Author's Note: Just to make sure everyone's clear on this — Swifty was just fantasizing about Manet biting Suzy's head off. No animals will be harmed at all during this story, because that's just sick... and I really like dogs. Yes, even poodles.

Disclaimer: The newsies belong to Disney, any song lyrics belong to their respective bands/artists/musicians, but I own Eric and his family, Suzy, Manet, Toulouse, and anyone else you don't recognize. I got the gallery letter from a site I found on Google, because I'm not very good at writing professional-sounding stuff.

"There will be little rubs and disappointments everywhere, and we are all apt to expect too much; but then, if one scheme of happiness fails, human nature turns to another; if the first calculation is wrong, we make the second better; we find comfort somewhere."

-Jane Austen

"We're not gonna make it to the ship, Bumlets," I sighed, leaning back and closing my eyes. "I've had this dream at least a hundred times, and not once have I reached the ship—there's no reason why we should reach it now."

"Aww, don't get all pessimistic on me now!" Bumlets laughed. He took up one of the oars in his hands, and after some reluctance I took the other.

"I dunno if I can do this again."

"Don't be such a lightweight," he chuckled.

"You don't understand. I've been doing this every night for the past three months, and I'm almost sore in the morning. It's like involuntarily taking up crew."

"Hello," said Bumlets idly, glancing down at the water. "We've got company."

"What?"

He smiled. "Sharks circling the boat this time. But don't worry—we'll make it to the ship."

Thunder rumbled overhead, drowning out my curses as I noticed the dorsal fins circling our rowboat. "This is so Homer Winslow!" I groaned. "Why did he have to be so fucking sadistic?"

"All artists are sick and twisted, in a way," said Bumlets distractedly.

"Excuse me?!"

He started. "Except you, of course."

I grinned and then put all my effort into focusing on rowing, trying to reach the ship on the horizon. The dorsal fins were really starting to freak me out—I actually thought I saw an eye at one point, which scared me almost to tears.

I was not about to start crying in front of Bumlets.

We rowed through the icy, black water for what seemed like hours, unable to talk because of lack of breath. The ship up ahead didn't seem to be getting any closer... If anything, it was getting farther away the harder we rowed. I was beginning to lose strength.

"Bumlets, I..." I gasped, trying to unfreeze my hands from the oar.

"You all right, Swifty?" he asked concernedly.

I struggled for breath. I didn't want him to think I was a lightweight, but doing this all night every night was more exhausting than I wanted to admit. At times I felt like an insomniac, working night and day without a minute of actual, relaxing sleep. "I'm—" I began, but I choked on my words and started to collapse.

"Holy crap—Swifty?!"

I didn't get to see his face before the dream melted away into blackness.

Never in my life had I been mistaken as a morning person, and today was not the day I was planning on becoming one. I heard my doorbell ringing off in the distance, but it took me a full ten minutes before I managed to wrench myself from the subconscious world and realize that one would usually go and answer the door in a situation like this.

Damn.

"Swifty?" came a soft mumble from my right. "Swift, I think there's someone at the door..."

Well, as I'm sure you could imagine, my eyes flew open when I realized that I was not alone, as I had suspected. I was used to waking up with my arms wrapped tightly around Manet's body and her nose in my ear, so it came as a bit of a shock to me when I discovered that the body I was holding close to my chest was quite human.

"Bumlets?" I managed to choke out.

"Mornin', sunshine," he said without opening his eyes. The doorbell rang again, and he groaned. "Who the hell is that at seven in the morning?" he grumbled, smushing his face into the couch to try to block out the noise.

I sat up. "Holy crap, I think it's my brother," I said, eyes wide.

"Why's he here now?"

"He wants me to take care of his poodle or something..." I sighed and pulled myself upright, muttering a few choice words as I made my way sleepily to the door. The doorbell rang again. "Yeah, I hear ya..." I yawned, and I opened the door.

Eric raised an eyebrow at me, his hands in his pockets and that politely impatient expression he always seemed to have on his face when he talked to me. Throughout our childhood everyone had always said the family resemblance between the pair of us was astonishing, but over time he had developed a more mature, confident appearance, whereas I had stayed scrawny and quiet, with dark, nervous eyes. "Heya, Tom," said Eric with a fake smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Were you asleep or something?"

