Disclaimer- So I don't own West Side Story. I don't own anything else that I might have offhandedly referenced in this thing either. The legal jurisdiction to everything in this story is under their respective owners. You know who you are. And if you don't, well, you don't deserve the legal jurisdiction of anything, so I'm not worried.

Summary- We've all heard what happened in the summer of 1950 in New York's upper west side. The story's not new. But it was new to them, while it was happening. You never knew what was coming around the next corner. How would they tell the story? And what if everything didn't turn out exactly as you thought it did? Funny you should ask…


One:

Baby John-

Home Free Home

"I'm looking at you through the glass

Don't know how much time has passed

All I know is that it feels like forever

But no one ever tells you that forever feels like home

Sitting all alone inside your head"

-Stone Sour, Through Glass-

I'd been standing outside the door of Doc's Drugstore for what must've been at least ten minutes now, staring through the window, trying to talk myself into going in. What'm I so scared of?, I asked myself. What's the worst that could happen? Isn't this what I've been wanting to do for months now? I knew the answer was sure, this was what I wanted. Then again, it's always easier imagined than done. But I'm not passing up a chance like this. I'll never get one again.

I took a deep breath and walked in the door, and there they were. All ten of them, crowded around that one back table like they'd been every day I walked past the store. I was scared shitless, but I didn't care much. Well, I mean... You know what I mean, right? I wasn't going to let my scaredness get in the way of doing what I had to do, is what I mean. Anyway, I went over to them, pulled up a chair, and sat down. The depressing part of that was that it took them all of about thirty seconds to notice I was there. Self-esteem has never been a real strength of mine, but that was enough to kill what little of it I had. Finally, one of them turned and gave me a weird "what-are-you-doing-here?" look. He was a tall, skinny kid, maybe two years older than me. Not good-looking in the normal movie-star kind of way, but there was something about him that made you want to look again. There was a feeling of purpose, importance, coolness that went with this kid, and it fascinated me. He fascinated me.

"Hey, boys, look what we've got here!" he said, sweeping his blond hair out of his eyes. "A stowaway. Who're you with, kid? The Emeralds? The Hawks? Who?" He talked with a strong, drawling west-side accent. Maybe that went without saying - I mean, we were in the West Side, so go figure -, but it just made him sound tough, hard. Anyone else with an accent like that just sounded like my Aunt Edna, I'd always thought, but again, this one was different.

I just kind of stared at him. Who was I with? Nobody. And even if I was, did he honestly think I was gonna tell him?

"C'mon, kid, don't play stupid. Who sent ya?" he asked again, and he was losing patience. Apparently, it didn't take much.

"Cool your jets, Riff. He ain't with no one," the guy next to him muttered. This guy, on the other hand, was your average movie-star action hero: tall, dark, and handsome. I mean, if I was thinking about him that way. Which I wasn't. He immediately went back to his conversation with another Jet. "I'm telling ya, A-Rab, zip guns? The Hawks ain't got that kind of money. Don't kid yourself."

The kid who must be called Riff sighed. "Well, then why the hell you here?" he asked me.

I kept staring for just long enough for them to get the impression that I was completely out of my mind (unintentional, but hey! It seemed to happen a lot), then I finally answered. "I'm J-John. I wanted t-to join the Jets," I said, praying to whatever god felt like listening at the time that I wouldn't throw up.

All the talk at the table died. Now it was everyone else's turn to stare at me.

"Him? You're kidding me. What is he, twelve?" one of them, a short guy who didn't look much older than twelve himself, sneered.

The boy who'd told Riff to cool it glared at him. "Shut up, Action," he snapped.

"Don't you tell me to shut up! You ain't got no authority here no more, Deadbeat Tony, the so-called Jet that hardly even shows up anymore! You think you can still tell me what to do, think again!" Action, the short kid, yelled back.

