Behind This Mask

By: Sweet Anne

Rated: PG-13…it'll have inappropriate language in a while, don't worry.

Summary: Samantha Carstairs has lost more in her seventeen years then most could in a lifetime. After both her father and brother die, she's left to support her family and keep them from starving. Her solution: disguise herself as her deceased brother and become a newsie. After meeting Brooklyn's fearless leader, though, pretending to be a boy seems nearly impossible because she may just be falling in love.

Thank yous: Ducks for cover I'm trying to get this out fast….so I'm not gonna do shout-outs just yet. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, though. You girlies rock!!!!!!!

Chapter 2

            Sam rose with the sun the next morning, dressing quietly in the best outfit of Samuel's that she could find. She made breakfast for Troy and Julie and made her mother a hot pot of chamomile tea. Finally, at quarter to seven, she pulled on a pair of old leather boots that had been her father's and stepped out of her bedroom window onto the fire escape. The air was cool and bit at the back of her neck. She wondered how men did it, walking out with their necks exposed to the harsh New York air. She shrugged, assuming that they were accustomed to it.

            The walk from her home to the place known as Newsies Square took about ten minutes, in which time Sam considered turning and running back to the apartment. She didn't think she could do it and thought that all the other newsies would know she was a girl or not accept her if they thought she was a boy. She only calmed down when she approached a large statue of Horace Greeley and saw two boys, probably around eleven or twelve years old, laughing and chatting with another young man, who must have been at least nineteen. Despite the evident age differences, they were talking and fooling around like the best of friends. Seeing that acceptance and warmth made Spot's words prove true. He hadn't been lying when he told her newsies stuck together and valued friendship.

            As she walked past the boys, she noticed a large crowd by a set of iron gates. They all appeared to be preoccupied, waiting for the big, green gates to open into what appeared to be a graveyard of newspapers. Sam slowly approached them, trying her hardest not to be noticed. As she stood along the outskirts of the crowd, though, she noticed a familiar face that made her think about her brother.

            David Jacobs.

            He and Samuel had been best friends when they went to school together. She hadn't heard anything from him since his father was injured in the same factory accident that had taken Samuel's life.

            She felt like she was about to cry. David had always seemed like he would go to university and enter a good trade. Instead, he was working as a newsie, most likely for the same reason she was. His family probably needed him to quit school so they could eat every night.

            Her thoughts were interrupted when the big, iron gates creaked open and the entire crowd seemed to move as one huge mass into the distribution center of The World. Suddenly every fiber of her being filled with energy that she could barely contain and she felt like laughing and crying and dancing all at the same time. This wasn't a dream or a figment of her imagination. She was really standing with a bunch of newsies, about to buy her own stack of papers.

            "Hey, you a greenie?"

            Sam turned quickly, coming eye to eye with a man around her age, a cigarette in his hand. His skin was light brown, as was his hair, and he had big blue eyes that contrasted with the darkness of the rest of his face. She could tell he was Italian.

            "A greenie??"

            The man chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, "Yeh, definitely a greenie. It means dat youse is new."

            Sam smiled, "Oh."

            "So, what brings ya into da wonderful world of sellin' papes?" He asked as he began to walk up a ramp towards a fat man distributing newspapers.

            Sam quickly followed behind him, "My father and…" She paused. She couldn't say her brother had died. She was now her brother, "My father and my sister both died and my family needs me to go to work."

            "Youse one of the lucky ones then. Do you know what half these guys would do to have a family ta work for?" The man's voice was sad, clearly pained by emotions.

            "Do you have family?" She asked slowly, hoping that he would say yes so she wouldn't feel guilty for bringing up the subject.

            "Nah."

            "I'm sorry," She whispered, noticing how his eyes fell to the ground as he spoke. He was silent as he walked up to the counter and waited for the fat man.

            "How many you want?" Asked the fat man, his dirty hand scratching at his even dirtier beard.

