Fire & Ice

Note: in this time, Staten Island was referred to as Richmond Island. It was not until the 1960’s that it became Staten Island. However, for the purpose of this story and the benefit of its readers, it is referred to as Staten Island.

It had been several days since Bubba had disappeared back into Staten Island. Jules seemed to be keeping to herself more than usual but was basically fine. She seemed to be out of the lodging house more often than not, but she wasn’t in any real danger. She was really trying to avoid the Downtown boys, not her own, but she ended up avoiding them while she tried to keep herself busy. Jack from Downtown went to visit her one day because of it.

Jules stood on her corner, yelling out headlines louder then usual. She’d left her hair down that day, and it blew in the wind. She’d forgotten to wear her hat that day, too. Jack watched her for a few moments, realizing just how pretty she was. Her hair seemed to glow in the sunlight. He finally walked up to her.

“Uh, Jules?” he said, trying to appear confidant even though he was very nervous.

She turned to look at him, scowling a bit when she saw him. “Whatta ya want, Kelly?” she asked, slightly irritated with being interrupted.

“Well, it’s Race. He’s been askin’ ta see ya,” he explained, wringing his hands out. “Ya ain’t been back since ya t’rew Bubba out. Race wants ta tawk wit’ cha.” He gulped and waited for her response, knowing that the topic of Race was very close to her heart.

She just stared right through him. He shivered. “He was awake las’ time… How’s ‘e doin’?” she wondered, remembering how he’d looked only a week before.

Jack nodded. “Uh, he’s good, gittin’ bettah ever’ day. He misses ya dough. He wants ta see ya, thank ya fer da whole mess wit’ Staten Island,” he answered, shrugging and not looking at her.

“I gotta git back ta woik, Jack,” she said, turning away from him and walking up the street.

“But, Jules!” Jack yelled after her.

“Git outta ma territry, Kelly!” she yelled, looking over her shoulder angrily at him.

Jack nodded and hurried back to his own territory. Having Jules Drachon mad at him was not the smartest thing he could do. He ran back to the lodging house to tell Race the news.

When Race saw Jack, he smiled. “Where’s Jules?” he asked brightly.

“She ain’t comin’, Race,” he answered sadly. “I don’t think she’ll evah come down.” He forced a smile and went off to Tibby’s for dinner with the others. He didn’t want to face Race after the news. Race just slumped down on the bed, very depressed.

About an hour later, everyone was back at the lodging house. They were socializing and gambling in the bunk room. Race was so depressed that he couldn’t even play poker. The others were worried about him but said nothing.

“Hey, Race, ya wanna play pokah? We’ll spot ya two hands,” Blink called, hoping Race would join in on the fun.

“I don’t feel like it, Blink,” he mumbled. The others exchanged worried glances and started to deal out the cards, glancing over at Race every once in a while to make sure he was all right. He would just lay on his bunk, facing the wall with a blank look on his face.

The bunk room suddenly grew quiet. Race barely noticed. Jules stood in the doorway. She glared at everyone in the room. They quickly stood and hurried out of the room, leaving her and Race alone. She approached him quietly and sat on the bunk across from him, the one he was facing away from.

She cleared her throat. “I brought ya somethin’, Anthony,” she began.

His eyes widened, and he turned to see her. He smiled. “Juliann,” he whispered.

One corner of her mouth smiled. She looked down at the wrapped gift in her hands. “Ya awways liked mine, so I got ya yer own copy,” she mumbled, offering the gift to him.

He took it but kept his eyes on her. He couldn’t stop smiling. He looked down at the gift and began unwrapping it. “Thanks, Juli,” he said when he saw his book.

“Like I said, ya awways liked readin’ it. Mine’s gittin’ pretty rough edges. I thought I’d git cha yer own copy, a new one,” she explained, laughing a little. She stood, thinking it was about time she left.

He stood painfully and stepped over to her. “Thanks,” he said, kissing her lightly.

She pushed him away. “No, Race.” His expression fell. “I’se sorry, but we can’t. It’s been ovah too long. I do love ya, but not da same. G’bye,” she explained, letting her hands rest on his shoulders. She turned and left the room, saying nothing more.

The boys hurried back into the room, only to find an even more depressed Racetrack. He just lay on his bunk, clutching a copy of Much Ado About Nothing to his chest. He wasn’t crying, but he was dangerously close to it. The boys wanted to scream at Jules, but they knew that she would soak each and every one of them if he dared come near her in such a mood.

