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Journey

By: Smudge

Kid Blink shifted his stack of papes on his shoulder. “Aw, shut up already,” he groused. “I ain’t here ta listen to you whining.” Racetrack shrugged.
     “So? I don’t care.” Blink hit him to make him shut up. Then something caught his eye.
     “See over there?” he asked.
     “Yeah, I see,” retorted Racetrack. “So what is it I’m s’posed to be looking at?”
     “That kid. Over there. Look,” said Kid Blink. “He’s watching us.” Racetrack squirmed out of Blink’s grasp.
     “What do I care? C’mon, let’s sell the papes.” They walked off, but Blink glanced back one more time. The kid stood motionless, staring out of the corner of one blue eye, his ragged clothes blowing in the wind. Blink glanced back again, and the kid was gone.

     At the corner of Fifth and Broadway, Crutchy cheerily hawked papes. “Extry! Extry!” he hollered. “Say, Boots, y’okay? You’re awful quiet.”
     “Yeah, m’okay. Just that kid keeps staring at us, and it’s givin’ me the heebie-jeebies.” Crutchy’s forehead wrinkled.
     “Where? I don’t see no kid.” Boots looked at Crutchy, then back where he had been staring.
     “He- he was just here,” Boots stammered, puzzled. “I swear he was.” Crutchy shrugged.
     “Maybe you was seein’ things,” he suggested.
     “Maybe,” Boots agreed.

     David tightened his grip on the post of the wagon. “Hey Jack, where’re we headed?” he asked.
     “Right about here,” Jack said, hopping off the wagon. Dave jumped after him, still clutching his stack of papers. They two of them started to suanter off, when Dave grabbed Jack’s arm.
     “We’re being followed,” David hissed. Jack didn’t react.
     “So?” he asked coolly.
     “So, maybe it’s one of Snyder’s spies!”
     “Listen, Dave, Snyder ain’t gonna get us. He’s is the slammer, remember?” he said. David looked a little unsure.
     “He just keeps staring at us, Jack.” David glanced back. “And that is the strangest kid I’ve ever seen.”
     “Whaddya mean?”
     “Well, he won’t turn his head. Just keeps it at the side,” David whispered. “There! He’s gone.” Jack never slowed his stride.
     “It’s probably some half starved kid who’s lookin’ for a chance for free food,” Jack said. David fell silent as they walked towards the busy park. Then a short, scruffy little kid ran up to them.
     “Kelly!” he called. Jack stopped.
     “Yeah, whaddya want?” he asked.
     “Conlan. He wants to see ya. Was gonna send me all the way to Manhattan ta get ya,” the kid panted. Jack punched the kid lightly on the shoulder.
     “Well, hey, don’t sweat it. I’ll go see ol’ Spot,” Jack said. “Come on, Dave. Let’s pay a little visit.”
     When they finally reached Brooklyn, it wasn’t too hard to find Spot. He was at his lodging house, by himself. They found him pacing back and forth, back and forth, like a caged animal.
“So, Spot, ya wanted ta see me?” Jack asked. Spot jerked his head up and grabbed Jack.
     “They killed her!” he cried shrilly. “They killed her!” Utterly confused, David watched Jack’s face go deadly white. Jack took the scrawny boy by the shoulders and shook him.
     “No. No, they couldn’t have,” he whispered. Spot nodded woodenly. David was sure that if this hadn’t been Spot, he would have sworn he was about to cry.
     “Letter came by boat. Just got it today,” Spot said, his words coming out in choppy fragments. “It was from O’Malley. They killed both of them. Both!” David shrank back a bit as Spot picked up a wooden stool and slammed it on the floor, shattering it. “It ain’t fair!” he screamed. Spot founded his fists on the wall. “They killed ‘em both.” Jack glanced up.
     “Get outta here, Dave,” he said. David slipped out of the lodging house and made his way back to Manhattan, wondering the whole time about two things- who died, and how was he going to sell his papers. He was thinking so hard, he didn’t notice the shadow following him.

     “Hey, Jack, it’s about time,” Kid Blink said. “What took so long? I ya showed up any later, Kloppman would’ve given up yer bunk.”
     “Shut up, Blink,” Jack replied dully.
     “Why’re ya so mad? Have trouble with a certain goil?” Mush asked slyly.
     “Did she hurt your feelings?” Skittery teased. Jack brushed past him.
     “Jack- y’okay?” Crutchy asked, clearly concerned. Jack turned.
     “Yeah, Crutchy. I’ll be okay,” he answered. “I’ll be okay.”

     The next morning, the lodging house was filled with the usual clatter of boys preparing to sell papes.
“So, Blink, think you’ll see that ghost kid again?” Racetrack kidded. Abruptly his expression changed. “Who took it?” he yelped. ‘Which bum took my vest?”
     ‘Aw, relax, Race. It didn’t match anyway,” said Mush. “Hey, where’s my suspenders?”
     “Ya never use them,” retorted Crutchy. ‘Me, I use my hat, but I can’t find it.”
     ‘Where’s my shirt?” asked Blink. But they all fell silent as Jack rose menacingly and yelled,
     “Who-took-my-pants?!” Instantly they all burst out laughing. Jack stood there in his undershorts, glaring fiercely.
“Wear some of Snipeshooters’!” Kid Blink choked out over his laughter. They laughed even harder as Snipes tossed Jack a pair of gray pants that wouldn’t have reached Jack’s ankles.
     “Oh yeah, real funny. Who took ‘em?” Gradually they sobered enough to answer.
     “Don’t know, Jack. We’re missing stuff too,” Racetrack said. “Like my vest.” Mush snorted and Race whacked him upside the head.
     “You boys get out there!” Kloppman yelled up the stairs. They all filtered out, still laughing- except for Jack, who sat down on one of the bunks and sulked. In his undershorts.
     ‘Hey, guys. Where’s Jack?” David asked. The only answer he got was them laughing. Mush stuttered out the story.
     “So, poor Jacky can’t sell papes until he gets a new pair of pants,” Mush explained. David cracked up. Racetrack started to laugh too, until he saw something.
     “Hey! That kid’s got my vest!” he cried. Kid Blink, struggling to breathe in one of Crutchy’s shirts, looked in the direction Race was pointing.
     “That’s my shirt!” The kid was towards the back of the line, head down, trying not to be noticed.
     “Hey! Kid!” Racetrack shrieked. The kid glanced up and began to run. Racetrack, Kid Blink, and David ran after him. The kid was having trouble getting away, because his pants were dragging after him. Suddenly he tripped and fell. Racetrack was on him in a second.
     “Gimme my vest!” he exclaimed.
     “Get off, Race, you’re hurting him,” David sad. Reluctantly, Racetrack got up. David held out his hand to help the kid. The kid glanced up from deep beneath Crutchy’s cap, then took the outstretched hand.
     ‘What’s your name, kid?” Blink asked.
     “I ain’t sayin’,” the kid answered. He had an odd voice- sweet but husky, and the accent wasn’t quite right.
     “Where do you live?” David asked, as Crutch and Mush joined them.
     “Around here,” he answered evasively. Finally, Racetrack could hold it no longer and burst out,
     “Why’d ya take my vest?” The kid glanced at the checkered vest, and then at Racetrack’s striped pants.
     “They don’t match.” Mush laughed. The kid grinned, an odd little half smile that was vaguely familiar.
     “Aw, shut up!” Racetrack griped.
     “Listen, come back with us and we can lend you some clothes that fit,” David offered. The kid glanced ruefully at Jack’s pants, which were held up by sheer willpower and Mush’s suspenders.
     “Yeah, I guess,” he answered.
     “So, do you have a name?” Kid Blink persisted as they walked back.
     “Smiley,” the kid answered.
     “Ya sold papes before, Smiley?” Crutchy asked. Smiley shook his head.
     “What didja do before?” Mush asked.
     “Don’t want to talk about it,” Smiley said shortly. Mush glanced at Racetrack and they both shrugged. Eventually, they reached the lodging house.
     “Hey, Jack!” Mush yelled. “We found your pants!”
     “Bring ‘em up, then,” Jack called down.
     “No, come down here!” Kid Blink prodded.
     “I ain’t comin’!” Jack retorted.
     “Fine!” hollered Race. “We’ll take ‘em back.” Reluctantly Jack thudded down the stairs, wearing a baggy shirt and his undershorts. Smiley unexpectedly broke into a bright, ringing laugh. Jack turned beet red as he realized that those were his pants that the scruffy boy was wearing.
     “Hey, you give those back!” Jack yelped. Smiley, still laughing, shook his head.
     “Give me somethin’ else ta wear, and you’ll get ‘em,” he told Jack.
“Come on,” Jack answered grudgingly. He noticed the other boys smirking. “Whaddya laughing at?”
     “Nothin’, Jack. Nothin’,” Racetrack answered. Jack led Smiley upstairs, and they reappeared some time later- this time, with Jack wearing his pants. Smiley wore a conglomeration of cast-off clothes that the other newsies had outgrown. He tossed Racetrack his vest.
     “Here ya go,” he said. “You’re a walkin’ fashion disaster, but if it makes ya happy.” Racetrack glared at the kid.
     “Walkin’ fashion disaster. I’ll give ya walkin’ fashion disaster,” he grumbled under his breath as he pulled on his precious vest. The group of newsies headed outside.
     “So is anybody gonna tell me the kid’s name, or is it just ‘kid’?” asked Jack.
     “The name’s Smiley.” Jack suddenly paled. Smiley darted him a sideways glance deep from the recesses of his cap.
     “Well, hiya, Smiley,” Jack said slowly.
     “Hey, Smiley, wanna be sellin’ partners?” Crutchy asked. “I can show ya the ropes.”
     “Sure,” answered Smiley. “Just show me what to do.” Crutchy hobbled off, Smiley at his heels. Jack stared at them as they walked off.
     “Smiley,” he repeated to himself. “Smiley.”

     The fall had turned to winter. Most of the boys were huddled around the stove in the main room of the lodging house. Sarah and Les sat near the blaze, chatting with Mush.
     “Hey, Jack, shut the door!” Boots complained. “You’re lettin’ all the cold air in.” Jack didn’t hear him.
     “Dave, c’mon. I need ya.” David got up.
     “What is it, Jack?” he asked.
     “Spot’s missing. They haven’t seen him in days,” Jack responded shortly. David pulled his coat on and hurriedly followed Jack out into the snow.
“Where do you think he is?” David asked. Jack hunched his shoulders as he pushed forward into the snow.
     “Same place me dad went.” Jack paused outside a small, grimy building and pushed open the door. “Welcome to Ben’s Saloon.” David almost gagged on the sickly smell of beer. Jack wove his way though the crowd towards the bar. There, perched on a stool, his feet not quite touching the floor, was Spot. Jack hoisted himself into the seat next to him.
     “Hiya, Spot,” Jack said brightly. Spot glanced up.
     “Go ‘way, Jacky boy,” Spot slurred. “Don’ wanta see your ugly mug.”
     “Spot, you’re drunk!” David exclaimed, horrified.
     “Ya wanta make somethin’ of it, ya walkin’ mouth?”  Jack laughed at him.
     “C’mon, Spot. Ya don’t need this.” Jack attempted to take the mug of beer, but Spot closed his hand over it.
     “It don’ matter no more,” Spot said dully. “Nothin’ matters no more.” He lifted the mug shakily and took a swig of it. Spot grimaced. “I don’ matter no more,” he repeated.
     “Spot Conlan, look at me,” Jack commanded. “Would she be wantin’ ya to act this way?” Spot looked at him blearily.
     “No, she wouldn’t,” Spot admitted. Jack held out his hand.
     “Come on, Spot,” he said. Spot slipped off the barstool.
     “I can walk,” he protested- before he went crashing to the floor. Luckily, David caught him. Jack sighed.
     “C’mon, ya bum,” he said. He hoisted Spot up and slung him over his shoulder as if he was no bigger than Les. David could only stare as they made their way back to the lodging house.     
“Hey, Sarah, could you give me a hand?” called Jack. Sarah stood and put a hand to her mouth.
     “What’s wrong with Spot?” she gasped.
     “He’s drunk!” Racetrack cackled.
     “I made a quarter that way once,” Les commented. Jack set Spot down on one of the rickety wooden chairs. The boy could barely keep his eyes open.
     “I don’ feel good,” he mumbled. Sarah helped him to his feet.
     “You are such an idiot, Spot,” she chided gently.
     “That’s me. Why’s the room spinning?” Spot asked dazedly. Sarah led him up the stairs as the room broke into laughter.
     “Hey, Sarah, why’s there two of ya? It ain’t bad, it’s just strange.” Mush and Skittery were turning purple from laughing. But they quit laughing later that night.
     “Is he barfing again?” Racetrack grumbled. ‘He keeps it up, he’ll be coughing his guts out.” Mush pulled a pillow over his ears.
     “Smiley’s lucky ta miss this,” he moaned.     
     “Where is he, anyway?” Blink asked.
     “Said something about something that he had ta find. Oh, look, there he goes again. Two bits says he hurls three more times.”
     David leaned over from his bunk. “Hey, Jack?” he ventured.
     “Yeah?”
     “Who’s the girl you were talking about? You know, when you told Spot that ‘she wouldn’t want this’?” David reminded him. From the bed across he could hear Jack sigh.
     “Spot’s sister,” Jack told him. David propped himself on one elbow.
     “He has a sister?” he asked incredulously.
     “Used to. She’s dead now.” The tone on Jack’s voice was enough to shut David up. But not Spot.
     “Looks like I lost the bet,” came Racetrack’s amused voice. “That’d be four times.”

