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Sketch sat alone on the dock. Well, not totally alone. His father was there too. His father and Flames. They were both sitting on the other end of the dock, talking eagerly. With Spot's help and proddings, Flames had succeeded to gain most of the respect of Brooklyn. Now he had to make his moves and fulfill his promises to keep order in Brooklyn in order to be accepted. Sketch admitted to himself that his brother did answer all the questions put to him in stride. As much as he loved his brother, Sketch still burned with envy. Ever since his brother had expressed his desire to be ruler of Brooklyn and Sketch had forfeited his turn, his father had virtually ignored him in order to teach Flames. Sketch missed his private times with his father. Now all those times were spent with Flames. Sketch finally moved his angry eyes away from the two blonde heads at the other end of the dock and fixed on a figure walking down the dock.

She smiled and waved at Flames and Spot before proceeding down the dock towards him. Spot turned around to face Sketch and grinned before turning back around. Sketch blushed as he looked at Sunshine's bright face. Her hair was practically glowing like a halo in the fading sunlight. His eyes drifted downward and he grinned as he saw that in one small hand, she carried his slingshot. He gathered up his courage and smiled as she approached him. He stood up and put his hands on his hips like he always did when he was nervous. Sunshine smiled and gently touched his hands. "Ya don't need ta be neivous 'round me Sketch." She said with a smile. Immediately Sketch's hands fell to his sides. Then they raised again, this time crossing across his chest. Sunshine didn't correct him again, but instead chuckled softly.

They stood in silence for a while before Sunshine spoke up. "Danks fer da slingshot an' da marble. Dey're really great. Ya put allotta woik inta 'em." She said gratefully. Sketch put his hand up to his head, blushing. "Aw, it was nothin'. Jest wanted ta apologize to ya. I'm sorry again by da way." He said quickly. Sunshine nodded. "Yeah Angel told me. I fergive ya." She said with a smile. Sketch breathed a sigh of relief. "Well danks Sunny. Dats nice of ya. I wanna tell ya sometin'." He said, his breath constricting once more. Sunshine smiled and cocked her head. "What?" She asked. Sketch closed his eyes, searching his mind for the words he had already composed in his mind before she came. They had disappeared. He breathed a shaky breath. He would have to compose other words.

"Sunny," He couldn't breath. "Sunny, I wanna tell ya dat, well, foist of all could ya stop lookin' at me fer a sec so I kin breath?" He burst out. Sunshine burst out laughing but looked down at the ground. "Okay, well, Sunny, I wanna tell ya dat, I likes ya alot." Sunshine's head shot up, her brown eyes sparkling. "Really? Ya like me, like, like, dat?" She whispered hopefully. Sketch grinned and put a hand on hers. "More dan life itself." He whispered. Inwardly he was thinking that these words were better than the ones he had already composed but had forgotten. The others now seemed too elaborate, too much.

Sunshine reached out her hand and grasped Sketch's tough one. Sketch's body seemed to be struck on fire as she touched him, even though it was gently. Her hand worked its way into his and he gripped it firmly. "You wanna go walkin'? Mebey we kin stop an' git sometin' ta eat on da way home or sometin'." Sketch asked gently. Sunshine didn't speak, but instead nodded and began to walk with him, hand in hand down the dock. Sketch looked back over his shoulder at his father. Flames was oblivious, playing in the water. Spot was standing tall on the horizon, watching Sketch, a small smile playing about his lips. Sketch turned back around, then frowned as he walked. He had remembered his speech.

After Sketch had walked Sunshine home after the end of what was most likely the happiest day of his life, he began to shuffle back towards his own home. When he passed the dock, Sketch stopped short. His father was standing there, his hands on his hips, watching Flames shoot out bottles with his slingshot. He watched for a time, but his breath caught in his throat when he heard his father cry out, "Dats my Slingshot!" Sketch's fists immediately came together and his nails almost punctured the skin beneath them as he squeezed them tighter and tighter. That was HIS name. There were only two people on whom Spot bestowed that name. That was him and Taps Higgins. But it had been him first. Not Flames. HIM.

This was the last straw. Sunshine, his love for her, his wonderful day, they were all forgotten. This was the final outrage. If this was the way his father was going to act, then fine. He didn't need him. He didn't need his stupid little kid name. He didn't need his usurping little brother either. He would just leave. He could take care of himself. He didn't need his father anymore. Besides, his father had Flames after all. With that Sketch spun around on his heels and began to walk briskly out of Brooklyn. As he walked, Sketch pondered where he could go. He could stay in Manhattan, but that was where his father would look first. "If he even looks." Sketch muttered. Besides it was too close to Brooklyn anyway. He didn't want his friends to find him either, let alone Sunny. He sighed at the thought of Sunshine, but he continued to walk. He couldn't hide out in Brooklyn, and he couldn't hide out in Queens. He was known in Queens. His mother's friends were there. Come to think of it he was known almost everywhere.

As SKETCH. Sketch stopped as his brain spit this bit of information back at him. It was true. If he wasn't Sketch Conlon, no one would even know who he was. If people asked he could just say people had always said that he looked like Spot Conlon and he would just leave it at that. After several decisions on a name, Sketch decided on Michael Hansen. Michael was his father's real name and Hansen was his mother's maiden name. It made sense. Now the problem came up again as to where to go. As Sketch pondered this, he heard a far off Newsie shouting the headlines. "Trolley ovatoins in West Side! Tons o'people injoied!" Sketch's head came up. He could go to West Side! He wouldn't even be noticed there. It was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

By the time it was about nine o'clock or so, Sketch reached West Side. It was dark, and the shadows in the alley were elongated and more unfriendly than they would be in day light. Sketch shivered and crept into one of these alleys, pulling his coat around him further. He then took a deep breath and laid down his coat on the ground, laying on top of it and rubbing his arms for warmth. He would find a Newsie gang to join in the morning, but now, now he had to sleep.

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