This is it, the last chapter. I hope you all enjoyed this little story. Maybe give you a little more information about Pocket's relationships with Spot and Racetrack.

Let me know what you think! Oh yeah, and I know I said I was going to have the first chapter of the sequel up, but it's not quite ready yet. So be patient with me, hopefully I will have it up either tonight or tomorrow.

Pocket winced at the bright light burning through her eyelids and rolled over to hide her face. Instead of the yielding softness of her pillow she found her skin pressed against something hard and unforgiving. Startled, she bolted upright, looking wildly around. Her muscles relaxed some when she realized where she was, up on the factory roof with Race and Blink. They tightened again when she remembered why.

A sad sigh escaped her lips as she replayed the events of the previous evening in her head. Vividly she recalled the looks on her friends' faces when they discovered her secret: shock, disappointment, anger. The uncaring front she'd maintained last night was long gone, replaced by regret and a painful, piercing loneliness. Pocket had been on her own most of her life, as long as she could remember. But now that she'd had a taste of belonging, of acceptance, she knew she'd miss it fiercely. It would be harder now to be by herself all the time. A lump rose up in her throat but she refused to give in to weakness. Crying like a baby wasn't going to get her anywhere. She had to decide her next move. Groaning in frustration, she realized she'd have to go back to picking pockets. She didn't look forward to it. Sure, it was better money that selling papes, but she'd enjoyed having a way to get money that wasn't going to get her sent to the refuge. She'd enjoyed earning honest money. Pocket had never been concerned with the legality of her previous profession, and didn't regret what she'd had to do to survive. Still, it had meant a lot to her to be something other than a thief. She searched her brain for other options. Maybe I can make enough playin cards ta live off it, she thought. I can get Race ta teach me his best tricks.

Pocket looked down at Racetrack and suddenly remembered what he'd told her last night. Spot had a place for her in Brooklyn; she could go to Brooklyn! Hope welled up in her chest. She didn't have to be alone again, didn't have to steal to eat, didn't have to go back to sleeping in doorways and alleys. Smiling to herself, Pocket rose and stretched, eager to get across the bridge. Her hand went to her face, gingerly exploring her injuries. Dried blood caked her lips and her jaw was swollen; she couldn't open her mouth very far. Oh well, she'd been hurt worse before.

She walked to the edge of the roof and peered out over the street. People were up and about already. Pocket could smell coffee somewhere and heard the circulation bell ringing in the distance. Good. The lodging house would be empty by the time she got there; she could go and collect her belongings without making a scene. Pocket wasn't one to back down from a conflict, but it would just be so much easier if she didn't have to talk to the other newsies, see the disgust in their eyes when they looked at her. It would be easier to leave if she didn't have to look at the friends she'd be leaving behind.

An sudden, unpleasant thought made her frown, wincing slightly at the pain it caused her tender lips. What if Spot had changed his mind? What if he'd decided he didn't want a girl newsie? Pocket had to admit she'd been surprised when Race told her of Spot's offer. Brooklyn was a tough place, and the boys that lived there were tough right along with it. They might not like having a girl around. And it might make Spot look weak, taking in refugees from the other boroughs. Not the best way to start out his leadership. Pocket lit a cigarette and paced the length of the roof and back as more what-ifs popped into her head.

What if Blue made trouble for her? What if the other newsies didn't trust her, didn't want her there? She'd rather be alone on the street than alone among people that didn't like her. Racetrack had said he'd go with her, but Pocket didn't want to hold him to his promise. Manhattan was his home; it wasn't fair for her to expect him to leave just because she wasn't welcome.

The weight of her worry pressed down around her shoulders, slowing her steps. She shook those thoughts away with an abrupt shake of her head. Pocket refused to get caught up worrying about what might happen; worrying wouldn't change anything. If Spot turned her away, she'd just go back to the way things were before, no matter how much she didn't want to. She might not like picking pockets, but she was good at it, and Pocket had always done what she needed to do to get by. A small voice in the back of her mind said maybe it was better if she was alone anyway, she obviously didn't do well with people. Maybe this was for the best. The decision helped some, gave her focus, a plan. Feeling marginally better, she went to go wake Racetrack and Blink.

It took more than a few nudges from her foot to rouse Blink, but Racetrack woke easily. The little Italian sat straight up, glancing around to get his bearings. He offered Pocket a sleepy smile as he stood up, but the smile faded when he saw the purpling bruises on her face.

"Might wanna get Kloppy ta look at that when we get back ta the lodgin," he told her.

"Nah," Pocket shook her head. "It's fine. Won't be stayin long enough anyway."

Racetrack nodded his understanding.

"Ya goin ta Brooklyn, then?" he asked.

"Yeah, soon as I get me things." She looked at him solemnly. "Listen Race," she said. "Ya ain't gotta go with me. I won't be mad if ya stay on this side of the bridge."

