Dashing across the crowded streets of Brooklyn was no easy task at midday,
just as gentlemen left their offices for lunch with extremely important
clients in Manhattan and as young children picking pockets (nearly
invisible in the crowds) swarmed about in hopes of procuring a quarter from
an unsuspecting businessman. Roxy reached into her own pocket to feel for
the change she had already earned that day and, satisfied that each coin
was still there, she raced across the street. "Out of the way!" an elegant-
looking but equally irritated driver bellowed at the newsgirl as she bolted
through the path of a luxurious carriage, which could have crushed her
entire body in an instant. With a barely audible sigh of relief, she leapt
to the sidewalk and mentally cursed the poor headlines.
"What's wid ya tahday, Roxy?" Mist asked with a curious tilt of her head. "Your mind's all ovah da place."
The chestnut-haired girl shrugged helplessly. "I dunno. I must not have gotten enough sleep last night or something."
"Is your arm botherin' ya? I don't care what Smoke said; it looks pretty bad ta me."
At the memory of Bulldog and the brick wall, Roxy winced silently. However, she shook her head at her friend and forced a smile. "It's fine, really. I've had much worse."
Mist bit at the corner of her lower lip as she considered the truth of the newsgirl's statement. "Well…" she finally murmured, sounding only half-convinced, "all right. But maybe we'se should break for lunch early tahday. And if deah's a sign of trouble, be careful."
"Well, my plans did involve hurling myself off of the Brooklyn Bridge, but since you asked so nicely…" she replied somewhat facetiously.
"Hey, I'se jus' lookin' out for ya," Mist commented sincerely and solemnly, then turned away to lift a paper high into the air. "Millionaire runs away ta da Berkshires! Family claims insanity!" she cried to the masses.
Roxy's eyes were focused on the front page of one of her papers, making it appear as though she were intently scanning the headlines for a deliciously scandalous article, or at least one she could embellish. At that moment, however, her mind was a thousand miles from Brooklyn. Slightly smudged black letters began to swirl together as thoughts clouded her eyes.
So Spot's doing something in Manhattan…although I have no idea what or why. He rarely goes there, even to visit Jack. And even though he's selling again today, he still doesn't seem like himself. Usually he'd be flirting with all of the girls and competing with Duck for the title of best aim with a slingshot. He's barely said anything to anyone for days, except this morning…
She had been rushing about the girls' bunkroom in a sleepy haze, attempting to find a stray pair of shoelaces while politely listening to Rabbit's weekly lament of boyfriends (who always seemed so perfect for her until she actually began to date them). It seemed to be a bad morning for the other Brooklyn girls as well. Leap insisted that Peach had lost her hairbrush; Stormy stomped around, mumbling about how "all men are pigs," and glaring at even the most innocent of newsboys; and Imp, the youngest and fiercest newsgirl, had bitten Cardinal on the thigh when the redhead had attempted to brush out Imp's mass of ebony tangles. Roxy hadn't even noticed that Spot had entered the bunkroom (it was rather difficult to hear footsteps with Rabbit moaning, Stormy grumbling, and Cardinal shrieking) until he stood before her.
"Hey," he greeted her, taking a seat on the bunk across from Roxy's. "Wagah told me about what happened da oddah day. Ya okay?"
Roxy blinked, surprised that Spot had mentioned it when he had seemed so distracted lately. "Um, yeah, it's nothing, really. I mean, it wasn't exactly the thrill of my life to have been slammed into a brick wall, but it could've been worse. Grin was great; I'm really glad he showed up."
Spot nodded solemnly, although his eyes were on the floor rather than the newsgirl. "Yeah. Let me know if anyt'ing else happens, all right?"
"Sure," Roxy murmured, unable to contain a slightly bewildered tone. She watched the leader of the Brooklyn newsies rise slowly, almost unwillingly, to his feet and stride towards the door. He was about to step through the doorway when he turned on his heel to face the newsgirl once again.
"Roxy?" he said so softly that she had to strain to hear him over the dulled chatter of the bunkroom.
"Yeah?"
