****** DISCLAIMER - - I do not own the Newsies or any of their characters
although boy would I love to own Spot. The only characters I own are the
ones I made up myself such as Bourbon, Ladybug, Rags, Misery, Pistol, blah
blah blah.. Please read and review!! ***********
It must be said that the first time I was ever acquainted with any of the newsies wasn't my shining moment. If I remember correctly I was being held up by my ankles over the East River in Brooklyn by one of Spot Conlon's many thugs. My eyes cast down towards the murky brown water; I closed them tightly and mouthed a silent prayer.
"Are you gonna talk or do I have to drop ya?" It was difficult to focus my attention on the thick-armed, square-jawed boy who dangled me like a rag doll. For one, all the blood rushing to my head was making my sight swim. And the fact that I couldn't swim a stroke was rather first and foremost in my thoughts.
"What were ya doin' spyin on us?" Gritting my teeth, I practically snarled up at the dolt of a boy.
"I wasn't spying on ya you stupid ox, I was hiding." He shook my ankles a little bit, and loosened his grip before tightening it, jerking me to a halt. I could hear snickering and realized that the other boys standing around were enjoying this as much as the ox was.
"Go ahead and drop me. I ain't telling you nothing else because there's nothing else to tell." The boy holding me shrugged heavy shoulders and smiled maliciously down at me before sneering.
"Have it your way girlie." With that he let go of my ankles and I plummeted down towards the water hollering bloody murder. I made the mistake of gasping in a lungful of water as I hit the surface, and I frantically clawed my way to the surface. Coughing and spluttering, I managed to take a breath before I went under again. This happened at least two more times before I couldn't manage to stick my head above the surface. Feeling strangely calm, I started to sink and would have ended my days on the bottom of the river in Brooklyn if someone hadn't leapt into the water and hauled me out by the collar of my shirt.
Dragging me up a ladder and depositing me none to gently onto the rough planks of the dock, I lay on my stomach spitting up water and hacking out my lungs. Then I looked up at the person who had jumped into the water after me. A rather pissed off looking boy was wringing water out of his brown trousers and white shirt. I could see a cap and a checkered vest flung onto the dock beside a pair of shoes that had a cigar poking out of one.
"You could at least say thank you." The new voice made me jerk my head to the other side to where a boy with a red-checked shirt, black vest, red suspenders hanging down by his sides, black trousers and a gray cap was lounging on a crate. Cold blue eyes pierced into mine and I none to discreetly rolled onto my stomach again and proceeded to vomit up river- water. Cries of disgust followed my action along with some laughter.
"There's your thanks, Racetrack," the boy with the icy blue eyes said laughingly. The short, dark-haired Italian looking boy made a face at the other and held out a hand to me, a smirk lighting his lean face. I let him pull me up till I was standing, and I shook his hand.
"Thank you uh Racetrack?" He waved a hand and busied himself with lighting his cigar. The blue-eyed boy stood, and snapped at the surrounding boys all roughly dressed and with matching demeanors to get going to the Distribution Office. I could hear a bell ringing in the distance and judged it to be the afternoon signal of the evening edition. So these boys sold papers for a living. I watched them swagger off and thought that it was rather an un-fitting profession. Soon I was left with no one except Racetrack and Blue Eyes.
"So Spot, what're we going to do with the dame?" I almost threw up again. What luck I had. First I had chosen the wrong dock to try to hide from my brother's and now I was in the company of one of the most notorious boys in New York City. I wondered if he would remember me. He was a lot older than the last time I had seen him. He had filled out his scrawny frame since then too. Shivering violently I prayed he wouldn't remember. It had been oh, five years since he and some of his newspaper friends had been graced with a beating from my brother's and some of their cronies. Still to this day if any of my brother's gang ran into any of Spot's, there was always a fight. I also knew that a week ago one of Spot's newsies had been killed by my oldest brother Murphy for two-dollars and twenty-five cents and a pocket watch. That was an event that was not likely to earn me a warm welcome in any of the newsie camps.
