Gypsy searched the eyes of the girls around her. They weren't kidding her, were they? No. "What?" she asked, disbelieving. The girls said nothing. Gypsy couldn't believe it. She didn't know what to say. She didn't know anything. Her head felt like it was spinning, and her brain seemed to have turned into peanut butter. She couldn't think. She didn't know what to think. "What?!" she said again. Most of the girls were sobbing too much to answer, but Gypsy didn't want an answer. She wasn't really asking a question. She didn't believe it. Confusion overtook her. She began to laugh. It wasn't real to her. It hadn't sunk in yet. "No," she laughed. "No! No, no, no!" But the laughter was giving way to tears. "How-?" she almost asked a million questions, but suddenly words just weren't enough. There weren't enough words in the world. Nothing made sense.

"Gypsy," said Alex, the only girl who wasn't crying, "get a grip girl."

Gypsy didn't hear her. She was beginning to go insane.

Alex grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, giving her a little smack across the face. "Gypsy! Calm down!"

Gypsy swallowed hard, sitting down in a chair. She took a deep breath and tried to think. She had to clear her mind or she was sure to go mad. "THINK!" she screamed to herself. She asked herself some shallow, easy to answer questions. What was happening? Tootsie was dead. Oh my god. It finally hit her. Tootsie was dead!! She was dead! Oh my god! She felt panic creeping in again, so she took another deep breath. She looked around. All the girls were crying. Even some of the guys were crying. Most just had blank, unreadable expressions on their faces. Damn men, always trying to hide their emotions, while she was struggling just to figure out what her emotions were. More shallow questions. "Are you sure?" she asked. It was a stupid question, but it was all she could do.

"Yes," said Alex, shuddering a little. "We's very sure."

"How?" asked Gypsy. "How could she be dead? How did she die? She was fine! She…she was just here!" Get a grip, Gyp. Another deep breath.

Alley answered, her voice was very shaky and she was trying hard not to lose control of herself. "We don't really know," she said. "Dat Bronx gang…maybe."

"Oh my god," Gypsy whispered. She felt the tears on her eyelids now. She felt the sobs rising in her throat. No. She had to stay calm. No sense getting hysterical. Alex sighed and went to sit with the boys. She couldn't stand all that crying. She sat down at a table near the door with Kid Blink, Jack, and Boots. "How ya doin', guys?" she asked. She only received hurt looks, full of tears. The short, blond girl gave Jack a pat on the back, but didn't stay with him. She had to get out of this place. It was beginning to drive her crazy. She left the lodging house. She needed to get drunk, and there was no hope of doing that here.

Racetrack was hiding. He was locked in a coat closet, and there he sat in the dark, in the silence. At first he had been in denial, as they all had. And then he'd retreated into the closet, and cried. He'd cried and cried and cried. But now he just sat, numbly. His mind was blank. Nothingness had taken over him, and nothing was all he knew. He knew nothing. He was nothing. No, better yet, he wasn't. He didn't exist. The closet didn't exist. The city didn't exist. Tootsie didn't exist. Nothingness. Sweet nothingness. Suddenly someone rapped on the door. Racetrack jumped terribly, and everything came back in shattering, painful reality. He moved. His head tilted upwards very slowly, eyes focusing on the jiggling doorknob. He said nothing.

"Racetrack?" asked a voice. At first Racetrack didn't care to place it with a face, but the face came anyway. Gypsy. He said nothing. Finally he got up, slowly, stiffly. He turned the knob, his every move amazing him and causing him pain. Pushing open the door, he stepped out of the closet very simply. He looked around at the people in the room as if he didn't know any of them. Gypsy watched him, but didn't dare speak or try to comfort him. He turned and walked upstairs, where he stayed for the rest of the night. Nobody went up to see him. It was all too obvious that he longed to be alone. And he did. He wanted to be alone to immerse himself in his utter despair.

Gypsy had gone back to the far corner with the rest of the girls, listening to them cry and offering a somewhat dry shoulder to lean on. She had all too quickly come to terms with the incredible reality of the situation, accepted it, and then detached from it. This was an art, this detachment, that she had forced upon herself at a very young age because of all the family she'd lost. It had been much too exhausting and maddening to let herself mourn so completely for all of them. Detachment was her salvation. Filling the space where intense sadness and despair should have been was curiosity and mystery. She wanted to know how Tootsie had been killed, by whom, and why. She had to have the answers, or she would never feel closure. And closure is so very important for things like this.

She went over to Kid Blink. She had heard from Nicki that it was he who found her. She sat down beside him and took his hand in hers. He was sitting very quietly, his eyes dry, but red. Jack and Boots had gone elsewhere, and he had been alone at the table. But now Gypsy was there. She wanted to say something compassionate and comforting to him, but she couldn't.

