Author's Note: I'm thinking this is gonna be a relatively short project... I mean, it's only six chapters long, and I should be updating pretty regularly. I'm hoping to be done before I start school, but that might be a little too much to hope for, lol. In any case, enjoy!
Disclaimer: The newsies belong to Disney, I own West, Mouse, Tempest, and Rims, and everything else belongs to "West Side Story" (including Officer Krupke, whom I love dearly, and Anita).
.ooo.
East Side Story
Chapter II.
.ooo.
Maria!
I've just met a girl named Maria,
and suddenly that name
will never be the same to me...
Maria! I've just kissed a girl named Maria,
and suddenly I've found
how wonderful a sound can be!
Maria! Say it loud and there's music playing—
Say it soft and it's almost like praying—
Maria… I'll never stop saying Maria!
-"Maria", West Side Story
.ooo.
Dominic Lucero Orvantes y Ledesma Paredes had never been in love. In fact, nothing particularly interesting had happened to him in a very long time. He lived alone in an old, run-down tenement, and on Friday nights he met with his gang, the Sharks, in an alleyway. Indeed, meeting Kid Blink Parker was the most exciting thing that had happened to him in quite a while.
It was also rather exciting to be late for a meeting and have a plausible excuse. He had never done that before, either.
"Ah, here's the numbskull!" Racetrack called as the other boy entered the alley. "Bumlets, you're twenty minutes late. West is not pleased."
"Thank you, Racetrack, but I think I can speak for myself," said West, chuckling despite himself. He was a tall, handsome Puerto Rican with a long fingers and a narrow, angular face. "Bumlets, I trust there's a reason for your lateness?"
Bumlets ran a finger along the still bleeding cut across his face. "The Jets," he said, looking idly at the blood staining his fingertip.
West stared at him. "The Jets?" he repeated. "What the hell happened with the Jets?"
"I'll bet it was Spot Conlon," said Mouse, clenching her delicate jaw. "That jackass tried to come on to me the other day, but I gave 'im a piece of my mind. I told 'im I wasn't no weak Puerto Rican sissy girl, I said, 'You get the hell away from me before I blow your brains out,' and he--"
West placed a hand gently over her mouth. "What happened, Bumlets?" he asked as if there had been no interruption.
Bumlets shrugged. "I was leavin' home, and I passed about seven of the guys on their way to the basketball court--"
"Was Conlon there?" Mouse asked, pushing West's hand away.
"Yeah."
"And they attacked you?" West demanded.
"Brought me to the court wit 'em," said Bumlets. "It was nothing, I was just in the wrong place at the wrong--"
"They brought you to the court with 'em?" Itey repeated, eyes wide.
"And you survived?" Racetrack said incredulously.
"Was Kelly on drugs?" Tempest demanded.
"HEY!" West yelled. "Let the guy talk, all right?"
Bumlets smiled at the taller boy. "Well they kind of poked at me for a while-- Conlon, I think he's queer or somethin'. Saw my tattoo, realized where I was comin' from, dragged me over to the court. Kelly didn't' seem too interested; he just talked a little and cut open my ch--"
"What the FUCK?" Tempest leaned in and examined Bumlets' face. He was West's brother, younger by one year, and the resemblance between the two was uncanny. He had a much shorter temper than West, and it had earned him his nickname and countless injuries.
"Hey, cool it," said West softly, placing a gentle hand on his brother's shoulder. "Keep goin', Bumlets."
"And then he sort of pushed me over to this other guy," Bumlets continued. "I'm not sure what his name is. He--" He stopped, looking out over Tempest's shoulder at nothing in particular. Who was that boy, and why did Bumlets feel like he was high whenever he thought of him?
"Hey Bumlets, you done thinkin' yet?" said Racetrack impatiently.
Bumlets blinked. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I am."
They waited. "Well, what happened?" Tempest demanded finally.
"Oh." Bumlets shrugged and felt around in his pockets for a cigarette. "He let me go."
