~Juliet~

I walked through the street, limping slightly. A sigh escaped my lips when I realized that there was no way I'd make it home without the limp. Jack would kill me if I was limping when I got home if the others didn't get me already. And if he didn't lecture me to death on how I needed to be more careful or I'd get myself killed, Specs definitely would. Those were just the horrible effects of being the only newsgirl in Manhattan and being treated like a little sister even though I was older than some of them.

Only one pape was left in my sack and I didn't think I'd be able to sell it. Half-heartedly, I called out, "Extra! Extra! Dog saves baby from fire!"

A small man in a suit came up and gave me ten cents for the addition, while I snuck a few dollars away from him without him noticing. I pocketed the money and continue to limp down the street. For some reason I felt compelled to stop walking and look around. I don't know why, but I've always been able to tell when I'm being watched and find the person watching me.

There's a boy only slightly taller than me who was staring in my direction with a smirk plastered to his face. A dark mess of hair was placed horribly under the newsie cap on his head as he made his way over to me. Two small, twig-like objects stuck out of his pape bag and I realized that they were the prongs of a slingshot. My breath hitched when I figured out who the boy was exactly.

I don't think I actually realized that Spot Conlon was heading toward me. He grinned and his eyes flitted toward my bag where the pilfered cash lay. Quickly, I adjusted myself so that I was in a stance that could be used to defend myself if need be. Spot Conlon doesn't go anywhere without purpose.

"Spot Conlon," he said, sticking out his hand.

A snort forced its way through my lips at his casualty and naivety. "Ya tink I don't knows who ya are?"

Spot narrowed his eyes at me as if I amused him. "Youse good at what ya do, stealin' like dat. Youse seems like a pworfict Brooklyn newsie ta me, sure ya ain't from dere?"

He seemed quite skilled at side-stepping the subject and changing it to what he thought would get him out of trouble, one way or another. "Who saids I ain't?" I retorted. I wouldn't forget this conversation, but I supposed he could have his way for a bit.

"I tink Ise knows my own newsies, Miss. Ya nevah tolds me youse name."

"Who says Ise got one?"

He shrugged and looked me in the eye, expecting me to back down. Instead, I gave him a pointed look and soon enough he surrendered. Quickly, Spot leaned down and kissed my hand as if I were a proper lady. A scowl greeted him when he looked up to my eyes.

"It was nice meetin' ya, Miss. Next times wes meet, Ise expecting ta 'ear ya name," called Spot as he sauntered off.

I glared at him and responded, "Sure, an' Spot? Ya bettah be able ta pays me back!"

He laughed as he retreated back to the crime of Brooklyn and his own boys. I stared after the boy that was only a year younger than and just as leader-like and diplomatic as Jack. Jack, oh crud! I raced home from where I was by the bridge. He was going to kill me with worry. The last time I stayed out this long, I'd been – doesn't matter.

My feet carried me past the distribution offices – Sun, Tribune, Journal, and finally World – and the housing lodges for each of them. I pushed through the door of my lodging house and snuck through the crowd as best I could before my brother's voice split the air.

"Where've ya been, Stripes?"

[Hi, quick A/N, I won't do these at the end of every 'chapter'/update. Who do you think her brother is? I tried to make it really obvious. I'm sorry if my writing isn't that gr8, but I hope you liked it. Please tell me if you think I should change the name. I just chose something that I don't think has been used very often and fit with Spot at least a little. These may be a little too short, so I'm sorry.]