     “I still don’t think that Smiley kid’s tellin’ us everything,” Kid Blink complained to Racetrack.
     “Aw, he’s okay. Sorta,” Race said, protectively tugging on his vest.
     “Still haven’t seen his face. Always wears that hat over his eyes. That kid’s just not right.”
     “Are ya done complainin’? I’m gonna be late to get ta Sheepshead,” Racetrack groused. Kid Blink grabbed his arm.
     “Ya hear that?” he asked. Race cocked an ear.
     “Sounds like Crutchy!” The two boys ran off in the direction of the sound.
     “In here!” Blink hissed, darting into an alleyway. Crutchy was crumpled on the ground. Standing over him protectively was Smiley. He was facing the Delanceys by himself.
     “Leave us be,” Smiley spat out. Suddenly he reached for his back pocket and brandished a stiletto. ‘I’m not afraid to use this.” Oscar cursed at the slight boy.
     “You really think that’ll do anything?” he jeered. Smiley lunged at him, but Morris knocked the knife out of his hand. Oscar punched Smiley hard on the mouth and he flew back against the wall.
     “You get off!” Racetrack called. He and Blink rushed them. Before they knew adequately what was happening, the Delancey brothers were flat on their backs, pummeled ferociously by Blink and Race. Blink yanked them up by their collars and spat, “Beat it.” They did- but not before glaring venomously at them.
     Racetrack bent over Crutchy. “Hey, Crutchy! Y’okay?” Crutchy blinked and sat up.
     “Yeah, I think so,” he answered groggily. “Where’s Smiley? Oscar and Morris were about to kill him.”
     “Over here,” said Blink in a voice that was half angry and half amazed. Smiley’s cap had been knocked off in the scuffle, and two long honey colored braids had fallen about his- her face. She kept her head tilted down, staring in fear at Blink through her eyelashes.
     “I can explain!” she cried in a high, clear voice. “Please don’t hurt me!”
“Nah, a feller can’t soak a lady,” Blink said.
     “”Question is, is this a lady?” Race snorted as he helped Crutchy to his feet.
     “C’mon, guys, don’t be too tough on her,” Crutchy pleaded. “Look, Blink, she’s shaking.” Blink sighed and loosened his death grip on the girl’s trembling shoulder.
     “C’mon. We’ll let Jack decide what to do with her,” said Blink.

     “Smiley’s a girl?” David said in amazement.
     “Yeah,” said Race. “The bum was trickin’ us the whole time.”
     “Where is she?” asked Jack.
     “Blink’s got her. Listen, Jack, she’s scared half to death. How ‘bout goin’ easy on her, huh?” suggested Crutchy. Jack clapped a hand on Crutchy’s shoulder.
     “Sure, Crutchy,” Jack agreed. The four boys entered the lodging house, where most of the boys were gathered to see the trial. In the middle was a small girl, dressed in grimy boy’s clothes with a split lip still trickling blood. She kept her eyes on the floor, refusing to look up.
     “What’s your real name?” Jack asked the girl.
     “I have to know somethin’ first,” she said. “Are ye Francis Sullivan?”
     “Depends on who’s asking,” Jack shot back. The girl slowly lifted her face and regarded him solemnly. Jack caught his breath.
     “Look at her eyes!” Mush said. One was a brilliant blue. One was bright hazel. Both were glistening with frightened tears.
     “Do ye remember me, boyo?” she asked softly. Her harsh New York accent was gone, replaced by a slight lilting Irish one. Jack stared at her and swallowed hard.
     “Star?” he asked tentatively. “Are- are you little Star?” The girl nodded. Racetrack poked Mush.
     “Look at Cowboy,” he said in wonder. Jack was walking slowly to Star, almost in a trance. Star looked up in his face. Suddenly Jack threw his arms around the petite girl, lifting her off the ground. Then he set her back down abruptly.
     “I thought you was dead,” he whispered.
     ‘Why would ye be thinkin’ that, boyo?” she asked, smiling that vaguely familiar grin that turned up only one corner of her mouth. ‘I’m very much alive.” Jack impulsively hugged her again.
     David was the first to break the stunned silence. “Who is this, Jack?” he asked. Finally realizing what he was doing, jack let go of the girl and straightened up.
     “This is my cousin,” he announced proudly. “Star, I believe you’ve met the other guys.” Star grinned, a full smile this time.
     “Aye, I have,” she giggled. “Racetrack, close your mouth. The flies are comin’ in.” Race clamped his mouth shut.
     “I never would have guessed,” Crutchy said admiringly. ‘Where’ve ya been hidin’ her, Jack?”
     “Killala, County Mayo,” he answered.
     “So you’re Irish?” Kid Blink asked. Star rolled her eyes.
     “No, lad, we’re Polish,” she teased.
     “Why didn’t ya tell me sooner?” Jack asked, turning to her.
     “I had to be sure,” Star said, her eyes turning serious. “I couldn’t have just waltzed in and announced to a group of strangers who I was. And also, I was lookin’ for a Jack Sullivan, not a Jack Kelly.”
     “Long story,” Jack admitted.
     “Why not Francis Sullivan?” Skittery asked. “That’s his real name, ain’t it?”
     “I knew better than to look for a Francis. When he was four years old, he walked up to his mother and said, ‘Francis is a girl name. I’m Jack.’ Jack is me uncle’s name, too.”
     “Hold on,” interrupted David. “She’s your cousin, and you thought she was dead and Spot…” He looked at Jack. “Am I right?’ Jack nodded. ”So you and Spot…” Jack nodded again. ‘Well, that explains it.”
     “Maybe for you,” broke in Racetrack. “What’s all this about, Kelly?” Jack opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again helplessly.
     “Where do I start?” he asked.
     “Should I be the one to tell?” Star suggested.
“Go ahead,” agreed Jack.
     “Me cousin’s Jack. Have ye got that?” she began.
     “Yeah, yeah, go on,” encouraged Racetrack.
     “I also have a twin brother. I believe ye already know him. His real name is Morgan, but we’ve called him Spot ever since he was a wee lad.” Racetrack sank down in a chair.
     “You mean she’s- that he’s- you’re…”
     “You’re stutterin’, Race,” interjected Jack.
     “Aye. Spot is me twin brother, and Jack is me cousin,” Star finished. “Speakin’ o’ which, where is he?”
     “He visited here not too long ago,” Boots smirked. Star paused.
     “Ye don’t mean to be tellin’ me that it was Spot who threw up eleven times two weeks ago?” She started laughing. “The first time I see me cousin in ten years, he hasn’t any pants on because I’m wearin’ them, and he’s glowerin’ at me as if he’d like to rip me head off. First I hear of me own brother in seven years, and he’s drunk!” She shook her head. “Aye, Jack, this is strange.
     “I have a question,” Crutchy volunteered. ‘How’d ya come up with a name like Smiley?”
     “It’s what we called Spot when he was real small,” said Jack. “Kid never smiled. Not till he was- what, three? It just seemed to fit.” He grinned at Star. “Hey, what happened to you?” Star gingerly touched her split lip.
     “Ye mean this? ‘Twas the two eejits who blocked me and Crutchy in the alley.”
     “Ya shoulda seen it, Jack,” Kid Blink said eagerly. ‘She pulls out a stiletto and starts goin’ after Morris.”
     “That’s me cousin,” Jack said admiringly.
     “Thank ye,” said Star. “And now, I’m going to see if I can put me lip back together.” She got up and left the room. Mush shook his head slowly.
     “What a goil,” he said thoughtfully. “What a goil.”

     “So what you’re sayin’, Jack, is that ye sent Spot back to Brooklyn, but he never got there?” Star’s voice began rising in pitch. “Sure an’ for certain he’ll be back at the saloon. Our at the bottom of the river.” Jack caught her arm.
     “Star, you’re getting’ outa control. Try breathin’, okay?” Jack said. “Hey, I got somethin’ for ya.” Star’s attention was piqued.
     “What is it?” she asked. Jack held the package high above her head as she began futilely jumping for it. “Francis-Jack-Sullivan, ye give that to me!” she cried. Finally tiring of his game, Jack lowered it enough for her to reach. Eagerly she ripped it open.
     “Oh, Jack,” she breathed. Jack blushed.
     “I couldn’t let you run around in rags, could I?” Jack, said, embarrassed. “Well? Go try it on.” Star darted out of the room.
Sarah was walking past the lodging house when she saw Jack sitting by himself. She started to walk over to the window to talk to him, but stopped. A slender figure in a blue gingham dress entered the room, her long golden braids draped around her shoulders. Sarah couldn’t hear what they were saying. But she knew enough to be jealous when the girl stood on tiptoe and kissed Jack on the cheek. She flitted out and Jack was left alone again. This time Sarah didn’t go to him. Instead, she flounced off down the street.

     Jack caught Sarah by the arm. “Hey, Sarah,” he said. Sarah slid out of his grasp with a cool, “Hello, Jack.”
     “She’s mad ‘cause she say ya kissin’ some blonde,” announced Les. David cracked up.
     “Les!” Sarah exclaimed, mortified.
     ‘Well, that’s what ya said,” Les protested. Jack’s grin widened.
     “That’s what I wanted ta talk to ya about,” he said. “Hey, Star!” Sarah felt her blood rising as the little blonde she had seen three days ago floated in. She was still wearing the blue and white dress, but now she had added a pair of too-large boys’ boots and a kerchief over her smooth braids.
     “Sarah, Les, this is me cousin and Spot’s sister.” Jack presented her as proudly as he would have a queen. Star smiled.
     “I’m glad to meet ye,” Star said, her voice lilting in an Irish brogue. Sarah felt all the wind rush out of her sails. Luckily, she was saved by the newsies trooping in after a cold day of selling papes.
     “Where’s Crutchy?” Star asked. Boots shrugged.
     ‘Don’ know. He should be here soon, I guess.” The boys divided into various groups and dispersed throughout the lodging house. Jack moved off to talk to Racetrack and David, and Sarah was left alone facing Star.
     “So when did you come over from Ireland?’ Sarah asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
     “Two months ago. Almost,” she corrected. “All this time, and I’ve yet to see me brother.”
     “Is Spot older?”
     “We’re twins,” Star told her, “but I’m older by a handful of minutes. He still claims he’s the oldest.” Sarah nodded in understanding. Star hoisted herself onto Kloppman’s desk.
     “Jack and his da-me Uncle Jack-came over from Ireland when Jack was seven. Me da and Spot crossed over three years later. We were eight then. They were supposed to send for me and me mother, but we never heard from them,” Star said. Sarah was about to ask another question when Star cocked her head.
     “I smell smoke,” she commented.
     “Probably Racetrack’s cigar,” Sarah laughed. Suddenly her hazel eye widened.
     “Sarah, this place is on fire!” she cried. Sarah whirled around. Flames were licking at the bedraggled curtains behind her.
     ‘Les!” called Sarah. Star ran towards the flames, beating frantically at them with a moth eaten rug. The fire only began eating away at, and she dropped it.
     “We have to get out,” Star said breathlessly. Sarah followed her out, nearly colliding with Crutchy.
     “Star! It’s burning!” Crutchy said, horrified, as the yellow flames licked at the building. He started to hobble towards the door, but Star grabbed him.
     “No, Crutchy, you can’t!” He pushed against her, but she was strong for all her delicate appearance.
     “I’ve got to get them!” Crutchy cried desperately. Star yanked him back.
     “No, Crutchy. If you went in, you most likely wouldn’t come out again.” He gradually stopped struggling. The three of them stared as the lodging house burst into flames.
     ‘Where are they?” Star muttered, clenching her fists. “Where are they?” Sarah wrung her hands uncertainly.
“Hey, somebody’s comin’!” Crutchy said hopefully. Racetrack stumbled out of the inferno, blood dripping down his face. Blindly he reached out his hands, trying to feel his way around. Star grasped his hands and led him to the curb.
     “How did ye do this, Race?” she asked. Her fingers gently probed the jagged cut on his forehead.
     “One of the beams fell down,” he said, wincing. “Guess it kinda cut me, huh?”
     “Just a wee bit,” Star answered, slightly sarcastic. ‘Are the others comin?”
     “I see ‘em,” Crutchy said I relief. “They’re all comin’.” Kid Blink came over and sat next to Star. She glanced over at him.
     “By Saint Bridget, what happened to ye?” she asked.
     “You mean the eye? I lost my patch somewhere in there.” Kid Blink reached up and touched his empty socket, with lids wildly twitching over it. “Got poked out in a street fight four years ago. Listen, I didn’t see Jack.”
     “Where d’ya think he is?” Star asked quietly. Blink shrugged.     
     “I don’t know. Haven’t seen him or Davey. But I knows they was there.” Star glanced over at Sarah, who was keeping a firm grip on Les while anxiously watching the door. Suddenly Mush pointed in horror at the blazing lodging house.
     “It’s gonna blow!” The frame of the building shuddered. Burning beams protruded and collapsed. Star stood up slowly, not taking her eyes off of it. The flames danced, lighting up the night and casting eerie shadows on the faces of the staring newsies. All of a sudden Star ran into what was left of the door.
     ‘What’s she doin’?” Crutchy wondered. Then they saw what she had seen. Star yanked two coughing, soot-covered figures out. Once they were free, the lodging house crumbled, sending out a blast of hot air. David helped Jack over to the curb.
     “David! Are you all right?” Sarah asked. David nodded, coughing.
     “Jack ain’t,” said Skittery in a low voice. Jack’s right arm was hanging limply at his side, bent at an unholy angle.
     “I- I guess it’s broke, then,” Jack said woodenly.
     “Aye, Jacky boy,” Star told him. “I can set it for ye.” Jack sank down onto the pavement. Far away they could here the firewagons coming. Jack looked helplessly at Star.
     ‘Go ahead,” he said reluctantly. Star knelt beside him. She ran her fingers up and down his arm, humming softly. Jack relaxed. As soon as he did, Star pushed his arm as hard as she could. Sarah covered her ears as it snapped back in place. Jack bit his lip till the blood came, but he didn’t say anything. Star got up and took two unburnt timbers from the fire. She took the kerchief off her head and used it to tie the makeshift splints on.
     “There,” she said finally. “Just don’t use it too much.” Jack nodded, his shoulders losing some of their tension.
     “So, what are we gonna do?” Mush finally asked.
     “Guess we’ll sleep out here,” Boots suggested.
     “It’s the dead o’ winter,” Skittery complained. “We won’t be newsies no more, we’ll be icicles!”
     “Well, I don’t hear ya suggestin’ anythin’,” Race shot back, holding a rag to the gash in his forehead.
     “The basement,” Jack said slowly.
     “Ya musta broken yer head along with yer arm,” Kid Blink retorted. “There ain’t no basement here.”
     “But there is in the World building,” David asserted, figuring out Jack’s train of thought.
     “Jack, come home with us,” Sarah pleaded.
     “Can’t just leave ‘em behind, Sarah,” Jack told her ruefully. He stood, a little shakily. “They’re family.” Star squeezed his good hand.

