Chapter 2

The attempt to stop the newspaper wagon wasn't to happen until the next day, but the eager Smalls claimed she wanted to meet the team she'd be striking alongside. So the trio hopped onboard a trolley and zipped back to Manhattan barely within an hour. Then, they approached the Newsboys Lodging House - a solid brick building much like the girls' home. Smalls stared to the parallel alleyway, filled with garbage and old newspapers. A silver trash can still stood there. She couldn't remember why, but it made her shudder a bit.

Finch knocked on the door. After a few seconds, he pounded on it violently. "'Ey, open up, ya lazy sacks! It's me!"

A boy with messy black hair and a round, child's face opened the door, holding the insides of his tan vest casually. He first turned his attention to Jules.

"Oh, well, good afternoon Gorgeous," he greeted with a smile, tipping his hat. "What brings a dame like you here at this hour?"

"Can it, Romeo," Jules shot back, glaring with her one uncovered eye. The boy threw his arms up into the air and abandoned the door.

"How does everyone know my name?!"

Soon, a brown-haired boy in all blue came to the door. "Hey, Finch. Who are ya friends?"

"They came with me from Bronx. Said they wanted to meet the crew." He stepped back and gestured to the girls. "This is Jules, an' this is Smalls."

"Hi."

"Hello!"

"Great. The name's Jack. Wanna come in?"

"I guess."

"Sure!"

In the entrance room, the girls and Jack sat on old wooden benches facing each other.

"So, welcome aboard. You two are the first to agree to help us out, ya know. But Dave - he's kinda my partner in startin' the strike - thinks the rest will come back around. It's all about Brooklyn for 'em. If Spot Conlon's not in, they're not in."

"Same for our Lodging House," Smalls said.

"Then why're you here?" Jack asked.

"We didn't agree with them," she replied. "I support the cause, and-"

"She's here to see her old boyfriend," Jules cut in, arms crossed.

"Jules!" Smalls became flustered and turned to her friend.

"It's true, ain't it?" She asked.

"Yeah, but… I mean…Jules, we were kids. We never… you know, courted or anything." She turned back to the somewhat confused Jack. "Russell. Specs. He's just a friend that I haven't seen in four years, and I kind of wanted to see him again. Though I do also back up your cause."

"A'ight then, I'll get 'im down here." He stood up from his chair and walked over to the dull-carpeted staircase. He banged on the rail once or twice and yelled, "Specs! C'mon down here! Someone's here to see you!"

Smalls' stomach churned a bit. She didn't really have any reason to be nervous, but what if he didn't remember her? What if he had changed completely? What if…

Jack disappeared upstairs, and a few seconds later, a figure began running down the stairs, two at a time. At first, Smalls knew it couldn't be him. His toned and lightly muscled arms showed from his striped, sleeveless undershirt that he wore with dark suspenders, navy pants, and a gray hat, the trademark of a news carrier. But when he turned, she could see his curly blonde hair poking out from under his cap, those inquisitive eyes, and his round, black-framed glasses. Smalls stood up.

"Specs?" She asked. The boy walked towards her, looking up and down, from her favorite green cap to her dirty, creased boots. Though he was confused by the hair, he could find his old best friend behind bright blue-green eyes, sparkling with excitement.

"Lauren."

Smalls couldn't suppress the huge smile that grew on her face. She let out a chuckle and ran to her friend, throwing her arms around him. He stumbled back, still in major awe and shock that this was her. He streamed out an incredulous laugh as he wrapped his arms right back around her, lifting her into the sky for a moment before grounding her again. When they pulled away, Specs spent another few seconds just looking at her. Her quirky nose was still the same, and she still radiated that same peppy positive energy that he had missed for so long. As her face matured, she never outgrew the forever-young look about her. Rather, it was added to, with natural beauty. Smalls squeezed her thin eyebrows down and asked, "How did you get so much taller than me?"

The question was valid - when standing straight, the top of her cap barely came up to the bottom of his chin. Specs shrugged. "You always were smaller than me."

"That's what they call me at the Bronx Lodging House. Smalls."

"Bronx Lodging House?" He repeated, eyes growing. She nodded. "Okay, come on. We gotta catch up." He led to the back of the room where there was a more comfortable leather couch.

Jules sat alone, forgotten about, and didn't mind it. She wasn't particularly eager to be introduced to Smalls' friend. All the newsboys she met had the tendency to think they were above everyone else (girls especially). Maybe it was because they thought they had endured so many hardships, but Jules was immune to whatever sympathy teases were thrown at her. She knew every poor orphan story in the book, from the "parents died in a carriage crash" to "little sister can't pay for life-saving surgery." Or maybe it was just whatever popularity contest went on in their own Lodging Houses. Boys got small-town fame for selling the most papers, which was usually from cheats and lies, but they also got it from the cigars they smuggled, the pranks they played, and the cops they deceived. Of course, a newsgirl might do any of these things too, but when a boy got away with it, their heads would swell, and way too much for Jules' tastes.

