Disclaimer: I don't own the Newsies, but oh how I wish i did.

Author's Note: Alright, I must apologize, I was in kind of a funk when I started writing this. Though strangely enough, by the time I finished I was in a fabulous mood. Please leave me a review, I'd greatly appreciate it. Also, I wasn't really sure what to classify this story as...angst, friendship, dark humor...I'm not sure. But yeah, I'll stop now. Enjoy.

People used to say I was schizophrenic when I was a kid. I wasn't. I'm still not. I don't think the government has people watching my every move, I don't hear little voices in my head telling me to burn things or rob the local donut shop, and I don't need to put in a padded cell for my own protection. Sure, people call me Skittery, which I guess they think is funny or just another way of calling me Schizoid, but I'm not. Schizophrenia is a mental disorder…bipolar is a chemical imbalance that causes mood swings and bouts of serious depression. I'm bipolar…not schizophrenic.

You might say I've had a less than perfect life; all eighteen-years have been pretty Hellish for me. Growing up in one of the poorest sections of New York City isn't easy. I've seen people robbed, shot, stabbed, mugged and rapped…and that's just outside my bedroom window in the past week. People fight and die every day on this block; no one seems to notice anymore; so what's one more kid from the projects on a slab?

My mom tries her best, I know that, and I try my best to make her proud and happy. Unlike my brothers, I stayed in school, got fairly decent grades –teachers didn't have much patience for a shy and quiet kid like me in school, too afraid to ask for help cuz he was afraid everyone including the teacher would laugh at him and call him stupid—I even graduated within the top fifteen percent of my class. I stayed out of trouble, steer clear of the gangs that roam the street and have a job I'm never late to and rarely call in sick to. On top of all this, I'm supposed to start college soon, the first in my family to go. Still, I see the sadness in my mom's eyes, the aches she feels every day just trying to provide food for us. I'm not the most helpful kid at home, I know it and I feel guilt for it every time she walks into the kitchen and the dishes are stacked up in the sink. She doesn't say it, but I know that I disappoint her a lot more than I probably make her proud.

My dad, well, he's practically a stranger. I've never had a real conversation with the man in my life. He bounces from job to job, always trying to find something better. When I was little, he and I were pretty close I guess. My mom tells me I could be dead asleep at night but as soon as our front door closed I'd be wide awake and ready to play for a few hours with him. I'll have to take her word for that, cuz I sure as heck don't remember. He only seems to add to her sadness and aggravation. I hate when he makes her cry because he's quit yet another job when we're so strapped for money we're livin' solely off canned Spam. They fight and argue over how they're going to put me through school without winding up on the street cuz we've been evicted…again.

Fighting, heh, I don't think I know a day in my life when there hasn't been a fight in my house. Not even birthdays or Christmas are safe from fights around here. My brothers seem to think fighting should be an Olympic sport…and if it were, they'd take Gold every time.

Terror Twins is what everyone calls them. Sad thing is, they seem to pride themselves on that nickname. From Day One those two have been my sole tormentors. Nothing is ever just mine, and they like to make that known every chance they get. Being eighteen months younger than them isn't easy, especially since I take after our mom –thin as a rail—while they take after our dad –thick and sturdy as support beams. They've made it their goal in life to end mine. Oh the stories I could tell about them. They don't just fight with me, either. My dad seems to be one of their other favorite targets. I can't begin to count how many times the cops have been called to come break up one of their bloody brawls.

Gee, and people wonder why I'm bipolar.

There's one person who get's it though, who knows what I go through day in and day out. He's probably going to be the only one to miss me when I'm gone too. My best friend, Joe. I met Joe when we were in junior high. I'm used to being beat up on, so when the older guys tried shoving me into my locker on the first day, I just let it happen. I learned a long time ago to just let things happen and act like it's no big deal. Joe saw 'em though and let me tell ya, that kid is seriously small for his age but he can kick some serious ass. He came flying up out of nowhere and those guys didn't know what hit 'em. Since that moment, we'd been best friends. Sure, he gave up school to try and make it as a bookie down at the tracks, which is why he's mostly called Racetrack or Race now, but he's really a good guy. And I can usually count on him to be there for me when I need him.