     “Ye think they’ll find us here?” Boots worried.
     “Aw, relax, Boots. If Weasel could sleep through us makin’ a newspaper, then he can sleep through us sittin’ around down here,” Jack reassured him.
     “Blink, could you give me a hand here?” Star asked, her voice sounding a little strange. “Racetrack just passed out.” She was struggling to keep him upright. Kid Blink took him and set him down on a pile of sacks.
     “He okay?” Crutchy asked. “That looks pretty bad.” He pointed to the cut still leaking blood.
     “Oh, he’ll live,” Star said. “I’ve seen far worse.”
     “Where did ya learn all this stuff? Like puttin’ Jack’s arm back together,” Mush asked.
     “A friend o’ me mother’s was a doctor,” explained Star as she wiped away the blood from Racetrack’s face. “He didn’t have a helper, so he taught me.” Racetrack stirred slightly.
     “Where am I?” he asked.
     “You’re in the basement of the World distribution offices,” said Jack. “It ain’t the Waldorf, but it’ll do.”
     “Except for the fact that there’s snow comin’ in the window, and we ain’t got nothin’ ta eat,” Mush complained, his usually perfect hair sticking out wildly in all directions. “It’s kinda cold.”
     “Ya don’t think I know that?”
     “Well-“
     “Oh, shut up, ye great glunters!” Star burst out. Jack and Mush opened their mouths, then shut them as they sat down sullenly.
     “Dye ever do anythin’ but fight?” she continued crossly. “Sure, an’ I’ll be spendin’ all o’ me time patchin’ ye up. Ye fight more than cats an’ dogs, ye do.” Jack flushed under the scathing speech of the little girl. “Now get some sleep,” Star told them all. “This could be very interesting.” Jack lay on his back, his broken arm on his stomach, his eyes trained on Star. She sat between Racetrack and Crutchy, her back against the wall. Her little hands went to her throat and lifted a small silver cross on a bit of thread from her shirt. For a long time, she fingered the cross as a single tear coursed its way slowly down her cheek.

     “Race, are ye sure ye can do this?” Star asked.
     “Positive,” Racetrack told her. “Now, will ya stop fussin’ over me?”
     “Are ye sure? Really?”
     “Yes! Now relax.”
     “Well, if ye pass out again, I’ll not be the one to catch ye.” Racetrack laughed at her, then went open the door.
     It didn’t move.
     “Hey, Jack,” he called. “Is it s’posed ta do this?” Jack rattled the lock.
     “No, it ain’t,” Jack said. He banged his good fist on the door.
     “Aw, poor Kelly busted his arm, didn’t he?” Jack whirled around to the speaker at the window.
     “You get outa here, Delancey,” he spat.
     “We was gonna tell you that, but it looks like ya can’t get out even if ya tried,” Oscar smirked through the grimy windows. Star began muttering under breath.
     “What’s she sayin’?” Crutchy asked.
     “She’s speakin’ in the Irish,” Jack explained shortly. “Ya don’t wanta know what the words mean.” Morris joined his brother. He opened the window and started tossing garbage at them.
“Ow!” he yelped, slamming the window shut with his hand in his neck. Star calmly put her slingshot back in her pocket.
“Spot wasn’t the only one who can use one o’ these,” she grinned fiendishly. Suddenly the door burst open, throwing Jack to the floor and unleashing a horde of coppers.
     “Which one of you is Reilly Conlan?” one of the bulls barked. Star peeked out from between Kid Blink and Mush.
     “Down here,” she called.
     “You are under arrest for arson.” Star fell back a step.
     “But I didn’t do it!” she protested. Kid Blink stepped up, his fists clenched.
     “Ya can’t take her! She’s just a kid!” he exclaimed. The bull brushed him aside.
     “Nevertheless, we have witnesses,” he blustered as he took hold of Star’s arm.
     “And who are these high an’ mighty witnesses?” Racetrack demanded.
     “An Oscar and a Morris Delancey.” At this point Star slipped out of her captor’s grasp.
     “Now, wait a minute! Ye cannot trust those eejits! They tried to kill me once!” she cried. Now two coppers picked her up. “Let go o’ me! Ye cannot do this!” Star tried to squirm away, but they held onto her.
     “Jack!” she called desperately. “Jack!” Her cries faded as they carried her out. A bull started herding them out.
     “C’mon, you can’t stay here. Move it!” Crutchy hopped up to Jack.
     “Whaddya think they’re gonna to do her?” he asked.
     “I don’t know, Crutchy, but I’ll find out,” he said. “Hey, mista!” Jack called to one of the coppers. “Think they’ll put heron trial?” he asked in a conspiratorial tone.
     “The hearing’s already been set for tomorrow,” the bull told him. “Hey, kid!” he hollered, running off. “Get down from there!” Racetrack sidled up to Jack.
     “So, what’s the plan, Cowboy?” Jack thought for a second.
     “We get Denton to come to the trial. Publicity, ya know. But first, we tell Dave.”

     “They couldn’t arrest Star,” David snorted. “It’s impossible.”
     “It’s possible, all right. We saw ‘em carry her off,” Jack said.
     “They arrested a little girl?” Mr. Jacobs asked in disbelief.
     “She ain’t little, she’s just short. But yeah, they got her.” Sarah shook her head.
     “She couldn’t have set the lodging house on fire. I was right next to her when we first saw the smoke.” Jack jerked his head up.
     “Y’know what? Right there, all by itself, that can clear her,” he said. “Sarah, think ya can come tomorrow?” Sarah nodded. Jack leaned over and kissed her. Les rolled his eyes.
     “C’mon, Dave, let’s go get Denton.” The two boys left, but the blush and silly smile stayed on Sarah’s face for a quite a while.

     “So where is this girl?” Denton asked. Crutchy shushed him.
     “They’re bringin’ her in.” Sure enough, there was Star, flanked by two cops. Jack caught Denton’s arm.
     “They beat her,” Denton breathed. The girl’s blue eye was almost swollen shut and her bottom lip was swollen to twice its normal size. But she was grinning.
     “Well, y’Honor, ya’ve come ta throw me in the slammer, have ya?” she joked, mimicking a Brooklyn accent. The judge looked down at her. Star smiled, lighting up her dirty elfin face.
     “You are Reilly Conlan?” the judge asked gruffly.
     “Aye,” she responded promptly. “Now, your Honor, would ye mind terribly if I got up here?” indicating the railing, “for if don’t I’ll be havin’ quite a fearful crick in me neck.” The boys broke up laughing. The judge banged his gavel.
     “Lawyer?” he boomed.
     “It appears that the witnesses, Oscar and Morris Delancey, saw the accused lighting a fire at the base of the newsies lodging house on Duane Street. It’s a fairly open and shut case,” intoned the weasel lawyer. Star raised her hand like an obedient schoolchild.
     “May I speak, your Honor?” she inquired.
     “Go ahead, Miss Conlan.” Star hoisted herself up onto the railing so she could look at the judge.
     “I assume ye took logic? Ye did? Good. First off, was not the lodgin’ house me home?” The judge nodded. “Second, wasn’t me cousin and me friends in the building?” Again the judge nodded.
     “Your Honor-“ whined the lawyer. The judge held up his hand.
     “Let the little girl speak,” he said.
     “Thank ye, your Honor,” Star said as graciously as any queen. “Thirdly-“ here she pointed her forefinger in the judge’s venerable old face- “is not the foundation of the lodgin’ house stone? I couldn’t have lit a fire on limestone, could I? Now, with these three facts, can ye tell me how and why I burnt down the building? Sure an’ I don’t know how. Could ye tell me?” The judge stared harshly at Star for a few minutes.
     “Your Honor,” Jack called, tugging Sarah forward. “This girl was with ‘the accused’ when the fire started. Now, I ain’t no lawyer, but that seems ta close the case, don’t it?’ The judge peered down in Jack’s face.
     “Haven’t I seen you before, boy?” he demanded. Jack shook his head, the picture of innocence. The judge eyed Jack, Star, and Sarah closely. David held his breath. Then- wonder of wonders- the judge began to laugh.
     “Case dismissed,” he said, bringing down his gavel with a triumphant thunk. Star sighed in relief. Racetrack cheered. Denton snapped a picture.
     “Well, Jack, it looks like you didn’t need my help after all,” Denton said.
     “Thanks for comin’ out, though,” Jack responded.
     “So she’s your cousin?” Jack nodded. “Real pretty girl. You keep an eye on her. I think the other boys are starting to take notice.” Jack followed Denton’s gaze. Kid Blink was leaning against the wall, looking down into Star’s face as she talked. Mush was furtively trying to put an arm around her shoulders. Star rolled her eyes almost imperceptibly at the efforts of her suitors and slipped put of their grasp.
     “Crutchy!” she called delightedly. “I didn’t know you were here.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. Crutchy blushed beet red, grinning. Mush and Blink looked a little disgruntled. Jack turned back to Denton.
     “Ya was sayin’?”

     “So who really set the fire?” Mrs. Jacobs asked.
     “I’m fairly certain it was the Delaney brothers,” Star answered.
     “Delancey,” corrected Jack.
     “Whatever.”
     “So you put up a fight?” Les asked excitedly. Star grinned impishly at him.
     “Aye, lad. Three o’ them went down like sacks o’ praties.”
     “But they got a few shots in, judging by that eye,” remarked Mr. Jacobs. Star squirmed.
     “Aye, that they did,” she admitted. “Listen, I don’t mean to be rude, but I need to speak to me cousin privately.”
     “You can go in my room,” Sarah offered. “It’s right there.” Jack smiled in thanks at Sarah as Star led him from the room.
     “I found out about Spot,” Star blurted out right off.
     “So where is he?” Jack asked.
     “I don’t know exactly. But one o’ the lads at the Refuge-“
     “They put you in the Refuge?” Jack interrupted.
     “Aye. Let me talk. But one of them told me Spot had been in the Refuge. Got caught sleepin’ on the streets. He ran away. He told them that he was going to Killala. Lad told me he had no idea where that was, but he was fairly sure it was near Queens,” she laughed.
     “But what’s he gonna do in Killala?” Jack scoffed. “Nothin in Killala but a bunch of gravestones.” He paused. “Graves…”
     “Aye! That’s what I thought. He’s goin’ there to see if I really am dead. Stupid gulpin.”
     “We’ve gotta find him. D’ya know when he left the Refuge?”
     “Lad told me around November 3rd.”
     “We’re goin’,” Jack affirmed.

     “Are ya sure ‘bout this, Jack?” Kid Blink asked. “Ya can’t go to Ireland.”
     “I’ll be back, Blink,” said Jack, awkwardly slinging his bag over his good shoulder.
     “What about Star?” Crutchy asked worriedly. “Ya gotta keep an eye on her.” Star squeezed the crippled boy’s shoulder.
     “I can take care o’ meself, Crutchy darlin’,” she said gently. “But I thank ye for thinkin’ o’ me.”
     “Hey, Jack!” The group of newsies parted. Racetrack sauntered up. “Look, I’ll say it plain. I’m comin’.”
     “Well, what makes ye so sure o’ that?” Star retorted.
     “Ya could use somebody else,” Racetrack said. “Plus, my mudder was part Irish. Knew about the Italian part, but I’ve always wondered what Irish people are like.” Star sighed.
     “I suppose you could come with us,” she said. “But you’ll have to carry your own weight.”     
     “So, Star,” Jack said. “What did you find about our friend Spot?”
     “I ran through a list o’ names he could be usin’, and one of them boarded a ship a week ago. Morgan O’Malley, he is. His real name and our mother’s maiden name.” The ship’s whistle blared.
     “That’s us,” Jack said.
     “Good luck, Jack,” David told him. Sarah kissed Jack on the lips.
     ‘Hey, Star.” Star turned. Mush stood there, fiddling with his suspender straps. “Good luck.”
     “Thank ye, Mush,” she said softly. Quickly she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. Mush looked positively loopy. The boat whistle blasted again. Racetrack adjusted his cap. Star slung her bag over her shoulder. Jack gazed at Sarah. Then the three of them turned and walked up the gangplank.