Jules sauntered along the streets of lower Manhattan when she decided that a stroll along the Brooklyn Bridge was in order. The bridge frequently helped her to think. She shuffled her way through the streets to the bridge. She paused in the middle and looked down at the water. She forced a smile and continued into Brooklyn, remembering that she hadn’t been there in a few days.

As she walked along, one of the younger newsies ran up to her. He tugged on her pant leg to get her attention. She knelt down to him. “Heya, kid. What kin I do fer ya?” she greeted, smiling so not to scare him just yet.

He motioned for to come closer to him. She did, and he whispered several words into her ear. She nodded a few times, acknowledging that she had heard him. He stepped away. “What should I tell ‘im?” he asked nervously.

Jules stood back up straight and looked down the street, looking for the original messenger. She didn’t see anyone. She looked back at the boy. “Tell ‘im I’ll be dere, Sprite. I wouldn’t miss it,” she replied, smirking.

Sprite ran off to relay the message. Jules just went back to Harlem slowly. She couldn’t get the smile off her face. She was in a much better mood all of a sudden. She stopped at the bridge again and leaned up against the railing.

“Ya can come out, Spot. I can hear ya walkin’,” she called, staring down at the water. There was no answer. She turned and found no one else on the bridge. She grunted quietly and headed back to Harlem at a faster pace. She got back and was greeted by a smoking Hunter in the lobby. She grabbed the cigar out of his hands and took a long drag on it, dropping down to the stairs next to him.

“Yer coitenly in a good mood,” he grinned.

“Dodgahs’ game,” she answered, resting her head on the next step up.

“Da Dodgahs’ didn’t play tanight,” he replied, confused and taking his cigar back.

“I got me tickets fer tamorrah,” she grinned, raising her head and looking back at him.

“What’s up, Jul?” he wondered, seeing something different in her.

“I jist like da Dodgahs is all,” she answered, standing back up. She headed up the stairs.

Hunter stood and looked at her slyly. “Ya went Downtown tanight. I’se willin’ ta bet anythin’ ya saw Race. You’se two git back tageddah?” he wondered.

Her expression faded. “Race ‘n’ Jules was ovah a year ago,” she answered flatly. She ran up the stairs and into the bunk room. She changed and went to bed, not caring what anybody else thought or did.

Hunter came into the bunk room a few minutes later. The others inquired about their leader’s mood, but Hunter just shook his head. He didn’t quite know how to explain her mood. They worried about her. She’d been a little moody, but nothing too out of the ordinary. Most of them figured that it was because Race had been beaten up. They all knew that she and Race had been very, very close at some point.

In the morning, Jules was in a much better mood. She was humming a little to herself as she washed up. Hunter was suspicious but said nothing. One of the younger boys decided that he’d ask his leader. He’d always been in her favor anyway. He tugged on her pant leg.

Jules looked down at him. “Yeah, Pix, what kin I do fer ya?” she asked, turning back to the mirror to brush her hair.

“Why ya in such a good mood?” he wondered, climbing up onto the counter. He sat down and let his feet dangle off the edge.

“Can’t I be in a good mood wit’out an ulterior motive?” she replied innocently.

“Does dis mean we git ta see Racetrack s’more?!” he asked excitedly.

Her mood darkened. She turned quickly and chucked her brush into the tiled wall, shattering several of the tiles. Everyone jumped. She leaned heavily on the sink, her hair falling back into her face. Her muscles were visibly tense. She grabbed her ribbon and shirt and hurried out of the washroom. She tied her shirt around her waist and just left the lodging house.

Hunter went and picked up the trembling Pixie. “Don’t worry none, Pix. Jules’s still gittin’ ovah dat. It’s real painful. She went ta visit ‘im yestahday, ‘n’ I guess it didn’t go so well,” he explained, pulling the small child into a tight hug. Pixie hugged Hunter back, scared of his leader’s temper.

“Uh, Huntah, ya wanna go tawk wit’ ‘er, er should I do it?” one of the older boys asked.

“I’ll tawk wit’ ‘er befoah da game, Hawk,” Hunter promised, setting Pixie down. He started out of the washroom.

“Ya shoah? I mean, I could do it,” Hawk said quickly, following Hunter out.

Hunter stopped and turned to his friend. “I’ll do it, Hawk,” he said. He started on his way again. “Geez, ya’d think ya was in love wit’ ‘er,” he mumbled on his way out.

Hawk watched him go, worried about their leader. She was strong and could handle herself, but her temper frequently got in the way. Her temper would have been more legendary than Spot Conlon’s, but she could control it better than he could. Usually. Hawk wanted Jules to be happy, but he also wanted her himself.

