Chapter 2 is out! Sorry it took me a bit....

But here it is.

"What's a girl like you doin' in a place like dis?" I heard a voice say as I crossed the street, walking toward the bakery.

"Getting bread", I replied sarcastically without even looking to see who it was.

The boy next to me looked shocked, "And here I was t'inkin' da you was lookin' for me."

I rolled my eyes, "Race, I'm always here this time of day. And you always come here on your way to pick up the afternoon addition."

"I know", he said, "I just like feeling special, is all."

"Oh, you're special alright", I said.

Race turned to me, "Are you insulting me, Shorty?"

"Look who's callin' who 'Shorty'!" I laughed.

"Hey", he retorted, "I'm taller 'en you!"

I raised an eyebrow, "Not by much."

"But still taller!"

"Any good headlines, today?" I said, quickly changing the subject.

"Naw", Race said, trying to find a match to light his cigar, "Nothin' new. Same old stuff."

I rolled my eyes; it was always the 'Same old stuff'. I then looked around, "Hey Race?"

"Hm?" he was still searching for a match.

"Where's Twitch?"

That got his attention. He turned around, "Twitch?" he called out into the noisy street.

"Yeah?" said a small voice from my right side. I looked down and smiled.

"Hey, Twitch", I casually said.

"Hi, Shortstop!" he said excitedly, "Do you think that you could finish telling me about the game?"

"Of course, but first…" I said, holding up my empty basket, "I need to get some bread before the baker runs out."

"Oh", he said, "Well, can I come with you?"

I nodded. "You want to come too, Race?"

"Do you really think dat I would pass up de opportunity to go into a bakery and not look like a thief?"

. . .

Once we got the daily bread, Race, Twitch, and I started to walk to our usual place of gathering; a park on the outskirts of Little Italy.

"Can you tell me now?" pleaded Twitch.

"Not 'till we get there", I kept telling him.

And at that he would groan in frustration, "Why?"

"I need to set the mood", I replied.

"Shortstop, this isn't the threatre", Race said, "Its baseball."

At this I was shocked, "Baseball is an art form!"

"Yeah, well so is poker", he said, "And you don't see me trying to 'Set the mood' every time a tell one of those stories!"

I shrugged, "Well maybe if you did, they'd be better."

He stopped and looked at me like I'd slapped him in the face. But I kept walking, with little Twitch by my side.

We found a nice bench in the park, where I could begin. I took out my score pad, that I brought with me everywhere. In it, were the scores of every game that I had ever been to. And they were all marked up, down to the time of each play.

"Next at bat was Deacon McGuire", I started out, "Now McGuire's a slugger. Always hits 'em right outta the park, he does. And when he doesn't, he beats himself more then anybody I ever met."

"But what 'bout this time, Shortstop?"

"This time, he didn't hit it outta the park..."

Twitch gasped, "But he's gotta! The Superbas gotta win!"

"I didn't say he didn't hit it", I told Twitch, "He just didn't hit it outta that park. But he did hit it, on the second pitch. And the ball flew right out into left field...."

The rest of the day went by same as any normal day. I told the guys about games that I'd been to, and then we'd talk. Then Ma would call me, and the boys would need to get the afternoon addition to sell.

Then I went home, gave the bread to Mrs. Colandrea, and helped Ma with dinner.

But that's where the similarities end.

Ma had to go help Mrs. Colandrea with one of her children. Little Celso, the one I saw just yesterday, was sick.

Just as we were eating our dinner, there was a knock on the door.

Dad got up to get the door. As he opened it, I could hear the squeaking of the door. There was some mumbling, before I heard:

"Amelia!" being called.

But I got up from the table, and fixed my skirt a bit. And then walked to the door.

When I got there, Dad looked at me qualitatively. None of my friends ever came to our house. I'm not sure any of them knew where I lived.

When I saw who was at the door, I gasped.

"Racetrack?!"

"Hey-a, Shorty", he said, causally, almost like we had seen each other on the street.

