When routines become repetitive

And it's hard to survive

We just need someone competitive

To finally arrive

I hate mornings.

I hate the way the sun shines through my eyelids and burns a red glow into my eyes. I hate the way Kloppman stomps upstairs and wakes me up first, shouting my name and tapping the side of my bed. I hate the way the other boys become excited at the opportunity of a new day. Hate it. I don't see what's so thrilling about selling papers. How can they seriously have fun trudging through New York and shouting until their voices become hoarse? But, then again, they have it easier than I do. People don't swat them away or swear at them.

I guess I shouldn't be ashamed of what I am…My mother always said to keep my head high and slough off the insults. And I do, condoning the comments of the public is fine for me. But when things get physical, I can't just ignore it. I can't just ignore the pain of broken ribs, bloody wounds, and black eyes. I don't even try to fight back anymore. The more resilience and resistance I show, the more punches I get. I'm like a target, and someone is always just around the corner with a bow and arrows in their hands. Yeah, there's always some being patient to get a bulls-eye. Ready, aim, fire.

So, as you can guess, I wasn't eager to wake up this morning. But somehow, there was a difference. I mean, I couldn't see it, but I could feel it. I didn't mention it to anyone, especially not Jack. He knows the feeling too well, the feeling that something beautiful is bound to cross your path. I didn't feel like getting advice from him today. This feeling was something I needed to sort out on my own.

"'Mornin' Boots!" Snipeshooter said as I walked into the bathroom. He had another one of Race's cigars in his mouth and was chewing contently on the tip.

"Race'll kill ya for stealin' that, Snipe," I warned him.

"Aw, relax. It ain't like I'm smokin' it or nothin'"

"Yeah, but Race has a hangover. He ain't in the mood for that sorta thing."

The truth was, Racetrack was completely sober this morning. But I was getting kind of annoyed by Snipe's attitude. He carried his pride like a trophy, boasting about it to everyone in site. I know I was being spiteful, but I just wanted to see him timid for once.

"Oh…"

Snipeshooter tossed the cigar onto the counter of the sink while he brushed his teeth. I sighed. The feeling I'd possessed a few minutes ago seemed to have corroded. The daily routine would continue, and nothing good was going to happen.

"What's wrong?" Skittery asked as he came out of a bathroom stall.

"Huh? Oh, nothing…"

Unlike Skittery, I didn't broadcast my complaints to everyone around me. I have enough problems already; I don't need people thinking I'm a whining, selfish child. Skittery looked at me, his eyes searching my face for more signs of trouble.

"Ya sure? Ya seem kinda down."

"Nah, I'm fine. Just tired."

Skittery nodded empathically and walked over to Jack to strike up a conversation. I listened to them for a moment, but their chatter wasn't that interesting. I turned around, but Snipeshooter was gone. He was probably already downstairs by now. I grumbled and stumbled into a stall, crashing into Crutchy on my way over. He smiled and apologized, then continued on his way. Crutchy was a fascinating person, in my opinion. Even though he had a bad leg and could only hobble around, he never seemed sad. Maybe I could learn something from him sometime.

When I swung the door open, I tripped over someone on the floor.

"What the hell!" I swore as I hit the ground. I groaned and glanced at the body on the floor, expecting to see a drunken Kid Blink or Pie Eater covered in vomit. Instead, a girl was sprawled over the wooden floor. Who the hell was she?

"Hey…" I said, poking her shoulder. She was probably just some prostitute that Mush or Bumlets had brought home. Again.

"Uh…hi…" she answered, raising her head off the floor. Her brown hair was straggly and messy, like she'd just had some bad encounter with a bird or something. Her eyes were bright and jade colored, but had dark circles creeping up from under them. Her face had what appeared to be a smudge of dirt on it. I peered closer and realized it was bruise. She looked like a wreck.

"Did things get rough last night?" I asked her, chuckling at my own joke. She looked at me, her forehead wrinkling as her dark eyebrows teamed up with her eyes to form a furious glare. She sat up and brushed herself off, but didn't respond.

"Did one of the guys get kinda controlling? Did Mush decide to be dominant?" I said.

"Shut up."

"It's just a question."

"I don't get paid for getting' laid, jerk," she snapped.

"Free service?"

"No," she growled. She stood up and smoothed her skirt, then fixed her angry eyes on me again. She was taller than most girls, taller than me, actually. And young too. My age, maybe.

"Then what are ya doin' here?" This didn't make sense. She'd never been around the lodging house before, so she wasn't anyone's girlfriend or sister.

"I need a frickin' job."

"Go work in a factory. The pay here sucks. And we don't let girls stay here. It's a newsboys lodging house."

"Well, I'm changin' the rules. Ya got a problem with it?"

"Yeah, and so will everyone else."

"Too bad for them."

I scowled at her sour tone. I didn't like this girl. She wasn't polite or sweet, she was a bundle of cranky emotions that I didn't want to deal with. I stood up and sneered at her before I left. I didn't have time for this, or I'd be late for the 'glorious' selling of the World's newspapers. She followed me out of the stall and downstairs, occasionally stepping on my heels.

"Quit it!" I hissed as I staggered down the creaking steps. The girl purposely kicked the back of my knee and sent me flying down the stairs. I tumbled down and cracked my elbow on the handrail before I finally landed with a thud at the bottom. I heard to snicker as she ran down after me.

"Nice coordination ya got there," she said.

"You kicked me!"

"I know."

"Why?"

"Because I felt like it."

"Did anyone tell ya that it's not nice to hurt people?" I said as I pulled myself up. My elbow was throbbing and bleeding. Oh joy.

" 'Course. I just didn't listen." Her face seemed to light up when she said this. This was just wonderful. We didn't need another rebellious kid hanging around. Too bad she didn't show up during the strike, she would have been useful.

"I can see that."

"Good."

"Youse a mean girl, ya know that?"

"Yeah. That's why they call me Jackal."

"Like the dog?" I scoffed.

"And I suppose youse got a bettah name?"

"Boots."

"Like the shoe?"

I sighed. Jackal was bitter and sarcastic, exactly the opposite of the character I expected to show up and brighten my day.

"Yes, like the shoe…" I admitted. How could I let some girl defeat me words? I wasn't going to take shit from her, even if she was a girl.

"It's cute." Jackal said.

"What?" I stuttered. Hadn't she just pushed me down the stairs and started throwing insults at me?

"Ya name, Boots. It's a cute name."

This was what I needed, for some dame to appear and confuse me.

"Can ya just leave me alone?"

"Oh…alright…"

Jackal seemed disappointed at my reply. Did she think I was really going to be kind to her after she just verbally and physically bashed me? She really was like a dog. They bite you and then lick the wound to make it better.

I hate dogs.