Amelia Clarke was too oblivious for the world she'd been born into; spunky and aggressive with a sharp mouth and quick tongue. Born to Irish-bred, American raised parents who could barely control her temper and energy that seemed to never die down. The only thing to keep her focus was the court, where her eyes narrowed on a straight shoot target. Her father, Colm Clarke, warned his precious, tennis champion daughter that her host family was less than willing to host a rowdy, bad mannered girl from America. Simply, she laid a big kiss on his cheek and said, "oh, da', I am the most behaved." Hardly, Colm had thought, but her reassurance eased him.

At his coat tail, she followed him up a dingy alley that was home to a whole lot of dust, trash, tobacco butts. All she ever known was her Boston home, which was admittedly nothing better. Birmingham was just an old version of the new. "This way," her father rushed, "we're running late-"

"For?" Amelia humored, "your prance around fancy buildings in France!"

He paused, slowly turning to his bold daughter, "now, Amelia, they are very kind in hosting you. Old friends of mine, you hear? You will, for your mother and I, be on your absolute best behavior!"

Mockingly, she did the salute, "yes, sir! Amelia reporting to duties, Sergeant Clarke!" His pause was in effort to understand how this girl processed a single thought.

"Come," he said, defeated, grabbing her wrist lightly. They approached a rather large door, and with one aggressive knock, a woman opened it just a crack, her smile lingering for a moment before she closed the door to release the chain latch.

Thin, colorish, and boastful hair, the woman was nothing like other Irish women. "Colm!" She greeted, grabbing him by his broad shoulders, pulling him in. Before saying much else, they shared an array of laughs, hugs, and cheek kisses. With a hard smack against his arm, "you haven't aged a fucking day, you fat arse!"

Her father twirled the woman, "couldn't say the same about you, you old hag!" Nothing was like Irish banter. What he really meant was 'it is so great to see you and you look beautiful' and she gladly accepted the compliment with another hit. Amelia, curious about the interaction, wondered how close they once were and if her mother had known. "Ah, Polly, this is my one and only, Amelia."

Amelia smiled, "it is I." Politely, she outreached her hand. "I want to thank you. My father said you'll kindly be hosting me while I train or while they tour the sites of Europe." She meant her American immersed, Irish removed parents who emigrated just at 18. Her father sighed in relief, she held her quick tongue and jokes.

Her father humored, "you have to be careful with this one, I tell you, Polly. She be quick with her words. Little brain, really, but sharp tongue." There were a few dry laughs from the opposite corner of the room. Four men turned to one another, grinning amongst themselves. Colm fixed his glasses, "Mary Joseph, little Tommy Shelby! My boy, you're big now."

The man grinned, "I'd say so, Colm. Closer to 40 than 18!" He slid off the banister in which he was resting, and shook Colm's hand. "Nice to see you again, how was your journey?"

"Just as you expect," he retorted, patting the man's shoulder, "rocky! Tommy, me and Siobhan prayed for you. For your safe return from France-"

Tommy put his hands up, "it's been quite some time, Colm. Worries are no longer needed."

Colm looked around, "and Arhur, you got your father's wrinkles!" The oldest brother stiffened at the mention of his father, but nodded in politeness, "John, still got your baby face! And…." He paused at Finn before letting out a belly deep laugh. "Finn, the last time I saw you, you and my daughter were in prams! Now," he paused, standing next to the boy. "You're taller than me." The last time any of them were in England was when Amelia was one, when her father was a sea merchant, illegally trading cigars and alcohol from the tropics. When Colm Clarke started to age, he eased on the adventure and settled for a bookie gig in Boston. He pushed forth his hesitant daughter, "Amelia, don't be rude."

Tommy gently took his hand, "I hope your stay is good. We'll take good care of her, Colm, you personally have my word."

Amelia grinned, "thank you for supporting my father's ambitions to navigate the artsy fartsy streets of France and see the booby statues in Greece!"

"Mary Joseph Jesus, Amelia, I just walked into this house and you're already starting," her mother roared from behind her. "Polly, please, that drink." She rested her head on the wooden door frame, still gray from sea sickness. Her father looked at her with equal annoyance and adorance.

"Now, Amelia here, will be on her best behavior," he noted to Tommy, "she just gets slightly antsy when her energy is built up. When she starts training next week, she'll be too tired to even say a word. Let me tell you, never did I think I'd have a little girl on a sports court, but here I am!" Every word came out with a laugh.

