"...and boy, did I evah run. Fastah den a cheetah loose from da Bronx Zoo.
I had ta, of coise, or oddahwise Ol' Mrs. Whittle woulda had my livah for
breakfast." Pocket's cheerful rambling invaded Shadow's mind even before
she awoke, which caused the dark-haired girl to automatically ponder the
benefits of cement shoes and the Hudson. A shiver raced up and down her
spine, making Shadow rethink her approach as to dealing with the forever-
chattering newsgirl.
Maybe aftah killin' dat Senatah Baineswoith, I'm more likely ta really kill somebody else, she mused solemnly and fearfully as her eyes blinked open to reveal a slightly blurry version of the girls' bunkroom.
"She followed me down da staircase, screamin' woise dan any banshee evah has. 'I'll get you, Hetty Thomas!' she shrieked at me. 'If it's da last t'ing I do, I'll get ya for dis!' And, well, I wasn't about ta..." Pocket continued, having leapt from her bed to act out the entire scene. Several of the newsgirls who were already awake (Prob'ly woke dem up jus' ta tell dis stupid story, Shadow guessed bitterly) watched her from their bunks.
Just as Pocket was drawing near the climax of her tale, Shadow found that she couldn't take it any longer. She hurled her pillow (a thing so lumpy, rough, and uncomfortable that it resembled a rock more than anything else) down at Pocket, hitting the girl directly in the head and knocking the surprised newsgirl to the floor. "Can it!" she shouted in extreme annoyance.
"Can it what?" Pocket, who had been initially caught off guard by he pillow but immediately leapt to her feet again, asked with the most innocent of grins plastered on her lips.
"Cane it carry a tune?" wondered Aussie.
The former pickpocket lifted up the pillow and, with a somber nature reminiscent of a college professor, pressed it to her ear for a minute. Then she shook her head sadly. "Nope."
"Can it turn cartwheels?" Cole asked.
Pocket placed the pillow on the floor and stared at it expectantly. "Uh- uh."
"Can it grow feet and hop on one of 'em and whistle da Star Spangled Bannah backwards while balancin' a stack of papes on da oddah foot and turnin' around eighteen and a sixteenth times countah-clockwise?" Tornado laughed.
Pocket again studied the resting pillow hopefully. "Nuh-uh. But I don't t'ink I could even do dat."
"Not a surprise. Aftah all, ya got as much brains as dat pillow," Shadow mumbled viciously, rolling her eyes and attempting in vain to gain a few minutes of sleep before Kloppman marched into the room to wake everyone with his shouts of 'Get up, get up! Papers are rolling!'
Can it fly?" suggested Cricket.
Pocket lifted up the pillow and studied it meticulously, turning it over several times and occasionally tossing it up a few feet into the air. Then she broke into a bright grin as she screamed, "YES!" and flung the pillow at Tornado, hitting the girl squarely in the face.
Tornado shrieked in shock (that combined with Pocket's shout served to wake all of the previously slumbering newsgirls, some of whom, like Shadow, were less than thrilled with the method of awakening; several hurled their own pillows at the two girls) and swiped Pocket with her pillow, a declaration of pillow war between them. They swatted each other cheerfully and raced giggling around the room for at least another five minutes before Kloppman appeared at the doorway with an incredulous statement suffused over his face.
"What in the almighty is going on in here?" he wanted to know, folding his arms over his chest and reminding Shadow of an old maid who didn't tolerate such unbecoming actions.
No one in the room spoke up, even those who hadn't been pleased with the wake-up call. Shadow flipped over in her bunk and prayed for a few minutes of extra sleep (otherwise she was certain she'd be the head off of anyone who refused to buy a paper that morning). Pocket and Tornado shared a half- guilty, half-mischievous look before returning their gaze to an unamused Kloppman.
"Well, t'ink of it dis way," the ex-pickpocket piped up enthusiastically. "Ya don't gotta drag us outta bed now like ya gotta do wid da boys."
Kloppman sighed heavily, throwing his hands up as if in defeat. "Well, ya all gotta get up now, presses are rollin'!" he shouted as he exited the girls' room and his footsteps echoed down the hallway, where he was most likely going to throw the boys out of bed.
