Nothin' But Blue Skies

by Blue Skies Costello

“Central Park North and ya can’t lose...” Blue Skies Costello muttered the phrase under her breath, almost chanting it like a mantra. She looked up and down 110th Street. Nothing. No sign of life whatsoever. Unless ya count da bum asleep unda da tree, she snorted to herself. “Central Park North...Central Park North...” Her voice grew louder, bouncing off the hard surface of the sidewalk. “Central Park North and ya can’t lose!” she bellowed, hurling her stack of New York Journals at the pavement. “Central Park North and ya lose big time, Blue.” Blue Skies sighed to herself and flopped down on her papers, chin in hand. Blue glared at the late afternoon sun through the trees of Central Park.

“Hey, Sticks!” Blue cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled at the boy walking across the street. “Wanna buy a paper?”

The boy paused and turned to look at Blue, adjusting a large pile of Journals under his arm. He narrowed his green eyes at her. “You nuts, Blue? Do I look like I need anudda pape?” Sticks raised a brown eyebrow.

Blue squinted and stuck her tongue out. “Aw, shaddup, Sticks.”

Sticks just shook his head and laughed. Sobering, he walked across 110th and sat down next to Blue on the sidewalk. “They’re jist ain’t sellin’, are they?”

“Naw, they ain’t. And I’m gittin’ so sick ‘a improvin’ da truth all da time.” Blue skipped a pebble across the street in annoyance.

“Improvin’ da truth.” Sticks laughed sardonically. “Dat’s one ‘a Jacky-boy’s lines.”

“Yeah, well, Jacky-boy’s got a few good ones in him,” Blue said, rolling her eyes toward Sticks. “Hey, don’t ‘chu belong ova’ on da East side ‘a Harlem?” Blue and a couple of the other Harlem newsgirls had negotiated a while back with the Harlem newsboys to divide the Harlem territory up equally. The boys had gotten East Harlem and the girls Harlem.

“Yeah, but I was sellin’ ova’ in Morningside and da only way ta get back ta day East side is ta go through Harlem, genius.”

“Fine, fine. I won’t keep ya.”

“See ya ‘round, Blue.” Sticks stood to go. “Watch yaself.”

“I can watch myself jist fine, Patrick O’Leary!” she sternly called after him.

Sticks threw a sly grin over his shoulder. “I’ll tell Charlie ya send ya love.” Blue Skies snorted but smiled inspite of herself; she always seemed to get the little sister treatment from the East Harlem boys, mostly because she had been one of the first newsgirls in Harlem, before there was a newsgirls’ lodging house and she had stayed with her brother, Charlie, at the newsboys’ lodging house. With a sigh, Blue picked up her leftover papers and began the fourteen-block trek to the Harlem Newsgirls Lodging House. Whose dumb idea was it ta make Harlem so damn long? Blue asked herself, as she did countless times each day. Forty blocks! Ah, someone should drag da idiot who invented dis place out inta da street and shoot ‘im. Nah, he’s prolly dead anyway. Ah, well...

From down the block, Blue could see something was amiss at the Harlem Newsgirls Lodging House. For one thing, a pair of khaki pant-clad legs were hanging out of the 3rd floor window. For another, a small crowd of girls had formed around the wide front steps of the Lodging House.

“Gypsy, what’s goin’ on?”

Gypsy rolled her eyes and jerked her head to the small clump of girls. “Ash caught some moron tryin’ ta get inta da house. Keep’s callin’ himself Knuckles. More like knuckle-head, if ya ask me, cuz he dropped da set ‘a spare keys and dey fell trough da cracks in da step.” She indicated with the dusty toe of her boot.

Blue looked heavenward and shook her head, her papers sliding out from under her arm and forming a messy pile on the pavement. Sighing in disgust, she marched over to the cluster of newsies and pushed her way to what appeared to be the center of all the attention.

“You da genius dat lost da keys?” Blue Skies crossed her arms and fixed her big, and at the moment, rather impatient, eyes on a tall, athletically built boy of about seventeen.

Knuckles took a step back only to quickly realize that he was completely surrounded by Harlem newsgirls, and each one, he noticed, had assumed the same cross-armed stance, a pose Knuckles remembered his mother often taking on. Knuckles sort of shrugged. “It was an accident...’sides, whats-her-face-”

“Ruby?” Imp supplied.

“Yeah, Ruby climbed in one ‘a da windows.”

“Well-” Blue was cut-off by screaming.

“BLLUUUUUUUEE!” Ruby leaned her head out the 3rd floor window.

“YEAH?” Blue craned her neck to look up at Ruby.

“GET UP HERE!”

“WHY?”

“CUZ I NEED TA PICK DA LOCK!”

“WELL, WHY DO YA NEED ME?” Blue retorted.

“CUZ YOUSE DA ONLY ONE WID BOBBY PINS IN YER HAIR,SMARTIE PANTS!” Ruby yelled back.

“Fine, fine,” Blue mumbled under her breath, making a defeated guesture with her hands. She silently cursed her curly hair which required being worn in a braid full-time. Well, unless I wanna like somethin’ a cat coughed up, she thought in annoyance. Blue Skies Costello bit her lip and stared at the spidery black fire escape. Blue hated heights. No, that wasn’t right. Blue reviled heights with a deeply rooted passion burning within the darkest recesses of her soul. She licked her lips and glanced around. The other girls shot her sympathetic glances; they knew that heights terrified Blue.

“Do ya wanna give me some ‘a yer bobby pins and I’ll run ‘em up?” Spider whispered.

“No, no. Thanks Spider, but...” Blue shook her head. It was hard enough to get taken seriously as a female newsie; there was no way she was going to show her terror of heights in front of a idiot like Knuckles. Having him think any of her girls, or even Blue herself was easy to take advantage of was the last thing Blue needed.

“Ahem.” Blue squared her shoulders. “Could I git a boost here?” She swallowed, marveling at the calmness in her voice.

Spider and the other girls looked on, stoney-faced. They didn’t want to watch their friend have to go through this.

Blue cleared her throat again and looked over her shoulder, awaiting her boost. Her gazed passed over each of the girls, a silent understanding passing between them. Finally, her eyes fell upon Knuckles. For a moment, Blue wondered if he could see the fear behind her eyes.

“I’ll give ya a boost.” Knuckles eyed her coolly. Blue nodded once, too nervous to muster a verbal affirmative. Knuckles bent down on one knee and laced his fingers, resting his arm on his knee. Blue placed her clammy hands on his shoulders. She glanced at him before tipping her head towards the sky and offering up a silent prayer. Setting her jaw, Blue glared at Knuckles as she put her right foot in his hands. It wasn’t that she was trying to glare at him: Blue was so rattled, it was the only expression she could generate.

“Up ya go,” Knuckles said, standing up. Blue dug her fingernails into his shoulder as she felt herself leave the ground. Her eyes rolled around in fear, the black ladder rungs hovering in front of her face. Gulping, Blue reached out and closed her shaking hands on the cool metal rung, her feet automatically leaving Knuckles’ palm to join them. Blue stood there for a moment, not moving a muscule. Her death grip on the rung was making her knuckles turn white. I will get through this. I will be fine. I will reach the top without a problem. Now...one...two...three. Blue began climbing.

“Right foot, right arm, left foot, left arm. Right, left, right, left...” Blue mumbled under her breath and she forced her body to obey her commands. Her entire body was taut and she had broken into a cold sweat. God, I wish this fire escape had steps an’ not a ladder. Blue felt her hand touch a smooth surface and she scrambled onto the second floor landing. Don’t look down! Don’t look down... Blue rolled her head back and stared up at the cloudless blue sky. Jist keep those eyes on dat blue sky... The icy blueness hurt her eyes, making them unfocus but Blue refused to take her eyes off the sky. Keep watchin’ da sky... Burning blue spots of light cloulded her vision, sending a searing pain to her temples. The haze of aqua blurred and wiggled in front of Blue’s eyes and she felt them roll back.

However, they snapped back into place as Blue stifled a scream. Her right foot, instead of landing on the stable metal ladder rung had landed upon nothing but open air. A sensation of loss of total control and complete disconnection from all that was familiar and strong and stable and safe gripped Blue as she slid several inches down the ladder before catching herself with frantic hands. Blue bit down on her tongue hard to stop herself from crying out. She could taste her own blood, salty and metallic as it seeped over her teeth. Oh God, someone please get me down from here... Blue let out a few shaky breaths and then she did the worst thing she could have possibly done: She looked down.

Blue’s world began to spin around her, the trees, the sidewalk, the pavement, the buildings, and the people, smearing into one big dizzying swirl. Oh my God... Her eyes rolled around like those of a frightened animal, and her jaw locked shut in terror. Her breaths came in short shots, in and out her nose. Blue shut her eyes and held on to the ladder for dear life, unable to move. There was a gurgling feeling in her stomach and she fought the urge to vomit right there.

“Hey, Blue?” A worried voice called out from a few feet away.

Blue slowly twisted her head back to look up and Ruby who was looking at her with concern.

“You okay?”

Blue shut her eyes and shook her head numbly, the sweat beginning to drip off her forehead.

“Blue...” Ruby frowned at her. “C’mon, ya gotta get up here. Yer only a little ways away. C’mon Blue. You can do it.” Ruby leaned out the window further. “C’mon Blue. Dat Knuckles creep is watchin’ ya right now. Ya gotta get up here.”

Blue’s eyes cracked open and she peered out of blurry slits down at Knuckles who was, indeed, watching her intently. Sighing raggedly, she squared her shoulders and reached out a tentative hand to the next rung because, as much as she hated heights, Maria “Blue Skies” Costello hated having her pride hurt even more.

“I am neva’ doin’ dat again!” Blue Skies grunted as she wriggled through the open 3rd floor window.

“I’m sorry Blue,” Ruby said glumly. “I didn’t know youse was afraid ‘a heights.”

“Afraid isn’t even da word,” Blue rolled her eyes and she dusted herself off, “terrified is more like it. But don’t worry about it. Ya new, ya couldn’t have known dat.” Blue put her hands on her hips and glanced around.

“Well. I haven’t been up here in a while.” Blue and Ruby were standing in the attic of the Harlem Newsgirls Lodging House. The room stretched the entire length of the building, and, aside from a few broken chairs and an old bed, it was completely empty and very, very dusty.

“Mrs. Evans locked da door from da outside,” Ruby explained, kneeling in front of the lock.

“Here, let me,” Blue said, getting down on the ground. She pulled a bobby pin out of her hair and inserted it into the lock. She carefully jiggled the pin to the left and then the right, feeling for the catch in the lock. Blue frowned and suddenly jammed the bobby pin into the lock with all her might. And the door clicked open. Blue smiled. “There ya go.”

“Say, where is Evans anyway?” Blue asked at she and Ruby tromped down the stairs.

“She’s visiting her sister in Queens, remember?”

“Naw, not really.” Blue shrugged.

“Well, anyway, she said she’d be back late tanight.”

“So, do we know why dat Knuckles moron was tryin’ ta get inta da House? I can’t believe he found da spare keys.”

Ruby shook her head. “I think that’s what they were tryin’ ta figure out while I was climbing up da fire escape.” Ruby unlocked the deadbolt on the front door and propped it open with the doorstop.

“Ahh, it’s about time!” Imp said, walking inside. Gypsy, Spider, and Ash filed in after her, dragging Knuckles with them.

“Upstairs,” Blue said to the girls, under her breath.

“Oooh, gonna interogate the Knuckle-meister!”

Blue looked at her witheringly. “Shut up, Harris.” Imp grinned and followed the other girls upstairs.