Except recently. I've been getting seriously stressed out lately: school worries, home worries, money issues, work…all that crap. It's been gnawing on my nerves. I've tried to talk to him about it, the few sparse minutes we'd be online at the same time or whatever, but somehow the conversation always turns to him and his problems. Don't get me wrong, I worry about him, he's still seriously small for his age and looks like he's probably only about fifteen instead of nineteen and being an unlucky bookie isn't easy, but just once I'd like for him to listen to what's bugging me. I need someone to talk to, someone to tell me everything is going to be just fine and if need be they'll be there for me in five minutes tops with a shovel to bury the body should I decide to kill someone. I'd never actually kill anyone…well…at least not murder anyone, that is.

I'm on the edge of a nervous breakdown and have no one to turn to. The fighting in my house has me hiding in my closet with my knees pulled up to my chest. Just tonight our two dogs got into a fight over a pork-chop bone and all I could do was clutch my arms to my head and try to make myself as small as I could. An hour after it happened I was still shaking. I can't tell my mom what's going on, she'd want to take me to a therapist and get me on medication, but we seriously can't afford any of that…it would just add to her worry and sadness. I can't tell my dad how I feel 'cuz he wouldn't understand; he'd probably tell me to grow a pair and man up. The teachers at school and our councilor are just there for the paychecks, they really don't give two-shakes about us poor kids…plus, I'm outta school anyways.

That leaves Race…and Race leaves.

So really…I'm left with no one.

Remember how I said I didn't hear little voices telling me to burn things? Well, I hear one little voice, but it's my own. And it keeps tellin' me the same things over and over and over again. You're nothing. You always have been, you always will be. So why do you keep trying? You fail at everything you try to do anyways. It took you two years to try and learn how to ride a real bike…remember how that turned out? Eight trips to the ER to set broken bones, and countless other broken fingers or wrists you never told your folks about cuz you didn't want to be a burden on them any more. Nobody even wants to be your friend, you know? Your only real friend doesn't have the time for you any more; and your future college roommate has said, what, like three words to you all the times you tried to make contact? You're nothing. No one even notices you.

I know I shouldn't listen to that voice, but when it's the only thing I hear, it's hard to ignore. Gone is the voice trying to point out the things I am good at, all the people who are going to miss me when I'm gone. Looks like even that voice gave up on me.

All I ever wanted to do was break out of my shell, for people to see me for who I really am. Problem with that is, I don't know who I am anymore. When I was little I wanted to do so many things when I got big. Now I have no clue what I want to do. As my dad likes to so graciously point out, I don't even really know what I'm going to college for…just that I'm going. Well, he can rest easy…because I'm not anymore.

I texted Race a little bit ago to tell him he could have my stereo and camera, the only two things that are honestly and truly mine. Instead of asking why, he replied with, "LOL! Thnx dude!" Such concern, don't you think?

To anyone who might read this, which could be anyone from my mom to my idiot brothers to the cops, please know that I did what I had to do. Mom, I love you and I'm sorry that my choice will add to your disappointment in me. But take comfort at least in knowing that I'll finally be honestly and truly happy and in a better place.

Your Son.

The handle of the gun was warm in his sweaty palm as Skittery stepped up onto the edge of the dock. Below him, the East River swished and swirled with pollution and scum. The perfect place for a nobody like him to go to end it all. Even that late at night the city was busy with activities, but for Skittery it was as empty as he felt.

He stared at the pistol in his hand, wondering how to best go about ending his life. Funny, he thought, that I should be concerned on which direction I'm facing when I pull the trigger or if I should go with the temple or stomach shot. Sucking the barrel seems to work best in the movies.

"Peter? Is that you?" A sweet and quiet voice from behind him asked, drawing him quickly from his thoughts. He knew that voice anywhere. It was the voice of an angel. Until that moment, he didn't know she even knew his name.

Eyes wide, he spun on his heels to face her. "Annamaria? Wh…what are you doing here?"

Stepping closer to the boy, Annamaria ducked her head slightly, making sure to keep her face hidden from his view.

"I was going to ask you the same thing. I haven't seen you since graduation. How's everything been?" She questioned softly.