By this time, Shadow had given up her futile efforts and slid to her feet. She offered only Ivy, who- lying in the bunk below Shadow's- was rubbing the last bits of sleep out of her eyes, a small smile before heading into the washroom to brush her teeth (something the boys hardly ever did, even though they fervently insisted on shaving each morning). As if dey had anyt'ing ta shave, Shadow remarked to herself as she studied her reflection in the washroom's broken mirror. She saw her heart-shaped face, her slightly pointed ears which she couldn't stand and did her best to conceal with her dark tresses whenever possible, and her chocolate brown eyes. She knew that she didn't quite look like the other girls, having received her naturally dark skin (though not nearly as dark as Tornado's beautiful complexion) from her Mexican parents. Save Tornado, Boots, Painter, Drummer, and Violet, she knew that she stuck out of the group of newsies- who were prominently white- like a sore thumb.
Shit, I'd rather blend in wid even da plainest of people den stick out like dis, she commented to herself. People don't remembah ya, or even notice ya, dat way.
Sometimes all Shadow longed for was simply to slip away into the darkness forever.
*****
"Extra, Extra! Fightin' in da Philippines! Hundreds of lives lost in battle! Blood and carnage!" Shadow called to the denizen of the city who were passing by, her voice somewhat listless despite the dramatic article gracing the front page of the World. This was one of the few days when she had no need to create an improved headline. People seemed genuinely interested in the affairs of the land thousands of miles away. However, Shadow bore no curiosity or sadness concerning those fighting in Philippines.
Who really gives a damn wheddah or not a buncha people die way ovah deah? I don't know 'em, don't care about 'em, why should anybody else? The fact was, however, (although Shadow would never admit this to herself) that she realized if she felt sorry for these people, there would be other corpses to consider.
"I'd like a newspaper," an older evidently middle class woman stepped up to the newsgirl and thankfully interrupted Shadow's train of thought.
"Oh, right," she said, surprised at her sudden appearance, and fumbled to give the woman a paper. In her efforts, she accidentally dropped her entire stack of fifty papers onto the grimy sidewalk. Muttering very obscene phrases and moving swiftly so that her papers would not be ruined by those who would fecklessly stomp over the print on their way to huge offices or tiny sewing shops or a matinee performance on Broadway, Shadow collected the papers. To her vast surprised, the woman, a tall female with nondescript blue eyes and luxurious brown hair, assisted her in the task. She glanced up at the woman for a split second in total shock. Why da hell is she helpin' me? she pondered as she turned away in fear that the woman could catch the bewildered gleam in her eyes.
"T'anks, ma'am-" Shadow was mumbling, uncertain as to how to express her gratitude, when she caught sight of someone standing across the street.
He wasn't someone whom she would have noticed under usual circumstances. His dark blonde hair was thinning with air, and streaks of silver were apparent even from a distance. His clothing was nothing to speak of. Most likely thousands of other men owned a suit identical to the one he donned, gray and obviously kept spotless despite the mediocre quality and style. He wasn't very handsome, although he might have been years ago before wrinkles had stretched out across his face and a cold frown implanted itself firmly on his lips. What caught Shadow's attention were his eyes, icy blue which made her shiver despite the intense heat and humidity. There was something about them that made her uneasy, something that awoke a memory which had been formerly tucked safely away in the back of her mind. These eyes were not the sort one would be very comfortable looking into.
And at that moment, the man's eyes were focused directly on Shadow.
An animal instinct ordered her feet to run. Before she could stop herself, she shoved a paper into the woman's hands and muttered, "On da house." With that, she grabbed the collect stack and bolted away like a deer on the run from a dangerous hunter. She didn't waste time in stopping to even glance over her shoulder, but she knew all the same that the man had followed her. Her heart was pounding wildly now (she wondered if a select few in New Hampshire could hear it), and simply not as a result of her pace. Frantically, she tore through the crowded sidewalks at top speed, pushing people out of the way if the need arose. She dodged across street, down alleys, and around corners to escape.
