Whoa... it's been a while, hasn't it? I had a serious bout of writers' block for a few days, there, and then my computer just... stopped working, and erased three pages! I was so mad... I'm still not satisfied with some of the dialogue- there iwill/i be renovations in the future, I promise. Never fear, faithful reviewers, because the next part is already halfway done... at least, in my head. Might take me a few days to type up, especially because this Sunday will be my birthday- I'll be sixteen, and therefore need to devote the next few days reviewing my driver's manual so that I'll be ready to get behind the wheel. Aaaand, I'll be spending this coming Sunday through Tuesday camping somewhere just outside of Lancaster County, PA (yes... Amish country). Anyway, enjoy! Feedback is ialways/i appreciated.

One last note- I just read the end bit, and am horrified by it. Of course, it will make more sense later, but this is inot/i a Mary-Sue. Trust me.

-=-=-

At long last, the girl finally found herself alone. The newsies had all left for the distribution center, even her new "friends", who had gone to buy the morning edition before it sold out. After finding a few items of clothing for her, Kloppman had retreated to his private quarters. The only other person around was the kid she was selling for, and judging by the silence in the room, he was taking the opportunity to sleep in for once.

When she was sure that she wouldn't be disturbed, the girl made use of the empty washroom. The water closet she found inside was a luxury she simply could not pass up, despite the fact that she would have rather been anywhere else iexcept/i inside the newsboys' lodging house, getting ready to spend the entire day hawking headlines. After washing up as quickly and as thoroughly as she could manage, the girl toweled off, her gaze falling to rest on the two piles of clothes that waited for her on a cluttered countertop. Hesitating, she glanced between the two, considering her options. In an almost cautious move, she tugged at the sleeve of a clean cream-colored undershirt.

iIf I take this, I'm stuck here/i, she reminded herself. iIt's not too late. I can still walk away from this whole thing.../i

She icould/i, but she would still need new clothes. She scrutinized her old shirt, which was formerly green but now a ruined brownish mess of darker stains and splotches. Wearing it outside would, of course, be impossible- unless she wanted to attract all sorts of unwanted attention, something she most certainly did not need if she intended on stealing a new one. That left her with two options: she could do it the honest way and iearn/i the clothes in front of her, or she could just take them and slip away before anyone even knew what happened. The latter would be easy enough...

-=-=-

iI can't believe I'm doing this. I can't./i

The girl stood in front of a mirror, looking herself over critically. The cream-colored undershirt fit snugly enough, as it should, and the problem presented by the slightly large olive green knickers was easily solved with a pair of suspenders. For the moment, she set aside the vest and button- down shirt, piling them with her old clothes- they could wait until later. She plucked a comb out of the assortment of junk strewn all over the countertop and set to work untangling her straight brown hair. When it was sufficiently combed out, she wove it back into a neat braid, tying the end off with a bit of brown leather cord that she had acquired some time ago. She didn't care how it looked, really, but having it pulled back just made things more convenient.

Leaving the extra clothes in an unnoticed corner, she padded out into the bunkroom, boots and socks in one hand, cap in the other. Seeing no chairs in the near vicinity, she sat down on an empty bottom bunk, still rumpled from its occupant's use, and started to pull on her socks, staring blankly at the wood-paneled opposite wall.

"So, you'se gonna be sellin' foah me?"

The girl jumped, quickly snapping out of her daze. She had almost forgotten that the kid- Swifty, if she remembered right- was even in the room. iThat's two times in the same day. What is /iwrongi with me?/i

"Uh... yeah." She shifted to the other side of the bed, so that she could talk to the kid face-to-face. "Jist 'till you'se feelin' a liddle bettah, Mr. Kloppman said."

He propped himself up on his elbows, a faint smile crossing his face. "Kloppy wouldn't let me sell tahday, uddahwise I'd be out dere right now, jist like usual. It's awlmost like he knew yah'd be heah dis mornin'."

The girl nodded. "Yeah, like he knew..."