“Now,” Blue said, as she locked the deadbolt with a satisfying thunk, “let me introduce myself. Da name’s Blue Skies Costello.” She spat in her palm and held it out to Knuckles.

“Knuckles Callahan,” he replied. Then, mimicking Blue’s gesture, Knuckles spat in his own hand before returning Blue’s handshake. “Pleasure ta meetcha.”

“Yes, likewise. I only wish I could say as much about da circumstances. Please, sit down.” Blue liked to keep her friends close, but her enemies closer. “You must be new around here. I’ve been workin’ these streets fer four years now and not once have I eva’ seen yer face.”

Knuckles narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. He knew this routine. He knew this little sweet-talking act she was pulling. He knew this..because he did it all the time. “You are correct. I’s from Jersey.”

“Ahh, so dat’s why ya talk so funny,” she ribbed.

Knuckles smiled inspite of himself, revealing a set of perfectly straight teeth.

“So, you just visitin’ or ya thinkin’ ‘a takin’ up residence in Harlem permanently?”

“Oh, well, so far I think I like what I see,” Knuckles replied, eyeing Blue Skies up and down like a piece of meat.

Eww! Blue resisted the urge to making a gagging motion. “Well, if yer goin’ be stayin’ around here, dere’s a few things you should know,” she hedged, approaching the real point of the converstation.

“Really.” Knuckles raised his eyebrows coolly. “Like what?”

“Well, one bein’ dat you’re in the Harlem newsgirls territory and if we eva’ catch ya west a’ Fifth Avenue again, we ain’t gonna be offerin’ dis much hospitality.”

Knuckles nodded thoughtfully. “All right. Thanks fer tellin’ me. I appreciate it.”

Yeah, I’ll bet, ya slimy weasel. Blue smiled sweetly. “That brings me to another question... exactly what were ya doin’ when Ash caught ya wid our extra set ‘a keys?”

Knuckles faltered. He was still working on a good excuse for that one. “It wasn’t intentional-”

“You’re a bad liar, Callahan.” Blue shook her head, looking at the floor. She raised her face up to meet his hazel eyes, smirking slightly.

Knuckles set is jaw, his eyes scowling.

“Why’d ya do it? Why’d ya want our keys? We ain’t got anythin’ ‘a real value. I don’t undastand.”

His eyes met her intensely blue ones. “I can’t say.”

Blue sighed: He was telling the truth this time. “Fine, fine,” Blue nodded. “Loyalty. I kin respect dat. But I don’t wanna see you back on dis side ‘a Harlem again, get it?”

Knuckles narrowed his eyes. “Got it.”

“Shh! I think I hear somethin’!” Ruby pressed her ear against the floor of the bunkroom.

“Don’t be tellin’ me ta ‘shh!’ I wasn’t sayin’ nothin’!” Gypsy protested, her ear also pressed against the ground.

“Both ‘a ya, shut up!” Imp grumbled, straining to hear through the floorboards.

Blue stood at the landing, her hands on her hips and a very odd expression on her face. Spider and Ash tried to supress their giggles by pretending to be engrossed by their card game. “Guys?” Blue ventured. Gypsy, Ruby, and Imp slowly rolled their eyes upwards.

“Hey, Blue,” Imp grinned, still laying on the floor.

Blue shook her head slightly. “Not ta interupt, but, ah, Knuckles left.”

“Oh, we know,” Ruby nodded.

“We like da floor. Really, we do,” Gypsy added.

“I’m sure ya do.” Blue crossed her arms and nodded.

“So, what did ya say ta Knuckles?” Imp asked, propping herself up on her elbows.

"Do you know why he was looking for our keys?" Ash asked.

Blue shook her head. "Wouldn't say. It was for a reason, I know dat much, but he won't tell me who or what it is. I don't think he was gonna break in; dere ain't no cause for that. We ain't got nothin' worth stealin'. Anyway, I told him if we eva' caught him again, we wasn't gonna be so nice."

"Ya think he'll be back?" Gypsy asked, sitting up.

Blue shrugged. "I dunno. But I think I'll try an' talk Flash inta goin' wit me ta East Harlem tomorrow."

"So ya still don't know why he took the keys?" Flash raised her eyebrows at her best friend.

"What?" Blue shrugged at her, wide-eyed. "He wouldn't tell me! It was like he was protectin' somethin'. I dunno. I can't figure him out. If he had really wanted ta break in, he could've. He's bigger an' stronger den any of da girls. He could of taken Ash if he'd really needed ta get in there."

"But why?"

"Exactly! There ain't no reason for it! Which is why we're going ta East Harlem."

"What?!" Flash stopped walking and crossed her arms.

"Look, I can't figure da guy out. He don't have a motive, as far as we can tell, an' he looks awful clean, too clean ta be a thug, really."

"Well, ya neva' know..."

"No, ya don't. So I wanted ta see if da boys knew anythin' about it."

"Hey! Blue! Flash!" A tall girl with fly-away blonde skittered across the sidewalk.

"Yeah, what is it, Angel?" Flash asked.

"Mrs. Evans told me ta tell ya dat she's gonna get an extra set a' keys made fer each of ya so we don't have ta hide an extra set anymore. She'd make ‘em fer everyone but it's too expensive," Angel breathlessly explained.

"Ok, great," Blue nodded.

"Yeah, I know." Angel grinned then jogged off to join the other girls on their trek to the distribution center.

"Blue...they're lookin' at us funny," Flash hissed.

"I noticed," she hissed back. She crossed her arms and they continued down the street, trying to act oblivious to the stares of several East Harlem newsboys.

Flash rolled her eyes at the younger boys in annoyance. "Haven't ya eva' seen a goil b'fore?" she snapped.

One of the boys stepped forward, blocking their path. He must have been nine or ten, Blue surmised, and he was a good head shorter than both Blue and Flash. He glared at the girls with cold gray eyes. "You goils ain't supposed ta be east ‘a Fifth Avenue," he sneered, a vain attempt to look menacing in the eyes of two much older and much bigger girls.

Blue raised her eyebrow. Flash stifled a snicker. "Look pipsqueak, I'm here ta see my brother, Charlie Costello, not ta sell papes."

The boy rubbed his head in thought, throwing his messy gold locks into an even greater state of disarray. He squinted up at Blue and Flash. "Charlie who?"

Flash smacked herself on her forehead.

Blue sighed in annoyance. "Chance?"

"Oh!" the boy cried, recognition coming over his face. "You're Chance's sister?"

"Did she not jist tell ya that?" Flash ventured. "Now, can we go?"

"Oh, I'll take ya to him myself!" he chirped.

"Oh, boy," Flash muttered as she and Blue fell into step behind the little boy.

"Charlie?" Blue peeked her head into the bunkroom of the East Harlem Newsboys Lodging House.

A black-haired boy jerked his head up and twisted around in his chair. He was sitting at a rickety wooden table, a sheet of paper resting in front of him. Two boys, one tall and slightly heavy-set, and the other younger and wiry, also glanced up from their positions at each side of the table. "Hey, kid!" Chance Costello cried, jumping out of his chair.

"Don't call me kid," Blue said, her words muffled in her brother's shoulder as he gave her a hug.

"Whatever you say, kid," Chance agreed, releasing his sister. Blue just rolled her eyes at him. "Hey, Flash." Chance nodded at her.

"Flash and I gotta talk ta you," Blue explained.

"Sure, sure." Chance nodded, leading the girls to the corner of the bunkroom.

"Hey, where's Red?" Flash suddenly asked. Red Anderson was the leader of the East Harlem newsboys and a good friend of Chance's.

"Umm..." Chance sighed and sat down on a bunk. "Red's in Connecticut."

"What?!" the two girls cried in unison.

"Da bulls caught him last week. They took him back ta his parents an' they sent him off ta boardin' school in Connecticut," Chance said, his voice flat and emotionless.

"Aw, geez, Charlie..." Blue trailed off. She patted him on the shoulder.

Chance shrugged off-handedly. "Nothin' ya can do ‘bout it. Now," he said, his tone brightening, "what was it dat ya came ta talk about?"

"Last night, we caught some dimwit wid our extra set ‘a keys. He didn't break in da House, but he did manage ta drop da keys and lose them unda the porch."

"Called himself Callahan?" Flash added.

"Knuckles Callahan?" Blue searched her brother's face for a sign of recognition.

"Conra-" Chance stopped himself in mid-sentence, shaking his head. "I..." He lapsed into another episode of thoughtful head shaking. "Didja talk ta him?" he finally asked.

"Sure did. Couldn't get nothin' out ‘a him, ‘cept his name and that he was from Jersey."

"Hmph." Chance's brow furrowed and he shook his head some more. "I don't know nothin' about it, Maria. Let me know if ya run inta any more trouble, ok?"

Blue and Flash nodded.

"Say," he asked, grinning up at the girls, "whaddya gonna do about those missin' keys?"

"Evans is makin' a set for me an' Blue," Flash explained.

"Anyway, we gotta get back ta Harlem," Blue added.

Chance nodded. "Well, I'll be on da look out for dis, ah, Knuckles creep then. Keep in touch."

"Always. Take care, Charlie."

"I'll tell Sticks ya stopped by," he called after Flash.

"Thanks, Chance." The trio said their goodbyes and Blue and Flash found themselves back on the street again.

"Dipshit." Blue scowled darkly and whipped out a silver pocket watch. "Good 2 hours a' sellin' lost."

"It's too late now. We still got time ta get some lunch and sell da afternoon editions," Flash soothed. "Say, why wasn't Chance sellin'?"

Blue shrugged absently, winding her pocket watch. "C'mon, let's go back ta da House."

"Hello, girls." Mrs. Evans smiled at Blue and Flash as they walked through the front doors of the Harlem Newsgirls Lodging House.

"Hey, Mrs. Evans," Blue replied, trying to muster some enthusiasm.

The older women frowned slightly. "Is everything all right?" she inquired, her pale blue eyes concerned.

Blue and Flash both shook their heads. Just the flat feeling of defeat that comes with hitting a dead end.

"Hey, can we do anythin' ta help out?" Flash offered, indicating the mop Mrs. Evans held in her hands.

"We missed da mornin' editions," Blue explained. Having nothing to do drove Blue crazy, as her best friend was very aware. Mrs. Evans set the girls to work cleaning the Lodging House windows. (Ground floor, of course. For Blue's sake.)

Blue rubbed the rag in a circular motion, pleased at the emerging reflection of her face in the window's mottled glass. She dipped the rag in the bucket of soapy water she and Flash were sharing. Blue's thoughts began to drift as she mindlessly polished the window, running the rag into the little corners and crevices of the window frame.

"Blue, I'm goin' to da bathroom," Flash said, dropping her rag in the bucket.

"Uh huh." Blue nodded absently. She began scrubbing at a particularly obstinate piece of dirt. A flicker of movement in the window's reflection tugged at the corner of Blue's peripheral vision. She slowed her cleaning efforts and gazed into the window, watching it's projection of the street behind her. Her brow furrowed and Blue caught her breath. There it was again, the shadow of a figure in the glass.

A soft rush of wind and the sudden, unnerving feeling of a presence washed over Blue. She froze, the dirty rag still clutched in her hand. There. Again. She could feel it. It tickled at the back of her neck and arms. Warmth. Specifically, body heat.

In one deft motion, Blue whirled around and sharply sunk her fist into the quivering flesh of the figure hovering silently behind her.

"Auch!" The figure made a choking sound, doubling over from the sudden blow to their stomach.

"I told you dat if you eva came ‘round here again, I wasn't gonna be so nice," Blue growled, her small hands balled into angry fists.