What Shadow found odd was the man's silence. She vaguely recalled Jack relating a story of when Snyder had chased him, David, and Les one day just before the strike occurred. Of course this could have been vast embellishment, but Jack had said that he called directions out to Dave and Les, while Snyder shouted threats after them. This was utterly different. Neither the predator nor the prey made any sound as they sprinted through the city.
With panicked eyes, Shadow looked for any possible place to hide. It seemed as though no matter what, the man was unwilling to lose her.
Shit, a city as big as dis and a goil can't find a decent place ta hide from a psycho!
Then she caught sight of her only chance. She would have to run like the wind and even then there was the possibility of becoming seriously injured or even killed, but that seemed a thousand times better than getting cornered by some creep who most likely had rape on his mind and evil in his heart. Not even taking the time to draw a deep breath for courage, Shadow dashed into the middle of the street, directly in the path of a speeding carriage. She barely missed getting trampled by massive horses (how Sabrina could ever ride on of those, Shadow hadn't the faintest idea) and, without stopping to consider how lucky she was to have made it across safely, she bolted into one of the sole alleys to be darkened at this time of day. She backed into a corner and easily blended into the other dancing shadows.
The man trailing her had taken one step into the street in an attempt to follow the girl, but by then it was too late. He would have been instantly crushed by the carriage if he had tried to continue, his skull smashed into jagged pieces on the road and his body flattened beyond recognition. And by the time the carriage had passed, he found that the girl was nowhere to be seen. She could have gone a dozen ways and disappeared into the crowd in an instant, absolutely impossible to follow.
But that made no difference to the man. He knew that his time would come, and it that time was approaching rapidly. Besides, he had seen what the girl had been clutching in her arms- newspapers. He knew of someone who would be very able, and even more willing, to assist him in his search. With a swift turn on his heel, Detective Sarmons strolled off, whistling a pleasant tune.
*****
It was at least half an hour before Shadow decided that it was safe to venture out of the darkened corner of the alley and into the summer sunlight again. Actually, she would have been perfectly content to stand in the darkness for the rest of the day, but knew that that was certainly not going to sell any papers, and she didn't have a burning desire to gulp down twenty papers that evening. So she took small, cautious steps towards the mouth of the alley, where she could see dozens of people passing by without having any idea that there was a psycho stalker walking among them.
I guess I could say dey don't know I'm walkin' wid dem, she reminded herself. Even da newsies don't know. Dey don't know anyt'ing about me, how I killed dat guy, why I was even deah dat night.
Sure, the majority of the newsies had pasts they'd love to forget. Pocket had been a pickpocket for years; Jack's father had been an abusive drunk and a thief, slipping silently into homes and taking whatever he could to sell for a profit; Violet's parents had abandoned her before she had turned five; and, prior to joining the newsies, Specs had been a member of a rather violent street gang. But dat ain't not'ing compared ta what I done....
Suddenly a piercing crash caused Shadow's heart to leap against her rib cage. She whirled around to find an alley cat stalking around several trashcans that it had just turned over. Its fur had once been the color of fresh cream, but appeared to be a sickly shade of tan now as a result of layers of dust, dirt, and grime. It had wide, blue eyes that, Shadow supposed, had seen too much too often, although it was evident from the bones pressing against the walls of its stomach, it didn't eat nearly as frequently. She found herself fascinated with the feline and took a tiny step towards the animal, whose eyes were now locked on the newsgirl. It retreated slightly, wondered whether or not to pounce, and bore its claws just in case. But Shadow made no movement, hoping that she wouldn't scare the cat in any way; she could wait patiently until it was ready to accept her. Several minutes later, it appeared as though she was making some progress as its claws retracted.
"Deah ya are!" a slightly annoyed voice boomed (or what appeared to be booming in contrast to the former silence of the alley), causing the cat to yowl in fright before leaping back into the shadows and disappearing through an unnoticeable hole in a wall.
Certain that the voice came from her assailant, Shadow whirled around, her eyes as suspicious as the cat's had been a moment before and ready to attack if necessary, screaming, "GET DA HELL AWAY FROM ME!"
Specs blinked in confusion. "What'd I do?"
