Somewhere along the line, I started dressing like a boy and tucking my copper colored hair up in a cap. I blend in easy, it’s easier to run, among other things. Dressed like that, I can pass for a boy in a pinch. It’s the chest area that can’t be changed. Not that there’s much to hide, but you know what I mean. And I ain’t much for size either, very short and skinny. In fact aside from that, the only thing that is very recognizable about me is my green eyes and childish freckles. God how I hate those freckles. But like I said, I pass in a pinch.
At any rate, I hate stealing. But it’s so easy to do. You go up to the vendor’s booth once they’re busy with a customer who’s actually planning to pay. Then you act like you don’t want it, take a piece of fruit when they’re not looking, slip it up your sleeve and walk away. It’s actually pretty easy once you know what you’re doing.
So that’s what I did. I had about fifteen cents in my pocket, but they wouldn't have sold the apple to me. They would have told me to go away, I was scaring away business. I casually walked up to a booth selling apples and all kinds of things. I examined some of the merchandise, and then I acted like I was going to walk away. And then once the vendor looked away, I snitched it, stuck it up my sleeve, and walked away like nothing happened. Granted, I might not exactly look like the most trustworthy person, but then again, if it works...it would be okay.
But this time it didn’t work. I got no more than ten steps away from the stand, and whistles started to blow. Without hesitation, I dropped the fruit and ran as fast as I could. I ran down the street, weaving in and out of people. I was pretty much far enough away that I could have gotten away, if I hadn’t run into something.
A very tall something.
I recovered quickly and tried to run away, but the person held onto my shirt firmly. "Lemme go! Lemme go!" I yelled, convinced that this person was going to turn me into the bulls.
"Who youse runnin’ from?" the person asked me. I looked up and saw that it was a man with blonde hair and kind, hazel eyes.
"Da bulls," I said. "Now lemme keep running!"
"I got a better idea," he said, pushing me towards the alley. I hunched over between some trash cans, and just in the nick of time too, because next thing I knew one of them was asking the man, "Did you see someone just run past here?"
"Dey went dataway! Off like a bullet, dey did!" he said, of course directing them in the wrong direction. When I at last heard the officers that had been hightailing me go away, I came out of my hiding spot. I dusted myself off, and looked at my rescuer. "T’anks, but you didn’t ‘ave ta do dat," I said.
"I know," he said. "But I don’t want no one goin’ to no prison. Been dere myself a few times. Ain’t at all pleasant. De names Jack Kelly." He spit in his hand and held it out to me. This didn’t seem like the most polite or sanitary way to say hello, but when in Rome do as the Romans do.
I spit in my own hand and put it in his to shake. "Elizabeth Hale. But I hate it."
"What? Da name?"
"A coise. Didja t’ink I’se was talkin’ about de color ‘a de buildings? Jeez," I said. He may be a nice guy, but this Jack Kelly wasn’t necessarily the sharpest tack in the box.
"It’s not so bad," Jack said. "Why was ya runnin’?"
"I took some food," I said. "No big deal. ‘S not like dey didn’t have enough ‘a it."
"Guess not," Jack agreed. He looked at me curiously.
"Why don’t ya take a picta’, it’ll last longa’." I said to him.
He smiled.
"What are ya grinnin’ at?" I asked.
"Where do ya live?" he asked. "Do ya have a home?"
I snickered. "Oh yeah. Right up on Fifth Avenue."
He rolled his eyes. "Well I’se can see youse a wisegoil. Why ain’t you got a job?"
"I’d rather starve than work in one ‘a dem doirty factories." I looked down at myself. "Besides, does it really look like someone would ‘ire me?"
"Not really," he answered honestly. His attention was averted from me to two other people walking down the street. "Race! Knicks! C’mere!" he called to them. They walked over to us. Both were taller than me, even though that’s not very hard to do. The boy had dark hair, and had a cigar between his teeth. He was clearly Italian. The other was a girl who had two blonde braids, and a bowler perched on her head.
"Hey Cowboy, who we got heah?" the boy asked.
"Racetrack, Knicks, dis is Elizabeth Hale," Jack ‘Cowboy’ said.
"Hi," I said. Knicks and Racetrack said hello the same way that Jack had, with a spitshake. "So, Elizabeth, how’d ya end up wit a bum like Jack ‘ere?" Racetrack asked me, and Jack gave him a light smack on the back of the head.
