The snow felt like little bullets slicing through his aching skin. The wind howled, and he could barely see more than a few inches past his own nose. Whatever had possessed him to try to sell the rest of his papers in this weather? He should have gone back to the Lodging House with the rest of the boys, but no, stubborn, headstrong Cowboy had to make a point and sell everything he had, even when all the customers had already retreated inside from the storm. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Jack stumbled in the deepening snow and fell to his knees, scattering papers onto the sidewalk. Cursing under his breath, he began to gather them up, trying not to think about how cold he was, how badly frozen his fingers and toes felt.

�I always knew you didn�t have no brains,� a feminine voice remarked sardonically from nearby. Jack slipped on some ice as he jerked around at the familiar sound. He hadn�t heard that voice in quite a long time, but he recognized it instantly. �What the heck is ya doin� out heah in dis weather?�

�Heyah Flip,� he managed to greet her through chattering teeth. The girl rolled her eyes at him as she came closer. She was bundled up in a mismatched coat and hat, probably stolen from somewhere. Nearly everything Flip owned was stolen somehow.

�Hey ya�self, youse half frozen,� she sighed and shook her head. �I�d like ta know whatcha would do if I wasn�t around to save yer ass,� she muttered, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him along. Jack was too tired and too cold to resist, so he allowed himself to be led along the snow-filled avenue.

What seemed like an eternity later, Flip hustled him into the basement of an abandoned tenement, similar to the one where she�d taken him the first day they had met, when she had rescued him from the tender mercies of Cain Monroe. This particular basement was obviously Flip�s current home; there was evidence of a recent fire in the crumbling fireplace, and a cast-off mattress was piled high with blankets. They climbed in a window, and Flip closed it up with several pieces of heavy wood. She tossed a tattered blanket at him, and Jack wrapped himself in it while Flip busied herself with lighting a fire. Before long, there was a merry blaze burning, and with its heat warming him, Jack no longer felt like he was turning into an icicle.

�God, youse some stupid,� Flip grumbled as she sat down on the edge of the mattress and unwound her ragged scarf.

�Part a� me charm,� Jack shot back, feeling better now that he was out of the storm. Flip rolled her eyes in disgust.

�Whatever ya wanna call it, Cowboy,� she snorted, then �You hungry?� she asked, and rolled her eyes again when Jack nodded. �A� course youse hungry, what a stupid question,� she muttered. �I�d shoah like ta know what you�d do if I hadn�t �a been out dere.�

�I�d manage,� Jack snapped, accepting the bread she offered. This was certainly a familiar scenario, the abandoned basement, Flip helping him, then feeding him. His pride rankled at the fact that she was right, that she did indeed seem to show up when he needed help. He�d come a long way from the scared, lonely urchin she�d rescued from Cain Monroe; he was a newsboy now, known around New York as Cowboy, the leader of the Manhattan newsies, not as widely known or as feared as, say, Spot Conlon, but doing just fine on his own. He glowered in silence as he ate, hating the fact that he�d put himself in the position to accept help from, of all things, a girl.

�What�s da matta wit�chu?� Flip demanded, plainly amused. She looked thinner than he remembered, obviously winter was difficult for pickpockets too. �I hoid youse doin� real good fer ya�self now, a newsie an� all,� she remarked with a certain amount of satisfaction as she cracked open a bottle. Jack shrugged and held his hands out to the fire.

�Yeah, what�s it to ya?� he wanted to know, and Flip snickered.

�Oh gimme a break, Cowboy, I just saved yer ass, and youse gonna give me lip? You can go freeze out in da snow fer all I care,� she laughed, holding out the bottle to him. Jack accepted it reluctantly.

�So, how ya been, Flip?� he asked, taking a gulp of the hard liquor. The girl shrugged and lit a cigarette. In the meager light he could see a nasty shiner around her left eye.

�Survivin�, ya know how it is,� she replied casually.

He nodded. He certainly did know how it was. Winter was a bad time for any working kid. He accepted the cigarette she passed to him and took a drag.

�Heard somethin� �bout you an� Cain Monroe,� he remarked, blowing out some smoke. Flip grinned slightly.

�Yeah, he ain�t runnin� Manhattan no more,� she said.

�How�d ya do that?� Jack wanted to know. All he�d heard was that the local thug had been run out of the borough. Flip shrugged.

�Jus� wasn�t gonna pay �im for woikin� in his so-called territory, so I got some a� da udda people who woiked �round heah to stop payin� �im an� so den he had ta leave,� she explained. Jack nodded, impressed. The old divide and conquer theory, he�d used it himself in a few territory fights. �Last I heard he was in Harlem,� she added, drawing on the cigarette.

�I heard he was in Jersey,� Jack remarked with a grin. Flip made a face.