An emotion Roxy could not identify swelled in the air between them. "Nothin'; nevah mind." With that, Spot whirled around and marched out of the room before she even had the opportunity to say good-bye.
She had sat there for quite a while, staring at the empty doorframe and wondering what Spot could have wanted to say to her. Finally, Leap's cries that she was 'moving slower than molasses uphill in January and would be lucky if she even got crumbs for breakfast,' served to return Roxy to reality. She followed her fellow newsgirls out of the lodging house with a mind saturated with questions and a stomach twisting into an anxious, painful knot.
"Hey," Mist's suspicious voice angrily interjected into Roxy's thoughts, returning the girl to the sidewalks of Brooklyn, "check out da next cornah."
She followed her friend's gaze to see two other newsies, one male and one female, standing several feet away. On any other occasion, they would have melted into the crowd of governesses with strollers and Italian workmen dotted with perspiration. But Roxy's eyes immediately narrowed at the sight while her knuckles whitened as she gripped her newspapers. The smugly grinning newsies were Cotton and Swing of the Debler Street Lodging House.
Automatically, both Mist and Roxy extracted their slingshots from their back pockets. Mist nodded towards the duo as she remarked, "I'll take Swing and you'se get Cotton. And be careful."
Roxy could not contain a scowl. Rolling her eyes petulantly, she wondered if anyone would ever stop thinking of her as the weakest member of the Brooklyn Lodging House. "You too," she replied, more out of irritation than of concern. Before her friend could even reply, Roxy darted into the streets, receiving the disgruntled glare of those she pushed passed.
"…ten times beddah den da crowds at Deblah," Swing commented to his companion as he scanned the scene before him. "Imagine how much we'll make when we'se da ones who own dis territory."
"Steak and lobstah for dinnah ev'ry night," Cotton declared with an arrogant grin. "Ya know, da only reason why da Brooklyn newsies are so great is 'cause of da area. We'se gonna be doin' even beddah when we get deir location."
"Da only t'ing dat's been keepin' us away for so long is Spot." He shrugged indifferently.
She nodded. "And widout Spot ta worry about-" she was replying when Swing yelled out in pain. His newspapers fell to a puddle of mud in the gutter as he reached up to his reddening temple.
"What da hell?!" he cried, his face becoming a color similar to his temple, although for a very different reason.
"I always knew da Deblah Street newsies was stupid," Mist mentioned casually as she and Roxy stepped out of the crowds, their slingshots drawn back and aimed at their enemies' faces. "I jus' nevah knew dat it'd take more den one beatin' ta get somet'ing simple t'rough you'se skull."
Swing and Cotton glanced anxiously at each other, bemoaning the fact that they had trekked so deeply into Spot's territory and wishing that they possessed similar weapons. Casting each other simultaneous nods, they turned on their heels and dashed down the sidewalks in opposite directions.
Before they could even converse, Roxy and Mist had both bolted after the respective newsies. I hope Mist catches him, Roxy aimlessly thought as she trailed the female Debler Street newsie, dodging appalled pedestrians and irritated vendors. Grinning to herself, she continued, He'd better hope otherwise! Discounting Roxy, the Brooklyn girls were infamously good fighters, and Mist (despite her practical and prudent nature) was one of the best.
Within minutes, Cotton had led Roxy to the edge of Spot's territory, where unkempt tenements loomed and the potent stenches of rotting beef and uncollected garbage pierced the air. The brunette newsgirl's heart pounded madly against her chest and her breaths came in quick, broken intervals, but her feet automatically pushed her forward.
Cotton, who was still several feet in front of Roxy at the time, ducked behind a cart filled with wilted cabbages and into a desolate alley. Roxy had turned the corner, attempting to follow the girl, when she found herself sprawled on the grimy pavement, her face burning in pain. The sound of a piece of wood tossed to the ground echoed in the alley, followed by footsteps sprinting away.
What am I, the Debler Street newsies' official punching bag? Roxy wondered as she rubbed her nose (thankfully not broken, although blood had started to trickle) and lifted herself off of the ground. Slingshot poised, she cautiously peaked into the alley before stepping forward.
