Sorry for the repost! I always pictured the Refuge as more of an orphanage/home for troubled boys rather than actual juvie, but realized the way I was writing it made no sense with what comes next/keeping it in canon. So I scrapped the last scene and tried again.
Fall 1893
Them streets sucked the life out of my old man—years of rotten jobs, stomped on by bosses. And when they finally broke him, they tossed him to the curb just like yesterday's paper! well they ain't doing that to me!
Officially, Pat Kelly died of a head injury. But even as a kid Jack knew that the fall was just the breaking point.
Maybe it was a lifetime of never quite enough that killed him. Maybe it was the 10- and 12-hour days since he was a teenager, hauling brick, steel, and stone in the cold and the sun. Jack remembered their father always smelling of smoke and sweat and fatigue-maybe that's what killed him.
Pat died because he never had a break, because he never once heard a "thank you", because the building was always more important than the builders. He died because his paycheck as a father of three hadn't budged a cent since he was a 19-year-old bachelor.
Years later Jack would say the streets of New York killed his dad, because he couldn't make himself remember how his father had been sucked dry by grief. Thin, quiet, staring off into space. Pat stopped living three years before he died.
.
Jack was a pinball for a couple of weeks. His parents' old friends didn't have room for another mouth to feed, but several of them took him in anyways. Two nights here, three nights there, maybe a week on someone else's couch.
Walt walked with him to pick up his father's last paycheck. Jack stood in line, tiny and squished between the stinky bodies of a dozen construction workers. He was shaking when he got to the counter.
The manager had his glasses on a gold chain, Jack thought probably just to show off his money. He held a stack of checks in one hand and a pen in the other, and glared impatiently at Jack. "Who da hell are you, boy?"
"I-I-I'm picking up a check for my father." He said. He swallowed hard. "Patrick Kelly."
The man flipped through his stack quickly. "Nope." he said.
"What?"
Walt put his hand on Jack's shoulder. "Pat fell on a job site about two weeks ago and died from his injuries, sir. Least ya can do is give his child what he's earned." Several other workers chimed in their agreement.
"Fell off of your damn building!"
"Pat was here for years, sir!"
"He don't even know who we are!"
"He's a just a kid!"
"That's Pat's kid!"
The little office was hot and tense, and Jack wanted to disappear. He wanted his money. No, he wanted his dad.
"Shut up!" the manager shouted. He flipped through his pile of checks again. "I got checks for the rest of ya, but I ain't got nothing for a Pat Kelly." He looked down at Jack. "Sorry, kid, nothing I can do."
Jack managed to get outside before he let the tears fall. He cried the whole slow, quiet walk back to their empty apartment.
Neighbors helped him pack up. He gave away his grandmother's dishes from Ireland, sold his father's clothes, dropped and broke a dog figurine his mother had loved.
Jack kept what he could carry: Drawing paper and pencils, his marble collection, and a blanket that he and Ciara had laid on as babies. As he packed his clothes, he realized most of his pants had become too short since the spring. He moved out before he was evicted.
.
"Hey, Jackie!" Tommy called as Jack trudged up to the distribution center. "Where ya been?"
"Good to see ya." Race said.
"Y'all are cheery too dang early." One of the older boys said. "Hey, Jack." He nodded.
Jack forced a smile. Everything he owned was in a leather backpack on his back. "Hey, fellas." He didn't realize he'd be missed.
They lined up at the distribution center to buy their papes for the day, and the nuns brought them lukewarm coffee. They all sat shoulder to shoulder on the curb folding their papers, then split up. Race and Jack walked together to catch the businessmen rushing around Grand Central Station before Spot's newsies could get there. They tipped well, usually, and it was the best place to people watch.
Jack whipped out a pape and read the headline. "Clean up on Hog Island and Midtown continues!"
Race groaned. "We knows!" He said. It was the end of hurricane season, and the headlines had been the same for weeks: how deep the water was, how many trees uprooted, how many killed. The hype was over as the East Coast slowly recovered from a hard summer. "Folks just wanna know if theys feet gonna get wet when they goin' to work."
"Well, get creative." Jack said.
"Lady used her front door as a boat, paddled to safety down Fifth Street!"
Jack smiled and nodded. "Man rescued six cows from high water, stood on a roof for hours!"
Race waved a pape. "A boy built an ark, but no one got on!" He shouted. That one made Jack crack up. A couple people handed the boys coins for papes.
A woman walked by, wearing red lipstick and a grey trench coat so long it almost trailed the floor. "Think she a spy?" Race said.
"Sure." Jack said. "Working with the rats under the streets to take down the folks in skyscrapers who ain't giving us a raise."
"Rats?" Race raised an eyebrow at him.
"Who else gonna help us?" Jack said. He pointed at a young man across the street playing the accordion for a small crowd. "How about him? What's his story?"
Race looked. He closed his eyes, turned his head, and cupped a hand to his ear, as if he could even begin to hear the music over the roar of the city. "Aw, he's gonna be a star." he said. He nodded slowly, like the music was really moving him. "Yeah, he's a big shot for sure. Get him on the radio."
Jack smiled. It felt foreign, like he had to teach every muscle how to be happy again. But, man, it felt so good to stand here in the crowd, making up nonsense with his buddy.
…
That night was his first in the lodgehouse. He and Race sold out, then took the long way home. Jack still carried his heavy leather backpack. At least a more permanent home would give him a place to keep his stuff.
As it got dark, Jack followed Tommy, Race, and a couple others to a tall wooden building with a long fire escape ladder scaling around the side. Jack took a long look at it.
"Is it, uh, leaning a little bit?" he said. He could've sworn the right window was hired than the left.
"Yeah, don't think too hard about it." One of the older boys said.
The front door opened to a living space with a heater, a square wooden table, and mismatched chairs-two were painted brick red, one had a thin cushion, and two more were light colored wood. Tugboat, who was behind them, slumped into one of the chairs.
Jack followed them up a narrow set of stairs. Most of the top floor was covered with rows and rows of bunk beds, all identical with their metal frames and flimsy mattresses and faded sheets. To the left was an open, community-style washroom, with a couple showers and sinks.
"'Bout broke a guy's arm to get ya a spot next to Race." Tommy said.
"Thanks." Jack said. He put his bag down on his new bed and looked around. The door open and shut downstairs as the boys began returning from their day.
"Hey, ya ever play poker?" Race asked. Jack shook his head. "C'mon, we'll teach ya. We plays for money for real, but we can start out with pebbles."
"I'll go easy on ya, just once, since ya a beginner." Tommy said. "It's warmer downstairs."
The boys filled their little living room with laughter and chatter, stretching their tired bodies on the floor and lounging in the chairs. Finch sat on the floor and scratched at a spot on his leg. "Got stung by a damn bee today." He muttered.
"Ya ever met a bee that makes milk?" One of the older boys asked as he lit a cigar.
"What?" Finch said. He pulled his sock up over the sting.
"A boo-bee!" Two of the boys howled in unison, and they all laughed. Race dealt him a handful of cards. Maybe he'd be okay here.
literally Googled "stupid kids jokes" for that last part. I teach middle schoolers and that is SO their sense of humor haha. So Jack is living with his brothers now, but he's still only 11, still timid, not a leader yet. More familiar newsies in the next chapter! thanks for reading and reviewing! -Em