Heya. Okay, okay, I know I said that I would be a slow updater, but I got snowed in. I live in the desert of California, and I'm snowed in… this is just wonderful. But anyways, I'm trying to lengthen my chapters, but I also don't want to move the story along too fast. So some feedback about if I need to speed up or slow down would be nice, pretty please.
Disclaimer: If I owned the Newsies, would I be here? No.
Jack lead me to a place in line in a courtyard. The sign that arched over the gate read "The New York World Circulation Office." When it was our turn, Jack stepped up to the window.
"Heya, Weasel." He greeted. The heavy-set man behind the window grimaced.
"It's Weisel, Jack. 'ow many?"
"Eh, foity for me, and twenty for me friend, 'ere." Jack patted me on the head. I started to protest that I could buy my own, but then I remembered I had no money. Jack cut me off, though, "It's awright. Foist day, you'se get a little help."
Jack picked up his stack of papers and quickly counted twenty of them off the top for me. He sat on the step and opened a paper, quickly scanning the headlines for something he could work with. I followed his lead. I found a headline that I could work with and folded my paper.
A dark haired boy dropped down onto the steps next to Jack. "Heya, Cowboy."
"Heya, Race." Jack muttered, looking still for a headline. He finally found one and sighed, folding his paper.
"You'se see da headlines? 'ow are we gonna sell papes?" Race's brow furrowed.
"Yeah. I'se know. But headlines don' sell papes…" Jack sighed again.
"Yeah, yeah, newsies sell papes. I'se know." Race noticed me. "'ho's dat, Jack?" He asked, looking at me curiously.
"Dis 'ere's Charley. Charley, dis is Race." Jack mumbled, standing. "C'mon, Charley. Let's see what you'se can do."
I scrambled up and trotted after him, clutching my papers. He stopped at the edge of a large open air market.
"Awright. when you'se done sellin' da papes, meet me back heah, on dese steps." Jack pointed to three stone steps leading up to a door, "'kay?" I nodded.
Jack hoisted his papers on his shoulder and stepped off the curb, shouting out his improved headline. It wasn't much of an improvement. I sighed and stepped out after him.
"Roving bands of thieves terrorize Manhattan! Dey've been destroyin' private property and causin' mischief!" I bellowed, waving a paper over my head so I could be seen in the crowd.
Jack looked over his shoulder in surprise. "Wheah's dat story?" He gasped, thumbing through one of his papers.
"Page six." I mumbled as a lady handed me a penny, and I handed her back a paper.
"Alley cat's fight, knocking over trash in a Manhattan neighborhood?" Jack raised an eyebrow at me. I nodded as I sold another paper.
"You c'n get one from me bruddah, dere." I nodded to a still shocked Jack as several people approached me at once.
Jack silently handed out papers and accepted coins. Once the small crowd around us, dispersed, we continued to move through the market. I continued to holler my headlines as Jack shook his head.
"You'se one loud little kid. You'se one loud kid, period." He told me as he covered his ears. I just smiled. That was my theatre voice coming into play. I had the strength of an older person, with the voice of a kid, so I could be heard in the cheap seats without using a microphone.
In a little over an hour, I had hawked not only my papers, but most of Jack's also. He just kept handing me papers and watching me sell. Finally, Jack decided that we would start on our way home and sell the last two papers on the way. I limped out of the market after him, feeling particularly sore from my accident the night before.
Just after we left the market, a young woman approached me. Jack quickly took off his cap, and so did I.
"Oh you poor thing!" She simpered when she reached me. "How did you get that dreadful limp?"
"Er, I'se was born that way, Ma'am." I squeaked, sounding very much like a young, shy boy.
"How old are you dear?" She asked, petting my head.
"El—seven, Ma'am." I looked quickly at Jack, who shook his head in disbelief.
"And your name?"
"Charley, Ma'am."
"Well what a little gentleman. May I have two papers, please?" She asked, pulling a tiny purse from the folds of her skirt. She handed me a nickel, and took the last two papers from Jack.
"Two, Ma'am? And it's only a penny each." I said, holding out her nickel.
"One for my sister." She motioned to a girl that stood a little ways away, watching Jack with great interest. "And I know, dear." She winked at Jack, while she folded my hand closed around the nickel.
Jack and I watched her sashay away, caps still in hand.
"Well, dat was… odd." I commented, putting my cap back on. Jack shook his head again, and continued walking.
We walked in silence for a few moments before Jack turned to me.
"You'se said ya'd never sold papes befoah. Why d'ya lie?" He said slowly.
"I'se di'n't. I'se nevah sold papes befoah."
"C'mon. Den what was dat? I've nevah seen such a smooth liah befoah. You'se really 'leven?"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'se 'leven. I'se also a good liah. And I'se loud. Jist am."
