Disclaimer: So you guys know how this goes. I don't own Newsies. I wish I did, you wish you did, etc etc. Don't sue me.

AH HAH! One day short of a week since my last post. I'm getting better. :D I've gotten into the habit (once again) of writing every single day after school, so I'm getting way ahead of the game again. I like doing it like this. This way, I always have something to post.

To everyone who reviewed last chapter: Thanks so much. They were all really sweet. I hope you guys all got the private messages I sent. If not, by all means, yell at me.

Annnndd on with our poor (yet terribly lovable) New Yorker boys.

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From the early fall months on, time seemed to fly by. Routine took over and it no longer mattered what day it was. I got up before dawn every day and got ready the same way. All that mattered was remembering how I was earning money that day. Three days a week I'd walk out of the lodging house and turn left towards the circulation desk, and the other four I'd turn right towards Tibby's Restaurant.

Soon enough, the colored leaves had all blown away and the trees were bare. I walked to work in the freezing mornings, hugging my jacket closely around me.

Work went routinely as well. I'd come in, grab my apron out of the storage room, and help prepare for the day before I had to wait on customers. The only difference lately was that Tibby's was becoming more and more crowded. People were stopping in to escape the cold, if only for a coffee or a hot chocolate.

Dinner was our busiest time. It seemed that everyone in Manhattan came into Tibby's around the same time: four or five in the evening. When this time of the day rolled around, all the workers had to stop the cleaning and the dishes to go wait on customers. The only people that didn't leave their posts were the cooks.

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"Ella, cover tables nine and twelve, please," Frank said, rushing by. He was juggling three plates in his hands, trying to weave past the horde of people towards the table he was waiting on. Another waiter turned around suddenly, heading for the kitchen, and had Frank not raised his arms above the waiter's head as quickly as he did, all three plates would have ended up on the floor.

The next few hours were a complete nightmare.

At table nine, there was a little girl who wouldn't settle for anything but strawberry ice-cream. I searched through the ice-box for the non-existent flavor until my hands went numb. Still, the girl threw a hissy fit when I came out of the kitchen empty handed and told her there was only chocolate and vanilla.

At table twelve, an older man ordered a plate of pasta. When I brought it out to him, he insisted that he told me penne; not spaghetti. I checked my notepad and was sure that he said no such thing, but the old man argued that I just wasn't listening correctly. Before he left the restaurant, he told Frank that I should be fired for lack of good service.

Around 6:30, the restaurant was finally clearing out. The waiters went back to what they were doing before the horde of people came in and I stuck around to clear off the tables.

I stacked the last few dirty plates, positioning the half full glasses on top. Then, having almost upset the stack about 4 times on the way over, I finally made it to the other side of the restaurant without causing anything to go crashing to the floor. I still wasn't too good at the whole balancing thing.

I put the pile on the counter next to the kitchen door before I had to wash them.

Exhausted, I placed my hands on the counter behind me for support and shut my eyes, attempting to get rid of the huge headache I had. My feet ached from standing up all day and my eyes burned from lack of sleep. The realism of this whole mess we were in was starting to creep over us stronger than ever, leaving a burden over the newsies' shoulders.

I took a deep breath and opened my eyes, looking around to see what else had to be done. There were a few people scattered around the room, but for the most part it was empty.

Upon second glance, I realized that Dutchy was one of the few people in the restaurant. He sat alone at a small two-person table, reading something with his head in his hand. At first I thought that it was the menu, but then I realized that the menu was pushed off to the side and a book was in front of him. In deep concentration, his mouth silently moved along to the words he was reading.

Without realizing it, my heart was picking up speed. The two of us hadn't talked since the night we kissed in Central Park; since the night we found out that Kloppman couldn't pay for the lodging house any longer.

I never brought up what happened, not even with Silver. But she knew something was going on. She could read me like a book. No pun intended.

Just watching him from across the room was starting to give me butterflies. It seemed that every time I glanced at Dutchy in the lodging house, he caught me. I hadn't had the opportunity to look at him properly in the last four months, but now he didn't realize I was there. I stared at him, taking in every feature. He really was very cute, I decided.

