Mornings are my favorite time of day. I guess that's kind of an abrupt way to start off. Seeing how you don't even know who I am. Maybe I should start over…

Hello. My name is Coulter Candler. (Yeah, try saying that five times fast.) And I am a newsie. I'm not like a lot of the other newsies you've seen, though. I don't come from a broken home. I'm not an orphan, my parents aren't abusive, and they aren't poor. They're actually quite wealthy. But I'm a newsie.

I bet you're wondering why I'm a newsie. I have to admit, I wonder about that myself sometimes. And the answer isn't really a good one. In fact, I'll even say that occasionally it embarrasses me. That's why I don't like to talk about my past. I haven't been in the city long, but that's something I've noticed I have in common with a lot of the other newsies. Not wanting to talk about our pasts, I mean. Of course, for most of them, it's because they want to block out painful memories. For me… it's more a matter of saving face. That and I just don't talk much in general.

It's only been a week since I first moved into the Battery Park Lodging House. It was strange, sharing a room with so many other boys, but I got used to it after a few nights. I'd rather share the room with a few other boys—even if they do snore, occasionally—then spend the night out on the streets.

But let's get back to morning being my favorite time of day. One morning in particular. It was exactly a week ago, and it had been my first morning in the lodging house. I'd gotten in just before curfew the night before, paid my six cents at the desk, and practically collapsed into a bunk. As tired as I'd been that night, I was still wide awake at four the next morning. Like I said, mornings are my favorite time of day. I love the quiet. Few people like mornings, and that means few people actually get up to appreciate them.

I learned early on, that the earlier the hour, the quieter it was. This theory proved true even in a place as busy and bustling as New York City. I guess no matter where you are, four o'clock is too early to be noisy.

The window of the bunkroom was open (it had been closed last night, so I can only assume someone snuck in after curfew) and I climbed out onto the fire escape, moving up the black iron stairs as quietly as I could. I stepped onto the roof, and smiled at the stillness.

The past few days had been horrible, getting out of my house without anyone noticing, and then the train ride here from North Carolina, which had been cramped, and claustrophobic. I was glad that particular ordeal was over.

I guess you're wondering why I came here from North Carolina. Well, I already told you I don't like to talk about it. But I guess it would seem a bit odd of me to leave you out of the loop. The truth is, I followed someone here. Yeah, I know, it seems slightly pathetic… it's not though. Not if you knew our history. We were like siblings. Even closer than siblings, though, because we never fought. We were the family we chose for each other. Most siblings don't have that luxury.

Sierra had been my neighbor, back when I lived in North Carolina. Or, I guess I should say, back when she lived in North Carolina. Back before she became one of those newsies that doesn't like to talk about her past.

Her father had been a writer, and my father owned a publishing company. Of course, to call it "a publishing company" was being modest. It was really the publishing company. It was the place every writer who wanted to be somebody went to, begging to be taken on.

Well, Mr. Jameson had been taken on. He and my father had been school chums, and had sort of made each other famous. Mr. Jameson had been my father's first client, and my father had been Mr. Jameson's first—and only—publisher.

Which is how I ended up being neighbors with Sierra. I could go into great detail about how we grew up, and all the trouble we caused when we were kids—and let me tell you, we caused some crazy trouble. I don't know what it was that happened when we got together, but something definitely did. Apart we were basically good kids, but together… watch out world, because who knew what was going do happen. But that's a story for another day.

This story is about last week. This is about me, on the roof, rereading the one letter I'd received from Sierra. The letter that told me her parents had died. The one that told me she was running from her aunt. The one that told me she was without any money, and was supporting herself by working as a newsie. The letter that told me she was currently living at the Battery Park Lodging House. That letter. Of course, I'd received that letter ten months ago. There was no telling where she was now. I could only hope she's stayed here at the lodging house, or at least was still in contact with some of her friends here.

I admit, as I stood on the roof that morning, leaning against the ledge, reading that letter, half of me hoped she would poke her head over the edge of the roof, and climb off the fire escape to join me.

