The Story of Cassie Tuck (Newsies/Tuck Everlasting Crossover)

Chapter 2

TW: Swearing (I think)

We've reached Crutchie's selling spot. It's near some of the big offices in Midtown, and after a few minutes of watching the boys selling their papes I can see what Crutchie meant when he said that a limp gets paid more handsomely than a newsie like Race.

"Alright, kid," Race said after about a half hour, "Your turn now!"

I turn to him.

"What?"

"You idiot, he can't speak," Crutchie said.

No, but I can sign.

Race is staring at me, confused at the motions I made with my hands. But I did it because I knew hewould understand.

"You... you can sign?"

I nod. I know a lot of people can't understand it, but I figured some of the white-collar workers might.

Crutchie thinks for a moment, and I can tell he's figuring it out. "I'm a little rusty, Cassio, but I can try it out if you'd like?"

Go ahead. If you really stuff it up I won't laugh.

"Sorry to interrupt... whatever this is, but d'you wanna work or not?" Race says.

"Just give us a sec, I've gotta do this," Crutchie replies. "Here goes nothin'." Where'd you learn to sign?

I smile. Well, that made sense to me. I learned from my Father, he was mute too. You?

Crutchie shifted, he was obviously uncomfortable answering this question – and considering I already knew the answer, I understood why.

A friend taught me, a long time ago.He turned, walking further down the street, away from us.

"What'd you do to make him angry, kid?" Race asks.

I took the paper and pen out of my pocket again. I just asked a question.

He laughs, patting me on the back. "What the hell sorta question did ya ask, Cassio? I'se only ever seen that kid angry once, when the Delanceys' beat up some boy on the street! So I'll ask yous again," his face hardens, and I hop back from him. "What did yous do to make him angry?"

I quickly underline my previous answer, trying to tell him that was all I did.

"Look, I'se understand you don't wanna tell me, but we'se all real protective of that kid, and I'se don't wants some newcomer hurtin' him."

I won't hurt Crutchie, Race. Not on purpose.

"I'se don't care if its on purpose or not, you ain't gonna hurt 'im, y'hear?"

I nod.

"Good. Now let's help ya sell some papes."

He runs off to grab Crutchie while I grab a few papes outta my bag.

So, how am I supposed to do this?I write.

"Well, I got a few ideas. We can hawk 'em for ya, then give ya the money, or we can find some cardboard and write up the best headline on the pape for ya," Crutchie offers. I'm surprised he's talking to me after I'd upset him.

Can we try both?I ask Crutchie.

Sure.He recites our silent conversation to Race, who nods his agreement.

We step out onto the street – the street traffic is just starting to pick up, so hopefully we'll get a couple good sells.

"Extra, extra, all statues in New York set to come down!" A young man rushes over and pays for the pape I'm holding up.