Author's note:
Back in the writing groove! Yay!
I'm not going to lie, this chapter is way too long to even exist. But it does. Sorry not sorry bout it. I guess I kinda got too caught up in trying to make sense of this dumb OC who I keep mis-characterizing. Jules is still only my first one, be nice. She won't show up a lot in later chapters, I just wanted to try and work her out. Specs and Smalls will return to being the A plot in the next update.
Any reviews and critiques are much appreciated!
~CW
By the afternoon, all the boys were too lazy to continue rough housing, but whispers and acidic stares still lingered towards Crutchie's cot. He knew he didn't look his best, and one of his eyes was still swollen shut. He hated the odd looks he kept getting, just as he had hated people in his past counting him out or babying him because of his bum leg. This was about five times worse, though. Now he could barely stand up in the first place before worrying about how well he could walk in front of these sickly chumps.
"It's gonna be your fault we ain't gettin' supper," a heavily pimpled boy lounging in the parallel lower bed called over. "Snyder hates your guts, and he hates all them newsies."
Crutchie turned his head back to the bottom of the bunk above him and ignored.
"Hey, ya hear me, crip?"
Crutchie didn't. He wanted to get back to thinking positive. And he hadn't spoken in so long (far against the norm for him) that he felt like starting to would hurt his head all over again.
"Yoo-hoo! Telegram to crip!"
Oh, to hell with it.
"If you's gonna do that, you can at least come up wid' a creative nickname," Crutchie struggled to remark, turning his head back to the boy. "King of the Crutch. Sir Limps-a-lot. Somethin' at least wid' a good ring to it, 'cuz you'll be chantin' it when Specs an' I break out an' get this place shut down." He turned his head back to the cot on top of him.
"Wouldja guys wake up already? It's not happenin'."
Pure stubborn silence came from Crutchie.
"Ya still listening? Crip?" The boy prodded. "Eh...Sir Limps-a-lot?"
Crutchie barely looked over in time to see Specs approach and sit on the side of his bed. He looked relatively kept-together; for now, at least.
"Hi," he said. "How's you doin'?"
"I'm feelin' a lot better," Crutchie replied, smiling a little. He sat up, trying not to let the lingering aches that were reignited show on his face. "Think I'm lookin' a ton better too."
"I ain't ready ta putcha onstage and call you a Bowery Beauty jus' yet, but you's gettin' there," Specs commented.
"Thanks," Crutchie said with a cheesy expression. "Always knew I could make it ta show biz."
"Send the new kid!" Specs suddenly heard some of the boys yell from further away. "Specs!" "Get the newsie down there!"
He turned "What?"
Before he knew it, they were clamoring down the aisle of bunks. Red and another boy grabbed Specs by the shoulders.
"Wait, what's goin' on?" He asked.
"Snyder wants 'is coffee about now. You's takin' the shift," Red explained and he tugged Specs to the door. "You deal with 'im tonight. Got it?"
"I..."
SLAM.
Specs was pushed out of the room and locked out into the dusty hallway, not ten seconds after talking to Crutchie.
...
"Today's pape, Mistah Snyder?"
Snyder looked up from his desk of paperwork in the far corner of the office to see a pretty pathetic Specs standing in the pine doorway to his office. He held a tray with the warden's steaming cup of decaffeinated coffee and oddly untouched copy of the New York Sun. Snyder raised his eyebrows.
"Well, whaddya know. My own personal newsboy."
Specs almost choked on the bitterness demanding to be expressed and gently thrust the stained tray forward.
"Yes, yes, bring it here, boy, I haven't all day!" Snyder snapped. "Wouldn't wanna spoil my wonderful mood, now would you?"
"Of course not, Mistah Snyder." Specs set down the tray. The subtly trembling metal clattered softly against the wooden table.
"Is that a tone I hear?" Snyder asked warningly, fist lightly gripping around the dented walking stick he held under the desk.
"No," Specs replied, trying to back away from the edge. "My apologies. Ya want me ta clean this up when you're done?"
"Of course," Snyder answered. He turned his attention to the paper. "Be back in a few minutes."
Specs turned to leave, but then, he heard some grumbling about a "cowboy." He swiveled back around. Snyder's eyes on the page turned from troubled to stinging with anger. Specs remembered that Jack was in that paper, and Snyder had put quite a bounty on him when he escaped the Refuge...
Specs approached again. He could assure him it was a different guy. "Mistah Snyder?"
