a purposeful past | s.s

Chapter Five

"I don't get why yer comin' wit me," Lane commented jokingly, looking at Finch who was walking alongside her from the corner of her vision. "Ise jus goin' ta get a job. I don't need yer help wit dat."

"I know," Finch replied. "Jack'll be dere, anyway." Jack had indeed convinced the newsies that he really didn't have to be trapped behind locked doors any longer. "I ain't worried 'bout dat. I jus wanted ta be dere wit ya fa dis."

"Alright, dat I can understand," Lane said. She then jutted her chin over her shoulder. "But did we have ta bring dem?"

The group of newsies in question sounded like a flock of ducks as they reacted to the small bit of attention given to them.

"Dey wanted ta come," Finch said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Couldn't say no."

"Mm." Lane sighed, leaning against him as they walked through the cool air. Finch wrapped a strong arm around her, ignoring the newsies behind them who hollered teasing remarks.

Medda's was as beautiful and stunning as ever, yet Lane harboured no resentment against the fact as she once did. She realized she didn't need wealth to live a fulfilled life, only to be able to have the sense to see and appreciate beauty for what it was, without any desire to seize it for herself.

She'd learnt that best through men like Pulitzer and Farnsworth, along with so many others. They had lost all faith, hope, and love because of their desire for wealth and power, and Lane knew they weren't happy. Because she had yearned for such things once, and during those long years she'd lost everything she cared about.

But she knew better now. Nothing would ever be able to rip her away from the life she had with the newsies. She had just needed to learn to accept that there could not, would not be happiness in the world without any pain.

And she was alright with that.

"Miss Medda!" Jack called upon seeing the woman approaching, not hesitating before going in for a hug.

"Jack!" the woman replied, doing the same. "What's going on? I have nothing for you to paint today."

"Oh, no, I ain't he-ah fa dat," Jack told her, gesturing to Lane who was now a couple of feet behind him. "I've got someone he-ah who's interested in a job. I know you've been sayin' ya need someone on hand fa when somethin' tears, or when ya need anuddah costume pronto. Turns out, Lane right he-ah meets all tha requirements."

"I ain't dat resourceful," Lane muttered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Don't get yer hopes up."

"Well, I wouldn't expect anything more from you other than your best," Medda countered, looking beyond pleased despite her warning.

"Plus, she don't give herself enough credit," Specs added, looking back at her. Lane began to see why Finch agreed to bring them along. "I've seen how hard she works, we all have. At her old job, she'd come back wit her hands all cracked 'n bleedin', 'n tha only reason she was fired was 'cause she defended herself."

"Great," Lane grumbled to herself, already knowing how this would end.

"What about tha time she agreed ta fix all 'a our worn clothes tha best her could?" Crutchie questioned. "She was sittin' dere fa hours, 'n didn't complain once."

"She's good at oth-ah things, too," Mush joined in. "Like how she fought fa tha strike without even being' a newsie? Didn't have ta do dat, but she did."

"Yer forgettin' 'bout tha time when..."

Lane tuned them out after that. She knew that this was bound to happen. It seemed like the newsies made everything into a competition, and that apparently did not exclude her. Well, in certain things. They knew not to get in the way of her and Finch. Except for maybe Romeo, but everyone knew he was just joking around. It was his thing.