December 31, 1898-January 1, 1899. Last chapter before the strike. Enjoy! :)
Race has always liked words and numbers. And the certain looks or sounds they have.
Each year, he has to get used to a new sound of year. They are almost done with eighteen-ninety-eight. Now, they are moving on to eighteen-ninety-nine.
Race likes the sounds of that ninety-nine. And how the eight teen transitions to 99. He can get used to that pretty fast. But for now, he has to stick with December thirty-first, eighteen-ninety-eight. More 8's, but separate 8's. Not the same ring. If he could just switch the 9 and the 8, turn 1898 into 1889. But he likes 1899 even better. And the year after that...
1900.
Nineteen hundred.
They are 366 days away from the new century.
Race can't wait.
But does 1900 have the same ring as 1899?
No.
Then treasure 1899 as much as you can.
I still have to wait a day, though.
True. But then it's 365 days of 1899. The last 365 days of the 19th century.
Then it'll be the 20th century. That's gonna be something. Can't wait to say that. And see that. A new century. More than just a new year, a new decade. A new century. Think about that.
You know? I'll enjoy both years.
And so, satisfied with the conclusion of his little self-back-and-forth, he continues on about his day in the last day of the month, last day of the year.
Even though they don't have any big headline, people are ready to get their paper--the last one they'll get of the year--and get where they want to go and go inside. For that, Race has always sort of envied normal people. They don't stand out in the heat or cold forever. They have their reason for coming outside, and after the need is filled, then they can go. Newsies can't just go. They have to be outside all the time. What Race wouldn't do for a nice warm cup and a bunch of blankets and a day without a single newspaper.
But that doesn't mean that Racetrack always hates selling newspapers. It can be fun. Really fun. He gets to put on a performance many times a day, and if he's good, he gets money in return. Something he's good at. It's like it was made for him. Taking a break, though, is definitely nice. Like how no newspapers run on Christmas. Sadly, though, that day has passed. Well, the idea of going inside when he's finished should give him some motivation to finish selling his papers.
And so he hitches a ride on the back of some unassuming carriage (not enough motivation to walk today, and it's far too cold for him) to head to Brooklyn.
Except, the first thing he does isn't head to Sheepshead. He can catch later races.
But for now, seeing Spot Conlon is his first priority.
A lot of the time, Race doesn't know how to arrange his priorities. But in the moment, this is what he knows he wants to do.
The thing about Spot is that in the years that Race has known him, he's been working his way up in seniority among the Brooklyn newsies. More often than not, Race sees some newsie taking orders from Spot, who is much smaller and younger than most of them. But he must have something in him that's getting him this far.
There.
Race sees blue eyes, pink suspenders, and a cane.
Spot Conlon.
And so, Race walks toward him. "Hiya, Spotty!"
Spot turns his head, and his face brightens up when he sees Race. "Hi Race!"
Now what to say? Race didn't plan this far.
He tugs on his sleeve with his fingertips while he thinks of something.
Luckily, Spot starts the conversation. "What do you think of the last day of 1898?"
Now Race brightens up. This is something he can answer. "I can't wait for next year."
"Oh?"
Race nods. "Mhm."
"What's gonna be special about next year?" Spot asks genuinely. What he's thinking is, what does your mind think of it? He can't wait for an answer.
Race explains. "Well, there's just something about eighteen ninety nine. Do you hear it? Ayt-teen-nine-dee-nine. We'se should be sayin' nine-TEE, but it sounds like it's going through a loop when it's nine-dee-nine. It just sounds better, ya know? And it sounds better than 1898. 1899 is a new sound--oh, a-and it's a promise for the new year, because it's the last year before the new century. And when 1899 is through, we'll have 1900..." he trails off, then looks down. "That was too much, wasn't it? And not normal."
I messed up, didn't I? I always do.
But Spot doesn't find it to be too much or not normal. He finds it endearing. And really, really cool. He never would have thought of it that way. His mind would have just lightly brushed the subject of 1899 means one more year until the new century and that would have been it. Race went much farther. Spot wants to follow it. Spot wants to follow Race's ever-changing train of thought forever, just to see where it goes.
Hopefully no one was telling him that this isn't normal, and therefore it's wrong.
"No, Race."
Race looks up. "What?"
