Racetrack walked around Manhattan, waving his newspapers around wildly. The city was nothing like Sheepshed. At the races, there were plenty of people, but not many buyers. In the city, there were some people, but lots of buyers. He had sold almost all of his papes. This place was pretty good..Well, not as good as Sheepshed. But almost.

The snow was knee-deep by then. In Sheepshed, you were inside, so you didn't get any snow. In Manhattan, you were covered in it. One point for the tracks, zero for 'hattan. Hell yeah.

Suddenly, Race heard some sort of angry scream from the alleyway. His head snapped around towards it. He spotted two silhouettes, which looked like young adults, standing in front of a young boy, raising their fists. The boy backed away, trying to escape. Then, the older ones charged at him. Racetrack threw his remaining papers on the ground and ran over. When he arrived, he recognized the older men.

"Deah' me, what is 'dat unpleasant aroma? I feah' the sewah's may have backed up in 'da middle of 'da noi'ght." He teased.

Oscar and Morris, the two silhouettes, turned to Racetrack, stopping. He waved.

"Heya boys!" Race greeted.

The boy, who was actually Snipeshooter, looked at his brother, grinning.

"Wanna throw 'da foi'st punch?" Snipeshooter offered.

"I'd be honah'ed." Anthony replied.

He went over to Morris, stared up at him, and smirked. Before the male could even throw a punch, Racetrack kicked him where the sun don't shine. He then kneed him in the jaw as Morris hurled over in pain. Snipeshooter round-house kicked Oscar and smacked him across the face. The two flipped off the brothers and walked away, giggling.

"So, what happened?" Race questioned, trying to get the inside story.

"Well," Snipeshooter started. "I was sellin' me papes like noh'mal, ya know?"

"Yeah, I know."

"Good. Anyway, while I was sellin', I bumped inta' 'da Delancey Bruddah's. They's was actin' crazy foh, some reason, dunno why. I hoi'd 'em sayin' stuff like 'They shouldn't make us.' and 'We's too old fah' this!' Weih'd, huh?"

Racetrack thought about it. "Hm.."

"Once 'dey noticed me, they began threatenin' ta' soak me and stah'ted shovin' me around." Snipeshooter pretended to shove someone very aggresively. "Like this!"

"Bettah' not tell Jack,"

The younger boy chuckled. "Wasn't plannin' on it."

Race looked up at the sky. "Wow. Wheah' has 'da toi'me gone? It's almost time ta' get home!"

"Huh?" Snipeshooter glanced up as well. He huffed. "Oh." He turned to his friend and held his arm out in a way of direction. "Ladies foi'st."

"Go ahead." Racetrack winked.

Snipeshooter stuck his tongue out at Race and started running to the Lodge. Anthony followed with haste.

Meanwhile, Jack was sitting on the stairs, playing with his thumbs. His hair occasionally fell over his face, but he didn't do anything about it. He was too nervous. Blink took Crutchie today, and Blink was not exactly a cautious person. Francis didn't want either of them to get hurt. They were practically his brothers, and if they got injured in any way, he'd be extremely upset with himself. What if they were being soaked right now? What if they were dead? Cowboy wouldn't have a clue. He'd be waiting for them all night as they laid dead in the streets. Their bodies would be dragged away, and the teen would know nothing. He would just be waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and they'd be gone. Done for. Deceased.

Finch watched Jack from the top of the stairs, worried about his friend. He rubbed the back of his neck. 'What can I do?' The male asked himself. He finally decided to just go down, sit beside him, and ask, "You okay, Cowboy?"

"Yeah, ah' couh'se." Francis didn't want his best friends worried about him, but they still were.

"I know you'se lyin'."

"...How'd ya know?"

Finch crossed his arms. "I'se ya' bruddah'! How would I not know?"

"Good point." Jack sighed. I'm just scah'ed about 'da Newsies, specifically Crutchie. He can bah'ly get t'rough doi'in' summah. Just imagine wintah' foh' 'im."

"Aw, c'mom Jack. We'se all gonna be okay, 'specially ol' Crutch." Finch wrapped his arm around Jack's shoulders. "Ya know what? I bet he'll come t'rough 'da dooh' right now, wavin' ta' us and smoi'lin'!"

Then, the door swung open, banging against the wall. Blink stood in the doorway, holding his cap to his chest. He had a mortified look on his face.

"Cr..Crutchie is dead." He stated.

Jack's eyes widened. His mind went entirely blank. He felt like he was about to vomit. Finch rubbed his back in attempt to support him. Davey leaned down from the top of the stairs.

"The poor boy's head is spinning!" He shouted, immediately rushing back upstairs

Finch rolled his eyes. Right before Cowboy actually vomited, a familiar curly-haired boy poked his head through the window.

"I ain't dead!" Crutchie exclaimed.

Francis' freak-out stopped, his worry being replaced by rage. Then confusion. Then, finally, some sort of anger and amusement combination. He had to admit it, that prank was pretty good, but he was still mad at Blink for terrifying him.

Finch, Crutchie, and Blink went into giggling fits. Jack just smirked, glad the boys were so happy. This was definitely a good day for the Newsies.

Crutchie was the first to stop giggling. "So, how 'bout we go ta' Jacobi's?"

---

The next chapter will add to the plot. I swear.