Author's Note: Here is the fourth chapter, in which we get to meet a new character, hear a diabolical plan, and see Spot run, okay, no, we don't have that last part, but the point is, Spot is in a majority of this chapter, and he is mean, which makes me sad, because I always like where he's a softy, but for this chapter, he's an arrogant prick concerned only with himself, for the time being. Also, the chapter title: Cognitive Dissonance is a psychology term meaning that a person's actions don't match up with how they feel, causing said person great stress or guilt, which is what goes on with one of our characters. Just thought I'd let ya know, cuz it's a recent term for me and I probably wouldn't have known it...

Disclaimer: Sinker and Trip and eventually (next chapter) Speed belong to me!


Trip was lying across Spot's bed on her stomach. She had her head propped up in her ink-stained hands. She was a plain girl with pale blue eyes and mousy hair that was constantly wound into two braided pigtails that hung below each ear. But she was brilliant, and that was why Trip was Spot's right hand man, or rather, woman.

She watched as the Brooklyn leader paced around his private room, a thoughtful look upon his face. He had a challenge before him that needed to be met. The competitive nature in him would not let the fact go that he had been turned down by a girl. And for Kid Blink of all newsies! The boy was missing an eye for crying out loud!

"Ya gonna tell me what ya called me heah for?" Trip prodded, quickly becoming bored.

Spot stopped walking. "I need ta get Blink outta the pictcha…" he began thoughtfully, stroking his chin. "Then I'se can swoop in an' get 'er."

Trip shook her head. "Spot, let it go. You'se'll only sleep wit' 'er for a night, then drop 'er," she pointed out.

Spot gave her a blank look. "Yeah? So?" he asked, as if there was nothing wrong or immoral with Trip's statement.

"Nevahmind," Trip mumbled as Spot resumed his pacing. At least he knew how it felt now, pining after someone. The only difference between the two was that Spot was pining with lust, and Trip with love. She couldn't pin-point the exact date she had lost her heart to Spot, not that he or any other newsie knew. To Spot, Trip was just his loyal pawn, to be played at the opportune moment in the game.

This hurt Trip more than the fact that Spot had seemed to have forgotten she was a girl. She was never treated like one, and things that Spot usually didn't do or say around a girl were in her daily life. Once or twice the King of Brooklyn had even introduced her to a few ladies at a party, then walked away, as if he had succeeded in setting up one of his friends on a hot date.

"Ya know," Spot began. "No goil has evah said no ta me befoah…I don' like it. All the goils want me. I mean…I've been with every goil in Brooklyn practically…"

Trip coughed in correction. "Um, not every goil," she said, slightly annoyed.

For a moment confusion shone in his stormy eyes, then they sparked with an idea. His smirk appeared, twisted on his face. Trip recognized the expression. "What ya come up with for a plan?" she inquired.

"You'se a goil," Spot said, looking Trip over blandly.

"Really?" she sarcastically questioned.

Ignoring her, he grinned, then drew a box out from underneath his bed. It was rather small and tattered. Whatever was in it must have been of little importance to Spot, because he carelessly dropped it upon the bed, beside Trip's face. She glanced down at it skeptically.

"Open it," he ordered.

Trip rolled her eyes and lifted the flaps of the tiny box. Various kinds of make-up were strewn about: eyeshadows, charcoal, lipsticks, blush. "Um, Spot, why do ya have make-up hidden undah ya bed?"

Spot grinned. "Some goils are forgetful. Leavin' their stuff all ovah," he explained.

"Why are ya takin' it out…?"

Spot's eyes were hard, cold, and mischievous as he hovered over her. "It's time ya start actin' like a goil."


Trip had never worn make-up before, and she did not take a liking to it. She felt like a circus clown as she entered Manhattan, walking about the streets meekly. She had a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her conscience would never let her forget the task Spot had sent her on.

A new ache was swelling in her heart. She had got used to the old pain of wanting Spot to notice her as something more than a subordinate sidekick, but now he was using her, the girl that loved him unconditionally, to try to get at Sinker, a newsie that had merely rejected dancing with him. Not only that, but she hated the thought of leading Blink on. He was one of those guys who deserved none of the bad things that happened to him.

Trip was friends with most Manhattan newsies, what with her untraditional softness for a Brooklynite. She really wasn't like her fellow newsies at all, and sometimes she wondered why she never left Brooklyn. And then Spot would come into view, her heart would pound wildly, and she would remember her reason for staying. Trip was unable to understand what it was about Spot that made her feel the way she did. He was cold and cruel and scheming, and that's what made him the best and most respected leader around. But he wasn't kind. Charming and flirtatious, yes. Kind, no.

Lost in thought, Trip hadn't even noticed her whereabouts until Boots bounded up to her. "Heya, Trip," he greeted with a grin. She nodded in acknowledgment. The boy dug in his pocket for a moment, then extracted a few marble-sized rocks. "Got some nice shooters. I was gonna give 'em ta Spot the next time I saw 'im, but you'se can use 'em." Looking around to make sure no one else could hear, Boots cupped his hand around his mouth and whispered, "You'se a bettah shot anyway."

