A/N: This was written to get over Wish Upon A Star writer's block. I'll
write it as I write WUAS and continue it afterwards, if its any good. Your
call. Review, and you get more!
I looked around the landscape of Central Park one more time. I smiled looking at the scene that had been new and exotic to me when I found my brother four years ago. I had finished selling my papes for the day so I lay down on the grass, remembering back to when I found out about my brother and Manhattan for the first time.
"Alexandra! Pay attention!" my teacher scolded me for zoning off, but I was still staring out the window and didn't hear even that. The girl sitting next to me elbowed me and I yelped and was about to start in on her for hitting me when I realized why.
"I am so sorry, ma'am. It is not that your lesson is not interesting, it is just such a lovely day outside that I felt a need to be outside," I said, my voice sugary sweet and praying I would get out of any further trouble for the day. With as many punishments as I had behind me, this wasn't going to be pretty.
She looked at me with a look of fury on her face. "You used that excuse last time! And the five times before that! How do you expect to get through school and into a decent college with your attitude?" she asked me sternly.
"I don't," I told her truthfully. She stared at me, so I continued, "Its not like I can afford it anyhow. And even you know the chances of me getting a scholarship are non-existent." I had lost my careful and polite tone and was now speaking to her without any level of respect or dignity.
"Maybe if you behaved well, you could get a scholarship," she said, the anger very easy to detect in her voice.
"I doubt it," I snorted, then turned back to the window, staring outside at the dusty roads and longing to be free of the classroom.
"That's it, Miss Collins. You are suspended. An official letter will be sent to your parents as soon as possible," the teacher said as she sent another girl down the hall to inform the headmaster.
"Its Conlon," I said, trying to maintain the appearance of having the upper hand. I always had a need to appear tough, though I can't exactly tell you why. I grabbed my books and stormed out of the room in what was distinctly an insulting manner towards the teacher. I walked to my house and went inside.
My father approached me, speaking with certain urgency, "You need to leave. The police are after me, and I do not want them to catch you. You need to go to New York City and find your brother. His name is Michael. Take a minute to gather your things, and take this money with you." He handed me a sack that felt like it must have been five dollars in change.
I ran to my room and grabbed another change of clothes, then headed toward my father. I kissed him on the forehead and left quickly and quietly. I didn't know the all of it, but my father was in trouble with the police, and if I was with them when he got caught. Ugh. I shuddered to think of the place that they would put me: the orphanage. But let's just say the orphanage isn't exactly the nicest place to stay. It's more like jail with more manual labor. I left the house heading to the train depot and bought a ticket to go to Manhattan. I road the train in silence, ignoring the unwanted attention of a dirty looking man sitting across from me.
The train let out an hour later and I looked around the city, breathing in the site around me. I'd never been out of Trenton before, let alone New Jersey, and here I was in New York City. Had it not been for the grave danger my father was in, I would be celebrating. I couldn't help but feel slightly tingly inside at the thought of being somewhere new though. I looked around for someone to ask. I saw a newsie standing in the street, and, knowing that newsies know everything going on in the city, approached him.
"Can I help you, miss?" he asked politely, noticing my state of dress. "Would you like a paper? It's The New York World. Top-notch quality," he droned on.
"Sure," I said, knowing that would please him and get him to feel more obliged to help me. "Do you know of a Michael Conlon."
"Michael Conlon?" the newsie said thoughtfully. "I don't think I know a Michael. Then again, I know most people by their nicknames. Speaking of names, you have one?"
"Alexandra Rachel Conlon," I told him proudly. "You have one?"
"If you want to be all proper, its Andrew Trey Parker, but I'd rather you call me Kid Blink, Blink for short," the boy said, and I started to notice a New York accent lurking beneath his proper speech.
"Alright, Blink, you think any of your other boys will know Michael?" I asked.
"If you wait for me to sell these last five papers I'll see what I can do for you," he offered.
"Sounds good to me," I told him. "Oh, and Blink?"
"Yes?"
"You don't have to hide your accent anymore. I'm not some proper New York lady who'd be offended by your speech."
"Thank ya, dat was gettin' really annoyin'," he said. He turned away from me yelling off, "Family Member of the Mayor Killed!" about some headline that really said, 'Mayors Dog Dies of Food Poisoning.' I laughed as people scurried over, only to yell at him when they saw the real headlines.
We headed off towards the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House in search of Michael A. Conlon.
