I was joking," Davey says, rushing up to him. "We can't actually go on strike. We're not a union. And we won't be, even if we go on strike. We're just a bunch of pissed off kids with no money. I mean, maybe it would work if we got all the newsies in New York together..."

"Well, then we'll get the newsies to join us," Jack says. "And if any newsie don't join us, we'll bust their heads like the cops busted the trolley workers' heads!"

"Jack, you need to think about this!" Davey says. Jack storms away from the pape stand and hops on top of a statue in the middle of Newsie Square. The rest of us scramble to keep up with him.