[ This may not be the strongest chapter, but I scrapped a lot of ideas, so no I didn't abandon this fic. I promise the next chapter won't take a year to post! ]

A tanned gentleman dressed in a white button up shirt, black vest and slacks entered Irving Hall through the backstage door. There was a time he snuck in with a stack of newspapers under his arm, the memory brought a smile to the stranger's lips. His stack of newspapers were replaced with a blank notebook and propelling pencil tucked in his jacket pocket, items essential to his job. As soon as the stranger entered the building, his ears were assaulted by off key singers and out of tune musicians practicing their scales. He winced as one singer attempted to reach a high note, it reminded him of one thing he didn't miss about the place, amateur singers performing the 'shatter glass' technique. Ever since the newspapers ran articles about an Italian opera singer who had a voice that could break glass, singers of all sorts were sure they could do the same.

Footsteps in the wings caused the stranger to freeze, unsure if he'd be welcomed or kicked out of the theatre. A distracted Racetrack appeared at the top of the stairs, his eyes glanced over a checklist Medda gave him earlier that morning. Heaving a sigh and rubbing his forehead, the Italian shoved the list in his trouser pocket and started down the steps leading to the backstage area, when he noticed the stranger standing next to the door. It had been a long morning, the last thing Race wanted was another official demanding to inspect the old building. Entering the cluttered backstage, Racetrack got a better look at the individual, he took the time to examine him before asking, "Bumlets? Is that you?"

"I haven't heard that name in a long time," the former newsboy chuckled, "These days I go by the name Ramón."

The Italian, excited to see his old friend, tackled him in a tight embrace. "Where the hell didja disappear to?! An' what's with the Shakespeare name?"

Bumlets, now Ramón, tried to brace himself the second Race lunged, but didn't have time to react and they both fell back against faded and broken props. During their selling days, the newsies loved to catch a fight of any kind, then in their free time wrestle or box each other. Racetrack was one of the shorter newsboys, so he came up with the surprise attack method as a way of winning fights. Taller newsboys challenged him with the idea they'd see the attack coming, but they were always blindsided. Sitting on the floor and dusting off his slacks, Ramón explained, "That's my name. You never questioned why Spot called me 'the Spaniard'?"

Race moved to sit on the bottom step of the stairs. "Where'd the name Bumlets come from?"

"No idea. I figured it was American slang, and I just went along with it."

Shrugging his shoulders, Race stood to his feet and helped his friend off the floor. "Alright, so how 'bout answerin' my other question. Where the hell have you been?"

Ramón grabbed his friend's hand and pulled himself off the floor, continuing to dust himself off he replied, "I've been in Mexico, doin' on location work for The Sun. It was...part of my rehab."

Racetrack's eyebrows shot up at Ramón's last statement, was it a joke? The newsboy he knew as Bumlets rarely got into trouble, like the rest of the street kids he'd get picked up by the police for rebellious activity. Stealing items from street carts or wagons, playing pranks on the cops, and flirting with young ladies were his favorite pastime. Destructive behavior didn't interest the Spanish newsboy, the strike of 1899 was the closest he ever got, but it was for a good cause. Slowly walking up the steps that led to the backstage wings, Race asked, "What did you do that landed you in rehab?"

"Remember six months after the strike, a violent bar fight that happened on 14th Avenue?" the former newsboy followed his Italian friend, his body language showed how uncomfortable he was to talk about this subject.

"Yeah, that was the top story fer…" Race spun around and stared at Ramón with wide eyes, then grabbed him by the arm and pulled his friend to the center of the stage. It was a story he and fellow newsies sold for weeks, they never suspected one of their own had something to do with it, "Are you tellin' me that fight was started by you?!"

The Spanish youth heaved a sigh as he slid his fingers through raven black hair. His dark eyes focused on the scratched wood of the stage, Ramón explained, "Denton always had our backs durin' an' after the strike, unfortunately Dutchy an' I took advantage of this. Instead of sellin' newspapers as soon as the strike ended, we'd get into all kinds of trouble. Kloppman tried to warn us, said we needed to clean up our act 'cause our out of control behavior could hurt someone."

"Well that's one mystery solved. Nobody's seen Dutch fer two and a half years," Race couldn't believe what he was hearing. After the fight against Joseph Pulitzer, demanding he lower the price of his newspapers, two newsboys who were part of the strike chose to ditch selling all together. While his two friends act like they were immortal, they forgot a few important details. After a rally that the police raided, Bryan Denton told the newsies he couldn't print any more articles about the strike or he'd lose his job with The Sun. Did Bumlets and Dutchy forget that tense moment at the diner completely? He personally felt like the newspaper tried to pull Denton away from the strike by giving him the title ace war correspondent, after all he was the only ally the kids had. Shoving his friend, Racetrack demanded, "I wanna know everything that happened that night."