Empty. Okay, so now what? She peered down into the dank, shadowed depths of the alley. Several dented trash cans squatted against a tall wooden fence. Wiry cats with suspicious eyes skulked in between the piles of garbage in hopes of discovering a fat, unsuspecting mouse. The pieces of a broken wooden crate (one of which Roxy supposed that Cotton had used to hit the Brooklyn newsgirl's face) were strewn by her rise. Glancing back at the fence, Roxy pursed her lips. I wonder…
Ignoring the throbbing pain in her nose, she rushed towards the fence and lifted herself up on the sturdiest trashcan she could find. Carefully, she gazed over the wall and into the next alley, where, in the distance, she caught sight of the silhouette of a running girl. Her better judgment pleading otherwise, she quietly climbed over the fence and trailed the Debler Street newsie like a shadow.
So maybe this isn't the best idea I've ever had, Roxy remarked as she ducked behind the stoop of an apartment building to avoid Cotton's suspicious gaze of her surroundings. I'm in unfamiliar territory, and there are a lot more of them than there are of me. Not to mention that I probably couldn't take them even if I weren't so vastly outnumbered.
Cotton, feeling particularly confident that she had successfully lost Roxy (if not seriously injured her), sauntered casually back to the Debler Street Lodging House. She was met by the grim, rough countenances of her fellow newsies, who were all seated on the building's front steps, and the dark, malicious eyes of Jackal. From behind a nearby cart of slightly stale fruit and vegetables, Roxy held her breath and strained to hear their conversation.
"Heya, Cotton," Jackal drawled slowly, as though he considered each word carefully before he spoke.
Under the cold stares of the newsies, she apprehensively twisted her long hair around her finger. "Heya, Jackal, guys…so's da aftahnoon pape ready?"
Jackal didn't respond, only moved to rose from his position on the stairs. He moved slowly, deliberately, towards Cotton, who suddenly seemed fascinated by the hole in her right boot. His bloodless lips were set in such a thin, straight line that they seemed almost nonexistent. Roxy unconsciously shuddered at the image of what seemed to be the mouth of a living corpse.
"So, ya went inta Spot's territory tahday, huh, Cotton?" he prompted with a seemingly pleasant voice.
"Um, yeah…" she murmured, momentarily gazing at her friends for help. Their callous expressions remained unchanged. "Me and Swing went. Real good crowds down deah."
Before she could continue in her high-pitched, anxious tone, Jackal reached back and smacked her smartly on the side of the head. His eyes had become dangerous slits and he breathed hard as he glowered at the wincing girl before him. "Now listen ta me," he hissed sharply. Vaguely, Roxy thought that a more fitting nickname for the leader of the Debler Street newsies would be Viper. "Ya don't go ta deir territory unless I say so. I don't care how great da crowds are ovah deah. We ain't gonna get dat unless ya start wisin' up and listenin' ta me."
"But…but I t'ought dat…ya wanted us ta get inta Spot's territory so-" she squeaked.
"So we ain't gonna get Spot's territory if ya keep doin' stupid t'ings like dat," he growled in interruption. "Of coise I said for some of us ta sneak inta deir turf. Guys like Bulldog and Dash, who can find out t'ings widout gettin' chased away by some Brooklyn bitches." Roxy's frown deepened at the insult, and recalled how Bulldog had been 'chased away' only a few days prior. "If ya start jus' waltzin' inta deir territory, dey're gonna wise up befoah we'se ready and we'll nevah get da bedda area. We gotta wait until Spot's completely lost it- maybe even when he's run outta his own lodgin' house- befoah we can get rid of da Brooklyn newsies and finally take what we desoive." His eyes narrowed and his tone dropped dangerous. "Do ya wanna be stuck heah forevah?"
Cotton gulped. "No," she spat out."
Raising his chin assuredly, Jack took a small step backwards. "Good. Don't forget dat, or next time it'll be far woise." He turned swiftly on his heel and cast a cold glance at the other newsies before marching into the lodging house. Instead of slamming shut, the door swung to a quiet close behind him, as though to emphasize the complete power he held over the others.
