The Kings of New York

Chapter 2: Sheepshead Races

Dreamless-Mermaid

AN: Woo woo, it's chapter dos! Hey all! Thanks for the love from chapter one. I was so excited and happy to upload something new. I remember the thrill of finding the alerts in my inbox. It takes me back to high school :D Anywho, keep 'em up and I shall keep delivering the chapters. More reviews will make my world go 'round. Onward!

A permanent box at Sheepshead Races…

Racetrack Higgins was bored. That's right, bored. The headline sucked. The weather sucked. There were no races today. He hadn't sold even half a stack of papes yet. Everything about this day just plain stunk. He sold at Sheepshead Bay for one reason. Okay, so maybe two. The customers were plentiful and he sometimes could sneak in to catch a race. However because of the rotten weather, the races were cancelled which meant no customers, which was why Racetrack was bored.

He sat on a wooden box underneath the awning that lead to the entrance of the building, his newspapers rolled up near his feet, a few playing cards spread out in front of him. He hated Solitaire but it was the only game he knew well enough to play by himself. He muttered curses under his breath every time a strong gust of wind blew by and scattered his cards. The steady rain came down around him and with each gray cloud, it darkened Racetrack's mood more and more.

"Still out here, kid?"

Racetrack glanced up from his game to see Mr. Hopkins, the track's general manager, leaning in the doorway. He was of average height with salt-and-pepper hair and a round belly. His smile was not unkind as he made his way toward the boy.

"Heya Hoppy, how's it rollin'?" Racetrack had always liked Mr. Hopkins. Out of every employee, the old man was the only one that ever showed any kindness to the newsie. Every once in a while on hot days, he would sneak him a lemonade or a pop. They frequently made small talk together when they weren't busy. One time Mr. Hopkins even let Racetrack inside the announcer's box to watch a race. "Want me ta deal ya in?"

Mr. Hopkins chuckled. "No thanks, I'm just here to check on you. Why don't you go on home? It's been raining for three days, the track's too muddy. We won't have any business for a while." His voice was a low baritone, gentle, almost fatherly.

"Whatcha talkin' 'bout? The weather's gorgeous!" At that moment the sky chose to respond with a loud crack of thunder.

Mr. Hopkins raised an eyebrow. "Go home, Racetrack."

"Nah, I think I'll stay. Who knows? It might clear up." He picked up his cards to shuffle them.

"I promise you it won't."

Racetrack shrugged. "Don't know that for sure."

"Race-"

"I can't go home yet, okay, Hoppy?" Racetrack snapped unexpectedly. "I ain't sold nothin' in three days so…I ain't got any money." He sighed exasperatedly. The rain had started when he woke up three days ago, and even then he had a gut feeling it was going to be a long week. On that first day he bought his usual one hundred papers, hoping and praying that the rain would let up soon. It didn't. He left that evening soaked to the bone with ninety five newspapers that he eventually had to trash because the water destroyed them. Day two he only bought sixty papers and came home with fifty eight. Day three was just as bad, having to discard forty nine out of fifty. Today marked day number four. Before he dragged himself to the tracks he read the report in the weather section that the rain wasn't likely to let up anytime soon. He thought surely twenty papers would be a good enough number. So far, he only sold five, all to track employees.

Mr. Hopkins put his hands in his pants pockets. He gazed at the boy who continued to effortlessly shuffle his playing cards. He knew how it felt to live every day with just enough or next to no money. In his younger days, his family wasn't financially well off, so he started working in a factory when he was just eight years old. Being the oldest of four, he and his younger siblings sometimes went for days without a decent meal. Although their situations were different, Mr. Hopkins recognized hard work when he saw it. Several times the old man offered the newsie a job at the tracks but he'd refused. He liked being able to come and go when he pleased, he didn't have to answer to anybody but himself, and he enjoyed the hustle and bustle when it was a clear day. Ah well, maybe someday.

"Hey, Marv!" A teenager, a few years older than Racetrack, came running over to Mr. Hopkins, waving a newspaper around in the air. "Marv! You'll never believe it!"

"What is it, Thomas?" Mr. Hopkins said. Thomas came skidding to a halt beside his boss and shook the paper in his face.