It was a few seconds before I realized that Loretta was standing next to me, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. She glanced from me to him, trying to figure out what was going on in my brain. Maybe it was the thoughtful stare I was giving him or the fact that my cheeks were bright red, but it clicked.

"Ella... I need you to take care of table three for me." Lor said, walking past me towards the kitchen.

"W-what?" I stuttered. "No, no... I ca- Why can't you do it?" I asked, much too quickly.

Loretta's eyes shifted away from me, looking for an excuse. "I've gotta wash dese dishes," she decided, picking up the stack on the counter.

"But that's my—" I started to protest, but Lor had slipped through the swinging door and left me staring at it, swaying on its hinges.

"job." I sighed and turned to face Dutchy, who was still oblivious to what was going on, nose buried in his book. Before my mind could stop me, I forced my legs to carry me across the room.

A squeaky, barely audible, "Can I take your order?" escaped my throat. If the restaurant hadn't been so empty, Dutchy wouldn't have heard me. But he looked up and his blue eyes met mine. I gulped.

Dutchy stared for a second longer before he blinked and tore his gaze away. He looked back down at the pages of his book. "I'll uhh, jus' have hot chocolate. Thanks," He mumbled.

I scrabbled around for the notepad and pen in the pocket of my white apron. When I finally got it out, I opened to a clean page so I could write Dutchy's order. My nerves caused me to fumble with the pen and drop it on the floor.

At the same second I bent down to pick it up, Dutchy leaned over in his chair to do the same. Our heads collided with a solid thumpand we both pulled away quickly, rubbing our foreheads. "Sorry..." I muttered.

"No, my fault," Dutchy replied. Looking down again at his book to avoid my eyes, he placed the pen on the edge of the table. I put it back in my apron pocket and turned to walk away, heading for the kitchen so I could drop off his order.

"Ella?"

I stopped and faced him again. "Yeah?"

Dutchy's mouth opened and closed as if he was reading the words in his book to himself, but this time he was thinking of how to construct words of his own. He couldn't seem to get them to form in his voice, though. Dutchy locked gazes with me. The rest of his face was neutral, but his eyes were filled with desperation, trying to tell me something. I narrowed my own in confusion.

He sighed, looking away. "Can I change me order to coffee instead?" Dutchy mumbled. I nodded slowly, turning back towards the kitchen again. On my way through the swinging door, I changed his order on the notepad, careful not to drop my pen this time.

Loretta was standing next to the sink, half the dishes in one clean pile and the other half soaking in the water. She looked over her shoulder after hearing me come in. "Well, how'd it go?" she asked.

I shrugged, going over to lean against the countertop. Lost in thought, I distractedly crossed out the word, "hot chocolate" on the paper many more times that I had to.

Finally, I sighed and stood up straight, tearing his order out of the book and putting it down. "He wants coffee," I said.

That wasn't the answer Lor was looking for. She shook her head and went back to scrubbing the dishes.

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I scoured the countertop with a wet rag, trying to scrub off the stains that had spilled over from pots during the day. Spilled over from pots. That reminded me. I still had to clean the stove.

As I made my way over, I slipped on the wet floor that had been mopped about 15 minutes earlier. I lost my balance and my legs slid out from under me, but I was able to hold myself up using a cabinet handle and the top of the icebox.

I was washing down the burners when Loretta came in. She pushed the door open with her shoulder, carrying a basin filled with silverware wrapped in napkins; The ones that were set out on tables but weren't used.

"Ella! You'se still here?!" she exclaimed.

I nodded, smiling wearily and turning back to the stove.

"Lemme do that," Lor insisted, putting down the basin and starting to make her way across the kitchen. "You get outta heah; You've been heah all day."

"No, don't worry 'bout it. Thanks, Lor, but I'm almost done."

Loretta raised an eyebrow. "You're shoah?"

I nodded reassuringly. "Yeah. I'm jus' gonna finish dis up 'nd den I'll leave."

"A'right..." she mumbled, picking up the container of silverware and putting it in it's rightful spot in the cabinet underneath the sink. "If you'se shoah..."