Heart pounding, Roxy became a statue as she watched the Debler Street newsies sluggishly follow their leader inside. So that's it, she thought grimly. They don't just want our territory;, they want us completely gone. A chill wind enveloped the girl as she wondered what methods would Jackal use to obtain his goal.
"What's wid ya tahday, Roxy?" Mist asked with a curious tilt of her head. "Your mind's all ovah da place."
The chestnut-haired girl shrugged helplessly. "I dunno. I must not have gotten enough sleep last night or something."
"Is your arm botherin' ya? I don't care what Smoke said; it looks pretty bad ta me."
At the memory of Bulldog and the brick wall, Roxy winced silently. However, she shook her head at her friend and forced a smile. "It's fine, really. I've had much worse."
Mist bit at the corner of her lower lip as she considered the truth of the newsgirl's statement. "Well…" she finally murmured, sounding only half-convinced, "all right. But maybe we'se should break for lunch early tahday. And if deah's a sign of trouble, be careful."
"Well, my plans did involve hurling myself off of the Brooklyn Bridge, but since you asked so nicely…" she replied somewhat facetiously.
"Hey, I'se jus' lookin' out for ya," Mist commented sincerely and solemnly, then turned away to lift a paper high into the air. "Millionaire runs away ta da Berkshires! Family claims insanity!" she cried to the masses.
Roxy's eyes were focused on the front page of one of her papers, making it appear as though she were intently scanning the headlines for a deliciously scandalous article, or at least one she could embellish. At that moment, however, her mind was a thousand miles from Brooklyn. Slightly smudged black letters began to swirl together as thoughts clouded her eyes.
So Spot's doing something in Manhattan…although I have no idea what or why. He rarely goes there, even to visit Jack. And even though he's selling again today, he still doesn't seem like himself. Usually he'd be flirting with all of the girls and competing with Duck for the title of best aim with a slingshot. He's barely said anything to anyone for days, except this morning…
She had been rushing about the girls' bunkroom in a sleepy haze, attempting to find a stray pair of shoelaces while politely listening to Rabbit's weekly lament of boyfriends (who always seemed so perfect for her until she actually began to date them). It seemed to be a bad morning for the other Brooklyn girls as well. Leap insisted that Peach had lost her hairbrush; Stormy stomped around, mumbling about how "all men are pigs," and glaring at even the most innocent of newsboys; and Imp, the youngest and fiercest newsgirl, had bitten Cardinal on the thigh when the redhead had attempted to brush out Imp's mass of ebony tangles. Roxy hadn't even noticed that Spot had entered the bunkroom (it was rather difficult to hear footsteps with Rabbit moaning, Stormy grumbling, and Cardinal shrieking) until he stood before her.
"Hey," he greeted her, taking a seat on the bunk across from Roxy's. "Wagah told me about what happened da oddah day. Ya okay?"
Roxy blinked, surprised that Spot had mentioned it when he had seemed so distracted lately. "Um, yeah, it's nothing, really. I mean, it wasn't exactly the thrill of my life to have been slammed into a brick wall, but it could've been worse. Grin was great; I'm really glad he showed up."
Spot nodded solemnly, although his eyes were on the floor rather than the newsgirl. "Yeah. Let me know if anyt'ing else happens, all right?"
"Sure," Roxy murmured, unable to contain a slightly bewildered tone. She watched the leader of the Brooklyn newsies rise slowly, almost unwillingly, to his feet and stride towards the door. He was about to step through the doorway when he turned on his heel to face the newsgirl once again.
"Roxy?" he said so softly that she had to strain to hear him over the dulled chatter of the bunkroom.
"Yeah?"
An emotion Roxy could not identify swelled in the air between them. "Nothin'; nevah mind." With that, Spot whirled around and marched out of the room before she even had the opportunity to say good-bye.
