Usual disclaimers. Thanks so much to those who review! It not only makes my day, it also gives me wicked inspiration to keep writing-so thanks!

Chapter Four

September 5, 1899

Dear Diary,

I am so very sick of people telling me to try to get along with Jack. David, Les, Racetrack, and now Grandpa! He told me today that if I couldn't get along with him, then I should just ignore him. He obviously has never tried to ignore Jack Kelly. It's humanly impossible. In fact, he's so good a being un-ignorable, that I have to doubt whether he's ever been ignored in his whole life.

Something else I tire of, talking about Jack Kelly. It really gets weary after awhile. There's only so much I can complain about without sounding repetitive. I am tired, Diary, very, very tired.

Moira

Moira yawned audibly as she put the diary away in its usual spot. There was a knock at the door and Kathryn entered.

"Oh, hello, Mother." She greeted yawning again.

"Moira, dear, is everything all right?"

"Of course, why wouldn't it be?" She lied, not wanting her mother to know about her issues with Jack Kelly.

"You just seem so tired all of the time. I worry about you. You've got bags under your eyes, you look pale- I think you're working too much." Moira fought off the urge to laugh cynically. She had really only just finished the actual work she was to do while she was in the office, and that was to balance the books, figure out finances, and pay the bills.

"I'm fine."

"No you're not. You hate me for bringing you here." Kathryn sniffed, obviously upset, and looked away.

"I don't hate you."

"But you hate New York, I know you do."

"I just…miss Boston. That's all." She said, trying to comfort her distraught mother.

"Well I can't understand why. You couldn't find a husband there." Suddenly, all remnants of the sensitive woman Kathryn had been a minute ago vanished. Moira rolled her eyes. Not this again.

"I didn't find a husband in Boston because I didn't want one there and I don't want one here."

"Yet another thing I don't understand about you. You're seventeen years old. Why, when I was your age I was married. But what do you do want to do? Not get married- you want to teach children. For heaven's sake! What kind of goal is that? You had poor Jonathan practically begging for your hand, but instead of saying 'yes' like any other girl would have, you said 'no' and turned down a perfectly good marriage proposal. Why? To go to college!"

"Since when is it a crime to want an education?" Moira asked exasperated. Their arguments always ended like this. Kathryn sighed and composed herself.

"I'm only trying to do what's best for you."

"I know that. But you shouldn't worry so much, I'm fine. And I'll be fine. I'm just tired." Both women had softened their tone. "I should go to sleep." Moira finished, chewing on her lower lip.

"Yes, I suppose you should. Good night, dear."

"Good night, Mother." With that, Kathryn retreated, closing the bedroom door behind her.

As soon as her mother was out of sight, Moira retrieved her diary once again and opened to the page she'd just been writing on and wrote towards the bottom,

P.S.

Mother is insane and only wants to marry me off so she can stop paying for my meals. I'm convinced of this, and no one is going to tell me otherwise.

She shut the diary for the second time, pulled the covers over her head, and fell into a beautiful, dreamless sleep.

The heat wave broke that night, and it poured all throughout the next day. Moira crossed the street quickly, holding a book over her head, trying not to get wet. It was a futile effort, however, as water was being tossed from the heavens in buckets. Angry buckets that were punctuated by claps of thunder and flashes of lightning. When she got inside the lodging house, Moira was almost completely soaked through. Her clothes were drenched, hair, falling out of it's bun and curling wildly around her face. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she made her way into the office, and almost laughed, thinking of what her mother would think if she saw her like that.

The house was noisy, when she got there, as almost all the newsies were still inside. "Hello boys. What's going on?" She asked, wondering why no one was working.

"It's rainin' Moira." Mush pointed out. She gave him a look, and then looked down at her drenched self to let him know that she knew that. "Who wants ta buy papes when they so wet ya can't even read 'em?"

"I see. So, nobody sells when it's raining?"

"Only da bravest of da brave." Racetrack put in, looking from his card game with a miserable looking Kid Blink. She expected that he was going to say something about Jack, when the devil himself stood from the couch and stretched.

"Not even Kelly's working today?" She asked, only slightly interested.

"Not today. I needed a day off anyway." Jack answered, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "You're looking lovely today, Moira."