Suddenly aware of the gun still in his hands, Skittery quickly tucked his hands behind his back and coughed nervously. Annamaria was one of the most popular girls in his graduating class. She was beautiful and smart. Gulping hard, he shrugged slightly as he moved to keep her from looking behind him.

"Oh, uh, ya know…it's…been ok. How uhm, how about with you?"

"Same…I suppose." Annamaria nodded slightly, looking up at him briefly as she moved to stand at the edge of the dock where just a moment earlier he had been standing. "It's funny though, that I should find you here."

"Funny? How do you mean?"

Long brown hair falling over her lean shoulders, the girl shrugged as she stared down at the water.

"I just wasn't expecting anyone to be here. Especially not tonight."

Skittery frowned slightly as he moved to stand next to her. In the brief moment she looked up at him, he swore he saw the makings of a killer black eye and he secretly wondered how she had managed to get such a whopping shiner.

"Oh?" He asked, "And uh, why's that?"

He watched as her shoulders jumped slightly as she sniffled and quickly wiped at her eyes. Something was bothering her that was obvious. Skittery had admired the bubbly brunette for the past three years since they moved to town. Her life was so perfect, what could possibly have her upset? She got all A's, had been in all the honors programs, was voted Prom Queen and Homecoming Queen two years in a row. She had nothing to be upset about. Unless she broke a nail… Skittery thought bitterly.

"Because…I don't know how to swim."

"Seriously? Ooookay…and you are crying over that…why?"

"I'm not crying because I can't swim! That has nothing to do with why I'm crying! I wasn't expecting anyone to be here because I was hoping no one would dive in to try and save me."

Skittery's eyes widened in surprise as he finally understood. She had come to the dock to end her life too. "What? Why not? Why do you want to drown?"

Annamaria did her best to hide her tears as she turned her face to look up at him. There was severe darkness surrounding her left eye and a fresh wound on her lower lip. Taking in a deep shaky breath, she stared at him in frustration.

"Because I was accepted to Berkley."

"So…you want to off yourself because you got into a good school?"

"Well why do you want to off yourself?"

"For a better reason than that. 'Sides, how do you know that's what I came down here for?"

Annamaria rolled her eyes and huffed as she waved her hand at his back pocket. "Kinda hard to miss that."

Skittery stared at her for a moment before looking behind him to where the handle was poking from his pocket. Slowly reaching behind him, he drew it from his jeans and held it in his palm. It felt much heavier then than it did a few minutes prior. Staring down at it, he carefully moved to sit down, letting his feet dangle towards the murky water below.

"I can't take the fighting anymore. Every day it's the same thing, and I just can't take it." He answered softly, his chocolate brown eyes still locked on the gun, scarcely noticing when the girl sat down next to him.

"I feel like I'm invisible at home, hell, everywhere. I'm just going through the routine anymore, ya know? I wake up, I eat, I shower, I go to work, come home, sleep, do it all again the next day. I suffer from bipolar depression…I need to be on some kind of meds but we can't afford them. So, I'm screwed. I'd just be better off dead."

"Don't say that, Peter!" Peter, the only person ever to call him by his real name and just the sound of it coming from her was enough to make him see stars. Raising his eyes to look at her, he couldn't help but laugh a little bit.

"Why not? You were obviously thinking the same thing other wise you wouldn't be down here wanting to drown yourself. Besides, at least my reason isn't as stupid as yours. Hell, I got into UCLA and I was ecstatic. You get into Berkley and you wanna kill yourself."

"I don't want to kill myself because I got into Berkley, I've been wanting to go to Berkley since I was a little girl, it's where my mom went to college." Annamaria paused as she wiped at her eyes again and looked out over the water. The city looked so peaceful as the pair sat on that empty dock, both contemplating their lives and reasons for wanting to die.

"My stepdad doesn't like that I was accepted to Berkley. 'Why can't you go to school here? There's plenty of cheap schools here. Hell, why do you have to go to more school anyways? When I was your age the last thing I wanted to do was go through more schooling.' That's what he's always telling me. We keep getting into these arguments about it. Tonight it got really bad. I told him I'd move back to California to live with my real dad and he could forget I was ever here. He didn't like my tone so he hit me…a few times. Then told me why didn't I just go jump off the dock? Then I'd put everyone out of their misery. Plus, the cost of my funeral would still be less than tuition and room and board plus my books at Berkley; and at least if I died, he'd only have to pay for my funeral once instead of four times."

