Hear the Belles in Brooklyn {{A 'Newsies' Fanfic}}

[Quill]

This is a fanfic I've been working on a few weeks since I've had absolutely NO muse for my novel {which I may or may not be posted}. Feel free to comment, it's no where near done.

Chapter One
Two Worlds
Disclaimer: I don’t own Newsies

On the outside, she laughed. On the outside, she smiled. On the outside, she was the happy daughter of Mary Ann Pulitzer (who was in fact sister-in-law to Joseph Pulitzer). On the outside, she was the obedient young woman of fifteen who never did anything wrong, not one thing. She was the more reserved sister of her twin, Antoinette. On the outside, Brooklyn Pulitzer was any mother’s dream. Any mother of wealth would want to have her; any nanny would be honored to raise her.

But on the inside, she cried. On the inside, she screamed. On the inside she was a miserable slave to the aristocratic world. On the inside, she wanted to break free of all her bonds and run away. She wanted to smash family heirlooms into millions of pieces for the pleasure of seeing their shattered bits scattered across the floor. She wanted to break all the rules and forget about the consequences. Sure she was reserved, but it wasn’t from wanting to show her place. It was so she could linger in her thoughts and still appear as if she was fine, when she really wasn’t. If the woman inside of Brooklyn was to be played as a moving film, it would be the worst horror movie ever to be seen. Any mother -period- would kick her to the curb, she would be any nanny’s nightmare.

Brooklyn wanted to cry, but of course that was not permitted. She wanted to scream, but that was unheard of. She wanted to relieve herself of all her pain but that would require suicide and she didn’t want to go to hell. So she muddled on with her life, putting on the façade of a happy young woman to please her mother.

How she wished her father was still around. Harold Pulitzer was her favorite member of her family, the only one she would talk to. And he would listen to her and give her his advice. The two were as close as two people could get, and they were ripped apart brutally. Harold had been going into the center of Manhattan a few months back to visit his brother and he got attacked during a trolley worker’s strike. An angry striker had misfired and shot him in the back, killing him.

And then there was Antoinette to add to her family. She didn’t hate her sister, but she held a few things against her. The girl was always so damned impulsive. She thought with her heart and not her head, and that got her into trouble too many times to count. Antoinette was her twin; she should be able to talk to her, right? Well wrong in this situation. Antoinette was a serious gossip and anything Brooklyn revealed to her sister would probably get passed onto her gossipy friends. In no time, it would be all around the city.

Her mother was well, mother. Mary Ann would simply give her needlework lessons, listen to her piano, read with her and gossip with Antoinette and her older lady friends. And that’s all Brooklyn believed her mother did. She didn’t care about what was going on in the world or with her daughters. Unless that daughter had some interesting gossip to chat about. Brooklyn’s friend Amelia told her that it was because of Harold’s death, but Brooklyn knew it wasn’t. Her mother had always been like that, though her ways did seem to worsen when her father was killed.

“Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?” a soft voice read from the leather-bound book she held in her hand. It was Shakespeare’s famous Romeo and Juliet, a practically required read for all young women in late eighteen ninety-nine. Mostly it was read by women of the family, usually openly so they could discuss.

And that’s where we lay our scene. In a large library with a roaring fire, three women sit around from each other in a circle of cushioned chairs. Two brunettes and a blonde. One of the brunettes was far older than the other two girls, the other brunette appearing the same age as the blonde. And we set our scene on the Pulitzer’s reading hour.

“Deny thy father and refuse thy name. Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love and I shall no longer be a Capulet,” it was the blonde who was speaking. Yes, fair blonde was her hair. A shade lighter than honey, as some described it as. Her sharp green eyes scanned the page as she read to the two brunettes. As she continued to read, she began to daydream. She could not see how she found herself still reading when her mind was nowhere near fourteenth century Italy. “What's Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot. Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other name. What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

She paused, looking up at the older brunette. She nodded and then looked to the younger brunette. The girl was the same age as the blonde, and the resemblance between the two was uncanny. Though the brunette did not share the same hair color, freckles or green eyes, there was resemblance. The heart shape face, for instance. The almond shaped eyes and the strawberry pink lips were the same on both girls. If those features were for naught, no one would be able to tell they were sisters, none-the-less twin sisters.

Yes, these were the Pulitzer twins. The two girls were complete opposites of each other as if they were night and day. Antoinette was the party animal, and almost no parties were held during the day. And Brooklyn was the daytime, soft and just seemed to slip by. And yet her presence could light up a room. How could one’s façade overcome their true feelings?

Brooklyn pondered upon the thought for many a minutes. She supposed her mother and father had taught her well. No emotions were to be shown, it just wasn’t right. It showed weakness, and members of the aristocratic social ladder were not weak.

“Away girls, we must ready ourselves for Uncle Joseph’s holiday ball tonight,” their mother, Mary Ann said as they put their books on the shelf.

“Yes mother,” the girls said in unison and quickly left the library.

“Well that was terribly boring,” Antoinette said flatly, rolling her eyes slightly.

“I happen to find the works of Shakespeare enlightening,” Brooklyn replied, trying to keep her thoughts on the fourteenth century tragedy. “A bit depressing, yes, but well written and meaningful.”

“Whatever you say, dear sister,” the brunette replied. To get off her least favorite subject, she quickly changed the conversation. “So aren’t you excited for Uncle’s ball tonight? There are going to be many young men there to converse with. I love New York men.”

“Antoinette!” Brooklyn chided in a near-exclamation. She whacked her sister on her shoulder lightly with her fan. “What if someone heard you speaking in such a fashion?” She lowered her voice. “Do you know you could be labeled as some kind of sleeper if that statement hit the streets? You could dishonor this whole family.” Her sister gasped and glared at Brooklyn.

“I cannot believe you would say such a thing, sister,” she replied in a harsh whisper as they took to the long, winding stairs up to their room. “And how dare you.” Brooklyn wanted to reply, but she took a deep breath and shook her head lightly to rid herself of it. She did not want to get into a fight, not with her sister and not at that moment. She already had enough on her mind; she did not want a silly squabble to haunt her.

She did not want haunting thoughts to annoy her at the ball tonight. She wanted to be open and welcoming. Who knew? Maybe some nice young man would ask to court her and she would be able to stay away from her mother and sister for most of the day. How she wanted a man to take her away from her poor excuse for a life. She didn’t have to love him, he had to adore her and that was simply that.

“d**n these cruel contraptions,” Brooklyn hissed as her maid, Lily, tightened her corset around her bodice.

“Shush now miss,” Lily admonished gently. “You wouldn’t want your mother to hear you using such talk.”

“Excuse me, Lily,” Brooklyn spat in frustration. She wasn’t mad at the maid in particular, but the light scold of the worker had put her over the edge. “But remind me again. Who is the employer in this situation?”

“You are, Miss,” Lily replied quietly, bowing her head slightly as she tied the chemise’s few laces.

“And who gives the orders?” Brooklyn’s voice was venom, and she didn’t even know why. Her emotions had been off the rocks lately, and she couldn’t seem to control what she did or said in these moments.

“You do, miss,” the servant replied. It was quite sad, really. A twenty year-old maid being bossed around by someone five years younger than she. Brooklyn could not imagine how degrading this must be for the servants.

“Yes, let‘s keep it that way, hmm?” she replied tersely. As she slipped into her black gown, she softened her expression and looked at Lily. “I’m sorry; it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have snapped. I’ve been very frustrated today.” Lily simply nodded, afraid that if she said anything in the wrong tone she might set off her employer again.

Using a hot metal iron, Brooklyn’s hair was curled and set in a half-up, half-down style with a black ribbon. Her face was painted lightly as she preferred to show off the natural beauty she was told she possessed. A black mink coat was draped over her shoulder at the door to their city mansion by Lily.

Brooklyn walked down to the carriage. Though she had wanted to come to this party before, she no longer wished for the chance. All she wished to do now was rip off her corset, burn it and then run away. She realized that as the carriage driven by their carriage man, Rupert, that option was non existent and she should just forget about the whole thing.

As they arrived they were greeted by their uncle. “My dear sister and my beautiful nieces,” he said with a broad smile, hugging them each and then showing them in. A servant took their coats and they then proceeded to the ballroom. The musicians were playing merrily and couples were already dancing. Small gaggles of young women or gossiping widows were spread throughout the large room, and small groups of young men were either chatting or glancing around at the beautifully dressed women.

Antoinette and Mary Ann immediately surrounded themselves with the gossips, leaving Brooklyn to go fetch herself a drink. “Allow me,” a suave voice from behind said, handing her a glass of champagne.

“Thank you, sir,” Brooklyn replied with a small smile. She knew exactly who this slightly older man was and she did not like him one bit.

“Please, miss, call me Cal,” he replied with a silky tone.

“Then you can call me Brooklyn,” she replied in a sweet, slightly flirtatious tone. It was false tone and Cal made her want to regurgitate her drink. He asked her to dance and she quickly obliged, seeing her mother approaching.

Brooklyn knew Cal’s life story up to that day by the time the slow waltz ended. The fifteen year-old had not gotten a word in. She simply listened with fake interested as he explained how he was basically born with five silver spoons in his mouth and how he was living a fabulously rich life in a mansion that faced Central Park. The only words she managed to get into the conversation was her comment on how lucky he was and how she wished she could live in the heart of New York City. She lived in the upper side of Brooklyn, with the rest of the rich and aristocratic class. How she hated living in a place that had the same name as her as she was constantly being laughed out or taunted.

“Well maybe you will some day,” he said with a suggestive smile. She could have smacked him, but she forced a flirty smile and forced a bit of a giggle. “Would you care to join me at my table for dinner?” She nodded and was about to say yes, but then she stopped herself.

“Let me just ask my mother,” she replied. “Oh, there she is now.” She acknowledged her mother approaching them. Her cheeks were red and she wobbled ever so slightly. She had been drinking, and a little more than she should have before the meal. “Mother,” Brooklyn hailed. The slightly intoxicated woman walked over.

“Yes?” she asked, looking from her daughter to Cal.

“I had just asked your lovely daughter if she would like to dine at my table for dinner.”

“Apish posh!” Mary Ann replied in a bit of a drawl. “You will sit with my daughters and I at Mr. Pulitzer’s table.” Cal thanked Mary Ann and then proceeded to tell her about his life. Brooklyn looked around for her sister. She was flirting with a handsome man Brooklyn had never seen before. She then glanced towards the door. Oh if she could only run out there.

“Time for dinner, dear,” Marry Ann drawled, taking her daughter’s arm. Cal coughed and she let go. He promptly moved in and slinked his arm around Brooklyn’s. She forced another smile that he seemed to take well to and led her over to her Uncle’s table.

“And I want my beautiful nieces on either side of me,” Joseph said as he looked proudly on his blossoming nieces. “Brooklyn to my right, Antoinette on my left. Mary Ann, sit next to Antoinette. Calvin you can sit next to my Brooklyn.” Brooklyn laughed in her head, thinking that Calvin was a silly name. But on the outside, she kept a warm smile plastered on her lips as she hugged her Uncle and then took her place at the table.

Money. Politics. Stock market. She wore this, he wore that. Money. Politics. Stock market. Money. Money. Money.

She couldn’t take it anymore. She had to get out of here. She had to get out of everything. She leaned over to her Uncle while he was taking a sip of brandy. “Uncle,” she whispered quietly. He turned to her. “I’m feeling quite ill. Could you perhaps persuade my mother to let me go home a bit early? I would not like spreading any sickness I might be getting to your guests.”

“You don’t look yourself tonight, darling,” he replied with a nod. “I will see what I can do.” She thanked him and nodded.

“Thank you so much for letting me leave, Mother, I am just not feeling myself tonight,” Brooklyn said to her mother. She quickly left the room, making a quick stop in her Uncle’s room. The consequences of being caught were great, the consequences of not going through with what she was doing was greater.

Searching through the drawers of her Uncle’s bureau, she finally found what she was looking for. An 1865 black revolver. It was already loaded, so all she’d have to do was cock it and pull the trigger. She slid it into her coat and then walked outside into the brisk December air. Walking into the waiting carriage, she instructed Rupert to bring her to Central Park.

“Central Park, miss?” he questioned.

“Did I stutter?” she snapped nastily. “Yes Central Park.” She ducked inside the carriage and stared out the window. A few automobiles passed them, she watched a few bums drink themselves to stupor. A few newsies were still out, calling the headlines. One caught her eyes and he lifted his hat. Her automatic reaction was to turn up her nose and look away. But when she did, she realized that she was becoming the very thing she hated. She wanted to apologize, but they had far passed him by now.

When they reached the park, she hopped out and instructed the driver to stay where he was. “I will be back shortly,” she said gently. “And I’m sorry about before, Rupert. My headache is making me short.” He nodded and accepted the apology, then hopped from the carriage to give the horses a snack.

She ventured into the park, following the dirt path. Her black boots left scuffs in them, as she did not feel like she had the energy to go on. The revolver suddenly felt heavy in her pocket. But she kept walking. She would have to be far enough in where not many would hear.

She was walking for about a six or seven minutes when she figured a good spot. She removed her mink coat and tossed it to the floor. She would want a soft landing when she fell. She took the revolver out of the pocket and cocked it. “Goodbye,” she whispered to herself, placing the bottle to head. “God save me.”

“I wouldn’t be doin’ that if I was yous,” a voice from behind her startled her, causing her to whip around. “It’s not healthy.” She was faced with a newsie, carrying a few newspapers in his left hand. In his right was a black cane with a gold tip. His light brown hair looked darker in the night, yet his blue eyes pierced it as they looked down into her green. She wasn’t that tall at all, only about five foot two. He had to be at least five foot six. Instinctively, she became defensive.

“And who are you to tell me what I should and should not do?” she snapped angrily. He circled her, but she followed him by turning her body so her shoulders were always square to him.

