It had all started on that day, about a year ago. The word fateful sprang to her mind, linking itself to the thought and she smiled through her pain. About a year ago, but she wasn’t really sure. It’s hard to keep track of the days with nothing to tally them on. Her father had worked in a factory, long hours with little pay. Her mother, jobless, had seen to her and her older brother. The family had never been well to do, but they’d always had enough to get by on. And that day, the year she was four and her brother was five, he’d disappeared. Ella remembered parts of that day so clearly. She’d loved her brother, they’d been close, not yet at the age when siblings fight. Now she couldn’t recall his name. After it was clear that he wouldn’t be coming back, the subject was taboo. All she knew was his last name, the same as hers: Conlon. Life with him gone had taken a downhill plunge. Her father began to bring home even less money and her mother had the desolate eyes of the stricken. But life proceeded, brother or no brother, and within five years, it was nearly back to normal. And once more there was enough money to get along, and the debts were being paid off. There was rarely time or money for extravagance. She’d attended school as soon as she was old enough, whenever her mother could spare her for the day.

Once a year the family took a ‘day out’ together. They would spend a year saving up for this event. The year Ella was fifteen, she begged off of the trip. Her parents needed time alone together and she needed time alone by herself. Alone, without them; she’d been pleased by the idea. She often wondered if maybe her folks’d been a few minutes later, would it have turned out differently for her. But things have a way of happening and this day, something happened. The trolley had an accident- a bad one. Five people had died in the wreck. And somewhere in that figure, were both her parents.

Even to this day she missed them. The sorrow had eased up eventually, but whenever her mind brought them up, the old ache returned albeit for a short time. Life had not been simple since, still wasn’t now, but those first few weeks had been horrible. There was no money to be left to her and the flat they’d lived in was rented. There were no relatives to take care of her. She didn’t want to become a ward of the state. After hearing stories of the things they underwent, she decided that she’d take her chances on the street. The decision, though her best choice, was not an easy one to live by. There are few professions for women on the streets, even fewer that required something Ella was willing to give. The difficulties began to dishearten her soon enough. The omnipresent smile that had been in her eyes before her parents’ death seemed as though it would never again return. Deep, oppressive sorrow settled over her being like a blanket. To all who saw her, the despair was in her eyes was painful to gaze upon.

Reduced to searching the New York streets for grimy pennies had depleted her supply of hope. What was worse than scrutinizing the streets was stealing. People often took care not to lose their pennies, more was the pity for her. And when she’d not made enough to but food, she’d have to steal it or go through other people’s trash heaps. It was not that stealing troubled her morals, she had learned poker in the schoolyard so long ago that gambling, whether with money or with her freedom did not bother her. However, knowing where she might end up if she were caught was what made her anxious. Ella took the fact that she probably would end up in The Refuge if discovered quite seriously. The Refuge- a jail for children- was far worse than the streets. If she were locked away in there, she had small hope of getting free. The food would be regular, but at least on the street she could do as she wished.

After around a month of this hard living, she felt almost ready to give up. She had been chased out of her latest alley by a vicious dog and, having no where else to go, had slept on someone’s stoop. Judging by the racket the woman made the next day when she discovered a dirty little urchin curled on her steps, you’d have thought she carried the black plague. Heaving a deep sigh, she settled down on a filthy curb, tucking her knees up to her chin. She didn’t want to risk stealing anymore but neither did she want to starve. Ella had to face the truth at last: she was out of options and hungry. With another sigh, she sank her face even lower, squinching her eyes shut and biting her cheek, hoping to force inspiration. None came, not at first, but when she heard a yell, her eyes opened at once. Her body tensed to spring up and run, but relaxed almost at once. It was only one of those newsboys- Newsies they called themselves- selling his papers for a penny apiece.

Her head had slowly begun to skin back into place when suddenly she gave a jerk: she knew how to make some money. The idea came to her quickly, seeming both plausible and incredulous at the same time: she would become a “Newsie”. Ella allowed herself a rare, triumphant smile as she leapt up from the curb. She grabbed the boy in a huge hug from behind, not caring how it looked or what he thought. Startled, he turned around. She thanked him profusely and dashed away, leaving a very puzzled Newsie staring after her, jaw dropped. He had just been hugged by a complete stranger- a boy no less.