I grinned. "I’se got into a little trouble wit da bulls an’ Jack helped me out."
Racetrack rolled his eyes. "Eh. Jacky-boy da hero again."
Jack straightened up. "Dat’s right. I gotta finish selllin’ an den I’ll head ta Tibby’s."
Knicks then spoke for the first time since saying hello. "Do ya wanna come wit me an’ Race? Youse can get somet’ing ta eat an meet everyone else. Since yer gonna be a newsgoil."
Me? A newsgirl? I hadn’t really thought about, but these people...there was something about them...they could offer me something that the streets couldn’t. Protection, a job, security...and friendship? So now I was going to be a newsy? "Well....okay. See ya latah Jack."
"Bye," he answered, and continued to walk down the street yelling, "EXTRY! EXTRY! HARBOR MONSTER KILLS T’REE!"
So I started walking in the opposite direction with Racetrack and Knicks. When we arrived at the restaurant five minutes later, we were talking like we’d known each other for years. I found out that Knicks was a happy-go-lucky person, pretty much not afraid of anything, and Racetrack was a wiseguy, or my name isn’t Elizabeth Hale. Which it is.
When the door opened and we stepped through it, I could feel all eyes on me. And when you have a room full of twenty or so people staring at you, it becomes kind of unnerving.
"Hey everyone!" Racetrack announced, "Dis here’s Elizabeth. She’s going ta be hangin’ around, so don’t be givin’ ‘er any trouble."
I got a chorus of hellos, and people started talking. I got introduced to Mush, Firecracker (who was another newsgirl), Kid Blink, Specs, Skittery, Snoddy, Bumlets, Snipeshooter, Jawbreaker (another newsgirl, clearly the female counterpart of Cowboy), Dutchy, and Boots, and those are just the ones that I can remember. I was quite taken with Dutchy. He was a very nice person, and seemed like the kind of person that you wanted to be friends with right away, even if you didn’t know him. Pretty soon Elizabeth got shortened to Liz. Which seemed okay, I just wasn’t used to people calling me much of anything.
Jawbreaker...I couldn’t explain it, but she gave me a really creepy feeling. I could tell right off that she didn’t like me, because her face held a perpetual scowl. But, her face could have been like that all the time. She had fine blonde hair, and icy blue eyes that I was scared to look into. "Where’d ya pick dis one up Race?" she asked snidely. "She wasn’t a consolation prize at da tracks was she?"
"Nah. Cowboy rescued her," Race said.
She narrowed her eyes at me. I swallowed uneasily. "Jist stay outta my way."
"Breakah!" Knicks admonished softly. "Don’t mind Breakah...she jist doesn’t like new people," she said to me.
I snorted. "Dat’s da undahstatment ‘a da century."
"You’se kinda small," Racetrack finally said, rubbing his chin. Thank you for pointing out the obvious, Racetrack. "How old are youse?"
I straightened up. "I’m fifteen."
"You look twelve," he replied back.
I looked at him. "T’ank you fer pointing out da obvious," I said, pushing his cap down over his eyes.
"Anytime, Liz," he said sarcastically, readjusting his cap. At that moment Jack walked in with two more people in tow. A boy who looked about my age, and a little kid who couldn't have been more than ten years old. They received hellos from everyone including myself.
"Elizabeth," Jack noticed me, and I cringed at my given name. "Dis heah is David, bettah known as da walkin' mouth, and his little bruddah Les."
"Hello," they told me. They lacked the "New Yawk" street accent that everybody else had, although Les had a little. I soon learned, that's because they went to school. The newsies gave David a hard time about that, but he took it all in stride.
"You should 'a seen 'im 'is foirst day, Liz," Jack told me. " 'E wouldn't even shake my hand."
David smirked. "That was, of course, AFTER you spit into your hand. I was prepared to shake."
"And 'e still can't tell a story to save 'is life, or improve headlines," Jack said.
David pretended to look hurt. "I improve the headlines fine, thank you. Besides, I do better than I did before the strike."
"What strike?"
Twenty-two pairs of eyes (okay, twenty-one pairs and one eye, scuse me) slid towards me. Jawbreaker snorted rather unbecomingly. "You didn't hear about da strike?" Firecracker asked me, slightly incredulous. "Dat only happened a month ago and dey're STILL printing stuff about it in da papes."
