Disclaimer: I don't own the Newsies, but I do own Reade Street Lodging House and the characters in it. I also own Socks. Awww, Socks. :o)
The Christmas Lyrics
All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth
John "Socks" Madigan was seven years old.
He didn't have much but he thought what he did have was enough.
He had a dark brown cap with only a couple patches in it. His mom had given it to him before she had gone away. He didn't know where she had gone but she was gonna come back for him. She'd said so so he believed her.
Socks had a good-sized bag of marbles; he was good at shooting and most other boys were good at losing. He kept the bag under his pillow when he slept at night; whenever the older boys tried to move them 'cause they didn't think he could sleep like that, he wouldn't let them. He didn't want no one to take his marbles.
He also had an old baseball mitt Skittery had given him last year for his birthday. He loved the mitt even more than he loved his marbles. He kept it with him all the time and didn't let nobody use it. Well, that was a lie. Sometimes he let Bows from Reade Street use it if she came to play with them but that was because Bows was a girl and she'd go cry to Jack or Race or one of the older Reade Street girls if he didn't let her play with it. The little snot.
However, Socks did want something this Christmas.
"C'mon, Socks, whistle for us!" said Snipeshooter. The redhead clapped Socks on the shoulder, nearly sending him to the ground. "Give us Yankee Doodle or Mary Had a Little Lamb. Aw, c'mon, Socks, don't be a sourpuss."
Socks shook his head, shoved his hands into his pockets and took another step forward in line. It was a freezing December morning, and they were standing near the back of the line at the distribution center.
"What are you, chicken?"
Socks shot Snipes the best Spot-Conlon-glare he could muster and looked away again.
"How about you don't sing? Try saying Sister Susie sitting on a thistle instead." Snipeshooter only laughed at the murderous look Socks cut him. Snipeshooter gave him another playful shove and sent him crashing into Bumlets.
"Watch it, Socks," Bumlets said as he caught the boy and steadied him. The Spanish teenager smiled down at the younger newsie. "Wouldn't want you to slip and fall off the steps."
Socks made a face and jabbed a gloved finger towards Snipeshooter.
"Snipes…" Bumlets started, shaking his head. The older newsies knew that Snipeshooter had been teasing Socks for days and it was starting to get on their nerves as well as Socks'.
The redhead put on an innocent face and held up his hands. "What? I just wanted to hear the baby whistle."
Socks let out a shout and lunged for Snipeshooter, hands already formed into fists. That wasn't fair, he wasn't a baby! He was seven-years-old!
Bumlets reached out and snatched up Socks before he could tackle Snipeshooter. "Socks!" He held the boy under his arm and rolled his eyes at his energy.
"Lemme at 'im! Lemme go!" shouted Socks, flailing his arms and legs about and reaching towards Snipeshooter.
The other newsies, already annoyed about being awake so early on a cold December morning, were only further annoyed by the antics of the younger newsies.
"Pipe down, Socks!"
"Quit makin' a racket!"
"Leave him alone, Snipeshooter. You're such an idiot."
"Put him down, Bumlets, Snipes deserves it."
Snipeshooter stuck his tongue out at Skittery, the newsie who had made the previous comment.
"I wouldn't stick my tongue out in this weather," said Sketch, Skittery's girl. "It might freeze like that."
"Not a big loss," teased Racetrack. Snipeshooter held up a fist as if that would scare the Italian.
Socks stopped kicking his legs and throwing his arms about so Bumlets thought it was safe to let him loose.
"Calm down, Socks, that ain't no way for a kid like you to behave," Bumlets said as he sat the little newsie down. Bumlets bent over and picked Socks' cap up out of the dirty snow. He knocked it a couple times against his leg to get the snow and ice off of it. "Don't let him get to you. It won't be much longer until you say Sister whatever doing something or other." He grinned and plopped the small, dark brown hat down on top of Socks' head.
"Fank you, Bumfefs," said Socks quietly, hoping Snipes wasn't paying attention.
"What'd you say, Socks? Say it again!"
This time Snipeshooter found out exactly how hard an angry seven-year-old could punch.
Yep, Socks really wanted something for Christmas this year.
His damn two front teeth.