"Didja see the headline today? You know that old goat that owns the box, Mr. Sweetwater? He died this mornin'!" Thomas said excitedly.

"What?" Mr. Hopkins exclaimed.

"Yeah yeah, see it's right here." Mr. Hopkins grabbed the paper from the kid's hands. Sure enough, there was a huge article about the one and only Abraham Sweetwater, the candy maker from Manhattan. He owned Sweetwater and Sons candy shop in the city, Brooklyn, and Staten Island and needless to say, he was loaded. He was a frequent customer at the tracks and as such bought himself the only private box.

"Sonovabitch. Says here he died from a heart attack," Mr. Hopkins said. At this he looked up incredulously at a curious Racetrack. "And you didn't sell anything today?"

Racetrack shrugged. "Hey, you ain't got no business, remembah?"

"What's going to happen to the box?" Thomas said, ignoring Racetrack.

"A man has just died for chrissakes, Thomas, show a little compassion."

Thomas paused for a second, seeming to think this over. Although how he could even do that was beyond Racetrack, as he thought this kid was about as smart as a rock. "Okay, but, the box…?"

Mr. Hopkins sighed and shoved the paper back in Thomas' hands. "I don't know. Sell it to the next highest bidder, I guess."

"You could always hold a drawin'." Racetrack suggested. Mr. Hopkins cocked his head to one side.

"What do you mean?"

"Whoever wants to can put their name in a cup, and if they get picked, they get tha box."

"That's the stupidest thing I ever heard!" Thomas laughed loudly.

"Quiet, Thomas. Go on, Race." Mr. Hopkins said.

The boy shrugged again. "That's all I got really. I just think it would be fair. That way everyone can have a chance at it."

"Hmmm. That sounds fair to me."

"Are you kidding?" Thomas barked. "Sheepshead will never go for that!" He was referring the the head honcho, the big boss. Sheepshead was not his real last name, of course, it was something simple like Monroe but everyone always made fun of him like that behind his back.

"You do realize that by everyone, I meant everyone? Even you?" Racetrack said to Thomas. The teenager abruptly stopped laughing and blinked. Racetrack could practically see the wheels trying, trying, and eventually turning in his head.

"Yeah. I knew that. I mean, of course, everyone."

Mr. Hopkins just gave him a half lidded stare. "Don't you have some sweeping to do?"

"On it boss." Thomas grinned, gave a salute, and scampered away. Mr. Hopkins sighed and shook his head.

"Was he dropped on his head as a baby or somethin'?" Racetrack jerked his chin after Thomas.

"Seems that way," Mr. Hopkins said. He turned back to the newsie. "Anyway, I'll talk to Luther and see what he says. I'm on board with this idea. I'd like to have someone in that box that's actually pleasant for once."

Racetrack chuckled. "I hear he was one tough old man."

"That's putting it nicely," he laughed. "You really should get on home now, Race. It's getting darker." Indeed since the two of them began their conversing had the sky grown to a very deep shade of gray, the rain still consistently pouring down.

"I'd love to, Hoppy, but I ain't got enough ta sleep tonight."

Mr. Hopkins spied the wadded up papers on the ground. "How many you got left?"

"'Bout fifteen."

The older man dug around in his pockets and dug out a good amount of coins and held them out to Racetrack. "Fifteen papers, please."

Racetrack's eyes widened as round as saucers. "What? You serious?" He almost dropped his cards. Almost.

"Yes. I've seen you out here for four days now. You deserve a break." Mr. Hopkins smiled warmly. Racetrack couldn't believe his good fortune. He knew there was another reason why he liked this man.

"Wow, thanks, Hoppy! Honest! Thanks!" Racetrack gushed gratefully. He didn't need to count them out, he knew just by eyeballing it that there would be enough. He quickly took the coins and shoved them in his own pockets. Then he bent down, picked up the slightly soggy newspapers, and handed them over. "I won't forget this! I promise!"

Mr. Hopkins smiled as he watched the boy run into the rain, waving behind him as he went. His heart filled with joy at being able to help out the diligent newsie that showed up every single day, no matter the weather. One time he even stayed during a snowstorm. He turned around to walk back inside the building. On the way in, he dropped the fifteen newspapers into a large trash bin.