"No need t'get defensive on me." Jack held up his hands. The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Hambone."
"Pardon?" I raised an eyebrow.
"You're a hambone. You'se 'ad dat lady eatin' right outta your hand."
"Aww… shaddup." I moaned, shoving Jack a little as we walked.
He grinned and shoved back, and I tumbled into the street. There was a sharp jerk on my collar as Jack hooked his fingers in it and pulled me back the second before I hit the ground. A team of horses and a delivery wagon passed inches from my nose.
Jack pulled me the rest of the way up and wrapped an arm around my head, pulling me into his side.
"Sorry, kid." He murmured. I just nodded, too shaken up to say anything. We stood like that for another minute. Finally, he asked,
"You'se okay?"
I nodded again, and he released me. He slowly lead me through the crowded streets. As we got onto streets that I recognized as being near the lodging house, Jack cleared his throat and spoke,
"Okay, de lodgin' house is a charity, but dey'se wanna make sure we don't take advantage of it, so it costs a nickel a night. A lot of us pay for a week at a time." He paused, "You'se can eat at the lodgin' house, but da food is slop. Most of us go to da nuns for breakfast, at least." He paused again, uneasily this time. "Does dat make sense?"
I nodded. Jack stuck his hands in his pockets.
"Wheah you'se from, anyways?" He asked, looking down at me. I lifted my cap and ran my fingers through my short hair, before resettling the cap.
"Brooklyn." I named the borough that I was raised in, back in my own century.
"Dought so. Dat's where I'se found ya." He rested his hand on my shoulder as he paused on the curb, looking for traffic before darting across the street. I heard him mumble something under his breath.
"Pardon?" I asked, panting, after trying to catch up to him.
"Nuddin'." He muttered. Then he relented. "Well, I'se was jist dinkin' dat de 'hattans are gonna be angry wid me for bringin' a Brookie home wid me."
"Dat's a problem?" I ducked after him as he quickly turned into an alley.
"Yeah. A little. See, 'hattan and Brooklyn, we'se has an agreement. We'se don' go dere, and dey'se don' come heah. 'Cept Race. He's allowed over dere."
"Huh." I mused.
"Well, heah we'se are." Jack pulled up at the edge of a curb. Across the street stood the lodging house. Dusk was falling all around us, and the gas street lights were starting to be lit. The lodging house glowed warmly, and I could see all the Manhattan newsies gathered around a long table teasing, and laughing, and joking, while an older man smiled over all of them from the head of the table.
"Dis is me home." Jack smiled faintly, before glancing both ways and starting off across the street. I padded after him.
Jack pushed open the door and held it for me.
"'ey! Kloppman, I'se home." He hollered, hanging his coat on a hook by the door. I shrugged my coat off and hung it next to Jack's. The old man that I had seen through the window came out into the hall.
"'eya,Jacky-boy." He greeted. "You're the last one. The cold has them all in tonight. Is that your stray?" He motioned to me.
"Yeah, dis is Charley." Jack wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "Charley, dis is Mistah Kloppman. He runs da lodgin' house."
"Come on in boys. We were just starting supper." Mr. Kloppman motioned us in to the dining room. Jack stopped just inside the door.
"'ey! Bummahs! Dis heah's Charley. He's new. There was a chorus of voices greeting me.
"'nd dis is Skittery, Pie Eater, Boots, Mush, Bumlets, Kid Blink, Crutchy, Dutchy, Snipeshooter, Snoddy, Snitch, 'nd Swifty, Itey, Jake, Specs, and you'se met Racetrack." Jack pointed out each boy, but I couldn't keep up.
Jack took an open seat near the head of the table, which I assumed was his spot, and I stood awkwardly in the door. Racetrack waved me over.
"'eya, Charley." Race greeted. He patted the seat in between him, and an Irish boy with dirty blonde hair and freckles. A crutch leaned against the wall behind him. Must be Crutchy.
"'eya, Race. How'd sellin' go tahday?" I asked, sitting. Race shrugged.
"Eh, you'se know. No one can sell like Jack, 'nd he only got foity papes."
"Hmm." I nodded as I dug into my food. There was an eruption of loud laughter at the head of the table. Jack was talking excitedly.
"'nd you'se shoulda seen him! Turns alley cats fighting in to dangerous thieves! And boy, I'se tell ya, dat kid can hollah. I'se ain't nevah hoid anyding neahly as loud. You'se shoulda seen the way he had da ladies eating right outta his hand! Smooth, too. 'I'se was born this way.' says him. And she ate it right up!"
Race leaned over to me. "Dat you'se Cowboy's talkin' 'bout?"
I shrugged. "I'se guess so."
