Strikes and Ladders

Chapter Twenty-Three: Cookies

The three newsies find themselves sitting in comfortable chairs at the back of the library and watching Ms. Kensies fiddle around with something behind her desk. Spot grips the arms of his chair so tightly that his fingers almost turn white.

He leans over to Davey, back straight, and clearly on edge. "This lady alright, Mouth? Should I be worried?" He whispers.

Davey reaches over and places a hand on his arm, not noticing that this draws the attention of both Race and Ms. Kensies. "She's... always been nice to me. More than anyone else here." It's a non-answer, and they both know it. Race is still sitting in the third chair, one leg bouncing and fidgeting with his shirt cuff.

After a few minutes, Ms. Kensies comes back and places cookies on the table. She moves over to Davey and inspects his head, getting a damp cloth and wiping at the blood. A beat of uncomfortable silence passes until she raises an eyebrow at her student. "Well?"

Davey tenses up. "Um. Well what?"

She chuckles. "Aren't you going to introduce your friends? They pick you up practically every day, surely you know their names." She's teasing, and it manages to break the ice, if only a crack.

He looks to his friends for their go-ahead and they both shrug. "This is Spot and Racetrack, friends I made over the summer when I had to work."

"You're newsies, right?" They both nod. "I recognise you," she says to Spot, whose hackles raise. "Not from anything bad," She is quick to assure. "I saw your speech at one of the strike gatherings. My friend's kid is a seamstress at one of the factories, and I didn't want her out there alone."

Davey and Spot make slightly panicked eye-contact. "And how do you... feel about that?" Spot asks slowly.

"Oh, don't worry honey, I was over the moon. You boys did something really great for all the kids in this city. And you, Mr. Jacobs, don't think I didn't see you there too. Your speech was really great, and I'll never accept nervousness over school presentations ever again." Everyone but Davey, who rolls his eyes, laughs.

Race speaks up for the first time. "You'd be surprised, Miss. He's always goin' on about how he ain't got any speakin' skills, but its all bull... crap." He narrowly avoids cursing, causing Ms. Kensies to chuckle.

"It's fine, Racetrack. The library is a sacred place, all languages are allowed here. Even vulgar ones." She winks and finishes Davey's bandage, sitting down in a fourth chair. "I'm assuming the three of you met because of the papers?"

Race shrugs. "Ah, sorta. Me and Dave met sellin', but he didn't meet Spotty here till the strike. I've known Spot for years now."

"Jeez Racer, tell her our whole life stories, why don't you," Spot grumbles. This earns him a light smack in the head from Davey.

"Be nice." He whispers.

"God, you three remind me of myself at your age. I know, I know, cliche coming from an old woman like myself, but you do."

"Um. How so, ma'am?" Spot asks after a beat.

She laughs. "So polite. No need. Call me Lottie. And I suppose it's your fire. Me and my girlfriends used to get into all sorts of trouble rebelling against those who wronged us too. Or, as much as we could. You boys can do more. I'm glad."

The group of them sit together for a moment, letting that comment sit. Then, Race, grinning, asks a question. "What sort of trouble?" He leans forward and places his chin in his hands, eyes alight with mischief.

Spot rolls his eyes and pushes his hands out from under his face, causing him to fall forward a bit. "Ignore him," he says to Lottie, smiling politely, which strikes Davey as odd.

"Spot," he says, grabbing everyone's attention, "You're acting strange. You're acting... I don't know. Courteous."

Race laughed. "Have you never seen him with Medda? His kiss-assness is worse than Cowboy!"

His boyfriend sputters a bit. "I do not kiss a- uh. Backside? Whatever. I don't."

"You do! You're such a suck up. I remember when you met Katherine and Sarah both, you were basically tripping over yourself."

"I am a gentleman!" Snorts from Davey and Race disprove this immediately. "Not to you pinheads."

Race raises an eyebrow. "Uh Huh. Sure." He's teasing, but it's fond. His eyes are soft and his mouth turns up at the corners lazily. He leans back in his chair, smug.

Charlotte's eyebrows shoot up, like a lightbulb in her head. "Oh! How long have you boys been together?"

It's like the air has been sucked out of the room. Race sits up again and Spot's attention snaps towards her. The laughter from the moment before cuts out abruptly and all three boys eye the woman warily. Spot, ever the protector, speaks up first. "Whatcha talkin' about?" He asks, eyebrow furrowed.

She tilts her head, confused. Then, she bursts out laughing. "Oh, your little faces! I'm sorry sweetheart, I thought you knew. You especially, Mr. Jacobs. I'm not exactly subtle."

Silence. Spot speaks up. "Knew... what? Exactly." He's still sitting up and Davey can see his eyes carefully searching for all possible exits. It's a skill every newsie learns quickly, if they're smart.

"That I am of the... sapphic persuasion." It left Spot and Race in the dark, but clued Davey in.

"Oh. Oh! Really? That... actually makes sense. I feel kinda dumb for not realising it sooner. Is that what all of the lavender is for?" She nods, and he laughs. "It's okay guys, she's like you." A moment of hesitation. "Us."

Race leans over to Davey and whispers, poorly, into his ear. "What are you talkin' about, Mouth?" Davey whispers back. He's better at it so no one hears what he says, but they can guess by what Race exclaims afterwards. " Ohh . She likes ladies. Spot, it's alright."

"That true?" Spot asks, wary. Ms. Kensies nods and points to a lavender sprig pinned on the front of her dress.

"For most of my students, the lavender is enough, but David here is particularly dense, " this earns a snort from two of the boys, "and I suppose you two haven't read all that much sapphic poetry."

Race nods. "I'm pretty sure I haven't read any poetry."

A beat passes. "Hey, I am not dense!" Instead of protesting, all three of his companions just look at him incredulously. He brings his feet up onto the chair and hugs his knees, clearly pouting. "I'm not!"

Spot places a hand on his arm. "Mouth. You're so smart."

"Thank you."

"But you're also dense. You didn't even realise Jack liked you until we told you."

Lottie's eyebrows raised. "Oh, who's Jack?" She asks, and she suddenly seems younger, like their equal.

Race grins. "Oh, who is Jack, Dave? Care to share?"

"No, in fact, I don't. You's have known him your whole lives, I've known him for three months. Leave me alone. You tell her."

His friend surrenders, but follows the joking instructions. He explains all about the strike, with Jack being a leader and then scabbing, then about he and Davey, which prompts more than a little red to creep its way up Davey's face. "Yeah and then they broke up, and then Spotty here kicked Jack's a-" he's cut off by a smack in the head from Davey.

"Nothing incriminatin'." He realises his mistake. " More incriminatin'."

Charlotte laughs, and they get the distinct feeling that she understands. It's one of the first times each of them have had an adult to talk to, to joke with freely. It's almost magical. They sit there, eating her cookies and laughing, listening to stories when she was 'as bright as them', for longer than they should. Davey is late to dinner, but at least he forgets the pain in his temple and is grinning in the streets as he walks home.