"My mama always used to tell me stories about Daddy." Mush began, his eyes dreamy. "She told me about him sailing overseas to France and Germany, about him fighting for the North in the war, about him starting a textile mill and making lots of money… of course, I never saw any of this money, but then again, I never saw my dad either." He sighed heavily. "Mama said he was white, which is why my skin is this color." A smile graced him. "'I don't understand why them whites don't like us, if what you get from combining Negro and White is Gold,' Mama always said. Even though I look like I'm Spanish, like Bumlets, Mama always called me a Negro. 'If the mama be Negro, then the child be Negro,' she'd say. 'So, Bili Meyers, you be Negro.'

"So your real name's Billy?" Snitch asked innocently, like always.

Mush laughed. "No. It's Kabili. African for 'Possession'. But Mama always called me Bili."

"'Bili'." Snitch tried the name out. "I get it. I like it."

"But she gave me my father's last name: Meyers. 'Cause I'm his child. 'You wouldn't be here without him,' Mama'd tell me."

"Ain't that the truth?" Jack sniggered. Davey smacked his chest to shut him up.

"So that's why I'm excited." Mush looked at the paper in his lap, his entire face shining with happiness. "This is my father: Allan Meyers. The guy that's running for mayor. That's my dad's name, and look!" He pointed at the grinning man in the picture. "That's my smile!"

No one could disagree with that.

Mush hesitated before knocking on the large wooden door. He heard mutterings, then an aging woman with enough wrinkles to mistake her face for an un-ironed blanket opened the door. "Can I help you?" She asked, an Irish accent making her ragged voice more musical.

"I'm looking for Mr. Meyers?" Mush said, removing his hat. "I… I'm his son."

The old woman frowned. "Mr. Meyers has no children. He has no wife."

"But… he's my father! I know he is!"

"And how do you know?"

"He has my smile!" And Mush grinned for her to compare.

The old woman raised her eyebrows, or rather, what was left of them. "You do have a point… who is your mother?"

"Clotee Breaux."

"And your name?"

"Kabili Meyers, but Mama called me Bili."

"Come in then, Bili. I'll fetch Mr. Meyers." She stood out of the way, and Mush cautiously entered, his eyes trying to take in everything, but there was simply too much: a large mirror on his right side, decorated with gold angels; aging family portraits on his left, each of them with the same smile Mush wore daily; before him was a grand staircase with gold banisters and lush red carpet… never before had Mush seen such splendor.

"I am Miss Kelly. Stay here while I get Mr. Meyers."

Mush nodded, still staring at the perfect wooden ceiling. Miss Kelly couldn't help but smile as she slowly but surely climbed the elaborate staircase to Mr. Meyers's office.

Fifteen minutes later, Mush was in the sitting room, resting in the softest chair he'd ever felt. Sitting across from him was Allan Meyers, the most likely candidate for mayor in the upcoming election.

There was tense silence between them as Miss Kelly poured tea for Mr. Meyers and hot milk for Mush, who had made a point to mention he hated tea. Once Miss Kelly bustled away, Mr. Meyers sipped his tea and stared at Mush.

"So you're Clotee's son?" he said finally. Mush beamed and nodded. "How is she?"

Mush's smile faded. "She died five years ago… typhoid… that's why I'm a newsie; got no where else to go." That beautiful smile returned again. "But now I do. I can live with you, and I'll finally have enough to eat, and good clothes to wear, and never have to worry about making enough money to stay another night at the Lodging House."

Mr. Meyers shook his head. "No, you can't stay here."

The disappointment in Mush's face was heartbreaking. "Why not?"

"Because you never happened."

"But… I'm right here in front of you! How can you say that?"

Mr. Meyers stood up and walked to the large fireplace, resting his forehead on the stone mantle. "I met Clotee when passing through Harlem on my way to visit my sister. She was beautiful, with that curly black hair, and slim but firm body… I wanted her. So I had her." He turned and glared at Mush. "When she contacted me later about her coming child, I ignored the letters. She was one of seven nigger-bitches that I've had and thrown away. You're the only thing to ever come of them."

Mush's jaw dropped in pained shock. "But… Mama always said…"

"Yeah, those nigger-bitches like to talk, don't they?"

"Stop calling my Mama that!" Mush cried suddenly, pressing his hands over his ears. "That's not what she is!"

Mr. Meyers grabbed Mush's hands and forced them down as he studied Mush intently.

"Yes…" he said after a while. "You are my son."

Mush blinked at him, confused.

"But your blood is tainted. Nigger-blood. I can't have that crawling around me, not so close to election time."

"But… I…" Mush began. Mr. Meyers put a strong, pale hand over his mouth.

"You'll understand when you're older."

Mush stood up and threw Mr. Meyers's hand off his face. "I'll understand how my father can't want me? Because I'm half Negro?" His eyes went hard. "I can't understand that. If I'm fifteen, twenty-five, or a hundred and five, I can't understand that." He replaced his hat on his head, and, with a curt 'good-day', he left the house.

Bryan Denton opened his apartment door and was surprised to find a very upset Mush standing in his doorway.

"Mush? What's wrong?" he asked, very confused.

"If I have dirt on a certain esteemed politician, will you be able to make an article of it?"

Denton raised an eyebrow. "Depends on the story."

Mush entered the apartment and shut the door behind him. "I just got back from a personal visit with Mr. Allan Meyers…"

When Denton's story ran the next morning in the Sun, Mush couldn't help but smile brightly all day.

Other papers soon devoured this story, and elaborated on it. Mush was eventually yelling headlines about himself.

One afternoon, perhaps a week after their first meeting, Mr. Meyers approached Mush on the street.

"You nigger-brat!" The once-respectable man accused. "Why did you do this to me?"

Mush glanced at him carelessly. "Power of the press, Mr. Meyers. Newsies understand that better than anyone. That's why no one messes with us anymore." The mulatto boy tipped his hat. "Now, if you will, I have papers to sell. So long, Mr. Meyers."

And Bili Meyers skipped down the street, whistling a bouncy tune to himself, and leaving his overrated father alone on the dusty street.

***AUTHOR'S NOTE***

Nothing to say

Gonna go watch newsies now, 'cause I'm feeling deprived! XD

Chow!