"You'se must be good at hawkin' papes. I'se nevah seen Cowboy dat proud of a newsie." Race whispered in awe. I just shrugged again. Everyone at the table turned to stare at me.
My stomach sank. I didn't want the attention of every newsie in Manhattan. I wanted to go back to Brooklyn. My Brooklyn. In the twenty-first century. I was nothing but a fifteen year old girl. All I wanted to do was act. And now I found myself in my greatest role of all—a real life, eleven year old newsboy. I mentally stiffened my spine and rose to the challenge. I raised my chin and stared right back.
Jack continued his thought. "'nyways, dat's how tahday was."
The boys at the table laughed, and they started to get up in groups. One group was chattering about starting a poker game. Another talked about the day's headlines. Race followed the group talking about poker. Crutchy pulled his crutch over and struggled to his feet.
"'ey, Charley, ya mind helpin' me 'nd Kloppman wid da table?" Crutchy asked, gathering up the cutlery that was strewn across the table. I shook my head and started stacking plates.
Between the three of us, we quickly cleared the table. Kloppman sent us out of the kitchen when we started to pump water for washing the dishes.
"Go on, you two. I know you would rather be up with your friends." He said kindly. We didn't linger.
Both of us hurried out as fast as we could. Crutchy handled the stairs much better than I would have expected. My injuries made me much slower, however. Crutchy waited for me at the top of the stairs. When I reached the top, panting, he started down the dimly lit hallway. He pushed open a door, and light and chatter flooded out into the hall. I followed him in.
Crutchy headed for the small table where a poker game was going, and was dealt in.
"Hambone!" My head snapped up at the name. Jack waved me over.
He was lounging on one of the bunks, smoking a cigarette and talking to another boy. I limped over to him. The other kid was wearing an eye patch. He took the cigarette from Jack and took a drag, before handing it back.
"Here, Ham, this is, Blink." He motioned to the other boy. I sat next to Jack.
"Hambone?" I asked in disdain. Blink's head snapped up and he glanced at me with his lone eye as Jack bristled.
"Lissen, kid. I'se know ya ain't a newsie, but you'se never question the leader. I'se named ya Hambone, and Hambone, you'se is."
I held up my hands. "Fine, fine. So's whatcha want?" I asked casually, taking the cigarette from Blink, who had taken it back from Jack sometime during the exchange.
Blink raised an eyebrow, but surrendered the cigarette. I stuck it between my lips and inhaled deeply. I smoked at school, in my time. With my boyish haircut and my attitude, it was generally acknowledged that I was bad. And with that came the smoking. The smoke was bitter in my mouth. I gave a small cough as I handed the cigarette back.
"Deah Loid is dat a nasty cig." I wrinkled my nose. Jack chuckled.
"'nyways, I'se called ya over so we'se could try and figure out wheah to bunk ya. See, all da kids you'se age is all ready doubled up. So's you'se eithah gonna have to sleep on da floor," I interrupted Jack,
"I'll sleep on da floor!" Jack ignored me and continued,
"oah, you'se gonna hafta bunk wid one of da older boys. You'se don' wanna sleep on da floor durin' da winter." He gave me a meaningful look.
"So draw straws, 'nd da loser gets me?" I suggested, taking another drag on the cigarette that we ended up passing between Blink and I. Jack intercepted it and took a smoke before handing it back to Blink and standing.
"Awright, bummahs! We'se gotta figah out wheah we'se gonna put Hambone heah. All dose wid single bunks come heah. And bring da straws, Race."
"Oh no, we'se ain't, Cowboy." One of the older boys stood. He looked to be about Jack's age, maybe seventeen. "You'se may be da leadah, but you'se brought da rat home. You'se sleep with it."
The boy's declaration was followed by a chorus of Yeah!s from the other boys. Jack sighed. Just then Kloppman suck his head in.
"Lights out, boys."
The boys all moaned and scattered to their various bunks, shedding clothing as they went. It was quite a sight. Jack lead me over to a bunk and undid his pants, draping them over the foot of the top bunk. He pulled himself up on the bunk and lay back. I stood next to it and looked up at him. I could barely see over the edge, and there was no way I was gonna make it up.
Jack looked over the edge and saw me standing there, waiting. My grey eyes peered through my heavy bangs and met his brown ones (A/N: Oops. I just went back and watched Newsies, and had to fix that. He doesn't have blue eyes, he has really pretty brown ones.). He groaned and reached down a hand to pull me up. He dragged me up and across him to his other side, grabbing the seat of my pants to pull me up the last bit.
Once I was safely up, he rolled over so he faced away from me and growled,
"Don' hog da blanket."
Ooh. Lookie how long this one was! Yay. And I also got a surprise today in the mail—my own Newsies DVD. Double yay. I'se love me muddah.
2, 4, 6, 8, who do we appreciate? People who review!