"Truth! Firefly! Pounce! Nickel! Grins! Get up! Get up! Carry the Banner! Ya got work ta do! Ya gotta get up! Ya gotta get up! The ink is wet! The presses are rollin'! C'mon! C'mon!"

Porter woke to the sound of Kloppman yelling, and about ten girls grumbling. Truth, who slept in the bunk above her swung down and shook her shoulder. "C'mon. Ya gotta get up before da guys do, or ya'll never get inta da washroom."

Kloppman could now be heard shouting at the boys. There was a loud THUD! from the other room as one of the boys, not yet quite awake, fell out of bed.

Pounce snickered at the sound and bounded out of bed across the room, looking far too awake for this time of day. She seconded Truth's warning. "Dey take forever! Greasin' deir hair an' shavin'-"

"An' da funny t'ing is, most a dem don't got nothin' ta shave!" Nickel added, laughing. She slid out of bed, then stood up and shouted in her bunkmate's ear. "Firefly! Wake up!" The redhead grumbled and pulled her pillow over her ears, then threw it at her friend when Nickel refused to stop shouting.

"C'mon!" Truth, the blond girl who'd teased Jack the night before, pulled Porter out of bed and dragged her to the washroom. She'd taken a liking to the newest girl and decided to adopt her. She whispered. "Gettin' Firefly outta bed is like trying ta sink Long Island! Watch 'er be foist ta da food once she's up though!" She laughed. "I'se Truth, in case ya don't rememba. An' youse Porter, right?"

Slightly overwhelmed, Porter nodded. Even in Brooklyn, even in the Refuge where she'd been used to having a lot of people around, they hadn't been this - enthusiastic - about everything. "Aw right, dis is Pounce." Truth introduced each girl as she entered the washroom. "Cuz dat's what she does, ya should see 'er in a fight - heah, take a towel. - Dis heah's Nickel - da pumps are over dere, in case ya wants ta wash - cuz she claims she can get a nickel for ev'y pape she sells (she's lyin, don't believe 'er) an' da goil chasin 'er wit da pillow - would youse two quit it! - is Firefly."

As they were introduced, each of the girls waved and smiled. "Where'd ya get your name?" Porter asked the tiny blond.

"It's cuz she can make da biggest lie sound like da truth." Firefly answered, having given up her pursuit of Nickel. "Don't believe a woid she says."

Truth looked at her innocently. "Me, lie? I ain't told a lie since I was da day I was born." She turned to Porter. "Ya know how I was born, right? Me fam'ly lived upstate. Me mudder was walkin over a bridge, an' dropped me in da river dere - just like dat - an' I swam all da way heah ta New Yawk." She grinned. "Truth." Porter laughed. "So, Porter, ya got a sellin partner?" she asked.

"Crutchy, I t'ink." Porter answered, a little shyly.

"Yeah, weren't ya lissenin ta Blink, las night, Truth?" asked a girl Porter didn't know. "Dey's our newest couple."

Porter looked up from washing her face and protested, but no one was listening to her.

"When he's got somethin' woithwhile ta say I'll lissen to 'im." Truth retorted. She splashed water on her face, finished dressing, grabbed Porter's hand again, and dragged her back to the girls' sleeping quarters as the boys began to invade the room. Porter reflected that her name should have been Whirlwind.

"So, ya like any a da guys?" Pounce called after them, following.

"Pounce!" exclaimed Nickel, also following them, and rubbing her face with a towel she'd managed to snatch before Skittery started playing Keep Away with them. "She ain't even been heah a day, yet. How's she s'posed ta know?!"

"Oh, c'mon, Nickel." Firefly protested. "I know for a fact dat youse fell head over tail for Skittery da moment ya saw 'im."

"Shaddup!" hissed Nickel, turning pink as she looked anxiously at the door to the washroom. "He'll heah ya!"

"As if all a New Yawk din't know awready!" snorted the redhead. She was having her revenge for being woken up, and was not going to let go of the subject easily. "An' as if ya had a chance wit 'im."

Nickel's temper flared. "I'se gotta better chance wit Skittery den youse got wit Spot."

Porter nearly choked. "Spot?" she asked, then mentally kicked herself for the slip of the tongue. The last thing she wanted to talk about was Brooklyn. Most of the others didn't notice her nervousness however, since her interruption had the benefit of ending the fight.

Truth looked at her sideways. "Spot Conlon. Ya ain't met 'im, t'hough. He don't live heah. He's da leadah a da Brooklyn newsies." She grinned, pointing at Firefly. "'Bout half da goils in New Yawk are gone on him. She's da woist of 'em."

