Okay, so I shouldn't be writing this, seeing as I have two other stories to work on...but I just can't help myself. On the plus side: I have all my stories planned out, so I can't ruin them like I did Wish Gone Wrong, Right? and Here Today, Gone Tomorrow! Thanks Christina Conlon for all the help! NEWSIES SISTAH'S UNITE! CARRYIN DA BANNAH!

YOU POOR UNFORTUNATE SOUL,
SO SAD, BUT TRUE
IF YOU WANT TO CROSS THE BRIDGE

THEN YOU HAVE TO PAY THE TOLL
TAKE A GULP OR TAKE A BREATH
JUST GO AHEAD AND SIGN THE SCROLL

Whistles, shouts, bells rang and hoof beats echoed down alleyways. But it was too late, by the time the smoke cleared, I was an orphan.
My mother and father died in a terrible fire. They had been staying at a friend's in a town nearby; I had been left in the care of an elderly neighbor. Something, no one really knows what, started their house on fire. No one survived. I was left on my own.
My father was a policeman, but not a strict one. The local newsboys trusted only him with their quarrels or dangers. My father was a kind and caring man, deeply in love with my mother. My mother was a seamstress for the wealthy; we were a middle class family with a nice apartment. Because my mother was a seamstress, I never went without dresses, petticoats, shoes, stockings, gloves, coats or hats. I was well cared for, and locally known as a beauty.
I found myself alone, for a sixteen year old, I was calm. Instead of crying or starving myself out of grief, I went to my home. I packed my two bags with all of my clothes and my wool cloak. I took my parent's money out of the bank, all $200 of it. They had been saving for a house, but it wasn't to be. I bought a ticket to Manhattan, the place of my birth, and the home of my cousin, Louis Higgins. The train ride from New Jersey was short, but long enough for me to wonder about all my old friends.
There was Shane, the little Irish spit-fire and my childhood sweetheart. John, quite the ladies man for a seven year old. George was quiet and shy. James was outspoken and playful. Francis was always jealous of Shane, but he was like a brother to me. I loved them all like brothers, except Shane, who I just flat out adored. They were the only family I had now.
When the train stopped, I was shoved out with the other passengers onto the dingy train platform. It was a haze of smoke, people, animals, and different languages. Here I was, Belle Rose Vizza, in a sea of strangers. I was pushed and pulled, this way and that, the crowd around me pushing and shoving to get to their places. I walked aimlessly out onto the street, hailing a cab. "To the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House," I said, remembering my cousin's wish to be a newsie someday. It probably wasn't likely I'd find him there, but you never know. Luck was on my side as I paid the cab driver, turning, I found a short Italian boy looking at me strangely. Louis Higgins? He got a little taller, and he has a cigar. He still has that black hat, only it fits now I see.
"Louis," I smiled, taking my bags in either hand and walking to his side. He looked at me strangely, before the light of recognition came on in his eyes.
"Belle? You got so much taller, and look at your hair," he fingered my brown plaits. I set my suitcases down to give him a hug.
"Do you have room for me?" I asked, wondering how to tell him about my situation. He did it for me.
"What about your parents? You didn't run away from Uncle Vic and Aunt Becky did you?" he scrutinized my dusty blue dress.
"No, th-they died in a f-fire," I choked on my words. Still the emotions came slowly. I hadn't even cried in the last two days since their death, every move I made was clear and thought through. Nothing was hasty or stupid; all of my decisions were made efficiently. Strange way to react to your parents' deaths huh? "How are Francis, George, John, James, and, his name was last for a reason. I didn't know if he was still alive, "Shane?" I asked.
"Good, Shane especially," Louis laughed at something and motioned me inside.
"Heya Race, who's da dame?" a tall boy with brown hair and a black cowboy hat said. Francis?
"You don't recognize me?" I feigned shock; Francis' eyes grew wide and disbelieving. It had been five years. I hadn't seen him since I was eleven years old.
"Belle Vizza? Is dat youse?" he asked, striding over to envelope me in a hug.
"Yes, but Francis, I need to breathe," I gasped out. He chuckled and set me back on my feet.
"Call me Jack, and dat," he pointed to Louis, "Is Racetrack. He is so called because he is forever going to the Sheepshead Bay races."
"Thanks, anyone else I know here?" I asked, looking around the otherwise abandoned room.
"Yes," Jack walked over to a set of rickety stairs and shouted up them, "Blink, Skittery, Mush, get yoah butts down heah, we'se got a lady visitah." The sound of three teenage boys tripping over each other to get downstairs was followed by three familiar faces. Two looked shocked and one smiled.
"Belle," John walked over to hug me, his strong arms gentler than Jack's had been. "Ise John, remembah? Youse can call me Mush, dats me newsie name."
"Belle?" George asked, flipping up a worn eye patch to blink at me with both of his crystal blue orbs.
"Yes, and what do they call you two?" I motioned for George and James to answer.
"Ise Kid Blink, or jus Blink," George answered.
"Ise Skittery," James said timidly, not at all the same little talkative child I'd left all those years ago.
"What should we call youse?" Race asked, throwing his arm casually over my shoulder. I was about the same height as him, shortness must run in the family...
"Umm, I don't know," I shrugged.
"Isn't Belle a princess in Europe or sometin?" Blink said.
"Let's call her Princess," Mush laughed.
"Princess it is," I smiled, pulling the boys into a group hug while one face still floated in my head.
"How's Shane?" I asked.
"He's good, runs Brooklyn pretty well," Jack shrugged, "Most of da newsies refer ta him as da King of Brooklyn."
"Who is talkin about me witout me pahmission?" a familiar, yet slightly deeper, voice came from the door behind me. I turned; there stood a taller, tanner, more muscular version of my Shane. Shane Thomas Conlon.
"I was," I blushed, hoping he would remember. My hopes were dashed to the floor like a china plate.
"Race, who is dat?" Shane turned to Racetrack, cocking his head to the side. He shoved away from the door frame where he had been leaning, and came a little closer. I raised my pink face to meet his blue eyes with my green ones.
"Belle?" he sounded shocked, he did remember!
"Yeah, I'm back," I smiled halfheartedly.
"What about yoah parents?" he asked. Countless times people had asked me about their deaths over the last two days, only when Shane asked did it fully register in my head. A wave of hurt, sadness, abandonment, and loneliness washed over me. I stood trembling, tears beginning to leak from my eyes, collecting at my chin and falling to the grimy wood floor below.
"D-d-d-dead," I stuttered, falling forward, unable to stand on my own two legs.
"Belle, Ise so sorry," Shane caught me up in his arms. He carried me upstairs bridal style, I was shaking as sobs wracked my thin frame. My skinny arms were wrapped around Shane's neck in a vain attempt to hold on. Shane set me down on a bunk, sitting next to me; he pulled me onto his lap and pet my hair. Slowly my sobs stopped, and I looked up into his face.
"I missed you Shane," I said.
"I missed you too Belle, we all did," he looked around. Each boy nodded, Race made a final grunt...having hauled my suitcases up the stairs.
"Heahs yoah tings," Race said, taking a deep breath.
"Thanks, I think I need a bath," I looked down at my dusty green dress. Opening my smaller suitcase, I pawed through the shoes, stockings gloves and gaiters. I located my hairbrush and nightgown, glad I had asked for the more modest one.
"Right dis way," Jack lead me to a door, closing it behind me. I pumped the cold water into a tub and sank in gratefully, thanking the good Lord for these boys.

