She took her place on the corner, the nameless musician. The adults pitied her, for her young age, standing there in her ragged clothes with her dirty flute, straggled hair, and lonely green eyes. The children oogled her, for the pretty sound that came from her dull silver instrument. But this was how she made money, this music-making that she did.

The only song she played was Greensleeves.

Was this how she attracted them so?

Les Jacobs tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for his brother to emerge from the bar. Dave never let him do anything fun. If it were just him and Jack, maybe he could have gone into the bar, but nooo, Dave had to be there and ruin everything.

He sat on the sidewalk and pouted for a moment. Dave could get in trouble for leaving him out here like this, but who was he to tell on his brother? Dave had a lot more dirt on Les than Les had on Dave.

Something wafted on the air, hitting Les's ears with a soft sigh. Said ears pricked, and he listened carefully.

"What's that?" he asked himself, standing and brushing his breeches off. He listened for another moment and placed the song to be 'Greensleeves'. His mother's favorite. He took off down the street, toward the sound.

It was a pretty sound, deep and soothing, yet pained and hungry. It made him think of the newsboys he knew, the ones that went hungry every night to keep their pride alive.

Les peeked around the corner and saw her, the source of the sweet silvery sound.

She couldn't be any older than ten, though her deep green eyes said different. Her hair was matted, long, dark brown, thrown together in a braid that trailed down her back. She was tiny in height and build; it looked as if she hadn't eaten for weeks.

Les was fascinated by her.

He sat down next to her and watched as her fingers flew over the grimy flute she held. She watched him for a moment, the preceded to shut her eyes and ignore him completely until she finished her song. Then she looked at him.

"Whattaya want?" she asked him roughly. Les jumped with surprise.

"I's just listening to yer song. It's really pretty." Les said simply. He smiled at her.

She studied him, her eyes refusing to trust, yet wanting to. "T'anks, I guess." she said.

"Where'd you get that?"

"What?"

"That." Les pointed to the flute in her hands and she shrugged.

"Stole it." she said simply. "Dat's da only way ta get t'ings when yer like me."

Les didn't know how to reply to that. "Wha's yer name?"

She looked at him. "Daddy calls me Picayune. I doan know why. What's yers?"

"Les.?"

She shrugged in response. "Whaddaya doin' all da way out heah, Les?"

Les beamed at her. "Me brothah, Dave, he's a newsie, and he's sellin' right now."

"Den why aintcha wit' him?"

Les scowled. "I ain't allowed in da bars."

Picayune smiled. "I ain't allowed in 'em eithah. Daddy'll whip me if 'e finds me in any of 'em."

"So ya sit out here and play?"

Picayune nodded. "Ain't nuthin' bettah ta do. Plus, I makes money dis way. Fer me n fer Daddy."

"Yer Daddy don't work?"

She shook her head. "No. I dunno what 'e does, but I know dat he likes da fact I makes money too."

Les smiled at her.

Picayune smiled back. "Y'know, Les, ya look like a pixie."

"A pixie? You tryin' to insult me?"

She laughed, and Les was amused because the sound was like the one that came from the dingy flute she played: soft and clear. "No. 'Scute." she pinched his cheek, and her fingers were dirty enough to leave a splotch of black ash and dirt where she touched him. "Yer cute."

Les made a face at her, but was pleased to hear her say so. "Foine. Just don't touch me like dat, Picayune."

"Why not?"

"It's embarrassin'. What if me brothah came along?"

"Does yer brudda know youse visitin' me?"

Les shook his head. "Nah."

"Den how'd he foind ya?" She smiled. "If 'e doan know where ya is?"

Les considered that. "I dunno. Good point." He bit his lip. "I should be getting' back, doh. Dave'll be mad if I go missin'."

Picayune's eyes widened. "Youse leavin' me, Les?"

Les stood. "Yeh. I gotta go back outside the bar befoah Dave comes back and finds me missin'."

She grabbed his hand. "Wait! I wanna…will ya…" she sighed heavily and dropped his hand. "Nevah moind."

Les blinked at her for a moment, then leaned over and left a light kiss on her chapped mouth. She stared at him when he stood up. Both children had bright red faces.

"Why'd ya do dat?" she asked quietly.

"T'ot I should. You…Y'look like you're lonely."

She stared at him again, then lifted the flute to her mouth. "Any requests?"

Les smiled. "D'ya know this one? My mother sings it to me when I sleep…" He flushed slightly, then started to sing. "Santa Fe, are you there? Do you swear you won't forget me…"

She sat in her place on the corner, Picayune Canon, daughter of one of the rowdiest drunk-thieves in New York. The adults pitied her, for her forgetful, abusive father. The children oogled her, for the pretty sound that came from her dull silver instrument. But one child had stolen her heart with his bright eyes and pixie smile.

The only song she played was Santa Fe.

This was how she attracted him so.

***AUTHOR'S NOTE***

I had a few other plans for this, but that would've made it much longer than I wanted it. So yeah, it's kinda weird. Definitely not my best work. But I like Picayune. I picked her name from my vocab words list. ^^;; Picayune means trivial and unimportant. **sniffle** But I liked how it sounded, so I made it her name. Eheheheh…^^;;

OH MY GOD. I ACTUALLY WROTE A NEWSIES HET!

**dies**

Ah well. It was bound to happen eventually.

OH MY GOD. I WROTE A NEWSIES FIC WITHOUT SNITCH!

**dies**

**stays dead**

I can't believe I did that…my original plans involved him, but I scrapped it, 'cause it was too long. ^^;;

Ah well. I'm gonna go work on Behind the Mirror now to make up for that. ^^;;; Chow!