Half of me wondered if everything that had happened to her in the last year had changed her. If she was still the same old Sierra, the one who helped me dye all the wool on my mother's pet sheep blue. (Yes, my mother had a pet sheep. She always fantasized about living on a real working farm, and owning that sheep was her way of achieving the dream. I never said my folks weren't a little strange.) Or if she was a completely different Sierra.

I'd be different, I think. If I'd lost my parents like that.

I finished reading the letter for the umpteenth time. It was nearing five now, the sky was lightening a little, the stars beginning to fade. I stared at the fire escape a little harder. I wonder if it's possible to will something into happening. Like if I just wanted it bad enough, I could make Sierra appear on that roof with me. I actually started pacing.

I knew in my head it was unlikely. Sierra hated mornings about as much as I loved them. But she loved the quiet as much as I did, and I had to wonder if she'd decided an hour of quiet in the city that never sleeps, was worth loosing an hour of sleep over.

And then I heard it. Footsteps, coming up the fire escape. It's not her. It's not her. It's not her. It's not- "Sierra." It was her. My pacing had brought me close to where the fire escape met the roof, which was lucky for both of us, because I think hearing my voice just about gave her a heart attack. The last little bit between roof and fire escape was covered by an iron ladder. It wasn't a long ladder, only about seven rungs or so, but she had been almost to the top when I'd interrupted her climb, and in her shock, had released her hold on the metal bar. This, combined with the way her head jerked up to find the source of the voice, caused her to tip backwards for one dreadful moment.

My hand darted out, and closed around her arm, pulling her back towards the building. I helped her up the last few rungs of the ladder, and over the ledge to the roof, before releasing my hold on her.

"Well, that was fun," I commented drily.

"Colt?" She breathed out, as if she'd been holding her breath. I'd never seen her so pale before, as if all the blood had left her face.

I glanced down at my hands, as if I were checking to see if I was Colt, "Looks like it, doesn't it?"

With that she threw her arms around my neck, hugging me fiercely as she buried her face in my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around her, resting my chin on her head, as I had often done when we were little.

"Miss me?" I asked, my voice lightly teasing.

She pulled away, and her eyes were shining with tears, but none of them fell. "So much," she replied with such feeling that I felt a lump in my own throat. "What are you doing here? Where are your parents?"

"Uh… They're back in North Carolina. I came to find you." I cleared my throat, knowing I had a long explanation in front of me, and dreading it. I told you I don't like to talk much. Writing is one thing, but talking… that's on a whole nother level. "Your letter… You said you were staying here. I tried to write you, but you hadn't given me an address, just the name. I always figured you'd write again, but you never did. Not in ten whole months. What happened? Why didn't you write?"

Sierra turned her face, not meeting my eyes. She always did that when she was uncomfortable. Or when she was lying. The trick was figuring out which it was.

"That first few months… it was horrible, Colt. I was numb. I made myself write you that letter, because I wanted you to know. You knew my parents, and I wanted you to hear from me what had happened. But it was all I could do to get that out on paper. After that… I just stopped living for a while. It hurt too much to live. And the longer I waited to write you, the more I thought I should just let you be. We're getting older now, I figured you probably had your own life to live. You didn't need your childhood friend butting in."

The hurt must have shown in my eyes, because I could see the feeling mirrored back at me, when she looked up. "Sierra—It's me. Your brother. Maybe not by blood, but by choice. Remember? Sierra and Colt Cooper. We even made our own last name."

Sierra smiled at that, "Of course I do. It's the name I go by here. Sierra Cooper. But I just thought… well, I thought you'd be tired of that. That you'd just think it was a kid's game."

"I'll never not be your brother. No matter what the birth certificates say."

Sierra smiled again, but the smile quickly dropped into a frown, "Wait, what about your parents? Are they okay?"

I frowned, resting my hand on her shoulder, "They're fine."

"You didn't tell them, did you?! Colt, you have to tell them! They must be worried sick about you!"

