Disclaimer: I don't own any of the newsies except for Aces.

START

June 14, 1900. It was everything I'd heard about it and better. The buildings were taller than anything I had ever seen before. There were people everywhere. You couldn't walk down the street without someone bumping into your shoulder every block. Everyone seemed to know exactly what they had to do and where they had to go.

As I walked down the street, I silently read off the names of the stores. Petersen Books, Agetha's Pawn Shop, The Manhattan Market, Local Eatery, Fine China & Antiques, Bread Bakery, The Wardrobe Shoppe, Stefano's Diner & Restaurant, Fresh Flowers... The city had everything, every kind of store, shop, or restaurant you could think of, all in one place.

I remembered my brother's words. Get out of here... Fast. He said. I don't care where you go, just go quickly and keep a low profile.

I chose New York City. I had wanted to go there ever since the Newsie Strike less than a year ago. I found it intriguing, reading about it in every newspaper article I could find. Ever since a group of newsboys had defeated one of the most powerful adults in the city, I wondered what it would be like to be one of them.

Now was my chance. I scanned the crowd, searching for a newsie among the people that ranged from aristocrats to immigrants. A few young boys ran past me, yelling headlines, but I didn't bother getting their attention. I needed someone older, someone who knew what they were talking about.

I spotted a boy around 16 years of age. He was sitting on the curb, flipping through a newspaper and oblivious to the passing crowds. I approached him, shoving my hands deep in my pockets. "You a newsie?" I asked in a soft voice.

He looked up and squinted against the setting sun to see me. "Was it da hat or da pile of newspapers dat gave it away?" he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. When I didn't answer, he sighed and picked up his papes so he could stand. "Yeah. I am. What's it to ya?"

I shrugged. "I'm lookin' for a job." I replied simply. He eyed my clothes. "Ya dress like you'se already a newsie, kid." He told me. I shook my head and waited for him to say something else.

"I might be able to help ya. Lemme jus' sell da last of me papes. I'll meet ya at da statue over there in ten minutes, a'right?" He instructed, pointing to a figure of a man that was built into the middle of the cobblestone road. He was sitting in a chair and had a plaque below him that I couldn't read due the far distance. I nodded and began walking over to it. "I'm Pie Eater, by da way." He called after me.

"So ya don't say much, do ya?" Pie Eater asked. On the way to wherever we were going, he carried the conversation while I said no more than five words. I shrugged, simply proving his point even more.

We stopped in front of a narrow but tall building. There were two lamps on either side of the green door. The pale yellow lettering above the doorway said "Newsboys Lodging House."

He climbed the stairs and turned the doorknob. I followed him into a large room filled with boys. They chatted noisily and joked around. Every few seconds one would get punched or kicked or smacked or shoved off a couch as they playfully horsed around.

Pie Eater caught the attention of a particular guy sitting across the room, who looked like one of the older newsies. Pie Eater beckoned him over, and as he stood his tallness seemed to add to his age. The boy took his time crossing the room and I took this opportunity to take in his appearance.

He wore a dark vest, pants, and a cowboy hat that hung against his back. The only color on his clothes was a faded red bandana tied around his neck. "How's it goin', Pie Eater?" he said. Pie Eater shrugged. "A'right, I guess, Jack." He replied. Couldn't be... could it? Jack Kelly... Leader of the 1899 Newsboys' Strike. He looked exactly like the picture in the newspapers...

Listen, dis guy's lookin' for a job. Told him I might be able to help." Pie Eater said. Jack turned to me. "Ya got a place to stay, kid?" He asked me. I shook my head.

"A'right. Well, you'se welcome to stay heah if ya want. We'se got a few extra bunks, I think. It's a nickel a week, 'nd udder than dat you'se jus' gotta sell papes to stay in dis place. I'se Jack Kelly, by da way. Me nicknames Cowboy, so ya can call me dat too." He said. I had somehow managed to land myself in this particular lodging house, with the newsies who started the whole strike. I was about to tell him that I already knew who he was, but I stopped myself. I had to get used to holding my tongue around here.

Jack spit in his hand and held it out to me. Without hesitation, I did the same and shook with him. When the handshake broke, he pointed to a desk with an old man sitting behind it. "Dat old guy over dere is Kloppman. Caretaker 'round heah. He jus' needs some information 'bout ya. Likes to know who's stayin' 'nd who's goin'." Jack told me. I paused, starting to grow nervous. Jack never said that giving information about myself was part of the deal.

He saw the anxious expression on my face. "Don't worry. I always thought Kloppman was a lil' crazed up, but he ain't gonna bite ya or nuttin'." He said, shoving me forward. I stumbled over my feet, but quickly regained my balance and walked to the desk.

The old man looked up and smiled behind his round glasses. "You'se stayin' da night?" He asked. I nodded quickly. "A'right, let's see here, let's see..." he mumbled, sliding a large book towards him. He opened it and flipped through the pages until he came to one with blank lines. "Now, what's your name, son?" He asked.

I began to panic. I'd forgotten to think of a fake name. I couldn't say my real one. It would give away the biggest secret I had to keep hidden. Kloppman saw the worry on my face. "A nickname is fine, too..." he offered. I shoved my hands into my pockets as a nervous habit.

I could feel my fist clutch around my deck of cards. I carried it everywhere with me. Playing cards was the one thing I did to pass the time when there was nothing else to do. "Aces." I replied, thinking quickly. He nodded and scribbled the nickname down on the line. "And the date is... uh, June 14..." he thought out loud. "A'right, dat's all for now." I sighed in relief. That wasn't that bad... I told myself.

"So, Aces, huh?" Jack said. I looked to the right of me and saw that he was leaning an elbow on the desk. I nodded. "Welcome to ya new home, I guess. Dis is da lobby, where we basically spend most of our free time. You'll see da bunk room later on tonight. For now, ya can jus' hang 'round heah." Jack went back over to join his friends.

I spotted a few empty chairs in the far end of the room. I walked next to the wall unnoticeably to get across the room, that way I wouldn't attract any unwanted attention. I sat in one of the chairs and turned the other one around so it acted as a table. Taking the warn out cards out of my pocket, I skillfully shuffled them and began to deal myself into a game of solitaire.

I lost a few games, running out of moves quickly. Sighing, I collected the cards and shuffled them again to start my fourth game.

"Race, don't stand over him like dat! You'se gonna creep him out!" One of the newsies said loudly. Suddenly sensing that someone was behind me, I turned around in the seat. A boy was leaning on the back of my chair, looking down at the cards. His eyes met mine and he smiled. "Sorry, didn't mean to breathe down ya neck or nuttin'." His New York accent was heavier than the others'.

By the looks of it, he was mostly Italian. He had short brown hair that barely stuck out in the front from under his cap.

When I didn't respond, he continued talking. "Difficult game, ain't it?" he said. "Da odds of winnin' a solitaire game are 'bout one in twenty." He told me. I still stared blankly at him. He put up his hands. "A'right, sheesh... I'm leavin'." He walked back to the other newsies, muttering something about how I wasn't too friendly.

So that's the first chapter. Thanks so much for reading. If you guys get a chance, please review. I wanna know how you like it. :)