"For God's sakes," Knuckles cried incredulously, his lips pulled back in anguish and surprise, "I wasn't here ta hurt nobody!"

Blue's eyes widened, and her black eyebrows knit together. He sounded almost...hurt. "Well, then what do ya think yer doin' here?" she snapped, unwilling to relent.

Knuckles looked at Blue for a moment, his hazel eyes wide.

My God, he is hurt. Blue bit her lip.

He sighed and glanced at the sidewalk, embarrassed. "I came..." His eyes flicked back up to meet Blue's. "To apologize." He gazed at her for a second before lowering his eyes in disgust and shame.

Blue's face fell and she realized that Knuckles, for all his posturing and stupid macho name, had sincere intentions. Her shoulders sagged and she dropped the grimy rag into the bucket. "Oh," she muttered, bringing a hand to her temple. "I'm so sorry....ahh..." Blue looked up at Knuckles' face. "What is yer real name again?" she asked softly.

"Conrad," he said, his tone equally subdued.

"Conrad..." Blue shook her head. "I'm so sorry, Conrad. I shouldn't have done that." She looked at him shamefully.

Knuckles smiled a little. "Don't worry ‘bout it. I just wanted ta say I'm sorry for losin' the keys."

Blue shrugged. "Evans is makin' up some new sets anyway." She looked at him awkwardly.

"Oh, here, I brought you this." Knuckles reached into the crumpled paper bag at his feet and pulled out a small, rectangular package.

"What is it?" Blue asked, frowning at the parcel that Knuckles had handed to her.

"Open it," he grinned.

Blue glanced at him dubiously before peeling back the wrapping. "Banana bread?" she cried in surprise as the homey scent met her nostrils.

Knuckles nodded proudly. "My mom made it."

Blue dumbly opened and closed her mouth a few times before stuttering out a bewildered thank you.

Knuckles sort of shrugged. "You're welcome." He grinned. "Well, I gotta be goin'-don't wanna get punched by another one of your girls."

Blue laughed nervously, knowing that wasn't very far from the truth. "Thanks again," she called after him. He turned and smiled before continuing down the street. She watched his figure slowly grow smaller and smaller and finally disappear from sight. "Banana bread," she sighed, staring down at the loaf.

"Flash, you try it." Blue held out a slice of bread to her friend.

"No!" Flash crossed her arms indignantly. "You first." The girls were sitting at the small kitchen table in the Lodging House, staring at the ominous plate of banana bread in front of them.

"What if he poisoned it?" Blue ventured, studying a slice.

"Did he make it himself?" Flash snickered.

"No, actually, his mommy did," Blue blandly replied, gazing at the brown loaf. She paused as a smirk slowly crept across her face and they burst into giggles.

"I mean, it smells good," Flash noted, picking up a slice.

"I know. I love banana bread. But..." Blue shook her head. It was so...odd.

"See, he was tryin' ta win your forgiveness with the banana bread."

"Probably." Blue conceded, gingerly bringing a slice to her lips. "I bet it ain't as good as my grandma's. My grandma makes da best, ya know."

"I know, I know," Flash rolled her eyes. "You've only told me a thousand times. Just eat it already."

Blue shot a scowl at Flash then closed her eyes, parted her lips, and took a bite of the banana bread. She chewed, swallowed, and then opened one eye and peered at Flash. "Am I dead yet?"

Flash giggled. "No, ya ain't."

"Try it," Blue said, opening both eyes. "It's really good."

"Good as ya grandma's?" Flash asked, taking a bite.

"Not quite. Maybe if it had dates in it. Maybe." Blue grinned.

"Ain't cha glad it's Friday?" Angel sighed, flopping down on her bunk.

"Friday? We'se still gotta work tomorrow," Blue replied skeptically.

"Yeah... but it's Friday." Angel smiled.

"Sure kid, whateva ya say...." Blue shook her head but smiled anyway. "At least things are finally back ta normal around here. So I think that's worth bein' glad about, Friday or not." Blue jingled the set of keys on her neck as she sat down on her bunk. No more missing keys, no more Harlem newsboys. After a few days, life at the Harlem Newsgirls Lodging House had fallen back into its steady pace.

"Hey, Blue....what's this?" Flash frowned at she picked up a piece of paper lying on Blue's pillow. She held it out to Blue. The page was folded in half and had Blue's name neatly printed on top.

"Well, what's it say?" Angel asked.

Blue just stared at the paper, not saying a word.

"Who's it from?" Flash demanded.

"Knuckles...he wants ta talk ta me."

"About what?" Angel cut in.

Blue shook her head. "He's comin' here at 6 tonight." Blue groaned and buried her face in her pillow. "I don't undastand!" she whined. "The kid tries ta steal our keys, I punch him, he says he's sorry, then he gave me banana bread! An' now," Blue sat up, "he wants ta talk ta me. About what?!" She tossed her hands up in the air and collapsed back onto her bunk.

"If ya ask me," Liberty said as she walked in.

"I didn't," Blue insisted from underneath her pillow.

"If ya ask me," Liberty continued, "it sounds like he likes ya."

Blue sighed and rolled over. "Yeah, well, dat don't mean I trust him."

"Well," Flash rationalized, "if he's comin' here, it don't matter anyway. He couldn't do nothin' with all of us and Evans here in da Lodgin' House."

"It can't hurt," Angel shrugged.

"No...I guess not," Blue sighed.

"Look, Blue, he's comin'." Angel pointed at the figure walking down the sidewalk as she gazed out the bunkroom window.

"On time, too," Fingers remarked, studying Blue's watch.

"Hey, give dat back!" Blue laughed.

Fingers grinned and reluctantly handed Blue her watch. "Evans ain't gonna let him come upstairs. You better go down there."

"No...I suppose not," Blue muttered, trying to mask her apprehension.

"Just go!" Flash gave her a little push towards the stairs.

"Hey, hey, don't touch me. I'm goin' already. Sheesh." With a sigh, Blue tromped down the stairs and entered the parlor.

Knuckles, who had been sitting down, jumped to his feet. "Hi, Blue," he said, licking his lips nervously.

"Hi."

"You got the note?" he asked, his eyes wide.

"Yeah, I did. You said you wanted ta talk ta me?" Blue ventured, smiling anxiously.

Knuckles frowned a little. "Oh. Yeah. Like maybe ova' dinner?" he ventured, looking at her hopefully.

"Uh..." Blue faltered, glancing at her shoes as if they could reveal the answer to her.

"Please?" Knuckles lips curled back, into a silly grin, revealing his perfect teeth to Blue.

I...am...too...nice, Blue grimly concluded. "Sure, why not?" Blue forced a smile, but on the inside she was smacking herself on the head. Look what you've gotten yaself into, Costello.

Knuckles had promised Blue the best roast beef sandwich ever, and Blue was hard-pressed to deny it as she took a bite out of the mammoth-sized sandwich. They were sitting at a small table, crammed in the delicatessen's back corner. Blue chewed thoughtfully as she gazed out at the cured meats displayed in the window.

"How's da sandwich?"

Blue turned to face her companion's face. "It's..." Blue pursed her lips in a fruitless effort to suppress her smile. "It's the best roast beef sandwich I've eva' had," she finally conceded, laughing.

Knuckles grinned, and, if the lighting had been better, Blue might have been able to see his face blush with satisfaction. "Good," he nodded. "You been in Harlem long?"

Blue sighed, studying the table. "Pasts ain't somethin' I care ta do, Callahan. Let's jist say...it's been a while now."

Knuckles nodded, understanding washing over his chiseled face. "That ain't what it's about round here, is it?" he asked, his voice softening.

Blue shook her head. "No, it ain't. We all got one, after all."

Knuckles exhaled through his nose, leaning back in the chair. "Yeah, we do. So," he rolled his eyes up off the table and onto Blue's face, "let's just say I'm new around here, all right?" A smile quirked at his lips as he glanced at Blue. "And I was sorta lookin' for someone ta show me around."

Blue felt her face flush, and she grinned stupidly down at her sandwich.

Knuckles laughed nervously. "Ahh...sorry. Didn't mean ta put ya on the spot." He smiled at her hopefully.

"Nah, s okay. It's...it's nice." Blue smiled self consciously. What are you doin', Costello? What are you... She brushed the thought aside, her head losing the battle to her heart.

The late sun was still bright, and the sky was a startlingly clear blue, the kind you only see in the fall. Their shadows were stretched long across the pavement in front of the golden brick of the Harlem Newsgirls' Lodging House.

"I jist wanted ta try again, start ova', ya know?" Knuckles wrinkled his forehead, gesturing with his hand.

Blue nodded. "Yeah, yeah, absolutely. They say first impressions-"

"Are da most important," Knuckles finished. "But sometimes-"

"You don't get it right, and ya just want-"

"Anotha' chance."

"Exactly." The pair nodded at each other, pleased to be on the same wavelength.

"MARIA!" The front door of the Lodging House burst open.

Chance Costello came storming down the steps, his face red. He was followed by pained-looking Sticks and a very distressed-looking Flash. More newsgirls came pouring out the doors.

"Blue-"

"Oh, Blue, I-"

"Blue Skies, I am so sorry-"

"Hey, Blue-"

"Blue, it's-"

Blue looked to the faces in confusion. "What's goin' on?" she demanded, taking a step backwards.

The crowd fell silent, realizing their mistake.

"Hey, hey! Let him through," Sticks ordered.

Chance slowly stepped forward, his jaw locked in a last ditch effort to keep some sort of composure over himself. Grabbing his sister by the arm, Chance dragged her a few feet down the street.

"Charlie, what is it?" Blue snapped, shoving her brother a little. "Let go, eh?"

Chance glowered at his sister for a moment before his face slowly crumpled. Chance shut his eyes and let out a shaky breath. "Maria, Grandma died this mornin'."

Blue felt her body go numb, silence screaming in her ears. The memories came flying back, slamming into her skull over and over and over again. "I'm sorry," the old voices repeated, "I'm so sorry." Sorry. The word make her sick. "I'm sorry your mother died, I'm sorry your father's in prison, and I'm sorry the only person who really loved you is stone-cold dead right now and you can never get her back. I'm sorry." Yeah. Yeah, I'm sorry too. I'm so damn sorry...

Blue took a shaky step forward, placing a hand on the building to steady herself. Her head spun violently, and it felt as if her insides had been ripped out, leaving nothing more than a dazed shell. Strong hands closed around Blue's shoulders, breaking her out of the nightmare, pulling her away from the building, pulling her back to reality.

"Don't touch me," she insisted, twisting her body out of her brother's grasp. The fingers crept back, closing around her hunched shoulder. "I said DON'T," she snapped, whirling around to glare at Chance, her face flushed. Blue looked into her brother's agonized face and suddenly let out a whimper, like that of a small child. "Where's Joel?" she whispered, the tears finally getting the better of her, filling her eyes and burning hot paths down her cheeks.

"Come back ta East Harlem wit me," Chance offered. "We'll go see Joel in the mornin'." Blue nodded and allowed Chance to lead her away, leaving the other newsgirls standing on the steps, staring after her.

There was something both comforting yet startlingly painful about the familiar brown brick building. The yellow-lit windows winked at Blue as the group approached in the waning twilight.

“Hey, Skies.” The dark-haired boy’s back peeled away from the stone railing and he straightened, extending a hand towards Blue.

“Hey, McCoy.” Blue’s words were quiet, barely there, as she took his hand. She forced a pale smile for her old friend.

“How’re ya doin’, Skies?” Tommy asked, pulling Blue into his chest and giving her a hug.

