Heya. I have no clue of where I'm going with this anymore, but we'll get there. I mean, Charley's gotta make it to at least mid-August… Anyhoo, we're off and runnin'!
Disclaimer- While I have made a new newsie fangirl, I still don't own the newsies themselves…
I woke up early the next morning like I always did. This morning though, I woke up to Jack's face buried in the back of my neck and his arm around my waist, holding me tightly to him. Very cozy. Too cozy for me, thanks. I tried to roll out from under Jack's arm and get up. He tightened his grip, and resettled his nose in my short black hair.
"No. Don' go. You'se warm." He muttered sleepily.
"I'se gotta get ready. I'se'll be back in a minute." I whispered back, still struggling against him.
"I'se'll make shoah dat you'se get some time alone in dere latah." I stopped my struggling for a minute and thought. True, I didn't really want to get up, since I was warm, and I was with Jack, which always made me happy. However, I know that the chances of his plan actually working were slim to none. But I was cuddled up with Jack in his bunk… I relented and settled back into bed.
"Ya knows da uddahs'll soak ya if dey catch you'se like dis."
"Let 'em." He whispered before drifting off to sleep again.
I felt warm fuzzies. Jack was the guy who would fight for me. Jack would fight his friends for me. It had to be too good to be true. I mentally slapped myself. Jack was a teenage boy. Jack will break your heart. It's what they do.
I woke up again a little while later to find two pairs of curious brown eyes, and a single blue eye staring at me. One of the pairs of brown eyes wobbled a little. Racetrack was standing on his tiptoes to see over the edge of the bunk.
"Mornin'?" I yawned. Jack woke and moved to rest his chin on my shoulder to look at the other boys. Their eyes narrowed. I glanced down at Jack to find him smirking.
I shoved him off of me, and gave Racetrack a push, causing him to topple into Mush, who knocked over Blink. Dominoes! I slipped off of the bunk, my shirt getting caught and pulling up as I slid down. I unhooked it just before it managed to show anything, and looked down to find the three boys looking up eagerly at me.
"You'se people's are disgustin'." I growled softly. Then I spoke up so they all could hear me. "I'se goin' in da washroom. Anyone a' ya bummahs come in befoah I'se comes out, 'nd you'se gonna get soaked."
And with that, I turned on my heel and marched into the washroom.
When I exited a few moments later, I nearly tripped over Blink and Racetrack, who were sitting with their ears to the door. They fell over backward, landing on their butts as I pulled the door open.
"Really? Whatdya dink I'se do in dere? Sheesh!"
"Jack! Ya boys is getting ridiculous." I hollered as I stomped into the bunkroom. "Dey'se was listening at da washroom doah!"
"Yeah? And?" He grumbled, slipping out of the bunk. I pulled on my trousers and over shirt.
"You'se wanna remind dem dat I'se c'n still soak da bastids?"
"I'se'll let you'se do dat." He smirked. I growled.
"You'se goin' ta Brooklyn afta sellin'?" He asked, shrugging on his suspenders.
"Yeah."
"Awright."
The headlines were slow again today. It was taking us longer then we wanted to sell out each edition, and by the time we sold out our morning editions, the afternoon editions were already off the presses and stacked in Weasel's cage. It was really disheartening.
I ended up taking only half my normal count of afternoon editions, considering that I had sold my mornings with a lot of charm, a little acting, and a whole lot of smooth lying. As much as newsies hate to say that we lie, that's exactly what I did. It went way beyond just improving the truth. Let's just say that my poor, poor mother was dying of malaria, and the money I got from selling these papers could buy her medicine to heal her. I think half of my papers were bought out of amusement.
I had three left of my afternoon edition, and was getting more and more desperate. Finally, I did something that I hated doing—I broke down and cried. I sat on a step and sobbed my little heart out. It didn't take long for several kind-hearted rich women to scurry over to see what was troubling my little eleven year old alter ego.
"What's wrong, dear?" One of them cooed, sitting delicately on the step beside me.
"M-me muddah's sick 'nd I'se can' sell me papes so's I'se can' get her medicine, 'nd me faddah's gone so' it's just me lookin' afta me muddah 'nd me five little sistahs 'nd… waahhhhh!" I bawled. They shushed and cooed "there there."-s and rubbed my back. When I had calmed down to just sniffling and hiccupping, they each gave me a nickel and took my last three papers.
