“What do you think Angela?” my brother asked. What? I hadn’t been paying attention to a word they said.

“Think about what?” I asked.

“About getting some soft pretzels.” Johnny responded.

“Uhhh...go ahead, get yourself some pretzels.” That was too weird.

“You don’t want to come?”

“Mmm, not really.”

“Ok, I’ll bring you one back.”

“Ok.” Too weird. After he had left, I turned to Jack.

“Ya know, I was just hoping he would get a craving for soft pretzels.”

“So did I. That’s why I suggested ‘e get some.” Jack said, amused.

I never thought I could talk about so much for so long. But here I was. Still in the square on those steps. I had been talking to Jack for nearly 5 hours, if you can even believe it. It was just really easy to talk to him. About everything. I’ve never been able to talk to anyone quite like that. I told him about what it was like living in other countries and how we had to move so often. He told be about life on the street and his dreams of traveling out west when he got older.

“I wanna got out west, ya know. Ta Santa Fe.” I studied him. It was obvious that this was important to him.

“Why? Why Santa Fe?”

“I can’t live out ‘ere on da streets all my life. I can’t be a newsie foreva, ya know. Out in Santa Fe, I dunno, it’s all bigger an stuff, ya know?” he frowned at me.

“Jack, it’s just land. There’s nothing out there.” I said gently.

“How would ‘chu know?” he said defensively.

“I’ve been to Santa Fe. It’s just a trade center.” Jack shrugged. “Hey, ya wanna get somethin’ ta eat,” he glanced at the large clock in the square, “it’s ‘bout dinna time.” he smiled.

“Sure.” I stood up and looked around.

“Hold on.”I said. I crossed the street. My brother was standing next to the statue of Horace Greely, talking to a couple of newsies.

“Hey, Johnny, you better go home. I’m not going to be eating dinner at home, ok?”

“Ok. Where are you going?”

“I dunno. Somewhere.”

“Alone?”

“No. I’m going with Jack. I’ll be home in a bit, ok?”

“Ok, I’ll see ya.”

I turned. “Where are we going?” I asked Jack. “Tibby’s?”I ventured. He reached out and took my hand. “You’ll see.” he smiled.

He led my down some side streets and allys. As the scencery began to change I realized we were entering another neighborhood. Laundy hung from fire escapes and food carts lined the sidewalks. I could hear a women’s voice yelling from a window to another building. She was speaking Italian. We must be in Little Italy...

“Ready for some of da best pasta ya eva had?” Jack grinned, and held open the door of a small restaurant. The inside was small, only about six tables but it was bright and cozy. The host led us to a table by the corner window. The menus were in Italian.

“Umm, da one third from da bottom’s real good.”

“The rosemary and sage pasta with veal sauce?”

“Hey,” he said smiling at me, “you read dis?”

“I lived a Italy for a while.” I said, smiling back. Just then a waiter came to take our order.

“Ooo, can I order?” I asked, excited. I wanted to practice my Italian.