John narrowed his eyes, "wait, what? What do you play?"

Tommy turned, removing the cigarette from his lips, motioning to John, "tennis-"

"And she is tyrant on the court, let me tell you-"

"I won the US Junior title last year," she boasted, "I'm going for Wembley next. The ultimate goal is the French Open."

"But she got a temper," he explained, "gotta keep on her. When she wins, smooth as sailing a pond."

"Last year she made a fool of herself," Siobhan, her mother, interjected, walking over to her daughter, giving her a side smirk. "Nearly took an eye out with her racket-Amelia, not funny. Compose yourself! The Shelby's here won't take that."

"Seriously, Polly," Colm said, "any trouble at all, write to us, telegram us! We will come straight here."

Polly smiled, "she'll be fine. I'm sure."

Amelia smiled, "Ma', I only give you a hard time. Da' thinks I'm an angel." Siobhan pinched her daughter's side before taking a seat with her drink.

Tommy nudged Finn forward, "Finn is about to nab about, why don't you go with him? Stretch your legs, Amelia."

Finn sheepishly grinned, running his fingers through his hair, and cheekily, with a fake posh accent, "my arm, my lady." His brother snickered at his weak attempt, but Amelia took it, questioning and giving him a look. Once outside, he said, "your father does business with my brothers!"

Amelia pushed herself off the boy, and he stumbled back, pouting. Amelia said with a toothy grin, "I can walk myself, Mr. Shelby."

"Finn," he corrected, attempting to be more confident than he was. "Mr. Shelby is my old arse of a brother. Call me, Finn."

She nodded, "I was being cynical. You're British, isn't that your thing?" They walked down the road at an even pace, neither leading the way. He shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"We gotta go run an errand for Tommy," he said, "we're having roast, lucky us, right?" Her eyes drifted off into the far. The large church clock just turned to 2:00 pm.

She grinned, and turned to him, "do you want to play a game, Finn Shelby?" They had just turned down a musty wet alley with trash decorating the ground. She started to unbutton her cardigan, and as the 15 year old boy he was, his eyes lingered, getting excited. Is it really this easy? They just come on to you? She draped it over a rusted fire ladder.

He swallowed and twitched in his trousers, "I'm up for anything. I'll let you know I'm very experienced." He was lying, he knew absolutely nothing. The only thing he knew was the whore his eldest brother bought him for his 14th birthday.

Amelia kicked off her shoes and started to roll down her tights, looking up at him, brow raised, "are you?"

"Oh sure, yes, completely. I'm very, very experienced," he said, his eyes drifting to her bare feet, "you should at least put your shoes back on…the ground is dirty." His hands went to his belt, but he paused when she hit him.

"Tag, you're it!" she laughed, her tongue stuck out, "catch me before I get to the church! I win, you get me ice cream. You win? I'll sneak you a cigar from my father's pocket at dinner!" With that, she was off! Leaving Finn Shelby there, humiliated with his belt undone.

"Fuck," he hissed, quickly redoing his belt, and shooting out the opposite way. She was taking the longer route through the city center with traffic, workers, and shoppers! Finn knew this city like the back of his hand. He was, in a way, a street rat with his friends. He weaved through the back road, wheezing while jumping over metal bins and dodging alley cats. He scaled up the large wired fence, tearing his new sports jacket.

On the other side of the alleys, Amelia was dodging cars, causing a ruckus! Men beeped and hollered at her, but by the time they could do anything, she'd been pushing past women with large shopping bags and men painting buildings. "Hey!" One cursed as she knocked over his paint can, white paint flowing down the sidewalk. A few women were walking when they slipped.

Finn had caught her just before her foot touched the church grounds. His fingers dug into her racket weidling wrist. While he was faster, he was much more out of breath, wheezing and red in the face while she laughed, playfulling hitting him. "I win…now, come on. Tommy's expecting us home now."

While Amelia's fault, Finn got the runt for taking some time to get a roast. "It wasn't my fault," he muttered, under his breath, eyes diverted to the ground and his hand rubbing his neck. "This one," he thumbed to Amelia, "wanted to take off like some animal!" Tommy's eyes shifted to the girl, who was beaming, showing little regard for anything she caused.

Tommy tapped his brother's cheek, "don't blame the girl. You're older!"