"You heard me, kid. Scram," he growled.
"But Warden, l couldn't help but-"
"I said scram!" Snyder swung his walking stick and whacked the side of Specs' face with a loud thunk. The edge cut into his cheek and he stumbled to the ground, not foreseeing the hit.
"Good-for-nothin' newsie," Snyder muttered. "Wimpier than the crip." He swung again, knocking Specs' jaw all the way up to face him. He leaned in close enough to easily strangle the boy. "Listen up. I'll let you slide this time, but 'less you wanna end up like the cripple, you better learn some manners, ya hear?"
Specs struggled to nod. Snyder used the close proximity to jab him hard in the chest, knocking him down again against the solid, splintered wood floor. He scrambled to his feet and exited the room, a hand on his jaw where the blow had hit, followed by the murmuring of "Stupid kid." He slammed the door.
. . .
Sam was leaning against the nearby wall twenty minutes later when Specs ripped open the door to the boys' dorm. The air seemed stuffier and sweatier than before.
"So, how'd it go?" Sam casually asked.
"I'm gonna kill 'im," Specs replied curtly.
"Yeah, we all thought we were our first week or so," Sam told him. "But he wouldn't be too rough on a newbie."
"It's not that he was rough ta me. That was nothin'." He listed off with his fingers, practically fuming. "It's that he can abuse any kid in here an' get away wid' it. It's that he knows very well that he can threaten 'em ta paranoia. It's that he beat up Crutchie" - his voice cracked through the name of his friend - "to a near pulp jus' ta set an example. It's that he don't care." He threw his hands down. "It's that he's a monster an' he loves it."
"He's a coward," Sam reminded him. "Makin' his whole job about intimidating kids."
Specs sighed, not knowing how to reply. "Well, is Crutchie doin' any better?"
Sam turned his head down the line of bunks. Specs tried not to notice the red scars Snyder's cat 'o nine tails had left on the back of his neck that morning. The marks were mostly covered by his untamed black hair, but Specs could still hear the deafening snap of the leather against Sam's bare skin when the other boys had sold him out for sneaking in the smokes. He had just knelt and pulled up his shirt when accused, as if it were routine.
"Little bit," Sam answered, jogging Specs from his spine-shivering memory. "Movin' around some. Not standin' too good, though."
Specs leaned to the side a little bit to see Sam's point of view. Little Tim sat cross-legged on Crutchie's bed as Crutchie sat up in front of him, weaving tales of the strikes with gestures, broad smiles, and sound effects. You could see Tim laughing by the shrugging of his shoulders.
"An' what about food around here?" Specs asked, though he didn't expect a positive answer.
"Oh, don't ya go complaining," Sam replied. "We don't always get breakfast. You got real lucky, Newsie." He glanced up at the grandfather clock in the corner, the redwood eroded and glass scratched around the edges. "If they ain't still punishin' us - which they almost always find a reason to - it's 'bout ten til supper fer us. They would bring up a platter 'a somethin'. If they do, don't be too slow ta reach it. Food's real short here. It's blood in the water. These guys are animals, and it'll all be gone in seconds."
Specs didn't doubt it. Slightly curious about Smalls' experience, he inquired, "What about the girls?"
"Oh, God, Newsie," Sam snickered, finding pure humor in the question. "Don't you go sayin' you wanna sweet-talk the ladies in this dump."
"No, no, of course not," Specs quickly assured him. "I was just wonderin' if Snyder was any easier on 'em." He hurried to gesture to himself with sheepish self-criticism. "An' besides, jus' look at me; Do I seem any kinda smooth to you?"
"They're in the floor right above. Barely see 'em, 'less we're sent to run errands or clean up the place at the same time." He paused and scanned Specs skeptically. "Your inflection says 'Girls got cooties,' but your eyes tell a different tale. Got one back home thatcha care about?"
No. Well, yeah, obviously, but like that? Maybe. Probably. Okay, yes. But-
Before Specs could start stuttering like a fool, there was a large clatter that turned both of the boys' heads. In the far corner, Rick had just pushed some kid down from a higher bunk. He collapsed on the ground, groaning, but the reaction from the others was minimal. A leather cigar case flopped down after him. Two boys shoved over others nearby to grab at it and engaged in a tug-of-war over the prize. A screaming match broke out, but this time, Snyder paid no mind.
