Disclaimer: Don't own the newsies. Do own Shad, Skam and their family. Don't own the song 'Welcome to Paradise' by Green Day. The song has been edited lightly for story purposes.

Welcome to Paradise

Don't own the newsies. Do own Shad, Skam and their family. Don't own the song 'Welcome to Paradise' by Green Day. The song has been edited lightly for story purposes.

Rain is thrumming on my head, a beat like a drum. I wonder briefly what my family is up to, how my little brothers are doing, what grades Casey's receiving at St. Salome's.

There's a flicker of a moment where I consider returning to St. Salome's. It hadn't been that bad. At least there was food. And warmth. And friends to talk to.

And my brother.

I look around at the gray, empty New York streets. Lights are on in the buildings around me, and even the other street kids, who are usually playing stickball or football at this time of day, are hiding in their boxes and their boarding houses.

I have nothing. Nothing but the clothes on my back and the heart in my chest. I left everything else with Casey.

I'm so alone. My God, have even You abandoned me?

I've been in the rain for so long that I don't even feel it weeping on the back of my neck anymore. I'm counting the cracks in the sidewalk, the cobblestones in the street, and wondering when the rain is going to stop so I can lie down and sleep in a doorway without fear of drowning.

I'm a homeless boy. Because I refused to stay at the warm school where they smacked my knuckles with a ruler when I didn't do my work right. I glance at the back of my hands, remembering this, and can almost see the red welts, although it's been three weeks since ruler met skin on these hands.

I clench my fists. I refuse to go back. Refuse. Schooling isn't what I'm meant for; that's Casey's domain. Let him be a reporter or a dentist or a politician. Let him bring pride to the family.

I'm happy here. No one tells me what to do or where to go. This is my paradise.

I'm reaching a darker part of Manhattan now. Two boys lay curled in each other's arms in an alleyway. I pause to wonder if they're dead, but decide it's not my problem. They look like boy-kissers anyway, and does the world really need any more of those?

A gunshot and the sound of shattering glass makes me jump, but I don't turn around. Again, not my problem. I'll deal with it if it becomes my problem.

Am I really thinking things like this? Am I this jaded after only three weeks of being alone, homeless and hungry?

I pass an apartment house and laughter rings out against my ears. I feel hollow inside, and want my brother more than ever. I remember when we were little boys, the only children in the house, before Kyle and Joe came along. I was always the one afraid of the dark, of the monster under the bed, of the bogeyman in the closet, but Casey, Forever-Rational Casey, would always hold me and stop my tears, saying "It's okay, Corey, there's no such thing as monsters."

He lied.

There are such things as monsters.

I live in their world.

And I like it.

I keep walking aimlessly, and I hear a voice hit me like a slap.

"Hey, kid! Whatcha doin out there in the rain?" The voice has a heavy New York accent. "Tryin' to get yourself sick?" He laughs, and that sound holds both wisdom and a child's mockery. "It ain't gonna work. No matter what your mother told you, bein' out in the rain won't make ya sick."

I turn around to look at him, briefly catching my reflection in a dirty window; Are my eyes really that hollowed? I ask myself, Am I that thin? That pale?

"Woah!" The boy says, dropping his cigar when his dark, Italian eyes catch sight of my face. "What happened to youse?"

"I've been on the streets for three weeks." I tell him, and the croaking sound emitting from my throat surprise me. I realize I haven't spoken to anyone in a long time, but it's not like I ever did speak too often anyhow; Casey was always the one to talk and tell stories while I sat in the background, smiling and nodding.

"I can see." He says, standing up and moving towards me. "What's your name, kid?"

"Corey. Corey Ehrler."

He studies me; my dark blonde hair, pale green eyes, crooked teeth and thin body. I blush and start to fidget under that intense gaze.

"I's seen you around town recently. You're the kid that scammed Big Larry out of that slab of meat." A smirk creeps onto his face, and his eyes flicker with amusement. "My name's Anthony, but there ain't nobody that calls me that no more. The boys call me Racetrack. Or Race for short." He holds out his hand and I take it, surprised at its strength. "You got a place to stay, Scammer?"

I blink at him, then shake my head.

"How much money you got?"

"Not enough."

He stares at me for another moment, then nods. "All right. Someone'll pay for your first night, and if they don't, I'll do it. Pretty sure Snitch or Itey'll pay for ya though; they've had pennies under their fingernails for weeks."

I raise my eyebrows as he leads me into the old wooden building that smells of dust outside and teenage boys inside; that scent of sweat, dirt and musk expertly mixed together.

He tells me to put my name on the sign-in sheet, and if I don't know how to write, just make an 'X' symbol. I do know how to write my name, though, so I sign it while Race calls into the front room for someone to loan some cash to 'Scam'. I guess that's me now.

There are groans from the other room, and Race tells everyone to shut up and hand over the cash, insisting I'll have my own money tomorrow night. I peek into the room in time to see a tall boy with large teeth reluctantly hand three pennies to Race, who promptly puts them in a wooden box on the front desk. "This is where Kloppman'll get your money every night. Youse gotta sign in by nine o'clock or there's no guarantee you'll get a bed that night. And if you don't get a bed, there's no guarantee anyone'll share either." He gestures to the front room. "We're newsies; we sell newspapers to people every morning and every evening. Two papes for a penny at the Distribution Center, then you sell 'em for a penny each to the people you meet on the street." He pauses. "Maybe we can convince someone else to loan ya a bit more cash for your papes tomorrow, but we'll see." He points up the stairs. "Up there's the bunkroom and the washroom; they's connected. I recommend you get your ass up to the bunkroom now so you can claim a bed before these boneheads-" he gestures to the front room again, "-go up there and take 'em all."

I stare at him for a few moments, waiting for more. "That's all?" I ask, finally.

He shrugs. "Yeah. That's all." He smirks. "Welcome to paradise, Scam."

---

To: Casey Ehrler

St. Salome's School for the Gifted

Albany, New York

From: Corey Ehrler

Manhattan Newsboy's Lodging House

Manhattan, New York

I've spent six months at the Manhattan Lodging House now, Case, and I couldn't be happier here. I've met so many great guys and I love the freedom I have to go and do whatever I please.

I'm writing to let you know where I am and how I'm doing, so you don't get worried. You always used to get worried about me.

Well, I can take care of myself now, Case. And if I can't, I have a huge family now that will take care of me.

You might be wondering why I've chosen the poverty of the Lodging House over the warm luxury of St. Salome's. Well, I'm wondering how you can choose that prison over this glorious freedom that I cherish so greatly. How, Casey? How can you do it?

This can also be an invitation for you to come join me here if you ever feel the need. My friends all know what you look like (haha) and would be happy to help 'Scam's' twin brother. This is paradise, Case. A corrupted paradise, yes, but paradise all the same..

I've gotta go now, Case. It's almost evening selling time, and Swifty and Snitch are getting impatient; the three of us are a scam-trio, swindling people on the streets for extra money. I know you're rolling your eyes at me right now, so stop it. The more people we scam, the more money we have and the more money we have the easier it is to live. So we get money any way we can.

Swifty just threw a rock at my head, so I'm going to sign off now.

Love you.

Corey 'Scam' Ehrler

paradise

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Gaah!

I hope my boys never see this. They'd shoot me. Especially Corey for making it sound like he loves his brother (HE DOESN'T, not even in a brotherly way).

But the characters, you can think what you like. ;; I'm not going to say anything about the characters. XD

Okay, I'm out. Chow guys.