"Dutch was already annoyed because Kloppman once again told us to behave," he slid his hands in his pockets and sighed, expecting Race's reaction. The only person to hear this story was Bryan Denton, and it seemed the newspaper man kept it secret, "We went into the bar to have a few drinks an' take the edge off, but Dutch got so drunk that he turned aggressive. When the bartender asked us to leave, he went as far as to threaten the guy an' that's when I tried to push him out before anything happened."

"But something did."

Ramón nodded sadly. "This older fellah at one of the tables made a smartass remark, an' Dutch lunged. While tryin' to get to him an' stop the fight, I ended up in the thick of it. Bottles an' glasses were thrown so glass covered the floor, meanwhile I'm tryin' to defend myself. Somewhere along the line I got cut with a switchblade an' didn't realize it until hours after escapin' the scene. Gunshots rang out around the same time the place ignited into flames," he rubbed his temples, the memory was one he wanted to bury and never remember because he was embarrassed by his actions, "I heard the police outside, but refused to leave without Dutch. Through the flames I saw him jump out a window that led into the alley an' I followed after him, we tried to leave the scene undetected but the cops surrounded the scene an' grabbed us."

Racetrack wasn't sure how to react, the two newsboys who were known for keeping the peace were the ones behind a violent and destructive bar fight. He couldn't get past the fact that during their out of control phase, Dutchy and Bumlets used Denton and Kloppman. The newsies didn't trust very many people, but they trusted Medda, Kloppman, and Bryan Denton so it was infuriating to hear that a fellow newsie violated the trust of these people.

"News already reached Kloppman, when we called him from the station he informed us we were kicked out of the lodgin' house."

"Another mystery solved," Racetrack couldn't stop himself from chuckling, "When asked where you guys went, ol' Klopper said you guys bought an apartment on the other side of Manhattan. Didn't quite add up 'cause we all knew you stopped sellin', an' if you moved out we'd still see you around."

A chuckle escaped Ramón's lips, he had to appreciate Kloppman's attempt at lying to cover for the two newsboys. The old gentleman could be livid with the boys, but at the end of the day he cared a great deal for every single one of them. Lifting his head and looking at his Italian friend, he stated, "Denton paid bail an' took us in for the night. The next morning he lectured us, Dutch didn't like what he heard so he walked out of the apartment an' I never saw him again. I told Denton what happened, an' that's when it was decided to put me through some kind of rehab."

"By sendin' you to Mexico? Seems a little extreme."

"It was either that or jail, an' I really wanted to avoid jail. Long story short, The Sun needed to send someone down to Mexico for scheduled reports on everyday life. There's still some hostilities after a war that happened sixty years ago, so instead of sending one of their American journalists they sent a Spaniard who had no clue what he was doin'. Denton talked to the police an' as long as I kept to my schedule, provin' myself responsible, I wouldn't go to jail."

There was a long, awkward silence as the two men stood on the stage and looked at each other. Now that he knew the full story, Race had more questions concerning the event. Ramón wasn't the one who started the fight, in fact he tried to pull Dutchy out of the bar so something wouldn't happen, but he was just as guilty for ignoring the warnings to clean up his act. Ramón discovering the error of his ways came a little late, and his rehab consisted of receiving a brand new job, how did that hold him accountable for a burned building and four deaths?

"Is Medda around? I'm supposed to meet with her ˗."

"You must be the journalist she's expecting!" Race buried his face in his hands and groaned, "She's currently in a meeting with an important client, it could be a while."

A young woman stepped out on the stage, she wore a dark blue silk robe with gold Art Nouveau flowers stitched down the back. A frustrated look on her face as her hands fell on her hips, she stated, "I've been looking all over for you! Can I show you what we've come up with so far?"

"Oh yeah! Bring her out here," he lightly slapped Ramón across the chest as the woman disappeared backstage, "Remember how Jack didn't make much of an effort to hide from Snyder? We got this headliner we're tryin' to hide in broad daylight."

The woman returned to the stage, this time she spoke to someone who wore a black masquerade mask as they walked across the stage to stand in front of Racetrack and Ramón. The masked individual wore a black lace dress, black satin gloves, and black laced stockings. The woman in the robe placed a hand on the masked individual's shoulder and said, "I have yet to put the wig on, but what do you think of how it looks so far?"

Racetrack gave a disgusted look, shook his head and stated, "Looks more like yer tryin' to dress her up fer a costume ball. The point is she doesn't stick out."