Shadow sighed heavily, half-relieved and half-embarrassed. She adopted her usual cool, mysterious manner with even more speed than she had used when racing away from the detective. "Not'ing, I'm jus' a liddle on edge, is dat such a huge problem for ya?"
"Yeah, if ya're gonna yell at me, it is."
"Who's yellin' at ya? I'se perfectly calm now. Practic'lly passive as it were." She spat out the words with a detectable, deliberate venom.
"Shoah ya are," he muttered facetiously.
"I am!"
"Uh-huh. You'se about as cool and collected as a mob scene."
"Would ya lay off?!" she demanded harshly and pushed passed him, finally stepping into the sunlight. She decided she needed to cool her nerves and extracted a poor excuse for a cigarette out of her pocket, lighting it with expert ease. Most of the newsies had started smoking at a young age and Shadow was no exception. She took a long drag, then leaned against a building with her arms crossed in the fashion of hoodlums and rebels. "So, do ya always hang out in alleys or is dis just a special occasion?"
Specs had come up beside her with his own cigarette in hand. "Yeah, dis is how I get in touch wid my innah self. Some real deep t'inkin' been done heah."
"A regular philosophah."
"Dat's right. Actu'lly, I was lookin' for yaself."
She turned to him with unveiled surprise. "Me?"
"No, da Queen of England. Yes, you." He regarded her calmly, as though this kind of situation occurred daily, and took a puff before continuing, "See, I was workin' da Forty-Ninth Street crowd when all of da sudden, dis goil runs right by me like a bat outta hell, and right behind her is dis guy. And I was kinda worried about dis goil, so I took off aftah dem two. Howevah, da goil got away and da guy jus' took off; so I'se scoutin' da area for at least half an hour. Den I t'ought: dark, dank alley? Yep, dat's wheah Shadow'd hang out."
"So what am I supposed ta do, t'ank ya or somet'ing?" she asked stonily, tossing her cigarette away and a moment later wishing she hadn't.
Specs narrowed his eyes slightly and adopted a defensive tone. "Hey, I was tryin' ta help ya."
For a moment, the only sound at the emitted from the mouth of the alley was the faint breathing of the two newsies. "I can take care of myself," she finally replied viciously, glaring as though he had insulted her beyond belief, and then marched off into the crowd. Specs watched her leave with a stony expression, though a second later he had lost her in the masses.
To be continued…please review!!!
Maybe aftah killin' dat Senatah Baineswoith, I'm more likely ta really kill somebody else, she mused solemnly and fearfully as her eyes blinked open to reveal a slightly blurry version of the girls' bunkroom.
"She followed me down da staircase, screamin' woise dan any banshee evah has. 'I'll get you, Hetty Thomas!' she shrieked at me. 'If it's da last t'ing I do, I'll get ya for dis!' And, well, I wasn't about ta..." Pocket continued, having leapt from her bed to act out the entire scene. Several of the newsgirls who were already awake (Prob'ly woke dem up jus' ta tell dis stupid story, Shadow guessed bitterly) watched her from their bunks.
Just as Pocket was drawing near the climax of her tale, Shadow found that she couldn't take it any longer. She hurled her pillow (a thing so lumpy, rough, and uncomfortable that it resembled a rock more than anything else) down at Pocket, hitting the girl directly in the head and knocking the surprised newsgirl to the floor. "Can it!" she shouted in extreme annoyance.
"Can it what?" Pocket, who had been initially caught off guard by he pillow but immediately leapt to her feet again, asked with the most innocent of grins plastered on her lips.
"Cane it carry a tune?" wondered Aussie.
The former pickpocket lifted up the pillow and, with a somber nature reminiscent of a college professor, pressed it to her ear for a minute. Then she shook her head sadly. "Nope."
"Can it turn cartwheels?" Cole asked.
Pocket placed the pillow on the floor and stared at it expectantly. "Uh- uh."
"Can it grow feet and hop on one of 'em and whistle da Star Spangled Bannah backwards while balancin' a stack of papes on da oddah foot and turnin' around eighteen and a sixteenth times countah-clockwise?" Tornado laughed.
Pocket again studied the resting pillow hopefully. "Nuh-uh. But I don't t'ink I could even do dat."