�Who cares? He�s gone, dat�s all dat counts,� she said. Dismissing it, she stood up and went over to a battered trunk in the corner. �We�s probably gonna be heah fer a while, ya wanna play some cards?� **

�Youse got a real name, or is Flip what yer muddah called ya?� Jack wanted to know, tossing down his cards several hours later. She had beaten him three times in a row and it was really starting to get on his nerves. Flip arched an eyebrow at him.

�What�s it to ya?� she demanded. Jack shrugged.

�Jus� wonderin�,� he replied. She rolled her eyes.

�You�ll laugh,� she sighed, and Jack grinned hugely.

�Nah, I won�t,� he said.

�Yeah, ya will.�

�Listen,� he leaned forward. �I�ll tell ya mine if ya tell me yers.�

Flip looked at him in surprise. �Jack ain�t yer real name?�

He shook his head. �Nope, made it up, don�t tell nobody, all right?�

�All right, den,� Flip sighed reluctantly. �Me muddah called me Amelia, but everybody else called me Amy.�

�Amelia!� Jack hooted with laughter, earning himself a sharp kick in the shins. �Yer name�s Amelia? You don�t look like no Amelia!�

�Shuddup, Cowboy,� she snapped peevishly as he snickered. �So you said you�d tell yers,� she reminded him. Jack swallowed his laughter.

�Can�t tell nobody, dey�s lookin� fer me an� stuff,� he said, serious now. Flip � no, Amy- nodded.

�Shoah.�

�Francis,� he admitted, blushing a little. Amy threw her head back and howled in amusement.

�FRANCIS?� she laughed. �No wonder ya changed it to Jack!�

Jack shrugged. �Dey�s lookin� for Francis Sullivan, not Jack Kelly, it made sense ta me,� he explained, and Amy nodded.

�S�pose so,� she agreed. �Me muddah used ta always say �don�t be flip wit� me, girl,� so, after a while, it started bein� a liddle joke wit� her, callin� me Flip. It stuck after she died,� she added nonchalantly.

�Me muddah called me Frankie,� Jack admitted, gathering up the cards and beginning to shuffle them. �I always hated it.�

�I guess so,� Amy snickered, earning herself a dark look from her companion. �So, Frankie, youse gonna deal or what?� she grinned.

Jack sighed and did as he was told. They played a few more rounds, then Amy tossed down her cards and sprawled back on the mattress to take a gulp of whiskey. The fire was keeping the room quite cozy and Jack was feeling more relaxed than he had in a while.

�So how come you don�t get a real job?� he asked, coming over to sit down on the mattress beside her. Amy eyed him from below a thick tangle of strawberry hair as she sat up.

�What do I need a real job for?� she demanded. �I do good at what I do.�

�Yeah, but you could do somethin� else, and not hafta worry about da bulls or stuff like dat,� Jack pointed up. Amy shrugged and took another sip of the alcohol. �You could even be a newsie,� he suggested. �We�s got girl newsies at da lodging house, ya know.�

Amy snorted loudly. �I don�t t�ink so, Cowboy,� she replied, picking up the discarded deck of cards and shuffling them.

�Why not?� Jack persisted. �Den you�d have a place ta live an� a honest job,� he offered.

�Who says I wants a honest job?� she snapped testily. �I�m good at what I does, dats what counts.�

Jack shrugged his shoulders. �I guess you t�ink you couldn�t do it or somethin�,� he glanced at her to see if she would rise to the bait. To his surprise, she was still shuffling the cards, stubbornly avoiding his gaze. �What�s da mattah?� he demanded, disconcerted by her frown. Amy shrugged and dropped the cards.

�I can�t be a newsie �cause I can�t read too good,� she finally admitted reluctantly. �I went ta school fer a while, but den Mama got sick an� somebody had ta take care a� her.� She turned a challenging look on him as he gaped at her.

�You can�t read at all?� he asked, surprised. Amy was glowering now, plainly embarrassed by her admission.

�A� course I kin read, you idiot, just not too good,� she snapped. �Forget about it, all right?�

�Ya don�t really need ta know how ta read ta be a newsie, but if ya want, I could help ya,� Jack offered and Amy glared at him.

�Stuff if, Cowboy, I don�t need nobody�s help.�

The warning look on her face stopped him from saying anything else, so he shrugged and let the topic drop. There was an awkward pause as the wind howled from outside and the fire crackled cheerfully in response to the storm�s lonely wailing. Finally, Amy yawned and stretched out on the mattress. �Grab dat blanket ovuh dere, wouldja, Cowboy?� she said, resting her head on her folded arms.

Jack got up and grabbed the blanket, tossing it over to her. In the process he noticed a small pile of carefully stashed male clothes, too small to be Amy�s, obviously belonging to somebody else. �Dese yer bruddah�s?� he wanted to know. He�d never heard it mentioned that Flip Cavanaugh had a brother, but it was the logical explanation. Amy barely looked up from rearranging the blanket around her and only grunted in reply. �Where is he?� Jack asked.

