Disclaimer: I do not own any characters that you recognize. I wish that I owned Racetrack but...sigh Oh well.

A/N: A very special Thank You to Joker is Poker with a J, who graciously agreed to Beta this story for me! You rock, girl! Without you, I'd still be banging my head against the wall trying to banish my writers block!

New Jersey, 1892

Alison Hudson stopped reading aloud for moment, looked over at her friend Gale Jensen, and smiled. She started to say something, but stopped short when she saw the clock on the wall. Her eyes widened in shock. 9:30 PM.

"Is that clock right?" she asked, praying with all her might that it was broken. Gale gave her a strange look.

"Yes," she said slowly. Alison jumped up from her chair, almost knocking it over in the process.

"I have to go," she said, already heading for the front door.

"Why?" her friend asked as she followed her. "What's wrong?"

"My parents don't know that I'm here," Alison revealed, taking her wrap from the hook she had put it on. "They told me that I couldn't visit you tonight. I'm sure they've noticed my absence by now."

"Good luck!" Gale called after her friend as she raced down the street.

Papa is going to be so mad at me, and Mama is sure to be disappointed, Alison thought as she raced home. As she drew near, she noticed an unnatural amount of smoke coming from the general direction of her house. Her heart began to pound as she realized that it was coming from her house.

She rounded the corner and froze in stunned horror. Her entire home was engulfed in flames…and her parents were nowhere in sight. That thought snapped her back to reality and she leapt forward, intent on finding her parents. She hadn't gotten very far when she was grabbed from behind.

"Stop, miss!" a voice commanded. "It's too dangerous." Alison turned to face the fireman who was holding her.

"But my parents…" she started, her voice trailing off as he shook his head.

"I'm sorry miss," was all he said. Alison immediately tried to run to her house, but she was held back.

"Mama! Papa!" she screamed hysterically, but it was no use. She could only watch in horror as the firefighter held her back, preventing her from entering her burning home. She struggled against the hold, but it was pointless. Finally spent, the eight-year-old girl could do nothing but watch as flames engulfed her home--with her parents unable to escape.

"Get your head out of that book, you stupid girl! There's work to be done!" Alison jumped at the sound of her foster mother's voice.

"But I've finished all my chores," Alison said timidly. Even though it had been almost two years since she had come to live with the foster family after the fire, she was still scared of her foster parents. Then again, what ten-year-old wouldn't be scared of people who did nothing but yell at them all day? Anger flashed in Mrs. Burnheart's eyes.

"How dare you talk back to me!" she shrieked. She yanked the book that Alison had been reading out of the girl's small hands and smacked her across the face. "Get up to your room. You are to stay there for the rest of the night." Alison's blue eyes welled up with tears.

"But I haven't had any dinner yet," she said.

"You should have thought of that before you decided to question me," Mrs. Burnheart snapped. "Now get upstairs before I get out the belt," she threatened.

Alison ran as fast as her legs could carry her, having no desire to be beaten. When she got upstairs to her room, she flung herself on her bed, sobbing. A few minutes later, a sudden idea brought her tears to a halt. I should just run away. However, where would she go? She decided that she didn't care, as long as she got out of this horrid place.

Alison waited until the early morning hours before she picked up the bag she had packed and snuck down the stairs. She stopped by the kitchen and grabbed a loaf of bread. She also filled up a canteen that she had found in one of the cupboards. As she headed towards the front door, she spied her book sitting on a table. She picked it up, put it in the bag, and, holding her breath, she carefully opened the front door, and slipped off into the predawn darkness.

After a few hours, Alison noticed that she was falling asleep while she walked. Before she could decide if she should keep going or sleep on the side of the road, she heard a noise that made her heart stop.

A carriage was coming.

Alison didn't have time to find a hiding place. The carriage stopped and the door opened. An elderly man stepped out.

"Are you alright?" he asked gently. "What are you doing out here all alone?" Alison thought fast.

"I'm trying to get to my Aunt who lives in Manhattan. We don't have enough money to buy me a train ticket, so I have to walk. I have to get there as soon as possible, otherwise my mother will worry." Alison was slightly surprised that she had been able to lie that easily. She pushed the thought of her mind when someone spoke.

"Oh, Harold," a woman said, poking her head out of the carriage door. "We simply cannot allow her to walk all that way." She beckoned to Alison. "Come on, dear. We're on our way to Brooklyn--we could drop you off in Manhattan."

Alison hesitated for a few moments, but then decided it was the best course of action. After all, it would get her further away from that wretched place all the faster.

"Thank you so much. I wish I could pay you…" The woman cut her off.

"Don't worry about it, dearie. We're more than happy to help. My name is Diana, by the way," she told her as she helped the little girl into the carriage. The carriage lurched to a start after Harold signaled the driver to continue. As the carriage rocked back and forth, Alison struggled to stay awake. Harold noticed this and smiled gently.