The question hung like a lead weight in her stomach. “Oh, fine,” she choked out, her chest tight from restraining the emotions. Tommy released his grasp on Blue and she stared at the ground, willing the tears in her eyes to somehow magically evaporate so no one could see the pain that she was so ashamed of. “Haven’t seen you ‘round much, eh, Tom?” She laughed weakly, trying to change the subject. “Been spendin’ all yer time up in da Bronx, I hear. I get to thinkin’ ya like the Bronx girls more’n us here in Harlem.”

The group let out a strained laughed, their voices echoing in the empty street. Tense silence closed in as the sounds quickly faded and died in the night air. Sticks’ dark eyebrows furrowed and he frowned as he reached to open the front door.

“Oh, who have we got here?” A round-faced balding man looked up from his desk as the five forlorn newsies stumbled into the lodging house.

“H’lo Mr. Searls,” Blue murmured.

Before the older man could question them further, Sticks leaned across the desk and whispered in his ear. Mr. Searls nodded and pushed a worn record book across the table. Chance shelled out thirty-cents, signing both his and Blue’s name in the book. Eyes downcast, Blue followed her brother up the narrow staircase to the second floor.

As Chance reached the threshold of the bunkroom, all chatter ceased. A universal hum of condolences echoed through the air as Blue and Chance stepped into the room, and the boys crowded around to offer a sympathetic handshake or hug.

Blue didn’t say anything. All the old faces, the familiar bunks, it all hurt too much. The past was a stinging reminder of things that might have been. Things that might have been better, times that might have been happier. Maybe they were. She couldn’t remember anymore.

Blue walked numbly to her bed of two years previous. She kicked off her shoes, crawled under the covers, and turned her face to the empty bunk in the corner, her blank eyes staring into the shadows. The newsboys fell silent, watching Blue, curled under the blanket, her eyes frozen open like a statue. Wordlessly, they all began to prepare themselves for sleep. Somewhere in the room a switch clicked, and they were thrown into blackness.

Maria Costello studied the wooden boards of the bunk above her. The blue moonlight seeped into the room, curling around the window shades and rolling onto the floor. Blue listened to the deep breathing all around her. Her thoughts swam in her head, knocking over each other until it hurt.

Blue felt her chest go tight again; the painful emotions she had been trying so hard to swallow rose up again with renewed force. They exploded and Blue let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. Dull aching built up from events long forgotten surged through her body. Her tense shoulders finally sagged as tear upon tear washed down her face, her body shivering from the cool droplets.

Conrad Callahan’s eyes flicked to the left, movement fading in his peripheral vision. A blanket trembled and Knuckles caught sight of the moonlight glinting off silver tears. Knuckles sucked in his breath sharply, his eyebrows furrowing. Tear-filled blue eyes suddenly rolled in his direction, and, upon meeting his hazel ones, a hand flew to her mouth, and she looked away in horror.

Blue struggled to twist the blanket around so she could turn away from Knuckles’ gaze. She began rolling her body to the right, but not before a hand reached out and closed around her left arm.

Knuckles could feel her small wrist pull against his hand, then it suddenly went slack. She flopped her head against the pillow, sagging like a deflated balloon. Her chest rose and fell sharply, her breathing slowing and finally returning to normal. Knuckles watched a fresh bead of silver slide down her cheek, and the wet eyes turned to him once again.

Conrad pursed his lips, an uncomfortable stiffness overcoming his jaw, a feeling he hadn’t experienced since his father died. Knuckles slid his hand down her wrist, wrapping his fingers around Blue’s delicate hand, squeezing her fingers into his wide palm. It’s all right. It’s all right. Blue shut her eyes and nodded back, squeezing her fingers around Conrad’s.

Joel Costello was never meant to spend his life doing hard labor. But New York was a booming town, and when they had needed men to help take on the task of building new roads four years previous, Joel had lied about his age and joined up. Joel was too small and too thin for the heavy work, but he needed that job more than anything. He needed that job in order to support his younger brother and sister, and even then, he had failed.

Less than seven months after Michael Costello had been apprehended by the police and thrown in prison, the money ran out and Joel’s meager paycheck couldn’t cover both the rent and the cost of food. After all, what did a boy know about managing money? He’d wanted to keep the family together, but in the end, the logic of his eleven-year-old sister won out: Joel could barely support himself, let alone his siblings. Selling off their remaining belongings, the trio parted ways, Charlie and Maria to the newsboys’ lodging house, and Joel to the tenements of East Harlem.

Joel had been the pride of the Costello family. Grandma always said she knew that he would most certainly get a scholarship to the University. He probably would have if the circumstances has been different. Joel had been an excellent student and has possessed a passion for music. Grandma had given him piano lessons as a birthday gift one year, but Joel had been forced to sell the piano after they lost the apartment. Sometimes the songs still haunted him, the notes playing ever so sweetly in his mind. It drove him crazy at times, times when he wanted to forget that his calloused hands had once flown across ivory keys with consummate ease, the notes fluttering and sparkling like the wings of a bird in flight. It’s funny how things can change so fast.

Joel sat at the small table in the dingy apartment he shared with a family of strangers. A patch of gray daylight weakly cast itself onto the dirty floor. Joel supposed he was lucky to get a window at all, unlike many of the tenement’s other rooms. He sipped bitter coffee out of a chipped teacup, his gray eyes listlessly staring into space. A sharp rap on the door brought them back into focus.

Running a hand through his disheveled black hair, Joel cracked open the apartment door.

“Hey, Charlie, Maria.” His voice was hoarse, strained almost. The corners of Charlie’s mouth turned up; a vain attempt at a smile. Maria met her brother with red-rimmed eyes. As she walked in the door, Joel also noticed that she had dark circles underneath her dull-looking blue eyes. Maria stiffly reached her arms out to hug her brother.

“They feedin’ you enough in Harlem, kid?” Joel asked, hoisting his sister into the air.

“Prolly more’n you,” she responded flatly, giving him a poke in the ribs. Her tired eyes met Joel’s, and she curled her lips back like Charlie, making a sad attempt at a smile.

A thick silence followed, and Joel sighed heavily. “Funeral’s tomorrow afternoon,” he said. “Got this today.” Joel reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a letter. He slid it across the table at his siblings. Maria carefully picked it up off the table and examined the letter. It was from a law firm downtown, and it requested that Joel, Charlie, and Maria appear at their offices for the reading of their grandmother’s will.

“I din’t know she had a will,” Charlie said, slipping the letter from his sister’s fingers.

“Well, she didn’t have much,” Joel conceded, “but everybody leaves somethin’.”

“Not everyone.” Maria’s eyes flicked to her older brother, and she stared at him darkly.

Joel looked at her uncomfortably. Sighing, he asked, “’Ria, are those the nicest clothes you got?”

She looked down at the faded pants and tattered shirt and vest. “No...but it don’t get much better,” Maria replied bluntly.

Joel bit his tongue, holding the bitter comments in the back of his jaw. He remembered when she used to dress so nicely, when they all had. “Well, both of you, do the best you can. Then we’ll go downtown to see about the will.”

“Look, I don’t see why we have to mess around with all this. Just have them fight it out. Winner gets to be leader. That’s fair.” Cody McGowan ran a hand over his head of golden hair, his blue eyes wide.

Sticks shot Cody a glare from across the East Harlem Newsboys’ Lodging House bunkroom. “Chance said, Whoever can successfully steal a set of keys from da girls gets ta be leader. So dat’s what we’re doin’. NO. Fightin’.” His green eyes angrily flicked over the faces of the other boys in the room.

“Red wouldn’t have wanted us fightin’,” Sham added quietly. “Chance knew ‘im better den da rest of us; he prolly woulda wanted us ta do somethin’ like dis.”

“Well, if Chance was Red’s best friend, why isn’t Chance competing?” Cody’s asked, his brow furrowing.

A few boys snickered, and the others tried to suppress their smiles at Cody’s naivete. “What, you wanna compete wid Ruse Murphy fer leadership of East Harlem?” Paris snorted, his eyebrows pushing into his brown hair in disbelief. It was common understanding that no one in their right mind would want to compete with James “Ruse” Murphy for much of anything.

Ruse was a huge boy of 6’2”, though he could hardly be called a boy at nineteen. He’d been a member of East Harlem for a good three years now, but he’d never seemed to quite fit in. Ruse had gotten his name because of his frequent telling of wild stories and elaborate practical jokes. Problem was, a lot of the time, it was hard to tell if Ruse was joking or not because, more often than not, his jokes came off as violent and disturbing and not very funny at all. Ruse’s erratic behavior put even the toughest of the boys at ill-ease, and most avoided selling with him.

“What? Did I hear somethin’ about me bein’ leader ‘a East Harlem?” Ruse’s crooked grin greeted the boys as he bounded up the stairs and into the bunkroom. Paris’ blue eyes popped out of his head, and his face blanched as Ruse strode up to him.

“Ahhh, you didn’t hear nothin’, Ruse. Just me shootin’ my mouth off again. Ya know how it is...” Paris smiled uneasily as a bear paw of a hand closed around his shoulder.

Ruse stared down at Paris, his deep aqua eyes narrowing into pig-like slits. Paris continued grinning idiotically as he felt the blood flow to his shoulder severed due to the pressure of Ruse’s grip.

“’A course I do,” Ruse suddenly boomed. He broke his gaze with Paris, giving him a good, sharp slap on the back. Paris winced and shuddered slightly from the blow. “Forgot me hat,” Ruse explained, crossing the bunkroom.

The rest of the boys sat in uncomfortable silence, watching Ruse slap his cap on his head. “Hey, you seen Costello?” Ruse asked, turning to look at Sticks.

“He’s at da readin’ of his grandmother’s will.”

“Ahh...right.” Ruse nodded, starting down the stairs. “Well, if ya see him, tell him ta come find me. I wanna smack da dego shrimp around some.”

Shocked silence.

Ruse stuck a grinning head around the doorframe. “Just kiddin’.” Turning on his heel, he clattered down the stairs and out the bunkhouse door.

As soon as Ruse was out of earshot, Cody let out a sight of relief. “All right, FINE, that was a stupid question. What’s wrong with him, anyway?”

Paris shook his head. “You don’t wanna know...you really don’t wanna know...”

“Maybe he oughta know,” Sticks broke in coldly.

Paris glanced up at Sticks. “You wanna explain?”

Sticks shifted uncomfortably in his chair. No, as a matter of fact, he did not want to explain, but put in the position, he couldn’t back down. Sticks leaned forward, resting his ink-stained hands on the worn table top. “Look, Cody, you gotta watch out for Ruse.” Cody began to roll his eyes at this obvious statement.

“No. Really.” The normally calm boy’s sharp tone made Cody look up in surprise. “Ruse...he didn’t always used to be like...like...like that. Like he was jus’ now. Back when da girls first started ta talk about startin’ their own house, there was a big blow out ‘bout sellin’ territory, and Ruse’s girl, Cassandra, ended up in an alley wid a knife in her chest. Eva’ since den, Ruse has been actin’ sorta...strange.”

Cody licked his lips, digesting this information. “So...wait...” He looked at the boys’ solemn faces. “Are you saying,” he lowered his voice, “you saying you think Ruse...killed her?”

Three sets of eyes lowered themselves, choosing to study the floor rather than address the question. Cody’s blue eyes widened. “You guys can’t be serious,” he insisted, shaking his head.

“You’ve seen how he acts,” Sham replied flatly.

“Lotta times,” Paris explained, “he’s jus’ a lot ‘a hot air. But it’s hard ta tell.”