West laughed, then stopped when he realized the other boy was serious. "You're kidding, right? He just let you go?"
"I knew it! The Jets are all on drugs!"
"Shut up, Tempest."
"Yeah, he just let me go," said Bumlets with another shrug.
West chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. "I tell ya, every time I think I have those white crackers figured out, they throw me another curveball," he laughed.
A lump in the corner grunted in agreement. On closer inspection one would realize that the lump was actually an enormous human being with very little neck and a small, button nose. The lump's name was Rims, ad he was the brute-force section of the Sharks. He spoke an average of five words a day.
"Who was this merciful Jet, anyway?" Racetrack asked, a grin tugging the corner of his mouth. "Kind of a bonehead, if you ask me."
"I don' know," said Bumlets, and his eyes widened slightly as realization hit him. "I never knew his name."
"Quite the Cinderella story, eh?" said Racetrack dryly.
Itey smacked the shorter boy's shoulder. "Don't say that; the curiosity is probably killing Bumlets, isn't it?"
"Yeah," said Bumlets.
"Enough of these stories, let's get down to business!" one of the other boys called out.
"To defeat the Huns," said Tempest with a wry smile.
West grinned at him, the only one who appreciated his brother's subtle sense of humor. "Yeah, we should just be glad you made it out alive," he said to Bumlets. "You need anything for that cut? It could get infected if you keep pokin' at it like that."
"Thanks, Mom, I'll be all right."
Mouse hopped up onto one of the trashcans in order to be seen better by the rest of the boys. She was a small, dark girl with close-cropped black hair, and she had entered the gang rather by force. None of them knew where she came from or whom she lived with, but she had excellent aim with a gun and a good Puerto Rican background. Her rodent-like features, small body, and irritating, high-pitched voice had had her labeled almost immediately as Mouse, but she didn't mind the nickname-- in fact, she cherished it as a symbol of her acceptance into the gang.
"Yeah?" said Tempest impatiently.
Mouse smiled pleasantly. "I say we get over to the basketball court now and give the Jets somethin' to remember!" she yelled.
"Atta girl!" Race shouted.
Itey glanced at his watch. "It's 10:30 now, and we've all gotta get back home by midnight or else the girls are gonna flip," he said. He had always been a reasonable kind of person.
"Hey, did any of you guys hear about the public dance coming up?" asked Tempest suddenly. "Tomorrow night, at the hall down the street-- it's an all-nighter, and the Jets shouldn't be there. Could be fun, eh?"
"Will there be girls?" asked Racetrack loudly.
"Yes," said Tempest.
"Shweet," said Racetrack.
West looked at Bumlets. "You wanna come?"
Bumlets was leaning against the wall, chewing on his thumbnail. He was still amazed that he didn't know that boy's name, that he hadn't bothered to ask when they had been face to face. How the hell was he supposed to find the guy now? He racked his mind for any distinguishing features. The boy had had sandy hair and blue eyes, but so did about half of the other Jets. His average height and build were no good, either.
Bumlets blinked. An eye patch. The boy had had a light brown, leather eye patch over his left eye, like a pirate-- and it was a bit of a turn-on. "Do you know any Jets with an eye patch?" he asked finally, looking up.
Racetrack burst out laughing. "Man, this kind must've had a traumatic experience or somethin'!" he laughed, punching his friend in the arm. "One-track mind, eh, Bumlets?"
"Yeah," said West. "Yeah, that's Kid Blink Parker, I think. Nice guy, I guess. Didn't he start the Jets with Jack Kelly?"
"Nah, that was Spot Conlon," said Itey.
"Oh yeah. Hard to keep my Jets trivia straight." West smiled. "So Parker let you go?" he said to Bumlets.
"Yeah." Bumlets was staring off into space again, happy to finally be able to match Blink's face with his name. Kid Blink Parker, he thought idly. It was a rather odd nickname, but Blink's form seemed to fit into it comfortably. A sender hand into a silken glove. Night rain over a cool lake.
