Title: A Simple Twist of Fate

Author :Amiee Amelie

A/N: This may not be your idea of a normal, run of the mill, Newsies story. Nor did I ever intend it to be. The fact that I'm British may be seriously detrimental to the plot and the characters-or it may not. That, I believe is your call. I have tried to keep with American spelling, punctuation, and the slang used in the movie. You'll forgive me, I hope, if I slip every once in a while. I discovered Newsies while visiting an American cousin of mine…and have been thoroughly obsessed with it since. Much as I don't like messing with things that are perfect, I've had this story futzing about in my head for several days, and I have finally decided to break down and write it. Several things about it-I'm not going to write the characters with their accents. I wouldn't be able to write it properly, and, it is extremely irritating to decipher it. For me, anyway. So, as I'm sure you are all well acquainted with the characters and their accents, I will leave it to your own imaginations. The two characters who do not have New York accents are Davey, obviously, and the character whom you are about to meet. –Don't panic, I thoroughly detest "Mary Sue" characters of any age or gender, and this new character will not be one. I will do my best to keep the style and tone of the original movie, however; as stated before, this type of story may have been written before, and, as it starts, you may completely convinced that you've read it all before. Trust me, you haven't. This may not be your idea of a normal, run of the mill, Newsies story.

~**~

            I put on my cap and pulled it low-almost down to my eyes. I didn't need any mirror to see that I looked like I had climbed out of a garbage heap in Brooklyn. And that was the way I liked it. Ratty trousers that had seen far better days, a shirt that was about five sizes too large, a nasty old plaid vest that had been my grandfather's, and, for reasons unknown to man, somehow did not reach the rubbish bin where it belonged, but instead got passed down through the generations to me. A black cap and navy-blue neckerchief that I had always been rather fond of completed the picture.

            It wasn't exactly something Auntie dearest would allow me to traipse off to school in, if you catch my drift.

            But that was alright. I wasn't gonna traipse off to school, because I was sick of school and I was sick of my bloody aunt who hated me anyway. It's not like my sudden disappearance would concern her; not when she has complained every day for the past six years since my parents dumped me here and never came back. Not since the very first words and the words I heard every day of my life from her were "rambunctious, nasty little heathen."

            Well, I had put up with it since I was ten years old, but I wasn't gonna put up with it any more. The loud, abusive words that would come pouring out of her mouth would be officially a thing of the past. I knew I had to get out of this house or else go crazy. So I picked my city to run away to, and started planning.

            I was obviously going to go to New York. It was the closest city to Auntie's house-only twenty miles, and ideal that if she ever got it into her head to look for me, I would never be found.

            Not that she'd think to look for me on her own, mind. But if the school master or welfare came knocking at the door looking for me, she'd probably shriek in "surprise," put on a fainting act that wouldn't convince anybody, and then start a half-hearted search.

            Next I had to figure out how I was going to support myself. It wasn't like the pile of books I had read or arithmetic problems I had done was gonna find me food any time soon. I figured I'd work in a factory, or as a shoe shiner. Something that didn't make a lot of money-but didn't require a lot of training, either. Something where I wouldn't draw attention-be among the millions of shoe shiners in New York City. And I'd have enough money to get me started.

            Ok, tell me that I don't have any principals and that I'm going to Hell. It doesn't really matter. I'll admit it up front. I stole three dollars from dearest old auntie. I know it's a lot of money. Go ahead and gasp in surprise and shock. She hollered about it going missing for a couple of days and then forgot about it. But hey, I had to have enough money to eat and to start my job and get train fare. Yeah, train fare. What, you thought I'd be walking twenty miles and wouldn't eat for a couple of days until I could start a living? Poor but honest, right? Ha! It's a wonder you're alive today, with a naïve little brain like that. And it's not like the old bat was handing out dough, either. Desperate times call for desperate measures, you know.

            But anyway, one day, in the midst of planning, I caught Auntie sniffing in that disapproving way of hers over an article in The Sun. So I stole that too. (Yeah, I'm a regular little Artful Dodger. Right out of Oliver Twist. And yeah, my parents did teach me better. But trust me, when you've lived with a hag like that for six years, it's not like you care about treating "your elders" better anymore.) Well, I'm glad I stole it, because that newspaper turned all my plans around. I wasn't gonna be a factory worker, or a shoe shiner, either.

            I was gonna be a newsie.

            I knew, for starters, that it wasn't gonna be easy, living on the streets of New York. Especially for me. I was too-well-girly looking. My fingers were too long and I was too short-5'7-and too thin and my eyes were too big and far too blue. I wasn't your normal knight in shining armor…or even an epitome of manliness.

            That alone was enough to get me soaked at least five times a day. That'd change, though. I may look a little girly, but I wasn't gonna stand there like some wussy prick and take it, either. If they thought that they were messing with the wrong newsie. Well-soon to be newsie.

            The fact of the matter was, I knew life wasn't gonna be a picnic, but it had to be better than living with dear old Auntie-who's idea of a "nice outfit" was one with ruffles. Like that helped my cause. Then I looked even more like a wussy prick.

            Well, those days were gone. Just like I'd be, soon. I grabbed my bag and walked out the front door, slamming it shut with a bang. It didn't matter if dear old Auntie woke up and heard it.

            She wouldn't follow, anyway.

~**~