"I wasn't heah a month ago," I said. It was true. A month ago I had been preparing to hop an empty boxcar and come back to New York. Obviously, I made it. "Tell me about it."
The one I remembered as Skittery rolled his eyes and took a short moment to inhale on his cigarette before speaking. "Boy yer askin' for it dere..."
"Aw, shuddap Skit," Jack said. He turned back to me, ready to tell his story. "Well, about a month ago, Pulitzer jacked up the price of papes from fifty cents a hundred to sixty. And we decided we didn't think that was fair. I led a strike and we won."
"David led too," Les piped up, swallowing the bit of knockwhurst that had been in his mouth. "He helped you with words and stuff."
I laughed at the fallen expression on Jack's face. "Well, yeah, David knows a lot of big woirds," he said. Still I laughed. "But I was the one who got everyone's...uh..."
"Support?" David supplied.
"Yeah. T'anks Davey," Jack said. "I was the one who got everyone's support."
"Careful Jack, yer braggin'," Racetrack said from beside me. Jack made a face in response.
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That night, I did more thinking than I’ve ever done before. I’m not going to say that didn’t cost me a few brain calls, but I still wasn’t sure if I wanted to do this newsgirl thing. When I went back to the lodging house with everyone and was asked to sign my name in the book. I just about screamed, threw up, ran, or any combination of those three. So I carefully signed "Elizabeth Hale" in the book.
"Hey, Liz, c’mere," Jack said. "Since yer gonna stay, can ya answer a few questions for Kloppman? Jist some basic stuff that’s going in da file."
"Shoah," I said. "Lead da way."
While everyone else settled into a poker game or smoking and talking on the fire escape. Jack and I headed downstairs. We passed a closed door, and I distinctly heard a thump and a giggle. I stopped with the intention of investigating, but Jack stopped me. "It’s jist Fiah an’ Mush. Dat’s dere place if ya know what I mean."
"Oh," I said. "Yeah, I git it."
"Kay," jack snickered with one last look at the door. Then we headed downstairs, to a small room behind the main desk. Racetrack was there too, as if adding some information to a profile would take more than two people. Not that it would matter any.
"Kloppman, dis heah’s Elizabeth Hale, She’s joinin’ da house," Jack introduced us.
"So I heah," Kloppman said, writing on a paper and looking at me over his glasses. "So, we’ll start with your name..."
He kept asking questions until there was one left, my height, and we had saved that for last because it was going to involve something other than writing on his part. I was pushed up against the wall, and where the top of my head was was marked with a pencil on the wooden wall. Kloppman then took out a ruler, and measured the wall up to the mark. That figure would be my height.
"Five feet, one and one-half inches," Kloppman said. He grinned jokingly at me. "Y’know, it might be five feet, two and half inches if you stood up straight." Jack and Racetrack grinned.
I shrugged. I didn’t really care. Height was only a number. It didn’t matter how tall or how short I was; the person who wanted to say something about would still eat my fist.
Racetrack continued to laugh. "Smalls."
The other three of us looked at him. "What?" Jack and I said the same time.
"Smalls," he said again, as if that would explain everything. "Dat’ll be her nickname. Because she’s so small."
And so Smalls I was from that day forward. I was finally rid of my dreadful given name. Elizabeth Hale. Psh.
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The next morning, I was woken up by the always-on-time alarm clock.
"Boots! Skittery! Wake up! Can’t sell the papes in bed! C’mon Racetrack, Cowboy, Dutchy. Get up. Presses are rollin’!" Kloppman yelled, moving stealthily around the bunkroom, making sure that we were all getting up, getting ready to sell. "Snipeshooter, I know you’re awake, so stop faking! Pie Eater, you better be dreamin’ about sellin’ papes!"
I sat up and yawned on the female’s side of the bunk room. Granted, there was only three of us girls, but I agree with Kloppman that it was a bad idea for kids our age to be mixed. We’re at "that age" as my friend Sophia in Little Italy says. And I almost wondered if anyone else thought it was kind of a bad idea.
"Fire, get up. Jawbreaker, the ink’s wet, let’s go! Smalls," he said. "You’re up. See this fellas, someone who gets up! Knicks, you stayed last night."
Knicks sat up, a shocked expression on her face. "Oh horsefeathers!"
Kloppman shook his head. "You didn’t sign the book. You know the rules."