Sticks shook his head. “We don’t trust him-can’t trust him-anymore. And afta’ what happened ta Cassandra...”

“We don’t do fights for territory no more,” Sham finished.

Cody nodded. “Does Knuckles know about this?”

“Ha!” Paris crowed, falling back on his bunk.

“Heh, heh...err...no.” Sticks smiled weakly.

“Well...don’t you think he ought to know about Ruse?” Cody ventured.

“If Callahan actually knew about Ruse, he wouldn’t be competin’ wid him fer leadership of East Harlem,” Paris explained offhandedly. “So, yeah, dat’s kinda a problem...”

“Don’t ya dare tell him, though,” Sticks warned, giving Cody a critical look. “We need somebody competin’ against Ruse, and it might as well be da new guy.”

The law office was small and cramped, just enough room for one man to work. John Corey, the lawyer had said his name was, and Joel had shaken his hand and smiled big, as if it were a thrill to be there.

Rosella Gianetti hadn’t left much behind, Mr. Corey told them. She had worked as a maid, waitress, and nanny during her lifetime, and she had one hundred dollars saved up in the bank for Maria and Charlie. The money would be held until they turned eighteen and could claim their share.

As for Joel, Mr. Corey handed him a business card and explained: “Your grandmother was a nursemaid to this man,” he pointed to the card, “The will states that Mr. Vanderbilt is prepared to offer you a job as a repayment for her service to him and his family. He owns several holding companies in town. This job is quite the opportunity, Mr. Costello. Quite the opportunity.”

Joel fingered the creamy white cardstock. The name Theodore J. Vanderbilt, III was embossed in ebony-colored ink. Joel ran his thumb over the raised letters almost lovingly. This was indeed the perfect opportunity.

Blue Skies tromped up the lodging house stairs and threw a copy of the New York Journal on her bed. It was mid-day, and everyone was either out selling, or, if they were lucky, eating lunch. Blue kicked off her shoes and began unbuttoning the borrowed high-necked black dress. The funeral day had dawned remarkably clear and sunny. Quite ironic, Blue noted, glancing out the window, considering her black mood. If people die everyday, why does the sun still bother shining?

Back in her usual tattered clothes, she wandered into the bathroom, unpinning her braid. Sighing, Blue leaned forward and took a good look at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were red and tired from crying, and her hair a bit flattened from the hat Joel had insisted she wear. Blue put a hand up to her face. Still got da round Costello face. Dad’s cheeks, mom’s lips. No point dwellin’ on what ya can’t change. Taking the basin from the counter, she pumped some water and splashed it over her face. Returning to the bunkroom, Blue laid down on her bunk and shut her eyes, the sleepless nights of the past few days finally getting the best of her.

Knuckles gazed up at the ladder that served as the bottom of the fire escape belonging to the Harlem Newsgirls’ Lodging House. The rungs stopped short about six or so feet from the pavement. Bending at the knees, Knuckles jumped up and grabbed a hold of the bottom of the ladder. “Oof,” he gasped, his chest slamming into one of the rungs as he dangled from the fire escape. With a bit of wriggling, Knuckles managed to get his feet on the ladder and began the climb to the second floor.

Wiping his hands on his pants, Knuckles carefully slid the bunkroom window open. “All right, keys,” Knuckles muttered, stepping through the window. “Keys, keys, keys...” Before him were two rows of bunks, a table and chair in the corner, and a washroom on the opposite end of the room. Knuckles began searching the room, examining the table and opening nightstand drawers. Three bunks into the aisle, he came upon the bunk Blue and Flash shared, only this time the bunk was not vacant.

“Oh, shit.” Knuckles grimaced, stopping dead in his tracks. Moments after the words had left his lips, he winced, realizing his outburst may have awakened the napping Blue Skies. Too shocked to move, Knuckles opened and shut his mouth several times, like a fish, the pumping of his heart throbbing in his ears. However, Blue’s eyes remained shut, her breathing deep and even. Knuckles’ eyes darted around the room, trying to discern the best route of escape. Stealing one last look at Blue, the glint of metal caught his eye. The golden corner of a brass key peeked out from the top of Blue’s shirt, dangling from a string around her neck. If I could just get it off...aw, there’s no way. Dismissing the thought, Knuckles slowly backed away from Blue’s bunk, wiggled out the window, and half-climbed, half-fell down the fire escape, a new plan already taking shape in his brain.

“Seventy-five papes.” Sticks slapped some coins on the counter and slid his stack of Journals off the counter top.

“Heeeeeey, O’Leary, where ya goin’?” Sticks stiffened as he felt a hand close around his shoulder. Ruse leaned his broad, freckled face down to Sticks’ eye level, leering at him.

“Ta sell my papes, Ruse,” he replied curtly.

“Yeah? Yeah?” Ruse hoisted his papers onto his shoulder. “How ‘bout a little company, eh?”

Sticks snuck a side-long glance up at Ruse. “I sell alone.”

“Aw? Really?” Ruse pouted. “I din’t know,” his raspy voice patronized.

’A course he knows, Sticks thought in disgust, he’s been a newsie as long as I have. He sighed audibly, gritting his teeth.

“See, buddy-boy,” Ruse continued, “I was thinkin’ you an’ me could have a little talk.”

“Uh huh. ‘Bout what?”

“Oh, you know, dis an’ dat...” Ruse shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Like...oh...I dunno...a certain girl from Harlem. Flash McAllen, I t’ought her name was...” Sticks snapped to attention at the mention of Flash’s name. Sensing his sudden interest, Ruse rolled his head around, giving Sticks a phony grin.

“What about ‘er?”

“Well, buddy-boy, I’m a thinkin’ she’s gonna be partin’ with a set ‘a keys very, very soon. I don’t suppose ya know if she kin, ah, swim, or not?”

“No...”

“Aww, dat’s too bad, too bad.” Ruse shook his head, studying his fingernails thoughtfully. “Cuz it’d prolly be ta her benefit if she could...” His turquoise eyes flicked down to meet Sticks’ green ones. “’Specially seein’ as I’m gonna be holdin’ her head three feet unda’ in da Harlem River in order ta get those lovely keys ‘a hers.” Ruse’s thin lips spread into a toothless grin. “See ya ‘round, buddy-boy.” With a slap on the back, Ruse sauntered down the street, whistling to himself.

Shuddering inwardly, Sticks stared after Ruse’s hulking figure, his blood boiling. He’d always hoped Flash would be around to finally agree to being his girl instead of perennially rejecting him. This entire thing was getting out of hand. People were going to get hurt again like...like last time. Feeling a flash of brilliance, Sticks resolved to take the matter to Chance, the originator of the entire competition. However, Sticks’ agenda was quickly shattered: Chance was at his grandmother’s funeral. Without a leader to turn to, the matter rested in Sticks’ hands alone. Squaring his shoulders, he began walking west, towards Harlem newsgirl territory.

“New statue to be unveiled outside City Hall! Worth thousands of dollars!” Flash McAllen yelled out the headline, waving a paper in the air with her hand. She scowled as countless people passed her by. “I thought the sellin’ was supposed ta be better in Morningside Heights,” she grumbled under her breath. “C’mon, BUY THIS!” she screamed, waving a paper at a lady walking by. “Ahhh, fine.” Flash rolled her eyes in defeat as the woman ignored her.

“Heya, Flash.”

A familar male voice interrupted her thoughts. O’Leary. Great, jist great... “You gonna buy a paper or jus' stand there gawkin'?” she asked in annoyance, glancing over at Sticks.

Sticks swallowed, a bit taken aback by her less than polite greeting. “Aw, nah, I ain’t gonna buy one,” he shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets nervously.

“Then why’re ya here?” Flash asked, eying him skeptically.

Frowning, Sticks took a step closer to Flash and said, softly, “Can I talk ya? About...ah...somethin.’ It’s kinda important.” He squirmed nervously, looking at her with wide green eyes.

At this Flash raised her eyebrows, tucking her papers under her arm. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Really.” Sticks motioned towards a nearby park bench. Sitting down, he continued, “You know Ruse Murphy.”

“Yeah.” Flash looked at him blandly. “What ‘bout ‘im?”

“Uhh, well...I know he’s usually a lotta talk, but he was sayin’ some stuff taday, and I think he’s bein’ serious this time.” Sticks looked her in the eye, his green eyes solemn.

“What kinda stuff?” Flash ventured, her tone becoming serious as well.

Sticks sighed, his shoulders sagging. “He’s threatin’ ta go afta ya.” He paused. “Says he’s gonna dunk ya in da Harlem River and hold ya under.” Sticks’ face hardened, anger creeping into his voice. “Says it like he thinks it’s gonna be big fun or somethin’.”

“He wouldn’t do that; he’s just a big talker,” Flash asserted, leaning back against the bench. “That’d be...that’d be stupid.”

Sticks glanced at Flash, his eyes narrowing. “Since when have ya known Ruse ta be smart?”

“He ain’t stupid...” Flash rolled her eyes. “Well, he ain’t that stupid.”

“I know he’s a big talker, but he’s got cause this time. I mean...he’s not exactly...right...in da head.” Sticks raised his eyebrows and tapped Flash on the temple to illustrate his point.

Flash grimaced and irritably swatted his hand away. “He’s got cause?”

Sticks pursed his lips and retracted his hand. “Yeah. He’s got real cause this time.”

“An’ what might dat be?”

Sticks shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I ain’t allowed ta tell ya. Chance would kill me if I did.”

Flash looked at him dubiously. “Costello’s brother wouldn’t kill ya.”

Sticks shot a glare at her. “You don’t know da situation,” he said sharply. “Jus’ watch yer back, McAllen.”

Flash crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at Sticks. “Ya tell me ta watch out and yet ya won’t tell me why. I’se da leader ‘a da Harlem newsgirls. No one’s gonna get me in that river. Not even Ruse Murphy.”

Sticks stood up, shaking his head. “You’se a stubborn one. Say what ya will, but be careful Flash cuz he’s fer real dis time.” Shooting her a last reproachful look, he turned on his heel and started making his way back to East Harlem, hoping like crazy she would stop being so stubborn and listen to him this time.

"Hey, Costello, yer brudda says ta git downstairs and git ready fer a night on da town," Imp yelled as she made her way up the lodging house stairs.

"What?" Blue poked her head around the door of the washroom.

"Git downstairs. Chance is waitin' for ya." The small girl jerked her thumb towards the stairs.

Dropping her hairbrush, Blue jogged out of the bunkroom and bounded down the stairs.

"Whoa, kid!" Chance cried, taking a step backward as his sister burst into the parlor.

"What's goin' on?" Blue Skies asked breathlessly. "Don't call me kid."

"Fine, pipsqueak," Chance shrugged.

Blue rolled her eyes. "All right, all right, call me kid, I don't care. Anyway, what is it?"

"Joel wants ta take us out ta dinner ta celebrate his first week on da job."

Blue's sharp black eyebrows shot up. "Really? They payin' him good?"

"Yeah..." Chance pursed his lips and flicked his chestnut-colored eyes about the room.

"You think that maybe dis time it's really workin' out fer Joel? I mean, I know he wanted ta go back ta school so bad an-"

Chance opened his mouth to interrupt his sister's babbling, but a slurred voice cut in before he could speak.

"Chhhhharrrlie!" A hand flopped down on Chance's shoulder, and Chance immediately stiffed as he watched the lively expression on his sister's face quickly perish.