Trip laughed. "Thanks, Boots," and accepted his gift, dropping the shooters into her own pocket.

"So what brings ya ta 'Hattan?" Boots inquired.

"Business," she stated. "Ya know where Kid Blink sold t'day?"

"Sure, he's with Sink over in Bottle Alley," Boots reported. "Mush decided on the harbor today."

"Got it," Trip confirmed, then bid farewell, squaring her shoulders and making her way to Bottle Alley.


Sinker had been trying desperately to sell her last two papers underneath the watchful eye of Blink, who refused to help her in any way, insisting that if he assisted her she would never be able to sell on her own. "What's the mattah with me?" she exclaimed in frustration. "Why can't I sell ya, ya stupid papes?!" She ringed the newspapers violently.

Blink chuckled from his perch of potato filled bags. "C'mon Sink, its two papes, ya can do it," he encouraged.

Sinker glowered at the lounging newsie. He looked so irresistible in his lazy position, smirking up at her with one eyebrow raised. She bit her lip and turned back to the street, remembering the kiss they had shared last night. Her mind was so muddled over the situation, considering nothing besides a few flirty comments had been exchanged between them since. There was no talk about what it had meant, if it had even meant anything at all, that is.

She was about to yell a ridiculous lie of a headline when she saw Blink lurch into an upright position. Sinker looked back to him, then in the direction which he was staring, eye wide. Drawing near was a girl about the same age as the two selling, yet shorter and stringier. Her hair was flowing around her face, wavy and light. Her blue eyes were emphasized by the heavy charcoal lining them, and her lips were a pretty, yet unrealistic, pink. Beside the way her face was, she was dressed in dirty clothing similar to Sinker's drab apparel, and a loose, floppy hat adorned her head. But Blink couldn't take his eyes off of her, causing a lightning bolt of jealousy to pulse through Sinker's body.

"Hey Trip," Blink sprang from his spot.

Trip batted her eyelashes ever so slightly. "Oh, hello, I didn't see you there," she giggled girlishly. Sinker gagged, and internally, so did Trip. Both hated the kind of girl Trip was pretending to be.

Seeing Sinker, Trip introduced herself. "I'm Trip, from Brooklyn." So that explained her figure, all Brooklynite's were known for their lean, yet strong, muscles. The very fact that Trip was a Brooklynite, and therefore close with Spot Conlon, made Sinker dislike her even more.

"This is Sinker," Blink said hurriedly, never taking his eye off Trip, who looked Sinker over analytically.

She nodded at the papers Sinker still held. "Having trouble?"

"No," Sinker snapped, turning away, attempting to get rid of the two papers that now seemed to her a great embarrassment.

Trip shrugged, then touched Blink's shoulder to get his attention, not that she needed to, and smiled ditzily. "So Blink," she began, "Brooklyn's throwin' a party tonight, Manhattan's invited, but I wanted ta heah first hand if you'd be there or not…" she trailed off, peering up at him through long, mascara heavy lashes.

"Of course," Blink spluttered over the girl. Ever since he had met Trip a few years back, he had harbored a small, unrequited crush on her, but Trip never showed interest in any guy, so he kept it to himself and slowly forgot about it. Until now.

"Great," Trip breathed, stepping intimately closer. "I'll see ya there," she breathed in his ear before spinning on her heel back to Brooklyn.


Spot sat precariously on his throne at the docks, scanning the horizon for his second-in-command. What was taking Trip so long? She knew how impatient he got. Finally a figure appeared in the distance and it took all of Spot's effort to stay seated on the crate he occupied instead of running up to check the progress of his plan. Trip was walking very slowly, feeling like a horrible person when she arrived at the bottom of the stack of crates.

"C'mon up," Spot said, not out of friendliness, but because he wanted to hear results.

The made-up newsie climbed her way to Spot and plopped down next to him. "Why do ya want this goil so bad?" she asked wearily.

"I wanna heah what happened foist," the leader demanded.

Trip sighed. "Exactly as planned. 'Hattan's comin' ovah and Blink's interested."

"Poifect," Spot gloated, smirking in his small triumph.

"Don't it make ya feel bad at all?" Trip asked, rounding on him.

Spot gave her an incredulous glance, then laughed, legitimately laughed. "You'se a hoot 'n a half, Trip, I knew there was a reason I kept ya around." He clapped her on the back and jumped from the boxes. "I'se'll see ya tonight, who knows, maybe you'se'll get lucky with Blink." He winked, strutting away.

"Yeah," Trip sighed, mentally hitting herself for still loving the King of Brooklyn.


Author's Note: Sorry this chapter is one of the shorter ones, but the next one should be a bit longer...I think ha ha, I have the beginning written out and I just need to continue on with it, it shouldn't be terribly long before its posted, until then, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, we'll see how far Spot is willing to continue with the plan that is eating poor Trip up inside!

And reviews are welcome! obviously...