Marie stepped off of the train and onto the busy platform. Just like in Concord, she couldn't believe how many people there were! The air was filled with ashy steam from the locomotive, and it mingled with the smoke from many pipes, cigarettes, and cigars. She coughed a few times and wiped her eyes with her free hand, the other hand clutching a leather-bound sketch pad. The amber light from the glowing lamps colored Marie's surroundings making her feel as if she were in another world. So this is New York... Part of her was longing to return to her small New Hampshire town where she had lived for seventeen years and recognized nearly every face-- but the rest of her was reminded of why she left in the first place. Marie needed an escape. She thought of her parents... who always had to make sure that Marie was a "proper lady" for the family's high social status. Marie hated it. She hated the strict all-girls school she was forced to attend, she hated the stuffy clothing she was supposed to wear, and she especially hated the way her mother looked down on all things "lower class". This applied to Marie's favorite pastime, drawing. Her mother just didn't understand what it meant to her... her mother put it on a level with shining shoes or selling newspapers. Things that her daughter should have nothing to do with. "A waste of precious time," her mother would say. "All those rubbish pictures when you should be studying your French. Honestly dear, if you're going to spent an entire year there..." That was another thing. Marie did not want to go to a French boarding school, but her parents insisted on it. She would have no choice. So instead, Marie gathered all of her savings, found a ride to Concord, bought a train ticket, and was now standing on a platform in New York City surrounded by strange people and lots of smoke.

"Luggage! All passengers come get your luggage here!" A man was shouting over the roar of voices.

Marie hurried over and scanned the pile of suitcases, but did not see hers. "Excuse me..." she she said to the man, "I don't..."

"What?" he shouted, obviously not hearing her.

"I don't see mine!" she shouted back.

"Last name?"

"Sullivan." He looked around for a few seconds, then grabbed a flowered carpet bag and tossed it in her direction.

It was hers, she took it quickly. "Thank you!" she shouted once more, but he had already turned back around and did not hear her. She decided not to try again, and attempted to make her way out of the mass of people and into the street. As soon as she was clear of the station doors, she crossed the cobblestone street and sat down on a doorstep. It was a cool night, and she tightened the woolen shawl around her shoulders. Her hand reached into the pocket of her heavy skirt and pulled out a folded piece of paper, her last hope for freedom. "2934 West Main Street", she said aloud, as if that would somehow help her reach her destination more quickly. She looked up at the door behind her. 845 32nd Ave. No help. She sighed, and drew her knees up to her chin, still a little chilled.

"Excuse me, lass, but do ye need some aid? You don't look like ye belong here very well." Marie looked up to see a tall, nicely dressed older man. He had a clear Irish accent.

"Yes sir, thank you. I just got here... I need to find West Main Street."

"West Main, eh?" he raised his eyebrows jokingly. "Sure thing, lass. Do ye have some friends at The World?"

"What?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing." He laughed a little. "Aye, I kin help ye. Why, I'll give ye a lift over there, if ye'd like."

"Oh, yes sir!" Marie said. "Thank you!"

"Dinna thank me, lass, we're not there yet!" He laughed again. "Right this way."

Marie was led to a modest buggy with one black horse. As she sat down inside, she noticed a young lady was already sitting across from her. "Oh!" Marie said, startled. "Hello..."

"Shannon!" the man called from the front. "This here is a friend we're takin' over to West Main. Say hallo."

"Hallo," Shannon said, and smiled, speaking quietly. "Fahther is always willin' to help out a newcomer to New York, seen' as how we warn't but newcomers ourselves not too long ago."

"That's very kind of him." "We were fahrtunate enough that fahther found someone to give him a decent job. Tis' how we got this magnificent carriage! Very few Irish are sah lucky."

"I see. Well, I'm just hoping I'll find someone too... I have this address, but I'm not really sure..."

"Oh, 2934?" Shannon said, looking at the address Marie was guarding carefully. "That's over by the newspaper!"

"Newspaper?"

"The World. It's owned by Mister Joseph Pulitzer... probably the richest man in this whole city!"

"Now, girls," Shannon's father said as he guided the horse around a puddle. "We're nearly there. Have ye even been introduced?"

"Oh no! I'm sorry. My name is Marie Sullivan."

"Shannon O'Conner. An' if I may be so fahrward, what ist' you got thare in your book?"

"Oh, this?" Marie said, holding up her sketchbook. "It's not much, really. I like to draw things, and I keep the drawings in here."

Shannon's eyes lit up. "Oh, really, are ye an artist? Kin I see a few?"

"Of course." Marie showed her some drawings of her house back in New Hampshire, her two pet birds, and the most recent sketches of the old man who had been sleeping across from her on the train ride.

"Why, they're like photographs!" Shannon exclaimed.

Marie was flattered. "Oh, hardly," she said. "But thank you. I just love to recreate what I see. It's very relaxing."

"Ah, yes, here we are Miss Sullivan, 2934 West Main Street." The buggy came to a halt, and Mr. O'Conner stepped down to open the door. "Will ye be needin' anythin' else, lass?"