"Dank you." I sniffled, and they left, after one last pat on the head. As soon as they were out of sight, I stopped my sniffing and hiccupping.
"Five sistahs? Fifteen minutes ago, you'se only had dree." Racetrack snickered, swinging himself down onto the step next to me.
I shrugged. "Guess she had twins."
Racetrack laughed. "Your dead muddah's havin' twins? You'se really do got a problem." I elbowed him in the ribs for the jab at my mother. Even if she wasn't dead, per say, she still didn't exist yet, and I really missed her.
"Sorry." Racetrack mumbled. I just shrugged.
"You'se really good at da whole cry-baby li'l kid, ding, dough. D'you'se do dat da foist day?"
"Nah, not quite. Close, dough. Just widout me dead muddah and all da watahwoiks."
Racetrack laughed. "Yeah, now I'se see's why ya got called 'Hambone'."
"I'se can do even bettah dan dat."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. Pick out someone, 'nd I bet you'se I can sell dem a pape."
Racetrack smirked and handed me one of his last few papers. He scanned the crowd. "Dere. Dat one." He pointed to a woman with a baby on her back, carrying a basket of laundry. She would have been a hard sell for an eighteen year old boy, but certainly not for an eleven year old.
"I'se don't dink dat you'se coulda picked a hahdah poi-son." I sneered sarcastically. I skimmed the headlines, and found the perfect one.
"EXTRY, EXTRY! Baby snatchahs takin' young children right from da muddah's ahms! Is yoah young'ns safe?" I hollered, waving the paper.
The woman's head snapped up and she hurried over to me.
"I'll take a paper, please." She gasped, her face flushed with excitement and fear. I handed her the paper, and accepted her penny.
As she continued on her way I looked down at Race and smirked.
"Aw, dat was too easy. Try 'im." He pointed to a burly workman. He was covered in soot. I squinched up my nose as I thumbed through another paper for the right headline.
"Extry, extry! Blacksmith shop burns to da ground! Apprentice suspected of ahson!"
The smith started to saunter towards me, but then apparently thought better of spending a penny on a newsboy's lie.
"Find out if yoah new 'pprentice is da culprit!" I bawled desperately. He turned back and came over to me, silently buying a paper.
Race handed me another paper and pointed to another person, smirking the entire time. We continued to play this game until all of his papers were sold.
"I'se dinks dat I'se gots da bettah end of dat deal." Racetrack snickered as we headed away from the corner.
"Huh?"
"You'se sold all me papes, and I'se gots ta leahn how you'se do it."
"Yeah, yeah. Lucky you'se." I grumbled as I turned down a street.
"'ey. Wheah you'se goin'?" Racetrack stopped. I stopped and turned around to look at him.
"Brooklyn." I said. Obviously. I added in my head. Racetrack shook his head.
"Fine. Come back befoah dahk."
"Yes, Muddah."
It was a long walk to Brooklyn, but it was nearly always worth it. Until you got jumped by street rats.
I had just crossed the bridged into Brooklyn when they came out of a darkened alley. They weren't Brooklyn newsies, Brooklyn newsies used their wiles and cunning to fight. These ones relied on brute strength instead. Must be from Queens.
I ducked under a heavy fist thrown at my head, dashing in to pummel his ribs, before ducking out of reach of him again. I could see his two buddies slinking around behind me. I just hoped they didn't plan on attacking me before I could finish with Ham-Hands here.
Ham-Hands swung at me again, and again missed. I went for the ribs again. He doubled over gasping. I grabbed the back of his head and smashed his face into me knee. Pain shot up my leg, but I was too hopped up on adrenaline to notice. I didn't know if he was conscious or not, but Ham-Hands was out of my way for the time being.
I turned towards the other two. They looked familiar, but I didn't really have time to place them. I figured it out when one pulled out a knife and smirked.
"Really, boys? 'membah what happened last time we'se did dis?" I chided. The one with the knife smirked even wider.
"'pparently not." I shrugged. ""sokay, we'll jist try dis again."