"Sorry. I guess I jist fell asleep. Mother is goin’ to pitch a fit!" Knicks yelled. "I’ll get you yer nickel before I leave Kloppman."
The old man threw his hands up. "Alright! Alright! Jist don’t fergit," he said warningly.
I jumped down from the top bunk, and landed with a thud on the floor. I ran my fingers through my hair, in an attempt to get it tamed. I would go so far as to say that my hair is my one beauty, as my attitude doesn't serve as much to be attracted to. That worked pretty well, and I pulled my pants up to my waist, and left the suspenders hanging down at my sides. I had slept in my shirt, for lack of anything else other than an undershirt.
At the distribution center, Jack said, "Smalls, yer sellin’ wit me taday. I’ll show ya da ropes."
I shrugged my shoulders. "Okay," I said. So I stood at the front of the line talking with Jack and listening to Racetrack and Kid Blink arguing about something that had happened during the poker game the night before.
I would carefully slide my glance to Jawbreaker every now and then, who was watching me closely, like I was going to run out or something any minute.
When the window finally opened, ready to shove copies of The New York World to us. Knicks had loaned me a quarter so I could get papes, and she said I could pay her back however much whenever I could. She was really nice, and I think that we were going to be really good friends.
"Good morning Weasel. How didja sleep?" Jack asked with a super sweet and sarcastic tone in his voice.
"Fine, fine," the greasy man that I wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole said. "How many Cowboy?"
"Just fine, or was it a really good sleep?"
"How many?" he asked impatiently.
"Didja dream about anyt’ing? Any goils?"
"HOW MANY?" he yelled.
Jack rubbed his chin and put two quarters on the counter. "Usual," he said.
"Hundred papes fer Cowboy," Weasel said. I stepped up to the counter and he looked at me. "Who’re you?" he asked.
I glared at him. "I’se Smalls. What’sit to ya?"
Weasel shrugged. "How many Smallsies?"
Smallsies. I had been Smalls for all but twelve hours and already I had names off of my nickname that I detested. I heard Racetrack snicker behind me, and I turned around to him. "Shuddap you undersized Italian gecko," I said to Racetrack. He isn’t a whole lot taller than me, so I didn’t think that he was exactly one to be talking. I gave Weasel my money. "Fifty."
"Fifty fer Smalls," he yelled to the person shoving the papers out. I took my papers and got out of there. They were some creepy people.
"Dat was Weasel. So called because he is one, and he weaseled his way outta goin’ ta jail aftah da strike," Jack said.
"Hey, ah...Jacky-boy...whose we got heah?" a medium sized boy asked as Jack and I walked to the front of the distribution building. He had a black bowler with two red feathers in it, and he simply sceamed, "Hello, I’m a gangster, can I pound your face in?"
"Oscar, back off," Jack warned.
"Naw, and miss da opportunity of meetin’ dis lady heah?" Oscar asked, and I just couldn’t stand the way he was...I don’t know...feeling. He had a shanty air about him, and I realized that he was moving towards me...ick.
"You hoird ‘im Oscar. Back off," I said. Like I said, I already didn’t like this guy.
"She tawks," he said. At this point, if I had been as tall he was, we would have been face to face. "Where’d you come from sweetface?"
I smiled sweetly at him. "Far far away. Where you should go right now." And then I proceeded to stomp as hard as I could on his instep.
A look of pain crossed his face. And then he grinned. "Expect us to meet again, sweetface." And then he walked away to somewhere else as I had suggested.
"Ick," I said. "Who does he t'ink he is?"
Jack rolled his eyes. "Dat would be Oscar Delancey. He has a bruddah, Morris...dey’re supposed to keep us in line. A coise, it don’t work..." he said. We reached the street. "Okay, first t’ing ya gotta loirn. Headlines, don’t sell papes. Newsies sell papes."
He started to talk again, but Boots ran up, probably as fast as he could. "Jack! Delanceys jist pulled Snitch an’ Snipe inta da alley!"
"Aw jeez," he said. He immediately took charge. "Smalls, go wit Jawbreakah," he said. He then took off to rescue two of the younger newsies. I shrugged, hoping that they would be okay. Realizing that as soon as Jawbreaker had gotten a clue that I was supposed to go with her, she walked away as fast as she could. So I walked over to Dutchy and Skittery, who were looking through their papers, trying to find a headline to hawk. They didn’t tell me that this was a socially hazardous job.