Tony shot him a look that could've stopped the heart of a lesser man, but it was Riff who stood up and towered over him like he was plotting murder. Which, come to think of it, I wouldn't've put past him. "Think again yourself, Action! You forgettin' who make them Wolves turn tail and run back to Queens? You forgettin' who saved your neck from the Hawks a week ago? You forgettin' who started the goddamn Jets with me in the first place? Tony, every time. You think you can do better? Do ya?" Action didn't say anything. "No? Then leave the decisions to people who can handle 'em."

Action shrank down in his chair like he wanted to disappear, and muttered a quiet "Sorry, dadeo," under his breath.

"Damn right," Riff snapped, sitting back down and turning back to me. There was a look in his eyes now that sent a shiver down my back. It wasn't anger, exactly, and I wouldn't call it fear or sadness either, more like some crazy combination of the three, and it made him look so powerful that it scared me. "So. John, you said?" he asked me.

"Yeah," I answered. Something cooler might've fit, but I was still concentrating so hard on not pissing my pants that "yeah" was about all I could manage.

"How old are you, John, seriously?" one of them asked me.

"Fifteen," I admitted. "But I'm old for my age, and…"

"Hey, no worries, man. I was thirteen when I joined up. Good days, those were. And I was taller then than Action is now, too…" he added, grinning.

Action sent him the Death Glare. He practically had to look straight up to do it, too. Seriously, the Jet whose name I didn't know was huge. Six-seven if anything. I felt like I'd been transported to Munchkinland, and I was taller than Action, too… "It's the freaking genetics, man. I'm taller than half my family already, so don't start that – "

Riff groaned and shook his head in exasperation. "Action, we still don't care."

Action told Riff to go do something that I'm not really sure is anatomically possible, but dropped the subject.

"John," Tony said, returning to the real subject of the moment- me. "Why'd you want to be in the Jets anyway?"

I paused, looking for an answer. I had nothing. Why did I, anyway? I knew, sure, but it wasn't one of those things you could put into words. I didn't think they'd buy that as an answer, though. "Because… well…" I began halfheartedly, gradually gaining steam as I went along, "When you're on your own, like me, you know, it's not easy. You got no one to look out for you, to watch your back, no one that cares about you except your family, and that doesn't even count. When you're in a gang, though, you walk in twos, threes, fours, and people respect that. You're home free home, nobody messes with you. You guys least of all. The Jets are the biggest gang," – I looked from the giant Jet to Action, laughed to myself, and decided to try and reword that – "I mean, the greatest gang on these streets, and everybody knows it. That's what I want, to be like you guys," I finished finally. Not bad for improv, huh? This was the first thing I'd said all day that I could look back on without being embarrassed.

The giant Jet laughed. "He sounds just like you, Riff!"

Riff grinned. "You know what, he does a bit, back when I was young and innocent."

Tony snorted loudly.

"Well, young, anyway," Riff conceded. "John, you're growing on me, buddy-boy. I think we could use some new blood around here, anyway. Diesel? What d'you think of our boy John here?"

The giant Jet, apparently called Diesel, shrugged. "I like him. With a little time, he could learn to walk with us. And we could do worse, anyway…" he added, giving the girl standing behind Riff a pointed look.

She almost broke the table in half in an attempt to get at Diesel. "You wanna say that for me one more time, smartass?" she snapped, shoving him in the chest. For the record, this had about as much of an effect as if she's shoved the wall. "I could lick ya, blindfolded, you know I could, if you just gave me a chance! I can rumble with the best of 'em!"

Riff groaned and buried his head in his hands. "Jesus…" he muttered. "You just don't go away, do you, girl?"

Another Jet, this one wearing glasses and a melodramatic expression, sighed and shook his head. "Anybodys, remind me again why we put up with you," he murmured. As Anybodys started to respond, he continued, "Or, upon further reflection, don't." He smiled at me and stuck out a hand for me to shake, which I did, feeling like a total idiot. "Snowboy here. Delighted to make your acquaintance, absolutely delighted. Don't pay Anybodys any mind, either. You get used to her. You have to, she just won't leave. Well, John, it looks as though you're one of the boys now, huh? One of the posse, you might say, one of the gang. No pun intended, of course! Remember, we're your family now, son. We stick together like…"

"Snowboy! Lettim breathe!" Riff said, grinning.

