DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the known characters. They are the property of Disney. Original characters belong to their creators. Neither do I own the basis of this story. That belongs to Suzanne Collins.
Chapter 2
"It's ain't that," Skittery said in response to Jack's criticism, shooting him a look and adjusting the papers in his arms. "It's just...the curfew, the new territories. It don't seem like this is gonna be nice either."
Everyone still paying attention the conversation laughed. This was the hundredth time they'd heard this since they'd arrived at the distribution center that morning. None of them could take him seriously anymore. Not that anyone really had to begin with.
"I'm bein' serious," Skittery continued once everyone had quietened down. "Somethin's wrong and nobody's got the common sense t' question it."
"Except you," Blink cut in, walking over to them with his papers balanced on his shoulder. "You think everyone's out t' get you."
Skittery rolled his eyes and walked away, giving up on trying to reason with his friends. None of them wanted to know. If they weren't going to listen and take him seriously, he didn't see the point in trying to talk to them about it. If he turned out to be right, he would take pleasure it reminding them of his initial doubts.
"So what do y' think is going to happen to us?" Blink said, adjusting his patch slightly.
Everyone shrugged. No one had read anymore about the event in the papers. After a few looks were exchanged, they separated. Each to their selling spot, with the promise to meet at Tibby's for lunch.
Today the newsboys sold better than any of them had, or probably would do, all year. People were actually queuing up to buy papers, hoping for some little clue as to the fate of New York city's newsboys. Just because they didn't care didn't mean they weren't curious. Within hours, all of them had sold their papers and headed towards Tibby's for their meet-up.
Snoddy and Skittery were the last people to arrive. Snoddy looking annoyed, having had to listen to Skittery all morning. He slumped into a nearby chair immediately, barely bothering to acknowledge anyone.
A shout erupted from the corner as Race successfully cleaned out Mush's pockets for the second time that week. At that moment, a salt shaker flew past him. Race's head turned sharply in the direction from which it was thrown. Itey had lifted his head off the table and was glaring. He hadn't slept properly the night before because Snitch kept nearly knocking him off of the bunk.
Once the room had settled down again, one of the younger newsboys spoke up. "What time did they say t' be back at the lodgin' house?"
There was confusion, with lots of people muttering different time. Anything ranging from midday to four. Finally Jack spoke up to settle the argument.
"One," he said, getting to his feet. "They pick at midday. We find out at one."
"Bet ya Bill and Joe are happy about that," Race said from his corner, still eyeing the smashed salt shaker on the floor nearby, the sarcasm dripping in his voice.
"You're kiddin' right?" Mush said, nudging him. "They're going to make a whole lot more tomorrow. They don't need us sellin' this afternoon."
Most of the newsboys nearby nodded in agreement. They soon went back to their game, only occasionally mentioning one o'clock.