Author's Note: Chapter nine: the plot thickens...dun dun dun! Anyway: Thank you soooooo much for your reviews, they totally keep me going :D

Disclaimer: Speed, Trip, and Sinker belong to moi, as always.


The sun beat down relentlessly on Mush and Blink's backs as they entered Tibby's for lunch. By some miraculous stroke of luck Blink had been able to sell his papers, with the help of Mush of course. They made their way over to Racetrack and Snitch, who were both enjoying a tall, cool glass of root beer.

"'S all I can afford t'day," Snitch moped, taking a long and mournful sip, then he glared at Racetrack. "And he won't spot me none."

At the word 'spot' Blink flinched and Race and Snitch gave him a questioning glance. Mush stepped forward, shoving Blink into the booth with Snitch. "He's a little sensitive t'day," Mush replied to their stares while he sat next to Racetrack.

"'Bout what?" Race asked, staring at a forlorn Blink. The newsie was rubbing his one eye and his hair was sticking up at odd angles, messier than usual. He yawned wide. All-in-all, Race determined that Blink looked horrible.

Mush glanced at Blink for permission to answer Racetrack's question, but Blink was still scratching at his eye, so Mush spilled. "He's like this 'cause a Sinker."

Blink's head snapped up. "Sinker?"

He had apparently not been paying attention. Race rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Sink, ya know, the goil you'se share a bunk with."

Blink banged his head repeatedly upon the table, causing the glasses to shake and the utensils to clatter, not to mention attracting odd looks from the rest of Tibby's clientele and a stern look from the owner. The three newsies sitting with him looked at each other, not sure what to do. They had never seen Blink act like this before. He was always so giddy.

Snitch was the first to come up with an idea, acting on it before thinking it over. He grabbed Blink by the hair when his head was in the 'up' position. As Blink shifted to the 'down' movement, his hair was pulled by Snitch's steady hand and he yelled, "OW!" smacking Snitch, but finally out of his head-bashing phase.

"Well, thank god that's ovah," Race remarked about Blink's behavior.

Blink had taken to crossing his arms childishly, leaning back in the booth, and glaring at his comrades. Racetrack raised one eyebrow, pursing his lips. "Ya gonna tell us the story Blink, or ya gonna make Mush tell it?"

Blink sniffed pathetically, looking at the table in a very depressed manner. "She's with him."

"Him who?" asked Snitch, because Snitch was clueless.

"Spot who!" Blink yelled.

"Spot who what?" was Snitch's next oddly stated inquiry.

"Spot's with Sinker," Blink grumbled, finally able to compose a sentence that made sense.

Snitch nodded, "That's neat."

"No it ain't neat!" Blink made a face at the word.

"Oh," Snitch said, now thoroughly confused.

Racetrack rolled his eyes again, leaning on the table, and began explaining, "Blinky boy heah likes Sinker, Snitch, that's why he's so uppity 'bout the whole deal. See, he screwed up real bad—OW!" Racetrack turned to glare at Mush, who had punched him, rather viciously, in the arm. "What ya do that for?!"

"That was rather violent," Snitch commented.

"Don't bring up how bad Blink messed up! Oh, crud, now I said it, too!" Mush covered his mouth in embarrassment and Blink regressed back to hitting his head vigorously on the table top.

Snitch was sitting at attention, waiting for Racetrack to finish the story. Unfortunately, Race and Mush had got into a petty argument over Blink's mental well-being, even though both were now oblivious to Blink's self-inflicted, possible concussion causing actions. Snitch grabbed the boy's hair again, this time yanking up at the same moment that Blink intended to pound his head down, making Blink yelp exceptionally loud.

The next thing they knew they were seated on the sidewalk outside.

"Well at least there's no table for Blink now," Mush thought aloud, looking on the bright side.

"No, but there is that pole," Snitch pointed out. "Or the concrete." He tapped the road with his fist. "Nice and solid."

Racetrack scowled. "Yeah, well thanks ta you two we'se just got kicked outta Tibby's for the day," he accused. "An' I wanted anothah root beer god dammit!"

Mush opened his mouth to fight back, but Snitch spoke up first. "Wait, ya gotta finish the story!" he insisted.

"Oh, right," Race mused, monotone, scratching his chin, "So, Blink went off with Trip, and Sinker went off with Spot, but Blink wants Sinker and Sinker wants nothin' ta do with Blink—"

"Or Spot," Blink cut in.

"Yeah, sure, ya keep believin' that Blinky. Anyways, now Sink's ovah in Brooklyn with Spot and Blink's the new glum an' dumb," Racetrack concluded. He clapped Blink on the back. "Don' let it get ya down Blink, ya just gotta find a new goil."

Blink shook his head numbly. "It ain't that easy Race."

