Hello everyone! This is my first Newsies fanfic, and I hope you like it! Feel free to comment on whatever you want, suggestions, criticisms, even *gasp* compliments!
Read, favorite, follow, but most importantly, enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies. :(
Chapter One
Emma Leona
Poised. Gracious. Charming. I am all I am meant to be, all a young lady of wealth and treasure is ever meant to be. I have everything I will ever need, yet I wish for another life, one where I must work for what I have. This is what starts every story, is it not? A child who fits not into their own shoes but rather has another destiny to fulfill. But what of reality? Despite what we want and what we feel, sometimes we are forced into our place, our shoes smashed unceremoniously onto our bleeding toes. My story is like that of many others in truth, my ankles scarred and heels blistered, soaking the satin of my slippers and their bloodstained pearls.
That is what I thought to myself; day after day, night after night, I reminded myself of the harsh reality, that I was not destined to have the adventures I yearned for. Still I dreamed of my fairy tale, of my prince climbing through my bedroom window to whisk me away and change the world. But it was not to be.
Until it was.
I closed my worn notebook with a thud, tucking my pencil into the torn binding. It was nearly dawn, and I needed to head to market soon. No more time to write. Goodness, if only I could sleep in for one day… How I wish I had the life I wrote of in my stories. It was funny, really, how I brought to life a girl who wished for my tale while I secretly and desperately desired hers.
"Emma Leona!" my mother hissed urgently into my ear. "Hurry, get up, the sun is going to rise soon!"
I scrambled out of my cot, throwing on my lilac blouse and auburn skirt and tying my wrinkled cream apron around my slender waist. I slipped my leather shoes on, wincing as they pinched my toes. Like the story I wrote in my journal, my own life didn't fit into its given shoes.
The servant's quarters was dark but beginning to brighten in the last few minutes before dawn. After running a comb through my soft curls, I picked up my cap and carefully pinned it on top of my chocolate brown waves.
Scurrying out of the cabin, I quickly glanced at my reflection in the dirty water of our rain barrel. My dirt-streaked tan face stared back at me, melancholy dark eyes gazing back at me. I shook myself. No use pretending to have what wasn't there. I took a deep breath and headed down the back door of the Hamilton mansion.
It was beyond a dark stairwell, the cracked concrete steps of which were placed at odd angles until they reached the wooden door. I grabbed the iron handle and twisted with all my might, slowly pulling open the servant's entrance to the house. The rusted hinges screeched as I finally made my way into the basement.
Dank and cold, the back entrance led into a collection of rooms much like prison cells, small and rough-walled. The cement was tagged, pointed teeth tearing through the soles of my shoes. I made my way towards the stairs, where I tiptoed to the top, hurriedly dashing to the kitchen on the first floor.
The labyrinth of halls and rooms in the Hamilton mansion would have confused many, but I knew it like the back of my hand. I grew up here, my mother and I indentured servants and my father long gone. I had no memory of him nor any idea of where he was now, dead or alive. I still owed years, likely the next decade of my life. My thirteenth birthday was eight days ago, on July seventh, 1899. My mother had scavenged a small meal from the scraps, as always, but she had also snuck a cookie out of the dining hall after dinner. It was risky business, stealing from those who had complete power over us, yet it made that cookie, stale and dusty as it was, taste a thousand times better. And, unfortunately, a million times guiltier.
"Good morning, Frank," I said to the cook. "What do you need from the market today?"
"We're running low on eggs and milk. Also, fresh strawberries would be good. Miss Ivory's-"
"Good God, not Miss Ivory," I muttered.
Frank laughed heartily. He was a large man with kind blue eyes, and he had helped my mother raise me. Despite my father's absence in my childhood, Frank had subconsciously taken his place. "Well, her birthday is in two days, and we'll need the whole staff working."
I sighed. Of course. Always working.
Shaking myself and forcing a smile onto my face, I said, "So milk, eggs, and strawberries?"
He put a hand on my shoulder, handing me a small canvas pouch of coins with his other. "Good girl. Be careful on your way. Watch out for-"
I rolled my eyes. "I know, Frank. I'm always careful."
He smiled, though worry tainted his content expression. "I know."
I smiled back, shrugging his meaty hand off my shoulder. "See you in an hour!" I called, grabbing a basket and rushing out the door.
The market was crowded, as usual. Vendors paraded goods of every type, and I scoured the streets for Charlie, who I normally bought groceries from. I pushed through the crowd, trying to get a better look. Behind me, I heard shouts and the pounding of feet. I groaned in annoyance. Not the newsies again.
But, of course, it was.
"Paper! Paper! Evening paper!"
"EXTRA EXTRA! Terrified flight from burning inferno! You heard the story right here!"
I rolled my eyes. Newsies. I mean, I had nothing against them; after all, like me, they probably didn't appreciate their given shoes any more than I did. But why did they always have to be so obnoxious?
"Hey, you," a heavy New York accent said behind me, "does you want to buy a-"
His voice faltered as I turned around. Self-consciously, I tucked a lock of long brown curls behind my ear. Strangely, I hoped I looked good. I knew myself to be at least as attractive as any of the other servants at the Hamiltons, but, to be honest, none of them were particularly beautiful. Still, though, at one glance from the newsboy, I immediately felt all of my own imperfections, the blemishes anddirt smudges. It was embarrassingly cliché.
The world seemed to be moving in slow motion. His dark eyes sparkled conspiratorially, and his tan skin, a few shades darker than my lighter complexion, shone. He ran his hand through his hair and smiled lopsidedly. I felt compelled to look away, but I couldn't take my gaze off of him.