She ducked her head, concentrating on lacing up one scuffed red-brown boot, but more importantly, to hide the worried frown that crossed her face. Now that she thought about it, the situation did seem a little strange. Either the old man really ihad/i known, or it had been one big coincidence.

iYes, that /ihasi to be it. I was just in the right place at the right time. Or maybe the right place at the wrong time.../i

"So... have yah evah sold papes befoah?" Swifty asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had begun to settle in the otherwise empty room.

"Nevah," the girl answered with a slight shake of her head. It wasn't a ilie/i, per say; pretending to sell papers and actually selling papers were two entirely different matters, after all.

"Oh... well, even in dat case, dere's nothin' tah worry about. Any one a' dah boys'll be willin' tah show ya dah ropes." The dark-haired newsie assured her.

She nodded. "I kinda figgahed."

"Why's dat?" He wanted to know.

With a shrug, she answered, "I dunno. You an' yoah friends jist seem dah type."

" Dah 'type'? "

She hesitated, thinking it out. "Yeah... frien'ly, I guess yah could say."

"Yah mean 'talkative'." He grinned at her.

"Jist a liddle," she conceded, laughing.

There was another lengthy pause. The girl reached for the second boot and started to pull it on. In an uncomfortable sort of way, she was conscious that Swifty's eyes were on her.

"Hey, um..." Swifty started to say, but paused. The girl shot him a questioning glance, until he continued, "I'se sorry, but I don' t'ink I caught yoah name."

The girl almost lost control of her nerves. Almost. "Dat's 'cause I nevah gave it." She smiled, though her mind was a mess of frantic thoughts and impulses, and before she knew what she was doing, she introduced herself. "Name's Cat."

Naturally, it wasn't. She didn't like that she had to lie, especially to a sick kid who was only trying to be friendly, but giving her real name meant taking an unnecessary risk, and she had made too many mistakes already. Somehow, names mentioned in public- even in a casual conversation between friends- had a way of being heard by unwelcome ears. She didn't exactly want to advertise her presence in Manhattan, and wanted even less for some of those unwelcome ears to discover that she was a inewsie/i, no less. She wasn't sure which would be worse- the threats she would receive, or the ribbing...

"Cat. Well, uh, Cat... I jist wanted tah, uh, yah know, say t'anks. I really 'preciate yah doin' dis foah me," Swifty said candidly.

The girl was startled, but she recovered quickly. "It's me pleasuh, Swifty." She flashed him a smile, setting her hat atop her head. "Now, not tah be rude oah nothin', but I'se supposed tah meet Dutchy 'n' Specs out front-"

Swifty interrupted her. "Nah, go ahead! After all," he added with a grin, "I'se gotta make sure you'se got enough time tah sell all a' me papes."

"A'coise dere'll be enough time. In fact, I mean tah be back eahly," she challenged in response, bounding down the stairs before the newsie could even think of an appropriate retort.

-=-=-

iI shouldn't've done that. I really shouldn't've.../i The girl mentally berated herself, stepping out onto the walkway. She blinked, letting her eyes adjust to the light, and glanced left, then right. There were no signs of her new friends.

Well... at least isome/ithing was working in her favor. With one more stealthy glance over her shoulder, she slipped into the crowd and walked away, leaving the lodging house behind her.

-=-=-

Skittery slapped his money down on the counter, waiting impatiently for his papers. One of the Delanceys- Skittery didn't care to look up to see which one- shoved a stack at him, muttering gruffly. The dark-haired newsie, who had been thumbing through the papers to make sure they were all there, gave him a level look.

"Got somet'in' tah say, Oscah?" He challenged. Before he could hand his papers over to Snoddy or Pie Eater for safekeeping, he was interrupted by the nervous, shifty-looking man in charge of the distribution office. His name was Weisel, but it would be a cold day in Hell before any of the newsies would call him anything but 'Weasel'. Even the Delancey brothers referred to him as 'Uncle Weas".

"That's enough. You got your papes, kid, you're holdin' up the line," the short, shrewd man told Skittery. "Next! Four-eyes!"

