Birthday
Jack: Jealous of the Wall
Brooklyn. There are a whole hell of a lot of things I could say about Brooklyn. Scariest bunch of guys you'd never want to meet, and sure their leader is a skinny little shrimp—okay, so Conlon finally hit a growth spurt a few months ago and he's less of a shrimp, but still damn skinny—but man, I would not want to cross Spot Conlon. And I'm the most powerful newsie in Manhattan, and I faced down Joe Pulitzer himself, and that's no easy thing there. But I still would not want to cross Spot Conlon.
He's scary. Real scary. But on the other hand, the guy knows how to throw a party. I swear I haven't seen this many newsies together in one place since the rally, and there's girls here, too, and I don't know how this many people could fit in this warehouse, let alone how he got this warehouse to use, but man, this party is the place to be.
The door fee was alcohol. You bring a drink, you get in. And what Spot requested for his birthday presents—though demanded is a better word, really—was more alcohol. And, you know, I don't know why he's so desperate to get so drunk, but that's up to him. Me, I don't drink that much. Got sick on the stuff once or twice, and that's not really a lot of fun, so I'm more careful about it now, though I'm on my second or third drink.
I wonder where Spot's disappeared to, actually, but wherever he is, I can't see him. There are people all around me, so thick I can barely move or breathe, and everyone smells like sweat and liquor, and none of my friends seem to be around. And I think Race said something about a poker game somewhere, so that's probably where he is, at least, and I'm pretty sure I'm hearing Blink drunkenly singing something at the top of his lungs at the other end of the warehouse, which means Mush is probably there, too, trying to keep Blink from embarrassing himself too badly. And if Blink is already singing, the dancing probably isn't far behind, and I feel bad for Mush, really.
David, though, I expected to stick pretty close to me. He's never been to a real newsie party before, let alone one of Spot's parties, and he still doesn't really feel like he fits in. But he disappeared awhile ago, too.
I take a swig of my drink and wonder why people keep asking if I'm depressed. So I broke it off with Sarah; so what? She knows why, I know why, and it was the right reason. And she was surprisingly okay about it, though I think she was just being nice to me.
Still wondering where Dave is, I stand on my tiptoes for a second, and glance around. I catch a glimpse of him off by himself—or as close to by himself as he could get in this place. He's still drinking, probably still nursing his first beer, knowing him. I can't picture Dave as drunk as the rest of these guys, and to prove my point about the state of everyone else around here, someone knocks into me and I almost topple over.
He slurs a quick apology and disappears into the crowd as I make my way towards the corner where I saw David. Sure enough, he's leaning against the wall, watching people around him, clutching a bottle. His eyes don't look focused quite right, though, and he doesn't react when I say hello. Which is odd, because now that I think about it, David always reacts to me.
The thought that maybe he doesn't care that I just showed up is surprisingly upsetting. But that's probably just my ego talking. If he's the Walking Mouth, I'm the Walking Ego, and I don't like the thought that Dave might not be thrilled to see me.
"Dave?" I ask practically in his ear, making sure it's loud enough to be heard. He blinks a little and turns around to face me.
"Jack?" he asks, like he's not sure who I am.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, I—" he suddenly reaches out and puts a hand on my shoulder, and I take most of his weight as he almost collapses. "I think I'm gonna be sick," he finishes.
I glance around at the crowd, and if David is about to throw up, in here is probably not the best place for it. Though it'll be hard to fight our way through the crowd to get him out. Damn it.
*
I suppose that having a lot in your stomach to lose is what comes of having a family where you're eating three meals a day. Or so I'd guess judging by how long David has been standing over that garbage can.
I can't help but smirk a little bit, as he finally straightens up and looks over at me. I swear his skin is green, he's so ill. He steps around the can and leans against the wall; not the way he usually does, to lurk and watch the people around him, but because he looks like he'd fall over if the wall didn't catch him.
Though I'm kind of jealous of the wall. I wouldn't mind catching David, if he ever fell into my arms.
