It was morning. The Sun was rising higher and higher, getting brighter with each step. Finally, it reached the inside of a dark alleyway in Bottle Alley, hitting the eyes of the girl, Polly, who lay nearly motionless on top of a mattress of blankets. She wore a man's top over a tattered, knee length skirt and ripped tights given to her by authorities who decided it was 'socially unacceptable' for girls to wear pants.

The Sun glowed over her face, waking her with its heat. Polly reached forward, stretching out her aching arms. This was just another day to survive. But how? She no longer had a job. She started at a book store, but could not read, and was fired because she couldn't find the books that customers were looking for. So she became a newsie. She was one for a year, almost two, then the strike started. Not only could she not afford papers anymore, but she wasn't even allowed to buy them.

She could join the strike, but why would a bunch of boys want to be seen with a girl like her any more. Polly didn't mind being a girl, not really. She had always dreamed of those beautiful dresses, corsets, perfectly curled hair, and a comfortable mattress with cotton sheets. All she had was a tattered skirt, ever growing dark blonde hair, and a hat. She was ugly to the bourgeois, but with fine eyes. They were a blue-grey colour, she was told. Mirrors were difficult to come by in this time.

Polly tried to decide what she would do with her day. Try to get a job, try to steal some food?

Join the strike?

No.

She wasn't strong enough, and she had nobody to help her or take care of her. She was always separate. She reached into her lidless crate and pulled out a tin of old soup from the nuns she had seen a few days before. Sipping it, she realized at once that it had gone bad already. In her anger, she threw it out into the street, hoping it would hit one of the beautiful people passing by. It bounced along the ground gracefully, stopping gracefully in the middle of the sidewalk.

Only then did Polly begin to cry.

This is her story.

Dozens of boys were jumping out of the Newsboy's Lodging House in Manhattan, New York. They ran through the alleys, trying to make their way to the distribution center near the 'World' offices. They laughed at each other's antics and enjoyed the company of their friends. At each alley, more boys were joining their group and enjoying their antics. People were watching them through windows, wondering how boys so young of age could get up so early to work for the city. The answer was passion.

These boys, of all ages, loved being near each other, and though selling papers was a job to all of them, their friendship and family never failed to keep them working hard. They spoke to each other.

"It's a fine life!" A boy named Jack Kelly would call out through the streets and all of the other newsboys would elaborate on this. Some would complain, some would cheer, but they were bright and happy throughout their small conversations. Finally, a girl was thrown into the mix. She listened to their words through an alley, eventually asking,

"Ah, what does it take to be a newsie, anyway?" the boys stopped and looked at the smug face of Polly. She wore a baggy skirt and short pants, both extremely ragged and torn. She had rotting black shoes. The most valuable object on her was a floppy hat a group of Brooklyn boys stole for her, in the name of a bet. "If I get that hat for you, what'll you do?" they'd ask her.

"If you ever got me that hat, I'd call myself Polly Pulitzer," she'd reply with a sarcastic tone. Eventually she left Brooklyn, and dropped that last part of her new name when she joined the Manhattan Newsies. Nobody really knew why she left Brooklyn, but they assumed she just wanted to see something new from New York.

The boys stared at her for a minute, until Jack Kelly started to laugh.

"What's it take to be a newsie? It's takes a buttery smile!"

"Like ladies can't resist!" Crutchy, a crippled young lad joined in.

"It takes an orphan with a stutter," Racetrack Higgins joined the conversation, flirtatiously moving towards Polly. She brushed him away casually, smiling.

"Who's not afraid to use his fist!" Kid Blink finished the answer. Polly laughed a moment.

"Well, that sure stinks, doesn't it?"

"Just wait until winter," a pessimistic Skittery said softly.

"Welcome to New York!" Jack Kelly ended the conversation as quickly as he could, so that everybody could get back to normal.

They ran through the streets, getting closer to their destination with each passing moment. Right before they were in front of the Distribution Center, a duo of villains came up to them. The Delancy Brothers. They pestered our heroes for a few minutes, until Jack Kelly decided to take care of the problem. He stole Morris Delancy's hat and ran off with it, running into two young boys. He suggested that they run, and continued himself. Finally, the brothers had chased everyone to the Distribution Center, and Jack gave Morris's hat back.

They all walked up into a line next to the wall of the center, and waited for their turn to buy papers. The line clumped together as more Newsies came to join, and people were pushed into groups.

"Hey Mush," Polly said after being pushed into the boy's shoulder.

"How's it going, Polly?" Kid Blink replied before Mush did, winning him an elbow in the ribs. Polly looked indifferent.

"Hey Polly," Mush said to her, then turned to Blink to start a new conversation. She waited quietly in the line.

There was some drama having to do with one of the boys they had met briefly on the way to the Center, but it was quickly solved using Jack Kelly's experience with different sorts of people. Soon, they were all walking off the Center and to their selling spots. Mush and Kid Blink left together for Bottle Alley, and Polly left alone to get to her corner near Central Park. Now we leave this part of the story to meet two other Newsies: Skittery and Specs, selling partners.

"Skittery, hey Skittery! Wait up for a minute!" Specs called out, running behind his friend. They were on their way to City Hall. It was one of the busiest places in Manhattan, and there were always plenty of people to buy their papers from them.

"Specs, you really need to get out more," Skittery told Specs when he caught up. The words would have been playful on many other days, but today they were angry. Skittery was in a bad mood.

