Part Seventeen: By Rose

Rose woke far earlier than she intended to. She was still pretty pumped from the day before, and the events that lay ahead were no less exciting. Jean’s bed was empty, but Desy thrashed around a bit in her sleep with a pained look on her face. Concerned, Rose slipped across the room and lay a hand on her shoulder.

"Desy?"

Desy jumped. "Wha’?"

Rose stopped her from sitting all the way up. "Shh, calm down, honey. It’s okay. It’s just me." The accent of her gentle voice let her concern show more plainly.

Desy sighed and leaned back against her pillow. "Dontdothat."

"Sorry. I just noticed you tossin’ and thought maybe your ankle was givin’ you trouble again."

"You’re pretty perceptive."

"Anythin’ I can do? Fix up a brace or somethin’?"

"What I wouldn’t give for an asprin…"

"Really…"

"Maybe you could rewrap it for me."

"Sure thing." Rose drew back the covers and swiftly undid the bandage on the swollen ankle. "How’s the rest of you holdin’ up?"

"Fairly well. I got things straightened out with Mush last night."

"That’s good. He’s a nice kid, but…"

"Yeah."

"Kinda the same with me and Race. Only I don’t have the issues with Max Caselli that you have with Aaron Lohr."

Desy chuckled.

"Is that tight enough?"

"Um… maybe a little tighter."

"Like that?"

"Y-yeah. Ow."

"Sorry…"

"No, ’sokay."

"Too tight?"

"No, really."

"Okay."

"I didn’t realize how fast things move in this movie!"

"Me, either. It’s one thing when you’re just sittin’ there watching it and kinda gettin’ into the story. It’s another thing entirely when you’re actually in the middle of it!"

"You would know; you’re the one who rushed into the middle of that fight!"

Rose laughed. "Kinda made me wish I had a hat pin with me; Jean and I coulda recreated part of the clay slide fight from McLintock! while we were at it!"

"Clay slide?"

"Yeah. Some settlers who were camped by a mine were fixin’ to hang an old Indian chief ’cause one man’s daughter disappeared, so John Wayne and some others went over to the camp to try an’ talk ’em out of it. Turns out the girl had gone out riding with a cowboy and it took ’em longer to get back than they’d anticipated. So John Wayne reamed the dad out for causin’ trouble and knocked him down. Well, this started a huge fight in which just about everybody but the Indians got knocked down the clay slide, and Maureen O’Hara was out in the middle of it and some guy pushed her, so she got mad and pulled a pin out of her hat and started stabbing people with it!"

Desy laughed.

"There. How’s that?"

"Oh, that’s good."

"Great. Can I getcha anythin’ else?"

"Don’t think so. Thanks."

"Hey, no problem. I’m gonna head on downstairs and try to find some breakfast."

"Okay."

Rose went back to her bed, picked up her bear, and brought it over to Desy. "Here, Eli can take care of you till Mike gets here. He’s good at that."

Desy grinned. "Thanks."

Rose grinned back and left the room. She passed Mike on the stairs.

"What are you doin’ up this early?" they asked each other at the same time, then chuckled.

"This twin thing must be contagious," Mike joked.

"No kiddin’," Rose laughed.

"Jean and Davy are on the stage eatin’."

"’K. Thanks. Desy’s up."

"Ankle?"

"Yeah. I rewrapped it for her."

"Great. See ya in a few."

"Righto."

Rose wound her way through the backstage area. As she neared the wings, she heard Jean saying, "So Desy asked who the anti-perspirant was, and Rose said, ‘I dunno, but I think Mike’s anti-matter!’"

Davy’s laughter rang through the hall.

"It wasn’t THAT funny," Rose joked as she entered from stage left.

"Good morning, George, how are you?" Jean sang, waving at her twin. She and Davy were sitting on the edge of the stage munching on toast and jelly. "I hope you’re feeling fine!"

Rose continued, "I’d like to stay and talk, but it’s almost eight o’clock and I haven’t got the time!"

"Actually, it’s a quarter to seven," Davy remarked, peering a large clock at the back of the hall.

Rose and Jean laughed.

"What are we doing up this early?" Jean asked.

"I have no idea," Rose chuckled.

"What was that song?" Davy wondered.

"It’s from VeggieTales," Jean explained. "It’s a Christian cartoon starring talking vegetables, and it’s hilarious."

"Oh."

"That song’s from an episode called ‘Rack, Shack, and Benny,’ which is based on the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. Nebby K. Nezzer has brought all these kids to work in his chocolate factory, and that’s the first song they sing. It’s all about how hard they have to work."

Rose sang:

We all need a vacation,
Our schedule is severe.
We’re getting very tired, but stopping gets us fired,
So for now we’ll stay right here
Because we work real hard at the chocolate factory,
We start at 8 and we don’t get lunch till three.
We work the whole day through
To make a buck or two
So we can send it home to our families!

Davy chuckled. "Food, glorious food…"

"Exactly!" Jean smiled.

"Speaking of which…" Rose began.

"Help thyself," Jean answered, knowing exactly what her twin’s question was going to be. "It’s on a table on the other side of the stage."

"Aha. Much grass."

"Denader."

Davy couldn’t help laughing at their quasi-Spanish.

Rose left the pair to continue chattering about VeggieTales and found the aforementioned table. She loaded up a plate full of biscuits and gravy, marveling at Medda’s generosity to fix something that Southern, and headed back to her friends.

"Ooh!" Jean exclaimed suddenly as Rose sat down beside her.

"What?"

"I just realized what happens this morning!"

"What? OHHHHHHhhhhhhhh!"

"Wha’ does that mean?" Davy asked warily.

Rose had just taken a bite, so Jean explained. "Jack couldn’t stay in the Newsboys Home last night because Snyder was there looking for him, so he spent the night on the fire escape outside Dave’s apartment. So when Sarah, Dave’s sister, wakes up this morning, guess who she finds outside her window?"

"Who’s Snydeh, and why does it matter?"

"Snyder’s the warden at the Refuge and he tries to get as many ‘delinquents’ into the jail as possible so he can embezzle more of the funds the state sends him. And it matters because Jack and Sarah are slowly but surely falling in love."

"But Jack wants to move to Santa Fe," Rose continued, "so he’s kinda torn. So when Sarah gets up, the two of them meet on the roof for breakfast and he gives her the whole ‘I’m not used to having anyone care whether I stay or whether I go’ speech."

"Does she ever answer directly?" Jean frowned.

"I don’t remember," Rose confessed. "I kinda don’t think so."

Jean nodded and bit into her toast thoughtfully.

Davy studied Jean’s face for a moment. "I know that look," he finally said with a wry smile. "That’s the Jean-’as-an-idea look."

"Well…"

"Oh, go ahead," he sighed. "Might as well do something crazy if we’re already awake this early."

"It’s not crazy!" Jean retorted.

"Maybe not to us, but to an outside observer…" Rose interjected.

"True. Well, I was thinking maybe we could go…"

"We are not interrupting them," Davy broke in firmly. "I do not want to be on ’is bad side."

"We wouldn’t interrupt. Just… I dunno… serenade?"

Rose’s eyes widened. "Are you thinking of the song I’m thinking of?"

"Which one?"

"Dixie Chicks."

"Oh, yeah! That’s a good one!"

"Jean, I’m not so sure…" Davy objected.

"He wouldn’t even have to know it was us," Jean answered. "We could hide, like under the fire escape or something, and if he started to come down we could disappear behind the building before he could spot us!"

"Hey, yeah!" Rose agreed.

Davy sighed. "Oh, all right…."

About an hour later, Jack fumbled for the words to express his thoughts. "I’m not sayin’ it should matter to you. But does it? Matter?"

As Sarah smiled, trying to figure out what to say, the awkward pause was broken by a female voice from below:

I said I wanna touch the earth,
I wanna break it in my hands,
I wanna grow something wild and unruly…

The pair on the roof looked at each other, startled, as the song continued. The first voice was joined by a second singing harmony.

Cowboy, take me away,
Throw this girl as high as you can into the wild blue.
Set me free, oh, I pray,
Closer to heaven above and closer to you…

"What in the world…" Jack frowned, looking over the side of the building.

"Who is that?" Sarah asked after a moment.

"I dunno. I can’t see anybody."

"It’s a pretty song, though…"

Jack looked up at her. "Y’think?"

Sarah nodded.

Oh, it sounds good to me…

"Yes, it sounds good to me," Jack sang along.

Sarah just smiled.

As the duet ended, Jack decided to investigate the source of the music. As soon as they heard his feet hit the fire escape, Jean and Rose dashed around the corner of the building, where Davy was waiting for them. The three of them ran as fast as they could through the alley and out to a side street that would lead them back toward Irving Hall.

Finding the street empty, Jack sat down on the steps, bewildered.

"’Ey, Jonesy!" Mush yelled.

Davy and the girls had stopped to catch their breath a few blocks from their destination. Davy turned. "’Ey, Mush! ’Ey, Race!" he waved.

"You’re up early!" Jean exclaimed.

"Yeah, the guys wanted us to come see how things were goin’," Race shrugged.

"Goin’? We haven’t even started yet!" Rose laughed.

"What are you guys doin’ out dis early?" Mush asked.

"We were… um…" Davy hesitated.

"Serenading Jack and Sarah," Jean volunteered. "But keep it under your hat."

"Mum’s the word," Mush pledged.

