Disclaimer-I don't own it.
It wasn't like I meant to leave my house or anything. I didn't hate my parents, they didn't beat me. They were never around to even learn my name or who my friends were. They just gave me a place to sleep and I could have found that myself...so I left.
Well, since I'm telling you my story, I suppose you need to know my name. It's Calahan Young. I live in Brooklyn now but I used to live in Dublin, Ireland. I say used to because I woke up one day and just left. I just walked out of the house, got a job on a boat and went to New York City. I thought it would be easier to live there than in Ireland but I was completely wrong. Of course, that's only natural when the first person I actually ran in to was Spot Conlon. That was not my most pleasant experience. One, he was in a bad mood, and two, so was I.
I had stumbled off the boat, still trying to get used to walking on land again, when I ran straight into him. He just looked at me and then pushed me backward. "Watch where ya goin in me territory!"
I must have looked confused because he grabbed my arm and dragged me through the crowd. "Ya ain't at home no more are ya?" He asked.
I blinked. "No, I'm not."
"Ya Irish ain't ya? Ya got an accent. Might wanna cover dat."
I stared at him. "Who are you?"
"Da name is Spot. I'm right-hand-man ta da leadah heah in Brooklyn. He'll be passin' da job ta me soon though. Him bein a faddah an' all."
I stumbled slightly, still trying to get a hold on what had just occurred. "I'm from Dublin. I don't know why I left though..." I gazed at everything around me. I was completely lost. "Where are you taking me?"
"Back ta da boys."
I jerked away from him. "I don't want to."
"Ya don't have a choice."
I glared. "I have as much as a choice about anything as I want."
Spot frowned. "I hate doin dis ta you but I gotta." He punched me square in the face! I stumbled backward a good two feet and then swung back at him. I had never lost a fight. I stood a good 5'7, with black hair and dark brown eyes. I'm not quite sure how I'm Irish. I don't look like them at all.
Spot tackled me and we landed in an oily puddle. He sat up. "Ya bettah come wit me if ya know what's best for ya!" He shook his hands, trying to get the greasy feeling off them.
I pushed him away. "Who are you to tell me the rules?"
"One a da most feared newsies in New York. Dat's who."
"What in bloody hell is a newsie?"
"A newsboy! We peddle papes! Ya so lucky I found before someone else did. Dey wouldn't help ya but I'm Irish meself so I took pity on ya."
I laughed. "Alright. You promise to teach me how to sell and you've got yourself another fighter. This is the first fight I've ever lost." I rubbed the swollen area on my jaw from the punch and winced. "Don't mind me saying it, but you hit hard for being so small."
He grinned. "I don't know what its like not ta fight kid. C'mon. Mickey's gonna be happy ta see ya."
"Mickey?"
"He's da leadah in Brooklyn...well, not for long. I'll be takin ovah it soon."
He stood up and motioned for me to follow him.
Mickey was ruthless. If there was ever a crueler person on the planet, I would have loved to meet him and see how close Mickey was to beating him out of a title. He had brown eyes and blonde hair. The minute Spot walked in, Mickey grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him into a wall. Spot stood quickly and glared. "What da hell happened Mick?"
"You was supposed ta be home an hour ago! Ya get lost or did some whore distract ya again?"
Spot took a step toward me, as if to protect me from Mickey's rage. "I brought a new fightah home."
Mickey pushed him out of the way and slammed me into a wall. Behind him, Spot was mouthing 'Don't move!' I didn't plan on it either.
"What's ya name?"
I remembered Spot's warning about my accent and I covered it with the one Spot had. "Da name...its Cal."
"Cal huh? Short for somethin...Cal?"
"Uh...Calahan. But ya can call me what ya wanna."
Spot nodded vigorously to show I was doing a good job.
"I'll call ya what I want no matter if ya want me to or not. Because I don't really care what ya think."
I shrugged. "Well, I guess ya right. Ya would because ya da most powerful guy in New York." Spot was shaking with laughter.
Mickey smirked. "Ya right. I am, and Spot ovah heah is next in line. He says ya can fight. SPOT!" He called. Spot was instantly at his side.
"Yeah Mick?"
"Defend yaself," Mickey hissed to me and he threw me at Spot. I stood up and looked at him.
"Ya want me ta fight Spot?!"
Spot shrugged. "Don't mattah. I ain't gonna hate for doin it."
I nodded slightly and then threw a punch. Spot ducked and hit my stomach. I ignored the pain and hit him back. He retreated. Then he glanced at me before running toward me and knocking me into a wall. In seconds he had a slingshot aimed at my face. "Ya da foist ta actually land a hit on me, Cal."
I looked from Mickey to Spot and then back again. "I was?"
"Yeah ya were," Mickey helped Spot stand up and then gave me his hand. "Welcome ta Brooklyn, Cal."
Spot grinned. "He needs a nickname."
I shrugged. "It don't mattah ta me."
He rolled his blue eyes and then smacked my shoulder. "How bout...Storm?" He looked out the window. It was pouring. "Ya beat me in a storm."
I nodded. "It works."
Since then, Spot and I have been best friends, but one girl tore that apart. One tiny blonde girl with big, blue eyes. She went by Cobalt, and she stole our hearts in a matter of one week. It all depends on who she chooses now. If she chooses Spot, I'll be heartbroken and if she chooses me, Spot'll kill me. I lose either way. Its not really fair but that's the way life works in Brooklyn. Nothing is ever fair.
