Strikes and Ladders

Chapter Twenty-Two: Hero

One thing about David Jacobs that is apparent to anyone who has known him for longer than five seconds is that he loves to learn. He devours any information that he can get his hands on, from books to lectures to newspapers. All of this is to say that when a young Davey found out that he'd be going to school, he was over the moon. Then, he actually went.

Now, as much as he loves libraries and new experiences, Davey really dreads school. It's only been a week, but he's remembering the exhaustion that comes with dealing with these people every day. There are positives, of course, like learning all about the things that he's interested in, but lately all he can think about is how he can use it to sell more papes. Math? Science? Literature? They all swirl in his head, making it hard to think. This is why he is so relieved when the final bell rings on Friday, and he can finally get out, hang with the newsies, and get up tomorrow to sell.

He is getting his things and leaving, looking forward to seeing his friends, when someone pulls him aside, into an empty classroom. Looking around reveals a group of three other boys, each wearing the clothes and smirks and faces of people he has learned to avoid. They don't know that he isn't that timid kid anymore, but he also really doesn't want to get into a fight today, so he stays where he is, looking around for a less violent means of escape.

"Jacobs." Davey winces at the last name. "I assume, since you clearly think you're smarter than the rest of us, that you know why you're here?"

His eyes flick around the room, slightly panicked. The boys are a bit bigger than him, but he'd bet anything that he's faster. Before he can think better of provoking these guys, words spill out. "I am smarter than you, but I'm not a psychic. What do you want, John?"

John looks startled, not expecting pushback from a historically timid student. "Well. We wanna know why you're always slumming it with those urchins that horde the gate."

"I'd hardly say that they hoard the gate. There's two of them at a time. That's barely a group, let alone a hoard."

"Stop mouthing off and answer the question." John pushes him, but he just snorts at the accidental reference to his nickname.

"They're friends. And we aren't, so that's all you need to know." He tries to push past the group of them. "They're also waiting for me, so I'd appreciate it if you'd let me out of here."

"Yeah, we'll let you out of here if you make sure that your criminal friends don't hang around here anymore."

"They're not even on school property, why do you care? Let me go!" He's getting scared now, and keeps looking towards the open window, ready to bolt.

"We care because this is a nice neighbourhood and a good school, and we don't want your little pansy friends stealing or vandalising anything."

"We're of one mind there. I don't want them to do that either. Which is good, because they won't. They pick me up and we head straight out. We don't go anywhere near here, not even in this borough. I'd like to go there now." He tries to get past them, but a goon grabs his collar and stops him.

"Oh no you don't." Then, the boy swings.

Acting on instinct, Davey manages to duck under his hand. This knocks the other guy off balance, allowing him to slip out of his grip and dash towards the window. Someone, it goes too quickly for him to notice, grabs the back of his vest and pulls , smashing the side of his face into a desk. He falls to the floor, but quickly scrambles to his feet, distantly feeling blood down the side of his head.  Pulling away from rushing hands, he takes a leap of faith and jumps out of the window. They're on the first floor, on the side of the building, so he books it to the front gate, where he knows his friends are waiting.

He almost sobs in relief when he sees them. Racetrack is leaning against the gate, his back to Davey, but Spot is facing him. He sees the exact moment that Spot sees him. His posture turns rod straight and he says something to his boyfriend that is inaudible, but causes him to whip around and sprint towards him. Spot is a bit slower, but still rushing. They manage to get to him before his pursuers do, throwing him behind them. Race immediately grabs his face to look at the wound, where Spot stands in front of both of them, staring at the other guys, who are all out of breath.

"What's going on, gents?" Spot asks, cold as steel. It is such a stark contrast to his normal demeanour, on edge but caring, that Davey would laugh if he didn't have an open head wound. "I hope you weren't bothering our friend here."

John grins wolfishly, more predatory than a teenager should be able. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it, would I, Jacobs?"

Davey looks up at the mention of his name, but says nothing to his classmate. Instead, he leans into Race and says something in his ear. Race looks horrified, then sad, then angry. His grip on his friend tightens as he looks to his boyfriend. "He says they cornered him, tried to soak him, but he got out through a window. A window. " He's clearly seething, itching for a fight, but his hands are full with a boy that hasn't said a word above twenty decibels since they've seen him.

"Yeah, well the three of us disagree." John motions to himself and his friends, who have caught their breath and are standing, clearly thinking they look very menacing. To the three newsies, they look like rich kids, not fast or strong enough to be a threat when there is an even number of them. John starts up again, this time his voice is sickly sweet. "And we say that we were really worried about Jacobs because, well, he's been hanging out with some... unsavoury characters. So we pulled him into a room to try and talk to him. He tried to attack us, we defended ourselves, and he ran away," His voice changes back and a smirk returns to his face, "Isn't that right, boys?" His friends nod.

For the first time since he's gotten into Race's arms, Davey talks to the group at large. "That's bullshit and you know it." He seethes. "There's three of us too."

He laughs, haughty. "Please, who'd believe you? And over us? You're two urchins with ink stains up to your wrists and a nerd with so many patches in his pants he might as well be a scarecrow. Give me a break."

Spot's hand tightens on his cane and Davey can feel Race's muscles tensing. Then, an older woman comes out of the school, eyes trained on the blood in Davey's hair. "What's going on here, boys?"

Davey sighs thankfully, but John seems to take it as a chance to take advantage of the situation. "Ms. Kensies! David is unstable!" He cries, distraught taking over his expression in an instant. "We just wanted to talk to him about these... these thugs that he's been hanging around, and he went crazy! We were just defending ourselves!"

Spot tilts his head to the side. "Are those tears , rich boy? God, you're the crazy one!"

The woman raises a single eyebrow at the situation and turns to Davey, who is getting sick of this whole thing. "Mr. Jacobs. Are you unstable or crazy?"

This takes him aback, but he pulls away from Race and stands up straight before shaking his head. "Not any more than anyone else, Miss."

"Well then," She says, turning to the boys. "That settles that. Do you need to see the nurse, Mr. Jacobs?"

He looks to Race and Spot, mouthing 'Stitches?' and tilting his head in a question. Their friend is the official-unofficial medic of the newsies, and he isn't sure whether he needs her attention or a real nurse. Spot shrugs. Davey returns to Ms. Kensies, who is staring at him with a strange look in her eye. He opens his mouth to respond, but she cuts him off. "You need the nurse. Bring your friends. Mr. Jacobs and co.," she turns to John and his cronies, "run along. Don't forget you have a library book due Friday."

The three of them stare in horror at the sight of their plan shattering and scamper away. Spot chuckles and his shoulder drop by a mile once they're gone. He drifts a bit closer to Race, but eyes drift to the librarian and he pointedly stays at least a foot away.

"Come on in, boys. I'll get you some bandages and some cookies." As she smiles and walks away, the three boys look at eachother and shrug before following her.