"Serenading Jack?" Race chuckled. "I bet that was fun!"

"Oh, it was!" Rose nodded.

"I wish Desy coulda come," Jean added. "She might have enjoyed it."

"Yeah, me… too…" Rose’s voice trailed off as an idea popped into her head. Her mind flew back to the conversation she’d had with Desy that morning and the night before. Just because you don’t think God is fast-paced…

"Rose?" Race frowned at her seemingly vacant expression.

Rose didn’t hear him. She was too busy thinking. Lord? Is… are You saying what I think You’re saying?

A sense of peace was her only answer.

"Rose?" Mush asked, waving a hand in front of her face.

Rose completely forgot where she was. "Duh!" she said aloud, smacking her forehead. "Why didn’t I think of that earlier?"

She could almost see God grin in response. Shall we? came a still, small voice.

"Are You kidding? What are we waiting for?"

And with that she dashed down the street, leaving her cyber-twin, her accountability partner, and two very confused boys standing on the sidewalk.

"What was that?" Race finally asked.

"I think she was thinking out loud," Mush frowned. "But who was she talking to?"

"God," Davy answered simply.

"Huh?"

Jean took a deep breath. "Gentlemen, I think we’ve just had a brief glimpse into the prayer life of a saint."

"And I for one am curious as to what they’re up to," Davy added. "Let’s go."

Desy had just finished the breakfast Mike had gotten for her when Rose burst through the door of the girls’ room. Rose stopped about a foot inside the door in a dramatic stance and exclaimed, "‘Stand back,’ said the elephant, ‘I’m going to sneeze!’"

"What?" asked Desy and Mike at the same time.

"Sorry, very random quote, but I had to say something!"

"What in the world is going on?" Desy demanded.

"Remember that conversation last night? When you said you didn’t do much praying because you couldn’t see immediate results?"

"Yeah…"

"And I said that just because you didn’t think God was fast-paced, that didn’t mean He didn’t answer prayer and take care of us?"

"Yeah…"

"And remember this morning when I asked what I could do for you?"

"Yeah…"

The others appeared in the doorway. Mike very nearly asked Desy if she could say anything other than "Yeah," but he thought it best not to interrupt by setting himself up for the obvious response.

Rose continued, "Well, it suddenly hit me. In all the hustle, we’ve been doing everything for you but pray! And I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God will heal your ankle if we ask Him to."

Desy looked skeptical. "I dunno, Rose… I’m not so sure that kind of thing happens anymore…"

"Of course it does. I’ve seen it happen. And it hasn’t just been psychosomatic stuff that’s been healed, either. It’s been real injuries and real diseases that God has healed like that." She snapped her fingers to illustrate her point. "And He’s the same yesterday, today, and forever. And I know that I know that I know that He wants to heal you."

"Why?"

"Because He told me so."

Mike gave an incredulous cough.

"Oh, so that’s what you were talking about out there," Jean interjected.

Rose blushed. "Did I say that out loud?"

The four people in the doorway nodded.

"You mean God really spoke to you?" Desy asked.

"Well, not in an audible voice, but yeah…" Rose replied.

Desy considered for a moment. "Oh, why not," she sighed. "It can’t hurt any."

"Want some oil?" Jean inquired.

Rose thought for a second. "Nah. We’ll just do it without. ‘Sides, we wouldn’t really be considered elders of the church."

"True."

"Okay, now I’m really lost," Race declared.

"James said that if anyone is sick, he should call the elders of the church to come pray for him, and the elders are to anoint him with oil and pray," Jean explained.

"James who?" Mush asked.

"James 5:14," Rose answered.

"Huh? Oh, like in the Bible. Okay."

"I’d rather not have a greasy forehead, if it’s all the same to you," Desy told the twins.

"Quite alright," Jean nodded. "Let’s pray."

Jean lay a hand on Desy’s shoulder, and Rose lay a hand on her head. Davy, after a bit of consideration, lay a hand gently on her ankle. Race and Mush hung back, watching, and Mike sat down on Jean’s bed with an expression that plainly stated his disapproval.

"Father," Rose prayed, "thank You for everything You’ve done for us. Thank You for sending Your Son to die for us, and Jesus, thank You for giving Your life as the ultimate sacrifice. Thank You for shedding Your blood to cleanse us from our sins. Lord, Your Word says that by Your stripes we are healed. And we know that Your Word is true. So, God, I lift up my sister Desy to you. She needs Your healing touch, Lord, and we know that You can make her whole. Please touch Desy and heal her ankle, Father God. And help her to know that You love her and that You will never leave her or forsake her. Thank You for being our Healer, our Comforter, and a Friend who sticks closer than a brother. I thank You for all You’ve done and all You’re going to do. In Jesus’ precious, holy name we pray, amen."

"Amen," said everyone but Mike.

"’Ey, this bandage feels kinda loose," Davy stated.

Desy opened her eyes and moved her foot a little. Her face registered her surprise.

"What?" asked Mush.

"It… doesn’t hurt," Desy replied, moving her foot in circles. "It doesn’t hurt!"

Jean and Rose beamed at each other.

"You mean it worked?" Race gasped.

"I… I think so!" Desy answered, her voice rising in excitement.

"You’re kidding," Mike stared.

Desy stood. She shifted her weight a little from one leg to the other. She stood on the injured leg. She bounced on the injured leg. "It worked!"

"Wooooooooooo, GLORY!" Rose shouted.

"HediditHediditHedidit!" Jean cheered, hugging Davy.

"’Edid’Edid’Edid!" Davy cheered back.

"It’s unbelievable!" Race exclaimed, sitting down with a slight grin on his face.

"Amen," nodded Mush, for lack of anything more profound to say.

Mike just sat there with a shocked look on his face.

Rose and Jean burst into an old worship chorus and started bouncing around the room. Davy and Desy picked it up quickly and joined in. Soon, Medda stuck her head in the door.

"What’s going on up here?" she asked.

"Look, Medda!" Desy exclaimed, holding out her now unbandaged foot. "It’s healed!"

"Great!" Medda beamed. "But why all the noise? I thought you were going to jump through the ceiling!"

"You had to be there," Race explained with a grin.

After everyone had settled down, Jean asked, "So, Desy, what does this teach you?"

Desy heaved a big sigh. "Well, it shows me that God really can do things we think are impossible. And He really does respond to our prayers. But still, I’m not sure I have the kind of faith you do, Rose… Rose?"

Only then did anyone notice that Rose had silently slipped out of the room when Medda left.

"You guys go on with de philosophy or theology or whatever," Race said. "I’ll go find her." And before anyone could object, he left.

The sound of the piano being played in the hall told him with a fair degree of certainty where Rose was. As he neared the wings and quietly entered the stage, he could hear her singing:

"Wow," Race said as she finished.

Rose looked up from the keys, startled. "Oh! Hey, Race. Didn’t know anyone was in here."

"I didn’t know you played the piano."

"Neither did I," Rose replied truthfully.

"Why’d you leave?"

"I didn’t want to stick around to let any credit get placed on me. All I did was do what God told me to do. It wasn’t even my idea, it was His. And He’s the One who should get the glory, not me."

Race sat down on the edge of the stage, looking down at her in the orchestra pit. "So what’s all dis ‘warrior is a child’ stuff?"

Rose sighed. "I dunno. It’s just that bein’ a Christian is no cakewalk, y’know? It’s hard. You can’t have the roses without some thorns. And sometimes the thorns just get to me. And I know I’m not the only one to ever feel this way, but I still get down sometimes."

"Homesick?"

"Yeah. I should be home making three-hour trips to Walmart to get everything ready for going back to college. I miss my family. I miss my dog. I miss my friends, although I do have lots of friends here. But… well, I wanna go home. And I’m afraid that if I don’t get home soon, I’ll lose my scholarship and bang goes my career. Not… not that that really matters if God has other plans for me, ‘cause His plans are best, but…" She trailed off, fighting tears.

"’Ey, it could be worse. You could be a professional newsie."

As Race had hoped, Rose couldn’t help laughing.

"C’mon, kid," Race continued, sliding off the stage and sitting next to her at the piano. "You got faith. I just saw dat. And God loves ya. I know that’s not the kind of thing I normally say, but I can see it in your life. He’ll get ya home somehow. I’d bet my bottom dollar on that."

"And that’s one bet you can take to the bank," Rose nodded.

"Attagirl. Now, how’s about some happy music?"

Rose looked at the keys, thought for a minute, and launched into "Saturday in the Park," followed by one of her favorite Keith Green tunes, "You Put This Love in My Heart."

"Where are we?" the male alien asked as the spacecraft landed with a bump. This time the interdimensional trip had taxed their equipment to the limit, and it seemed that Murphy’s law was after them with a vengeance; everything that could malfunction did.

"I don’t know," growled the female alien.

"The positional locators would have to go out…." he grumbled.

"Just be glad we didn’t crash!" she snapped.

"I’m just saying…"

"Shut up. Let’s go outside and look around."

Before he could protest, she hit the transporter button; amazingly, they landed just outside the ship. Their cursory examination of their surroundings rendered little information. They could see nothing but desert vegetation and an occasional barbed wire fence.

"Great," groused the male alien. "Miles and miles of miles and miles. Just what we were looking for."

"Oh, come on," ordered the female. "I think I see a road."

She did indeed see a road several miles away. When they reached it, they were met almost immediately by a heavily armed guard.