"Specs," Skittery's friend muttered as he tossed his money on the counter. "Dah usual." He dug around in a pocket, and slid a dime and nickel under the bars that covered the window. "An' thoity extra."

"Gettin' gutsy, 'ey Specs?" Someone called out. Specs ignored whoever it had been and accepted the thirty papers. Dutchy was next, followed shortly by Snoddy and Pie Eater. Skittery waited by the gate, shifting his stance restlessly. When the group of four started out, he fell into step with them.

"So who's takin' dah new goil wid dem tahday?" Dutchy asked, skimming the front page of the topmost paper in his stack.

Specs shrugged, "Dunno. Whoevah wants to." Like Dutchy, he sized up the day's headlines. He frowned, apparently displeased with what he saw. Silence fell over the group, save for Pie and Snoddy talking quietly amongst themselves. Skittery assumed they were deciding on the day's selling spot. He studied the crowd, quietly noting the directions in which the most prosperously dressed people were headed. Before he realized it, they were turning back onto Duane Street, and the lodging house came into view.

"Speak a' dah devil, Specs," Skittery commented, nodding towards the front of the building. A thin figure wearing an ensemble of brown, tan, and green stepped outside, hesitated, and dove into the crowd, headed in the opposite direction. Sure, the clothes were different, newer, but it was unmistakable- it was the girl. And she looked as though she knew exactly where she was going...

" 'Ey!" Dutchy shouted, trying to wave the girl down. She hesitated, though it wasn't until the blonde yelled again that she turned to acknowledge that she'd heard them. She paused, but then jogged back towards them.

"I didn't know if you gentlemen was comin' back tah get me," she told them as soon as they were within earshot. "I t'ought I was goin' towahds dah distribution centah, tah see if I could run intah you'se."

"Well, dah distribution centah's dah uddah way." Skittery said, a bit stiffly.

"Well, now I know dat," she told him. Specs passed her a stack of newspapers, and she tucked them under one arm. "Anyway, back tah business. I know I'se s'posed tah have a nickname like you'se awl got, but I t'ought dat I could jist stick tah bein' called Cat, 'cause it's me real name an' awl."

"Dat's fine," Dutchy assured her.

"So, what'm I s'posed tah do now? Jist walk around an' see who'll buy a papah?" At that, Snoddy laughed, his amusement echoed by the others. Skittery frowned, eyeing the girl warily.

"Dat ain't dah way it woiks," Specs told her. "Dere are a few t'ings yah jist gotta loin from dah pros, I guess. Oahdinarily, we newsies got sellin' partners- me an' Dutchy, foah example, oah Snoddy an' Pie Eatah heah. Skittery, well, he's jist a diff'rent story. He don't like tah sell wid a partner, 'cept sometimes Bumlets."

"T'anks, Specs, but I can talk foah meself," Skittery put in defensively.

"Yah'd nevah know it," the girl countered, smiling in an attempt to soften the annoyed glance he shot at her.

"I jist don't like tah talk 'less I have tah, unlike dese guys," he told her. "Dey'll stand heah all day wastin' time, when dere's woik tah do..."

"Maybe we should get sellin', den?" The girl suggested.

Skittery smiled. "Yeah. Let's do dat. Meetcha guys at Tibby's latah?"

Dutchy nodded affirmatively. "See you'se den!"

-=-=-

As soon as Skittery rounded the corner, the new girl hovering at his heels, Dutchy let out a loud laugh, earning querulous glances from Specs, Snoddy, and Pie.

"An' what, may I ask, is so funny?" Specs demanded.

"Jist look at dah pair of 'em." Dutchy nodded towards where their friend had gone.

Specs looked towards the corner, confused. "Who? Skitts an' Cat?"

"Who else would he be talkin' about?" Pie Eater asked rhetorically. He turned to Dutchy, interested, "But why?"

"Ain't it obvious?" The blonde grinned devilishly as he continued, "Skitts means tah make Cat his goil!"