"Hey, c'mon, ‘Ria." Joel grinned lopsidedly and gave Blue a little punch on the arm. "Cheer up. We're gonna celebrate, huh?" He leaned close, giving her a wet kiss on the cheek. Blue recoiled from his touch, the sharp smell of alcohol filling her nostrils.

"Joel," she said, her voice low. "You're drunk."

The word was like a hole in a balloon, quickly deflating Joel's unusually exuberant mood. "What are you talking about?" he snapped. A hostile expression was slowly creeping up his tired face.

"Joel, let's go outside," Blue replied, her voice still dark and even.

"No! Wha-what is this? You're not happy for me? You're not happy that I'm finally going somewhere in life? Huh?" His gray eyes shone with incredulity, and he kept making clumsy, angry gestures with his hands.

Maria licked her lips, her eyes darting from Joel to Chance to the sofa and chairs of the lodging house parlor. "Joel," she repeated, though her eyes were trained on Chance, "let's go outside. Please."

Charlie placed a hand on his brother's arm. "Joel, dis really ain't da place-"

"He-hey now. You stop that." Joel swatted at Charlie's hand, stumbling backward a few steps.

"Joel..." Blue stepped around him and opened the front door. Led by Charlie, Joel staggered towards the doorway. Blue followed, slipping the door softly shut behind her.

"You!" Joel suddenly whirled around, snarling like a wild animal. "You're jealous!" he fumed, shoving an accusing finger in her face. "You didn't think I could get a job with decent pay! Thought I'd being doing manual labor all this time, didn't you?!" He was shaking with anger, spittle frothing from his mouth, his hot breath panting in Blue's face. The dizzying scent of cheap booze made Maria's head spin. She blinked, Joel's furious face looming in front of her blue eyes.

"Joel, don't. You're drunk..." Charlie trailed off, reaching out a hand to pull him away from Maria.

Ignoring his warnings, Joel and Maria remained locked in a stare-down, their faces only inches away from one another. Blue Skies' narrowed her eyes into angry, cobalt slits. Leaning even closer, she parted her heart-shaped lips. "I would never be jealous of a drunken fool."

The blow delivered, Maria leaned back, a thick layer of contempt covering her face. For a moment the air stood very still, the stinging words slowing sinking in. Then the world suddenly snapped back into focus: Joel's eyes flared, and he lunged towards his sister.

"Damnit, Joel! NO!" Chance screamed. Grabbing his brother by the shirt collar, Chance flung Joel backwards. Joel stumbled and fell hard against the railing of the front steps, wheezing from the impact.

Heavy silence descended. Blue glared icily at her eldest brother, slumped forward, trying to get his breath back. He looked up, stunned and gasping, only to be met with impassive expressions from his younger brother and sister. Struggling to right himself, Joel shook his head bitterly before lurching off the steps and continuing down the street.

"Damn alcohol," Chance muttered, watching him go.

"Damn fool." Blue shot a deadly glance at her brother before stepping into the Harlem Newsgirls' Lodging House and slamming the door shut behind her.

"C'mon, Sticks, get movin'." Chance tapped his friend on the shoulder, gesturing to the nearly empty bunkroom.

"Go on," Sticks mumbled, running a hand over his messy hair. "I'll catch up."

Shrugging, Chance jogged down the stairs, leaving his friend in the deserted lodging house.

Sticks squinted at his reflection in the dingy lodging house mirror, running a razorblade over his lather-coated face.

"Hey, O'Leary!"

A heavy hand came down upon Sticks' back, pitching him forward and causing him to nick his chin. Frowning, Sticks turned to his left, Ruse's thin lips grinning at him. "Hey, watch it, Murphy." He looked at Ruse coldly. "I thought you'd left already."

Ruse laughed loudly and insincerely, still grinning. "Naw, I wanted ta have a little chat, buddy-boy. Jus' you and me. One on one." A sly look came over his face, and he leaned closer to Sticks, his eyes narrowing. "Beautiful day for a swim, eh?" He raised an eyebrow and gestured to the window.

The color slowly drained from Sticks' face, leaving it only a few shades darker than the snowy white lather coating his cheeks and mouth. "Aw, no. No, you ain't gonna-"

The devilish grin on Ruse's face only spread wider. "Yes, I am. McAllen an' I are gonna go fer a little walk down by da docks taday. She won't even know what hit her." His pink lips shrunk into a smirk. "See ya ‘round, buddy-boy." Dipping his fingers into the washbowl, Ruse flicked a handful of water in Sticks' face before turning and strolling out of the bathroom.

Sticks stared after him, stunned, his razor still clutched between his soapy fingers. A drop of blood oozed from his chin, falling into the cracked washbowl. Sticks glanced down at it, his hand going to his face, experimentally touching the cut. A scraping sound penetrated the still air of the washroom, and Sticks turned in surprise. The latch clicked, and the door to the bathroom stall silently swung open.

"Conrad," Sticks said, looking at the eavesdropper expressionly. "Get da keys." His eyes were burning. "There's not much time." Swallowing, Knuckles nodded and bolted out of the bunkroom.

"Hundred papes." Blue Skies scowled impatiently, flipping her coins onto the counter. Snatching up her large stack, Blue stomped off the platform. She had woke before the other girls and had dressed and left the house before them, choosing to wait in the fall morning cold alone. As far as Blue was concerned, the personal problems of a leader were things to be dealt without the help of others.

Flash craned her neck, leaning her head around Stitches' shoulder. The line slowly edged forward, and Flash sighed, marveling at how Blue could have beat her down to the distribution center. Sticks' warning still rang in her head: "Watch yer back, McAllen." As much as she hated to admit it, Flash's disquietude about the matter was steadily growing, and she wanted to discuss the matter with her moody co-leader.

"COSTELLO!" Flash burst out of the gates, papers in hand. Blue's figure was already disappearing down the street but she stopped, turning to look back at Flash. "Wait up!" Flash called, already running towards her friend.

"Where ya goin'?" Flash gasped, skidding to a stop next to Blue.

"North. Past East Harlem." With that, Blue turned away and began selling her papers, oblivious to the shadow of a tall, aqua-eyed newsboy darting into the alley behind them.

"Um, Blue?" Flash turned nervously to her friend.

"Yes?" Blue handed over a paper, exchanging it for a penny. "Hmm, no tip," she frowned, looking down at the coin in her hand.

"Blue?" Flash repeated, sighing.

"Yeah, what? COLORADO MINE COLLAPSES! MEN AND BOYS KILLED IN CAVE-IN!" She glanced at Flash distractedly before turning back to several men and women interested in a paper.

Flash rolled her eyes and sighed. "Aw, ferget it," she muttered, crossing her arms. Sticks doesn't know anythin' anyway, she assured herself. Still, it bothered her that they were selling only a few blocks from the riverfront. "Blue?" Flash looked back at her friend. "Kin I talk-" Her words were lost over the hum of voices on the street, particularly over a certain male voice.

"Heya, Blue Skies."

Blue found herself face-to-face with a very familiar smile. "Hey, Knuckles," she replied, a grin unintentionally forming on her face.

"Aw, great," Flash grumbled, smacking herself on the forehead. She's off in dreamland now... No chance ‘a talkin' ta her. Shaking her head, Flash poked Blue in the arm. "I'm gonna go sell down there." She pointed to end of the street and, before Blue could reply, began walking.

"MAYOR INVOLVED IN TRAIN CRASH!" Flash scowled, waving a paper in the air. Stupid headlines...stupid Skies... "300 THOUGHT TA BE DEAD!" She dumped her remaining Journals at her feet, freeing her hands up to collect the change from eagar buyers. Guess Knuckles is way more interestin' den yer best friend... Flash shot a glance down the street at the pair. She sighed, studying their figures as they retreated down the street and around the corner. Turning back to her papers, Flash's entire body went stiff as a bear paw-sized hand clamped down over her mouth, and a burly arm wrapped itself around her waist, sending shivers up her chest. A shriek burned in Flash's throat, but the muffled sound was lost as her body was dragged into the narrow alleyway behind her.

"So, how ya doin'?" Knuckles smiled gently, sticking a hand inside his pocket as he and Blue fell into step down the street.

Blue sighed uncomfortably.

"Gettin' by?" he ventured hopefully, his hazel eyes wide.

She forced a toothless smile. "Yeah...gettin' by."

"But yer gonna make it, right?" He glanced at her slyly.

Blue's lips slid back, and she laughed in spite of herself. "Yeah, I'm gonna make it, all right."

Knuckles grinned. "Ahh, dat's all dat I ask." Giving her a knowing look, he slipped his hand around hers, leading her down a narrow side street.

"Wouldja just shut da hell up?" Ruse growled, jerking Flash's neck back as she continued to struggle and scream. The piercing sound stopped mid-way, caught in her throat. She froze, her brown eyes darting wildly around the alley. A stabbing pain shot through her neck and spine; only a few more centimeters and Ruse would snap her neck in half.

"Now," Ruse began, leaning his face next to Flash's, "if you'd jist play nice," at this he gave her arm a sharp twist, "we could go fer a little walk." Ruse wrenched Flash's arm around behind her, and she gasped, feeling a burning sensation tear down the side of her body. Flash squirmed and kicked, flailing her free arm in the air. Despite her efforts, Ruse continued to pull Flash's writhing form down the alley, towards the Harlem River.

Knuckles leaned his back against the brick building, studying Blue. Her sapphire eyes sparkled as she spoke of the latest events at the Harlem Newsgirls' Lodging House. The telling of this story was obviously therapeutic for her; a liveliness previously absent had returned to her face, if only for a brief moment. Knuckles grinned, finding her mood to be oddly infectious. There was something perfect about her smile, he decided. Incidentally, there was also something perfect about the brass keys around her neck.

"...an' it got all ova' da kitchen floor an' in Imp's hair. What was left of da cake..." Blue paused, glancing up at Knuckles. He didn't look like he was listening, but rather, staring very intently at her. His expression was pensive as he took a step towards her. "It tasted horrible..." Blue's eyes darted around Knuckles' face, avoiding his eyes. "But Evans wasn't so mad ‘cause..." She trailed off, distracted. Knuckles had his hand on her shoulder now, a soft expression in his eyes. "It was..." Blue's eyes locked with his. "For her..." Blue's eyes began to unfocus as she felt Knuckles' breath on her face. "Birthday." Blue caught her breath as Knuckles' arm circled her shoulders, his lips firmly planting themselves on hers.

Carefully, Knuckles slid his other arm around Blue's back, their lips still entangled. Running a finger across the nape of her neck, Knuckles hooked his pinky finger over the thin cord that held Blue's keys to the lodging house. Tightening his fist around the string, he broke the kiss, took a breath, and then pulled Blue closer to his body, kissing her again.

Blue's eyes widened as Knuckles' lips came back down upon hers for a second time. "Mmmrrrph!" She struggled against Knuckles' frame, feeling his hands close around the string on her neck. Knuckles's arms stiffened around her, holding her in place. Blue wriggled her hands up his chest, pushing against him as leaned in closer, his lips pressing down on hers.

Suddenly, a loud splashing sound echoed through the deserted alleyway. Knuckles froze, the familiar slap-smack sound of a body hitting the water reverberating in his head. Almost instantly, he pulled his lips away from Blue, grabbed her around the waist, flipped her on her stomach, and placed his knee against her back, pinning her to the dirty ground.

Blue gasped, the breath rushing from her lips as her chest hit the pavement. Before she could push herself back up, Knuckles' knee jabbed into her spine, and her body shuddered, her face banging onto the cobblestones. A strange sensation crept up her nose, and Blue felt blood begin to drip down her face.