“I’m Spot Conlon, and I’m not tellun yous to do nuthin,” he replied, a sly smirk on his face. “I’m just sayin that you shouldn’t do it.” Brooklyn just eyed him.

“I know you,” she said. “You helped with the Newsies strike. Why are you in New York City when you should be in Brooklyn?”

“Why do you care?” he replied with hardly a twang of nastiness in his voice. “Weren’t yous about to do somethen’?” Brooklyn remembered herself and took a deep breath. She cocked the pistol again and began to pull on the trigger. Suddenly the gun flew out of her hand and into the dirt.

Quickly she reached for it, but the newsie got it first. “Getch yer coat,” he ordered her. She took a sharp breath and let out an “uh!”

“No!” she replied tersely. “Now give me back my uncle’s revolver.” She held out her hand. But instead of obliging to her wishes, he pointed the gun away from them and fired. Before she could say anything he threw it twenty feet away. He then grabbed her hand and started to pull away. In a swift movement he bent down and grabbed her coat with the hand that held his cane, slinging it over his shoulder. She couldn’t do anything but run besides him, she couldn’t even fight. His grip on her was too strong.

“S…Sp…Spot,” she gasped, putting her free hand to her chest. He looked to her in a bit of frustration. But as he saw the pained expression as he saw the pained expression on her face, he stopped.

“You alright?” he asked as she faltered in her step. She gasped, holding her lower chest.

“I can’t breathe,” she rasped. Suddenly feeling dizzy, she collapsed onto her knees and coughed. Spot kneeled downed in front of her and made eye contact, blue colliding with green. Hers held tears in them from the pain she felt in her chest.

“What’s the matta wicha?” he asked her.

“Cor…corset,” Brooklyn managed to rasp to the newsie. “Need…off.” Spot’s eyes widened. “Please.” He nodded and his hands went to her bodice immediately. She felt as if she was going to be sick and she couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or the sharp edge the winter air that was cutting her lungs.

He helped her shrug the dress sleeves out of the way to get to the corset. She saw him looking at her ample chest, but forgave him mentally. He was only human. He took a knife out of his pocket and cut the corset down the middle. All at once air rushed into her lungs. Sharp pain also spread to her chest as she took a gulp of much needed oxygen. The pain was great, so she clutched Spot’s arm and took deep breaths. He met her gaze and smirked. Quickly she removed her clutching hand and grabbed her coat which he was still holding. He helped bring the sleeves of her dress over her chest and then helped her wrap the coat around herself.

“Miss Brooklyn!” Brooklyn stood up immediately, wrapping her coat around herself to hide her severed corset. Looking down the path, she saw Rupert rushing down. When he saw Spot, he immediately stood defensively in front of her.

“Is he bothering you, Miss?” he asked Brooklyn, shooting Spot a glare. The newsie opened his mouth to speak, his blue eyes sharpening.

“No, no Rupert,” Brooklyn said quickly. “He helped me, Rupert. I heard the gunfire and got scared so I started to run. I tripped and fell on the way back and he helped me up. There was no harm, no foul done. Now if you would please bring me back to the carriage.” Rupert nodded and started two steps.

Before she left, she turned to Spot. “Thank you,” she said quickly and a bit tersely. She then turned around and followed Rupert back to the carriage. There was no time now to go drop Brooklyn off at the mansion and then go back to ball in time. They would have to go straight to the ball and pick Mary Ann and Antoinette up. Boy, would she have a lot of explaining to do.

[Quill]

Chapter Two
So We Meet Again
Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies.

It has been two days since Brooklyn had been out of the house. To impose her ‘sickness’ she had stayed bedridden. And oh how boredom had come over her those long hours she spent. Cal had come to visit her the previous day and only added to the boredom. As at the ball, she could only put a few words in as he explained in -great- detail his trip to England. And today he was taking her for a walk to the park. She wished she could pretend to be sick, but her mother insisted that she go out and get some fresh air.

“Rose!” Brooklyn called as she descended the stairs. Her dark blue skirt flowed over her black boots and her white blouse was thick and wooly, it was all she could do to keep from itching her arms. “Rose!” Barking was heard, and a little ginger-colored terrier came trotting into the room. She scooped the pup up with a smile and kissed her nose. She was handed a hat and she perched it on top of her light golden bun. She then set Rose down so she could slip on her leather gloves and then her bearskin coat. She then tied a leather leash around Rose’s neck.

“Brooklyn,” the annoyingly familiar voice of Cal was heard. It snaked its way into her ears and turned into a hiss. But she turned around and smiled, offering her hand.

“Good morning, Cal,” she said sweetly. She may have hated him, but he could be her ticket out of Brooklyn and away from her mother and sister. She forced a giggle as he brushed her knuckles with his lips.

“Are we ready to go?” he asked her when he drew away. Brooklyn picked up Rose and nodded. Cal smiled his best debonair smile and his brown eyes held a special glint as he slipped his arm around hers. As they walked down the street, a few people looked over. Newsies yelled out the headlines and carriages rushed by. A very noisy day in this side of Brooklyn, and Brooklyn couldn’t wait to get to the quiet and peace of the park.

She couldn’t believe how Cal could just keep talking without stopping. She was beginning to think that the man did not need to breathe. When she looked up from the ground she had been staring at while Cal just led her along, talking up a storm, she was surprised to see that they were in the park. She put Rose down so the terrier would be able to stretch her legs and do her business.

“Do you mind going and getting me pape, Brooklyn?” Cal asked. “I just saw a colleague walk by and I need to ask him a quick question. I’ll be back momentarily.” Brooklyn nodded and took the penny that Cal held out for her. “Thanks,” he said before fixing his brown hair and then going in the direction of a pompous looking man who was sitting on a bench reading a newspaper.

Sighing slightly, she walked up to the nearest newsie, who currently had his back to her. As he called out the headline, she thought he sounded familiar. But she heard newsies calling out the headlines all the time, this one probably usually worked around her mansion. She gently tapped on his shoulder and said “One pape, please.” He turned around and she felt her chest jolt as she met his blue eyes with her green.

“It’s chyou,” he said, handing her the newspaper and taking the penny she had outstretched to him. Brooklyn opened her mouth to speak, but instead of hearing her own words, she heard Cale’s voice cut in.

“And why would she know you?” he said snootily, putting a protective hand on her shoulder. “You’re Spot Conlon.”

“Was I talkin’ to chyou?” Spot asked Cal nastily, his eyes sharpening. “I don’t tink so.”

“It doesn’t matter if you weren’t talking to me,” Cal replied, taking a step in front of Brooklyn protectively. “Why would she want to talk to someone who revolted against her uncle?” Spot’s eyes went to Brooklyn, who adverted hers immediately.

“Yer one of dem?” he asked her.

“Yes, she’s a Pulitzer,” Cal snapped. “Brooklyn Pulitzer. If I ever hear of you harassing her, God so help you. Come, Brooklyn, let’s leave this filth.”

“I’ll show ya filth if ya don’t shut that trap of yers,” Spot said this with a mix of a hiss and a growl.

Brooklyn stepped forward to stop Cal from completely blocking her from the newsie. “Sorry sir, I-”

“Don’t call him ‘sir’, Brooklyn,” Cal cut in and told her. She looked away and sighed. He had to learn not to cut into everything she attempted to say. She closed her eyes, took a breath and then looked at Cal when she continued.

“Sorry sir,” she defied. Her tone was terse as Cal was really pushing her too far. She turned to Spot and both her expression and her tone softened. “But I can’t say I recall ever meeting you. You must be thinking of some other girl, sorry.”

“But,” Spot started to say. His eyes had sharpened, he was clenching his fist around his black cane.

“Good day, boy, thank you for the pape, now we must be off.” Cal’s voice was venomously protective. He took Brooklyn’s arm and dragged her passed the newsie. Rose trotted obliviously at her side. But as Cal was commenting on how newsies were worthless filth, she turned her head to Spot and gave him a small smile and a nod of her head in an attempt to get him to know that she remembered him. And for the first time in a long while, the smile towards the newsie was genuine.

He didn’t return the smile, he just stared after her. An angry glint glassed his eyes. But she simply kept her small smile and turned away. In less than a second, Spot was back hawking the headline out.

“I could have handled that little situation, Cal,” Brooklyn said in a cool tone. “You didn’t have to interject like that.” Cal stopped in his tracks, forcing her to stop also.

“I was trying to protect-” Brooklyn cut him off.

“I didn’t need protecting!” she said in near-exclamation. “I know how to handle newsies, thank you.” Cal opened his mouth to speak, but she didn’t let him get half a chance. He was obviously becoming frustrated, his grip on her arm had tightened. “Don’t say anything in your defense, take me home.” The slightly older man didn’t object, he took her straight home.

As soon as Brooklyn was back home, she put Rose inside and then walked back passed Cal and went out to her carriage. “Rupert? Can you take me to the bookstore?” she asked him. He nodded and she hopped into the carriage. She watched the people pass and she wanted to scream. She hated being her class, yet she knew that she couldn’t run away. They had relatives in every part of New York City, she would never be able to stay hidden.

When they got to the bookstore, she walked right in. She knew exactly what she was looking for and where to find it. “The Wizard of Oz,” she mumbled to herself as she picked up the book. Flipping through it, she found it to her liking. So she walked over to the clerk and handed him a quarter. They bid each other goodbye and good day and she promptly left.

“To the park Rupert,” Brooklyn said as she stepped into the carriage. He nodded and sent his horse off. Opening the cover, she began to read her new book.

“Thank you Rupert,” Brooklyn said as he helped her out of the carriage. “I will walk home.” The driver nodded and then returned to the driver’s seat. Clucking his tongue and jiggling the reins, he set the horses off for home. Sighing, she entered the park. She figured Spot would be gone by now, so she wouldn’t have to fear confrontation with him.

When she found a nice spot by the small pond the park had, she sat down on a bench and reopened her book. As she read, she realized that she was little bit like Dorothy. She wanted to get away from the life she was living. She wanted to get out and go somewhere different, somewhere fantastic. She wanted to be someone different than who she was.

She marked her page and sighed as she closed the book. As she looked up, she started, letting out a small yelp. Spot was standing about two feet away from her, watching her. “How long have you been standing there?” she demanded. One of her biggest pet peeves was being watched. This came from having gossipy Antoinette for a sister.

“Only a minute or sumthin’,” he replied. He removed his black hat out of courtesy and held it loosely in his hand. She simply stared at him, not knowing what to say. “Why didn’t chyou tell me chyou was one of dem?”

“What is ‘one of them?” Brooklyn asked, standing up and starting to walk down the path. There was an obvious difference between their vocabulary, grammar and speaking skills. Brooklyn and her sister had been highly educated by expensive private tutors. She guessed Spot had grown up on the streets.

“Ya know, one of dem,” Spot replied, walking next to her. “A Pulitzer goil.” Brooklyn shrugged her shoulders.

“Yes, I am a Pulitzer,” she replied. “But if you knew that two nights ago, would you still have stopped me from shooting myself? Would you have still cut my corset to prevent me from suffocating? Would it have mattered if you knew?” Spot stayed silent, at which Brooklyn huffed and walked faster. “Cal was right,” she muttered. “Filth.”

“Hey! Don’t call me filth!” Spot was next to her in a second. “Chyou don’t know me. And did I say I wouldn’t have helped ya?”

“That’s just it, you didn’t say anything.” Brooklyn replied. “Your silence was your answer.” She turned up her nose and walked faster. She stopped and turn around. “And just so you know, I was on your side during the strike. Cal doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Hopefully I won’t drop dead right here, I know someone who won’t help me because of my Pulitzer name.” Spot opened his mouth to speak again, but Brooklyn cut him off.

“I know what you were thinking,” she said. “You were thinking that by saving me I would be grateful. So grateful, in fact, that you would get me into your bed.” She didn’t know why she was saying such things and reacting so harshly. She didn’t even believe any of the things she was saying to him. It seemed her emotions had flown out of control. She had already been frustrated with Cal, and she supposed that Spot’s answer (or lack of) really set her off. She started walking away, feeling tears burning her eyes. Great, now I’m crying, she thought to herself as she wiped a tear away from her eye.

Brooklyn was surprised when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned around with an “I’m sorry,” as she met the blue eyes of Spot. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that, you didn’t deserve it.”

“I know I didn’t,” Spot replied with a smug look on his face. “But chyou didn’t desoive an ansa like dat.” He looked at Brooklyn, who was looking passed him. “My ansa is that yeah, I wouda stopped ya.” Brooklyn nodded and then started walking.

“You can come along if you’d like,” she said, looking back at him. He glanced at that papers in his hand and she nodded. “I understand. I’ll be around for a while, come and find me if you finish. But before you go…” she fished out a penny and handed it to him. “One pape, please.” He gave her a smiling smirk and handed her a paper. She thanked him and started her way off.

She walked through the park, glancing down at the front page of the newspaper in her hand every few steps. She didn’t want to run into anything, and can only grasp a few words. Sighing to herself, she sat herself on another bench and went through the main articles. She was about to throw it out when something stopped her. Oddly enough, she could not find herself to throw it out. Shaking her head at her silly behavior, she tucked it under her arm with her book and then continued on.

Brooklyn found herself thinking about Spot. It was weird, she was surprised at herself when the newsie came into her thoughts. She had a few questions about him that she hoped would get answered. For instance, why did he carry that cane around? And the key he had on his necklace. Was that a symbol that he had a girl?

Where did that thought come from? Brooklyn pondered to herself. Why did she care if Spot had a girl or not? She wondered why the newsie had come into her mind in the first place. Could she have feelings for the boy? No no, she thought to herself. Definitely not. She could not have feelings for the newsie. She barely knew him, not to mention they were from two different worlds.

But Brooklyn wanted to escape that world. If she did, would that mean she could possibly be with Spot?