"When you said you'd see me tomorrow, I didn't realize you meant first thing in the morning," I said drowsily, fighting to keep my eyes open.

"Well, we are leaving early." He glanced at his watch, then looked back at his minivan parked in my driveway. "My family's in the car, so I have to run. I'll be back for Suzy around three the day after tomorrow, all right?"

And that was when I looked down.

I could have sworn the Jaws theme song filled the air as my eyes met the eyes of that... thing, and it smiled at me. Evilly. "I am from another galaxy," it seemed to be saying. "I can see into your mind, and I am going to go into your belly-button like that bug in the Matrix." Ohh, this was going to be an interesting weekend...

"Suzy," said Eric with irritation, and I realized that he had been holding out the thing's leash for me to take.

"Oh," I said. I took the leash with trembling hands and avoided looking at it. "All right... Have a good time, I guess. See you later."

And Eric left.

"Hey Swift, who was th—AHHH!" Bumlets yelled, staggering back a couple of steps. "What the hell is THAT?!"

"My brother's 'dog'," I said, and I reached down to pat the thing on the head. It snapped at my fingers.

Bumlets stayed several feet back, staring at it. "It looks like something you'd see on Star Trek... Are you sure it's domesticated?" he asked shakily.

"In theory, yes," I answered. "According to Eric, anyway. But he's a lawyer, so he's very good at lying."

"I believe you," said Bumlets.

The thing rolled onto its stomach and wiggled its legs in the air, obviously wanting us to rub its tummy. Bumlets looked at me. "Well I'm not touching it," he said with a grin.

I sighed and squatted down next to the thing. "I can't believe I'm doing this," I muttered, and I reached forward and tentatively touched its stomach. The thing sat up and bit me on the arm.

"AHHHHHHH!" Bumlets and I yelled, leaping back and throwing our arms around each other.

"That's it, this thing is obviously part-wolf," said Bumlets, breathing hard.

"It doesn't look like it's part-wolf."

"What the hell is it, then?"

"Poodle, I think.

"That's bullshit, Swifty. It's evil."

We both suddenly realized that we had our arms tightly around each other, and pulled back awkwardly. I shoved my hands in my pockets. "So... What do you think we should do with it?"

"Feed it to the sharks," said Bumlets solemnly.

"Can't. Animal abuse, remember? We'll get busted."

"...So?"

I grinned. "The fact that I don't have any sharks with me at the moment might be a problem," I said.

"Are you kidding me?!" Bumlets sat down and put his head in his hands. "You know, I have one simple request, and that is to have sharks with frickin' laser beams attached to their heads! Now, evidently, my cycloptic colleague informs me that that can't be done. Can you remind me what I pay you people for? Honestly, throw me a frickin' bone here!"

I stared at him. "Your memory for movie quotes is unreal," I said.

"Thank you," he answered, curtsying.

The thing growled from the floor, and we both jumped. "All right, I think we should probably feed it before it decides to eat us instead," I said.

"We? Who said anything about we? It's your brother's dog, man, and I'm not going near it."

"Asshole." I picked up the leash and brought the thing into the kitchen, being careful not to look at it. Manet and Toulouse were sitting patiently by their food dishes, waiting for breakfast, but they leapt back when they saw what I had in tow. Manny stuck her tail between her legs and began to whimper, and Toulouse simply left the room.

"Um... Manny, this is Suzy," I said awkwardly. "She's staying for the weekend, so please be nice to her."

Manny left the room too.

I rubbed my hands together. "Well, that went better than I had expected."

"Dude, this dog is messed up," said Bumlets. "Look."

I looked down. The thing had wriggled under my ratty old carpet and was snoring loudly, it's small, curly tail wiggling in the air. "That," I said, "is exactly why I got two ugly mutts instead of a poodle."

"Amen," said Bumlets.