She had sat there for quite a while, staring at the empty doorframe and wondering what Spot could have wanted to say to her. Finally, Leap's cries that she was 'moving slower than molasses uphill in January and would be lucky if she even got crumbs for breakfast,' served to return Roxy to reality. She followed her fellow newsgirls out of the lodging house with a mind saturated with questions and a stomach twisting into an anxious, painful knot.
"Hey," Mist's suspicious voice angrily interjected into Roxy's thoughts, returning the girl to the sidewalks of Brooklyn, "check out da next cornah."
She followed her friend's gaze to see two other newsies, one male and one female, standing several feet away. On any other occasion, they would have melted into the crowd of governesses with strollers and Italian workmen dotted with perspiration. But Roxy's eyes immediately narrowed at the sight while her knuckles whitened as she gripped her newspapers. The smugly grinning newsies were Cotton and Swing of the Debler Street Lodging House.
Automatically, both Mist and Roxy extracted their slingshots from their back pockets. Mist nodded towards the duo as she remarked, "I'll take Swing and you'se get Cotton. And be careful."
Roxy could not contain a scowl. Rolling her eyes petulantly, she wondered if anyone would ever stop thinking of her as the weakest member of the Brooklyn Lodging House. "You too," she replied, more out of irritation than of concern. Before her friend could even reply, Roxy darted into the streets, receiving the disgruntled glare of those she pushed passed.
"…ten times beddah den da crowds at Deblah," Swing commented to his companion as he scanned the scene before him. "Imagine how much we'll make when we'se da ones who own dis territory."
"Steak and lobstah for dinnah ev'ry night," Cotton declared with an arrogant grin. "Ya know, da only reason why da Brooklyn newsies are so great is 'cause of da area. We'se gonna be doin' even beddah when we get deir location."
"Da only t'ing dat's been keepin' us away for so long is Spot." He shrugged indifferently.
She nodded. "And widout Spot ta worry about-" she was replying when Swing yelled out in pain. His newspapers fell to a puddle of mud in the gutter as he reached up to his reddening temple.
"What da hell?!" he cried, his face becoming a color similar to his temple, although for a very different reason.
"I always knew da Deblah Street newsies was stupid," Mist mentioned casually as she and Roxy stepped out of the crowds, their slingshots drawn back and aimed at their enemies' faces. "I jus' nevah knew dat it'd take more den one beatin' ta get somet'ing simple t'rough you'se skull."
Swing and Cotton glanced anxiously at each other, bemoaning the fact that they had trekked so deeply into Spot's territory and wishing that they possessed similar weapons. Casting each other simultaneous nods, they turned on their heels and dashed down the sidewalks in opposite directions.
Before they could even converse, Roxy and Mist had both bolted after the respective newsies. I hope Mist catches him, Roxy aimlessly thought as she trailed the female Debler Street newsie, dodging appalled pedestrians and irritated vendors. Grinning to herself, she continued, He'd better hope otherwise! Discounting Roxy, the Brooklyn girls were infamously good fighters, and Mist (despite her practical and prudent nature) was one of the best.
Within minutes, Cotton had led Roxy to the edge of Spot's territory, where unkempt tenements loomed and the potent stenches of rotting beef and uncollected garbage pierced the air. The brunette newsgirl's heart pounded madly against her chest and her breaths came in quick, broken intervals, but her feet automatically pushed her forward.
Cotton, who was still several feet in front of Roxy at the time, ducked behind a cart filled with wilted cabbages and into a desolate alley. Roxy had turned the corner, attempting to follow the girl, when she found herself sprawled on the grimy pavement, her face burning in pain. The sound of a piece of wood tossed to the ground echoed in the alley, followed by footsteps sprinting away.
What am I, the Debler Street newsies' official punching bag? Roxy wondered as she rubbed her nose (thankfully not broken, although blood had started to trickle) and lifted herself off of the ground. Slingshot poised, she cautiously peaked into the alley before stepping forward.