Racetrack clambered into the lodging house and almost slipped on the tile floor in the foyer. He took off his cap to shake his hair out. As he tugged his shoes off he spotted many other pairs strewn all about the hallway. So the rest of the crew must be home as well, he thought. Every time it rained Kloppman demanded the boys take off their shoes, lest they muck up his perfectly spotless foyer, and wring their caps out by the fire, which was blazing merrily on the far side of the room. After he made his way there, he had just hung it on the grate to dry when he heard many sounds coming from the next room. He walked into the front room that had Kloppman's desk, a few large chairs and sofas, and a table or two, and found many of his friends lounging about.

"Hey fellas!" he called to them. They responded with a hearty hello.

"Hi mister," said a low voice from behind him. He turned to see his girlfriend Josephine there, a smile on her face. Her suspenders hung down around her waist, the top button on her shirt was undone, and her long brown hair was still slightly damp. "You look like somethin' tha cat dragged in."

"You have no idea. C'mere beautiful." Racetrack took her suspenders in his hands and used them to pull her to him. She giggled when he kissed her.

"I feel like I haven't seen ya in days."

"Well, ya really haven't. We don't sell near each other and you don't live here."

Josephine grinned. "Maybe we should fix that."

He laughed. "And risk givin' ol' Kloppy a heart attack? No thanks," he looked into her eyes, realizing how much he missed those beautiful blues. She sold on the other side of town in the theaters, vaudeville and the flickers. She also lived at an all girls boarding house even further away from her selling spot. More than once he pondered with the idea of asking Kloppman if she could live here but he knew himself too well and wouldn't be able to keep his hands off her. Not that he wasn't doing a great job of that now. "Come upstairs, I got somethin' I wanna show ya."

"Sounds fun!" Josephine giggled again and she let him lead her up the stairs to the main room that he shared with the others. Snipeshooter, Boots, Jake, and Les were crouched in a corner together playing marbles. When Racetrack saw them he motioned for them to leave.

"Amscray ya worms."

On their way out, with much mumbling and cursing, Racetrack snagged the unlit cigar hanging from Snipeshooter's lips. The younger boy turned to protest but Racetrack just held up a threatening fist. Snipeshooter conceded and headed out of the bunk room post haste. The two young teens sat on the nearest bed. Racetrack wasted no time in producing the massive amount of coins from his pockets, spreading them out to be admired on top of the bed's blanket.

"Oh my God! How tha hell didja get all that?" Josephine exclaimed, but not without excitement. She picked through the money, separating quarters, pennies, and nickels. Racetrack dove into the story of what he'd been through during the last four days. "Mr. Hopkins gave ya this?"

"Yeah. Great man ain't he?"

When she sighed her cheeks puffed out, her eyes growing steadily wider as she gazed at the money. "I'll say," It's not like Racetrack had struck it rich but it was definitely more than he'd ever had before.

"And," he continued with bravado, "speakin' a great men, Sweetwater was a great man for kickin' tha bucket so that I could get a chance at his box." He rubbed his hands together vigorously.

Josephine quirked an eyebrow at him. "What do ya mean by that?" So he launched into yet another story about his suggestion to Mr. Hopkins and Thomas. While he would never admit this outloud to anyone else, the only reason he suggested a drawing in the first place was that so that he could have a shot at the box. He was never wealthy that much was clear, and probably never would be, but he'd be damned if he wouldn't immensely enjoy the shocked looks on every rich man's face if he were to win the box. "Hm. Well it sounds like a good plan."

"Yeah, and hopefully Sheepshead thinks so too." Racetrack began to scoop up the coins and put them back in his pockets.

"Just don't forget about us little people when ya win." Josephine teased.

"Now who said anythin' 'bout forgettin' ya?" With the money safely tucked away he scooped the girl into his lap and stuck the cigar in his mouth. "You guys would be there wit me everyday!"

She laughed. "That's good ta know. Can't let tha fame get ta ya head." She kissed his forehead lightly.

