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Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies or any of its characters, but I do own all others.

"Are you sure you know where you're going, Carlos?"

I was nervous, to say the least. I did my best to avoid walking around Manhattan at night (safety reasons, you see) but Caroline Woods said Medda wouldn't be at the theatre until evening so I had no choice. The streetlights flickered off the store windows creating fleeting assailants, which didn't make me feel any safer. I was convinced that Carlos was leading us on a wild goose chase.

"Shush, Izzie – of course Carlos knows the way. Right, Carlos?" said Lola, but I could see her squinting in the darkness too.

"Relax, you two," said Carlos, his smirk beaming through the heavy night air. "There's not a place in Manhattan I don't know where it is. We'll get there, alright.'

Turning one last corner, I saw it: "Irving Hall," written in white bulbous lights across the marquee. The theatre wasn't overly large, but it was certainly lavish – more lavish than anything I had ever seen. It was easy to see how the lead performer would want one of Caroline Woods' opulent hats.

"So –" I tried to say, thinking of what to do next. They anticipated my thought.

"We'll wait out here for you, Izzie. Caroline Woods will never know you brought us."

I was interminably thankful for Lola's understanding – Caroline Woods hardly liked me going on deliveries, much less with a group of friends. I didn't even want to think about what she would say.

I nodded and walked up to the front doors. I was dumbfounded, mainly because I had never been to that type of establishment before. My life had been mainly spent between the millinery and my house, at times stopping at Lola's and every once and a while at a nearby restaurant. I had never been to a theatre before. Cultured people went to theatres.

I may be a lot of things, but cultured is not one of them.

I put my fingers on the door handle, hesitating.

"Go on, Izzie!" Carlos called.

I was caught in my cowardice and knew I'd have to go through with it. Carlos and Lola would not take kindly to being dragged around the streets at night for no reason. Well, Lola wouldn't, at least.

I opened the door and peered around inside before taking a full step in.

"Excuse me, sir?" I asked the man at the entrance. "I'm looking for – ah, let me see – Ms. Medda Larkson. Is she here?"

He looked at me like I was one of those asylum nuts. Had she not arranged for deliveries before? I wondered.

I thought of the situation: a foreign girl, a frilly package in her hand, asking for the star of the show. I thought of the possibilities: an over-zealous admirer at best, a crazed psychopath at worst. The leathery wrinkles on his face held at bay the arroyos of sweat waiting patiently to run down the folds of his neck.

"Depends," he said, his smoky breath making my eyes water. "Who's askin'?"

I should have known it wasn't going to be easy.

"I have a hat for Ms. Larkson."

"A hat?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and smiling mockingly. Perhaps he was used to more distinguished hat-carriers.

"That's what I said, isn't it?" My hand flew to my mouth. I could have kicked myself, had I the athletic prowess – it was definitely not the moment to be letting my mouth fly.

He glared at me for what I could fairly assume was my snarky comment, so I said the first thing that came to mind to appease his doubts.

"Ms. Caroline Woods sent me, sir. She very much values Ms. Larkson as a customer and asked me to deliver this hat here tonight."

Let it be known that I am not the kind of person to throw around Caroline Woods's name as if it were a hundred dollar note. In fact, I mostly avoided mentioning her if I could, as I knew most people would suspect why such a woman as her would hire someone like me. But this was a sticky situation to which I wanted a speedy end.

Either he recognized Caroline Woods's name or simply didn't care to talk to me any longer, because he said, "Her dressing room is down the hall. Make it quick."

I looked towards the direction he had pointed and hesitated for a moment. The hall looked ominous: stage ropes were hanging along one side and only a few lights swayed dangerously above to guide the way. Craning my neck, I looked to see if I could discern any overt dangers down the dark corridor. The cow-hide man growled impatiently, making me jump before I walked as quickly as I could out away from the entry area.

I took slow steps, looking carefully to my left and right so as not to miss the star's dressing room. I chuckled, realizing that once inside, the hall didn't look as frightening as it had from a distance. You're nuts, Izzie, I told myself. What in the world could be dangerous about a theatre?

Oh, how wrong I was. Well, kind of.

I started walking a bit more confidently down the hall, increasing my pace and leaving my poor bleeding lip in peace. I saw a door at the end of the hallway that looked promising. "Medda" was written in what looked like gold leaf across the width of the door, so I made my way determinedly towards it, hopeful to finish the task as quickly as possible.

As I advanced towards my object I heard footsteps behind me. The latent memory of my fright at the hall returned; I jumped and rushed to plaster myself against the darkest wall, hoping whoever belonged to the footsteps wouldn't see me.

The footsteps grew closer and I pressed myself harder against the wormed wood. It smelled musty, yet I could still detect the trace of freshness it must have had when it was still alive in the forest. My inner dramatist came alive at that moment, mourning the fact that I would soon end up just like the dead wood I was pressed against.

"Hey!" I heard a familiar voice yell from a few feet away. The lights were so dim that I couldn't see my attacker's face. "What's wrong wit you?"

There he was; the object of my continual delay – Jack Kelly. My bitten fingernails still clinging desperately to the soft wood behind me, I choked back a sob as three shadowy faces came near. I knew Jack Kelly first by his voice and then by his hat, which looked as out of place as always. The smaller boy next to him I recognized as the boy who had shot off from the millinery the day before.

"You!" I said, staring hard at the boy from my place against the wall. "You're a spy!"

