Prologue
Lazily scuffing his father's rust-brown boots against the burning hot pavement, eleven-year-old Russell Woodspeck straggled past all the bustling, chattering children exiting the dull schoolhouse and spilling out onto the streets. Some were headed to the deli, books wrapped in string carelessly swinging beside them, loose change jingling happily in their pockets. Some were noisily making a beeline for the park with balls, hoops, and sticks to play with their friends. But Russell wasn't going anywhere special with anyone else. He didn't really have very many classmates that would he would call a "friend," though he was generally admired for his grades, will to help in any way possible, and manners (mostly by teachers). He didn't really mind that he didn't fit into a clique. He preferred to keep to himself than to be associated with the clamorous boys who always sat at the back of the classroom. Just the tight group of three quiet boys he stayed around at lunch was good enough for him. He was a soft spoken boy of somewhat stocky stature, with curly, blonde hair and pale skin. That day, he wore a white, neat, collared shirt and brand new brown pants. For him, the journey was straight home; just him and his small stack of textbooks, wandering down the lively, loud sidewalks of the Bronx.
A substantial contributor to the volume, of course, was the familiar, constant headline-hawking of newsboys. There were some newsgirls too, here and there, but they were definitely outnumbered. Russell's parents had long ago taught him to not yield to the strangers. With their entire faces stained with dark grime, their old, unwashed clothes, and their voices strained with a sharper, more nasal variation of the accent of the city, who would even want to approach them?
That's at least what ran through Russell's head as he passed a blonde, freckled newsgirl shouting something about Roosevelt's government rise, her hair sloppily tucked into her tan cap. He couldn't help but wonder, probably for the millionth time this school year, what sort of tragedy would have to happen to a kid before they have to start selling newspapers for a living. Well, "papes," as they often called them.
"Tuesday pape, hot off the press! Catch it here for jus' a penny!"
Everything seemed just as it always was for Russell that day. The doors of various antique shops on his daily route home rung out a jaunty chorus of bells as customers hurried in and out. The sky was clear. The bright sun shone radiantly through the normal city smog. Russell placed a single hand over the top frame border of his glasses accordingly. He was eighty percent sure that without the thick, round, spectacles, nobody would be able to identify him in a classroom. Or any other room, for that matter. He had to wear the things everywhere he went, because without them, he was almost legally blind. He didn't really care much, but he promised himself since he was seven that he would grow up to invent an alternative to the clunky things. And childhood dreams like that don't just die off.
He pondered on the aspiration a bit on his slow walk home, past the back of the strip of restaurants that lined the adjacent street, fiddling with the side of his glasses.
Out of seemingly nowhere, he heard the eardrum-bursting sound of an animal's yowl. A scrawny ginger cat came scampering between Russell's legs, sending him into what could've been cardiac arrest. He stumbled and stopped in his path, bent slightly over, catching his breath, as he watched the stray cat skid into an empty alleyway just ahead. It screeched at the top of its lungs. Then came Russell's second startle.
"Hey!" He heard a high-pitched voice call. "Get back here!"
Russell twisted around to see a girl running frantically to catch up to the cat. She was petite – probably below five feet – but something told the boy that she way his age. She wore a plaid shirt with a few crookedly closed buttons and patched slacks, improper clothing for even the poorest newsgirl.
Before Russell could dodge her, she blew right past him, arms swinging loosely as she sprinted past. His curiosity eventually got the best of him as he watched the girl stand at the mouth of the alley ahead and call for the cat. Though every good instinct ever set in him told him to avoid the ratty girl, maybe he could help her get her pet back.
He slowly approached the girl from behind. Over her shoulder, he saw the kitten standing stubbornly in the middle of the trash-littered alley, setting down food that it had in its mouth and making to munch away at it.
"Oh no you don't, you stupid feline! You come right back here!" She scolded, throwing out an accusing finger. She still had noticed the observant Russell's presence. The cat stood its ground, arching its back and releasing an annoyed hiss. Russell snapped a few times to catch its attention, and then tried whistling. The girl was obviously frightened, as she didn't see him before, and turned around in a split second. "What do you think you're-"
She stopped. Russell was crouched now, still whistling and beckoning to the cat. After a moment or two of hesitation, the cat made a few inquisitive steps towards him. The girl noticed that it abandoned the food and patted Russell's back, crouching beside him.