            "Hundred, Weasel. Ya should know by now that I always want a hundred," The man snapped, only making Sam feel guiltier. She had made him angry.

            The Italian man stormed off, quickly making his way out of the gates.

            "Don't got all day! Buy yer papes or stand aside!" Weasel hollered. She glared, but didn't retort.

            "Can I see the headline?" She asked, glancing quickly at the paper shoved in front of her. "Morrison's Charges To Be Investigated" was the headline. Sam crinkled her nose. Sounded like a boring article to put on the front page.

            "Can ya hurry up a bit???" Weasel asked impatiently.

            "He'll take a hundred papes," Came a voice from behind her. She recognized it immediately. Too afraid to turn around, she handed Weasel the money and took her papers.

            "I don't want a hundred," She said softly as she began to walk towards the gates, hoping that David wouldn't follow.

            "Well, if you're the person I used to know, I'd say you're up for the challenge."

            Sam took a deep breath, cursing silently. David had recognized her…well…he recognized Samuel.

            "David…I didn't realize it was you. Of course I'm up for the challenge! You know me!!" It was a lie. She had always been the more adventurous, outgoing one. Samuel liked to lay as low as possible most of the time even though he usually got in trouble right along with her.

            "Apparently. I mean, it's your first day and you've already got a hundred papes to sell. Even I didn't take that many my first day."

            Sam's eyes narrowed, "You told Weasel to give me a hundred."

            David laughed, "You know, you really sounded like your sister right there." Sam froze.

            "W…what are you talking about? Are you calling me a girl??" She pasted a smile on her face to make it seem like she was joking. She had to convince David that she really was Samuel instead of his crazy sister.

            David smiled, "Only an idiot would do that, Sam."

            The way he said 'Sam' made her shiver, like he knew exactly what she didn't want him to. Sam inadvertently smoothed a hand over her front, making sure that the cloth she'd used to bind her chest had done its job. With her luck, her breasts were probably clearly showing and David knew that she was Samantha instead of Samuel. She sighed in relief when nothing could be seen under her layers of clothes.

            "So, you became a newsie?" She said, hoping that the subject change would keep the spotlight off of her.

            "Yeah…er…a year ago in July. See, my dad got hurt at the factory where he worked and we didn't have money." David paused and thought for a moment, "Didn't you used to work in the same factory as him?"

            Sam bit her lip. Think, Samantha, think!

            "Sam…are you alright? You look like you're going to be sick."

            "Oh…I'm fine. Just…my…br," She stopped herself, almost saying brother, "My sister used to work there too. She died in that accident."

            "I'm sorry to hear that, Sam. I know how close you two were." David's eyes lowered to the papers in his hands and he started flicking them with his pointer finger.

            "David…"

            "Hey, are you gonna come with us to Tibby's after you sell? We're all gonna hang out for a while like during the strike."

            "Sure…but David…what's the matter?"

            David's eyes were dark with sadness, "Nothing. Everything's fine."

~

            Sam frowned as she watched David's retreating back. She wanted to know what was wrong with him.

            Sighing, she turned away and began to walk in the opposite direction of David, her papers held in the crook of her arm. Where was she going to sell one hundred papers??? She couldn't help but breath heavier then usual, thinking about what would happen if she, indeed, couldn't sell all her papers. There sure were a lot of newsies competing to sell the same headline.

            "Youse don't wanna sell there. Dat's taking ya right into Queens and we ain't on good terms wit them." Sam heaved a sigh when she saw it was the Italian from before, the anger that had been on his face gone and replaced with a quirky smile.

            "Oh…ok." She said quietly, a wave of guilt washing over her. She felt terrible about before.

            "Da name's Striker Higgins, by the way. Don't think I gave ya it before." He smiled, and Sam wasn't sure if she was supposed to laugh.

            "Striker?? Because of the strike??"

            He laughed, shaking his head as they continued to walk, "Nah, I barely did a thing during da strike. It was mostly Jack and Davey. Oh, and Spot."