"Usually people don't think like that," Spot elaborates, "but that's really cool that you do."
Really? "Really?"
Spot nods. "Of course. In a world of people who think in a normal way, we need someone with a different perspective on things; like you. It's really cool."
Race feels a smile tug at the corner of his lips. "It is?"
"Yeah."
A few moments of silence follow the end of that conversation, both lost in their own thoughts.
This really, really makes Race happy. And how Spot was looking directly at him while he was speaking? Race can't make eye contact. So maybe he wasn't looking directly at Spot, but Spot was looking directly at him, as how most people show that they are actually paying attention. Spot was actually paying attention to what he was saying. That means he was actually interested in all the nonsense Race was saying. Not to mention that Spot seems okay with Race's lack of eye contact.
Then, Spot strikes up a new conversation, one that isn't meant to last as long. "So, are you going to be at Sheepshead for your last day of 1898 before the year 1899?"
Race grins. "You know me. Of course."
"Do you think the fourth'll win?"
He remembered. He knows which horse I like.
Instead of freaking out about that, Race just shrugs in the way that he does, his tongue flicks out-in, and says, "we'll just have to see."
Then he realizes what time it is.
"I think if I'm about to find out I better start headin' to Sheepshead soon."
"Well, it was nice to see you."
"Yeah," Race responds. "Yeah it was."
"Well, see you next year!"
Race takes a second, but once he gets it, he grins. "In eighteen ninety nine!"
"In eighteen ninety nine," Spot repeats with a smile.
Then they wave at each other, and go their separate ways.
This is it. These are the last moments of 1898.
All the Manhattan newsies are huddled around each other, anxiously looking at the clock, full of excitement.
"Here it is," Jack says.
"The last few minutes of this year!" Crutchy exclaims. He's always been excited for the new year. He's always liked the idea of a new year and new beginnings.
"Let's make it a good one!" Blink adds.
Mush grabs his hand. "We will."
Then, people start sharing the ups and the downs of the year. And some complaining about the seasons. All the regular newsie talk.
There was also a lot of talk about the Spanish American War. Those months were some of the best selling that they have ever had. And, not that long ago on December 10th, the Treaty of Paris was signed, officially ending the whole war for certain, for sure guaranteeing Cuba's independence. That was another good headline.
Now, it's down to two minutes.
"Everyone!" Jack calls out. "It's time to start makin' those New Year's resolutions!"
A lot are said out loud, some are quieter, or silent.
"I wanna make a hundred papes a day in the new year!"
"I'm going to be nicer to the Sisters."
"I'm gonna make so much money!"
My New Year's resolution is to find out more about me and who I am and why I am who I am.
"My New Year's resolution is to finish out the century in the best way I can," Jack finished out loud.
Then, they turn their full focus back to the clock.
Thirty seconds.
Twenty seconds.
They start counting down at the same time.
"Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One!"
The clock's minute hand is on the twelve.
"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"
There's a lot of cheering all around.
Blink pulls Mush into their first kiss of the new year.
Everyone is happy, and smiling, ready for a new year.
The last year of the century.
As the seconds tick by, they are in the year 1899. Race regards this with wonder. They were in 1898 not that long ago. But 1898 has shed its skin, and now they wear 1899 instead. It'll take a couple days to get used to, for sure. But it's going to be an adventure.
Eighteen ninety nine.
Who knows what 1899 will hold for them?
We know what's going to happen. A strike in July.
I just really like it when Max Casella says 1899 in the Newsies Prologue, okay?
And I play with numbers a lot. That too.
I thought Blush would be a good pairing for a New Year's kiss. People actually have kissed for New Year's since the 8th century BCE in Ancient Rome to purify oneself from evil spirits and to determine if you'll find love in the coming year. Random trivia that you never thought you'd learn from a fanfic!
Not to mention one extra little thing about the Spanish American War--or at least its outcomes.
Additionally, this is the last chapter before the third part of the chapter title changes. I'm so excited! The next time I update, it'll be for the strike.
Are you all ready to see what happens to the strike when I'm allowed to write it?
Please, no homophobia, profanities, hate etc in the comment section at all times.
Best,
~Your Beloved Author (who is on a loop of blasting In The Heights and Hayley Kiyoko and a bunch of fifteen-minute playlists)