This is my first chaptered fic. Hope you like it! Oh and I don't own Newsies.
~Avalon
Prologue
Jonathan Meyers stood in front of the theater, looking longingly up at the bright lights illuminating the street. His mother took him here once, a long time ago. It had been the best day of his life. Looking back on it, everyday spent with Mama had been the best day of his life, at least compared to these days. His mother had died when he was nine of influenza. That was almost a year ago. Now he was ten and lived with his hateful stepfather and nine-year-old half-sister, Samantha. Mama had loved her children equally, striving to give them each a good and comfortable life. But Luke, his stepfather, despised Jonathan because his father was black. He had known that the mulatto boy was part of the deal when he married Jonathan's beautiful mother, and had tolerated him while his wife was alive, but as soon as she died he quit the act. Jonathan could still hear Luke's words to him after the funeral ringing in his ears.
"The only good thing comin' from yer mama's death is that I ain't gotta pretend anymore. You ain't never been no son of mine," he said. Jonathan had stared back at him, unmoving. Inside he writhed with anger and grief. But he refused to cry. There was no more room for crying anymore. After that day things had changed. His stepfather worked him hard and beat him when he made a mistake. Most times Jonathan felt that he beat him for no reason, which was a pretty accurate assumption.
His sister, Samantha, tried to help him. She would do his chores when he ached too much to do them himself, despite his protests.
"Papa doesn't mean it," she whispered to him in the late hours of the night. "He's just upset that Mama's gone and he's taking it out on you." Jonathan shook his head sadly and his sister's naivety and ruffled her honey-colored hair, the same hair as his mother's. It was the exact opposite of his tight dark curls.
"It's more than that, Sammy. He hates me because I'm different. I don't look nothin' like him and that means that people know I'm not his son," he explained. Samantha nodded in sad understanding.
"Well I love you no matter what you look like, Johnny," she said, embracing him in a tight hug. Jonathan smiled and hugged her back. He felt blessed to have a sister like her.
"And that's why yer my favorite girl."
Jonathan was knocked out of his trance by someone plowing into his shoulder.
"Watch it!" called the raspy voice of a street urchin running past him. Jonathan angrily rubbed his bruised shoulder. He looked back up at the theater lights and realized how dark it had gotten. Luke was going to kill him if he didn't get back home on time.
"'Scuse me, sir," he said, stopping a man walking by. "Would ya happen to have the time?" The man looked at him skeptically before pulling out his pocket watch.
"It's near six, boy," said the man.
"Thank you," said Jonathan before taking off in the direction of his apartment. He was supposed to go home right after work as an errand boy and be there by six o'clock sharp. Today he had simply lost track of time and he knew he would be punished dearly for it. He arrived home at six oh four, but there was no sound in the house. The lights were off save a candle glowing behind Samantha's closed door. Maybe it was Luke's late day and he hadn't arrived yet. Jonathan walked into the dark sitting room to light the lamp when he tripped over something and landed with a thud on the hard floor. Suddenly a gas lamp turned on and a shadow engulfed him. He lifted his head to see Luke standing over him, his expression blank and his walking cane in his hand.
"Hey mush fer brains, where ya been?" he asked, using his favorite nickname for him.
"M-my errands ran late. I'm sorry," said Jonathan. Luke smacked his back with the cane. A yelp escaped from Jonathan's mouth.
"Yer lyin' to me," said Luke. "Get up!" Jonathan scrambled to his feet, his back aching.
"Honest, I'm not lyin'!" pleaded Jonathan. Luke jabbed the cane into his stomach, causing the boy to double over. He grabbed Jonathan by his collar.
"Yer a lyin' little snake! You know the rules, yer supposed to be home by six! You can tell time, can't you? Or are you's as dumb as yer daddy?" said Luke. Jonathan glared at the man before him. He blinked away his angry tears. It was time to stand up to him.
"My daddy was a great man, unlike you. My mama loved him an' she woulda still been with him if he hadn't been killed. Mama only married you so that you could take care of her," he spat. Luke looked at the boy, and Jonathan could've sworn the expression that flickered across his face meant that Jonathan had told the truth, but it left as soon as it had come. Luke punched Jonathan in the jaw, sending him tumbling to the ground. Then he kicked him repeatedly in the stomach, shouting curses. Samantha ran out of her room after hearing the noise and screamed.
"Papa! Stop it, Papa!" she begged.
"Samantha, go to your room!" he bellowed. Feeling scared and helpless, Samantha obeyed. Luke continued to kick Jonathan until he was barely conscious. Then he stopped and spat on him.
"Yer fadder was scum, and yer just like him. You'll never be nothin'." With one more kick to the head, Jonathan succumbed to unconciousness.
Jonathan awoke to someone placing something cool on his forehead. Through a swollen eye he saw Samantha looking lovingly down at him, her hazel eyes—the same ones that his mother had—illuminated by the candle beside her.