He was thinking in irrelevant, cheesy metaphors now. Shit.
Mouse was still sanding on the trashcan. She seemed to like the extra four feet it added to her height. "Are we goin' down to the basketball court or not?" she demanded.
"Aye aye, cap'n!" Tempest yelled.
She looked at him. "Shut up."
"We should go down there, though," said Race, shifting restlessly. "I haven't seen Spot Conlon in over a week. Life starts to get pretty boring when there aren't any homosexual, armed, angry midgets yelling obscene curses in thick Brooklyn accents at you around every corner, don't you think?"
"Hey, you are in NO POSITION to be calling anyone a midget, Mr. 5'3," said Mouse.
"Neither are you, Mrs. 5'1½," Racetrack replied smartly.
"But I wasn't calling anyone a midget."
"But you were implying that I am a midget."
"All right!" West yelled. "C'mon, you meatheads, we're headed to the basketball court to give the Jets a screwin' they'll never forget!"
"Why?" asked Bumlets, jerked out of his fantasies.
West raised his eyebrows, startled. "Well-- because they're there, and they're assholes," he said. He grinned. "And because Spot was checking you out. C'mon, guys, lets go!"
The basketball court was about ten minutes walk from the alleyway where the Sharks met. The two gangs had hated each other right from the very beginning; the Jets were pissed off that a group of no-good Puerto Ricans had invaded their territory, and the Sharks were pissed off that the Jets were pissed off. The results: total chaos.
Bumlets, however, was not looking forward to messing with the Jets tonight. In fact, he was thinking about a completely different topic altogether. He still couldn't get his mind off Kid Blink Parker, the Jet who seemed so incredibly different from all the others. Bumlets felt tortured by his lack of information about that boy; it was as though he had caught a ten-second glimpse of a movie that he would never get to see in its entirety. Damn.
"Research," said Bumlets.
"What?" said Mouse.
"Nothing."
By the end of the ten minute walk, Bumlets was rather proud of the amount of information he had been able to squeeze out of his friends about Kid Blink. He had a terrier named Edge, after U2's guitarist, but other than that he lived alone. He loved broccoli, macaroni and cheese, and the smell of sunscreen. He only liked mint chocolate-chip ice cream when it was green. He was afraid of heights. Bumlets smiled to himself and ran a hand through his hair, savoring his new trivia.
"Hey." Itey took his friend's arm and led him gently from the rest of the Sharks. "What's up?"
Bumlets lifted an eyebrow. "...The sky?"
"No-- augh, you're so-- I mean, why do you keep asking about this Parker guy? Did he...?" Itey squirmed slightly.
"What? NO! Ahhh, Itey, that's--"
"All right, all right, I'm sorry I asked!" said Itey, throwing his hands into the air. "It's just that you see a little ... preoccupied, I guess, thinkin' about him."
Bumlets paused. "I--"
"Yo Méndez, what the hell're you doin' here?" someone called.
The Puerto Ricans looked up to find themselves face to face with the Jets' leader, Jack Kelly. Behind him was the rest of his gang, apparently just coming back from the basketball court. Needless to say, none of them looked particularly happy to see an invading gang in their territory.
West stepped forward. Jack Kelly was the only person who ever got away with calling the Puerto Rican by his last name instead of his nickname. "We heard you were messin' with our pal, Bumlets, here," West said softly. He had been blessed with the gift of keeping people's attention without raising his voice.
"Yeah," said Jack coolly. "Woulda done more if Blink hadn't been such a moron. Anyway, what do you wanna do 'bout it, Rican?"
West looked calmly at the other boy. "This," he said, and he slammed his fist into the side of Jack's face.
Several of the Sharks whooped and cheered, and most of the Jets rushed forward to fight back at the Puerto Ricans. In the midst of it all, Bumlets spotted Blink standing rather awkwardly at the back of the crowd next to a dark boy Bumlets didn't recognize. Then the police were upon them, herding the two groups apart and yelling angrily about God knows what.