"Hey guys," I said. "Jack had ta go play hero, so he told me ta go wit Breakah, an’ he obviously ain’t caught on ta da fact dat Jawbreakah t’inks I ain’t worth da space, so I’m comin’ wit youse. She scares me."
"Dat’s fine," Dutchy said. "What’d he tell ya?"
"Ah...headlines don’t sell papes," I said.
"‘S pretty easy aftah dat," Skittery said. "Ya find a headline, make it bettah, an’ dat’ll git rid ‘a yer papes fer ya."
Find a headline. Yeah right. He made it sound so easy.
"Da secret," Dutchy said, "Is goin’ ta da inside." As he talked, he thumbed through his paper, looking for an example. "Like uh...Abandoned Tenement Burns Down."
"How do you improve dat?" I asked. I’ve never been good at improving much of anything, none the less headlines.
"Um...Fire Sweeps Tenements, Thousands Dead," Skittery said, striking a match on the brick wall and lighting a cigarette. We walked down the street, and Dutchy and Skittery gave me a couple more examples. "Now, you try," Skittery said.
I just about did that run, throw up, or scream thing that I did last night. I knew that I wasn’t going to be able to hide it for long, but..."Are you shoah?" I asked.
"Yeah," Dutchy said. "Go ahead and pick one out."
I was trapped. Sighing nervously, I opened up the paper on the top of my stack to a random page. Then I put it down. I couldn’t do this. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph," I said, saying the only curse that I could come up with under the high pressure.
"You can’t read can you?" Skittery asked me.
I sighed. "Can I have some ‘a dat?" I asked, pointing to his cigarette. He gave it to me, and I took it gratefully. I don’t usually smoke, mainly because I don’t have the money for it. But if there’s someone who has one or I have a little extra cash, which is practically never, I’ll smoke. I took a couple drags, and then handed it back to him. "So, I can’t write or read more dan my own name. So what?"
"So...dat's wrong!" Dutchy said emphatically. "A newsie dat can't read even a liddle is like...like uh..."
"A fish dat can't swim," Skittery finished.
"So what?" I repeated. "I've never needed to read before."
"In dis job, you need ta," Dutchy said. "Let us help."
Help? I wasn't used to getting any of that either. "I...I don't know," I said. I wasn't sure if I wanted to. More to the point, I wasn't sure if I wanted help. I've never really shown a weakness, and if I showed one now, what would be thought of me?
Reaching, digging into the remnants of my shredded memory, I remembered something. Being taught. A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I...I didn't really do this did I?...J, K, L, M, N, O, P, Q, R, S, T, U, V, W, X, Y, Z. "Would you really help me?" I asked timidly.
"Yeah, 'a coise!" Skittery said. Dutchy nodded in agreement. "We ain’t da best teachas..."
I knew these people meant well, but I couldn’t help but think that that was a little hard on my pride. "Awlright.....where do I start?
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After about a week of sporadic help from Jack, Firecracker, Knicks, Racetrack, Skittery, and Dutchy (my cue to blush) I could read enough to read a headline and know what street I was on. And I had paid Knicks back in full, and I even considered the thought that my life was, for once, going well. Until one day, I was walking down the street with a group of the newsies, and suddenly I was laying face down on the pavement, with a foot holding me to the ground. I wondered why no one was helping me, when I realized the shocked expressions that they were all wearing on their faces. Except for Jawbreaker, who was smiling, trying to supress a laugh.
"I TOLD you," the person who was holding me down said. "If I EVAH caught you in New Yawk again, I'd soak ya wit' in an inch 'a yer life!" I knew that voice. I recognized that voice.
"DIS is Elizabeth?" Jawbreaker said incredulously. Great. A friend of Spots who Spot kicked out of Brooklyn. All the more reason for her to hate me.
I spit the dirt out of my mouth, and quickly rolled out from under the foot and stood up. "Spot Conlon, dat is not what you said. If you knew anyt'ing, you'd remembah dat you said if you evah caught me in Brooklyn again, dat's what you'd do," I glared.
"So didja come back ta New Yawk jist ta tell me dat?" he asked sarcastically.
"Didja come ta dis side 'a da rivah ta insult me?" I asked.
I was just about ready to soak him and put up a good fight, but Jack stepped in. "Hey you two, what's goin' on heah?" he asked.