"It's workin'!" She whispered. "Keep doin' whatever you're doin'!"
Russell looked up at her, to ensure that the complete stranger was talking to him. Her bright, excited, almost feral green eyes locked with his and lingered for a moment. He took her in for a second. Her reddish-brown choppy brown hair was straight yet frizzy at shoulder height. She had a round, slightly upturned nose on her small face. Kind of like a rodent, but on her, it was kind of cute.
Russell remembered he had abandoned his task and quickly returned to the cat. It cautiously stalked over, almost one toe at a time.
"Aw, you're a blusher, ain't you?" The girl laughed a bit. Russell's hand immediately shot up to his face and realized it was probably fire red. Before he could respond, the cat was at his feet, glaring, as if to say, "Yeah, Russell, tell her how much of a softie you are."
"Cats. So vengeful, yet so easily distracted," The girl reflected, dashing out into the alley where the food was left. She picked it up. It was half of a meat sandwich on wheat. She began peeling off the brown crusts that the cat had held in its mouth.
"I… Don't understand," Russell said, stepping forward. "I thought this was your cat."
"Finally, the mysterious whistler speaks," the girl mock-announced, walking back over to him. "Nah, but this is my dinner. Paid a full five cents for it, darn it, and that fur ball thinks it can take it from me." She took a nibble out of the sandwich. "Say, how do you do that anyhow?"
"Do what?" Russell nervously asked.
"The whistle thing. I've never known anybody who could do that." She took another hearty bite of ham.
"It's not really that hard, I mean…erm…" Russell wasn't sure how to explain it, but the short girl looked up at him with huge, expectant eyes, totally silent, waiting for his instruction. "You sort of put your lips in a circle, and softly blow through." He demonstrated once more, whistling out a quick measure of the national anthem. The girl nodded.
"Okay, okay, I think I got it," she said quickly. "So… Like this?" She squinted her eyes, puckered her lips out far and blew, but her tongue stuck out, so she ended up blowing a very loud raspberry, sending the cat skidding away with fear. Russell tried to refrain from laughing, as it would be rude, but it did no good, and an obvious chuckle slipped out. It became contagious, and soon the girl was laughing too. "You're alright." She looked at her dirty sandwich, all she really had, and held it out to him. "Wanna bite?"
"Ah, I'm fine, thanks," Russell replied in the most polite tone he could manage. The girl shrugged.
"Well, ya wanna go down to the park or somethin'?" She asked.
Russell was at a loss for words for a second, a strange, unfamiliar rush bolting through him. He was almost never asked to hang around with anyone at the park, and… Wait a minute… "I gotta get home to my mom and pop. Besides, how do you know it's okay with your folks?"
"Don't hafta check. I don't…" She hesitated a bit. "My folks don't care too much about that kind of stuff."
Russell couldn't really imagine a set of parents that different than his over-sheltering ones.
"I really wish ya could stay. We could make a great team. I mean…we're pals now, right?" The girl continued.
Russell was a bit surprised by the term being used by (first of all, a girl, and second of all) someone he just met. "You mean you want to be my friend?"
"Why not?" She asked, cocking her head to the side casually. "You helped me get my dinner back, we laughed, we cried… This is how those things work!"
"Okay." Russell then awkwardly stuck out a hand. "Pals."
The girl slapped his hand and violently shook it, a seven-mile grin on her face. She swallowed her last mouthful of bread before saying, "I guess I'll catch ya later, Specs. When you don't gotta go so quick. Then we can hang around some more. Maybe tomorrow?"
"Specs?" Russell asked her. She smirked.
"It's 'cuz of those funny glasses ya got there," she explained. Russell self-consciously pushed them up on the bridge of his nose.
"My name's Russell," he simply answered.
"Russell, huh? Sounds so formal," she commented, placing a hand on her hip. "Mine's just Lauren." She fake gagged. "I hate it. It doesn't fit me at all. There's too many Laurens in the world, and they all sound too boring."