Whoa. Stop the presses. She did not like Spot. Not like that. Sure, he was a nice boy and everything, but she did not like him in that fashion. Highly impossible. Or, perhaps improbable. She blinked a few times to bring herself back into her head and almost started at the sight of Spot next to her.

“How long have you been there?” she asked him. De ja vu. The newsie just smirked down at her.

“Only a minute or sumthin,” he replied in the same way as before. “You looked so lost in yer toughts, I didn’t wanna distoib chyou.”

“Thanks for the thought, Spot,” Brooklyn replied. “Sell all your papes?”

“All for today, yeah,” Spot replied. “So what was chyou thinken’ bout?”

“Nothing really, maybe everything,” Brooklyn replied with a shrug of her shoulders. There was no chance of her telling Spot that she had been thinking about him. No way, that would more than awkward, that might give him the wrong idea.

What wrong idea? a voice said in her head. You like him? You do.

Do not, the other side replied.

Liar.

“Must have been sumthin’ coz chyou were pretty outta it,” Spot replied. The two were walking down the path.

“I guess I was thinking about newsies,” Brooklyn replied, not making eye contact. “I think about how I’ve grown up not having to lift a finger, and you’re out on the streets working for food. I guess I’ve never really appreciated what I’ve got.”

“Yeah, we’s got it a bit rough, but it’s nothen’ I can’t handle,” Spot replied. For some reason or another, it was the first time that Brooklyn registered his clothing. It had to be freezing out, and yet the newsie was only wearing black shoes, brown pants, a blue shirt and he had his cap in his hand.

“Don’t you get cold?” she asked, now worrying about him.

“Nah,” he replied. “Ya get used ta it afta a while.” She still looked at him in worry. His hands looked white, they had to be freezing.

“Would you like to wear my gloves?” she asked him. He gave a little laugh and shook his head.

“A pair of goil’s gloves? No way,” Spot replied. “’Less chyou wanna see me get soaked.” Brooklyn shook her head quickly, at which he laughed again. “So what’s it like bein, chyou know, a richie?”

“It’s like a cage,” Brooklyn replied truthfully. She didn’t mind the quick change of subject, in fact she was used to it with high-societies. “You’re told what to do, when to do it and how to do it. And good Lord help you if you don’t do it as asked - no not asked, told. And then there is the fact that your marriage is most likely going to be arranged. This is going for women and men. And most of the time you don’t have any say in whom.” Before she could go on, Spot interjected.

“Are chyou engaged?” he asked her. She quickly shook her head.

“No, no,” she replied. Was it her imagination, or was that a look of relief on his face. “Or at least, not yet. Do you remember that man I was with earlier.”

“Dat bonehead?” Spot replied. “’Coise I do.”

“Well if he gets his way with my mother, you might be looking at the future Mrs. Williams.” She put a hand to her head at the dreadful thought.

“Do ya love him?” Spot’s question caused her to jerk her eyes to him.

“I think that’s a highly inappropriate question that is none of your business!” she replied in almost higher. Even if she didn’t love him, it was a very inappropriate question, even for a newsie, who had hardly any well-educated background. “Besides, even if I do not love him, I have to admit it is a smart match.” Spot shook his head, putting his hands in his pockets.

“And I tought I had ta pity myself sumtimes,” he stated. “I tought being a richie was all fun and games.” Brooklyn resisted the urge to snort at the statement and simply shook her head.

“I wish I was like you, Spot,” she muttered. “Free to do what I want, when I want. I would gladly work as a seamstress or be a newsie if it meant having freedoms I can only dream about in my life.”

“Den why don’t chyou run away?” Spot asked. “It’s not dat hard.”

“It would be for me,” she replied. “I have relatives in every borough, every part of this grand ole’ city. I would be caught and brought back in seconds.”

“Have chyou eva tried?” he asked her. She shook her head no and sighed.

“Well, yes,” she replied. “But not in the way you’re talking about. I attempted to get away, but someone stopped me.” She smiled at him and he nodded. “I wanted to thank you for that Spot. I know my life isn’t great, but I think I’ll be able to get out of it one day. You saved me from making the biggest mistake of my life. Thank you.”

“No problem,” Spot replied. “I was honoid to do so, miss.” Miss. It was the first time he had called her anything. Oh, why did it have to be miss.

“Please,” she said quickly. “Don’t call me miss. Brooklyn, if you could please. I absolutely hate the title ‘miss’.” He nodded.

“Ya got dat, Brookie baby,” he replied. She smiled at the name and muttered a thank you.

They walked in silence for a while, just seeming to enjoy each others’ company. For Brooklyn, it felt so good to be around Spot. She could relax and not worry about etiquette and being over-zealously proper. But all good things have to end, and the feeling did all too soon when they came to the exit of the park. The trees had prevented them from seeing that it was mid afternoon, and Brooklyn had to get home.

“I have to go, Spot,” she said as their feet hit the paved street. “It was really nice talking to you.” She held out her hand for him to shake. To her surprise, he took her hand and kissed her knuckles gently, causing her to raise her eyebrows.

“I saw a richie do dat once and I always wanted ta try it,” he explained. This caused Brooklyn to laugh as she nodded. “Lata, Brookie baby,” he said.

“Goodbye, Spot,” she replied with a small wave. And with that, she started off towards her house. She hoped that she would be able to see Spot again. She felt so comfortable with him, something she rarely felt in the company of others. On her walk home, she recalled her conversation with the newsie. Recalling the marriage section of the conversation, she sighed. She really hoped she wouldn’t have to marry Cal.

Especially at her age. Though the engagement would probably last a year before the actual wedding, she did not want to be married at sixteen. Sadly though, she figured it would be so.

She stood in front of her mansion on the first stone step. She stared up at it, and the for the first time in her life, a fire burned inside her that told her not to go inside. To run to Spot and beg him to help her stay secluded. But with a deep blink of her eyes, she doused the passion and walked up the stone steps and walked into her mansion, her cage.

[Quill]

Chapter Three

What are We?

Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies

She hated it. Her green eyes glanced up from her book. It was the most hideous thing she had ever lay her eyes upon. Training them back on ‘The Wizard of Oz’, she continued to read. “While Dorothy was looking earnestly into the queer, painted face of the Scarecrow, she was surprised to see one of the eyes slowly wink at her. She thought -” Oh shucks! There it was, glittering up at her. The hideous piece of junk that Brooklyn wanted to melt.

Actually, she wanted to rip it off and throw it in the pond. Maybe then Cal wouldn’t want to marry her. She went to her finger and grasped the ring between her index finger and her thumb. It was a quite nice ring. A five caret diamond with a gold band.

But she didn’t care. To her, it was the most hideous piece of jewelry her eyes had ever had the misfortune to rest upon. Oh, how she would love to be rid of it. Standing up, she walked to the edge of the pond and took off the ring. Taking it in her right hand, she drew back her arm as if to throw it. But looking around, she decided not to. There were too many people around, two many gossipy women. So she slid her ring back on her finger and bit her lip.

“Rose,” she called to her terrier. The ginger-colored dog had been lying on the bench next to her. She had been sleeping, up until that moment. She pricked her ears and wagged her stub of a tail. Hopping off of the bench she trotted next to her owner. They were on their late afternoon walk, and Brooklyn had decided she would stop and read.

She had really been hoping to see Spot to vent about what had happened earlier that afternoon. She had enjoyed the conversation they had two days ago. He had really listened to her, and she wasn’t used to that. Usually she simply talked at people, and they didn’t care what she said. And even after what had happened, she was sure they still wouldn’t listen to her.

What had happened. What had happened.

Well to start off, Brooklyn had woken up with a headache. It was her ‘time of the month’, and how it vexed her so. So she spent the morning in bed, not feeling the urge to move. She spent her time reading with Rose by her side. And then Cal came in, just who she wanted to see. And he began to go on this long tangent about how he had admired her since he had first met her a year or so ago. And apparently, he loved her. He hardly knew her, actually knew her, and he had the nerve to say that he loved her.

And then something worse happened. He got down on one knee and flashed the ring she presently despised in her face and asked her to marry him. She simply told him that she would have to gain permission from her mother. But no, apparently her mother had already given her consent. Oh how she wanted to strangle the woman. But she went to talk to anyway, and had a bomb dropped on her.

Her family was nearly poor. Apparently her father had a gambling problem and spent a lot of their money. And Cal knew this. And Cal had money. So of course her mother accepted when he had asked. He could help fund the pooring family. Mary Ann had scolded Brooklyn for being ‘selfish’ when she said that she would refuse to marry Cal. And it was either she married Cal or Mary Ann would personally pick a husband for her.

This meant she was cornered into accepting the proposal. And now she regretted it. She should have run away as fast as she could and never returned. She had money, she could have bought a train ticket and went…well, anywhere else. But as she thought about doing that on her walk with Rose, she found that she would miss someone.

It was weird, but she found that she would miss Spot. It was odd. She hardly knew the newsie, and yet she would miss him if she went away. She would miss how he let her talk without interrupting -unless necessary, of course- and how he put in his own opinion. She would miss how he would treat her equally, not as different species that needed to be handled oh-so-delicately. She would miss the twinkle in his blue eyes that came around when he laughed.

Wait. What?!

She recalled her last thoughts. She had actually thought about how she would miss his eyes. Oh boy. This was not good, no this was not good. She bit her lip and continued walking. This was not only bad, this was a terrible situation. She was engaged, for goodness sakes. Sure, maybe Cal was a despicable man whom Brooklyn loathed, but she figured she’d be able to learn to tolerate him. But not if she had feelings for another man. That would simply raise hell.

Brooklyn simply cleared her mind, she did not want to think about Spot at the moment. Or the possibilities of an infatuation for him. The more she would think of it, the more she would get into it. The farther she leaned into it, the harder she would fall on her face.

“Trolley crash! Good citizens dead in our streets! Blood strewn across the street!” She saw Spot hawking out the headline, waving his papers in the air. Brooklyn stopped in her tracks and turned on her heel quickly. She was not going to face him off. Not now. Sure, she had wanted to just minutes ago, but now, well now was completely different. She had thought she would miss Spot’s eyes! And she couldn’t think of him. If she was going to even tolerate Cal, she was going to have to stop thinking about Spot.

So away she went back in her tracks. He had been facing the opposite direction, hopefully he hadn’t seen her. She scooped up Rose quickly, so he didn’t recognize the little terrier. She zoned out, pretending not to be aware of her surroundings. Thus forth, if Spot was to approach her, she could say she was just in a deep thought and didn’t notice him. She’d state an apology and then make an excuse to leave immediately.

Something stopped her thoughts, and stopped her walking also. Someone was tugging on her skirt. Turning to face whoever it was, she was ready to smack whoever it was. But her facial expression immediately changed from hard to soft as she saw large brown eyes looking up at her. A little blonde boy that could be no older than seven was holding onto her skirt in one fist. In his other fist was a bundle of newspapers.

“Well hello there,” she said warmly, bending down. She gently took his hand off his skirt and then looked into his eyes. He shied back a little bit and she smiled warmly at him. “Hey there, what’s your name?”

“Gyerum,” he replied.

“Germ eh?” Brooklyn replied. “Why do they call you that?” Germ showed put his papers down and put both hands up. They looked as if they had never been washed. She understood immediately why they gave him that name. But she continued to be kind and kept smiling. “Is there a reason you’re pulling on my skirt?” He nodded and held out a paper.

“Buy a pape from me lady?” he asked her. His voice was high-pitched, showing off his younger age. It was also very soft, as if he was afraid to talking to her. “Please?”

“Well of course I will, Germ,” she replied. She was just fishing into her bag when the small Newsie spoke up again.

“Dat’ill be five cents,” he told her. He was lying through his teeth, and Brooklyn knew it. But she still took out a nickel from her purse. She was just about to hand it to little Germ when a shadow fell over them and Germ was pulled back from her.

“Yer a little lia’,” a voice from over head was heard. “And a scab if yer cheatin a lady outta her money.” Brooklyn stood up and looked up slightly, her eyes meeting the face of Spot Conlon. His eyes were trained on the little boy, and they were hard with a sharp edge.

“Back off, Spot,” Brooklyn said quickly. “I knew he was lying and I was willing to pay.” He turned his eyes on her, but they didn’t soften.

“Don’t tell me how to run my Newsies,” he told her. His tone wasn’t sharp but it was admonishing. This didn’t cause her to back down. Instead, she bent down to Germ. She held out the nickel, and before Germ could snatch it, she held it back towards her in a warning manner.

“Five papes please,” she said. He opened his mouth and looked at Spot. Brooklyn didn’t care to look up at the King of the Brooklyn Newsies, she focused on the young boy in front of her. Obviously Spot had given his consent because the little boy carefully counted five papers and then handed them to her. She then handed him the nickel. He smiled broadly at the fact that he not only sold five papers to the same person, but he only had one left.

“Tank chyou lady,” he said with a wide smile. He then reached out his arms. Smiling knowingly, she set Rose down and gave the little boy a hug. The thought of his dirty hands irked her slightly, but she didn’t really care. She gave him a gentle squeeze and let him go. “Bye lady!” He then scampered off, and Brooklyn guessed it was out of fear of Spot, not because he really wanted to go.

“What gives chyou da right ta show me up infronta my newsies?” Spot asked her as she stood up.

“I didn’t show you up, Spot,” Brooklyn replied. She scooped Rose up into her arms and then started walking down the lane. “I was just trying to help Germ out.”

“Den chyou should’ve given him a tip or sumthin’, not let him lie and get away wit it,” Spot replied. She wasn’t sure if he simply hadn’t gotten the hint that she didn’t want to talk to him or he got the hint and did not care to take it to heart.

“I didn’t know that was considered lying,” Brooklyn replied. “I would like to think of it as ‘improving the truth’ as you newsies do to headlines almost every day.” She glazed over the headline that Spot had been hawking before and then used it as an example. “Like this. Blood strewn? It says here that two trolley’s bumped and a little girl scraped her knee. Oh, and no deaths either.”

