Chapter Two

Being a female newsy was not easy. By the time I was fifteen, I was a full grown woman, with curves and porcelain skin that was soft to the touch. My eyes were shadowed by long, dark lashes that Clara claimed would stop a man in his tracks if I blinked in his direction. I knew I was pretty, but I knew I would never be as alluring as Clara. Her hair was as smooth and blond as can be, the exact opposite of my luminescent curls. Her eyes were big and so blue people seemed to fall right into them. However, being beautiful was not something newsies were. Newsies were the roughest of the kids in Brooklyn, and beautiful girls were the girls that went to New York to try dancing in one of the shows Medda ran across the city. I was not a dancer, though. I was a tough girl, the kind of girl who fought with her body, not the kind who seduced with it. Even after two years, it took a lot to get respect as a female in this world.

Everything began on a Tuesday morning. It's funny, how rare it is to actually recognize the life changing moments when they're occurring. You wake up in the morning, you shower, you put on some clothes. You never seem to realize what you're going to be up against that day, until it's too late to fight back.

Spot Conlon entered my life September 4th, 1898. I was sixteen years old and I was finally getting some respect on the street as one of Charcoal's highest selling newsies.

"Rosa," I heard Clara yell that morning. It was early, but I was heading to get some breakfast anyway. I hadn't realized Clara had woken up when I had. It was one of the nights I spent in her apartment, one of the nights where I came to sell papers with a black eye that I knew would get me into trouble. No one wants to buy from a pretty girl who looks like she's involved in bad business.

"No one knows it was from her, Rosa," Clara said as she caught up, reading my mind like she usually did. "It could have been from any old fight."

"Come off it, Clara," I spat, being more rough with her than I meant to. "Everyone knows Lauren hits me."

"No they don't."

I wasn't sure if Clara was trying to make me feel better or was just naïve. Either way, I wasn't having it.

"Drop it," I whispered as we approached the cart we usually bought our fruit from. "We'll talk later."

"Two bananas and a muffin," Clara said, pulling a few coins out of her tattered pocket. I knew I earned more than she did, but I didn't stop her from buying my breakfast. Clara likes to think that buying me things occasionally cheers me up. I don't like to make her think it doesn't.

"That's quite the shiner, Rosa," Jimmy said as he handed us our breakfast. "Another street fight?"

"It's rough out here," was all I responded with. I liked that people thought I was tougher than I really was. I liked that people thought I fought for fun instead of for a bed to sleep in.

We walked down to the newsstand without talking much. We were the first there, before the gates had opened, so we sat down on the gravel and split our muffin, eating silently. We could hear the boys before we saw them, wandering down the street and making such a racket that I wouldn't have been surprised if Old lady McFee had poured water on them from her window again.

"What happened to you, Rosa?" Spitsy asked as he reached us. Spitsy was one of the rare guys who treated Clara and I like people rather than pieces of meat, but that didn't mean I liked the kid.

"Street fight," I answered. "Leave it alone."

"Charcoal's going to yell at you again," Spitsy said, a slight smirk in his voice.

"Charcoal doesn't scare me."

He didn't scare me, but that didn't mean I wanted to get yelled at.

The gates swung open, saving me from the chance of bumping into Charcoal before I had papers to cover my eye with. I rushed in, hurrying to get in line next to Clara. She knew the drill, having dealt with my injuries before, so she stood next to me, blocking me from most of the guys views.

"How does Charcoal look today?" I whispered to Clara. She took longer than she needed to look at him. "Clara, you're drooling a little."

"Shut up," Clara said, hitting my arm. It's safe to say everyone in Brooklyn knew how Clara felt about Charcoal. "He looks fine. Not angrier than yesterday, but definitely less angry than last Thursday."

Last Thursday had been a bad day. My mom had pushed me down that night, and I had gotten a cut all along my cheek. I still had a faint scar. Considering how much Charcoal had yelled at me that morning, I figured it would be pushing my luck to see him with a new injury before the old had heeled.

"Why don't you just explain your situation to Charcoal?" Clara asked. She seemed to think Charcoal was the sweetest man alive, and that if I just laid my problems out in front of him, he'd sweep them into this palm of his hand and save me.