"I think it's a pretty nice name," Russell said, loosening up a little.
The girl - well, Lauren - dropped her arms and clasped her dangling hands in front of her. "Thanks, I guess."
"I really have to be headed home," Russell said. Though he seriously doubted it and wasn't sure at all whether or not he actually wanted to see the girl again, he added, "Maybe we'll meet again after school one day."
"Sure. I'd like that," Lauren replied as Russell began walking away. "See ya later, Specs!"
…
Three more days had passed and Russell hasn't seen the chatty girl again. Finally, it was Friday. His parents had given him money to spend down at Louie's, the local deli, with some of his friends after school. As always, he didn't plan on going with anyone else, but didn't want to tell his folks that their child was such a loner. As the wooden doors of the schoolhouse flung open that afternoon, the cool autumn air and pure sunlight washed over the buzzing stampede of children. Russell, the precocious and somewhat pretentious boy that he was, couldn't stand the unstable noise levels and frantic energy for another minute. Soon the crowd dispersed, and he was back in the calming, quiet rhythm of the jingling bells of shop doors and the clopping of carriages as they rolled by. Then all of a sudden…
"Psst." Russell heard a voice whisper. He couldn't tell where it came from, but he decided to keep walking, maybe a little quicker.
"Psst!" He heard it hiss again. "Hey, you!"
He started to feel panic churning in his stomach. They're not looking for him, are they?
Then, a raspberry followed. "Pbbt!"
Russell identified the voice immediately. A hand tapped his right shoulder. He whirled around to see the ratty girl standing at his left. She was wearing the exact same clothes she wore three days ago. "Hey again!"
"Hey," Russell mumbled. "How'd you find me?"
"Y'know, I was just walkin' around the street, maybe lookin' for a cent or two for a bite to eat. And then, here ya are!" She exclaimed, absolutely ecstatic. Russell felt like he had to shield his eyes from the enthusiasm that radiated off of her, like it was a blinding light. He was too worn down from the day at school even come remotely close to mirroring it.
"So, you free for a while?" Lauren asked. Russell plunged his hand into his pocket, feeling the small lump of nickels his mother sent him with. Maybe some company at Louie's wouldn't be so bad, and would perhaps get the girl off of his case.
"I was just heading down to the deli. Want to join me? I'll pay." He asked. Lauren nodded her head vigorously.
"Of course!"
When they came into the old, family-run shop, its namesake's 19-year-old son, Junior, waved them over from the other side of the glossy wooden bar. His parents and Russell's were friends, so the two knew each other well. A couple teenagers sat up on barstools. Of course, alcohol wasn't served until six, so there was no problem with them being there. Russell climbed up onto a seat and gestured for Lauren to follow, which she did.
"What can I get you today?" Junior asked, sliding over to face the two children. Russell turned to Lauren.
"Want to split a pastrami on rye?" He asked.
"That sounds great," Lauren replied. And then, Junior was off giving the order to the kitchen. "You're the best, Specs. Thanks a ton. I honestly couldn't afford somethin' like this myself."
Russell took his eyes away from the clock he had absently fixed his gaze on. He knew this girl was obviously from a lower class family, but it still came as a bit of a surprise. Best not make her feel bad about it, but once again, the sway of curiosity was stronger than his will to exhibit manners. The words "Can't afford a sandwich?" Fell out of he mouth before he could think.
Lauren looked like she immediately regretted her prior statement. "I said that out loud, didn't I?" She winced at her own stupidity. Then she looked at Russell and started to stutter with an explanation. "I, uh… Well, my folks, they haven't… I mean, we…"
Though it didn't seem too likely to him that parents would just let their kid go hungry, he had clearly made the girl upset, and he realized he shouldn't pry any more.
He left it at "You're welcome."
Lauren propped her elbows up on the bar and rested her chin in a hand. Her eyes fixed on a nearby cork coaster. "What are your folks like?"
"They're okay," Russell replied. "A little overprotective. They worry 'bout everything. I can't stand it sometimes."
"But they care about you a lot," Lauren assumed, not looking up.
