A/N: Hiya, ! I'm back, but this time, with another fandom to write about. NEWSIES [which I, sadly, do not own]. My favorite musical of all time [for sentimental reasons…otherwise, Les Misérables would take first]. I got commissioned a while ago to re-write the script of the movie for a community church theatre, and I immediately jumped at the offer. I was asked to change the lead, Jack Kelly, to a female and also make a few other female newsies as well. She also asked for a mix of the Broadway music with the movie music. This story just sort of happened while I was changing the script…I could see exactly what I wanted, and I had to write it down. So, I did. Though I added a few girls for the script, I just couldn't imagine any other real girl newsies and I didn't have the heart to gender-bend Mush, Blink or Racetrack, so for this story, we'll all just assume Jackie is the only girl newsie. Also: she is NOTHING like Jack. Her entire aura is different. Characters have a life of their own, and Jackie Kelly did not want to be like Jack. So, here it is. The story of Jackie Kelly: Leader of the Manhattan Newsies.
In 1899, the streets of New York City echoed with the voices of newsies, peddling the newspapers of Joseph Pulitzer, William Randolph Hearst and other giants of the newspaper world. On every street corner you'd see 'em carrying the banner, bringing you the news for a penny a pape. Poor orphans and run-aways, the Newsies were a ragged army, without a leader, until one day, all that changed.
All was quiet when Kloppman's soft footsteps were heard in an old room full of what seemed to be sleeping children. He stopped in the middle of the room and looked around. His face was worn and old, with many wrinkles from years of life. His hair was white and thinning under his black bowler cap. Kloppman was the owner of the entire building: The Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House. This was where many of the Manhattan newsies slept at night after their long days selling papers for Joseph Pulitzer's creation, The World. Kloppman heaved a sigh as his eyes swept the bunk room once more, and adjusted his hat.
"Boots! Skittery! Skittery! Skittery!" the old man shouted. Boots, a young black boy shot straight up, eyes wide, before he closed them slowly and crashed back on his pillow. Kloppman started slapping at Skittery's cheek.
"Wha…I didn't do it," the boy proclaimed. Kloppman shook his head.
"What do you mean you didn't do it? Will you get up? When you get up, it's time to get up!" He walked over to another boy. "Snitch! Get up! Get up! Everybody's sleeping. They sleep their lives away these kids! The presses are rolling! Sell the papers, sell the papers!" As he yelled, more of the boys woke up, and groaned as they rolled out of bed and shuffled to the washroom sleepily.
"Cowboy, Cowboy. You dreamin' about selling papers?" The old man began poking the shoulder of a much smaller figure on a top bunk, whose head was stuck underneath a pillow. The figure rolled over and the old man chuckled as he snatched the pillow away. He was greeted by a mass of curly brown hair and the drowsy confusion of a teenage girl, Cowboy, also known as Jackie Kelly. Jackie blinked repeatedly.
"Mmmmmm? Kloppman? Whassa matta witchoo+?" she slurred, glaring at Kloppman.
"What's the matter with me?" Kloppman mimicked.
"Whassa matta witchoo? Wanna…go…back…to…" the girl grabbed her pillow back and burrowed her face into it. Kloppman laughed again. He pulled the pillow out from under her head and then shoved her shoulder. Jackie fell off the top bunk in surprise, letting out a shrill squeak.
"Come on!" Kloppman yelled at her. He jogged around the bunk and playfully kicked at her. She glared up at him, but Kloppman knew she wasn't really mad at him. She could never be mad at the man who had been there for her and had been her unofficial caretaker for three years, and official friend for nearly ten.
"Get away from me, you're mad!" she yelled up at him, shoving his foot away. He just laughed a bit harder and continued to yell at the rest of the newsies.
"Jackie! Get up, kid! Come on. Alright! Carry the banner! Sell the papers!" Kloppman walked away, and exited the room. As Jackie rubbed the remaining sleep out of her eyes, another teenage boy snickered at her. She glared at him, and moved at him suddenly in a menacing way. He leaned back with his hands in the air, still snickering.