Anxious to change the subject, Firefly called out. "C'mon, don't youse wanna get somethin' ta eat, before ya get yer papes?" She raced out of the room. "Hey, Nickel?" she called over her shoulder.

"Truce!" Nickel called back, following her. By the time the others reached the bottom of the stairs, the two were gossiping like best friends which, Porter realized, they were.

"Hey, Porter, didja sign in las' night?" Truth asked, flipping through Kloppman's registration book to find a fresh page.

Porter shook her head. She hadn't thought it was a good idea. She didn't want her name written down where it might be seen by the bulls or her father or - anyone else. "Den ya better now." Truth saw her expression and added: "If ya worried about da bulls, dat's why we have nickname's. Got any ideas?"

Before Porter could answer, a flood of about twenty boys came charging down the stairs. Truth and Porter backed out of the way and flattened themselves against the wall. "Now, ya knows why we goils gotta get up foist! C'mon we gotta eat!" Truth pulled her into the stream of boys. They overflowed into the street, where the other girls were waiting. "Dere's some nuns dat feed us, if we gets dere early enough." she explained.

"Good mornin', miss." Porter turned to find Crutchy next to her, grinning. "How do ya like da odders?" he asked.

"Mornin', Crutchy. Dey's great." The three followed the others down a few streets to the Catholic church. Three nuns stood behind a cart, handing out food.

"Take off yer hat," Crutchy advised. "but I betta warn ya. Dey don't like goil newsies much. Dey'll prob'ly lecture ya on da sinful life ya leadin'."

"Dey should lecture Pulitzer!" Porter snorted. "He's da one sleepin in, while we're out heah. Still, if dat's all it's gonna cost me for a decent breakfast, den I ain't complainin'!" She eyed Truth who was laughing. "What's da matta?"

"Ya sound like a newsie awready!"

"She sells like one, too." said Crutchy. "I din't hafta do a t'ing afta I ran inta her, yestidy."

"Aw, ya makin' me blush!" joked Porter.

They took off their hats, and received the food respectfully. The sermon fell on deaf ears, however. Porter was making the most of the cup of coffee and roll she'd been given. "I ain't eaten dis good in weeks!"

When they reached the closed gates of the World building, Porter saw two boys greeting Jack. The older one looked about fifteen. He had curly hair and the faint, but unmistakeable signs of 'education'. Since learning was unusal among the newsies (most of whom could read their papes and count the pennies they earned and no more) Porter realized he must be Dave, and the little boy gazing up at Jack with obvious hero-worship must be his brother Les. Her guess was confirmed when Crutchy pulled her over to be introduced.

"Heya, Dave! How ya doin'?"

The older boy turned, smiling. "Hey, Crutchy! Is this the new girl I've been hearing about?"

"Yeah, dis is Porter, me new partner. Porter, dis is Dave."

"-Odderwise known as da Walkin' Mouth." added Jack, slapping Dave on the back as the other boy glared at him. "An dis is Les." He gestured at the little boy, who wore a cowboy hat identical to his own.

"I'se seven." piped up Les.

"He's nine." said Dave, rolling his eyes. Jack laughed, and Porter looked from one to the othr of them in confusion.

"Dave, younga sells more papes, rememba?" Les protested. Unlike his brother, he seemed to have acquired the accent of most of the newsies.

"Yeah, well, Porter's a newsie, too, so yas don't need ta tell her dat." Jack advised. Porter noticed that Les listened to him. Poor Dave. she thought. I'd be mad. But Dave seemed used to it.

The huge, iron gates swung open, then. "C'mon, we gotta get ta woik!" said Jack, dragging them all into the crowd of newsies. Somehow they found themselves at the head of the line. Porter suspected that was Jack's work, wittingly or unwittingly. He led da strike, after all. It's a toss up for who's more famous - him or Spot.

As they left the gates with their papers, Porter suddenly felt incredibly happy. After all, she had a place to stay, friends, money, and a job. And she didn't have to worry about so much, now. For a moment, Brooklyn seemed like the other side of the moon, and the threat from the law equally unimportant. She laughed out loud, dropped her papers and did a cartwheel down the street, drawing more than a few strange looks.

"What're ya so happy about?" Crutchy laughed when she ran back to him and picked up her papes, grinning broadly.

"It's wonderful!" she said breathlessly.

"What is?"

"Freedom!"

