Well, this story has only been up here for a day, so I didn't expect any reviews. Imagine my surprise when I saw that I had not one, but two!! Two reviews! I had to emit several squeals (quietly, so as not to wake my parents) in order to calm myself down. So, thank you so much for reviewing, those of you who did, and, to everyone else reading this story who did not review, how can you not when you see that it makes me so happy?

Oh, and I forgot a disclaimer, so here it is, the only one you will see:

Disclaimer: (I love the bold setting, by the way) I do not own the newsies. Nor do I own New York. Or the art of blacksmithing. Or...well, you catch my drift. And I guess I have shares in Thomas, Brett, and Matthew, because, although Disney technically owns who they will become, I created who they were. Wow, that is creepy sounding. Well, carry on!

One bead of sweat kept dripping off of my nose. That is the most annoying thing in the world, especially when you can't wipe it off. And I definitely, positively, could not wipe it off, as my hands were occupied. Arms straining with the effort, I held the tongs steady as I hammered a nail into shape. I hated making nails. It was so boring. It degraded me to, say, watching little beads of sweat drip down my nose. Matthew coughed softly, and both Brett and I looked up, startled, at the first sound Matthew had made during work hours. But, since Matthew didn't even glance up from his work, Brett and I grinned at each other, as I pushed my glasses back up my sweaty nose.

"You know dat's pointless, right?" he asked me for about the hundredth time that week. "Your nose is so slipp'ry, dey're just gonna slide back down again."

I made a face at him. "Yea, well, can't blame me for trying, right? Anyway, you're the one whose been working here for, what, seven months? You got any bright ideas on how to keep them on?"

Brett shrugged. "Well, I never really had much reason to think about it...I'm not a four-eyes."

I glared. I glowered. Above all things, I hated to be made fun of for my glasses. "Oooh, if we weren't working right now, I'd get you good." At the beginning of the week, I probably would have gone for him right then and there. But I had learned. The first time Tanner had caught us goofing around, he'd growled a warning that I had thought bad enough, before I learned what a second offense earned. I grimaced as I recalled the fading bruise on my cheek, then vowed – yet again – not to let the old man catch me doing anything other than work. A faint smile crossed my face as I realized that, in the mere week that I'd been working for him, I'd stop thinking of Tanner politely as "Mr. Tanner," instead referring to him more often as "old man" or "Tanner." I wondered how else I'd changed. Distracted, I shoved my glasses back up my nose.

Brett took a deep breath, but before he could, I said, "Ah, shove it, Lesbit." He grinned back, but before he could do anything, Matthew approached. We both stared in surprise at this unprecedented action – at least in my time working at the forge.

"Gimme yer glasses," he muttered in a thick Brooklyn accent. Bewildered, I handed them to him. He quickly pulled some string out of his pockets and looped it around each end of my glasses, then handed them back to me. "Der," he offered smugly, "yer all set." Without another word, he turned back to his work.

I stared at him for a moment, then said, "Um, thanks." He waved his hand distractedly at me, but, after this demonstration that Matthew did, indeed, have a personality, and was not merely a body with no one operating it, I was determined to press on. I moved to his side, and, bending down, said forcefully, "No, really. Thanks."

Matthew looked up with a small smile, and I grinned back broadly. Sure, he looked as though he hadn't smiled in a while and was rather uncomfortable, but still. I had made him smile. Elated, I realized that I had managed in one week a task which Brett had informed me, in whispered asides and broken conversation, that he had been trying unsuccessfully for seven months. I knelt down to say goodness knows what, but before I could, the door slammed open and Tanner stalked in.

His obvious bad mood – he must have made a bad deal or something – was enhanced by the sight of all three of us taking what he considered an unnecessary break. I leapt to my feet, but the damage was done. Without a word (well, what can you expect? We don't want the man to exceed his word usage for the day, do we?) Tanner backhanded me and kicked Matthew. Then he swept through the room, pausing only at the door to say, enunciating clearly as though we might not understand otherwise, "Get to work."

I scurried back to the nails I had been shaping, then turned to Matthew. "I'm sorry, man. I –"

"S'OK," Matthew replied morosely, but I could tell that whatever good mood had descended on him was gone. Brett caught my eye and shrugged, and we all got back to work.

In my week at the smithy, I had picked up a lot. Tanner ruled the forge with an iron fist – when he was around. Most of his time was spent up in the front with the customers, selling, taking orders, and bartering. While he was up there, Brett and I goofed around, talking and, occasionally, risking a game of some sort to relax our tight muscles, but always making sure to get enough work done to protect us from Tanner's fists...and feet, and open palms. We generally got away with it, but, so far, Tanner had caught us three times, and the punishment had been quick and heavy.

I was constantly sore from the hard work – every night, it took me at least half an hour to relax my aching back and arms – but I still felt as though I didn't get enough exercise. I hadn't left the building once, unless you counted that time I had to chase down a customer to give him the wallet he had left behind. Tanner might be harsh, but dishonest he was not. For the record, I didn't. Count that as an out-of-doors excursion, I mean. I was, after all, raised on a farm; I spent most of my life outdoors. Not, of course, that I wanted to get back to Grove County. There was nothing there for me, not since Dad died. Mother was wonderful, but she wasn't Dad. No, I concluded, New York City is the place for me. If only I could get out and see some of it!

