Author's Note: I'm really off my rocker this time. Welcome to my rip-off of "West Side Story", a fantastic musical that I have just re-discovered in our store of movies. (However, you don't have to have seen the movie or play in order to understand the fic.) Alas, there will be no singing and dancing in this version, and I apologize for the inconvenience. I would also like to say that I have taken all of the newsies with dark hair -- that is to say Bumlets, Racetrack, and Itey -- and lumped them into the Puerto Rican gang. I sincerely hope that this doesn't offend anyone in any way.

Disclaimer: The newsies belong to Disney, any song lyrics belong to their respective bands/artists, and just about everything else belongs to the movie "West Side Story". I own Paul Shanley, West, Mouse, Rims, and Tempest, though, but I don't think they're going to be in this chapter.

.ooo.

East Side Story -Chapter I.

.ooo.

Could be...
Who knows?
There's something due any day,
I will know right away,
Soon as it shows...
It may come cannon-balling down through the sky,
Gleam in its eye,
Bright as a rose!
Who knows?
It's only just out of reach,
Down the block, on a beach,
Under a tree...
I got a feeling there's a miracle due,
Gonna come true,
Coming to me!

- "Something's Coming", West Side Story

.ooo.

"All right, we've got an order here for three burgers, four chicken Caesar salads, and two shakes -- kind of a lot for a couple of two, but whatever..." Mush Meyers looked up at his friend and raised an eyebrow. "What's up with you?"

Kid Blink took the slip of paper and pinned it to the wall, grinning. "What do you mean?"

"You haven't stopped smiling since we got here, and that was two and a half hours ago. C'mon, Blink, even you aren't usually this happy."

Blink laughed. "I dunno..." he said vaguely, and he bent down to get the bowls for the salads. "I guess I've just got a feeling."

"A feeling?" Must repeated, leaning in over the counter to see his friend. "What kind of feeling?"

"...A good one, I guess."

"MEYERS! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? THERE ARE CUSTOMERS OUT THERE, DAMMIT!!"

"Sorry, Mr. Shanley, won't happen again!" Must yelped, but he turned back to Blink, who was now beginning the salads. "A good feeling about what?"

"You won't dig it."

"Aw c'mon, Blink, tell me!"

Blink stared at the Romaine lettuce he had just arranged in the first bowl, a smile still lingered on his face. "Like..." He licked his lips and looked up at Mush. "Like something's about to happen. Something big, something really good." He grinned and shook his head. "I dunno, maybe I'm just off my rocker."

Mush grinned back and punched his friend playfully in the shoulder. "Just don't--"

"MEYERS, IF YOU'RE NOT OUT THERE IN TEN SECONDS--"

"I'm going, I'm going!" Mush winked at Kid Blink. "Well I gotta go. Go with this feeling, though, all right? It could be something good."

"Yeah..." Blink watched his friend walk off before turning back to the salads. He really wasn't qualified for this job; he had no idea why they had let him in. But then again, he reasoned as he reached for the knife, it wasn't like he was working at some high-quality restaurant or anything. Paul Shanley's bar was pretty crummy, but it paid enough for Blink to scrape by. In the meantime he would work on his writing, and maybe one day he would make it big. He felt the smile on his face broaden as he pictured it: Isaac Parker, best-selling author, comes out with another incredibly successful novel--

"PARKER, NOT YOU, TOO! GET TO WORK!"

Blink jumped, jerked rather unpleasantly out of his reverie. He returned to the salads, unable to shake the mysterious feeling of excitement pulsing through his entire body. It was the kind of excitement you could hold in your hand, the kind you could taste on your tongue, and it was distracting Blink so much, he almost forgot to dress the salads.

Mush returned, smiling good-naturedly, and pushed another slip of paper onto the counter. "A glass of water and a small salad without dressing."

"A girl by herself, eh?"

"She's tiny. Wouldn't be able to eat an entire slice of pizza if I paid her," Mush chuckled, and he leaned back against the counter. "It'll be great to see the rest of the Jets tonight. Man, how long has it been? A week? You'd think we'd put in more of an effort to see each other..."

"Eh, we're guys. Being antisocial is our specialty." Blink put the finished salads on the counter and yelled over his shoulder, "Hey, Jackson! I need three cheeseburgers, medium-rare, all right?"

"Yeah, sure!" came the reply from the grill.

"And no buns," added Mush as he examined a mysterious bruise on his hand. "Now where did this come from?"