"EXTRY! EXTRY! RIOT ON MAIN STREET! MAYOR INVOLVED!" Porter called as she and Crutchy walked down a busy street on the way to Central Park. It wasn't that much of an exaggeration. A spooked horse had caused a traffic jam outside the City Hall the previous evening. They past a bookstore with several beautifully bound books in the window, and she slowed down to see if any of her favorites were among them.

"Porter?" She started guiltily. Crutchy was looking at her, grinning. "I called ya t'ree times, awready." He followed her gaze to the books in the window. "Ya like ta read?" he asked, nodding at it.

"Yeah, me mudda taught me." she gave the store one last regretful look. "Ev'y time I see a bunch like dat, I gotta stop. It's silly, I know. Got me more den a few beatins, too." She thought aloud, before realizing what she was saying. "C'mon, we betta get goin'." she added hurriedly. I can't believe ya jist said dat aloud! To a almost stranger, no less! Crutchy, ain't a stranger . . . contradicted another thought.

"Hey, what's silly about it?" Crutchy asked. "I'se done it a few times meself. Gone inside, too. If ya don't look like ya got money, though, dey kick ya out. So I stopped. I like books, too. Din't have much else ta do when I was little, 'cept read." He started, remembering he was supposed to be working, and called out a headline.

"Yeah, well, me Pop din't t'ink too much a it. I got useta hidin' it." she admitted.

He looked other his shoulder at the bookstore, thinking, then turned back to her. "I'se got a few dat I saved for. If ya evah wanna borrow one."

Porter thought about that. "I might." She shifted her stack of papers. "EXTRY! EXTRY! RIOT ON STEPS A CITY HALL! MAYOR IN HOSPITAL NEAR DEATH!"

"Not bad!" said Porter, tossing a few coins and stuffing them in her pocket.

"Yeah, meetin' you was da best t'ing ta happen ta me!" said Crutchy, grinning.

A huge, embarrassed smile crossed Porter's face, even though she knew he didn't mean it that way. She wasn't sure how to reply, and jumped at the chance to change the subject when they reached the lodging house and saw Race approaching with a hangdog look on his face.

"Bad day?" she asked. He didn't hear her. She sighed. She never meant to talk that softly.

"Bad race?" called Crutchy.

He looked up. "Actually, I won, for once. I'se got - I had four dollars in me pocket before da Delancey's showed up. An' Jack wasn't dere dis time. Now I'se completely clean."

"For once." joked Kid Blink, approaching, meaning it an entirely different way.

"Yeah, shaddup." Race retorted as the third of the three musketeers ran in.

"Heya, fellas we gotta tawk. I jist seen-"

"Lemme guess," interrupted Kid Blink, rolling his eyes at Racetrack. "'Da most beautiful goil in da woild'."

Mush blushed, but shook his head. "Naw, I saw Snyda'!"

Race looked as if his bad day had just gotten worse. "Dat still gets me! We get Teddy Roosevelt hisself on our side, an' what happens?"

"Acquitted!" completed Snoddy. He and Pie Eater were next to arrive, followed closely by Truth and Pounce. "Dey din't even indict 'im, for goodness sake. Youse tawkin' 'bout Snyda'?"

"Who else?" snorted Race. "C'mon let's go in. It's time for some serious poker playin'."

"I t'ought ya was clean, Race." teased Blink.

"Hold it!" said Truth as they all paid their two cents at the desk. . . "Ya usin' markers? I'm out!"

"C'mon, me credit ain't dat bad!" Racetrack protested. From the looks exchanged by the others, Porter guessed it was. "Anyway, I said I'se clean, now. Cowboy, owes me two bits-"

"I do?" replied Jack, meeting them at the top of the stairs, newly combed and so clean he was almost shining. He raised his eyebrows.

"Hot date, Cowboy?" teased Porter. Several people looked at her with surprise. They'd almost forgotten she was there until she'd spoken. It was just that she was on familiar ground with Jack.

He looked smug, and turned back to Race. "So what's dis about me owin' ya two bits?"

"From about a month ago, rememba, Dave's foist day, da day before da strike," he got a wicked grin on his face, "da day ya met Sarah? Cuz if ya don't rememba, I can always tell 'er-"

"Aw right! Ya got yer two bits." Jack dug into his pocket and tossed a couple of coins at him. "An' now, if youse'll excuse me leavin' ya - I'se gotta hot date." He glanced at Porter, grinned, then almost frowned. She reminded him of someone . . . Oh, well.

Porter noticed the faint look of recognition and worried. She frowned after him for a minute.

"Hey, Porter" called Truth from where the poker game was beginning. "Ya in?"

