Heya. Welcome back! So, last night, I made my little bro watch Newsies with me, and his only comments were "Gay." "Angst." and "Gay Angst!" Sadly, I agree with him, but I still love the Newsies. The little bro, however, is going to have to sleep outside. But now, he wants to make fun of my fanfic, so he's currently reading it aloud in a Texas drawl. I can't take it any longer! *angst*
WARNING: Suggestion of adult themes in this chapter. I'll mark it with asterisks (*) when it starts and ends.
Disclaimer: Yeah, I don't own the Newsies. If I did, there would be no David or Sarah, and Les would have more lines than just "Yeah!"
And so life went on. Every morning, I woke hours before the others to get ready, and then crawled back into bed. Jack noticed, I'm sure, but he dismissed it as me being shy. Meanwhile, I got very used to seeing boys in various states of undress, and no longer blushed at it. The older boys teased me and the younger boys about getting girls. Jack pushed me out of bed at least once a week, when I dreamt and started to squirm. The rest of those nights I spent on the floor, since Crutchy wouldn't bunk with me anymore.
I got used to my monthly soaking by various street rats, and soon learned to be a vicious fighter, after Skittery threatened to let them pound me after he got tired of saving me. I saved up quite a bit in a handkerchief that I kept in the bottom of my satchel. Blink and I started spending more time together, since he decided that I wasn't as annoying as the other younger kids, and I decided that his blind eye didn't bother me. And slowly, my crush on Jack grew.
It had been three months since that night when Jack first found me, and New York was still held tightly in the grips of winter. It was once again a Sunday morning, and I was sleeping on the floor after Jack had pushed me out of bed again. I awoke with a start when Jack's bare feet hit the floor less than an inch from my face.
"D'ya gotta do dat?" I complained, yawning.
"D'ya gotta sleep right dere?" He countered, sitting on the edge of the bunk to pull on his socks.
"You'se pushed me outta bed."
"You'se hit me in da face." I noticed the faint outline of a bruise forming on Jack's cheekbone.
"Sorry." I muttered, but he was already gone. I shrugged and made my way out to the streets. Blink caught up with me.
"Heya, Ham. I'se goin' down ta Central Pahk. You'se wanna come wid?" Blink asked, slinging an arm around my shoulder. I pretended to ponder it over. Actually, all I wanted to do was hang around Jack, but Jack didn't seem to enjoy me following him.
"We'se can watch da goils…" Blink added. I laughed.
"Awright. C'mon." I slung my arm around his shoulder and we sauntered off down the street.
*Blink and I watched girls in the park for a few hours, before he left me to go with one of them. I wandered back to the lodging house, thinking I would go get some of the money I had stored up and maybe go to the book sellers I had seen near the circulation center. I pushed open the door to the bunk room, but I was lost in thought. So lost in fact, that I almost didn't notice that I wasn't alone. Jack was in there. Jack and a girl. I turned bright red and backed out of the room before they noticed me.*
Skittery found me a few minutes later, sitting on the front steps of the lodging house.
"You'se okay?" He asked, sitting next to me. I nodded, not looking at him.
"Ya know, Charley, when a man and a woman love each'uddah…" Skittey started to explain, guessing my silence was because I was confused about what I had seen.
"I'se knows how it woiks, Skittery!" I growled, pushing myself up and walking away.
I wandered aimlessly through the streets, trying to push that sight out of my head. I was jealous of that girl, not because of what they were doing together, but because she could be herself around him. It was pathetic, since I knew that if I came out as a girl, I wouldn't be able to be a newsie anymore, and I would find life much harder in a sweatshop, but I still wanted to be a girl again.
When I was in a world that was full of girls, girls who were curvier, girls who were bigger, I embraced my boyish looks. I chopped my hair off into a Beatles cut, I wore boys clothes, I smoked. But now, surrounded by boys, I wanted nothing more than to be a girl. Things could be so unfair.
