RESCUE ((racetrack higgins)

Beginner's Luck

 Despite Race's wishes, Jack paired Rosie with Albert as selling partners to get her first day started.

"I want her to sell at least once with every one of us," Jack had said, "then, it'll be easier for her ta find an angle 'n where she sells best." Race pouted at this, unsure of why she couldn't at least spend her first day selling by his side, but said no more as his brother gave him almost a comforting look and turned away. Race's eyes narrowed, trying to decide what the look meant, then realized that his brother was on to him; he knew something was up with Race and his true feelings for Rosie. And if Race still wasn't sure how he felt about her, then he damn sure didn't want anyone else trying to figure it out.

So he sat silently as Albert gave Rosie an old sling canvas tote and led her out the door to the circulation gate. He couldn't help but watch them skip merrily along down the sidewalk. At least she's happy, he thought to himself, her laugh like windchimes carrying from all the way down the street and warming his heart. He smiled as he realized it was the first time he'd really heard it, and promised himself he'd find a way to make her do it again.

Once the two were out of view, Race made his way to the bathroom to get his own day started. The conversation he'd had with Jack set him off to a late start, but he was fine with it. He'd finally get some peace and quiet and a bathroom all to himself, as all of the newsies had already partnered up and headed out. He turned the faucet on, relaxed by the sole sound of the running tap, and splashed some cool water on his face. He brushed his teeth and shaved the slight stubble off of his chin. As he ran a comb through his golden blonde hair, he paid close attention to the way it framed his face, trying again and again to make it look as flattering as possible. He twisted his lips as he thought of the best way to part it. To the left? That's new. To the right? No, same as always. He wanted her to notice him. Spiked up? Combed down? Slicked back? What do girls like best? With a slight sigh of frustration, he turned to the clock on the wall. Twenty minutes had passed. He shook his head, astonished at how quickly the time had flown by and yet there he stood, hair as stupid and messy as when he'd started. He crossed his arms. It usually only took him a few seconds to pass the comb through his hair and be completely satisfied with his look, what was so different today? He rolled his eyes to himself as he realized the answer.

Rosie. It was her. That stupid, pretty, sweet girl had gotten into his head and spun him all around. Rosie, with her soft brown hair that fell just to the middle of her arm and her light brown eyes that seemed to turn a sparkling bronze in the sunlight from his window. Race's stomach filled with butterflies and he bent over the sink, thinking to himself. Maybe he didn't like her yet, but he wanted more of her. He was intrigued by her. He found himself wanting to ask her so many questions and take her so many places just to get to know her. He wanted to know everything about her. He just wanted her.

But she was so fragile. She wasn't like the other girls he knew who'd just let him flirt with them or would even push themselves on him. She was her very own, and seemed very careful of who she let in. And where Race was often quick to jump on feelings and let things go as far and as fast as a girl would allow, he found himself wanting to go slow with Rosie. He wanted to know all about her, yes, but not the things that a quick night together tells you about a person. This was so unlike him. She was driving him crazy.

Race was soon snapped out of his tornado of thought when Crutchie suddenly appeared in the reflection of the mirror. He jumped and muttered a few curse words to himself.

"Oh, sorry Race," Crutchie began with an apologetic smile, "I didn't mean to scare ya." Race's posture relaxed as he nodded.

"Whattaya still doin' here, Crutch?" Race questioned, "Everyone else left about a half hour ago."