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Cassidy McClellan, called Kit almost since the day she was born, had lived with her family in Philadelphia for as long as she could remember. Her father Anthony owned a prominent medical practice with his wife Lizzy as one of his nurses. Anthony was nearly the best doctor in all of Philadelphia; at least that’s what Kit thought when she was a little girl. Now her parents were dead, of a communicable disease that had spread around Anthony’s practice no less, and Kit had to figure out how she was going to survive. She tried the first thing that came to mind.
Kit stood in the middle of an empty warehouse with one other person, a man. The tall man eyed her curiously. “She’s fairly pretty, average height, kind of short hair, pretty color hair-kind of a golden brown color, a bit wavy, skinny. She could go places,” the man thought. He smirked and walked over to her. Kit dropped her eyes to the ground. She knew better than to look this particular man in the face.
“Welcome ta the family, Kit,” he announced, his voice echoing off the walls.
Kit raised her eyes in surprise. She looked at the hand he offered her and shook it slowly. “Thank you, sir,” she whispered, not wanting her voice to be too loud.
Nicholas “Count” Walker was the son of James Walker, the head of organized crime in Philadelphia. Nicholas was only called Count on account of his leadership and noble attitude. He had no noble ties to any counts or dukes or any noble families. His father had been killed during a small skirmish with the police, along with several of his best spies and contacts. Nicholas was now looking to fill the empty spaces. Kit was lucky she came to him at that time. Unfortunately, at seventeen, she was also the only woman in the gang, which made for bad situations all around. Many of the men looked down on her, and those who didn’t harassed her endlessly. Nicholas, on the other hand, was actually quite fond of her. She was a fabulous spy, mostly on account of her small build and cat-like reflexes.
A few months after Kit had joined the gang, she got into quite a bit of trouble. She really hadn’t meant for it to happen, but she frequently got into trouble at the wrong time and in the wrong place.
“Drew!” Nicholas bellowed. A man in a nice suit appeared. “Get me Kit McClellan,” he ordered as he crushed a sheet of paper in his hand.
Drew nodded and left the office to get Kit. He came back a few minutes later with the thin girl slung over his shoulder. “Here she is, Boss,” Drew said as he dropped Kit into a chair. She rubbed her bottom in pain.
“Leave and close the door, Drew,” Nicholas said, not looking at Kit as he walked behind his desk. Kit was clearly nervous now. Drew obeyed and shut the door after leaving. He stood to one side of the door and stood watch.
“Yessir?” Kit mumbled nervously, shifting her weight in her chair.
Nicholas sat down and raised his cold eyes to hers. Kit paled. “You had a productive day yesterday, Kit,” he began.
“Uh, um, n- not really, sir,” she stammered.
“I have a letter here from Greg Scanlon. Have you any idea what it says?” he continued, leaning on his desk.
“Greg Scanlon? Uh, no,” she answered, unsure both on what she’d done and what he was going to do to her.
“Well, it seems that you’ve been spying for both sides. Do you have any idea what we do to people who betray us?” he demanded.
Kit inched further back into the chair. “N- no, sir,” she stuttered, scared.
Nicholas stood and walked around his desk. He leaned against it and softened. “I’ll give you until sunset to get out of town. After that, it’s both Scanlon’s goons and mine,” he decided.
Kit nodded and jumped to her feet. “Thank you, sir,” she said gratefully and headed for the door. She grasped the doorknob and left the room quickly. Nicholas watched her leave. He was going to miss her; of everyone in the gang, she was his favorite. Kit ran into her room at Nicholas’s house where she’d lived for almost a year. She packed her things as quickly as she could.
“Goin’ somewhere, Little Sister?” a tall, gangly man asked as he leaned on the doorframe to her room.
Kit looked over her shoulder. “Yeah, Steve, I am. What of it?” she retorted, stuffing a few things into the bag that sat on her bed.
“How’d you get the count mad at you?” Steve wondered as he walked into her small room.
“I went working for Scanlon,” she answered, walking over to her dresser.
Steve laughed. “Now why’d you go and do that?” he asked.
“I needed the money,” she answered plainly. She began riffling through the things on her dresser. She accidentally knocked over a china dish, shattering it. She didn’t seem to care too much.
“Why didn’t you just ask for more from the count?” he asked curiously, sitting down on her bed.