"Yeah," then, after a moment: "Yeah, I guess they do. They just have a funny way of showing it."
A half-smile slithered onto Lauren's face, as if she had known the feeling. Just then, a widely grinning Junior returned from the kitchen with two glasses of water and the sandwich with a sour pickle on the side. Russell picked up one half of the sandwich and Lauren picked up the other. They tapped them together in a mock toast. Even when he began eating, Lauren was tentative, mostly picking tiny pieces off of the crust and chewing slowly. Russell knew something was wrong, considering how she wolfed down food the day they met.
"Are you okay?" He asked. Lauren dropped the sandwich back on the plate, set her hands on the edge of the bar, and exhaled deeply.
"All right, here goes…" She began. She tried to make direct eye contact but ended up squeezing her eyes shut, as if it were painful to tell him. "I don't got folks. I've been at an orphanage since I was eight, and it closed when it couldn't get funded. I got shoved back out onto the street just five days ago because I refused to get moved to a dingy old dump of a lodging house somewhere else."
Then, she opened an eye to take a peek at Russell's reaction, and then the other. He sat in silence, giving her an unreadable stare. "P-please don't let that scare ya away. All the people I've met the past few days get lost after they realize I'm some homeless gutter girl, and I guess I don't blame ya if you feel the same, but I just wanted to get it off of-"
Russell leaned over the gap between the barstools and wrapped his arms tightly around her. She stopped talking immediately. After a second or two of feeling confused, she accepted the warm embrace and wrapped her arms back around him.
"I'm so sorry," Russell said quietly, "That you had to go through all that."
Lauren could hardly believe what she was hearing. Nobody had ever tried to comfort her about her loss of a home. Not the shop owners who shooed her away, claiming she was a filthy street rat and was up to no good. Not the motel owners who declined her meek offerings of the few pennies she had in her pocket for a room for the night. Not even the other kids at the orphanage, since they were all stuck with the same old "dead mom" sob story. And now she was getting sympathy from this boy. Dragging her arms away, she was at a complete loss for words, except "I do okay." Then after another hesitant picked bite of bread: "So… you really don't mind that I'm, ya know…"
"Of course I don't mind," he answered. "I mean…we're pals, right?"
She smiled softly once more. "Right."
Russell swallowed another mouthful before she spoke up again. "Hey, Specs,"
"Hmm?"
She looked at her sandwich quizzically. "Where does pastrami come from?"
"Romania," he replied. "Fun fact I learned in school last week. It's kinda like corn beef, 'cuz it doesn't go bad quick."
"I could do without the social studies lesson, Teacher," she shot back jokingly. "I mean what kinda meat?"
"Oh. Whoops." Russell let out a bit of a chuckle, followed by a short raspberry, spiting his own foolishness. "Pbbt. Uh, I think it's beef."
Lauren held a napkin to her face to keep herself from making a scene from laughing too hard. "It's fun to do, right?"
"I guess it kinda is," Russell allowed. "I think I prefer it to actual whistling."
Lauren shot a raspberry back. "Pbbt."
"Pbbt!"
"Pbbt!"
"Pbbt!"
"Pbbt!"
"Pbbt!"
"Would you kids shut up?" A grumpy, large, middle aged man in a bowler hat a few seats down the bar asked.
Russell's eyes went straight to the floor and he pretended he hasn't spoken a word. Lauren followed. But after a few seconds, when the old man had returned his attention to his coffee mug, the two children looked back up at each other.
"Pbt," Russell finished quietly.
…
Almost every day after school since then, Russell had told his parents he was at a classmate's house, and he and Lauren would hang around the streets of the Bronx. Whether it was to get a bite to eat or to practice shooting empty bottles with Lauren's prized possession, her slingshot, they would always meet as soon as the bell rung.
This had went on for months upon months in secret, and for the first time since his early childhood, Russell had someone he could depend on, someone to cheer him up when he was down, and someone he could really talk to. And with out realizing it, Lauren had finally found who she thought of as the only person in the world who gave a damn about her hardships and stuck by her through it all. He had even saved up and surprised her with some of his afternoon money from his parents to get some new clothes, after she proclaimed that all she had from the orphanage was "the rags on my back, the quarters in my pocket, and the charm in my eyes," with a joking flip of her hair. She paid him back, of course, with accompaniment on numerous adventures around the city. For once, the two had discovered a true friend.