"Ya saw her, didn't ya?" she said. Kid Blink looked over at her slowly. She kicked herself for being so damn insensitive. But she really wanted to know what he'd seen. "Tell me Blink," she said. "Tell me what ya saw." He swallowed, shaking his head slowly. She decided to take the caring approach. "Blink it's killin' ya to keep all inside," she said. "Please talk to me."

He studied her, but finally relented. "Gypsy," he said, eyes watering at last. She squeezed his hand. Poor guy. "Gypsy, it was awful," his voice quivered. "It wasn't Tootsie. It was…it was somethin' outta my nightmares. I…was goin' up to da bunkroom to get somethin'. Don't remember what. I opened da door, and…" He began to cry.

Gypsy hugged him to her, stroking his head lovingly. "And what!?" she was asking herself, as she kissed the top of his head. "And what?" Finally he pulled himself together.

He looked a little confused, as if he didn't understand the language he was speaking. "So strange da way she was hangin' dere. She looked like Jesus…on da cross."

Gypsy looked at him suspiciously. "Whadya mean, 'hangin' dere'?"

Kid Blink went on in a very vacant tone of voice. "She was hangin' dere," he said. "On da hat rack on da back a da door."

Gypsy looked at him stupidly. No, this could not be true. That sounded like something out of a horror novel. She forced herself to laugh. "Yer jokin'," she said, as if her saying so would make it so. Things like this just didn't happen. That was insane! That was disgusting. Kid Blink said nothing. A mental image of what Tootsie might have looked like flashed into her mind, followed by a wave of nausea. "Where is she?" Gypsy asked.

"She's over in Klopp's office," he mumbled. She gave him a pat on the back, and walked over towards the office door. She was about to knock on it, to ask to see Tootsie, but then she thought better of it. If she saw her then it would only upset her, and she would probably cry again, and her morning puke-your-guts-out sessions would begin again. No, she couldn't possibly go in there. She turned back around, and sat back down with Kid Blink.

Just then Snipeshooter burst through the lodging house doors like hell was after him. His breathing was quick and shallow, as if he'd just run a mile. His eyes were wide and blank, blindly shooting around the room but not focusing on anything. The newsies guessed he already knew about Tootsie. Sweetie, who was sitting across the room with the rest of the girls, rose from her chair and walked over to the panting boy.

"Snipes," she whispered, taking his hand. He looked at her, but there was nothing in his eyes. "You know…about Tootsie, don't you?" He swallowed hard, his unblinking eyes telling her the answer to her question. She didn't even know why she'd asked it. It was obvious. "Are ya alright?" she asked. Of course he wasn't alright. She was full of stupid questions that night. The boy suddenly began to tremble. "Whoa, Snipes," Sweetie mumbled, wrapping an arm around his midriff. "Hey, we gots a problem over here! Can I get a li'l help, please?"

Jack, Bumlets, and Dutchy came to her aid, and together they sat the trembling, unblinking Snipeshooter in a chair, and tried to calm him down.

"Somethin's really wrong wit him!" Dutchy muttered, not knowing exactly what else to say.

"Yeah, no kiddin'," Jack snapped. "Go get some water!" Dutchy went, and was back soon with a tall glass of water. He handed it to Sweetie, who placed it up to Snipes' lips.

"Here ya go, Snipes," she whispered. "Drink some a dis, and try to breath buddy, come on." Snipeshooter sipped the water, but his breathing remained unsteady.

"What's goin' on?" Gypsy asked, joining the crowd that was gathered around the boy.

Jack sighed, and scratched the back of his head. "I seen kids like dis before. He's seen somethin' or knows somethin' dat's, like, traumatizin' him, ya know what I mean."

Gypsy looked down at Snipeshooter. "D'ya think he might've seen what happened to Tootsie?" When she said this, many other newsies began asking similar quesitons. Snipeshooter swam into another trembling fit, but this time it was considerably less than the first.

Sweetie was still on her knees, talking to him softly and giving him water. "He's comin' out of it I think," she said. Jack motioned for everyone to back up, as a large crowd had gathered around him. Snipeshooter's breathing steadied, and he began to blink regularly. "Snipes," Sweetie whispered. "What happened to ya, kid?"

The boy grabbed her hand tightly, and sweat broke out on his forehead. He shut his eyes against the world, but the darkness this provided simply reenacted the whole scene for him. He opened his eyes again, and looked around at his friends.

"You's guys," his voice was shaking terribly, "I gotta tell ya a story." Everyone looked quite confused, but they all gathered very close to him. With Sweetie's help, he hoisted himself onto the table, where he sat, cross legged, and tried to steady his voice. "I gotta tell ya, cus if I don't it'll kill me," he said.