Empty. Okay, so now what? She peered down into the dank, shadowed depths of the alley. Several dented trash cans squatted against a tall wooden fence. Wiry cats with suspicious eyes skulked in between the piles of garbage in hopes of discovering a fat, unsuspecting mouse. The pieces of a broken wooden crate (one of which Roxy supposed that Cotton had used to hit the Brooklyn newsgirl's face) were strewn by her rise. Glancing back at the fence, Roxy pursed her lips. I wonder…
Ignoring the throbbing pain in her nose, she rushed towards the fence and lifted herself up on the sturdiest trashcan she could find. Carefully, she gazed over the wall and into the next alley, where, in the distance, she caught sight of the silhouette of a running girl. Her better judgment pleading otherwise, she quietly climbed over the fence and trailed the Debler Street newsie like a shadow.
So maybe this isn't the best idea I've ever had, Roxy remarked as she ducked behind the stoop of an apartment building to avoid Cotton's suspicious gaze of her surroundings. I'm in unfamiliar territory, and there are a lot more of them than there are of me. Not to mention that I probably couldn't take them even if I weren't so vastly outnumbered.
Cotton, feeling particularly confident that she had successfully lost Roxy (if not seriously injured her), sauntered casually back to the Debler Street Lodging House. She was met by the grim, rough countenances of her fellow newsies, who were all seated on the building's front steps, and the dark, malicious eyes of Jackal. From behind a nearby cart of slightly stale fruit and vegetables, Roxy held her breath and strained to hear their conversation.
"Heya, Cotton," Jackal drawled slowly, as though he considered each word carefully before he spoke.
Under the cold stares of the newsies, she apprehensively twisted her long hair around her finger. "Heya, Jackal, guys…so's da aftahnoon pape ready?"
Jackal didn't respond, only moved to rose from his position on the stairs. He moved slowly, deliberately, towards Cotton, who suddenly seemed fascinated by the hole in her right boot. His bloodless lips were set in such a thin, straight line that they seemed almost nonexistent. Roxy unconsciously shuddered at the image of what seemed to be the mouth of a living corpse.
"So, ya went inta Spot's territory tahday, huh, Cotton?" he prompted with a seemingly pleasant voice.
"Um, yeah…" she murmured, momentarily gazing at her friends for help. Their callous expressions remained unchanged. "Me and Swing went. Real good crowds down deah."
Before she could continue in her high-pitched, anxious tone, Jackal reached back and smacked her smartly on the side of the head. His eyes had become dangerous slits and he breathed hard as he glowered at the wincing girl before him. "Now listen ta me," he hissed sharply. Vaguely, Roxy thought that a more fitting nickname for the leader of the Debler Street newsies would be Viper. "Ya don't go ta deir territory unless I say so. I don't care how great da crowds are ovah deah. We ain't gonna get dat unless ya start wisin' up and listenin' ta me."
"But…but I t'ought dat…ya wanted us ta get inta Spot's territory so-" she squeaked.
"So we ain't gonna get Spot's territory if ya keep doin' stupid t'ings like dat," he growled in interruption. "Of coise I said for some of us ta sneak inta deir turf. Guys like Bulldog and Dash, who can find out t'ings widout gettin' chased away by some Brooklyn bitches." Roxy's frown deepened at the insult, and recalled how Bulldog had been 'chased away' only a few days prior. "If ya start jus' waltzin' inta deir territory, dey're gonna wise up befoah we'se ready and we'll nevah get da bedda area. We gotta wait until Spot's completely lost it- maybe even when he's run outta his own lodgin' house- befoah we can get rid of da Brooklyn newsies and finally take what we desoive." His eyes narrowed and his tone dropped dangerous. "Do ya wanna be stuck heah forevah?"
Cotton gulped. "No," she spat out."
Raising his chin assuredly, Jack took a small step backwards. "Good. Don't forget dat, or next time it'll be far woise." He turned swiftly on his heel and cast a cold glance at the other newsies before marching into the lodging house. Instead of slamming shut, the door swung to a quiet close behind him, as though to emphasize the complete power he held over the others.
Heart pounding, Roxy became a statue as she watched the Debler Street newsies sluggishly follow their leader inside. So that's it, she thought grimly. They don't just want our territory;, they want us completely gone. A chill wind enveloped the girl as she wondered what methods would Jackal use to obtain his goal.