“You really think he would’ve given it to me?” she scoffed, glancing at him sideways as she dumped a few things into her bag.
“Sure. He likes you,” he answered, leaning back.
“Yeah, like a ferret likes a cobra,” she laughed.
He scowled at her. “Why else would he give you till sunset to leave town? I mean, if it were any of the rest of us, he would’ve killed us on the spot,” he pointed out.
She grimaced and finished packing without another word. She closed her bag and slung it over her shoulder before heading out the door. Steve stood and grabbed her around the waist. She was silent as he ran his fingers through her short hair. “I haven’t got the time for this, Steve,” she said after a minute.
“Aw, come on, Kit,” he whined, running his hands over her chest.
Kit pulled her switchblade out of her pocket slowly and then stuck it into his leg. He yelped in pain and dropped to the ground. She pulled the knife back out of his thigh and wiped the blood on his pants. “Don’t ever touch me again,” she hissed. She left him writing on the floor in pain and went to the train yards. She hopped onto the first train out and left the city.
Late that night, Kit’s train arrived in New York City. Since it was late, she found an open hotel and took a room there for the night. She’d saved up enough money to be able to stay at the Waldorf Astoria for a month, but she preferred the cheap hotel she’d found and also only to stay for one night. She planed to be out by morning and to find herself a permanent place to live.
In the morning, Kit washed and dressed to start her new life in New York City. She ran her comb through her short hair and then shook the excess water out. She packed her things up, paid her bill, and walked out into the streets. She walked around for a while but found only angry and annoying people. Her day wasn’t going very well.
Several of the Queens newsies were laughing and sauntering out of Rye’s Billiards Hall after lunch. Birdie and Mac were the first ones out since they were the leaders. The others followed along a few feet behind.
“Awright, Mac, I gotta get on back ta Lilah’s fer a bit. I’ll see ya all back here tanight fer the finals,” Birdie said and headed across the street.
Mac grabbed her arm and pulled her close to him quickly as a girl tripped and landed hard on the ground, face first in the place Birdie had just been standing. Birdie and Mac stared at each other longingly for a second before she turned to the injured girl on the ground. The girl pushed herself up and collected her things. Birdie knelt down beside her and took a hold of her chin to look at her face. The girl had a pretty bad cut along her cheekbone.
“Yer no worse fer wear,” Birdie decided, helping the girl to her feet.
“Uh, thanks,” the girl said, giving Birdie a strange look.
Birdie smiled and offered to shake the girl’s hand. “Birdie Kelley,” she introduced.
“Cassidy McClellan, but everyone calls me Kit,” she replied and shook Birdie’s hand.
“Well, Kit, looks like ya were runnin’ away from someone there. Anyone we can help wit’?” Birdie asked and rested her weight on one leg.
“Who’s we?” Kit wondered.
Birdie turned and gestured to the newsies. “The newsies,” she informed. Mac stepped forward with a warm smile on his face. “Kit McClellan, Mac Scurelli, leadah a the boys.” The two shook hands. “Those guys’re Faith, Hawk, Reflections, Molly, Pen, little one’s Tiny, Ben, Echo, JagnTiger, ‘n’ Deacon.” Each nodded when he was named. “You’ll meet da rest latah.”
“How do you know I’ll be stayin’?” Kit retorted, not liking this girl to assume things.
Birdie folded her arms across her chest and glanced at Mac. They both smirked. She looked back at Kit. “Well, yer obviously runnin’ from somethin’ er someone. I ain’t gonna ask who, but ya look like ya need a place ta stay.” She paused to gauge Kit’s reaction, which was to glance around nervously and let her eyes rest on the ground almost guiltily. “I’ll make ya a deal. We give ya a place ta stay, ‘n’ you sell,” she offered.
“Sell what?” Kit asked, clearly thinking it over but making sure it was legitimate.
“Deacon,” Birdie called to the green-eyed blonde behind her. Deacon stepped forward and handed Birdie a paper from his stack. Birdie handed it to Kit. “Newspapahs,” she clarified.
Kit looked at the paper and then back at Birdie. “Deal,” she agreed, holding her hand out.
Birdie spit in her palm and shook Kit’s hand before she could protest then smirked at her reaction. “Ya gotta learn it sometime, Kit,” she laughed and dropped her arm to her side.
“Ewww,” Kit mumbled. The others laughed and began to disperse.