"I nearly won, Da'!" She exclaimed, digging into her father's sports jacket for one of his special cigars. She tossed it to Finn, "but your lungs are like a dusty pipe."

"Amelia Maire Clarke, where in Heaven is your cardigan?" her mother asked, clicking her fingers for a pronto refill.

Amelia hummed, biting at her nail. She questioned, "I think I left it at the Church with my tights-"

Finn rolled her eyes, "no, you left them in the alley before you took off! I'm not taking you anywhere else. Not ever. Nobody can make me." Polly pinched the teen boy's side, "ay!" He jumped, looking at her, "she's mental, Pol! I tell you, mental! She whacked me one and ran off."

Amelia folded her arms, and tilted her head, "no, I gave you a tap…we played tag, ma'!"

"We bought you that cardigan from London," her mother said, tisking. "And a young lady shouldn't go in the streets without tights."

"But Ma'," she whined, putting up her leg, marked with small scabs and scars from the court, "it's just a leg. Skin!"

Her father grinned, "ah, joys of child rearing. Amelia, your mother is right, sit up-"

"But!"

"Polly, are you sure? If not, we can take her with us…really, she is a lot-"

"Have you ever tried locking her in a cage?" Finn mumbled.

"Mmhm, how did you know I slept in a cage?"

"If she's rabid," he retorted, grin on his fast, "I suggest bringing her out back and-ow!" Tommy reached over and whacked his youngest brother across the head.

Tommy turned to Amelia, "we will be fine, Colm. I trust Amelia will be good girl when she adjusts to her new routine and expectations-"

"Are you giving me the belt?" she asked bluntly.

Tommy paused lighting his smoke, and smiled, softly saying, "something tells me the belt doesn't work on you-"

"It doesn't!" Siobhan cried out, throwing her arms out. "One time I gave her the paddle…laughed through the whole thing. Belt, paddle, hand…nothing works. If you find the answer to her mischief, tell me, Mr. Shelby."

Colm looked at his wife, "she's young…she'll grow into her senses!"

"And this is why," Siobhan whispered, "you enable her! I was engaged at her age."

"And how did that work out for you?" Amelia asked, brow raised. Siobhan kicked her daughter from under the table.

After hours of eating, joking, dancing, and drinking, it was time for the Clarkes to leave as the next day they were to leave for London, starting a six month journey across Europe. Siobhan sighed, kneeling at her daughter, her eyes softening, "please, be a good girl. Hmm?" Her rough hand from years of sewing and scrubbing floors, lightly caressed the young girl's cheek. "Mammy loves you, be safe." Amelia never did well with her mother's affections, but she leaned into the hug before hugging her father.

When they left, Tommy snapped his fingers to Finn, "get her bags-"

Amelia lunged forward, grabbing something from Finn's hands, "that's my racket! Be careful, I'll hold this, thank you…and this." She took her smaller bag and followed the boy up the stairs.

Arthur, drunk, snorted, "girls in sports, what is this fucking world coming to?"

"Their senses, Mr. Shelby," Amelia said, looking over her shoulder.

"When will you come to your senses?" Finn asked, and Amelia tucked her racket under her arm and grabbed her other bag from his hands. "Hey!"

She nodded up the steps, "you worry 'bout your footing on these steps, Princess Fiona." Finn looked over her shoulder and to his older brothers, shaking his head.

John grinned, and nudged Arthur, whispering just loud enough "so when is the wedding?"

"Like I'd marry you," Finn said, making it to her bedroom door.

"Touche," Amelia retorted.

"You're loud," he explained, "a girl shouldn't be loud…she should submit."

Amelia burst out into a deep gutted laugh, "submit? You have to be a man for any girl to submit to you! Now, I will take my leave…goodbye." With that, she closed the door on his face.

He paused for a moment, pouting to himself before yelling, "I am a man!"

"Can you grow facial hair?"

Finn frowned, his fingers caressing his smooth face, "y-yes."

John stood at the top stair, watching the boy studying his face in the hallway mirror. The older brother gripped his chin, turning Finn's face left and right. "Hmm," he hummed, slowly grinning. "The boy's got some peach fuzz."

"Ay!" Finn whacked John's hand away. "I'm gettin' there." John rolled his eyes, and slipped into his room. Before tucking away for the night himself, Finn gave himself one last look, "I think I'm quite distinguished."