"Not a surprise. Aftah all, ya got as much brains as dat pillow," Shadow mumbled viciously, rolling her eyes and attempting in vain to gain a few minutes of sleep before Kloppman marched into the room to wake everyone with his shouts of 'Get up, get up! Papers are rolling!'
Can it fly?" suggested Cricket.
Pocket lifted up the pillow and studied it meticulously, turning it over several times and occasionally tossing it up a few feet into the air. Then she broke into a bright grin as she screamed, "YES!" and flung the pillow at Tornado, hitting the girl squarely in the face.
Tornado shrieked in shock (that combined with Pocket's shout served to wake all of the previously slumbering newsgirls, some of whom, like Shadow, were less than thrilled with the method of awakening; several hurled their own pillows at the two girls) and swiped Pocket with her pillow, a declaration of pillow war between them. They swatted each other cheerfully and raced giggling around the room for at least another five minutes before Kloppman appeared at the doorway with an incredulous statement suffused over his face.
"What in the almighty is going on in here?" he wanted to know, folding his arms over his chest and reminding Shadow of an old maid who didn't tolerate such unbecoming actions.
No one in the room spoke up, even those who hadn't been pleased with the wake-up call. Shadow flipped over in her bunk and prayed for a few minutes of extra sleep (otherwise she was certain she'd be the head off of anyone who refused to buy a paper that morning). Pocket and Tornado shared a half- guilty, half-mischievous look before returning their gaze to an unamused Kloppman.
"Well, t'ink of it dis way," the ex-pickpocket piped up enthusiastically. "Ya don't gotta drag us outta bed now like ya gotta do wid da boys."
Kloppman sighed heavily, throwing his hands up as if in defeat. "Well, ya all gotta get up now, presses are rollin'!" he shouted as he exited the girls' room and his footsteps echoed down the hallway, where he was most likely going to throw the boys out of bed.
By this time, Shadow had given up her futile efforts and slid to her feet. She offered only Ivy, who- lying in the bunk below Shadow's- was rubbing the last bits of sleep out of her eyes, a small smile before heading into the washroom to brush her teeth (something the boys hardly ever did, even though they fervently insisted on shaving each morning). As if dey had anyt'ing ta shave, Shadow remarked to herself as she studied her reflection in the washroom's broken mirror. She saw her heart-shaped face, her slightly pointed ears which she couldn't stand and did her best to conceal with her dark tresses whenever possible, and her chocolate brown eyes. She knew that she didn't quite look like the other girls, having received her naturally dark skin (though not nearly as dark as Tornado's beautiful complexion) from her Mexican parents. Save Tornado, Boots, Painter, Drummer, and Violet, she knew that she stuck out of the group of newsies- who were prominently white- like a sore thumb.
Shit, I'd rather blend in wid even da plainest of people den stick out like dis, she commented to herself. People don't remembah ya, or even notice ya, dat way.
Sometimes all Shadow longed for was simply to slip away into the darkness forever.
*****
"Extra, Extra! Fightin' in da Philippines! Hundreds of lives lost in battle! Blood and carnage!" Shadow called to the denizen of the city who were passing by, her voice somewhat listless despite the dramatic article gracing the front page of the World. This was one of the few days when she had no need to create an improved headline. People seemed genuinely interested in the affairs of the land thousands of miles away. However, Shadow bore no curiosity or sadness concerning those fighting in Philippines.
Who really gives a damn wheddah or not a buncha people die way ovah deah? I don't know 'em, don't care about 'em, why should anybody else? The fact was, however, (although Shadow would never admit this to herself) that she realized if she felt sorry for these people, there would be other corpses to consider.
"I'd like a newspaper," an older evidently middle class woman stepped up to the newsgirl and thankfully interrupted Shadow's train of thought.
"Oh, right," she said, surprised at her sudden appearance, and fumbled to give the woman a paper. In her efforts, she accidentally dropped her entire stack of fifty papers onto the grimy sidewalk. Muttering very obscene phrases and moving swiftly so that her papers would not be ruined by those who would fecklessly stomp over the print on their way to huge offices or tiny sewing shops or a matinee performance on Broadway, Shadow collected the papers. To her vast surprised, the woman, a tall female with nondescript blue eyes and luxurious brown hair, assisted her in the task. She glanced up at the woman for a split second in total shock. Why da hell is she helpin' me? she pondered as she turned away in fear that the woman could catch the bewildered gleam in her eyes.