Grateful for the umpteenth time that she was wearing plants, suspenders and a shirt that had belonged to her father instead of a skirt, she decreed that she looked enough like a boy to pass. By now the clothes were filthy and torn, barely recognizable as clothing, but they were better than nothing. If she hadn’t had them, she would have had to find some in a trash heap and who knew how long that would have taken? Or worse yet, she might have had to steal them. Clothing was bigger and more expensive than food. The only person who’d be foolish enough not to see her take the clothes would be a blind man on a moonless blackout night. Stealing clothes got you a longer sentence than food. Well, it was no use brooding over ‘would have been’s,’ Ella decided. She was just glad of her foresight, unknowing though it had been. Shifting her weight from one foot to another, she walked up and down the streets, searching for a glimpse of another Newsie. She had no idea how to find the Newsie Boarding house, though she knew there was one. All she needed was a Newsie to follow home. Though that sounded simple, it was anything but. When she finally found a boy calling out headlines, she could do nothing but hope that he lived in the boarding house. The first one she came across seemed to be doing a brisk business with the passers-by. He was an inch taller than her five-foot-two-inches and had dark brown hair. As she watched him she began to have respect for his off-handed manner and selling technique. He managed to attract more customers than the boys around him by calling out more interesting headlines. She guessed that the reason the others weren’t using those facinating stories was that they weren’t really in the paper. Lunchtime came and went without her feeling even the smallest hunger pang. She did, however find herself mesmorized by the way the boy would sell a paper to the owner of a food cart while helping himself to a fruit under the man’s nose. And what amused her most was that none of them seemed to notice. He caught her watching him steal something once. Showing the smallest bit of unease, the first hesitation she’d seen in him all day, he stared at her. Then slowly, so as not to attract attention her took another peach and tossed it to her. She caught it, recognizing this as a trade off: he gave her food in exchange for her silence. Nodding, she took a bite, making sure first that she was out of sight from the fruit seller.

After that she was careful to stay out of his sight while keeping him in hers. She didn’t want him to realize she was following him or for him to remember her later. Near the end of the day, all his papers were sold. Though she’d watched him for nearly seven hours, the time had not dragged. She considered it a learning experience, watching a good and seemingly successful Newsie in action. However it was not without anticipation that she followed him on his was home. To her considerable relief, he not only lived in the boardinghouse, but he went straight there after his selling was done. She thanked her lucky stars that she hadn’t had to chase him around the rest of the city- if she’d lost him she would have had to wait until tomorrow to find another Newsie. That would not be pleasant, considering that she was only now beginning to feel hunger after eating nothing but a peach all day. it had been a good peach though, she reflected. The first she’d had in months. When the pair of them, the stalker and the stalked, reached the boardinghouse, he went in with no hesitation. She, however, felt nervous and a little lost. All her planning had been centered on getting there, but she had no idea what to do once she reached her destination. Her eyes darted from side to side as her mind worked furiously trying to devise an alternate way into the building. Finally, in a moment of inspiration, they rested briefly on an old fire escape. Brill’ant, she thought, gazing up at the rickety old staircase. I c’n cloim up dat stayahcase and prolly fall ta me death. Well, ya on’y live once. What’s life in ya ain’t takin’ chances? She sighed deeply, unable to come up with any other option. Swallowing hard, she moved towards the fire escape. She grasped the banister, feeling it shift under her light grip. She made a face, thinking ‘ya on’y livin’ once’ again. She began to climb.

After only five steps up, she made the mistake of gazing both up and down. The top of the escape seemed dizzyingly far away and the bottom seemed much farther than a few steps. Ella closed her eyes and clenched her hands into fists. I will do dis, she told herself firmly. It ain’t nuttin’ bad. I’se jess makin’ it woise by lookin’ up an’ down. I got ta stop meself from doin’ dat an’ I’ll be jess foin. Der ain’t anudda way up, so’s I’se gonna have ta deal. She took another breath, opened her eyes and found something on which to fasten them. There was an open window on the second floor. Making sure not to look away, she headed straight for it. Though it didn’t make the climbing part easier, she no longer got dizzy or terrified to the point of freezing. After several excruciatingly long moments and a scare or two, she was within reach of the window. Throwing caution to the winds in a sudden rush of panic, she skipped the last step and threw herself through the window.