"It's all right," I said. "I grew up with three sisters. They'd talk your ear off if you sat still long enough."

Diesel laughed and slapped me on the back. It was amazing I didn't fly straight through the window. "Sisters are all well and good, John, but there ain't a chick alive who's got anything on Snowboy."

Snowboy folded his arms petulantly and glared at Diesel. "Insignificant, uncultured mortal…" he muttered.

Diesel shrugged. "I try, buddy-boy. I try."

Tony cut him off with a word that would have horrified my mom if she'd been close enough to hear. "Cops!" he hissed.

Action grinned, rubbing his hands together, the picture of suspicion. "Perfect," he said.

"C'mon, boys, you know what to do. John, follow my lead. Anybodys, beat it," Riff ordered, sounding, I thought, like a war general or something, issuing orders.

"Ah, come on, dadeo…" Anybodys whined.

"Beat it, Anybodys," Riff snapped.

Anybodys told Riff to go do something that, again, I'm pretty sure he'd have difficulty doing unless he was a professional contortionist as she stomped out the door. All the other Jets ran to separate tables, two or three to each, and launched into randomly fabricated conversations that I don't think made a whole lot of sense to them either. Riff, Tony and I stayed where we were. Tony lit up a cigarette, Riff kicked his feet up on the table, and I just sat there, feeling more and more stupid with each passing second. But hey, that's nothing new.

The door to Doc's slammed open, and two men walked in. One was almost as wide as Diesel was tall (I kid you not), and the other could've easily been eaten by him. Neither of them looked particularly happy, and they both wore the dark blue police uniform of the area.

"Well, well, well, look who it is, John," Tony muttered around the cigarette. "Manhattan's most romantic couple…" I would've laughed, but I hid it behind a cough. I could tell this was the kind of opportunity the Jets dreamed about.

"Top of the day, Lieutenant Schrank!" Riff said, waving brightly.

"And Officer Krupke too! Pleasure," a mousy-looking kid I didn't know said, pulling a fake-bow in his chair.

"A-Rab," Riff whispered, mostly for my benefit.

The giant one, Officer Krupke, glared at A-Rab. "What're you kids doing here?" he growled.

"Oh, we love it here, officer. Keeps us poor deprived kids in a family setting and off the foul city streets. You won't believe the level of crime and delinquency out there," A-Rab said without missing a beat. I would've whistled, had my goal not been to be as inconspicuous as possible. This guy was good.

"Watch it, A-Rab. You ain't fooling us," Krupke snarled.

"How could we hope to, officer? Your excessive brainpower is just too much for our feeble lies to penetrate," Snowboy commented. I could tell Krupke was still stuck on the definition of "excessive", but Schrank jumped to his rescue.

"Don't play games with me boys," he warned. "Listen here. We know what you're up to. This is some kind of war council, we know it is. You're goin' against the Hawks, that ain't no secret. So where's it gonna be?"

Unsurprisingly, no one said anything.

"Oh, come on. Sweeney's lot? The river? I ain't gonna play around much longer. I'll start taking you down to the station until you tell me where you're gonna rumble, one by one, starting with you, Captain Jet," he added, glaring at Riff, who smiled pleasantly back. "You hear me?"

The only sound was Tony, casually driving his cigarette out onto the plastic tabletop.

"Didn't I tell you guys the difference between being a stool pigeon and following the law?" Schrank asked in despair.

Riff grinned, and I could just see the little thought bubble rising above his head: Bingo. "Sure you told us, Lieutenant. We put up a collection for the first guy who can figure it out," he said instantly.

Tony and Diesel snorted loudly as Schrank continued to raise his blood pressure. "Hey, you!" he snapped, and I swear on the grave of my still-living mother, he walked right over to me. "You're new here, ain't'cha? You wouldn't mind tellin' me where the rumble is, right? I ain't gonna mess with your little friends here," he said.

