Hello all! Thanks to all my fabulous reviewers. Thanks especially for all the grammar/punctuation tips. I am the worlds worst typist, and I usually end up typing in the wee hours of the morning, but I will keep working on it. I think I have found someone to proofread my ramblings, so if there are any mistakes in this chapter . . . Blame her! (hee hee) To answer a couple of questions:
Yes, I do plan on giving more background on the characters. There are just a few chapters left of this story, and I have already started on the sequel. I also have some one-shot pre-strike stories that I will post about when Pocket and Spot met, when they found out she was a girl, how Spot gained control of Brooklyn, and Pockets friendship with Race and Blink. So for those of you who want to know more about Spot and Pocket, be patient grasshoppers. It's on its way. It's all written in my head, I just have to get it up on here. If anybody wants to come over and do my housework and go to work for me and do my homework so I have plenty of time to write, I won't stop ya! And now that I have yammered endlessly, on with the show . . .
They were all worried about her. Despite the boys' best efforts to cheer her up, Pocket seemed to shrink over the next few days, fading into a fragile copy of the girl she'd been. She refused to speak to anyone but Slips, staring blankly at the newsies when they tried to draw her into conversation. The first two days, she didn't eat, no matter what they tempted her with. Slips won a victory on the third day by refusing his own meals until she finally choked down some of the soup that David's mother sent.
It was plain to see she was exhausted. Her face was drawn and pale, her eyes dull. Nobody said anything, but they all knew she wasn't sleeping. She'd return home at the end of the day dusty and tired from walking, but she couldn't rest. Though she didn't cry again, she spent her nights in bed staring at the wall.
Each morning, she left before the others woke up and was gone all day. No one knew where she was going until Lucky stopped by one day and told them. He said that Pocket was going to the other leaders, meeting to try to convince them to keep up the strike. The Bronx leader's face was grim as he revealed that only he and his boys supported her. All the other boroughs gave her the same answer. They respected Pocket, and accepted her as an emissary, but refused to throw their lots in with the leaderless Manhattan newsies. Setting aside her pride, she argued passionately, trying to undo the damage that Jack had done, but one by one they all withdrew their support.
She always went alone and they were all unhappy about it. Blink got up early one morning and insisted on going with her, but she gave him the slip, ducking out when he went to the bathroom. Some nights it was after dark when she got home. Racetrack sat on the steps and waited for her to show up, his fears easing a little when he saw a glimpse of her Brooklyn guards in an alley. He felt better at least knowing that Pocket was protected.
On the fourth day, they were all encouraged when they woke to find her still there, until they realized she'd given up. There was no longer any need for Pocket to leave Manhattan; she'd been turned away by every single leader in New York. Now she just sat on the roof alone, quietly smoking.
She snapped out of her daze with a quickness when Jack walked into the lodging house that evening. The newsies were excited and happy with the return of their leader and in the commotion no one saw her tiptoe down the stairs. The excitement died down when Pocket came to stand in front of the prodigal son.
Jack grinned down at her and held his arms out for a hug, but her expression stopped him. His grin faded as she opened her mouth to speak. Pocket's temper was high and she yelled at him for almost ten minutes without letting him get a word in. When she finally wound down, he put a timid hand on her shoulder.
In a voice more serious than they had ever heard, Jack told her how sorry he was. He told her he'd been stupid and selfish, and he'd let everybody down. Eyes downcast, he muttered that he knew how she'd been refused by the other boroughs because of what he, Jack, had done.
Pocket said nothing when he was finished, only studied him carefully.
"Can ya give me anudda shot?" he asked her.
She looked away, and for a second they all thought she was going to say no. Then she rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated breath.
"Fine," she agreed grudgingly. "Just do me a favah, Kelly?"
"Sure, anythin," he nodded eagerly.
"Try ta keep ya head outta ya ass this time," she ordered.
Racetrack laughed joyously and bounded over to pull her into a crushing hug. The others quickly joined in, and soon she disappeared in the center of the mob of newsboys. She elbowed and shoved her way free, shooting them a disgruntled look.
"What the hell was that for?" she snapped.
Race grinned. "Just glad you'se back Pocket. We missed ya."