"Go ahead, kid. We's listenin'," Boots encouraged him as he crouched in seat around the table. Snipeshooter was always telling stories to the newsies. It was his way of letting off steam, and he was very good at it.

"Tootsie's dead," he began. "I's sure ya all know dat. But I's gonna tell ya how it was she got to bein' dat way." Silence filled the room. "She walked outta Tibby's tonight, after winning yet another game a craps against me. I didn't really have da money to pay up, so's I told her dat I'd pay her next week. After she left, I got to wondrin' about whether she'd cut me a break on it, so's I start out after her. "I come runnin' up 59th, and I tearn da corner to see five goons draggin' her into a alley. Dey weren't very big guys…bout my size, all of 'em, so it took all five of 'em to drag her anyplace. I sneaks up, and peaked round da side a da buildin' to see what dey's wantin' from her. She's fightin' like all hell's broke loose, but aginst five guys, she wasn't inflictin' a lotta damage. I went into da fight to help her out, but two a da goons jumped on me, and dey's gots crow bars! I's trying to dodge 'em, hopin' dat if nothin' else I's gettin' two a da guys outta her way for a second. Da fifth guy, I noticed, wasn't doin' nothin'. He was just standin' dere, watchin'. Outta da corner a me eyes, I saw da boy dat was left wit Tootsie go down, and she was all hunched over. By dis time, I's down too, and what wit them crow bars and thick chains dey's usin', I wasn't thinkin' about gettin' back up till dey's gone." It wasn't until now that the crowd around him noticed his huge bruises and back eyes. He looked like he had been worked over pretty well. He went on, his efforts to calm his voice having no effect. "But I kept on watchin'. Dey beat up on Tootsie wit dere chains wrapped round dere fists and them bars, until she was limp. I heard de guy who was like de leader, or somethin' say not to knock her out cus he wanted her awake when he killed her. Den dey left da alley and I got up to follow 'em. I wasn't walkin' to good cus a them soakin' me, but I followed 'em everywhere dey went. Dey brought her here, and dragged her up da fire escape to da roof. Dere weren't no way in da world I was gettin' up dere da way me ribs was smartin' an' me head was spinnin', so I just listened. I listened to them talkin' to her. One of 'em said somethin' about his father bein' in da slammer cus a her, and how she and her boy had lied to a judge to get him locked up, an' dat she didn't deserve to live for it! Den I heard four gunshots, and Tootsie…screamin' like all da lost souls on earth, and…den I heard one more shot…and…," Snipeshooter broke into tears, "den dere was nothin'. Da only noise was da sound a dat garbage laughin'. Just laughin'! I saw da guys drag her into da bunkroom, and den dey came out without her and climbed down da ladder like nothin' had happened. After dat I think I ran into Corlear's Hook Park, and I don't know how long I stayed dere, cryin' and throwin' up some, I think. Den I walked back here. But just as I was gonna come in I heard Kid Blink start screamin' upstairs, somethin' about Holy Mary, Mother a God, ans I knew he'd found her and it made me sick again, and I ran away again. Da next thing I remember Sweetie was askin' me if I knew…," he finished, and began sobbing into his hat. Sweetie helped him off the table and sat him down on the chair once more. All the newsies were silent, those who weren't crying, that is.

Now Gypsy had the answer to her nagging question of how this had happened. She realized that she really hadn't wanted to know. She had finally found a place where she had family for the first time in three years, and no sooner was she losing a sister…again. It wasn't fair. "Shut da hell up Gyp!" she yelled to herself. " Quit feelin' sorry for yerself, ya dumb shit. Dis ain't about you! Who da hell do ya think ya are?" But can you really blame her?

For the remainder of the night, the Newsies of Manhattan did their best to comfort each other, and told stories about 'The time Tootsie clobbered Nasty Joe in Bhryant Park', or 'The time Tootsie started that food fight in Tibby's'. Almost every story ending in tears.

Racetrack was a total wreak. He wouldn't eat, he wouldn't sleep, he wouldn't talk. In fact, he barely even made an effort to get up in the morning. Having no desire to take care of himself, he looked terrible. As if someone had run him down with the Statue of Liberty. It was horrible! The newsies got together one night, about three or four days after Tootsie died. Something had to be done about him or very soon he would die! Someone had to adopt him. Pay for his rent, his food(and make him eat it), and basically support him until he was ready to go back to work. None of the newsies thought they were making enough money to pay for swipes as it was, let alone try to support somebody else.

"Gypsy could do it," Alex whispered to Jack. Gypsy heard her, and lifted her eyebrows.