"T'anks, ma'am-" Shadow was mumbling, uncertain as to how to express her gratitude, when she caught sight of someone standing across the street.
He wasn't someone whom she would have noticed under usual circumstances. His dark blonde hair was thinning with air, and streaks of silver were apparent even from a distance. His clothing was nothing to speak of. Most likely thousands of other men owned a suit identical to the one he donned, gray and obviously kept spotless despite the mediocre quality and style. He wasn't very handsome, although he might have been years ago before wrinkles had stretched out across his face and a cold frown implanted itself firmly on his lips. What caught Shadow's attention were his eyes, icy blue which made her shiver despite the intense heat and humidity. There was something about them that made her uneasy, something that awoke a memory which had been formerly tucked safely away in the back of her mind. These eyes were not the sort one would be very comfortable looking into.
And at that moment, the man's eyes were focused directly on Shadow.
An animal instinct ordered her feet to run. Before she could stop herself, she shoved a paper into the woman's hands and muttered, "On da house." With that, she grabbed the collect stack and bolted away like a deer on the run from a dangerous hunter. She didn't waste time in stopping to even glance over her shoulder, but she knew all the same that the man had followed her. Her heart was pounding wildly now (she wondered if a select few in New Hampshire could hear it), and simply not as a result of her pace. Frantically, she tore through the crowded sidewalks at top speed, pushing people out of the way if the need arose. She dodged across street, down alleys, and around corners to escape.
What Shadow found odd was the man's silence. She vaguely recalled Jack relating a story of when Snyder had chased him, David, and Les one day just before the strike occurred. Of course this could have been vast embellishment, but Jack had said that he called directions out to Dave and Les, while Snyder shouted threats after them. This was utterly different. Neither the predator nor the prey made any sound as they sprinted through the city.
With panicked eyes, Shadow looked for any possible place to hide. It seemed as though no matter what, the man was unwilling to lose her.
Shit, a city as big as dis and a goil can't find a decent place ta hide from a psycho!
Then she caught sight of her only chance. She would have to run like the wind and even then there was the possibility of becoming seriously injured or even killed, but that seemed a thousand times better than getting cornered by some creep who most likely had rape on his mind and evil in his heart. Not even taking the time to draw a deep breath for courage, Shadow dashed into the middle of the street, directly in the path of a speeding carriage. She barely missed getting trampled by massive horses (how Sabrina could ever ride on of those, Shadow hadn't the faintest idea) and, without stopping to consider how lucky she was to have made it across safely, she bolted into one of the sole alleys to be darkened at this time of day. She backed into a corner and easily blended into the other dancing shadows.
The man trailing her had taken one step into the street in an attempt to follow the girl, but by then it was too late. He would have been instantly crushed by the carriage if he had tried to continue, his skull smashed into jagged pieces on the road and his body flattened beyond recognition. And by the time the carriage had passed, he found that the girl was nowhere to be seen. She could have gone a dozen ways and disappeared into the crowd in an instant, absolutely impossible to follow.
But that made no difference to the man. He knew that his time would come, and it that time was approaching rapidly. Besides, he had seen what the girl had been clutching in her arms- newspapers. He knew of someone who would be very able, and even more willing, to assist him in his search. With a swift turn on his heel, Detective Sarmons strolled off, whistling a pleasant tune.
*****
It was at least half an hour before Shadow decided that it was safe to venture out of the darkened corner of the alley and into the summer sunlight again. Actually, she would have been perfectly content to stand in the darkness for the rest of the day, but knew that that was certainly not going to sell any papers, and she didn't have a burning desire to gulp down twenty papers that evening. So she took small, cautious steps towards the mouth of the alley, where she could see dozens of people passing by without having any idea that there was a psycho stalker walking among them.
