Here it is: the start of a new story. Right where a well-known beloved one ended. Not going to be like anything you read before.

Enjoy! :)

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Race gets into the carriage as fast as he can. He makes it, and ends up on the floor.

Spot can't stop laughing.

"What's so funny?" Race grumbles, trying to catch his breath.

"I just wasn't expecting any of that," Spot tells him with a grin. "You know, you could have just asked to come in the carriage to go back to Brooklyn with me."

Finally, Race pulls himself up and situates him on a seat like a normal person. He glares at Spot. "Couldn't take that chance."

"Guess we'll never know," Spot teases, just as light hearted as before.

Race cracks a smile too and lets himself laugh along with Spot. The reason why he got on the carriage in the first place wasn't to be in a grumbling mood. Light hearted feels much better.

He turns around and looks at what he's leaving behind. Not forever--just as long as this carriage ride will last.

He sees all the newsies, still celebrating after having won the strike not even an hour ago.

"I can't believe Jack was actually considering leaving," Race comments.

"Yeah, me too," Spot agrees. "But I knew he couldn't leave his Walking Mouth."

"Yeah," Race chuckles. "There was no way."

He grins as he watches the newsies dance through the street. They deserve to be happy. They all do.

Race still has the moment where Jack shouted WE BEAT 'EM! engrained in his mind.

The whole day has given him euphoria. From finding out that Jack wasn't a scab, to passing out their newspaper to all the kids on the streets, to gathering in front of The World, and winning. And now he's here, with Spot, inside Teddy Roosevelt's carriage. So yeah, he would say that today is going really well.

Race looks back at Spot and grins. He's so glad that he joined the strike. A lot of this wouldn't have happened if Spot hadn't. Then maybe they wouldn't be here right now.

Maybe Race's heart wouldn't be so fluttery when he looks at Spot's smiling face.

Spot smiles even more when he catches Race staring at him. "What are you looking at?"

Race blushes. "I, uh..."

Words are failing him.

So he shrugs.

I know how to make a point in my argument, don't I?

Stop it.

Going back and forth with yourself isn't helping anything.

Yet you're still going.

He shakes his head to try to clear it. Yes, he is aware that all the 'voices' in his head are his 'voices', but that doesn't make them less annoying.

Especially when none of them are trying to help him figure out what to say.

So he says what else has been on his mind. "I'm glad that things are going to be back to normal now."

"Yeah, me too," Spot agrees.

"It's been a strange week."

"Oh, definitely."

It has been. They had a strike. There is nothing normal there. It's been a chaotic mess full of turmoil. Full of wins, losses, high times, hard times, and an ultimate reward in the end.

Race wouldn't change a thing.

With no more things to say about the strike, though, they fall into a small patch of silence.

Race doesn't want to lose the conversation. He likes talking to Spot and Spot talking back.

"Any gambling goin' on tonight?" he asks after a few more moments pass. "Is Sheepshead still open?"

In Race's defense, he hasn't been gambling in a week. It's been a hard week.

A permanent box at Sheepshead Races. He can keep dreaming.

Spot smiles. "Now that sounds like something you would say."

"Am I getting to be predictable, Spot?"

"Well, when most of your impulses end with gambling, I would say yes."

Race laughs. Then suddenly, there's a prominent pain in his chest. He winces.

Spot notices something is wrong and suddenly his face is full of concern. "What is it, Race?"

Race shakes his head. "Nothing."

Maybe there was too much movement. Maybe too much running around. Or laughing? Or been going on too long today? 

He tries to ignore the pain, even if it won't go away. And Race knows how it'll go away, but he can't make it in this moment. Not that he'd want to anyway.

For now, he pretends that everything is all right.

As long as he can, anyway.

So he cracks a smile. "Almost all of my impulses end with gambling. Spotty, I think you've been spying on me."

Spot rolls his eyes, but he blushes a little. "I think you think I pay you too much attention, Racer."

"If this was all we was going to do, then why'd we agree to share a carriage ride in the first place?" Race jokes.

"You're the one who jumped onto a moving carriage," Spot points out.

"Touché."

There's a small pause in conversation.

"I still wanna know if there's any way I can spend at least some of the rest of the afternoon gambling."

And so their lighthearted banter carries on.

Honestly, by the time they reach Brooklyn, Race wishes that it could have just been him and Spot in that carriage forever. People are fond of saying that the journey is better than the actual achievement, right? Or something like that. Regardless, Race had fun. And that's why he wishes it could have lasted longer. So they could have just gone on, care free, unattached to all going on in the real world.

Then, the carriage stops.

Spot jumps out first. "Come on. We may not be able to go to Sheepshead, but I can round up a gang of newsies who'll play cards."