Hunter walked up to Jules at the distribution center a little while later. They’d both gotten their papers and were getting ready to leave. Jules was reading over the headlines while sitting on the dock when Hunter sat down beside her.

“Uh, Jules?” he began, looking over at her.

“Whatta ya want, Huntah?” she asked, getting to the point.

“Who ya goin’ ta da game wit’?” he wondered.

“None a yer business, Huntah,” she answered, not looking up from her papers.

“We gonna loin some time latah?” he asked.

“Maybe,” she answered, turning the page.

“Ya okay wit’, uh, da topic a discussion in da washroom dis mornin’?” he asked, gulping and hoping that she wouldn’t lose her temper again.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, controlling her temper. “I’ll git ovah it,” she mumbled, staring off down the street.

“Ya gonna be okay by yerself taday?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine, Huntah. Jist go on ‘n’ sell yer papes, ‘n’ I’ll see ya tanight,” she informed, standing up. She gave him one last look and headed out into the streets.

“Jules!” he called after her.

She ignored him and continued on toward her selling spot. She sold until lunch and then went to Tibby’s. She was in the mood for their legendary roast beef sandwiches. She walked in, and the room suddenly tensed.

Jack walked up to her. “Uh, Jules, back so soon?” he asked nervously, sticking his hands into his pockets.

Jules looked at him with a sly smile and walked past him, her muscular arms swaying at her sides. She slipped into a chair at an empty table and crossed one leg over the other. She glanced back up at Jack, telling him to have a seat across from her. He gulped, grabbed his lunch, and sat across from her. She gave one of the waiters a look, and he brought her some lunch a few minutes later. She said nothing until she had her meal.

“So, Kelly, how ya been?” she inquired, taking a sip of her drink.

“Uh, good, Jules. Say, uh, whatta ya doin’ back?” he asked, wanting to know what had really gone on between her and Race. They hadn’t gotten anything out of him the previous night.

“Kin I help it if I like da food?” she answered and took a bite of her sandwich.

“Be serious, Juliann—“

“Ya don’t git ta use ma real name, Kelly,” she interrupted angrily.

He gulped and continued. “Why’d ya really come by, Jules?” he wanted to know.

She sighed. “I wanted ta see ‘bout Race,” she answered quietly.

He narrowed his eyes. “Ya don’t got da right, Jules. Aftah ya left las’ night, ‘e was a wreck. I should t’row ya outta dis place, but I got too much respect fer all a Hawlem ‘n’ what cha did fer us las’ week,” he hissed.

Her lips turned into a smile slowly, and she broke out laughing. Jack and most of the newsies just looked at her oddly, unsure of what to think. She leaned across the table toward him and spoke in hushed tones. “Ya think I wasn’t da same a year ago?” she sneered. She suddenly lightened. “I ain’t lookin’ fer revenge on ‘im, Jack. I jist don’t love ‘im da same no more.” She stopped speaking and turned back to her meal.

“But ya do love ‘im,” he replied after a few moments.

She looked back at him. “I do still love ‘im, yes,” she answered quietly, “but I can’t love ‘im dat way no more. He broke me hawt las’ year, ‘n’ it’ll nevah heal right fer me ta love ‘im da same no more.”

“Den how do ya regawd ‘im? He was pretty broken up when ya left las’ night,” he informed.

“I know, Jack. Tell ‘im I’se sorry, but I jist can’t love ‘im back da way ‘e wants right now,” she apologized, finishing her sandwich.

“Why cain’t chu tell ‘im?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

“Cuz I ain’t ready. Pix jist mentioned ‘is name ta me dis mornin’, ‘n’ I broke da tiles on da wall,” she retorted.

He gaped at her. “Wit’ yer hand?!” he exclaimed, looking for a bandage.

“Wit’ ma hair brush,” she answered, leaning back in her chair. A clock chimed out in the distance. “Oh, I gotta go. I got da rest a my papes ta sell befoah I go ta da game,” she said hurriedly, wiping her mouth clean with a napkin and standing. She waved the waiter over and handed him a few coins. He nodded politely and went away. She headed out the door.

“Jules,” Jack called after her. She turned around and looked at him, waiting for him to speak. “We got a pokah game tanight if ya wanna come.”

Jules hesitated in her response. “Maybe nex’ time, Kelly,” she answered and walked out the door.

Jack stared at her. Did the second biggest compulsive gambler in New York just turn down a game of poker like the first had the previous night? Jack couldn’t believe what was going on. He didn’t want to believe it. He slumped back down in his chair and just stared at the wall. His friends were losing their minds.

Back in Harlem, Jules was getting ready to take a shower. Hunter joined her in the washroom so they could talk.

