One little girl stood on the empty streets of The Bronx, clutching at a ratty teddy bear, tears streaking down her cheeks. She'd been crying for nearly an hour, but as no one was there to hear her, her tears reduced to whimpers. When her mother died, her father had tried to drink away his grief. That only got him fired, and all the money he had left was spent on whiskey. He had, of course, blamed it on his daughter, and taken out his anger on her. She had the marks to prove it. Finally, he just took her out and left her in the streets on a cold November day, never to return. Now she stood there, wrapping her arms around her frail body for warmth, without a home, without a friend, without a name. Sighing in defeat, she sat down on the curb, the tears coming once more. She broke down and sobbed into her bear.
"Hush, now. Don't cry," said a soft voice. The little girl looked up into the face of a scruffy street rat—a newsboy—who smiled, kindly down at her. She shied away from him, when he moved his hand, but he simply held it out to her.
Staring up at him, her big blue eyes full of hope, she placed her tiny hand in his callused one. His smile widened, and the corners of her mouth were just about to curve up when a gust of icy wind blew by, chilling her to the bone. The newsie frowned, then picked her up, wrapping his arms around her. She snuggled into his chest for warmth, and fell asleep.
Thus began a new life for Rebekah Anne Jones.
Rebekah was five when the leader of The Bronx newsies, Peter, called Dice by his newsies, found her on the streets. Dice brought her to the Bronx Lodging House, where she was raised, being doted upon by the newsgirls, and Dice, himself.
"He's like a mother hen," one of the boys, Poker, commented, snickering as he watched his leader play with Rebekah, who was now seven, and had been dubbed Two-Bits.
"I think it's sweet," replied a brown-eyed girl named Slots. Poker made a face.
"You would. You're such a girl." Despite these sort of conversations, there hadn't been anyone this young at the lodging house since anyone could remember, and Two-Bits was at least thought fondly of by all the newsies. Suddenly, the doors were flung open, and in came two newsies, drenched with rain. Dice looked up, and began snapping orders.
"Ace! Get blankets!" He hurried over to the two newsboys, who staggered in, one supporting the other. "What happened, Blackjack?" Dice demanded. The tall, gangly black boy, who was adequately named because he was black, and his original name was Jack, carefully set the other newsboy on the floor.
"It was Queens' boys. Three of 'em," he gasped. "Striker sent 'em. They were just here to have a little fun, they said. Anyway, we got into a fight. One of 'em sliced up Bookie's leg pretty badly," he said, gesturing to the now unconscious newsboy. He was one of the youngest, only twelve, and his leg was bleeding profusely.
"Alright, we'll have a little chat with Striker, but let's fix him up, first. Hey! Bristow! C'mere! We've got a problem! Bookie's hurt!" Dice shouted. Mr. Bristow, the keeper of the lodging house, came in from a back room.
"Sweet Jesus!" he exclaimed, "Speed! Go get the doctor! Hurry!" Speed jumped up and raced off, faster than she'd ever run, for the doctor four blocks over.
"Poker, get some old sheet! Slots! Get water!" The newsies ran around, hurrying to obey. Blackjack got up to help, but Dice sat him back down.
"Don't you move. You need to stay warm." Dice bent down in front of Two-Bits, who was looking scared and confused at the commotion. "Hey, Bits, I need you to go upstairs and get some clothes for Blackjack and Bookie. Do you remember where they are?" Two-Bits nodded, silently, and hurried up to the bunkroom. She returned fifteen minutes later with clean pants and shirts for the boys. The doctor came in with Speed. "Doctor Griggs! It's Bookie, he's—"
"I've already been told," the doctor interrupted, moving swiftly to the boy. A few boys helped him get Bookie into a room, but then they were kicked out. Only Bristow was allowed in the room as the doctor fixed up Bookie.
"Do you think he'll be okay?" Chip asked, voicing everyone's silent question. Dice smiled, encouragingly at her, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.
"He'll be fine, guys. Don't worry about it." Bristow came out, looking relieved.
"He's going to live. He lost a lot of blood, so he'll have to stay in bed for a few days. I trust you all will work hard to keep him there?" There was a chorused nod. "Good. Unfortunately, his leg's been torn up quite a bit. He's not going to walk very well from now on."
The next few days there was an air of half-forced cheerfulness. Everyone wanted to keep up Bookie's spirits. The newsies worked hard to earn extra money to pay for Bookie's board. After a week, Bookie was fine, but his leg was no longer functioning. However, he kept his spirits up, because the next day was his birthday—or the day he declared as his birthday, anyway—and he was glad to be up and about.
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BOOKIE!" came a chorused shout. Bookie opened his eyes, blearily, grinning at his friends. They were surrounding his bed, and Two-Bits, whom he was very fond of, was holding a brand-new crutch for him to walk around on.
