As I shuffled over the Brooklyn Bridge, my hands stuffed into my
pockets, my head whirled with too many thoughts. Maybe Pistol was right,
maybe I should stay. But then again, Jack would have to ask me to leave the
lodging house. It was an unspoken law that if a girl were to be a newsie,
she couldn't get pregnant and continue to do so. People wouldn't pay for
papers from whores, and unmarried pregnant girls were seen as promiscuous.
Sighing, I dug a cigarette out of my vest pocket and lit it after sticking it in my mouth. I felt my stomach twist, but willed it to stop. I needed the nicotine after my fight with Pistol. I knew, somewhere in my confused mind that Race would indeed, probably stick by me. But the fear that he wouldn't overwhelmed more than anything else.
I had seen plenty of girls tell guys that they were with child, and have the guy flee out of terror of responsibility. It was rare, especially on the street level to have a guy take care of what was his. And with the ages of the newsies being under twenty, that percentage was even higher. I berated myself for thinking so lowly of Race. I knew he was a kind, considerate person and he had done nothing but right by me.
However, he WAS only seventeen....Or was it eighteen? I shook my head and exhaled a cloud of smoke. Either way, he was only one of the two. Why should I expect him to give up whatever future he could possibly have by shackling himself with a broad who was knocked up? No, my best course of action was to see Spot. Spot, unlike most of the other borough leaders cared about his newsies, but also was able to step back and view the situation from an emotionless point of view. He had a fiery temper but he could keep it in check to look at the advantages and disadvantages of any situation whereas any of the other leaders would let their feelings take hold and dictate their responses.
I had seen Spot lose his temper plenty of times. He was quick to throw a punch, or a harsh word. But when it came to large problems of the utmost importance he would lock himself in his room with a bunch of cigarettes and come out hours later with the best way to handle it ready to go.
I tossed my smoke over the Bridge's railing and inhaled as the East River's scent smacked me in the face. It didn't take long to enter Spot's territory once over the Bridge. In truth, he considered all of Brooklyn his territory although I knew quite a few older hoodlums who would violently disagree. Two small newsies were hollering headlines on a corner near the docks. One was Monkey, who I had met a few months earlier, and the other was Loon.
Loon warily greeted me, the bruises on his face had finally healed and he looked like a normal little boy again. Normal besides the way he constantly was on the alert for danger and his body cringed away from you if you made a sudden movement or spoke too loudly. I had seen animals react this way after being beaten constantly and it seemed Loon was no exception.
"Hey, Loon," I said spitting into my hand and holding it out towards him. He did the same, all the while neatly capturing Monkey's collar as the little boy darted out towards the street.
"I'm looking for the Great, Almighty Conlon. Have you seen him?" A ghost of a smile appeared on Loon's lips for a brief instant before he turned serious again and jerked his chin towards the docks.
"We got some new kids who need some training. He's down at the docks teachin' 'em how to sling." I nodded and after saying good-bye and laughing at Monkey's repeated attempts to leave Loon behind, I made my way down a side street littered with trash and barrels that opened up into a bustling array of docks crowded with busy fishermen loading and unloading boats with crates of fish. One of the smaller docks was Spot's domain, and it was just as busy as the rest of the harbor.
Winter was fast approaching, so none of the boys were swimming. Some smoked and lounged on crates while others were gathered around Spot who had his slingshot out and was patiently explaining how to aim to a pair of boys who didn't look like they were older than eight.
Pokey was perched on a crate with the few other female Brooklyn newsies. I hadn't met any of them, except in passing. They were all hard- faced and lean. Pokey was always the most approachable looking in any event. She caught my eye as I slunk down the dock towards the group. A smile beamed across her face as she bounded in my direction.
I had noticed that Pokey grew happier and happier each time I saw her. It didn't take me long to figure out that Jack spent most of his free time in Brooklyn. Spot was notorious for not wanting the female newsies out of Brooklyn by themselves for too long and it was hard for the girls to find willing boys without agendas of their own to accompany them to Manhattan or any of the other boroughs.
"Misery!" she squealed, hugging me to her. Yeah she was definitely happier; I chuckled and hugged her back. The newsies eyed me with interest for a moment or two, then the buzz of conversation started back up. I looked over Pokey's shoulder and my eyes locked with two freezing blue ones. I darted my gaze away and met Riddle's, as he shifted in his semi- leaning state up against a pillar.
If Pokey looked happier, Riddle looked more miserable every time I saw him. He grew sullen and angry. Even now, though his eyes shown with welcome towards me, his shaggy black hair flopping into one dark brown eye, his mouth was twisted in a bitter smile.
