The sun is just starting to peek over the horizon of the East River, outlining the Brooklyn Bridge as a bright red glowing monster. A small pair of boots crunching on the gravel a few feet away jolts me awake, and I'm on my feet in a flash, slingshot in hand. I breathe a sigh of relief, seeing it's just Tommy, the youngest and quietest member of my Brooklyn gang. He jumped when he saw me, meekly exclaiming, "Whoa, Spot, it's just me, settle down!" Chuckling, I slipped the weapon into my belt loops alongside the pouch of varying sharp stones and pebbles. The rest of the group started to rise from their slumber and stretch to erase the aches that came with sleeping on the hard surface of our little wooden dock. The circulation bell begins to toll, beckoning us to come get our papers to sell.
I stroll up to the counter, slapping down a few coins, looking the clerk in the eye. "One hundred papes." With a smirk, I grab the fat pile and stride off to the street, near the Brooklyn bridge where pedestrian traffic grew heavy.
A small weight on my shoulder notified me that Jenks was here, and I chuckled as the small male pixie talked into my ear. I shooed him away so none of the strangers walking around would notice him.
Pixies weren't supposed to exist. Just stories you told to kids at night. If the public knew they were right here, in New York… the results would be horrid. Everybody would try to catch them, think they were pets, and give them as gifts… I shudder to think about poor Jenks and all the other pixies. Little Nixie, whose cute looks hide a fierce and dangerous girl. Annabella, the stubborn girl who only accepted me because Jenks revealed himself to me as a friend, and so many others.
I muse over this as I sell my papers, but soon push it out of mind and move onto other matters. My group of runaway Brooklyn kids. They were the only other people in the world that knew about the pixies, but I trusted them.
The headlines are fairly good today, so I'm able to sell all my papers by an hour or two after noon. "One dollar…" I muse to myself quietly. This time, I call to the rest of the kids and teens scurrying about, "Been a good day!" The air is muggy, though that's usual since it's the middle of June in 1899. The sun is scorching on my back like a hot iron. A few rich folks ride by in carriages, dressed in multiple layers of fancy clothing. How could the ladies bare the heat in those heavy looking dresses? I'll never understand women, and their insane ways. That's for sure.
In the distance, coming towards my bridge is a shocking sight. They look and dress the same as us, of course, in torn beige cloth pants and dirty white shirts with brown vests that aren't quite the right size. None of us can afford anything more. I recognize their faces, though. I know everybody 'round these parts. It's Jack, Kid Blink, Mush and David, the leaders of the Manhattan newsboys. Jack calls out to me as the small group saunters over, "Conlens! Hey, Conlens we gotta talk to ya!" I stand and wait, leaning against the fence with a look of indifference, and say, "Ah, come on Jacky, We can skip the fancy, tightwad ways of last name basis, right?" It was an order, not a question, and Jack realizes this. "Spot, we need your help. The Manhattan newsies are going on strike, and we can't do it without the help of your Brooklyn force. You've got the biggest group of newsboys out there." He stares at me with an expectant look, but I was just shocked. It hit me like a blow to the chest. The newsies think they can handle strike? I start laughing and manage to stop to reply with a grin, "You're kiddin' me! You really think..." I pause and gesture to the general group, "…that you could go up against the bulls? Let alone, Pulitzer, with the force of the World." Kid Blink steps forward and my eyes flick between the four of them. Sure, I knew them, but it doesn't hurt to always be overly cautious. Blink begins to speak, confident and unwavering. "That's where you come in. If we have the force, we can take down the cops. We can take down the scabbers, whatever they send at us. Queens, Bronx... all the other newsboys are waiting on what you say, Spot. If you join, they'll join. They trust you. You know that."
I sigh and raise my eyebrows slightly and the small group stares at me with anticipation and anxiety. "I can't just go off on some strike willy-nilly without a reason. " It was Mush who spoke this time. "But we do have a reason. Some of us can't sell as well as you do, Spot. And the extra money it costs to buy the papers is leaving our pockets completely empty. Pulitzer needs to bring down the price of the newspapers, or we'll all starve. "
I stay silent, mulling over this for a minute, then look back at them.
"Tell ya what. If you can show me that you can handle and organize a strike, then you've got yourself a deal." With that, I walk away with many thoughts floating around my head. Could we really hold a successful strike? Maybe it was time to stand up to Pulitzer. He certainly has enough money, a rich snob that owns the New York World could afford to give us a bit more. As I'm walking away, I overhear David speak to the others in the group, "Sheesh… I never realized why this one dude has so much power over the newsies. Spot may be small, but he's scary." I smirk and begin to climb a nearby tree to watch them leave. Jenks lands on a branch opposite me, his light green wings buzzing with curiosity, and he asks me,
"Who were they, Spot?"
"Manhattan newsies." I replied bluntly,
"Well, what did they want?"
"They… they wanted me to join a strike."
"Are you gonna do it?"
"Maybe. I dunno."
"You like the Manhattan newsboys? Are they good people?"
"Yeah, I guess you could say that. Where are you going with this?"
"You should stand up to the big guys. While you may just be a kid, you're the biggest kid in town!" He beamed at me for a moment before zipping off, leaving a shimmering trail of golden dust that shined for a moment in the sun, then disappeared.