            She smiled when she heard Spot's name. If she ever got a chance, she'd have to thank him for helping her out, "So why are you called Striker?"

            He took a long drag pf his cigarette before even looking up to answer her, "Me father used to hit me and me mom around. She eventually died and then I couldn't take it anymore. I hit him back the next time he came after me, striking him until he…"

            She didn't need him to continue to know what happened. He had killed his father.

            Striker chuckled, "Dat's the beautiful thing 'bout New York. They let a minor off for patricide because they knew I hadn't done it on purpose. I had all da bruises to prove dat I was defendin' meself. That's why the guys used to also call me Billy the Kid. Because I killed someone for tryin' to keep me down. Ya really shouldn't call me dat, though. It ain't a good title no more. Wit all the robberies and things happenin' around these parts, being nicknamed after an outlaw who robbed banks and killed people ain't a good thing." He laughed. Striker sure did have an odd sense of humor.

            "So you're an orphan?" She blurted out, wishing that she hadn't.

            "In a way, I guess. But I got me cousin, Race. His parents died when he was real young. So Race and me got each other and then we both got da newsies. Dat's a family in itself."

            Sam smiled. She didn't mind the idea of looking at the newsies as family.

            "So, I never caught your name."

            "I never threw it," Sam said, letting a bit of what her mother called her "attitude" slip out. Striker chuckled.

            "Nah, ya didn't. Can I know now dat we've established dat we ain't played baseball with your name yet?"

            "Sam Carstairs," She said, grinning.

            The two were silent as they walked, only speaking to shout out a very embellished version of the headline. One of her favorites of Striker's was 'Hundreds jump from the Brooklyn Bridge in mass suicide!" when, in all actuality, it was a single paragraph, page-nine story about a man who fell from a slippery dock and bumped is head. It worked, though, and she followed his lead, yelling out the most outrageous version of the headlines possible.

            "Extra! Extra! Buildings in Harlem crumble after massive street brawl!!" She yelled, lightening the load on her shoulder by ten as people rushed to buy her papers. Striker laughed after reading the real headline of the story: Mailboxes Collapse After Two Children Fight In Harlem.

            "Not bad for your first day," Striker commented as they walked back towards Tibby's. Sam simply grinned, too overwhelmed by the money jingling in her pocket to respond.

~

            Spot and Jack stood at the back of Tibby's, away from the rest of the newsies. Spot could tell that Jack couldn't be near them at the moment. He was still having a hard time getting over Sarah, something that Spot didn't find surprising. He had even taken a liking to the only daughter in the Jacobs family. She had always been around Jack and treated all the newsies like human beings rather then the street rats most people saw them as. Everybody missed her, but nobody as much as Jack. Even David couldn't compete with the remorse Jack felt, and he was her brother, for God's sake.

            "Jack, you a'right?" Spot asked, not really expecting an answer. He just did it so Jack knew he was still there.

            "I want ya ta go sit with da other guys, Spot. I'm fine on me own."

            Spot studied the face of his best friend. Not even a trace of emotion could be found on his face. Seeing nothing scared the shit out of Spot.

            "Are ya sure?" Spot asked slowly.

            "Yeh…I heard dat there was a greenie. Why don't ya go meet him?" Jack took a long drag on his cigarette, his way of telling Spot that the conversation was over.

            "A'right. I'll be back in a bit," Spot said, grabbing his hat and cane and walking over to the group of newsies clogging the tables of Tibby's.

            Each one of the guys sitting at the tables was laughing and smiling, except one, who, like Jack, was pushed back from the group. Spot immediately knew he was the greenie.

            "Hey Spot." Came a voice from behind.    

            "Heya Mouth. How's things goin' with you?"

            "As good as ever. Met a girl…" David's smile was wide and bright and Spot couldn't help but laugh.

            "Eh, good for you!" He said, slapping his friend on the shoulder.