Riddle nodded at me, and my stomach went sour as I wished for him and Bourbon to settle their score and be happy. Or maybe it was because of the baby. That jolted me out of my thoughts and I glanced back in Spot's direction. He stood on the edge of the dock, his head cocked to one side and back so that he was looking down his nose at me, his blue eyes narrowed into slits. His mouth was set in a firm line, and he had his arms crossed over his chest.
He wore a dark blue shirt and a rust-colored vest, new items of clothing that I hadn't seen before. He still wore his ratty dark brown pants and his cane was slung through a belt-loop. Adjusting the gray cabby hat he wore, he jerked his chin at the boys around us.
"Beat it," he said simply his voice harsh to my ears. The girls vanished first, followed by the boys, their curious gazes held in check at the smoldering fury their leader was exuding. Spot waited for them to go, but held my eyes with his own as he lit a cigarette with a furious flick of his wrist. Turning his back on me suddenly, he started walking to the end of the dock.
I listened to the dull thudding of his feet on the wooden planks and I felt my chin lift and my shoulder's square. I wasn't about to let him treat me like an asshole without a fight. Making sure my footsteps fell just as surely as his, I stalked down the dock behind him until we reached a jumble of crates. Spot's throne of crates was further up towards the entrance where he could see all who entered and left his domain. This was just a ramshackle pile that had probably been left here for years.
Spot stood at the edge of the dock, a sudden breeze ruffling the back of his shirt as he looked out over the River. I gingerly sat down on a crate, half-afraid that it would break under my weight, but it was solid. We sat like that for some time, the only movement coming from birds on the wing overhead or the puffs of exhaled cigarette smoke that drifted away from Spot.
Suddenly I saw Spot's shoulder's slump and he turned sharply on his heel to face me. His eyes were unreadable, and quite dark with the light of the sun behind him. The morning had dawned with a pale and watery sun but had gained some warmth during my trip from Manhattan to Brooklyn. I squinted up at him and waited.
"What do you want Misery?" His voice sounded defeated, tired. I felt a pinpoint of shame hit my chest but I steadied my shaking hands on my knees and tried not to vomit. Spot must have realized something was wrong, for he knelt down next to me and grabbed a hold of my shoulder with a strong hand.
"What's the mattah?" His genuine expression of concern affected me even more strongly. I gulped in deep breaths of air and hung my head until I could talk. Even then, when I spoke my voice was high pitched and breathy like a little girl's.
"I have a problem," I stuttered before digging into my vest for a cigarette as franticly as a drowning man searches for air. Lighting it finally with shaking fingers, I took a deep drag and exhaled, closing my eyes in pleasure. When I opened them Spot was still kneeling at my side, his face drawn in worry.
"Look, this isn't easy for me to say, but I'm hoping you'll help me. If not that you care about me, because I don't blame you if you don't, then for the fact that you were there when it happened and you got hurt as much as I did." This time Spot's eyes flashed confusion before I took another breath and went on.
"I'm going to have a baby, Spot." I heard a thump and looked down to see Spot sprawled on his behind on the dock, a shocked look painted across his lean face. He blinked rapidly at me before waving his hands mutely and trying to talk although no words came out. It would have been funny if not for the situation.
"What do you need me to do?" His quiet question made my heart lurch and I looked him directly in his sapphire eyes with a calm that belied my roiling insides.
"I need you to help me leave New York." Spot hung his head briefly before exhaling loudly and slowly and raising his gaze so that it met mine. I had almost never seen such a fierce look of determination on someone's face unless you forgot about the brief flashes that Race would throw at me before he told me how he felt.
"Okay Misery," he said softly. "I'll help you"
A/N – I know this sort of short and I'm sorry I haven't updated this in a little while. I've been busy and had writer's block. But the next updation won't be far away! – A/N
Nada Zimri – You can go ahead and beat up the Maguire brother's, it's okay with me! Thanks, I hope nobody stops reading this.
NaughteeLady- No, no, no. Young Joseph is Georgie Maguire's brother, not Misery's. Her brother's are Murphy and Jamie.
Chelsea – Always go with your gut instinct..hehe..no pun intended. You were right! I'm glad you're excited for more of my story, that's awesome to hear.
Jaws- Aww that's so sweet of you! I hope you and your friend are doing better and I wish you the best.
Just Duck – Yay a bear hug! I know you don't like her leaving, but everything gets resolved in the end, I promise. Maybe not totally, but on Misery and Race's end it does.
Kays14 – Sorry I can't make any promises! Thanks for reading!
Pokey7 – I'm glad I got to use your character, it was fun to write! Thank you so much, and I'm glad you like the story.
BrkLnLady- Are transition chapters good? *scratches head*
Jamie Bell—And you better update your story soon young lady! I want to know what happens next. *shakes finger* Yes, running never does any good, but she'll figure that out eventually.
