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

Stained, bacteria-laden teeth hung about on the floor, looking grotesque in the absence of their due pearly neighbors. Precisely spattered blood lined the collars of five boys, who looked at the violent artwork and wondered how it got there.

Of course, those were only the images in my head of the fight to come. Something entirely different happened – better or worse, I'm still not entirely sure.

Yes, Carlos was plowing ahead with his friends behind him and I was left with two choices – either watch the gruesome scene that was about to happen, or do something to try to stop it.

Considering who I am, what happened next surprised me.

Something in my legs pushed me forward to run after Carlos. I grabbed his arm and felt the muscle already tense beneath his shirt. He was ready for the fight.

"Carlos, come on, just let it go."

He turned and looked at me with fire in his eyes. The easy going, skirt-chasing Carlos was long gone.

"Izzie, you better let me go."

"Who cares what he says? He's not even from around here."

"Izzie, if you don't let go, I swear –"

"Carlos, just listen –"

He flung my entire body weight off his shoulder. I must have been subconsciously expecting it, because I barely managed to avoid falling over on my face.

It could have ended there. And it should have ended there, but good old Izzie had to shake things up at the wrong moment.

With all the strength I had left, I grabbed Carlos's arm again and forced him around to face me. His wide eyes betrayed his surprise at my sudden strength.

Face to face with my best friend's brother, with my friend, I did something I never thought I would do.

I punched him.

My fist connected with the softest part of his stomach, hard enough for him to double over after a brutal gasp of air. I heard his friends step back and prayed no one else had seen. Especially Spot Conlon.

I looked up to check for observers. Spot Conlon was thankfully sitting still with his back to the scene, in a hearty conversation with Jack. His goonies were clearly occupied with their drinks, and Sarah was looking off into the crowd. So far, so good.

But one pair of blue eyes connected with mine as I was about to turn back to Carlos. David, clear eyes wide as the Atlantic Ocean, was staring hard at me. How could I describe his expression? He wasn't confused, that was for certain. It was more of a fearful understanding, as if he had imagined the same scene that had appeared in my mind, and was astonished I had taken the most difficult route. He wasn't the only one.

Carlos growled as he tried to stand up and I was forced to tear my eyes away from David's. I bent down and reached out my hand to help him up – the biggest mistake I could have made.

"Don't touch me."

Those were the last words Carlos said to me. Perhaps I had been expecting understanding for my actions. Perhaps I hoped I hadn't really hit him as hard as I thought. Perhaps I thought he would still be my friend.

Whatever I had thought was utterly, completely, and embarrassingly wrong.

I stood up quickly, afraid of his venomous retort. Clutching his tender stomach, he rose with the help of his two friends, who had gotten over their surprise at me to reach under Carlos's arms and lift him up. With one last glare, they turned him around and brought him to a table on the other side of the theater.

What was there left to do? I watched after them for an embarrassing amount of time, and went back to sit down at my place. I could feel David's eyes follow my movements, but I didn't have the heart to look at him.

Although he had been talking and smirking before, the moment I sat down Spot Conlon stopped all conversation. I wavered for a moment, worried he had somehow seen what had happened behind his all-knowing back.

Luckily for Carlos and me, he simply stared at me for a moment and resumed chatting with his goonies. I breathed out and relaxed, only slightly, in my chair, still avoiding my curly-haired friend's questioning face.

"Nice start to the evening, don't you think?"

I started at the voice and turned to see the last person I would have ever suspected giving me a sly smile.

"Excuse me?" I said, my hands sweating more by the minute.

The smirk gone, Sarah leaned in and whispered, "Would you mind teaching me how to throw a punch like that sometime?"

"I… well… I mean." My words failed me miserably. "Sure, I guess."

The deceivingly innocent smile I remembered returned to her face. What just happened?

I chatted with Sarah until a couple minutes later Jack, David and Spot got up on stage. To soak, or not to soak – that was the question of the hour. Everyone around me (save for Sarah, of course) seemed pretty interested in the answer.

David, to my intense relief, was on the "not to soak" side.

"That's what they want us to do! If we get violent, it's just playing into their hands!"

I looked around, hoping there were others who felt the same way. I was intensely adverse to soaking newsies, under any and all circumstances. I certainly didn't get involved with a strike for the promise of violence.

Spot, as I had inferred, felt differently.

"Nobody ain't gonna listen to us unless we make 'em."

Cheers erupted and I was downcast. Sarah looked disturbed, and Les appeared indifferent.

In the end it was Jack who made everyone see reason (thankfully).

"If we don't act together, then we're nothing. If we don't stick together, then we're nothing. And if we can't even trust each other, then we're nothing."

It came down to not to soak, which disappointed some of the more muscular kids I saw and delighted some of the more scrawny fellows.

After a glare and a pause, Spot agreed. Hands from every which way clapped the three of them on the back as they sat down again.

I shot Jack and David a half-smile as they sat down.

"Congratulations," I heard Sarah whisper into Jack's ear (an accidental eavesdrop, I swear).

He looked seriously into her eyes. "Thanks," he said, winking a moment later to lighten the moment.

My heart dropped, but only a step.

Now, I've had a lot of time to think about everything and I can tell you officially, no, I was not in love with Jack Kelly. I hadn't even considered the notion until that moment, seeing as my heart had been hardened for so long.

What I can tell you is that for the first time since I could remember, I felt jealous. Not jealous of romantic attention, certainly not. Rather, I was jealous because I had grown accustomed to being the only girl in our rag-tag group of kids. It was nice being the center of positive attention for once, no matter how badly I had messed up my meeting with Pulitzer, no matter how angry I was they had handed everything over to Carlos. I was still at the center of it all, and despite all my complaining I had liked it.

