Previous question: If you had two hours to kill, what would you do?
My answer: I would go yell at the United Nations.
Thanks to Ealasaid Una and Lucy Conlon for your reviews.
"'Ey, Kloppman!" Jack raced up the steps to the lodging house, throwing the door open.
Les followed closely as David, shaking his head, walked behind. Christina, however, hesitated. Every instinct screamed at her not to go into this building.
"C'mon," David looked back at her. "It's fine. Kloppman's ancient, but he won't let anything happen to you."
"Surprisingly not reassuring," Christina glared at him, then took a deep breath before heading up the stairs.
Inside was surprisingly clean by Christina's expectations. The floor was worn by hundreds of traipsing feet, but it was clean and polished. One window was cracked, but they were all clean, and most of the wall was plastered with bits and pieces of newspapers. It had a funny sort of homey sense to it, despite the fact that the staircase was missing a step.
"Kloppman, dis is Christina," Jack introduced the girl to a man so old he might have been Christina's great-grandfather. Or at least, he looked like it.
"It's amazing, Jack," Kloppman remarked. His voice sounded like he was happily gargling dust. "Les has been here for thirty seconds and I already know all about this young lady!"
Christina found herself smiling and shaking Kloppman's hand. She liked this man, he seemed a lot like an old gardener she'd once known.
"Nice to meet you, sir," she said politely, but her face was grinning too broadly for mannerisms. David noted this for future reference. It might be handy to know that beneath that lady-like exterior, Christina had feelings.
"So, what, Kloppman, can she stay 'ere?" Jack got straight to the point. "Just 'till she gets back on 'er feet."
David saw a shift in Christina. Her spine straightened perfectly, and her eyes were imperiously cold, somewhat like Spot Conlon's, but chocolate brown. Her fingers clutched the basket to her, and she looked like a queen of New York's underworld, with her dirty dress and dusty hair.
"Oh, I dunno, Jack," Kloppman pointedly didn't look at Christina. "It's boys only, you know."
"How 'bout a private room?" David asked. "There are some upstairs. Or she could have the attic."
Kloppman rubbed the back of his neck. "Jack, I got a budget here. This is the fourth stray you've brought in this month. If they can't pay, I can't house 'em." He looked mournfully at Christina. "M'sorry, miss."
Christina was struck with inspiration. It happened a lot. "Wait," she said quickly as Kloppman turned away. She opened her basket and dug into it frantically. The bag, to all passersby, appeared to be bottomless, as David and Les and Jack heard an endless stream of crackling, rummaging, and shoving aside belongings. Christina then triumphantly drew out a long chain, which ended in a silver pendant.
Jack whistled. "Kloppman, dat'd feed us all for a yeah. Ya gotta let 'er stay!"
"Miss, I can't take this," Kloppman said apologetically as Christina tried to give it to him. "This is worth more than my entire establishment. Don't you have anything else, if you're so desperate to stay here?"
Christina sighed, and looked into her bag once more. "I have the matching earrings," she drew them out, and let Kloppman look at them.
Other boys had poured down the stairs to get a look at the new rich girl come to live with them.
In the end, Kloppman would only accept one earring. It was a paste stone, but the surrounding was silver and was enough to house Christina for a month, if she ate out instead of at the lodging house.
"'Ehy, scummers!" Jack yelled at the growing audience. "Dis 'ere's Christina, she'll be stayin' wid us for a while."
"A goil?" someone muttered.
Jack found the offender and smacked him upside the head. Christina stifled a giggle.
"Yeah, a goil, stupid, and you'll treat 'er like a lady. Paws off, a'right?"
"If she was a lady," another boy yelled from the back of the crowd, "that's be all the moah reason to put our 'hands on." All the boys laughed.
"They don't mean it," David whispered in Christina's ear. He had to nearly bend over to be able to speak into her ear. The fifteen-year-old was an inch shorter than Mush. "They're just immature."
"I'm fine," Christina said firmly, and for a moment David almost believed it, but he was smarter than he looked—and he looked very smart—and he saw through her disguise of cold eyes and straight posture.