"See what I mean?" Sam asked. Of course, Specs did see. It could get just as loud in the Lodging House, but the newsboy gang was never this cold or in such a dog-eat-dog mindset. "Animals. A bunch of 'em are fixed on the thought that enough smokes'll calm 'em down, get 'em jus' high enough, make the isolation a little more painless. Tried it time and time again, an' I learned somethin'- It's total bull. Didn't do much good fer me."
Sam glanced over to see a confused glare through thick glasses right back at him. "Yeah, I know. This mornin'. I still smuggle 'em from time ta time. Even if it gets me the whip, it gets me leverage. An' I don't mind the taste now an' then."
Specs had thought that there was no way in the world that he would be here long enough to go a little nuts, much less require a coping method. But now that the initial shock had set in, he was beginning to doubt the idea.
"So do you got somethin' different that works fer you?"
Sam released a soft, breathy chuckle. "Ah...Hope. That's my drug. I been here a pretty long while - longer than Rick, I'll assure you. I screwed up real bad and got sent here after gettin' in trouble with the law. Almost everyone I knew when I first got here ran out of their sentence or, in rare cases, busted out. I was either forgotten 'bout or kept on purpose when Snyder figured out I had no folks anyway and decided to start cheatin' the system."
Cheating the system with homeless kids. That's probably how Smalls got dragged in. She didn't really do any harm besides loitering.
"Thought I'd break down in the third month," Sam continued. His eyes drifted to the ceiling as he remembered the time. "But then, there was this little kid. Not that much younger than me, but still a kid, inside and out. Bright-eyed. Liked her spunk. Took her in a little while. When the separation wasn't too strict, she'd come down an' we'd talk. She was jus' so determined that she'd bust outta here."
She.
"So, she kinda rubbed off on me. An' so I got hope. Always thinkin' of ways outta here. Always thinkin' of ways to exploit this place when inspectors come around. I tried for escape once but failed pretty miserably, puttin' me in for an even longer sentence. But she-" Sam stopped himself and gave Specs a sideways look. "Ah, man, I'm jus' gabbin' your ear off, ain't I? Red always thinks I need ta shut my mouth from time ta time, especially around newbies."
"No," Specs insisted. "Go ahead. Say what you were gonna say."
Sam shrugged. "She escaped easily cause she was tiny for 'er age. Constant jabberin' though. But I grew ta be comforted by it. An' she could get away wid' a lot, including knickin' food from the warden's cronies."
"Lauren," Specs guessed. "That was her name, wasn't it?"
Sam looked at him with a crooked grin. "Yeah. An' I was right. You were the Specs she wouldn't shut up about."
...
"Say, David."
David flipped his head up from his book with a start. He was sitting in the shade of a tree on the low brick wall between the street and the residential apartments bordering Newsie Square. Jules stood in front of him, holding two bottles of root beer.
"Hey, Julia," he answered, quickly dog-earing the page he was on in Connecticut Yankee.
Jules gave him a glare.
"That's your name, right? Isn't that what Smalls called you, or... Do you not like to be called it?"
Jules didn't lift the stare. "It ain't a secret. But I don't go by it no more. Understand?"
"Crystal clear," David answered, slipping the miniature novel into his back pocket. Jules handed him an opened glass bottle and sat down beside him.
"Thanks," he responded, rubbing the cool condensation from his hand onto his vest.
Jules slumped and took a swig in silence. "So," she mumbled.
David took a sip of chilled soda. "Something on your mind?"
"Listen, it's late," Jules replied. "an' Kelly an' I both think I should go back out to the Bronx tonight to try to convince the girls 'bout this whole thing."
"That's great," David said with a smile that felt a little strange. This was a supportive Jules he was talking to now.
"Smalls wants to hang back."
"Why?"
"She won't say, but I know exactly why, and I ain't too thrilled about it." Jules stopped and tried to find the right wording.
"You know what, it's not my business at all," David said. "It's fine. But if you ever need to talk about something with Smalls, I'm all ears. Honestly. She's a pretty good kid."
"You should see 'er back in the Bronx," Jules muttered. "The girl can't be tied down. But that's the trouble here."
She turned her head again, looking just beyond the rose lined clouds in the soft summer sunset.
"Like I said, it's gettin' late, an' I guess I should run this errand for you guys, which means Smalls is gonna be left unattended. Kelly said she can get away wid' crashin' on a spare bed in the Lodging House basement if she really wants to. So I'm not tryin' ta ask for too much, but if you're still around here and she tries to make a break for the Refuge, you have the right ta slap some sense into 'er."