I noticed that it had started to grow dark, so I started toward the lodging house. I got home after dark, and noticed a dark figure curled up on the front steps. I approached cautiously, wondering who it was. I could see a flash of red above the turned up coat collar. I sighed. It was Jack. The one person I wanted to avoid right now. He looked up and he heard my footsteps approaching. I sat next to him in silence.
"You'se da last one in. We'se was gettin' worried." Jack said quietly. I just nodded. He tried again.
"Sorry… 'bout tahday, I'se means. You'se shouldn'a had ta see dat."
I just shrugged. "I'se don' really wanna talk 'bout it."
Jack gave a relieved sigh and stood, holding out a hand to me.
"C'mon. Let's get in. Kloppman'll wan' us in bed, soon."
I stood and followed him in the lodging house.
The next week unfolded just as the weeks before it had, bad food, hard work, cold nights. Sunday morning, I felt Jack shaking me awake.
"G'way. Nooo…." I muttered and rolled onto my stomach.
"C'mon. Up. We'se gotta meet up wid Spot."
"Huh? Spot?" I lifted my head.
"Yeah, Spot. Get up, Hambone."
Five minutes later, I was trotting along next to Jack as he headed out. We passed Tibby's and I looked up at Jack curiously.
"We'se goin' ta Brooklyn." He said gruffly. I sighed and tried to keep up.
When we reached the Brooklyn bridge, and Jack looked up at it in wonder. I glanced up too. The bridge was beautiful. It arched over the river for what seemed to be an endless span.
"Quit ya gawkin'." Jack said, continuing onto the bridge. I pattered after him.
Jack led me down to the docks, where groups of rough, dirty boys seemed to congregate. Newsies. Brooklyn newsies. The meanest, toughest, most ruthless newsies in New York. I drew closer to Jack and felt for his hand. He looked down in surprise as I wrapped my small hand around his index finger. I waited for him to yank his hand away, but instead, he wrapped his other fingers around my hand. Jack stopped at the end of the pier, waiting for Spot to acknowledge us. Spot turned around, a cocky smirk on his face.
"Well, Jacky boy. Danks foah comin' ta see me so quick. 'nd I'se sees ya brought da rat."
"Yeah, yeah. Whatsamattah, now, Spot?"
"Well, see, some of my boidies been choipin' in me eah. Dey'se sayin' dings like 'Jack's gettin' too big foah his britches.' 'nd dat you'se wants some more terr'tory, 'nd you'se was looking at Brooklyn. Now, I'se don' wanna judge a man by what me boidies says, but I'se gotta know… You'se ain't plannin' on takin' Brooklyn from me, is ya?"
Jack pondered this for a moment. "Well, Spot, I'se don' wanna say your boidies is liahs, but maybe dey'se been mixin' up Queens and 'hattan?"
"You'se ain't gonna fight?" Spost seemed surprised.
"Nah, I'se too busy tryin'a keep Queens off me back."
They both spit in their hands and shook on their agreement. I wrinkled my nose. I never quite understood why they felt it necessary to do so. But they did, and so I learned to put up with it. Spot looked at me with a sudden interest. He sauntered over to me, looking me up and down.
"Wheah'd you'se say ya was from, rat?" He asked, standing over me, trying to intimidate me.
"Brooklyn."
"So why'se I ain't evah seen you'se around?"
"Maybe ya should look a little closer at da rats… Sean." I smirked. Spot's jaw dropped, and I marched off, a thoroughly confused Jack trailing in my wake.
I allowed myself a small smile. I had known Spot was familiar, but until I caught a glimpse in my reflection in the plate glass window of Tibby's, I hadn't realized why. I racked my brain on those cold nights on the floor, trying to remember names and dates and faces from an old genealogy book that my mom kept on a high shelf in our apartment. One name finally was left after eliminating all the rest. Sean Conlon, of Brooklyn, born in 1884. My great, great grandfather, on my mother's side.