"Jesus are you that cold? What's your name anyway?" I looked over to see Racetrack watching me with a concerned light in his eyes. Spot just lit a cigarette and looked at me like I was a piece of trash on the street.
"Most people call me Misery." Racetrack looked slightly taken aback.
"That ain't a nice name to call someone." I laughed a little before gathering my sopping wet auburn hair into one fist and squeezed some of the water out of it. I watched it splatter onto the dock my face a mask.
"It's 'cuz I'm always miserable. Or at least that's what they think." I saw Spot's gaze sharpen.
"Who's 'they'?" I glanced at him, met his gaze and tore my eyes away.
"Nobody. Listen if you guys are done with me, I have to go. It's getting dark and I should uh get home." Racetrack seemed to notice my hesitation. I really had nowhere to go, and would have to find an alley somewhere that was safe.
"You could always stay in Manhattan. We have a few girls who sell papers stayin' there now. It pisses Kloppman off to no end, but they just came one day and wouldn't leave."
"But I don't sell papers."
"Then what do you do?" I didn't like the questioning, hard tone that Spot was using with me. He was obviously less trusting than this Manhattan boy which wasn't surprising given which boroughs they were from. Tying my ruined shoes around my neck, I rolled my trouser pants up to my shins and buttoned my still soaked gray vest around my chest. I could see Spot eyeing me with disgust, looking me up and down.
"Ain't you ever seen a girl dressed like a boy before?"
"Not that often. It ain't right." I snorted at his condescending voice.
"You work for Sears and Roebuck or somethin? Wanna tell me the latest fall fashions for women?" Spot's face darkened noticeably and Racetrack put his hand on my shoulder drawing me away.
"Watch ya mouth I ain't above showing females how to behave." I didn't like the way he smacked the head of his gold-topped cane that had been leaning against his crate into the palm of his hand. Racetrack held up a placating hand to Spot.
"Don't worry Brooklyn, we're leavin'. Poker game tomorrow?" Spot nodded his face returning to its normal color as he saw I was being taken away from him. A cool breeze made both Racetrack and I shudder as we started the trek from Brooklyn to Manhattan.
"Where are you from kid?" I laughed because the boy looked to be about the same age as me, sixteen or seventeen. I liked the mischievous twinkle in his dark eyes and the easy way he smiled. There weren't too many people I knew who acted like that.
"I don't know why they call you Misery. You don't seem that unhappy to me." I instantly sobered, reminded of why I was called what I was. Living with a group of young hooligans was enough to make any girl tear their hair out especially when her brother's did nothing to protect her. I had constantly had to endure crude jokes, roaming hands and the never- ending fear of being caught alone with one of them. I took to wearing boys clothing to make my figure less noticeable as I grew up, and was always walking around with a pitiful, sorrowful expression on my face. Thus why my brother Jamie christened me Misery. I had a real name, Caitlin. But it seemed that after I turned twelve no one called me by that name. It was either Misery or 'stupid girl' or 'little slut'. The last name was humorous to me since I had never lain with any of those ugly louts.
"I'm from Brooklyn actually. I lived with my two brother's and they gave me that nickname. The reason I was hiding on Spot's dock was because I was running away from them." Racetrack raised an eyebrow at me. I was telling the truth, I was in fact born and raised near Green Point a small borough on the tip of Brooklyn near Long Island. Shaking his head in disbelief he tapped ash off of the end of his cigar.
"You're from Brooklyn and Spot don't know ya? He knows everyone."
"Well maybe he doesn't know EVERYONE," I huffed. If Spot remembered who I was then I was going to get a beating for sure. If not worse. Not that I had anything to do with my brother's activities, but I was still related to them. And if Spot was good at anything he was one of the best at holding grudges. Racetrack looked apologetically at me.
"Hey sorry, I didn't mean for you to get ya panties in a twist. Truce?" We shook hands and continued on our way to the building where the Manhattan newsies lived. I was slightly apprehensive and yet elated to be out from under my brother's thumbs. It put a spring in my step that hadn't been there in years. I rubbed my hands together as inconspicuously as possible and tried to hide my gleeful smile. Maybe for once I could start to live my own damn life.