     “Jack, is it just the lantern light, or is your face green?” Star asked.
     “When’s lunch again?” Racetrack questioned. Jack sat up dizzily and glared at him. “Just kidding. Ya can’t eat the stuff anyway.” Jack flopped back down on the narrow bunk.
     “How long does it take to float to the dang island?” he moaned.
     “The captain says three weeks,” Star replied.
     “Somebody send me back to Manhattan,” groaned Racetrack.
     “Speakin’ o’ which, Race, ye better learn how to speak with an Irish accent,” Star said. “D’ye remember at all, Jack?”
     “Sure an’ for certain, lass,” Jack responded. “I haven’t been in America so long to forget all o’ it.” He punched Racetrack and lapsed back into his other accent. “But Race, here, he’s all New Yawk.”
     “Ya mean I gotta talk like a leprechaun?” Racetrack complained.
     “Aye, lad. “ Star giggled at his chagrined expression. “If ye can’t do it, ye can always pretend ye can’t speak.”
     “See, Star, that’s worse,” Jack grinned. “Race can’t go that long without talkin’.” The ship lurched. “Make it quit doin’ that!”
     “Star- three bits says he barfs three times before the afternoon’s out.” Star glowered at him.
     “I bet a whole dollar that you get worse than Jack or Spot before we end up back in Manhattan,” she shot back. “Deal?”
     “Deal!” They spit noisily and shook.
     “Ugh, you dripped on the floor.” Jack leaned over the side of the bunk.
     “That’s one. Two ta go,” Racetrack chortled. Jack glared fiercely at him.
     “Okay, Star, where’s my dollar? I haven’t gotten sick once.”
     “Not yet, ye shark. I said when we returned to New York,” Star returned, poking him. “Now remember your accent or shut up!”
     Jack picked up his bag and slung it over his good right shoulder. “When can I take this stupid thing off?”  he grumbled.
     “A week or two. It takes time for a bone to grow back together.” Star sighed. “Oh, Jack. D’ye remember?”
     “Yeah, I do,” Jack answered. The two of them stood and glanced around Galway Harbor.
     “Hey, come on! They’re lowering the-the-that bridge thing,” Racetrack called.
     “Gangplank,” corrected Star. The three of them filed off the ship and onto the pier. Jack stumbled.
     “Are ye all right?” she asked.
     “Whaddya expect? Guy hurled so many times I lost count,” Racetrack snorted.
     “Yeah, well, I didn’t see you lookin’ so great either,” Jack retorted.
     “Well, I didn’t spend any of my time hangin’ over the railing!”
     “Yeah?” Star stepped between them, planted a hand on each of their chests, and shoved them.
     “Will I be spendin’ all o’ me time keepin’ ye off each others’ throats?” Star asked in exasperation. “Now, we’re here to find me brother. Not to have hurlin’ contests.” She started to slip off through the crowd.
     “Where are ya goin’?” Racetrack asked.
     “Pier offices,” she called back. Jack shrugged and followed her.
     “Hey, wait for me!” Racetrack hollered. By the time he caught up with them, they had already disappeared in the office. Star stepped up to the desk.
     “Excuse me, sir, but I need to find out somethin’.” The clerk glanced up.
     “Well, how can I help you?” he asked.
     “D’ya have a Morgan O’Malley on your rosters?” Star inquired. “He came here form New York City.” The clerk scanned down his list. Star held her breath.
     “Yes! Yes, I do. His ship arrived here two weeks ago.”
     “D’ye know where he went from there?” Jack asked.
     “I’m sorry, but there’s no listing of his whereabouts.”
     “Thank ye,” Star said as they left the office.
     “Well, that didn’t help,” Racetrack groused.     
     “Aye, it did,” argued Star. “We know he’s here.”
     “How come ya didn’t ask for Spot Conlan?” Race asked.
     “Same reason I went by Smiley. It’s safer. O’Malley is a fairly common name.”
     “That’s what makes it hard.” Both heads swerved to face Jack. “If O’Malley is such a common names, there’s gotta be thousands of O’Malleys in Galway alone.” Star bit her lip.
     “Well, we know he’s goin’ by Morgan,” she began. “And we’re lookin’ for a boy of about fifteen or so. That should narrow it down some, shouldn’t it?”
     “At least a wee bit.” Racetrack snorted. “Sorry. It just slipped out,” Jack apologized. Star tried not to laugh. “We need to look around here and in Killala.” he said to change the subject. “We need to divide up and look for him.”
     “You’re not gonna let me wander around Ireland by myself?’ Racetrack shouted.
     “Calm down, ye great eejit,” Star fussed. “We wouldn’t be doin’ that to ye. Although I’m tempted.” She turned to Jack. “I think you should look for Spot on the streets.”      
     “Do they got newsies around here?” Racetrack asked. Jack shrugged.
“I don’t think he’d be doin’ that,” he said. “He’d be lookin’ for Star.”
     “I would think he’d be in a gang o’ sorts,” suggested Star.
     “Or the workhouse,” added Jack. Racetrack just looked puzzled.
     “You and Race check the streets,” Star said. “I suppose I’ll have to go back to the workhouse. I’ll just use a different name. But I don’t know about me eyes. If they’ve got the same matron, she’ll be on me in a second.”
     “What are ya talkin’ about?” burst out Race.” What is this workhouse?”
     “Like the Refuge, but ye work to stay there,” Star explained.
     “Why would Spot go there?” Racetrack asked.
     “Ya don’t always go there,” Jack replied. “Sometimes they send out wagons, lookin’ for people sleepin’ on the streets. Ya know, the riffraff.” He turned to Star. “If you go there, ya might have trouble getting’ out.”
     “I’ve gotten out before. I can do it again. But they already have a Reilly Conlan on the register. What should I go by?”
     “Moira Higgins,” Racetrack offered.
     “Where did that come from, Race?” Jack asked.
     “My mother’s middle name,” he answered, a little embarrassed.
     “It’ll work,” said Star. “So, I’ll be seein’ ye when?”
     “Two weeks,” promised Jack. “If we find him sooner, we’ll come and get you.” Star handed Racetrack her bag and started to walk off. She stopped and turned back, her eyes shaded under her cap. Then she began walking again, a little figure soon lost in the crowd. People shoved her, pushed her, as she tried to remember the way back to the workhouse. It was a path she had been trying to forget. She paused and looked about her.
     ‘It would be easier to get picked up than to find the place,” she mumbled to herself. So she slipped into an alley and settled down, curling herself into a ball to keep warm.
     “Hey, you!” Star sat up stiffly. It was the middle of the night. Someone was standing in front of her. “What are ye doin’ out at this time o’ night? Go home.”
     “I do not have one,” she responded. The copper took her by the arm and dragged her to her feet.
     ‘Then you’re comin’ with me,” he growled. Star let herself be propelled limply to the Black Maria. She sat alone as the paddy wagon lurched its way through the twisted city streets. Star winced as they pulled up to the massive iron gates. She had forgotten how tall they were. The copper led her into the building and slammed the door behind her. The matron rose from her desk. She was, Star noted thankfully, different from the one who had ruled when she had been there earlier.
     “Found her in an alley.” The matron appraised Star coldly over the wire rims of her glasses.
     “Thank you, officer. I’ll take it from here.” Even her voice was cold. The copper left. The matron opened the ledger.
     “Name?”
     “Moira Higgins,” Star replied, using the name Racetrack had made up.
     “Age?”
     “I’ll be sixteen on July 8th.” That wasn’t a lie.
     “Any family?”
     “No.” That was a lie.
     “Take off your cap, girl.” She knew her name, why wouldn’t she use it? Star nonetheless pulled the cap off, letting her long braids fall down her back. She tried to keep her eyes downcast. What if the former matron had warned her about the runaway with one blue eye and one hazel eye?
     “Strange eyes you have,” the matron commented. She shut the book and Star let out a sigh of relief as she realized she said nothing else about it. “Now, empty your pockets.” Star turned them inside out on the table. A bit of string, a pocketknife Skittery had lent her, and- she gasped. She had forgotten to take the photograph out. Star tried to slip it behind her back, but the matron noticed it and wrenched it out of her grasp.
     “What is this?” she demanded sharply. Star willed herself not to scream.
     “My family,” she said, her voice strained.
     ‘But you said they were dead.”
     “They are.” Well, most of them were, anyway. The matron scooped up the contents of her pockets along with the precious picture and shoved them in her desk drawer.
     “Come with me,” she commanded. Star followed the matron down the silent, dirty halls. “Meals are served promptly. If you are late, you do not eat. You will be given your uniform tomorrow.” The matron suddenly stopped and opened a door. “Your dorm is here. Take any empty bed.” Star hesitantly stepped into he room. Twenty-nine girls were sleeping soundly. The thirtieth bed was empty. Matron shut the door and Star was standing alone. She unlaced her boots and climbed into he bed. For some time she laid there. She missed Jack talking in his sleep and Racetrack tossing and turning. She even missed Mush’s snoring and Kid Blink’s nose whistling. The silence here was so thick she could have cut it with a knife. Star curled up in a tighter knot under the thin coverlet. Soon she was fast asleep.

     “Wake up!” Star closed her eyes and burrowed deeper under the skimpy blanket.
     “Go ‘way, Jack. Sell your own papes,” she mumbled.
     ‘Wake up! You’ll get in trouble!”
     “Don’ care what Kloppman says,” Star retorted sleepily. She yelped as somebody pushed her off the bed and she landed hard on the cold, grimy floor.
     “If ye don’t get up, Matron’ll beat ye.” The speaker wasn’t Jack or Racetrack or Mush, but a tall, gangly girl with curly black hair. “Ye have to get up.” Star groaned and raised herself off the floor.
     “Forgot where I was,” she explained.
     “We all try to forget where we are.” The girl pushed a pile of clothes into her arms. “Put these on or you’ll get in even more trouble.” Star grimaced as she took off her dress and put on the scratchy brown straitjacket.
     “So, what’s your name?” Star asked as she fumbled with the apron ties. The girl swept up behind her and expertly tied them in a knot.
     “Annie Fitzgerald,” she answered. “What’s yours?”
     “Moira Higgins.” Star bent down to tie the laces on Racetrack’s outgrown boots. A loud bell clanged dissonantly, making her jump.
     “Breakfast bell,” Annie explained. “Come with me.” Star struggled to keep up with Annie’s long strides. The dining hall was packed with people, mostly teenagers and children. She craned her neck, searching for a familiar face on the dense crowd. Annie slipped into a seat on one of the benches, and Star sat next to her. The hall was silent. Matron stood. As if on signal, the entire hall rose and began reciting a prayer. Star had forgotten the words, but she moved her lips in sync. As one the hall fell silent again and sat down. Broken wooden bowls and chipped spoons were distributed. Star grimaced, but forced some of the cold, watery gruel down her throat. She was relieved when the bell rang again. Star followed Annie out of the dining hall.
     “We do our piecework now,” Annie whispered.
     “I’m not all that fond o’ sewin’,” Star whispered back.
     “Well, ye better get used to it in a hurry.” A young woman was handing out various pieces of gowns to the girls, along with needles and thread.
     “Who is this?” she asked Annie.
     “Moira Higgins. She came last night,” Annie told her.
     “Can you sew?”
     “A little,” Star confessed. The young woman handed her an almost finished dress.
     “You can sew the trim on,” she instructed. Star took the supplies and sat down on a wooden stool in the circle of girls.
     “So, where do ye come from, Moira?” asked Annie. Star didn’t respond. “Moira?” She poked her. Star glanced up.
     “Oh! Was it me ye was talkin’ to?” Annie nodded. “I’m from Killala.” Several of the girls nodded in agreement.
     “So am I,” said one of them. “But I don’t remember the Higgins family there.”
     “We moved when I was young.” Star glanced up slyly. “Do know the Conlans or the Sullivans?”
     “Aye!” the girl exclaimed. “I remember Jack and the little twins. And poor Mrs. Conlan and Star.” Star’s back stiffened like an angry cat’s. “I heard rumor that the landlord set their cottage afire.”
     “No, I heard they were poisoned,” objected another girl.
     “Me mother heard they starved,” said yet another. Star jabbed the needle in the fabric ferociously.
     “But what of the brother?”
     “Well, what of him?”
     “I heard he and his da died in America.” Star stabbed the dress, accidentally hitting her finger.
     “No, ‘twas just the da.”
     “How did it happen?” Star heard her frozen voice ask.
     “Accident at the harbor. The da worked there. A load fell and crushed him. They say the lad was there watchin’ him. He was about nine then, I’d say.”
     “How did ye learn all this?”
     “Me da is in America, workin’ at the self-same harbor. He wrote and told us of it.” Star bit the inside of her cheek hard to keep from crying. She kept on sewing, trusting the work to keep the tears from falling.

