Please Read and Review! I'm very excited about this chapter! :D

When they arrived at Medda's, Cowboy hid Queenie in the back hallway nervously. He knew that, in hiding her there, she could still see everything, but also be set apart from the crowd.

"Don't move from 'ere, Queenie."

The girl didn't respond. She felt too intoxicated with freedom. Her eyes darted around, and she completely ignored the older boy standing in front of her.

"Queenie!" the boy nearly shouted.

She waved him off.

"Go have fun, Cowboy," she snapped, in awe of the whole theater.

He gave her a sharp look.

"I ain't takin' da heat from Spot if he catches you. Dis is all on youse, Queenie. Youse understand?"

Queenie gave him a patronizing look.

"I'll watch out for myself, Cowboy. Calm down."

Sternly sticking his finger out, he gave her a tough look.

"Youse're leaving in one hour."

Rolling her eyes, she nodded sardonically.

"Yes, your majesty."

Cowboy shook his head at her and walked off.

"See youse back at da Lodgin' House," he called to her, over his shoulder.

She waved lazily at him as she looked around the dance hall. Around her, the room buzzed with excitement. Newsies, factory boys, store runners, and young men of all shapes and sizes filled the building. She heard the band warming up in the orchestra pit as the crowd grew louder and louder with each passing second. Queenie smiled as she watched the controlled chaos and let the feeling of freedom encompass her.

"Wonderful," she whispered under her breath, a smile creeping on her face.

Within moments, the show started. Cat calls and whistles flew through the room, some from the cheap seats, some from the balconies, some from the tables. Queenie chuckled as she watched Medda take it all in, blowing kisses and waving her greetings from the stage. The band struck up some up beat reel, and the woman went into her dance. Her crimson dress flowed around her as she lithely glided across the stage, and Queenie found herself singing along with the familiar tune.

Medda strode off of the stage, getting the crowd involved with the number. Boys lunged out to touch her, to dance with her, and to sing with her. Queenie burst into laughter as she watched Racetrack hop upon his table and soft shoe to the beat of the music, mimicking the Medda's dance steps. Two boys tried to pull him down, but he held fast, showing off his skills for the crowd with a smile. The older woman watched the young boy steal her spotlight with a smile. The music continued to gain speed as she, with the help of several newsies, jumped on the table and danced right alongside the young Italian.

Had the music died down even for a moment, the young girl would have heard a young boy call her name. Unfortunately for the two of them, the music continued to play, drowning out a boy's desperate plea.

Spot Conlon wandered down the deserted Manhattan street, the darkness wrapping around him. A light snow fell, and the boy struggled to keep the memory at bay. The one memory of he and his girl sharing their first kiss on a dark, snowy street haunted him. He shook his head, trying to banish it from his thoughts as he neared Medda's dance hall, but they stubbornly stuck around, hiding in the back of his mind. Finally, Spot reached the theater and jumped inside, hoping a night of intense drinking might drown out the images.

Casually, he lobbed around the back hallway, not yet ready to join Jack's newsies. But then something caught his eye. The sight of a halo of hair cut into the edge of his vision. He spun his head around to seek the source of it, and his breath escaped his lungs when he saw it.

Queenie. She stood there, mere feet away from him, partly concealed by a curtain. She almost looked as though she was hiding from him. He saw her laugh uproariously at something in front of her. Spot felt no interest in what she laughed at. Her laughing, smiling face completely grabbed his attention and held it with the grip of life.

"Queenie?" he asked, not even believing she actually stood before him.

She didn't respond. The girl kept her eyes locked on the stage and the shenanigans in front of her. Spot couldn't tear his eyes away from her. He stared at her skin, more white than he ever remembered it being, and shimmering in the theater's light. His fingers twitched to reach out for her, but he resisted. His mind was playing tricks on him, he rationalized. If she had the gall to run away from him, he knew she would be far from New York by then. And he knew that if she was feet away from him, she would turn when he called. What he saw, he knew, was a spectre, an apparition. Not Queenie.

Heart plummeting from his chest to the floor, he felt hope flood out of him. The excitement-the elation he felt only a moment before- rushed from him. He sighed and struggled to tear his eyes away from her form. Striding down the hall and then turning into the theater, the King of Brooklyn walked toward Jack's table.

"Hey Jacky-Boy!" he said, smiling a fake smile and nodding with false respect.

Medda only just finished her number when Spot stole some younger newsie's seat beside Jack Kelly.

"Oh-" the other leader said, trying to recover from the minor heart attack that the boy's presence gave him, "Hey, Spot. How goes it?"

In spite of popular belief, not one stupid bone existed in Spot Conlon's body. He knew there was something going on.

"It's goin', Kelly. It's goin'. What's wit' da nerves?" he asked, referring to the boy's stammering greeting.

Jack tried to play it off.

"Nerves? No nerves 'ere, Spot. Jus' good times. Youse want something to drink?"

Spot nodded.

"Da usual."

The other leader ordered him what he wanted.

"So, Spot, anyone else wit' youse?" He started, but was cut off by the boy shouting across the table.

"Pink boy! Yeah, you in da pink shirt!" he said, calling out to Skittery.

The leader of Manhattan cut in.

"'Is name is Skittery."

Spot gave the other leader the brush-off.

"Whatchoo so nervous for, huh?"

Jack's gaze snapped to Skittery, who suddenly stood from his place at the table.

"Ise gotta go," he said, turning and leaving the table.

The Brooklynite watched as the other boy nearly sprinted from the room.

"What's got 'is pants in a knot?" Spot asked, suspiciously.

Casually, Jack took a long swig of his drink.

"No idea. Ise'll go see."

And with that, Jack followed his newsie. Spot had the creeping feeling that Queenie was closer than he thought.

Please read and review! I can't wait to get your reactions! He had Queenie in his grasp and let her go! Gasp! Drama. :)