It must be said that the first time I was ever acquainted with any of the newsies wasn't my shining moment. If I remember correctly I was being held up by my ankles over the East River in Brooklyn by one of Spot Conlon's many thugs. My eyes cast down towards the murky brown water; I closed them tightly and mouthed a silent prayer.
"Are you gonna talk or do I have to drop ya?" It was difficult to focus my attention on the thick-armed, square-jawed boy who dangled me like a rag doll. For one, all the blood rushing to my head was making my sight swim. And the fact that I couldn't swim a stroke was rather first and foremost in my thoughts.
"What were ya doin' spyin on us?" Gritting my teeth, I practically snarled up at the dolt of a boy.
"I wasn't spying on ya you stupid ox, I was hiding." He shook my ankles a little bit, and loosened his grip before tightening it, jerking me to a halt. I could hear snickering and realized that the other boys standing around were enjoying this as much as the ox was.
"Go ahead and drop me. I ain't telling you nothing else because there's nothing else to tell." The boy holding me shrugged heavy shoulders and smiled maliciously down at me before sneering.
"Have it your way girlie." With that he let go of my ankles and I plummeted down towards the water hollering bloody murder. I made the mistake of gasping in a lungful of water as I hit the surface, and I frantically clawed my way to the surface. Coughing and spluttering, I managed to take a breath before I went under again. This happened at least two more times before I couldn't manage to stick my head above the surface. Feeling strangely calm, I started to sink and would have ended my days on the bottom of the river in Brooklyn if someone hadn't leapt into the water and hauled me out by the collar of my shirt.
Dragging me up a ladder and depositing me none to gently onto the rough planks of the dock, I lay on my stomach spitting up water and hacking out my lungs. Then I looked up at the person who had jumped into the water after me. A rather pissed off looking boy was wringing water out of his brown trousers and white shirt. I could see a cap and a checkered vest flung onto the dock beside a pair of shoes that had a cigar poking out of one.
"You could at least say thank you." The new voice made me jerk my head to the other side to where a boy with a red-checked shirt, black vest, red suspenders hanging down by his sides, black trousers and a gray cap was lounging on a crate. Cold blue eyes pierced into mine and I none to discreetly rolled onto my stomach again and proceeded to vomit up river- water. Cries of disgust followed my action along with some laughter.
"There's your thanks, Racetrack," the boy with the icy blue eyes said laughingly. The short, dark-haired Italian looking boy made a face at the other and held out a hand to me, a smirk lighting his lean face. I let him pull me up till I was standing, and I shook his hand.
"Thank you uh Racetrack?" He waved a hand and busied himself with lighting his cigar. The blue-eyed boy stood, and snapped at the surrounding boys all roughly dressed and with matching demeanors to get going to the Distribution Office. I could hear a bell ringing in the distance and judged it to be the afternoon signal of the evening edition. So these boys sold papers for a living. I watched them swagger off and thought that it was rather an un-fitting profession. Soon I was left with no one except Racetrack and Blue Eyes.
"So Spot, what're we going to do with the dame?" I almost threw up again. What luck I had. First I had chosen the wrong dock to try to hide from my brother's and now I was in the company of one of the most notorious boys in New York City. I wondered if he would remember me. He was a lot older than the last time I had seen him. He had filled out his scrawny frame since then too. Shivering violently I prayed he wouldn't remember. It had been oh, five years since he and some of his newspaper friends had been graced with a beating from my brother's and some of their cronies. Still to this day if any of my brother's gang ran into any of Spot's, there was always a fight. I also knew that a week ago one of Spot's newsies had been killed by my oldest brother Murphy for two-dollars and twenty-five cents and a pocket watch. That was an event that was not likely to earn me a warm welcome in any of the newsie camps.
"Jesus are you that cold? What's your name anyway?" I looked over to see Racetrack watching me with a concerned light in his eyes. Spot just lit a cigarette and looked at me like I was a piece of trash on the street.