Racetrack smiled against her throat. He removed the cigar from his mouth to plant a gentle kiss on her throat. "We still goin' out tonight?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Tha weather's been so ugly lately. I think I'd rather stay in and help ya count ya money again…Among other things…" she trailed away, smirking, playing with the buttons on his shirt. He laughed.

"That would be tha third best thing that's happened today." They stood up together and he led them to his bunk where they spent the remainder of their evening counting coins, imagining what life would be like in the box, and doing the other things Josephine mentioned.

Friday morning arrived early and Racetrack rose in a particularly cheerful mood. For one thing there was sunshine streaming through the windows. Bright, glorious sunlight. He never thought he'd be so happy to see it. For another, he was eager to head to Sheepshead Bay and check up on the progress of the drawing and whether Mr. Hopkins had convinced his boss to let him hold one. The space next to him was empty, of course. Josephine had crept away last night just before the others came up to settle in. He hoped to run into her at the distribution center, maybe to convince her to come to the tracks with him.

He dressed quickly and sprinted down the stairs. When he made it outside the sun beamed down on him. The wonderful, wonderful ball of heat and light. Racetrack didn't think he could express anymore how glad he was that the rain finally ended. He took his time walking to the center to enjoy the morning. The streets were damp from the last four days, the birds chirped in the trees, a small breeze blew through the city. It was a perfect morning.

He came upon the distribution center but the gates were still closed. Several other newsies loitered around the entrance, some of whom Racetrack recognized from the strike the year prior. He struck up conversations with them but he was antsy to grab his papers and head for the tracks. He knew today would be a good day. Eventually Josephine, Bella, and the other boys rolled in, all still looking very sleepy. Just then the gates opened, the crowd gathered to form a single file line up the ramp to the office that was once Weasel's post.

"I can't believe ya still sellin' today after what ya got yesterday." Josephine teased, shaking her head. Racetrack smiled and took her hand.

"Of course I am! I gotta make up for tha others I had ta trash," he said. "Come wit me ta tha tracks."

"Hmmm, tempting, but I don't think I can. Sketch is still too new, she'd be lost without me." She was referring to her selling partner, Sketch. A small girl with wide green eyes and dirty blonde hair, she was given the nickname for constantly drawing on any surface with anything she could find.

"Well bring her along if ya want. I need my girl wit me today." Racetrack all but pleaded with her. She could never resist it when he turned on the charm. Just then a girl pushed her way through the line and almost landed on Josephine's feet. When she stood upright she looked immensely proud of herself. A little winded, but proud nonetheless. Josephine smiled.

"Hi, Sketch. Was wonderin' when you'd get here," she wrapped an arm around the other girl's shoulder. "This is Racetrack, and Race this is Sketch."

"Pleased ta meetcha." Sketch said brightly.

"Likewise," They did a spit shake in greeting. "I was just tellin' Joey how much she needs ta come ta tha tracks wit me. You up for it?"

Sketch's smile faltered a bit. "Oh but shouldn't we stay? Ms. Fitzgerald won't let us in tanight if we can't pay."

Racetrack waved that away. "Don't worry, I got ya covered."

Sketch was dubious and looked to her partner for confirmation. Josephine nodded, that it was okay if they skipped for just one day. Her face lit up once more. "Lead tha way."

"Atta girl!" Racetrack cheered. He picked up forty newspapers and the three of them jumped off the distribution platform, making their way into the heart of the city and eventually walking the route to Sheepshead Bay. On the way, Sketch opened up a newspaper to see a huge picture of the tracks with a bold headline of 'Sheepshead Bay Holds Drawing for Prime Box'. There was a long article of Sweetwater's tragic passing, that there would be a drawing held at six o'clock that evening, and that every abled man could submit his name in the running from now until five o'clock. Racetrack whooped loudly. "He did it! He got tha old geezer ta say yes!"

"Wow, I can honestly say I'm surprised. I nevah thought tha old man would go for it." Josephine said earnestly.

"Am I missin' somethin'?" Sketch asked curiously. Josephine filled in her partner on the previous day's events. Sketch looked impressed. "Way ta go, Race."

"Thank ya, thank ya." He tipped his hat to them and grinned.