“Mac, Deac, c’mon back ta the house. You can clean ‘er up while Mac ‘n’ I talk ta Lilah,” Birdie declared as she smirked at Kit.
“Shoah thing, Boidie,” Mac said as he walked up to them. Deacon nodded.
“This way,” Birdie said and led them back to Lilah’s with Mac at her side. Deacon and Kit hung back a few steps.
“I’ve missed our time tageddah,” Mac said, keeping his eyes straight ahead.
“So’ve I,” Birdie answered. They both smiled and stole a glance at each other.
“So, where ya from?” Deacon wondered as he pulled one of his cigars out of his shirt pocket.
“Philadelphia,” Kit answered, taking out a match and lighting it for him.
“Thanks,” he replied and took a drag on his cigar. He offered it to her, but she refused. “Philly, huh? I nevah been ta Philly. I lived in Queens me whole life. Boidie ‘n’ Mac’s like ma second parents,” he mentioned.
“But they’re the same age as you, maybe a year or two older,” Kit pointed out.
“Yeah, but dey act oldah. Dey’s good leadahs fer dis place. Dey know how ta handle demselves ‘n’ any situation ya could come up wit’,” he replied with a shrug.
“Really? I figured Birdie was just the meeter and greeter of the group. She’s got that air about her,” Kit commented.
“She’s awways been dat way, even befoah she was da leadah a da goyls,” he said.
“You regard her very highly. You two dating or something?” Kit wondered, asking the question as tactfully as possible.
“Naw, I ain’t datin’ nobody. Boidie ain’t dated anyone since she left. She seems happy by ‘erself. Besides, we all respect ‘er a lot. She was da second in command fer da boys befoah we evah had any goyls. She’s a good fightah, real smawt, ‘n’ real protective of ‘er goyls. Mac’s dat way, too. ‘E don’t let no one touch ‘em ‘n’ git away wit’ it,” he explained.
Kit smiled. “I think I’m going to like it here,” she commented.
“We’se all gonna like it wit’ you’se heh’,” he answered. She looked at him wide-eyed. He blushed a little and took a drag on his cigar.
A few minutes later, they arrived at the Queens Newsgirls Lodging House. As the door was always propped open during the warm summers, the four of them strolled right in. Lilah walked out of her office when she heard the heavy footsteps. She fixed the glasses on her nose and spoke.
“What do we ‘ave ‘ere?” she wondered as she looked at Kit.
“Kit McClellan, dis’s our landlady Lilah Stevenson,” Birdie introduced. She turned fully to Lilah. “She’ll be stayin’ wit’ us fer a while.” She looked back at Deacon. “Deac, go clean ‘er up in Lilah’s office,” she ordered.
Deacon nodded and took Kit back to Lilah’s office and shut the door so the three adults could talk.
“Where’d you find this one, Birdie?” Lilah wondered, taking her book out from under the front desk.
“Narly ran inta me on da street. She needed a place ta stay, so I offered ‘er a bed heh’,” Birdie shrugged, climbing up onto the desk and facing the lobby.
Lilah nodded. “Fine then. Give her one of de empty bunks. Now, if ye don’t mind, I’m goin’ back ta my laundry,” she said and headed up the stairs.
Mac smiled at the old woman and leaned on the desk next to Birdie. “How much ya wanna bet dat dose two’ll be tageddah by da end a da month,” he smirked and nodded toward Lilah’s office.
Birdie arched her eyebrows and looked over at him. “I know bettah ‘an ta make bets wit’ ya, Mac,” she reminded.
“Aw, yer no fun anymore,” he pouted.
“Ya used ta think I was,” she pointed out, almost sadly.
Mac smiled at the memory. He looked at her and raised his hand to her cheek, caressing it slowly. “We could be dat way again, Boidie,” he said, keeping his voice low so the others wouldn't hear.
Birdie raised her hand and took hold of his and took it away from her face slowly. “It’s too dangerous,” she whispered, sliding off the desk.
Mac sighed. “Ya don’t live at our place no more, Boidie. Ya don’t gotta worry ‘bout dat,” he mentioned.
“Not dat kind a dangerous, Mac. Queens’ enemies kin play us off each other. It ain’t a good position fer us,” she explained.
“No one found out befoah,” he protested.