"Could you Gyp?" Jack asked her.

She shrugged, "Maybe, but-"

"'Maybe' is more money dan da rest of us got. So, by da power congested in me, I pronounce ya Racetrack's caretaker until he's got his feet back on da ground!"

Gypsy sighed, "Alright, I'll do my best."

"You'll do better dan yer best if ya wanna survive, Gypsy," Kitten whispered to her.

"Dis meeting's adjourned," called Jack, and the lobby of the lodging house emptied. Most of the newsies were on their way to Tibby's, but Gypsy was going upstairs to try to talk to Racetrack.

"Hiya buddy," she said quietly as she walked into the room. He was sitting on Tootsie's bed, fondling the necklace he'd bought her. She had been buried in an unmarked grave so none of the newsies really knew where she was, but Racetrack had insisted upon keeping that necklace. When he heard her come in he quickly stuck it in his pocket, and proceeded to stare at the floor. "How ya doin'?" she asked, sitting down beside him. He merely shook his head in response. "Do ya think ya'll be goin' back to work anytime, soon?" He shrugged. "Well don't even worry about it, kay? I gotcha covered." She put a comforting arm around his shoulders. He looked up at her and tried to smile, but failed miserably. She knew how grateful he was, even if he wouldn't say anything. She sighed, and asked if he wanted to talk about it. He shook his head. Gypsy sighed again. This was getting her nowhere. She ruffled his hair affectionately, and then left him to his mourning. His heart was broken in millions of pieces. She knew he wouldn't be back to work for a pretty long while. And a long while it was!

For a month and a half she worked her butt off to feed Racetrack, and even herself sometimes. Every morning she woke up earlier than everyone else, and always had her papers first. Everyday she yelled her lungs out and racked her brain to improve every headline in the whole paper, and haggled and swindled to earn that extra two or three cents. Every night she came in the latest, with more money than anyone else but less for herself than anyone else. She was usually hoarse, or without the ability to speak at all, and she was hardly ever in a good mood. She would buy Racetrack's dinner, always forcing him to eat at least half of whatever it was. And it wasn't until after she'd taken care of Racetrack that she ever thought about her own needs. The other girls admired her strength and determination. They'd never seen anybody work so hard for anything. She was pushing about fourteen hundred papers a week! Two hundred a day! She walked all over Manhattan, and sometimes out of Manhattan where the customers weren't used to seeing her. This way she could sell more, but suffered all the more for it as well. When they could afford it, the newsies would always give Gypsy money to help her out. It was never much more than fifteen cents, but she was ever grateful. She spent a lot of her spare time on the roof, and sometimes she was accompanied by the girls. They were always trying to cheer her up; never failed to give their support. Gypsy noticed that they often came to her with their problems, and asked for her advice. It didn't bother her. She liked hearing about other people's problems actually. It made her forget about her own for a moment. She always tried to give the best advice she could think of, but she really didn't know why they always came to her. It's not like she knew anything about guys or trespassers in pape territory, or anything like that! Nevertheless she tried, and to her surprise, they always took her advice to heart. It really goes without saying that the month and a half that Racetrack was under depression was the hardest time of her life-including all she had to go through at the plantation! Yet as hard as it was on Gypsy, it was harder for Racetrack. Gypsy thought she knew how hard it was for him, but she realized one night that she had no idea how bad off he really was.

Racetrack looked down at the street from the rooftop of the lodging house. The streets of Manhattan were almost completely empty, for once. He took a deep breath, trying to make up his mind. It was a very quiet and peaceful summer night. A perfect night. Tootsie would have loved it. Racetrack wiped the tears from his eyes. He couldn't stand living without her anymore. Living, to him, seemed such an incredible waste of time. He hated it!

"Hiya Racetrack," Gypsy greeted as she climbed onto the roof.

Racetrack started, lost his balance, and plunged off the side of the building.

Gypsy saw him fall, saw him trip right out of site; right off the roof. Without knowing it she dashed over to the edge of the roof where he'd gone over. And there he was. Waves after waves of relief washed over her when she saw him clinging to the ledge desperately. He hadn't fallen. Thank God. But she didn't thank God, and she didn't even notice her relief because she was too scared. Yes he was alive, but he wasn't safe.

"Race!" she screamed. Gypsy laid down on her stomach and grabbed his arm. "Racetrack, I gotcha." She tried to pull him up, like she had pulled the boy in Brooklyn out of the water, but she couldn't. She wasn't strong enough, and she wasn't in the right position. But Racetrack was more than half the size of Butcher, too. "Help!" she panted. If she couldn't pull him up, she would have to just make sure he didn't go down before she got some help. Gypsy's arm began to ache, but she held him tight with that inescapable grasp of hers. Racetrack had broken out in a cold sweat from the sudden fear that falling had sent through him, but now that was all replaced by anger. Gypsy wrapped her other hand around his numbing arm.