"Ah, Officer Krupke!" said Spot, hurrying forward and smiling enchantingly at the big, beefy policeman. "You know, I was just thinkin' about you. My--"
"Hold it, Conlon, you're not sweet-talkin' your way out of this one," Krupke said flatly.
Spot's smile did not falter. "What do you mean, Officer?"
"This Rican boy hurt you, Kelly?" asked Krupke, turning to Jack.
"No, sir."
"Why is your face bleeding?"
"Ran into a wall, sir."
West was gently rubbing his bruised knuckles, his brother's hand on his shoulder. Neither of them flinched as Krupke turned to him and brought his big, red face up close to theirs. "Did you punch Kelly?" he demanded.
"No, sir," said West quietly.
"So this is all just some big, friendly powwow?" Krupke yelled.
"Yes, sir."
Krupke glanced at one of the policewomen, who shrugged, and walked back over to the Jets. "Well if these crazy immigrants give you any trouble, let me know, all right?" he said quietly.
"Will do," said Spot offhandedly, obviously not really listening. "All right, Officer, we'll see you around. We're just gonna continue our... friendly chat now, okay?"
"Bye!" chorused the two gangs, and Jack and West put their arms around each other's shoulders like brothers and grinned cheerily at him.
Krupke narrowed his eyes at them. "If I hear any more--"
"You won't!" said Spot quickly, and he slid his arm around Racetrack's waist. "See, we're having fun. Hooray! Good night, Officer Krupke!"
Krupke gave them one last suspicious look before signaling his fellow policemen to follow him away down the street. The teenagers watched the men until they were out of sight, and then the two groups separated as quickly as they could.
"I think I got cooties..." Racetrack muttered.
"RACE GERMS! HELP!" Spot yelped, wiping his hands on Swifty's rear end.
"Hey, watch it!" Swifty snapped, and he hurried to the safety of Specs and Dutchy.
Jack spat blood onto the sidewalk and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand; apparently his teeth had cut into the inside of his cheek when West had hit him. "We'll settle this later, Méndez."
"Catcha later, Cowboy," said West dryly. "C'mon, boys, let's get the hell out of this place. I'm feeling slightly sick, myself."
.ooo.
"My, you're looking spiffed up tonight," said Racetrack with a grin. "C'mon in, Itey's in the kitchen."
Bumlets entered the small apartment, closing the door behind him. "You guys almost ready?"
"Is that Bumlets?" called Itey from the other room.
"Yeah, now get your ass in here or we're gonna be late!" Race yelled back. "Have you seen my pants?"
"Do you really think I look 'spiffed up'?" Bumlets asked anxiously as Itey emerged from the kitchen, toothbrush in mouth.
"No, of course not," Race answered distractedly, sifting through the mountain of clothes on his bed.
Bumlets glanced at him. "Nice underwear," he noted
"Shut up, Bumlets."
"Y'know, I never thought of you as a briefs kind of person..."
"Shut UP, Bumlets!"
Itey laughed, choked on the toothpaste in his mouth, and ran back into the kitchen to spit it out. "Aha!" Racetrack yelled suddenly. "Who put my pants here? ITEY!"
"Time to go, boys, gotta pick up my sister," said Itey quickly, hurrying past Racetrack and out the door with a guilty expression on his face. Bumlets followed him, chuckling, and Racetrack managed to pull on his pants and catch up in time to smack Itey upside the head.
Bumlets had always liked to think of himself as a fairly decent dancer. Indeed, more often than not a young Puerto Rican girl, a slender, dark creature, would approach him on the dance floor and ask to be his partner-- which would cause Racetrack to flick his friend in the side of the head when the young beauty wasn't looking.
Tonight was no different. The three boys had not been on the floor for longer than five minutes when Bumlets felt a slender arm wrap irritatingly around his chest and heard a soft voice in his ear: "Dominic, I haven't seen you in almost two weeks."
"Oh, hey, Anita," said Bumlets resignedly.