Lor stood up straight again and untied her apron, slinging it over her arm instead. "I'll see ya tomorrow, Lor." She nodded and waved before leaving the kitchen. The swinging door quit moving and I was left alone again.

I was nearly done with the stove when the sound of someone knocking on glass made me jump. It took me a second to figure out where it was coming from. There was a small rectangular window, positioned up on the wall high near the ceiling. It was the only window in the kitchen.

Silver was looking through it, mouthing the words, "open the window."

I had to kneel on the countertop in order to reach it. I unlocked it and pushed outward, but it wouldn't budge. The window seemed like it hadn't been opened in years. Finally, it gave way and opened, nearly smacking Silver in the face. Fortunately, she was able to duck before it happened.

"Woah, watch it!" she yelled.

"Sorry!" I laughed. "What're ya doin' heah, Silver?"

Silver's face was scarlet from the cold. I assumed that she had just finished selling the afternoon edition. All the newsies were selling both the morning and the afternoon now in order to collect more money for the lodging house.

"Well, I triedto go in through da front, but dat guy Frank said you was in da kitchen 'nd I wasn't allowed back dere. So a goil's gotta result to talkin' to her best friend through a two-foot window."

I extended my neck as far as I could, trying to see past Silver out of the window, but I couldn't. "Yeah, speakin' of which... What're you standin' on?" I asked.

"Bunch of crates," she replied. "Dey don't seem so sturdy, either." Silver grinned and began bouncing up and down slightly. The creaking noise of the wood told me that the crates might be giving way much faster than the window did.

"Oh god, Silver..." I muttered.

She laughed. "So when do ya finish?"

I looked down at the stove, determining what else I had to do. Clean the last burner and rinse out the rags. "Bout five minutes..." I told her.

"A'right. I'll wait out front for ya," she told me.

"You don't gotta, Silver. You look like you'se freezin'."

She shrugged. "Five minutes ain't gonna make much of a difference."

After closing the window and locking it, I got down off the counter and hurried to finish the stove. Once the rags were rinsed out and hung over the side of the sink so they could dry, I put my apron on a hook in the storage room and left. Silver was out front like she said she'd be.

The sun had been down for a few hours now and it was bitterly cold. Much colder than it should have been this far from winter, but the temperature had been dropping steadily for days. My fingers were numb in a matter of minutes and the cold air seemed to freeze in my throat while I breathed. Silver and I walked quickly to keep as warm as we could, hands in our pockets.

"So El... Ya didn't mention anythin' bout what today is. Someone mighta thought you forgot or somethin'." Silver shot me a half smile.

I raised an eyebrow. "What 'bout today? It's Tuesday, ain't it?"

Silver stared at me for a second, searching my face to see if I was messing with her. "You're serious, ain't ya?" She laughed. "Happy birthday, ya moron."

My mouth fell open. "No way... It's not..." I silently counted the days in my head. Last Tuesday was October 30th, so... "Wow. Yer right. November 6th."

"Can't believe ya forgot..." Silver mused.

I shrugged. "Yeah... Me neither. But we'se all been woikin' so hard lately, it's so easy to forget stuff."

Silver nodded. Then her face immediately fell. "Yeah. Uh... Speakin' of workin' hard... Today ain't jus' yer birthday." Her eyes changed drastically, going from happy to nervous.

She glanced at my confused expression out of the corner of her eye. "We'se countin' da money tonight... Bartlett wants it by midnight, 'nd, well... Tomorrow, if it ain't enough..." Silver's voice trailed off.

Neither of us wanted to say it, but we were both thinking it. Tomorrow, if it isn't enough, we'll all be kicked out of the lodging house.

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So there was the Dutchy a few of you asked for. And to finish it all off, a negative thought from Ella. Tisk, tisk, Ella.

I've got the next chapter written. However, I'm going to make some changes to it. I was planning on doing that tomorrow, but I've got some all-day-after-school thing for marching band. Blah. Being a band geek is hard work. So I'll have the next chapter posted in a couple days.

Thanks for reading :)