Disclaimer: All of the newsies, plus Medda Larkson, Brian Denton, and Weasel, belong to Disney. Charles Dickens wrote "A Christmas Carol", and I'm using the dramatization by Michael Paller. I own Springs, Ariana, Tessie, Taylor, Cindy, Ace, Seraph, Cerise, Jade, the Darte twins, Bethany, Bliss, Fish, Mikko, and Curls. Mrs. Holmes kind of belongs to me; she's based on Peggy Holmes, the choreographer of Newsies.

Stretch: Your reviews ARE excellent...and hella cool...keep them coming!

A/N: Sorry it took so long to update! My school gets out on June 3, and updates should be much more frequent after that. But if you want an update sooner... review!

Seraph's POV:

"Where is Mrs. Holmes?" I shout, running backstage and frantically searching for my English teacher. "The show starts in ten minutes!"

"Don't worry, darling," Medda assures me. "I'm here, and so is Brian."

"Brian?" Mush laughs.

"Er...I mean Mr. Denton, of course," Medda corrects herself, blushing. "But Seraph, sweetheart, you don't need to worry at all. Even without Mrs. Holmes, the show will be fine."

"Uh...right," I say. 'What has she been smoking?' is what I'm thinking. "Bumlets!" I yell as he steps out of the boys' dressing room, outfitted as the Ghost of Christmas Present. "Have you seen Mrs. Holmes anywhere?"

"Seraph, I've been in the guys' dressing room," Bumlets reminds me. "Why would Mrs. Holmes be in there?"

"You don't have to worry any more, Seraph," Racetrack assures, running up to me. "Mrs. Holmes just called."

"Great, then she's on her way, right?" I ask. We may be saved after all!

"Uh, no, actually, her husband slipped on some ice and sprained his ankle and she couldn't find a baby-sitter, so she has to stay home with her son."

"Aargh!" I exclaim. "Now who's going to be the prompter when someone," I glare pointedly at Itey, "forgets their lines?"

"Why, you can be, darling, at least for Act One," Medda suggests. "Since you seem to know everyone's lines anyway."

"All right," I agree. "But I still don't think this is going to work..."

Ten minutes later, the curtain opens and Jack strolls out. "Once upon a time---of all good days in the year, on Christmas Eve---old Scrooge sat busy in his counting house," he begins. Specs (Scrooge) looks at me, and I can see that he's about to start counting like he did during our first rehearsal. I make violent chopping motions across my neck, and he finally looks back down. I'm standing near the front corner of the stage, hidden from the audience by the side curtains, but visible to the actors.

Mush promenades happily onto the stage. He tosses a candy cane at David (Cratchit) and manages to hit him in the eye. The backstage crew gives a collective wince as David grabs his eye and moans in pain.

"Oh, um, sorry about that, dear fellow," Mush improvises, patting David on the back. He quickly reverts to the script, and we all start to breathe again. Maybe the play won't be so bad after all.



I wish. The next problem arises when the Portly Gentlemen appear. Mikko and Curls stroll onstage together and begin the first line...together.

"Scrooge and Marley's, I believe?" they recite in unison. "Have I the pleasure of addressing Mister Scrooge or Mister Marley?"

"What the heck are you doing?" Specs exclaims, loud enough that the entire audience can hear. "That's just Mikko's line, not Curls's!"

"Well, we couldn't figure out who should say what, so we decided to say the lines together," Mikko explains. From the wings, we can hear the audience start to chuckle. "Hi, Mom," Mikko adds, waving to his mother in the second row. Okay, now the audience isn't chuckling...they're all-out guffawing!

I clap my hands sharply, and Specs looks at me again. "Mister Marley has been dead," I prompt in a whisper.

Specs nods. "Sorry about that," he says to the audience with an apologetic grin. "Mister Marley has been dead these seven years," he continues, turning back to the Portly Gentlemen.

I spin around to glance at Medda---she looks about ready to faint. "Find me a martini," she mutters, and Denton rushes off to do so. Of course, alcohol isn't allowed on school property, but at the moment I think we should just go along with Medda. Better to have a slightly drunk director than one who's passed out from embarrassment.

We progress (fairly) smoothly until it's almost time for Marley's first line.

"How now? What do you want with me?" Specs asks.

"Much," Pie Eater (Marley) whispers. His face is (literally) white as a ghost, and he is trembling violently.

"Louder," I hiss.

"Much," Pie Eater says, slightly louder this time.

Specs continues with, "Who are you?"

"As e oo I uz," is all that I hear from Pie Eater.

"Bumlets, read this," I command, handing him the script.

"Why?" he exclaims under his breath.

"If you don't, no one will be able to understand Pie Eater's lines," I say. "Read!"

"Ask me who I was," Bumlets reads, loud enough for the audience to hear. Pie Eater and Specs both jump in surprise.

"Who were you, then?" I prompt, hoping Specs will follow along.

"Who were you, then?" Specs repeats, giving me a perplexed look.

"In life, I was your partner, Jacob Marley," Bumlets reads. Pie Eater finally gets the idea and starts mouthing the words as Bumlets says them. Yet another calamity solved.

We move through the section with Fan and Young Ebenezer (as Medda moves through another martini) and on to Fezziwig's scene.

Jake's (Fezziwig's) first lines go all right, until he has to make Belle's engagement announcement. Then he says, "My dears, the hour grows late. Before we depart, however, Mrs. Fuzzy-wug and I have an announcement!" I cover my face with my hands. You can practically hear Charles Dickens rolling over in his grave.

"I thought he had stopped saying that," Bumlets whispers.

"So did I," I reply. "Maybe he'll get it right on the next line."

"Spirit, show me no more," Specs requests.

Then Jake speaks his next line, "As you know, Mrs. Fuzzy-wug and I..."

I groan softly. "Get me some chocolate," I request. "Please!"

"And I'll take another martini," Medda slurs.

"You know...that's your third," Denton points out.

"So what, Denty-dumpy darling?" Medda asks, cupping his chin in her hand and smiling sleepily. "You can have one too, if you'd like."

"I don't think..." Denton starts.

"Bummy-lets," Medda trills. "You'll get me a martini, won't you honey darling?"

Bumlets gives me a 'what-do-I-do-now?' look. Luckily, Act One is almost over. "We'll worry about it during intermission," I whisper.