"Go to sleep. We'll wake you when we arrive in Manhattan." Alison smiled gratefully, and fell into a deep sleep.

Alison awoke a few hours later by a hand gently shaking her. She opened her eyes and found Diana smiling down at her.

"Here we are, dear," she said cheerfully. "Where does your Aunt live?" she asked.

"I'm not sure. I was told to meet her at…" Alison trailed off, looking out the window, trying to think of a place. She spotted a restaurant across the street. "Tibby's Restaurant," she declared.

"Would you like us to wait with you?" Harold asked. Alison shook her head as Harold helped her out of the carriage. Diana handed the bag that Alison had been carrying to her.

"No, thank you," she said politely. "You have been a big enough help to me already." Diana looked skeptical.

"Are you sure, dear?" she asked, concerned. Alison smiled.

"Yes. I'm not sure what time she'll be here. But thank you ever so much for all your help." Both Diana and Harold smiled.

"You're very welcome," he said, writing something on a piece of paper. He handed it to Alison. "This is our address in Brooklyn. If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to come by." Alison smiled.

"Thank you so much, sir," she said with a curtsey. She waved as the carriage drove away. After it had turned a corner, the small girl looked around nervously.

Now what do I do? she wondered. She started to wander around, hoping to come up with an answer. She wasn't watching where she was going, and suddenly she ran into someone. Startled, she fell to the ground, scrapping her knee.

"Are you okay?" a boy asked, looking down at her. Alison nodded, trying not to cry. Looking up, she took in the young boy's appearance. He looked a little older than she was, and had dark brown, almost black, hair, partially hidden under a charcoal-colored newsie hat. He held out a hand to her, Alison took it, and he hauled her to her feet.

"I'm Racetrack," he said after helping her up. Alison looked confused.

"Racetrack?" she repeated. He smiled.

"Yeah…it's my nickname. I sell papes at the tracks," he explained. Alison nodded, indicating that she understood.

"I'm Alison. It's nice to meet you," she said, curtsying as she did so. Racetrack laughed.

"Youse don't have ta curtsey, girl. Where do you live?" Alison's eyes welled up with tears.

"I…I don't have a home," she said, a few tears escaping. Racetrack looked surprised.

"Well, where's your family?" he asked, looking around. More tears rolled down Alison's cheeks.

"I don't have a family," she sobbed. Racetrack looked a little uncomfortable. He didn't know what to do with this girl crying in front of him. The eleven-year-old furrowed his eyebrows in thought. She doesn't have a home or a family. Where can she go? His eyes lit up when he thought of the perfect solution. He smiled.

"I know! You can stay at the Lodging House with me and be a newsie!" Alison looked at him, a puzzled expression on her face.

"What's a newsie?" she asked, wiping away the tears. Racetrack beamed.

"I'm a newsie!" he said proudly. "We sell papes on the streets." Alison looked doubtful.

"Is it hard?" she asked. He shook his head.

"Nah. Not once you get used to it. Come on," he said, suddenly grabbing her hand. "I'll introduce you to the leader of the Manhattan newsies." Without waiting for her to reply, Racetrack started down the street, dragging Alison with him.

As they walked through the streets of New York, Racetrack pointed out almost everything in sight. Alison didn't say anything--it was all so bewildering. How was she ever going to learn where everything was? Finally, Racetrack stopped in front of a run-down building.

"Well, here we are!" he announced. Alison looked up at the sign hanging above the door.

"Newsboy's Lodging House," she mumbled to herself as Racetrack pulled her inside. She had been growing more and more nervous as she had been led through the streets. What if this "leader" person didn't like her? What if her foster mother was right--what if nobody could ever accept her? How could they, after what she'd done? She brought herself out of her thoughts when Racetrack spoke.

"This is Switchblade, the leader of the Manhattan newsies," he said, motioning towards a tall boy of about seventeen who had shaggy black hair and a scar just below his left eye. Even through his shirt, one could see how strong he was. "This here is Alison. I found her on the street. She don't got a home or a family, so I thought she could be a newsie." Switchblade looked down at the trembling girl.

Alison tried to look brave, but she was scared. This Switchblade person looked like a big person to the small ten-year-old. She stepped back a step when Switchblade suddenly squatted down so that he was at her level.

"You wanna be a newsie, kid?" he asked kindly with a small smile. Alison nodded somewhat hesitantly. "Are you willin' to work hard?" Again, she nodded, this time more confidently. Switchblade smiled and ruffled her brown hair. "Welcome home, kid." He stood up. "Racetrack, show her to the bunkroom and help her get settled in. Tomorrow, I want you to take her sellin' with you and show her the ropes, okay?" Racetrack nodded.

"No problem." He turned towards Alison. "Come on, follow me," he said, and headed up the stairs. Alison picked up her bag and followed Racetrack as he led her down the hall. "There's the washroom over there," he said, pointing it out as he led her over to an empty bunk. "You can sleep here," he said. Alison put her bag down and sat down on the bed. She looked at Racetrack.