"Most people call me Misery." Racetrack looked slightly taken aback.
"That ain't a nice name to call someone." I laughed a little before gathering my sopping wet auburn hair into one fist and squeezed some of the water out of it. I watched it splatter onto the dock my face a mask.
"It's 'cuz I'm always miserable. Or at least that's what they think." I saw Spot's gaze sharpen.
"Who's 'they'?" I glanced at him, met his gaze and tore my eyes away.
"Nobody. Listen if you guys are done with me, I have to go. It's getting dark and I should uh get home." Racetrack seemed to notice my hesitation. I really had nowhere to go, and would have to find an alley somewhere that was safe.
"You could always stay in Manhattan. We have a few girls who sell papers stayin' there now. It pisses Kloppman off to no end, but they just came one day and wouldn't leave."
"But I don't sell papers."
"Then what do you do?" I didn't like the questioning, hard tone that Spot was using with me. He was obviously less trusting than this Manhattan boy which wasn't surprising given which boroughs they were from. Tying my ruined shoes around my neck, I rolled my trouser pants up to my shins and buttoned my still soaked gray vest around my chest. I could see Spot eyeing me with disgust, looking me up and down.
"Ain't you ever seen a girl dressed like a boy before?"
"Not that often. It ain't right." I snorted at his condescending voice.
"You work for Sears and Roebuck or somethin? Wanna tell me the latest fall fashions for women?" Spot's face darkened noticeably and Racetrack put his hand on my shoulder drawing me away.
"Watch ya mouth I ain't above showing females how to behave." I didn't like the way he smacked the head of his gold-topped cane that had been leaning against his crate into the palm of his hand. Racetrack held up a placating hand to Spot.
"Don't worry Brooklyn, we're leavin'. Poker game tomorrow?" Spot nodded his face returning to its normal color as he saw I was being taken away from him. A cool breeze made both Racetrack and I shudder as we started the trek from Brooklyn to Manhattan.
"Where are you from kid?" I laughed because the boy looked to be about the same age as me, sixteen or seventeen. I liked the mischievous twinkle in his dark eyes and the easy way he smiled. There weren't too many people I knew who acted like that.
"I don't know why they call you Misery. You don't seem that unhappy to me." I instantly sobered, reminded of why I was called what I was. Living with a group of young hooligans was enough to make any girl tear their hair out especially when her brother's did nothing to protect her. I had constantly had to endure crude jokes, roaming hands and the never- ending fear of being caught alone with one of them. I took to wearing boys clothing to make my figure less noticeable as I grew up, and was always walking around with a pitiful, sorrowful expression on my face. Thus why my brother Jamie christened me Misery. I had a real name, Caitlin. But it seemed that after I turned twelve no one called me by that name. It was either Misery or 'stupid girl' or 'little slut'. The last name was humorous to me since I had never lain with any of those ugly louts.
"I'm from Brooklyn actually. I lived with my two brother's and they gave me that nickname. The reason I was hiding on Spot's dock was because I was running away from them." Racetrack raised an eyebrow at me. I was telling the truth, I was in fact born and raised near Green Point a small borough on the tip of Brooklyn near Long Island. Shaking his head in disbelief he tapped ash off of the end of his cigar.
"You're from Brooklyn and Spot don't know ya? He knows everyone."
"Well maybe he doesn't know EVERYONE," I huffed. If Spot remembered who I was then I was going to get a beating for sure. If not worse. Not that I had anything to do with my brother's activities, but I was still related to them. And if Spot was good at anything he was one of the best at holding grudges. Racetrack looked apologetically at me.
"Hey sorry, I didn't mean for you to get ya panties in a twist. Truce?" We shook hands and continued on our way to the building where the Manhattan newsies lived. I was slightly apprehensive and yet elated to be out from under my brother's thumbs. It put a spring in my step that hadn't been there in years. I rubbed my hands together as inconspicuously as possible and tried to hide my gleeful smile. Maybe for once I could start to live my own damn life.