Our Side of the Strike

Prolouge

Miss. Giovanni at 11 years old had never been anything particularly extraordinary, other than maybe in an extraordinary amount of trouble, extraordinarily angry, or extraordinarily alone. But even through all of it, she never felt more alone than she did now, however it wasn't a bad kind of alone, it was a free kind, the kind that she had always dreamed of, and now that she had it, she reveled in the sensation so unlike the ones that had all come before. She wasn't sure why she hadn't done this earlier. All odds suggested that anything new had to be better than before, and besides,

You sit still for a moment in New York City, you don't have a prayer.

Light brown messy hair whipping behind her, and blue eyes blazing, she was headed for a new life, a new opportunity, with a new feeling, gladness.

If you're wondering about our protagonist, she was (at the time) 11, and always wore a top hat. Always. She was also the product of her mother being accidentally knocked up by a sleaze-ball, and being rather obsessed with social rankings, the mother married him, as to show she wasn't one of "those unrefined hooligans whom have children with people they're not intimately acquainted with". At one point, she had had the last straw and left her child and old life behind in Brooklyn. This led to child support bills that went into the sleaze's (as Miss. Giavani liked to call him) own pocket, as well as many a beating, and while Miss. Giavani understood the rules ("my house my way") and she always broke them knowingly, in her eyes no child deserved to get beaten. Maybe that was it. All her life she was told to "be a lady",

"What if I want a childhood? Is that too much to ask?" practically spitting out the words as she thrust her head to the sky to ask them.

This is what probably pushed her off the deep end and got her into gambling. She enjoyed both the the thrill and not knowing, as well as the mathematical and statistical properties of the races, but her heart was truly in the cards. However, as this isn't relevant information as of this point in our story, I'll continue on.

So there she was, simply running in practical circles around Brooklyn, until she caught sight of her beloved sheepshead's. Where she met a blonde boy whom appeared her age, making a sucker's bet, apparently chewing a cigar, with a bag of newspapers slung over his shoulder.

"Umm are you new here?"

He turned around, seemingly surprised at her bluntness, as though there was something she had missed so entirely that it was almost comical.

"Are you inexperienced at horse betting?" the boy seemed to be dumbfounded, as though something she had said couldn't be farthar from accuracy. As the silence pressed on, she proceeded in digging her ditch deeper and deeper.

"It's just that you seem a little lost, there's no way in hell that horse is gonna win. Have you looked at tha statistics? And frankly-"

"I should probably introduce myself. I'm Racetrack Higgins, and I come here more often than your daddy goes to da bank to collect a paycheck".

That's not saying much...

Straightening up, she spoke definitely, slightly smirking at his lack of information, "Much you know, I'm an orphan."

"That a fact?"

"Yeah."

"How's about I puts in a bet for youse?"

"That's alright. I don't make suckers bets." she tells this Racetrack boy.

"Ya got money?" She shakes her head. "Then youse ain't exactly in a position ta call me da sucka here." He states.

"And you do? You seem like nothing more more than a common newsboy."

"Well youse seems like nothin more than a hoity toity, stuck up little scab, who don't got money or or family." He finishes hotly. For a moment, she was stunned, then ducking her head she muttered a quick sorry, and there they were in silence for a few moments, until he asked, "Now how's about that bet?" A bit confusedly she asked him,

"That's still an option?". He simply paused to think for a moment, then responded with

"Youse has got me interests peaked. 7-1 says #13 ova there," he says while pointing to the horse "Finishes second"

"I could use some easy money." She replied smirking. Racetrack just rolled his eyes, spits in his hand and holds it out for her to shake. To this she cringes and opens her mouth to say something, but is cut off by Race, "Oh what's da madda? Not what you're white gloved hands is used ta?" he asks mockingly. So Miss. Giovanni swallowed her dignity (and care for sanitation) and spit in her "white gloved hand" and shook his.

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Hi! Before we get started, there are probably a few things I should clarify. This is mainly taken from the broadway musical version. quotes or spin off scenes in this end card/author's note type thing. A few of these such scenes/quotes may come a few years after 1899, (or be written much later on just take place in a similar time periods) but in historical terms, some weren't too far off in years and are truly fantastic. The rest of the book will not be written in this style, (unless you guys strongly prefer it). Please comment! Honestly the comment section is probably one of the best parts about wattpad. Obviously this is a fan fiction I am not the creator of newsies. Thank you so much if you're reading this, this is my first fanfic and I'm absolutely ecstatic! Please keep reading and I appreciate anyone making it this far!