"-pape?" The word broke the moment with a resounding thud. I blinked. The boy cleared his throat. "Name's Romeo."
Of course. Of course the boy standing before me would be named Romeo. I smiled to myself. "I'm Emma Leona."
"You's a pretty name for a pretty goil." I rolled my eyes. Such a flirt. "Does you like to buy a pape?"
I almost did. I wanted to, certainly, to open the wrinkled canvas pouch and pull out a dime for Romeo. My hand fingered the drawstrings to open it, but I forced it out of the pocket in my apron. Frank would know if I stole the Hamiltons' money. I couldn't do it. I couldn't steal.
I shook my head slowly. Then, stilling myself, I whispered, "I'm sorry." The words felt so heavy to me. Two little words, said so often but seldom truly meant. I doubt that anyone had ever said more in those two words than I had just now.
He smiled, reaching out to grasp the hand still lingered near my pocket. "It's alright."
His hand was warm, and it made me uncomfortably shivery. Unlike my long, slender fingers, his were rough and calloused. I glanced down at our hands then back up at Romeo.
Although I did like him, I had a job to get done. And I would not allow myself to become this wishy-washy over a boy I just met. I tugged my hand from his grip and stood a bit taller. "Please excuse me, I have groceries I need to buy."
Romeo took a step back. "Me apologies, miss."
I nodded. "Will I see you again tomorrow?"
"Wouldn't miss ya for the world." He winked at me.
I giggled and shook my head. "See you, then." And I dashed off to find Charlie.
Romeo
Emma Leona. Emma Leona. Emma Leona. The name rocked gently back and forth in my mind, rolling and pulsing like small waves on the beach. Why couldn't I get her out of my head? There were plenty of beautiful girls in New York, so why her?
I must say, I did like liking her. Does that make sense? I'd never really felt this way about a girl before.
"Eh!" called my brother, Race, as I bumped into him. "Watch out!"
"Me apologies," I said, but my mind wasn't really there. Race and I weren't related, but we had declared ourselves brothers years ago. I sure hope Emma Leona ain't older than I is.
I shook my head in annoyance. Stop it, Romeo, you's a job to do.
I focused on the people in the market. "Extra! Extra!" I called. "Police attack striking trolley workers!"
No one cared.
I didn't really expect anyone to notice. I was just feeling too out of it to come up with a good story. My stupid brain felt as if it were moving through thick and gooey mud.
That's when I heard the scream.
It had a sort of echoey feel to it; it was from rather far away. I started running towards it, instinctively weaving my way through the crowds and down the streets.
The worst part was that I recognized the scream. It was her.
I couldn't tell what she was saying, but her voice was rising in pitch, panic and fear mixing together, harmonizing and combining in terrible ways. There was another voice too, a deeper and darker one, with intense, harsh words. "Emma Leona!" I called out, running faster.
"Help!" I heard from an alley.
A large man, easily six feet tall, towered over her. He wore an apron stained with blood and carried a butcher's knife in his right hand. Emma Leona trembled violently. She hadn't seen me yet, and neither had the man. I was not particularly eager for him to notice me.
"I didn't steal the meat, I swear," Emma Leona gasped.
The man growled in response, and he lifted the knife to swing. He let out a grunt from the effort. Emma Leona screamed. I ran towards them.
I shoved Emma Leona out of the way just in time to avoid the knife. It landed on me instead.
My calf muscle stung in agony. I was lucky; the gash wasn't deep enough to cause permanent damage, though it hurt like heck. I gritted my teeth. To Emma Leona, who had fallen to the ground, I said, "Come on! I know a place we can go!" Fighting the pain in my leg, I raced towards her, scooping her back onto her feet. I could feel blood dripping into my boots. Dang it. Those were my favorite shoes.
Emma Leona and I ran. The burning in my leg only became more and more intense. We could hear the shouts of the man behind us, but he was too heavy to be fast enough to catch us. We darted down streets and alleys, pushing through throngs of people. Finally, we arrived.
"Where are we?" Emma Leona asked me, staring deep into my eyes.
Once again, the sight of her stuck me dumb. She was easily the most enticing girl I'd ever met, her long, gentle curls of dark brown hair, thoughtful chocolate eyes, and cute smile that tugged at her lips like strings on a puppet. She was so beautiful.
"Romeo?" The sound of my name broke into my thoughts. "Whaddaya think ya doin'? Who's the goil?" It was Race.
"Her name's Emma Leona. Saved her from an angry butcher."
"Ah." He turned to Emma Leona. "Welcome to our home. The name's Race." He spit into his hand stuck it out for her to shake. She squeaked in alarm and jumped backwards. "Oh. Sorry." He wiped his hand on his pants and reached out again. She took his hand reluctantly and shook it. "Are ya here to stay or what?"
Emma Leona looked at me questioningly. I asked her, "Ya wanna stay?" Please say yes, please say yes.
Her eyes were sad as she said, "Yes, thank you."
I was rather taken aback. "What's wrong?"
"I can't go back. The man would have reported me to the police for stealing. I didn't, I could never, but I can't go back home. They know I work there. My mom and Frank will never know what happened to me." She began to cry.
She was a really cute crier.
I put my arm around her shoulders, and she didn't shrug it off. Race, realizing that this was a private moment, left, headed into the creaky building before us.
"Look at me," I said. Obediently, she looked up, eyes bleary and nose red. "I didn't want to be here either. You'll be okay, I promise."
"You dropped the accent," she said.
Confused, I replied, "What?"
"Your newsboy accent. You lost it."
"Oh. Yeah, I guess I did."
Pulling herself together, she stood a little taller, straightening her back and wiping her eyes. "Let's do this. I'm ready to be a newsie."
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