Just then, a boy who seemed about Jules' age carefully made his way down the steps. He wore a fully-buttoned dark vest with his white dress shirt and tie. He didn't seem newsie material at all, and if he was, he was obviously a newbie.

"Hi there," he greeted, smoothing over his ironed slacks with his hands and approaching the bench. He barely had any accent in his voice at all, but was there a touch of nervousness in it? "Jack told me we got some new recruits. That's great." He held out his hand. "My name is David. And you are…?"

Jules stared at the outstretched hand, but didn't take it. "Jules," she said simply, gently pushing his hand back down. David seemed confused by this response but tried to keep a tentative smile on his face.

"Right, okay. So, you're from the Bronx, right?"

"Right." Julia didn't stand.

"Erm, you gotta little…" He gestured across his face to indicate the strip of hair that covered her eye.

"I know," she replied. "Surely you've met a girl before? We tend to have long hair."

David gave her a squinted-eye look.

"Whoops," she said. "My mistake."

"Listen - Jules, right? We're going to have to work together on this whole strike thing, and I'm not too sure we're off to a sanguine start."

"Oh no, you have intimidated me by your large an' uncommon words. Lord save me," Jules replied, voice thick with icy sarcasm. "Look, even I don't want to be here, and you seem like Mister Sweet Guy. A family, I'm guessin', good grades, the works. What the hell are you doin' at the head of the street rat revolution?"

David looked offended. He pointed a finger at her. "That's an awful lot to assume about someone upon just meeting them. What gives you a right to judge? I mean, for all you know, I could be living in this house myself. What's telling you otherwise?"

Jules leaned back, scanning David and gesturing to his entirety. "Just... everythin'. First of all, them clothes. Second of all, ya posture. Thirdly, you haven't broken a cuss yet. Or even improper slang for that matter. And fourthly-"

"We're gonna be late!" A little boy in a purple plaid shirt and bowler hat ran down the stairs and tugged at David's hand. "Come on, Mom and Dad said we have to be home by supper."

Jules let out a brief, harsh laugh. "Fourthly, that."

David looked from the little boy to Jules. "Okay, so you're not completely wrong about that, but-" he exhaled before he could start getting angry at the girl. "I apologize. We can talk later."

Jules crossed her legs, and David led his brother out the door, bending over to talk to him. Julia considered it adorable how formal he was, and how easily he was annoyed despite his determination not to show it. Middle class children of full families were often so naive. Maybe she should've apologized for coming off so cold.

Eh, maybe not.

…

"But you escaped to Refuge? The only person I know who managed to do that is-"

Smalls rolled her eyes. "Lemme guess: Jack?" Specs nodded. "Oh, please. He's all you boys ever talk about. I could run circles around him- and probably sell that much better too."

"I ain't gonna call you a liar," Specs agreed. "But he's the best in Manhattan."

"Manhattan could easily become my kingdom, dearest Specs, and Jack could cleanse thy royal lavatory seats," Smalls declared in a horrible British accent. Specs laughed and executed a regal bow.

"Of course, milady."

That. That was the Specs she remembered. That was the Specs that Smalls had missed.

"But… ain't you scared for tomorrow?" Specs asked.

"What's to be scared about?" Smalls answered with a question.

"There was this trolley strike – well, it's still goin' on, and it's gotten real bad. Sure, the worst we've had thrown back at us today is a couple of scabs, but if we try an' stop the wagons, someone might call the cops."

"I knew that," Smalls lied. "I don't see the fuss in all that. We could outrun 'em, couldn't we?"

"Sure," Specs said, trying to shrug off his doubts and play it cool. "No big deal. A little danger here an' there… ya know, it's good stimulation for the brain. Hey, you stayin' the night in Manhattan?" He asked.

"Can't. Jules ain't gonna let me rough it out on the street, an' the motels around here are too expensive. We'll be back early tomorrow mornin', though."

"Right. I mean, good. Great."

"Yep. But I can probably stick around here for a while. Maybe a couple hours."

"All right then." He thought for a moment before raising a finger. "I know."

"You know what?"

He grinned. "How about we play a game for old time's sake?"

He approached the side of the staircase and opened the door to a secret compartment. It was a cluttered closet, filled with jackets and various cardboard boxes. Specs pulled out one that seemed to once hold a new shirt from a store. Little wooden trinkets clinked inside. Smalls almost tore the lid off, hastily opening it to ensure that her suspicions were true. It was an old-fashioned chessboard, checkered with white and dark brown. The pieces rolled around on top, the two colors scrambled. She grabbed Specs' wrist and dragged him out the door, finally stopping on the second step to the top.

"White or brown?" Smalls asked.

Specs didn't drop his smile for a millisecond. "Surprise me."