Well, all right. So. It's been forever since I've put anything up here. I've been itching to write a newsies fic and found this old story on my flash drive. I'd say it was Fate. I'm revamping it, since my old story I found on my flash drive was so embarrassingly Mary Sue that I almost cried. So. Hopefully that won't happen this time. Let me know if it's Mary Sue-ish. Since, the whole Spot romance thing had spun wildly out of control.

To me, I think this story is unlike anything I've ever written. It's very unlike me, so I think that's a good idea, right? Oh, I'm rambling. Please enjoy. C:

blue eyes and emerald isles

She's dancing alone
I'm ready to go but she's so
Lost in stereo, lost in stereo
She's out of control, so beautiful
In stereo, lost in stereo
And I've been waiting for so long
But she'll never know
I'm losing hope 'cause she's so
Lost in stereo

~ "Lost in Stereo" by All Time Low

"Hold still, child!" our house mother called, standing with her own seamstress as mine walked around and poked and prodded at my hair, pulling it out to painful lengths so the 'fake' curls bounced back to place.

I so sorely hated curlers. I loved my straight, strawberry blonde hair. It always fell to the perfec

t length just below my shoulder blades. And I liked it that way. I hated having it plaited, or curled, or braided, or anything of the like.

I waited patiently as my seamstress fixed my curls, pulled out lace ruffles from my lavish gown, and pinned up my hair. I was a dancer, not a stuck up, boring girl.

It is amazing how quickly New York City accepted me. Especially since I was Irish. I had come here six years ago on a boat from Ireland, with my best friend Sean. We were only eleven at the time. And I hadn't seen him since we got off the boat in Ellis Island. I wondered if he was doing well for himself, like he always said he would.

"Alyssa! Get your head out of the clouds!" our house mother shouted. "How many strokes was that?"

"Forty-five, ma'am," I said softly. "Five to go."

"Right," she said and then resumed beating my hair with the hairbrush for five more strokes.

Luckily, in this life, I have someone who understands. Her name is Diana, or Wicked, as the newsboys call her. Her name suits her, only because she is extremely mischievous, but sweet like her real name implies.

Diana made her entrance into my room, grinning all the while, her dress not laced up properly but she looked as happy as a clam.

"Liss! You'll never guess what Miss Medda said!" she squealed and our house mother clicked her tongue quietly at the outright unladylike gesture. "She said we are to perform tonight for the boys again! This shall be twice in one week we shall take her place and perform!"

"How delightful!" I smiled at her. "The boys are so lovely when we perform. It is as if they'd never seen a ballet."

Our house mother left the room, a kind of stupid thing to do, since it left us alone together.

"Those boys drool so much, so I don't think they've seen a ballet." Diana laughed. "Will you lace me up, love?"

I knew lacing my best friend's corset was not good manners, but there was nobody there to help her lace up. I fed the leather laces through the loops in her dress and pulled them tight. Diana groaned and then sucked in her belly, allowing proper lacing to take place. I tied them into a bow at the base of her bodice and then smiled.

"It's not too tight?" I asked.

Diana shook her head. "No, just normal lung crushing pain."

"Well, you look lovely, either way," I told her.

Diana bowed toward me. "Why, thank you very much Miss Hoity-Toity."

I bowed back at her. "You are ever so welcomed, Miss Hoity-Toity."

Diana laughed. "Can we both have the same name?"

"I dunno. Probably not."

We both laughed then, and left the giant house that fit all of us performers. There were five of us, Diana and I included. We hooked arms, walking down the street of Manhattan. It was not as warm as New York City could have been, but it wasn't chilly at all. It still made Diana and I have to carry a fan and fan ourselves. But I suppose either way, we'd have brought our fans.

We walked leisurely down the sidewalk, talking about silly things. After all, girls only spoke of silly things. They had nothing of value to say at all. Well, at least that's what we were taught.

Diana pulled me towards another street and we giggled as we rushed down the sidewalk towards the Distribution Office, a frequent stop we made on our way to singing lessons with Miss Medda.

"Goodness me! Boys, look alive! We gots angels in our midst!" Racetrack bellowed, grabbing his newspapers before rushing towards us. He grinned, removed his cap and bowed low. "Good mornin', ladies. Lovely weather, ain't it?"

Diana rolled her eyes at his attempt to make light conversation like the high class do. "Why, yes. Quite lovely weather. Wouldn't you agree, Miss O'Rourke?" Diana winked at me.

"I couldn't agree more," I said, mimicking her tone. "And while we are speaking of the weather. Don't you find that Mister Higgins is trying quite too hard to fit in?" I teased.