“Yer takin’ a showah ta go ta a ball game?” he inquired, watching her step behind the shower curtain with a towel wrapped around herself.

She paused and looked over at him, resituating her towel. “Ya got a problem wit’ dat?” she replied.

“Jist a comment,” he answered, leaning on the sink. “Ya got a answah dough?”

“I could use one,” she spit back, stepping behind the curtain. She dropped the towel on the floor outside the curtain and turned the water on.

“Ya doin’ any bettah, Jules? Slips said ya went ta Tibby’s,” he yelled over the sound of the rushing water.

“Yeah, I went ta Tibby’s. What of it?” she yelled back.

“Dunno,” he shrugged. “It’s jist dat ya seemed so easy ta angah dis mornin’ jist by someone mentionin’ Race’s name.”

She didn’t answer for a few minutes. Hunter decided that it was either because she was washing or fuming. He went back into the bunk room to wait for her to finish. The water stopped shortly thereafter, and she dried herself off out in the open washroom. She dressed in her drawers and tank top undershirt and went back out into the bunk room. She dried her hair with the towel as she walked over to her bunk to get her extra set of clothes.

“Feelin’ bettah?” Hunter inquired, looking up from the paper he was reading.

Jules glared at him as she grabbed her pants and pulled them on. She buttoned them and spoke. “I’m feelin’ jist fine, Huntah. How’s Pix? I hope I didn’t scare ‘im too much,” she replied.

“Naw, he’ll be fine. We all thought ya was finally gittin’ back ta normal aftah da way you ‘n’ Race split up. Maybe we was wrong,” he shrugged, standing up. She shrugged back and brushed her hair out. Then she began braiding it. Hunter stopped her hands with his. “Leave it down, Juli. It looks good down,” he said softly, leaning closer to her.

Jules placed her hand on his chest and pushed him away. “No, Huntah,” she stated.

He just looked at her. “But, Jules…” he trailed off.

“Yer ma best friend, Huntah, ‘n’ I love ya like a bruddah. No more. I’ll see ya when I git back,” she said, grabbing her shirt and heading out of the room.

Hunter sighed and watched her leave. A minute later, Quicksilver walked into the room with an odd look on his face. “What’s wit’ Jules?” he asked, seeing only Hunter in the room.

“I did somethin’ I shouldn’t a, Quicks,” he answered sorrowfully.

Quicksilver looked at him even more oddly. “What’d ju do, kiss ‘er er somethin’?” he asked with a laugh.

“Yeah,” Hunter snorted.

“Whoa! An’ she ain’t soaked ja yet?!” Quicksilver exclaimed, laughing.

“I don’t think she’s in da mood fer it right now,” Hunter mumbled, dropping down to his bunk.

“Coise not. She’s on ‘er way ta da Dodgahs’ game,” Quicksilver informed.

“I know. I know,” Hunter babbled.

“Yeah, but d’ya know who she’s goin’ wit’?” Quicksilver said, leaning toward his friend.

Hunter looked over at him. “Who?” he asked.

“Da one ‘n’ only leadah a Brooklyn, Spot Conlon,” Quicksilver laughed.

“Spot Conlon?” Quicksilver nodded, grinning like a maniac.

“Aw, man,” Hunter groaned, hiding his face in his pillow.

About an hour later, Jules walked through the gates at Dodgers’ Field and found a seat at the top of the stands. Spot joined her a few minutes later, wearing his dark blue shirt and trademark suspenders, his shoes freshly shined. Jules had worn a leather belt instead of her usual suspenders, and her shirt was neatly tucked into her pants but billowed out a little. Her damp hair blew in the wind a little.

“Evenin’, Jules,” he greeted with a smirk as he sat down.

“Evenin’, Spot,” she replied. “Lovely night.”

“Shoah is,” he answered, looking right at her.

She turned to the field. “Dey’re doin’ good dis season. Ya think dey’ll git ta da Series?” she wondered, watching the teams warm up.

He grinned. “Coise dey’ll git ta da Series! Dey is da Brooklyn Dodgahs aftah all,” he said happily.

She turned back to him. “Jist cuz yer from da same city don’t mean dey’re gonna land da Series,” she commented facetiously.

He gave her a smooth look. “Smawt-ass,” he laughed. She smiled proudly. They both laughed and turned back to the game.

Half the time, they watched the game, and, the other half the time, they conversed. Spot had gotten them both drinks, and Jules had gotten them some food. The Dodgers ended up wining the game that time. The two of them left the field in very high spirits, laughing all the way back to the bridge. Jules leaned her back against the railing while Spot leaned against it and stared down at the water.

