Willow~ I race ahead, to where I see a bread cart, handing out food, an' a small boy an' goil, waitin' for somethin'.

"Grin! Fox!" I yell, an' they wave back.

"Will!" says Wally, or Grin, which we call him because of his optimistic nature. "Guess what? I saw a rat today. A real big un'! Me ma said don' touch it, but I tought it was real facinatin'!"

Only Grin would find good in a rat.

"Guess what?" Juniper, or Fox, says. "'Dey got cawffee today! Real cawffee! It may be curdled, but it's all wese got."

Spot walks up. "Taught Romeo a lesson," he says. "He ain't gonna mess wid us none."

"Ain't it a fine life!" I laugh.

We push our fists into the air.

"Carryin' da Banner!"

"Tough and tall!" says Grin, stickin' his chest up in de air, like hese some sorta big shot. We laugh.

Checkers and Chess, big bulky guys walk up wid deir clubs.

"I smell money!" says Checkers, taking a deep breath.

"Youse smell foul!" I say, wavin' my hand in fronta me nose. Checkers jumps, fists raised, ready to get me, when Romeo comes out of nowheres, unknowingly blockin' Checks's shot.

"Met this goil last nigh'!" he says excitedly.

El' elbows his way to the front of the line.

"Move your elbow!" says Fox.

"For a buck, I might!" says El'.

He gets in line firs', an' takes his hat off. Everyone does the same, an' Fox halfheartedly trys to ajust her overall straps.

"Just gimmie half a cup," says Spot eagerly, while he eyes the black liquid eagerly.

The air fills with normal newsie chatter.

"I gotta find me a new sellin' spot," says Fox. "Dey see me to much by da harbor."

"You can come wid us to Coney Island, or Sheepshead," Grin suggests.

"Try any banker, bum, or barber," says Spot

"They almost all knows how ta read!" I joke, while grabbing cawfee from the pretty lady, who looks like she is driving the carrage. She looks around, an' plunks something in there.

"For you and your friends," she says, an' grabs anuder cup.

I peer in.

It's five one-doller coins.

I stand in shock.

"Guys! I gesture to Spot, Grin, and Fox. "Come look at dis!" 

Martyna~

"Hurry up, runt." One of the older boys, Walter, yells at me over the hum of the machines. My job is to direct fibers into a series of rollers, so they'll join together to become one strong piece of thread. "I'm hurrying, Walt! Mind your own business!" As I say this, I feel like an ignorant toddler, because that's just how you feel around Walt. Even though he's only seventeen, he has to be at least 6' 4'', and has the biggest arm muscles a guy could have. No one would ever dare to pick a fight with him. Daniel "Danny" Juarez, his younger brother, not as much. He's taller than I am, but about as skinny as a stick, a normal body for us factory workers. Our unheathly figures, grey and black droopy eyes, and dirty faces set us factory workers apart from everyone else. How nice it would be to have money at home. If only I was a rich girl. 