"Why would she want to-" David stopped. Suddenly the pieces fit together. "Specs, right? Aren't they...together or something?"
"No, they're not," Jules answered. "Not on my watch."
"I mean, Julia-"
Jules snapped another harsh look. David nodded understandingly.
"Jules. Sorry. I'm just not sure that's something you can control."
Jules crossed her legs in a figure four. "I know I can't really be the judge of 'er life, but I feel like she's family. You wouldn't want some little girl ta break Les's heart no matter what the age, would ya?"
"No, of course not," David said, pushing away the thought of his brother's "date" with nine-year-old Sally that night. That didn't count. They were just kids, and even his mom thought it was adorable.
"But I - vaguely - know Specs. He wouldn't hurt her. But of course I understand the concern with the Refuge. I promise I'll keep her away from it."
Jules looked over at him and nodded. "Thanks, David. I'll owe ya one."
"No need," he said. "It's a simple thing. No one wants to see her get in trouble."
Jules didn't have anything to say, so she returned to her usual silence. But it hit her that the Bronx girls were starting to get a name with the Manhattan crew. She always knew she was going to be forced to be "in", but she didn't actually think her and her friend would be so welcomed.
Though the in-control Jules found the silence more comforting than awkward, David tried to think of anything more he could say. His foot began idly tapping against the pavement.
Jules began to stand up to leave, but David's words stopped her.
"What's it like over there?" He asked.
She turned and stood in front of him. "What do you mean?"
David tried not to look intimidated by her stature over him. "Just curious. The Lodging House. In the Bronx."
"I mean..." she made a face of ridicule as if it were a dumb question. "It necessarily ain't a solid roof and cozy bed, but it's home."
"The newsies in general," he specified. "I'm still new to this, Julia, I can't-"
The girl began to say something, but David cut her off with a pointed finger.
"Ah-ah-ah. Jules. I caught myself that time."
A loose grin slid onto her face. Wow. She looked a lot more sweet with it on, and sweet was quite a stretch for Jules.
"They're a bit more skirts-and-curls than me an' Smalls, but they still can be tough as nails when they wanna. They ain't too different from the Manhattan crew. But I've never seen 'em get much inspired about anythin'. You an' Kelly put on a hell of a show and somehow managed ta get all these boys one hundred percent passionate about the strike. That's pretty impressive, and I'll be damned if that's not gonna get the rest of the girls ta open their eyes."
"Right, you better get going, then. Sorry." David handed Jules her bottle that she had almost forgotten on the wall. "Wish you the best of luck. See you...?"
"Tomorrow, bright an' early." She took the bottle and held it up in a sort of passive salute. "G'night, Davey. Take care. And tell Les he's got some real charm on 'im."
"'Night," David replied before Jules turned and went on her way. The boys scattered around her path called out to her.
"Leavin' already, Jules?"
"'Ey, where ya off to?"
"It's a lovely night, Gorgeous!"
David could've sworn he saw her shields physically come back up around her with the slightest angle change of her head. And though he once thought of her as a one-sided sheet of ice, he started to understand that Julia Howell was something of a mystery, hidden behind cold eyes and that stupid piece of hair.
"Jules," he called after her, in way too much haste. She turned slowly and walked back over. She looked calm, but at the same time, she looked like she was ready to punch someone at any moment, an expression that seemed default for her.
"What now?" She asked.
David knew it was a mistake to say anything as soon as she was in front of him again. But words continued to tumble from his lips "Why do you do that?"
"Do... what?" She asked like David was absolutely crazy.
David stood. Maybe that would get him to feel stronger. He was about an inch above Jules. "Why don't you want to connect with people?" There. He got it out. "I mean, I just don't get it. Not ten hours ago I saw a Jules who laughed. She was actually having fun. She danced with Romeo! She talked to me freely. And then five minutes later she shuts back down and goes back to pushing everyone away. Maybe I'm seeing the first Jules now. I don't know. I mean, I get you're worried about Smalls. I get that you stereotype me specifically because, yes, I don't know anything about the struggles of these kids. I get all of that. But why do you go around like you're above all of us or something?"
Now he'd done it. Jules was close enough for him to count all the orange freckles scattered across her nose. David was actually almost convinced she was going to slap him in the face. She didn't, though, and backed up a bit.
"You don't really care," She assumed, edging back on the hostile side.
David didn't seem cross, but he didn't back down. Why wouldn't he back down?