“Your name isn’t Moira Higgins.” Annie was stating a fact, not asking a question. Star kept her head turned away, trying to concentrate on the figures in her head. When were Jack and Racetrack to come?
     “Do ye think I’m lyin’?” she asked.
     “You’ve been here before.” Again, a statement. Star turned her head so she could see Annie out of the corner of her eye.
     “No, I haven’t,” she lied.
     “Your eye is blue. Earlier it was hazel. You don’t answer to the name Moira. Why are you hiding?” Star turned and looked Annie square in the eyes.
"Why should I trust you?” she demanded. “Why should I tell you my story?” Annie shrugged and sat down on the cot across from Star.
     “There’s no one else here. So tell me, Reilly Conlan, why you are here.” Star dug her fingernails deep into the palm of her hand.
     “My da is dead,” she said hoarsely. “For seven year I’ve believed that my da and my brother were safe in America, waitin’ for me and me mother. And he’s dead.” Star struggled to keep her tears back. ”Why didn’t Jack tell me?” she shouted, slamming her fist into her palm.
     “Sha, you’re too loud. Couldn’t your brother have written?” Annie asked.
     ‘Spot never learned to write. He can read, aye, just enough to pick out the headlines on the papes he sells. But he never could write.” Star smiled through her sadness. “I tried to teach him, but he never had the patience. Always moving’.”
     “What are papes?” Annie asked. Star told her everything- what papes were, about New York, who Jack and Racetrack were. Annie stared at her in disbelief.
     “So, you said they were comin’ for ye in two weeks? And that was on December 1st?” she asked finally.
     “Aye. Give or take a few days,” added Star. “and I still haven’t found out if me brother was here- or is still here.”
     “I don’t know about that. They don’t let boys associate with girls. But these Racetrack and Jack people should be comin’ tomorrow. It’s December 14th.” Star sank back.
     “Where can I find out about Spot?” she asked, bewildered.
“Matron’s office,” said Annie authoritatively. “She keeps a full record of everyone here.”
“We have to get in there,” said Star.
     “I know how to get in. We’ll do it tonight.”

     Star struggled against the sleep crowding on her eyelids. Annie shook her awake.
     “Star,” she hissed. Star sat up and dragged herself out of bed. Annie ran lightly down the hall, Star thudding behind.
     “Here it is.” Carefully Annie creaked open the door. “She keeps all the things she confiscates in here too.” Star felt a bubble of hope rising up in her. Stealthily she sneaked in and hefted the logbook, her drowsiness miles away. She tugged the massive book to the window and sat cross-legged on the window ledge, flipping through pages in the moonlight. Annie stood guard, watching the door anxiously.
     “I found it!” Star breathed. “Morgan O’Malley, age seventeen. That’s a lie; he’s fifteen. Born July 8th. That’s true. Says he has one sister. Hm, that’s true too. Got in trouble for fighting. That’s me brother. Discharged December 8th. Why do I get the feeling he ran away?” She looked at the date again. “He was here the same time I was.” Waves of disappointment washed over her. “At least I know he was here.” Star slipped off the window ledge and replaced the book.
     “All right, let’s go!” hissed Annie.
     “Wait a moment,” replied Star. She began rummaging through the desk drawer.
     ‘What are ye doin’?” Annie asked. Star didn’t look up.
     “Just need to get something,” she replied absently. “There ‘tis!” Hurriedly she stuffed her prize in the pocket of her apron and stood up. “Let’s go!” The two of them slipped out, shutting the door as quietly as possible.
     “Stop!” Annie hissed suddenly. Star froze. Annie ducked into a narrow nook between doors. Footsteps creaked by, followed by a shadow. Star didn’t dare to breathe. The shadow passed, the steps faded, and the two girls ran as fast as they dared to the dorm. Once in the safety of her own bed, Star drew her spoils of war out of her pocket. In her hands was the photograph that matron had stolen from her. She breathed a sigh of relief, turned over, and went to sleep.

     Star was anxious and nervous all day. “Hold still, Star. You’re jumpier than a cat on a hot tin roof,” Annie chided.
     “I don’t care,” she answered breathlessly. “I’m getting out tonight!” Annie just shook her head. Star couldn’t wait for night to fall. When the thirty girls were sent back to their room for the night, Star and Annie were the first ones there. Star cast off the brown uniform and pulled on the blue and white one Jack had given her ages ago in New York.
     “I can’t very well run away in workhouse clothes,” she laughed. For a long time she curled up on the window ledge, waiting. The deep, even breathing had almost lulled her to sleep when she heard a rap at the pane. She opened the window.
     “Hiya, Star,” said Jack. Star grinned happily.
     “I’ve never been so happy to see ye before, Jacky boy,” she whispered.
     “Well, hurry up and get outa there. In case ya didn’t know, it’s kinda cold out here!” Star placed a hand on his shoulder and prepared to jump.
     “Bye, Star,” said Annie forlornly. Star turned back,
“You’ll get out too,” she promised. “But right now I have to find me brother.” Star climbed out the window. Jack was perched on the sill, one arm wrapped around the drainpipe.
     “I’ll go down first. You follow.” Cautiously, Star leaned over and grasped the frozen metal pipe. Jack climbed down first and landed on the ground with a soft thud. “Come on. Drop! I’ll catch you!” Star closed her eyes and let go. Jack caught her and set her on the ground. “C’mon!” he said, grabbing her hand. “Racetrack’s waitin’ for us in the woods.” The two of them ran hard, out past the remaining cottages and farms of Galway, past the sleeping river, and into the forest.
     “Didja have fun?” Racetrack asked mockingly. Star rolled her eyes as she tried to catch her breath.
     “Oh, yes, of course I did,” came her sarcastic reply. “So, did ye find anythin’?”
     “We know there was a Morgan O’Malley who showed up at about December 10th,” Jack began as they walked through the snow.
     “Two days after he left the workhouse,” Star interrupted.
     “Anyway, he apparently got into a number of fights. One of the guys we met gave us this.” Jack showed Star a silver cross that shone in his hand. Star snatched eagerly.
     “This is Spot’s,” she breathed. She looked up. “Do they know where we went?”
     “He got beat up real bad, they said. He just kinda ran off, and they looked for him, but he wasn’t there,” reported Race. “That was three days ago.” Star’s eyes shone like her namesakes.
     “He’s goin’ to Killala,” she said confidently. “We have to go there.” Jack looked a little unsure.
     “It’ll take a while ta get there,” he warned. “Two day’s walk from Galway.”
     “We can do it,” Star said. “But first, hand me my bag, Racetrack. In case ye didn’t know, it’s cold out here. I would like to have my coat!”

     “Jack, I need to ask ye a question,” Star said. Pale morning light was streaking across the sky. They were still walking.
     “Shoot.”
     “Is me da dead?” Jack stopped dead in his tracks.
     “Spot said he’d written to ya,” he said. “Ya mean ya didn’t know?” Star shook her head.
     “Spot can’t write. Remember? We tried to teach him. He can read some, but he cannot write.” Jack clenched his fists.
     “The lyin’ bum. How long has it been? Six years? I’ll get him for this.”
     “Don’t be too hard. Poor lad’s already gone through enough. He thinks his mother and his sister are dead, and he had to watch his da die,” said Star.
     “Is Aunt Nora still alive?”
     “No,” said Star in a small voice. She sighed. There was an accident. The landlord- he was racing his carriage down the street. Mother and I were walking. The carriage didn’t stop. Mother was dead before she knew what happened. I was left with this.” She slipped her left arm out of her coat and rolled up her sleeve, baring a long scar running from her shoulder to below her elbow. “The landlord took us both to his manor. I ran away after my arm was sewn up. I went to Galway and got caught by the cops. I broke out of the workhouse and came to New York.”
     ‘But why did the landlord say you and Aunt Nora were dead?” Jack asked.
     “I suppose to save face. How else could he explain me disappearing.” Racetrack whistled in disbelief.
     “So it’s true that Aunt Nora’s dead?” Jack repeated. Star nodded and leaned her head against jack. He put an arm around her shoulder as the three of them trudged through the snow.
     “So what’s your story, Race?” Jack asked. Racetrack shrugged.
     “Really don’t know. You was the one that found me wanderin’ around on the streets when I was four. I think they’re dead,” Racetrack said it all in a matter of fact voice, but he didn’t meet their eyes. Star looked at him curiously. “Mostly the other newsies kept an eye on me when they sold papes. Said I helped sell more ‘cause younger sells more papes. Then I got old enough to sell papes myself. So there it is.”
     “Do you know your parents’ names?” Star asked.
     “Gabriella,” Racetrack answered, his voice thick. “Gabriella Moira Castellano Higgins. She was a singer.”
“Like Medda?” Jack asked suddenly.
     “Yeah, like Medda.”
     “Was she billed as the Italian Songbird?” Racetrack nodded. Jack snapped his fingers. “That’s it! Race, what’s your name again/”
     “Racetrack, ya bum,” Race said, some of his bravado returning. “Formerly Julio James Higgins.”
     “You’re the kid Medda was lookin’ for,” Jack said. “I remember. I was about seven or eight. Her partner died, and she kept tryin’ ta find her kid. But she couldn’t find him, because-“
     “Because I wasn’t Julio anymore,” Racetrack finished. “I never liked that name before. But if I had kept it…Dang it!”

“Kid Blink’s gonna be mad when he finds out that ya got his coat.” Star grinned and burrowed deeper inside of it.
“Good thing I made ye hold on to me things,” she said. “I just can’t believe that I could be so stupid as to forget me picture.” She drew it out of her pocket and showed it to Jack.
“Where did ya get this?” he asked hoarsely.
“Mother had it,” she said.
“Well, what is it?” Racetrack asked. Jack showed it to him. Jack, a very young Jack, was perched on the shoulders of a tall young man, with a petite, beaming girl beside them. At the woman’s right was another couple, each of them holding a child. Even in the black-and-white photograph Racetrack could tell that one of the little girl’s eyes was hazel and the other blue.
“You were six, Jack. Spot and I were four,” Star said.
“Only picture that I have o’ me little mother,” Jack responded in a hushed voice, a bit of Irish brogue slipping off his tongue. “She died a few months later.” They were silent for a while.
“So, is it possible that Spot is shorter than he is now?” Race asked. Jack finally smiled.
“How can you talk?” he mocked. “I think Star’s taller than you are.”
“No, she ain’t!” burst out Race.
“Stop!” Star said suddenly. “Look down there.” They had come through the forest to the rise of a little hill. A crowd of cottages were clustered about below the, their fires glowing through the windows in the early twilight.
“Killala,” Jack breathed.