"Shaddup, Racetrack. I swears, I'll soak ya…" she muttered to him, padding away. Racetrack smiled at her and pushed his black suspenders up over his shoulders. His hand reached for a metal can next to his bedside. He stopped, surprised when he found it empty. He quickly searched the area around him, but stopped again once his eyes rested on the younger boy lying casually in the bunk across from him with a cigar hanging out of his mouth.
"Damn it, Snipeshooter…" Racetrack murmured. He leaned forward right next to Snipeshooter's face.
"Das my ciga'," Race sang. Snipeshooter looked at him uninterestedly.
"You'll steal anudda,"Snipeshooter sang back. Racetrack grabbed his cigar back forcefully, and Snipeshooter shoved him in return. When the two boys looked as though they were about to brawl, Kid Blink, a tall teenage boy with a brown eye patch over his left eye rushed over and pushed them in opposite directions. He glared at them with his good eye.
"Hey, bummas, we got work ta do!" Kid Blink let them go, and Specs, appropriately adorned with his glasses, walked up to them. He made kissy faces at Kid Blink.
"Since when did you become me mudda!" As Specs sang in his face, Kid's face contorted in disgust at Specs' morning breath. Crutchie hobbled over to the four of them, shaking his head.
"Aww, stop your bawling!" He waved his hand at them, dismissing them, before limping away on his crutch. Before he could do so, though, many other newsies, including a shirtless but suspender-wearing Mush, crowded up behind him with annoyed looks on their faces.
"Hey, who asked you?" they all shouted at Crutchie, who just shrugged good-naturedly. Mush walked away from the group with a smile on his face and a spring in his step. He bounced up to Jackie, who was finishing up the last buttons on her shirt, and leaned one arm against the wall next to her head.
"So, how'd you sleep, Jackie?"
For most people, Mush's smile was contagious; it was cute and adorable, and it was nearly impossible to not join in on the grin-fest. For Jackie, though, his smile was just another reason to be annoyed. She was not the happy-go-lucky person Mush was. She glared up at him, knocking his arm away from her face.
"On me back, Mush," she retorted. Instead of glaring back, Mush laughed heartily. He never was one to be mad.
"Ha ha! Hear that fellas? Hear what Jack said? I asked Jack how she slept and she said 'On me back, Mush'!" He laughed some more, pretending to punch Jackie as she groaned in annoyance and blocked his fake punches. He then put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into the huge washroom. Nearly all of the newsies were in there, washing their faces, shaving, or scrubbing themselves in wash bins.
Racetrack and Mush started to shave, while Jackie tied her hair up and shoved her cap on her head.
"Boy, does it feel like a great day ta be a newsie!" Racetrack exclaimed. Many of the boys laughed and murmured their agreements. Jackie rolled her eyes before picking up an old, worn out, red bandanna. She tied it around her neck almost lovingly, but none of the newsies took notice. Mush grinned widely.
"From Bottle Alley ta da harbor, dere's easy pickin's, guaranteed," Mush sang. Other newsies nodded and grunted in agreement
"Try any banker, bum, or barber, day almost all knows how ta read," Race sang from his position on a soap box in front of a mirror.
"An' even if day don', dey'll still buy from ya, 'cause day don' wanna admit tha damn ugly truth!" he continued, still shaving his nonexistent facial hair. Jackie just shook her head and smirked, but decided to join in anyway.
"It's a crooked game we're playin', one we'll neva lose," her rich alto voice sang out as she fixed her hair up in her cap. She then turned to Mush and continued with a sly smirk, "long as sucka's don' mind payin' just to get bad news." Mush laughed heartily as he slapped her outstretched hand. Jackie kept the smirk plastered on her face. As the rest of the newsies made final touches to their morning routines and grabbed the last of their things, they were all clambering down the stairs and rushing door and heading down the streets of Manhattan, singing all the while.