I just stared at him. Jesus, I do a lot of staring.

"Didn't you hear me?" he demanded.

There was my moment. "Sure I heard you, Lieutennant. I got 20-20 hearing," I said quietly. Riff and Tony laughed out loud.

"I know you know where it's gonna be. Tell me, and I'll go easy. Where's the goddamn rumble with the Hawks already, half-pint?" Schrank sneered.

"There ain't gonna be no rumble, Lieutennant. We don't like to fight with other deprived kids. Can't we all just get along?" I asked in what I hoped was a sincere, innocent voice.

Riff and Tony were still sporting identical idiot grins, and A-Rab winked at me. I wasn't doing too bad… Well, according to the Jets, I wasn't. Schrank didn't look too happy, and Krupke'd had enough,

"Listen, unless you guys tell me what's going on, I'm gonna be demoted to traffic corners. And your friend don't like traffic corners. And when I ain't happy, you ain't happy. Now, we ain't gonna get down on our knees and beg, but if you've got any sense at all, you'd tell us straight out and spare us and the station the headache. I know most of you too well to be stupid enough to think you've got any sense, but you… You I don't know." Krupke fixed me with a squinty-eyed glare. "What's you're name, kid?"

"Baby John," Tony said instantly. Any inclination to rat out the Jets blew away. They accepted me. I had a nickname like everyone else. (Well, except Tony, but that's not the point.) I belonged. I'd never felt like I'd belonged anywhere.

Maybe Krupke sensed my sudden initiation to the ranks of the kids he so hated, because he turned around and stomped out the door without another word. Schrank shot us one last dirty look, which Riff countered with a friendly "Good afternoon, Lieutennant Schrank," before he too made a sullen exit.

The second they were gone, another Jet burst out laughing. "Look at the old fat-ass run! They can probably feel the ground shaking over in the Bronx!" He walked over to me and slapped me on the back. "Hey, Baby John. Big Deal. You're not bad for a first-time Schrank-hazer. I'm impressed. I had my doubts, but you got guts, kid. Welcome to the Jets."

"Should I be complimented or insulted?" I felt the question had to be asked.

Big Deal shrugged. "Maybe a little of both, I guess."

"You guys do that a lot?" I asked, skeptical. The relaxed way they'd provoked two guys with the power to throw them in jail for life had surprised me.

"Our primary source of entertainment, buddy-boy," another Jet I didn't know told me. "They never actually do anything. Cops 'round these parts, they're all badge and no gun."

Riff picked up Tony's pack of cigarettes and threw them across the table at the Jet's head, which by an extreme amount of skill and aim actually connected with his left ear. "Hey!" they both snapped.

"Don't start lying to him without even telling him your name! You're givin' him confidence ain't none of us got a reason to have," he snarled. The mood around the table darkened, but plainly no one but Riff knew exactly why.

"Mouth Piece," the Jet said, by way of introduction. "And Riff… well, he's going paranoid in his old age. Don't pay no attention to him. He thinks every conversation in the street's an assassination attempt. Bit senile, you know?"

"Remember why we called you Mouth Piece in the first place?" Riff shot back, his eyes blazing. "Because every time you opened yours, shit kept falling out." The rest of the Jets cheered as Mouth Piece went red faster than a stoplight. "Bet senile, am I? Remember Ice?"

The room went dead silent. Everyone did. I gave Riff a "what-the-hell?" look. He gave a sort of half-smile and explained. "Ice came along about the time Snowboy did, 'round a year, year and a half ago. Snow and Ice. It was great. Ice was this huge guy, like seven feet tall, two fifty, but he was sweeter than your grandma. A hell of a lot sweeter than my grandma, but that ain't saying shit. The lady beats me over the head with her cane for kicks. But that ain't the point. Everyone loved Ice. He was the best guy to have your back in a fight, loyal as sin. But then Schrank and Krupke came along. Ice was slow, see. Right after our rumble with the Wolves, we scattered, but Ice didn't make it out in time. The cops took him in, put him in the pen for six months. Half a year! Bam! Gone. Just like that. Then he got out, and his old man shipped him off to military school. We never saw him again."

