The Story of a News Girl

Return to 'Hattan

She waited outside the distribution center of the Brooklyn Eagle for Spot to get his papers before he would walk her back to Manhattan. Something about it being a good idea to sell on the way there. Though Feister insisted on heading over to Sheepshead in case Race decided to sell there today. But Blaze refused to risk it and said that Spot was going to escort her back to Lower Manhattan to ensure she returned safely to Wolf. She didn't even put up a fight as she usually would have. All that mattered was returning home to her brothers. Spending the night in Brooklyn wasn't awful persay. It was interesting to see how different things worked compared to Manhattan. There were no pillow fights. No yelling, running around or rough housing. All it took was a simple "lights out" from Blaze and in a blink of an eye the boys all scurried off to bed. Though some of the younger boys had said a quick "good night" to her as they ran off to their own bunks.

It wasn't long before Spot came walking out of the distribution center with his bag of papes and smug smirk across his face. "Ready ta head back home?" he asked. "An' don't ask ta stop by Sheepshead fore headin' over, ya heard Blaze."

"Fine let's go," Feister huffed as she followed Spot back to the bridge. It was a little awkward at first considering the new found information they had discovered the previous night. Though there was no actual proof they were related seeing as their heritage is completely different, there was no denying they looked somewhat similar. So they agreed that they would be family in some odd way. It's what their guts kept telling them, and a newsie's gut feeling is never wrong.

"How's the headline?" Feister asked, breaking the silence.

"Mayor Gilory fears defeat," Spot read off the paper that was currently in his hand. "What do ya think?"

"I's think you'se got a better headline writer than The Woild does. Hey! Wanna trade?" she laughed. Was she joking? Just a little. She began to wonder what the headline was in Manhattan. Good? Bad? Was it a page turner or were the boys currently improving the truth? The news girl was so lost in thought that she almost didn't see Spot turn at the corner instead of going straight. "Hey where are ya goin' Conlon? I's may not know my way round these streets but I's sure as hell know that the bridge is that way!" she said as she caught up with him.

"Relax would ya! I's gotta use the little news room," he replied. "Here, hold this for me would ya. See if ya can sell a few of those while yer at it!" he said as he put the bag around her neck and headed off to....ya know.

Feister groaned out loud as she leaned her back on the building with her arms crossed. People walked past paying no attention to her whatsoever. The weather seemed to warm up with each passing second. It felt like a lifetime waiting for Spot to finish up so they could get going. Even though she could make a -

"Excuse me?" a shy voice asked. "Are you a newsie by any chance?"

"Who wants ta know?" Feister asked as she stood up straighter and looked at this girl.

"Well....you're wearin' clothing a newsie would...and you're holding a bag with newspapers in it..." the girl in question had freckles going across her face, light blue eyes and long sandy brown hair that was tied back in a braid. She was wearing a simple blue dress and a white apron was tied around her waist. Her voice, soft and innocent like she seemed to be.

Feister noted the colorful thread that stuck to the girl's apron and little slits on her fingers. No doubt she worked in a dress shop. Most likely on an errand. She should know. She used to be in that position too once upon a time. Though it was all a blur she definitely remembered pricking herself whenever she had to pull the thread through the needle and all the loose ends that she'd constantly find on her clothing. But those details didn't matter. What mattered was only a few seconds of talking to this freckled girl she was getting a sense of deja vu. There was something familiar about her. Like Feister's known her a lot longer than a few seconds. She just couldn't put her finger on it.