Every Day is Another Road.

By Deemarie

Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies! I promise you I make no money off this.

Author's note: Why hello, Newsies fans of the world!! Another story from me although no one asked for it. Oh, well. You'll get one anyway. Reviews of any kind would be appreciated.

Darlin' girl. Me big sister. Don't leave me! Come back. Come with us! Stay with us. We're waiting for you.

I woke up in a cold sweat, as usual. My family had done their usual dance in my sleep, begging me to die too. It's getting to the point where I don't want to sleep any more. Actually it has been to the point since I was about ten. That'd be about six years. Six years of only sleeping during the day because they come at night. That's really why I became a spy. Sure and I always hid longer and better than any other kid in my Irish village, but I needed to escape the nightmares. I haven't spent time awake in the day unless it was an emergency since then. No one even wondered why. Not even Spot. They just assumed my life's ambition was to be a birdie. That's why I really left. To find out who I was, not just some person who worked for Spot Conlin.

I crawled out of my hiding place in an alley somewhere in Boston. I shook the aches out of my muscles and went a-lookin' for some newsies. Maybe this is where I'll decide to stay.

Walking down the road I see an apple stand and decide to try for breakfast. Pacing quickly by I pretend to trip and fall right into the apple stand.

"Oh, sir! I'm so sorry! Honest, I am! Here, let me help," I bend over and scurry about picking up apples. As I was walking away I discovered that two of the apples had found their way into my pockets. I can't imagine how that could have happened.

I had turned down a small street when I became aware of someone falling into step beside me.

"Thanks for the apple," said a male voice from up above me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a tall, tow-headed boy munching on a shiny red apple.

"Don't know what you're talking about." I said nervously, already planning an escape route. Looked like I could go into that alley and jump a wall.

"Well, if you ask me that was a good piece of pickpocketry. In fact, are you from Boston?"

I shook my head. No, I wasn't really from anywhere but a tiny house in a tiny village in a tiny county in Ireland. But I wasn't going to tell him that.

"Got a place to stay tonight? Me and the boys will let ya! In fact you ever been a newsie?" He asked me.

I guess he seemed nice enough. And I can run pretty fast if he's not. I might as well go along. So I shook my head again.

"Okay, I'm heading back to the lodging house right now. Hey what's your name? Mine's Swede because that's what I am. I came over when I was eight and then my parents kicked the bucket when I was nine.

Retreating into my wall of silence I shrugged. I don't think Magic will work and neither will the name Mam gave me.

"Oh, you're a quiet one, aren't ya? That's okay. I talk enough for the both of us. Maybe we'll call you Hush."

I shuddered at the thought of responding to Hush. It sounded too much like the hush puppies I sometimes had with my fish on Fridays because I'm Catholic. Or was anyway.

"Here we are. Home sweet home." Swede came to a stop outside a shabby brownstone house.

I took a deep breath and walked inside.