"No, sir, I don't think so. Thank you very much."

"Ye're quite welcome. Feel free to come an' see us anytime... we're over on 18th." He climbed back up on the front seat. "Good luck, lass! May God bless ye!"

"Goodbye! God bless!" Shannon called.

"Thanks again!" Marie waved as the buggy pulled away. She looked up above the door. Newsboys lodging house. This should be interesting...

She opened the door slowly and stepped inside. As soon as she did, about eight teenaged boys stopped what they were doing and looked up. There was silence for a few seconds.

One of the boys, shorter than she was, wearing plaid pants and suspenders, a white shirt, and a dark cap, stood up and took a cigar out of his mouth. "Well, good evening, my deah. May we, ah, help you?" he said with a thick New York accent. The other boys just stared.

"Yes..." Marie said uncomfortably. "I'm looking for a boy named Francis Sullivan. I was told he lives at this address." The boy who was standing looked around. The others were still staring. Marie stepped back a little.

"Hey yah bums!" the boy yelled at the others. "Cut it out, now. We need tah help this young lady. Crutchy!" A taller boy who had been standing at the stairway came slowly around into the room. Marie saw that he used a crutch to walk. "Hey, Crutchy, do yah know who Francis Sullivan is?"

Crutchy shook his head. "Nah, Race, I nevah hoid of 'im." He looked back at Marie sadly. "Sorry, I wish I could help."

"Oh, that's okay. I'm sure I'll find him somewhere."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, an' what may your name be?" The first boy asked, and extended his hand. "Marie Sullivan."

"Racetrack. Charmed." He kissed her hand, then stepped back and gestured to the rest of the room. "Now I apologize fah dese bums jus' sittin' aroun' like dey nevah seen a lady before." He looked at them, disgusted. Just then a tall boy came quickly down the stairs. He looked about seventeen, and had a bandanna around his neck. "Hey, Jack!" Racetrack called. "Do yah know a Francis Sullivan?"

Jack stopped dead in his tracks. "Francis..."

"Sullivan..." Marie finished for him. He turned to face her. She gasped. His jaw dropped. "It's you!" Marie said. The boys' stares turned puzzled. Jack took Marie's arm and led her out the door into the street. "Frank! It's you!" Marie said excitedly.

"Shh! It's not Frank. It's Jack. Jack Kelly."

"But..."

"Marie! Shh. Jack. It's Jack, okay?"

She looked at him, confused. "Jack?"

"Yeah."

"Jack... I haven't seen you in so long! I hardly recognized you."

"Look, it's a long story. Tell yah later." He sighed, and smiled for the first time. "My deah Marie! Whatever are you doing here?"

She also sighed. "That's a long story, too."

"Oh I see."

"The gist of it is, I ran away, and I'm not going back."

Jack laughed. "Marie Sullivan! Of the esteemed William R. Sullivans? Running away?"

"Like I said. Long story."

"Got it. Hey! Yah wannah come in an' meet the guys? I'll make sure they behave."

"Okay." Marie laughed. Jack put his arm around her shoulder as they walked back into the lodging house. By that time, all the boys had stood up and looked eager to know just who this girl was, and why Jack had his arm around her. "Skittery! Boots! Get ovah here!" A boy who looked about Jack's age came over from across the room, and a younger boy followed. Now there were ten bewildered teenagers staring at Jack and Marie. "Okay, fellahs, I'd like you all to meet... my cousin, Marie." The boys all began talking at once. "Hey, hey, hey! Calm down!" Jack warned.

"Eay, ah, Jack, you mind if I, ah, join dah family?" A tall, older boy with glasses and curly dark hair stepped forward, grinning. The others snickered.

"Watch it, Specs. You wanna be able tah see tomorrow?"

"Oooh!" the boys said, hoping for a fight.

Jack just tightened his hand on Marie's shoulder. "Let me set somethin' straight, here, fellahs. Ain't nobody gonna mess with my cousin Marie here. If yah do, you're messin' with me. Got it?"

The guys moaned. "Aw, come on, Jack," Specs said. "I was jus' playin' around." He bowed to Marie, removing his hat and placing it across his chest. He looked up. "Humblest apologies, beautiful." He was grinning again. Marie blushed.

"Dat's enough. Somebody go find Kloppman an' we'll see if we can get Marie a bed fah the night. Bumlets, take her things, wouldja? Snipeshooter! Go get Kloppman."

"Sure, Jack."

"Are you sure I can stay here?" Marie asked.

"It's no problem. We can put ya up in the goils' room."

"There's a... girls' room?" Marie asked incredulously.

"Oh, yeah. There's Dusk, Panda, an' Beaner, an' Irish..."

"'At's me sistah," Specs interrupted, proudly. Marie glanced at Specs. He was looking right at her. Marie looked to the ground, noticing a small smile on her own face.