"Samantha," he mumbled. The young girl shook her head.
"Don't speak," she crooned. She took the compress off of his head and soaked it in a bowl next to her before dabbing some blood off his cheek. For a second he saw every bit of his mother in his sister. At that moment Jonathan realized that when their mother died, he wasn't the only one who had to grow up quickly.
"I have to get out of here," he said after moments of silence. Samantha furrowed her brow.
"When?" she asked.
"Tonight," he told her.
"You can't, you're not well," she said. Jonathan slowly sat up.
"And if I stay here things ain't gonna be much better. He might beat me again tomorrow."
"Then I'm coming with you," Samantha stated firmly.
"No," said Jonathan in a stern voice. "The streets is no place for a nine-year-old girl." Samantha put her hands on her hips.
"It ain't for a ten-year-old boy either!" she said in a louder voice.
"Keep it down. Look, you gotta stay here for now, Sammy, you just gotta. One day I'll come back and I'll get you, I promise. For now just please listen to me," Jonathan pleaded.
He could see tears forming in the brims of his sister's beautiful eyes. He pulled her into a tight embrace and didn't care that she was hurting his bruises by squeezing him too hard.
"Don't cry. I'll be back. I'll come for you," he reassured her.
"I love you, Johnny," she said through stifled sobs. Jonathan felt a tear rolling down his cheek.
"I love you too," he said in a shaky voice. Then he let go while he still had the heart to and clumsily stood up. Samantha stood up too and he ruffled her hair one last time. "Your papa loves you. He'll take care of you," he said. Samantha nodded. She grabbed the sack that he kept all his belongings in and handed it to him, kissing him on the cheek.
"Be safe," she told him.
"I will. Now get to bed before he wakes up," he commanded. Samantha dropped her head and did what she was told. She glanced at him one more time before closing her room door. With a heavy heart and powerful determination Jonathan crept out of the window and onto the fire escape. He climbed down and started on his trek to a place far away from there.
The streets of New York were dangerous at night, and Jonathan had no idea where he was going or what he was doing. A couple of times he regretted leaving, for under his stepfather's tyranny he still had a roof over his head and food to eat. But there was no turning back now. After walking for what felt like hours Jonathan stopped. His body was screaming out for attention after the abuse he had endured earlier. Finding an alley he nestled himself between two garbage cans and tried to go to sleep. Not more than five minutes later his eyes shot open when he discovered that he wasn't alone.
"You think Kloppman'll catch us?" said one voice.
"Nah," said a second deeper voice. "The old bat could sleep through another civil war." The voices didn't sound threatening but Jonathan was still on edge. Shifting in order to hear better, his foot hit a trashcan.
"What was that?" said a third voice.
"Hey, who's there?" said the second voice. "Come out or I'll soak ya!" Jonathan froze, almost wetting his pants from fear. He heard footsteps coming closer to him and he shut his eyes. He refused to open them when he knew that they were right in front of him.
"Dear me, what have we here?" said the third voice tauntingly.
"It's just a kid, leave 'im alone," said the first voice.
"Hey kid, open your eyes," said the second voice, less threatening than before. Jonathan reluctantly opened his eyes. Standing before him was a teenage boy, about seventeen, and two younger kids closer to his age.
"He looks scared," said the boy with the first voice.
"'Course he's scared," said the boy with the third voice. "Spider just told 'im he'd soak 'im." The teenager with the deep voice bent down so that he was at eye level with Jonathan.
"What's yer name, kid?" he asked.
"Jonathan," mumbled Jonathan.
"I'm Spider. What're ya doing out here?" asked Spider.
"I ran away," said Jonathan.
"Tell 'im to speak up. He's mushin' all his words together," said the owner of the third voice. Spider glared at the younger boy before turning back to Jonathan.
"Well Mush, it looks like you got beat pretty bad. How's about we take you back to where we's stayin'. Would ya like that?" The nickname made him cringe when he thought about his stepfather, and going back with three strangers didn't seem safe, but what other option did he have? So he nodded his head and took Spider's extended hand while one of the other boys grabbed his sack.
"Thanks," said Jonathan as they began to lead him off somewhere.
"By the way, this is Racetrack," said Spider, pointing to an Italian-looking boy with a cigar in his mouth. "And that's Kid Blink," he gestured toward the boy holding his sack with an eye patch over his left eye. Jonathan had the urge to laugh at their nicknames but thought better of it.
"Why do none of you use your real names?" he asked. The three boys laughed.
"You don't need real names for what we's do," said Racetrack. Jonathan was hesitant in asking another question, but his curiosity got the better of him.
"And…uh…what exactly do you's do?" he said timidly. He was answered by Spider, who clapped him on the shoulder, causing him to wince.
"We're newsies, Mush. We run this city," he said proudly. Jonathan smiled inwardly. Maybe now he would be a part of something. And one day maybe he would make Samantha a part of this too.