Race gasped in horror. "Clearly I'se mistaken you two ladies to be nice."

Diana was laughing. "Oh, Race. Lighten up," she grinned at him. "We only came to ask if you boys were coming to the show tonight."

Jack and some of the other boys shuffled up to us as well. Skittery, and Kid Blink, and the younger newsies. Such a ragged army, but very steadfast boys.

"What's in it for us?" Jack asked, grinning.

Diana and I exchanged looks. "We're performing tonight," I said, letting the secret out. It was amazing how three little words lit up those boys' faces. They all clamored to agree that they would come. It was free, after all. All of Medda's shows for the boys were free.

"Yeah, we'll come," Jack said, after the boys had quieted down. "As long as you'se girls agree to play poker with us afterward."

I pressed my lips together. That was pushing it. Our house mother would have a fit if we arrived home at such a late hour. It was unbecoming, and also extremely wrong. Apparently Diana cared not about morals and etiquette.

"Of course we're playing poker," she said, as if she were offended by the very thought of not playing. "Unless you boys are too chicken to play with two girls."

"We ain't scared of no girls," Kid Blink grinned at us. "We play dirty, and you'se girls ain't getting off easy."

Diana nodded. "Then it's settled. We shall play after the show."

A couple behind us scoffed as they walked past us, no doubt for taking to the street rats. I pulled Diana back a pace and cleared my throat.

"Thank you so very much for the directions, boys," I said loudly, for the couple to hear as they walked by. If word got back to our house mother about this little excursion, we would be followed by a chaperone at all times. "You are so very helpful to us less fortunate, lost girls."

I pulled Diana close to me. "Let's go. We're all ready late." I was always the voice of reason. Why was that?

"Yes, yes. All right," Diana sighed. "Boys, we shall see you tonight. Oh, and Jack, will you tell Brooky they're invited. Poker is always interesting with the Brooklyn boys around."

Jack nodded and the boys removed their caps in farewell. "Will do, Wicked. Angel," he nodded at me, grinning.

We waved and then shuffled quickly down the street. I was downright embarrassed, but I wasn't sure why. The rich people usually didn't bother me, but to have them scoff at us the way they did made me angry. Perhaps it was because I was not used to being rich. I came from a farm in Ireland, but now my throat was dripping in emeralds and my body was adorned with a silk dress. It was quite the far stretch from what I was used to.

But that is the life of a performer, yes?

We reached the theater in plenty of time, and she wasn't surprised that we were late. She was in good spirits, as she always was. Honestly, you could never be upset around her. She was lovely.

Diana and I reviewed our scales, singing up and down with her pianist. But she cut it short with a smile. "Working is so dull, don't you find? Why don't we do something more fun, girls?"

So, instead of our lesson, we spent the time in the back looking at costumes and picking out what we would wear that night. This part of being wealthy, I loved. The dresses and jewelry and the lovely plumes and hairpieces were divine. I also loved ballet. As much strain and work was put into it, I loved it so much that I hardly minded.

Being on stage was like nothing I had ever felt before.

Medda usually didn't stick to the distinctive style of most ballet performers. She didn't care for tutus in the least, so she refused to allow us to wear them performing. She found them hideous and unbecoming of us girls. Instead, we were flowing skirts that puffed out slightly and ended at our shins, a most odd thing to see, really, since showing your ankle was almost as taboo as sex out of wedlock.

The show was great, though. Medda warmed up the boys by singing a few songs in her vaudeville way, and it made me smile when the boys joined in and sang along with her. They were so great.

"You never met the Brooklyn boys before, have you, Liss?" Diana asked, sticking hairpins in my hair. It was tradition between us that we each do each other's hair before each performance for good luck. Silly, yes, but we didn't stop now.

I thought quietly. "No, I haven't. Odd. You'd think I would have. How many years have we been hanging around the newsies?"

Diana laughed and then turned around, each of us inspecting each other's hair for any lumps or bumps. When everything was perfect, we crowded to the door that led to the stage, listening.

"Well, boys! I've got a real treat for you tonight. Two of my best girls, Alyssa and Diana are going to dance for you tonight! So do me a favor and give them a round of applause!"

We fluttered onto the stage like little pixies, hands clasped between our bodies. We curtsied and I couldn't hold back the blush at the cheering newsies below. Medda gave the signal to our accompanist and we began dancing to the tinkling sounds of the piano. It was insanely fun, and I'd forgotten how fun dancing was until I was up on the stage again, the light shining down. It was just me and the stage now. I couldn't hear anything else; the music just flowed through me.

