Chapter One: January 1st

'It's January first. It's January first,' David kept repeating to himself numbly, frozen fingers wrapped around a lukewarm mug of coffee at Tibby's. 'It's January first.'

David Jacobs had only been a newsies for about 6 months but he had also been the brain behind the operation that entire time. So David knew full well that every January first all of the newsboys that would turn eighteen that upcoming year gather together on the roof of the lodge house and collectively decide one another's fate. David knew this but he didn't quite know what to expect.

The bell on the door chimed and David looked up to see Specs. David passed him the rest of his coffee as he sat down in the empty seat next to him. "Could be our last day, David," Specs mumbled quietly, casually.

This is what David is afraid of. "What do you think will happen," David asked, attempting to sound equally as casual.

"I think—"

Specs answer was cut off as Racetrack dramatically dropped himself into the seat across the table from them. "Heya," he exclaimed loudly. Then, after a moment, "What's da mattah wid da two a' yas, huh? Ya lookin' dumb an' glum!"

Specs rolled his eyes. "Come on, Race. It's January first."

Racetrack rolled his eyes in response. "Oh please! I'se made it drough two a dose meetin's untouched!" He leaned back in his chair proudly.

"You're that old," David exclaimed without thinking.

"Well, I ain't no spring chick like yourself, David," Racetrack replied casually, lighting a cigar. "Listen," he said, leaning forward. "It ain't no big deal. We meet on the roof at 10:45, joke about how old we alls is an' den wake up at dawn an' sell again!"

Specs nodded confidently, seeming assured. David, on the other hand, still did not feel convinced…

David bought a hundred copies of that afternoon edition thinking that, if this was to be his last headline, he may as well go out with a bang.

"Why are we peddlin' so many papes today," Les whined, taking another 5 from David.

"It's January first, Les. We need to start this year off right," David answered distantly, clearly distracted. Les groaned and took off into the crowd of adults to sell his next five papes. David watched him go and sighed absently. What if Racetrack wasn't right about the meeting? What if it was more than that? What if the outcome wasn't that he got another year of selling papers? Les was too young to sell by himself and David didn't trust any of the other newsies to keep him focused enough to bring home the type of money his family needed. And what would David too? He couldn't return to school after a six month absence and he couldn't stomach the idea of working in a factory…

David's inner monologue was cut short when Les came running back to him, shouting about having finished selling his five papers. "How many of you sold, Davey," his little brother asked sweetly.
"Uh…" David stammered awkwardly. "None. Not yet, at least."

"Come on, Davey," Les groaned, grabbing 10 more papes from his big brother's hands. "Mom made potatoes for dinner. I want to get a good one."

David chuckled, really chuckled for the first time that day. Les was so naïve to the significance of the day and David wasn't the type of big brother to rob him of that. He could keep a brave demeanor, if only for his little brother.