August. Its long, sticky days drag by languidly, while the heat sticks to the nape of your neck and refuses to let go. Not even shade or dark of night brings the temperature down a degree. The only breeze that rustles the leaves is a moist, warm one that brings little comfort. In July, the heat is sizzling, but it is a dry heat. A dry heat that still allows for movement and activity. There's no escaping August's suffocating humidity.

The disposition of the newsies was not differing much from the mood of the month. Activity was at an all-time low, as it was too hot to do much other than sit. Sometimes, the effort of working your jaw to talk was not worth the sweat. Selling had lost its zest--heavy arms sluggishly hauled leaden newspapers up into the air as drained voices called out poorly improved headlines. Even the great Cowboy had lost his selling vivacity. It did not matter much, though. The people in the streets bought a paper without even bothering to pay attention to the headlines, their apathy caused by the insufferable heat.

Becca was the only one who wasn't bothered to near immobility by the heat, as she was accustomed to such temperatures due to her time in Santa Fe. So one would expect Becca, with her bright personality, to be the one vibrant shimmer in the dull August world of colors melted together into a drab glob. Becca, however, had been walking around in a monotonous cloud ever since Dave's departure three weeks before. Had the situation been different, someone, most likely Jack or Hazel, would have noticed the slump Becca was in and found a way to get her out of it. The accursed heat, however, plunged everyone into the same sea of unresponsiveness as Becca. Yet, on one day, two pieces of paper changed everything.

***

The newsies were sitting listlessly around Tibby's when Becca walked in, a certain briskness in her step that had been absent since the Weeks of No Emotion. (the weeks since Dave's departure and the beginning of the heat wave, as I have dubbed them. It may be a dumb name, but I'm the author of this here story, so there) Thanks to an (ever so) slight drop in the temperature, Jack noticed the change.

"Somet'in interestin' happen?" he asked as she flopped down beside him. Becca held up two envelopes.

"I stopped by the Lodging House to pick up different songs for work this afternoon, and Kloppman gave these to me. He said they arrived this morning, just after we left." (note--I'm not too sure of how exactly the postal system in 1900's New York worked, but I don't think I'm too off and besides, and I don't think it matters that much anyway.)

"Who're they from?" Hazel, who was sitting across from the Kelly siblings, queried.

"One's from Dave," Becca's eyes sparkled briefly when she thought of him, but the twinkle disappeared in a second. "And the other's from," she glanced quickly over to Jack, "our father." Jack rolled his eyes.

"We forgave him already. He doesn't have ta keep tryin' ta be buddies with us."

"He's not doing any harm," scolded Becca. "And it's kind of sweet of him to keep up some form of communication with us, especially when he knows how enthusiastic you are about the entire idea." Jack was too hot to argue.

"Fine. Just read Dave's lettah foist."

"That's what I was planning on doing." The newsies perked up a bit at the prospect of hearing Dave's letter. Maybe his life had become more stimulating, if only mildly, than theirs had been as of late. The shimmer in Becca's eyes returned as she ripped open the envelope and fished out Dave's letters. She read it silently, eyes studying each word carefully, so as not to miss a thing.

"C'mon, ya gonna tell us what it says or not?" Racetrack pressed.

"He sent this the day after he arrived in Kingston. The name of his school is the Kingston Boys Learning Institution (corny, I know.) So far, not much is happening, though he wasn't there for long when he wrote this letter. The people seem nice, not too many scabs. Basic stuff. Oh, wait, here's one thing. Dave found out why they made him leave for school so early. Apparently, each year, the school invites more boys to attend than they have room for in their regular classes.

"For the end of July and all of August, they put everyone in introductory courses and give them mini-tests. During the last week of August, the teachers give the students a series of tests. The ones with high enough scores stay at the school, and the those who's scores aren't high enough are sent home." The newsies talked amongst themselves. A miniscule chance for Dave to come back home had presented itself. But to do that, Dave would have to flunk out, and their Walking Mouth was much to smart for that. And they wouldn't want him to pass up his chance at a good education for that, either. So it was with a bittersweet, melancholy feeling that Becca moved on to her father's letter.

Her eyes skimmed the letter. "What's it say?" inquired Jack lazily. He didn't really care all that much, but that was mainly due to the temperature. He was also asking in effort to make amends for his slight rudeness earlier about the letter.

"Nothing much," Becca replied. "Same old, same old. His job's going well, he's making more friends, we still have an open invitation to come visit whenever we want for as long as we want…" Becca trailed off as shock immersed her features. It took Jack longer than it usually would have to notice, but everyone was slower in the weather. He finally did notice, though, and concern adorned his voice.

"Becky, ya okay?"

"I can't believe I didn't notice earlier, with the return address…"

"Becky, what?"

"It's our father, he lives…"

"Lives wheah?"

"Kingston."