I smiled at myself as I realized that I had, once again, fallen into self-contemplation. Out of habit, I reached up to push my glasses back up my nose, but, thanks to Matthew's string, they were tightly bound to my head. Looking over at him, I saw him looking over at me. I gave him another smile, and he, once again, tentatively smiled back.

That night, after working indoors all day, we had yet another quiet meal indoors, then retired to the inside bedroom that Brett, Matthew, and I shared. After I almost burst a blood vessel because I couldn't find a towel with which to dry my face, Brett asked me if anything was wrong. "Well," I replied sarcastically, "I was just wondering if I'm going to be locked up inside for the rest of my life. Because, you know, I don't know how well I'd do with that."

To my relief, Brett grinned. "Oh, I don't t'ink you gotta worry 'bout it much longah. See, Tanner jus' got a really big order from some carpenter friend 'a his, an' we'se rushin' to finish it. We don't usually work dis long."

I let out a slightly hysterical laugh. "Let me guess. The order was for nails?"

Brett started to laugh. "Yea. We usually get outta here aroun' 6:00 a coupla days a week, so I jus' head out to dinner if we got da money."

I turned to Matthew. "What about you? What do you usually do?"

Matthew shrugged. "Nuttin'. I jus'...ya know..." He shrugged again.

"No, c'mon, whaddaya do, Matthew?" Brett asked this time, curiosity filling his features.

"Nuttin', really," Matthew insisted. "I jus' eat here ev'ry night an' go to bed. 'R else I wander 'round fer a while, den come back an' go to bed."

"Is dat all?" Brett asked incredulously. "Well, why didn't ya ever come wit' me when I asked ya too? If dat's all you was doin'?"

Matthew stared at him. "I didn' t'ink you was serious." Then, upon seeing Brett's astonished look, he corrected, "I t'ought you was jus' askin' to be, ya know, polite. I mean, you awready gots a lotta friends, and I'm not...well, I t'ought you was jus' bein' polite, is all."

"You t'ought I was bein' polite?" Brett chortled. "You must have me confused with four-eyes over here, man, because I ain't never done nuttin' to be polite in my whole life!"

I glared at Brett before turning to Matthew and saying, "Yea, and don't think I'm just being polite when I say, I think you should come with us, too. You know, whenever we get out of this building." I shrieked the last few words in frustration, and this time even Matthew cracked a smile. Man, that smile was looking more and more comfortable, and I was glad to see it.

The next morning, when we rushed down the stairs, eager as ever to get to work (and I thought that sarcasm was under control), Tanner was waiting at the bottom to hand us our wages. I had forgotten that I would be getting paid today, and I excitedly counted out half of the money to send home to Mother. My chest swelled with pride as I envisioned her getting the money, using it to pay for something important, then telling everyone who would listen how well her boy provided for her.

"Well, dat nail order is over, and I can tell you what I'm doin' wit' my wages tonight," Brett said gleefully.

"What?" I asked eagerly.

Before Brett could respond, Matthew cut in. "Ev'ry time 'e gets ahold o' any kinda money, da boy goes an' spends it all. I swear, I dunno what 'e does wit' it."

"I liked 'im bettah when 'e didn't talk," Brett muttered.

Laughing, I eyed the fifty cents I had left out of my wages. I was inclined to do the same. Still, I forced myself to dump half of that into a tin jar I had saved for just such an occasion.

Suddenly, Brett jumped up. "It's 8:00! I almost forgot!" He quickly checked himself in the mirror, then darted out of the room, Matthew and I close at his heels.

"What's going on?" I asked Matthew.

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Probably dat goil again."

I had to laugh at the expression on Brett's face as he sputtered in surprise. "How is it, I wanna know, dat, even dough ya barely talked to me fer seven months, you know everyt'ing about me?"

Matthew shrank back slightly as he answered, "I jus' watch is all." He seemed to gain courage from my grin as he straightened up and added, "Besides, it ain't like you hide it all dat well."

Brett looked as though he were trying to come up with a scathing response, but he was distracted by a girl walking by the window. We all stared as she walked by, more out of curiosity than anything else in my case. I had seen prettier girls. She was tiny, couldn't have been much more than five feet tall. Her blonde hair did, admittedly, shimmer a bit in the sunlight, and her teeth were quite even and white, but, really, she just wasn't all that attractive. Or, at least, not so attractive that I would stand at the window, gazing at her and drooling, as Brett was doing. After she had walked past, Brett continued to stare after her, oblivious to the amused glances Matthew and I were sharing. Finally, after I began imitating Brett's lovesick sighs and gazes, Matthew chuckled. This seemed to jolt Brett out of his reverie.

"Isn't she da most beautiful goil you'se ever seen?" he asked reverently.