“But chyou were just about ta let him take money he didn’t desoive,” Spot replied with edge in his tone. “And dat’s not only lyin’, dat’s givin him the idea dat he can do dat to anyone. Do ya know what kinda trouble he could get inta doin that?” Brooklyn opened her mouth to reply, but she couldn’t find words to come out. So she shut her mouth and remained quiet. She didn’t think about that possibility. She didn’t want Germ getting in trouble.

“I’m sorry Spot,” she said quietly. She meant what she said. “I really am. I wasn’t thinking when I just a out gave him that coin. I just felt so bad for him. He’s so young and tiny and he-”

“Doesn’t need charity,” Spot replied. His tone had softened also, though it still held a defensive edge. “He hasta learn his place and job before he gets himself inta trouble. And ‘cause you almost gave him dat nickel, he could get inta trouble. Now I’ll havta straighten the squirt out.”

“I am sorry, Spot,” Brooklyn replied. Suddenly she felt inferior to the newsie. She hated feeling inferior, it made her uncomfortable in conversations.

“Well ya gotta think before ya do anythin’,” he told her in almost a scolding tone. “Didn’tcha faddah eva tell ya dat?” Brooklyn coughed in an attempt to hide the strangle in her throat at the mention of the father. She nodded and looked away. It was terribly pathetic, but even at the mention of her father Brooklyn was nearly reduced to tears.

“Did I say somethin’ to offend ya?” Spot asked, noticing her sudden silence.

“It’s nothing, Spot,” Brooklyn replied, cursing herself for her stupid emotions. She didn’t want Spot to think that she was weak or just another pathetic girl that needed all the help in the world. “Compared to what you’ve probably been through, it’s rather superfluous to bring it up. I would seem selfish.”

“Well okay,” Spot replied. “If chyou wanna drop it, drop it.” Brooklyn thanked him and they walked in silence for a minute or two.

“Spot?” Brooklyn said quietly. He looked over to her, arching a perfect eyebrow in question. ‘Perfect eyebrow?’ she thought to herself before continuing. ‘Oh boy.’ But though her earlier decision had been to run and not talk to him, she decided to stay this time. “Can you walk me home? It’s getting dark out and I didn’t take a carriage here.”

“No problem, no one’ll mess wit me,” he replied with a proud smirk. “Or anyone dat I’m wit.” He was tough and he knew it. He was feared and he loved it. His reputation was the reputation he had tried for three years to achieve. As they hit the street, she noticed he took a step closer to her in a protective fashion, as if to ward off evil itself.

“Spot?” Brooklyn voiced again, a few moments later.

“Yeah?” he replied. She could tell he was looking at her, she could see out of the corner of her eye. But she kept looking straight ahead.

“Where do we stand, as we are?” she asked him. She hoped he would not take it in the wrong fashion.

“What do ya mean?” Spot asked cautiously.

“Well, I mean are we friends, acquaintances or mere strangers that happen to bump into each other and have small chats once in a while?” Brooklyn asked. “I know this is kind of strange, but I want to be able to tell my mother and Cal so they know that you’re not harassing me.” Spot seemed to consider this for a moment.

“Cal’s that real snooty fella, right?” he asked her. Brooklyn nodded and looked down at the ring in her left hand. She guessed that Spot had followed her gaze.

“No,” he said in a slight drawl. He took her hand and moved it so he could see it clearly without Rose in the way. Brooklyn let him, his cold hands sent shivers up her arm and straight to her chest. But it wasn’t because of the temperature of his hands, no. These shivers felt warm, oddly enough. “Tell me yer not engaged to dat looza.” She took her hand away, blushing from being put on such a Spot.

“I am, Spot,” she replied quietly.

“Do ya love him?” he asked quickly.

“Do we have to go over this subject again?” Brooklyn snapped. Though she really didn’t, she found it a highly improper subject. Not to mention this was the second time he was bringing it up. She looked at him and he just stared back. Sighing slightly, she shook her head.

“Den why are chyou doin dis?” he asked her, pursuing for the answer he wanted to hear.

“Because my family will go bankrupt if I don’t,” she replied. “Not to mention that all I’ll have to do with Cal is be there and he won’t object.”

“But whata bout when he wants ta have kids?” Spot said, obviously holding some things back. “What happens den?” Brooklyn’s mouth dropped open to form a perfect “o” and she completely disregarded that question.

“I’m going to pretend I never heard that,” she stated. “That is a ridiculously rude question to ask. If you bring it up again, never again will I talk to you. These are my private matters and if you don’t like being witness to my life than you can just get out of it.”

There were a few moments of awkward silence.

“So does dis guy Cal really hate me?” Spot asked suddenly.

“Loathe, is more the word,” Brooklyn replied. “In a weird way, he’s like the son my uncle never had. He completely supports the man and thinks all newsies are scum. But he believes you to be the worst. Not only do you have a bad reputation, but you were ‘messing’ with me.” She rolled her eyes.

“We’re friends,” he replied with a satisfied smirk. Brooke smiled at this and returned her eyes to look upon the road ahead of her.

When they got to Brooke’s mansion, he walked her right up to the top of the stairs. “Just in case,” he said with a smile. She thanked him and opened her front door.

“Goodbye Spot,” she said as he walked down the stone steps. Though they didn’t know it, they were thinking the exact same thing at that very moment.

‘Friends.’

[Quill]

Chapter Four

Cowboy’s Warning

Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies.

Of course her mother and sister questioned why Brooklyn had bought five newspapers. Antoinette immediately suggested something to Mary Ann that would spread like wildfire unless Brooklyn cut her off immediately. Her sister suggested that she was secretly meeting with a newsboy and because she was so fond of him she bought as many papers as she could to help him along. Upon hearing this, their mother gave Brooklyn a warning glare.

“You simply cannot believe something so absurd, mother!” Brooklyn objected. “I am engaged, I would never do such a thing. I try not to dishonor the family.”

“You try not to,” Antoinette teased. Brooklyn rolled her eyes.

“I happen to have a good -acceptable- reason for buying five papers,” she said as she put them down on the coffee table in the foyer. She then explained her story about Germ, making sure to exclude Spot in all aspects. While her sister gave a small smile and an “aw”, her mother obviously did not approve. She raised her nose slightly and shook her head. Then she quickly shooed her daughters to ready themselves for supper.

“Is Cal ‘gracing’,” she said ‘gracing’ rigidly, as if it was a swear word she didn’t want to say. “Us with his presence tomorrow or will I me on my own?” Mary Ann seemed to brighten up when her daughter mentioned her -forced- fiancé, especially at the dinner table. For the Pulitzer women only saved the most important of subjects for table. She looked to her daughter and shook her head.

“No darling, he’s not going to be able to make it tomorrow,” she replied, a pinch of sorrow in her tone. Mentally Brooklyn praised the good Lord for this luck. “He has some business to attend to in the Bronx. Why do you ask?

“Oh no special reason,” she replied. Taking a dainty sip of water, she paused a moment before continuing. “I was thinking of visiting Uncle Joseph tomorrow. Don’t make that face; he already said I could go. I wrote to him a week ago.” Mary Ann looked taken aback at her daughter’s tone, which had gained a bit of edge.

“Very well then, as long as he knows,” Mary Ann replied.

Truth was Brooklyn’s uncle didn’t know that she was going for a visit. But he had told her that she could go whenever she pleased. And ‘whenever she pleased’ included the following day. Sure, she would have to miss a chance to talk to Spot-

No!

She would not think of him. Okay, they were friends, but she did not want to think of him as anymore than that. Because if she did, she would get ideas. And anyone who knew Brooklyn knew that her ideas were not the best or brightest. They also usually included doing something that could completely dishonor her family if she was caught. But that’s why she never got caught.

But she wouldn’t think of Spot, so there would be no problems. Simple as that, no exceptions. She would just go take a visit to her uncle, and casually ask around for the leader of the Manhattan newsies, Jack Kelly. She had some questions to ask him.

She took her last bit of chocolate mousse cake and a sip of hot chocolate before excusing herself from the table. Quickly she made up to her room and she had Lily help change her. While brushing her long locks out, she walked out onto the balcony that her room had and looked around Brooklyn. Few people were walking below her. They walked quickly, probably wanting to get to the warmth of their houses. Freezing December air had brought in grey clouds, blocking the night sky. There was sure to be snow on the ground when she awoke.

♥♥♥♥♥

And surely there was. Brooklyn discovered her predictions of the weather correct. There was an inch of snow on the ground, and it was still coming down. She looked out her large windows briefly to see what kind of traveling weather it was. She wouldn’t want to freeze poor Rupert or push their horses too far. That would be terribly selfish of her. But the snow was light, and it wasn’t icing over. So perhaps it would be an easy ride. She would have to ask Rupert when she went.

Quickly Lily helped her dress in a thick wool outfit. Though it was wool on the inside, the outside showed an emerald green velvet dress. Her light honey hair was pulled up and twisted into a bun, and then an emerald green hat was perched upon it. She put on her winter boots; they were black with a wool lining.

When Brooklyn was dressed and had her face made-up, she descended the stairs and went to breakfast. She ate quickly, not adding a word to the conversation. Mary Ann and Antoinette were gabbing about how their neighbor, Mrs. Donahugh was still wearing straight-back corsets made of thick material. “All to make her look younger, the sham,” her mother commented. Brooklyn closed her eyes to hide how she rolled them at this comment.

“I’m off to Uncle’s, I’ll make sure to send him your love,” she said, excusing herself from the table. Mary Ann attempted to stop her from going, claiming it would be much too risky for travel. But Brooklyn stayed stubborn and insisted that she went. In the end, she won, much to the dismay of her mother.

So off she went. She slipped on her mink coat and leather gloves and then went out to Rupert. “Is it okay to travel to Uncle Joseph’s today, Rupert?” she asked him, stroking the neck of one of the white horses, Prince, which pulled the carriage. “Will Prince and Keizer be alright in this weather?” The snow had lightened up, but there was still a significant amount on the ground.

“They’ll be fine, miss,” Rupert replied with a smile, patting the other white horse, Keizer. “And so will I. It will not be a favorable trip, but we’ll make it through perfectly.” Brooklyn smiled at the news and gave Prince a light peck on the shoulder. She gave words of thanks to Rupert as he opened the carriage door for her and she entered the sheltered warmth and the comfortable leather seats.

“We are going to Manhattan, correct?” he pulled down the guard glass to ask her. She nodded and helped him put it back up. She then settled into a seat by the window and let her green eyes gaze at those who were walking. As she saw the newsies, barely covered for the winter, her thoughts went to Spot. She didn’t want them to be there, but how could she get them out?

“Rupert, could you stop for a second?” she asked Rupert in front of a garment shop. He nodded and she pushed up the glass guard. The carriage stopped and the door opened for her. Rupert helped her out and she walked into the store.

She bought a blue fleece long-sleeved shirt, a black scarf and some thick leather gloves. She didn’t know what size shirt he was, so she just bought a large, figuring it would be warmer. The cashier eyed her, but she flashed her ring and said that it was for “a special someone”. The man then smiled and let her on without question. She had them wrapped and then brought them back to the carriage. Though Rupert eyed the parcels, he did not question them. She put them under the seat and then as she felt the carriage move forward, sat down.

They hit the bridge and Brooklyn looked out eagerly. She loved the bridge. Riding over it made her feel on top of the world. Few people were on it today, for the winds would be fierce at this level for anyone who was uncovered. She felt horrible for putting Rupert, Keizer and Prince through this mess.

Something caught her eye. A blue shirt and red suspenders. As they passed the wearer of the clothes, she recognized it immediately as Spot. Quickly she went to the guard. Pulling it down she spoke quickly to Rupert. “Sorry for asking this again, but could you stop here? I see a friend who could use some help.” Rupert nodded a little reluctantly. She didn’t want to think of Spot, no, but she didn’t want her friend to freeze, either.

She waited for Spot to be about five feet behind them to swing the door open and step out. “Spot,” she called over the whirling winds of snow. He looked over to her and smiled. She motioned him over to the carriage and he quickly came. “Do you need a ride? Rupert and I would be glad to give you a ride.”

“Yeah, I could tanks,” he said. Then very gentlemanly he helped her into the carriage before sliding in himself. “Tanks a lot fer dis, it’s a big help.”

“It’s no problem, Spot,” Brooklyn replied. “Anything for a friend.” She smiled as he smiled at her. “So where are you headed to?”

“Just ‘round Manhattan,” he replied. “I need ta finda friend of mine. Jack Kelly, eva hoid of him?”

“Ever hoid of him?” Brooke echoed with a slight enthusiasm in her tone. “He led the strike against my uncle. Of course I’ve heard of him! Then again, from my uncle I only heard bad things, but I think what he did for all you newsies was really wonderful. My uncle deserved what he got.” Spot nodded and smirked with pride. “Do you think you could introduce me to him while we’re in Manhattan?”

“Shoah,” Spot replied. It took her a few moments before Brooklyn realized he had said “sure”. His accent was especially thick on some words that it made it difficult to understand.

“Thank you,” she replied with a smile. There was a few seconds silence as she stared out the window of the carriage. Presently they were traveling over the peak of the bridge, her favorite part.

“I love this bridge,” she sighed, slightly breathless. It makes you feel like you’re on top of the world.”

“Yer just ridin in dis fancy carriage,” Spot replied. He too was looking out the window. “Have chyou eva walked it?” Brooklyn shook her head. Her mother would never have allowed her to. “You have ta sometime, it makes ya feel like yer da King of da woild.”

“You’re already the King of Brooklyn,” she joked. “You want the world too?” He nodded. “You think you could handle Brooklyn and the rest of the world?”

