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Queenie took the back streets toward the Lodging House. Swiftly running, she felt safely cloaked by the dark shadows of the alleyways. Then, two hands grabbed her, pulling her back against a long body. She struggled, pulling away.
"Alex! Alex! Calm down! It's me! It's Skitts!"
Immediately, the girl ceased to fight, but relaxed in his arms.
"Thank you for scaring me to death," Queenie muttered sarcastically.
With a quick squeeze of a hug, Skittery released her. She turned to face him, struggling to see him in the dim light.
"Ise saw youse leavin' Medda's. Why are youse outta da house? Ise told youse-"
His words came out in a rushed mess, but finally he sighed and looked up at her, unable to help himself any longer.
"Spot was dere tonight."
She looked at him, her wide eyes filled with confusion.
"What?"
Skittery sighed.
"He was dere. He walked in and just-"
But Queenie was already running away from him.
"Queenie!" he called to her retreating back.
Refusing to turn, the girl kept on her course for the Lodging House. Emotions filled her. Fear, indecision. But mostly fear. She knew what she had to do.
Skittery followed her, walking far enough behind her as to give her space. He continued on course with her, even as she went to the basement of the Newsies' home. In order to hide her from the other boys, they made it her make-shift bedroom when she arrived.
"What are you doing, Queenie?"
He looked on as the girl furiously threw her clothes in an empty flour sack. And, although he knew how hard she tried to hide it, he saw her eyes filling with tears.
"Queenie?"
Not bothering to look at him, she went through the pile of mending at her bedside. With a sniffle, she pushed down her emotions and acted as though nothing bothered her.
"You need to give this shirt to Cowboy, I've finally gotten that button sewn back on. And give these socks to Specs. He's been waiting for me to get them back for a while. He's lucky his feet haven't frozen off yet. Oh, and I fixed the hem on Crutchy's pants, so give those to him," she spit out quickly as she could, throwing clothes into piles for him.
Finally, he walked over to her and pulled her into his arms, ignoring as she struggled against his grasp.
"Stop," he whispered, patting her back.
She wrenched herself away from him and shook her head.
"It's time for me to go," she said, sternly.
He furrowed his brow.
"What do youse mean?" he asked.
She chuckled as she picked up a pair of pants from the mending pile.
"Boots never can keep the knees in his pants, can he?" she mumbled to herself.
Folding them and placing them in his pile, she smiled sadly. But Skitts refused to let it go. He stared her down.
"What do youse mean, Queenie?"
"I have to go. If Spot finds me here, Cowboy will never hear the end of it. I don't want to be the cause of that again."
Skittery watched as she shouldered her bag.
"Youse can't go."
She adjusted it on her shoulder.
"I have to."
He saw the determination on her face.
"Is there anything Ise can do to make youse stay?"
Looking at the floor, she shook her head.
"Where're youse gonna go?" he asked.
Queenie shrugged.
"I don't know. I may get out of New York all together. Start over, you know?"
He nodded and gave her a hug. Keeping her composure, the girl broke away from him, up the stairs, and toward the living room.
"How's it possible to fall asleep dat fast?"
Another voice joined.
"Dat's what youse're wonderin' about?"
"Ise wanna know how's it possible for someone t'get so drunk so fast," a voice whispered.
The girl's ears tuned in on the voices.
"Ise don't know. Must just be a Brooklyn thing."
Brooklyn?
"Ise hope Queenie don't-"
But it was already too late.
"What is this?" she whispered, pointing at the boy laying at the foot of the stairs.
Newsies' heads snapped toward her. Queenie's eyes fell to the floor where they were all surrounded. A tanned boy slept there, his face peacefully relaxed and his toned body curled up. His cane lay forgotten at his side.
"Queenie!" Racetrack said, scooting to put space between her and the semi-conscious boy.
She knew what he was trying to do.
"Why is he here?" she asked.
Specs stood up.
"Hese was bar'ly awake when Madda finished her show. Wese couldn't just leave 'im."
Racetrack knew better than to try to decieve her.
"He'se drunk. Wese was afraid hese was gonna fall off da bridge if he tried to walk back t'Brooklyn. 'e's gonna have a monster hangova in da mornin'."
Queenie shouldered her bag.
"Queenie! Where's you goin'?" Specs asked.
She sighed and moved to go to the door, ignoring him.
"Queenie!"
The girl looked at him.
"I can't stay-"
But her words got caught in her throat the minute she looked down a the young boy on the ground. His eyes shut, she remembered that first night she ever saw him drunk. Somehow, he seemed less threatening, less trouble, when he was asleep. Her resolve to leave shattered. She refused to tear her eyes away from him.
"Bring him downstairs. I'll need water, a rag, and a black coffee."
A beat passed in the room.
"But I will be leaving in the morning. Make no mistake about that."
With that, she turned and stormed down to the basement.
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