"Greetings," wheezed the male alien.

"You folks are trespassing on government property," the guard stated in an ominous tone.

"What?" asked the female alien. "What government? We don’t even know where we are!"

"I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you both to come with me," growled the guard.

"But…" the male started to protest. Then he saw the guard’s hand resting dangerously near the trigger of his AK-47. "Oh, okay. But I swear we don’t know what’s going on."

The guard marched them along the road through several fences. Finally, they stopped at a gate. While the guard was getting clearance to enter, the aliens read the large sign in front of them:

You are about to enter Area 51

"Nez!" Les hollered as he ran through the front doors of Irving Hall.

Mike looked up from arranging letters on the indoor marquee. "Hey, Les! Where’s David?"

"He’s comin’. So’s Jack. They’re bringin’ lunch."

"Really? That’s nice of ’em."

"Yeah. So tell me another story about Pecos Bill!"

"Be glad to, if’n you’ll hold this here letter case for me."

Les took the letter case just as David and Jack came in, carrying two large baskets of food. "Already put you to work, huh, Les?" David teased.

"Yep! Nez is gonna tell me a story!" Les grinned.

The older boys laughed. Jack shifted his basket and ruffled Les’ hair.

"Everybody’s inside, tryin’ to figger out where to put ever’body tonight," Mike informed the newcomers.

"Great," Jack nodded. "Thanks, Mike." He and David headed up the stairs to the mezzanine level.

"Tell me the one about the tornado again," Les demanded.

Mike chuckled. "Okay. See, there was this big tornado that was gonna tear up the whole state…."

Inside the hall, Rose and Medda looked over the list that gave the numbers of newsies expected from the various parts of the city. Desy, Jean, Davy, Race, and Mush stood out in the seats, awaiting instructions on where to set the signs reserving sections for the different groups.

"Brooklyn has how many?" Rose frowned.

"That’s what Spot said," Medda shrugged.

"Hard to believe we’re gonna fit all those boys in here," Desy remarked.

"’Ey, how ’bout we have ’em hang from the rafters?" Race joked.

"Well, Kid wants to hang off the balcony," Mush informed him.

"He would," sighed Race and Davy at the same time.

The girls laughed, remembering the scenes from the rally.

"Try Section I," Medda chuckled. "That should be big enough."

Mush obediently set the Brooklyn sign by the entrance to Section I.

"Soup’s on!" Jack called as he and David came in.

"Food!" exclaimed Jean and Rose at the same time.

"Wow!" Desy grinned, taking a basket from David. "Thanks, guys!"

"Indeed! Hope you brought enough to feed an army; I’m famished!" Rose added, climbing down off the stage.

"Denton kinda insisted," David shrugged.

"’Ere, why don’t you set things out ’ere so there’ll be plenty o’ room for everyone?" Davy suggested, motioning to the tables near the stage.

"Oh, that’s a great idea!" Medda nodded.

Jack and Desy brought the baskets to the tables; Jean tagged along and tried to sneak a peek at what was in Desy’s basket. Desy good-naturedly yelled at her to stop.

"…An’ he rode that thing till it was plum broke!" Mike finished the story as he entered the hall, Les in tow.

"Wow!" gasped Les in admiration.

"Yep. Ol’ Pecos Bill always was the best bronc-buster in Texas, and he proved it when he rode that tornado."

"Have you ever met Pecos Bill?"

Mike smiled wryly. "Nope. He lived way before my time."

"Oh." Les sounded a little disappointed.

"C’mon, let’s eat."

"Oh, boy!"

The group got the food unpacked, David asked the blessing, and lunch commenced with a large amount of light-hearted chatter. Mike brought up the idea of the five travelers giving a benefit concert in Central Park that weekend, and his suggestion met with overwhelming support. Medda even volunteered to make the necessary arrangements.

Near the end of the meal, Davy called Race "mate" for no particular reason, and Rose’s mind immediately flew off on a tangent. Davy noticed the look on her face as she stared at the bowl of fruit on the table and said, "Okay, Rose. Wha’ is it?"

"I’ve got school on the brain," she frowned.

"What subject?" David wondered.

"Chemistry. Specifically, organic chemistry."

"Uh-oh," Desy commented.

Mike added, "’Ware explosions."

Rose chuckled. "No, no explosions with this, unless you’re reacting something with lithium aluminum hydride."

"Wha-who?" Jean asked. "Lost me already."

"Lithium aluminum hydride. It’s a highly reactive substance often used to reduce ketones to alcohols, among other uses, and if you’re not extremely careful when you’re running reactions with it, it’ll catch fire because it’s so volatile. But I wasn’t thinking about that."

"What were you thinkin’ about, den?" Jack shrugged. "It all sounds complicated ta me, but I ain’t had de education you and Dave have."

Rose smiled wryly. "I was thinking about racemates."

"Ohhhhhh," Davy replied, understanding the source but not the word.

"Shouldn’t dat be RACE-mates?" Race asked, teasing.

Rose chuckled. "Nope. That’s what I thought the first time I saw the word. It’s pronounced ra-seh-mate. They’re also known as racemic mixtures."

"So what are dey?" Mush frowned. "I ain’t never heard of ’em."

In response, Rose took an orange and stuck four toothpicks into it to resemble a tetrahedron. She then put a strawberry on the top toothpick, a cherry on the lower left, and a grape on the lower right.

"What’s that?" Les asked.

"That, my dear boy, is (S)-bromochlorofluoromethane," Rose declared, holding it out for him to see.

"Wow."

Mush’s eyebrows went up incredulously. "You got a name like that out of fruit and toothpicks?"

"Well, I don’t have a model kit," Rose shrugged.

"How would you know even with a model kit?" Race stared.

"Well, it’s all in the arrangement of the atoms. See, this strawberry represents bromine, the cherry is chlorine, and the grape is fluorine. And the S part comes from the way these are arranged. Because these groups are all different, this molecule is chiral. That means that if you held it up to a mirror, then took the mirror image and tried to lay it on top of this’n, they wouldn’t match up. It’s like one’s right-handed and the other’s left-handed."

"What does that have to do with the rassa-whatevers?" Medda wondered.

"Well, if you have a sample of bromochlorofluoromethane, or any other chiral molecule, and half of the molecules in the sample look like this and the other half look like this…" she switched the grape and cherry, "which is the R enantiomer, then you have a racemate. And you can tell if the sample is a racemate or not by measuring how much it rotates plane polarized light."

"Ah," Davy nodded, now hopelessly lost.

"And it matters because enzymes react with different enantiomers in different ways. One enantiomer might be a useful medicine while the other doesn’t react at all, or reacts in a different way, which could be disastrous, or keeps the first enantiomer from doing what it’s supposed to."

"All because you switched two atoms?" Mike frowned.

"Yep."

"Pretty powerful evidence for creation, huh?" Jean grinned.

"Well, I think so," Rose grinned back. "But I’m just a sophomore, so no ‘serious scientists’ would listen to me."

Her four friends from the future laughed, knowing (the girls better than the boys) how intense the debate between proponents of creation science and of evolution would become.

"’Ey, did you say somethin’ about makin’ alcohol?" Mush asked suddenly.

"Why did I have a feeling this was going to come up?" David wondered aloud.

Rose laughed. "Well, there are a lot of ways to go about alcohol synthesis in the lab, but most of ’em wouldn’t give you the kind of alcohol you’re thinkin’ of."

"Now I’m curious," Race chuckled.

"Sock it to me," Desy added, forgetting the time period and earning some odd looks.

 Rose found a piece of paper and a pencil. "Okay, just for grins, here’s a couple of ways it can work. If you have, say, a secondary halide and you react it with a metal hydroxide, you’ll get an S_N2 substitution reaction that gives you something like this." And she drew the reaction:

 "But," she continued without waiting for questions, "the problem with that is that sodium hydroxide is a strong base, so the substitution has to compete with this elimination reaction.

"So you wind up with an alkene as well as a secondary alcohol."

"Whoa, Nellie," Mike interrupted finally. "Slow down. You lost me when you started drawin’ stuff."

"Ooooookay. I’ll start over. The first thing I drew is…" she counted, "um… (S)-2-bromopentane, or 2-pentyl bromide. When the reaction with sodium hydroxide goes the S_N2 route, the OH has to come from the back to form a bond to the carbon, and the bromide gets kicked off the front and you have (R)-2-pentanol. That’s why the bond looks different; the bromide was coming out towards us, but the OH is going back from the plane of the paper."

"What’s S_N2?" Mush asked.

"It stands for substitution nucleophilic bimolecular. Basically all it means is that one group substitutes for another and the rate is determined by a reaction step that involves two molecules."

"Oh."

"But strong bases like NaOH often cause an elimination reaction. It’s called that because you eliminate the functional group—in this case, the bromide—and a hydrogen from the molecule and form a double bond between two carbons. They don’t disappear, they just aren’t in the molecule anymore. So the major product of a reaction between a secondary halide and something like NaOH is an alcohol, but you also have the elimination products in there as well."

"What were those circle thingies you drew?" Jean wondered.

"Those are called Newman projections. It’s a way of figuring out how things are arranged with respect to each other when you’re looking at a particular carbon-carbon bond."

"Why’d you need them in this case?"