“Spot Conlon can handle anythen’ the woild trows at ‘em.” Brooklyn chuckled at his prideful ego.

“Could you show me one day?” she asked him. He looked at her, raising an eyebrow in question. “Could you walk the bridge with me and show me what it’s like to feel like you rule the world at the peak?”

“Woon’t yer fiancéi not allow it?” he asked.

“He’s my fiancé, not my commander,” she replied. “Besides, what he won’t know won’t hurt him. And if he finds out, he’ll just have to accept that you and I are friends.” Spot gave a tom cat smile and agreed with a nod.

They hit a small bump on the way down and off the bridge. Besides bouncing in her seat, Brooklyn’s parcels flew out from under the seats and onto the floor. She kneeled off of the seat and picked up two of the parcels and put them to her side. Spot handed her the third.

“Christmus prezsents?” Spot asked her. She nodded and her cheeks flushed in slight embarrassment. Noticing this, Spot questioned the behavior with a “What’s da matta?”

“They’re for you,” she murmured, holding the parcels out for him. She didn’t look at him, she tried to figure out the right words to say. “Well, they were supposed to be for Christmas, but since it’s so cold out, why don’t you take it now? Besides, it’s in a week after all. So just call them early Christmas presents.”

“I don’t need anyone lookin’ out fer me,” he said defensively. Brooklyn’s face fell and she muttered:

“Oh. Well they’re nothing spectacular. If you don’t want them, I can take them back,” she offered. She was crestfallen, that was obvious. She didn’t want it to look like charity, she just wanted to show that him that she did care about him. Now it wasn’t love, but she wanted to show him that she didn’t want him to get sick or freeze.

Now Spot was hard headed with the biggest Irish ego in New York. And he had broken so many hearts he couldn’t count. And he didn’t feel any pinch of remorse for them. But for some reason, he couldn’t stand the way Brooklyn’s face had fallen when he nastily rejected her Christmas presents.

“’ey, ‘ey,” he said quickly. “Lissun I’m…I just ain’t used to takin prezsents from no one, okay?” He took the parcels out of her lap and then began to open them. He took the largest one first, which held the fleece shirt. As soon as he saw, his eyes widened slightly. He held it up to see the size. It was a bit big, but it was a good thought seeing as he would grow into the piece of clothing. He tossed it to the side, not showing how he was glad to have it. He then went for the smallest parcel.

He was surprised to find the thick leather gloves waiting for him within the wrapping. It showed on his face, his eyebrows had raised and his eyes had widened. He slipped one on his left hand. He seemed to be in some sort of trance as if he had forgotten Brooklyn was there. He flexed his hand in it before slipping it off. His face went expressionless once again.

He moved onto the last parcel, which held the scarf. Carefully he ripped off the paper and clutched the scarf when he brought it out. His blue eyes traced it carefully, as if looking for any flaw that would allow him to refuse the gifts.

“If you want me to bring them back, I will,” Brooklyn offered. Spot looked up as if surprised of his surroundings. He seemed to become protective of his gifts as he shook his head.

“Nah, chyou don’t halfta do dat,” he replied. She smiled contently that he liked his gifts.

Spot’s hands went to the collar of his shirt and he began to unbutton the shabby old thing. “Spot!” Brooklyn exclaimed in shock, looking away instantly. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Uh…changin?” Spot replied as if he was talking to a young child, as if she had no common sense.

“Well that’s obvious!” Brooklyn replied, staring out the window and covering her left eye with her left hand. “Could you warn me next time?”

“Is dere goin’ ta be a next time?” Spot teased. Though she couldn’t see him, she could tell he was smirking from the amount of ego that simply dripped from his words.

“No, Spot. Now hurry up and change,” Brooklyn replied. She was smiling at his silly sense of humor. She just really hoped that Rupert didn’t decide to look back into the carriage at this moment. Boy would he simply have a fit. And not only that, he would probably tell Mary Ann also. And boy would her mother raise hell because of it.

“Where do you want to be dropped off?” she asked him. “Unless of course, you wouldn’t mind waiting in the carriage while I have tea with my uncle.” She was talking to Spot, but looking at the window as he was still changing his shirt.

“I’m all drussed up,” Spot said firstly. Brooklyn sighed contently and turned around. Though she knew it was improper to look, she couldn’t turn her eyes away from sneaking a glance at his chest as he buttoned up the last three buttons to his new shirt. A muscled upper body was hidden beneath the new class.

“I’m dat good lookin’, ‘eh?” Spot said, causing Brooklyn to focus on his face. He was smirking with…was that satisfaction? She didn’t want to seem like a little school girl with her first infatuation, so she quickly shook her head.

“I was not looking at you, Spot,” she said quickly. She leaned forward and plucked an imaginary piece of lint off of his shirt and flicked ‘it’ off into the air. When she turned her head back to him, she was surprised to see that he had leaned in towards her. Their noses were millimeters from each other. He met her eyes, locking them with his.

“I ain’t dat stupid, Brookie,” he said with a tomcat smile playing the corners of his mouth. Brooklyn could feel her heart pounding against her chest. His voice dropped down to a whisper to make sure that he could make her listen to what he was going to say. “But don’t chyou worry ‘bout nuthin. I ain’t gonna go tellin’ nobody.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied primly, withdrawing herself back into a proper sitting position. He did the same thing, except he slouched into a comfortable position. His face still held the tomcat grin.

“Shoah, shoah,” he replied as easily as if the words were silk. He seemed to snuggle his back into his new shirt, and though he couldn’t put them on in the carriage, he had the scarf and gloves draped on his lap.

“Now where do you want to be dropped off?” she wanted to get off the rather uncomfortable topic and back onto solid ground.

“Dis restaurant,” Spot said. He snapped his fingers as he tried to recall the name. “I don’t ‘member whats its called but I’ll point it out if I sees it.” Brooklyn nodded and moved to the front to tell Rupert. Spot described the restaurant, and it turned out that the driver knew where it was. He made a rather sharp turn and started right for it.

“How long will you be here?” Brooklyn asked as she opened the door for Spot. He hopped out and landed squarely on the ground. He turned to her and held out his hand. She slipped out of the carriage and took a step back from him, letting go of his hand. Though he had his back to the large restaurant window, she could see right passed him and clearly into it. They had gotten a few of newsies’ attention, as they were staring out the window.

“I dunno,” Spot said with a shrug of his shoulders. “’ow long will chyou be wit yer uncle?”

“Half an hour at the least,” Brooklyn replied. “But I’ll try not to stay too long, I’ll make an excuse to leave early. I really want to meet Jack.” Spot nodded his head and clutched his cane with his gloved hand.

“I’ll keep Jacky-boy an’ da rest of dem here as long as possibul,” he replied. She nodded and thanked him.

“I’ll be back as soon as possible,” she said before disappearing back into her carriage. As she looked back when she looked through the window, she saw a tall dirty-blonde haired boy walked out and seemed to confront Spot. Though he was at least a head taller than him, Spot didn’t flinch. He stared back at him and folded his arms in a protective manner.

The taller boy spit on his hand and held it out to Spot. Though he returned the favor, both of their movements were stiff, and seemed to hold something behind them. The taller boy seemed to say something in angry manner, but Brooklyn didn’t get a chance to read them as the carriage jolted forward.

“I’m here to see Mr. Pulitzer,” Brooklyn said as she walked into the office. Her hat was slightly tipped over her eyes, making her face not very visible. A pinched looking woman at the front desk squinted through sharp glasses. In a tight, high pitched voice, she spoke to Brooklyn.

“No one sees Mr. Pulitzer without an appointment,” she said. Brooklyn chuckled and tipped up her hat.

“Excuse me, I do,” she said in a terse tone. She never liked the secretary and she didn’t strive to be nice to her. Without allowing her a word, she brushed passed the desk and to the stairs. Trotting up to the top, she was badly out of breath. She removed her hat and let her hair down from her bun. She never knew why, but her uncle didn’t like to see her hair tied back in such a fashion.

She knocked on the door with a gloved hand. She heard someone coming towards the door so she removed her glove and plastered on her sweetest smile. “Uncle Joseph!” she said warmly as she embraced her dear Uncle.

“Brooklyn! Welcome, welcome,” he led her into his office and to a chair in front of his desk. She perched daintily on top of it, she knew she had to be on her best behavior around her uncle. He called for tea, and then walked over to his desk and sat down. “So what brings you here today?”

“Oh, I just wanted to apologize for leaving your party early the other night,” she said. “My headache vexed me though, so I figured it would be best if I went home.”
“It is quite alright my dear,” Joseph replied. “But tell me about your current state.” He smiled broadly. “I’ve heard you’re engaged, my dear, how exciting!”

“Yes, I fare it is excellent news. Oh, thank you.” she smiled as she accepted the china tea cup from her uncle’s assistant.

“A smart match,” Joseph added, toasting his tea. Brooklyn tapped her glass against his and nodded. All forced actions, but she performed them with a flawless effort.

“A very smart match,” she replied. Quietly she added, “I suppose.”

“You suppose?” Joseph replied in slight astonishment at his niece’s reply. “It’s a splendid match, my dear, no questions.”

“All women have their questions, Uncle,” Brooklyn replied gently. Her uncle chuckled and diverged her into a conversation about wedding details.

They chatted lightly for not even a half an hour before they were interrupted by one of Joseph’s business associates. Though Joseph tried to postpone his meeting, Brooklyn offered to leave early. Her excuse: “I still have some Christmas to do, Uncle. Perhaps I’ll stop by later if I can.”

And with that perfect excuse, she left her uncle’s office. She tossed the secretary a terse “Happy Christmas” and then left the building.

Rupert was giving Keizer and Prince some warm oats when she got out. “That was a rather quick visit, Miss., is everything quite alright?” She nodded and told him to bring her the restaurant they had left Spot at. She hadn’t cared to learn the name of the place. He obliged and opened the carriage door for her. She thanked him and entered.

While inside the carriage, she fluffed up her appearance slightly. She made sure that her locks were silky smooth and that her make up was touched to perfection. In the process, she stopped. Why was she attempting to give herself a comely appearance for the newsies?

It’s not just for any newsie, a voice in her mind stated as she flipped her hair back. It’s for Spot.

Shut your mouth, you have no idea what you are talking about. The more practical part of her admonished.

I am simply a thought, a conscious, I haven’t got a mouth. The first voice replied in a manner of somewhat superiority.

Well then simply be quiet.

Make me.

“Enough!” Brooklyn exclaimed out loud.

“Miss?” it was Rupert’s voice. Brooklyn looked to the door. It was open and her driver was there to escort her out. They were in front of the restaurant, she could see the newsies conversing within. “Is everything alright?”

“Fine, Rupert,” she replied. She gave thanks to him when he helped her out and then added that she would not be long.

She entered the small restaurant and in a flurry of hands she saw all the newsies remove their hats. Spot was at her side in seconds. The taller boy that she had seen before was in front of her only a second shy of him.

“Brooklyn, dis is Jacky-boy,” Spot introduced. “But mosta us calls ‘em Cowboy. Jacky-boy, dis is Brooklyn Pulitzer.” The restaurant went silent at her last name. But all she could do was smile.

“Jack Kelly!” she said with enthusiasm as she held out her hand. He shook hers a bit cautiously, not sure what to make of her. “Finally I meet the newsie that gave my uncle just what he deserved. Congratulations on winning the strike. I was on your side since day one.” The mood lightened as soon as Jack smiled at her.

She was instantly introduced to the Manhattan newsies. And boy there were a lot of them. There was David, Les, Racetrack, Mush, Skittery, Kid Blink, Boots, Snitch, Specks, Crutchy, Snipeshooter and oh gosh so many more. Too many to learn in five minutes. When they wanted to get the gang together, they got the whole gang together.

“An’ den, an’ den,” the Italian, Racetrack said as he took a swig of Cola. Brooklyn was surrounded by the boys, and they were telling her stories of the strike. While they were all lounging on their chairs, swigging their drinks, Brooklyn sat perched in hers, sipping water. Spot sat next to her protectively. Anyone who looked at her funny got the Conlon glare. And if looks could kill, they would have been an incinerated mess on the floor.

“Sos Spot goes, ‘yer honor, I object,’” Racetrack continued. “An’ dis judge, a real uptight richie, ya know da type, right?”

Before he could continue, she spoke up. “Race, I live with that type.” The guys chuckled.

“Sos anyways,” Race continued. “The judge goes ‘on what grounds?’. An’ dis guy ova ‘ere,” he gave Spot a playful shove on the shoulder. “He goes ‘on da grounds of Brooklyn, yer honor’!” Brooklyn laughed along with the rest of the newsies, looking over at Spot, who was practically glowing with ego.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “But den dis guy,” he pointed a thumb at Racetrack. “Offas to roll da guy double or nothen’ for our fine of five bucks.” She chuckled and took another sip of water.

They were all laughing about stories from either the strike or their normal routines. Brooklyn was really loosing up, slightly slouching and no longer sipping her drink. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned around. It was Jack, looking at her. She Spot turn to him to and glare out of the corner of her eye.

{{Continued, it has too many words apparently}}

[Quill]

{{Continue of Chapter 4}}

“Can I tawk ta ya?” he asked her. “In a littul miore privacy?” she nodded and got up, walking after him as Jack led her away from the group. She glanced over and noticed Spot watching his every move.

“Yeah, yeah. Yer new friend is watchin’ us real close,” said Jack, ignoring the King of Brooklyn all together. “An’ he’z just the guy I wanna tawk at ya bout.”

“Okay,” she replied slowly. A million things ran through her mind that Jack could possibly want to talk to her about.

“Look, I don’t wanna see a nice goil like chyou getten’ hoit by someone like Spot,” Jack said. Brooklyn cocked her head to side, and was about to say something when Jack put up his hand to silence her. “Look, chyou don’t know Spot like I does. He could have any of da goils in Noo Yoik if he wanted ta. He’z real good at breakin’ harts, so be careful.” Brooklyn nodded. For some reason, she wasn’t surprised at the news about her friend.