“So, ya had fun tanight?” he asked, glancing over at her and smiling a little.

She laughed. “I awways have fun wit’ ya, Spot. Yer one a ma favorites,” she answered, looking over at him.

“Ya know, I think you’se da only goyl I know dat actually likes watchin’ da Dodgah’s play, even jist practice,” he chuckled.

“It’s bettah ‘an Hawlem most times,” she shrugged.

He gave her an odd look. “What’s wrong wit’ Hawlem? It’s a great place, Jules. It ain’t Brooklyn, but it’s got it poiks,” he answered.

“It ain’t got dis great bridge, Spot,” she informed, gesturing to the bridge.

“Yeah, but dey gots you, one a da best leadahs in all a New Yorwk, second ta me a coise,” he replied, standing up tall and proud.

She raised and eyebrow. “Yeah, yer right. I ain’t da best leadah. Maybe I should step down ‘n’ leave Hawlem,” she thought out loud.

“Leave Hawlem? What went on taday?” he replied, turning to face her straight on.

“I was in a good mood when I woke up, but soon’s Pix mentioned Race’s name, I went crazy. I scared da poor kid outta ‘is mind,” she answered, sighing and slumping against the railing.

“What’d ja do?” he inquired, resting his elbow on the railing and leaning against it.

“I broke da tiles on da wall wit’ ma hairbrush,” she disclosed, looking down at the ground guiltily. “He’ll nevah come near me agin.”

Spot stepped in front of her and turned her chin up. “Don’t worry none ‘bout it, Jules. Da kid’ll fahget ‘bout it tamorrah. If ‘e don’t, come stay wit’ us in Brooklyn fer a while. We’d be glad ta have da best pawt a New Yorwk fer a couple a days,” he comforted.

She laughed and turned away from him. “I ain’t da best pawt a New Yawk, Spot.” She stepped out into the middle of the bridge and spun around with her arms wide open. “Dis’s da best pawt a da city, dis bridge, da Brooklyn Bridge,” she smiled. “Brooklyn’s da best. Ya gots da best baseball team, da best kids, da best newsies.” She sighed.

“We don’t got all da best. We still don’t got you,” he replied.

“Me,” she scoffed. “What could ja possibly… want… wit’… me?” Her eyes suddenly grew wide, and she stared at Spot. “What… do ya want wit’ me?”

“Well, it’s jist dat yer a leadah, ‘n’ yer one a da best sellahs ‘n’ fightahs I evah met,” he explained, watching her.

She walked back over to him and leaned against the railing, facing him. “What ain’t cha tellin’ me, Conlon?” she asked. “I know da way ya woik, Spot. Ya ain’t usually dis wit’held wit’ me. Brooklyn’s got ever’thin’.” She looked at him further, suspecting something.

“I still don’t got you,” he repeated.

“I still don’t got you?” she repeated in her mind, staring at him. “Brooklyn could have me, ye know,” she commented, shrugging. “All I gotta do’s pack up ‘n’ leave Hawlem.”

He moved closer to her so he could put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t leave Hawlem, Juli. Dey need ja dere. You’se da best thing ta happen ta New Yorwk in ferevah. Ya cain’t leave ‘em,” he said, very sincere.

“I could be a Brooklyn newsie. Ya wouldn’t hafta teach me how ta fight none,” she answered, shrugging some more.

“I don’t want ya as one a me newsies,” he whispered, staring at her.

She stepped closer to him. “How do ya want me?” she whispered back.

He searched her eyes, letting his hand creep toward her along the railing. “Jist how ya awe,” he whispered, leaning very close to her.

“I’ll stay jist like dis den,” she breathed, her hands resting on his waist.

He leaned even closer to her and pressed his lips to hers. She kissed him back, pulling him closer by his belt loops. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her even closer, pressing their bodies together.

On the Manhattan side of the bridge, someone was lurking in the shadows. She grinned. “Dis’ll make fer some good gossip,” she mumbled, running back to the lodging house. She slowed. “Aw, but it’ll jist kill Race.” She hesitated in telling everyone. Race was already pretty bummed about the whole thing. “Well, dey’re gonna loin soon ‘nuff anyway,” she mumbled and started running again. She ran as fast as she could back to the lodging house. When she got there, she slammed right into Jack as she ran through the door, falling to the ground.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down, Pin. Yer gonna hoit somebody,” he laughed as he helped her off the floor.

“It’s Jules…” She stopped to catch her breath.

“What ‘bout ‘er?” he replied, curious.

“Her… ‘n’ Spot, on… da bridge…”

“Dey in trouble?”