A loud, startled grunt escaped the someone who’d broken her fall. She scrambled to her feet immediately, surprised and fearful, and turned to help whoever it was up. As she caught sight of his face, she froze. It was the boy whom she’d followed to the Lodging house. He was glaring at her angrily, still a little stunned from his fall. When he looked her in the face his eyes widened in recognition and his mouth opened end shut slightly as though he wanted to say something. She guessed that he remembered her; he probably wasn’t caught stealing very often. However, as if not trusting his memory, he didn’t bring up the subject of their first meeting. Instead he glanced at her up and down, taking in her dirty and torn appearance as if for the first time. Then, without taking his eyes off her, he called to the other boys, “Look what dropped in da winda, fellas. He looks awful lucky, don’t he?” One of the boys laughed loudly. “Don’ look so lucky ta me, Race. But if ya wanna figya it dat way, be me guest.”

Ella allowed herself a half smile, glad they thought she was a boy.

“What chyou’se doin’ here?” asked Race. “An’ what’s ya name?”

“Gonna be a Newsie, need da money,” she replied, mimicking his posture and attitude. “I’se called….” She thought fast, needing to come up with a name. “Collin.” Silently praising her last name for the inspiration, she tried to look nonchalant. The boys seemed to accept the explanation. She supposed that people becoming newsies from lack of money wasn’t uncommon. Race winced at the name she gave and shook his head sadly, as if pitying her.

“Wheah ya from?” asked a boy with an eye patch. Ella looked at him, carefully hiding her puzzlement.

“Bronx,” she lied. The boy made no comment, he merely nodded. Then he spit on his hand and held it out for her to shake. For a second she hesitated, surprised, and then she realized that she was expected to do the same. Wincing inside, she spat on her hand and took his; she had to attempt to fit in. He shook her hand and then clapped her on the back.

“I’m Blink,” he added.

“What happened ta yah eye?” she asked.

“Ah, nutin’. It’s a sellin’ trick. Woiks loik a chahm.”

The kid who she’d landed on spat on his hand and held it out as well. The ritual was repeated – “Race.”

Ella cocked her head to the side and nodded sharply to show that she’d already picked up the name. To her surprise, the entire room laughed. “He looks loike Spot Conlon when he does dat,” a boy remarked. He eyes darted back and forth, trying to see their reactions to this. She relaxed a bit when she realized that the remark had been no insult. The newsies seemed to hold this “Spot” in high regard. Her over-anxious mind failed to notice the last name. Seeing her temporary astonishment, a boy with porridge-colored skin took it upon himself to explain. “Spot Conlon, he woiks Brooklyn. Good fighta.”

Race shook his head. “’magin someone not knowin’ ‘bout Spot Conlon.” All the boys appeared to consider this as unnatural as Race except for Blink and Porridge. The kid shrugged. “Ah, he ain’t nevah been a newsie befoah. Ya can’t ‘spect much.” He spat on his hand and held it out. “Name’s Mush.” Ella spat on her hand and clasped his, remarking casually, “I t’ink I’se runnin’ outa spit.” Mush grinned. The handshakes stopped but the introductions didn’t. Ella was a bit relieved, but mostly disappointed. She felt as though she’d lost the comradery they all shared. The boys seemed to take it all in stride however: they saw no need to spit-and-shake-hands if they didn’t have to. And she was grateful for that mindset.

By the time introductions were over, her head was spinning with all the names running through her mind. She didn’t think she’d be able to remember half of them, but she was determined to try. Mentally tagging a person to each name, she gazed around the room. That one was Skittery, that one Specs, that was Dutchy, and Race. And those two talking over there were Mush and Blink. She grinned broadly, noticing a game of poker breaking out. She’d always been good at poker, ever since she’d learned it in the schoolyard. Her parents had never known about her addiction and talent. Telling herself that this was to fit in, she stood up and went over to join the boys.

