A/N: I'm still not satisfied with this chapter, but I'm posting it anyway, against my better judgement. I don't like the way the whole thing flows, and it seemed like every time I went back to proof it again, another stupid spelling or grammatical error showed up. Which leads me to my next item: I'm currently searching for a beta-reader. Just someone to bounce ideas off of, and read chapters ahead of time to look for gaping plot holes and little errors. If you'd be interested in helping me out, do drop me a line.

I can't think of anything else important to say. Um. I LOVE MAX CASELLA. SPOT/RACE FOR LIFE. LOLZ.

Okay. I'm done. Enjoy the chapter. Constructive criticism is, as always, very welcome.


Chapter Seven

So this was the famed Columbia University. I had heard about it, read about it, even dreamed about it, but this was the first time I'd actually seen it. It was beautiful. I didn't know if I was actually allowed to go beyond the gates, but the fresh green grass was too tempting. I took a quick look around me and stepped inside. Once I'd found a cool, shaded spot under a tree I plopped down, my unsold newspapers beside me. Professors and students strolled along the path in front of me, laughing, pondering, and, above all, conversing. I caught what I could of the words, listening and savoring every syllable.

To my surprise, a quarter of an hour went by, and the same trio I had seen shortly before were heading my general direction.

"I'm quite excited about today's analyzation of current events, aren't you?

"Heavens yes. It promises to be absolutely fascinating."

"Oh damn," remarked the black-haired boy, who I pinned as their leader, "I forgot to save my newspaper from this morning."

"Well, that was silly of you, Dimitri. You've only been talking about this project for a month," Peter said.

"No need to be haughty, Peter. You haven't got one either, have you?" Dimitri reprimanded.

Peter checked his hands stupidly, as if he expected a paper to suddenly appear there. "I must have misplaced it."

"We'll have to get a couple more then. You don't mind, do you, Henry?"

Henry, the third member of the party, shook his head.

I sensed my chance, and rose quickly from my seat, grabbing my papers as I went. The boys had already started off back the way they had come.

"Excuse me," I called out.

They turned around. I hurried up to them.

"I beg your pardon. I couldn't help overhearing your conversation and wondered if I might be of assistance." I held out my papers for them to see.

The three stared at me as though one of the carriage-horses had stopped them in the middle of the street and started talking. Peter was the first to react.

"Look," he said in a hushed whisper, "it's a newsboy."

Dimitri blinked several times. "He doesn't sound like a newsboy."

"No, no, he's got papers and torn pants and everything," Peter objected. I thought, too late, of covering the patched-over rip in the knee of my trousers.

"Yes, but look at his posture. It's so straight," Dimitri argued.

"Good haircut, too," commented Henry. Peter and Dimitri nodded in agreement.

I cleared my throat a little, hoping they would remember that I was standing right there, and could hear everything they were saying about me.

They all started a little when I made a noise, and then Peter addressed me directly.

"Well? Are you a real newsboy?"

I nodded. "Real in form and function, though perhaps not always in spirit."

Dimitri shook his head in disbelief. "An honest to god intelligent newsboy. I barely believe it."

I furrowed my eyebrows, but shook off the unintentional insult. He didn't mean to be offensive.

"So, how much is a paper?" Peter asked.

"A penny."

Peter seemed dumbfounded for a moment. "That's less than buying them at the stand, and much less than getting them delivered!" he exclaimed.

Dimitri nodded. "My father pays a nickel every morning!"

"A nickel? That's a scam," I said authoritatively.

The three exchanged glances with one another, and I knew that my papers were as good as sold. They each bought one from me, and Peter bought a few extras, in case another classmate had forgotten theirs. He also gave me a generous tip. As they bought the papers we talked animatedly about the recent rise in the stock market. Henry was the only one who really seemed to care about it, and he seemed pleased to have someone to discuss it with.

"Will you be here tomorrow?" Peter asked as we finished our transaction and our conversation.

I shrugged. "That depends, I suppose."

"Come back; we'll buy from you again," Dimitri said commandingly. He gave me a wide grin, and I grinned back.

