Jacob ran from the kitchen. He ran to the closet he called a bedroom, and pulled out the, fully packed, battered suitcase that was under his mattress. He had been planning on running for weeks now, but this was the final straw. Red hot tears poured down his cheeks as he pulled the pouch full of coins out from his pocket. Jacob squeezed the small bag so hard, his knuckles turned white. He was trying his hardest to squeeze out the emotions swimming in his head. Sadness, anger, grief, pain. He could hear his father yelling for him, saying he would beat him senseless. He thought of his mother, lying on the floor in a dead heap. If he stayed there any longer, he would be lying there next to her. No, he wouldn't stay another minute. Picking up the suitcase and putting the pouch back in his pocket, he ran to the fire escape.

His heart was pounding. Jacob could hear the clang of his father's running footsteps on the metal fire escape staircase. He ran faster. Jacob jumped off the second floor balcony and landed in the alleyway. His father caught up to him, and grabbed his shoulder. Jacob whipped around, and hit him in the stomach with his suitcase. Winded, his father let go. Jacob seized the opportunity. Sprinting through the streets of New York, he didn't dare to look back. Left... Right... Left... Left... Right... Left... Right. Sometimes, he would turn around and go in the opposite direction. He didn't care. When he thought he was far enough, Jacob sat down, his back against a wall. He opened his suitcase, and pulled out a navy blue cap. His mother thought it looked great with his dark eyes and hair. His father thought he looked like the ugliest thing in Manhattan. Jacob put the cap on, making sure it covered most of his face. Then he cried. The hot tears came down in buckets, but he didn't wipe them away. It felt good to cry, in the most horrible way.

"Hey, kid!" A voice said, "You'se is gonna flood Manhattan!"

"You okay?" Said someone else. Jacob looked up to see two boys, both about the same age, a year or two older than him. One of them had a crutch.

"I'm fine," he said, wiping the tears away.

"I'm Jack, Jack Kelly" the first boy said. He motioned to the boy with the crutch. "This is Crutchie."

"Hi!" Crutchie said brightly.

"Jacob," he said. He looked at Crutchie. "Ain't tryin' to be rude, but is it just a coincidence that you'se is called Crutchie or..." Crutchie laughed.

"It's a long story." He said.

"So, Jacob," Jack said, "Who ya' running from?"

"Who said I was running?" Jacob said defensively.

"You gotta suitcase, you'se is by yourself, and you was crying. It's written in capital letters."

"My father," Jacob said quietly. "He just beat the living hell out of my mother, and now, he's coming for me." Jacob fought back the tears. He had cried enough.

"Got anywhere to stay?" Jack asked. Jacob shook his head. "Come back with us. We got plenty a-room." Jacob took Jack's outstretched hand, and stood up. They walked five blocks up to a run down building. The peeling letters read THE NEWS' BOY HOUSING. Jacob looked at the two on disbelief.

"Welcome home," Crutchie said.