I couldn't hold it in any longer. I burst into laughter. "She- she's very pretty," I managed to gasp out.

Brett glared at me. "What is so funny?" he asked in even, measured tones that might have been threatening...if I could just stop picturing him gazing out the window with that pathetic look on his face.

"Just you, and, and her, and..." I dissolved into giggles again.

"You'll see," Brett said, getting up, "I'm gonna get dat goil, den you'll be jealous."

"Brett," I called after him. He turned around. I arranged my face as seriously as I could, then offered, "Brett she really is pretty. She's just...not my type."

"Pearls befoa swine," he muttered in as dignified a fashion as he could before sweeping out the door. Matthew and I grinned at each other before following him to work.

That night, true to his word, Brett showed me around a bit after work. Matthew begged off, saying that he didn't want to spend his hard-earned money. Brett and I agreed that we would work on him over time, deciding not to push him too fast. Already, he seemed like an entirely different person from the one I had met only a week ago. He was still a little bit skittish, but I could tell that he wanted to break out a little, and I was determined to help him all I could.

That night, Brett took me to his favorite restaurant, a crowded, and, most importantly, cheap, place called Tibby's (A/N: well, where else would they go, right?). As we entered, greetings arose all over the restaurant: "Heya, Bretty-boy," "How ya doin', Snitch?"

"Snitch?" I asked, mystified.

Brett groaned. "Da newsies –"

"Da what?" I asked

"Newsies. Da kids who sell da newspapers on da streets," Brett explained as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Ain't you got newsies down in Grove County?"

"Um, no," I replied

"Huh," Snitch said. "Well, anyways, 'da newsies are big on nicks. An' dey're usually embarrassing."

A short Italian nearby leaned over and said around a cigar, "Snitch you earned yours." He paused to take out his cigar, then continued. "See, uh..."

"Thomas," I supplied.

"Ya see, Thomas, Snitch 'as been runnin' 'round wit' us fer years. Since before 'is family..." Seeing Brett's face tighten, the boy cleared his throat. "Well, fer a while, anyway. An', when he was little, dat boys was da biggest telltale you ever saw. 'E ran to 'is mama fer ev'ry little t'ing. Well, after a while, we stopped playin' wit' 'im, on account a we got in so much trouble all da time. An' when 'e came back 'round, promisin' to stop an' all, we still called 'im Snitch. An' I guess da name stuck."

"T'anks, Race," Snitch said sourly.

I turned to him, fascinated, "Where did you get your na – nick?"

"Well, I'm da best gambla down at da tracks, see? I jus' gotta instinct," Race popped his cigar back in his mouth and leaned back in his chair.

A burly boy behind him reached over and tipped the chair over, sending Race crashing to the floor. "Race, just 'cause you bet all yer money down at da tracks, don't make you a good gambla," he said amid gales of laughter.

"Yea," added a blonde boy with an eyepatch, "all dose hot tips o' yers, an' just how many of 'em have turned out?" He turned to me. "I'se Blink, fer obvious reasons," he offered with a cheerful gesture at his patch. "An' dat's Mush, but nobody knows why, 'cause 'e won't tell."

"An' I ain't gonna, neither," Mush added forcefully.

The rest of the night was spent in laughter and fun, as the boys teased each other, and, eventually, me, about girls, weird character traits, and past events. The most common topic for me was my glasses: "Hey, four-eyes, can you see me alright?" "Professor, read me a book wit' dem specs."

Itey, a boy who had been introduced as Snitch's best friend, grinned at me and said, "Specs, I bet yer real smart wit dose glasses an' all. He sure talks smart," He said, imitating my accent. He turned to Snitch, "He doin' a lotta readin' an' stuff down at da forge?"

Snitch smiled back, "I dunno, he brought a lotta books an' papers down wit' 'im, but, so far, I ain't seen 'im at it. 'E must do all 'is studyin' in secret."

Eventually, we had to leave. Snitch informed that he spent some Saturday nights at the Lodging House with the newsies, since we didn't have work on Sunday, but today he had decided to get back to work and get a good night's sleep. I was startled at this decision, until Mush leaned over and informed me, eyes twinkling, that the girl who Snitch had watched that morning followed the same path on Sundays. Snitch answered loudly that it was time to go, and we got up. This time, the shouts of "Bye, Snitch" were smattered with the occasional, "See ya 'round, Four-Eyes," and "Catch ya later, Specs."

I grinned. I liked these newsies, and I hoped to see more of them.

SmartassLeprechaun: Thankyouthankyouthankyou for your review, which totally made my day. Oh, and by the way, leprechauns are tres cool, as is anything fairytale-ish and anything Irish. Put the two together and I can barely stand it!

Koodles4you: Brett makes me smile. And Thomas is a true Southerner. I've always wondered if it's true that Southern boys are more polite and whatnot than others, but, being from Louisiana, it's kind of hard for me to compare them to anyone. They don't seem very polite to me! And your instincts about Matthew are leading you right. Could he gasp become one of our beloved newsies?