So when I realized that Jack and Sarah were more than just friends, I got a little jealous. The leader of the strike that had taken over my life of late was no longer focused on me, but on David's sister. It hurt my heart a little, but only a little.

I got over it in a snap. There were much bigger fish to fry at the moment.

In a moment, the lights dimmed, the curtains opened, and purple satin graced the stage.

"Hello newsies; what's new?"

The over the top flirtation and gaudy dress was not my particular style, but I could certainly see where her popularity came from. Her genuine smile, teeth as white as lightning, hair the color of summer sunsets – well, one could say she was the epitome of feminine charm.

Forgetting what had happened minutes earlier, I turned to look at Carlos – the infamous womanizer who surely would appreciate such a show. The slight scowl on his face reminded me of my heavy hand, but it was clear he was nearly hypnotized. His eyes followed Medda's every move across the stage and frowned in disappointment when she disappeared behind a crowd of newsies.

I grinned – Lola would have laughed.

Then came the second heart drop of the evening. I wondered – what was Lola doing at that precise moment? Stewing in her room, cursing my name and very existence? Unlikely – that sounded more like me. It was more probable that she'd be out, perhaps strolling with one of her admirers or looking for a new best friend.

A new best friend. She'd find one too, and I knew it.

What I didn't know was if I would be able to find one.

The crowds around stood up and cheered so loudly I thought the balconies would crumble beneath their excited feet. Feeling a surge of camaraderie, I clapped my sweaty hands and allowed myself to be entertained.

"She's pretty good, isn't she?" David said, leaning over.

"Sure, she's pretty good," I said, smiling with rare genuineness. "How do you know her?"

David paused for a moment, as if he were remembering the exact scenario. "Jack introduced me. He's known her for a long time; I guess she was a friend of his father's."

"His father?" I said with an unfortunate incredulous tone, and immediately regretted having spoken.

David's face contorted into a confused frown. "What? Do you think newsies don't have families?"

Oh boy, I'd really done it. "No, I just –," I started to say, wanting to relieve the tension. The collective strength in the air stopped me, and I spoke my mind. "No, I guess I didn't think they did."

He was, justifiably, disturbed. "We're not all orphans, you know. Some of us just want to make some extra money to help out, that's all."

I leaned forward and put my hand on his, feeling the need to appease him rise up in me once again. "Look, I didn't mean to insult you, Davey, I didn't mean it like that. It's just… well, you don't think of these kids as having families. They all seem like they can take care of themselves."

He stared at me solemnly. "They can."

I nodded and put my hand back in my lap.

"Selling papes isn't so bad," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Les and I make pretty good money and it helps with the expenses."

"So… you have a family?" I hoped he wouldn't get angry again, but he hadn't ever mentioned his parents and I was curious.

"Yes. A mother and father, just like yours."

I grimaced at the memory of my mother and looked away, hoping he hadn't seen.

A wild Race passed by us, slapping David on the back and throwing me a devilish grin.

"Hey, ya bums, get up here and dance!"

Both David and I smiled complacently, yelling empty promises Race didn't care to hear.

Fiddling with my folded hands in my lap and looking everywhere except at David, I prayed he wouldn't ask.

"You have a family, don't you, Izzie?"

There was such a soft concern in his voice I almost brought myself to cry. I looked at him and waited a moment before saying anything.

"Yes, I have a family. My father makes cigars over on Franklin Street."

David nodded. "I think I know the place – I always pass by there on Thursdays when I pick up bread. My clothes always smell ashy when I come home."

I laughed and looked him in the eye. "That's what he smells like all the time. Even after a change of clothes and a good wash."

He smiled for a moment and I forgot about all the ruckus around us. It was nice to talk to someone who wasn't ready to pull my hair out, strand by strand.

His face turned solemn. "What about your mother?"

The dreaded question. The question I was hoping to avoid.

I looked down and pulled at my thumb web. "I don't have a mother."

David didn't respond, and I thought perhaps I had said it too softly for him to hear; however, when I looked up and saw his face, I knew he'd heard every last whisper.

"It's all right," I said to his unvoiced question. "I just don't talk about it much."

"I can understand why."

I bit my nails, praying I could hold back the unspoken words forming in my mouth.

"I don't really miss her."

David's look of solemnity metamorphosed into the look of horror I feared.

"What I mean is," I said, choosing my words now more carefully. "I've just come to terms with it after so many years. She died when I was just a baby."

That I didn't miss her was a lie through and through, but I had waited so long to tell someone the same lie I had told myself for seventeen years that I couldn't hold it in any longer. I had hoped that if I told someone else my lie that it would become true.

He didn't say anything so I continued with my farce. "People always ask me if I'm sad. They'll say: How terrible it must be; you have no one to dress you, to talk with you, to spoil you? I always want to say: How can I miss what I never knew I had? Sure, I miss the idea of her. But I don't know what she was really like, anyway."

I stopped the flow of words and simply watched David's face. He was silent for a few moments, but he finally said, "She was probably just like you."

The words went straight through my skin, past the bone, right into my heart. I had told David what I had always wanted to tell someone, and he had told me what I had always wanted to hear.

It took me a moment to get up the courage to face him again, and when I did, I realized he wasn't looking at me but rather looking past me. I followed his eyes behind me, the ridiculous look of stupefaction carved on my face.

There was an uproar on the other side of the room. For a moment I thought Carlos had gotten into it with Spot Conlon again, but a flash of blue and the sparkle of silver caused my heart to drop for the third time that night.