"Let go!" Racetrack screamed at her. Gypsy didn't really hear him at first. "Damn you Gypsy!" he said. "Let go!"

"What?!" she cried at last.

"Let GO!" he repeated.

Confusion. Maddening confusion overtook her whole mind. "Are you outta yer mind?" she exclaimed. Then she thought how stupid that question was. Of course he was out of his mind! By now all the yelling had attracted the attention of the only two newsies in the room below. Mush and Alley clambered up the fire escape, looking quite concerned but completely clue less.

"What's goin' on?" Mush asked. Alley had no need to ask questions, and was by Gypsy's side before Mush was even finished talking.

"Mush, get over here," Gypsy groaned. He didn't need a second invitation. With the three of them working as hard as they could, Racetrack was pulled back on the roof. It was no wonder Gypsy couldn't pull him up by herself. Racetrack had been pulling back! Alley and Gypsy didn't notice, but Mush did.

"What happened?" Alley asked. Gypsy told her side of the story, but she didn't know much more than Alley did.

"Why was ya pullin' against us like dat, Race?" Mush asked accusingly as he sat down beside him. Alley's ears perked up at this. Racetrack shot him an icy look.

"And why da heck did ya tell me to let go?" Gypsy asked, just now remembering that part. Alley's dark eyes widened with realization.

"You was jumpin'!" she exclaimed. She jumped off the ground and stared at the boy in utter shock. "Race, you was jumpin' weren't ya?" Racetrack glared at her evilly. He couldn't handle all this judgement right now, and he rose and headed towards the fire escape.

"What's da matter wit you, Race?" Mush sighed.

Racetrack turned on the group fiercely. "What's da matter wit me?!" he yelled. "What da hell ya thinks da matter Mush? Huh? Ya think I'm just playin' around here? She's dead! Da only woman I's ever gonna love is dead. Forever, alright! I'm nothin' without her. Nothin'! Hell, I can't even support myself! I ain't worth yer trouble, Gyp! I'm dyin'! She was my life! My reason to live! I ain't got nothin' to live for, ya see? And I don't wanna live without her. I can't!" The first time he had spoken, really, in over a month, and the words were madness. Despair. Utter despair. They had saved a life that hadn't wanted to be saved. A life that had fought not to be saved, but had lost. Racetrack tried to leave the roof again, but crumbled instead. He swam into silent and shameless tears.

Alley grabbed Mush's arm and dragged him back down the fire escape, leaving Gypsy to deal with Racetrack. Gypsy got the hint. She sat down beside the crushed, desperate heap that was crying so piteously before her. She wanted so badly to gather him up in a huge hug until he stopped crying, but she would dare. That was something Tootsie had been famous for, and if she started 'pulling Tootsies'(as the newsies had come to call it when someone did something that Tootsie would have done) then Racetrack would get even more upset at her. Gypsy simply put a comforting arm around his shoulders and sat with him until he calmed down.

"I'm sorry Racetrack," she whispered.

He looked up at her through red, flooding eyes. "Gyp," he wiped his eyes, and shuffled around to face her, "can I talk to you?"

Gypsy's eyes glistened with tears, "Sure Race," she said. "Ya can talk ta me bout anything."

He took a deep breath. "I know what yer doin' fer me," he said quietly, "and I don' know why, but I'm grateful, Gypsy. And I'm gonna make it up to ya, somehow. I just don't know how I can work when all I can think about is her. I miss her so much, Gyp. I don' know what to do. She's my everything…and now I got nothin', ya know?"

Gypsy smiled at him, "Ya know what Tootsie once said to me?"

"What?" he asked. He sounded like a hurt little boy.

"She said, 'Don't worry bout it!', just like dat, ya know."

For the first time since Tootsie died, Racetrack smiled! It was a weak smile, but a smile nonetheless! "Yeah," he whispered. "She said that a lot."

"I think dat if she were here, she'd give ya a big hug and say, 'Don't worry bout it', just like dat, ya know."

Racetrack smiled again. "Yeah, she did dat a lot, too," he said quietly.

"So forget about da money and payin' me back," she said. "Ya do what ya gotta do. And besides, what're friends for?"

"Thanks Gypsy," he said.

"Remember da time Tootsie slugged Jack in Tibby's?" she asked.

Racetrack nodded. "How could I forget? How would you know about dat?"

"Oh I heard da stories, but ya know I'm havin' trouble remeberin' dat one," she leaned back on the chimney. "Will ya tell it to me?"

