~I do not own Newsies. I do own the other characters.

I woke up to the sound of a man yelling.

"Sell the papes! Wake up! C'mon sell the papers!" I immediately recognized his voice as Mr. Kloppman, one of the men who worked at the Manhattan Lodging House.

I rolled over in my sheets, drowsy from not having much sleep.

"Hey, Sammy. Let's not be late no more, eh?" Racetrack, my older brother, said to me. He gave me a playful punch.

"Yeah, yeah, shut up." I mumbled sleepily as I opened my eyes.

He then gave me his signature lop-sided smile as he turned around to go get ready. I got out of bed and looked around our neutral colored room. The gray paint was peeling off the walls, and it smelled like dew and sweat. Not every girl's fantasy room, but I was okay with it. I grew up here, and this was home.

The sun was looming through the windows, as if it was eager to optimize me. I hastily got on a clean dress, and walked into the bathroom.

I hope Pulitzer has got some good headlines on World today, I thought to myself. And if you're wondering… it really does matter to me. That's because I'm a newsie.

Yea, I know whatcha thinking.

Girls can't be newsies. But I am.. and have been for as long as I can remember. Race and I live on the unforgiving streets, and the haste of our lifestyle is just something ya get used to... it ain't too bad.

The delicious aroma of eggs and bacon suddenly fills the air. I looked up to see a boy named Skittery, who is 16 years old with messy brown hair and a nice build, up making breakfast. All of the boys started to walk in rowdily and sit down. Our kitchen's pretty big, despite living in a lodging house. It's roomy and has a bunch of tables, so we can't complain.

I sat next to Racetrack and his friend Kid Blink. Kid Blink has blonde hair and blue eyes with an eye patch over one. He's 15 years old, same age as Racetrack, but he's good friends with me. Nobody really knows why he has an eye patch.. we don't ask him since he doesn't like to talk about it.

"Mornin' Blink, how'd you sleep?" my brother asked him.

"Not good. Les was talking in his sleep last night. He's so damn nervous about sellin' papes for the first time."

Les got these big brown eyes and dark, thick hair. He's around nine and is David Jacob's younger brother. They moved here from Virginia the day before, and were adjusting to the "newsie lifestyle".

David and Les don't seem to know much about the whole paper-selling business. It's funny how it all seemed so new and foreign to 'em. They had no clue!

Breakfasts ready! A wave of hungry newsies crowded around the stove.

I run up, trying to weave my way through. After a couple shoves, I get to the stove. One piece of toast is all that's left. I place it on my plate, defeated.

"That's what ya get for being nice, Sam." Racetrack sarcastically smirks. "You'se gotta toughen up, girlie."

"Shut ya trap, Race. It ain't funny." I retort.

Don't get me wrong, I love Race (and his big mouth), but sometimes I wish he didn't use it on me.

I decide to sit down next to Mush. He's devouring every little last bit of his breakfast. Man, that look's good ,I say as I eye his meal. I take a sheepish bite of my toast.

Then, out of nowhere, there's an impatient knock on the door.

"OPEN UP! THIS IS MR. SNYDER FROM THE REFUGE. I DEMAND YOU!"

Everyone freezes, and I take a quivering breath…

Oh shit.. this cannot be happening..