RACE'S POV

This was no time to panic. As Belle bathed and brushed and groomed, we decided what to do with her.
"She could come to Brooklyn," Spot offered.
"Naw, dats too dangerous," Skittery said, speaking up.
"Good point Skits," Jack said, nodding.
"Come on guys, it's me goil," Spot said.
"Spot, she ain't been yoah goil foah five yeahs. You've had plenty of goils since she was gone," I said.
"None of em was Belle," Spot looked down at the table he was leaning on, ashamed of the truth.
"Yeah, well none of em is gonna be Belle, she might as well stay in da extra room here," Blink said.
"Alright, so it's settled, Princess is stayin in Hattan," Mush said, smiling. Mush and Belle were the best of friends when they were younger; he was the only one that recognized her right away.
"Princess?" Spot said, turning to Mush, his blue eyes flashing anger.
"Her newsie name, when you gonna tell her yoahs?" I asked/explained to a very peeved Spot.
"Soon as she comes out of dat batroom," Spot said, looking wistfully at the door.
"Ise remembah when youse kissed her undah dat tree in Central Pahk," I laughed, slapping his arm. "On da cheek."
"Yeah, good times," Skittery said. Jack's face fell a little. Oh yeah...
"Guys, where should I bed down?" the feminine voice came from an angel in a white nightgown. She looked at us, shock written plainly across our features, she crossed her arms in front of her chest, blushing.
"Right dis way Princess," I lead her to a small room off to the side. She thanked me, hauling her suitcases inside and lying down on the thin sheets.
"G'night boys, G'night Shane," another blush from Princess.
"M'name's Spot," Spot said, giving her forehead a light kiss and leaving the Lodging House for Brooklyn.
Princess sighed and laid down, her wet hair dampening her pillow. When we were back in the bunk room, and alone, I turned to Jack.
"Tink she's ovah him?" he asked. My reply was simple.
"Nope."

New concepts for me! So, here it is...reveiws make the world go round! The first two people to comment get characters in it! Cept I get to name you! Hehe! Thanks guys and dolls! (I'm evil)