A/N: This is a Newsie version of The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Anderson. What if the Newsies knew her? The Little Match Girl belongs to Hans Christian Anderson, I'm just borrowing it for a moment. I know this isn't Christmas or even New Years, but this story can't wait that long.
New York winters were rather cold with a steady falling of snow, especially in the larger cities towards the ocean where snow blew in and veiled the green Lady Liberty from view. There were no snow days then and work had to continue. The chilly Monday morning filled with the shouts and calls of newsies pushing their papers.
The Manhattan newsies headed over to the printing station where David and Les Jacobs waited. 'Cowboy' Jack Kelly smirked and spit in his hand, holding it out. David smiled and did the same, taking Jack's hand and shaking it.
"What took you guys?"
"Race lost his cigar," Jack answered snidely, earning a punch from Racetrack. The boys melded into the line, chattering away when Les sneezed.
"Winter stinks," he complained and wiped his nose with his sleeve.
David smiled sympathetically and turned to the man behind the desk. "Uh, thirty papes please."
"Thirty papes for David!" the man called out.
Jack, who was leaning against the wall with a cigarette, pushed himself up straight. "Thirty papes Davey? You ain't gonna make money with that."
"Les isn't feeling good today."
"Perfect. Real sick can peddle better than fake sick."
David frowned at his friend and gave him his are-you-serious look. "I want to get him home soon. I'll just sell a few and then get going."
Jack shrugged, placing a dime on the counter. "A hundred papes."
"Hundred papers for Cowboy!" the man called while handing David his papers. Davey thanked him and gave a few to Les.
"Don't wander too far, ok?" After the strike, David was more lax with his brother but he didn't want Les getting too far in case someone tried to corner him like what the incident with his brother, his sister Sarah and the Delancey brothers.
"Hey Davey," Jack called after him, "Blink asked me to help cover his corner. Don't get inta trouble ya hear?"
"Sure."
Les and David made their way out onto the snow blanketed streets and mingled in the crowd. Les, still within earshot of his brother, went to a corner where a man sat at a shoe polishing booth. Les smirked at how easy the job would be and went up to him after hiding the rest of his papers behind a wood crate.
Coughing slightly and looking tired, the boy handed out the paper. "Buy me last pape, Mister?"
The man looked down and seemed unsure of whether he was disgusted that a little street boy was talking to him or pity at the lad's "poor" state. The man sighed and took out a coin.
"Sure, kid."
Les traded the paper for the coin and bent his head. "Thanks, Mister." Then he ran off chuckling until he got to his hiding spot. What he saw made his stomach leap to his throat. His papers were strewn all over the place, soggy and smudged. A little girl stood over them, frowning. Her messy blonde hair was held back in a loose scarf and her feet were covered with worn, oversized slippers.
"Hey!" he cried and tried to save the remaining papers.
"Were these yours?" she asked in a heavy accent.
"Yeah they were mine," he answered hotly. "Why'd ya go and mess 'em up?"
"I thought zey were trash."
"Trash?" he asked outrage and waved the papers. "I can't sell these and I can't sell em back! David's going to kill me—ACHOO!"
"David?" she asked.
"My brother. Oh, what am I going to do?" I moaned.
"I am sorry. I did not know zey were your newspapers," said the girl.
Les looked at her and then back to the ruined papers. "Les?"
He turned and saw David coming. Oh, great. David came up. "Les, are you alright?"
"I'm fine—eh…eh… ACHOO! But my papes weren't so lucky," he groaned and showed his brother the ruined newspapers. Disappointment etched itself in David's face and then concern.
"You can pay me back later for em. Let's get you home." David pushed Les over a little and then noticed the little girl holding matches. "Who's your friend?"
"She messed up my papers," supplied Les. The girl rubbed her thinly covered arms and started sniffling.
"Les, really?" David admonished.
"It's true!"
"I-I am sorry Mister," she apologized, her accent even thicker with the tears. "I-I wish I could pay for zem but I cannot and all I have are zese matchsticks."
"Hey, it's ok," David said softly, hoping to get her to stop crying. "Don't worry about it."
"David—"
"It's ok, Les. Let's get you home and into bed. I'm sure Mom will want to nurse you back to health," David said and spun Les' hat on his head. Les looked back at the girl who was smiling at them before she turned and started peddling her own wares, fully 'recovered' from her emotional state.
Les shook his head. Man she's good.
A/N: Alright, tell me what you think. Good? Bad? Somewhere in between where nobody really cares? All of your comments deserve the submit button just below.