Rating: PG-13 for some mild swearing, violence, and leering at cute girls. wink, nudge
Summary: Samuel Kinney comes to Brooklyn looking for somewhere to call home and someone to call family. His large vocabulary and stiffly polite manners stand out in the harsh streets of the Bronx, but standing out won't keep Sam from desperately trying to fit in.
Disclaimer: I don't own "Newises" or anything affiliated with it. So, y'know, don't sue. I can give you some Orbit Original Flavor gum, if you want. And… some pocket lint? Ooh, I have a spiffy new TI-84 calculator for math class! How about that?
A/N: I didn't spend very much time on this chapter, so I'm not sure if it's any good. Please review, and tell me whether or not to post the next part. I know I'm having fun writing it, and I hope you'll enjoy reading it. Woot.
Chapter One
I'll never forget the first time I saw Spot Conlon. He was sitting on a throne of empty crates, reclining like a king; his gold-tipped cane as his scepter and a tattered newsboy cap as his crown. The Brooklyn newsies turned their faces up, squinting into the sun that silhouetted him, and as I was shoved to my knees in front of Spot's throne, I could feel them grow tense around me. The buzz of questions and murmuring grew louder and louder until Spot raised his hand for silence. Immediately the crowd hushed, leaving noise-making to the incoming ships and the seagulls overhead.
"State your name," Spot called down from the pile of boxes. I remained silent, out of fright or defiance – I wasn't sure. Spot frowned. "You got ears, kid? I told you once, and I won't do it again. State. Your. Name."
"Samuel Avery Jeremiah Kinney," I spat out. A titter of laughter went through the crowd.
Spot snorted in disdain. "Samuel Avery Jeremiah Kinney. That's quite a mouthful for a little mouse like you."
"Well, you're not exactly Mr. Universe yourself, are you?" I snapped. The next thing I knew, the dusty floor of the docks was a lot closer to my nose than I was comfortable with. There was a thick, heavy something on the back of my neck that felt distinctly like a shoe.
The newsies gathered behind me scoffed at my quick defeat.
"Let him up." Spot's voice came unexpected from his throne. "Burns, Tawdy… let him up." His order was accompanied by the sound of his feet hitting the ground as he jumped from the tall stack of crates. "Be nice to the little boy. He's lost his mommy, I'll bet, and he'll need our help finding his way home."
"I don't need your help, and I haven't lost my… my mother." I glared at him as I got to my feet.
"Oh, no? Then I'd guess she's lost you. Is that right?" He got up close to me, his face only inches from mine.
I didn't respond.
He shook his head in disgust. "Go away, Samuel Avery Jeremiah Kinney. This is no place for a little boy like you."
I wanted to protest. I wanted to tell him that we were the same height, and probably the same age. I wanted to lash out at him, or maybe just sink to my knees and cry. But something held me at bay. My chin dropped to my chest, and I turned around and walked away, slowly, feeling the eyes of the newsies on my back. My face burned with shame.
I had tried, hadn't I? I'd been brave going up to the newsies, asking them where to buy papers, trying my hardest to ingratiate myself into their circle. "You tried, Sam. That's enough bravery for today," I told myself. "There's always tomorrow."
It didn't work. In my head, I still heard them laughing, still heard Spot's voice echoing "Go away, go away, go away."
"Hey, you," I heard someone say behind me. I kept walking.
"Hey, kid. I'm talking to you."
I glanced over my shoulder. A tall, broad-shouldered, red-faced young man was leaning against a wooden post on the side of the pavement. I looked around me, to see who he was talking to.
"Yeah, you," he said, pointing. "Spot Conlon's boys rough you up a little?"
I nodded.
He smiled and walked towards me. "Yeah, they did that to me too. Don't let it get to you."
I stared dumbly as he held out his hand. "My name's Potato." He chuckled at my expression. "I like potatoes, what can I say? Mashed, baked, boiled – it's all fine by me."
I smiled slowly. "My name's Sam," I said. He grasped my fingers and pumped them up and down a few times for prosperity. My hand looked tiny and fragile in the hold of his muscular, hairy arm. I tried not to notice.
"Well, Sam. What're you doing around here?"
I shrugged. "Looking for work, I guess. I just needed a place to go. Figured here was as good as anywhere."
"Yeah? Well, you figured wrong. A kid like you can get beat pretty bad around these parts."
"Hey, I can take care of myself!" I stood up straight and glared.
"Whoa there, sonny boy. Don't get your feathers all rustled on account of me. I'm just telling it like it is."
I backed down. "Sorry. I've just… I'm sick of people, you know, underestimating me."
His eyebrows furrowed. "Under-what?"
"Underestimating. You know… not thinking I know what I'm doing."
Comprehension dawned in his eyes. "Ah, yeah, I see what you mean. Well, I used to be a pretty scrawny bastard myself, so I guess I ain't one to talk. So, Sam, you say you're looking for work?"
I nodded.
"Today must be your lucky day. I've been looking around for a selling partner – this paper business ain't half bad if you've got someone watching your back. How's about it?"
"Well, what exactly would that entail?" I asked.
He paused.
I rephrased myself. "I mean… what do you mean by 'selling partner'?"
"Ah, you know, we both dish up the money we've got, buy a couple hundred papes, sell 'em together, and split the profits."
"I see."
"You see? What's that supposed to mean?"
"I…," I weighed the prospects. I didn't really like the idea of having to share my profits, but then again, I didn't even know how to get papers in the first place, much less where I was going to sleep tonight, or the next night. "Okay," I said, after a moment's silence. "I'm in."
"Alright!" Potato's wide face broke into a shining smile. "It's too late to start today, the sun's already setting, and I've already sold all my papes, but come on with me, and we'll find somewhere to spend the night. Oh, hey, wait, we gotta shake on this, though." He spit in his hand and held it out.
I stared the saliva slowly dripping down the curve of his palm for a moment, and tried to keep a grimace off my face. Then I grasped it with my own spit-covered hand, and we shook hands for a second time.