"You pretty much have to draw them to be able to figure out what the product of an elimination reaction is gonna look like. The leaving group—the non-hydrogen thing that leaves—and the hydrogen that will be eliminated have to be 180° apart. So you figure out a rotational arrangement that gives you that, and then you circle the hydrogen and the leaving group and the way the other groups are arranged tells you what goes where on the double bond."

"So how do you get around the elimination thing?" Desy shrugged.

"You use a different reaction. Like this:

"There are lots of other ways, like redox and Grignard reagents and stuff, but this works."

"How do you know it’ll give you that?"

"Well, here’s the mechanism… might not help you much, but it helps me…"

"Riiiiiiiiiiight," said Jean, obviously not understanding any of it.

"Clear as mud," Race agreed.

"I’ll explain," Rose chuckled. "You start with 1-chlorocyclohexane. The first part is an S_N2 reaction just like the first one. The acetate ion bonds to the carbon and kicks the chlorine off, forming an ester. Then you add a base and water to run a saponification reaction; the base catalyses the reaction between water and the ester. An OH^- bonds to the carbon that’s bonded to the two oxygens, breaking the double bond and forming this tetrahedral intermediate. Now this OR group…" she pointed to the ring attached to the oxygen, "makes a good leaving group. So the electrons rearrange themselves and off comes the OR, leaving acetic acid and a negative charge on this oxygen. That then picks up a hydrogen from acetic acid, leaving an acetate ion and producing the desired molecule, 1-cyclohexanol."

"I’m guessing you wouldn’t wanna drink ’at," Mike commented.

"Probably not. The stuff you drink is ethanol, and even that isn’t exactly good for you."

"How do you know all that?" Les asked.

"It’s a long story," Jean answered for her and popped a cherry into her mouth.

"You just ate a chlorine radical," Rose teased with a remarkably straight face.

Jean immediately threw herself into a dramatic death scene, gasping and flailing wildly. When at last she lay still on the floor, Davy knelt by her side and, knowing a story from Rose’s freshman chemistry lab, quipped in his best Shakespearean voice, "Good night, sweet sodium hydroxide, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest…."

Everyone cracked up.

"I still think something’s missing," Nancy complained as they left the beauty parlor.

"Like what?" Tippy asked, looking her friend over from head to toe.

"I dunno. This whole thing just doesn’t feel quite right somehow."

"It’s the shoes." Tippy headed resolutely toward a nearby shoe store.

"What’s wrong with my shoes?"

"They don’t go. C’mon, we’ll find you something better."

Nancy sighed resignedly and followed her.

Mike stood stock still halfway up the stairs, listening. He had intended to ask Desy something after lunch. But as he neared the girls’ room, he heard them talking—shouting, nearly—about something very mysterious to him and obviously very serious.

"But we can’t just sit around and do nothing!" Jean stated loudly.

"But if we interfere, we’ll change history!" Desy countered.

"We’re already changing history just by being here!"

"She’s right, though," Rose broke in. "If we get too involved with this, it’ll change the whole movie. I’m not sure we shouldn’t do anything, but it has to happen. Otherwise they’ll never find the press or the evidence Denton needs to take to Gov. Roosevelt."

"Besides, we wouldn’t get the ‘double or nothing’ line," Desy added.

"Well…" Jean considered.

He could hear Rose chuckling quietly.

"So what should we do?" Jean asked finally.

"I don’t know," Rose sighed. "I really don’t know."

"’Ey, Mike? Wot’s wrong?"

Mike jumped and turned to see Davy standing next to him. "Dontdothat."

"Sorry…"

"The girls are arguin’ about whether or not to do somethin’. Sounds like somethin’s gonna happen tonight."

"At the rally?"

Mike nodded.

"Maybe we should set up some kind o’ warning system," Davy suggested.

"Like what?"

Davy thought for a moment. "Like… maybe have Medda’s band play one o’ our songs if we get a signal that something’s about to ’appen?"

Mike’s brain flew into action. "Yeah… yeah! Davy, you’re a genius!"

"Aw, shucks…"

"C’mon." The Texan and the Englishman hurried back down the stairs and found Medda.

"Hallo, boys," she smiled.

"Medda, I got a question for ya," Mike blurted. "D’ya have a harpsichord around here?"

"A ha’psichord?" Davy frowned. "But… OH!" The significance dawned on him.

Medda thought. "Yes… I think so…"

"Anyone play it?" Mike demanded.

"Our pianist probably can… why?"

"No time to explain. D’ya have any music manuscript paper I can use?"

"Sure, in my office."

"You’re the genius, Mike," Davy commented as they followed Medda.

Fuzzy looked over her shoulder as she sat down at the computer. Micky and Peter were engrossed in a game of Go Fish, so she figured she was finally safe to get online and email to the other Chickies; she’d been so busy taking care of her guests and everything else she had to do that this was the first chance she had to get online without the two Monkees asking too many questions. Wolle and Nevada were online also, so the three of them hit the eGroups chatroom.

Ihr werdet nee und nimmer glauben, wer bei mir ist…Fuzzy began.

Wer? the other two demanded at once.

Micky und Peter… aus dem Programm… und auch Tippy, Wolle! Und ihre Freundin Nancy!

Wirklich? Wolle responded.

Ja!

Quatsch, Nev replied.

Nee! Unglaublich, aber wahr!

Fuzzy suddenly looked up to see Micky standing over her. "What’s this?" he asked.

Fuzzy reddened. "Um…"

"No, I mean, what is it? The machine, what you’re doing, the whole bit."

Fuzz? Wo bist du?

"I’m just curious and tired of Peter winning at cards," Micky shrugged.

"Hey!" Peter objected from the couch, dealing himself a game of solitaire.

Fuzzy couldn’t help laughing. "Well, okay. This is a computer, and I’m on the Internet telling some of my other friends that you’re here."

"Groovy! Can I talk to ’em?"

"Sure, I guess…" Fuzzy stood up.

"Do they speak English?" Micky asked as he sat down.

"Oh, yes. We aren’t all fluent yet, but we all speak at least a little."

"So what do I do?"

"Just type what you want to say and push ‘Enter’ when you’ve finished your thought."

By this time, all of the other Chickies were in the chatroom, speculating in German about the cause of Fuzzy’s unexpected and unbelievable announcement.

"Um…" Hi, Micky typed. "Do I hit ‘Enter’ now?"

"Ja."

"Okay."

Hallo, Fuzzy! Greenie replied.

Um… This isn’t Fuzzy. This is Micky.

Sehr lustig, Fuzz… Gwen sent.

Fuzzy, reading over Micky’s shoulder, rolled her eyes. "They don’t believe it."

No, really, this is Micky. I’m staying with Fuzzy. Peter’s here, too.

If you’re really Micky… let me see you play your nose! Nev challenged.

That’s Mike’s job, Micky responded. I play the pig.

Know any good Florian quotes? Wolle asked.

Who’s Florian?

Keine Chance, Alter, ich habe Höheangst! Nev replied.

Huh?

Fuzzy cringed. "I hate Florian…"

"Who’s Florian?!" Micky cried.

"He translated the second season episodes and did the voice of Mike, and he did a horrible job."

Ich bin ein Hippie, und zwar in Kostüm und Maske, Wolle shot back at Nev.

Hey, I don’t speak German! Micky interrupted.

Really?

Really! I have no idea what you just said!

I am a hippie, up in costume and masked, Greenie translated.

What’s that supposed to mean?

You mean you really don’t know? Mary pushed.

I have no idea. Honest.

That’s Micky, several people typed at once.

It’s about time someone recognized me, Micky replied and heaved a sigh of relief.

Peter gave up on his solitaire game. "Hey, Fuzzy? Do you have a guitar I could borrow?"

"Sure! Just let me go upstairs and get it."

She was rewarded with a patented Peter grin. "Thanks."

Fuzzy was almost to the stairs when she heard two female voices outside the door. "Are you sure he’ll like this?" one asked, nearly whining.

"Yes! We’ll just ask Fuzzy if we can borrow her makeup and you’ll be good to go."

"Planning a surprise for someone?" Fuzzy asked, opening the door to let Tippy and Nancy in. "Ooh, that’s a pretty outfit, Nancy!"

Nancy blushed.

"Don’t you think Micky’ll like that?" Tippy grinned, putting the package containing Nancy’s other clothes on the hall table.

"Yes, indeed," Fuzzy nodded. "And I don’t mind if you borrow my makeup. Come on upstairs and I’ll get it for you."

Rose hummed a Czechoslovakian folk song as she expertly wound Desy’s long braids around her head.

"Are you sure this’ll work?" Desy sighed impatiently.

"’Course it’ll work," Jean replied, putting the finishing touches on a realistic scar she’d placed on Desy’s cheek with stage makeup. "At least long enough for me to signal Mike at the end of ‘High Times, Hard Times.’"

"There’s no guarantee Snyder will fall for it, though."

"Stop worrying," Rose interjected around a mouthful of hairpins, sounding remarkably like Hannibal talking around his cigar.

"Just be as flattering as possible and tell him you’re looking for an opinion from the authorities," Jean continued. "I’d think the Harvard paper would carry enough weight for him to listen."

"But I don’t look like I belong at Harvard!" Desy complained.

"Tell him you’re undercover, trying to get an inside scoop," Rose shrugged. "As long as you can stall him for five minutes or more, life will be good. And it’s not like you have the most dangerous job." She glanced over at the outfit laid out on her own bed—a black turtleneck, black pants, black ballet shoes, and a dark brown hat similar to Desy’s.