"Danny, just tell her!" A couple boys shout, jokingly, as they push him towards me. Oh great. This is what, the fourth time he has confessed his love for me? Danny spits in hand and combs through his hair, then sticks his thumbs in his pockets and saunters over to me. "Hey Marty," He starts, then continues his usual speech. I almost have it memorized by now! You'd think he'd at least change a few of the words. Whatever. "Danny, go away." I order with no hint of emotion in my voice. He looks a little crestfallen, but returns to his station where the other boys laugh and tease him. It's all in a joking way, I know, so I don't care one bit. Us factory girls have to toughen up. And toughening up is what I've been doing since day one.

~~~~~~

I'm kind of out of ideas right now, sorry.

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Sorry I haven't posted in so long! Yes, Marty, it's cool that we work at the same factory. And Brooklyn Newsie, I love what you're doing with Wally (Grin, as it is).

~ 

After Wally walks me to the factory, he's off to his newsie job. On my way in, I bump into Marty – one of the toughest girls in the place – and I hurriedly help her, not wanting to stay too long as to get on her bad side. A lot of the guys've got crushes on her, and every time, she talks them off. I'm not one of those guys, but I'm still wary of her. 

I walk up to my place, pushing in between rows of kids, and I stop at an empty spot in the line to my right. "Hey, Cat!" Valeria Rambova, a level-headed Russian girl to my left, says. The other spot is occupied by Andrew Donau, a little kid who's half-asleep most of the time. I know factory workers start young, but I do his part of the mill half the time, just out of pity.

We're not even fifteen minutes into the day yet and I hear someone down the line confessing his love for Marty. I laugh quietly to myself, but then I hear the mechanical thunk of a thread stopping the machine. Calls of "Cat!" "Caaaat!" run down the line, and I sigh. Valeria nods knowingly, and as soon as I step away, she calmly starts feeding my thread into the machine with her free hand.

I run down the line to where I heard the shout. "O'er here!" A girl calls, and I go up to her. She points at a spot in the mill where the thread's jammed. Usually, you could get these things out easily, but we have one of the biggest mills in New York here, and it's tall enough that you have to climb up on it to fix anything. That's where I come in.

I grab the wooden frame of the mill with one hand and plant my foot between two spools of thread. Then I hoist myself up to the top level of the mill, haphazardly balancing on my other foot. Cheers ring out as I lean over and pull the thread free, causing the machine to eat it up and start running smoothly again. 

The kids clear out of a little space on the ground because they know what I'll do next. I size up the area and then jump, landing smack on the floor, and the kids cheer again. "Hey, they say a cat always lands on its feet!" One boy yells, as someone always does after I fix the machines like I have to do so often. The rest give me slaps on the back and encouraging words as I make my way back to my own spot, and I grin, a little flattered. It's funny just how much kids can keep their spirit, even in a place like this. 

Willow~

"Woah," says Spot as I display my five silver coins. "I's never seen so much money in me life! Five whole dollars."

"It is amazin'," I say, as I hand one dollar out to every person.

"Can I 'ave one fer me friend, Ricky?" Grin asks.

"Sure," I say.

"Anyway," Spot says, lookin' over his sholder to make sure that the other newsies haven't seen me. "Sheepshead or Coney today?"

"It's a Sunday. No one's goin' ta Coney. Let's try Sheepshead," I reply.

"Me ma says dat only sinners go to Sheepshead Races ona Sunday," Grin says cheerfully, "But me ma says dat newsies cen go anywheres."

"Alright," Fox begins, "C'mon, or we'll never get to the distribution place."

"Sure thing, Fox," Spot agrees. "ALRIGHT! NEWSIES OF NEW YORK!"

The boys look at their leader, the gold head of his can shinin' in de early mornin' sun.

"LETS GO!"

They cheer, and head off to get the papes. 

Martyna~

"Cat!" Caaaat!" the children call down the line. I can see Ricky from where I work; he and the Russian girl exchange a look, and he steps away towards the jammed machine. Victoria? Valencia? Whatever her name is feeds his thread into the machine. "O'er here!" one of the girls, Molly, calls with a flirtatious smile on her face. I stare at her with loathing, for all I know she might've jammed the mill on purpose just so she could get Ricky to notice her. He holds the mill with one hand and brings his foot up, pulling himself up over the top and freeing the thread. Some of the little ones clear a space for him to jump, as he always does. "Hey, they say a cat always lands on its feet!" a boy shouts. I swear, someday they're going to get in trouble, with all the commotion they make. Ricky walks back to his spot, where the girl has been patiently threading his machine the whole time. Typical factory life for 'ya.

THUNK, I hear a while later. Oh, no, I think. My machine has stopped working. No, no, no! I give it a little shove, but it continues to sit there, motionless. I don't want to say anything, I might be able to fix it myself, but the boy to my right notices the broken mill before I can tell him to shut it. "Caaaaat!" he calls, and before I know it, the great Cat himself is standing right in front of me. He looks at me, waiting for me to tell him what's wrong. "Here," I say grumpily, pointing to where my thread has jammed the roller. Too late, I realize I have pointed with my left hand. The girl to my left gasps, and I quickly hide my hand in the folds of my dress. Ricky glances at me warily, then quickly fixes the machine, his nimble fingers flying. "Thanks," I mutter, turning away before I do anything else so careless. I have two rules: Stay out of Trouble, and Keep your Mouth shut. They've gotten me through every single day here at this factory. 

And don't plan on changing anything soon. 

~~~~~

I don't really know how textile mills work, so I probably got a ton of stuff wrong. Sorry about that. 

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