I shivered in the cold, dark cell and drew my coat closer around me. Blasted prisons, no heating, no nothing!

I looked around the small cell. Nothing interesting there except a few scratched etchings of names of people who had been here before me, condemned as I had been.

Condemned. I could laugh; the idea was that ludicrous. Me, getting caught stealing. I, who had once been called the Artful Dodger, was caught with a tin snuffbox, not worth more than a pound, if that.

I brought my knees up to my chest and hugged them. I'll admit it, I was scared out of my wits, hating pretty much everyone, my unknown parents, Fagin, for making me do this, Oliver, for abandoning me. Then again, it wasn't Fagin's fault. Without him, I'd probably be dead by now, with no money to my name.

But still, I never would be heading to Australia for life if not for him. Yes, I was being deported for stealing. What my life would be, I had not a clue. Away from everyone I had ever known. And I was only just sixteen.

The rattle of the bars woke me from my musings. My head snapped up and I struggled to my feet, backing up against the wall. But it was only a girl, coming to probably do her charity work.

She wrestled with the lock and key and finally managed to get it open. Locking it behind her she came over to me.

"What do you want?" I demanded, still shrinking from her.

"I'm not going to hurt you." She said, quietly, coming up to me.

She came neared and grasped my hand. Hers was small in mine, and cold as ice. I looked at her, and her warm eyes encouraged me to let her in.

I sighed. "Fine. What is it you want?"

She smiled. "I'm here to help. Now let me see your back."

Begrudgingly, I took of my coat and shirt. She gasped. "What happened?" She asked, swabbing it with a cloth.

I hissed at the pain and grimaced. "The jailers beat me."

"They beat you? Why?" She asked.

"I don't know!" I snapped, "Why do you care anyway? You're just here out of Christian charity. You don't care."

She spun me around. The look of anger in her eyes was unmistakable.

"For your information, Mr. Dawkins, I am here because my stepmother murdered my younger brother and then blamed me for it! And of course they all believe her. They always believe the adults, even if the children speak the truth." She retorted, looking like a mix of pure anger and sadness.

"I… I'm so…I'm so sorry! I didn't know." I said, feeling truly repentant.

"It's fine. You couldn't have known." She said continuing right back on my back.

"You called me Mr. Dawkins. May I know your name?" I asked.

"Emma. Emma Cartwright." She responded.

"My first name's John. But everyone calls me Jack." I added.

I turned around, since she had finished. She smiled at me and mock-curtsied. Adopting the plumy tone of a society matron, she said "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Jack Dawkins.".

I laughed, the first time in months. I bowed to her and adopted the same tone "As am I, Miss Emma Cartwright."

She giggled, but we were soon interrupted.

"24601, Come on!" said a high-pitched and annoying voice. Emma winced. "I have to go now, but I'll be back tomorrow."

"See you then." I said, smiling and waving, bidding her adieu.

She walked over and let herself out. With a little wave, she ran after the voice.

It was then I realized I had made a friend.