"I did," Big Deal said unexpectedly. Riff gave a start of surprise- evidentially this was news to him, too. "Last week, at the movies, while I was sneaking out."

The Jets all nodded like this was a reasonable explanation.

"Wait, sneaking out of the movies? Why?" I asked.

Big Deal shrugged. "I snuck in."

I nodded. "Right."

"Well, anyway," he went on, "I saw him last week. Looks just like he used to, so I said hi, you know, just like old times. Didn't say a goddamn word. Walked on by with his nose in the air like he really thought he was something big, and then he hit me in the stomach, was all like 'Don't talk to me, punk,' and shit, and breezed on by with his girl like I wasn't even there."

Riff nodded. "That's what I mean, Mouth Piece. Them cops, they find ways to change people. They can make you pay."

Another Jet nodded sagely. "It's a dog-eat-dog world out there, boys, and we're the dogs."

Tony choked on a mouthful of air. "And is that a good thing?" he asked.

The Jet shrugged. "Depends, I guess, on what kind of dog you are. Mastiff, German Shepard, yeah, it's a good thing. Yorkie, poodle, not so much. I hate poodles…" he trailed off, shuddering at some memory he did not seem inclined to divulge.

A-Rab groaned. "That's Gee-Tar, Baby John. Complete psychopathic nutcase. Makes no sense. At all. Ever. But you get used to it."

Gee-Tar waved brightly at me, smiling. "That's me! The psychopathic nutcase. The village idiot, at your service."

I snorted loudly in a particularly stupid-sounding way, but nobody seemed to care. The dramatic mood had crashed and burned, and the rest of the Jets were now laughing or rolling their eyes. I could tell already that among the deadly seriousness that came as part of the job description for being a Jet, Gee-Tar provided the comic relief. He could be serious when he had to be, but he could also lift a depressing mood with one hand. Even though I'd only been here for all of fifteen minutes, I felt like I knew them all now, all the Jets, like they were the brothers I never had… All, that was, but one.

"So who's that?" I asked, pointing at the one Jet left. He was sitting on Doc's counter, kind of half-shadowed in a dramatic and menacing sort of way that he'd obviously put a good deal of thought into.

Riff laughed. "That? That, Baby John, is Tiger."

"Hey," Tiger said, hopping off the counter and walking over. Riff and Tony began to hum the James Bond theme in possibly the most annoying way known to man. Tiger glared. "Welcome to the Jets, Baby John. I'm the real power in this here joint, though. Remember that, and don't let none of these other kids tell you anything different," he said pompously. Riff and Tony changed their tune to Hail to the Chief. Tiger rolled his eyes eloquently. "Idiotic, foolish children that you are," Tiger said loftily, "I ignore you." I cracked up, although in hindsight this was probably not meant to be funny. Tiger sighed deeply. "I'm surrounded by idiots…" he said mournfully.

Snowboy beamed and slung an arm around Tiger's shoulders. "Maybe, my friend, but we're your idiots," he said cheerfully. Everyone laughed at this, not just me.

"Tiger here thinks he's really something special because he's a legal adult with a high school degree," Tony explained to me.

"And even though he knows how to find the area of a triangle, he's still completely useless in a fight," Action added.

"Which only goes to show you that there's two kinds of smart in this world, Baby John, and you'd best remember it. There's his kind of smart, and there's our kind of smart, and you've gotta remember which one to use when," Riff finished. The Jets all gave him poetry snaps, and he took a bow.

"You should write a book, dadeo," Diesel commented.

"I did once, actually…" Riff mused.

"Really?" I asked.

Riff shrugged. "Sure. I was totally wasted and I wrote it on the back of a napkin."

Tony laughed. "And what happened?"

"Well, the main character ended up screwing your mom, then Officer Krupke popped up and ate both of them," Riff explained.