"Ain' it a fine life, carryin' da bannah tru it awl," the newsies sang in unison. "A might fine life, carryin' da bannah tough and tall. Every mornin', we goes where we wishes, we'se as free as fishes, sure beats washin' dishes. What a fine life, carryin' da bannah home-free awl!"
The newsies all had smiles on their faces as they jumped and flipped about through the nearly empty streets of Manhattan, save one. Jackie looked almost bored, but still sang along with her boys. At some point, the newsies slowed to a walk down a street littered with empty carts, crates, and carriages. As they walked, some of the newsies took to climbing the structures.
"Hey, Crutchie! Whatcha leg say? Gonna rain?" Skittery called from atop a stack of wooden crates. Crutchie twisted his mouth, scrunched up his nose and furrowed his brow in concentration.
"Ehhh, no rain…ho ho! Partly cloudy, cleah by evenin'!" he called back. Racetrack lets out a bark of laughter and clapped Crutchie on the back with a sarcastic look.
"Ha! And the limp sells fifty papes a week, all by itself." Crutchie smiles at him, and shoves him away lightly.
"Ah, I don' need tha limp ta sell papes. I got personality." He hobbled over with his crutch near Jackie who, even with an aura akin to one Spot Conlon, had a soft spot for the crippled boy.
"It takes a smile that spreads like buttah. Tha kind that toins a lady's head," he sang, dragging his bum leg behind him as he did his best to keep up with the other newsies. Mush, Skittery, and Race popped up one by one between and on either side of Jackie and Crutchie.
"It takes an orphan with a stuttah," Mush started.
"Who's also blind!" Race followed.
"And mute." Skittery joyfully stated, throwing his arm around Jackie's shoulder. She glared up at him.
"Yeah, and dead," Jackie spit out sarcastically, shoving Skittery away. The newsies laughed and danced through the cobblestone streets, singing of their way of life in glorious New York City.
"Summah stinks, an' winter's freezin' when you works outdoors. Start out sweatin', end up sneezin', in between it pours!" The newsies organized together and, apropos of nothing, broke out into choreography and song fit for a Broadway musical, not that any of the newsies knew what that reference even meant.
"Still, it's a fine life, carryin' da bannah tru it awl-" half of the newsies began.
"Still it's a fine life, carryin' da bannah tru it awl-" the other half sang in counterpart.
"A bunch of big shots, blowin' every nickel as it comes-"
"A bunch of big shots, blowin' every nickel as it comes," the counterpart ended.
"What's the hold up? Waitin' makes me antsy, I likes livin' chancy," Crutchie sang out, making up some sort of dance on his own as the rest of the newsies looked on. Jackie stood next to a pile of crates, leaning against it with her arms crossed. An amused smirk slid to her face as she shook her head at Crutchie's antics. She and the rest of the newsies joined Crutchie in the middle of the otherwise abandoned street.
"Harlem to Delancey, what a fine life-" their voices cut out for just a second, but long enough for the entirety of the group to face the same way and do a synchronized hip-thrust punctuating their next line. It could not be helped.
"Carryin' da bannah tru da…" The newsies' voices faded as a carriage pulled up. Inside were nuns. The newsies walked, or in Crutchie's case, limped over to the carriage. The nuns sang as they passed stale bread and curdled coffee into the newsies' awaiting hands like they did every morning.
"Blessed children, though you wonder lost and depraved, Jesus loves you, you shall be saved!" The nuns were kind, but what they didn't realize is that most of the newsies, if they even started out as a Christian, had a bit of a falling out with the Man upstairs sometime in their lives. Those few who hadn't, it was only a matter of time before it happened to them.
Instead of grabbing 'breakfast' with all the other newsies, Jackie stayed where she was in the middle of the street. She turned away from the sight of her broken and hungry newsies, grabbing her cap off her head, running a dirty hand through her curly mess of hair. Some of the newsies sang behind her, and she could recognize each and every voice, even while she sang herself.
"Been here-"
"Just give me half a cup." Racetrack.
"So long-
"Somethin' to wake me up." Kid Blink.