"No buns, we've got Atkins fanatics here!" Blink called, grinning. "I've never had a cheeseburger without about a bun, have you? It looks pretty nasty, like a turd covered in melted cheese or something..."

"I wouldn't know; I've never needed Atkins," said Mush, and he flexed his stomach muscles. Blink laughed. "These salads done?"

"Yeah."

"MEYERS! IF I CATCH YOU SLACKING OFF ONE MORE TIME, YOU'RE GONNA NEED A NEW HAIRCUT!"

Mush whimpered, ran a hand through his perfect hair, and hurried away with the salads.

Blink wiped his hands on his pants and glanced up at the clock. Six thirty. His shift ended at eight o'clock, but the customers pretty much stopped ordering food by 7:30. Mush used this extra time to check out the blonde girls in skimpy tops who showed up with their boyfriends. Blink used the time to work on his writing.

But 7:30 came and went, and for once Kid Blink Parker found himself unable to focus on his stories. He was reduced to leaning against the counter, blankly watching the customers come and go and waiting for the inexplicable excitement to die down. "I've lost my mind," he said to himself, smiling.

"Well the fact that you're talking to yourself doesn't exactly contradict that statement," said Mush sagely, taking out a cigarette.

Blink rubbed his eye. "Do you believe in fate?"

"Now don't go getting all philosophical on me, Blink. The guy in the book I'm reading said the exact same thing before dropping dead of a heart attack, and I must say I'll miss you. You haven't been eating too much red meat, right? I've heard that's one of the major causes of clogged arteries. Wait -- aren't you a vegetarian? No, never mind, that's my sister..."

"'Cause, I mean, I have to be getting this feeling for a reason, right?" Blink continued, not hearing a word Mush was saying. "I'm not getting all excited over nothing, right?"

Mush lit his cigarette and offered it to Blink, who shook his head. Shrugging, he said, "Maybe you should just stop thinking about it and wait. I mean, maybe you're making it out to be something bigger than it is, y'know? Maybe your dog just had puppies or something."

"Yeah, maybe." He stopped. "My dog's a guy, man."

"What time is it?" Mush asked, leaning in over the counter. "7:56. SHWEET!!" He did a little victory dance right then and there in the store. "I'm off in four minutes, I'm off in four minutes!"

"MEYERS! THAT IS DISTURBING AND UNNECESSARY!"

"Sorry, sir! Won't happen again!!"

.ooo.

The Conlons were quite possibly the best-looking, most popular, most wealthy family in the Upper East Side. Gabriel Conlon was 19, dashing and charming, with a wide, white smile that sent girls into hysterics. He went by the name of Spot and was friendly with just about everyone in Manhattan, including the fairly large police force.

What most people didn't realize was that Spot was second-in-command for the New York gang known as the Jets, and he had been in more knife fights than you could count on your fingers and toes together. It came as quite a shock to most of the girls who liked to flirt with him at the bar -- but then again, it was also a bit of a turn-on. The rest of the Jets liked to call him "ole money bags" because he was the only member of the gang who didn't live in a tenement, but you would never be able to tell just by looking at him.

The leader of the gang was Jack Kelly, Spot's best friend since before anyone could remember. He was an odd fellow with an inexplicable lusting for the city of Santa Fe, New Mexico, but he was the best leader any of them could think of so he stayed at the top.

The Jets would meet on the public basketball court every Friday night and wreak havoc on the city of New York. Woe betide any poor, lonely soul who happened to be passing the court during those hours.

Jack arrived first, closely followed by Kid Blink and Mush. "Heya, Jack!" said Mush cheerfully. "Have a good week?"

"Terrible," Jack replied, spitting into his palm and shaking the other's hand. "How've you guys been doing? Blink, did you figure out what those nasty bugs in your place were?"

"Termites, according to my sister," said Blink. "But you never know with Jill, do you?"

"Damn. You gonna have to call some sorta pesticide dude or somethin'?"

"Yeah, probably."

"Today, Blink had a feel--" Mush began, but his friend kicked him, so he hushed up and quickly changed the subject. "Where are the others?"

Jack shrugged offhandedly. "Swifty's working late tonight, that's all I know." He glanced at his watch. "No idea where the other assholes are, though. Probably forgot or something."

"Don't you ever worry that something happened to 'em?" asked Blink.

Jack laughed and punched his friend in the shoulder. "You always were the sensitive one, weren't you? Damn, if you weren't so incredibly funny, I never would have let you into the gang. You lighten things up nicely." He smirked and took Mush's cigarette.

