Being a sort of maid for the newsies was far from any young girl’s dream. But a boy like Racetrack makes it all worth it.

It’s an average, chaotic morning in the Lodgehouse. You’re busy helping find socks, glasses, and vests, newsies dodging past you as you dart around to help everyone.

A firm chest collides with your back, a panicky ‘sorry’ being muttered from the perpetrator’s mouth. You turn around to see Racetrack with soap rubbed into his face, and his eyes are squeezed shut to avoid it dripping into them. He’s looking for the towel, and Specs is keeping it from him.