He waved away her protest. "Like I told ya," he insisted, "I ain't so sure I wanna stay if they's gonna kick ya out. Don't seem right."

Pocket didn't argue, merely accepted his decision. She couldn't deny, even to herself, that she felt a little bit better about moving to Brooklyn if Race was going to be with her. It would be nice to have a familiar face around, and besides, he was her closest friend. She'd still miss her other friends, though. She looked down at Blink, still sitting on the roof rubbing the sleep out of his eye.

"Ya ready Blink?" she asked. "Ya bettah get ovah there an get ya papes before they's all gone."

Blink nodded sleepily, mumbling incoherent nonsense. The three of them climbed down from the roof and headed back toward the lodging house. When they got close, Blink split off toward the distribution center to get his papers, giving Pocket an awkward hug before he went. She and Racetrack walked slowly the rest of the way.

As they expected, the house was empty when they arrived. They stood on the steps staring at the door for a while, each lost in thought. Finally Pocket squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.

"Let's go," she said to Race, her voice determined.

At his nod, she pushed open the door and they walked inside. They didn't speak as they mounted the stairs to the sleeping area. When she reached the top, Pocket was surprised to find Roller leaning casually against her bunk. She stopped short, stumbling a little when Racetrack ran into her from behind.

"Pocket, Racetrack," Roller said by way of greeting. He eyed them both thoughtfully for a minute. "Hey, Race," he finally said, "Ya mind lettin me talk ta Pocket alone?"

Racetrack looked at Pocket, silently offering to stay if she needed his support. She nodded her agreement, and Race gave her an encouraging look before hurrying off to the washroom. Pocket went to her bed and started gathering her things. She froze when Roller laid a hand on her arm to stop her.

"Why'd ya lie to us?" He got straight to the point.

Pocket lifted her chin. She wouldn't show him she cared. She wouldn't.

"I didn't wanna lie to ya," she told him quietly. "I just didn't want folks knowin I'se a goil."

"But why?" he persisted.

She lifted a shoulder. "Just easier, is all. You'd all treat me different if ya knew. Didn't want anybody watching me all the time, lookin for me ta mess up, lookin ta see if I'se good enough." She looked down at her feet. 'Roller, I'm sorry ya mad, but I ain't sorry I didn't tell ya. I knew ya wouldn't let me stay."

"What made ya so sure?" he wanted to know. "How'd ya know I wouldn't have let ya stay?"

Pocket let out a little laugh, but there was no humor in it. "How many goil newsies ya got, Roller?"

"None."

"That's how I know," she said simply.

"Ya still shoulda told me," he told her reproachfully.

"Would ya have let me stay?" she countered.

Roller thought about it. "Prob'ly not," he admitted. "Most goils don't got what it takes to be a newsie. Always needin help with somethin. Ain't worth the trouble keepin 'em around."

Pocket tried not to let his words bother her and went back to collecting her belongings.

"But ya ain't like most goils, Pocket," Roller announced.

Her head came up in surprise; her eyes searched his face.

"Ya got stones, I'll give ya that," he went on. "Ya already proved you'se just as good as us fellas." He paused. "I think for you, I can make an exception."

Pocket wasn't sure she heard right. "Whatcha sayin?" she asked carefully. Hope rose up within her but she pushed it down, afraid of being disappointed.

"I'm sayin, ya don't need ta go. Me an the boys talked it ovah last night, and we want ya ta stay."

She stood quietly, thinking. Finally she nodded, her face betraying nothing of the joy she felt.

"Alright then, I'll stay."

"Good." Satisfied, Roller smiled at her then spit in his palm and extended it to her. She did the same and they shook on it.

"Just don't lie ta me again," he warned her.

"I won't," she agreed.

Just then the door to the washroom burst open and Racetrack came running out, a huge grin lighting his face.

"I knew it!" he yelled happily. "I knew he'd let ya stay!"

"Yeah, ya knew it," scoffed Roller. "That's why ya was all set ta pack up an move ta Brooklyn?"

The feisty gambler grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, well," he amended, "I hoped he'd let ya stay."

Pocket and Roller both laughed at him, then Roller turned to leave.

"Alright," he told them. "Tha two of ya quit messin around. Just cause I'se lettin ya stay don't mean ya ain't gotta work. Get the lead outta ya pants." He tipped his hat to Pocket and sauntered off down the stairs. They heard the door slam shut.

The pair of them stood grinning stupidly at each other then Race grabbed her and pulled her into a fierce hug. They jumped apart when they heard the door open again.

"Get movin," Roller's voice floated up to them.

Laughing, Pocket headed for the washroom.

"Hey Pocket," Race called and she turned around.

"Yeah?"

'Ya bein a goil an everythin," he wondered, "This mean ya gonna start wearin a dress?"

He ducked as a towel flew at him.