One Step too Far
Ripped and Crumpled Spirit

By Morning Glory

Spot had reluctantly left Manhattan the same day that Blink and Gav had come across Sketches. He knew that something was wrong with the girl, but there was nothing he could do about it. As much as he hated to call Sketches a problem, she was not his problem, she was Jack's. He knew full well that he could not spend any more time in Manhattan; he had his own boys to look after in Brooklyn, Spot would be lucky if there was a lodging house still standing when he returned. Spot needed to stop worrying about a newsie who was not under his lead. He pushed the thoughts of Sketches to the back of his mind, knowing that the next time he would see her would be at the poker game at the end of the month, if things had not escaladed any further.

Things continued the same way for weeks, Sketches would return in the middle of the night, thinking no one would notice. Race was almost always awake to greet her, but it wore on him emotionally and physically. He could not take seeing her come in night after night with a new bruise, or upset. It was even harder on the nights that she did not return at all. Things became even worse when she began to withdraw from her friends, the people she called family. Race supposed it was because of all the questions that had been asked of her. Each time the simple rehearsed lie that she had told so many times rolled off her tongue, it was just another fight. These 'fights' that Sketches kept getting into with the Delancy's or a random guy seemed to be getting worse each time.

Gav had speculated that the injuries were from Pickpocket, though she did not have any proof of it, it was just a gut feeling. The day he came to the lodging house for Sketch, everything had seemed fine between the two of them, but there were the tears later on. Gav had told Blink about her theory and he agreed, but it was a half-hearted agreement. She knew that he did not completely believe her. Blink would make comments asking 'why would Sketch stay with some one like that? Or she'd tell us if something was wrong.' Gav did not know what to do. She knew that rumors were spread around the lodging house about Sketches, but then rumors were always spread about every one in the lodging house. Finally, not wanting to upset her friend, Gav just let her have her space and dropped any assumption that the injuries were coming from Pickpocket.

It was no different on this Wednesday morning at the Newsboys' Lodging House. It was easy to get lost in the quick paced morning routine. Every person struggled through a sea of bodies to get to the sinks and stalls. The sooner you got your papers, the better the chances were of getting a great selling spot.

However, Sketches hung back, waiting until there would be enough room to navigate her battered body through the rough newsboys. Sketch was unsure if she had gone unnoticed by others, or they just were not saying anything. She felt a bit relieved that no one was asking questions, but she it made her feel alone. Beginning to blame her self for everything that was going on with Pickpocket and now her friends, everything was starting to take its toll on her. Both physically and mentally Sketches was exhausted, it showed in her work. Selling having been only part-time to begin with, Sketches was down to only fifteen to twenty papers a day. Using her love of drawing to supplement her income, the drawings she used to do for people in the park, which were brilliant and vibrant, were dull and dreary. Evidence of the late nights spent sneaking around could be seen in her face, the green eyes that once sparkled with great enthusiasm for life appeared lifeless, almost as if she had given up completely.

Once a majority of people had cleared the washroom Sketches made her way over to a sink. Her arm was wrapped around her, crossing just below her ribs. She took in a slow deep breath, gritting her teeth as pain filled her chest. An argument had erupted between Sketches and Pickpocket the other night, and had ended in bruised ribs. The sad thing was that Sketch could not even remember what the fight had been about. As much as she tried to stay on Pickpocket's good side, it was becoming harder and harder to do. Somewhere inside she knew what he was doing was wrong. However, she was unsure of what was keeping her there, was it love that was keeping her from leaving, or what it the fear, of the threats that if she left he would hurt her.

"Are you okay?" A voice male voice, a blend of New York and Italian accents, came from behind.

Startled by the voice Sketch looked over. She had been standing in front of the mirror again staring, but not at herself. Staring through it, searching for an answer to her problem, "I'm fine." Her tone rehearsed.

"I'm not buyin' it any more." Race tried to calm himself as he spoke with her. He was angry at Sketches, angry because she was keeping something from him, "That's the same answer you've been giving me for weeks now; no one can be fine all the time!" His tone was harsh, but Race had enough of all the bull.

Shrinking back in fear at the angry words coming from her best friend, the tears lined the bottom of her eyes, "I..I have go to." Sketches stammered, before bolting from the washroom. The thoughts began to run through her head, did he know something? If he did and Pickpocket found out-- no she did not want to think of that. Gathering her graphite and sketch book with shaky hands, she headed out of the boarding house to start the long day that awaited her.

Race stood dumbfounded, he had not been expecting her to react like that. Maybe he had been a little insensitive, but he wanted to know what was going on with his friend. Grabbing his cigar from the tin cup next to his bed, he placed it between his lips, following the same route out as Sketch had taken. Race thought he would apologize later, but he was still angry with her.

Numbers sat at the large oak desk that resided in the lobby. He looked over the numbers that Kloppman had come up with in the ledger, "Where the hell did he get the four from?" His forehead crinkled in disbelief, talking to him self, "Ten and forty doesn't give you a four anywhere…" Numbers was pretty intelligent in the way of newsies. He had never formally attended school before. However, the small amount of time he had spent in school he excelled at his studies, growing bored with it, Numbers sought adventure. This did not go over well with his parents who threatened to disown him, landing himself behind the desk he sat at now.

Jack sauntered down the stairs approaching the desk, "See Sketches?"