Taps 1899 – I'm glad you like my story, here's more so you don't hurt Race!
My dog ate my penname – Yeppers that's a pretty good twist if I say so myself. *Beams* So...does this mean no chicken dance? *pouts*
Sighing, I dug a cigarette out of my vest pocket and lit it after sticking it in my mouth. I felt my stomach twist, but willed it to stop. I needed the nicotine after my fight with Pistol. I knew, somewhere in my confused mind that Race would indeed, probably stick by me. But the fear that he wouldn't overwhelmed more than anything else.
I had seen plenty of girls tell guys that they were with child, and have the guy flee out of terror of responsibility. It was rare, especially on the street level to have a guy take care of what was his. And with the ages of the newsies being under twenty, that percentage was even higher. I berated myself for thinking so lowly of Race. I knew he was a kind, considerate person and he had done nothing but right by me.
However, he WAS only seventeen....Or was it eighteen? I shook my head and exhaled a cloud of smoke. Either way, he was only one of the two. Why should I expect him to give up whatever future he could possibly have by shackling himself with a broad who was knocked up? No, my best course of action was to see Spot. Spot, unlike most of the other borough leaders cared about his newsies, but also was able to step back and view the situation from an emotionless point of view. He had a fiery temper but he could keep it in check to look at the advantages and disadvantages of any situation whereas any of the other leaders would let their feelings take hold and dictate their responses.
I had seen Spot lose his temper plenty of times. He was quick to throw a punch, or a harsh word. But when it came to large problems of the utmost importance he would lock himself in his room with a bunch of cigarettes and come out hours later with the best way to handle it ready to go.
I tossed my smoke over the Bridge's railing and inhaled as the East River's scent smacked me in the face. It didn't take long to enter Spot's territory once over the Bridge. In truth, he considered all of Brooklyn his territory although I knew quite a few older hoodlums who would violently disagree. Two small newsies were hollering headlines on a corner near the docks. One was Monkey, who I had met a few months earlier, and the other was Loon.
Loon warily greeted me, the bruises on his face had finally healed and he looked like a normal little boy again. Normal besides the way he constantly was on the alert for danger and his body cringed away from you if you made a sudden movement or spoke too loudly. I had seen animals react this way after being beaten constantly and it seemed Loon was no exception.
"Hey, Loon," I said spitting into my hand and holding it out towards him. He did the same, all the while neatly capturing Monkey's collar as the little boy darted out towards the street.
"I'm looking for the Great, Almighty Conlon. Have you seen him?" A ghost of a smile appeared on Loon's lips for a brief instant before he turned serious again and jerked his chin towards the docks.
"We got some new kids who need some training. He's down at the docks teachin' 'em how to sling." I nodded and after saying good-bye and laughing at Monkey's repeated attempts to leave Loon behind, I made my way down a side street littered with trash and barrels that opened up into a bustling array of docks crowded with busy fishermen loading and unloading boats with crates of fish. One of the smaller docks was Spot's domain, and it was just as busy as the rest of the harbor.
Winter was fast approaching, so none of the boys were swimming. Some smoked and lounged on crates while others were gathered around Spot who had his slingshot out and was patiently explaining how to aim to a pair of boys who didn't look like they were older than eight.
Pokey was perched on a crate with the few other female Brooklyn newsies. I hadn't met any of them, except in passing. They were all hard- faced and lean. Pokey was always the most approachable looking in any event. She caught my eye as I slunk down the dock towards the group. A smile beamed across her face as she bounded in my direction.
I had noticed that Pokey grew happier and happier each time I saw her. It didn't take me long to figure out that Jack spent most of his free time in Brooklyn. Spot was notorious for not wanting the female newsies out of Brooklyn by themselves for too long and it was hard for the girls to find willing boys without agendas of their own to accompany them to Manhattan or any of the other boroughs.
"Misery!" she squealed, hugging me to her. Yeah she was definitely happier; I chuckled and hugged her back. The newsies eyed me with interest for a moment or two, then the buzz of conversation started back up. I looked over Pokey's shoulder and my eyes locked with two freezing blue ones. I darted my gaze away and met Riddle's, as he shifted in his semi- leaning state up against a pillar.
If Pokey looked happier, Riddle looked more miserable every time I saw him. He grew sullen and angry. Even now, though his eyes shown with welcome towards me, his shaggy black hair flopping into one dark brown eye, his mouth was twisted in a bitter smile.
Riddle nodded at me, and my stomach went sour as I wished for him and Bourbon to settle their score and be happy. Or maybe it was because of the baby. That jolted me out of my thoughts and I glanced back in Spot's direction. He stood on the edge of the dock, his head cocked to one side and back so that he was looking down his nose at me, his blue eyes narrowed into slits. His mouth was set in a firm line, and he had his arms crossed over his chest.
