Author's Note: So this was wandering around in my brain and I decided to put it down on paper...and post it here! I don't really know how much further I'm going to go with this story, I suppose it all depends on the type of feedback I get ha ha, anyway, I hope you enjoy reading it!

Disclaimer: Yeah, Newsies: not mine. James the Fly: mine. Mollie: also mine. :D

"God Fly, she's a beaut," Racetrack Higgins said in awe, admiring the chestnut mare in the stall. Her lean muscles twitched as she turned around in the small space she occupied, facing them with a nicker.

James the Fly reached his hand out, stroking the horse's silky neck. "She's one a the best horses I've ever had the opportunity ta race," he admitted, smiling at the animal.

"Fly and Penny, goin' all the way!" Racetrack announced in a triumphant tone. "Who woulda thought a goil horse would best so many stallions." Race puffed out his chest jokingly at the word 'stallion'.

Fly rolled his eyes and punched him playfully. "Oh yeah, who woulda thought a goil could get the bettah of all those guys," he laughed, but his statement carried a deeper meaning that Race didn't catch. "And a goil horse is called a mare, Race. How many times I gotta tell ya?"

"Speakin' a goils," Race wiggled his eyebrows, "Is Mollie heah t'day?"

Fly blushed and looked away in embarrassment. "Er, no," he replied.

Racetrack chuckled. "Ya know, ya two would be good tahgethah," he pointed out.

Fly pulled his helmet further onto his head, fidgeting with the snaps on the side. "Oh, no," he denied. "She likes you just fine."

Race couldn't help but grin. "Well, it is me."

Fly rolled his eyes again and smiled up at Racetrack. "And who could resist a gamblin', smokin', Italian?" Fly joked.

Race chuckled, looking off towards the large clock tower in the distance. "Well, I'd bettah get back ta the seats," Race observed. "See ya aftah the race?"

Fly nodded, "Sure, sure," and watched as Race sauntered off to place his bet.

Once finding a relatively good place to sit, or as good as Race could ever find, he opened the paper he had saved for himself to read, scanning the stories. Everyday Race kept one paper for himself, feeling it was important to be up-to-date on the happenings of Manhattan. Typically he'd sell the paper at the end of the day to some loser who had missed out when the newsies were running about. That way, Race could have his paper and sell it too.

The trumpet signaling the beginning of the race blared its song, drawing attention to the snorting horses being lined up. Race folded his paper and let it rest in his lap as he looked up. Fly was among the middle of the bunch, sporting the colors green and white. A low chant began throughout the crowd. "Fly! Fly! Fly!" Race grinned, joining in on the cheer. From across the track Fly saluted, sending the spectators wild. He had quite the fans.

Racetrack felt privileged to be acquainted with the quiet, introverted jockey, even if it had only been a couple of months ago that they'd met. He remembered it clearly. He had been down in the stables, chatting up Mollie, the cute stable hand, when he brought up the name James the Fly. A slight tint rose into Mollie's cheeks, making Race laugh, accusing her of having a crush on the jockey, then admitting that he himself would probably faint at the prospect of meeting the guy. Mollie promised she'd pull a few strings, saying she had to get back to work, and shooing Race out to where the general public was supposed to reside. Lo and behold, the very next day, Fly came up and introduced himself to Race, explaining Mollie had told him of what a fan Racetrack was. He had indeed fainted for a moment, much to the amusement of Fly, who apparently told Mollie, who always teased the newsie for his girlish reaction.

He sighed, wallowing in the memory. A frown marred his usually easy-going expression for just a moment at the thought of Mollie. Race hadn't seen her for quite some time, and he promised, then and there, that he'd hang around the stables with her soon. She was a pretty girl, with dark blonde hair, nearly brown. Her eyes were a dark gray. She, like Fly, didn't call attention to herself and enjoyed being on the sidelines and out of the spotlight. Racetrack thought they would be a perfect match, though he had never seen the two around each other; he had heard people with similar features fell for each other, and Mollie and Fly had many alike facial expressions. Maybe they were related, Racetrack mused. That must have been it. He made a mental note to ask one of his friends when he was able to talk with them next.

Which, hopefully, would be after the race that Fly won. Fly always won.

The gunshot rang across the landscape and the horses bolted, Penny and James the Fly taking the lead. By the smile on Fly's face, it was easy to see that the track was where he belonged. It was on the second bend that Race realized something was wrong. Fly's smile was gone.

After that day, no one would be able to say what exactly happened, or be able to pin-point the exact moment of the problem, but somehow, Fly was launched from Penny's back, hitting the dirt sickeningly hard.

Fly, landing directly in the path of oncoming racers, was left vulnerable and dizzy on the track. At the speeds they were going, none of the jockeys could veer away in time, and Fly was in the middle of a stampede. A horse glanced off Fly's leg, causing the boy to yell out in pain as he scrambled, no longer dazed from his sudden fall, for the edge of the tack. With his head spinning and his body aching, Fly was unable to make it off the track before being struck in the side of the head by a passing horse's hoof.

The blow was enough to knock Fly out cold, and he slumped like a rag doll, broken in the mud. The entire stadium was silent and on their feet; no one had even considered the possibility that James the Fly would be thrown during a race, much less stampeded by his fellow jockeys, who were now dismounting and running to their fallen comrade.

The crowd erupted into gasps and a few wails and cries as people charged for the stairs, trying to get down to the track level, closer to Fly. The medics were arriving, far too slow for Race's liking as he pushed his way to the fence that separated the viewers from the track. To the side Racetrack noticed Fly's employer, Penny's owner, shaking his head, face in hand. Race couldn't tell if it was in worry or disappointment.

As the doctors removed Fly's helmet, a ripple of shock swept through the crowd and Race squinted, not believing his eyes.

The jockey known as James the Fly had dirty blonde hair, and Race knew now why he had never seen Mollie and Fly together. It was because they were always together. It was because Mollie was James the Fly.

Author's Note: Well, there's the beginning, I'm not sure if I'm quite happy with it, but let me know what you thought, I don't care if you didn't like it, just offer constructive criticism...because, as usual, flames will be used for roasting hot dogs and marshmallows at the bonfire for people who actually liked the start of the story :P tee hee