Racetrack shifted his weight, and looked up at the stars. "Well, da mornin' before it all happened she had bought a hundred and fifty papes. She was determined to outsell Jack…," he began. For the rest of the night they told Tootsie Stories and talked about the way she'd do this or that. Racetrack smiled more often, usually followed by tears. Gypsy joked with him about how she was always giving him a hard time about his gambling, and the time she had poured ice water down his pants because she'd caught him cheating while they were playing hearts, and the time she and Alex had stolen all the boys' clothes one night when they were skinny dipping in the East River, and so on and so forth.

At one point during the night Boots was sent up there to tell them to, 'Shut da hell up cus dere's people tryin' to sleep!'

"Sorry Boots," Racetrack smiled.

"Dat can't be Racetrack Higgins?" he said, walking over to them. "Can it?"

"Da one and only," Race replied.

"Damn Gyp," Boots laughed. "What'd ya do, threaten to kill him if he didn't smile?"

"Nah," she said. "We's just been talkin'."

"Yer tellin' me!" Boots pushed up his hat. "Welcome back from da dead, Race." He gave him a slap on the back and then walked back down the ladder, calling his good-nights as he went.

"Back from da dead," Racetrack scratched his head. "No jokin', Boots." He became quiet for a moment. "Gypsy," he declared finally, "we better get to bed. We gotta go to work tomorrer." He stood up, and reached down to help her to her feet. Gypsy nearly burst out of her skin when he said this, but didn't let her shock and excitement show too much. She smiled widely as she took his outstretched hand and pulled herself off the ground. She put her arm around him.

"It's about time, too, ya lazy li'l-" She didn't finish her insult because Racetrack stole her hat, and flew down the fire escape with it. "C'mere ya no good hoodlum!" she demanded as they burst through the window. They were immediately showered with shushes and pillows and whatever other missiles the newsies in the room could get their hands on.

"Sorry," they hissed, and promptly went to bed, not wanting to cause another war right there in the bunkroom!

The next morning, as promised, Racetrack awoke with the rest of the newsies and returned to work. Everyone was very pleased, and a little shocked that a kid who they'd been told had tried to kill himself the night before, was going back to work and laughing and joking and singing again. Many of the guys came and asked Gypsy what in the world she had done to him. She simply shrugged and said she had been a friend, and that was all. Gypsy was quite relieved that Racetrack was going back to work. Now she could return to her normal schedule of living, and would be a much easier person to get along with! Because of how busy she'd been she hadn't had time to tell the girls about what had happened in Brooklyn the day she was sent over there. She brought it up to the girls later that night at Tibby's.

"Dat's right!" Kitten said, "I forgot about it!"

"Well…," Nicki came in, "ya was sent over dere to prove how tough ya was, right girls?" They nodded. "However," she went on, "I do believe you have proved yerself quite above and beyond our expectations. Whadya you girls say?" The girls nodded again with much enthusiasm.

"All da same," Gypsy said, "I wanna tell ya what happened!"

So she did, and the girls were almost impressed, as Gypsy had given them so many bigger accomplishments of hers to compare it to. But they did love hearing about it, especially what she'd said to Spot about letting her handle it! "But he scared me to death when he came outta no place like dat. I thought he was gonna knock me out!" she said.

"Aw, now I wouldn't do a rotten thing like dat, would I girls?" Spot sat down beside Gypsy.

"Gee whiz, Spot! Dere ya go, again. Poppin' outta no place like some kinda ghost or somethin'!" she laughed.

"Oh I'm sorry," he said, putting a hand on his heart. "I didn't mean to scare ya."

"Hey, I ain't scared of nothin'!" she sat up straight in her seat. Spot raised his hands in surrender.

"So what brings ya to da Man, Spot?" Alex asked.

"What? No, Who?, is da question," he corrected, "and da answer is Miss Talk of da Town Gypsy, over here!"

Gypsy blushed in spite of herself, "Yeah?"

"Yeah, I here ya pushin' fourteen hundred a week, and bringin' boys back from da dead, and all kinds of other heroic stuff," he half asked.

"Well if dat's what de headlines say, den how can I argue?" She grinned and leaned back in her seat cockily. Spot laughed.

"Den it's true?" he asked her.

"Of course it's true dumkopf," Alex retorted. "Ya forget who yer talkin' to?"

"No I didn't Alex," he said, his voice lowering in volume and becoming dangerously serious, suggesting the girl should watch her mouth. "But I think yer forgetin' who yer talkin' to. Did ya forget, Alex?"

"Sorry, Spot," she said quickly. "I don't know what I was thinkin'. Didn't mean to uh…sorry."