"Well…" Desy considered.

"I can’t believe Davy won’t let me go with you," Jean griped.

"Jean, we’ve been over this," Rose replied, putting the last pin in place. "Two are more easily tracked than one, and it would be harder to get both of us out than to get just me out. And Medda will probably need you here, depending on how fast we can get her out of the fray."

"Besides," Desy added, "shouldn’t you be glad Davy cares enough about you to try to keep you out of danger?"

Jean sighed. "Yeah, I guess you’re right."

"There," Rose nodded, placing Desy’s hat back in its rightful place on Desy’s head. The braids were completely hidden.

"Drop your voice an octave and no one would ever know you’re a girl," Jean beamed.

"That was supposed to be the general idea," Desy agreed.

"Ready?" Mike asked, poking his head in the door.

"Yep," all three girls replied at once.

"Let’s do it."

The four of them trooped down the stairs to where Davy was waiting, then dispersed to their respective positions.

Nancy and Tippy crept silently down the stairs, hoping to completely surprise Micky. However, when they reached the front hall, they stopped cold, confused.

German houses aren’t generally like American houses, in which most of the rooms open onto each other. Each room has a separate door, and all doors are always kept closed. So when the two Americans reached the downstairs level, all they could see was doors—and no indication of which door led to which room.

"Oh, no…" Tippy whispered.

"What do we do?" Nancy squeaked quietly. "We can’t just try every door!"

"Or even open ’em a crack first," Tippy agreed.

"Can you remember which one it was?"

"No…"

In the living room, Peter had been quietly strumming, working out a song, while Micky chatted with the Chickies and Fuzzy read over his shoulder. Just as the other girls came downstairs, Peter stretched and sighed. "Hey, Mick?"

"Yeah, Pete?"

"Wanna sing something with me?"

"Peter, I’m in the middle of a conversation."

"You can sing and type at the same time!"

"Yeah, that’s true. Okay."

Fuzzy settled wordlessly into a chair, excited at the opportunity to hear the Monkees live.

Peter thought for a moment, then began playing an intro. "Walkin’ down a lonely street…" he sang.

"Lookin’ for someone to meet," Micky joined in.

The girls outside heard the guys’ voices and pinpointed the room before the end of the next line.

"I come across good-lookin’ you,

Do you know what you do…" Micky and Peter crooned.

Tippy flung the door open and pushed Nancy inside.

"Yeah, you tear the top right off my head…" everyone but Nancy sang.

Peter and Micky turned to see who had come in. Micky’s jaw dropped. Nancy just stood there blushing.

"Oh my, my… yeah, I’m goin’ blind…" Micky finished, stunned.

"Wow… that’s pretty, Nancy!" Peter commented.

"That’s an understatement," Micky added.

Nancy met his gaze. "You really think so?"

Micky nodded and stood up.

"I wasn’t sure it worked, but Tippy made me…"

"I’m glad she did."

Tippy sat down next to Peter, and the two of them watched their friends closely.

"You… you are?"

Micky nodded.

Fuzzy jumped up to answer the telephone.

Entranced, Micky and Nancy crossed the room and stopped about a foot apart. Neither one’s eyes left the other’s face.

"Remember when I said I thought I loved you?" Micky asked softly.

"Uh-huh."

"Well, now I’m sure. You’re lovely, Nancy, and you’re lovable. And I love you." He reached out and pulled her towards him.

Tippy and Peter inched closer together as they watched Micky lean in to kiss Nancy. For all four of them, time seemed to slow to a crawl as the couple drew closer together.

"I must be dreaming…" Nancy whispered with Micky’s face about six inches from her own.

"Can I steal Davy’s song and make you a daydream believer?"

"Yeah…"

Tippy and Peter held their breath as their friends came closer… and closer… five millimeters… four… three… two…

"Was???" Fuzzy suddenly exploded at the person on the telephone, nearly giving everyone else in the room a heart attack.

"DON’T DO THAT!" the Americans all scolded.

Fuzzy was too upset to notice. "Was? … Wieso? … Ja, aber… Klar… aber…" She finally calmed down enough to finish the conversation in English, then slammed the receiver down on the cradle and swore bitterly in German.

"Way to ruin the mood, Fuzz," Micky groused.

"Blame your government, not me," Fuzzy retorted.

"What does the government have to do with it?" Peter frowned.

"That was the man from the embassy," Fuzzy explained. "They ran the paperwork for your ‘replacement’ passports today and found that the names and Social Security numbers you gave were false—well, at least for Micky and Peter. So they want you to go to Berlin in the morning and answer some questions."

"Oh, no…" Peter moaned.

"I knew this was too easy," Tippy grumbled, burying her head in her hands.

Nancy turned on her heel and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind her. When he heard the front door slam, Micky went after her. She was nearly to the train station before he caught up with her.

"Nancy, where are you going?" he asked as he caught her arm.

"I don’t know," Nancy replied sharply, pulling away. "Leave me alone."

"Honey, you were headed for the train station. Do you think I’m gonna let my girl go runnin’ all over a strange country by herself?"

Nancy turned her back to him until she realized what he’d said. "Your… your girl?" she repeated, turning back to face Micky.

"Aren’t you my girl?"

Nancy studied his face for a moment before bursting into tears. "Oh, Micky, I’m so sorry," she sobbed, wrapping him in a bone-crushing hug.

"Hey, now… a man has to breathe!"

Nancy chuckled a little and relaxed her grip.

Micky returned the hug. "Now, what’s really the matter?"

"Oh, that whole scene. Here Tippy dragged me all over town to give me a makeover that I wasn’t sure I wanted, and then I come home and you get so close to kissing me and then reality has to go and interrupt us like that! And now it looks like we might never get home!" She started crying even harder.

Micky just held her for a minute. He then unobtrusively slipped a hand into his back pocket and felt for his wallet. He pulled it out, glanced at the contents (raising an eyebrow in surprise at what he found), and slipped it back into its rightful place.

Nancy’s tears slowly subsided. As they did, Micky let go of her. "Feel any better?" he asked. "My mom once told me that girls just need to cry about things sometimes."

Nancy nodded. "I’m sorry for running off like that."

"Hey, no prob. Listen, why don’t we go back to the house so you can fix up your makeup, and then go on into Cologne for the evening?"

"What?"

"Well, I can’t have my girl be all dressed up with no place to go."

"You… you mean a date? A real date?"

"Of course!"

"Oh, Micky!" Nancy hugged him again, this time in excitement.

"OOF!"

"Sorry…"

Micky chuckled. "That’s okay, really… I’m just afraid you’ll bruise a rib one of these times!"

Nancy laughed. Micky took her hand, and they retraced their steps to Fuzzy’s house.

Desy paced nervously in the foyer of Irving Hall, waiting for Warden Snyder to come through the front doors. She mentally rehearsed her stalling speech as she listened to the crowd of newsies inside. Although she did want to help lessen the number of people involved in what was to come, she feared that things might go totally awry and that she—and the other Chalkies and Mike and Davy—would wind up being harmed.

Jean stood at the back of the hall with Denton, listening carefully to both what was being said onstage and what might be said in the hall. She was still a little miffed that the other girls were allowed to go off and do dangerous things while she, the youngest, was stuck with the job of signaling Mike.

Stuck? she finally asked herself. Man, this whole operation hinges on me! If I don’t pay attention, the plan will fail, and we could all get arrested! That sobering thought prompted her to turn her attention once more toward the stage.

"Stop pacing, Mike," Davy complained backstage, his accent thicker than normal. "You’re making me dizzy."

"I cain’t he’p it," Mike grumbled, sitting down. His own accent was thick. "I just wish the girls coulda told us more."

"’Ow could they? Otheh people were likely to ovehheah. People ’oo shouldn’t ’ave known anythin’ abou’ i’."

"Yeah, I reckon you’re right."

Both boys looked out toward Jean, scanning over Rose on the way. The latter sat anxiously at one of the front tables with Race, who’d insisted that she be there for at least part of the action. Rose, however, knew that the only thing she needed from this part of the rally was timing. She hung on every word said on stage, running the movie in her mind.

"…We need to stop soakin’ the scabs," Jack was saying.

"What are we supposed to do to de bums, kiss ’em?" Race retorted.

David explained that such violence was exactly what Pulitzer wanted because he could characterize them as delinquents. "We’d only be playing into their hands!" he concluded.

"Hey, they’ll be playin’ with my hands!" Spot argued.

Rose took her cue and slipped out quietly while some of the other newsies expressed agreement with Spot’s statement.

"You guys have got no brains!" Jack exclaimed. He launched into a speech in which he stated that the authorities wanted to make them look like penniless street rats unworthy of respect.

"You tell ’em, Jack!" Kid Blink yelled from his perch on the balcony railing. The other newies murmured their agreement.

"So whaddaya say, Spot?" Jack asked.

Everyone fell silent while Spot pondered. The "king of the newsies" finally replied, "I say… that what you say… is what I say."

This was met with wild applause as the newsie leaders shook hands in agreement. They then stepped down to let Medda take the show.

"Hallo, newsies! Vat’s new?" Medda asked her audience and was answered with cheers and yells of "Medda!"

Jean quickly turned her attention to the foyer and, without seeming to do so, strained to listen. Desy looked up just as Snyder walked in the door.