            "Well, I want to talk to someone, so I'll see you later," David chuckled to himself before making his way over to the greenie. As Spot watched his friend say something to the new guy, something about the guy struck his memory. There was something about his eyes that made Spot remember someone or something that he couldn't name. Familiarity washed over Spot, but he ignored it. He didn't know who this guy was. After a while, all greenies started to look the same. He was probably just related to another Manhattan newsie or something.

            His mind, though, thought about a sobbing girl whose sorrow had touched his seemingly impenetrable heart.

~

            "Hey Sam," David said before taking a seat across from her. He was smiling, his eyes bright and cheerful. She could tell that their discussion from before had been forgotten.

            "Hey Davey," She said with a smile.

            "I won't let you sit by yourself. What kind of friend would I be if I let you become an antisocial scab??"

            " What exactly are you suggesting??" She asked slowly, her eyes narrowing. David's smile only widened, which didn't strike her as a good thing.

            "Well, I'm going to introduce you to some of the best minds in the business."

            Before she could respond, she noticed Spot approaching and her heart skipped a beat. He had his hair hidden beneath a hat, one that seemed to be a "tool of the trade." He had the sleeves of his navy blue shirt rolled up, revealing well-muscled arms. She averted her gaze so she wouldn't do something stupid, but David noticed that she had been looking at Spot. Thank God he misinterpreted the look.

            With a devilish glint in his eyes, David leaned across the table, "That's Spot Conlon, you know. The one you were just looking at. He's the Brooklyn leader. Don't get on his bad side. He can be such a scab sometimes." Sam was pretty sure David had raised his voice so Spot would hear him.

            "I got ears, Mouth," Spot said, raising his chin defiantly. Sam couldn't believe that this arrogant guy before her was the same person who had comforted her.

            "I didn't say anything, Mr. Conlon, sir," David said innocently, a wide grin giving away his otherwise well formed lie.

            "Aw, don't make me soak ya, Davey," Spot said, his eyes narrowing. Sam held her breath, waiting for him to attack, but Spot didn't move. He began to laugh instead, causing Sam to sigh in relief. She had thought he was really going to beat up David.

            "So, dis the newest victim?" Spot asked, wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye.

            "Otherwise known as Sam," She said boldly, hating how she felt like she was being patronized. The way Spot was talking to her through David was…annoying. 

            Spot turned to her, his eyes narrowed. She could tell he wasn't going to laugh. She hadn't been joking.

            "Ya better watch it, Davey, or he might just steal away your title as Mouth," Spot said, his voice cold. She winced as he turned away and walked over to Striker and a blonde newsie.

            "Good job at not getting on his bad side," David said sarcastically. Sam glared at him, remembering how he had always been derisive towards her.

            "Oh shut up!" She exclaimed, turning her attention to Striker, who had stood up and was yelling for everyone to be quiet.

            "Hey bums!! Pay attention!!" He yelled, waiting for his fellow newsies to stop talking before continuing, "Ok, there was another attack. Dis time it was a newsie from East Side. He's messed up real bad."

            "Davey, what's Striker talking about??" Sam whispered to her friend.

            "Newsies from Queens have been attacking kids from other parts of New York for the past few weeks," He said quietly, his eyes still on Striker, who had paused to take a drag on his cigarette.

            "Why?"

            "Queens is after territory. They've always been greedy and, now that they have a new leader, they're trying to get what they think they deserve. They think that by soaking newsies, we'll give up our selling territory."

            Sam shivered, thinking about Queens. If they ever took over Manhattan, she'd probably be too afraid to leave her home. Even three years later, the mere mention of the area made her ill.

            "Striker, we can't just sit around and wait for 'nother attack!! I say we march down ta Queens and soak a few of the scabs to get our message across!!" Said a blonde newsie with an eye patch. A bunch of other newsies cheered in agreement.

            With one hand raised to silence the newsies, Spot rose from his seat, "Blink, der ain't gonna be no soakin' of Queens newsies, ya understand??" The authority in his calm voice was admirable.