"Back off, scumbags, we gotta show 'er to 'er room," Jack waded through the crowd, and Christina followed hesitantly. She caught and held the gazes and stares of many of the newsies, and matched them.
"You're good," Les remarked, unflinchingly watching her make even the most stubborn and mulish of the boys back down. "Most can't even make 'em stuff it."
"Did your mother raise you to be rude about people?" Christina remarked right back, and David had to grin as Les hung his head. "You shouldn't be rude about people, or they'll be rude right back."
"Yes, ma'am," Les bobbed his head obediently, once again daring to look into the chocolate steel that filled her eyes. "Did your mom evah teach you not to be rude to folks? Is that how comes you're so hoity-toity?"
"Les, repeat back to me what I told you," Christian glared at him as she stepped daintily over the missing step.
"You shouldn't be rude to people else they'll be rude to you," Les repeated. Close enough, Christina mused.
"Exactly. Get David to teach you what's rude and what isn't. He seems to know." David squirmed with embarrassment, glad that Christina was in front of him and not looking at him.
Then he became uncomfortably aware that he was eye-level with her bottom, which didn't look at all bad from this angle. He quickly averted his eyes. He resolved to never tell Jack about this.
"Dis is your room," Jack opened the second door on the right down a long hallway. "The boys're right 'cross the hall, so tell me if dey give you'se any trouble."
Christina surveyed her surroundings. Like downstairs, everything was worn but clean. The dresser in the corner had one leg too short for it that had been propped up with a book. She resolved to save the book from its misery as soon as possible. The windows were clean, and uncracked, and she could only find one hole in the tatty brown curtains. The light on the ceiling illuminated all of the room, and the bed was neatly made.
"A'so," Jack added. "Mealtimes're at seven in da mo'nin', an' at nine at night. Kloppman comes ta wake us up round eight am. My advice, wake up oily if ya wanna use da showahs. DEre's a lock, but most o' da boys've got lockpicks."
"How reassuring," Christina muttered too low for him to hear.
"We all gets up ad goes to da washroom, dat's the foist door on the left. A showahs're on the left. Da watah's hottest in da mo'nin', an' if you ain't awake by nine, Kloppman'll send the kids to wake y'up, since he's got da on'y uddah key." He tossed Christina an old key on a string. "YA lose it, you get to replace it. Any questions?"
"Yes," Christina sat on the bed, and set her basket down. "If I choose not to eat here, where do I go? And what about the other private rooms, who's in there? And if the boys can pick locks, won't they get into my room? Are there any other girls besides me? And how can I earn money? Can I be a newsie?"
"Slow down, slow down, your highness," Jack grinned and held up his hands. "Most o' us eat at Tibby's, 'cause deir food is good and cheap. I'll take ya t'morrow. Nobody else's got a private room 'cept Bluejay. 'E keeps t'imself mostly, an' 'e don' talk much. You'll know 'im when you see 'im." Jack took a deep breath.
"What was d'uddah question? Oh, right. Da boys wouldn't dare pick da lock on a lady's room. Kloppman'd murder 'em an' let me 'ave the pieces to bury discreetly." He flashed Christina a broad grin. "You're safe. Oh, an' no uddag girls 'cept you, unless one o' da newbies's got a secret. Den we'se is in trouble."
"Why?" Christina sat primly, with her back straight and her hands in her lap. She looked like a little old lady in a young girl's body, but her eyes were brimming with curiosity, the only thing convincing the boys that the soul inside her body was a young one.
"'Cause Kloppman'd kick 'em out," Jack shrugged. "'E don't let goils in widout 'is permission. You'se is da foist in a while, evah since we kicked out anuddah goil who was pretendin' ta be a boy. If that's it then, . . ."
"You didn't answer my other questions," Christina said icily. She knew it was on purpose that he hadn't answered these questions. He'd set the bait to lead her off-track, but she was determined to get answers. "How can I earn money? Can I be a newsie?"
Jack grinned. "You're kiddin' me, right? Goils can't be newsies. Kloppman'll hire ya, an' 'e might give ya free meals in exchange. Or you can get a job workin' somewheres." He snorted and murmured to himself. "Newsie."