This battle unfolded very much like the first, except it wasn't Jack who pulled me off. This time it was a Brooklyn newsie. The one that taught me the Belfast Kiss. What was his name? Bear. He was Bear. I could see why, since he was crushing me in a bear hug as he carried me away from the fight.
"You'se really shouldn' do dat. It's not healthy." Bear growled in his low voice as he set me on a curb. He crouched in front of me and inspected my face. "Eh, you'se got hit pretty bad. Best see Spot."
Ignoring my protests, Bear picked me up in his enormous, bulky arms and cradled me, striding off toward the Brooklyn lodging house.
Bear set me down on one of the lower bunks and went to fetch Spot. Spot caught one look at me and rounded angrily on Bear.
"What happened ta her? I'se sweah, Beah, if dis is yoah fault…" Spot snarled. Bear held up his hands and answered calmly,
"Nah. Some Queens boys got her."
"Huh. How many?"
"Dree of dem."
"Aw. Poah Princess. Nevah stood a chance." Spot sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He apparently thought that I had been knocked senseless.
"You'se should see what da Princess did ta dem." Bear chuckled.
"Huh?" Spot's head snapped up. "She won?"
"I'se had ta pull 'er off."
"No way."
"Yes way." I groaned. Spot and Bear jumped. I guess they both thought I was out. Spot swaggered over.
"Ah, you'se awake." He smirked.
"Yeah." I groused, wrinkling my nose. Pain shot across my face, making me groan and curse.
"'ey, 'ey. C'mere." Spot grabbed my shoulders and leaned me up against the headboard. He set his hand on my cheek and rubbed my cheekbone as he studied my wounds. Spot was being way too nice. Something was wrong with him. I squirmed.
"'ey, 'ey. No fussin'." He murmured. Which of course made me fuss more. He stuck out his tongue to the side in concentration. And then he seized my nose and shoved it back into place. Next thing I knew, my fist was hitting him square between his eyes. He rocked backward.
"Now I'se see's why Jack di'n' set dat da foist time, Princess."
"I'se not yoah Princess." I snarled.
"Oh yeah?" Spot cocked an eyebrow. "Why not?"
"Because I'se ain'tcha goil, Spot. Dat's Dove."
"Yeah, I'se knows. Dove's da queen a' Brooklyn. So's you'se da princess, Princess."
I growled at him. My nose was hurting, my knee was hurting, my ribs were hurting, and so were my knuckles. I didn't feel like arguing the point.
"Awright, now dat we'se gotcha nose done, what else hoits?" Spot asked, resettling himself across from me on the bunk. I glanced at Bear. Spot motioned for him to leave, and waited for him to shut the door. Spot turned back to me, waiting for my answer. I just pressed my lips together.
"Fine. Don' tell me. I'se'll jist feel around til I'se find it." Spot shrugged.
"My ribs! Sheesh, don' feel me up!" I squealed when he reached for me.
"C'n I'se see?"
"No."
"Geez. I'se not lookin' ta see you'se wid ya shoit off. I'se just wanna make shoah dat dey'se di'n' break nuddin dat could hoit ya insides." He lectured. "What kinda guy d'ya dink I'se is? You'se me great great grandbrat."
I narrowed my eyes and lifted my shirt. I was thankful that I decided to keep wrapping my chest, since I had gotten tired of the boys looking down my shirt. Spot just raised an eyebrow when I tugged my shirt off over my head.
"Shaddup." I grumbled as he poked at the rapidly forming bruises. "Ya got a smoke?" I asked, and he handed me a cigarette and lit it for me.
"Turn around. Da bummahs got ya back too." He mumbled as he continued his inspection. I turned so that I was sitting on the edge of the bed, with my feet on the floor.
Spot jabbed at a bruise that was forming over one of my kidneys. I yelped and sat up, almost dropping my precious cigarette. I backhanded Spot.
"Be a li'l gentlah."
"Yeah. I'se dink I'se will be." Spot said, rubbing his face.
And that's how Racetrack found me, shirtless, hunched over, elbows on my knees, with a slowly smoldering cigarette dangling from my lips while Spot poked at the bruises on my back.
"Don't ask." I growled when he opened his mouth.
Poor Spot, I'm so mean to him. Mwahahaha!
Do I really need to remind you at this point? Read and review, please!