"Since I left home-"
"I gotta find an angle." Mush.
"Ye'd think I'd be free-"
"It's getting bad out there." Crutchie.
"But I'm chained-"
"Papahs is all I got." Boots.
"It's 88 degrees." Snipeshooter, Skittery.
"By papahs-"
"Sure hope the headline's hot." Pie Eater, Snoddy.
"All I can catch is fleas." Bumlets, Swifty, Specs.
"All I know is-"
"God help me if it's not." Snitch, Jake, Tumbler.
"Somebody help me, please." Dutchy, Snoddy, Itey.
By this point the counterpart singing had ended, and most of the newsies gathered behind Jackie as she finished her pained song and shoved her cap back onto her head forcefully.
"If I hate the headline, I'll make up a headline, an' I'll say anything I hafta." The newsies behind Jackie joined in once again, and they all sang in unison and danced to choreography they all somehow knew.
"'Cause it's two for a penny, if I take too many Weasel just makes me eat 'em aftah." They looked up and to the left, and saw a few newsies on a ledge pointing at a large chalkboard sign, where three men were writing up the headline.
"Look! They're putting up the headline," the few newsies sang.
"What's it say?" the newsies on the ground sang.
"They call that a headline?"
"That won't pay!"
"I get better stories from the copper on the beat!"
"I was gonna start with twenty!"
"So, where's your spot?"
"But a dozen'll be plenty"
"God, it's hot!"
"Tell me," the newsies' voices rang out, joining once more, "how I'm gonna make ends meet?" At this point, the newsies had made it to Newsies Square, where a statue of Horace Greeley stood tall and proud. On either side of the Square was the Distribution Office and The World Building.
"We need ta move tha next edition. Give us an earthquake or a war!" The newsies danced to their words, throwing an invisible paper, shaking as if the ground were moving, and shooting each other with invisible guns. They even threw in another synchronized hip-thrust at one point.
"How 'bout a crooked politician?" Snipeshooter called out, grinning smugly.
"Man, nitwit, that ain' news no more!" The rest of the newsies cried out, some throwing their hats at him. They crowded together again in another dance routine fit for an audience paying upwards of five hundred dollars per seat. But alas, the year was 1899, and not some futuristic time like 2012, where people would actually be interested in the lives of poor newsboys in New York. Besides, the newsies wouldn't have gotten that reference, either.
"Uptown to Grand Central Station, down to City Hall," they sang. "We improves our circulation, walk until we fall!" The newsies all danced, spinning and flipping here and there, dancing by themselves or with each other. Even Jackie joined in, only allowing an amused smirk to be seen on her face. Their voices split into counterpart melodies that meshed and molded into one gigantic sound.
"Still, we'll be out there!"
"Look! They're puttin' up a headline! They call that a headline?"
"Carryin' da bannah man ta man!"
"The idiot who wrote that must be workin' for The Sun!"
"Yeah, we'll be out there!"
"Didja hear about the fire? Heard it killed Old Man Maguire!"
"Soakin' every sucker that we can!"
"Heard the toll was even higher! Why do I miss all the fun?"
"See the headline."
"Hitched it on a trolley."
"Newsies on a mission."
"Meetcha 44th and 2nd."
"Kill the competition."
"Little Italy's a secret."
"Sell the next edition."
"Bleecker's further than I reckoned."
"While we're out there!"
"At the courthouse, near the stables."
"Carryin' in da bannah is the…"
"On the corner someone beckoned and I…"
The newsies were hanging in bunches by the gates of the Distribution Center as their voices faded when two tall brothers pushed their way through to the gates.
"Dear me," Racetrack started, taking off his cap and fanning his face. "What is that unpleasant aroma? I fear tha sewer may have backed up during tha night." There were a few snickers from the mass of newsies.
"Nah, too rotten ta be tha sewers," Boots chimed.
"Yeah, yeah," Crutchie said from his spot beside Jackie. "It must be da Delancey bruddas!" The newsies all laughed, where as Jackie just smirked.