They reached the tracks just in time to find it rapidly filling with people. Word seemed to have spread quickly. He caught snippets of conversation as people passed him. Some could care less about the drawing. Others just wanted to bet and watch the horses now that the rain was finally done. They came to the long iron fence that shepherded customers to the building beyond and he stopped. "Girls, I'm gonna sell here. I don't think we'll be able ta fit through all 'dem people."

"That's okay. We can help." Sketch said. Race nodded his thanks and he split the papers in half to twenty and the girls split them up so they both could have ten. They sold steadily throughout the morning and as the day wore on, the amount of people grew. All three newsies sold out of their papers by the early afternoon so they decided to try and squeeze their way through the massive crowd. Racetrack wanted to make sure his name was in that bucket.

"Race! You made it!" Mr. Hopkins cried over the noise when he spotted the young boy. Racetrack waved and pulled the girls along. "Can you believe this?" The older man was grinning from ear to ear.

"Ya did good, Hoppy. Now hows about ya show me where I sign up?" He gave Mr. Hopkins a friendly pat on the back.

"Of course, right this way!" Racetrack could see that, for the first time in all the years that he's known him, this event was giving Mr. Hopkins a great deal of joy. He led the trio to a sort of wooden platform where a very large metal bucket stood on top. There was a short line to one side with men of all ages, and a few women too. They all held small, white pieces of paper. The rest of the crowd milled about, some probably waiting for six o'clock, others wandering around to watch the races. After Mr. Hopkins explained to Racetrack what to do, the young newsie scribbled his name onto a piece of paper, stood in line, and when it was finally his turn he said a little prayer and tossed the paper into the bucket with all the others.

"And now we wait." Racetrack muttered. He knew it was going to be a long shot, but oh wouldn't it just be the greatest thing in the world if his name were pulled from that bucket?

He and the girls passed the time by watching races, sharing popcorn and sarsaparilla, and conversing with the other patrons. A lot of them had their sights set on that box. Racetrack supposed they'd been dreaming about it for as long as he had, possibly even longer. It was definitely a sight to be seen, the rich mingling with the lower class, with everyone's mind on one goal. Racetrack might even dare to say that it was pleasant. Joey met a well-to-do young lady who was there by herself, she couldn't have been more than seventeen. When Joey brought the girl over, who introduced herself as Charlotte, Racetrack could tell that she was more than a little nervous around the three newsies. Charlotte wasn't meaningfully rude per se but sometimes the things she said had a way of coming off as snobby and dramatic. She told them her story of how she came here, that it was her dying father's wish to sit in the box just once before he passes. Her family was well off, she was raised among upstanding citizens, but they could never afford such an extravagance like this. So Charlotte steeled herself and stepped out into the world unaccompanied to make her father's dream come true (as she told it.)

It's a shame that when all this ends, things'll go back like they used ta, Racetrack thought. He knew they would probably never see Charlotte again, she'd be with people like her, like the Sweetwaters'. Speaking of which, here come some now.

It was like the Red Sea parting down the middle and from it sauntered three young men, all ranging between ages eighteen, twenty one, and twenty five. Racetrack recognized them instantly as the late entrepreneur's sons, from their finely pressed suits to their pointed noses stuck up in the air. The oldest was Augustus, the middle was Amos, and the youngest was Alexander. All three strode purposely toward the platform while ignoring the stares they received from the crowd.

"Marvin! Marvin Hopkins!" Augustus called out above the noise. Racetrack swiveled his head all around looking for his friend. What did these hoity-toity rich guys want with Hoppy? The older man squeezed through the patrons upon hearing his summons. Once he recognized who was before him, Mr. Hopkins' face went stony and he proceeded to the platform.

"Hello boys. What can I do for you?" Mr. Hopkins said, his back straight with arms crossed in front. Racetrack could see from his expression that he was not at all happy to see the young socialites.

"We are here to discuss the terms of Father's private box." Augustus replied.

"Well I'm afraid you're a little too late. The drawing will be held in about an hour and after that you'll have to take it up with the new owner."

"I told you we should have been here sooner." Alexander shot at his brother.