Jack continued. "An' Quips, an' Angel. Yeah, they's all out somewhere doin' goil stuff." Marie laughed. Girl stuff. She wondered what exactly these boys considered "girl stuff" to be. She was anxious to meet these girls, to see what living with a bunch of boys is like... because the way things were going, she could see herself staying here for quite some time!

When Marie opened her eyes the next morning, she had to remind herself where she was. Instead of the blue canopy above her head, she saw the framework of an upper bunk. Turning her head, she saw a hand hanging over the side. Irish's. The girls had gotten in late, but there had been plenty of time for introductions and stories. Sunlight filtered in through a dirty window, but otherwise the room was not so bad.

While looking at Irish's hand, an idea burst into her mind... she got up quietly, found her sketch pad, and pulled some pencils out of her bag. Settling back on the lower bunk, she began to draw the hand. The general shape first, then the creases of the palm, and the fingers... she was momentarily consumed. Then, satisfied, she closed the leather cover and laid back down. A million thoughts were running through her mind. There was so much to see, so much to learn, so many new people to meet. The bunk shifted above her head, slightly.

There was a muffled groan, and the hand disappeared. Then, a mass of curly red hair and two sleepy green eyes peeked over the side. "Mornin'," Irish said.

"Morning."

"What's that you got there?" Irish was upside-down, still leaning over the side. She pointed to the leather book that was half hidden under the covers.

"Oh, that..." Marie said. "Just my sketchbook."

"You're an artist?"

"I like to draw."

"Can I see?"

Marie sighed, not entirely liking to "show off" her "talent" to the world, but smiled good-naturedly and handed the book up to the girl above her. Irish was sitting up on her bed, and Marie heard the ruffling of papers.

"Oh, wow!" Irish said, and giggled. "Is this my hand?"

"Yes..." Marie smiled, and was a little embarrassed. She enjoyed drawing people when they were unaware, because the subject was more natural. This especially worked when people were asleep because they don't move much. But if they realize that you're drawing them...

"You're very good."

"Thank you."

There was movement in one of the other beds. What sounded like Dusk's voice came smothered by a blanket. "Do yah mind? People are tryin' tah sleep here." The two girls giggled to themselves.

Irish handed the book down to Marie, and settled herself to go back to sleep. "We still have about 20 minutes 'til Kloppman wakes us up," Irish whispered. "Take it while you can..." The bed shifted some, and then the room was silent again.

Marie sighed, and stuffed the skecthpad under the mattress. The twenty minutes passed slowly, but soon there was a firm knock on the door. An older man's voice disrupted the quiet room. "Okay, ladies, up an' at 'em! Get'cher washtubs while they're still clean! Come on, come on, up an' at 'em!"

Panda slowly sat up in her bed and silently began to brush her hair. Quips yawned and stretched, and accidentally kicked Beaner, who was sitting up in the bunk beneath her. "Ow! Watch where you're swingin' them things, wouldja?"

"Sorry." Angel stood up and started to get dressed, while Dusk just pulled the blankets farther over her head. Her bare toes stuck out at the foot of the bunk. Marie pulled on her long brown skirt over her bloomers; it was the least fancy piece of clothing she had brought.

"You really gonna wear that??" Beaner asked, pointing to Marie's clothes.

Marie looked down, a little hurt. "Yes, I don't have much else that I thought..." She stopped mid-sentance when she realized that Beaner was frantically going through a pile of clothes.

"Here." A pair of pants was tossed into Marie's arms. "Try 'em on." She did. They were a little short, but other than that, surprisingly comfortable.

"Thank you. So, what do you do all day?"

"Sell papes. What else?" Dusk said, finally sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes.

"Carry the Banner," said Quips.

"Do all of you sell newspapers?" Marie asked.

"Us, and all the guys... bein' a newsie really is a fine life," Angel said. "You'll love it." Marie smiled, but was rather unsure about the whole idea. She honestly couldn't see herself selling newspapers. But she would try it out for today; Irish promised to let her follow her around and see how it was done.

"An' look... Marie..." Dusk said. "Dis 'Marie' business ain't gonna get yah very far in life aroun' heah. Yah need a real name."

"Yeah, she's right," Beaner said. "But what are we gonna call you?" Marie was speechless. A nickname? She had no idea.

"I know, I know! I have a perfect one!" Irish called from the washroom.

"What's that?" Dusk asked.

"Marie, quick, show them your book," Irish said.

"My book?" "Yeah, yeah, the one with the pictures in it."

"Okay..." Marie timidly drew the leather book from under the mattress.

Dusk snatched it quickly, and opened it up. "Wow..." The other girls gathered around, looking. "Geez, you're real good..." Marie was embarrassed. She didn't draw to get praise. She drew for her own satisfaction. But, she told herself, a compliment is a compliment.

"Well," Quips said, "so what's this great name?"

"Sketch," Irish said decidedly. She turned to Marie. "What do you think?"

Marie smiled. "I... I like it. I really do."

"Great! Well, Sketch, you'd better get into that washroom before the guys do. Believe me, after them, it ain't a pretty sight!"