The second it was over, the noise came back to me in a rush and my eyes focused on the cheering boys and the smile Diana gave me, and I realized I was smiling, too. It was different, and I'd never actually had that happen before in my life. Well, it had, just in different ways.

Diana and I curtsied again and then ran off the stage to get changed. I pulled the pins from my hair, letting it fall in waves down my back. I wiggled out of the hideous ballet costume and into my boy's clothes that Jack had lent me a long time ago, when I first met them, when I was still reeling from my past.

I had sat quietly at dinner all night, eating my meat and sipping my milk like a good girl. Daddy didn't look at me, and I wasn't sure if that scared me or relieved me. Only my best friend Sean knew why being around my Daddy bothered me. Only he cared enough to know.

Diana pulled me from my thoughts with her hand, literally. "Come on. I'm dying to be praised," she informed me and I allowed myself to be pulled through the crowd of joyful newsies, over to the table of Manhattaners who were all smiles.

Jack stood first and hugged us both, one long arm wrapping around each of our shoulders. I laughed. "Great job, ladies!" he turned, arms still around our shoulders, to face a boy sitting next to Race that I had never seen before in my life. He had blue eyes and dirty blonde hair. "See, Spotty. Toldja these was me girls," he said smugly.

Oh, Jack and his pride.

The boy he spoke to smirked up at his and I glanced away. Diana looked completely at ease, just leaned into Jack as usual. Was I really the only one left breathless by this boy?

"Looks like it. For now," the boy said.

Diana laughed. "Spot, you go through girls faster than Jack goes through sellin' his papes!" she said, teasing in her voice. "That's bad, by the way."

The boy – Spot? – shrugged lightly. "Girls bore me."

It only took three words to turn me off. So he's that type, I thought. I made a very large mental note to avoid him at all costs. I didn't need to be tangled up in heartache. I still wanted to make it until I was eighteen.

We sat down again at the table and Race slid whisky shots over to Di and I, who downed them instantly. I was grateful for the delicious burning sensation that slithered down my throat. It felt good.

The three of us sat down and Race pulled out a deck of cards. The guy seemed to have everything necessary in that damn vest of his. He dealt us in and I grabbed the cigarette from Jack's mouth. He smirked at me.

I stared at my cards thoughtfully, keeping my face blank, sadly, everyone else was as well. I couldn't read them.

The pot was raised, high for the newsies standards, but nobody folded. Oh, Jesus, was this going to be good.

Race and Jack both set a card down in exchange for a new one from the deck, but Spot, Di, and I kept ours. I could see the corners of Spot's mouth twitching, so I figured he had a good hand. But I was confident in my own, but I wouldn't be like Spot and give myself away.

Of course, Racetrack slapped his cards down whenever nobody else raised the pot. "Two pair and a whore, kids," he announced, showing us two threes, one of hearts and the other of spades, two fours, hearts and diamonds, and a Queen of spades.

Jack had folded just before this and so did Diana, so she could go get us more shots. Spot and I engaged in a staring contest, trying to decide which one of us would slap their cards down next.

"Ain't gonna matter anyhow," Spot muttered and then slammed his cards down, sitting back with his arms crossed smugly. Oh, God, I think he had more pride than Jack Kelly, and that was just sad.

I was impressed. Spot had played a very good game, aside from the smirking, but I figured the smirk was a permanent part of him.

"Straight," he grinned at me. He had a very impressive hand; I had to give him that. He had a nine, ten and jack of spades, and a queen and king of hearts. Wow, he had a damn good hand.

"I think it is gonna matter," I set my cards down daintily and then grinned. "Nice game, boys."

I had a three fives, spades, clubs and hearts, and two aces, hearts and clubs. Racetrack swore and slapped the table and Jack and Di started laughing. Spot just sort of stared at me. I couldn't tell if he was impressed, or pissed off. I pulled the money towards me, snickering quietly in spite of myself. I downed the whisky in my shot glass and the game began again.

We played four more rounds, Race winning half of them, then Diana won the third, and Spot the last one. I folded twice. Damn two's.

I couldn't count the amount of shots I'd done, but I felt lightheaded and I couldn't play drunk. It would blow everything and I had some nice pocket change that jingled happily as I walked.

Diana was laughing and I was leaning against her. I had no idea how we got to laughing so hard, but Race was talking and it only made us laugh louder. I didn't remember a thing, just that when I opened my eyes again, I was laying in my bed at our house with a splitting headache.