Chapter 3

The day went by quickly, which was nice. Grace sold the morning edition rather quickly to the men in the various bars nearby, and the afternoon went just as well at the boxing match. IStrange,/I she thought to herself as she wandered back towards the square, II haven't the faintest what to do with the rest of my day./I

She headed to the boarding house and was greeted by a few of the younger boys running outside to sword fight. They always finished selling early, mostly because they were cute and sold easily to women, and also because they could only buy as many papers as they could carry (and that wasn't very many). Smiling, she opened the book on the desk and picked up the pen, signing her name in the looping cursive she had learned in California. Written that way, her name appeared almost elegant. She stopped to admire it against the scribble of the other boys, then rushed upstairs to her room.

A soft breeze was blowing the curtains as she fastened the laces on her tall black boots. Her ensemble was a picture of Victorian style, all the way up to the curls that rested on her shoulder and the dainty hat pinned to the top of her head. Yes, for a little while she would escape this lifestyle and become the most fashionable woman in Manhattan. She would go to the bookstore and purchase a Wildean play or something intellectual of the sort. It would be a lovely afternoon.

But how was she to avoid the other newsies? If they found out just how much money she had, there's no telling what they would do, good or bad. Grace climbed out of her window and down the fire escape, making sure she wasn't spotted. Carefully, she hurried down the street to the bookstore.

"After you, miss," a gentleman in a nice business suit bowed, holding the door for her. She nodded with a smile and entered the store. Once inside, she felt like she belonged. That is until a group of young ladies about her age entered. Peering at them over her little book, she could taste the expensive French powder on their cheeks and the crispness of their freshly cleaned dresses, as well as the dust on her own. The girls had bags draped over their arms, and Gracie explained this to herself fancifully. They were in the city shopping for the social they were holding for one of their birthdays, and had all bought brand new dresses for the occasion. Now they were here to buy beautiful stationery for the invitations, which they would dab a bit of cologne on and send out to only the most elite of their classmates. Oh, how Grace longed to be one of those chosen few! She could picture the scene: seated on cushions around a small coffee table, sipping tea and nibbling daintily on cakes and biscuits, surrounded by these well- mannered ladies. Later on their dates would arrive, clad in handsome suits and gleaming white gloves, and they would spend a lovely evening at the theatre. If only.

"Excuse me!" A scolding female voice awoke Gracie from her reverie. "I you're blocking the shelf!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Grace apologized shyly.

"Evelyn, stop it!" another of the girls reprimanded. "It's getting late, we'd better go."

"Are you late for a dinner party, or the theatre?" Grace couldn't stop herself from asking.

"Gracious, dearie, of course not! We just don't want to be out when those awful newsboys are around!" She chuckled like a chipmunk, covering her mouth with a rather fat hand.

"Watch what ya say, Queenie," Grace warned. The Brooklyn accent she had been trying so hard to hide was revealing itself strongly now. "Besides, what makes you think any a those boys'd wanna take out a two bit whore like you?" She let out a disgusted snort, pushed through their circle and stormed out of the store, dropping a few coins on the counter for the book she held in her hand.