There was a sharp snap in the dead air as the string around Blue's neck was broken in half. Knuckles whipped the keys of her neck in one swift motion. Springing to his feet, he leapt over her body and tore down the street like a madman.

"Oh, shit..." Blue Skies gingerly raised a hand to her face, experimentally touching her fingertips to her bleeding nose and scraped cheek. "Oh, shit..." Blue's hand flopped back down on the pavement.

"RUSE! STUPID IDIOT! ASSHOLE! WORTHLESS! PATHETIC-"

Blue rolled her head towards the sound of extremely angry female shrieks. "Flash..." Blue groaned, squinting up at the approaching figure.

"I'M ALL WET!" Flash shook her sopping arms with rage.

Blue rolled her head back over and looked up at the sky. "McAllen...what in da hell jist happened?"

"I'M ALL WET!" Flash sputtered.

"I don't care," Blue sighed in annoyance, her eyes still focused on the heavens. "I'm bleedin' all ova' da damn street."

Flash continued. "Stupid jerk grabs me from b'hind, drags me down da street, dunks me in da Harlem River, and he stole my locket! Broke da chain! Jist ran off wid it! Why da hell would he want me locket? An' now I'm soakin' wet!" She stared down at Blue, her brown eyes wide with incredulity.

Blue raised a hand to her lips, a thoughtful look crossing her face. "But he didn't take yer keys." She blinked slowly, watching the clouds slide across the autumn sky.

"What? Why would he do dat?"

"I don't know," Blue replied deliberately, "but Knuckles took mine."

Flash's eyes widened even further, and she squatted down on the ground next to her friend. "Did Knuckles do dis ta you?" Flash gasped, noticing her friend's wounds for the first time.

"Oh, yes," Blue struggled push herself into a sitting postion, "and you'll neva' guess how he went about it." She raised an eyebrow at Flash and leaned against the dank alley wall.

"Did he punch ya?"

"Aw, no way. Ya think dis," Blue indicated her bloody nose, "would be it if he'd punched me? Have you eva' seen da kid's hands?"

"Actually," Flash looked at her friend slyly, "I haven't, though you seem ta be awful interested in dem."

Blue narrowed her eyes. "Well, dey don't call him ‘Knuckles' fer nothin', aw right?" She sighed darkly, glaring off into the distance. The alley was silent for a few moments. Then, glancing around furitively, Blue turned to her best friend. "Flash," she hissed, "he grabbed me, and he kissed me! By da time I realized dat he was goin' fer da keys, he had his arms ‘round me so I couldn't move."

Flash raised her eyebrows with interest. "Dat still don't explain da bloody nose."

"He pinned ta da ground, and my face hit da pavement. Den he took da keys and ran."

Flash winced. "Ouch."

"Yeah..." Blue reached up a hand and carefully wiped the blood off her upper lip.

Flash shook her head. "Well, I don't undastand dis, but c'mon," she grabbed Blue's elbow, pulling her to her feet. "Let's git back to da house."

"Hold still." Flash sighed and shot a glare at Blue Skies.

"Sorry..." Blue grumbled and tried her best to sit still while Flash worked to clean the blood and grime off of Blue's wounds.

"Here, Flash." Verity appeared in the washroom doorway with a bottle of iodine. Blue winced as the brown glass bottle exchanged hands. She gritted her teeth as Flash dabbed the yellow liquid onto her scratched cheek and cut lip.

"It'll stop hurting in a second," Verity soothed as needle-sharp stinging shot through Blue's raw wounds. "And it'll keep you from getting an infection later on."

Blue squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. "Finished?" she ventured.

"Finished," Flash said.

Blue's eyes popped open, and she smiled lopsidedly. "Thanks..." she suddenly trailed off, her eyes coming to rest on the figure standing in the doorway. "Hey, Chance."

The dark-haired boy shifted his weight and leaned against the doorframe. Raising his eyes to his sister, he spoke in heavy, colorless words. "The Dreamer's thrown away his dreams."

"What?" Blue whispered, starting towards the door. The Dreamer... The connections clicked nearly instantly in her brain: Grandma had often called Joel "The Dreamer." And now...

"Joel--"

"Lost da job," Blue finished coldly. "Threw it all away."

"Threw it all away," Chance echoed. "Jist...threw it all away..." He glanced up at his sister, meeting her eyes, and an unspoken truth passed between them: Joel's employment had been terminated because of alcohol abuse.

Blue crossed her arms and numbly stepped into the bunkroom, Chance trailing at her heels. "Showed up at work drunk, din't he," she muttered, leaning against a bedpost.

"Yeah. He did." Chance stared at the plank floor. "More'n once, I hear."

Blue's head jerked up.

"Maybe...three...four times." Chance hunched his shoulders and stared intently at the floor, his eyes unfocusing from such continual strain.

"Four. Times. Four times." Tension rose in Blue's voice.

Chance tugged his chin downward ever so slightly, the knots in the floorboards swirling in his vision.

"God damnit!" Blue spun around in disgust, slamming her fist into the post of the bunkbed. It shuddered and wobbled back and forth, it's rickety legs threatening to topple out from underneath it.

Chance grabbed frantically to steady the bed. "Hey!" he cried, as his sister stormed across the bunkroom and relegated herself to the corner, glaring out the window.

"There jist ain't no winnin', is there?" she snapped, an arm shooting out from her side and jabbing at the air accusingly.

"Well, whadda you wanna do, huh? It ain't your life."

"Yeah..." Blue looked at her brother, bitter sarcasm washing over the bruises and cuts on her exhausted face. "So I guess it don't matter ta me if he destroys it!" There was a pause, and Blue looked away. "Ya know, I-I'm sick a worryin' about other people, cuz they sure as hell don't give a damn bout chu."

A cold silence strung itself out between brother and sister, separating them by miles in just a few inches. "Aw... Ria, ya-you don't...you don't really b'lieve that." Chance looked helplessly at his sister, but she had already turned away, her eyes locked on the world resting beyond the glass of the lodging house window.

The front door of the East Harlem Newsboys' Lodging House banged shut as Ruse Murphy's hulking body tore through the lobby, past Mr. Searls' desk, and leapt up the stairs, three at a time. "I WIN!" he screeched, stumbling into the bunkroom, his aqua eyes stretched to their maximum size.

"AGAH!" Paris Colteaux jumped up from his seat at the table, spraying his handful of playing cards across the floor.

"No!" a disembodied voice shouted in the distance. Ruse twitched slightly at the sound, unsure of its origin, and glanced around the room in confusion.

"Won what?" the normally silent Pistol Conroy asked, shooting a quick glance in the direction of the voice. He was stalling for time, because the idea of Ruse being the leader of the lodging house was just as unnerving to him as it was to the other boys.

"I win," the voice insisted, growing louder. "I got da keys." A head appeared in the windowsill and was soon followed by a body, until Knuckles Callahan was standing triumphantly before the boys, dangling a set of brass keys in the air.

"Knuckles wins," Sticks insisted breathlessly as he did his best to wriggle through the window and into the room. But his face quickly fell as he saw the tail of a chain peeking out from the prison of Ruse's enormous fist. He got Flash, he got Flash, hegotFlash, hegotFlashhegotFlash...

Sticks paled, a lead weight forming in the pit of stomach. "N-no," he stammered softly, "it's not supposed ta go like dis..."

A cocky grin slowly peeled it's way across Ruse's wide and unattractive face. Knuckles swallowed, his jaw tightening, and all the eyes in the room brought their focus to Ruse. At an agonizingly slothful speed, Ruse brought his arm above his head and, one by one, uncurled his fingers, until the chain fell loose, clasped ever-so-delicately between his thumb and forefinger.

The boys gaped. At the end of the swinging chain was not a set of keys, but a girl's locket, now dribbling river water onto the ground. Ruse's eyes inflated to twice their size in shock and anger. The muscles in his fist contracted, and with a furious roar, he hurled the locket across the room. The switch had been flipped, and instantly all bodies dove into motion. Sticks scrambled after the flying locket, and Knuckles tossed the winning set of keys to Paris just as Ruse came barreling into him.

Knuckles doubled over as Ruse's fist sunk into his stomach. Bent over, he shuffled to his right, watching Ruse out of the corner of his eye. As Ruse lunged at him again, Knuckles whirled around and grabbed Ruse's arm, twisting it behind Ruse's back. Ruse spun, throwing his free arm in the direction of Knuckles' face. With one arm pinned, it was a poor angle, and Knuckles easily dodged the punch, then popped back up, releasing Ruse's arm in time to nail Ruse with a sharp blow to the left eye. Ruse stumbled backwards then lunged at Knuckles again, but it was too late. Knuckles had gotten his footing, and Ruse was no match for a champion boxer.

Dodge left, duck right. Ruse was throwing punches into dead air. A large purple-black bruise was beginning to form around Ruse's rapidly swelling eye. Ruse managed to score a hit to Knuckles' cheek, only to be rocketed backwards with a powerful punch in the nose. There was a cracking sound as flesh met bone, and blood spilled down Ruse's lips and dribbled off his chin. Even a fool could have figured out that Knuckles' fighting prowess exceeded that of even the most seasoned street kids: The blows came clean, fast, and calculated; Knuckles was hardly even breaking a sweat.

Ruse staggered forward, clutching his bleeding nose. Rage at himself for failing to win the keys and rage at Knuckles for succeeding boiled within him. Growling, Ruse ducked his head down and charged at Knuckles, aiming to send his head into Knuckles' legs, knocking him over. Knuckles gasped slightly from the force of the collision; the brutality bubbling within Ruse seemed to escape into the air, breathed out of Ruse's snout-like nostrils. Years of victorious boxing matches had left Knuckles surprised by very little, but the fights had always been about winning prize money, not about settling a personal score. Knuckles automatically sunk to his knees, stopping the ball of fury from traveling further. Sucking his breath in sharply, Knuckles felt a genuine sense of fear shiver through his chest: Only a crazy man would still be desperately fighting over such a trivial matter.

Setting his jaw, Knuckles grabbed Ruse by the shoulders and proceeded to slam him onto his back. Left, right, right. Knuckles kept smashing his fists into the opponent's bloody face. Now only able to see out of one eye, Ruse clawed frantically back, reaching a sticky hand around Knuckles. With a shriek, Ruse lurched forward and sunk his teeth into Knuckles' shoulder. Knuckles let out a cry of surprise, and the battle rolled across the floor, arms and legs flailing end over end.

Yanking and pushing, the pair spun around, staggering to their feet. Shaking his head grimly, Knuckles sent his fist barreling into Ruse's good eye. Ruse reeled backwards, his world spinning, the edges blurred. Without good sight, the fight was as good as finished. A few more blows to the chin, a quick punch to the stomach and Knuckles had gotten both of Ruse's arms pinned behind him. In an instant, Ruse was on the ground, Knuckles' knee pressing into his spine.

"Daaaaaamn." Paris stared incredulously. "You beat Ruse Murphy." He coulda killed ya... he added silently.

"Who taught you how ta fight?" Sticks mumbled, awed by the speed and smoothness of Knuckles' dueling, as well as thankful that Knuckles was still in one piece.

Pistol just raised an eyebrow.

Panting slightly, Knuckles grinned down at the loser. "See. I win." He stood, releasing his grasp on Ruse's arms. Brushing himself off, he extended a hand to the loser. Ruse scowled at Knuckles out of his bloated right eye. A seemingly infinite moment passed, the air in the room growing thick and hot with tension. Finally Ruse reached his bear-paw of a hand out and reluctantly shook with Knuckles.