"Good," he gave her a 'What the hell were you thinking?' look, and sat back in his chair. "Anyhow, congratulations Gyp," he said in a much nicer voice. "I really didn't think Race was gonna live through it for a while dere."

"He almost didn't," Gypsy mumbled under her breath.

"Huh?" Spot asked.

"Uh, I said, how're ya holdin' up, Spot?" she covered.

"Me? Alright I guess," he sighed. "I miss her a lot though."

"We all do," Nicki mutter sadly.

"Well listen guys," Sweetie piped up in her ususal 'cheerful even when devastated' voice, "I gotta get back. I'm tired."

"G'night, Red," Spot nodded. For some reason he never called her 'Sweetie'. He always, always called her Red! Everyone said their good-nights to her, and she left. Spot got up very soon after her, and without a word, followed her out. He hated to think about girls walking around the city alone at night, and felt it was his duty to make sure she got back okay. (Actually, ever since Tootsie was jumped, each girl was followed home by one of the guys. They weren't gonna lose another one of their girls like that.)

"I think he's got it sweet for Sweetie," said Kitten, the gossip of the group.

"Why not?" Alex shrugged, "She's prettier dan me."

"Me too," Alley agreed.

"Boy," chuckled Gypsy, "we're a pretty sorry bunch, huh?"

"Well at least you got a guy dat's sweet on ya," Nicki said to Gypsy. Then she realized that she'd blabbed, and her hand covered her mouth as if that would keep her from saying anymore. "Daggummit!" was the muffled exclamation that came from behind the hand.

"What's dis?" asked Gypsy, leaning forward.

"Nothin'," said Kitten, kicking Nicki under the table. "She didn't say nothin'!"

"Oh yes she did, I heard her," Gypsy insisted.

"I didn't here nothin'. Did you, Alex?" Alley asked. Alex shook her head, made a gesture like she was washing her hands, and backed away from the table. She wanted nothing to do with this slip up. "See, Gyp…you's hearin' things," Alley concluded with a weak laugh.

"No kiddin', and from what I can gather, dey's good things!" Gypsy grinned, "C'mon girls, tell me!" They all placed their hands firmly over their mouths, and shook their heads. "Fine!" Gypsy sighed. "If dere is a guy dat's sweet on me den he'll tell me sooner or later, I guess."

"Dat's da spirit, Gyp," said Alley. Gypsy glared playfully.

"Hey," said Kitten, "how's about a game of Mou?" They all agreed that this was a perfectly splendid idea, so Alley and Kitten went around collecting decks of cards. They only ended up with three decks but that was okay, as they didn't have their full six players anyway! "Okay Gyp, deal!" Kitten said, as if Gypsy had always been dealer.

"Me?" she asked, skeptically.

"Sure," Alex confirmed, handing her the freshly shuffled deck. "Why not?" Gypsy could think of plenty of reasons 'Why Not'. One, the biggest one, being that Tootsie had always been dealer. They hadn't even played Mou since Tootsie died. The second reason being that the authority of the group playing was always the expected dealer. Whoever was the highest ranking newsie playing. That's why Spot was always dealer whenever he played the game…he was the best and most respected newsie in New York City (and probably every where else-sorry, I couldn't help myself)! Gypsy couldn't think of one good reason why she should deal, actually. Reluctantly she took the cards that Alex was handing to her, and gave them a quick shuffle. Slowly she began to deal. As she did she noticed the girls watching her every move. And soon the whole room was watching and whispering. It was spreading fast that Gypsy was the girls new leader.

"Play'll begin to da right of da dealer," she said softly, and picked up her cards. The girls did the same, smiling warmly at her. The rest of the night went about this way. Gypsy felt like she must be the most self-conscious girl that ever lived. Mainly because everyone was watching her. She didn't pick up on that 'new leader' rumor however, even though it was spreading like a brush fire from newsie to newsie. Walking back to the lodging house that night she was thinking about how weird it had been. She heard footsteps running up behind her, and knew immediately who it was.

"Heya Blink," she called as he came closer.

"Heya," he panted, reaching her side.

"Ya caught up wit me," she said. In other words, Whadya want?

"Well I didn't want ya havin' to walk all by yerself," he said with a warm smile.

"I'm a big girl Blink," she said.

"Hey," he shrugged, "I can't help it if I worry about ya walkin' around dis city alone at night. It ain't safe. And I don't want nothin' to happen to ya." Gypsy smiled. She was touched at his concern.

"Can I ask you a question, Gypsy?" he asked.

"Ya just did," she smiled, as butterflies fluttered all around her stomach. Whenever guys have to ask to ask you a question, it usually only means one thing…!

"What's yer last name?" he said. Gypsy's inner fire cursedly burned the butterflies at the stake.

"Private," she said, tightly.