The boy looked nervously between me and Jack, surprised I had caught him in his trick.

"Relax," Jack said casually. "He's was just doin' me a favor."

"What favor?" I asked, bristling. "Spying on me?"

Jack looked at the boy then back at me. "Well, yeah."

My mouth dropped open and I narrowed my eyes at him. "What, so now you're following me?"

The last boy of the group, curly-haired and clean, coughed and looked guiltily at Jack.

"Look, don't get so huffy about it, alright? We needed to know where you were goin'."

"What in the world for!"

"We've got a proposition for ya."

I managed to peel my arms off the wall, glaring all the while at my three assailants. "Well that's very nice, but I have a delivery to make."

I started to walk away from the scene, but Jack called after me. "Yeah, we know. For Medda."

I turned around, surprised at his use of her given name, then outraged at his undeserved knowledge. I focused my ire at the small one in the middle. "That's what you were listening for?"

He lowered his head into his neck, like a turtle in a mad escape.

Jack stepped forward. "Yeah," he said, unperturbed. "Come on, Medda's this way."

He walked past me but I didn't move, confident I should not trust someone who so blatantly admitted to planned espionage. I ended up turning around and following him, however; the contrite look on the spy's face made my skin crawl.

Jack went straight to the door I had been eyeing before the surprise attack and knocked.

"Please, come in!" a saccharine voice beckoned from inside.

He opened the door and held it for me to pass through, which I did, not missing the chance to shoot him a murderous scowl on my way.

What can I say about Medda Larskon's dressing room? Extravagant, yes, but comforting all the same. Perfumes, candies, flowers – everything a girl could imagine and all in perfect proportion. And Medda? Bewitching to say the least. I can assure you that I had never seen such a red before in my life, and certainly never on someone so perfectly suited for it.

Per my modus operandi (I read that in a book somewhere), I embarrassed myself. The moment I walked into her dressing room, I stood transfixed like an idiot. Jack's heavy footsteps came in behind me, followed by one other. That's odd, I thought. There were three before.

"Can I help you, dear?" the carmine woman asked, much too kindly.

Jack stepped up next to me. "This here is Izzie Romero, Medda. She's got a delivery for ya."

I could have sworn I could see each one of her teeth, white as innocence, as she grinned broadly and stood up. "Of course! From Caroline Woods, no?" she said as she held out her hands for the box. "And you are right on time."

I shot Jack a glance and he smirked.

She opened the velvet box. The look on her face told me it was time to begin planning the details of my last meal. I was confounded when she lowered her voice to a serious tone and said, "Oh, my dear, it is absolutely perfect. My goodness," she continued, examining every angle of the hat. "This is quite the masterpiece."

I froze. No last meal? The hat was perfect? Not entirely sure how to respond, I stood there silently and nodded my head wildly.

Medda continued examining the hat and its many details while I slowly inched my way towards the door. "Well, Ms. Larkson, I'm very happy you like the hat… I should probably be on my way…"

She looked up. "I will be sure to tell Ms. Woods how helpful you were, Izzie Romero."

"Thank you, Ms. Larkson," I said. "Well, I had better get going – good evening."

"My dear, please call me Medda."

I nodded and smiled falsely, knowing I would never call her Medda.

I was turning the knob – so close to freedom – when Jack Kelly stopped me. "Ya don't wanna go out front there – the show's about to start. Follow me and Davey here," he said, pointing to the boy who was not a spy (as far as I knew) next to him. "We'll get ya out quick."

"Oh, I think I'll be all right –" I tried to say, but Medda interrupted me.

"Oh no dear, Jack really is right. You should definitely go out the back way. You will show her, won't you boys?"

Jack's friend Davey gave me a serious nod when I looked at him and I knew I had no choice. Out in the hallway, I could hear feet trampling the wooden floors, just as Jack had said (unfortunately). The sweetly sickening stench of half-smoked cigars seeped through the porous walls.

Jack turned to the left and led the way down yet another dark hallway away from the noise.

I kept quiet. The silence didn't last long.

"So, Davey," Jack said, turning to his curly-haired companion. "Our pal Izzie here is from Cuba."

"That's what I hear," Davey said. He turned towards me, "Is it really true?"

"Unfortunately," I growled. I saw his confusion out of the corner of my eye.

Ignoring my overt hostility, Jack continued. "Alright Cuba, I know yer in a rush so here's the proposition. See, Davey here's a newsie too. We're on strike and we want ya to join us."

I stopped walking. "That's the worst proposition I've ever heard."

"Gimme a minute," he said, looking cross. "Ya didn't let me finish. You got somethin' we ain't got – yer from Cuba. Maybe ya don't know it yet, but that's what we need to get to Pulitzer. Yer gonna help us bring down the most powerful man in New York."

I shook my head. "Look, I know you don't know me very well, but you're gonna have to offer something a lot better than the pleasure of taking down a stranger I don't know – and quite frankly, don't care to know – to convince me to join your little strike."

I tried to walk on, but Davey grabbed my arm and stopped me in my tracks. "It's not a little strike. We've got newsies from boroughs all over New York joining us. Besides," he said, loosening his grip, "think of all the poor kids you'd be helping."

Davey's plea unfortunately got me thinking. Like most people in New York, I knew my fair share of poor kids – many more than my bodily digits could account for.

I looked back and forth between the two boys and finally settled on Davey.

"I'll give you three minutes."