I can remember the first thing I ever stole.

It was a piece of rock candy. It was white and shiny. Forget the purple ones or blue ones or the hot pink candies. I liked white rock candy. Back then my family was still around, and I had money. But my Father told me to use my money for something important. I shouldn't waste my savings on candy and toys. So my mouth was watering at the sight of the giant crystal stick, which was only a penny for three. What a deal! But I couldn't buy it. My Dad told me not to. I was still a semi-good girl back then. After all, I hadn't stolen anything yet. I wasn't rebellious.

That's when I realized no one was manning the register in the store. The Candyman had gone into the back. I debated for a moment before reaching into the jar. I pulled out one piece of candy and ran from the store like a demon was following me. But afterward, the candy tasted so good, I had to go back for more. I had never had rock candy in my life before. But I was careless. It wasn't long before the man realized that every time I hung around his rock candy jar got lighter.

Soon, he caught me in the act, my hand full of sticks. I was stupid; I should've paid for them like a 'good girl'. That would confuse him and he would suspect someone else. But I stood there, mouth wide in shame. I ran off, but I didn't even make it to the door. He grabbed me by my dress. Then I was dragged back home. They found my sticks, too. I kept the rock candy sticks like trophies. That was stupid too. You don't leave evidence at murder; you certainly shouldn't leave any for a petty crime. My Dad found them while going through my room. I was spanked and my savings went to pay the man. I was grounded, sent to bed without supper, and had my mouth washed out wish soap. I was spitting for a week.

Unfortunately for everyone else involved, I was hooked on stealing. Soon I was pilfering left and right. Flowers, fruit, candy, clothes… I stole a silver pocket watch once. I was so proud of that watch; I kept it in my pillowcase and stared at its ever-ticking hands each night. My own hands seemed to jump every time the second hand clicked.

Then my parents died. My brother and I didn't even know. We just came home and we didn't see them that day. It was common, since Dad worked in a mechanic factory and Mom worked in a sewing room. Sometimes they pulled overtime and didn't get home until two in the morning. Me and Shou (That's my brother); we just shrugged it off and went to bed. Of course, in the morning, when they weren't there, we figured they already went to work. A whole week went by like this until a bull found Mom and Dad facedown dead in an alley.

I should probably introduce myself further before I go off and make an autobiography about my life. My name is Ren. My parents came from the west, from Japan. But my Father was afraid of the open space, and he and my Mother traveled in a wagon train from the west to the east. They went to New York City, a reminder of Tokyo. Shou was born somewhere on the trail to New York. I'm a native New Yorker. I was born in Chinatown, and, despite being Japanese, was able to fit in. I rolled with the Viets and the other Japs, and there was even this Korean kid in the mix. But now most of them are dead or I just never see them anymore. I don't live in Chinatown now.

In fact, as of now, I don't live anywhere.

"Hey, you filthy rat! What the hell are you doing on my fire escape?!"

I found myself waking up to an angry Italian, obviously pissed that I was outside on his windowsill. His newspaper was rolled up in his hand, and he smacked me in the face with it. I ran down the escape ladder quickly, being chased down by rapid angry Mafioso curses. This was the last time I'd ever sleep in Little Italy, I told myself. But I knew I'd be back in a week, just on a different fire escape. I traipsed down the metal stairs, snagging a meat pie from an open window as I went. Thank god for Italian families, with their constant reunions and giant families of five children or more. They always had food to eat.

I walked out of Little Italy and down through Midtown. I was looking for jobs. I managed to find a quick errand runner gig and got a quarter or two for getting groceries for some Irish woman. But other then that, no one was really hiring. Not that it bothered me much. I spend three fourths of my life looking for jobs, a fifth of my life sleeping, and the other small bit working. I soon tired of Midtown and Manhattan. There was nothing there. By that point I was at the south end of town. I didn't want to hike up to the Bronx now. So I made my way into Brooklyn instead, eating the meat pie still. It was cold, but god, it was good.

It was then I spotted it.

It was shiny. That's how I found it. My eyes are naturally drawn to shiny objects. It was a cane, with a shiny golden top. It was black. I didn't even care that it was on a Brooklynite, I knew I had to steal it. I felt my fingers starting to twitch like they always did when I wanted to steal something really bad. I didn't care if it was impractical, I wanted that cane. But I stepped back and took a breath, looking around before following slowly.

It was in a belt loop. First mistake. If I came from behind, I could just yank on the golden head and it would slide right out. Then I would escape.

His hands were crossed in front of him as he walked. Second mistake. That would give him a delay to grab at the cane, meaning I'd be halfway down the street by the time he got his arms uncrossed and grabbed at me. Then I would escape.

He was alone. Third mistake. If he had a group of friends, then he would've had a chance to get someone to catch me. But there was no one with him. He had no friends with him. He would be stuck all alone chasing me, and he would eventually tire. Then I would escape.

Some kid was about to lose his shiny little toy.

