Ryacell raced through the awakening French city of Fauxé Civetatum, hoping to receive his paper load in time. It was the roaring times of the century, the year 1921, and everyone was still trying to recover. Apartments and other brick building complexes were pressed up against each other. A hill overlooked the borough in the distance topped with a white chapel, surrounded with trees, naked from winter. A couple of tin lizzies trailed behind horse carriages through the streets as Ryacell passed by several opening stores.

The little boy finally arrived at the paper station. Some newsies were still getting their stacks, riding off into different directions. His friend stood in front with an extra load beside him, his head standing out like a shredded carrot against paper.

Ryacell called out to him, “Benny!” His bike screeched as he braked. “Whatchu doin’ here? You’ll be late too!”

The young freckled ginger ruffled Ryacell’s hair. “Ah, don’t worry about me, fella! No one messes with mah corner.” He handed the stack to Ryacell. “You can pay me back with lunch someday.” His elf-like features complemented his contagious, dimpled grin.

Ryacell sighed, “Thank you so much! See me when ya’ done sellin’. I have to tell ya’ what happened this morning!” He smiled purely, blushing at the thought of Saphire.

“Ooo,” Benny nudged him with a wink, “sure thing!”

The two boys parted on their bikes as the sun greeted the month of February.

When Ryacell made his way to his usual distribution corner, he saw some people waiting at nearby cafés. There was another newsie nearby, but not close enough to be in Ryacell’s way. He set up his newspaper stacks, and patient buyers gathered around him. Many of the customers were regulars who favored Ryacell’s company.

An old couple came up to him and bought a copy. The granny hugged him, “Ryacell! We were worried you weren’t going to come! Did something happen? Are you getting enough sleep? Here, have a bagel.” She handed him a little bag.

Ryacell shook his head, “Oh Mrs. Fournier, it’s all jake. I ate plenty actually.” He gently refused the bagel, but the granny insisted.

“Take it anyway. You need to eat more at your age if you wanna grow up big and strong!” she patted his head.

The old husband asked Ryacell while adjusting his oversized glasses, “Err, how old are you now, Ryacell?”

“Thirteen, sir,” Ryacell replied while handing out another newspaper, “and goin’ to be fourteen in June.”

The old man simply nodded, but Ryacell was well aware of his short appearance. Mrs. Fournier smiled, “More reason to get more sleep! Now take care, dear!”

“Thank you!” Ryacell called out as they left and yawned. He focused so much on the old couple that he didn’t even notice the group of schoolgirls behind him.

“Good morning Ryacell!” one of the young girls greeted him enthusiastically which made Ryacell jump a little. The girls giggled.

“Ah,” Ryacell looked at each girl and didn’t remember any of their names, but he recognized their faces, “good morning.” He smiled bashfully, handing out a newspaper. “Here ya’ go. That’ll be a franc.”

“Thank you,” the girl with short black hair gave him four francs.

Ryacell waited for her to take back the extra coins, causing a strange pause between them.

“Uhh,” Ryacell held out the extra coins, “here’s your change.”

“You can keep it,” the girl folded her hands behind her back, swinging her shoulders nervously. “Are you free anytime this week?”

“I...don’t know...I’m pretty busy,” he chuckled nervously. Saphire was the only girl on his mind.

Before the girl could reply, a boy shouted from the other side of the street, “Hey punk! Stop hoggin’ all the buyers! I was here first! Go find anothah street!”

Ryacell called back, “Uh, actually, this is my usual spot!”

“So what?” the newsie crossed over to Ryacell. “You was late!”

“Well,” Ryacell started packing up, but his grip was oddly off, “I guess I was —”

The girl stepped forward. “He was barely late!”

The scrawny newsie grunted, “So ya’ making all these skirts defend you, huh?”

Ryacell avoided eye contact and held his palms out. At this point, he was too tired to process anything. “No, I swear —”

“Lookin’ for a scuffle now?” the newsie kept his arms stretched out as if taunting Ryacell with his declaration of questionable dominance.

A crowd began to form around them. The schoolgirls whispered to each other, not knowing what to do. Ryacell’s heart pounded harder than usual, and his breath grew heavy.

The girl crossed her arms. “Ryacell can beat you anytime!”

A sharp pain struck the back of Ryacell’s head. He backed up. “I really don’t wanna—”

The newsie threw a punch that Ryacell barely evaded. His head felt like it was floating.

“Runnin’ away?!” the newsie mocked.

His vision blurred.

Bam!

The newsie landed a punch at Ryacell’s face. “You a lil’ pansy or somethin’? Get up!”

Ryacell hunched over with his left hand on a rail, gasping for air. He held his other hand out, motioning the newsie to leave.

“Bushwa!” the newsie shouted and went in for another punch, but Ryacell collapsed.

Although the sounds muffled into each other, Ryacell still listened.

“Back off!”

“He ain’t done with me yet!”

“What are you doing here?!”

“Shoot! I’m outta here!”

“You all ought to be at school.”

...

“Must have been too much for you.”