“Da kids’re oldah now. Dey’re more observant. So long’s we don’t do anythin’, no one can use eiddah a us,” she finished quietly and headed for Lilah’s office.
Meanwhile, in Lilah’s office, Deacon took out Lilah’s medical bag and set it down on her desk. Kit had already sat down in the chair in front of Lilah’s desk. Deacon took out a small bottle and a clean cloth.
“What is that?” Kit asked, looking at the dark bottle.
“Betadine,” he answered and dabbed the yellow liquid onto the cloth. He then touched it to her wound. She winced. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“It’s alright,” she replied with a weak smile as he touched the cloth to her face again. They were quiet until Birdie walked in.
“Deac,” she stated. Deacon looked up and nodded. He handed Birdie the cloth as he left the room, shutting the door again. She began to work on Kit’s injury now. “So, runnin’ from the mob in Philly, huh,” she said as she dunked another cloth in some soapy water. She held Kit’s face firmly as she cleaned the wound.
“H- How’d you know?” Kit stammered, worried that she’d be thrown out.
Birdie took out some alcohol and began dabbing the injury with it. “Well, yer obviously from Philly. As fer da mob bit, it seems a reasonable conclusion since ya got all yer worldly possessions in dat bag ‘n’ quite a bit a money in dere, too. Ya wouldn’t a been leavin’ ‘less ya feared fer yer life, ‘n’ ya wouldn’t bring everythin’ ‘less ya knew ya couldn’t go back,” she concluded.
“You got all of that from the few words we’ve traded?” Kit said, amazed at how much this seemingly uneducated girl seemed to know.
“I’m not as stupid as ya think, Kit. I speak better ‘an most a my kids, the boys more though. I been livin’ da life of a newsie since I was twelve, leadah since I was sixteen, seventeen fer da girls. I know da streets as well as any of ‘em ‘n’ fight bettah ‘an all of ‘em, includin’ Mac. I know accents, ‘n’ I know when people ain’t tellin’ da whole truth,” she explained, leaning back on the desk.
“I wondered why Deacon thought so highly of you. Now I know,” Kit commented, a little guiltily.
“Don’t feel bad, Kit. Once people git ta know me, they undahstand it all,” Birdie shrugged.
Out in the lobby, Mac and Deacon were talking while Birdie fixed Kit up in the other room. Deacon couldn’t seem to stop talking about Kit. It was the first time Mac had ever seen Deacon get excited about anything. It was slightly humorous.
“She’s from Philly, too, Mac,” Deacon added, finishing his proclamation about Kit. Mac couldn’t help but smirk.
“So I takes it ya really likes ‘er,” Mac deduced.
Deacon grinned broadly. “Ain’t cha nevah met a goyl ya knew right off ya wanted ta spend all da time in da woild wit’?” he asked, trying to get Mac to understand the sudden rush of emotions.
Mac smiled, blushing a little, and glanced at the door to Lilah’s office. “Yeah,” he breathed, still smiling.
“Well, dat’s how I feel ‘bout Kit. She’s jist different from da rest a Boidie’s goyls, ya know. Ya think maybe she’d go ta Rye’s wit’ me tanight fer da finals?” Deacon finished.
Mac shrugged. “Shoah, why not? She seems ta like ya a bit,” he pointed out. Deacon grinned as Birdie and Kit returned. Birdie smirked at Mac when she saw the look on Deacon’s face.
“Well, looks like you two kin go on back ta sellin’. I’m gonna git Kit heh’ settled in. Den we’ll be out sellin’, too,” Birdie decided. Mac nodded and headed for the door. Birdie glanced between Kit and Deacon. “I’ll walk ya out, Mac.” She hurried after him, pulling him into the dark alcove just outside the door.
Deacon and Kit were left alone. Deacon spoke first. “So, Kit, we’se gots finals at Rye’s tanight. Ya wanna go wit’ me?” he asked, leaning on the desk.
“Finals for what?” Kit wondered, looking him over a little.
“Billiards. Mac’s da champ, but we all try ta beat ‘im anyhow,” he chuckled.
“Billiards? Really? Sure, I’d love to. Can I have a shot at the title?” she replied enthusiastically.
“You’se a newsie now, ain’t cha? Ya’s welcome fer a shot at any title ya want, ‘cept leadah a coise,” he answered with a smile.
“Of course,” she chuckled.