A/N: Okay, so the last name gives away who it is! Darn it! Oh well, what do you think so far?
I looked around the landscape of Central Park one more time. I smiled looking at the scene that had been new and exotic to me when I found my brother four years ago. I had finished selling my papes for the day so I lay down on the grass, remembering back to when I found out about my brother and Manhattan for the first time.
"Alexandra! Pay attention!" my teacher scolded me for zoning off, but I was still staring out the window and didn't hear even that. The girl sitting next to me elbowed me and I yelped and was about to start in on her for hitting me when I realized why.
"I am so sorry, ma'am. It is not that your lesson is not interesting, it is just such a lovely day outside that I felt a need to be outside," I said, my voice sugary sweet and praying I would get out of any further trouble for the day. With as many punishments as I had behind me, this wasn't going to be pretty.
She looked at me with a look of fury on her face. "You used that excuse last time! And the five times before that! How do you expect to get through school and into a decent college with your attitude?" she asked me sternly.
"I don't," I told her truthfully. She stared at me, so I continued, "Its not like I can afford it anyhow. And even you know the chances of me getting a scholarship are non-existent." I had lost my careful and polite tone and was now speaking to her without any level of respect or dignity.
"Maybe if you behaved well, you could get a scholarship," she said, the anger very easy to detect in her voice.
"I doubt it," I snorted, then turned back to the window, staring outside at the dusty roads and longing to be free of the classroom.
"That's it, Miss Collins. You are suspended. An official letter will be sent to your parents as soon as possible," the teacher said as she sent another girl down the hall to inform the headmaster.
"Its Conlon," I said, trying to maintain the appearance of having the upper hand. I always had a need to appear tough, though I can't exactly tell you why. I grabbed my books and stormed out of the room in what was distinctly an insulting manner towards the teacher. I walked to my house and went inside.
My father approached me, speaking with certain urgency, "You need to leave. The police are after me, and I do not want them to catch you. You need to go to New York City and find your brother. His name is Michael. Take a minute to gather your things, and take this money with you." He handed me a sack that felt like it must have been five dollars in change.
I ran to my room and grabbed another change of clothes, then headed toward my father. I kissed him on the forehead and left quickly and quietly. I didn't know the all of it, but my father was in trouble with the police, and if I was with them when he got caught. Ugh. I shuddered to think of the place that they would put me: the orphanage. But let's just say the orphanage isn't exactly the nicest place to stay. It's more like jail with more manual labor. I left the house heading to the train depot and bought a ticket to go to Manhattan. I road the train in silence, ignoring the unwanted attention of a dirty looking man sitting across from me.
The train let out an hour later and I looked around the city, breathing in the site around me. I'd never been out of Trenton before, let alone New Jersey, and here I was in New York City. Had it not been for the grave danger my father was in, I would be celebrating. I couldn't help but feel slightly tingly inside at the thought of being somewhere new though. I looked around for someone to ask. I saw a newsie standing in the street, and, knowing that newsies know everything going on in the city, approached him.
"Can I help you, miss?" he asked politely, noticing my state of dress. "Would you like a paper? It's The New York World. Top-notch quality," he droned on.
"Sure," I said, knowing that would please him and get him to feel more obliged to help me. "Do you know of a Michael Conlon."
"Michael Conlon?" the newsie said thoughtfully. "I don't think I know a Michael. Then again, I know most people by their nicknames. Speaking of names, you have one?"
"Alexandra Rachel Conlon," I told him proudly. "You have one?"
"If you want to be all proper, its Andrew Trey Parker, but I'd rather you call me Kid Blink, Blink for short," the boy said, and I started to notice a New York accent lurking beneath his proper speech.
"Alright, Blink, you think any of your other boys will know Michael?" I asked.
"If you wait for me to sell these last five papers I'll see what I can do for you," he offered.
"Sounds good to me," I told him. "Oh, and Blink?"
"Yes?"
"You don't have to hide your accent anymore. I'm not some proper New York lady who'd be offended by your speech."
"Thank ya, dat was gettin' really annoyin'," he said. He turned away from me yelling off, "Family Member of the Mayor Killed!" about some headline that really said, 'Mayors Dog Dies of Food Poisoning.' I laughed as people scurried over, only to yell at him when they saw the real headlines.
We headed off towards the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House in search of Michael A. Conlon.
A/N: Okay, so the last name gives away who it is! Darn it! Oh well, what do you think so far?