"I don't get it," Lauren pondered, squinting her eyes at the chessboard Russell had brought from home that day. "So, if this midget can jump the big guy…"
"That's a pawn," Russell corrected. "And that's a king." He sat next to her on the concrete steps of the schoolhouse, positioned on the other side of the board.
"Potato-potahto," Lauren said with a passive gesture. "First of all, ain't he just a peasant? Secondly, why doesn't midget get the crown when he takes down the ruler? Ain't that what they do in checkers?"
"I don't know," Russell shrugged. "I mean, if I were going to take down the president, I'd at least do it to take power myself. Put in some new laws I've been wanting to make."
"What kinda laws we talkin'?" Lauren asked. "The 'benefit of mankind' or somethin' that'll actually work?"
"I'd say free school for everyone," he put out as an example. Then he pointed to the board. "And every kid born for at least the next decade has to be taught how to play chess before they turn four."
"You really love this stinkin' game, don't ya?"
"It's my favorite. It really makes you think. I've beaten all my teachers during free period."
Lauren applauded and imitated a booming announcer voice. "Russell Woodspeck, King of Chess, everybody! First he dominates the classroom…"
"And next, the world!" Russell ended dramatically.
"'Oh my goodness!'" Lauren squeaked, holding up the queen figurines and making them talk. "He's so handsome! Marry me, Prince of Board Games!" Russell was the first to crack up, quickly followed by the girl.
"Russell?" The boy turned at the sound of his name. The huge grin wiped off of his face when he saw it was his silver-haired teacher, Miss Rose, standing in the wooden doorway of the schoolhouse with a solemn look on her face.
"Miss Rose," he acknowledged, standing up and walking towards her. "What is it?"
"Would you come in for a moment, please?" She requested. "I'm afraid I have some grave news for you."
Russell followed her inside and sat down on the bench closest to the door. "Yes?" Miss Rose hesitated for a long time, scanning Russell's pure, concerned face.
"I just received word that there was a fire that broke out at the police station. You father was on duty, and your mother was visiting."
She paused for another moment. Russell stood completely silent, terrified about what she must be implying. Then, it came, with a hold on his shoulder and a painful glance.
"I'm so sorry, Russell, but your parents have passed away."
"No." That's all that came to the boy's mind. He stood up, shaking the teacher's hand off of his shoulder. "They… they can't be."
"Russell, I can't begin to imagine what you must be going through emotionally. Your parents were truly-"
"They are!" He exclaimed. "Present tense. My pop… My pop woulda gotten out of there."
Through the quickly-rising wall of water in his eyes, he saw Miss Rose just shake her head.
"I'll give you all the time you want to grieve, but tonight, you need to pack your things from home and move to the nearest orphanage. By law. It's not too far away - Brooklyn, actually. They'll treat you well there, I promise, and we can have a nice ceremony for your-"
Russell couldn't take it. He just couldn't. Here Miss Rose was, trying to breeze over it, and he couldn't be any more devastated.
"I'm not going to Brooklyn," he said. "I'm not an orphan."
"Now, Russell…"
He blasted through the doors and hurried down the front steps of the school, two at a time, and flew out onto the street.
"Specs!" He heard Lauren call. "Specs, where ya going?"
In all complete honesty, he didn't know. He just knew he had to get away.
Maybe part of him thought that if her ran fast enough, he could catch up to his parents.
He zigzagged past families, couples, and children clogging the sidewalks of the shopping centre. With the blind feeling of needing to outrun something, he looked for somewhere to hide out. Anywhere. He needed to be alone.
Parked by the side of the road was a black, closed, and very large carriage. No horses stood at the ready, and neither did any passengers. Assuming it would be abandoned for a while, he slammed open the loudly creaking door, leaped up into the cabin, and swung it closed behind him. The plush interior theme was mostly cream-colored, and lacy-curtained windows lined each wall.