We all gave him The Look number 32- the "wow-you-really-were-wasted-but-that-has-some-serious-potential" look.

Tony groaned. "Let's just hope that's not giving you any ideas..."

Riff waved a hand dismissively. "Of course not. I ain't got no intention at all of being eaten by Krupke."

Tony jumped over the table with a snarl like a lion on the hunt and tackled a stunned Riff to the ground. Within a second, Riff's arm was twisted up behind his back, and he gave a tiny little yelp like a dog with his tail stepped on.

"All right! All right! Uncle! Uncle!" Riff yelped, and Tony let him up.

"Watch it, or next time, buddy-boy…" Tony warned.

"Next time… It's always 'next time' for you, Tony," Riff sighed, picking himself up and brushing the dirt off his pants. "You're just like tomorrow, you know?" He, A-Rab, and Snowboy burst into song. "Tomorrow! It's always a day away!"

"You won't live to see tomorrow if you don't shut up…" Tony muttered.

Riff shook his head in mock-distress and put a hand on Tony's shoulder. "You worry me, Tony. I didn't think you'd be like this, so serious and depressed. Four whole years I live with a guy and his family, you'd think I'm diggin' his character. Boy, I'm a victim of disappointment in you…"

Tony laughed and pushed Riff away.

"It's been four and a half years now, genius," he said.

"You don't say? Well, time flies when you're having fun," Riff replied, totally unconcernedly.

Just as Riff finished his sentence, the door to the back room banged open, crashing into the opposite wall like a small explosion, and Doc stomped into the front room.

"You kids still here?" he demanded.

"Well, sure we are, Doc," Mouth Piece said brightly. "You know how we love it here."

"I know how you love what you do here, and how I don't stop you," Doc corrected, "but unless you're gonna buy something, then get. You're scaring all my business away."

A-Rab grinned and switched to a mystic voice, waving his arms around like a restless ghost. "Ooooh…. We are the ghosts of Doc's Drugstore… We will eat paying customers alive… Ooooh…." he said, then continued in his regular voice, "Don't kid yourself, Doc, we are your business. No one knows this joint's here, 'cept for us and the cops. And the schizophrenic guy who buys coffee on Wednesday mornings."

"Yeah? You've seen him too? And here I was, thinking I was totally losing my marbles…" Doc mused. I shook my head. Sweet guy, Doc, but sometimes he makes you wonder… "No, really, though, you're right, boy. What I need is a sign. A big ol' sign on the front wall… Doc's Drugstore, done all up in skywriting… Yeah. That's what I'm gonna do. Now seriously, get!"

Tony sighed. "Just when I start to feel loved around here… Jeez, Doc. I feel so crushed. Come on, guys." He shoved his chair back, snapped his fingers once, and all the Jets stood up in one collective motion and moved out the door, almost like a well-rehearsed synchronized swimming competition. You know, except without the water. And the lameness.

"Oh no, Tony, you did not just snap," Riff muttered, the only one besides me that hadn't moved. Once the drugstore was completely Jet-less (I still couldn't get used to counting myself as a Jet), Riff turned to me and stood up, leaning forward on the table and talking, his voice serious.

"All right then, Baby John, three rules of being a Jet," he began, as we walked out into the street. "One, the non-verbal crap. When I snap, you come. When Tony snaps, do me a favor and ignore him, would ya? He's taking this co-leader schtick a little far. Power's going to his head."

I blinked. Tony? A power-mongering insubordinate? Please. Maybe there was some secret gang lingo going on here that I wasn't getting, or some other Tony. But I wasn't about to voice this to Riff; you didn't interrupt him while he was talking. You just didn't.

"Then, there's the Jet whistle."

"The what, now?"

Riff sighed and whistled three quick notes. "That. When you hear somebody whistle, it kinda means something like 'Jets- assemble!'. Only in less cheesy words."

"Kind of like the Bat signal," I interjected wisely.

Riff looked at me like I was spewing some foreign language that was hitherto unknown to man.