"King 'a da jungle heah tol' me two years ago ta git outta Brooklyn, so I did, an' I came back, an' I haven't been ta Brooklyn," I said.
"Spot, why didja tell 'er ta git outta Brooklyn?" Jack asked. I wished he wouldn't play mediator.
Spot glared down on me. "It wasn't jist 'er specifically...da people she ran aroun' wit was causin' trouble fer me boys, an' one day she really got inta it wit Runner, an' she lost an' I tol' her if I evah saw her in New Yawk again I'd soak 'er wit' in an inch 'a 'er life. We kicked ‘em all outta Brooklyn."
I remembered Runner...skinny kid with blonde hair. Named because supposedly he was the fastest runner in New York. He couldn't have been too terribly fast, because I caught him. And if I remember correctly, I wasn’t the one who got the worst end of the fight.
"Ohhhh kay," Jack said. "I don't know what went on between yas, but don't drag anyone else inta it," he said.
"Fine," he said.
"Fine," I said. I turned around and headed straight for the lodging house. It was quite a bitter history, and I didn't know if it would ever be healed. But I knew for one thing. As long as Spot Conlon 'controlled' one of the five major boroughs of New York, I would have to watch my back.
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It was the poker game of the millenium; I’m pretty sure. We had about three separate poker games going on, and Spot had even come over from Brooklyn to join. We still didn’t like each other, by any means, but we could sit in the same room without killing each other. Barely.
Our table was soon the only one left, and everyone was surrounding us. I looked at our table that consisted of me, Jawbreaker, Racetrack, Specs, Pie Eater, Knicks, Skittery, and Spot.
I’ve never been a big fan of five card draw poker, mainly because I’m not very good, but tonight I was doing perfectly respectable. I had a net gain of about twenty-five cents. Which isn’t too bad, considering I could buy papers for a day with that.
It had started simply. We all had our cards. I had a pretty good hand, I thought I was going to win.
You learn to look for cheaters and weaknesses when you’ve had the experiences playing poker that I have. Like Spot, when he doesn’t have a good hand, his leg shakes like crazy. Nervous reaction or something. And Skittery and Knicks are just plain bad liars, Specs doesn’t like to take chances, and Pie Eater get a real nervous face on when he has a bad hand or when the stakes are high. Racetrack and Jawbreaker are actually pretty good players, luck--or in one case, brains-- was just not on their side that October night.
We started betting, and the stakes started getting higher and higher. First Specs dropped out, then Knicks, then Pie Eater, then Skittery, then Spot, but not without giving me a dirty look first. Then, reluctantly, and after a smack over the head from Knicks, Racetrack dropped. So then it was just me and Jawbreaker. No chance in hell I was going to fold against that bitch.
Once we had put in all of our betting money, Jawbreaker smirked at me over her cards. "Tell you what I’m goin’ ta do," she said. "I’m willin’ ta make ya a little deal."
"How little?" I asked.
"If you win, I forfeit my leadership ta you. If you lose," she got this silly little grin on her face. "You have ta git outta New Yawk. Fer good."
Ouf of New York? She could have bet me whoever lost had to jump into the harbor naked, but she bet me leadership. Was I willing to risk my...aw, hell...home...for a poker game.
You bet I was.
"Youse got a deal Breakah," I said, and we spit-shook. "Call."
She laid her cards down smugly. "Straight in clubs." Sure enough, I looked down and saw the four, five, six, seve, and eight of clubs was laid down in front of me. I smiled a little.
"Sorry Breakah," I said. I laid down my cards. "Higher straight flush." Seven, eight, nine, ten, and Jack of hearts. I had won.
Jawbreaker looked at me icily. I thought she was going to murder me. Jawbreaker may not have alot of things, material or otherwise, but her pride is her greatest possesion, and I had just stripped her of that.
The only thing I remember is Jack telling everybody it was lights out. I settled into the bed above Knicks’ empty one (she had gone home that night), and started to think Oh God what have I done?
When we woke up the next morning, Jawbreaker was gone.
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They said she went to Harlem. Her brother, Spenders (short for suspenders, kind of like Knicks is short for Knickerbockers....), because he was the leader there. I spent the next couple of days looking over my shoulder every thirty seconds. Can’t be too careful. But I don’t know...I think she stuck around Manhattan and lurked for a few days before actually leaving.