"What are you doing here?" I added in a harsh whisper.

He kinda leaned into me, looking scared, "I didn't know where else to go, Shortstop, you gotta help me."

"Who's your friend, Amelia?" Dad asked my, slowly.

I straitened up, looking nervous, "Um, Dad. This is Racetrack Higgins. He's a newsboy."

He gave me a look that said, We'll talk later, but she took Race's hand as a greeting.

"Not to be rude, Mr. Higgins, " said the deep voice of my father, "But how did you come to know my daughter?"

"Well, Mr. , um...", Race started.

"Chelo."

"Mr. Chelo. I came to know your daughter because she has a gift", he said, draping his arm over my shoulder.

My Dad looked at me, in horror.

Race seemed to get it, "Oh no. Not that kind of talent, Mr. Chelo. What I meant was that you daughter has the gift of storytelling. She could wrap a tale around anything."

At that, he took a sigh of relief; relaxed a little, but not by much. He was still stiff with fear on how his daughter could become acquainted with a poor newsboy. And at that, a newsboy who was obviously not very well off.

So, I tried to relieve some of the tension of the silence by asking Race:

"So, Ra- Mr. Higgins, what brings you here this fine evening?"

He didn't beat around the bush, "Shorty, I'm in the soup. I got nowhere else to go. Ya gotta help me."

I couldn't stand to see my friend like this. And at that point, I didn't care what my Dad thought. I stepped to the side of the doorway.

"Come in", was all I said.

Dad took my shoulder, as if to tell me that this was a bad idea. But I didn't care. I stepped out of my father's grip and followed Race into the parlor.

Racetrack chuckled, "So this is how the other half lives?"

I gave him a quick smile, "Race, what happened."

His face turned serious, "Shorty, I want to apologize."

"What for? You didn't do anything wrong."

"Yeah, I did", he said, "I got you involved in something that you didn't need to be caught up in."

"And that something would be...?" I asked nervously.

"I got you caught up in my business", he hinted.

My eyes narrowed, "Why would you do that, Race? You know that I can't get caught up with you or whoever you owe!"

"No, no, no", he started.

"Race", I said, "You need to think! Sometimes, I don't even know if you use that thing between your ears!"

"No, Shorty", he tried again, but I cut him off.

"You're so stupid sometimes, Racetrack! How could you do this?"

He then got up from where he was sitting, and put his hand over my mouth, "Shorty, you gotta listen."

"I think that's enough, Mr. Higgins", said a stern voice.

We both were surprised to hear my father speak. I had forgotten that he was still there.

Race took his hand off of my mouth and started to apologize:

"Mr. Chelo. I'm really sorry for my behavior this evening. But the news that I was bringing you daughter here, wasn't supposed to be bad."

"Well, it seems that it was", Dad said, staring at Race.

"But it wasn't supposed to be", he said. Race then turned to me, "The news I had was actually good."

"Well, then why'd you make it seem bad?" I asked.

He chuckled, "Joke gone wrong, I guess."

"Very wrong", Dad said, still glaring at Race.

Race turned to me again, "And, before you think otherwise, the guy owes me."

I smiled, "Well, what is it that he owes you?"

"He won't give me no money, on account he's broke right now. So me and him worked out a little agreement. I forget the money he owes, if he does me a favor."

I was somewhat disappointed, "That's nothing you haven't done before."

"I know", he said, "But you didn't let me finish."

"Sorry", I said.

"'So kay", Race started, "And you know, I wasn't lying when I said I involved you."

Dad's ears perked up at that. But he didn't say anything, yet.

So, Race continued, "The guy that owes me money, works for some baseball team. And they're lookin' for a new bat boy."

I was starting to get excited, "What team?"

"Some team called the Superbas. You know of 'em?"

Okay, if you need any references...

Deacon McGuire was a catcher for the Brooklyn Superbas durring the 1899, 1900, & 1901 seasons. (Stats - for anyone who really cares... - : Batting ave: .278, Hits: 1,748, Runs batted in: 840.)

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