“I’ll come by Boidie’s spot jist befoah da finals den,” he said, tipping his hat to her and heading for the door.
Birdie and Mac sat next to each other on the steps sharing a cigarette. Birdie had just handed it over to Mac when Deacon stepped out of the doorway. Neither noticed him at first, but Kit came hurrying out a minute later and nearly knocked him over. Both leaders stood to greet them.
“I’ll see you two at da finals den,” Birdie began. Mac nodded and took a drag on the cigarette.
“Ya’ll see me befoah dat,” Deacon grinned.
Birdie just smirked. “Come by at six, Deac,” she said and headed for the doorway. “See ya at Rye’s, Mac. C’mon, Kit.” She glanced back over her shoulder at Mac and disappeared through the doorway. Kit smiled at Deacon and followed Birdie back into the house.
Birdie showed Kit up to the bunkroom and found an empty bunk for her. She grabbed some clean linens from the closet. The two girls began to make up the bed slowly. While they did so, they talked about Kit’s past. As a trade, Birdie told her a few things, leaving out some key details, though. After they made the bed, Kit put her things away in her locker and followed Birdie out to do some selling.
That evening, both Deacon and Mac came by Birdie’s selling spot on Astoria Avenue. Birdie sold in the ritzy section of town and did a mighty find job there, too. She was one of the best sellers since she caught people going in and coming out of the Waldorf. Kit had a good teacher.
Mac was smoking a cigarette, and Deacon was smoking his trademark cigar when they approached the girls. No matter how bad a day of selling, he always managed to pay for a good Cuban cigar, which made many of the others jealous, especially Race from Manhattan. Mac approached the girls first with Deacon close on his heals.
“Might I escort ya, me lady?” Mac asked, making a big show out of bowing to her and offering his hand like a proper gentleman.
Birdie held back her laugher and did a little curtsey. “If you wish, me lord,” she said, struggling to contain her laughter as she placed her hand in Mac’s. Mac stood up fully erect and placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. That’s when they both burst out laughing. Kit and Deacon laughed lightly at it.
“Shall we’se go?” Deacon asked and offered his arm to Kit.
“We shall,” Kit declared and took his arm. At that, the four of them headed toward Rye’s for the finals.
Kit and Deacon walked in first, getting a few raised eyebrows and snickers from the others. Deacon ignored them, but Kit got a little self-conscious until they suddenly ceased. That was when Birdie and Mac had strode in, now separate from each other. Birdie scanned the room slowly.
“Kit McClellan, most a these kids’re from Queens. A few from Harlem, Lower Manhattan, Da Bronx, Brooklyn even, a couple from Midtown, too.” She turned to address the room. “Kit’s Queens now, Mac ‘n’ my protectorate. Ya mess wit’ her, ya mess wit’ us, so let’s keep da wise-ass remarks ta a minimum till she gits settled in. Got dat, Race?” she said, glancing over at him. The laughter circulated.
“Aw, c’mon! Spidah’s worse ‘an I am!” Race protested.
“I am not! Mine’re actually funny!” Spider cried from the other side of the room. The newsies laughed some more.
“Hey dere, fellas,” someone called from the doorway.
Birdie turned. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Mistah Peter Conlon,” she chuckled.
“Heya, Boidie,” Spot greeted, slightly miffed that she’d used his real name. The two spit-shook anyway. “Ya gonna let me play tanight?” he asked.
“Ha! Queens only in da finals, Spot. Ya know dat. But yer welcome ta play jist fer da hell of it,” Birdie answered, laughing a bit.
“How come ya got dat rule, Boidie?” Spot suddenly wondered out loud.
“Cuz Tiny kin beat cha at Billiards.” Everyone laughed, including Tiny, because they all knew that he was the worst Billiards player in Queens. It could’ve had something to do with his height, though. “Besides, it’s my territory,” she added.
“Maybe we should think ‘bout gittin’ dat changed,” Spot noted.
“Maybe ya won’t,” Mac declared, stepping up beside Birdie.
Kit turned to Deacon. “What’s with them?” she whispered.
“Mac don’t let nobody threaten ‘is goyls,” Deacon answered, keeping his voice low.
“Are they dating?” Kit asked, a little confused and mildly more observant than the rest of the newsies.
“Naw, jist real good friends, but dey share da territory. What happens ta one affects da oddah,” Deacon explained simply.
