Rebuilt

Chapter 13

Race and I release each other. His blue eyes meet mine and he hugs me again.

The metal bars to the circulation gate are shaken, I look up and it's Morris.  He stares at me, looks me up and down, then winks. 

"Remember our deal Morris," Elmer warns walking up next to me.

"Oh, I remember it," he drawls.  Morris unlocks the gate and saunters over to his brother Oscar.  He whispers something in ear, then walks away.

"Stay alert fellas," Jack says walking out of the gate.

I find myself in line next to Albert and Buttons.  They both look at me, as if deciding their plan of attack.  Buttons opens up his mouth, but is cut off by Albert asking me if I wanted to be his selling partner.

I shake my head politely.  Albert frowns, but doesn't pry further.  The line continues to move until I find myself next in line.  I have barley any money, only the money I made yesterday selling the ten or so papers Elmer gave me.

Where is Elmer? I look around, clueless.

"Hey! Girl, how many papes you want?" I look into the eyes of an old man.   Next to him stands the other Delancey brother, Oscar.

I hastily pull the change out of my pocket, dropping a few pennies and place it into the hands of the old man.  He eyes it and laughs.  "This is enough for five papes, that's pitiful."

Oscar counts out five and gently places them into my shaking hands.  I take them and leave as quickly as possible without grabbing one of the boys to help me navigate the city.

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I eventually find a spot after waling for about five minuets, I don't see any of the other Newsies, though I just hope I haven't wandered into Brooklyn again.

Another things dawns upon me.  How am I going to make enough money when I can only afford five papes a day? 

And I can't even read, I add.  That only makes me feel worse.  About myself and this whole situation.  I should have sold with Albert.

"Blades, right?" I hear someone ask behind me.

I jump out of my skin and turn around.

Its Oscar.  I grip Elmer's blade in my pocket and start to back away.

"Don't be scared, I won't soak you like Morris does," he was very convincing.  In his hand he had a stack of rolled up newspapers.  He handed them to me.  "No Newsie can make enough off five papes, no matter how cute she might be."

I roll my eyes and take the papers, preparing to turn around and bolt for a main street.  Oscar grabs my wrist.  "No, don't go.  Let me just talk to you.  I won't hurt you, I promise." Once again, Oscar sounds very convincing.  "And I promise to stop hitting on you'se as well."  He laughs.

I find myself slightly smiling, then I nod my head.  He keeps a grip on my wrist and leads me over to a bench. 

I hug the edge of the bench, keeping my distance from Oscar.  I place the papers on my lap, and look at Oscar.  He looks back at me and clears his throat.  "I'se sorry about my brother... he likes to fight."

"Huh," I rasp.  My voice sounds as if I've been screaming for hundreds of years.  Which isn't a lie, there wasn't a single day at the refuge where I didn't scream until my voice gave out.  Once the refuge was shut down and I was thrown on the street, I didn't talk at all.  Those were the times when I thought my voice would heal, but I guess it was shot. 

Then, after my encounter with Morris in the alley, that just shot my voice even further.  

"I can see you don't talk much," Oscar said, he gripped his own throat.

"Yeah," I attempt to laugh, but launch into a coughing fit.  I cover my mouth with my hands and couch until its hard to breath.  A soothing hand is placed on my back and another on my shoulder.  I stop coughing and take a deep breath of the cool October air. 

"Are you'se okay?" Oscar had worry in his eyes when I looked at him.

"I'se okay.  Why did you'se want to talk to me?"

Oscar looks at his hands, "oh, I just wanted to apologize for the way Morris was actin'.  He told me about the alley.  You'se didn't deserve that."

I scoff, "you'se right, I didn't.  He blew out my voice again." Oscar apologized once more.  "None of the otha fellas deserve them soakins' either, why do you'se do it?"

Oscar scratched the back of his neck, "I'se don't know.  I stopped once the strike was over, I didn't see a point.  Morris just does it for fun it seems."

The conversation comes to an awkward halt, I look at the stack of papers in my lap.  "Hey Oscar? What's today's headline?" I ask quietly, my scratchy voice barley discernible.

"It's right there in ya lap, what do you'se mean," as soon as he said it, he realized why I had asked.  "Oh, it's  nothin' interesting.  Just a theater fire."

As soon as he those words, I stand up and walk out into the street, papers in hand.  Oscar follows me into the street, "what are you doing?" He asks as he jogs up to me?

"Can you just yell 'Broadway Theater Burned to the Ground'?" I look at him and plead.

Before I know it, Oscar is yelling my made up headline.  And just like that, under an hour all of my papers including the ones Oscar gave me, are sold.  He smiles at me and runs a hand through his fluffy black hair.

Oscar and I stare at each other for a second, "can you'se do me a favor?"

I nod.  "Don't tell anyone, if Morris finds out he'll keep harassing you'se and da rest of the fellas, and if the other fellas find out they'll tell you'se to steer clear of me and that I'm just as bad as Morris, if not worse."

I nod my head again and smile.  "I'se better be going."