We got out the food anyway, and, stepping over the lump in the carpet, set it down next to Manet and Toulouse's dishes. "Breakfast!" I yelled. "C'mon, guys, don't leave me here with this thing!"

They ignored me, seemingly more willing to starve to death than to go near the thing snuggled under our rug.

"I think that's the mail," said Bumlets, yawning and carefully looking at anything but the Poodle from Hell. "I'll go get it—hold on."

I wanted to call "DON'T LEAVE ME!" after him, but I didn't—I didn't want him to think I was completely out of my mind. Sighing, I tossed the empty can of dog food into the trashcan in the corner, and began to search for my Cheerios. I eventually found them in the cabinet next to the sink with the broom and the sponges, and I decided not to think about how they'd gotten there. I feel like I'm seventy-five instead of twenty-five, I thought grimly, taking a handful of Cheerios and eating them dry. I was out of milk.

"AHA!" I heard Bumlets yell from outside. "THE MUSEUM WROTE BACK!"

He was probably waking up the neighbors, but I didn't really care. They all hated me anyway. I put down the box of Cheerios and hurried to the door, meeting him before he was up the steps. "Does it look good?" I asked.

"How should I know? I'm not gonna read someone else's mail, it's a federal offense!"

"Augh, you're so..." I chuckled and sat down on the steps, peeling open the envelope. Bumlets sat down beside me. "Will you read it aloud?" I asked suddenly. "I... I've been giving in art to galleries for five years, and I'm still not used to the tension that comes with the letters."

"Sure," he laughed, and he took the letter from me. He cleared his throat and read:

Dear Mr. Johnson,

Thanks you for submitting slides for my consideration and for introducing us to your work. Unfortunately, at this time we are making very few additions to our roster of artists. In reviewing your slides, I've come to the conclusion that your work doesn't fit well enough with the direction in which the gallery is moving for us to consider it further.

My heart sank to somewhere around my knees. I avoided looking at Bumlets, who had paused for a second as though he couldn't believe what he was reading.

Be aware that the choices I make in this area are completely subjective and intertwined with my personal aesthetic as well as the needs of the gallery. Thanks for your interest and enthusiasm for our project.

Sincerely,

Bob Culley

Maynard Art Gallery Director

"Asshole," said Bumlets softly. I didn't say anything, and he took the rest of the contents from the envelope and looked at them. "Is this your portfolio?" he asked.

"They sent it back?"

He didn't answer. He was staring at one of the shots, his eyes wide. He looked up at me. "Is this me?" he asked.

"No," I said quickly without looking at the painting. I knew he was looking at After The Walk In The Hurricane, and I didn't want to see it.

"It sure looks like me," he said, a grin tugging up the corner of his mouth. "You sure?"

I looked down. "Yeah, I'm sure." I was embarrassed that he had seen my rejection letter, and I was embarrassed that he was looking at my painting of him now. I hated being embarrassed around him. "I'm sorry, Bumlets," I said, and I reached forward to take the picture from him.

He touched my arm, and I froze. "Why are you sorry, Swifty?" he asked softly.

I licked my lips, unable to meet the other boy's eyes. "For painting you," I said finally. "And not telling you. I didn't... I just..." I broke off awkwardly.

"You just what?" asked Bumlets. He moved his hand up to the side of my face and brushed his thumb against my cheekbone, his eyes still fixed on mine. I drew my breath in sharply. "Why did you paint me, of all people? I mean, I'm just... I'm just fixing your roof. There's nothing special about Shane Michener." He smiled slightly and ran his fingers down the curve of my face, then took his hand away.

I closed my eyes. I couldn't say it, couldn't tell him how I watched him at every possible moment, studied how he moved his fingers, his eyes, his lips. There was an unusual grace in him that no one seemed to notice. I hadn't captured it in the painting.

Bumlets leaned forward and gently kissed my collarbone. "Holy crap," I breathed, biting my lip.

"You're so quiet sometimes," he said softly, pulling back.

"I'm not that quiet."

"No." He smiled and caught my hand in his, touching the paint stains over my knuckles and on my fingertips. "You're not that quiet. But you seem almost scared of me sometimes."

I smiled. "I'm not."