She shook her head. "Naw, I ain't got enough money, dat I can risk losin' it." An' if Race' plays anyt'ing like Cards at poker, I'd lose. she thought, then snorted. If Race plays anyt'ing like Splitz at poker, I'd lose. I ain't a card player.

She sat by the window and looked out, restlessly. She hated being indoors at sunset. It just went against the grain. She watched Jack leave for the Jacobs' yelling promises to Kloppman that he would return on time (promises he would undoubtedly break), and several minutes later heard Race cheer as he won a hand a poker.

"What'cha t'inkin' about, Porter?" Crutchy had come up behind her.

"One a da few t'ings I miss about B-back home is watchin' da sun rise an' set. We had a great view where I lived."

"Well, I can't getcha a sunrise at nine at night, but dere's a great view a the sunset from da lodgin' house roof, right now."

Porter looked around. "Dis is great. T'anks, Crutchy."

Crutchy shrugged, sitting next to her. "It ain't da Woild buildin' or da Statue of Liberty, but it ain't bad. Ya should see it from da Brooklyn Bridge."

They watched the sky turn slowly pink, then red, then purple, then black as the sun set. "Guaranteed ev'y night, an' always on time." Porter said softly. "Dat's what me mudda useta say. Somethin' ya can depend on."

"It ain't none a me business, but what was ya life like before?" Crutchy asked. Somet'in about da way she said dat . . .

"Before I showed up in Central Park an' tried ta rob ya, ya mean?" Porter answered wryly.

"If ya don't wanna tawk about it-"

"Naw, dat's okay. As ya might've guessed, me mudder was black an' me fadder was white. I din't have any brudders or sistas. Pop din't want anymore after me. Always said marryin' me mudder was da woist mistake 'e evah made. I was da second woist. She died when I was about nine, an' her fam'ly'd disowned her when she married him, so it was just me an' Pop who couldn't stand ta look at me."

"An' dat's all da fam'ly ya had?" Crutchy's voice was warm with sympathy. Strangely, it didn't bother Porter coming from him, almost as if he had a right to sympathize.

"Aw, we got on fine. I just stayed outta his way. An' I had a cousin on Pop's side who played wit me sometimes when our fadders' wasn't lookin' - Pop's fam'ly din't like da marriage any more den Ma's - but he moved away da same yeah Ma died. Last spring I got arrested an' dey t'rew me in jail. I got out, an' I'm heah What about you?" she asked uncomfortable about sharing so much.

"I lived wit me parents and me brudder till I was nine. Den I ran away. Met Jack, an' he got me ta join da newsies." His face took on a sad, serious look, and Porter wondered what he hadn't told her. Somet'in' dat hoits. she guessed, from his expression. I know dat feelin'. Impulsively, she edged over and gave him a one-armed hug.

He looked up at her, and smiled. "T'anks. I needed dat."

"I t'ought ya looked like ya did." She looked up at the stars for a moment, then stood. "We betta go in before da others start gossipin' anymore."

He laughed. "Dey's like dat. Dey 'ad us paired off, da minute we walked in yestidy."

She laughed in agreement, but underneath she was a little hurt. It ain't dat strange an idea. whispered a treacherous thought.

"Heya, Crutchy." said Blink when they came down. "How's you an' ya goil, doin'?" They looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

"Nice goin', Crutchy!" said Blink, after lights out, when the girls had left. The others laughed, making similar (and in some cases, less polite) remarks.

"I was jist showin' her da sunset, Blink." said Crutchy.

"Ain't she evah seen it before?" asked Race. There were laughs.

"Or ain't dat what ya was tawkin' about?" Pie Eater snickered.

"Do us all a favor an' wash ya mouth out, Pie?" Crutchy retorted. "An' while ya at it wash out dat filthy mind a yers." She'd never t'ink a me dat way, anyway. he thought. The thought was just the slightest bit wistful.

"An' jist what was youse two doin' up dere?" Truth asked, eyebrows raised and ready for gossip.

"Jist tawkin'."said Porter.

"Oh, tawkin'?" repeated Nickel giving Firefly a knowing look. "About? Or is dat a polite term for-?"

"Tawkin!" repeated Porter. "We's friends, aw right? Can't a guy an' a goil be friends?"

"Dat's debatable." replied Pounce, settling into bed. "An' I'se too tired ta debate it right now. Ya can give us da details in da mornin'."

"Dere ain't any details ta give!" exclaimed Porter with exasperation. "He don't t'ink a me dat way, anyway."

"An' you t'ink?" asked Firefly.