Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies or any other media references I may make throughout the duration of this fic.

Living in Suburbia

Starring: Richard 'Snipeshooter' Conlon, Hank 'Tumbler' Peterson, Les Jacobs, Sue-Ellen Conlon, Jeremy Conlon, Alexander 'Specs' Conlon

Chapter 7—Shame Over Kin

—Snipeshooter's PoV—

When I was very young my older brothers were things to be admired. No matter how hard they fell it would always be very possible for them to pick themselves up again. Quickly.

In their shadows I always felt slightly useless and undermined. They were better than me at everything and it was as if I was expected to surpass them. I never did and sometimes I would become frustrated to the verge of tears. But they were still my brothers.

In the Conlon family you love your mother, you love your father, and, though you don't have to like them, you love your brothers.

And I do.

I still do.

My oldest brother, Specs, was everything I wanted to be. He was on the lacrosse team, had decent grades without really trying, and a full scholarship to a good university. They didn't hide it, for a shining moment Specs was their favourite and Spot and I were forgotten on the side.

Triple S was split.

Specs.

Spot.

Snipeshooter.

We weren't equal anymore, Specs was higher than us on the Love Scale.

I could see it in my father's eyes, how proud he was of Specs.

I could hear it in his voice how disappointed he was, the day we saw Specs off to Wincrest.

Specs begged us not to make him go. My mother tutted guiltily, not meeting his eyes, and my father said: "Don't be ridiculous, we're going to set things right. You're going."

He was never the same when he spoke of Specs after that. Every time someone said his name he would stiffen up and glare moodily at nothing in particular.

I wasn't proud of him after that. The wall came crashing down, I hated everything about him and I didn't want to look up to him. I didn't want to love him. I would have given anything to say I didn't know Alexander Conlon.

I was ashamed of my own flesh and blood. Shame was something Conlons were against, but it was something I couldn't help. It was something that escaped me. The ability to dismiss the feeling was impossible, it lingered everywhere I went. Anything that reminded me of Specs I hated. I couldn't watch lacrosse and I struggled through my science homework, his favourite subject.

The worst was when I'd lie to cover for him. Why should I have to cover for the mistake he made?

I suspect it was harder for Spot to think of what to tell his friends and classmates, they were bound to notice Specs was missing. For me, however, it couldn't have been easier. I could just say Specs got a new job or had a lot of homework, we didn't go to their school so no one questioned this alibi, if they had even bothered to question at all. Now though, all my lies and deceit were for nothing because everyone in Lindale reads the paper, so everyone must have read the article.

I know they must have. It's in the way they looked at me in the hallways. It was different than they ever did before. Some of them watched me with definite caution, others with fear and others still with almost pity.

But most predominately it was when they talked about me. I'd know because only when they're talking about you can you silence a classroom upon entrance.

Heads turned, a couple boys sneered, and my seat had been given away to David Jacob's little brother, Les, who didn't even have a nickname. My best friend, Tumbler, wouldn't even meet my eye.

"Get out of my seat Jacobs," I said, glaring at Les. The idiot didn't even have a nickname and he thought he would take my seat.

Les made to move. Tumbler grabbed his arm.

"Go sit at the front Richard," he said spitefully. I flinched. He never used my real name.

Les looked up with a pleading, apologetic look on his face. I sneered at him and sat down, front row centre.

Sitting there, surrounded by all the kiss-ups and kids with weird hair, wasn't any better than if I were to be taking it all personally from Tumbler.

They all ignored me, shifting away from me in their seats and whispering frantically amongst themselves.

Worst of all was the snickers and chattering I could hear coming from Tumbler. And painfully, most of the time my name was included.

Tumbler and I had been best friends since we were in preschool together. We were bonded by our peculiar nicknames, invented to shun our real ones. Richard Conlon and Hank Peterson. The two stupidest names I'd ever heard.

Tumbler's father owned a good crop of land on the outskirts of town where we would spend most of our free time. We'd collect frogs from the small pond, build tree forts, go treasure hunting, and even act like we were stuck on an island. Sometimes, at night, Mr Peterson would make us a mesh tent out of mosquito netting and we would sleep in the field. In the winter we would have the biggest snowball fights imaginable and build king-sized forts.

But Tumbler was raised in a good, honest family and what my brother did was a scandal. My brother made a mistake that not only he, but also the entire family would regret for the rest of our lives. My life was falling apart. I was a troublemaker; I never sat in front of the class. I didn't have anyone to talk to. Someone always followed me, admired me. Without this piece of weak reassurance I didn't know what I was supposed to do. Things weren't right, they weren't comfortable.

Life in grade five as I knew it was over. Even though in a few months it would be grade six.

End Chapter

((Well, chapter seven is over. I decided to give Snipeshooter a PoV because we all know that Spot is trying to find justice for his brother, but we didn't know Snipeshooter's take on it. He had a very different view, he was outwardly shamed by his brother because of his strong pride to him before. I hope that al made sense.))

Shoutouts:

C.M. Higgins—thanks Hon, I love you and your reviews, even if they are a bit random.

Erin Go Bragh—Denton always seemed a bit sleazy to me in the movie, so I tried to contradict that.

Jacky Higgins—you make me feel bad, the Canadians aren't doing too well. We did, however, just win a gold in cycling and we're all expecting something big from Perdita Felicien (hurdles) and Alexander Despatie (diving) (he's only nineseen!) (and soooo cool!).

Pidge—What do you mean? It's not wrapping up fast! The plot's still building. We won gold!!!

Icanreadncount—well, I'm never that good at prolonging stuff like that. The only thing that really means is that I wouldn't' be good a writing soap operas. Whatever, not a dream of mine!