Jules knew he had cracked through the first layer. Too late to back up.
"I grew up," she grumbled, eyes on the ground. "Okay? That's why I couldn't stand the happy-go-lucky day-seizers. They don't see the world for what it really is. Especially New York. There are hateful people around. Tons 'a kids go starvin', freezin', or dyin' in the streets every year and they refuse to hear it."
David looked her straight in the eye now, even though she tried to avoid his stare. "Now, it's not my business..."
"Damn right it isn't..."
"But did something happen?" He asked.
Jules should've shut up. Should've punched him in the mouth. That's what she would do if the girls back home stuck their nose where it didn't belong. But something about him, maybe about his naturally kind spirit, whatever his reason was to be concerned for her, persuaded her to start to trust him. She would be vulnerable again, but maybe that wouldn't be so bad. It was just David. She was already this deep. Might as well keep going.
"Had a family 'a four, jus' like you," she began. Tensity lifted from her voice, as it only did when she was home or talking with Smalls. "Had a little sister. Rosie. Pigtails an' a gap-toothed grin. Anyways, I was pushed around a lot as a kid because we were barely gettin' by. I'd..." She shook her head. "I'd go home somedays an' just wanna crumble. Home was never the same, jus' smaller an' smaller boxes of apartments we couldn't afford with our combined arms and legs. Dad was a mess all the time 'cuz of the big financial trouble, an' mom would just lay in her room for long stretches 'a time alone. They barely talked to each other, or ta us."
The words got more and more difficult to form as Jules broke away from the passive fibs she would tell friends. "Then... One day... It was real cold out. Rosie got beat up real bad after school. It was a group. An' one 'a my best buddies at the time was there, probably bein' tested and wantin' ta look tough. I didn't find Rosie 'til she was black an' blue all over. She was at 'er limit. I pushed off the bullies, but she ran away to God knows where. I assumed home, but no."
She swallowed hard.
"It was my fault for not findin' her in time. She was so sick an tired of bein' tossed and neglected by everyone in the town, she sat in the gutter alone for hours an' let the night's freeze get to 'er."
Almost no one knew this much. Why was she still going?
"I-I-I lost Rosie," she concluded with clear struggle. There was more frustration than sadness in her words. "They reported her body back to us that night."
David felt like he just got punched in the gut.
"Ran away myself not too far after that. Got shoved to the curb and thrown around myself, but after a few days I was numb of it. Found a scar from fightin' off Rosie's harassers that first night." Her fingers slowly trailed up to her face. David was confused by the gesture until he realized what she was indicating - her stray lock of hair that always dripped over her eye.
Put there to cover a painful memory.
Oh.
"I was... I was thirteen, Davey. Thirteen. I lost the only thing left that I cared about at thirteen. Now I had nothin'. And I got smart that day," she told him, getting a silent, calm sort of angry at her own thoughts. "You get to the bottom an' sit around thinkin' things are gonna get better just because you're a good person or because that's just what's fair. But the world is rarely fair. Cruel men are always going to be tearing the roof from over your head. You can't trust no one when you're at that point. Family is nothin' in the long run. And ignorance is bliss. I guess I only got sour when I first met ya because you're different. You got your bubble at home wid' the stable folks. You got an excuse to be ignorant to the snares the other half gets tangled up in."
She glanced at him directly, realizing how dark these long unearthed memories were. It was probably a lot more than he bargained for. She gruffly attempted to lighten the mood. "That don't make you any less annoyin', though."
"You can't summarize things like that." Davey said at last. He was still processing the tale Jules had told. With a upbringing like that, who wouldn't become cynical? "You can't summarize family. I mean, isn't that what you consider Smalls to be?"
Words slowly became easier, though her face was still heated from spilling everything out. "Smalls? Of course. I'd get sent ta jail for her. I screwed up so big with Rosie... And Smalls got the lease on life my sister never had. I feel like I got stuck with Smalls to give me a second chance, in whatever cosmic thing you believe in. I feel like I owe it to someone to make sure she doesn't get screwed up... Does that make any sense?"
"Yes. Of course it does," David replied. His voice took an accusative turn. "And you don't think I know what you're talking about? Les is nine, and he has absolutely no clue what's out there. My own mother is having to tell me when to put some slack on the leash. But I don't because I know that serious stuff like what happened to Rosie can really happen to anyone. Okay? Just because I don't get it doesn't men I don't see it. And it actually scares me." He leaned in a bit to talk softer. "And I'm sorry that you were being bullied and beaten too, but that's the past now. Maybe letting others in would make things easier. The boys you can trust. They're optimists because if they didn't have each other, they literally wouldn't have anything. And isn't that how you said you thought of Rosie?"