"Um… never mind…" I said sheepishly, wishing that I could melt into the pothole I was walking over.

Riff shrugged and went on. "Anyway... You can use that if you're in trouble. If you get cornered, lost, ganged up on, whatever, someone's gonna respond with this." He whistled the first lick again, only this time the third note kind of slid down into a fourth one. "You can whistle, right?"

I answered by whistling the response.

Riff nodded his approval. "We'll work on it. Number two. You know what a gang does, kid? We take our piece of the world, our piece of the street, and we hold it. We hold it from the Hawks, the Bloods, anybody that comes up, we protect it against them. With our fists, with our words, with your life if you've gotta. Whatever it takes. I don't expect much trouble soon, though. I mean, we just fucking killed them Emeralds, we're staking our claim loud and clear. We're pissing on the metaphorical tree of Manhattan, and people who matter, they don't mess with that."

I gave him a confused look. "'Pissing on the metaphorical tree of Manhattan'?"

Laughing, Riff shrugged sheepishly. "So much for hoping you didn't hear that… Onward, then? Three. Anybodys. Don't let her talk you into being a Jet. Ever."

"Why?"

Riff shook his head ruefully. "Boy, if you've gotta ask, you don't get to know."

Both our heads snapped up like spooked rabbits as a sharp sound echoed down the narrow alley we were making our way down. I knew what it was instantly; judging by the expression of unequivocal horror spanning his pointed face, Riff did too. Three swiftly whistled notes, embodying as much panic as it was possible for three notes to do.

"Shit!" Riff muttered, and he bolted down the alley, vaulting the trash can behind Antonio's Pasta House. "Shit, shit, shit…"

I took off after him, having the presence of mind to whistle the response, as Riff's attention was obviously elsewhere. Jesus, that kid was fast! We turned onto a side street, jumped a chain-link fence into an abandoned lot, weaving our way through a game of basketball, jumping the fence on the opposite side, tearing down 4th avenue. I was panting for breath, clutching the mother of all stitches in my side…

And then, all of a sudden, Riff stopped dead. My feet couldn't stop fast enough, and I crashed right into him, sending his scrawny frame flying to the ground. He swore again and stood up, staring ahead, and finally I saw what he was looking at. A group of four people were standing opposite the Jets. One of them, a greasy-looking guy in a leather jacket with a wannabe-Elvis hairdo was talking to Tony, and as we steadily approached them we could hear what they were saying.

"Yes, you heard us, kid," Elvis-man was saying in a thick Hispanic accent. "Get off this street. This is our place now."

Riff's shoulders stiffened at these words, but Tony gave a harsh laugh. "Your place? Yours? This is so ridiculous."

"You said it, man! This has been our street for five years now, ain't no mariachi band gonna show up now and take it from under our noses!" Action snapped. I wasn't sure that was exactly what Tony meant, as he flipped Elvis-man the finger and stormed off down the street.

"We will ask you one more time. Then we will tell you. Get lost, children. Playtime is over," Elvis-man said smoothly.

Riff swept over and took Tony's antagonistic spot right under his opponent's nose, hissing, "Action, I got this," before rounding back on the new guy. I went and stood next to Diesel- no way anybody'd see me next to six feet seven inches of him. I mean, I wasn't ready to fight these guys! I'd thought I'd at least have some time to get used to things, to prepare, you know…

"Well, well, well, boys, who have we got here?" Riff asked the Jets smoothly, not taking his eyes off of Elvis-man. "Señores, I think you might be lost. Spanish district's that way."

"Who are you?" Elvis-man demanded.

"Me? My boys call me dadeo round these streets," Riff snapped back, obviously offended at this lack of recognition. Even I, not quite the quickest on the draw when it came to gang-speak, understood that to mean "leader" by this point.

"Your sons don't look much like you, I note…" the other guy said dryly.

Riff grinned wickedly. "Different gal every time, see. The name's Riff. Remember that. And who are you supposed to be? Zorro?" he drawled disdainfully, eyeing his all-black clothes and oh-so-Spanish aura.

