AN: I'm very excited about this story. I have a goal, and a fresh plot (that I have thought through). It is a Jack/OC story. Like most of my stories have been and will be, the rating is subject to change. The following chapters will be longer! Please review honestly but kindly! Thanks so much.

~Chapter One~

She saw him, and she can't get enough. He is a drug, as cliché as that sounds. She barely knows him, but when she sees him she feels something indescribable. She hates it; it makes her feel stupid, like he is controlling her somehow. And yet, she loves it, she love the little shiver she feel when he is anywhere near her. But she knows that he will never – can never – be hers.

She pulled her coat tighter around her shivering, petite body. The notebook in her hand was wet, and she tried to protect the pages from more damage. All around her, people were scurrying about, running from the pouring rain. The newsboys were standing in groups, looking sulky and cold, the weather spoiling their sales and soaking them through their thin clothes. Other street vendors seemed equally upset by the weather, but she didn't care.

The rain steadily fell, and she continued her walk. She looked to her left, and struggled to ignore the poor family huddled against the side of a tavern, crowded under one tattered blanket. The poor people pulled at her heart, as she always was a compassionate person. Passing them as quickly as possible, she looked ahead and swallowed her pity.

Finally, the huge brick World News Company was before her, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Downtown Manhattan always left a weight in her mind, especially on rainy, cold winter days. As soon as she walked through the huge glass doors she was greeted by employees and business men.

"Hello, Miss Pulitzer," Alfred greeted. "Your father asked me to send you straight to his office upon your return, and I would suggest that you hurry." She nodded, wondering what her father wanted now. "He is in an extremely foul mood, Miss."

She sighed and trudged up the endless flights of stairs to the top floor where Joseph Pulitzer's office was located. In a few minutes she pushed his door open, and saw her father sitting lazily in an armchair. He inhaled a long breath through his pipe before acknowledging her presence.

"Zoe," he greeted, "Where have you been?" She shrugged, and traced her finger over a chair before seating herself in it.

"Out," she replied vaguely, "Walking. And looking for something newsworthy, I suppose."

"And what did you find?"

"Well, the trolley strike is still raging on," she said disinterestedly. She received a grunt of annoyance from her father, and sighed. "You know, it isn't as though I'm just going to walk in on a murder or something! It's hard to find something inspiring to write about."

"Well, I'd suggest you keep looking," he growled, "If you want to remain under my roof, you are going to get some work done. Find something worth reading, and write a sample article. I want one by next week!"

"Well, I would love a suggestion," Zoe replied. "Somewhere to start would be fantastic." Pulitzer rubbed his chin thoughtfully, reading over the newspaper in his hand.

"Now that the strike is over," he muttered, "People are growing interested in the newsies. Oh, and the Refuge is a topic yet to be covered. Ever since Snyder was removed, people have been asking questions. Just think of the papers we'll sell."

Zoe frowned, eyeing her father critically. "How am I supposed to get information on how Snyder ran the Refuge?"

"Some of my newsies did time in the Refuge," Pulitzer said, "Interview them. Do an article on the life of a newsboy, and then add lots of meat about the Refuge, I don't care, just do it!"

"Fine," she muttered, "I won't be home for dinner."