"Quiet, Alex," Augustus said. The youngest brother rolled his green eyes, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned against the base of the wooden platform, as if indifferent to this whole situation. "Mr. Hopkins I can offer you quite a bit of money for your trouble-"

"Save it, Augustus. I don't want or need your money. If you want that box you'll have to participate just like everybody else."

"That box belongs to us and you know it. What has Sheepshead said about this?" Amos said, narrowing his cold blue eyes.

"He's the one that approved it," Mr. Hopkins said a little smugly and was pleased to see the three boys faces register surprise. "Abraham Sweetwater never signed any sort of contract nor was he foolish enough to bequeath the box along to you in the event of his death. He bought it fair and square and now one lucky person, whether it be a millionaire or a regular joe, will own it. So I suggest you boys get in the back of the line and start praying because this is the only way you will get it back."

There was stunned silence by the small crowd. Augustus, standing tall with blue eyes glaring, took in a deep breath, raised his chin even higher, and turned to his brothers. "Come along, Alex, Amos. We have a drawing to win."

Alexander pushed himself up to follow his brothers to the seemingly never ending line. Once they passed Mr. Hopkins, Racetrack rushed up to his friend with a look of incredulity. "Awright, who are ya and what have ya done wit Hoppy? That was amazin'! I nevah knew ya had it in ya."

"I've wanted to give those snobs a piece of my mind for years. Alexander isn't so bad but the other two, Amos and Augustus, are just downright rude. Seems they inherited that from their father." Mr. Hopkins admitted. They walked back to the girls, Mr. Hopkins receiving smiles and cheers on the way.

The fateful hour was almost upon the crowd now. The energy buzzed around Racetrack, his own nerves starting to rattle him and it showed through his shaking hands and constant fidgeting. He calmed slightly when Josephine took his hand, even more so when she gave him a good luck kiss. At five minutes to six a handful of familiar faces appeared before Racetrack, Josephine, Sketch, and Charlotte. All of the newsies barreled through the crowd, laughing and talking loudly. Racetrack was honestly surprised to see them.

"Ya didn't think we'd let ya have all the glory if ya won, didja?" Jack said.

"What he means is that we wanted to be here to support you. Not be moochers." David clarified as he jokingly punched Jack in the shoulder. Racetrack laughed.

"Thanks fellas, that means a lot ta me." He then went on to introduce Sketch and Charlotte to his friends. Finally after the agonizing hours ticked by it was time. The crowd's volume inched higher when they were all realizing what was coming. Two men lumbered to the makeshift platform, one of them Mr. Hopkins, the other a man much older. Thin, balding, spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose, Racetrack recognized him as Sheepshead himself, old Luther Monroe. On the rare occasions Racetrack was able to get a glimpse of him he always had a scowl fixed to his face and stooped over. Today was no different but there was a small change about his features, something like excitement in his eyes. One by one every single person at Sheepshead Bay became quiet. Even the customers who were only there to watch the races stopped in mid conversation.

Mr. Hopkins smiled before he spoke as loud as he could, "Thank you all for being here today. I know you folks are impatient so I won't waste your time with a long winded speech. Let it be known that from this day forth, whosoever owns this box shall keep it for life. This is a one time drawing so in the future he may sell it or have the necessary papers arranged to pass it along to someone else." Some people were nodding their heads in agreement while others leaned toward their companions, whispering and shaking their heads. This is why none of 'dem kids got tha box, Racetrack thought. Sweetwater died suddenly an' he never made no papes for it.

"Now I will pick one name and one name only," Mr. Hopkins continued. "When you are called please come to the front so we can congratulate you and have your picture taken for the newspaper," he indicated a few journalists on his right. All of them had their cameras set up. "I shall begin. Good luck to you all!"

Not one soul made a sound as Marvin Hopkins shuffled to the pot with hundreds of white pieces of paper. He made a good show of mixing them together like one tossed a salad. Racetrack's heartbeat increased, the blood pounding in his ears. His stomach twisted into knots. As his friend finally pulled out that fateful paper he drew a sharp intake of breath, grabbed Josephine's hand, and prayed with all his might.

"Our winner is…," Hopkins paused. He smiled and laughed as he read the name before he announced it. How wonderful, he thought. "Antonio "Racetrack" Higgins!"