“Oh an’ Brooklyn?” Jack said. “I just wanna let chyou know what ta watch out for. Spot doesn’t care bout da goils he hoits, so ya gotta make shoah ya don’t get too close wit him. Coz he’z good at playin mind games and he’ll get chyou all comfy wit him before he hits ya hard an’ fast.” She nodded, now rather tentative about going back to Spot.

“Dat’s my only warnin,” Jack said. “An’ we won’t tawk bout it again, got it? ’Less it’s real important.” Brooklyn nodded and Jack put a hand on her back and pushed her back towards the boys.

Spot was waiting expectantly when she got back. He moved his chair closer to her, warning Jack away with a glare. But Brooklyn pretended not to notice. She smiled and laughed with the newsies, but Jack’s words kept repeating in the back of her mind.

Jack’s warning was one warning she would heed.

[Quill]

Chapter Five
The Bells Chime
Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies.

It was six days ago that Brooklyn was practically dragged out of the restaurant by Dimitri, Cal’s man servant. Apparently he was under strict orders from Cal, and she had to obey. Sure Brooklyn put up one hell of a good fight, but it was no use embarrassing herself. Dimitri was a retired police officer and a lot stronger than she. Though Spot was just about to beat the hell out of him, she stopped him and told him that it would only make the situation worse.

And Spot backed off. Not. As soon as they had their backs turned to him, he quickly strung marbles on his wooden sling shot and fired marbles at Dimitri’s lower back side until the man servant let go of Brooklyn. Cowboy then grabbed her and started running, but she stopped him and told him that she couldn’t run away. She explained how they’d find her in days and that the newsies would be charged with kidnapping and worse if Cal had his way. So Cowboy nodded and let her go.

“Do ya wanna go back der?” he asked her as he snuck her around to her carriage to escape Dimitri. Spot was taunting him and the older man was trying to strangle the King of Brooklyn. A retired police officer he was, but his old legs were no match for the street-smart agility of the newsies.

“No, but I have to Cowboy,” she replied climbing in. “Tell Spot and the rest of the Newsies that I said farewell and thank you.” Cowboy nodded and closed the carriage door. “Bring me home immediately Rupert,” she said quickly. The driver nodded but turned to her.

“Is everything alright Miss?” he asked her. Shaking her head, she clutched her hand to in a fist, her nails digging into her palm.

“No, Rupert,” she replied tersely. “Everything is not alright.” The driver nodded and sped up the horses. She put the glass up and sat back in her chair as any young lady shouldn’t. She slumped in her seat with her shoulders rolled forward and her head tilted towards her feet. After that interesting encounter with Dimitri, she was too exasperated to care about lady-like qualities.

-----------------------------

And now she sat alone in the library by the fire and the gallantly decorated pine tree. It had poinsettia chains rapping around it and silver snow ornaments. And on top was a beautiful crystal star. Precisely this star was what Brooklyn’s green eyes were locked out. They were glassed over, showing her boredom. She would have rather been ripping out her roots than being all alone in the library.

A Christmas Carol was open on her lap, but she paid no attention to her favorite author’s work. She just stared at the star with a sort of longing in her bored eyes. She wanted to get out again; she was practically under house arrest because of her behavior with the newsies. Apparently a friend of Cal’s had seen her with them and told him immediately. And then he told Dimitri to go and fetch her.

She wondered what she would have been doing at this very moment if she had run away. She would probably be cold and hungry, but at least she would be with people who she thought actually cared for her. The only thing her family cared about was money and politics. Her mother certainly favored Antoinette over her, and showed it constantly. Her twin was always receiving large, extravagant gifts while she was left with smaller ones. They still held quite the price tag, but were not worth emotionally the same amount.

And then there was Cal. He only cared for her beauty and the Pulitzer name. Her emotions, her thoughts and feelings were thrown out into the cold like an unwanted pet by a cruel owner.

She stood up, sighing pitifully. Walking to the window, she stared out blankly. The carriage and the horses were not in the side yard, so her mother and sister had to be out and away. Cal was on business in Queens. Now anyone would think that she could make a run for it, but that was impossible. Dimitri was standing right outside the library door, standing watch over her.

How she longed to stretch her legs on the streets and see Spot again. She missed her small chats with him. He had surprised her with his street knowledge and his opinionated self. She had always thought newsies were mere servants to the rich, uneducated and wrongly opinionated. Well that was before the strike. When the strike broke out, she realized their power and strength. Though she still doubted their intellect, she knew that they had cunning and their opinions mattered. And then when she met Spot, she found that they were educated, just in a different fashion. They were self-taught, and the lessons that they learned were vital to their survival.

As she mulled about in her memories of her conversations with the King of Brooklyn, a feeling of forlorn for her friend. She couldn’t talk to anyone around here, and if she did it was spread about like wildfire within days. Her friends couldn’t be trusted, not anymore. They had gotten too close to Antoinette and were now gossiping hens as well.

So she had no one. She was living a dull pathetic life with no one to let in a single ray of pure sunshine. Sighing loudly she walked over to the door and opened it. Dimitri was immediately in front of her, glaring down at her.

“And just where do you think you’re going, young lady?” he asked her tersely.

“To my room, Dimitri,” Brooklyn replied quietly. “Feel free to follow me and guard that door as well.” She walked off, not surprised when she heard his echoing her steps. Walking into her room she slammed it behind her and locked it. She didn’t trust the man servant; he scared her in all truth.

Walking over to her balcony, she pulled back the long windows and walked out onto the stone. Staring down at the city below her leaned on the balcony, her hand cradling her cheek. She glanced down and sighed. She wasn’t high up at all, only on the second story of their three story mansion.

Maybe she could jump.

No, she thought to herself. That would cause too much commotion and would most likely result in a mess. She sighed loudly once more and stared down at the streets. Not many people were on the streets that morning. One or two carriages passed by, but other than that the streets were practically deserted. Three newsies called out the headlines to the few that were walking, their voices quivering from the cold air.

Spot. She saw him before he saw her. He was dressed warmly in the garments she had bought him, and he was waving the newspaper high above his head. His voice wasn’t quivering as it had the warmth of the scarf. She sighed in relief and then glanced behind her. For some reason she had gotten the crazy idea that she was being watched. But she wasn’t being watched, she was being listened to. So she didn’t make a sound as she walked over to her bed.

She ruffled the sheets and comforter. “Dimitri, I’m taking a nap,” she called, forcing a yawn for extra effect. She didn’t get any reply from the man servant, so she stealthily walked around her room and grabbed a small cushion that was formally the cushion for her engagement ring. Walking over to the rail, she stared down, waiting for the precise moment.

She dropped it.

Spot’s head snapped up, his eyes sharp with immediate anger from being hit in the head while he wasn’t even looking. She quickly put her finger to her lips to tell him to shush before he could yell at her. “Don’t make a sound,” she mouthed. “I’m being watched.” He nodded, but gave a weird look as she looked behind her.

“Can you wait there for a few minutes?” she whispered to him hoarsely. He nodded and she disappeared back into her room.

She exited her room to find Dimitri gone. Quickly she locked her door, slipping her key into a pocket. She removed her shoes so that she could run silently out of house. She made it to the front door and grabbed her coat. She slipped her shoes back on and left the house.

The breath of cold air collided with her lungs like a brick. But it felt wonderful to breath clean, unused air once more. When her green eyes saw Spot, she couldn’t help herself. She flung her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “It’s so good to see you again, Spot.” He patted her back twice lightly and she came to herself.

“Do ya want me ta be ovatrone coz da guys saw chyou huggin me like dat?” he asked her as she blushed and brushed some off imaginary dust.

“Sorry,” she said, still brushing that ‘dust’ off of her dress. She waited for her cheeks to cool before looking up to her favorite newsie. Though he had scolded her slightly, his blue eyes showed bright and amused. He removed his hat respectfully.

“Sos, where have chyou been Brookie?” he asked her, turning and starting to walk away. He made a jerking shoulder movement, signaling her to follow him. She did, like a pathetic puppy. She needed to talk to him, anyone from outside her mansion.

“Stuck in the house with Dimitri around to make sure I don’t leave,” Brooklyn replied. “You must remember Dimitri, he’s the one that dragged me out of the restaurant six days ago. You were torturing him so, it was quite the hilarious sight, seeing him grabbing for you as you leaped about on the tables. Thank you for trying to get me out of there.”

“Why didn’tcha go wit Cowboy?” he asked her. He was leading her around, his eyes set on the path before him. She glanced between him and in front of her.

“Because my parents and the police would have known exactly where to look,” she replied. “And if Cal had his way, you would have been charged for kidnapping me. And if he knew the judge, he would have been able to convince him that you had raped me and that I was too upset or something to go to court.”

“Whata bonehead,” Spot snapped sharply. “I neva touched chyou once an’ he coulda got me in da refuge wit dose charges? Dat bastad.” Brooklyn turned her eyes to the newsie. She was not used to hearing that sort of language around her. He didn’t look at her, yet he seemed to know that she was watching him. “I ain’t changin my woids fer yas, so don’t even ask.” Though anyone would have found that rude, Brooklyn seemed satisfied with the answer.

“Good,” she replied. “I hate not being treated like an equal with men.” Spot shrugged his shoulders and turned them down a few streets.

“Where are we going?” she asked. Her mother and sister would not be out all day, and Dimitri was likely to get suspicious. She couldn’t stay out too long.

“You’ll see, don’t chyou rich folks got any patience?” Spot didn’t seem frustrated, but absolutely nonchalant.

“I have patience, but Dimitri doesn’t,” she replied. “I told him I was taking a nap and he’s bound to get suspicious why it’s such a long nap. Not to mention my mother and sister will be home in about an hour.”

“Den we’ll walk fasta,” he replied, picking up pace in his steps. She followed his example, keeping step with him. Up ahead, she saw Amelia’s carriage coming there way. She recognized it because her family were the only family to have one black horse and one white. Quickly she pulled Spot into a tight alley space and turned her back to the street. She’d be lucky if her friend did not notice her. The space between the two buildings was tight and the two were pushed together. When she brought her green eyes up to Spot’s face, she found him to be smirking down at her.

“Don’t you dare do anything,” she told him sternly.

“Do chyou know me ta be a guy dat follows anyone elses ordas but his own?” he smirked, tracing his fingers slowly in a wavy line down her cheek. She couldn’t move her hand up to slap him away with enough force, and yet a part of her didn’t want to. The feel of his touch sent hot shivers to her spine, and she liked the feeling. There eye locked, and she had a feeling he was going to kiss her. And what scared her the most was that she wouldn’t stop him if he did.

“He’ll get chyou all comfy wit him before he hits ya hard an’ fast,” Jack’s warning raced through her head and she backed up and out of the alley. She looked around, relieved to find that the carriage had disappeared up the street. She took a deep breath before looking to Spot and smiling as if nothing had almost happened just there in that alleyway.

“So, Spot,” she said pleasantly. “You were leading me somewhere.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied as he followed her out. The smirk on his face told her that he wouldn’t forget that lightly. But he dropped the subject right there and continued to lead her on.

As they began to walk down a main street, she knew where he was taking her. Heck, she could see its tall arches from where she stood. She smiled knowingly to herself and continued to follow Spot as if she had not a clue in the world.

Soon they were faced with the large ramp. “Thank you, Spot,” she said quietly. He simply nodded and continued walking. She followed him eagerly. Her feet were hurting her terribly, she had never walked this much as she was usually being chauffeured around in a carriage. But she kept on walking, determined to feel like ‘The King of the World’ as Spot had described it.

“Look straight down atcha feets,” he instructed her. “An don’t chyou worry, dere ain’t no fancy carriages comin our way.” She nodded and stared down at her feet, only at her feet. Spot met her side with his and guided her in such away. If he moved, she moved to meet shoulders with him.

They had walked at a slight incline for about fifteen minutes, and Brooklyn was beginning to get curious. She wanted to see and feel what it was like to walk the bridge. Even though she technically was walking the bridge, she couldn’t see anything but her feet so she felt as if it didn’t count.

Spot suddenly stopped and she followed his lead. “Close yer eyes,” he said quietly. She followed his instructions and closed her eyes, but lifting her chin as if she was to look straight out in front of her. He took her sides and turned her. “Take a step up an’ take hold of da railin’.” She followed his instructions and grasped the railing as she lifted herself up onto the first rail. She felt Spot wrap his arms around her stomach and bring himself closer to keep her from falling. They were probably even in height since the rail had added four inches to her.

“Open,” he whispered in her ear, as if to add a special effect to the moment. Slowly she opened her eyes, gasping with the splendor the cities took to them in the sunset. The water glistened to emerald, looking like a jewel Brooklyn could pluck out and put on a necklace or bracelet.

“He’ll get chyou all comfy wit him before he hits ya hard an’ fast,” the warning played into her mind once more, and she became stiff at Spot’s protective hold. She took a last look around at the beautiful scene around her and a large gulp of air. She then stepped down from her rail and slid out of the newsie’s hold.

“Thank you Spot,” she said, taking a few steps back from him. She twirled around slowly, wanting to soak everything in. The chance to walk the bridge would come to her never again, as her mother and Cal would find it too dangerous to be done. She would be condemned to a life of carriage riding. “This was a really grand thing you’ve done for me.”

“What’s da matta wit chya?” he asked her, ignoring her thanks and becoming annoyed that she had backed away from him. “Are ya afraida me or somethin?” He was in a hostile stance, his fists clenched and his back rigid. Brooklyn considered many excuses to offer, but she found she could not find one.

“Well,” she said, her voice dropping down to a meek tone. “It’s just that Cowboy told me some things about you and-”

“Who have chyou knowed longa?” Spot cut her off quickly. “Who da ya tink chyou can trust moire?”