The door of the Conlan cottage had been closed for quite some time. It eventually groaned its way open. Dust and cobwebs filled the room and hung on the ladder to the loft. Star was the first inside. She reached for a lantern still half full of oil. Carefully she lit it.
“Welcome to my home,” she said cheerfully. Jack glanced around.
“’Bout as homey as the Refuge,” he commented.
“But without Snyder,” added Racetrack. “So, d’ya think Spot’s here?” Star shook her head.
“It doesn’t look like it,” she said. “Nothin’s been moved or touched.”
“Before we do anything, can you take this thing off?” Jack complained, holding out his splinted arm. Star laughed.
“I’d forgotten,” she said. She took Jack’s arm and unwrapped it carefully.
“Jack, it looks a stick,” Racetrack observed.
“Well, since it hasn’t been used in a while, the muscles are weak,” said Star. “But it does look like a limp noodle.” Jack made a face at her. “It healed pretty well,” she offered.
“Look, could we stop talkin’ about Jack’s arm and light a fire? It’s freezing in here!” Racetrack groused.
“Help yourself. There should be some wood over there,” Star told him, nodding her in its direction. Race walked away, mumbling to himself.
“So, Jack, what did those people tell you about Spot?” Star asked in a low voice.
“Apparently he didn’t say much ‘bout himself,” answered Jack as he stretched out his bad arm. “They said he looked half starved.”
“Everyone in the workhouse is. Go on.”
“He got beat up pretty badly. That’s when they lost track of him. They told me he could hardly walk, but he started running away.” Star sighed and rested her chin on her knees.
“Oh, where is the eejit?” she worried grumpily. “Stupid boyo.”
“Well, he thought you was dead,” Jack said. “Y’know, lyin’ somewheres in an unmarked grave or somethin’.” Suddenly Star jumped to her feet.
“I know where he is now. If he thought I was dead-“
“The graveyard,” finished Jack. “Hey, Race, c’mon!” Racetrack appeared, slightly sooty.
“Whaddya want?”
“We’re goin’ to the village church,” said Star shortly. “Follow me. I could get there blindfolded.” She pushed open the door and began to run, Racetrack and Jack following close. The moon stood enormous in the sky. Snow was falling in wind-whipped gusts. Star halted.
“There it is.” The church was small. Out of the yard to the side of it was a graveyard, its ancient Celtic crosses rising to the sky. Racetrack jumped over the fence and helped Star over.
“What makes ya so sure Spot’s here?” he whispered as Jack landed next to them.
“I just know. Call it a twin thing,” Star whispered back. Racetrack shivered.
“It’s givin’ me the creeps. All those dead Irish people. Keep thinkin’ one of ‘em’ll come up and grab me.”
“Sha!” hissed Star. “Or the sídhe will hear ye.” She slipped off, another shadow lost among the crosses. She paused. Jack grabbed her arm.
“D’ya hear that?”
“Aye,” she nodded. “Someone’s here. I don’t know if it be Spot or a sídhe. Where is it comin’ from, d’ye think?”
“Star! Over there! I saw somethin’ move,” whispered Race, paralyzed. Star straightened herself as tall as she could grow.
“Come out, be ye human or bean sídhe!” she commanded. A shadow from behind a small, fairly new cross shifted.
“Get away,” came a weak voice. “Leave me be.”
“Come out!” cried Star again. She stood as tall as possible, her head held high, wind whipping back her hair and the enormous coat.
All of a sudden, something flew out and stung Star on the cheek.
“Ye great eejit! Whether you’re a sídhe or not, you’re certainly a glunter,” she retorted, touching the swelling on her face.
“It’s got her voice. An’ it ain’t goin’ away. Oh, leave me be,” mumbled the voice again. A thin, bony hand reached up and gripped the side of the gravestone. Racetrack hid behind Jack a little. The shadow pulled itself onto its knees for a moment or so, then collapsed. Star stepped forward hesitantly.
“What is your name?” she asked, a little softer than she had been before.
“Morgan Conlan,” said the shadow. Star quickened her pace and knelt before the shadow. She reached out a little hand and touched his face.
“Little Mor,” she whispered, caressingly. “Oh, a stór.” Morgan turned away from her. He curled up in a little ball.
“Wake up, wake up,” he murmured to himself. Star tilted his face upward so he could see her.
“We’ve been lookin’ everywhere for ye, Spot,” she told him. “Me and Jack and Racetrack came all the way to Ireland to find ye.” Spot could only stare at her.
“But, you’re dead,” he said, puzzled. “Am I dead too?” Star put her warm arms around him.
“No, boyo. Not me.” Spot broke away from her and struggled to his feet.
“Where’s Jack?” he asked. “Where’s Race?”
“Hiya, Spot,” said Jack, stepping out from behind Star.
“Hiya, Jacky boy,” Some of his boldness was returning. He spat in his bony hand and held it out. Jack did the same, being careful not to crush him.
“See your aim’s improved,” commented Racetrack. Spot stuck his slingshot back in his pocket.
“Had practice,” he said. Spot shivered. Star slipped an arm around him.
“Come with us, a stór,” she said.

“So how did you find me?” Spot asked.
“Asked around. Found out what we could,” Jack shrugged. Star relit the lantern.
“Let me see you,” she said.
“Ya probably don’ wanta,” Spot said, trying to shield his face from the light. Star looked anywhere.
“Sure an’ it’s not a pretty sight,” she finally remarked. One of his blue eyes was swollen shut. His face and arms were various shades of blue and purple from the cold and bruises. His left shoulder was bloody. Spot squinted at her out of his good eye.
“Well, ya look pretty good ta me.” Her long braids were loose and ragged. A smudge of dirt covered the skin below her hazel eye.
“Did I do that?” Spot asked, sounding almost like a lost little boy.
“Do what?”
“That.” He touched the welt on her cheek.
“It’s nothing, a stór,” she replied. “So when’s the last time ye ate?”
“Don’ remember.”
“You look it,” said Star, glancing at the large eyes in the thin face. “Your eyes are bigger than the rest of ye.” Jack pulled up a rickety stool and straddled it so he could see his cousin’s face.
“How did all that happen?” he asked, indicating the bruises. Spot looked down.
“Remember the strike, when I asked ya if ya could stand up when some goon came at ya with a club?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“Well, that’s what happened. After I got outa the workhouse, I tried livin’ in the back alleys. Was nothin’ like Brooklyn.” He took a deep breath as the Irish brogue began working its way into his speech. “Everywhere I looked, there was either a copper or somebody starvin’ ta death. An’- an’ then I was starvin’. I had nothin’ else ta do. So I stole.”
“I did that once. One o’ the worst decisions I ever done,” Jack interjected.
“Aye, well, I learned it too. Sure an’ for certain he had enough an’ more ta spare. But he caught me. I couldn’t run away. He was twice the size o’ me. After he was done, I went the only other place I knew where to go.”
“Why d’ye have to learn everythin’ the hard way, Spot Conlan?” Star asked. He looked at her out of tied, hunger-glazed eyes. She brushed back a lock of sandy hair from his forehead. “Poor boyo.” Spot laid his head on Star’s shoulder. She cradled him in her arms and stroked his hair as tears slowly trickled down his face.

Rays of sunlight were beaming through the cottage’s only window. Racetrack sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “Star?” he yawned.
“Sha! He’s still sleepin’.” Racetrack glanced over and saw Spot curled up on the bed, snoring lightly.
“Where’s Jack?” he asked. Star came into room.
“Visitin’ his mother,” she responded.
“Thought she was dead.”
“She is. She’s buried in the churchyard.”
“Oh,” said Racetrack, abashed. The door creaked open.
“Hey, Star, I’ve got company,” called Jack.
“Sha! You’ll wake him up.”
“Kinda late for that,” Spot mumbled.
“So who is this company ye brought?” A young redheaded man poked his head in the door.
“Is this the kind of welcome I’ll be getting’ from the likes o’ Reilly Conlan?” he asked.
“Aidan? Aidan Ryan?” Star jumped up and flew to him. “Aidan! How did ye know we were here?”
“I saw a stranger in the churchyard. I went to investigate, and discovered it wasn’t a stranger at all,” Aidan explained, leaning against the doorframe. ‘When I was finally convinced it truly was little Francis Sullivan-“ he glanced over at Jack, who was eye level with him- “I invited meself over. Hope ye don’t mind.”
“No, it’s just…” Star bit her lip. “How did ye know that I wasn’t dead? I thought the landlord told everyone that I died with Mother.”
“He did. I figured it out for meself. When Father O’Malley returned from the funeral at the manor, he confessed to me that the coffin you were in was kept closed. And I knew you weren’t hurt so badly. So I put two and two together.” Star shook her head.
“You always were too smart for your own good, Aidan,” she laughed. “Have ye seen the other member of me family?” Spot sat up a little dizzily.
“What happened to ye, Morgan Conlan?” Aidan asked.
“Long story,” Spot said, wincing.
“Looks worse than it did last night,” commented Racetrack.
“And who may you be?” Aidan asked.
“Racetrack. Racetrack Higgins of New Yawk.” Aidan raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.
‘Well, I can’t stay long, but I have a Christmas present for ye.”
“It’s Christmas?” Jack asked.
“Aye, Christmas Eve,” nodded Aidan. He set down the bundle he was carrying on the kitchen table. “Merry Christmas.” He yanked Star’s braid as he walked out.
“Dia duit!” Star called as he left.
“Who was that?” Racetrack asked.
“An old friend,” she answered as she railed against the knots of the bundle. “He helped me mother and me after Da left.” She looked at Jack. “Are ye all right? You’re awful quiet.”
“Yeah, I’m okay.” Star studied his red rimmed eyes and squeezed his hand.
“Are ya just gonna stand there or are we gonna find out what’s in there?” Racetrack broke in. Star made a face at him and finally ripped open the knots. Even Race was stunned into silence.
“There’s enough food in here to feed all the newsies in Manhattan and Brooklyn combined,” Star said. “That takes care of that problem. Hey, Spot, are ye hungry?”
“I haven’t eaten in a week. No, Star, I ain’t hungry,” he said sarcastically.
“Well, I see age and hunger haven’t improved your personality,” Star shot back. “Now, do ye lads think ye can handle yourselves for the rest o’ the day?”
“Why? Where are ya gonna go?” Jack asked.
“Are ye afraid, Jacky boy? I’m only goin’ to be in me room. You’ll have to manage without me,” She started climbing up the ladder to the loft
“What are ye gonna do?” Jack called.
“Somethin’,” she replied evasively.

“How long is she gonna hide in there?” Racetrack grumbled. “I’m hungry.”
“Shut up, Race,” came Jack’s voice from under his cowboy hat. “Stop thinkin’ ‘bout yourself.”
“I can’t move,” Spot moaned.
“Oh, no kiddin’. You’ve got more bruises than anyone else I’ve ever seen get beat up- and I’ve seen a lot.”
“So how did ye lads last?” Star climbed down and alighted on the floor. She had brushed out her long hair and tied it back. The smudge was still on her face. In her arms she carried a jumble of items covered with a shawl.
“What were ya doin’?” Spot asked. Star smiled the half smile that was identical to her brother’s.
“Just call me Father Christmas.” Star pulled off the shawl and settled it around her shoulders. “You’re first, Jack.” She handed him a small bundle that could have been a patched rag. Jack blushed deep red.
“Aw, Star,” he moaned.
“Couldn’t help meself, boyo. I remember ye carryin’ Madra around with you when you were small, and I knew you’d want it again. But open it.” Jack did and a pile of silver coins fell into his hands.
“Well, that’s better,” he replied.
“Aren’t ye glad to have your Madra back?” she teased. “I thought it would fall apart, what with you takin’ it everywhere with ye. Well, Spot, it’s your turn.” Star picked up a long rectangular box, walked over to the bed where Spot was lying, and placed it in his lap. Spot opened the case.
“Da’s fiddle,” he said in a low voice. He carefully lifted the violin and bow out.
“Ye don’t know how hard it is to tune a fiddle when you’re tryin’ to keep quiet,” she smiled. “D’ye remember anythin’ about playin’ it?”  In response Spot tucked the fiddle under his chin and drew the bow. He hesitantly tried to press down the strings. Then it gave a long squawk.
“Haven’t played since I was nine years old,” he admitted. Star bent down and kissed his forehead.
“Keep tryin’,” she told him. “All right, Race, this is for you. Close your eyes.” Racetrack obeyed.  Star placed something soft in his hands. “All right, open them.” Racetrack did. He was holding a dark green vest.
“So ya still think I’m a walkin’ fashion disaster?” he asked in exasperation.
“Ye can’t wear striped pants with a checkered vest,” Star grinned. “Are ye just goin’ to sit there starin’? Try it on.” Racetrack stood and shrugged off his old vest. Star helped him put the new one on. Race looked down at her golden head as she buttoned his vest. He gulped as her little fingers brushed against his chest. “Merry Christmas, Racetrack-Julio Higgins,” she smiled. Spot eyed them cautiously. Jack nudged him.
“Look at ‘em!” he whispered. Racetrack was looking at her eyes. A light blush was stealing on Star’s cheek. He leaned a little closer to her. Suddenly the fire at the hearth popped. They both jumped in surprise and stepped away from each other.
“Dang it,” said Spot in Jack’s ear.

“Race, we’ve been here for a month or more but ye still can’t do an Irish accent,” Star laughed.
“I can’t, okay? I’m a New Yawk boy,” Racetrack said. He was still wearing the vest that Star had given him. Spot carried the fiddle case. Jack wouldn’t have admitted it, but Madra was in his pocket. The four of them stood on the pier, looking at the ship that would take them back to New York. The whistle blared.
“Remember the bet, Racetrack,” Star warned. “When ye lose, I won’t be the one to clean it up.”
‘What makes ya so sure I’m gonna lose?” Racetrack taunted. “Ya couldn’t make a bet if your life depended on it.”
“Neither can you,” Star returned.
“Well, I do better than you. I know better than to bet on the horse that comes in last.” Spot leaned over to Jack.
“I think he likes her.”
“Yup. He’s in love. Last time I saw him like this it was a little filly. Thought he’d never get over her.”
“What? He called his girlfriend a filly?”
“Bay with a white blaze. Gawd, he loved that horse.” Spot punched Jack. The whistled belted again. Spot and Jack followed Star and Racetrack, still arguing, up the gangplank. When they were on the deck, Jack went to the railing.
“What are ye thinkin’ about, Jack?” Star asked, leaving race sputtering by himself.
“I’ve left this place once. I don’t know if I can do it again.” Star rested her elbows on the rail, the sea breeze blowing back her hair.
“It’s hard, Jack. But you’ve got family in Manhattan,” Star said. Jack stared down on the busy Galway harbor. Star reached up and tilted his chin so she could look him in the eyes. “You’ve got me and Spot and Racetrack and David and all the other boys. And you’ve got Sarah. It never matters where ye live if your family is with you. So I don’t want ye whinin’ about havin’ no family and everythin’s back here when you’ve got so much in New York.” She tweaked his nose. “So let’s go watch Racetrack lose his bet.”

“I should have made it two dollars.”
“Race, what color is that? Dark green or yellow green?”
“I think it’s more of a green yellow.” The ship was tossing and turning. Rain pelted the deck above them. Waves crashed like battering rams. The lantern on the ceiling danced and flickered. Star and Spot were sitting on one of the bunks- Star on the top and Spot on the bottom. Jack was sprawled on the floor, since his legs were too long for the bunk. Racetrack was curled up in the other bunk, the blankets over him so that only the top of his head was visible.
“Shut up,” came his muffled voice.
‘Ya better quit, Race, or they’ll run out of buckets?” Spot laughed.
“Shut up.”
“Do ya got the dollar handy?” Jack asked.
“Shut up.” Star jumped off her bunk and sat down next to Race.
“Are ye goin’ to hide in there all the way back to Manhattan?”
“Shut up. Go away.”
“At least you’re sayin’ somethin’ else. Ye got to get out and get some air, Race. You’ll suffocate in there.” Star tugged at a corner of the blanket. Racetrack reluctantly sat up.
“I’m dyin’,” he moaned. Star laughed and pushed the damp curls off his forehead.
“No, you’re not dyin’,” she told him. “But what goes around comes around.” Her eyes sparkled with suppressed laughter. “This is just too funny!” she finally burst out, giggling. Racetrack made a face at her and disappeared under the blankets.