Skittery stared at her in disbelief. He'd always thought her life had been so perfect and that she got everything she ever wanted. Never once had he imagined her stepfather was abusive. He always seemed like a decent guy when he came to the school functions.

"And you believed him?"

Looking up from her hands, Annamaria nodded. "So? You want to kill yourself because you think no one notices you."

"It's a valid reason!"

"More valid than mine? At least your dad doesn't hit you."

"How do you know?"

"You just said you were invisible at home. So if you're invisible then your dad obviously doesn't see you which means he can't hit you."

The pair stared at each other in silence, both glaring holes into the other. It was as if they were trying to top the other in sob stories, and neither wanted to be out done. To them, they each had solid and decent reasons for wanting to commit suicide, while the other's reason was purely ridiculous.

After a moment, Skittery felt his shoulders lift ever so slightly as a faint chuckle escaped his lips. A glitter of amusement shone in his eyes as he looked in hers.

"We…we are seriously pathetic, ya know that?" He asked, another chuckle leaving his lips followed by another and another until he was nearly rolling on the dock laughing.

Annamaria stared at the teen, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Was he seriously laughing at a time like this? He had to be bipolar if one minute he was ready to shoot himself and the next he's rolling on the planks laughing and holding his stomach. She didn't say anything though; she just stared, struggling to figure out what he found so funny and why he thought they were pathetic.

"Here we are we both got into good schools that would take us as far from our families as we could get, and we're trying to out do each other on why our lives don't seem worth living any more." Skittery managed to get out without laughing too hard, the amusement still playing in his eyes as he looked up at her.

Thinking about it for a minute, the light finally dawned on Annamaria. Looking down at him, a smile began to crawl across her face. Thinking about it more, she soon found herself following him in the laughter fit. They were being foolish and even childish trying to out do each other on a topic that was as dangerous as it was stupid. The more they thought about it, the funnier it became.

"We…we shouldn't be l-laughing about…about this, y-ya know?" She asked, hands clutching her sides as she struggled to sit up.

"I know…I know and I think…th-that's what's making it so f-funny!"

"We were gonna kill ourselves!"

"I know!" Skittery laughed harder as he sat up, holding tight to the edge of the wooden dock so that he wouldn't fall off as he struggled to compose himself.

Finally composing herself a bit more, Annamaria put a hand on his shoulder and smiled brightly. "We're practically going to be neighbors come August. So do me a favor huh? Next time you feel like shooting yourself, call me so I can try to out-pathetic you."

"Deal," he laughed, finally able to bring his twisted sense of irony and humor under control enough to stand. Holding his hand out to help her back up to her feet, he gave the first real grin he'd given in a very long time. "So long as you do me a favor. Next time you feel like jumping off a dock and drowning yourself, call me so I can remind you of how pathetic we both are and treat you to a slice of pizza or something."

Taking his hand and allowing him to pull her up to her feet, she laughed slightly as she nodded, tucking her hands into her pockets. "Deal. I uh, I should probably get home. My mom's gonna be worried."

"Heh, mine too. Oh, do me another favor? When you get home…press charges against your stepdad. No one deserves to be beat around like that, for any reason."

Annamaria smiled softly as she stepped back onto the solid pavement and turned to face him. Leaning up onto her toes, she placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Only if when you get home you find a way to make yourself seen and heard to your family."

Giving a small chuckle as his cheeks burned bright red, Skittery nodded. "I will."

"Good." Looking down towards his hands, she nodded to the gun before looking back at him. "What are you going to do with that? Were you really going to shoot yourself?"

"Huh? Oh, uh…heh, I dunno. Probably put it back where I found it in my dad's closet. I don't even think it's loaded." Laughing out of embarrassment, Skittery shrugged as he lifted the gun and, not realizing it, pointed it towards the streetlight. A bang rattled the night as the street suddenly went pitch black, pieces of broken glass clinging on the pavement as it fell from the sky.

Eyes wide in fear and surprise, Skittery stared at Annamaria, her own brown eyes mirroring his expression.

"Holy…"

"Shit!"