“Well, Cowboy said that you like to gain girls’ trust and then break there hearts,” she said quietly. “I don’t want my heart broken, Spot.” Spot opened his mouth to speak but then stopped himself.

“Are chyou sayin dat I’ve got dat hart of yers?” Brooklyn shook her head quickly, though she knew she was lying.

“No,” she replied immediately, a little too quickly. “You don’t. But, well, I…” she didn’t know what to say. She opened her mouth to speak, but quickly shut it. She saw her carriage at the end of bridge, about three hundred yards down.

“Oh no,” she said, her eyes widening. She had no idea they had gone out to Manhattan. “Spot, you have to get me home immediately.” He turned around and saw what she had seen.

“nuts,” he mumbled. Quickly he grabbed her arm and sprinted off. “We’s got no time fer chyou ta go faintin on us so don’t even tink bout it.” She smiled at his wit and ran along side him.

“Wait,” she said quickly. They stopped and she removed her shoes to make it easier to run. They resumed their sprint and ran to the end of the bridge. When they were down the ramp taking a quick breather, the carriage had just hit the peak. The horses were at a trot, and would catch up to them if they did not act quickly.

They set off again, both silently hoping they had not been seen. As they ran through the streets they took many sharp turns. People stared as they passed, and Brooklyn would just put her head down and hoped they would not recognize them running in such a matter. As they rounded a turn, Spot stopped to talk to a Newsie.

“Splash, when chyou see da Pulitza carriage, do whateva ya can ta stop it,” he ordered the newsie. The taller boy didn’t even hesitate before jogging away. Spot then quickly pulled Brooklyn behind him, cutting through back alleyways and random streets Brooklyn believed she had never ventured down.

And yet like magic, her mansion seemed to appear in front of them. Spot let go of her and pushed her towards the door. And yet, she was hesitant. She looked back at him and then to the mansion. “Spot,” she whispered. “I don’t want to go back there.” He seemed to brighten slightly at these words. He held out his hand.

“I could make chyou dissapeia,” he said encouragingly. She shook her head.

“No,” she said. “Not now. Can you meet me a block down at eleven thirty tonight?” she asked him. He nodded.

“Are ya shoah?” he asked her. She nodded in a determined fashion. Digging into her small purse, she held out a few dollars.

“I’m trusting you with this,” she said. “Go and buy me men’s clothing. Pants, a shirt like yours, shoes, gloves, a scarf and of course a hat. Can I trust you with this?” He took the money and nodded. “If there is money left over, you can use it. But only if there is money left over, you hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Spot replied, counting the amount of money he now held in his hand. She thanked him quickly and then escaped into the house. She was immediately confronted by a pacing Dimitri and she did her best to hide her panting.

“Where were you miss?” he demanded, approaching her.

“Why, Dimitri,” she said in her sweetest tone. “Don’t you remember? I told you that I was going for a quick walk. I offered for you to follow me, but you refused.” The man-servant looked utterly confused. “No? Man you are losing your nerve.” With that, she called for Lily and her servant backed her up. She smirked and then had Lily escort her upstairs, as she didn’t trust Dimitri to.

When they reached her room, she had Lily set her a bath and savored the warm water. She knew that this bath would probably be the last one she experienced in porcelain bathtub in a long time, possibly the last one ever. And as for the warm water, she doubted she would get much of that either.

“Thank you Lily,” she said to the servant as she dressed for bed. “I am quite tired, I’m going to bed. Please tell the others to leave me be for the night.” The servant nodded and left the room. Her ginger terrier hopped up onto the bed, curling up next to her master. But Brooklyn was not going to sleep, as she had told her servant she was going to. Instead, she sat up with her candle lit, writing a letter.

Dear Mother, Antoinette and Cal,

Over the passed two weeks I have realized that I do not belong here with you in Brooklyn. I have come to find that I simply despise all of you and miss Father dearly. I have absolutely no intention of marrying Cal(I am therefore leaving the ring), and you’ll have drag me out of Sleepy Hollow to make me.


Yes, I am off to Aunt Muriel’s and Uncle Frederick’s house. If you follow me, I will know and I will run further. I can run far further and faster than you, as Father’s side of the family loves me and cares for my well being, unlike you. You simply want me to become a gossiping wench like one of yourselves. Well I have the intention of making something of my life, so therefore I cannot stay here.


I would say that I loved you all dearly and would miss you, but then I would be lying. And Father always taught me not to lie. Take good care of Rose for me, as Aunt Muriel hates dogs I can simply not take her with me.

Your former daughter,

Brooklyn

With a swish of her fountain pen she ended her letter. She slipped her large ring off her finger and rolled up the parchment she had been writing on. She slipped the ring over the parchment as a hold and placed that on her bed side table. Now all she had to do was wait for the proper time.

The clock chimed out eleven times, and she knew that it was almost time. She collected a few hair ties and slipped them around her wrist. She gave Rose the biggest hug she could without squashing the poor terrier and kissed her nose. She then placed the dog down on the bed and put the not on her pillow.

Sneaking out of her room, she tiptoed down the hall. She was extra careful not to make a sound opening and closing the doors and then sprinted away down the block. The only light was the dim candle streetlights, and yet she could tell that the figure in the shadows was Spot. He stepped into the light and caught her by her upper arms.

“I did it,” she panted with a proud grin on her face.

“Yeah, yeah, chyou did it,” Spot said quickly. “Now let’s get chyou outta here an to da lodgin’ house ‘fore any bulls comes along.” She nodded and followed him along the streets.

“Spot wait,” she said, holding him aside. He looked around cautiously. They were near one of the streetlights, and he was still on the nervy side about getting caught. She locked eyes with the newsie and quietly whispered, “I trust you.” Of course she spoke from before, when she had told him about Jack’s warning.

And what happened next, she didn’t see happening. “Good ta know,” he said huskily. He then grabbed waist and brought her to him. He dipped his head down and locked her lips with his. Though she was surprised, Brooklyn didn’t resist or hesitate. She kissed back, wrapping her arms around his neck.

And somewhere off in the distance, the chiming of church bells could be heard, ringing in the birth of Jesus Christ. They resounded all through Brooklyn, and the young girl thought in the back of her mind that the chiming of these church bells meant the world was at peace for three moments.

And on so, the bells chimed in Brooklyn.

[Quill]

Chapter 6
Brooklyn’s Transformation
Disclaimer: Once again, I do not own Newsies.

Brooklyn came to her senses when Spot asked for entrance into her mouth with his tongue. “Spot,” she mumbled. “No.” She turned her head away and pushed away from him. “This is suicide. We can’t get this close. Cal already knows I’m friends with you, and if the bulls see a blonde girl that’s close to you, they’ll put two and two together.”

Spot wore a face of stone so she couldn’t read any emotion going through his head. But he nodded and grabbed her arm, taking a sharp turn down a dark alley. “Don’t get all scad on me now,” he said as she stiffened. She relaxed her arm slightly, but her chest was still tight.

But the alleyway opened up and they were in front of a large building. A large sign hung over the entrance. In faded letters it read; BROOKLYN BOYS LODGING HOUSE. Spot led her in and straight to a desk, where a withered looking man was tending to books. “Jackson,” Spot said. “Dis is da goil I was talkin’ ta ya about. But dere’s been a changa plans.” The old man paid attention, leaning forward.

“Where are dos packajes I gave ta ya befoe?” Jackson ducked under the desk momentarily, bring back out a few wrapped parcels. Spot took them in his arms and then motioned for Brooklyn to follow him out of the lodging house. She was about to go when she felt a tug at her nightdress. She turned around to find little Germ looking up at her with his big, soft eyes.

“Where ya goin? Aren’tcha gonna stay wit us lady?” Brooklyn nodded.

“I am going to stay with you, Germ, don’t worry,” she said warmly. “I just don’t know what Spot’s got up his sleeve right now. I’ll see you soon.” She hugged the little boy and before she could say goodbye she was ripped away by a strong arm.

“Dere’s no time fer dat now, Brookie, we gotta get outta here,” she nodded and followed him like a loyal little puppy. Well, like a puppy minus the adoration. She allowed herself to be pulled behind him.

“Where are we going?” she asked him as they headed up the ramp of the Brooklyn Bridge.

“Well I figad dat what chyou said befoe was true,” he replied, keeping his quick pace. “Yer family knows dat chyou’ve been hangin round wit me sos I guessed dat dey wud look at da lodgin howse foist.”

“Wow, I never thought of that, Spot,” Brooklyn admitted. “But Cal and his silly man servant know that I’ve associated with the Manhattan newsies also.”

“Yeah yeah I know,” Spot replied in a nonchalant tone. “Dats why as soon as dem bulls back offa our lodgin howse, I’ll get ona da guys ta ‘refer’ dem bulls ta Cowboy’s howse an we’ll move ya back ta Brooklyn.” Brooklyn nodded and continued at Spot’s pace. She took a notice that he had not let go of her upper arm. And she thanked the Lord for the night, because she felt the blood rushing to her cheeks. She had to be as red as a tomato.

She stopped at the peak of the bridge abruptly, causing Spot to stop to. “ey, ‘ey,” he said. “We can’t go stoppin now.” He was about to say something else, but he stopped when he saw the look on her face. He seemed to realize he was still holding her arm and let go. She was floored with the view. The river was black as coal, but shimmered and shone like a diamond. A few lights lit up the larger buildings and they looked like distant fireflies. Her jade green eyes sparkled in delight.

“I’m sorry, Spot, I just love the view,” she said breathlessly.

“I know ya do,” he replied. He took her arm and started pulling her away. “But now dat yer free chyou can see it whenevas chyou wants ta. Now we’s gotta get goin.” Brooklyn nodded and allowed him to pull her along. They stayed in the shadows because there were police officers patrolling the bridge.

When they got off of the ramp, Spot led her to a back alley. “Hey! You there!” a shouting voice from behind startled the two. Spot pushed Brooklyn in front of him and urged her to run. He turned down an alley and brought her behind a dumpster. He had his arms protectively around her waist and held her tightly against him so they were as flat against the wall as possible. She felt his chest raising and falling and realized they were breathing in time with each other.

It was when the police officer left that Brooklyn realized that if felt right to be in Spot’s arms. It was when he gently pushed her away when she realized she didn’t want him to let go. Don’t you go thinking like that, she thought to herself. You can’t go thinking of him like that when you’re going to be living with him soon.

So she shook her head slightly and followed Spot where he led. Soon they were at a building similar to the one that he had showed her in Brooklyn. Above the entrance it read; BOYS LODGING HOUSE. His blue eyes searched the ground briefly. When he found a small pebble, he picked it up and tossed it lightly at one of the top windows. He whistled as he picked up a few more and kept tossing them, nailing his target every time. Finally there was shadow at the window, and just as quickly as it had appeared, it disappeared. Spot then ceased his pebble tossing but kept his whistling.

In no time the front door opened and a very disgruntled Italian newsie appeared. Brooklyn recognized him from six days ago as Racetrack. His black hair was ruffled and his eyes were puffy. His pants were on backwards and his suspenders were twisted. A half-smoked cigar was sticking out the corner of his mouth. His black eyes were focused on Spot, he didn’t seem to notice her. “What da hell do chyou tink yer doin Conlon?!” he exclaimed in a harsh whisper. “Its like ona clock in da mornin! Are chyou a freakin bonehead or somethin?”

“ey! Watch da mouth Race!” Spot admonished, putting his arm out and pushed the other newsie back. “Dere’s a lady wit us!” He motioned with his thumb to Brooklyn, who had ignored the language. Apparently Spot doesn’t have to change his language, but everyone else does, she thought with a smile.

“Good to see you again, Race,” she said with a small smile. Race looked surprised as he shook her hand.

“Hey, sorry toots, I didn’t see chyou der,” he said.

“No harm, no foul,” Brooklyn replied to him, dropping his hand.

“Sos what can I do fer chyou guyses?” he asked Spot.

“Go get Jacky-boy, Race, tell ‘im Spot needs ta see ‘im now,” Spot replied.

“Ya gotta be kiddin me Spot,” the Italian replied.

“Does it looks like I’m kiddin chyou Race?” Spot warned. He encroached on the shorter boy. “Go get Jacky-boy. Now.” Racetrack put his hands up, muttering things about how he didn’t want to get physical in front of ‘da lady’ and retreated inside. It may not have been the most mature way to get what he wanted, but somehow she was impressed by the power he held over the others. And he was younger than the others also, only seventeen while the other leaders commanded eighteen or nineteen years. She only knew this because Spot couldn’t help but boasting about the face on one of their little chats.

She didn’t make a sound, she just stood there staring at the red brick of the building. As she heard the bark of a small dog in the distance her heart sunk. It had been a mere two hours and already she was homesick. Well not homesick, dog sick was more the correct phrase. The bark didn’t even sound like Rose’s, and yet it reminded her of it.

“She was my birthday present,” she hadn’t realized that she said that out loud until Spot looked over.

“What didya say?” he asked her, his eyes trained on her.

“Sorry, I was talking to myself,” Brookyln replied. “It has only been two hours and I already miss my little dog, Rose. You’ve met her before. It’s just that I’ve had her since I was ten and she was my best friend. My father had given her to me. I had always wanted a white dog, but since my birthday is in January, he thought it would be best to get a dog that wouldn’t ‘get lost in the snow’.”

She smiled at the memory of her father. She looked to Spot, who had his eyebrows raised skeptically. She chuckled and ran her fingers through her hair. “I’m sorry, Spot, you must find me terribly pathetic. But besides Amelia, whom I could hardly trust when she became friends with my sister, Rose was my only friend. Sure there were girls I would talk to at parties and galas and such, but they weren’t really friends.”

“What ’bout me?” he asked her with a smirk. “I tought chyou said dat we were friends.” He didn’t seem angry, more like he was teasing her than anything.