Race looked up at her and winked. “Hey, Collin. Come ta watch me win? Oah ta lose ta me?” She looked back at him cooly, narrowing one eye.

“Neitha, Race. I’se gonna take you’se money.” He gave her a half smile and patted the ground, motioning her to sit.

“You’se welcome ta try. Dey don’t call me Race foah nutin’, dough.” Ella shrugged.

“An’ heah I was, t’inkin’ dat ya only loiked da racetrack.”

As she sat down he asked, “Wheah’d ya heah dat?”

“A liddle boidie toad me,” she replied, not in the least miffed. Race grinned at her broadly, a companionable yet challenging grin. She could already tell from his easy-going manner that he’d not take it personally when he lost. Reminding herself that winning was not a given, she mentally shook herself. Gotta watch out foah dat boy, she thought. Nevertheless, she got the feeling that he wouldn’t cheat. Surprised at herself, she thought, an’ wheah’d I get dat ideah from? He lies an’ steals, why wouldn’t he cheat? Yet she still had that feeling. Ah, I’ll jess watch him close ta make sure he don’t cheat.

“You’se, ah, da newest one heah so you’se gets da honah a dealin’ da cahds,” Race informed her, handing her the deck. She bowed as though accepting a great honor, which, she supposed, she was. It’s an honah, oah it’s an insult, she mused. Eiddah way, I gots ta take it.

“An’ as da newest heah, I assepts da honah,” she replied. This seemed to be the answer wanted so she took the cards without further ado and began to shuffle. After a few seconds she realized that some of the boys were staring, mesmerized, at her hands.

“Wheah’d ya loin ta do dat fancy cahd shuff’lin’?” one of them asked her, plainly impressed.

“Ah, I guess I jess picked it up somewheahs,” she told them, not willing to say anything about her past. “What’s it ta you’es? What, wanna loin?” The kid nodded eagerly. “Well maybe I’ll teach ya someday,” she said. During the whole exchange, she’d finished shuffling and dealing. She looked at the other players. Skittery’s face was just the tiniest bit disappointed. Boots’ face looked triumphant. Their faces might as well have been open masks to her. After all those years she’d be damned if she didn’t know how to read people. She’d never have gotten so good. Race’s face, though she’d been hoping that it too would broadcast the contents of his hand, was carefully blank. What’s a mattah witchou? She asked herself. You know he ain’t called Racetrack foah nutin’. Ya seen him steal. But ya still undah estimate him. Inwardly she swore. If his name and behavior forecasted anything, he would be a very good player. She’d known he was a very experienced gambler: with a name like “Racetrack” how could he be anything else? But she’d hoped that poker wasn’t his specialty.

“Look atcha cahds,” muttered Boots, impatient for the game to start. Slowly, ignoring him, she reached out for one of her cards. She’d always been superstitious, looking at her cards one at a time and only after everyone else had seen theirs. Looking at her first card, her heart leapt to her throat: an ace of spades! She knew that this didn’t mean a thing but she was still excited. Her hand trembled imperceptibly as she reached out for her next card: an ace of hearts. Her own heart began to Race, she knew that she had a good chance to win if her luck held. It did for her next two cards yielded the aces of clubs and diamonds. Knowing that the cat was in her bag, she reached casually and confidently for her final card, remembering to make her hand seem unsure. She turned the card over and stared again at the ace of spades. Five aces, it was impossible. Something was wrong with this deck, but who was she to argue? Putting on a slightly disheartened look, she gazed sadly at her cards. Sneaking a peak at Race, she realized that he wasn’t fooled in the least. Her face snapped back to normal in an instant. She didn’t care what the other players thought her hand was, it had been Race she’d wanted to fool. He was the smartest of her three opponents. If he wasn’t fooled by the act, what would the use of putting on an act be?

“Okay, we’se stahtin’ ta da left a da dealah, right?” she asked. The boys nodded. “Well, fellas, nows da time ta foad. Any last woids?” Skittery, first on her left, looked hard at his hand, trying to decide what to do. Sighing, he shook his head hopelessly and set his cards down.

“I foads. Dis hand ain’t woith nuttin’. Collin shuffles dem cahds real well.”

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