"We've been at this for two days straight Higgins." The woman who snapped at Racetrack was Charlotte Riggs, a star performer at Irving Hall. Medda recruited Charlotte as Sophia's teacher, years of traditional dance lessons replaced with modern vaudeville technique by someone who had years of experience. The one snag that kept coming up was a foolproof disguise, Charlotte started to question her creative ability.

"I was about to suggest takin' a day off, but if yer gonna get hostile with me." he grinned.

Charlotte stuck her tongue out at him, while she usually enjoyed a sarcastic exchange, this was not one of those moments. Turning her attention to a masked Sophia, she said, "C'mon, let's get you out of that getup."

As the exchange transpired between Racetrack and Charlotte, Sophia couldn't help but focus all her attention on the dark haired stranger who stood off to the side. He was handsome, and like Jackal had a distinct appearance, but she couldn't remember seeing his face before. When she stepped out on stage with Charlotte, Racetrack acted like he knew the gentleman, so was he a former newsboy? Sophia realized she was staring at him for a long period of time and looked down at the floor, a light pink formed against her cheeks. Why am I acting so silly?! He's no different from any other boy! Once they disappeared backstage, Sophia removed the mask and brushed her fingers through her short hair as her thoughts returned to the mystery man. Looking at the other men she met since running away they looked like anyone else on the streets, aside from Jackal. This handsome mystery man didn't speak or look at her, so why did the butterflies awaken in her stomach?

"I think we deserve more than just a day of rest. After lunch I'll talk to Race and see if he'll extend the time," Charlotte said as they walked down the long hall of dressing rooms. Pushing a door open at the end of the hall, she stepped into Sophia's dressing room and kicked aside one of the many piles of costumes that littered the floor, " I hate to admit Higgins is right, we've exhausted all ideas at this point."

"Charlotte, do you happen to know the man who stood with Racetrack?" Sophia glanced down the hall before closing the door to her dressing room. She placed the masquerade mask on her cluttered vanity and sat down on a small footstool to carefully remove the lace stockings.

The redheaded performer arched an eyebrow and smiled. During their countless hours of vaudeville training, Sophia told her teacher all about the abuse she endured from her family. At first she and other performers thought Medda became blinded by money and chose to perform a publicity stunt with a local prima ballerina. Realizing that wasn't the case, Charlotte formed a friendship with Sophia, and soon found out about Spot Conlon. She knew him by reputation only, that was enough for her to breathe a sigh of relief when Sophia said he was just a friend. However, the constant visits from Jackal made it clear the Brooklyn Boy didn't see the relationship as just friends and that bothered the stage performer.

"I didn't get a good look at him, but raven black hair that flops to one side? I'm almost certain that's Bumlets." Charlotte took the folded stockings handed to her, turned to open the small wardrobe and opened a drawer to place the stockings inside.

"Bumlets? That's an odd name."

Charlotte chuckled. "I agree, but he was a nice kid. Girls here at the theater who were lucky enough to be romanced by him, said he swept them off their feet, an absolute gentleman."

Sophia watched her teacher as she talked about Bumlets, waited a few seconds before asking, "Were you lucky enough to be romanced by him?"

"Ah, no," Charlotte blushed. Years earlier before the strike, when she first started at Irving Hall and the dancers helped the newsies sneak in, she had romantic flings with a few. Jack Kelly was her longest fling, well aware he romanced other ladies, Charlotte never considered herself his favorite. When the newsie rally was raided, she watched the entire thing backstage with Toby and Medda's assistant. As they tried to pull her offstage, Jack and his friend David were frantic to push two people out of the establishment, she ran to help David's brother and sister out of the theater. Realizing the sudden interest Sophia had in Bumlets, she asked curiously, "Would you like to meet him?"

Her eyes bulged at the suggestion. "Um, no I don't think that's a good idea."

Charlotte rolled her aquamarine eyes and shook her head. "Why, because Jackal might report to Spot you're not attracted to him? Don't let that kid bully you into a relationship that he wants."

"I don't want to act foolish in front of him," Sophia jumped up, her hands planted on her hips, "I'm feeling really strange right now and the last thing I want is to make a terrible first impression."

The star of Irving Hall blinked, suddenly realizing this was the first time Sophia ever felt an attraction toward someone. While she wanted to feel sympathy and act like a caring mother, Charlotte couldn't overlook the fact that Sophia tended to run away from important issues. This young woman went so far as to assault someone in order to defend herself, but couldn't tell Spot or Jackal to leave her alone. Sophia deserved to be loved, but how can that happen if she hid in a corner? Sitting down in a chair, Charlotte explained, "What you're feeling is natural, when a human sees another human that they find attractive. their body reacts and lets them know this person is one to like."

"I just think ˗."