"Then kiss me, dammit," said Bumlets.

"Sure thing," I said, and I kissed him. It wasn't my first real kiss, but I sure felt like it was from the moment my lips touched his. He reached up and rested his hand against mine, and I traced my fingers along the side of his face. I was in a complete state of shock, but it felt pretty fucking good.

I really hoped my dogs weren't watching.

Bumlets pulled back suddenly, smiling and slightly breathless. "I gotta go," he panted, brushing my hair out of my eyes with a trembling hand.

"Why?" I asked, surprised.

"I just... I gotta go. I'm gonna be late for work." He stood up and looked out over the driveway, before bending down and kissing me again. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay? On the roof?"

I nodded, practically grinning from ear to ear. He started to leave, but I took hold of his arm. "Hey Bumlets?" I said awkwardly.

He looked at me. "Yeah?"

"You were wrong. Shane Michener is very, very cool." I paused, grinning slightly. "Even if he does fix roofs."

He grinned. "Thanks, Swifty."

From inside the house came an obnoxious yippy noise that sounded like a squirrel having a heart attack. I froze, wondering what the hell could be making that sound, before I remembered that I was currently being subjected to the bizarre and terrifying tendencies of Eric's killer poodle. What it was doing in there, I didn't want to know.

"Oh, and good luck with that thing," said Bumlets as an afterthought.

"Thanks. I'll need it," I answered grimly.

SHOUTOUTS.

Singin'-newsies-goil: The bass drum section?? Surely NOT! ((hides under a table))

Braids21: Honestly, I love your reviews more than anything else in this world. It's really quite amusing when they get cut off, 'cause you're always in the middle of some spaz attack. It's like "HAHA! THAT WAS SO GREAT! I—" and then it ends. You, my dear, are wonderful.

Two-Bits: Thank you! Nice penname, by the way. "Heya Weas, spot me two bits, will ya?" :-D

Obsessed wit' Aaron Lohr: Ahh! I can't tell you how glad I am you're reading this; I've missed you so!! Thanks for reviewing!

HotShot: Yeah, they definitely say "wicked" in Boxborough. I love New England so much...

Scout73: Cockapoo... ((thinks very very hard)) I have absolutely no idea what a Cockapoo is. That's bizarre. :-D

Stage: Nice curtains. ((dies laughing)) That's SO GREAT. Anyway, I'm really glad you're reading this 'cause I love your stuff. And I love how you spell Bumlets "Bumblits". Brilliant.

Sihne: Ah, my Swumlets pal!! ((glomps)) Thanks so much for the review!

Eringi: I agree; Bumlets does not get nearly enough attention. I try to write him into a lot of my stories, so— ((nudge nudge)) —you can check 'em out if you want. Lol, thanks for reviewing!

Glitz Kelly: Thank you!! ((glomps))

Dakki: MY LOVE! ((checks to see if annoyed sister is watching)) ((tackles you)) Yeah, I'll try your egg-and-ketchup-and-bacon-and-bacon-grease-wonder-bread concoction... ((coughs)) ...at some point. Thanks so much for reviewing!!

Erin Go Bragh: Thank you!! ((tackle-glomp))

Aelia O'Hession: People actually staple licorice containers to the ceilings of their cars? ((pauses)) SHWEET! Thanks for reviewing, I love you!

Geometrygal: Egg-and-ketchup sandwiches are the world, man. I read some Harry Potter fanfic a while back when James made Lily eat one of those as a sort of punishment or something, and she ended up loving it. And mine turned out to be pretty frickin' good. :-D Thanks for reviewing!

Sapphy: The queen of hidden Wayne's World references?? Oh how you flatter me, Sapphy, dahling! ((curtsies)) Thanks for reviewing—and now UPDATE MARY SUE!! I must see how you get Racetrack in the end (because you will get Racetrack in the end, of course) or else I'll have a nervous breakdown and die. And I'll miss you while I'm in the afterlife.

Author's Note: I just watched "The Breakfast Club" for the first time this morning, and I practically died laughing when Bender lit his shoe on fire. Holy crap, that's a good movie...

-Saturday