Chapter 3-Enemies and Friends.

The next day, I woke up really early. I decided that I could get my papers, sell them to the early birds, and then head back to bed. But it seemed that my luck of people finally leaving me alone was running out.

I figured that the newsboys who lived in the lodging house together wouldn't get up for another hour or so, but there they were, at the distribution center, waiting in line. So that's why they sell more papers than me. I recognized the boy, Jack, from yesterday who had basically saved me from killing the little kid who was bothering me. I didn't say anything to him, and I don't think he noticed me.

"Ay, you!" I turned around slowly, not knowing who was directing their holler at me. It was a tall, 15 or 16-year-old boy. He looked like an exact copy of the boy from yesterday, and there was the little bastard, standing beside the older boy, a lollipop in his mouth.

I nodded a greeting, or an acknowledgement really.

"You'se was botherin' Josh yesta'day, wasn't you?"

I squinted and half nodded. I was basically doing this to piss him off. People hated that I didn't talk.

"Why don't you talk bitch?" he bellowed.

I rolled my eyes and shrugged, standing tall. I cracked my knuckles and crossed my arms.

The little boy, whom I assumed was Josh, tugged on his big brother's shirt. "Nick! She was der, but der was somebody else too," he stated.

"Who was it?" the older boy, Nick, inquired.

I cracked a smile, my first smile in quite a while too. It was kind of funny watching these two.

Nick saw my change. "What is you'se smilin' at?"

I felt my stomach get tight. I wanted to laugh. But I couldn't let myself fall apart that easily.

Nick came up close to me and raised his arm like he would slap me. His eyes looked to the left and right and he stopped. I glanced around, seeing that all of the newsies at the center were slowly starting to surround me. Nicky cleared his throat, "We can, uh, figure dis out lata' bitch." He slowly backed out of the distribution center, pulling Josh along with him.

Although I had a feeling that the boys were all questioning why they had helped me, I knew who had told them to, and I was grateful.

I walked around New York, ignoring whatever was in my view. I totally screwed my papers, not wanting to sell anymore. I did some thinking instead. I wondered mostly why that boy had helped me.

It's not like I was some normal girl who jabbered on and on about her life and the people she was surrounded with. I wasn't pretty either. Hell, I'll admit, I had the body: nice at the top, slim down a ways, nice thighs, and I had great-shaped legs, all which was what attracted people to me. But my skin was dry and flaky. My hair was combed down, but was dirty and probably lice-infested. If I was to care more about my body, I might actually be more attractive, and people might even like staring at me.

I remember looking at myself in the mirror before everything happened. My eyes would twinkle when I smiled, but only when I smiled, and I hadn't done that in a while. Although, today counted, but it pissed me off that I had smiled at that dick and his little shit head brother. I wanted to be dead.

Just as I was about to think of death, I felt it. There were eyes on me. People always stared, but I knew their eyes. These eyes were really looking at me, trying to find my secrets and question my past. I flung around, aiming to catch a glimpse of the stalker. I should have known. "Ay," I whispering, scowling at myself for talking again to the boy I didn't know and didn't really care to know, at least I don't think.

"Julie right?" he asked.

I looked away, towards the street, and nodded. Everyone knew my story.

"I'm Jack," he told me.

I faced him again, taking in a quick glimpse of his face. He had pretty eyes, a nice nose, and tasty-looking lips---a perfect face. I felt gross compared to this magnificent Jack.

I looked down at the ground, something I did a lot. Suddenly, I wanted to slap this guy. He was greater than me. "So what?" I spat back.

From the tip-top corner of my eye I saw his expression. He just nodded and kind of rocked back and forth for a second. "I'se wanted ta talk to you'se fa a long time," he kind of whispered.

I lifted my head again, giving him my most evil look. "What da fuck are you'se talkin' 'bout?" I growled.

"Nuttin'," he said quickly, "neva'mind." He almost got away from me, but I grabbed his arm and held it tightly. I felt good, being in power now. I squeezed his arm harder and he winced slightly. "Uh…"

"Shuddup," I mumbled. "Now, why do people do dis ta me? Why do people say dey gotta say sumpin' and den don't? I mean, now, people always jus' say shit ta me, and I don't say nuttin'. But before any'a dis, when no one knew me, dey's was afraid ta tell me shit. Dey's was afraid'a me. Are you'se tryin' ta bring me past back?" I couldn't really understand myself, but I think I was feeling better. He was about to talk, but I cut him off, quickly adding, "Huh? Answer me dat."

He swallowed hard and looked down at his arm.

I glanced down at it. My fingernails were longer than I thought, and obviously very sharp. I let him go, leaving 5 holes deeply into his arm. They were turning red.

He cleared his throat and rolled his shirtsleeves down. "Well," he began, "I was like you too."

"Like what? Did you even hear a word I just said?"

"I mean, dat's what I was gonna tell you'se. I went trew what you went trew," he replied, his eyes showing me more pain than I had seen in a while.

I realized what he was talking about. "Your family?"

"My Mudda'," he replied. "Me Pops is in jail."

I swallowed hard.

He went on, "I don't got no brudda's or sista's, but… You can unda'stand I'se sure."

I nodded and motioned for him to go on.

He did. "Me Mudda' and I'se was walkin' around Harlem." He chuckled, "I guess dat ain't always da best place ta be walkin' around, huh?" Rhetorical question obviously. "I'se walked away fa jus' a second and… I dunno. I'se jus' heard da shots. Didn't know who it was either."

"How old was you?" I inquired, trying to defrost my cold heart.

"7. I'se don't cry so much anymore. I'se got all da guys ta help me, but I'se neva' told dem what happened."

This boy whom I had just met was telling me about his life. He hadn't even told his followers, his friends, anyone. He was telling someone who had just snapped at him and loved the power of pain. I did the only thing I could think of at the time; I hugged him. And he hugged me back. It was as if he knew I was going to hug him too. "I'se sorry," I said sincerely. I wiped my eyes, realizing that tears had formed. It was odd to me why I was breaking down now, in front of Jack.

When I pulled away he was crying too. "So," he sniffled, "where now?"

"We's sell papes," I informed him.

He cracked a stupid smile and held his arm out. I took it and he added, "Like good newsies do."

Read on to my note.