“There they are!” Star called as they stood on the deck.
“There?”
“No!”
“Where?”
“There!”
“Oh!” Jack started waving. The four of them were off the boat as soon as it docked.
“So, you found the runaway,” Denton said.
“Aye, that we did. Thank ye for payin’ for our passage,” Star responded.
“What did ye do?”
“Spot, why’d ya run away?”
“Where were ya?”
“Is that Kid Blink’s coat?”
“Is Racetrack okay?”
“I’m fine!” barked Racetrack, leaning heavily against a light pole.
“Say, where’d Jack go?” Crutchy asked.
“Over there,” Spot said, rolling his eyes. Jack and Sarah were kissing.
“Gross,” said Les.
“Oh, Blink, I’ve got somethin’ for ye,” Star remembered, taking the coat off. “I borrowed this.” Blink took it a little sheepishly.
“Sorry, Mush.” Mush, who had a lovely black eye, glared jokingly at Star.
“Oops,” she said. “So, what have ye been doin’ while we were gone?” They shrugged.
“We’ve been tryin’ ta find another lodgin’ house,” Crutchy said.
“Aren’t they goin’ to rebuild it?” Star asked. Mush shook his head.
“We’ve been sleepin’ on the streets,” he admitted. “Y’know, wherever we can.”
“Those Delaney eejits,” she frowned.
“Delancey,” her brother corrected.
“Whatever. They’re still eejits.”
“Ya can stay in Brooklyn with me, Star,” Spot offered.
“Well, what are these boys goin’ to do?” she asked. “What with Racetrack still sick an’ all-“
“I’m fine,” Racetrack snarled.
“Calm down, boyo. I’m just sayin’ that none of ye should be sleepin’ outside.” Star tapped her chin. “I need to think.”
“About what?” Jack asked, still holding Sarah’s hand.
“Things,” Star said shortly. “We’ve got to get money to rebuild it. I just need to think up a plan.”
“Could ya think about leavin’ the pier first?” Mush asked. “It’s cold!”
“You’re a wimp, Mush.”

“Jack told me about that strike o’ yours. What exactly did ye do?” Star asked when they were all at Tibby’s. Spot’s eyes gleamed.
“We soaked ‘em!” he cried.
“Sha, Spot. D’ye want everyone hearin’ our conversation?” his sister asked. “Besides, who do we have to soak?” Spot poked her. She jabbed him back. “What else did ye do?”
“A rally,” suggested Crutchy.
“Nah, that didn’t turn out so good,” Jack said. Star got up and started pacing.
“We need to get the attention of someone big. Someone with power.”
“And preferably with money,” David added. Abruptly Star knelt down by Jack’s chair.
“Jack, would that Mr. Roosevelt person remember ye?”
“He’d remember Spot better,” he admitted. “He took Spot up ta that big house o’ his.”
“What did you do there, anyway?” David asked.
“Asked him to help get my sister over from Ireland,” he said, looking at Star.
“But would he remember ye?” she persisted.
“What are you getting at?” David asked a little warily. Star straightened up.
“I’m getting’ at this Mr. Roosevelt could help us build back the lodgin’ house.”
“Are you out of your mind?” David scowled. “He’d never do it. It’s impossible.”
“That’s what ya said ‘bout the strike, Dave. Look what that did for us,” Jack pointed out. David sat back, deflated. “D’ya really think it’ll work?”
“It has to,” Star said, her eyes serious. ‘If it doesn’t, we’ll all be livin’ on the streets.”

“Who exactly is this Medda person?” Star whispered.
“She’s real nice. Don’t worry,” Jack whispered back. Next to him Racetrack fiddled with one of the buttons on his vest. “Are ya nervous or somethin', Race?”
“No, I ain’t,” he snapped back. He paused. “Are ya really gonna tell her I was her partner’s kid?”
“Aye,” said Star. “She can probably tell ye all the things you’ve wanted to know about your mother.” The three of them approached the back door of the theater. Jack opened it and strolled in. Star and Racetrack followed, a little hesitantly. Jack ran up the little flight of stairs and knocked. The door opened.
“Kelly! You’re back!” Medda said. She hugged Jack.
“Yeah, went ta Ireland. Listen, I got two people I want ya ta meet,” Jack told her.
“All right,” said Medda. “Who are they?”
“This is Reilly Conlan, Spot’s sister. We call her Star.” Medda smiled.
“So you’re the sister of the Brooklyn newsie? Well, you’re a lovely girl.”
“She gets it from me,” Jack boasted. “I’m her cousin.”
“Your cousin? I knew there was something similar. She has your eyes,” Medda said.
“Or one o’ them,” Star added, winking her hazel eye.
“Well, who is the other person you wanted me to meet?” Medda inquired. Jack tugged Racetrack forward. “I already know him,” she laughed. “Hello, Racetrack.
“We’ve finally found out what his real name is. Medda this is Julio Higgins.” Medda stared at Race.
“Julio Higgins…are you Gabriella’s little boy?” she asked.
“I ain’t so little anymore, but yeah, Gabriella was my mother,” Racetrack answered.
“You look just like her,” Medda breathed.
“I do?”
“Oh, yes. Gabriella was a very beautiful girl. And a wonderful dancer. She died of influenza when she was only twenty-one.” Medda looked at Racetrack. “But those freckles came from your father.”
“Ya know about him, too?” Racetrack blurted out.
“Yes. I was the witness when your parents married. I think I still have some of her things. Come with me.” Medda started to go up the stairs.
“Jack, let’s go,” Star whispered.
“Oh, come on, Star. I wanta watch,” he protested.
“If Race wants us here, he’d let us know. Besides, I have something I want ye to do.”  Reluctantly Jack left.
“What is it ya want me ta do?” he asked as they walked out in the bright winter sunlight.
“Spot told me about it, and all three of us are goin’ to go,” Star said.
“Go where?” Jack asked.
“Someplace. You’ll understand when we get there.”
“Where’s Spot?”
“He’s meeting us there.”
“But where are we going?” Star shut her lips tightly. Jack gave up. Spot soon joined them, but he didn’t tell Jack anything either. Star stopped.
“This is it.” Jack started to back away.
“Oh, no. Oh, no. Star, I’m not gonna do this.” Star slipped her hand into his.
“Jack, ye don’t have to be afraid. Ye haven’t seen him in five years. Ye need to at least let him know that he’s not alone.” The three of them walked in. Spot spoke to the officer, and he let them in. Jack unconsciously clutched Star’s hand. All around them people were staring, as if they hadn’t seen free people in their lives.
“Uncle Jack,” Star said. “Uncle Jack!” The prisoner turned his head and stood. He was still a giant of a man, even after his time in jail.
“Kelly?” he asked hopefully.
“No, Uncle Jack. It’s Star.” He gripped the bars. Jack gripped Star’s hand as he looked at his father.
“You can’t be Star. Tiny little Reilly.” He reached a hand through the bars and touched her face gently. “You look just like your Aunt Kelly. My dear wife.” Star smiled.
“Hey, Uncle Jack,” Spot said.
“And this is Morgan? You are your father’s son, no doubt. But you two are so old. Where are the little children I used to carry on my shoulders?” Jack Sullivan grinned sadly at them.
“Da,” Jack said in a small voice. Jack Sullivan looked up.
“You called me Da,” he whispered. “Are- are you my little son?” His hands trembled as he reached out and grasped Jack’s face. Jack let go of Star’s small hand and touched his da’s big one. “My son. Oh, Jack.” A tear slipped down the convict’s face. He abruptly broke away and went to the back of his cell. “I have this,” he told Jack. He handed his son a picture crudely ripped from a newspaper. It was the picture Denton had taken during the strike. “You are a brave boy, my son.” Jack couldn’t say anything.
“Move it along,” the officer said. “Your time’s up.” Jack Sullivan reached out for his son. The officer hit his hand back with his billy club. “No contact.” Jack kept his head down as they left the prison.
“Jack?” Star asked as they came back into the sunlight. Jack swiped at his eyes with his sleeve. “Jack, why did Uncle Jack get in prison?” To his horror Jack felt the tears overwhelming him. He sat down on the curb and began to cry. Star was beside him, stroking his back. Spot stood next to them. Finally Jack calmed down.
“He did it for me,” he said. “I was sick, and he didn’t have no money. So he broke into a house. I remember when he left. He told me that he was goin’ ta make sure I would be all right.” He hiccuped. Star kept stroking his back. “That was the last I saw of him.”
“When’s he gonna get out?” Spot asked.
“Twenty years. He’s got fifteen ta go,” Jack responded. “Always wondered if he’ll be alive then.” He sighed and stood up. “Just hope Racetrack had a better time learnin’ about his folks than I did.”

“What’s with ya, Race? You’re smilin’ like somebody just gave ya the moon,” Mush commented. The newsies were hiding out in an abandoned warehouse. Racetrack slipped though the partially boarded up door and walked past Mush.
“Star!” he hollered.
“Ye don’t have to shout. I’m right here,” she said. “So what is it you’re yellin’ about?”
“This is my mother,” Racetrack said, his black eyes shining. A young woman smiled up out of the picture, her long curls hanging loose about her shoulders and mingling with the curls of the little boy she held in her arms.
“Oh, Racetrack, she’s beautiful,” Star exclaimed.
“Medda gave me this, too,” he continued, pulling a locket out from under his shirt. “My dad gave this to my mother when they was gonna get married.”
“That’s real neat, Racetrack,” Crutchy said from beside Star.
“I wanna show this ta Jack. Where is he?”
“He’s not here right now. But ye can show it to him when he comes back.”
“All right,” he shrugged. “Hey, Blink!” Race ran off.
“Never thought Race would find his family,” Crutchy told Star. “I remember when Jack brought him. He was real little, and we kinda scared him. ‘Specially me. He’d never seen anyone with a crutch before, even though I’m ‘bout the same age as him.”
“How did you get crippled, Crutchy?” Star asked, tapping his lame knee.
“Used to work in a factory. I was real small, so they used me to climb up on the machines and change the thread bobbins. Well, one day I fell.” He glanced at his crutch. “I was five then. After they knew I wasn’t gonna walk again without a crutch, they struck a deal with Kloppman. My parents, I mean. They pay for my keep, and I send some money home. Haven’t seen ‘em in years.” Star was shocked.
“They just left ye here, then?” she asked.
“They already got seven other kids. Had enough mouths ta feed. Didn’t need another, ‘specially not one with a crutch. So I got sent ta be a newsie.” Crutchy shrugged. “Aw, don’t look so sad, Star. It ain’t that bad.”
“Does it ever hurt ye?” she asked.
“Some days it does. But hey, I can sell more papes that way. People feel sorry for the crippled kid.” Star impulsively hugged him. Crutchy looked a little surprised.
“You’re special, Crutchy,” she told him. “Most people who get crippled like you are become angry and mean. But you’re one o’ the sweetest boys I know.” Crutchy grinned.
“I never been called that before. I could get used to that.”

“It’s cold in here,” Kid Blink complained, burrowing into his coat- which was decidedly smaller on him than it was on Star. Some of the newsies were sleeping, and some were crowded around the small fire in the middle of the warehouse floor.
“Move over,” Star groused. She pulled her shawl close around her.
“Tell Spot ta move,” Jack retorted on her left.
“Can’t. He’s asleep.” In response, Jack nudged her so that she hit Spot, and Spot, still asleep, banged into Racetrack.
“Hey!” Racetrack protested. He hit Spot, who fell onto Star, who hit Jack. Jack pushed her back as hard as he could.
“Quit it!” Jack growled.
“Ouch!” Star squeaked.
“Mmph,” Spot mumbled.
“That hurt,” Racetrack said in a muffled voice.
“What are you doing?” Sarah asked as she and her brothers came in the warehouse. Racetrack was facedown on the floor, Spot, still sleeping, had his head on Racetrack’s back, and Star was pinned down by Jack. Jack quickly popped to his feet.
“Uh, nothin’,” he said.
“Will ye give me a hand there, Jacky boy?” Star asked. Jack pulled her up. Racetrack shifted so that Spot rolled off of him.
“I really don’t want to know what all that was about,” David said, raising his eyebrows.
“Well!” said Star, brushing off her skirt. “What did ye come here for?”
“We got your train tickets so you can go see Roosevelt,” David told them, tossing the tickets to Jack. “You’re leaving in two days.”
“Two days! What are we gonna do for two days? Sit around here?” Racetrack yelped.
“Who exactly is going?” Star asked.
“Spot and Jack, definitely,” Sarah said. “Since Roosevelt already knows them.”
“But there are three tickets here,” Jack said, puzzled. “Either ya forgot how ta count, or somebody else has gotta come.”
“Take me! Take me!” Les piped up. Jack took off his cowboy hat and plopped it on the little boy’s head.
“I think you should take Star,” David suggested. “It was her idea, after all.”
“Plus,” said Jack, taking hold of Star’s chin and tilting up her elfin little face, “with this kid’s puss we can convince him o’ anythin’.”
“What’s a puss?” Star asked.
“Your face,” Les explained.
“Oh.” Star extricated herself from Jack’s grasp. “Anyway, somebody has to keep an eye on Spot here.”
“What?” Spot yawned as he sat up. “Whaddya sayin’ ‘bout me?” He ran his fingers through his hair and yawned again. “Why was I lying on the floor?” he asked, bewildered. Jack, Star, and racetrack looked at each other and laughed.

