Strikes and Ladders

Chapter Seventeen: Oh.

A week later, they're back at the docks. Papers long since sold, little brothers long since sent off to play. The three of them sit in a line, Race, Davey, Spot, with their shoes and socks off and their feet touching the water. The sun sets behind them, the whole city at their backs as they stare off into the horizon. After a long while of relative silence, Davey speaks up. "It's gonna be weird."

"What's gonna be weird?" Spot tilts his head, his hat abandoned somewhere behind them.

"Goin' back to school. The guys there, they're different than you's. Care more about clothes and accents and all that stupid garbage than actually learnin' anythin'. Look down on me cause I ain't the son of a politician or a businessman or somethin'." He fusses with a loose string on his pants and picks at one of the patches there. "It's always been bad, but it'll definitely get worse now I've been hanging with you's."

Spot bristles at this a bit, hackles going up slightly. "Well sorry if we're makin' you look bad in front of your friends."

Oh no. Davey raises his hands and shakes his head as hard as he can. "No no no, that ain't what I meant, Spotty. I like you's more than I like them anyways! I've never been a part of that group, and that's what I'm scared of. That I'll fit in even less."

Race leans on Davey, almost knocking him into Spot. "You'll be fine, Davey. You're the president. No one can take you down, especially not some dumb rich kids. 'Sides, you got us behind you, and do you really think some loser school kids have anything on us?"

Davey chuckles and leans back into Race. "No they don't, Racer."

"And if they give you any trouble, just send 'em our way. No one messes with one of ours," Spot tells him seriously, and Davey believes him. Something sweet wells in his chest at being called theirs. To be a newsie, to be a kid, to be their friend, it's unlike anything David has ever experienced before. Suddenly, he becomes more aware of the places where they're touching. His and Spot's knees are touching and Race is pressed entirely against him on the other side. He realises just how right it feels, being theirs, being between them. Not just the newsies' but Spot and Race specifically.

"Sorry if this is... stupid but-"

"You, stupid? You're smarter than the both of us combined." Race grins at him.

"Well, that's not excactly a high bar, is it?" Davey has to hold on to the dock to avoid being pushed into the drink by his friend. "Oi! I was being serious. I was saying that even if it's stupid, you's are my best friends. Ever. And I'm glad you're here. "

"Aw Mouth, don't get all mushy on us. I thought you was cool." Spot smirks, but Davey knows him well enough to see the fondness under it. There's a comfortable lull in the conversation as they listen to the sound of the water and the distant noises of the other newsies. Somehow, the others just know to leave the three of them alone at times like these.

"I'm glad you're goin', but I'm gonna miss this. Miss having you here." Race looks away from the horizon and to Davey's side profile. An arm from the boy next to him soon rests around his shoulders.

"You'll still have me. Don't think you could lose me if you tried, Racer." Then, something in the air changes. Maybe it's been happening for months, maybe it's just the moment, but there is a presence. The glow of the sunset on Race's face, the press of his body against Davey's, the grin across his lips. It hits him, suddenly. Davey wants to kiss Race. Davey wants to kiss Race. Why does Davey want to kiss Race? What's the matter with him? Race has a boyfriend, Race is one of his best friends, Race's hair is mussed where his hat had been and his cheeks are pink from the fading summer heat, Race's eyes- no . No, Davey can't be thinking about this. He tries to think of anything else, but now that it's there, it won't go away.

Race, of course, notices something wrong when Davey's previously loose and carefree posture turns rigid. He knows Davey so well. No, not a good thought, stop thinking. "Hey, Daves, you alright there?" He asks, blue eyes glinting in the sun.

The combination of the all-too familiar nickname and the sudden realisation hits him like a truck and causes him to jerk away, yanking his arm back from around his friend's shoulders. That's all he is, a friend. He feels like he's tumbling down the world's tallest, rockiest mountain, no end in sight.

It takes him a moment to respond, but when he does he stands up jerkily. "You've never called me that before."

"Really? I thought I woulda at some point. You sure?"

"Yeah, I am. I uh, I've gotta get home." Lie. "Momma's waitin' with dinner." Lie. "I'll come see you's after school tomorrow." Lie. At least, it will be if he can help it.

Spot tilts his head. "Your Momma knew we were gonna be here a while. You sure she's got dinner waiting?"

"I'm sure." His voice comes out harsher than he means it to, and God, those scrutinising eyes on him make his cheeks heat up and his stomach hurt. Does he know? He has to. Davey's acting weird and he keeps looking at Race's lips without meaning to, and so he turns and walks away, faster than is reasonable, without waiting for another response. Vaguely, he hears his name and the tell-tale sound of Spot's cane helping him up and coming towards him, but Race must grab him or say something to make him stop in his tracks, because for the rest of his walk to Les and Hotshot's little hangout, he is alone.

Other than Les and his whiney nine-almost-ten-year-old complaints, he is alone. He gets home and expects his mother to be pleasantly surprised that her boys are home early, but she only shows concern.

"Oh hello sweetheart. You're home early, is everything okay?" She asks, and for a horrible moment, he hates her for asking. When he snaps out of it, he manages to shake his head and look at her with his best forced smile.

"Yeah, everything's great, Ma. I've just got school tomorrow and the guys need to sell, so we decided to go home early." Years of practise have allowed him to now school his features, the picture of a pleasant, smart, underwhelming son.

"Okay love. Would you like something to eat?"

"No, thank you. I'm just going to turn in early, if that's okay."

She walks over to him and places a hand on his cheek. "Of course that's okay, my responsible son. I'll see you tomorrow, I have rasberries for a special breakfast tomorrow."

"Ma-"

"No arguments, you deserve it for working so hard these last months. Go to bed, David."

He sighs, finally a tired smile crossing his face. Also practised. "Good night, I love you."

"I love you too."

With that, he walks into his shared room and promptly out the window onto the fire escape. He sits there and reflects over the events of the day. It started normal with Davey and Les arriving to circulation, but it turned out that others had caught wind of his last day and were all waiting to surprise him. They had little, but a few kids gave him small gifts they had made or swiped from different stores. Some standouts were a small bottle of booze from Albert, a rope bracelet from Crutchie, and a drawing of him and Les. No one outright gave it to him, he just found it in his pocket, but he knew it was from Jack.

After th

eir tiny party, he sold his papes and hang out with Spot and Race like usual. Like he did every day. Maybe that was weird. His best friends were a couple and he was constantly third wheeling. He thinks of it like that for the first time ever as he stares into the city. Do they care? He thinks that he can read the two of them pretty well, but maybe he's wrong. Maybe they're secretly annoyed that he hangs around them all the time and are just too nice to say anything. Maybe they both hate him and Davey fell in love with Race for nothing.

...what?

What did he just think? In love with Race? Wanting to kiss someone and being in love with them are very different, Jack showed him that, and now he knows he definitely wants to kiss Race. But love? Does he love him?

What a stupid question. Of course he doesn't love him! He just spends most of his day with him, waits for him at circulation, walks across the bridge with him, and sells next to him more often than not. Race just has nice eyes. And lips. And arms. And-

Oh.

Oh.

Davey mutters a single forlorn word into the dark.

" Fuck."