“Hey, Kit.” Kit looked over just in time to catch the rack tossed at her. “Rack ‘em up. First game’s wit’ Patches,” Birdie continued as she grabbed a set of pool cues and nodded toward the girl named Patches.
“Deac, you got Blues,” Mac added as he handed him a pool cue. Birdie handed Kit the extra pool cue and went to play her first game against Jaguar. Jag and Tiger usually did everything together, but the Billiards finals were a singular deal. No partners. That was part of the rules.
The newsies played their games for a few hours before getting down to the final ones. They always played girls verses boys; therefore, the boys only played with the boys, and the girls only played with the girls until the final game. The rules were simple. If a person lost two games throughout the evening, the person was out of contest. Joseph Rye kept a tally at the bar for them. He wasn’t the referee, but he kept watch over who was in and who was out.
Reflections, Kit, and Birdie were the last three in the girls’ game while Hunter and Mac were the finalists for the boys. Kit and Reflections played while Birdie watched carefully, gauging the skill of both girls. Reflections won the round, but she still had one more game to play. Birdie then arranged the rack and placed the cue ball in the kitchen for Reflections. Halfway through the game, the finalist for the boys walked over and watched his opponents carefully. He knew whom he’d be playing, but he watched the other girl just in case she won.
Reflections winced and moaned when Birdie sunk the eight ball, the last ball on the table. “Blast,” she mumbled under her breath.
Birdie smiled and spit in her palm. “Good game, Flec,” she said, shaking Reflections’ hand. Reflections smiled as they shook hands.
“Yeah, good luck,” the younger girl hoped.
“Thanks, Flec,” she grinned, using the nickname she’d given her since it was only one syllable. She turned around. “Hey, Rye! Scotch on the rocks!” she yelled.
“You got it, Boidie,” he yelled, filling her drink. He walked over to her and handed it to her. “Careful now. It’s strong stuff.”
Birdie laughed. “Rye, ya known me since Pop brought me in here when I was five. Have ya ever known me not ta be?” she asked innocently. This sent the room into an uproar of laughter. Rye just smiled and shook his head as he walked back to the bar. Birdie swirled the drink around a little in the glass and downed half of it in one gulp. Kit had never seen anyone drink like that and was clearly shocked.
“Hey, Boidie, ya ready fer da las’ game?” Mac asked, leaning on his cue stick.
Birdie set her drink down on the edge of the table slowly and raised her eyes to his. “You rack ‘em. I break,” she declared, tossing the rack at him.
Mac nodded after catching the rack and began collecting the balls from the pockets. Birdie held the cue ball and waited for him to remove the rack. When that was finished, she placed the cue ball in the middle of the kitchen and proceeded to break.
Kit would’ve liked to have watched, but she and Deacon were a little busy off in the corner. They were getting to know each other’s tonsils. Deacon had decided to welcome her to Queens in his own way, seeing as how he almost never got to do it.
Everyone watched the game anxiously, all a safe distance away from the table so not to get hit by the pool cues. Both leaders seemed to be at a tie. They’d chosen to play Stripes and Solids for the final game. Only the eight ball and one solid were left on the table. Mac, who just so happened to be solids, had scratched the last shot, so Birdie got to place the ball anywhere in the kitchen she wanted. She took a last sip of her drink and set up her shot. “Aw, damnit,” she swore as the ball whizzed past the eight ball and into the pocket behind it. She dropped her head to the table and set the cue stick across the table. She looked back up at Mac and tried not to laugh when she saw his smug face. He was also trying not to laugh.
“Nice shot,” Mac quipped.
“Oh, you rat!” Birdie laughed and began chasing him around the room. Everyone laughed hysterically. Birdie finally collapsed she was laughing so hard, but she had managed to knock Mac to the ground beside her. Even Kit and Deacon were in hysterics.
An hour or two later, most everyone was back at their respective lodging houses. Kit was saying goodbye to Deacon while the rest of the girls went up to the bunkroom. Birdie and Mac had stayed behind at Rye’s a little longer to play a game of darts. Of course, both of them were a little tipsy and couldn’t throw straight to save either of their lives. They were having a good time, though.
Kit walked into the bunkroom with a happy smile on her face. The other girls snickered and hushed each other. She scanned the room with an odd look on her face. “Uh, hi,” she mumbled and walked over to her bunk.