"Bernardo," he said shortly. "And this is my gang. The Sharks. And this is our street."

Riff shrugged. "You in charge here, Nardo? Good. Then listen up. You're playing with fire now, here. This is Jet territory. Oh, for chrissake, Jets. You heard of us?"

"Can't say we have."

"Well, let me fill you in. We run this joint, we do. We're the power here. People, they don't mess with us. Since you boys are new here, I'll let you off with a warning. Stay away from us, if you know what's good for you. Now, I'm gonna ask you real nice. Beat it. Por favore?" Riff sneered.

Bernardo was glaring flames at him, but he didn't even blink at this.

"Well, Nardo? What's it gonna be?" Diesel asked disdainfully. Dammit… I thought. I hide next to the one guy who just has to open his mouth. Great.

"What do we say, Sharks?" Bernardo asked, and went on without waiting for an answer. "We say you'd better put your money where your mouth is. You want us to give this up, you'll have to make us."

"Believe me," A-Rab said graciously, bowing, "it will be our pleasure."

"Four on four, though," another Shark said. "We're not taking on twelve to four odds."

"Eleven to four," Big Deal corrected. "She's just kinda here."

"Oh, come on, guys, let me…" Anybodys began.

"No, Anybodys," Snowboy sighed.

"But what if I…"

"No, Anybodys!" Riff snarled, looking like he meant business. Anybodys yelled something that I won't repeat for the sake of any little children that might be present as she left.

"So, Action," Riff asked lightly, as if nothing had just happened, "Who're you thinking?" I could, for once, follow his train of thought here. Action was about four foot nothing, and the only way he could beat the Sharks was if they all decided to drop dead of spontaneous heart attacks, so letting him choose was the fairest way.

"Um… Diesel, and Big Deal, and… uh…" Action paused, a grin spreading across his face. "You and Baby John, these guys look like pansies."

Honestly, I don't know where my mind went then. Sporadic insanity or something, must be. But I nodded. Honest to God.

"Let's do this," I said, my voice bizarrely strong.

Riff glared at Action. "Fair enough, but I'll be talking to you about that last comment later…" he snapped, and Action just smiled like an idiot.

"Ladies first," Big Deal said with a polite smile.

And that was all it took. The Sharks pounced. Bernardo jumped at Riff, who ducked, and one of the nameless Sharks leapt at me. I sidestepped him, and he swung at my head, but I ducked and he went flying past.

"Why did I do this?" I muttered to myself as he spun around. "God, I'm such an idiot!" I tried to hit him as he came back. Missed. Ducked. Kicked out. There we go. That one connected. That felt… good! Really good. On my part, anyway.

"Is that the best you've got, hombre?" Riff laughed, dancing out of Bernardo's reach. "Come on, my momma hit better than that!"

"You'll be singing a different song later," Bernardo snarled through bared teeth.

I snapped back to my Shark, and tried to hit again. Maybe I'd watched too many action movies to compensate for my lack of a life, because I knew exactly where to aim for. He was down (and probably sterile), and my foot was back to do it again…

But then I heard it. The police siren echoed down the street.

Riff leapt to his feet and let Bernardo up from the ground. "Run!" he yelled.

Didn't have to tell me twice. I didn't look back to see what the rest of the Jets did. I kept running, all the way across the West Side, my heart pounding every step of the way. I didn't stop running until I'd flown up four flights of stairs and shot into my living room like a cannonball.

My mom was sitting there, knitting something yellow and shapeless as she looked up at me with a vapid smile.

"Hello, John," she said, "You're home early, aren't you? How was your day?"

I shrugged boredly. "Oh, you know. The usual."


There you go. This will probably be the longest chapter (it is so far, and I've written a few ahead of time). Actually, in hindsight, I got a little carried away with this one.

But aside from the kind of ridiculous length, please review! Reviews are delicious. Just like the burritos from Taco Bell. Also very delicious.

Review!!!! ...please?

-RebelFaerie-