            "But…Spot…" Blink started. Spot raised his hand again and Blink shut his mouth.

            "If I learned anythin' from last year's strike, it was dat nobody ain't gonna listen to us if all we do is soak scabs! Dat's doing exactly what they want!! And I ain't gonna do it. Me fists ain't gonna hit nobody unless some nobody tries to hit me first!" His eyes had gone dark gray and he was scanning the faces of his fellow newsies, looking for someone bold enough to stand against him.

            "Spot's right," Came a voice from the back of the restaurant. Everyone turned, including Sam, and met a man whose face was shadowed by a cowboy hat, "If I find out dat one of me newsies has soaked anyone who didn't go after dem first, they's on the streets, no questions asked."

            Spot's chin jutted up and he nodded, "Same thing goes for Brooklyn."

            Sam's brow furrowed and she leaned towards David again, "Some of the newsies actually want to fight Queens??"

            David shook his head solemnly," No. They're not looking for a fight…" He paused, his eyes traveling over to Blink, who was glaring with his arms crossed, "They're looking for a war."

~

            Sam's mind was too full of thoughts to notice that the sun was setting below the buildings or that the streets were growing dark. She was too busy wondering about David and Spot and Queens and the potential war to realize that her mother was whistling in the kitchen, something that hadn't happened since the death of Sam's father. Her mother was rarely happy enough to smile, let alone whistle.

            But Sam didn't notice. She was engrossed in her thoughts and fears, almost tripping as she began to climb up the stairs.

            "Sam, you have a visitor!" Her mother called, making her almost fall down the staircase. She bolted up the remaining steps, shocked that someone was visiting her.

            Sitting at the kitchen table was the man from Tibby's who had threatened the Manhattan newsies. She was positive that they had called him Jack.

            "Heya Sam," Jack said, standing from the table. He turned and smiled at her mother, "And thanks for the wata', Mrs. Carstairs."

            Her mother merely smiled and turned away, but Sam knew she was blushing.

            "Er...Sam…I was wondering if I could talk to you alone for a bit," Jack said after a minute of very awkward silence. Her mother turned around and opened her mouth to object, but Jack flashed her a smile and said, "It's boring newsies talk, Mrs. Carstairs. Nothing that would interest you."

            "Alright. Sam, take Jack out onto the fire escape. Troy's taking a nap and I don't want to wake him."

            Sam nodded at her mother's back and walked towards her room, waiting for Jack to follow. The window was open and she was about to climb out onto the fire escape, but Jack's voice stopped her.

            "Is this your sister's room?"

            Sam froze, her mind coming to a sharp halt. What was she going to say?? She couldn't lie…her mom was right outside. She couldn't tell the truth either. If Jack knew she was lying about her identity, her paper-selling career would be over.

            "David told me about your twin. That's the reason I'm here, actually. Da…" Jack's eyes closed and his lips quavered, "David said Samantha used to be friends with Sar…with David's sister. I just…wanted to talk to her."

            The desperation in Jack's voice made her want to admit that she, in fact, was the person he wanted to speak with…but she knew she couldn't.

            "I'm really sorry…she died in a factory accident a year ago."

            Jack took a deep breath before turning to meet her eyes, "David forgot to mention that." What she assumed was an attempted smile crossed Jack's lips, but quickly died. 

            "Sarah and I used to be friends, if that can help." Sam said quietly, wondering why Jack was so evidently depressed.

            "I dunno…it's just that ever since she died…"

            "Wait…Sarah died?? When?? Of what??" Sam exclaimed, her eyes widening and threatening to fill with tears.

            A sigh escaped Jack's lips, "Ya know, I can't even remember how long it's been. I just remember all the blood that one day…her last day. I…I'm just kinda surprised David didn't say anything. I'm sorry I hadta break da news."

            "David forgot to mention that, too, I guess," She said bitterly.

Review, darling children. Show me you love me :D