“Why can’t I go?” Les asked.
“Because somebody’s gotta stay and sell papes,” Jack told him. Les didn’t look too satisfied with the answer.
“Where’s Star?” Spot asked. “She ain’t here yet.”
“Sarah said she’d bring her,” David said. Les craned his neck to look down the platform.
“I see Sarah, but she’s got a girl with her,” he announced.
“Is that Star?” Crutchy asked. Mush whistled.
“Well, Spot, you’ve changed your shirt. I’m surprised,” Star said. Nobody was saying anything. They were all staring at her. “Ye can speak,” she said, a little embarrassed. “Do somethin’ beside stare at me.” Racetrack was gaping at her. The smudge faced little girl with the scraggly braids had disappeared. A young lady with golden curls and a fancy dress had replaced her.
“Doesn’t she look lovely?” Sarah asked, beaming with pride at her handiwork. Universal nodding came from all the newsies.
“All aboard!” called the conductor. Star grasped a handful of her long skirt and stepped onto the train. She turned and they could see that under the fancy dress she was still wearing Racetrack’s scuffed old boots.
‘Well, are ye comin’ or not?” she asked. Finally returning to their senses, Jack and Spot climbed on behind her. The train started chugging out of the station. They waved until the people on the platform could no longer be seen.

“Will ye stop starin’ at me? Star asked. “Is there somethin’ wrong?”
“Ya look like a girl!” Spot burst out.
“Oh, real smart, Spot,” Jack retorted. Star twirled one of the curls around her finger.
“Does it look bad?” she asked.
“Nah, ya look great. It’s just different,” Jack told her.
“Well, don’t get used to it. D’ye know how hard it is to move in this dress?” Star giggled. “Anyway, when are we goin’ to get there?”
“An hour or so,” Jack responded.
“What was our plan again?” asked Spot.
“We go up to that big house o’ his, ask to see him, tell him about the lodgin’ house, and let him decide.”
“Are ya sure he’s gonna see us?”
“Ye were the glunter who said he knew ye and Spot.”
“He probably won’t remember us.”
“What do ye mean?”
“The strike was seven months ago, after al.”
“It couldn’t have been so long as for him to have forgotten ye.”
“Maybe.”
“Well, if this fails, it’s your fault, Francis Sullivan.”
“Hey! Don’t call me Francis.”
“Francis Malcolm Sullivan.”
“Shut up, Star.”
“Oh, ye be quiet, Morgan Zacharias Conlan.”
“Reilly Hepzibah Conlan.” Silence.
“Ooh, that was mean, Spot.”
“Not my fault they named me Hepzibah,” Star grumbled as she turned her back on them.
“It’s gonna be a long ride,” Jack said under his breath.

“Well, we’re here. Which way to the house?”
“I think that way.”
“You’re stupid, Spot. It can’t be that way. It’s that way.”
“Oh, ye eejits.”
“Shut up, Star,” they said in unison.
“Well, if you’re goin’ to act that way. I’ll just find it on me own, then.”
“Oh, no, ya don’t.”
“Let me go, Francis.”
“Hepzibah.”
“Hey-“
“Shut up, Zacharias.”
“But-“
“Just shut up. I’m tryin’ ta think.”
“Jack-“
“What? Ya deaf?” Suddenly something flew through the air and smacked Jack in the middle of his forehead.
“If ya would stop tellin’ me ta shut up, I could o' told ya that I know it’s this way. But since ya won’t stop tellin’ me ta shut up, I guess I won’t say any thing.” Spot shoved the slingshot in his pocket and started to stride off. Jack and Star hurried to catch up with him. The three of them walked down the road in frigid silence. The house rose up in the distance. Star sighed.
“Listen, if we get there and we’re still arguin’, we won’t be very good at convincin’ Mr. Roosevelt. So will ya stop callin’ me Hepzibah?”
“If ya don’t call me Francis no more.”
“Or Zacharias.”
“Maybe not that,” Jack grinned. Spot’s hand inched towards his slingshot. “Just kiddin’, Spot.” He stopped and pushed back his hat. “This place is huge! He could be anywhere. How are we ever gonna find him?”
“You try this way. I’ll go this way,” Star suggested. They split up and walked off in various directions. Star went to the left. She saw a little speck moving in the distance. As she came closer, she saw it was a little boy.
“What are ye doin’, little lad?” she asked. The child turned.
“Runnin’ away,” he told her defiantly. Star tried not to grin.
“And where is it that you’re runnin’ to?” she asked.
“New York City.”
“What are ye goin’ to do there?”
“Sell newspapers.” Star laughed. She bent down to the little boy’s eye level.
“What’s your name?”
“Quentin.”
“Well, Quentin, shouldn’t ye tell your da where you’re goin’?”
“Course not. If I did, he’d stop me.” He looked at her like she was stupid. Star thought for a second.
“If ye let me take ye home, I can introduce ye to some real newsies,” she promised.
“But I live over there, and there aren’t any newsies there,” he objected.
“Ye live there? In that house?” Quentin nodded. “Well, I promise that you’ll meet them.” Quentin eyed her warily.
“Oh, all right.” He started trooping back to the big house. Star followed him to the back door and knocked on it. A young kitchen maid opened it.
“Quentin! What are you doing outside?” she exclaimed.
“Runnin’ away,” he told her. She ruffled his hair. Then she noticed Star.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Reilly Conlan. I came here to see Mr. Roosevelt, but I found Quentin,” Star explained.
“Mr. Roosevelt will be glad to see you. That’s his son you found.”
“Where’s the newsies?” Quentin interrupted. Star smiled at him.
“I promise you’ll meet them,” she said.
“Come with me,” the kitchen maid told her. “I’ll take you to see Mr. Roosevelt.”
“What about me?” Quentin asked.
“You stay here,” she ordered. The maid led Star out of the kitchen and through a maze of hallways. She paused and knocked at one of the doors.
“It’s Rose, Mr. Roosevelt. I have someone here to see you,” she called.
“Send them in.” Rose opened the door. Star peeked in. Mr. Roosevelt was seated at a big desk, reading a newspaper. He looked up.
“And who is this?” he asked in a big, jovial voice.
“Reilly. Reilly Conlan, sir,” Star stammered out.
“Conlan, eh? Any relation to Morgan?”
“Aye, sir. He’s me brother,” she answered in relief.
“Of course! You’re the sister he was trying to locate in Ireland. How is he?” The door burst open. The butler had Jack and Spot by their collars.
“Mr. Roosevelt, I found these two hooligans snooping around. One of them had a weapon.”
“It’s me slingshot!” Spot protested.
“Let go o’ me, ya snooty mug,” Jack grumbled, trying to get free.
“I know these boys,” boomed Mr. Roosevelt. “Let them go.” The butler let go, dropped the slingshot, and left the room in disgust.
“Jack Kelly and Spot Conlan. What brings the three of you here?” Mr. Roosevelt asked.
“Three? There’s only two of us,” said Jack. Star wiggled her fingers in a little wave. “Oh.”
“So, why are you here?” They looked at each other.
“Should I say?”
“Nah, Star can.”
“Ye sure?”
“Go on.” Star stepped up to the big desk, took a deep breath, and told him the whole story. Mr. Roosevelt listened attentively.
“Someone burned down your lodging house? Those Delaney brothers-“
“Delancey,” Star corrected.
“-those men burned it? I will most definitely help pay for the new house, and help you find these crooks.” Star smiled in relief.
“Hey!” Jack looked down. Quentin was tugging at his vest. “Are you a newsie?”
“Yeah, kid. I’m a newsie.” Quentin’s eyes widened.
“Is he one too?” pointing to Spot.
“Yeah, he is too.”
“I wanna be a newsie!”
“Wait till you’re a little bigger,” Jack said. Quentin’s face fell. “But listen, if ya do get ta be a newsie, just say you’re a friend of Jack Kelly’s, okay/” Quentin grinned.

Racetrack whistled as he walked down the street. He wasn’t quite sure where he was going, but he was okay with that. Then he paused. A girl was sitting on one of the fire escape balconies, brushing her hair and singing softly. The late afternoon light touched her hair and brought it to life with fiery streaks. She turned her head and saw Racetrack.
“Star!” he said, surprised. “I didn’t know ya was back yet.”
“We got back early this morning. Jack and Spot and I spent the night at here at the Jacobs’ apartment.” She had changed out of the dress she had worn when she had left. Now she wore a pale blue gown that looked like silver.
“Nice dress,” he commented. She blushed a little.
“A gift from Medda,” she told him. “Do ye want to come up here?”
“Sure,” Racetrack agreed. He climbed up on the noisy metal stairs and sat on the railing. The brush lay idle in her hand. A few loose locks fell over her shoulder. Racetrack brushed them back. His hand lingered on her bright hair.
“You’re very beautiful,” he whispered. She blushed. His hand was still wrapped in her long hair. Star touched his cheek. Her fingers felt like butterfly wings. Racetrack leaned over and touched her lips with his. She kissed him back. Her arms went around his neck. Suddenly they heard applause. They broke away and started laughing. Jack, Spot, Sarah, and David were watching them and clapping.
“Do it again!” Jack cheered.
“That was long!” exclaimed David.
“Gross,” commented Les from inside the house. Spot climbed through the window and put an arm around his sister.
“Well, Reilly Conlan, was that fun?” he asked. She nodded and blushed a little deeper. Spot pushed her towards Racetrack. “Then go kiss him again!” Racetrack put his hands on Star’s little waist, bent his head, and kissed her.
“Uh, guys?” David asked. “Guys?”
“I think we better leave them alone,” Spot said. “It’s getting a little hot out here.”

“March 31, 1900,” Denton read, looking at the cornerstone on the new building. “Very impressive. Very fast building, too.”
“They deserve it, Denty,” Mr. Roosevelt said, clapping a hand on the reporter’s shoulder.
“And today is Jack’s birthday, too,” Star said. “He’s eighteen now.”
“Star, be quiet,” Jack said, embarrassed. Crutchy hobbled over to Star.
“Have ya talked to Racetrack yet?” he asked.
“No, why?” Crutchy smiled mysteriously.
“Oh, nothin’,” he told her.
“Mush said the very same thing. What’s goin’ on?”
“You’ll find out,” he called back as he hopped away. Star sat down on the curb. Spot came over and sat next to her.
“Have ya decided?” he asked.
“I don’t know, Spot. Part o’ me wants to live in Brooklyn with ye, and part o’ me wants to stay in Manhattan,” she said.
“Well, ye better decide soon,” Spot warned as he got up. He patted her shoulder and sauntered off. Star sighed.
“What’s that for?” Star turned.
“I’m confused, Jack,” she admitted. “Where do you think I should live?”
“I think ya should talk to Race.” He paused. “I also think somebody should get this kid away from me.” Quentin was tagging along behind him like an eager puppy dog.
“Well, if they all say I need to talk to Racetrack, where is he?” Star said to herself.
“Ya mean me?”
“Racetrack-Julio Higgins!” she exclaimed. “Now that I’ve heard from everyone and his brother that ye want to talk to me, what do ye have to say?”
“They haven’t told ya anything, have they?” he asked. Star shook her head. “Good. Well, I have a gift for you. Hold out your hands and close your eyes.” Star did.
“Can I open them?” she asked.
“Not yet. I learned something very special.”
“What is it?”
“Macushla.” Star smiled. “All right. Now you can open your eyes.” She did. Shining in her hand was a small heart-shaped locket.
“Turn around,” Racetrack said. He took the necklace and began fastening it around her neck. “My father gave this to my mother before they got married.”
“Sure an’ for certain it’s lovely, but we’re too young to get married,” she said.
“You don’t have to agree to anything yet. I just want you to have it.” Star smiled and kissed his cheek.
“Say it again,” she whispered.
“What? Ya don’t-“
“No, the other thing.”
“You mean macushla?”
“Aye, that one.”
“Macushla.”
“What does that mean?” Kid Blink, Mush, Crutchy, Jack, Spot, and David were all looking at them and grinning.
“It means ‘my darling’,” Spot said.
“When’s the wedding?” smirked Jack.
“Shut up, Kelly,” Racetrack retorted.
“Hey, come on,” called Les. “We can go in the new lodging house.” The newsies began filtering into the building. Racetrack and Star lingered by the door.
“Can we finish now?” Racetrack asked. The two of them stood on the front steps and kissed. Suddenly it started raining. Or so they thought. Above them Spot, Jack, and David leaned out the window with buckets of water, laughing hysterically.
“Oh, stop it!” Sarah exclaimed, yanking the three of them away. Racetrack took Star’s hand and they walked in together.