"Shut up." Moira snapped, turning on her heel and stalking into the office. Once there, she began to unpin her tresses and shook out her hair. After she was sure that her hair was free of pins, she tied the insufferable curls at the nape of her neck with a green hair ribbon she'd left there the week before.

Propping her feet up on the desk, her skirt dripped water on the floor, Moira dried off her new book, The Romance of War off on the only dry part of her jacket, opened it, and began to read.

"So you're just gonna sit dere and read all day. Is dat it?" Moira sighed and looked up.

"Jack, I was almost certain we'd come to an agreement. You don't like me, and I don't like you. It would be best if we stayed away from one another."

"Do you do anything 'cept read?" He asked, ignoring her.

"Why do you care?"

"Coz too much reading' ain't good for ya. It hoits your eyes and rots your brain." At this, she rolled her eyes.

"That's utterly ridiculous. You ought to write newspapers, not sell them."

"Nah, I can't spell. And I'd need someone to do all my grammarizin' for me." He explained.

"There are people that do that for a living, you know. They're called editors."

"Yeah, dat's it."

"So, if there's nothing else…" Moira looked at him, then down at her book.

"I'm sorry, Moira, but you ain't gonna sit and read all mornin', it ain't healt'y. It ain't healt'y and I ain't gonna let you do it."

"What?"

"Come play cahds wid us."

"I don't play cards."

"Why? Coz your mudda told you wadn't polite? Live a little." He prodded, making her sigh.

"I'll play one game, that's all."

"Dat's all I'm askin'. You need ta loosen up a little. Find da fun." He told her, leading her slowly into the other room. "Racetrack! I found ya anodda opponent!" Jack called, when they arrived. Race looked up.

"Oh, c'mon! Moira don't play cahds."

"She's gonna try, let her try, Race."

"Well, in dat case," Race stood and brushed off the seat across the table from him, "have a seat my fair lady."

She sat and listened intently as Racetrack explained the rules of poker to her. "Wait, wait, wait. I don't have any money to bet with." Everyone in the room laughed as Moira looked around, confused. "What's so funny?"

"Moira, Moira. Do you think dat we have anyt'ing to bet wid?" Racetrack asked, while all the boys still continued to laugh. "We pay in I.O.U.'s. Do you know wad dose are?" Moira shook her head. "It stands for I Owe You. Take a piece of paper, write out somtin' dat you wanna wager, and toss it in da pot."

"Oh, I see."

"Good, good. You'll catch on fast." He assured her as he began to deal.

Racetrack was right she did catch on fast. What she had the most fun doing was figuring out what to wager. She ended up playing four games, and losing each time. By the end of an hour, Moira owed Racetrack her inheritance, her mother, a strand of pearls, her first born child, and her soul, just to name a few. She was having so much fun, laughing and talking with the newsies, that Moira realized, maybe for the first time, that they weren't so bad of a bunch.

"Cigarette?" Kid Blink offered, taking it from his mouth and holding it out to her.

"Oh, no. I don't smoke."

"Sure you do! Everyone smokes!" Jack exclaimed, intercepting the cig and taking a long drag before handing it to Moira. "Try it."

"No, I don't think-"

"Try it, Moira!" Les yelled, from somewhere behind her. She turned around and looked at him, shocked. He shrugged. She sighed, took the cigarette, and put it to her lips.

"Now, I just…breathe it in?" She asked stupidly. Jack nodded through his chuckles. She held the cig in between her lips and took a deep breath, filling her mouth, lungs and throat with smoke. Immediately, she began to cough. Jack jumped in and took the cigarette from her and held it between his own fingers.

"Okay, maybe dat was a little too much for a beginnah. We'll take it one day at a time." He laughed before handing the cigarette back to Blink.

"Well, thank you boys, this was fun, but I'm gonna go back to the office." Moira excused herself after losing her fifth game of poker, much to the disappointment of the newsies. As she left, she noticed Jack and Boots talking heatedly about something. She looked at them for a short while, but unable to make anything out, turned and walked back to the office, where she picked up exactly where she'd left off.

Sometime after lunch, Moira heard someone talking out in the hall. She put her book down and listened,

"You still wanna do it?"

"Yeah, why not? It'll be funny."