She shook her head, finally catching her breath enough so she could spit out a complete sentence. “Dey’s kissin’, Jack,” she whispered loudly.

Jack’s jaw almost hit the floor. “Race know?” he asked worriedly.

Pin shook her head. “I jist saw ‘em,” she answered.

Jack nodded. “Don’t tell no one jist yet. If dey want it known, it will be in a couple a days. Keep it ta yerself as best ya can. Don’t even tell Dutchy,” he ordered, knowing that it was hard for her to keep things from her best friend.

“I’ll try, Jack,” she replied. She started toward the stairs.

Jack grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. “Don’t try, Pin. Do it,” he commanded. Pin nodded, and Jack released his grip on her wrist. They both went up the stairs.

Back on the bridge, Jules and Spot each pulled back a little. Spot ran his fingers down her face. “I been wantin’ ta do dat fer a long time,” he breathed.

Jules smiled. “Glad ya finally did,” she smiled.

He grinned and kissed her lips softly. “Ya wanna come back ta Brooklyn?” he wondered.

She shook her head. “I gotta git back,” she sighed. He sighed, too. “Why don’t cha meet me at Jack’s place tamorrah… ‘round twelve-thoity.”

He nodded. “I’ll be dere,” he promised.

She smiled. “I’ll see ya tamorrah den,” she continued and kissed him sweetly. She smiled once more and ran off into Manhattan.

Spot leaned against the railing and just watched her disappear into the streets. He had a delighted smile on his face. He was in one of the best moods he’d had in a long time. Once she was out of his sight, he meandered back to the lodging house.

When Jules got back to Harlem, all the newsies were waiting in the lobby. She wondered why they were just sitting around the lobby, but she didn’t ask. She just headed on up to the bunk room.

“Juliann.” She stopped instantly and turned back to the lobby. “How was da game?” Hunter asked, scowling at her.

Jules stepped down the stairs slowly, keeping her eyes cool and on Hunter. “It was fine,” she answered; “Dodgahs won.”

“Really?” She nodded. “Da game was ovah two hours ago,” he pointed out.

“So? It takes an hour ta git from dere ta here,” she reminded.

“What was ya doin’ fer da oddah hour?” he wanted to know.

“Spot ‘n’ I was tawkin’. Dat ain’t a crime now, is it?” she retorted, her temper growing.

“Skippin’ out on yer territry is,” he spit back.

Jules stared at him as she realized that no one had breathed since the moment she’d walked in. She stepped closer to her old friend. “You challengin’ me fer it?” she demanded.

“So what if I is,” he answered, glaring at her.

“Den we bettah settle da dispute,” she replied, tensing up.

He nodded. “A fight, noon tamorrah at Colonial Pawk,” he decided.

“Make it at one o’clock outside Newspapah Row Downtown ‘n’ ya got it,” she offered.

He nodded once. “One weapon a choice. Any weapon,” he continued.

“No guns. Once it leaves yer hand, it’s gone. Ya cain’t pick it back up,” she added.

“Deal.” He spit in his palm. She did the same, and they shook firmly. “I’ll see ya at one o’clock tamorrah,” he sneered and headed upstairs.

“Yeah, fer da las’ time,” she muttered under her breath. As it was a warm night, she went up to the roof to sleep. She wrote two letters before going to sleep. One for Race, and the other for Spot.

In the morning, Jules woke with the sun. She stuffed the two letters she’d written into her pocket and hurried down the fire escape and into the washroom before any of the others were awake. She washed and left before any of them even stirred. She went to the square to wait for her papers. She waited an hour before any of the other newsies arrived. Hunter avoided her, but the younger ones clustered around her, a few of the older ones, too.

“Quicksilvah,” Jules called, seeing him walking up the street toward the square.

Quicksilver trotted over to her. “I dunno why ‘e’s doin’ it. I swear,” he said quickly once he’d reached her.

She shook her head. “Don’t worry ‘bout dat, Quicks. I awready know why ‘e’s doin’ it,” she answered, pulling him away from the younger children. “If I don’t win dis—“

“Ya gotta win dis, Jules!” he interrupted. “Huntah’s no leadah. He ain’t ‘s’smawt ‘s’you. He couldn’t lead ‘imself offa da Brooklyn Bridge, let ‘lone all a Hawlem.”

“I’se glad ta ‘ave yer support, Quicks,” she smiled.

“Ya gots ever’one’s support, Jules. No one wants Huntah as da leadah. You’se bettah ‘an any leadah Hawlem’s evah had,” he assured her.

