counterfeit [newsies x reader]

chapter thirty-one

"Who's that?" One taller boy, which you recognized as Hotshot, asked.

"Vice President?" You looked at him, "That's me." You answered.

He laughed. "This has got to be a joke."

"Ain't no joke, Hotshot. Shortstack here is well capable of all the situations life throws at her, including soaking the Delancey brothers." Spot stepped in.

You chuckled, if anything the Delancey brothers had soaked you, but at least you could say you did stand up to them. Hotshot had rolled his eyes and began to look around the theatre. You turned to Spot.

"I'm gonna go check on Jack and see how long we'll have to wait." You told him, before turning and heading straight for Davey and Medda.

"Any sign of him yet?" You asked.

"Sorry kid, looked like Davey will have to go on with you." Medda said while giving you a sad smile.

You nodded, before turning to the aforementioned boy. "You can do this." You smiled. He gave you a nervous grin as you grabbed his hand.

The two of you stood up on the platform that Medda had placed in the center of the stage, no longer holding hands. You looked over to your partner in crime and gave him a nod. You could do this. You'd been working so hard for so long, there was no way that this wouldn't work. You'd fought tooth and nail for this cause, so it had to work, right?

"Newsies of New York!" You yelled, attempting to grab the attention of all the newsies in the square. Conversations began to dwindle and a few heads turned to look at the two Vice Presidents. You gave Davey a nudge with your elbow, signifying it was his turn to speak.

"We want to thank you all for attending our rally," he started, "We really think with a little more teamwork we can nail in the coffin." You nodded in agreement.

"I'm Davey Jacobs," he introduced himself, expecting you to follow.

"I'm-" you almost started to say your given name, but then recalled the missing posters plastered all over the city. "I'm Shortstack, and we're the Newsboy Union's Vice Presidents."

The two of you then launched into an explanation of the strike, how it worked, and how to keep living in the strike conditions. Although, you couldn't help but wonder where Jack was. He had promised that he'd come, but somewhere in the back of your mind you were worried that he decided against it.

It was as if you'd spoken of the devil and he appeared before your very eyes. Jack Kelly sauntered into the theatre from the back house entrance, looking quite smug.

"I have spoken to Mr. Pulitzer." He said to the crowd of newsboys, refusing to look Davey and yourself in the eyes.

Jack didn't need introducing, every single New York newsie had heard of him, whether it be from meeting him, the tall tales, or the paper.

You would've slapped him right there if you could. He'd worried all of you sick, and forced you and Davey to fill his spot on such short notice. And what was this about seeing Pulitzer? Had he gone behind your back and spoken to the man without consulting his cabinet?

"Believe me, however long we can go, Pulitzer can go longer." He spat.

Your face contorted in confusion. Why has he suddenly decided to switch sides? Where did this second burst of pessimism come from?

"Jack-" you started, walking towards him.

"Don't 'Jack' me." He said, stopping you in your tracks. Mumbles had begun to fill the theatre, and you even began to think you'd seen some people leave. Jack looked you dead in the eyes this time, there was no doubt about it.

"If we surrender now, Pulitzer will be willing to—" He never did get to finish his sentence, as the entire theatre erupted into chaos. Newsies of all boroughs were arguing over who was right, and some even declared that Manhattan was nothing but a bunch of hypocrites.

You glanced over to see a disappointed Spot Conlon staring back as you. This was definitely not what you wanted to show him, after he had seen so much chance in you.

You rushed to the floor of the theatre to try to catch Jack before he left. You saw him exiting the same way he came in, only this time to see a familiar older man waiting for him at the door. A wad of cash was passing from the pocket of the older man directly into Jack's hands. You gasped. Jack sold the strike out for a wad of cash. He sold countless hours and injuries for a few pieces of green paper. He sold Crutchie off for a train ticket to New Mexico.

"Traitor!" You screamed at him. The taller boy turned around, and you could almost spot the betrayal in his face. "You're a sellout Jack Kelly! Who would've thought that you used to be my hero!"

The hurt face of Jack Kelly stared back at you for moments, before you turned and scattered. The rally was supposed to be a turning point, a union of all newsies. Instead, it was just chaos, a raging battlefield. Everyone felt betrayed, not only by Kelly, but by Manhattan and the strike itself.

You didn't know when you'd started crying, but you knew you didn't stop until you reached the attic room of the theatre. The same one that you hid out in all those nights ago.

You slammed the door and slid down against it, curling up in a ball. The sinking feeling continued to become more present, and the only way to escape it was to fall asleep.