"Okay, enough with the excuses," the petite woman threw her hands up and popped out of her chair, grabbed her student by the arm, and stormed out of the dressing room. This is a girl that ran away from her abusive family, they had her under their thumb for sixteen years, and yet for some mysterious reason Sophia refused to be her own person. Charlotte couldn't wait to break all the rules after she left home, even ended up in jail because she got too rowdy. If Sophia is going to live on the streets she needs to toughen up, she can't expect protection from the other kids. She continued to pull a squirming Sophia around the backstage labyrinth until she heard the sound of Race's laugh, the two men hadn't left the stage yet. Standing at a safe distance in the wings, a death grip on Sophia's arm, Charlotte whispered, "I'll play it off like I remembered who he was, and then introduce you. I'll pull Race off the stage so the two of you can talk."

"This really isn't necessary." the once newsgirl stuttered, attempting to tug her arm out of Charlotte's iron grip.

Ignoring Sophia, Charlotte walked out on stage as she let go of her student's arm. A smile on her face, she called out, "I had to come back because it suddenly occurred to me! Are you the Spanish newsboy they called Bumlets?"

Arms crossed in front of his chest, Ramón laughed. "I asked if you were Char, an' Race tried to get me to take a bet on how long it'd take you to realize it's me. For the record, I go by Ramón now."

"Why you old son of a gun!" Charlotte ran up and hugged him tightly, he returned the embrace with a light chuckle, "You're back for good, this isn't just a visit before leaving for several years?"

"It's possible I'll be working around here," he replied as he let go of Charlotte, "just waitin' to talk with Medda."

"Oh! Before I forget," Charlotte turned to look at Sophia, who stood patiently at the edge of the stage, "Just in case Race didn't tell you, this is Sophia. She's the person you saw behind the mask."

Sophia stepped closer to the group, her heart raced because this Spaniard might receive a job at the theater. On one hand she'd love to see his face every single day around the theater, but her nerves were so bad just at the idea of meeting him. If he did get the job, she'd have to do everything possible to avoid him. Standing in front of Ramón, Sophia lifted her eyes to see a pleasant smile and almost lost all feeling in her legs. Stop acting like an idiot, it's just a smile! Sucking in her breath, she thrust out her arm and said softly, "I'm pleased to meet you."

Charlotte did a quick little sashé and poked Racetrack on the shoulder before aggressively pulling him off the stage. Usually he'd fight back, but didn't want to cause a childish scene in front of his childhood friend. Once they were offstage, Charlotte explained in a low voice, "Sophia has formed an attraction toward Bumlets, turns out this is her first attraction to someone and she's nervous."

Race glanced out on stage and watched the couple with wide eyes. "No foolin'. I was startin' to worry she'd settle with Spot. He's pushin' hard an' I don't like that."

"What about Jackal's constant visits? If Spot finds out Bumlets is back, that could lead to trouble," Charlotte's fingers brushed through her hair, "Did anyone figure out why he hated Bum so much?"

"No, but you make a good point. I don't envy Brooklyn tryin' to calm down their leader."

Behind a faded moonlight backdrop used for Shakespeare routines, stood a frustrated Egyptian newsboy. He used to have a selling schedule, until Spot formed an unhealthy obsession with Sophia. Six months earlier she moved into Irving Hall, and for the first couple weeks Jackal personally made sure she was doing alright. Now Spot's childish jealousy was getting on his nerves, especially since Sophia saw him as just a friend. He never knew Spot to care if a girl was romantically involved with anyone else, as long as she satisfied him that's all that mattered. Spot's detachment seemed to be one more thing that women found attractive. Now the Brooklyn leader acted like Sophia was his girl, and it annoyed everyone around him.

Earlier when he slipped in through the back door, he heard Racetrack talk with a stranger out on the stage. He tried to get a better look without being detected, the gentleman had a familiar face, but a name was never mentioned. Then when Charlotte said the name Bumlets, Jackal squeezed his eyes tight and tugged at his hair, Spot's enemy was back. Honestly, he had no idea why Spot hated Bumlets so much, for all he knew the kid cheated during a card game when they were twelve years old. The Spanish newsboy was one of the few other newsies could trust, the only person that had a bad thing to say about him was Spot. Funny thing is, he never gave a reason for despising Bumlets which means even Spot can't remember the reason why for picking on the newsboy. From the sound of it, Sophia showed interest in the Spaniard, that wasn't going to go over well at all.

Slowly moving out from behind the backdrop, Jackal brushed himself off and exited the theater. Walking the busy streets of Manhattan, as he searched his pockets for a cigarette, he came to the conclusion that Spot didn't need to know about what happened at Irving Hall that morning. In the future he'd learn Bumlets returned to Manhattan, and if a romance blossoms between the Spaniard and Sophia then Jackal will have to tell Spot. At the end of the day, it was safer if the Brooklyn leader is left in the dark.