I don't believe it. I made it right. Turmoil was happening in my mind; I could scarcely believe that I had helped urge Jack to confess. Of course, it was more Mush than me, but I was ecstatic. I remember all the embraces and the laughter following the verdict, but it seems more as a dream remembered rather than actual events.

It was Twiggy's idea to go over to Tibby's for a celebration dinner. A reported by the name of Denton who had covered the trial offered us food on him. He was obviously a friend of the Duane Street newsies, and I was told later that he had covered the talked-about 1899 strike.

I believe McCain was more in shock than any of us, for she asked me no questions as I led her out the door and trusted her to follow the lot of us several blocks over to the restaurant. Marconi had a permanent expression of complete elation on his face as he walked down the street hand-in-hand with McCain, several reporters trailing him.

I walked along, flanked by Twiggy and Cheater. "I can't believe it," I muttered to myself.

Both my friends put an arm around me as we continued walking toward Tibby's. Mush had joined a group of young men from the lodging house and they were silently discussion Jack and his confession. I knew that they felt bad for treating McCain and I the way they had, but I couldn't help harboring a deep-seated anger toward them. I doubted if it would ever disappear, if I would ever be able to forgive them. My thoughts then traveled to Skweeker. Knowing the way she held grudges, I wondered whether or not she would even speak to them again.

Before I realized it, Cheater was holding the door to Tibby's open for me and I was stepping inside. The five of us (being McCain, Marconi, me, Cheater, and Twiggy) sat away from the group at a booth for four (Cheat pulled a chair up to the end of the table). We were mostly silent, being as we were all still in a state of shock, until a waiter came to take our orders. When he left, we began attempting to make small talk.

"Did you see the look on the judge's face when Jack spilled?" Cheater asked with a grin.

Marconi shook his head. "I was too busy worrying about the verdict."

"And I was...well, I don't remember. Everything's a blur," McCain said softly. I'd never known Skweeker to be soft-spoken, and it surprised me.

At that moment, the waiter was back, setting down plates of food in front of us. I played a bit with my hamburger bun before lifting it to pick off the pickles and lay them on the edge of my plate. They didn't stay there for long, however, because McCain had snatched them up. I wrinkled my nose. "I don't like pickles."

"Well, I do!" McCain grinned, biting into one. "Mmmmm!"

Cheater threw his head back and laughed. Twiggy grinned and Marconi sat there silently, just staring at McCain and I arguing about pickles.

"Those are disgusting. I don't see how you eat them, McCain."

"That's easy: I put 'em in my mouth an' chew!"

I had to laugh at that. "Well, you keep on doing that while I eat my pickle-free burger."

"A life devoid of pickles is no life at all," McCain shot back, dangling one in my face. I tried in vain to hide from it, but every way I turned my head, there it was.

"Eat your pickle, McCain," I said, closing my eyes and willing myself not to be sick.

"Gladly!" I only guess that the next thing she did was eat it, because I forced myself not to watch.

Twiggy nudged me. "Where are you going after this? Are you coming back to the lodging house?"

I thought for a moment. McCain looked up at me, searching my face for an answer. "Well...I thought about that, but...what about Race and Blink?"

"I think they both feel like idiots," Cheater answered, looking me in the eye. "Honestly. You don't have to worry 'bout them."

I smiled. "Well, I don't suppose McCain wants me coming home with her again, so yes, I suppose I'll come back to the house."

Twiggy and Cheater both grinned widely. McCain shifter in her seat. "Well, y'know McCartney, you weren't all that bad. I mean if ya wanna come visit anytime..."

"You're welcome," Marconi finished for her with a slight smile at me.

"Well, there's a random act of kindness if I ever saw one," I grinned.

McCain tried to put on a stony face. "Hey, McCartney, don't get smart with me. You'll never see me bein' nice again. I ain't bein' nice now. It was just neighborly."

"Aw, fess up!" Cheater laughed. "You know you wanna be nice to the girl!"

"Nothin' doin'," McCain snapped. "Now be quiet or you'll be the next one gettin' pickle torture, Molloy."

We finished our meal making small talk about everything but the trial, even though it was fresh on our minds. Standing up, we headed slowly toward the front door. Sunset was wildly coloring the buildings surrounding Tibby's, and I stared outside at the light playing off the bricks.

"Well..." Twiggy began.

I shuffled my feet. "Come with me, McCartney," I heard McCain say. I looked up at Twiggy and Cheater. "I'll meet you back at the house," I said as I followed McCain and Marconi out the door. Marconi headed home after giving me a quick embrace and thanking me, leaving McCain and I on the corner.

"You know me, McCartney. I ain't much for words, so I'll say it straight and get it over with." She shoved her hands in her pockets. "I, well...I'm gonna miss ya."

I know I must have given her the most disbelieving look, but I couldn't help it. I had never dreamed that Skweeker McCain would ever even act like she liked me even a little bit. "I...I've still got your clothes," I grinned.

"Yeah, keep 'em 'till next time," she answered with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Suddenly remembering something, I stuck my hands down in the pockets and emptied them. Last I pulled out the knife. "I was afraid to give this back..." I trailed off.

"And with good reason!" McCain laughed, taking it from me and sticking it in her pocket.

"Well," I began, "I suppose I need to head back to the lodging house."

"Yeah, I gotta get back to the Bronx. Don't be a stranger, McCartney."

I smiled. "Same to you, McCain. I'll be seeing you."

As I turned to go, she stopped me. "Hey."

"What?" I asked, turning to face her.

A grin played on McCain's face. "You're all right, McCartney."