All is fair in Love and Strikes (Sprace)

Chapter 7 I Race

We were all sitting in various parts of the newsie lodge, making signs for the strike and discussing the day's events. Mush, David, and I were on the stairs. I was making a strike sign while listening to the boys attempting to convince me that Spot was into me. "He totally likes you Race!" Mush said. "He was watching you'se tha entire time!" "Yeah, " David added. "Heck when you asked if you were pretty he nodded!" Race stopped what he was doing. "So I wasn't tha only one who saw that?" "No!" the two boys exclaimed. "Look guys, it's fun ta dream but it ain't happening." Race said sadly. "I'll bet you'se two dollas that he likes you'se." Mush bet. I hesitated, but we spit-shook on it and I went back to my poster.

Suddenly, Snyder, the warden for the Refuge, entered and started flipping through Kloppman's records book. "Excuse me. Can I help you?" The old lodge owner asked. "You have a boy who calls himself Jack Kelly? I wish to see him," Snyder asked. Kloppman pretended to think. "Jack Kelly? Never heard of him. Never heard of him. Any of you boys ever hear of a Jack Kelly?" He asked us, trying to cover for good ol' Cowboy. A wave of 'No', 'neva hoid of him', and 'who's he' swept around the room. "That's an unusual name for these parts."  Specs said. I decided to take this opportunity to be a smart-ass. "Oh, you mean Jack Kelly," I said. "Yeah, he was here, but uh, he put an egg in his shoe, and beat it." That got everyone laughing. Snyder turned back to Kloppman. "I have reason to believe he's an escaped prisoner, possibly dangerous." Kloppman pretended to look nervous, knowing this was just a load of BS. "Oh, d-dangerous? I better look in my files. This way please." He distracted Snyder so Jack could make a break for it. Me and some of the other boys held up our signs to hide him. "Give to tha Newsies Strike fund, Mister?" I asked, just trying to get some spare cash for cigars. It worked. Snyder handed me a coin. and left.

It was the night of the rally and we were all gathered in Irving hall, Miss Medda Larkson's theater. We were all separated by borough. Manhattan was right next to the stage. David, Jack, and Spot were up there ready to make everything official. For once in his life, Spot wasn't wearing his yellowed, dirty, flannel patterned button up, but a solid blue one. It actually looked quite nice on him. He was wearing his hat so it was harder to see his long hair. But, as always, he had his red suspenders and pimp cane.

"Carrying the banner!" Jack yelled and everyone cheered. "So, we've come a long way, but we ain't there yet and maybe it's only gonna get tougher from now on. But that's fine, we'll just get tougher with it. But also, we gotta get smart and start listening to my pal David," He pauses. "Who says 'stop soakin' the scabs'." I was confused. "What are we supposed to do to the bums? Kiss 'em? I asked. Spot smiled at that. Good, that was half the point, I thought. "Any scab I see I soak 'em. Period," Spot said, agreeing with me. "No, no," David tried reasoning. "That's what they want us to do. If we get violent, it's just playing into their hands." "Hey, look. They're gonna be playing with my hands, alright. 'Cuz it ain't what they say, it's what we say. And nobody ain't gonna listen to us unless we make 'em," Spot says, making everyone choose sides. "You got no brains," Jack argues. "Why we starting to fight each other? It's just what the big shot's wanna see. That we're street rats! Street rats with no brain's. No respect for nothing, including ourselves! So, here's how it's gonna be. If we don't act together, then we're nothing. If we don't stick together, then we're nothing. And if we can't even trust each other, then we're nothing."

"Tell 'em Jack!" Blink yells from the crowd. "So, what's it gonna be?" Jack asks us. "We're with you Jack," I say, gesturing to the Manhattan Newsies who all nod. "So what about you Spot?" Jack asks, turning to the King 'o Brooklyn. Spot looked at me. We held eye contact for what felt like forever. Him gazing into my chocolate brown eyes while I look into his stormy blue ones. They say the eyes are the window to the soul? As I looked deep into the brewing storms that could most definitely kill somebody, I didn't see the tough teenager who lead the most feared and respected borough in New York, I saw a terrified boy, scared that everything he loved would disappear like before. "Spot?" Jack asked. We held eye contact for a few more seconds before Spot looked away and got up in Jack's face. We were all holding our breaths. "I say, that what you say," He paused for dramatic effect, then he smirked, "is what I say." We all cheered, but cheered even louder when Miss Medda came onstage. Hell, Blink was hanging out of one of the private boxes. 

We all sang the song we heard Medda sing so many times before. 

"High times, hard times
Sometimes the living is sweet
And sometimes there's nothing to eat
But I always land on my feet
So when there's dry times
I wait for high times and then
I put on my best
And I stick out my chest
And I'm off to the race's again!"

"Hello, newsies." she said, "What's new?" I cheered louder than anybody. "MEDDA!!!!" I felt a presence shift next to me. I looked to me right. Spot was standing next to me. He bowed and stuck out his hand. "Care to dance young man?" I laughed and took his hand, saying in a very posh accent,  "I'd be delighted kind sir." Spot stood back up smiling. God I loved when he smiled for real. He spun me around with the hand he was holding, and we did a sloppy Waltz. I never had more fun in my entire life. He spun me in so we were facing the same direction and I saw Mush giving me an evil face. He mouthed 'told ya' and I shook my head laughing. 

Spot and I were dancing and singing along when suddenly the bulls came in. I hopped on stage to fight them but one kicked me in the gut and punched me into a railing. "Racetrack!" I heard Spot call. The cop who beat me and another guy started dragging me away but Spot came and wacked them with his cane. I never have, and probably never will see him as angry. "You mess with him again and you'se dead!" he yelled at them. He then helps me up. "I think he is dead," I say, looking at one of them. "Eh, whateva, are you'se okay?" he asks me. "I'se don't know," I grumble "They's got me pretty good." Spot picks me up bridal style and takes me to Medda's dressing room. We we get there I hear a gasp. "What happened? Is he okay?" I hear Medda ask in her thick, Swedish accent. "Could you get some cold wata, and a rag for me Medda?" Spot asks. Medda quickly nods her head and leaves the room. 

Spot sets me down on a couch and removes my shirt. He gasps. Dammit, I forgot. There isn't just tonight's bruises there. All up my arms, chest, and stomach, there's cuts, scratches and, burns from several years of abuse. "R-race? C-care to explain?" Spot asks me. I Sigh and tell him my story.