"Hiya, boys!" Race greeted the brothers cheerily. They walked up to Snipeshooter menacingly. Oscar grabbed the kid by the back of his neck.
"In the back, ya lousy little shrimp!" With that, Oscar shoved Snipeshooter to the ground. Immediately, the newsies' faces were serious, including Mush's. Jackie's smirk dropped, replaced by a hard glare. She went over to Snipeshooter and pulled him up.
"It's not good to do that…not healthy…" Racetrack warned the brothers as Jackie walked back over to them. She stood on a small crate that was in front of them to make up for her lack of height. She looked Oscar straight in the eye.
"Ya shouldn' be callin' people 'lousy little shrimps,' Oscar. Unless you're referrin' to tha fam'ly resemblance in you and your brudda, here." One side of Jackie's mouth popped up ever so slightly in a smug smirk as Oscar's face melted into an ugly glare. Morris stood beside him, expression blank.
"Hey, hey, hey! 5 to 1, Cowboy skunks 'em! Who's bettin'?" Racetrack called out to the newsies from behind Jackie. There was a chorus of laughs, groans, "No way's," and "Nah's." Jackie turned to face Morris, eyebrows raised.
"That's right," she told him, "it's an insult. So's this!" Jackie flipped Morris's hat off his head, jumped off the crate and ran away, the two brothers chasing after her. She ran toward a cart, slid onto her back, and rolled underneath it. The brothers climbed on top of the cart, only to be kicked to the ground by Jackie, who had managed to swing out to hit them from under an awning. She dropped to the street and sprinted over to the statue of Horace Greeley. Jackie was looking over her shoulder when she ran into a cushioned wall.
"Oi!" Jackie called out as she hit the ground. When she opened her eyes after the impact, a hand was held in front of her face, and she took it. She was pulled up quickly, and was about to thank the person when her dark brown eyes met another pair of startling bright blue ones. Her breath caught in her throat. The pair of eyes belonged to a teenage boy, no older than Jackie herself. He was wearing a dark brown cap on his head and his face was etched with concern and curiosity. Their hands dropped as soon as Jackie was back on her feet. Jackie noticed a much smaller boy at his side, looking up at her in awe and, like Blue Eyes, curiosity.
"What do you think you're doing?" He asked her. Jackie looked over her shoulder again to find the Delancey brothers struggling to get past a few newsies in order to get to her. She turned back to the boy with a smirk that caused his eyebrow to raise.
"Runnin'!" Jackie yelled behind her as she ran around the statue and toward the Distribution Center. Blue Eyes was staring incredulously after her when Oscar knocked into him, spinning him around. Before he could fully regain his balance, Morris barreled into him as well, pushing past to follow his brother.
Jackie had slowed to a jog, smirk still plastered on her face as the newsies began to sing around her.
"We'll all be out there, carryin' da bannah man ta man! We're always out there, soakin' every sucker that we can!" Ironically enough, at that line, Jackie was pushed to the ground by the Delancey's. The newsies formed a circle around them, cheering Jackie on in her fight with the brothers. Every time one of them threw a punch, Jackie would duck easily; she even landed a few punches herself.
"See the headline, newsies on a mission, kill the competition, sell the next edition," the newsies sang out. The Delancey's were on either side of Jackie, ready to punch. At the last second, she ducked, and the brothers punched each other, falling to the ground. Jackie swaggered away and climbed the gates of the Distribution Center as the newsies crowded in front of it, singing and yelling.
"We'll be out there, carryin' da bannah! See us out there, carryin' da bannah! Always out there, carryin' da bannah! Ahhhh, go!"
A/N: Well, there ya have it. Chapter one.
Review! Let me know if ya love it. Or if ya hate it. A review's a review. Also, should I keep writing in phonetics, or should I write with correct spelling and just leave it up to your imagination? If you'd prefer the latter, I'd even go back to change this chapter for you. Just let me know what needs to be done! Thank you, lovelies!