He wore a dark blue shirt and a rust-colored vest, new items of clothing that I hadn't seen before. He still wore his ratty dark brown pants and his cane was slung through a belt-loop. Adjusting the gray cabby hat he wore, he jerked his chin at the boys around us.
"Beat it," he said simply his voice harsh to my ears. The girls vanished first, followed by the boys, their curious gazes held in check at the smoldering fury their leader was exuding. Spot waited for them to go, but held my eyes with his own as he lit a cigarette with a furious flick of his wrist. Turning his back on me suddenly, he started walking to the end of the dock.
I listened to the dull thudding of his feet on the wooden planks and I felt my chin lift and my shoulder's square. I wasn't about to let him treat me like an asshole without a fight. Making sure my footsteps fell just as surely as his, I stalked down the dock behind him until we reached a jumble of crates. Spot's throne of crates was further up towards the entrance where he could see all who entered and left his domain. This was just a ramshackle pile that had probably been left here for years.
Spot stood at the edge of the dock, a sudden breeze ruffling the back of his shirt as he looked out over the River. I gingerly sat down on a crate, half-afraid that it would break under my weight, but it was solid. We sat like that for some time, the only movement coming from birds on the wing overhead or the puffs of exhaled cigarette smoke that drifted away from Spot.
Suddenly I saw Spot's shoulder's slump and he turned sharply on his heel to face me. His eyes were unreadable, and quite dark with the light of the sun behind him. The morning had dawned with a pale and watery sun but had gained some warmth during my trip from Manhattan to Brooklyn. I squinted up at him and waited.
"What do you want Misery?" His voice sounded defeated, tired. I felt a pinpoint of shame hit my chest but I steadied my shaking hands on my knees and tried not to vomit. Spot must have realized something was wrong, for he knelt down next to me and grabbed a hold of my shoulder with a strong hand.
"What's the mattah?" His genuine expression of concern affected me even more strongly. I gulped in deep breaths of air and hung my head until I could talk. Even then, when I spoke my voice was high pitched and breathy like a little girl's.
"I have a problem," I stuttered before digging into my vest for a cigarette as franticly as a drowning man searches for air. Lighting it finally with shaking fingers, I took a deep drag and exhaled, closing my eyes in pleasure. When I opened them Spot was still kneeling at my side, his face drawn in worry.
"Look, this isn't easy for me to say, but I'm hoping you'll help me. If not that you care about me, because I don't blame you if you don't, then for the fact that you were there when it happened and you got hurt as much as I did." This time Spot's eyes flashed confusion before I took another breath and went on.
"I'm going to have a baby, Spot." I heard a thump and looked down to see Spot sprawled on his behind on the dock, a shocked look painted across his lean face. He blinked rapidly at me before waving his hands mutely and trying to talk although no words came out. It would have been funny if not for the situation.
"What do you need me to do?" His quiet question made my heart lurch and I looked him directly in his sapphire eyes with a calm that belied my roiling insides.
"I need you to help me leave New York." Spot hung his head briefly before exhaling loudly and slowly and raising his gaze so that it met mine. I had almost never seen such a fierce look of determination on someone's face unless you forgot about the brief flashes that Race would throw at me before he told me how he felt.
"Okay Misery," he said softly. "I'll help you"
A/N – I know this sort of short and I'm sorry I haven't updated this in a little while. I've been busy and had writer's block. But the next updation won't be far away! – A/N
Nada Zimri – You can go ahead and beat up the Maguire brother's, it's okay with me! Thanks, I hope nobody stops reading this.
NaughteeLady- No, no, no. Young Joseph is Georgie Maguire's brother, not Misery's. Her brother's are Murphy and Jamie.
Chelsea – Always go with your gut instinct..hehe..no pun intended. You were right! I'm glad you're excited for more of my story, that's awesome to hear.
Jaws- Aww that's so sweet of you! I hope you and your friend are doing better and I wish you the best.
Just Duck – Yay a bear hug! I know you don't like her leaving, but everything gets resolved in the end, I promise. Maybe not totally, but on Misery and Race's end it does.
Kays14 – Sorry I can't make any promises! Thanks for reading!
Pokey7 – I'm glad I got to use your character, it was fun to write! Thank you so much, and I'm glad you like the story.
BrkLnLady- Are transition chapters good? *scratches head*
Jamie Bell—And you better update your story soon young lady! I want to know what happens next. *shakes finger* Yes, running never does any good, but she'll figure that out eventually.
Taps 1899 – I'm glad you like my story, here's more so you don't hurt Race!
My dog ate my penname – Yeppers that's a pretty good twist if I say so myself. *Beams* So...does this mean no chicken dance? *pouts*