"Jack," David looked to his friend in a way that was becoming rapidly familiar to Christina.
Jack sighed. "Fine. It's 'cause o' da scabs. The rich kids who wanna be newsies foah da kick of it. Dere'll be trouble if they find out you'se is heah, but you might be safe if you ain't a newsie."
Christina sighed. "Fine," she said, giving in. "I'll talk to Kloppman tomorrow. You all get up at eight-ish, right?"
Jack nodded. "But Bluejay's a-ways up befoah us, so careful 'bout dat."
David sighed as Jack left the room, with Les hot on his heels. "Sorry about him," He apologized. "He thinks the only way to do things is his way."
Christina began unpacking her basket. "It's fine," she said, her face a pale, white mask. "It doesn't bother me. He's right, it's my place working somewhere else. It's fine," she repeated.
David ran a hand through his hair, and his eyes moved uncomfortably around the room, like he wasn't sure what to say. His eyes went to the book holding the dresser steady. He went over and took it out, leaving the dresser at a tilt.
"Sorry," he apologized. Christina realized he hadn't done much but apologize since she'd first met him. "It's just, I don't like books to be used other than reading."
Christina smiled. "Me neither," she pulled out three books from her basket, and David wondered if her bag contained another world where she kept all of these useful things. "I brought these with me when I ran away." David left the rescued book atop the tilted dresser to go look at the ones she held.
Peter Pan, The Picture of Dorian Gray, and Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. David took them into his hands, and Christina smiled slightly. If David's attention hadn't been focused on the beautifully bound books in his hands, he might have seen how beautiful she was when she was genuinely pleased, and how happy she looked to have found someone who shared her interest in literature.
"I've read these two," David murmured, and Christina could hardly hear him. "But I've never read Dorian Gray."
"Me neither," Christina smiled. "I actually haven't read any of them, that's why I brought them. I love to reread books, but I like new ones better."
David mutely nodded in agreement. "I hate to ask this," he said, his attention focused entirely on the book. "But could I borrow this book? I'd bring it back as soon as I'm done, and I'd treat it like my own child."
Christina laughed, and for a moment David did see her mirth and beauty, and he had to smile. "Of course you can borrow it," Christina crossed her arms mischievously and the old lady disappeared, replaced by an impish fifteen-year-old instead. "But you'll have to give me something in return, so I know you'll bring it back."
"Like what?" David asked, slightly guarded. He hadn't met a lot of girls, and certainly never one like Christina, so he wasn't sure if this was normal or not. It wasn't, of course, but neither of them knew this.
"I want you to come back tomorrow," Christina smiled, and her guise was merrier this time. "And bring back your favorite book in the world, the one book you couldn't live without. If I've read it, I'll read it again, and if I haven't, I'll read it anyway. You get is back as soon as you return mine."
"It's a deal," David said instantly. He had no doubt that a girl who looked at her books with such obvious pleasure would treat his favorite novel with the utmost care. He handed The Picture of Dorian Gray back to her, and stuck out a hand.
Christina shook it, and smiled. "Until tomorrow, then," She said, placing the three books on the nightstand.
David grinned as he left the room and closed the door. He was getting his hopes up, even though he didn't know it. He wasn't very experienced with girls, but he was sure she'd been flirting. He would ask Sarah.
Christina, however, hadn't been flirting at all. It was because of her secret, but she'd forgotten about that for a moment, because it was in that one second where she'd seen the way he looked at her books—with the utmost reverence and awe—that she'd found the first piece of her heart.
So? Read and review and tell me about your opinions on anything. My characters, my writing style, my plot, anything. Just don't ask about her big secret, because I ain't gon' tell you.
So, question of the chapter: If you could be invisible for one day, what would you do?
Format of response: If I could be invisible for one day, I would . . .
Reviews make me happy, so plz plz plz answer, and I will try to update regularly. I will, however, be leaving for France soon, so my updates will be very infrequent unless I can get to WiFi.
I know last chapter was kinda short, but it was three pages on Word. This one was five pages, so hopefully it's longer.
Luv u all, all my fellow fansies—even if u hate my fanfic.