"Let's take a walk, Bookie," Dice said, smiling. Bookie nodded, and climbed out of bed. Chip steadied him while he tucked the crutch under his arm, taking a few experimental steps. Thanking his friends, he followed Dice.
Bookie didn't come back.
"Dice! Wake up, Dice!" Two-Bits exclaimed, tugging at the Bronx leader's shirtsleeve. "C'mon, wake up!" Dice groaned and buried his head in the pillow, ignoring the ten-year-old newsgirl. "Dice! You promised you'd take me to Manhattan!" she whined. Dice stuck out his head and glanced at her.
Big mistake.
She widened her blue eyes, and twirled a strand of blond hair around a small finger, her lower lip stuck out in a pout. Dice never could resist that face.
"Alright, alright," he grumbled. "Gimme four seconds." She squealed with delight and bounded off just as Bristow came in to rouse the other boys.
"Two-Bits got ya?" he said, knowingly. Dice nodded, glaring, half-heartedly, at the excited little ten-year-old.
"She used her damn angel-face." Bristow laughed.
"Come on, boys! UP! Your leader's already up, thanks to his angel! You lazy lot gotta get up too!" The newsies grumbled and cast dark looks at the morning-happy man, but they crawled out of bed, pulling on their clothes.
"Come ON, Dice! Youse takin' FOREVER!" Two-Bits exclaimed, coming out of the bathroom to see that Dice had only just climbed down off his bunk.
"Alright, alright! Hold your horses!" He got dressed, quickly, and followed the ecstatic girl out the door.
They walked to Manhattan, to the distribution apparatus. "Still here, Skipper?" Dice called, when he spotted the Manhattan leader. Skipper turned and a huge smile broke out on his face.
"Hey, Dice! How's it rollin'?" he asked, grinning at his own joke. Dice laughed.
"Pretty good. Two-Bits wanted to see Manhattan, so I thought we'd sell over here today," Dice replied. Skipper looked down at the scrawny girl, and rolled his eyes.
"This is the little angel I've heard so much about?" He laughed. "You got a soft spot for scruffy ten-year-olds." Two-Bits looked up at him and gave him her angel-face. Skipper winced.
"That would be why." Skipper grinned.
"Ah. No wonder. She could woo quite a few of my newsboys with a face like that! So, anyways, let's get our papes!" Dice and Two-Bits followed Skipper towards the gates of the apparatus. "Heya', boys! Dice has decided to grace us with his presence, today, and he's brought along Two-Bits, so be nice!" Dice nudged Two-Bits forward, and she smiled, shyly, up at the newsboys, who were examining her, curiously.
"So, let's see…Ah, Snitch! How 'bout you show her the sights?" Dice glanced, nervously, at the newsboy who stepped up. He was maybe a year older than Two-Bits, but he looked nice enough.
"Don't worry, Dad," Skipper teased, "Snitch is a nice boy, and he promises to have her home by twelve. Snitch, show her around, sell your papes, and meet us back at Tibby's at noon." Skipper and Dice got their papers and went to sell, and catch up.
"Well, c'mon, goily. Let's go. Whaddya' wanna see first?" Snitch asked, hefting his papers over one shoulder. Two-Bits looked around, thoughtfully, slipping her hand into Snitch's, as she did with everyone.
"Um...Central Park!" she exclaimed. Snitch grinned. Central Park was his favorite place to play.
"All right. Can you keep up?" he asked, shifting to a stance in preparation for a run. Two-Bits grinned.
"I run with Speed all the time. She lives up to her name," she replied. Snitch laughed.
"We'll see," he said, and he took off running, Two-Bits chasing after him.
In the end, Snitch beat her, but only by a few steps. Two-Bits slipped her small hand into Snitch's once more, and they started walking through the park, Snitch hawking headlines, while Two-Bits looked around with wide-eyed amazement.
"Hey, Snitchy! Who's the goilfriend?" someone called. Snitch looked around, blushing. It was two other newsboys, one tall and gangly, age twelve, with curly golden locks, and one was shorter, with shaggy blonde hair, a red bandana around his neck, and an over-sized cowboy hat.
"She ain't my goilfriend, Cowboy," Snitch muttered.
"She's holdin' your hand, Snitchy. Ain't dat what goilfriends are supposed tah do?" Cowboy replied, grinning, cheekily. Two-Bits shook her head.
"Nu-uh. Poker and Slots are boyfriend and goilfriend, but dey don't go around holdin' hands!" she shot. Cowboy and the other boy looked at her, as if surprised she could talk.
"I am ten, Cowboy," she said, coolly. The two boys looked even more surprised.
"You'se ten?" the other boy exclaimed. She nodded. Cowboy snorted.
"You look like you'se five!" Two-Bits frowned.
"Well, I'm not!" So get over it!"
Thus began the beginning of Two-Bits's soon-to-be-notorious sarcasm.