Another couple days flew by, until one day me, Jack, Racetrack, and Knicks came home (Knicks doesn’t actually live there half the time, but I think she thinks of it as home) one day to find Kloppman talking with some very official looking men in his office. Being the smart people we are, we walked upstairs. There were other people in the bunkroom, so we kind of just hung out. Some of the younger ones were looking extremely nervous and extremely guilty.
Racetrack for some reason started up a poker game, but all the players were only being half-hearted. And I stayed out of it. I borrowed Racetrack’s second deck of cards and started playng solitaire. I had been avoiding gambling since "The Game", as everyong called it. Jawbreaker has lost to me in "The Game". I had won Manhattan leadership in "The Game". Racetrack told me "The Game" had been good. Even newsies I didn’t know from Little Italy, Midtown, and as far as Coney Island were coming up to me and shaking my hand, telling me good job.
Maybe I was a blessing in disguise.
But I played solitaire for a solid twenty minutes it seemed, before Kloppman walked in. He looked, for lack of a better term, like someone had died. "Boys, girls...dis concerns all of you."
I jumped down from my top bunk and Jack walked up to Kloppman. "What’s wrong?"
He looked like he was chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Girls are getting their own house," he said.
"What?" Knicks said incredulously.
"How’s dat?" I asked.
"NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!" Fire wailed.
"Children’s Aid Society has recently been informed that this house has reached past it’s maximum capacity," Kloppman said.
"Whatevah da hell dat means," Fire muttered.
"It means dat dere are more people livin’ heah den should be," Knicks explained calmly.
"So...how’s it dat we’re gettin’ a house?" I asked.
"It’ll be another house, just like dis one..." Kloppman said. "My sister’s goin’ to come and be landlady. I already sent her a telegram. She’s been looking for a reason to come to New York," he said, and smiled nostalgically. "But I don’t think that that’s the real reason. I just don’t think they like da idea of girls and boys living together."
"I don’t wanna leave," Fire said stubbornly. "I wanna stay...heah."
I snickered. She had almost said. "I wanna stay heah wit Mush", but she’s a little too smart for that.
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Later that night, I was on the fire escape alone, smoking a cigarette. I heard someone come out onto the fire escape with me, and I turned around. There stood Dutchy. "Hi Dutch," I said.
"Hi," he said. "What was ya doin’?"
"Nuttin’," I said. "Smokin’."
"Oh," he said. He walked over beside me and leaned on the railing. "I don’t want ya ta leave," he confessed.
I exhaled the last of the smoke, and put the cigarette out on the railing, and threw it to the alley below. "I don’ wanna go eiddah Dutchy. But...I dunno. I feel like it’s my obligation ta agree as da leadah. ‘Sides, we’se only gonna be a few houses down."
"I know, but it won’t be da same," he said. "’Sides, I t’ink yer swell."
My heart nearly stopped. Last time I had heard that...
And my heart did stop at what he did next. He leaned over and kissed my cheeks softly. He then straightened up, and I could tell that he was a little embarassed at what he had done. "’S okay Dutchy," I said. "I like you too."
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A week later, we were moving into our house. Kloppman was right, it was exactly like the guys’s, but there were fewer bunks. Ms. Kloppman was an old woman, probably late fifties or early sixties, but she definitely didn’t act like it. She was a no-nonsense lady, but had laugh lines around her eyes. But you could definitely tell she was Kloppman’s sister.
Mostly it was just me and Firecracker, since Knicks had a house to go to, though she chose not to sometimes. But they’re as loyal as anyone could ever hope to get.
And Dutchy and me...I don’t know if what we have is what you would call love, but I would definitely say there’s no one in the world that I would rather be with.
And Race...he’s Race. Gambling dawn till dusk, if there's a "hot tip" you can bet that he’ll be all over it. Jack is a nice person, if not a teeny teeny bit self absorbed. Lovable though. He gives me all this useless knowledge about talking to people, and stuff like that. Skittery and I are what Racetrack and Knicks call ‘cigarette buddies’, meaning we share cigarettes. If one of us has one and we see the other one coming, we get ready to share. Davey says it isn’t sanitary, but we don’t really care. And generally...I’m friends with everyone.
So, I now have friends, a job, a guy, a home, and I’m a leader. But I still have things...people in Chicago...that are looking for me, and if they find me...not to mention I probably have two of the five boroughs against me, Harlem and Brooklyn. Enemies everywhere.
So I guess you could say I lead a semi-charmed life.