"Sure it is!" Racetrack declared. "It ain't hard at all, watch." Race winked at a passing young woman, clearly of a higher class, who scurried away, utterly horrified that a street rat would ever do such a thing. Race scowled. "Well…that ain't the point," he defended. "The point is, ya just gotta go out there and get a goil."

Blink looked up at his friends, a gloomy pout on his face. "Guys, what's love feel like?"


The sun gleamed down on Spot and Sinker as they soaked up the rays. They were sprawled out on the docks, drying off in silence.

"So why ya bein' so kind all a sudden?" Sinker asked, breaking the silence.

Spot propped himself up on his elbows, smirking down at Sinker, who merely raised an eyebrow. He let out a sigh, allowing for a few seconds of thought. "Well, I figured ya needed somethin' good in ya life."

Sinker furrowed her brow. "Whaddaya mean by that?"

Spot shrugged. "No newsie life is easy, but on top a all that, you'se gotta report back ta the big boys, too. It'd be one thing if ya chose ta do that, but ya didn't."

"So ya bein' nice ta me 'cause I'm a traitor?" Sinker deduced sarcastically.

"Well I'se got othah motives too," Spot smirked, inching closer.

Sinker rolled her eyes. "That's what I thought." She too propped herself on her elbows. "Ya know, it ain't evah gonna work," she told him pointedly.

Spot grinned. "Well I can try."

"Can't ya try some othah goil?"

"Now what fun would that be?" Spot replied, shaking his head 'no'.

"What about—" she stopped talking. She had been about to say 'What about Trip?' when she remembered the conversation Trip and she had had that morning. Spot was the one who had sent Trip to get Blink away from Sinker. So why was she here with Spot? Why hadn't she recalled that fact until now? A sudden rage boiled in her blood. "Ya know what, nevahmind, you'se an ass." She clamored to her feet, picking up her clothes to begin putting them on over her still slightly damp undergarments.

Spot jumped up, confused and a little engraged. He had just taken her out to breakfast, why the hell was she complaining? "Whoa, what ya talkin' 'bout? I thought we'se was getting' along swimmingly," he smirked at his horrible pun.

Sinker glared. "You are what's wrong! If it hadn' been for you, I'd be in 'Hattan, happy with Blink," she shouted. "But ya had ta go and send Trip in ta complicate things; ya couldn' leave well enough alone!" She shoved her arms into her shirt, furiously buttoning the buttons.

Spot blinked. Damn Trip! He should have known she'd tell Sinker the whole god damn plan. Trip just had too big of a conscience. But Spot had a few tricks up his sleeve, a few plans he hadn't shared. He reached out to slow Sinker's actions, but the girl pulled away, scowling and sticking out her tongue, which made Spot smirk.

"Look, Sink, I'se got an offah ta make…"


Finding Speed was awfully hard, particularly when Trip had no idea where to look; her mind was so muddled by what Speed had hinted at with his comment. She couldn't figure out where the boy would run to. And boy could that newsie run. Trip wandered aimlessly, enjoying the light breeze that played with her hair. She hadn't braided it that morning, too busy ushering Sinker out of bed to bother.

She waved to a few passing newsies, wondering where Speed could have possibly gone when she finally saw him, right where he always went to be alone: the roof of the Brooklyn Lodging House. She sighed, glad to have found him, and a tad annoyed with herself for not thinking of the place sooner.

She ascended the stairs of the building, making her way up to one of the windows that would allow her to climb onto the roof and join Speed.

"Hey," she spoke quietly, cautiously creeping over to where Speed was plopped down.

Speed touched his hat in greeting, then returned to gazing out across the city. It was clear he wasn't going to begin any conversation, and Trip struggled to find words. She didn't know how to talk to Speed about a topic like this one. Hardly any boys had given her the time of day, and now Speed was sitting there, disappointed because she had never been aware of him.

"Speed?"

"That would be me."

Trip sighed, licking her lips. "I didn' know ya liked me…like that…"

"I noticed."

"Ya know, it ain't completely my fault. It ain't like I get a lot of attention from, er, boys. And ya nevah gave me a definite sign or nothin'!" she half yelled. And it was true. Speed had no right to be angry with Trip; he never had given her a solid hunch to go off of.

Speed stared at her. "Is that what ya want? A 'definite sign'?" he sort of growled. "Is that all it would take ta get Spot off ya mind?" He added the question with obvious sarcasm.

Trip was suddenly very interested in looking at her hands. "No," she admitted, although they both already knew that.

Speed reached over and grasped Trip's chin firmly in his hand, pressing his lips to hers earnestly. Trip squeaked in shock, her mouth hanging open in surprise when he pulled away.

"Is that definite enough?"

Trip bit her lip.

Speed swallowed. "I thought it was worth a try."

And then he left, and Trip was alone.


Author's Note: I would just like to say, that I love Snitch and his silly little sayings :P he makes me happy ha ha. I hope you liked! Leave a review :D