"They don't call me Knuckles fer nothin'," he offered warmly. "I used ta be a boxer back in Jersey." Flashing the room a grin, Knuckles strutted towards the doorway. "Now, if ya don't mind," he said over his shoulder, "there's someone I gotta go see ova' at da girls' house."

The noon-day sunlight bathed the Harlem buildings, washing them clean and golden. Blue Skies was lost in thought. Trying to understand the actions of her brother, or maybe reflecting on the lost dreams of her own, Verity and Flash weren't quite sure which, but they noted that she hadn't touched the sandwich they had left for her. Exchanging a few soft words, the girls sat down on their bunks and munched in silence, opting to feed their love of literature instead of chatting.

"Aaahh!" Blue let out a little scream, jumping away from the window. She had been watching a women in a green dress cross the street when a face had suddenly appeared at the window, apparently having climbed up the fire escape.

"Hi!" Knuckles said loudly, trying to make his voice carry through the glass.

Blue's eyes widened, and she reaching above her head, snapping the curtains shut.

"HEY! Wait!" Knuckles banged frantically on the window. This was not looking good.

"Skies, who is it?" Flash asked, dropping her cheap romance novel on the bed.

"Knuckles!" Blue squeaked, speeding across the room.

"Well, what do ya think yer doin'?" Flash sputtered in confusion.

Blue ignored her friend and strode into bathroom. A stall door banged shut and Flash and Verity could heard the lock click.

"Well, what should we tell him?" Verity called.

"Tell him ta go away!" a faraway voice replied indignantly.

Flash snorted and rolled her eyes as she made her way into the washroom. "Skies...git outta there..."

Meanwhile, Verity wandered across the bunkroom and parted the curtains. She was met by the distraught face of a teenage boy.

"HI," Knuckles practically shouted. "COULDJA OPEN DA--"

"You don't have to yell," Verity said, sliding the glass up. "Now, why are you trying to break down the window?"

"Hehe..." Knuckles smiled uneasily. "Ah, sorry bout dat. I wanted ta see Blue Skies."

Verity looked at him apologetically. "Could you come back later? Now really isn't a very good time." She frowned.

"No!" He placed a hand on the window, leaning forward suddenly. "I mean, jist," he stammered, upset, "please...I-I really need ta see her."

"Well, she don't wanna see you," Flash broke in, returning from an unsuccessful recovery trip to the washroom.

"Look, I know she's gotta be mad at me, but I have ta see her," he whined pathetically.

"She's doesn't--" Flash began.

"I don't care! I ain't gonna leave til she comes--" The window slammed shut. "...out." With an agitated sigh, Knuckles began urgently banging on the windowpane anew.

"SKIES!" Flash stormed into the bathroom. She marched over to the stall door, hands on hips. "Git outta there!"

"He's been banging on the window for nearly ten minutes now," Verity sighed, holding her head. "It's giving me a headache."

"He ain't gonna stop it til YOU go talk ta him."

"What does he want?" Blue whined from behind the door.

"We don't know!" Flash and Verity cried in frustrated unison.

"Fine," Blue grumbled, unlatching the lock. "Fine, fine, fine..." The door swung open, and Blue stomped across the bunkroom, toward the undulating window.

"Hey, um, Flash?" A brown-haired head peeked around the doorframe to the newsgirls' bunkroom.

Slamming her hand down on the windowsill, Flash whirled around at the familiar voice. "Yes?" she asked, agitated by the further interruption.

Sticks O'Leary ventured tentatively into the bunkroom, a bit taken aback by Flash's sour reaction. He contemplated that he should probably be used to it by now, seeing as she almost always reacted to his presence with annoyance. "Are ya all right?" He raised his dark eyebrows at her and noticed that her hair was damp. From a little dunk in da river wit Ruse... he surmised.

"Absolutely marvelous, thank you very much," Flash replied sarcastically, "nevah been bettah."

Sighing, Sticks leaned against a bunk, shoving a hand in his pocket. "Yeah, I, ah, heard about you an' Ruse an' da Harlem River." He smiled slightly, hoping to soften the edge in her voice.

Flash turned to him, scowling. "Good fer you. Glad yah found out ya was right bout dat one, aren't ya," she snapped.

Sticks sighed again, rolling his eyes. Typical Flash... "Look, dat's not why I came here."

"Oh, ya's got somethin' else ta talk bout, sides how great ya are?"

Sticks' green eyes widened, and he opened his mouth slightly. "I...I neva said anythin' like dat," he murmured, glaring at the floor. Shooting Flash a wounded glance, Sticks bit his lip and continued, "I jist came ta give ya dis." He pulled his hand out of his pocket, producing Flash's locket. "Ya don't have ta bite my head off, awright?" he added softly, watching Flash hungrily snatch the locket from his palm.

She gave her admirer a sideways look, balling the necklace up in her fist. "Ah...thanks."

"What?" Blue spat, glaring. She was standing on the second floor fire escape, and the altitude was making her queasy with terror.

Knuckles grinned at her. "Nothin'."

"Nothin'?!" Blue raised her eyebrows in exasperation. He'd gotten her out here and now he was going to play games with her? Blue mentally kicked herself for being too proud to refuse to admit that she was frightened. "You've been bangin' on da window fer ten minutes, tryin' ta get me ta come out here. I'd call dat somethin', not nothin'," she retorted, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Awright, awright," Knuckles nodded, making a helpless gesture with his hands. "I wanna talk ta ya. Let's go up on da roof." Knuckles indicated the ladder and already had his foot on the first rung when he realized his companion had other ideas. "What? What's wrong?"

Blue crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him incredulously. Don't ya dare look down, ya idiot, an angry voice warned. Panic washing over her, she could feel a cold sweat forming on the back of her neck. "N-no. I'm not goin'." Blue clenched her teeth and tried desperately to find an excuse that wouldn't give her affliction away. "You-ya kiss me, beat me up, steal my house keys, leave me in an alley, and now, you expect me ta go up on da roof wit you?!" She started to shake her head, but the world began spinning around her. "No," she gulped, clawing for the windowsill to steady herself, "I'm not goin' up there."

Knuckles' eyes widened, raking the air, his expression growing increasingly frantic. Why was this so hard? "Please..." He desperately reached out for her hand. "I need ta talk ta you."

"No!" Blue snatched her hand away, hiding it behind her back, as visions of losing her balance and tumbling to the pavement below barreled through her head. "W-why can't we talk here?" she stammered, her entire body beginning to ache from the nervous tension within. Why can't we talk on solid ground?

"Cuz everyone kin hear us!" Knuckles exploded.

"So?! I don't wanna go on da roof!" Blue squeaked, her eyes huge. Everywhere she looked-sky, buildings, birds, windows. For pete's sake, she was at eye level with second story windows!

Knuckles sighed, throwing his hands in the air. "Look, Blue Skies--no, Maria, I should say..." He began pacing back and forth, causing the fire escape to creak under his angry footfalls. Blue winced, wrapping a white-knuckled hand around the railing. Creak, creak. The noise rumbled in her ears, and for a split-second, her concentration was lost, plunging her focus to the sidewalk looming below the spidery metal underneath her feet.

"I know dis looks bad." Knuckles glanced over and saw Blue had her eyes shut in pain. "Aw right..." He looked around nervously. "Fine, it-it looks real bad," he hedged, growing flustered by Blue's reaction. "But...I want ya ta know dat I did what I did dis afternoon for a reason." On the last word, he spun around, grabbing Blue's arm, trying to break through to her.

"Stop it!" Blue's eyes flew open and rolled around in horror, like that of a hunted animal's. "Listen ta me," she gasped, fighting hyperventilation, "I..." She swallowed, trying to get her eyes to focus in on Knuckles, but everything was shaking and spinning. "I'm terrified a heights." She bit down on her lip, and it felt like a gigantic weight had been placed upon her head, one far to heavy for her slight frame to withstand. Shuddering, frightened tears finally began to roll down Blue's face.

"Oh my God..." Knuckles whispered, his intense expression melting into anguished sorrow. "I'm such a fool..." He shook his head, and Blue, crying at full force, collapsed into his arms. A cool wind tumbled past, and Knuckles pulled Blue with him as he sank to his knees on the uncaring fire escape.

"I'm so sorry," he said miserably. "I never wanted ta hurt you." It was like someone had scraped out his insides and beaten his heart. "I-I jist--" he began babbling, "--see, Ruse was gonna get Flash's keys, and I couldn't let him do it. Sticks--he knew dat Ruse was gonna go after Flash and I tried ta beat him to it, but I heard da water, and I couldn't do it, Maria, I jist couldn't!"

"Couldn't...couldn't do what?" she sniffed.

Knuckles sighed, tipping his head back to rest against the cold brick wall. "Couldn't let Ruse be leader of East Harlem."

Blue looked up in surprise.

"The deal was dat instead of fighting fer who'd get ta be leader, whoever succeeded in stealin' a set a keys from da girls would get ta be leader. But...things got outta hand."

She noticed fresh cuts on his face, and beads of dried blood adorned his dusty shirt front, a testament to victorious battle. "Ruse."

"Yeah." Knuckles sighed, shoulders sagging, and gazed off at the buildings and alleyways, the people and carriages dotting the street, and the clouds and sunlight dotting the sky. "I..." he struggled, "wanted ta let ya know...why I did...what I did." He sighed again, he eyes still on the horizon, and his words grew hurried, starved for understanding. "I don't want ya ta think I was tryin' ta hurt ya... An'...an' I'm sorry...cuz I think I did." He slid his arms away from Blue, suddenly feeling out of place. "An' I'm sorry fer makin' ya come out here," he continued forlornly, "an' I'm sure yer mad at me, and ya have every right ta be--" A sniffing sound disrupted the still afternoon air, and he cut himself off, looking down at Blue. "Oh, God, an' now yer cryin' again," he wailed, more miserable than ever, "an' I'm really sorry, an' I know dat sorry' is a pathetic liddle word, but jist tell me what I'm doin' wrong, Maria, please! God, yer killin' me here!"

"I a-ain't...mad at chu," she stammered out suddenly. Hiccupping, Blue angrily wiped her leaking eyes, cross at having lost control. "I...I know you weren't tryin' ta hurt me," she mumbled, her voice cracking slightly. "I know that." Her blue eyes rose to meet Knuckles'. "C-Conrad," she hiccupped, wiping her nose, "yer a...a good person. It's jist..." She squeaked, unable to form words; frustrated tears began pouring down again. Digging around in her pocket, she produced a handkerchief and blew her nose. Finished, she sighed, continuing, "I've been losin' a lot tha good people in my life lately..." Blue attempted to smile at Knuckles through her tears, but it ended up as more a grimace, and she felt like crying all over again.

"Shhh..." Knuckles soothed, pulling the weeping girl towards him. "I know it's rough." He pensively studied the top of her head for a moment. "It's rough everywhere." The autumn wind chilled him again, and he glanced into the sky. "It's all right," he said softly. "Here. Look." Taking her chin, Knuckles turned Blue's head in the direction of the sky. "See dat sky?" She nodded, suppressing a hiccup. "Dat amazin' clear blue?" he asked.

"Yes, I see it, I see it." And she laughed slightly.

"Then look at it. It stretches on foreva, far as we kin see. An' it's always there." He smiled, and she looked at him dubiously through watery cobalt eyes. He already knew what she was thinking: Nothin's always there fer you. "It's true," he insisted. "Even when it's hidin', when there's clouds, behind 'em there's always blue sky. Miles an' miles of it."

A smile played on her lips. "Always blue skies?"

"Oh, always," he assured her overconfidently. "Nothin' else. Nothin'," he looked her sternly in the eye, "but blue skies."