"Where is everybody?" she asked.

"Probably still out sellin' the morning edition. They'll start comin' back soon," he said. Alison nodded and reached into her bag and pulled out the book that she had brought with her. She had been overjoyed when she had seen her book lying on the table in the parlor. That was the one good thing about her foster mother--whenever Mrs. Burnheart took away her books, she would leave them sitting on the table, forgotten. Alison had always been able to get her book back that night--if her door was unlocked.

"Whatcha got there?" Racetrack asked. Alison smiled; it was the first real smile that Racetrack had seen on her face.

"A book called Treasure Island," she said.

"Do you like to read?" Racetrack asked. Alison nodded enthusiastically.

"I love reading!" she exclaimed. "It's my favorite thing to do in the whole world." Racetrack grinned.

"Then I've gots the perfect name for you," he said. "We'll call you Bookworm." Alison was confused, an emotion that seemed to want to torment her for the day.

"Why not just call me Alison?" Racetrack smiled.

"Well, everyone here's got a nickname--mostly because when they first got here, they didn't have a name. You can't be a newsie if you don't have a nickname," he explained.

"Oh," Bookworm said as she opened her book. The edges of the book had frayed, one of the corners turning up slightly. The other corner of the cover had ripped at some point, and it was now almost falling off. Nevertheless, she loved it with all her heart and was always careful with it. Whenever her foster mother had taken it away, she had been terrified that she was going to rip it up or burn it. The first time Alison got into trouble with her foster mother, Mrs. Burnheart took her favorite stuffed animal, and burned it in the fireplace. Alison had no choice but to stand there and watch.

As she began to read, Racetrack noticed that Bookworm started to fiddle with her left ear; she was twisting it, folding it, twisting it the other direction, or folding and then twisting it. He watched her for a few minutes, bemused. Finally, he spoke.

"Do you always play with your ear when you read?" Bookworm didn't answer, or even acknowledge that Racetrack had spoken. He tried again, repeating the question. There was still no answer. "Alison!" Racetrack finally yelled. She jumped and looked at him, fear dominating her eyes.

"I've been trying to get your attention for the past five minutes," he said.

"I'm sorry. I didn't hear you," she said timidly, her voice trembling as she spoke.

"Didn't hear me? I was standin' right here!" Racetrack exclaimed. Bookworm tried not to cry.

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again. Please don't take my book away," she pleaded, clutching her book to her chest, a tear slipping down her cheek. Racetrack finally noticed how terrified she looked. He sat down next to her on the bed cautiously, not wanting to scare her further.

"Why would I do that?" he wanted to know.

"Because that's what my foster mother did whenever she got mad at me," Bookworm said. It was now Racetrack's turn to be confused.

"I thought you said that you didn't have a family," he said slowly. Bookworm looked away.

"I don't," she said, more tears beginning to form in her blue eyes.

"What happened?" he asked. She immediately shook her head.

"I don't want to talk about it," she said, not looking at him. Racetrack nodded.

"Okay. But if you ever want to talk, I'm willin' to listen, okay?" Bookworm looked back over at him.

"Okay," she said with a small smile. Just then, a girl who was a little taller than Bookworm walked in. She halted in her tracks when she saw Bookworm and Racetrack sitting on the bed. She grinned and bounded over.

"Hi! I'm Pockets!" she said cheerfully. "Who're you?"

"This is Bookworm," Racetrack said when Bookworm didn't say anything. "She's new here." Pockets rolled her eyes.

"No kidding," she said sarcastically. "How old are you, Bookworm?"

"I just turned ten almost two months ago," she said shyly. Pockets grinned.

"Really? I'm about to turn ten in a few days! What's that?" she asked suddenly, noticing the book. Bookworm smiled.

"Treasure Island," she said. "It's a really good book. Why do they call you Pockets?" Pockets smiled and showed Bookworm the inside of her thin coat. Pockets dotted the inside. There were so many that you couldn't see any space in between them. Bookworm smiled. "Oh."

"Do you like to read?" Pockets asked eagerly. Bookworm grinned.

"I love to read. That's why Racetrack gave me the nickname 'Bookworm'," she explained.

"I love reading to!" Pockets exclaimed. Bookworm was shocked. She had never really met anyone who liked to read as much as she did. After a few moments, she spoke.

"Really? That's great! What's your favorite book?" Bookworm asked enthusiastically. Racetrack shook his head as he stood up.

"I'm gonna go and try to find some people to play poker with," he told the two girls. At the age of eleven, Racetrack had already developed a love for gambling. Neither of the girls seemed to have heard him--they were having too much fun talking. Shaking his head again, Racetrack left the room.

A/N: And there's chapter one! Hope you enjoyed! Please take a few moments to review!