I came up behind him, walking like I belonged. No one noticed, everyone thought we were separate. He didn't notice me, he was looking forward. I felt my hand twitch. I looked around one last time, making sure my escape routes were clear and that no one was going to jump out and grab me for him. I saw no others. I saw no bulls. I saw no do-good-and-never-sin-ever-ever-ever adults. This was my chance. My hand eased forward until the tip of the cane was right under my hand.

Then I curled my hand around and pulled it from its belt loop cradle.

Then I ran like hell.

I heard the yell of surprise he gave off. I heard him chase me. But I skittered around the block, running as fast as I could through the crowd and over benches, under awnings, past people. I kept going and going and my feet were flying, no one could catch me as I hurtled over a fruit stand and I could hear him behind me still, and I remembered never looking behind me. I was running on empty and he was still chasing me and my breath was giving out. There was no way; just no way I could keep going for long.

Then I decided the best way to rid myself of him was the old 'apartment building hurtle'. This involved thinking fast on your feet, skill, and well good timing. I dashed into an apartment building, ran up two flights of stairs, jumped over a sleeper, and, hearing him behind me, ducked into an open door. I ignored a Negro family yelling at me as I jumped in, went through their tiny crowded room, and out through the window to the fire escape. I kept running up. I heard the noises from below that made it sound like my victim wasn't so lucky. I heard the window shut and I knew I was safe. But, I kept running until I got to the roof, then I collapsed on the top. I gasped for air as I held the cane up like a sword, brandishing it to the heavens. The white fluffy clouds above me stood out against the black staff. The blue sky was even worse. I sat up and smiled, holding it out in my hands, inspecting it from every perceivable angle. My pride was glowing. Or least it would be, for I little bit. I held it to me, happy to have won it. It was perfect, simplistic and yet effective. It must've cost a fortune. That kid had put up a good chase, but he would never see this cane a-

"I'm gonna want that back, goil." Remember the part before when I said 'Then I would escape.'? I said it three times, didn't I?

Well apparently that didn't go so well.

I reeled back and saw the boy standing behind me. The corner of his mouth was bloody and his shirt was ripped from the scuffle from downstairs. I saw the open door to the roof. Fool! I should've stayed on the fire escape! I should've gone down onto the street! Not up onto the roof! My childhood came back to me as I held the cane firmly in my left hand, mouth wide. It was like the candy store all over again. I had never been caught after that! I had always gotten away! I struggled to get to my feet, but he grabbed my shirt and pulled on me, wrapping his hand around my wrist. I hit him with the cane and he smiled as he caught it. I wasn't letting go. He saw me with no escape. I saw one way. I kneed him hard and he buckled. I went to the ground and I ran, but he was smart, he grabbed my ankle and yanked. I fell forward and the stick clattered away, across the roof. We both looked up and noticed it as it rolled to the edge. This normally wouldn't be bad. But, since this was not a public roof, there was no wall. So the cane tottered on the edge of the building and we held our breath. It stayed. We sighed.

My Mother, when I was young, told me about the Japanese gods. My family was Buddhist, not Christian, but we believed in the Shinto gods of Japan. My Mother showed me pictures of all of the seven luck gods. They were called the Shichi Fukujin, and they were very important. Daikoku, the god that made mortal's wishes come true; Hotei, the god of happiness and laughter; Benten, the goddess of luck and water; Fukurokuju, the god of wisdom and longevity; Jurojin, god of happy old age; Ebisu, god of fishermen; and Takara-Bune, the ship that carried them all.

Benten must've been seriously pissed off.

The cane fell off the roof.

There was an eerie silence between me and the boy. We blinked, comprehending. Then there was a sudden scramble between us as we ran off to look over the roof's edge. I sucked in my breath as I saw the cane lying still on the alley ground. The quiet still hung in the air as we looked over the edge of the roof in horror.

The mad dash from the roof to the fire escape was inevitable.

I ran faster, of course. I got to it first and I sprinted down the stairs. I ran down, hearing him not far behind me. I kept running, and finally made the jump down to the ground. I grabbed the cane on the run and kept going, hearing him still behind me. Once again, the chase was on. But this time, it stopped abruptly, because I ran into a dead end.

"All right..." He said, panting, knowing that he cornered me. He clenched his teeth and looked up at me, his grey eyes giving me a death glare. "If you don' give that back now, I'm gonna kill ya." I stood my ground. He sighed. "What are you gonna do wit' it anyway?"

"Sell it." I stated matter-of-factly, nodding my head.

"Why? You short on cash?" He sneered at me.

"No, I'm actually quite rich, I just wanted to steal and sell it. Of course I'm poor, you rube!" Honestly, how stupid was that?

"If you give it back, I can get ya' a good job." He said, and I stopped. I stared at him, blinking. Only a minute ago we were killing each other, now he was offering me a job?

"How much does it pay?"

"A dollar a day if your lucky, and a roof over your head."

"I'll take it."

And that's how I became the very first girl Newsie in Brooklyn.