I love the morning.
Not when I first wake up, mind you. With Kloppman yelling and boys grumbling all around me, it ain't always the best time to be small. I stay out of their way when we all first get up- sometimes Jack tells me my name should be Shadow instead of Boots. I'll speak up occasionally, but when everyone is still grumpy with their hair mussed from the night, I head straight to the water pipe and soak my hands in the freezing cold water. Once I'm used to the temperature I can splash it on my face and body. I don't believe in baths.
I've got one and a half sets of clothing, you know. One pair of trousers, two shirts, a vest and two pairs of socks. I always wash up before getting dressed- mornings are cold and water on your clothes can make you real sick. I like watching the older boys shave- I can't wait until I'm old enough to slap soap on my face and run a dull razor through the suds . Jack lets me watch him shave most of the time, unless he's in a bad mood. Then I move on to Mush, who never seems annoyed when I hang around him.
Once my shoes are laced and my shirt is buttoned, I can't wait to get going. I hover around until a few boys are finished, then say my goodbyes. Breakfast is the best time of the day.
Not because of the food, of course. The food that we're given is charity food, real watery and without much taste. No, the reason I love breakfast is the nuns.
When they sing, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The sun shines behind them sometimes, and I can tell that the people walking past move slower, just to catch more notes of their beautiful harmonies.
I fall in line before the older boys, even though I usually get there first. It's just the way things work when you're a newsie. I'll hold out my hand, and sometimes, if I'm real lucky, Sister Johanna will smile at me.
Sister Johanna is absolutely beautiful. Beneath the habit she wears, I can tell she's real thin, like me. Her teeth are straight and she has these big blue eyes. When she smiles, I swear I can feel God looking down on me.
I guess yesterday I was too obvious. I usually stare and stare at her, drinking in the sight and committing it to memory so I can hold it in my heart for the rest of the day. As I sipped gingerly at the lukewarm coffee, hard roll in hand, Racetrack came up behind me.
You can always tell when Race is up to something. He gets that big grin on his face, like he's sold all of his papes by nine in the morning, and fairly floats. On the extremely rare occasions he doesn't blow all his money at the races, sometimes he'll gamble it at the Lodging House. Throughout the whole game he'll have that look on his face.
"Y'know, Blink," Racetrack called out to the tall boy, looping an arm loosely around my shoulders, "I t'ink Boots here has a crush on Sister Johanna!"
"Quit it, Race," I snapped, yanking myself away from him. Blink watched, fascinated, as I spun around to face the grinning Italian boy.
"She's a nun, Boots. You doan' know nothin' 'bout the Bible, she wouldn't like that," Racetrack reminded me gaily, pretending to turn around and head back to the nuns. I grabbed at his sleeve, pleading with my eyes for him to stop. But Race doesn't ever shut his mouth once he gets started. It's gotten him soaked plenty of times by the bigger boys.
"I heard Blink got wit' her," Mush laughed loudly as he brushed past us. Blink reddened considerably, slugging his friend on the arm. The one-eyed boy was a notorious lady charmer.
I suppose they could see the dismay on my face, because Mush quickly assured me he was just kidding even as Blink stumbled awkwardly through a denial of the comment.
"Nuns don't marry or date or nothin'. And, 'sides, Boots, you're black," Racetrack pointed out. My cheeks burned, though it was hard to tell. Even though Racetrack was very Italian, he never ceased to make racial slurs when the opportunity came up. Snitch had given him a bloody noses once for making fun of Dutchy.
"So?" I demanded, terribly annoyed when I realized how defensive I sounded. I sidestepped away from Racetrack, surprised at the vehement hatred I felt.
"You wan' me to spell it out for you?" Racetrack sneered.
"Lay off o' him, Race," Blink frowned at his friend. Mush stepped up beside me, leaning a hand on my shoulder. To the outside observer it would have looked like he was silently lending his support to me, but the hand held me back more than anything.
"Y'gonna make me?" Racetrack threatened the larger blonde boy. How had the gay mood of the morning turned so dark, so fast? Racetrack never did know when to stop.
But I hate fighting. "C'mon, Blink," I said softly to the boy with the patch over his eye. I glared once more at Racetrack before quietly walking away.
Sister Johanna says that God loves me, despite my color and profession. I wish I could believe her, but somehow I don't think God would have let Racetrack say those things to me if they weren't true.
That night, when the rest of the boys were asleep, I buried my face in my sweaty pillow and cried. I hate him, I sobbed quietly, tangled in a sea of endless sheets. I got up real early this morning, so that I didn't have to face Racetrack. All last night I had avoided him, and Mush had helped me. I pressed a cold towel against my face, so that it didn't look so swollen from my tears. I set out for the nuns without waiting for anyone else. I had never been so daring.
When I was halfway there I realized that I had forgotten my money. I wouldn't be able to sell any papes if I couldn't buy them in the first place! As I jogged back to the Lodging House, I passed hoards of boys on their way to work and breakfast. There was no one else in the House. I returned to my top bunk, hauling myself up. I never use the pegs on the sides of the beds- they hurt my feet.
I was so busy untangling my bag from my sheets, I didn't even notice what was sitting on my pillow. Finally, when the few cents I had were jingling in my pocket, I saw the small item.
There was a note on top of it. It took me a long time to read it, almost as long as it had taken the person to write it. I've never been good with my letters, and these were written so shakily a newborn baby could have done a better job.
Boots- Sorry, I'm a jackass sometimes. Want to play marbles later? -Race.
Under the note was a Bible. A small, ornamental Bible with pages edged with gold. How had Racetrack been able to afford it? I flipped through the paperback, marveling at how thin the pages were.
Sister Johanna is right. There is a God. I think he's the one that gave Racetrack that split lip and two black eyes. When we were playing marbles today, Blink wanted to play too, even though his hands were hurting real bad and one of his knuckles had broken open. Mush even watched. Even though Race and me yelled at each other, I'm glad we're friends now.
God is great, God is good. And Sister Johanna was sure impressed when I quoted a Bible verse to her at lunch.