I frown, and remember that I did have a drink or two myself. I'm definitely not drunk, just... I get a little affectionate when I'm tipsy. But a drink or two could never really get to me; I'm Jack Kelly, I can drink anyone under the table!
Wait. Not really. My ego kind of also tends to get out of hand when I'm tipsy. Hmmm. But at least I'm not so far gone that I can't realize I'm drunk. That's probably for the best, right?
"Feel better?" I ask.
"I kind of wish I was dead."
"Just wait for the hangover," I laugh.
He groans and slides down the alley wall so he's sitting. I kind of like watching him slide like that. I am definitely jealous of that wall.
And drunk. Very definitely drunk.
"Why did I let you drag me here?" he asks.
"You wanted to come," I remind him, and sit down across from him. "You'd never been to a party before."
"Why did you let me drink that much?"
Oh. I guess he wasn't just nursing that one beer all night, then. "I turned around an' you was gone," I tell him with a shrug. "You did it yourself."
"I wouldn't do that," he answers. "I'm not that stupid. I'd never..."
"Yeah, but you never drank before."
"I have so!" he objects. He's so cute when he's indignant. "I drink wine all the time."
"A glass with dinner, right?"
"Yeah... So?"
I laugh again. "That's different, Dave. You never been drunk before."
He thinks about it for a moment, face scrunched up like concentrating is the hardest thing he's ever done. He looks so worried, I just want to hug him, to make it all better. "Guess not," he finally decides. "Does it always feel like this?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
"Then why do people do it?"
I shrug. "I guess it can be fun, too."
"How?" he demands.
"Well, like, if I'm drunk and I kiss you, it's okay, right, 'cause I'm drunk," I explain, then pause. I probably shouldn't have said that. But I swear, two or three drinks isn't enough to make me that drunk. It was only two or three, right? I frown. I don't remember exactly how many it was. So maybe it was more than that. Damn.
I almost don't realize David's talking, and only hear the end of it. "...are you?" he asks.
"Course not!" I say quickly. I'd never kiss him, really, I remind myself firmly.
"Too bad," he says, and if I wasn't already looking at him, I'd have done a double take. Must be he didn't ask if I wanted to kiss him, then, but what could he have asked?
"But I'm drunk," he continues, speaking slowly, as if he's working something out. I nod, wondering what's going on. I wish I hadn't missed his question. "So I guess I'll have to, then," he decides, and nods to himself, mind made up about something.
Then he grins and stands, which I do too, and he staggers the short distance across the alley and practically collapses in my arms. Which isn't really a bad thing. Better me than the wall, right? I help him straighten up, but he doesn't seem to want to.
Instead, he leans in and kisses me, then giggles. I'm startled; I forget to keep holding him up and he does collapse on the wall, still giggling. I really, really wish I could be that wall, at least until I remember that he just kissed me. I'll bet he's never kissed a wall.
I must be drunk; "I'll bet he's never kissed a wall," is the stupidest thing I've ever thought in my entire life. But I think I missed the point somehow.
The point was that David kissed me.
I'm glad that's the point, I think, because it means I don't feel so bad when I turn around so I'm facing him, really close, touching him, pinning him against the wall with my body. He looks panicked for a second, but then relaxes and grins. At least he's not giggling anymore.
He starts again when I kiss him, though.
"What?" I demand, a little hurt.
"Jack, you aren't drunk," he laughs. "You said so."
Oh, so that's what he asked. I think about it for a second. "Dave, you never kissed a wall, did you?" I ask.
He gives me a strange look. "No," he says.
I grin. "I am drunk," I inform him, "because I only think stupid things like that when I'm drunk."
"Okaaay." He sounds confused for some reason, but it makes perfect sense to me. But instead of explaining it—like David would need me to explain, he's smarter than me anyway—I kiss him again, and this time he doesn't giggle at me.
And when he slips down the wall, I slip down with him, so I guess I don't have to be jealous anymore.