Needless to say, I was leaning more towards the naïve Clara side of things.

"The only solution he could possibly give me would be to live in the guy's bunkhouse until things got better at home," I answered, shaking my head. I began to count the coins from my pocket in the palm of my hand, trying to figure out how much to spend today. "I don't think living with a bunch of hormonal boys would be much safer than living with my mother."

People often got the wrong impression of us newsies. They thought we all stuck together. A year from the day I met Spot, we would all be friends, after the strike. But at that moment, we were just a bunch of kids, competing to get enough cash to put food on the table. Those boys were not my brothers, they were my competition. And brothers may not try any funny business, but competition has no problem catching a cheap grab with the pretty ladies that walk past.

"I've told you a thousand times you could live with my family," Clara said, her voice tilting towards the whining side.

"And I've told you a thousand times that your parents have enough on their hands with the six of you and your dad's 'cards'." I hissed at her. I had just finished counting my money and realized I only had brought enough for 80 papers today.

Clara, who had watched me count, put her arm around me. "Don't sweat it. It's better you only buy 80. You'll probably have to eat a lot of them if you'd buy any more."

"Are you implying I won't have a good selling day?"

"I'm implying that you've got a black eye and a mean attitude," Clara said, pulling her arm off from around me.

We stepped up to the paper vendor. I prayed that the Grunter knew what had happened to my eye, like he usually did. Some days, however, he forgot and would tend to ask too loudly. Those were the days when I get scolded by Charcoal. I did not need to have one of those days.

Luckily, the Grunter just gave me my papes with one of his characteristic grunts. I smiled at him and he winked, just subtle enough that only Clara and I saw it.

I could have jumped for joy just then, knowing I was free to run towards the streets and sell as many as I could, easily avoiding Charcoal. Clara and I began to scan the papers as we walked away from the boys, looking for a yell-worthy title.

"Rosa! Wait a second!"

I stopped dead in my tracks. My stomach dropped and my fists tightened around the edges of the paper I was holding. I knew Charcoal's voice well, and I knew my name. This was not going to be a good morning.

"Yeah?" I asked, closing my eyes and praying to God or whoever was up there that he'd say 'nevermind' and walk away.

"Can you come here a sec?" his voice sounded innocent enough, but Charcoal was the best liar in the borough.

My mind instantly began to whirl. Who had told him? It had to have been either Spitsy or the Grunter. My money was on Spitsy. That kid always did seem to love watching me fight.

"Yeah," I said quietly. I turned around slowly, knowing Clara's eyes were on me the whole time but avoiding eye contact. I kept my eyes level, right against Charcoal's as I approached him.

"There's someone I want you to meet," Charcoal said, not even wincing as he saw my eye.

"Really?" I asked, the word breathy as I exhaled the air I hadn't even realized I had been holding in.

"Yes," Charcoal said, raising his eyebrow. "Unless there's something else you'd like to discuss."

Instead of answering, I turned to look at the kid standing next to him. He was taller than me, and strong. I began to wonder if I could take him in a fight. He had big arms, good arms. The kind of arms I had always dreamed about being held by, but I pushed away that thought. There was a scar running all the way up his left arm. For a split second, I wanted nothing more than to trace that scar right up to his lips. I wanted to touch those lips with my finger until they became a part of me.

"Rosa, is it?" he asked in a thick Brooklyn accent that matched mine perfectly, finally looking directly at me.

Our eyes didn't just meet, they collided.

"Yeah," I whispered, but not realizing how quiet I was. It felt like this thick silence hung around the two of us just then and I didn't want to break it.

"Show him around, will ya?" Charcoal asked me, pulling me out of this trance that boy had put me in. "He's new, but he's not new."

I knew what that meant. It meant he was new to selling papers but wasn't new to the streets. That would explain the scar and the accent. I smiled now, my first genuine smile of the morning.

"What's his name?" I asked Charcoal, but I kept my eyes on the kid. He didn't look away either.

"Spot Conlon," Charcoal said. It was one of the moments I didn't recognize, but now, looking back, I want to scream, I want to wave my arms around and let the me of the past know that those two words would change my life.

"Spot Conlon," I repeated. The words rolled off of my tongue like warm, sweet liquid.