“Of course you’re my friend, Spot,” she replied with a smile. Even if he was teasing her (and she knew it), she was taking this seriously. “But a girl-to-dog relationship is something totally different. Sure I prefer people but people break hearts and stab backs, dogs don’t.” She sighed. “I’m going to miss not having a dog around.”

Spot looked like he was about to say something, but at that moment the door flew open and a furious-looking Jack Kelly came storming out of the lodging house. His eyes were set on Spot, annoyance lacing them. “What da hell couldn’ta had waited till mornin Spot?” he said. He acknowledged Brooklyn with a wave with one hand while his eyes were still on the King of Brooklyn.

“I need chyou ta take Brookie here in fer me fer a few weeks,” he said, handing Jack the parcels he was holding. “Dese are her clothes. Make shoah she fits in comfatably here, or it’ll be yer head.”

“Big threats fer dis late at night, Spot, what didya do dat’s so bad?” Cowboy was smirking, knowing the hot-headed Brooklyn Newsie well enough not to be afraid of his threats.

“I ran away,” Brooklyn cut in quickly. “And Spot helped me. He figured that since my parents know that we’re friendly, they’ll keep a close eye on the Brooklyn Lodging House. Not much attention will be paid over here in Manhattan. And when they loosen up over there, I’ll go back to Brooklyn.”

“If yer gonna go trew all dat trouble, why dontcha just stay wit us in Manhattan?” Cowboy asked.

“We’re still tinkin of a plan, Cowboy,” Spot said in an almost warning tone. “We’ll see where dis takes us. Who knows? She might just wind up hangin round here. But da ting is dat dey know she’s been here befoe sos dey might check.”

“I wrote a note saying that I’m going up to Sleepy Hollow, but I doubt that will be good enough for my mother and Cal -my ex fiancé-,” Brooklyn filled in. “But I think they will pay attention to Spot. I can’t be seen with him for a while, just because Cal’s man servant was an ex-cop and could arrest him on charges much worse than kidnapping or assisted runaway.” Jack nodded, seemingly considering their plan. He put down the parcels and then nodded to himself.

“Okay, we’ll take ya in, Brookie,” he said, “on a few…uh…what’s da woid?” he snapped is fingers a few times. “Uh…”

“Conditions?” Brooklyn filled in questioningly.

“Yeah, dose,” Jack replied. “Chyou listen ta me no matta what, gottit? Dere’s lots a stuff out dere dat could hoit a little richie like chyou, even if ya don‘t look like one.” Brooklyn nodded, accepting the terms. “Yer gonna loin from me, which means two tings, okay? It means datcha neva gonna leave my sides less I tells ya to. It also means dat chyou’ll be learnin from da best -don’t interupt me while I’m talkin, Spot- which means chyou should feel honored, got it?” She raised an eyebrow but nodded.

“Thoid conditiun,” he said. He took her arm and moved her away from Spot. The Brooklyn boy glared hard at him but Jack waved him off and took Brooklyn a little farther away from him. His back was to Spot. He removed his arm and then spoke to her in a hushed tone. “Spot doesn’t always use dat head he’s got on his shouldas, okay? He acts on pride, not on strategy a lot of da times so chyou listun ta me now okay? He’s a great leada an’ everyting an I trust him wit my life, but wit chyou he’s gonna get protective an’ get lip from his newsies, so be ready ta fight ta hold ta yer plan. Neva back down from da plan less Spot and me both says so, got it?”

She nodded in a hurried fashion. “Good, now let’s get back ta Spot befoe he teas me apat.” She followed Jack back to Spot, who was tapping his cane loudly in an impatient manner.

“What was dat thoid conditiun, Jacky-boy?” he asked in an agitated tone as he approached Jack.

“Nuthin chyou gotta worry yerself about Spot,” he replied. “Now I’m lettin Brookie ‘ere stay wit us, sos chyou betta be grateful. An’ I betta hear sumthin moie about dis plan by sunset, Spot. I don’t wanna be puttin my newsies inta anytin stupid cause chyou rushed inta sometin stupid fer a goil.” Brooklyn again thanked the Lord for the night as she felt the blood rush to her cheeks for the second time that night.

Spot seemed to hold himself back from saying something nasty. Instead he mumbled, “Tanks, Jacky-boy.” The two boys spit-shook and Jack told Brooklyn that it was time into the lodging house and get this plan under way.

“Be careful getting home, Spot,” Brooklyn said as she threw her arms around him in a hug. “Make sure that no bulls see you or that may lead Cal straight here.” He gave her a half-hearted squeeze and a pat on the back. He was obviously trying to keep his King of Brooklyn, bad-boy façade. So she backed off with a mumble of apologies. Jack had picked up the parcels and was motioning to the door.

Before she entered the building, she turned to see Spot, who was watching them like a hawk. “Thank you so much, Spot,” she said gratefully. She barely saw him return her thanks with a wave when Jack pushed her inside.

“Let’s get chyou upstairs an see if we can getcha a bed wit a little more privacy,” he mumbled. The time of night was obviously getting to him as his words slurred together and his step lacked.

They climbed a series of stairs and then came to a large room. Bunk beds were everywhere, each one being used by a boy that was staying at the lodging house. But Jack moved passed them all, and Brooklyn followed him. He led to the back of the room in a corner. There was one bunk bed left with no one to use it.

“I guess dat’ll be yer bunk,” he mumbled. “Does chyou want da top or da bottem?”

“Bottom,” Brooklyn replied. “I have a slight tendency to roll when I sleep.” She walked over to the bed and look down on it. Though the covers were straggly and the mattress was thin, nothing looked more inviting. A surge of tiredness had waved over the teenager, and she wanted nothing more to collapse and go to sleep.

“Den I’ll take da top bunk,” he said. He put the parcels underneath the bottom bunk and then started to climb to the top. “Expect an eoily wake up tomorra.”

“Yes, Jack,” she mumbled. She removed her shoes and crawled into the bed. It was lumpy and cold, but if she positioned her body in just the right way, it didn’t feel so bad. She batted her eyelashes a few times before closing them fully. In no time, she was asleep.

-------

“What’s dis, Cowboy?” the murmuring of boys’ voices cut into Brooklyn’s dream. “What’s she doin here wit us?” It took her a few seconds to realize it wasn’t a dream. So she rolled over so she would be facing the boys and gently opened her eyes. She wasn’t expecting Boots to be so close, so she startled a bit.

“Boots you scared me!” she said, bringing the cover to wrap up around her upper body. She glanced out the window, the sun was just rising. She supposed one of the boys had woken up, seen her and then woke everyone else up on her behalf. Even newsies should not have been getting up at this hour.

“You scared us, Brooklyn,” he replied. “What are you doing here?”

“She’s one of us now,” Jack said as he swung down from the top bunk. “She’sa runaway. She can’t stay in Brooklyn wit Spot coz her folks would look wit him foist. So she’s gonna stay wit us fer a bit.”

“Dat means she can’t be Brooklyn anymores,” Racetrack said, lighting a cigar. “Or dose folks a’ hois will find hoi real quick.” That thought finally came into Brooklyn’s head. She’d have to change her name so no one could recognize her. She’d have to come up with a back up story. She had a lot of work to do.

“Dat’s right guys, sos we gotta name her,” Jack replied.

“Runaway?” suggested Snipeshooter.

“Too obvious,” replied Boots.

“Brookie?” Jack suggested. “Dats what Spot calls her.”

“And chyou tought ‘Runaway’ was obvious,” Kid Blink added in a sarcastic tone. Brooklyn felt slightly overwhelmed. She didn’t know how she was going to cope with having a new name, none-the-less a name picked out for her!

She sat on her bed for a good half an hour, watching names be tossed back and forth. There were a few she liked, but the boys decided against them. Names like Charm, Star, Jade, Noel(because it was Christmas day). But the boys had decided that those names were all “too goily”. Once or twice she felt the urge to remind them that she was, in fact, a girl.

“Well whata bout Rookie?” Crutchy piped up. “Since she’s new ta all of dis. Not just bein a newsie, but bein doit poor like us too. She’s new ta everytin round heres.”

“Rookie,” Boots said.

“Rookie?” Race echoed, in a slightly disapproving tone.

“Rookie,” Jack repeated to himself. “I likes it, whata bout all chyous?” There was a murmur of ‘yes’s and ‘I guess so’s, and a smile spread across Jack’s face. “Dat was easia den I tought it would be.” He then turned to Brooklyn and held out his hand. “Welcome ta Manhattan, Rookie.” She smiled and shook his hand.

“Glad to be here, boys,” she replied. “Now I need some help to become one of you. Let me change, and then you guys have to help me or I’ll stick out like a sore thumb.” A few of the boys groaned, but others were willing to help.

Brookl-er- Rookie grabbed the parcels out from under the bed and asked to be pointed to the bathroom. Racetrack showed it to her and she thanked him. She opened the largest parcel to find pants. They were black and made of light material. Attached to them were black suspenders.

She shed her nightgown and slid on the pants. Oh how awkward it felt to have both legs covered. She had worn stockings before, but for them to be loosely covered was just weird. She was going to have some time getting used to them. Before putting on the suspenders, she opened the second largest parcel to find a red long sleeved shirt. She slipped it on and buttoned it up. If the pants felt awkward, this felt really good. The fabric was much lighter and didn’t cling to the skin as her dress sleeves did.

She tucked the shirt in and then pulled the suspenders over her shoulders. She then went through one of the smaller parcels. They were a pair of gloves, so she slipped them into her pocket. She then moved to the other small parcel to find tall black socks. She slipped them on and then went to the box which she guessed were the shoes. She opened the box to find black shoes of the cheaper version. She put them on and tied them and then went to put the box away.

She then found in the medium-sized parcel was a black hat and a red scarf, so she placed the hat on her head and draped the scarf around her neck. She figured that was the last of the parcels so she started to collect the paper that they were wrapped in. It was then when she noticed the odd shaped one with a little piece of paper attached to it. She took off the piece of paper and unfolded it to read it.

Brookie babe-

If yous wanna be a part of me newsies, youd beter learn hows ta use this gud.

-Spot

Rookie quickly unwrapped the paper to find a wooden slingshot waiting for her. Around the handle was a little bag. She looked in the bag to find five marbles waiting for her. She smiled, remembering that any Brooklyn newsies she met on the street had a slingshot with them. She slid the slingshot and the marbles into the opposite pocket of the gloves and then finished cleaning up.

When she came back out, the newsies were asleep. Even Jack appeared to be dosing as he leaned against the bed post. While she was walking over to wake him, she began to fiddle with her hair.

Her hair.

Her long honey tresses would have to go. Well, not all of it, but a good bit. It would be too recognizable, as it reached her waist. She would have to ask one of the guys to cut it up to a little lower than her shoulders. She would miss that hair, as she had always been proud of it. Her father had been too, calling her hair the most gorgeous tresses in all of New York, possibly the world.

Wait, what father? She never had a father. Or a mother, or a sister, or Joseph Pulitzer for an uncle. Heck, she wasn‘t a Pulitzer anymore. She had to erase them from her past. She had to erase her past completely. The newsies could know, sure, but no one else. She had to forget about everything else. Maybe not forget, but put them to the recesses of her mind so she couldn’t bring it up by accident to the wrong person.

“Cowboy,” she said, about to shake his shoulder. But his eyes snapped open before she could and she put it down. He put his hands on her shoulder and pushed her back a little bit to get a better look at her. He spun her around and seemed to be considering everything.

“Everytins so new,” he commented. “But we could fix dat real quickly.”

“Do you know anything about shooting a slingshot?” she asked him.

“A bit, why do ya ask?”

Rookie took the slingshot out of her pocket. “Spot says that I have to learn how to shoot this and learn to do it well,” she explained. “And I’m going to need help.”

“I’ll help when I can, but uddah den dat chyou’ll have ta figua it out by yerself.” Jack turned his attention away from Rookie, who was now putting the slingshot back in her pocket.

“Yo fellas!” he exclaimed. A few newsies shot up and looked up to their leader. “How does Rookie heres look?” There were a few bouts of mumbling and moaning before one voice really stuck out.

“Too clean,” called out Skittery in an over-zealous moan.

“Dat’ll be gone in a day or so,” Jack replied.

“Jack,” Rookie said. “Do you have a knife of some sort?” The newsie nodded, giving her a questioning expression. She took her hair into one fist at the spot she wanted it cut and the showed it to him. “I want this much cut off. My parents and relatives will recognize me too easily. It has to come off.”

“Are ya shoah?” he asked her. She nodded assuredly. “Den we betta do it now befoe yer foist day.” Rookie agreed and she sat down on her bed. Jack went downstairs for a moment to get the knife. Her jade green eyes watched as the Newsies fell back asleep. She was old news, they had lost interest once they knew she was staying.

She sat as stiff as a board as Jack began to cut away at her hair. She had shown him where to cut and then turned away, hoping for the best. She winced as he pulled roughly on her scalp so he could get the proper cut. Never had her scalp been treated in such a way, and it was very sensitive. But somehow she managed to grin and bare it, more like grimace and bare it, however.

It was a half an hour before Jack completed his task. “Done,” he said in a tired voice. She thanked him and stood up. Locks of her hair lay stranded across the bed. She collected them and put them one lock and tied it with one of her hair. She then put it in under her pillow when Jack had turned away. She had plans for that lock of hair.

She asked for a mirror and was show a very small, cracked one. She could hardly believe the girl that was staring back at her. The only things she recognized about herself were her eyes and her freckles. Everything else looked so difference. She had made a complete --appearance-wise-- transformation from one of the richest girl in New York, to someone her mother wouldn’t spare a passing glance at. She looked like a commoner.

I have never looked more beautiful, she thought to herself as she split her hair into parts and braided them. And I’ve never felt better.