He sat in a seat and heaved for a long time, a single hand on his face, catching the hot tears that seeped out. His parents were dead. And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He could never go back home, what was Miss Rose thinking? He didn't want to live there. But even more so, he didn't want to be sent to Brooklyn. That would only mean that he accepted that the only two figures in his life who supported him through everything were killed in that fire.
Just then, from outside the carriage, he heard a muffled scream of "Specs!"
Russell drew back a curtain and hazarded a peek out the window. The third figure was looking for him. Her eyes locked with his through the window. She ran up to it and banged on it a few times. "Whaddya doin' in there?"
He closed the curtains and turned his back to the window, which only made the jumpy girl sprint for the door, throw it open, and leap in with him, making the car bounce a little. "What's gotten into ya? I mean, I've done some pretty stupid stuff since I got the orphanage boot, but hidin' in an unattended carriage? What got your undergarments in such a bunch, Specs?"
"Stop. Just leave me alone," he snapped, crossing his arms.
"What is this about? Your grades? Your chess game? Your-" she stopped, and quieted down, realizing the cause of the behavior. "Somethin' about your folks?"
Russell looked up at her and nodded his head. "They're gone," he choked out. "Happy?"
"Russell, I-" her mind was too fuddled with all the stupid and insensitive remarks that could come out of her mouth, she couldn't think of anything right to say. She barely had memory of her own parents.
"They wanna take me to the Brooklyn orphanage," he explained, uncrossing his arms and setting them beside him. "I-" His voice cracked. "I ain't going."
Though now obviously wouldn't be the time to comment on his adoption of city slang in leu of his school-enforced English grammar, she couldn't help but notice it.
"So you's running away?" Lauren asked. A leftover tear rolled down from under his fogged glasses. He swallowed hard.
"Yep," he answered, taking the glasses off and wiping out the water with the bottom of his shirt. He re-donned them and set his hands back down. "But I'm going alone. That's the whole point. So you need to leave."
"Are you kiddin'?" Lauren questioned. "You're stuck with me, Specs." Russell wouldn't look at her. He just stared straight ahead, trying not to feel anything, waiting for the girl to take a hike. She wasn't seriously going to carry the burden of some emotionally damaged blind kid aimlessly around the neighborhoods of New York.
Then, he felt a small, warm hand touch him. He looked down to see Lauren's fingers laced around his, squeezing tight. She looked him in the eye.
"I'm not gonna leave you."
Before he could respond, the carriage lurched forward in such a movement that almost threw the two out if their seats. They could hear horses at the head clopping down the cobblestone roads, and they were rolling steadily after. Had the jockey not noticed them?
Russell tugged his hand away and flew to the window, muttering "No no no no no no…this can't be happening… No no no no no…"
"Where are we going?" Lauren asked.
"How should I know?" Russell asked, frantic. "We could be riding to China for all we know!"
"Wanna make a jump for it?" Lauren reached for the door.
"Are you insane?" Russell shot back. "We'll get in trouble!"
"With who?"
"I'm pretty sure that the driver won't be too happy with two kids sneaking onto his carriage. This is a fancy one too! He's probably bringing it to a client."
"It's his fault for not checking the cabin before setting off to, apparently, China."
Russell thumped his head against the (thankfully padded with soft eggshell fabrics) wall. "I'm staying right here and going wherever this thing takes me."
"Then I am too," Lauren agreed.
Russell decided he wasn't going to protest. She really was his best friend.
"All right," he replied.
…
The carriage kept rolling a while after the burning orange sun had set over the skyline of skyscrapers and dark clouds carrying a pounding rain came over the city. Lauren had to be the one to shake Russell awake as soon as the vehicle stopped.
"Get up, Specs!" She yelled in a whisper. "He might be comin' back any second now!"
"Huh?" Russell shot straight up, saw the panic in her eyes, and bolted for the door. They stumbled out onto the slippery road, luckily not catching the attention of the jockey. Lauren grabbed Russell's arm and yanked him towards a storefront with a red canopy. There, she wrung out her already soaking hair. They observed the street, lined with shops and motels and office buildings. It looked more or less like the Bronx they called home. Only three of four people crossed the sidewalks as they stood there. It must've been much later than they anticipated.