“Dat may be, Quicks, but Huntah challenged me fer ma position. I gotta take it. It’s da honorable thing ta do,” she explained.

“We jist don’t want ya ta git hoit, is all,” he sighed.

She smiled again. “Thanks fer yer concion. Now, what I was sayin’. If I don’t win da fight, I need ja ta deliver a message fer me,” she continued.

He nodded his consent. “Shoah, who fer?” he replied, watching her.

She pulled the two letters out of her pocket and pressed them into his hand. “Deliver ‘em as soon aftah da fight as ya can. Da names’re on da outside. Ya gotta deliver ‘em only ta da name on da lettah, no one else. If eiddah ain’t anywhere ‘round, wait fer ‘em. Ya got dat?” she made sure.

He nodded. “I won’t fergit, Jules. Ya kin trust me,” he promised.

“Thanks, Quicks,” she replied and spit in her palm. They shook hands and hugged tightly.

A few minutes later, they were allowed to buy their papers. Jules got hers quickly and went on her way. Hunter did the same, going off in the opposite direction. The others were relieved when they’d both left and all went on their own ways.

Around noon time, Jules stood outside the lodging house Downtown. She hesitated in going inside. She took a deep breath and walked inside. No one was in the lobby, so she went up the stairs. Race lay on his bunk, staring up at the bunk above him. Jules cleared her throat and walked over to him. He looked over at her lazily, tears in his eyes. She dropped down to the floor beside him and sat with her legs crossed, looking up at him.

“Hey, Race,” she greeted, feeling slightly guilty.

“Hey, Jules,” he mumbled, letting his head rest on its side as he watched her.

“I came ta tell ya somethin’, Race,” she said, getting to the reason for her visit.

Race propped himself up on his elbow and stared down at her. “What?” he wondered.

“We been apawt fer a long time, Race,” she began. “I went ta da Dodgahs’ game las’ night… wit’ Spot. I hate ta hoit cha anymore, Race, cuz I do still care fer ya, but, on da way home, da two a us… Well, we, uh…”

“Ya love ‘im. Don’t cha?” he said suddenly.

She looked down at the floor and nodded. “I nevah wanted ta hoit cha, Race. I did truly love ya, ‘n’ I undahstand why ya treated me da way ya did. I guess I desoived it a li’l.” She smiled a little. “Will ya evah fergive me?” she breathed.

Race leaned over and turned her chin up toward him. Once she was looking at him, he dropped his hand and spoke. “I fergave ya a long time ago, Jules… I jist nevah tol’ ja,” he replied.

“I really wish ya had. It would a been real nice,” she replied, smiling genuinely.

“I still love ya, Juli,” he reminded, watching her expression.

“I love ya, too, Tony,” she answered, holding his hand.

“Was I s’posed ta hear dat?” Spot asked from the doorway.

They both turned to the doorway. “Oh, hey, Spot,” Jules greeted, dropping Race’s hand.

Spot walked over to them but addressed Race first. “No hawd feelin’s, Race?” he asked, making sure they were still friends.

Race half-smiled and sat up. “No hawd feelin’s,” he replied, spitting in his palm.

Spot spit in his palm, and they shook. “Thanks, Race. I’d hate ta lose ye as a friend,” he said, smirking.

Jules smiled. “So’d I,” she chimed in. They all smiled. Jules’s smile suddenly faded, and she stood. “Uh, I got s’more news,” she continued, grimacing and turning away from them.

“What is it?” Spot wondered, looking at her. Race looked up at Spot who had asked the question he wanted to know the answer of.

Jules turned back to them. “In ten minutes time, I’m goin’ out ta Newspapah Row ta fight wit’ Huntah,” she answered.

“Ain’t chu ‘n’ Huntah best friends?” Spot asked before Race could.

“He challenged ma right ta leadahship,” she answered plainly.

“Why’re ya fightin’ ‘im?” Race asked quickly. Spot glared down at him. He always preferred to fight over most everything else.

“It’s da honorable thing ta do, Race,” she replied, sighing.

“How— How good a fightah is Huntah?” Race wondered.

Jules smirked. “Not near’s good ‘s’me,” she replied, setting his imagination at ease. Both boys sighed with relief. “Race, will ya come watch?”

Race thought for a moment. “Shoah,” he answered, standing up slowly. Both Spot and Jules took hold of his arms to steady him. After a few minutes, the three of them started out of the lodging house and toward Newspaper Row. By now, the news of the fight should have spread to most of the newsies.

Spot and Jules helped Race down the street until they got to Newspaper Row. Half the newsies in Manhattan were already assembled there. They helped Race onto a bench and then waited like the others. Across the square, Pin and Jack were talking.