Maybe it was just because I was in a good mood, or maybe I had some sort of aura around me, but I started selling the rest of my papers on the way home and before I even reached the Brooklyn Bridge, I had sold fifteen – beating my standing record of ten papers a day. By the time I got home, the sun was setting. I met Smitty, Winner and Pokerface outside of the lodging house. I don't think I'd ever felt more proud of myself than when I pulled out a nickel that I'd made on my own, and paid for supper myself.

Potato waved to me from across the room when he came in for the night. I walked up to him, to inform him of my success. He slapped me on the back jovially, and congratulated me profusely, and then disappeared again. I felt decidedly independent. I went back to the poker game.

Lisa, Potato's sister, was busy most of the night, but she came over to chat while we played cards.

"Potato tells me you're making it on your own now," she said, perching on the arm of my chair.

I shrugged modestly. "I only sold fifteen papers. But yes, I suppose I'm starting to catch on."

She smiled at me proudly.

"Where'd you go to sell anyway, Sammy? We didn't run into you until just before supper," Smitty said, talking around his cigar.

I laughed. "Actually, I'm not sure. All I know is that I was at Columbia University. I can't even really remember how I got there."

The table hushed. They all stared at me.

"You went all the way to Columbia?" Winner said incredulously.

I nodded.

"But... but that must've taken hours. That's not even on this side of the bridge!"

"You went across the bridge?" Pokerface said, obviously impressed.

I nodded again. "It wasn't that big of a deal. It took a couple hours, I suppose."

Smitty shook his head. "You're insane, kid. Ain't nobody who just 'wanders' across the bridge." He chuckled to himself. "Columbia University... damn…"

Winner smiled. "Makes sense though, that he'd sell at a school. Start chatting up the college fellas, all smart-like."

Lisa wouldn't stop grinning at me. "Columbia University. Wow!" She turned around as the bell over the door jingled, and a fresh group of newsies came in. She sighed and rose to go to the counter. Her hand brushed gently across my cheek, and lingered there for a moment. "Congratulations, Sam."

The table burst into laughter and a few lewd comments. Lisa flushed and ran to the counter. I sat there, a little stunned perhaps, still feeling the warmth of her fingers pressed gently against my cheek. The skin around the area felt tingly, and very cold compared to the rest of my face. I buried my head in my hands. The boys continued to laugh, and Winner gave me a rough punch in the shoulder.

"Atta' boy... selling papes and getting girls in the same day... Lady Luck is smiling on you tonight!"

"Yeah, yeah," Pokerface interrupted, "let's see if she'll stick with him for another round." He dealt the cards out quickly.

We played again. Every now and then I glanced over my shoulder at Lisa. Half the time, she was looking at me too. She smiled shyly, and then turned back to the book she was reading.

It certainly had been a day of adventure, but all I could think about was tomorrow. I only hoped that I would be able to find my way back to the University the next day.


Uh-oh. Cliff hanger. Only… not.

So, I figured out why I'm in a bad mood. Happy Valentine's Day, y'all. Also known as Singles Awareness Day. I'mfeeling bitter and… very, very single right now. Damn happy couples! Anybody wanna be my sekrit online l0ver?

drunk!SpotMuse: Awww. I'll be your lover. :slur slur slur:

distinctlysober!Charlie: Ummm. Okay, shout-out time.

Love97 – A math test? Holy moly! Now that's bohemian. Hahaha. And yes, Potato will definitely be reappearing. He'll play a very important part near the end of the story. But I'm not saying what. Muahahaha. Spot won't be back again for a couple chapters (at least, I don't think he will, but my stories have a habit of randomly changing themselves around. Damn muses) but I give you my word that drunk!Spot will show up several more times (and not just in the A/Ns).

Utopia Today – Ahaha. Racetracked. I like that. That's totally going to be a part of my everyday vocabulary now. And thank you for being proud of me – I'm rather proud of myself. RHM is now 17 pages in MS Word, size 10 font, making it the longest thing I've ever written.

Once again, only two reviews. Pretty pretty please with a naked (and freshly bathed) newsboy on top, tell your friends about "Right Hand Man". I live for feedback. :crunches down noisily on baked and salted reviews, with a side of whipped constructive criticism: