"I ain't letting you go," Spot insisted, eyes storming over with frustration at having to argue this for the fourth time.

"I just wanna see what's gonna happen," I begged. "And you can't force me to do anything. I've seen where City Hall Park is."

Spot groaned and ran his fingers through his hair under his cap. "I don't know what these boys are gonna do. It could get rough."

"If that happens, I'll leave."

City Hall Park was chock full of newsboys. One older boy in particular was standing like a statue on the City Hall steps.

As we neared the building, it became clear that he was not going to move. Spot snickered into his palm.

"What is it?"

"Delancey is lookin' like Horris Greeley."

"Who?"

Spot pointed to a marble statue at the other side of the park.

"He's a famous newspaper figure. Delancey's far from famous," Spot chuckled.

"Who is Delancey?"

"Oscar Delancey, a guy with a small, cold heart. It's known that he soaks younger newsies."

"Younger newsies? He soaks them for no reason?" I was shocked.

"Well, he ain't huggin' 'em. At least, we don't think." Spot winked. I giggled like a little girl.

As we blended into the crowd, eleven year old Boots started giving a speech.

"It was like this. We went to the guy that sells the papes, and we tells him that he gotta be two for a cent or nothin'. He said 'what are ya gonna do about it?' I'se told him we'se was gonna strike. He said 'go ahead ans strike.' And here we is."

A boy by the name of Skittery jumped up next to Boots to help explain. "The boys of Staten thought the World and Journal circulation managers was cheatin' 'em. So they gathered and tipped wagons over, running off with all the papes and chasing the managers."

Newsies cheered loudly.

"But it wasn't until the bulls got 'em that they realized who the real cheater was!" Skittery shouted. "Pulitzer and Hearst is stealin' food from our mouths and shelter from us while he lays his head on three satin pillows."

Oscar Delancey rolled his eyes. "All youse is gonna fail! I'm gonna go get my Uncle Wiesel and he's gonna have you all in the Refuge by suppertime!" he yelled, storming off.

"See," Spot whispered to me, "a real son of a..." he caught himself.

I smirked and crossed my arms. "You wanna finish your sentence there?"

"No, I don't." Spot said, pretending to be scared of me.

The boys hollered curses at Oscar and raised their fists in the air. I admired their passion. I wondered if growing up on the streets made them this way.

Maybe I could have done something to save my grandpa.

Spot was a tough cookie to figure out. He insisted he had to roll with these boys, but he always made side comments to me about how they had to "prove it to him."

Another puzzling thing about him was the fact that he never reacted about the increased prices until the 'Hattan boys said anything, but even if he didn't complain as much, I knew he still felt the same way they did.

Jack shot up beside Boots on the marble statue. "So what's the verdict? Are we just gonna take what they give us? Or are we gonna strike?"

"Strike!" echoed the boys.

"It's agreed, then. We strike, and we'll win!" shouted Jack.

The boys whooped and hollered in agreement.

"We all on strike!" Jack cheered. "Anyone who sells the Journal or World tommora is a scab, and youse have every right to tear up their papes and throw them in the Hudson."

A loud wave of cheers sounded from the park, and onlookers shot them strange looks.

Jack took action quickly. "Davey and Boots take the demands to Pulitzer and Hearst, and let 'em know what we're fightin' for."

Davey nodded.

"Spread the word to Harlem, Brooklyn, Queens, and Jersey!" shouted Jack.

I was very amused. I assumed they learned what to say and do from the Trolley strikers.

"So, will Hearst and Pulitzer listen to them?" I asked Spot.

"Eh, don't know. I guess we'll find out!" shouted Spot in amazement. "First, I gotta get you outta here."

immediately, the 'Hattan boys appeared and Jack took Spot by the shoulder.

"We gonna be organizin' a strike committee," Jack said.

"I gotta take care of somethin' first, then I'll come." Spot slid from Jack's grip.

The boys glared at me. It was clear they were not used to Spot turning them down, and they knew I was the reason.

"We'll meet you over at the usual meetin' spot," Jack finally spoke, and the boys shuffled back into the crowd.

"Why can't you go with them?"

"I promised I'd take ya to the Auburn," he said, taking me away from the newsies.

As we walked out of the park, I looked over at the bronze statue of Horace Greeley. Written underneath was an inscription: "I am the inferior of any man whose rights I trample underfoot." It was a magnificent statue, and I was sure that without having slipped through time, I would have never noticed it was ever there if I went to New York.

"Come on." Spot guided me forward, desperately trying to duck around the swarm of newsies.

Every so often, Spot called out news of the strike and passed out flyers. I was a bit confused because of what he had told Jack earlier about staying out of the strike for now. Still, people handed Spot some change to support the cause.

My excitement faded as soon as we reached the Auburn. It was everything Spot hinted it was, a military-looking stronghold. The bricks lining the building were said to be splattered in blood every time an execution of a prisoner occurred, so they named it "the Auburn" for the color it made. Legend had it that you can see the handprints of one of the most notorious prisoners on the wall of the building, smeared in blood. Spot mentioned that the place was crawling with corrupt cops and that it was a place you never wanted to end up in.

"Okay, I happen to know a guy in there. And that's how I figured out your pa was there. They allow visitors, but I'm worried that if we walk in there and ya say who ya are, they'll be suspicious and start askin' questions, and then ship ya back to the orphanage. This is the first place the orphanage would come askin' about ya."

"So what't the plan?" I asked him.

"Well, at least now ya know where he is." Spot gestured to a courthouse nearby. "He'll be tried during court sessions over there. I guess I could go in and figure out when that'll be."

"I want to visit him terribly..."

"Oh, shit..." Spot mumbled under his breath as he backed away from me.

I followed his gaze and found the reason for his sudden shrink back. The 'Hattan boys were walking across Elmor Street, coming our way. Their arms were crossed tightly, they looked serious. It was all business now. Spot stood between the newsies and me.

"There a problem, Spot?"

"Nope."

"What's happenin'?"

Spot chewed on the inside of his mouth, then spoke reluctantly. "Her pa's inside the Auburn."

"Well that's a God awful place," spat a boy the others called Racetrack. "My pa was there three years until he was released. He said it was hell."

I gulped.

"That was six years ago. The place is eight years old now. How bad can it be?" asked a little boy I think called Snipe-something.

"So, she yer friend now?" Jack asked, unfolding his arms.

"Yeah," Spot said, unfolding his arms too.

I tried to hide my smile at this.

Jack walked closer over to me, and looked me up and down. Spot stayed close by. Surprisingly, Jack spat on his hand and offered it out to me. "Then youse one of us now," he said.

It looked like Spot wanted to say something, but he kept quiet. Without thinking, I spat in my hand and shook Jack's outstretched hand, feeling accepted.

"We won't treat youse like a girl."

"i don't want you to," I fired back.

The boys laughed. "You might wanna keep an eye on this one, Spot." Jack smiled approvingly at me, and then at Spot. "She knows what she's doing. Alright, let's get ya inside," Jack said to me.

"What? Really?" I asked excitedly.

"No," Spot objected. "They'll be lookin' for her."

"No they won't," Jack huffed.

"You can get me inside?" I asked Jack eagerly. Spot stepped between us.

"No, it's too risky and too dangerous."

"She's one of us now, so eithers youse get her in or I will."

Spot glanced at me, and I made a puppy-dog face and begged. "Please?" I felt like a little girl trying to ask for the last cookie.

"Whatever," Spot buckled.

The boys planned a distraction, but for the plan to go smoothly, I had to dress like a boy.

"Race, give her your cap and trousers," Jack commanded.

"Um, what?!" Racetrack shot back.

"She can sneak in easier lookin' like a boy, and youse looks like a good fit."

"Yeah and what am I gonna wear, her dress?" The newsies laughed.

Jack rolled his eyes and grabbed Racetrack and whipped off his cap, tossing it to me. Racetrack muttered a few colorful remarks in Italian and then took off his trousers, standing on the corner in his dingy white long-johns.

Racetrack's clothes were actually a pretty good fit. I tucked the dress into the pants and my hair underneath the cap.

Spot chuckled, "That look ain't bad on ya."

Three police guards stood at the front of the Auburn, keeping watch. I felt my heart pounding in my ears as we neared them. They had on very serious expressions. Slowly, one of the officer's eyes started to look at me. I breathed in sharply.

And then CRASH!

Behind us, Jack collided with some newsie called Kid Blink in a fistfight full of swearing and accusations. The police officers rushed over to break them up.

"Should we do something?" I asked.

"Shh!" Spot covered my mouth with his hand. "It's part of the plan. They're our distraction."

I felt a little silly as we hurried quickly up the stairs of the prison. Inside, there was little light. Spot found my hand in his and hurried with me along the hallway. I guessed we were looking for the jail cells. But in this labyrinth, it was hard to tell.

Suddenly, Spot took a quick detour into an office of some kind. A policeman with a large belly and square jaw stood up quickly as we entered.

"What on Earth-!"

"It's just me!" Spot lifted his cap up, revealing his face.

The man erupted with hearty laughter. "You gave me a fright, little Conlon."

I smiled...'little Conlon?' Haha.

"Whose ya friend?"

"Shadow," Spot said without a beat. I hoped I would pass as a boy.

The man seemed to really take no notice of me afterwards as he walked over to Spot.

"How can I help ya?"

"The guy I saw earlier - I need to see him again."

"Does he owe ya money? This man doesn't have any on him."

"Nah, he's got information." Spot confirmed.

"I'll take care of it," the cop said sinisterly, pounding his fist into his hand.

"No!" I blurted out. I then dropped my voice to sound like a boy. "No. We need to hear it ourselves."

The cop thought for a minute. "Okay."

He went to his desk and grabbed to pieces of paper and then handed them to us.

"Hang onto these," he commanded.

I looked at the paper. It was a visitor pass, the name tag was blank. I hoped to keep it that way.

Soon, we were in the most gruesome place, in the depths of the Auburn, covered in grime, humid air and a bleak feeling. We climbed down the stairs to the men's jail, a narrow hall with a tall ceiling and five floors of wrought iron cells. I was careful not to touch anything as we reached the second floor.

"Second floor is for the killers." The officer explained. "Here we are. Step lively."

The three of us paused in front of a tiny cell. I peered in through the bars but my grandpa was unrecognizable.

"Contadino!" Spot shouted.

Suddenly, a grey figure climbed from the darkness. He was thin and filthy. His eyes were sunken in, his brow deeply lined in thought, his whiskers uncombed. He shuffled towards the bars. My heart sank. I couldn't cry now and break my disguise. If this was the story Grandpa was trying to tell me about for so many years, I felt awful for ignoring him. But now I had a chance to save him.

"Okay, there's your man." the cop made his way back down the stairs. "Don't stay up here too long, visiting hours end at 7:00 and I don't want you two catching a fever."

"Thanks, Officer Duncan!" Spot called back.

When the officer was completely gone, Spot continued, "Giovanni Contadino?"

"Was do you want, boy?" My grandpa's voice was cold and harsh.

I took off my hat, letting my hair fall to my shoulders.

Grandpa was confused and looked closer at me. His eyes widened upon realization. "Hailey?"

"Papa."

"Hailey, was...what..."

"I'm gonna get you out of here."

"How?" he sneezed. "I sick. Very sick."

"When is your trial?"

Grandpa shrugged. "Several days? Maybe week?"

"What can I do to help?" I asked.

Grandpa was quiet; then he shrugged again. "Niente."

He sneezed again. Spot took my arm.

"What's wrong with him?" I asked Spot in a whiney voice that sounded like a little girl complaining.

"Lot's of folks die in hear from influenza."

"No," I said flatly. I didn't want to believe it.

"There has to be someway I can help."

"What is your name, boy?" Grandpa turned and asked Spot.

Spot removed his cap and stood up straight. "Aidan Conlon, sir." I smiled internally. Spot's name had finally been revealed.

"Take care of her," Grandpa spoke. Then he turned to me. "Be good, a good girl."

"No, I don't want to say goodbye forever."

"Oh, Hailey." Grandpa reached through the bars and touched the tears streaming down my face. "Sono glad you are okay."

"You can't leave, Papa."

"You boys there!" shouted a guard from down the hallway.

Spot turned to me. "Quick! Put your cap back on." Hurriedly, I stuffed my hair back under my cap.

"Take this. Get some food." Spot said quickly, giving my grandpa three dollars out of his pocket. "We gotta go."

"But..." I began.

"Come on."

The guard's voice was replaced by several footsteps growing louder. We had to hurry. I took one last glance at my grandpa. He tried to smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Ti amo."

"I love you too." I choked over the words as Spot dragged me by the arm back through the labyrinth and away from the advancing flood of cops.

The voices and shouting grew closer with every turn through the cells, but we were smaller and moved faster than the men did. Finally, Spot and I were back at Officer Duncan's office, and then finally out the door.

Spot and I ran so fast across the street, my I felt my legs being lifted off the ground. The crowds on the streets hid us from the cops who scanned the people from the steps of the Auburn.

Spot paused to catch his breath. I thought I had left mine inside.

"Ya alright?" he panted.

I nodded, folding my arms so he wouldn't know they were trembling.

"I knew it was a bad idea..." Spot sighed.

"No, it's fine. I just don't wanna talk about it right now."

Many feelings were churning inside me, but the most felt was fear. I didn't know what to do now. My only option I could think of was the orphanage, but I wasn't about to make that my only choice.

I looked over at Spot. He stared at the ground.

"So, who was the cop?"

Spot looked up at me suddenly.

"Bill Duncan. He worked with my pa."

"Your father was a cop?"

"is a cop. Near Central Park."

The 'Hattan boys, busy handing out flyers on the corner of Middle Street, cheered when they saw us.

"Ya made it!" Snipe-shooter? called, rushing over.

I nodded.

They could tell by the looks on Spot and my faces that it wasn't good news, and so Jack changed the subject, taking me by the shoulder. "So looks like we gotta new boy. We should initiate."

The newsies cheered. I looked to Spot, who shook his head.

"She ain't one of us."

For the first time, I felt anger toward Spot. "You can't tell me what to do."

"Hailey," Spot whispered, pulling me aside. "I'm only tryin' to explain to them that ya can't strike."

I looked deep into Spot's blue eyes. I knew he was trying to help me, but after the orphanage and the way Grandpa looked at me in the Auburn, I was sure that the kind of help Spot was suggesting was not the kind of help I needed. I was tired of being afraid, and these boys were the most confident people I had ever known.

"I want to be one of you," I stated flatly.

Spot glared at me with an icy gleam. "Ya don't even know what you're sayin'."

I nudged Spot aside.

"I'm one of you guys now," I said. "I can do anything you can do better, and I'm ready to strike."

Jack smiled at Spot. "Looks like youse found yourself some trouble."

Spot, boiling with anger, remained bitterly silent.

"But it works, cause we all about trouble." Jack smiled. "The rest of the boys are gonna be talkin' about the strike and makin' plans. So should Brooklyn."

Spot shook his head. "Youse gotta prove it."

After much debate, the 'Hattan boys agreed.

"Let's go to Tibby's. We'll play craps for who pays." Jack said.

The boys cheered.

Spot grabbed my wrist when the others weren't looking. "Let's just go."

"Why?" I whispered back.

"Look, ya not one of them."

"You mean I'm not with you. You're with them."

"'Cause I gotta be."

"If I don't, you don't."

Spot grit his teeth. Something about this made him uneasy. "Ya a girl. God made you that way."

"If boys' clothes are good enough to get me past the Auburn guards, they'll do for the rest. Besides, I have nowhere else to go."

Spot thought for a moment. "I show ya a good place, for a girl. I'd show ya now if ya want." I could tell he was trying to think of every way to convince me not to strike with the 'Hattans.

"Spot, after seeing my father like that...I got nothing. If they want to be my family now, I want to be theirs."

"They ain't your family, Hailey. These boys can be...they're not good."

"Let me decide that."

I wrenched my hand out of his grip and walked in my trousers and cap to join the newsies.