He looks smart, doesn't he? It's the glasses. Those big glasses that surround his beautiful chocolate eyes. He has that smile, too, a half-smirk that makes you think he knows things. Things that he can see because of his magic glasses, because he somehow has powers that allow him to break the realm of reality and travel to places previously unexplored. He likes it when people think he's intelligent. He likes feeling superior.

Specs can't even read. Once, when he was being real cocky as we sold our papes, I shoved one under his nose and demanded that he read it. He glared at me, with that insolent frown, and replied with a curt, "No."

"Read it!" I insisted, shaking the pape and waving it directly in front of his face.

"Get lost!" Specs snarled, the sunlight flashing against his glasses as he snatched the paper, and in a fluid motion, hit me with it.

"You scab," I laughed, finally relenting. He grinned and hit me with the pape again. I carefully dropped the papes I was selling and rolled one up. We began to duel, frightening off potential customers as we forgot everyone around us, lost in our own world.

When I'm with him, reality slips away. When Specs speaks, he makes it easy to forget where I am or how I got there. He never talks of anything pertinent to usual conversations. I think it's because his derby hat is on too tight. I hate that stupid hat. It makes Specs look like a wanna-be Jack or something. Specs doesn't need to be Cowboy- he's enough of a character on his own.

If Specs had been smarter, this would have never happened. Heck, if he'd been half as bright as he makes himself out to be, we would be three hundred times better off. But the fact is, we can't go back on time, and even if I could, I don't think I would want to. Because every second that we spend together, every breath I take with him beside me, makes me feel right inside. No one else can do that to me. No one.

He can be so stupid. So incredibly, thoughtlessly, horribly stupid that it makes me want to soak him. Despite the fact that he is my friend, I can say with all honesty that he is a regular blockhead. He can't read, he can't write, and sometimes he can't even think. That's Specs for you. All hot air and nowhere for it to blow.

So why didn't I force him to run with me? Why, when Jack began to make violent overtures, did I turn on my heels and simply run back to the Lodging House? Specs has been my selling partner since my first day as a newsie. I was there when Itey knocked out my bespecked friend's front teeth, and the day he sprained his arm. He was there for me the day Annie left me, and went with me to return the engagement ring I'd bought.

That day will stick in my mind forever. Annie was a dream, all brown hair, warm green eyes, with a liquid giggle and soft, soft hands. We never went all the way, but you know, it was because she said she wasn't ready. That was okay with me. I had been willing to wait forever for my Annie.

She was different than the other girls I've been with. She worked at a factory, but she was always smiling. It kills me to see Blink. Blink is always laughing, always grinning. He makes me think of Annie. And that hurts.

Annie and I were going to get married. We used to talk about it, about finding a priest and paying him to marry us. I was going to get a job, one not involving The World, and she was going to quit hers to take care of our house. Of course, neither of us could afford a house, but it was just a dream that we had. A dream that she crushed. A dream that she mutilated before my very eyes.

Things had been going so well. Her resentment of me that Wednesday, the annoyance in her eyes when I broke our kiss worried me. She then proceeded to verbally rip me apart. I've never been a positive person- most people tell me how annoyingly pessimistic I am. But I never saw her fit coming, not once.

She bit into me. Using her tongue she sliced away my dreams, making me bleed inside. Annie told me that I would never amount to anything, that her father hated me and that I didn't make enough money. That I wasn't serious, serious about us, and that she couldn't stand it. All I did was make her hope and hope, and then let her down. I was always late. I was always embarrassing her, and she was sick of it. She was sick of the sight of me and wanted nothing more to do with me. Then she turned on her heel and stomped away, away down the street and out of my life forever, her tan skirt flouncing.

My hands were shaking, I remember. The engagement ring that I had bought for her, the ring that had cost me over a dollar and nearly all my money, dropped from my hand into a puddle of dirty water left from last night's rain. Specs rounded the corner then, and saw me, my face pale, staring hopelessly after where the love of my life had turned her back and walked away.

"Skitts," He'd said gently, his voice softer than usual. He had smiled at me, real kindly, without any sarcasm. He remembered not to touch me- I hate being touched when I'm upset. He bent down and scooped up the ring from where it sparkled in the puddle, cupping it in his hands.

I didn't reply. I continued to stare blankly ahead.