I looked away from her. I hated the way she could always hear what I wasn't saying. I shrugged, "I had to come."

She wrinkled her nose at that, I knew she wouldn't be willing to argue with me, not when I'd just seen her for the first time in over a year. I was right, she shook her head, giving me a look that clearly said we'd be talking about this later, and then nodded towards the rising sun.

"We'd better go. The distribution office will be open soon. Are you selling papers?"

I nodded, moving over the ledge and onto the fire escape, turning to help her follow me. We made our way to the distribution office silently. I have to admit, it was nice. It was a comfortable silence, one we were both accustomed to. It felt like being home again.

Neither of us spoke until we got to the distribution office.

"Morning, Rogue," Sierra was greeted by a kiss on the forehead. I raised my eyebrows at the boy who had done the kissing. I glanced from him to Sierra, who had a blush creeping across her cheeks at my questioning look.

"Colt, this is my boyfriend, Mush. Mush, this is my brother, Colt."

Mush had wrapped his arm protectively around Sierra's shoulders, but he seemed to relax when she called me her brother.

"Wait, I didn't know you had a brother," he said, confused.

Sierra smiled at me, as she answered him, "I do. I just didn't mention him."

Mush looked like he was going to question her more, but then he stopped himself. Which was smart of him. Then it was my turn to question her, "Rogue?" I asked, with raised eyebrows.

She shrugged at me, averting her eyes. "Yeah. I kind of dropped my real name… you know, when everything happened."

I also knew better then to make her expound on that, at least not now. I gave her a look that told her we'd be talking more about that later.

We bought our papers, and went our separate ways, Sierra—I mean, Rogue—going to sell with Mush, and me selling on my own. She offered to stay and sell with me, but I told her I'd rather sell by myself. I liked the alone time, it gave me time to think.

We agreed to meet up at this place called Tibby's at noon, and that's what we did. There were a few other newsies there. I met a guy named Jack, a guy named Ractrack, and a guy named Kid Blink. There was also a girl called Mischief, and a girl called Morning Glory. Apparently it was a rule to have a nickname if you wanted to be a newsie. Lucky for me, "Colt" sounded pretty much like a random nickname, if you didn't know my first name was Coulter.

We ate lunch, and then it was back to the streets for more selling. It was hot work. And my voice was completely hoarse from yelling headlines by the time I sold my last paper. I headed back to the lodging house, almost getting lost a couple of time, but I managed to find my way. I felt like I was covered in dirt and grime from the streets, but I didn't care. I headed straight up to the roof, where Sierra was waiting for me, just like I knew she'd be.

She smiled when I joined her, leaning against the ledge. "Sore throat?"

I shrugged nodding, my lips curling up in a rueful smile.

"You'll get used to it." She said.

We stood in silence for a few moments, before she spoke again, "So… how long are you staying?"

"As long as you'll be here," I answered without hesitation.

She glanced over at me, worry evident in her blue gaze, "You're parents will be wondering about you. I'm sure they're worried…"

"Maybe so. But there's no way I'm leaving you alone here. You're living in a lodging house in New York City! You're practically broke. And you have no—" I stopped myself short, immediately feeling guilty about what I'd been about to say.

"Family? I have no family?" There was no anger in her words, only sadness. "But I have my friends. And I have you."

"Not if I don't stay."

"We can write. I'll write you letters, I really will this time."

I crossed my arms over my chest, fixing her with a steady look, "I'm not leaving, Sierra. Not a chance."

She opened her mouth to argue with me, but with one glance at my set face she stopped herself. A soft smile spread across her face, "Well, then. I'm glad to have my brother back."

I smiled in return, dropping my arm across her shoulders, and planting a kiss in her hair. "I'm glad to have my sister back," I replied, leading her back downstairs. "So, you wanna play some poker before bed? I bet you're a bit rusty now."

Sierra grinned up at me, "You wanna find out?" She replied, a sparkle in her eyes, as she pulled out a deck of cards.

I grinned in return. Things weren't as they were back in North Carolina, but at least I had Sierra again.