Numbers was hunched over the books trying to make sense of what Kloppman had destroyed, "No, haven't seen her all day." He had been sitting in the same spot since the morning.

Jack watched Numbers and raised an eyebrow, "Have you even looked up from those, Numbers?"

"Hmm?" Numbers only lifted his head for a moment before returning to his work.

"Nothing," Jack exhaled noisily and shook his head. He walked over sitting on the stairs, one of his newsies was in trouble and no one had seen her around. Normally Jack would not get involved with lovers quarrels, but Race and Gav had come to him numerous times to try and talk to Sketches. Jack did not see what good he would do; he did not even know how to approach the topic.

The door to the lodging house clicked open and Sketches walked in. Her head lowered, not wanting to meet the gaze of the others. She was still quite upset over the events that took place in Central Park today. Sketches shifted her sketch book closing it tighter so she would not lose the contents.

Jack quickly stood up from his perch on the stairs walking over to her, "Hey Sketches, can we talk?" He asked hesitantly.

Looking up at she gave a small nod, not able to say no to him. Sketches was not in a position emotionally to argue with any one. Numbers looked up from the books when he heard Jack talk to Sketches; he had never seen any one so sad.

Jack nodded reaching over to place his hand on her shoulder, but she flinched, and he pulled his hand back, "Let's go talk over in the kitchen."

Once in the kitchen, where no other newsie would be found until food was ready, Jack leaned back against the counter, "Gav and Race are worried about ya kid." He stated straight out, "They-- and myself are worried yer gonna get hurt even worse, ya know getting into those fights and all." Jack played along with her stories.

"They don't have to worry, there's nothing wrong Jack." Sketches looked across the kitchen at him, "I just wish people would stop asking me if I am okay, because I am…I am fine…please just believe me, even if you don't."

Jack rubbed the back of his neck nodding again. He could not force her to talk to him or anyone else for that matter, "Okay Sketch, I believe ya." Jack frowned pushing off the counter. He knew this was not the talk Race had in mind for the two of them to have, but it was the best that he could do, "Sketches if anything is going on you know you have friends here ready to help you when you're ready."

"I know." She whispered clenching the book tighter.

"Do you really?" Jack inquired unsure if he actually believed her or not. All he got in response was a nod. He would have to accept that as her answer. Jack walked over placing a hand on her shoulder lightly, before pushing through the door back to the lobby.

Standing alone in the kitchen Sketches thought about his words. She had friends at the lodging house and they would be there when she was ready. Leaving the kitchen Sketches brushed past everyone in the lobby, heading up to the one place in the world where she could let her emotions free.

The warm salty tears streamed down her cheeks, her sobs echoed off the roof tops as Sketches hid from the rest of the world, or just the people in the lodging house. At the bottom of her feet laid a leather book, torn and crumpled pages rested sandwiched between the top and bottom, keeping the wind from whisking them away. It was more than apparent that the book had been destroyed by someone, other than the artist. Sketches wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her graphite covered sleeve, wincing as her hand grazed several bruises. She felt lower than ever as she sat high on the rooftop.

The day had started out on the edge with Race's outburst at her, and steadily declined from there. Maybe it had been that Sketches just did not have the enthusiasm needed to get through the day any more, but selling fifteen papers had felt like the most difficult task. There had been a time when she had been able to sell at least fifty in one day. After getting five papers sold Sketches had wondered into Central Park like normal. She had set herself up to do nickel sketches for people, but even that did not seem to be going her way.

Just needing a break from life, basking in the warm spring sun, Sketches decided that the bench by boat pound would Sketches had start mindlessly sketching, when she had stopped to really look at the drawing it had been of her friends, Race, Gav, Blink, Jack, and Spot, all people who had cared about her. People she had pushed an arm length away. Sketches wiped a few stray tears away as she sat looking at the portrait of her friends; she was interrupted when the sketch book was yanked out from her lap. Sketch gasped reaching for the book, but the person had been too quick.

"What's this?" The harsh voice belonging to a male spoke, it was Pickpocket. He leafed through the drawings of her friends, Race, Jack, Gav, Mischief, Blink, and Spot. There was that kid again, the one he had warned her to stay away from.

"They're just drawings." Sketches reached for the book, but Pickpocket held it away from her.

"I told you to stay away from him, and now you're drawing pictures?" Pickpocket had to be the most jealous guy in all of Manhattan. He had been completely oblivious to the other people in there. Suddenly there was a ripping of paper, as pieces floated to the ground like fall leaves.

Sketches' heart shattered to see all of her work was carelessly ripped from its leather bounds. Kneeling down on the ground she collected the pieces, tears splashing like raindrops, wetting the papers.

The tears flowed even more as she thought back on the day. She was lost with no way out now. Sketches felt a comforting arm wrap around her shoulders, her heart beat quickly. She looked up through her tears to see it was Race, "It's gonna be okay." He whispered wrapping a second arm around the sobbing girl. Race pulled her into a tight embrace. He knew it was more than the sketches that lay wrinkled at her feet, "Stay here tonight Sketches, stay for your friends if you can't for any other reason."

The two of them just sat there for what seemed to be hours as the sun slowly faded behind the horizon of the city. Race with his arms around Sketches letting her cry, not asking questions, it seemed like the best thing he could do to help her. Maybe Sketches would trust him enough to eventually tell him the secret that was slowly killing her inside and out.