It wasn't like I meant to leave my house or anything. I didn't hate my parents, they didn't beat me. They were never around to even learn my name or who my friends were. They just gave me a place to sleep and I could have found that myself...so I left.
Well, since I'm telling you my story, I suppose you need to know my name. It's Calahan Young. I live in Brooklyn now but I used to live in Dublin, Ireland. I say used to because I woke up one day and just left. I just walked out of the house, got a job on a boat and went to New York City. I thought it would be easier to live there than in Ireland but I was completely wrong. Of course, that's only natural when the first person I actually ran in to was Spot Conlon. That was not my most pleasant experience. One, he was in a bad mood, and two, so was I.
I had stumbled off the boat, still trying to get used to walking on land again, when I ran straight into him. He just looked at me and then pushed me backward. "Watch where ya goin in me territory!"
I must have looked confused because he grabbed my arm and dragged me through the crowd. "Ya ain't at home no more are ya?" He asked.
I blinked. "No, I'm not."
"Ya Irish ain't ya? Ya got an accent. Might wanna cover dat."
I stared at him. "Who are you?"
"Da name is Spot. I'm right-hand-man ta da leadah heah in Brooklyn. He'll be passin' da job ta me soon though. Him bein a faddah an' all."
I stumbled slightly, still trying to get a hold on what had just occurred. "I'm from Dublin. I don't know why I left though..." I gazed at everything around me. I was completely lost. "Where are you taking me?"
"Back ta da boys."
I jerked away from him. "I don't want to."
"Ya don't have a choice."
I glared. "I have as much as a choice about anything as I want."
Spot frowned. "I hate doin dis ta you but I gotta." He punched me square in the face! I stumbled backward a good two feet and then swung back at him. I had never lost a fight. I stood a good 5'7, with black hair and dark brown eyes. I'm not quite sure how I'm Irish. I don't look like them at all.
Spot tackled me and we landed in an oily puddle. He sat up. "Ya bettah come wit me if ya know what's best for ya!" He shook his hands, trying to get the greasy feeling off them.
I pushed him away. "Who are you to tell me the rules?"
"One a da most feared newsies in New York. Dat's who."
"What in bloody hell is a newsie?"
"A newsboy! We peddle papes! Ya so lucky I found before someone else did. Dey wouldn't help ya but I'm Irish meself so I took pity on ya."
I laughed. "Alright. You promise to teach me how to sell and you've got yourself another fighter. This is the first fight I've ever lost." I rubbed the swollen area on my jaw from the punch and winced. "Don't mind me saying it, but you hit hard for being so small."
He grinned. "I don't know what its like not ta fight kid. C'mon. Mickey's gonna be happy ta see ya."
"Mickey?"
"He's da leadah in Brooklyn...well, not for long. I'll be takin ovah it soon."
He stood up and motioned for me to follow him.
Mickey was ruthless. If there was ever a crueler person on the planet, I would have loved to meet him and see how close Mickey was to beating him out of a title. He had brown eyes and blonde hair. The minute Spot walked in, Mickey grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him into a wall. Spot stood quickly and glared. "What da hell happened Mick?"
"You was supposed ta be home an hour ago! Ya get lost or did some whore distract ya again?"
Spot took a step toward me, as if to protect me from Mickey's rage. "I brought a new fightah home."
Mickey pushed him out of the way and slammed me into a wall. Behind him, Spot was mouthing 'Don't move!' I didn't plan on it either.
"What's ya name?"
I remembered Spot's warning about my accent and I covered it with the one Spot had. "Da name...its Cal."
"Cal huh? Short for somethin...Cal?"
"Uh...Calahan. But ya can call me what ya wanna."
Spot nodded vigorously to show I was doing a good job.
"I'll call ya what I want no matter if ya want me to or not. Because I don't really care what ya think."
I shrugged. "Well, I guess ya right. Ya would because ya da most powerful guy in New York." Spot was shaking with laughter.
Mickey smirked. "Ya right. I am, and Spot ovah heah is next in line. He says ya can fight. SPOT!" He called. Spot was instantly at his side.
"Yeah Mick?"
"Defend yaself," Mickey hissed to me and he threw me at Spot. I stood up and looked at him.
"Ya want me ta fight Spot?!"
Spot shrugged. "Don't mattah. I ain't gonna hate for doin it."
I nodded slightly and then threw a punch. Spot ducked and hit my stomach. I ignored the pain and hit him back. He retreated. Then he glanced at me before running toward me and knocking me into a wall. In seconds he had a slingshot aimed at my face. "Ya da foist ta actually land a hit on me, Cal."
I looked from Mickey to Spot and then back again. "I was?"
"Yeah ya were," Mickey helped Spot stand up and then gave me his hand. "Welcome ta Brooklyn, Cal."
Spot grinned. "He needs a nickname."
I shrugged. "It don't mattah ta me."
He rolled his blue eyes and then smacked my shoulder. "How bout...Storm?" He looked out the window. It was pouring. "Ya beat me in a storm."
I nodded. "It works."
Since then, Spot and I have been best friends, but one girl tore that apart. One tiny blonde girl with big, blue eyes. She went by Cobalt, and she stole our hearts in a matter of one week. It all depends on who she chooses now. If she chooses Spot, I'll be heartbroken and if she chooses me, Spot'll kill me. I lose either way. Its not really fair but that's the way life works in Brooklyn. Nothing is ever fair.