"Mine?" he asked. "Mine's MacLane."

"How bout dat," she said.

"Aw c'mon, Gyp," he pleaded.

"No."

"Alright, I'm sorry." He looked sorry. His was head hung and his feet dragged along behind him as he walked.

"Don't be," she said. "It's nothing against you, I just like to keep it to myself."

"Gyp?" he looked into her eyes.

"Yeah?" she resurrected butterflies.

"Nevermind," he said, and looked back at the street. Burn butterflies! Burn!! 'Damn, damn, damn!' she cursed to herself. By now they had reached the lodging house, and as they walked through the door the awkward moment was forgotten. The two were bombarded with the noise streaming from inside, where kids were playing games, betting on competitions, and arguing over who cheated who at which game.

Racetrack was there, being the center of attention as usual. "Hey, hey! Three to one that Snipes can mop da floor wit Skittery at craps!" he yelled to the crowd gathered in the corner beside Klopp's desk.

"Yer confidence in me is overwhelmin', Race," Skittery said sarcastically.

Racetrack shrugged at him. "Business is business, Skit. It's outta my hands!"

"Heya Race!" Gypsy called.

"Gypsy!" he waded out of the crowd and walked over to her and Kid Blink. "How ya doin'?"

"Dat's what I's wantin' to ask you, buddy," Gypsy said.

"Me? Aw, I's great, Gyp. Just great!" he smiled.

"Dat's good to here," she patted him on the back. "Don't get yerself in trouble wit dat bettin', ya here!"

An astonished look came over his face. "Me!?" He placed a hand on his heart. "Now what would make ya think I'd go and do somethin' like get myself in trouble wit gamblin'?" He laughed and waded back into the craps game.

"Listen Kid," yawned Gypsy, turning to Kid Blink, "I'm kinda tired so I'm goin' on up, kay?"

"G'night Gypsy," he said softly.

"G'night," she replied, and walked up the stairs into the bunkroom.

Kid Blink sighed, watching her go. "

Heya Blink!" Snoddy called from across the room. "How 'bout a game a poker?"

Kid Blink joined the game with Snoddy, Bumlets, and Specs, hoping it would take his mind off Gypsy.

Gypsy had reduced the number of papers she bought to a hundred and fifty since Racetrack went back to work. He, on the other hand, had upped his number to one hundred, from fifty, and instead of using only half the day to sell and then going off to Sheepshed, he sold all day. He was putting in this extra effort so he could pay Gypsy back sooner. As a gambler, he hated owing people money. About a week after Racetrack's recovery, Gypsy began finding money in odd places around her bunk. In her shoes, under her pillow, in her hat, yet only about two bits at a time. It was Racetrack's way of paying her back, without making a big show of it. She accepted the money without a word, as it would have been very insulting not to. Besides that, she liked receiving payment for her hard work. She deserved it. One night, about three days after Gypsy discovered the first disposal of money, she lay in her bunk, trying to let the darkness of the room overtake her. It wasn't working. Tired as she was, the things that had taken place in Tibby's that one night wouldn't let her mind rest. Frustrated, she huffed out of bed and climbed the fire escape onto the roof.

Jack was there, smoking a cigarette and watching the street. He heard her come up. "Hiya Gypsy," he said, blowing out a lung full of smoke. "How's it goin'?"

"Can't sleep," she sighed. "Thought I'd come up here to think, but if ya want me to leave…,"

"Nah," he shook his head. "I kinda wanted to talk wit ya about somethin' anyway."

"Shoot," Gypsy said, sitting down beside him and letting her legs hang off the side of the building.

"I saw what happened at Tibby's," he said. "You was dealin' when da girls was playin' Mou."

Gypsy sighed. "Listen, I don't understand dat. What's da big deal?"

"Ya know what da big deal is," he took a drag of his cigarette.

"I know dat Tootsie was always da dealer, but how come me dealin' got so much attention?"

"Dere was a reason Tootsie was always dealer, Gyp," Jack put out his cigarette, and threw it off the side of the building.

"Why?"

"Cus she was da girl's leader, Gyp," he gave her a look that she couldn't read.

"Does dat mean…?" Gypsy was slowly realizing what was going on.

"Ya got it, girl!" he gave her a less-than-friendly pat on the back, "Congrats!" He got up, and walked towards the fire escape.

"But I don't want it!" she protested. Her words were waved off and ignored as Jack disappeared off the roof. She was alone, but kept company by the nagging thought of 'leader'. She didn't want to be the head girl in this place. She couldn't! Could she? By now she was exhausted and her eyes were crossing. She climbed off the roof, and back into her bunk, where she dreamed about dealing Mou cards and being a crummy leader all night long.

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