“Ya think ‘e knows?” Pin whispered to Jack.

“I dunno, but ‘e ‘n’ Jules look like dey’s gittin’ along real good,” Jack whispered back, leaning down to her.

Just then, Hunter walked in to the square. He walked tall and proud. Jules was the only one who could tell that he was nervous. She removed her button-down slowly and handed it to Spot. She stretched her muscles and cracked her back beneath her tank-top undershirt. She took a deep breath, grabbed the four-foot stick she’d been carrying around, and walked into the middle of the square. She inclined her head politely.

“Ya ready, Jules?” Hunter asked, trying to put on an air of confidence.

“Where’s yers?” Jules answered, leaning on her staff.

“Right heah,” he answered, pulling out his knife. Half the spectators gasped. Jules nodded and took a firm grip on her staff with both hands. He slipped the knife into his belt loop and got ready for the fight.

Jules sighed and waited. She didn’t like starting the fights. Hunter did it for her. He threw a punch at her, but she blocked it easily, and he stumbled forward. They fought a few minutes more before Hunter finally knocked her to the ground, face-first. He pulled out the knife and went for her.

“Juli!” Race screamed, trying to stand. Spot held him back.

Jules looked back over her shoulder and rolled out of the way as soon as she saw the glint of the knife. The knife plunged into the street, chipping it a little. She scrambled back to her feet and continued the fight. They fought for a while more, neither getting anywhere. Even the police had come to watch. They were about to break the fight up, but noticed that neither fighter held a weapon anymore. There were two perfectly good ones on the ground and several good opportunities to grab them, but neither did. The cops were intrigued.

The fight went on for about an hour before anything substantial actually happened. Jules finally pinned Hunter to the ground. She sat on his lower abdomen, pinning his legs and torso, and held his arms down at the elbows. He struggled, but he couldn’t move. She leaned closer to his face and spoke quietly so that no one could hear what she was saying. The square was quiet except for the sounds of the city.

“Huntah, I ain’t gonna be cruel ‘n’ throw ya out,” she began harshly. “Yer welcome ta stay ‘s’long’s ya want. Ya jist stay da hell away from me.”

“Ya ain’t t’rowin’ me out?” he asked, confused.

“No, Huntah. I doubt it’ll solve anythin’. Ya jist bettah know dat we can nevah be friends agin. Ya got it?” she finished.

“Yeah, Jules, I got it,” he mumbled.

Jules nodded and released her grip on him, standing up and stepping away from him. She brushed the dirt off her shirt and pants. When Hunter stood, she looked back at him. “Git on yer way, Huntah,” she said loud enough for the entire square to hear.

Hunter mumbled something and headed out of the square, grabbing his knife off the ground as he limped away. He mumbled a few more things as he walked back to Harlem.

Jules watched him go and then picked up her staff. She walked back over to Spot and Race. She smiled at Race. “I tol’ ja I could beat ‘im,” she reminded. Race grinned.

Spot took hold of her arm, looking as the cut Hunter had given her. “Ya should git dis looked at,” he said, poking at it.

Jules winced and shoved him away. He stumbled backward, nearly falling over. “Geez, Spot,” she hissed, holding her arm in pain. As soon as she’d finished speaking, Quicksilver ran up to her, picked her up, and spun her around in his arms, laughing. She yelped in pain and pushed him away as soon as she was back on her feet. “Do ya mind?! I gots a couple a bruised ribs here! Will ya all quit touchin’ me till ma injuries heal!” she exclaimed as the pain subsided. The newsies around her laughed.

“Aw, but see, dat’s da fun pawt, Juli,” Spot began, striding over to her with a mischievous smile on his face. She looked at him, knowing he was up to something and not sure if she wanted to find out. Spot took hold of her quickly and kissed her passionately, dipping her.

The jaw of every newsie in the square hit the ground, all except for Race. He just smiled. Spot finally let Jules up and looked at her with the famous Conlon smirk.

“Okay, ow,” she said loudly, mocking him. They both laughed. She turned back to Quicksilver. “Hey, Quicks, ya know dose two lettahs?” He nodded. “Kin I ‘ave ‘em back?” she asked. He nodded and pulled them out of his pocket. She took then and tucked them down her shirt. “Who’s up fer a game a pokah?” she announced.

A few of the newsies groaned, and a few more jumped at the chance to play a few hands. The rest of them had a good laugh and went back to their lives. Those who wanted to play poker went back to the lodging house and dealt out the cards. New York was back to normal.

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© 1997 Birdie Kelley

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