8 Days, 8 Letters; Spot Conlon

Birds of a Feather

Song: Birds of a Feather by Billie Eilish

A/N: Good news! The bug got fixed so I can keep writing. Yay! Anyways apologies for the wait, besides the bug school and my personal life got very busy. Anyways please enjoy the next chapter of 8 Days, 8 Letters.

Present Day: November 1899

Jaime's POV

For once, I didn't get up at sunrise.

We didn't have to work today, so I along with the newsies slept in.

Apparently we slept in very late because Kloppman came bursting through the door with a pot and a wooden spoon.

The spoon sent a loud echo throughout the room, starling us awake.

"Get up fellas!" Kloppman yelled.

I cleared my throat.

"And lady! It's Turkey Day!"

We all quickly scrambled out of our beds and pushed each other to make it to the bathroom first.

"Blink! Move! You're hogging the mirror!" I complained.

I was jumping side to side trying to see myself around him.

"Relax Books! You're not the only one who needs to look good!" he retorted.

"You's already have a boyfriend!"

"So do you's!"

"We get it!" Jack intervened. "Ya both wanna look good for your boyfriends, but I's need to get one, so move."

Jack shoved Blink aside and began fixing his hair. Meanwhile, we stared at him in shock.

"We knew it!" Specs shouted.

"So you's do admit it," Race joined.

"Admit what?"

"That you're in love with a certain someone," I teased.

"Never said that," Jack muttered.

"How dumb do you's think we are," Mush stated.

Jack and I gave him a look.

"You's know what I's mean. You's basically said you's wanted Davey to be your boyfriend."

"Books! Fellas!" Kloppman shouted from the bottom of the stairs. "These potatoes aren't gonna peel themselves."

"Comin'!" we shouted.

"In about five minutes we were completely ready and headed down the stairs to help Kloppman.

Kloppman is usually lenient with our shenanigans; but shenanigans on Thanksgiving, not so much.

There can never be too many chefs in the kitchen when it comes to the newsies. Mainly because most of them weren't helping.

The little ones were eating the ingredients. Race, Mush, Jack, and Blink were partaking in a potato peel war. While a few of the older boys were just horsing around.

"It's a miracle we have food every year," I muttered.

"I hear ya, Books," Kloppman replied, handing me the turkey.

I took the turkey out of his hands and put it in the oven.

I could see Race eating as quick as Crutchy was cutting the vegetables.