"Why so glum, Skitts?" at these words Skittery spit out the gum he was chewing and stopped walking to crush it onto the pavement. He never answered the question.

"Hey, that was the new stuff! Don't go wasting it!" Specs yelled at him. He pulled a piece of gum from his own pocket and started chewing it. "Come on, what's with the rotten attitude?"

"Nothin', just a bad couple of days is all."

There was absolute silence between them until they got to the Hall. Specs felt that he was ready to try asking another question, hoping that Skittery wouldn't get angry with him.

"Skitts, we've been friends since before we were Newsies. If something was wrong with you, I think I'd know. And at the moment, I really do think that something is up with you. So, you might as well tell me, or I'll find out all by myself."

Skittery remained silent toward Specs as he sold a newspaper to a young woman in a long white dress. He showed her a big smile and took her extra penny gladly, tipping his hat as she turned to leave. He waited until Specs prodded him for more information before he spoke again.

"Well, you see Specs, I just don't think I feel like being a newsie anymore."

"Not a newsie? Skittery, are you kidding me? You were born to be one of us, you're one of our best newsies!" Specs quieted down quickly as a man dressed in a tailored suit came to buy two papers. His new found attitude gave him nothing but the two pennies used to buy the papers.

"Yeah, well, I've gotten a better offer," Skittery was apologetic now, after keeping Specs from getting a tip from the two rich men. He flashed a smile at woman with her significant other by her side. She whispered something in the man's ear and they walked over to him, gracefully buying a paper and throwing two extra quarters into his dirty hands. Skittery tipped his hat deeper this time and waved when the couple looked back at him. "Here," he said to Specs, "Let me buy you something to drink."

They shuffled over to a small shop a few blocks away from City Hall. Both boys ordered a coffee, and sat down on the curb outside of the tiny restaurant. Specs turned to Skittery, knowing that he was about to say something important.

"See, Specs, I'm one of the only Newsies that can read and write. Not many people can do that at all these days," he said quietly. After sipping his coffee he continued. "That puts me in…in high demand."

"For what?" Specs asked him, angry inflections visible in his tone.

"That's what I'm telling you, Specs, so listen. I got an offer to work as an editor for The Sun newspaper. A guy named Brian Denton asked me to tell him the headlines before he bought his paper, and I noticed a mistake in the words on the front page. He gave me a pen so I could fix the rest of my papers, and noticed that I could write. Told me to apply for a job."

Specs stared at him. He tilted his head as if to ask 'what next?'

"I did it, Specs. They want to see me for the job. If I get it, I'll be the person making sure there aren't any spelling mistakes. The money stinks, but it's better than this."

"What could be better than being a newsie?" Specs asked him. "You just got a quarter for looking sweet!"

"I'm getting too old for this, Specs. So are you. We both have to get real jobs before it's too late. You always said that you wanted to go to school and be a businessman, now's your chance!"

"Skittery, I also said that I would write a book, and I can barely write my own name. They don't want people like me. Besides, there's no money in my pockets, how could I do that?"

Skittery looked sadly at Specs. They both knew it was true.

"Well, if you got another type of job, you could make money for school. I'd help you out, you know I would!"

"Nah. Thanks for the offer, but I'll figure something out," Specs got up and tossed a few pennies to Skittery. "See you at Tibby's later," he said, and walked away, leaving the end of his coffee on the sidewalk. Skittery sighed loudly and buried his head in his hands.

After a long day of selling, most of our heroes met at Tibby's Diner. The selling groups all sat together and chatted about their day over small, shared meals. Polly sat in a small booth with Mush, Racetrack and Kid Blink. She did not eat.

"Where do you think Cowboy is?" Racetrack asked. Mush shrugged.

"Probably still with that David kid, teaching him the ropes," Kid Blink answered proudly. Jack was a leader for the Newsies, along with himself, and they held each other in high respect.

"I hope he didn't get into any trouble," Polly muttered quietly, her arms folded to her chest.

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" Blink asked her with a smile. "He always gets into trouble! It's Jack!"

"Yeah, but I'm talking about real trouble. Snyder looked pretty angry today," she finished her sentence without an explanation. When Polly spoke, her words always sounded intelligent, but she couldn't speak very much. Even though she was a Newsie, she was still a girl, and couldn't overstay her welcome with the group.

At this point in history, men overpowered women with ease. They got married and the women stayed home wearing skirts and dresses, taking care of the children while the men made money for the family. It was not a rule, but it was socially accepted.

Social status had huge impact around this time, so it was important to have respect for those above you and try to stay indifferent to those below you. It wasn't a law, it was simply accepted. Even the Newsies accepted it.

But somehow, they still treated Polly with great respect. Perhaps it was the fact that she still wore pants. They thought it made her interesting, and made them feel like she could belong more. The real reason she wore pants was so she wouldn't stand out to the police, an important thing at the time. Most passer-bys would think she was just another boy.

The Newsies respected her willingness to work hard. It also made her more like a boy. She only really became a newsie for the money, which she needed desperately. Once again, they were wrong about her intentions.

But even though they respected her, they all knew that she was still a female newsie, and couldn't be too close to them. They all accepted this. She accepted this.

"I'm sure Jack'll be alright," Racetrack said out loud, so that all of the Newsies in the restaurant could hear him. Polly stood up, and inched out of the booth.

"I guess so. Goodnight," she said, and left the restaurant. A few boys waved at her on her way out, but many remained indifferent.

She was, after all, just a girl.