Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies. However I DO own Moth, and you steal the name, you will regret it.
Moth was walking home from school that day. She was wearing her favorite hat, a dusty blue colored one that reminded her a little of a newsboy. Her short hair was tucked behind her ears, and her knobby knees were just poking out from under the black skirt she had to wear every day at school. She trudged down the sidewalk slowly, wishing that she had saved a cookie from lunch for a snack. Basically, everything was normal.
Just then Moth tripped. This was nothing out of the ordinary, because Moth was known to be clumsy at times. But as she fell, she noticed everything, every detail of her surroundings, as though she was falling in slow motion. It seemed like a full five minutes that Moth fell, and she heard, distantly, the noise of a car speeding by, her backpack falling to the ground with a thud… and then, so clear that it made her cringe: the shrill cry of a whistle.
Then everything happened in a blur. Moth hit the ground hard, and instead of the scrape of sidewalk, she was met with the thud of dirt. As she stood up, she heard a high-pitched whinny and a shout from above. She ducked back down, and a split second later, she heard another shout and felt someone yank her up and pull her away.
After being dragged off a few feet, Moth spun around fists raised, and faced the stranger.
He couldn't have been too much older than herself, and he looked friendly enough, leaning up against a brick wall that blocked everything behind it from view. Besides, Moth couldn't just punch a person wearing a decent hat, and this boy was wearing a black cowboy hat. She lowered her fists and instinctively reached for the key she wore around her neck, a key she had found up in the attic in a little box one day. She never had found out what it opened, but she liked it anyway and wore it practically 24/7.
Moth gasped. "It's gone," she whispered.
"What's gone?"
Moth looked back up at the boy in the cowboy hat. She had almost forgotten he was standing there, but he was, and he was also apparently expecting an answer.
"Um… nothing, never mind." Moth shook her head. "Sorry. Uh, well, thanks and everything, but I have to go now—"
But as soon as Moth turned around, she saw that she was lost. Really, really lost. A horse pulling a run-down buggy trotted past, and a few women in long skirts and big hats walked past shops with crates of fresh produce outside under their awnings.
"What is this, Amish country?" Moth asked before she could stop herself.
"Whadda ya talkin' about, this is good ol' Man'att'n, miss."
Moth turned around and gave the boy in the hat a questioning look. "Yeah, okay… I don't believe you. Who'd you say you were again?"
The boy laughed. "Name's Kelley, Jack Kelley. An' I'm tellin' you da truth."
"No," Moth argued. "This is not Manhattan, okay? Manhattan is in New York. We are..." she trailed off.
"You ain't from 'round here, are ya?"
"Yes. Well, I think I am."
Jack frowned. "You hit yer head?"
"No!"
"Okay den. Jus' makin' sure…" He thought for a minute. "What year is it?"
Moth rolled her eyes. "2008, stupid. Now, tell me what street we're on or else I'll… What is so funny?"
Jack was laughing hysterically. "Sorry," he said. "I guess I shouldn' be laughin'. But ya know, you ain't even close. 'S only 1899, if you'll b'lieve that."
"Okay. So maybe I did hit my head. When I fell. Fine, okay, I'm in a coma, and I'm dreaming." Moth took three deep breaths. "I believe you," she told Jack.
There was a long minute of silence.
"But I'm still lost," Moth added, almost as an afterthought.
"I'd say you are," Jack replied. "But ya look kinda familiar… What's yer name?"
"Moth," Moth replied. "And no, it is not my real name. But you are not going to ask what my real name is, okay? Because it's really stupid."
Jack grinned. "Yeah, I know 'bout dat. A'right den, ya got yerself a deal, Moth."
Jack spat into his palm and held out his hand to shake. Moth considered it for a minute, then spat into her own palm and shook.
"Welcome to Man'att'n, Moth."