"Any clue where we are?" Russell asked.
"Uh-uh," Lauren said, shaking her head. "I've never been to this town before. Ya got money for a room?"
Russell reached into his pocket and pulled out nothing but the inside fabric. "Uh-oh," Lauren said.
"That's right. We went to Louie's right after school." He hit his palm to his face. "That's just terrific."
"Hey, it ain't worst case scenario. After all, I've been good on the streets for weeks. You just gotta find a good spot, away from the crowd. In this case, away from the rain." She was already off, running back out into the shower, despite the ominous thunder.
"I'm trusting you," Russell told her, following her as she darted around like a cheetah on the hunt.
Within ten minutes she had found a narrow alleyway with coverage from the pounding precipitation where she and Russell decided to stay; at least until the rain stopped. With a brown brick building on one side of them and a pale yellow walled one on the other, they had plenty of room to lean against them, facing the other person, legs stretched out. Lauren sat the closest to the opening of the alley. A single trashcan stood between them and blocked Russell from the bright streetlamp light. He held his arms tight together, teeth beginning to chatter as he dried off from the rain. Lauren, on the other hand, had found a few unsold newspapers scattered around and had them hugged close to her body, like a makeshift blanket.
"I'm gonna try an' get some shut eye," she said, sinking her posture and drooping her eyelids closed. "G'night."
"Good night, Lauren," he said. "Hoping tomorrow's a little brighter."
It seemed an impossible wish when you were miles from home with no parents, no money, and no clue where you were. But Lauren had survived worse, and he just had to trust his best friend.
He stared up, past the hung laundry and fire escapes, at the sky. The half moon shone right over him, but not a star in sight. He'd been forced to go to Sunday school too many times to not do the Lord's Prayer before dozing off. And at the end, he whispered to the moon and whoever might be behind it in the sparkling puppet show that was the mysterious night sky, "Take care of them for me."
…
"Listen here, little girl. You don't belong here."
Russell groggily opened his eyes, unsure as to whether the man's voice he heard was real or was the conjuring of a dream. Whoever the man was, he didn't seem the least bit sympathetic.
"Sir, I live here, in that big ol' building! I was just takin' a break in the shade. Awful hot out, isn't it?"
"That lodging house is for boys, little lady. And my building right here doesn't stand for loiterers, much less a kid staying the night around here. Scares away customers. I know a place for kids like you, just a few blocks away."
Russell finally found his glasses on the ground and put them on. His vision of the man was blocked by the trash can set between him and Lauren. The man probably hadn't seen him yet.
"Kids like me?" Lauren challenged.
"Homeless. Trouble-making. Free-loading. And as far as I can tell, orphaned. It's called the House of Refuge. Maybe they can piece you back together there."
Russell leaned out to see the overweight man in a business suit tug at Lauren's arm.
"Lemme go!" She shouted. "I ain't goin' nowhere with you!"
Russell wished he could stand up. Fight back. Say something. But he sat in complete stillness for fear if getting dragged away himself.
"It'll teach you a much-needed lesson," he assured her, grabbing the collar of her shirt and pushing her down the street.
Finally, Russell snapped out of his strange, half-awake trance and bolted up after the two. When he skidded out into the sidewalks, they were packed. Carriages clopped by, tourists bustled through, families clamored, businessmen made their on-foot commute, and even more newsboys hawked with seemingly urban legend headlines. It took him a good couple of seconds before spotting his friend about ten feet away. He weaved through packs of people in dapper clothing, calling for her frantically.
"Lauren! I'm coming!" He yelled. "Lauren!"
Her head twisted around, and she turned her whole body to see Russell across the road he was about to cross. It was a look of surprise, followed by one of longing. The man violently shook her back around. As Russell was about to make a sprint to catch up, a large carriage slowly wheeled out on the street in front of him. When it finally came through, the man and girl were nowhere in sight.
"Lauren." He ran across the road and onto the concrete he saw her standing on just moments before. "Lauren!"