"Let's go sell this back," Specs had suggested softly. Carefully, tentatively, he took my elbow and led me away. My steps that night had been shaky, my voice unsure. I had gotten every cent of my money back, mostly because Specs put up a fight. He led me back to the Lodging House, his glare enough to keep the boys from asking how my date with Annie had gone. He forced me to bounce back the next day, informing me he didn't want a "selling partner whose moping scared away customers." Thank God for Specs, or I would never have forced myself to sell another pape.

So why this? Why now, when things were going so smoothly? Specs and I never head back to the Lodging House once we've sold all our papes. We bum around, sometimes heading to Irving Hall if we've got enough money. But last week, Specs had other things on his mind.

He talked me into walking with him to the Hall, same as ever. So when he halted and shoved me into an alley, looking around wildly, I was unprepared. Wondering what game he was trying to play, I laughed and nervously dodged away from him.

Calculatingly, he grabbed my pink undershirt from beneath my collared one and pinned me against the wall, using his legs to keep me there. I didn't resist- I had no idea what was happening. I remember that there was dried blood on the ground a short distance away, and that I wondered how it had gotten there.

The next thing I knew, Specs was trailing whispers with his lips down my cheek, up my jawline, finally settling on my mouth. He pulled a fraction of an inch away, looking into my startled eyes with his own, the moonlight catching in his glasses.

"Hey," He said softly, breathing heavily.

"Hey," I replied, bewildered.

"You okay?" He asked me, concerned, his warm brown eyes searching mine for something.

"Yeah," I half-smiled, then pressed my face forward to catch his lips with his own.

I never thought I would be a boy-kisser. Heck, even if in my wildest dreams I imagined I would be one, I never thought it would be with Specs. But he makes me feel...different. Like I can be a better person. And his kisses...they make me weak in the knees, even if I like to consider myself strong.

So I can wait. I can wait for Specs during the two months he'll be spending in the Refuge. There was a riot, a small riot incited by Jack between our gang of newsies and a gang from Coney Island. Specs and Snoddy were arrested, but the rest of us got away with a few black eyes.

Someone broke Specs' glasses during the fight. I wish I could find out who did it, so I could soak them. Glasses are not cheap, and Specs is nearly blind without them. I hated seeing him taken away, his eyes squinting against the unfamiliar sun, small slits of brown peering at the world. He looks different. Not as smart, you know? He looks like someone else.

I grabbed his glasses from where they were, sitting crushed and trampled on the ground. Maybe I can get them fixed. But for now, I need to wait. Selling without my partner is a bit lonely. I think today I might catch a ride on a carriage with Racetrack, and head to Sheepshead. I need to talk with someone while I sell. Sometimes I can almost see Specs sitting beside me, flipping through the paper to look at the pictures and fabricate headlines.

I miss his kisses, feather-light and almost a tickle. I miss the way his lips curve when he smiles, and the way he'll glance sideways at me when he thinks no one else is looking. I especially miss the way he can take me away from reality, away from the grubby streets of New York. No one else can replace Specs.

I just hope Specs doesn't think Snoddy can replace me.

That's unfair. Specs doesn't flirt with any of the other boys- our relationship is quiet, real secret. I don't know what the rest of them would do if they found out we liked one another the way we should like girls.

Dutchy and Racetrack aren't at the Lodging House yet, and it's getting late. I can tell some of the other boys are worried about where they are. I sit on my bed, ignoring Bumlets as he violently describes to me exactly what he would like to do to Oscar Delancey. Dutchy bursts through the door, grinning and flushed. A triumphant Specs follows him, Snoddy tripping after. Racetrack brings up the rear.

"Specs!" We're laughing, the entire House is laughing, boys flooding towards our newly escaped friends. Racetrack is shouting to whoever will listen about the brilliance of their escape plan, but I'm not listening to him. All I can concentrate on is Specs, my Specs, looking slightly off without his glasses but still wonderful. He stumbles towards me- I can tell he's trying to pretend his vision is fine. I find him and clap him warmly on the back. We hug for perhaps a moment longer than necessary, but no one notices.

For once, I am content to remain in the present. Specs makes me happy simply by existing. I don't mind the fact that I'm hungry, or that I haven't bathed for a week. I am perfectly happy just standing by his elbow as throngs of people force him to recount his escape. As he speaks, he silently gropes for my hand and I step closer. We are pressed against the wall so no one can see our clasped hands. There are welts across the flesh of his palm, left from a rope burn, but neither of us care. All that we can focus on is the proximity of our bodies and keeping our hands hidden from the others.

Somewhere in the back of the crowd, Dutchy gives me a knowing look and winks at Snoddy. I catch the expression, startled, and realize that they are holding hands as well.