"Um... thank you."

Mush sat down cross-legged on the pavement and felt around in his pockets. "Dammit, Jack, that was my last one."

Jack shrugged again and blew smoke at him. "I'd give it back, but I haven't had a smoke in weeks, and I kinda need this." He grinned and turned back to Kid Blink. "So you found yourself a girl yet?" he asked casually through his cigarette.

Blink shifted awkwardly. "No."

"He really needs one," said Mush. He was lying down on his back now, eyes closed. "He's been getting all dreamy, it's ridiculous. He needs a girl to keep him down-to-earth." He smiled wistfully. "Some of those Puerto Rican girls are gorgeous, man."

"Yeah, it almost makes you wish we weren't up against the Sharks," Jack agreed, grinning. He stopped. "Nah, life wouldn't be the same without someone to push around. It'd be like the Yanks without the Red Sox or something..."

"Aw, shut up--"

Just then, two boys staggered into the basketball court, a handsome brunet supporting a would-be-handsome blond. "About fucking time," Jack snapped.

"Dutchy was drinking again," said the brunet dully as he set his friend down on the pavement.

"Well he shouldn't have done it on a fucking Friday night."

Blink closed his eye and leaned back against the fence. Dutchy had always been kinda messed up. He had grown up in New Jersey with seven other brothers, and because there were so many of them, their mother didn't want any of them out of her sight for more than ten minutes. They drove everywhere in an enormous, bus-like car, and whenever they acted up, she would swing her handbag at the back seat, smashing into anyone who got in her way. As a result of this, only three of the brothers grew up to have straight noses, and Dutchy was a little out of the ordinary. Took a handbag to the head at age nine, and was never the same since.

Jack glanced at his watch again and looked back at the boy. "Do you know where Spot is, Specs? And the rest of the guys?"

Specs shrugged. "Spot mighta blown us off."

"Well that ain't right." Jack tossed his cigarette onto the pavement and hit Specs lightly on the chest. "That ain't right, is it? 'Cause when you're a Jet, you're a Jet, all the way from your first cigarette to your last dying day. He can't just blow us off, the fucker."

Specs blinked. "It was only a suggestion," he said meekly.

"Yeah, well -- SPOT! Where the HELL have you been?"

The rest of the gang had entered the court, led by the notorious Spot Conlon. Blink noticed that they seemed to be dragging another figure along with them, but the guys got drunk so often that he thought nothing of it. "Heya, Kelly," said Spot calmly, his voice touched with a distinct Brooklyn accent.

"Do you know what time it is?" Jack demanded.

"Tell me, Jack; I generally don't carry a watch."

"You're ten fucking minutes late, Conlon."

"Really?" said Spot idly, lifting an eyebrow. Jack swung a punch at him, but Spot caught the fist before it could make contact with his body. "Whoa, easy there, Cowboy," he said, startled. "You been drinkin' or somethin'?"

"No," said Jack, and he carefully crushed his cigarette under his foot.

Spot smiled pleasantly at the rest of us. "Well, I would never deliberately anger our beloved leader," he said with a smirk. "There is, in fact, a reason for the other boys' and my tardiness. Let 'em see, guys."

The group of boys parted to reveal another boy, struggling fiercely against the hands that held him. He was a Puerto Rican whom they recognized vaguely from the other gang the Sharks, but Blink didn't know him by name. The boy looked back over his shoulder and shouted something in Spanish, but Jack stepped forward and, gently taking hold of the side of his face, forced the newcomer to meet his eyes.

It had never occurred to Blink that it was possible for one's jaw to drop so low, so quickly, that it was in danger of coming unhinged from the rest of one's skull. That night, he discovered that it was.

He knew immediately that this was what he had been waiting for all day when the jolt of unidentifiable excitement reached an all-time high in his body. The Puerto Rican boy was a sort of dark beauty, with long, black hair, mud-colored eyes, and a lean body that was poised to run. A knife was tight against his hip, and Jack unclipped it and slid the blade out. "Who is he?" he asked, coolly eyeing the gleaming metal.

"I think his friends call him Bumlets," said Spot. "At least, that's what it says on the tattoo on his back. Could be somethin' screwy in Spanish, though. I dunno."

"You been strippin' him?"

"Nah," Spot laughed, "just checkin' him out. Y'know, he's got a real tight ass--"

"SPOT," said Jack loudly, "I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT."