Then, the sidewalk split in two. Down the row of stores and offices or out along the bumpy road. Russell ran up one, down the other, and around the bridge that formed between them. He must've searched for almost an hour for what was supposedly "a few blocks away." He never found them.
Defeated, Russell wandered the stupid sidewalks without much purpose, kicking the stupid ground with his dad's stupid boots as he walked. How could he ha e been so foolish as to let the only thing left in the world that he cared about get towed away with some strange man?
He picked up a pebble from the ground. Probably just a broken corner of cobblestone. He chucked it at the brick wall of the first building he saw. Then, he saw the sign on it. It was the same building he slept against.
The faded gray sign read: "Newsboys Lodging House".
A pile of stones sat at the bottom of the wall. Russell scooped up a handful and began pelting the brick facade, hoping it would help him control his frustrations. It didn't. With each pathetic bang against the wall, he got more and more worked up over what he could've done if he weren't such an idiot…
"Hey, hey, slow down there. What seems to be ya heartache?"
Russell turned to see a blonde boy who appeared about a year older than him. He was a newsboy, judging from his worn clothes, backwards cap, and satchel of papers. The only thing really notable about this one was the wooden crutch he leaned on to compensate for his limp right leg.
"What's the Refuge?" He asked the newsboy.
His eyes widened for a second. "Why, you got no place to go? You an orphan?"
Russell swallowed before answering a reluctant "Yes."
"You don't wanna be taken into the Refuge. It's awful down there. Why, Jack knows more than anyone-" he stopped himself and gave Russell a crooked-head look. "Do you wanna stay at the Lodgin' House for a while? Maybe make some dough sellin' papes?"
"You mean… Selling papers for a living?"
"Why not? It ain't as bad as it seems. You could fit right in with the gang. We're all orphans here." Then he added in an our-little-secret kind of tone: "I'd pay ya rent for a couple nights, if ya want, while ya get started."
"I'm not sure I could do that," Russell said. "Be a newsboy, I mean. I don't think I'd be good at that sorta thing."
"Of course ya could. Jack could show ya the ropes!"
Russell was starting to grow an increasing curiosity as to who this "Jack" was.
"You sure you don't mind paying my rent for a couple nights? I mean, I'll pay you back when I can."
"Positive," the gimp grinned. "It's only a nickel for two nights. And, well, I gotta nickel."
Russell looked into the newsboy's green-hazel eyes, and then out onto the unforgiving street on which he watched his only friend get taken away. He returned his glance back to the boy.
"All right," he confirmed. "I'll give it a try."
"That's the spirit," the crutched boy encouraged, patting him on the back. He took him inside the building, where gas lamps illuminated a wooden desk, inhabited by the keeper. He was in his sixties with very thin hair and a tie around his stubbled neck. The boy told the man the situation and handed him some change. Up the stairs they went, to the room where he would be staying. The walls were an off-white with almost black hardwood floors. Bunk beds lined the walls. There had to be at least five pairs in that bedroom alone. About eight newsboys went around the room now. Some sat in their beds, complaining about the heat and mocking others for whining. Some pulled layers of plaid clothing on over their heads and strapped on suspenders. One or two even leaned against a wall, puffing smoke from their fat, glowing cigars.
Russell heard them exchange greetings and dialogue with nicknames.
"Pass the towel, Race?"
"It's too damn hot out there, Buttons."
"'Ey, Crutchie! Takin' a break so soon?"
Did nobody here use their real name?
"Jack, it ain't like ya to sleep in," the apparent "Crutchie" called up to a figure curdled in a high bunk. "Come on, we gotta new guy!"
"New guy, huh?" Jack rolled over and sat up, legs dangling over the side of the bunk. He wore a striped undershirt and dark slacks. "Ya gotta name?" He asked, pulling the hat that rested on the bedpost over his head.
Russell hesitated a bit, looking around the room, incredibly intimidated by the somewhat hostile atmosphere but trusting he'd grow to get used to it.
Though he didn't know it then, in time, he would learn to treat the rowdy boys around him as family, and he would learn to treat the Lodging House as home.
He firmly stood and told Jack his name.
"Specs," he said. "Call me Specs."