�St. Mary�s Orphanage,� she answered absently. �Warmer and safer in da winter, ya know?� she explained and Jack nodded.

�Yeah, I know,� he agreed, then frowned as something occurred to him. �So, where am I s�posed ta sleep?� he demanded, looking around the small room. Amy rolled her eyes.

�You got a choice, youse can sleep on da floor, or you can share wit� me,� she replied sardonically. �But try anything and I�ll soak ya inta next week,� she added and Jack laughed out loud as he joined her on the mattress.

�I�ll be a poifect gentleman,� he promised and Amy snorted as she reached over and extinguished the single lantern, leaving the fire their only illumination.

�Dat�ll be da day,� she muttered and rolled over on her side away from him. Jack lay back and pulled the blanket up to his chin. He was exhausted, but for some reason, sleep wouldn�t come. He listened to the storm howl and wondered how long it would be before it abated. �So, when�s yer parents comin� ta take ya out west?� Amy finally spoke up into the stillness.

Jack shrugged. �When dey find da right ranch, I guess,� he replied automatically. There was movement from the other side of the mattress as Amy nodded.

�Dey�s been gone a long time, huh?� she asked.

�Yeah,� Jack mumbled, not really wanting to pursue the subject. �What about you, what do ya wanna do, ya know, when youse older?�

Amy sighed and rolled over onto her back. �When I save up enough money, I wanna go upstate,� she replied.

�What�re ya gonna do upstate?� Jack prodded when she didn�t elaborate.

�We�s gonna have a farm,� came the reply, and Jack choked on a laugh.

�A farm?� he repeated. �What do you know about runnin� a farm?�

�About as much as you know about runnin� a ranch,� Amy shot back and Jack grinned, knowing she was right.

�I can�t picture you feedin� chickens,� he remarked in amusement. Amy sniffed.

�Yeah, well I can�t picture you rustlin� cattle neither so what�s yer point?� she demanded. �Now shuddup and go ta sleep.� She rolled over so that her back was to him. Jack grinned and adjusted the blanket around him.

�G�night Amy,� he said into the darkness.

�G�night, Frankie.�

******

The first thing he heard the next morning was the howl of the wind. The storm hadn�t gotten any better over night; if anything it had gotten worse.

Jack groaned and rolled over. The fire had burnt out and the room was dim and freezing. His muscles were stiff from the cold as he sat up and looked around. As he rubbed his hands over his face, there was the scratch of a match being lit and light blossomed in the fireplace.

�Youse awake,� Amy remarked as she used the same match to light her cigarette.

�Yeah,� he mumbled, watching her come back and sit down on the mattress.

�Shoah is cold,� she added, wrapping herself in one end of the blanket. Her sleep-tousled hair was a riot of red-blonde curls, making her look unusually feminine and vulnerable, two things Amy strove to hide in herself.

Jack nodded. �Yeah, I guess da storm ain�t ovuh yet, huh?� he said, tucking the blanket around him and accepting the cigarette she offered him.

�Nope, youse stuck wit� me a little longer,� she replied. �I tried to go out, but the snow�s still coming down so hard youse lucky if you can see yer hand in front a� yer face.�

Jack shrugged and took a puff of the cigarette. �Hope dey hold my bunk for me at da lodging house,� he muttered. Amy rolled her eyes.

�I don�t t�ink dey�d be givin� away Cowboy�s bunk ta nobody,� she snorted. There was a silence as they finished the cigarette between them. �Yer parents really ain�t out in Santa Fe, is they?� Amy asked abruptly. Jack blinked at her in astonishment.

�What�re you talkin� about?� he demanded, annoyed. The girl shrugged her thin shoulders.

�You talks in yer sleep ya know. You was havin� a nightmare and stuff,� she said quietly. Jack said nothing, frowning stubbornly at the edge of the tattered blanket. �Who�s Georgie?� Amy asked, surprisingly gentle, and his gaze flew to hers. Their eyes locked for a long moment, then he looked away.

�My bruddah,� he muttered.

�Where is he now?� Amy prodded and Jack glared unseeingly down at the dirt floor. There were cigarette butts all over it.

�He�s dead,� he snapped back, hoping that would shut her up. Amy nodded slightly.

�Sorry,� she murmured.

�An� so�s my muddah,� he went on bitterly. �An� my pops is in jail, happy now?� he demanded.

Amy sighed. �So why do ya still wanna go ta Santa Fe?� she asked.

Jack gritted his teeth. This was one conversation he did not want to have. ��Cause its where we was gonna go,� he snapped. �We done wit� da interview?�

�Dat�s rough, Cowboy,� she said, and to his infinite amazement, she actually reached over and squeezed his hand reassuringly. There was an awkward moment, then she flashed him a rueful smile. �Ya wanna play some cards?�

Jack looked at her for a moment, then shrugged. �Yeah, I guess so.