Spot grinned and made an obscene tongue gesture, which caused several of the other boys to throw hats at him. It went without saying that Spot Conlon was blatantly gay (but he found rather sick pleasure in messing around with the girls who found him attractive). His two dogs were named Abercrombie and Fitch, he wore tight t-shirts with swearwords printed in sparkly letters across the chest, and he liked to watch "Bye Bye Birdie" when he was home alone. But that was why everyone loved him.

Jack, meanwhile, was still looking at the blade of the knife. In one slow, deliberate movement he brought it to the side of Bumlets' face and ran it delicately across the dark, angular cheek. The wound began to bleed gently.

Jack tossed the open knife to Kid Blink, who caught it. "Do what you want with 'im, Blink, I don't feel like thinking about it," he said, and he sat down on the pavement with Dutchy and Mush and began to talk about baseball.

Spot pushed Bumlets against Blink's chest. "Be creative," he said dryly, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Kid Blink wanted to answer, but he found himself unable to speak, due to the mysterious lump blocking his throat. Bumlets backed away from him so that they were literally a foot apart, and at the same instant that their eyes met, the world stopped.

Bumlets looked at the other boy, his eyebrows raised in an expression of slight surprise. Blink could tell that he, too, was trying to quell the feeling of excitement in his chest. "I've lost my mind," said the Puerto Rican quietly, not dropping Blink's gaze.

Blink chuckled and reached up to wipe the blood from the other boy's cheek. "I said the same thing this morning."

"So you've been waiting too?"

"For something. I couldn't figure out what."

Bumlets shook his head and muttered something in Spanish, before pushing his hands into his pockets and looking out over Blink's shoulder. "So how creative are you going to get?" he asked offhandedly. "Scar me up all you want, I don't care; I realized long ago that it's impossible to be a Shark and not scars. I--" He stopped at the look on the blond's face. "What?"

Kid Blink Parker tossed the open blade from one hand to the other and then handed it to Bumlets. The latter accepted it slowly, his dark eyes fixed on Blink's blue one. "You outta your tree or something?" he asked quietly.

"I hope so."

"You've lost it."

"So have you."

"Point taken."

"Get out of here," said Blink suddenly.

"What?"

Blink bit his lip and shifted his weight. "Go back to wherever you were when Spot snagged you. I ain't gonna scar you up."

Bumlets stared at him. "You serious?" he asked.

"Go!"

And Bumlets did.

And the world un-froze, and Blink felt a small, hard body collide with his own. "You MORON!" Spot yelled, throwing a half-assed punch into Blink's stomach. "Where the hell WERE you? We were all tellin' you to cut the crap and just give him somethin' to remember, and then you FUCKIN' LET HIM GO!"

Blink was still staring after Bumlets' retreating back. "Yeah, I guess I did," he said slowly.

"DAMN RIGHT, YOU DID! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?"

"Spot!"

"Aw, get the hell off me, Jack, I can make my own decisions. Lemme get my hands dirty-- C'MERE YOU DIRTY, ROTTEN--"

But Blink wasn't listening. Hew was still looking out across the basketball court, and he jumped when Mush put a light hand on his shoulder. "Why did you let 'im go, Blink?" he asked quietly.

Blink thought for a minute. Then, licking his lips, he looked at Mush and said, "I guess I just didn't get creative enough."

.ooo.When you're a Jet,
You're a Jet all the way
From your first cigarette
To your last dyin' day.
When you're a Jet,
If the spit hits the fan,
You got brothers around,
You're a family man!
You're never alone,
You're never disconnected!
You're home with your own:
When company's expected,
You're well protected!
Then you are set
With a capital J,
Which you'll never forget
Till they cart you away.
When you're a Jet,
You stay
A Jet!

-"Jet Song", West Side Story

.ooo.

Author's Note: Et voilia. Zere is ze chapter numero un. ((pauses)) I've lost my mind. ((hops away to the insane asylum with Blink and Bumlets))

Boots: We are horrified. She has slashified "West Side Story". We didn't think it could be done.

Ohh, but it CAN, it CAN!! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! I am GOD!! Ohh, that reminds me of when I went to Fair Harbor with my sister the other day, and she gave me this little bell to ring 'cause she knew it would amuse me vastly. And I was like "I AM THE RINGER OF THE BELL! ALL BOW DOWN TO THE RINGER OF THE BELL!" and this little boy bowed. It was the fucking funniest thing in the world.

All right, I'm going to go now. Leave a review and I'll love you forever-- more chapters coming soon!!

-Saturday