"Hey, Kid! Any good headlines taday?" A tall, scruffy brown haired boy took a seat beside his friend, the pirate.
"Naw, Cowboy." The blonde boy replied, looking through one of the many newspapers he had beside him. "Jus' da same borin' ol' stuff as always."
"Guess we'll hafta improve 'em den, eh?" Cowboy smiled a little, running his hand through his hair. His name was actually Jack Kelly, but the newsies called him Cowboy on account of his attire.
Newsies. They were on every corner in New York, selling papers a penny a piece, trying to make a living. They were all either orphans or runaways, but their common bond was that they were rats with pasts that no one wanted to touch. That was okay with them, though, because they formed their own family. They lived at a Newsboys' Lodging House where the owner, Kloppman, took care of them.
Jack, Cowboy, was the leader of the rugged pack, and all the others looked up to him. There were many Newsies and they all had special "newsie" names such as Kid Blink, Mush, Racetrack, Boots, Crutchy, Snipeshooter, Skittery, Snitch, Dutchy, Itey, and Specs. This small handful of boys were forced to grow up far to fast, carrying burdens that weighed them down.
After selling the papers for the day, the boys would head to the lodging house. They never all came at once, but by twos and threes, and most of the time they would come alone. Jack, Blink, and Race ran into each other just outside the door that day, and came through the door together.
"Heya, Kloppman." Jack greeted the elderly man whom they were all so fond of. He was almost bald with white hair and he wore small, round spectacles. He was a funny, sweet man who would protect those boys from anything, even if it meant he would be in trouble for it.
"How was the sellin' taday, boys?" He asked, looking up from the ledger.
"Not so good." Race took off his hat and scratched his forehead. "I gotta find me a new spot."
"You can have mine." Blink laughed, "It ain't sa good, eithah."
"What about you, Cowboy?" Race turned in anticipation.
"Me? Oh, I'se doin' okay I guess. Maybe theah ain't no good spots." Jack shrugged, "I mean, theah's about thoity of us Manhattan newsies who got different spots and ain't none of 'em any good."
"Da Spot in Brooklyn ain't sa great eithah." Race mumbled sarcastically, receiving a smack on the back of his head from Blink.
"Hey Jack, do ya think dey sell papes in Sante Fe?" Blink asked curiously. Jack had always talked about going to Sante Fe, where he could be a real cowboy.
"I dunno, Blink. But I'll tell ya when I get theah." He smiled in response.
"I used to know a young man that lives in Sante Fe now." Kloppman stated absently, leafing through some papers.
"Ya did? Who?" Jack's interest was immediately sparked, his eyes shining at the old man.
"Yeah, I knew him for a while. He was always such a good kid. But he changed. I guess it was just too hard for him after all that happened." It seemed as though he were talking to himself.
"Really? What happened?" Blink pried innocently.
"Yeah. Then he took off for Sante Fe without so much as a goodbye." He continued without answering the question. "We weren't too close after the accident, he pushed me away. He pushed everyone away. All he wanted was a new start, and he didn't care who he hurt to get it. People always said Sante Fe was the place for new beginnings."
"Yeah, it even says it heah." Jack pulled out a brochure from his pocket, on he carried everywhere. They all looked and, sure enough, that's what was printed delicately along the bottom. "Kloppman, what happened? What was the accident?"
"Well," Kloppman stretched, trying to change the subject. "You boys better get to bed now." With that, he disappeared into the back room which served as his personal quarters. After a thoughtful silence, the boys burst into laughter. It wasn't even dark outside yet. That night some of the newsies went out to have some fun at Medda's, Jack's friend.