"Oh! Warden Snyder!" she called, running down the stairs to cut him off and praying he wouldn’t see through the disguise. "I’m so glad I ran into you! I’m a journalism major at Harvard, and the school paper sent me up here to cover the newsie strike from the inside. But my editor also wants to get the officials’ reaction, and so far I haven’t been able to get hold of anyone who’ll answer my questions. Could I trouble you for an interview? It’ll only take five minutes, I promise."

Snyder looked at her for a moment, annoyance and curiosity warring on his face. Desy prayed silently that it would work. Finally, to her amazement, he smiled graciously.

"All right," he replied. "But only five minutes."

Desy gave an inaudible sigh of relief and pulled out a pen and paper.

Upstairs, Rose had quickly changed clothes and was pulling her hair up to put under her hat when she looked outside. The hall was surrounded by mounted policemen. "Oh, shoot…" she whispered. Knowing there wouldn’t be time to distract them, she dashed downstairs just as Medda took the stage.

Davy, who’d come back to get a drink of water, ran into her at the bottom of the stairs. "’Ere!" he gasped. "Rose, wot’s wrong?"

"We’re surrounded."

"Oh, no…"

They looked at each other for a moment.

"’Ow will you get out?"

Rose thought for a bit. "I’ve got a plan," she answered.

"Good. Get to it."

They nodded at each other. Davy got his drink while Rose dashed back up the stairs to retrieve a small satchel and change shoes. Davy then got back in position and Rose walked boldly out the back door. None of the cops seemed to notice her as she walked down the alley to another cross-alley and out of earshot. As soon as she was safe, she changed back into the ballet shoes and ran as fast as she could through the alley away from the hall and toward the street. Keeping to the shadows, she made her way unseen to where the paddy wagons were parked, then pushed up her sleeves and waited.

Back inside, Medda finished her entire "High Times, Hard Times" routine just as Desy finished interviewing Snyder. Jean, who’d been listening, gave the prearranged signal, and Medda unobtrusively acknowledged her. She then turned it over to Mike and Davy and, as instructed, went to her room and locked herself in. Desy and Jean each waited until Snyder was past them, then slipped out and around to their room backstage and locked themselves in.

Denton noticed Snyder just as Mike cued the band. "Ah, good evening, sir," he accosted the newcomer. "Is that Warden Snyder, as in snide? Smile, sir." And he blinded Snyder with a camera flash as the strains of "The Girl I Knew Somewhere" filled the hall.

Jack had apparently forgotten that this was the danger signal because he made no move to get up. David looked anxiously at him twice, then decided not to try to warn the others on his own. Snyder regained his eyesight by the end of the first verse and blew the whistle; as soon as he did, chaos ensued in the hall and Mike and Davy bolted for the girls’ room, Sarah and Les Jacobs following hard on their heels.

Davy knocked twice. "Reebersoben!" he hollered the password over the commotion.

Jean unlocked the door and let the foursome in quickly, locking the door behind them. "Did it work?"

"No," Mike sighed. "Jack didn’t remember."

"Well, at least we didn’t make things worse," Desy remarked. "That’s one thing I had worried about."

Les looked around the room. "You guys live here?" he asked.

"Yep," Jean smiled.

"What’s gonna happen?" Sarah asked. "Will the guys be okay?"

"Couldn’t tell ya," Desy shook her head. She knew it wouldn’t be wise to divulge any information, and she wouldn’t have had the heart to tell Sarah that almost everyone except her brother would be arrested that night.

The reality of their situation finally sank in for Jean, who sat down on her bed rather suddenly.

"Jean?" Davy asked, rushing to her side.

"I’m scared, Davy," she confessed softly. "I’m really scared."

Davy sat down and pulled her into a protective, comforting hug. "It’s okay, luv. We won’ le’ anythin’ ’urt you."

Jean buried her face in his shoulder and wept.

"I’m scared, too," Les declared suddenly and clung to Sarah.

"I think we’re all scared," Desy replied, sitting down on her own bed.

Mike didn’t say anything. He just sat down beside her and put a strong arm around her shoulders. The six of them stayed there, praying and waiting for the fights downstairs to play out.

Outside, Rose remained in the shadows as policemen dragged newsies, some struggling, some unconscious, away from the hall and loaded them into the wagons. She couldn’t stand to watch, so she closed her eyes and prayed while she waited. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, all the doors were closed and the wagons rumbled off toward the police station. As the last one prepared to leave, Rose pulled her black sleeves down to cover her white arms and jumped on the back of the wagon. She grabbed hold of the bars in the back window as the wagon started moving.

"’Ey, is dat you, Rosie girl?" she heard someone (Spot, she thought) ask quietly from inside.

"Sh," she whispered. "Yeah, it’s me."

"Are you crazy?" another voice (probably Mush) squeaked softly. "What are you doin’ here?"

"Trust me," she answered. "I know what I’m doin’."

"’Ey, keep it down," a third voice she didn’t recognize grumbled. "Don’t want the cops ta hear."

They rode the rest of the way to the station in silence. Following the directions of those inside, Rose slipped down off the back of the wagon as it stopped and dashed into the shadows. Through several other tricky maneuvers, she sneaked upstairs into the cell block and waited until the newsies had all been placed in cells and the guards took Jack off to another part of the jail. She then ran noiselessly over to the first cell, pushing up her sleeves as she did so; the jail was terribly hot, and she was roasting in her long-sleeved attire.

"’Ey, Rosie!" Boots acknowledged.

"Keep your voices low," Rose warned. "Y’all all doin’ alright?"

"Got beat up pretty bad," a boy she didn’t know moaned.

"Yeah, we all did," Boots agreed.

"How many cells are there?"

"Of us? Four."

Rose reached into her satchel and pulled out two bottles that once held beer. "I brought some water," she told them, handing the bottles through the bars. "I’m not sure it’s cold, but it’s water."

"Hey, thanks," another unfamiliar face replied. "I’m real thirsty."

"Send some o’ that over here," Spot called from farther down the row of cells.

"I’ve got enough for each cell to have two bottles," Rose reported, a statement met with a murmur of thanks from the whole group.

"You gonna try to get us outta here?" asked a boy she thought was from the Brooklyn contingent.

"No," Rose chuckled. "Don’t even have time to hire y’all a lawyer—not that it’d do much good with the judge you’ll be up against. But I can pray for you."

The group in the first cell whispered some things they wanted prayer for: serious injuries, the trial, the strike, and so on. Rose prayed, said goodbye, and moved on to the next cell to deliver water and prayers.

"Race is hurt bad," Specs informed her when she reached the third cell. "They hit ’im pretty hard when they knocked ’im out."

"Concussion?"

Specs nodded as he took the water bottles from her. "Could be."

"I can’t get ’im to wake up," Mush added, kneeling by the bed.

Rose knelt, reaching through the bars to lay a hand on Race’s head, and prayed. Race stirred, and although he didn’t wake up, a smile crossed his unconscious face.

Mush grinned at her appreciatively. "You’re the best, Rosie."

Rose smiled back. "Hey, man, don’t thank me. God’s the one you should be thankin’."

"Would you pray for the rest of us?" Kid Blink asked.

"Sure." She did so, then moved on to the last cell.

"You gonna try to find Jack?" Spot asked after she finished praying again.

"If I can. Which way did they take him?"

"They went thataway," somebody reported.

Rose chuckled at the joke. "Thanks. See y’all later."

As the newsies murmured a farewell, she glided silently down the hall, ducking out of sight whenever a guard happened past. When it came to a T, she stopped, looking around until she heard Jack sigh.

"Jack?" she stage-whispered.

"Rose!" he whispered back.

This time she was able to pinpoint the direction and slide quickly over to his cell.

"What are you doin’ here?" Jack demanded quietly as she handed him a bottle of water.

"It’s called prison ministry," she replied with a twinkle.

"Girl, you don’t understand. You could get in serious trouble."

"I know that, Jack. I knew that when I decided to come. But I knew y’all would need some help and encouragement, so I took the risk."

"You seen the other guys?"

"Yeah. Beat up, but not beat down. That’s good."

"That’s newsies."

They grinned at each other.

"How are you?"

Jack shrugged. "Alive."

"Anything you want prayer for?"

"Nah."

"Well, listen, I just wanted to tell you somethin’. There may be some tough times ahead. But whatever happens, it’ll happen for a reason. And remember that God may have put you in this position for such a time as this."

Jack nodded, pondering the words from the book of Esther.

A cricket chirped rather loudly from a window down the hall.

"That’s probably Mike," Rose noted. "I better scoot."

"Well, hey, thanks for the water and everything."

"No prob. And remember I’m prayin’ for ya."

Rose tiptoed over to the window, opened it carefully, and grabbed the rope that was hanging outside it. She then tied it around her waist, slipped out, and climbed to the roof. Mike was waiting for her.

"How’d it go?" he asked as they walked toward the fire escape.

"Well, thank the Lord," Rose reported. "How are things back at the ranch?"

"David just took Sarah an’ Les home. Davy an’ the girls are stayin’ with Medda; she’s pretty worked up."

"Yeah. She’s pretty close to a lot o’ these guys."

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

"I can’t hear you!" Tippy yelled into the telephone.

"Hold on," Metty yelled back.

Tippy shut the door to Fuzzy’s room and heard Metty close the door to her bedroom at home. The background noise was immediately diminished.

