Alice turned down Duane Street, keeping to the sidewalk and averting company. A couple of girls her age eyed her with curiosity, but Alice paid them no mind and continued on her way to the Lodging House a little ways down. Her cousin, Curly, once mentioned the House to her, and Alice hoped it would hide her from her hellish father for a couple months. She walked up to the tall seven-story building with trepidation, and craned her head to perceive the entire whole of it. The seventh-story blocked out the setting sun entirely. She focused on a large sign on the third floor: Newsboys' Lodging House.

"Hey, buddy, are ya gonna stay dere da 'tire day, or go inside?" an impatient voice boomed behind her.

Alice's breath caught in her throat, and she whipped around to see an amused, zesty-smile of a boy about sixteen grinning at her. He had sandy hair and dancing brown eyes. Alice's eyes immediately roved over an eye patch covering his left eye, and then she looked away, struggling not to stare.

The boy cocked his head in confusion, and said, "Are ya deaf, or somethin'?" he cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted, "What – is – yer – name?"

Alice flinched at the volume, and racked her brain for a fitting name. "Uhm . . ." she faltered. Suddenly, the image of her cousin's face popped before her eyes, and she shouted surely, "Curly!"

The boy's eyebrows rose. "Curly?" he repeated, and Alice nodded enthusiastically. "Alrighty – da name's Kid Blink." He stuck his chest out importantly. "Nice t'meetcha!"

Alice dipped her head in acknowledgement. "Oh, um, I bedda let ya t'rough," she muttered in harsh English, careful to speak in a low tone. She stepped aside to allow Kid through, but he simply remained where he was and continued to stare at her quizzically.

Suddenly, Alice's heart began to race. Surely he spotted her guise and recognized her true gender. Alice closed her eyes in defeat. She knew it was only a matter of time.

"What's yer last name?" he questioned kindly, and Alice, exhaling in relief, quietly responded, "Rogarshevsky."

"Ah – are yer a greenie?"

Unsure of what a greenie was, Alice hesitated, and made a half-shrug. Blink appeared satisfied.

"Alrighty Curly, lemme me show ya 'round dis joint. Yous ain't gonna make it one day in dis city if yous don't knows wheres t'go," he warned, and clapped a hand around Alice's shoulders. "Lemme introduce ya t'da gang and den I's can shows ya around da place, m'kay?"

"Alrighty," Alice mimicked nervously, and Kid emitted a great, enthralled laugh.

Blink led Alice toward Newspaper Row, a center specifically for the distribution of newspapers located in Chatham Street. The office buildings of Joseph Pulitzer and William Hearst were situated in Newspaper Row as well. A crowd of boys ranging from roughly ten to eighteen were laughing and wrestling in front of a large, ornate statue. It showed a stout, aging, important-looking man seated in a chair. Alice stopped and gazed at the writing on a plaque: Horace Greely, February 3, 1811 – November 29, 1872.

Kid Blink tugged on her arm and said, "C'mon, Curl. Yous can check it out later."

Alice allowed Blink to drag her into the middle of the scene, where all wrestling ceased immediately. Dozens upon dozens of eyes stared at Alice with inquisitiveness. Alice blushed, and fingered her shirt cuffs anxiously. She bit her lip uneasily as Kid Blink introduced her to the throng of newsies:
"Fellas, dis here's Curly Rogar . . . Rogar . . . Rogarsky. He's fresh offa boat so be nice t'him and don't be rough, 'cause I'll catcha later. Alrighty Curly, lemme name a few of me buds. Over dere's Racetrack" – he pointed to a skinny, grinning boy of about fifteen – "he has a knack fer gamb'lin', so watch it, if I wuz yous . . .

"Skittery." He gestured to a tall, blond boy with an apathetic expression planted on his face. "He's da glum an' dumb kid of da pack. Don't let him get ya down.

"Boots." A colored, cheerful boy of about thirteen waved heartily at her.

"Snipeshooter." Kid pointed to a soot-faced, small boy smoking heavily on a cigar, "Do ya smoke? No? Good, 'cause he has a weird hobby wid dem cigs . . . I'll tell ya later . . .

"Davey Jacobs." A tall boy with black curly hair and bright blue eyes beamed warmly at Alice and nodded his head. "Davey here issa Walkin' Mouth, 'cause he's all smart and alecky, y'know? Oh and here's his liddle kid-brudder, Les." A tiny, cute boy of about ten smiled shyly and waved. "Ain't he da cutest? Anyways . . .

"Okay, here's Mush – he's da romantic in da bunch." A tall, handsome, broad-shouldered boy of about sixteen grinned and tipped his cap. "We's calls him Mush 'cause he's all mushy 'bout dem goils" – Alice clapped her hand over her mouth to stop her giggling – "What? Ya gotta goil, or somethin'? Sis? Well, tell dem t'watch it, ha . . .

"Alrighty. Da rest are its: Dutchy, Snoddy, Bumlets, Pie Eater, Specs, Itey, Jake, Snitch, Crutchy, ya de ya de ya."

"Hey, Blinky, ya forgot 'bout me!" a jolly, low voice called.

Alice turned around and gaped at a tall, smirking boy at about seventeen years of age standing on the statue of Horace Greely. He sported a black cowboy hat and a red handkerchief that was tied around his neck. His brown hair was slicked back and his eyes danced with a notion of fun. He was, no doubt, the famed Cowboy – the leader of the Manhattan newsies.

Kid Blink took a breath gulp of air and wiped at his forehead. Laughing, he countered, "I ain't nevva gonna forget 'bout yous, Jack. I wuz just makin' yous t'be last so it be dramatic." He smiled testily at Alice before beckoning to Jack and saying, "Dis here is Jack Kelley – he's da leadah of all of us newsies in 'Hattan."

"That's right!" Jack exclaimed arrogantly, and he jumped off the statue dramatically without a falter. He sauntered over to Alice with a playful smirk plastered on his lips. "Heya, Curly. Nice of ya t'drop in," he quipped, appraising Alice with enlightened eyes.

Alice smiled bashfully, and said, "hiya."

"So, Curly, what brings ya to Newspaper Row? Ya wanna be a newsie, or somethin'?" Jack asked with interest.

Alice nodded fervently. "Yes, yes," she chanted. "I be a newsie, yes."

Jack beamed fondly and slapped Alice on the shoulder. "Considah it done, Curly. I'll teach ya in da ways of da newsie, an' considah youself lucky – ya learnin' from da best of da best," he informed with a leer and a smart jab at his chest. "There ain't nobody in New York bedda than moi!"

Alice declined her head in acknowledgement. "Alrighty," she chimed, smiling a little herself. Perhaps becoming a newsie wouldn't be a bad idea, she mused to herself. If learning to sell papers from the best, Jack, it wouldn't be so bad, would it? And these boys have no clue that I'm a girl. She grinned despite herself. This could be fun!

Alice hoped desperately it would.