Author: So, this will be my first Newsies fanfic. Hopefully not the last one. I have other story plots and characters, but I need to get this one off the ground first. Please enjoy.

Disclaimer: I own nothing! Nothing I say!

Chapter One: Never Trust An Unmarked Book

I've always known I was a little…different? Different will work for now. I didn't have the greatest family, but they weren't terrible, you know? We were always just busy. Too busy for each other. I mean, mom had all her volunteer things to help with, dad was always on call for the hospital, and Angela, my sister, was busy with school work, her social life, all her activities, and on and on. I guess I'm the only one in the family that never loaded up with work. Is it wrong to want to have fun?

So, like I said, I was different. Not strange, necessarily, but different. And my family didn't exactly like different. It was always "Katlynn, don't you have something better to do?" or "Katlynn, if you just applied yourself more." It just went on like that forever. Does it really surprise anyone that I got tired of it? I suppose I started hanging out with the "wrong" people just to spite my family. It seems so stupid to me now.

Then again, now I'm not the same person I was. Nor am I anywhere near my blood relatives. That's not to say I don't have a family anymore. I have one. It just consists of a lot of brothers. And by a lot, I mean a lot. They're all good guys, and they mean the world to me now. Back then, however, all I wanted was to go home. But, I'm getting ahead of myself. Maybe I ought to explain how this ball got rolling.

I had just turned fourteen. By this time, I could smoke, drink, gamble, and swear just as well as any of the high school and college kids I hung out with. Not only that, but I was quite the accomplished thief. I could shoplift anything, pick pocket anyone, and break into any house or car, I was that good with lock picks. That's how I got my nickname, though. Every one of my, er, acquaintances, all called me Pick. Locked your car keys in your car? Pick's the one to call. Can't get into your locker? Pick'll get it open for you. I made good money that way.

So, I wasn't exactly a "good" kid. I wasn't anywhere close to one, actually. The funny thing about me being so rebellious? I did it to show off to my family, try and get them to care a little, y'know? They didn't even notice. That just led me to be even more stupid. It was a vicious cycle. The one thing I refused to do, ever, was skip school. I may not have acted like it, but I loved learning new stuff, even if I was no good at it, like English class. So, I was a delinquent with all As and a perfect attendance record. Crazy world, huh?

One day, I was headed to the library. I needed to return some books and get some new ones. I dropped my old books into the drop box and proceeded to the very back corner of the stacks of books. This corner was where all the sci fi and fantasy books met up with the nonfiction history books. Not to mention that there were a couple of very comfy chairs in a small open spot that very few people knew about.

I was there that fateful day, minding my own business. I padded silently through the shelves, picking out a book here and there, sometimes putting it back, other times not. I had about four books when I came across a misshelved book. Now, if there is one thing I hate, it's when people don't have the decency to put things back where they got them from. So, I grabbed the book off the shelf, and took a look at the call number. Only thing was that there wasn't one.

I shrugged, not thinking too much of it. The people who did call numbers probably just forgot this one. It had happened before. I took a look at the cover, to try and figure out where to put it. It was titled "Famous American Strikes", but the author was nowhere to be found, or the publisher, or anything else about the damn thing. Frustrated to no end, I almost just took the book up to the front desk and let them handle it.

For some reason, I couldn't. I just got this feeling that if I let go of the book, I'd miss something. Something important. In the end, I took it, and my other four books, to one of the chairs in my corner. Settling down, I cracked open the mystery book and began to read. I don't think I've ever been more fascinated by a nonfiction book in my whole life. The descriptions of these strikes weren't just dates and riots. It was about the people, their lives, their reasons, their relationships. It didn't just give you dry facts, it gave you a story.

Before I knew it, I was halfway through the book and the library was going to close in five minutes. I'd been there for over five hours. Standing, I realized I couldn't just walk out with the unmarked book. And that thought depressed me. Gazing at the rough, black cover, I figured it couldn't hurt to skim over the next strike. Just to take one last look.

I got as far as "The Newsboy Strike of 1899", when the lights went out. Cursing under my breath, I waited for my eyes to adjust, so I could get the hell out of the dark stacks. I shut the black covered book, and started towards the front. I was a few rows from the entrance, when I noticed that I was casting a shadow. Looking around, I couldn't find anything that would have been casting light. Until I looked at the mystery book.

In between the pages, there was light. The book was glowing! I dropped it like it was on fire, and it landed, opening on a page. At that point I didn't know which one it was, but I do now. All I remember was the light. After that, nothing. Until I finally woke up somewhere very far away from Seattle, Washington.

Author: Yes, I know the Newsies aren't actually in this one yet! They'll be there in the next chapter, I swear on my Newsies DVD. So, if you want that to happen, you will all be absolutely wonderful people and REVIEW. Because you love me so. Right? Right. Hug!