"What is going on over there?" Tippy demanded.

Metty sighed. "Nick musta put one of the tubes back in wrong or something. The robot’s blasting random music and we can’t get it to stop."

"Well, can’t Nick fix it?"

"He and Andrea have been shopping this whole time. They went to CompUSA so Nick could find some stuff, and then they were going to Walmart to get groceries. Your pantry’s almost empty."

"Sounds like the Pad."

Metty chuckled.

"I just hope you guys don’t get me in trouble for making too much noise before we get home."

"Me, too… and I hope Nick gets back soon! I’m getting tired of Queen and the Jackson Five!"

"Whoa! What in the world…" they heard a male voice from Tippy’s living room.

"He’s back," the two friends chorused.

Several treble voices could be heard yelling explanations. Then, abruptly, the music stopped, and a cheer erupted.

"Sounds like he fixed it," Tippy grinned.

"Yep. So, what’s the latest word over there?"

Tippy sighed. "They found out that the info we gave for Micky and Peter was false, so we have to go to Berlin tomorrow for questioning."

"Oh, man. Well, you know I’ll be praying for you."

"Thanks."

"Anything else happening?"

"Well… I did give Nancy a makeover today."

"And?" Tippy could almost see Metty’s face as she waited for more.

"Micky took her to Cologne for dinner!"

Metty squealed. "That’s so cool!"

"I know! And Peter’s been asking me more questions about Christianity, too!"

"Tippy! That’s awesome! Sounds like God’s really working on him."

"Yeah. I’m really excited."

"Well, listen, I’d better go so I don’t run up your phone bill too much."

"Okay. Good to talk to you."

"Same here. God bless you."

"God bless you."

Tippy hung up and went back downstairs, this time remembering which was the door to the living room. She plopped down on the couch next to Peter, who was flipping through channels on the TV. "Anything good on?" she asked.

"I dunno. Can’t understand most of it."

They laughed.

Fuzzy came in from the kitchen. "Off the phone so soon?"

Tippy shrugged. "Neither of us had a lot of news. And it was on my phone bill."

"Ah." Suddenly inspiration struck. "Hey, would either of you like to see some episodes in German?"

Tippy and Peter looked at each other and shrugged. "Why not?" Peter replied.

Meanwhile, in Cologne, Micky and Nancy sat on a park bench and watched the sun set slowly over the Rhein. Micky had discovered enough money in his wallet to pay for a nice meal, and now they simply soaked in the romantic atmosphere of the city.

Nancy sighed and leaned her head against Micky’s shoulder. "It’s been a wonderful evening, Micky. Thank you. I wish it would never end."

"You’re welcome," Micky replied earnestly.

"I wish we didn’t have to go to Berlin tomorrow."

"East or West?"

"What? Oh! Germany hasn’t been divided for ten years now. The Berlin Wall came down in 1989, and the two Germanys officially reunified in 1990. It took a while, but they finally moved the capital from Bonn back to Berlin."

"Really? The Wall came down?"

"Yeah! It was cool! Everybody wanted a piece of the Wall as a souvenir. But now they’ve gone back and put some kind of marker so people can see where it was."

"I wonder how easy it was for the people to get used to being together."

"I dunno. Probably not. We could ask Fuzzy." [Author’s note: I recently heard about a lecture entitled "The Wall in the Head: German Reunification After 10 Years," so that should answer Micky’s question.]

They sat there in silence for a while. Then Nancy giggled. "I wonder what Rose would say if she could see us."

"I dunno," Micky grinned. "But I don’t think she’d mind too much."

"Hör auf," Rose grumbled sleepily. Medda had still been loudly bemoaning the events of the rally when she and Mike got back to Irving Hall around midnight the night before, so Rose opted to sleep on some chairs in the orchestra pit so as to be less likely to be kept awake. And now she was having serious trouble waking up.

"Rose…" Davy repeated gently, shaking her shoulder.

"Leave off."

"Rosie, luv, it’s gone three in the afternoon!"

"QUIT!" Rose yelled. If Davy hadn’t backed away at once, she would likely have grabbed his arm and flung him against the side of the pit.

"Blimey!" Davy exclaimed.

Rose picked up her head and squinted to see who it was. She then sighed and buried her face in the pillows again. "Oh, hang it all," she muttered. "I’m sorry, Davy."

"’Ere, now…" Davy inched back toward her. "Wot’s wrong?"

"I dunno. I just can’t wake up. Which is odd, ’cause if it’s really three in the afternoon, I’ve slept for 14 hours."

"But ’ow long were you up before that?"

"Good point. And the rally musta taken more out of me than I realized."

Davy pulled up a chair and started braiding her hair for no apparent reason. "You sound awfully tired."

"I am. I’m just all-around weary, completely spent. Y’know, I’ve enjoyed the adventures we’ve had so far, but it’s worn me out. And we haven’t really had much time to rest."

"I hear ya. Bu’ ye can’t spend the whole day down ’ere."

Rose grinned. "This is true. Did Medda finally get over her hysterics?"

"Around three, yeah. She’s ha’dly been out o’ ’er room today. Mike an’ Desy went to Central Pa’k to reserve a bandstand." He tied off the braid with the rubber band that she’d used to hold her hair the night before.

"Good. It might do the boys some good to see the cause going ahead, even without Jack." Rose turned her head to face Davy.

"Without Jack? You must be joking!"

"No joke, man, he got sentenced to the Refuge until he’s 21. That Snyder’s one slick talker, I tell ya. ’Course, the judge was more interested in getting through the docket quickly than with serving justice, and he and Snyder are friends. So there wasn’t much chance of him getting off, even if we had been able to find a lawyer."

"Oh, man…"

"Don’t fret none about it. God allowed it to happen for a reason. He does that sometimes."

"Does wot?"

"Let things happen for a reason. Or else He takes a bad situation that He didn’t want and turns it to use for His glory. ‘God causes all things to work together for good for those who love Him and are called according to His purpose’ [Romans 8:28 NASB]."

"All things?"

"All things."

"Even sickness?"

"Yeah…"

Rose was expecting a question about Davy’s father. She was totally unprepared for what Davy said next:

"I sure ’ope you’re right, ’cause Jean’s feelin’ terrible today."

Rose sat bolt upright. "What? How?"

Davy’s face turned grim. "I dunno. She just says ’er chest ’urts real bad."

Rose paled. "Oh, no…" she gasped, then sprinted upstairs to the girls’ room, teddy bear in tow. Davy followed at once.

Jean looked up as Rose and Davy entered the room. "Hey," she grinned weakly. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the edge of the bed.

"What’s wrong?" Rose demanded, kneeling by her cyber-twin.

"I dunno, man. I just woke up and my chest hurt. At first I thought it was gas, but it wouldn’t go away… and then it got worse…"

"Where’s it hurt?"

"Here." Jean relinquished her hold on the bed and indicated her left side. "All around my lung. And sometimes it hurts up here, too." She rubbed her collarbone.

"Ever feel like something’s choking you like this?" Rose asked, putting her hand around her throat directly under her chin with her thumb and forefinger hooked behind her ears.

Jean nodded. "Sometimes."

All color drained from Rose’s face. "Oh, no… ohnononono…. not now… not here… Oh, God, no…"

Davy paled, too. "Wha’? Wot’s wrong?"

Jean blanched. "Don’t tell me it’s what I think it is."

Rose nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. "Spontaneous pneumothorax. Your lung’s collapsing."

"’Ow do you know?"

"Because it happened to me."

"We’ve got to ge’ you to the ’ospital!" Davy gasped, rushing to Jean’s side.

"Davy, do you have any idea what hospitals are like now?" Jean protested wildly. "And we don’t have the money to pay for a hospital stay!"

"Bu’ if we don’t do something, you could die!"

"She could die even if we do take her to the hospital," Rose choked out. "Depending on how far it’s collapsed, they might have to put in a chest tube to get the air out of the chest cavity. And there’s no guarantee that any hospital that’d take us would have the technology to do it right."

"What’s this about a hospital?" Desy asked, coming in. "Who’s sick?"

"That would be me," Jean moaned.

"Oh, man… what’s wrong, Jean?"

"’Er lung is collapsing!" Davy reported, sitting down hard at the foot of the bed. His mind whirled, trying to figure out what to do.

"Ow," Jean complained.

"Sorry, luv."

"Collapsing?" Mike frowned from his stance in the doorway.

"Oh, great," Desy groaned. "X-ray technology is still in its infancy. How are we gonna find out how bad this is?"

"What are we gonna do?" Jean wailed.

Rose buried her face in her twin’s pillow and started sobbing uncontrollably.

That settled it for Davy. "There’s only one thing we can do," he said softly.

"What?" Desy asked, putting an arm around Rose’s heaving shoulders.

"Pray."

"Oh… oh, please do," Jean begged, about to start crying herself. "That’s the best suggestion I’ve heard in a long time."

"Now, look," Mike objected. "Just ’cause you prayed an’ Desy’s foot got better don’t mean it’ll work with som’n’ this serious."

"Why not?" Davy challenged. "If God can ’eal a sprained ankle, why can’t ’E ’eal a collapsed lung?"

"You do have a point, Major," Rose quoted through the pillow.

"But why should God listen to us, Davy?" Desy countered. "Seems like Tippy and Jean and Rose are the only ones who really do much praying. They’re stronger in that way than we are."