Jules stared through his eyes a long while as he waited for a response.
"Okay," She said quietly. "Maybe you're not the idiot I thought ya to be."
David sat back down. Jules was about to leave it at that, but she didn't. She put a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey. What I meant to say was ...thanks."
David risked a tiny tug of a smile. "I'll be here for you if you need me."
Jules returned it. "Can we jus' start over? As friends? Like none of this ever happened?"
"Sure thing," David replied. He stuck out a hand. "I'm David."
The girl briefly laughed as she shook his hand. The same free laugh David heard that morning, like the tintinnabulation of silver bells. That was Julia again, not Jules. That was the grinning girl from Jacobi's. At least, that's how he thought of it.
"Bronx," she reminded him and herself.
David nodded. "Of course."
"See ya real soon, Davey," she said with a final gulp of root beer.
"Bye, Julia," he called as she made her way back down the streets.
She let it slide.
. . .
The coast was clear.
Smalls sat up in bed and threw the covers off of her body. She hadn't heard creaking from the hardwood floor above for a few solid minutes. It was now or never.
She climbed out of bed and looked around the dark, dusty basement, filled with decorations and broken furniture, until she found the small horizontal window bordering the ceiling. Lamplight and the sound of close footfalls in the evening air creeped in through the opening.
Smalls quickly and quietly worked, scrambling for a single-armed office chair and heaving it over to the window. Then, she leaped onto the plush seat and stood up tall to look out. The sun had just slipped under the horizon not too long ago. Two or three pairs of work boots still loitered and cast long shadows across the pavement as the street lamps were being lit, but Jules was long gone, and Jack was upstairs. No one else would suspect a thing; given that they even saw her, of course.
A simple brass latch was flipped, and Smalls flew the window up with a brief squeak. She jumped up, softly grunted, and pulled her upper body through the hole. Her legs tumbled out behind her, and she hurried to her feet. Once out on the street, she took a moment to remember where she was going. The Refuge was just a block or so south, then two west... Right? She'd walked near it several times today, trying to remember the route.
She took off in a dash. There wasn't much time. She had to catch him before Snyder came through for lights-out.
"Woah! Hey! Smalls!"
Smalls stopped and almost cursed. A boy caught up behind her and turned her around by her shoulder.
"Just where do you think you're going?" David asked, looking down at her.
"Out for an evenin' stroll," Smalls said, feeling very... Well, small. "Me an' Jules used ta go out all the time in the Br-"
"Pretty sure she'd bring that up when she told me to keep an eye on you tonight."
Smalls let out a nervous giggle. "Ah, she told you to keep an eye on me? Why would she do that? I'm not goin' nowhere."
David took the scolding out of his voice and brought it to a kinder tone. "Come on, you were headed out to the Refuge. You should know how dangerous it is to hang around there."
"Then I should also know how dangerous it is inside of there," Smalls argued. "Much better than you. And I know the buildin' like the back of my hand."
He crouched a little bit to be eye-to-eye with her. She hated when people did that. "Maybe when Jules comes back, you can talk her into it, but we don't want to lose another member of the union to the Refuge."
"Well, don't you wanna get Specs and Crutchie back?"
"Of course we do! But you can't be the one to make that move alone."
"What? 'Cause I seem like a kid?"
"Okay, cool off a bit," he eased. "I'm just passing along what Jules told me to do."
Smalls couldn't blame David for anything here, but she didn't want to give up just yet. This was Specs she was fighting for, and she knew for a fact she could bust him out. She had to. She cared too much about him to let him rot in that dump.
Maybe she could just break again. Davey's curfew had to be any minute now, since he had folks and Les.
"Fine," she allowed. "I'll go back inside."
He nodded and put a guiding hand on the back of her neck, leading her around to the front door of the Lodging House.
When Smalls finally returned downstairs, she leapt back up onto the chair, but it was too late. David had closed the window again and was standing with his heels against the glass.
"Rats," she whispered. But it was too cold to wait there forever. She went over to the bed and crawled under the covers, waiting for him to budge... Laying and... Waiting...
Her coherent thoughts soon blurred, and within ten minutes, she was dead asleep.