"Would you'se care ta explain dat?" Jack panted, trying to keep up with me.
"Spot ain't da only one wid boidies." I shrugged, before crossing the bridge back to Manhattan.
Since we didn't have anything else to do on Sundays, the older boys took turns teaching the younger boys to read from the unsold papers that we always seemed to have around. It was quickly discovered though, that I was more literate and patient than all the older boys put together. So teaching the kids to read fell to me, more often than not. And that's what I was doing that afternoon after Jack and I had gone to visit Spot.
"Boots! Snipe! Geez. C'n ya sit for a little longah? For cryin' out loud…" I growled at the two boys that sat on either side of me on the bunkroom floor. They fidgeted uneasily. Neither of them understood why I couldn't just let them run wild like a bunch of heathens. It really got to Boots that we were the same age.
"Why can't one of da udder boys teach us?" Boots whined.
"'Cause Jack's ready to soak you'se all by da time he's done, Mush c'n barely read hisself, Crutchy gets bored, Race jist starts a pokah game, Blink hates readin', and da resta dem jist hates you'se."
Snitch bounded in, saving them from more of my lecture.
"Ham! C'mon! Jack sent me ta find you'se. We'se gotta go!" Snitch gasped for air as he tried to pull me up.
"I'se comin', I'se comin'!"
As soon as I was up, Snitch took off out the door, sliding down the banister. I stumbled down the stairs after him. We burst out the front door, and I followed Snitch through a maze of alleys and streets, dodging people and wagons. Snitch jumped onto a crate and hopped to a higher one, and then launched himself over a brick wall in the dead end alley he'd led me into. I sighed and followed him, praying something soft would be on the other side.
There was. A cart piled high with bags of flour was backed into the alley on the other side, I bounced once, then rolled off. Snitch was waiting at the end of the alley for me.
"Where are we'se goin'?' I gasped, leaning on the wall. Snitch was easily the fastest newsie in Manhattan, so Jack often used him for a messenger. Hence the name, Snitch. Snitch just shook his head and darted off again, leaving me to drag myself after him.
Snitch was leading me to Brooklyn, I thought, and my musings were confirmed as Snitch continued across the Brooklyn bridge. Finally, Snitch stopped running.
"Dat was a little long for ya, Snitch." Jack laughed, leaning against a wall.
"Da kid's got shoaht legs." Snitch replied, sinking to the ground next to Jack. I was doubled over gasping for air. Jack reached over and pulled me out of the street, and I stumbled into the wall next to him.
"Ah. Heah's Spot, now." Jack straightened up. "'nd he's brought his lovely lady."
I looked up to see Spot with a petite, brown haired girl on his arm. Snitch, Jack, and I all took off our caps for her.
"'eya, Jacky boy. Snitch." Spot greeted pleasantly. Snitch nodded and Jack smiled.
"'eya, Spot. Hello, Dove." Jack took the girl's hand and kissed it. She laughed and embraced him.
"Jack Kelly, still a charmer. How are ya, Jacky?" She asked holding him at an arm's length and looking him up and down.
"Heya, Dove." Jack smiled. She turned to Snitch and I.
"Well, I know Snitch, but who is this little dear?" The girl caressed my face.
"Ah. Dis is Hambone. Hambone, dis is Dove. She's Spot's goil, and an old friend of mine."
Dove curtsied and I nodded to her.
"Well, we'se should go in." Spot mumbled, motioning to the door of the restaurant that we were standing outside of. As we were going in, Dove leaned over to me an whispered,
"The best actresses are the ones that no one knows are acting."
My heart pounded. She knew.
Ooooh… what's gonna happen next? Actually… I don't really know. Yay for another bad chapter. I'm sorry, guys.
Also—Dove is my friend's character. Not mine. My friend is Butterflywriter.
I'm sorry I was late updating, but we might as well get used to it, since school is picking up.
You know what to do, please read and review!