Davy looked at his girlfriend and his accountability partner. "They can’t do this for us, Desy. Tippy’s no’ ’ere, and the othehs are in no shape to do any serious praying. Besides, we’ll nevah leahn to pray unless we try."

Desy sighed. "Okay. I’ll try." She closed her eyes. "God… You know I don’t do this very often. And I can’t quote Scripture and Gospel like Rose can. But… well, You did heal my ankle, so I know You can do the things You say You can. And… and Jean’s really in a bad way, God. And it doesn’t seem likely that a doctor can do anything for her. So… could You… would You mind healing her, God? Otherwise she could die, and…" She stopped and burst into tears.

As Desy began to pray, Rose’s tempestuous sobs subsided. She felt strong, loving, comforting arms surround her. But Mike, she knew without looking, was still standing in the doorway, and it was unlikely that anyone could see her source of comfort. Still, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that her Heavenly Father was there taking care of all of them.

Jean released her grip on the side of the bed and let out a long, loud, airy burp. "Sorry…" she whispered.

Rose suppressed a giggle. She’d had similar burps when her lung was reinflating.

Davy continued, "Lor’… I’m no’ used to prayin’, eitheh. Bu’ Jean means more to me than anybody ever ’as before. An’ I know I’m no’ the only one ’oo’d ’ate to lose ’er. So please, please ’eal ’er, God. I know You can if you will. Please…."

Jean, who’d kept burping softly during Davy’s prayer and the silence that followed, suddenly yelled, "OW!"

Rose’s head popped up. "What? What happened?"

"That was my ear," Desy grumbled.

Jean gasped, "Ow… ow… bad pain… here…" she rubbed just below her collarbone, "ow… ow… fading… ow…."

"All across the top of your lung?" Rose asked, an odd light in her eyes.

"Felt like it… it’s almost gone…"

"Why? What does that mean?" Desy wondered.

"I… think that’s the lung going back into place," Rose replied. "I had a really bad pain like that, and the next day the x-ray showed my lung back to normal."

"Oh… wow…" was all Desy could say.

"Y-you mean that’s it?" Jean squeaked. "It’s not collapsed anymore?"

"I think so."

"Knock knock," Davy said with a ghost of a smile.

"Who’s there?" Desy asked.

"Wa."

"Wa who?"

"That’s right, wahoo."

"Wahoo!" cheered the twins at once.

The five travelers were still exhausted from their travels, so they didn’t go with Race and Mush to help David break Jack out of the Refuge, an attempt which (as the girls knew from the movie) failed. Nor did they go to stand with the other newsies at the gates of the World the next day to discover something else the girls already knew: Pulitzer, through a combination of intimidation and enough money to buy a train ticket to Santa Fe, had convinced Jack to go back to work until the strike ended. Instead, they set up outside of Tibby’s once again to earn a little money and to practice for the concert the next day. When the newsies reached the restaurant for lunch, David was still furious and several of the other newsies were despondent.

"I still think he’s just spyin’ on ’em," Les said with conviction as Rose sat down at a table with him and Race.

Race did his best not to react the wrong way.

Rose smiled gently. "Aye, laddie, tha’ ’e is," she replied with a slight Scottish accent.

Race stared at her. "You think so?"

Rose nodded. "Only he doesn’t know it yet." She winked at him.

Race started to ask where she got that idea, then remembered who he was talking to and nodded in comprehension.

After lunch, Mike and David discussed logistics for the concert as the group walked back toward the Jacobs’ tenement.

"I don’t see how we’re going to advertise," David objected. "There’s a print ban on all strike material. There’s no way we can even get posters made."

"Stop worrying!" Rose and Jean replied at the same time.

"Are dey always like dis?" Mush asked Desy.

"Pretty much," Desy nodded.

"What do you two have up your sleeves?" Mike asked.

"Just wait out here," Rose answered. "How much money do you have, Jean?"

"Um… a quarter."

"Me, too. Think it’s enough?"

"I hope so. Depends on prices."

The twins went into a nearby five-and-dime store and emerged several minutes later with ten small boxes. Jean proudly presented one to David.

"Chalk?" David asked, raising an eyebrow. "What are we supposed to do with chalk?"

"I sense a pun coming," Desy whispered to Mike.

"Obsoive closely," Rose answered David’s question, taking out a piece and handing the other boxes to Race. She then knelt carefully and wrote on the sidewalk:

"Never fails," she added as she stood up again. "In fact, that’s the main form of advertisement at my school."

"What is?" Les asked.

The girls looked at each other and replied, "Sidewalk chalk!" before they burst out laughing.

"Oh, man…" Mike chuckled.

"I have no idea why that’s funny," Mush confided to Davy.

"Inside joke," Davy laughed.

"Okay, if you say so…"

Jack walked slowly through downtown New York the following morning. Not only was he beginning to think he’d sold out his fellow newsies, but he also knew for a fact that the Delancys were planning to attack David sometime that day. If he helped David, Weisel had threatened to send him back to the Refuge, but if he did nothing, he knew David could get seriously hurt. And it stung him that David appeared to be right about the strike making it without him; all over the city he’d seen the chalking for the concert.

As he neared Central Park, he noticed a fairly sizable crowd around a bandstand. Upon closer inspection, he realized that he’d found the "Monkacookies" and the newsies. He found someplace where he wasn’t likely to be seen and sat down to watch.

On stage, Mike looked out over the audience. Newsies stood around the perimeter of the crowd with donation boxes, and he was pleased to see a number of very well-dressed (and presumably rich) people in the crowd. He had no idea how much money they’d contribute, but he hoped it would be enough to get the group through the strike. Then, as he looked farther out, he saw a shadow behind a tree—a shadow that looked like Jack.

As soon as the group finished their rendition of "Shine On, Harvest Moon," Mike launched into "What Am I Doing Hangin’ ‘Round?"

Desy shot him a questioning glance, but the one he returned told her everything she needed to know. After all, she thought, it won’t seem too out of context in this time period. They really did do a good job of picking out the set list. The list consisted mainly of old songs and a few new songs (including some worship tunes) that fit the time period stylistically.

Jack listened through the first verse and chorus before he got mad and left. Half an hour later, though, he found himself wandering back for lack of business. The band was just winding down "Heart of Worship."

At the end of the song, Rose stepped forward to address the audience. "We’d like to thank y’all for comin’ out today," she began. "We really appreciate your help and your attention. I hope you had as much fun listening as we did performing. And now as we close, since we get by with a little help from our friends, we’d like to both dedicate this song to the newsies of New York and get their help in singing it."

Mike started a guitar lick that Jack didn’t recognize, and shortly thereafter the air was filled with the sound of newsboys singing a song that their namesakes would record almost a century later:

Back in the real world, where time was going far more slowly, Tippy glanced at Fuzzy’s VCR clock. It was nearly 10 p.m., and Micky and Nancy still weren’t home. Fuzzy was off doing something else in another part of the house, and her parents had gone away for the weekend.

"Wonder what’s taking so long," Peter yawned.

"I can’t imagine," Tippy sighed. "But I don’t want to wait up much longer. I’m tired of watching TV."

"Especially when you don’t understand a word of it," Peter nodded.

"It was kinda funny to watch you guys talking with different voices, though."

"And yourselves…"

"Yeah! That was odd! I wonder why we never saw ourselves in any eps before the explosion, though."

Peter shrugged sleepily. "Keine Ahnung."

"Oh, great, now you’re speaking German."

"Didn’t mean to!"

"Hello? Anybody home?" they suddenly heard Micky call from the hall.

Tippy chuckled. "They can’t find the door…." She got up and let them in.

"It’s about time," Peter complained from the couch.

"It’s only 10!" Micky objected.

"Yeah, but we have to go to Berlin tomorrow!"

"It’s still only 10! We normally go to bed at what, two?"

"True…"

"Hey, maybe we can catch the weather before we go to bed!" Nancy suggested.

"Yeah, maybe it’ll rain tomorrow so we don’t have to go to Berlin," Tippy joked.

Micky dove for the remote. "I love this thing," he grinned, flipping channels.

"Hey, that's Christian Bale!" Nancy exclaimed when he stopped on one station. "Wonder which movie this is."

"The camera followed the actor, in his "scab" outfit, as he dropped a handful of newspapers and ran to an alley where a fight was going on.

"Stop it!" Sarah Jacobs screamed.

"It's in English!" Peter added, wide awake in surprise.

The group watched as Jack entered the fray and beat off the Delancys, interjecting a "Remember Crutchy?" before knocking one of them down.

"I guess this must be Newsies," Tippy shrugged. "I seem to remember Desy and Rose talking about Crutchy."

"I can't believe we actually found a movie in English!" Nancy sighed, settling down on the couch while the Delancys ran off, threatening to send Jack back to the Refuge.

"Yeah, sometimes Deutsche Welle runs things in English," Fuzzy explained, coming in to check on her guests. "Enjoy Cologne, Micky?"

"Yeah! It was cool!"

His explanation was cut off by a question Jack, after saving the Jacobs siblings from the Delancys, asked David:

"Where’d the name ‘Monkacookies’ come from, anyway?"

David shrugged. "I have no idea. Rose just wrote it down. Mike and Davy seemed to approve, though…."

Five pairs of eyes widened. Five jaws dropped.

"I think we’ve found our missing Monkees," Peter finally stated.

On to Part Eighteen!
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