I guess I could say dey don't know I'm walkin' wid dem, she reminded herself. Even da newsies don't know. Dey don't know anyt'ing about me, how I killed dat guy, why I was even deah dat night.
Sure, the majority of the newsies had pasts they'd love to forget. Pocket had been a pickpocket for years; Jack's father had been an abusive drunk and a thief, slipping silently into homes and taking whatever he could to sell for a profit; Violet's parents had abandoned her before she had turned five; and, prior to joining the newsies, Specs had been a member of a rather violent street gang. But dat ain't not'ing compared ta what I done....
Suddenly a piercing crash caused Shadow's heart to leap against her rib cage. She whirled around to find an alley cat stalking around several trashcans that it had just turned over. Its fur had once been the color of fresh cream, but appeared to be a sickly shade of tan now as a result of layers of dust, dirt, and grime. It had wide, blue eyes that, Shadow supposed, had seen too much too often, although it was evident from the bones pressing against the walls of its stomach, it didn't eat nearly as frequently. She found herself fascinated with the feline and took a tiny step towards the animal, whose eyes were now locked on the newsgirl. It retreated slightly, wondered whether or not to pounce, and bore its claws just in case. But Shadow made no movement, hoping that she wouldn't scare the cat in any way; she could wait patiently until it was ready to accept her. Several minutes later, it appeared as though she was making some progress as its claws retracted.
"Deah ya are!" a slightly annoyed voice boomed (or what appeared to be booming in contrast to the former silence of the alley), causing the cat to yowl in fright before leaping back into the shadows and disappearing through an unnoticeable hole in a wall.
Certain that the voice came from her assailant, Shadow whirled around, her eyes as suspicious as the cat's had been a moment before and ready to attack if necessary, screaming, "GET DA HELL AWAY FROM ME!"
Specs blinked in confusion. "What'd I do?"
Shadow sighed heavily, half-relieved and half-embarrassed. She adopted her usual cool, mysterious manner with even more speed than she had used when racing away from the detective. "Not'ing, I'm jus' a liddle on edge, is dat such a huge problem for ya?"
"Yeah, if ya're gonna yell at me, it is."
"Who's yellin' at ya? I'se perfectly calm now. Practic'lly passive as it were." She spat out the words with a detectable, deliberate venom.
"Shoah ya are," he muttered facetiously.
"I am!"
"Uh-huh. You'se about as cool and collected as a mob scene."
"Would ya lay off?!" she demanded harshly and pushed passed him, finally stepping into the sunlight. She decided she needed to cool her nerves and extracted a poor excuse for a cigarette out of her pocket, lighting it with expert ease. Most of the newsies had started smoking at a young age and Shadow was no exception. She took a long drag, then leaned against a building with her arms crossed in the fashion of hoodlums and rebels. "So, do ya always hang out in alleys or is dis just a special occasion?"
Specs had come up beside her with his own cigarette in hand. "Yeah, dis is how I get in touch wid my innah self. Some real deep t'inkin' been done heah."
"A regular philosophah."
"Dat's right. Actu'lly, I was lookin' for yaself."
She turned to him with unveiled surprise. "Me?"
"No, da Queen of England. Yes, you." He regarded her calmly, as though this kind of situation occurred daily, and took a puff before continuing, "See, I was workin' da Forty-Ninth Street crowd when all of da sudden, dis goil runs right by me like a bat outta hell, and right behind her is dis guy. And I was kinda worried about dis goil, so I took off aftah dem two. Howevah, da goil got away and da guy jus' took off; so I'se scoutin' da area for at least half an hour. Den I t'ought: dark, dank alley? Yep, dat's wheah Shadow'd hang out."
"So what am I supposed ta do, t'ank ya or somet'ing?" she asked stonily, tossing her cigarette away and a moment later wishing she hadn't.
Specs narrowed his eyes slightly and adopted a defensive tone. "Hey, I was tryin' ta help ya."
For a moment, the only sound at the emitted from the mouth of the alley was the faint breathing of the two newsies. "I can take care of myself," she finally replied viciously, glaring as though he had insulted her beyond belief, and then marched off into the crowd. Specs watched her leave with a stony expression, though a second later he had lost her in the masses.
To be continued…please review!!!