"Why not Sheepshead again?" Race asks as he jumps out. His breath catches a little.

"Because in all the excitement of Jack coming back, and your excitement to catch up to me, you forgot to buy papers, which would give you income from selling, and I know you weren't lying when you told that awful judge that you don't even got five cents," Spot answers breezily.

"Aw Spot, I really have you hanging onto my every word," Race jokes, wheezing a little. His breathing is getting worse.

Spot is instantly concerned again. "Why are you breathing this hard? It ain't like you ran here!"

"Spot, I'm fine," Race insists.

Spot isn't buying it. "Deep breaths, okay? Like this." He starts taking a few deep breaths for Race to copy. Because he doesn't have anything better to do, Race copies him. It works a little. His chest is still sore, but his breathing doesn't sound as bad now.

"Do you have ... what's that thing called?" Spot asks, eyebrows still knotted in concern.

"You're gonna have to be more specific."

Spot remembers. "Asthma. Right. That thing."

No, Race doesn't. Well, not that he's aware of. But he knows that it's not the problem. "Sure."

"Or is it...?" Spot stares deep into Race's eyes, "Something else? Something more?"

Race swallows. He looks into Spot's eyes, which are shining with concern and something that Race can't name off the top of his head. Spot's too close to him. Too close physically at the moment, and too close to potentially figuring it out. Race doesn't want to lie. But he has to. "Give me a second. I'll be fine."

Spot steps back a little, giving him space, still eyeing him. He knows that Race isn't going to say anything, so he lets it go. "You ready?"

Race nods.

They begin to walk in small silence together.

Race puts on a brave face--or poker face, maybe--and keeps walking.

Still, the problem is with his chest.

It will always be his chest.

He has to put on a brave face, though. Because that's the only way he'll get through this.

It's the only way to make sure that no one ever learns his deepest, most locked away secrets.

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So there we go. I have started a new story.

Of course, when I created this draft and when it is actually going to get published are two different dates haha.

Okay, so I didn't say this earlier, and it's killing me now. So here it is.

Hiiii! :) Welcome to my story!!! :)           <3

It's so nice to be writing in the Newsies fandom again! :)

I have three other Newsies stories up; go check them out some time! :)

So now I have some explaining to do.

Yeah, I kept it kind of vague what's going on with Race, but I'll touch up on that in the next chapter. I know some of you probably figured it out, but others might not have, and both are okay. Since you knew from the title/description/cover/etc. what kind of story you were walking into, you might be able to imply what's going on.

The beginning was supposed to be right when 92sies ends where Spot is going off in the carriage and the newsies are dancing their way off the screen. I hope that wasn't too confusing haha.

This won't entirely be fixed on 92sies or Livesies, but there are some parts that are definitely more 92sies oriented.

You all need to understand that this is my first time writing Spot and Race calling each other Spotty and Racer it is past midnight this is an experience.

I love Sprace. 

And Javid.

And Blush.

I'll try to incorporate all of those into the story.

Maybe Newsbians if it comes up!

But this story is mostly going to be Sprace haha.

Time for historical notes: asthma was first noticed/diagnosed/observed etc through many places throughout time. I found an account saying that it was first a disorder charactereized by "noisy breathing" in China in 2600 BCE. Then another saying that in 100 AD, symptoms of asthma were listed by a physician in Greece. And this other person is saying in 1892 Sir William Osler set out his own definition of asthma. So in other words, by using the word asthma in this story, it wouldn't be out of place time-period-wise.

I don't have asthma, though there are some times where I really wonder if that's true. Until I know for sure, though, I won't claim to have asthma. And Race doesn't have it either. What was actually going on with Race will be explained in the next chapter.

Edit: I do in fact have asthma. It's been two years since I published this chapter. I only got diagnosed six months ago. Yes I am still mad about it. And because I am still mad about it, in this canon, Race now officially has what I've been diagnosed with: exercised induced asthma.

Other historical note: poker has been around since 1829. The term 'poker face' has been document in the 1870's, but it could have been used before then. Lady Gaga's song Poker Face was realased in her album called The Fame on September 23, 2008.  

Is it random that I give historical insights? I don't know. I like historical accuracy. I like learning things, and I hope you all learn something too.

Am I keeping the story too vague? Should I stop alluding to figuring out what's wrong with Race and just tell you? I really don't know.

What I DO know is that I wanna hear what you think of the story so far! I know I haven't given you much to comment on, but if you have anything to say (within reason) I wanna hear it! :)

I can't wait to see which direction this story goes! I'm so excited to be writing it!

Not all of these ending author's notes will be this long I promise.

I hope you keep reading on to the next part! :)

Please, no homophobia or transphobia, profanities, hate etc in the comment section.

Best,

~Your Beloved Author (who is really excited to write this story)