She turned him around and looked him over, her hips swaying to the beat of the music. "You look great," she said.
"Yeah, you too," and she did. Her glossy, black hair was pulled to the back of her head in a sort of elegant knot, and she was wearing a dress made of a material that flowed nicely over her curves. She smiled flirtatiously at him, tilting her head to the side, and he looked away.
Anita frowned prettily. "You want to dance?" she asked, and he nodded. "Good." She took both his hands in hers and led him to the center of the floor, where the music was loud and the air was smoky. She was very happy.
Bumlets didn't recognize the song, and it didn't help that he was dancing with a girl in whom he had no sexual interest whatsoever. He allowed her to put his hands on her narrow waist, and the pair of them moved in time to the music. They passed West, who had his arms around Itey's sister, Leya, and who was looking most pleased with himself. "She's fantastic," he whispered to Bumlets.
Bumlets grinned at him. "Guess Itey should be expectin' you over for dinner sometime soon," he chuckled.
"Yeah," said West. He looked over Bumlets' shoulder, and the smile on his face flickered and faded. "Shit..." he muttered.
Jack Kelly was a few yards away in the crowded room, dancing with his girlfriend, Sarah Jacobs. He noticed Bumlets watching them and smiled mockingly, but Sarah pulled him away before he could do anything else.
Anita pressed her cheek against Bumlets'. "What are you thinking about?"
"You don't wanna know," he answered charmingly, and the song segued into something much faster. The change startled Bumlets slightly, but Anita reacted well and pulled him closer to her.
"Loosen up," she commanded, and he did, working their hips together. She was a very competent follower, and he swung her out to the extent of both their arms, pulled her back in, spun her under his arm, and together they stepped back, forward, side, back, his hand tightly gripping her waist, hers around his neck. The music was pounding through him, vibrating in his ribcage, until his heartbeat seemed to match the rhythm of the lyrics and he could no longer see anyone but his partner.
"You're doing very well," Anita whispered.
"Thank you."
Her stiletto heels clicked gently on the floor as he swung her out again and she moved alone through the sea of dancers. He reeled her back in until both their arms were wrapped gently around her body, and they stepped in time to the beat again. It was nothing particularly creative, sort of a combination of all the dances they knew, but they both pulled it off spectacularly.
And then something unusual happened.
Dominic Lucero Orvantes y Ledesma Paredes was not the type of person who got distracted while he was dancing; but by the slightest chance he glanced up while he was dipping Anita low, and he saw something that threw him offbeat completely. Kid Blink Parker was making his way through the crowd directly toward the dancing couple, looking nervous and wound-up and more beautiful than Bumlets had remembered him to be.
Bumlets almost dropped Anita. She cursed loudly and stumbled back, the clicking of her heels no lounger gentle and delicate. He ignored her and watched Kid Blink draw nearer, suddenly inexplicably excited and tense and even slightly nauseous.
"I've been thinkin' about you," said Blink quietly once he had reached the other boy.
Bumlets smiled. "I've been thinkin' about you, too."
.ooo.
Dear kindly Sergeant Krupke,
You gotta understand,
It's just our bringin' up-ke
That gets us out of hand.
Our mothers all are junkies,
Our fathers all are drunks.
Golly Moses, natcherly we're punks!
Gee, Officer Krupke, we're very upset;
We never had the love that every child oughta get.
We ain't no delinquents,
We're misunderstood.
Deep down inside us there is good!
There is good!
There is good, there is good,
There is untapped good!
Like inside the worst of us is good!
-"Officer Krupke", West Side Story
.ooo.
Author's Note: And there you have it. Thanks to Sapphy, Aura, Repeat, Dakki, singin'-newsies-goil, Braids21, Dreamer110, Madison Square, Eagle Higgins-Conlon, and Coin for reviewing, I love you with an affection unspeakable!! ((tackles you all)) More coming soon-- please leave a review, constructive criticism is welcome!
-Saturday
