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Sketch blew cigarette smoke out of his mouth thoughtfully, watching the smoke blow away in the wind. Things in Brooklyn had quieted down greatly, the talk of the fire barely remaining. He wished it could stay that way. He didn't like things in his world to be in an uproar. He liked it better if it was simple and quiet, but he knew that it couldn't stay that way forever. Besides he had more important pressing matters to think off. Mainly the idea of becoming leader of Brooklyn. Sketch didn't know what to do.

He was the son of Brooklyn and everyone expected him to take over someday, but he just didn't know if that was what he wanted. He would rather not live up to everyone's expectations and simply live out his life not being so renowned as his father. He didn't want to follow in his father's footsteps. Most of his friends did, but he wasn't like them. Sketch wanted his own life, wanted to follow his own dreams. So what if he only grew up to be a blacksmith or something, but at least he would be doing what HE wanted to do. He could be a Newsie for his childhood, then find something else to do, then see how he felt from there. It was all so simple, yet so hard.

He was sure about one thing though. Sunshine Higgins was the most beautiful, sweet girl he had ever met. He knew that was certain. Sketch smiled as he thought of the shy girl and her sweet, admiring ways. He didn't know how she felt. Although she was shy and most always expressed her feelings one way or another, he wasn't sure how she felt about him. That worried him, but he was sure that he could work around that. He would give her room if she wanted it. That was one difference between himself and his father. When he found that he liked a girl, he didn't immediately try to force her into anything or make her seem like she was honored merely to be in his presence. His mother had handled his father in that respect well enough, but Sketch's pride wasn't the case here. He was simple in his love, admiring and willing.

After a simple glimpse of euphoria, Sketch's mind turned back to the issue of Brooklyn, much to his dismay. Fortunately he was pardoned by the arrival of his brother Flames. Flames sauntered up and spat in his hand, extending it to his brother, his gray eyes flashing proudly. Flames admired his big brother greatly, placing him on the highest level of veneration. As Sketch shook his brother's hand, the thought crossed his mind that Flames would make a better leader than he ever would. Flames was strong-willed and forceful if need be. He was firm in his small leadership among his comrades and that image stuck in Sketch's mind as he took his hand away. It wouldn't do any good. Flames was only eight years old, too young to be taking on Brooklyn all himself. His mother would probably have something to say about it as well. But then again, his father had only been eleven when HE had become leader, so Flames really wasn't that far behind.

"Wassa matta Sketch?" Flames asked, interrupting Sketch's train of thought. He started a moment, then smiled. "Nothin'. Why?" Flames shrugged. "Dunno. Jest looked like you was tinkin' 'bout sometin'." Flames commented. "Well yeah, but dats okay. Whaddya want Flames?" Sketch asked, settling himself on a crate. Flames stood in front of him, his arms crossed across his chest thoughtfully. "I jest wanna know how old ya's gotta be ta rule a district?" Sketch's heart jumped in his chest. Had his brother been thinking the same things he had? "Well I don't really tink dat dere is an age limit specifically Flames. Why?" Flames turned around and began to pace, stopping again in front of his brother. "Well, Papa was only eleven when he was leada, an' Fish, da guy before him was only nine when he stawted." He said, his little forehead furrowed. "Looks like you done yer math." Sketch commented as his brother began pacing again.

"Yeah I done my math. Sketch," Flames stopped pacing again. "I wanna be leada of Brooklyn." As Flames said the words, there was a strain of pleading in his voice. Sketch sat in silence for a moment, his brother's eyes never leaving his face. "Well, geez." Sketch muttered. "Oh fer cryin' out loud Sketch, say sometin'!" Flames yelled. "Okay, okay. I'm gettin' to it. I jest don't know what ta say. Why are ya tellin' me dis? Shouldn't ya be tellin' Mama an' Papa?" Sketch asked. Flames eyed him a moment, then began to pace again. "I should. But everyone tinks dat you'se is gonna be da next leada Sketch. I wanted ta tawk ta you foist an' see how ya's felt 'bout it." Flames said seriously. "Well I gotta tell ya da truth. I neva really wanted ta be leada." Flames stopped pacing and stared bug-eyed at his brother. "What?" He whispered.

Sketch threw his hands in the air. "I'd much radda do sometin' else less publicized." Sketch said helplessly. "Why in da woild would ya wanna do sometin' else? I mean, tink of it! Bein' in charge of Brooklyn! Tellin' yer boys when ta soak scabs an' when not ta! Makin' sure yer guys is all okay an' satisfied! Makin' sua dat dey're gittin' enough cash an' fightin' da right guys! It would be great Sketch!" Flames said excitedly. "See, I'm jest not attracted ta dat Flames." Sketch said quietly. Flames eyed him silently. "Sketch, would ya help me convince Mama. I don't tink Papa'll be a problem." Flames said quietly. Sketch stood up and placed his hand on Flames' shoulder. "It's not jest gonna be Mama you've gotta convince. It's all of Brooklyn too." Sketch said softly.

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