“Hey, Kit, you ‘n’ Deacon havin’ a good time out on da steps,” Teeny quipped. Kit scrunched up her face but said nothing as she sat down on her bunk and took off her shoes.
“Aw, c’mon,” Molly whined, wanting to know more about the older girl and Deacon.
“Yeah, you two were getting’ pretty cozy at Rye’s,” Butterfingers pointed out in a singsong voice.
"Girls," Faith sighed and gave them a reproving look. "Please," she stated in that dignified tone that always seemed to be more effective than shouting. The girls stopped instantly at the request because they respected the tall girl.
Kit looked over at the girl she hadn’t really met except for one game of Billiards. Neither had spoken much during the game, so they hadn’t exchanged too many pleasantries. “Uh, thanks, Faith,” Kit said as she looked at the girl oddly.
“Sure, Kit, anytime. They shouldn’t be making fun of you anyway. Most of ‘em don’t even have boyfriends to speak of,” Faith replied, closing the book she was reading.
“How about you? Do you have a boyfriend?” Kit asked as she sat down on Faith’s bunk.
“Naw,” Faith answered with a shrug.
“Really? None of the boys like you?” Kit pried.
“Naw,” Faith answered simply. The girls who were listening to their conversation snickered. They all knew that Hunter’d had a crush on Faith for a while now.
“Oh, sorry then. I mean, I just got here, and I’ve already got a boyfriend,” Kit laughed. Faith laughed, too. They were becoming fast friends. They chatted a bit about Deacon and then about where Kit was from. Faith asked a lot of questions about that one.
“So ya lived in Philly all a yer life?” she asked.
“Yeah, up until a few days ago anyway,” Kit answered with a shrug.
“Really? I’ve got a friend who used ta live in Philly. I doubt ya’d know ‘er. She moved a couple years after she was born,” Faith said.
“How interesting. I’d love to meet her sometime,” Kit smiled.
“I’m sure she’d like ta meet ya, too. Not too many people’re real fond of ‘er, but she’s a good friend a mine,” Faith shrugged.
Just as Faith finished her sentence, there was a loud crash coming from the stairs. All the girls looked at each other and wondered what it could be. Before any of them could get up and check, Mac came stumbling into the bunkroom with Birdie slung over his shoulder.
“Put me down!” Birdie laughed, trying not to struggle too much because it would make Mac fall over.
“Aw, noo, not witch all you’se had ta drink,” Mac slurred, clearly more drunk than Birdie. She just laughed harder as he stumbled toward her bunk. The girls tried not to laugh, but they couldn’t help it. They broke into hysterics as Mac dropped her onto the bottom bed of her bunk then proceeded to fall on top of her, completely unconscious. This just made them all laugh harder.
“Yer too drunk, Mac,” Birdie managed through her fits of laughter as she wriggled out from under him. She picked his legs up and put them the rest of the way on the bunk before trying to take his shoes off, which she had a little trouble with. After a few minutes, his shoes were on the floor, so she put a blanket over him, tripping a few times on the way.
“Ya need some help dere, Boidie?” Patches laughed, knowing that Birdie wasn’t nearly so klutzy and also knowing how it felt to be so klutzy.
“Naw, I think I’m fine, Patches,” Birdie answered before falling off the ladder to the top bunk. The girls burst into all new fits of laughter when she hit the floor. When it died down a little, Mystic and Pen went over and helped Birdie up to her bunk. When she was finally up there, she threw her shoes down and fell back asleep quickly.
The others laughed for a while longer before settling down to sleep. “Hey, Kit, how ya likin’ dis place so far? Faith asked as she went to turn out the lights.
“Oh, it’s a grand place to live,” Kit grinned.
© 1999 Birdie Kelley
All the charactors except Spot Conlon, Race, Mystic, Teeny, Reflections, Jaguar, Tiger, Molly, Patches, Pen, Echo, Ben, Faith, Rhythm, Azure, Myth, Screech Owl, Echo, Harmony, Shamrock, Shrieker, and Butterfingers belong to me. Basically, that leaves Mac, Birdie, Kit, Deacon, Tiny, Hawk, Nicholas Walker, James Walker, Steve, Anthony McClellan, and Lizzy McClellan belonging to me. Please don't use mine unless I've given you permission to do so.
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