The newsies erupted into tumultuous cheering. Racetrack himself stood dumbfounded in shock. He won? HE won?! Out of every hopeful person here it had been he, Racetrack, whose name had been pulled? This didn't seem real. He saw his friends around him, he saw everyone else's gazes directed at him, and only did he snap out of it as Josephine was pulling him to the front.

"Race you did it! You got it!" she was saying to him, her face broken out in a huge smile.

"Yeah…Yeah, it's me!" He heard clapping coming from the rest of the crowd but none as loud as those of his friends. When he and Josephine were nearly there he was bumped hard in the shoulder. Racetrack gripped it with his free hand and was about to shoot off an insult when he caught the coldest glares from Augustus and Amos. They didn't say a word but slunk away through the throng of people. Alexander, however, stepped right up to Racetrack and held out his hand.

"Congratulations," he said cordially. The two shook hands and then, while still linked, he leaned in and muttered, "I'm glad you won. I never liked that thing anyway. Enjoy it."

Racetrack smirked. "Oh I will. Thank you." That was that. Alexander winked and walked away toward his brothers. Soon after he was ushered on the platform where Mr. Hopkins stood waiting, smiling warmly.

"I can't believe it. Of all the luck," He chuckled. Racetrack laughed too.

"Yeah! Who knew?"

"You've earned it kid." Mr. Hopkins pulled Racetrack in for a quick hug, something which surprised the boy but was not uncomfortable by it. After that he received more congratulations from Luther and all of the journalists that had been taking many pictures. Josephine kissed her boyfriend on the cheek.

"So, tell me we're gonna celebrate tanight." Josephine said. He laughed and put his arm around her.

"We are gonna have tha biggest party you evah seen. Cuz dollface," he turned to face the lights of the flashbulbs. He knew his face would be all over every single newspaper in the morning. As he once said, if you're in the papes you're famous. You can have anything you want. Well Racetrack wondered how many of his friends could fit in the box. Or if he could request never ending sarsaparilla and popcorn. Or if he'd get invited to a few celebrity parties. The point is he knew his life would change drastically, even if it only lasted for a few weeks and the fame wore off. It would be an unforgettable few weeks. "Aftah taday, I'll be tha king of New York."

AN: OMG THIS TOOK FOREVER I'M SORRY PLEASE FORGIVE ME. Seriously, I'm really sorry. After I posted chapter one there was the Olympics and then I went to California for my cousin's wedding and I bought a new car and got writer's block or was too sleepy in between. So I will give you all a forewarning now that chapter three will probably take the same amount of time. Just saying :D Anyway, huzzah for cheesy endings! Spoiler alert: I think I want to end all of these chapters with that phrase. Just because it seems to fit. This was so much fun to write. I love making new characters. Charlotte and Alexander were my favorites in this one. They may or may not be reappearing but they'll be on the side in case I need them.

So what did you all think? I'm pretty sure that ownership of private boxes consists of monthly or yearly fees and stuff like that but I didn't mention that because it wouldn't have been as much fun for Racetrack. Anything you would like to share please tell me! Thank you!

Shout outs:

BritishIsBetter639: Thank you so much! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! ^_^

Joker is Poker with a J: Oh my, I've updated! Haha yeah I'm almost in my mid twenties and I'm still writing fan fiction. I also still love all things nerdy, Newsies included. Hehe thanks, I love that line too. It felt like the right thing they would say to each other, just being silly. I love giving Skittery his one time in the spotlight! I've done it in the past, like he's said a great one liner. He's good at those. I'm so glad you liked it, thank you so much!

Spot's Gal: Awww! *^_^* You're so sweet! Thank you! Although if I were to ever publish anything it would take so long to write because I don't do it like I did in high school. I'm an adult now with adult social things to do and a big kid job, haha. I feel like Mush hardly ever gets super mad about anything but you're right, in this instance he definitely should have been super pissed than how I portrayed him. But I got the point across! Haha. Thank you again!

Up next is Spot's chapter and I have NO IDEA what to write about….I'm sure I'll think of something but for now I'm stuck. Humph. Not fun.

Anyway, please review my pretties! Thank you all!