"How much?" Moira recognized Boots' voice,

"Just…I dunno, a inch or somtin." That was Jack's. She got up and walked to the foyer, where the two boys were standing.

"An inch of what?" She asked, making them both jump a mile high.

"Oh…uh Boots is makin' a…dress-"

"Tablecloth." Boots threw in quickly.

"Yeah, a tablecloth. And he needs ta cut a inch off, coz it's too long." Moira eyed them carefully.

"I didn't know you made tablecloths, Boots."

"Yeah, it's my uh…uh…. Hobby. Yeah, it's my hobby." She raised an eyebrow.

"Oh." With that, Moira turned back around and went behind the desk. Something was up- this was apparent. She didn't know what, but she prayed it didn't have anything to do with her.

She looked at the clock, three thirty. Her days consisted of looking at that clock. There was nothing else to do, nothing but read and watch the clock. She was so bored it almost killed her. The Romance of War had reached a dull point when her eyelids started to droop. She yawned, and blinked a few times, ready for a nap,

"Moira!"

"Kelly, what do you want?" She groaned, starting to get up.

"No, no!" Jack said, almost urgently. "Don't get up!"

"Fine." Moira sat back down, her ponytail hanging over the back of the chair, feet propped up on the desk. "What can I do for you?"

"Uh…how's you're book?" He asked.

"Fine. It's hit a dull few chapters, but fine."

"Good. Good. What's it about?"

"Why do you want to know?" She asked, suspiciously.

"I'm just wondering."

"BOOTS!" Pie Eater called from the next room. Moira then heard the undeniable sound of scissors, and knew, without a doubt, that her hair was caught in between them. Or…had been between them. Jack's face went white and his mouth hung open, like a fish's gasping for air. Moira reached back and felt her ponytail, where there was only a few inches left. She spun around to see Boots standing, in absolute shock, with at least half a foot of her hair in his hand. Untying the ribbon, Moira pushed her hair forward, where it now only brushed the tops of her shoulders. She looked at the ends, choppy and now spilt, and wanted to cry. But she didn't cry. She screamed.

Jack winced as the other newsies came running in, looking for the commotion. Several mouths dropped as they saw Moira, but no one said a word. It was dead silent.

"Now, uh, Moira. I t'ink you should just calm down and try and see this…calmly. I t'ink-" Jack was cut off by Moira's fist landing square on his lower lip. She pulled back her hand in pain.

"OW!" She cried, making some of the newsies want to laugh, but no one did. "Jack Kelly, stay away from me! I don't want anything to do with you! EVER! I hate you and everything about you! There is nothing that I would like more than to forget you ever existed!" Moira screamed at him, before grabbing her book, her jacket, and whatever was left of her dignity, and storming out of the lodging house.

David came running after her, also getting soaked in the rain that was still pouring down. "Moira!" He called, but she kept walking. He caught up to her and grabbed her wrist. "Moira!"

"Let go!" She cried, yanking free.

"At least let me walk you home." He begged, she sighed.

"I don't care. It doesn't matter anyway. Look at me! I look awful! My hair…" She trailed off, wanting to cry again as they crossed the street and stood under the onning of her apartment.

"You don't look…bad." David said, trying to make her feel better. "It'll grow back. That's what hair does."

"Don't lie to me. It won't help." Moira said, looking down at the ground.

"If it makes you feel any better, I have a feeling that Jack is going to have one hell of a fat lip tomorrow."

She smiled. "Well, he deserved it. But unfortunately, I think I broke my hand doing that." David laughed. "Honestly, how do boys fight all the time without hurting themselves?"

"Go inside and put ice on it." He ordered, pushing her towards the door. "Moira." David called, making her turn around again. "You're still beautiful, you know."

"Thank you David." She reached out and hugged him briefly, before he pulled away.

"Now go ice your hands." She went inside and walked up to the apartment, which she luckily found to be empty. What she was going to have to tell her mother, Moira didn't know, but went into the bathroom to run cold water on her hand, which was still throbbing with pain. When she got there, Moira caught a look at her new, choppy hair in the mirror and stared at it with shock. Her hair. Her beautiful, long, hair was gone. She stared at her reflection for a long time, as a single tear rolled down her cheek. She hated Jack Kelly. And this time, she meant it.