Chapter 4

I had sold six papes by the time Race caught up with me, thanks to a good headline on the second page and Race's unbearable lack of speed. He had a cigar hanging out of the corner of his mouth, which amazingly stayed put as he opened his mouth and started babbling away.

"Lightning, Ise forgots ta tell ya. Dere's a party at Medda's tonight! Everyone's gonna be dere. It's gonna be da best party of da year!"

I gave him a patronizing look. "Race, if I recall correctly, we ain't had any oddah parties dis year."

"Sure, but it's still gonna be great. Medda's gonna sing a couple songs, and dere's gonna be lotsa dough ta be won." He rubbed his hands together gleefully.

"Well, Race, count me in. But why dincha tell me soonah? Den I coulda started savin' some o' my pennies."

"Sorry. But we knew youse had a lot on your mind, what with Spot hangin' around and all. Anyways, everyone's plannin' on bein' dere at eight. Sound good ta youse?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Okay."

I turned to leave, but Race called me back.

"An' Light?"

"Yeah, Race?"

"Don't be eoily."

"Huh?"

"Jus' whatevah ya do, foah once in your life, don't be eoily."

I looked at him questioningly, but he just grinned and hightailed it out of the park in pursue of a potential customer. I was beyond confused. I had heard many a weird statement from Race, but that was by far the weirdest. The cigars must be getting to his head, I thought.

The day passed quickly, and by the time I had finished selling all my papes it was about five o' clock. I wandered down the streets of Manhattan, waving a greeting to Mush, who was selling a pape to an old lady. I turned a corner, with the vague intention of heading over to Tibby's for a bite to eat before the party, and I ran into someone. With a twinkle of gold and a flash of steely blue I was knocked into the street in the path of an oncoming horse and buggy. Thankfully, I managed to roll out of the way in the nick of time, and as the buggy clattered past, I turned around and came face to face with Mr. Brooklyn himself.

"You'se'll want ta be moah cayeful, Manhattan, if, youse is wanting ta make it ta da party in one piece." His signature smirk slid onto his face. I groaned inwardly. Curse you Race, for telling the Brooklynites about the party. My disgust must have shown on my face because Spot's smirk got even wider.

"Ah, don't worry, Manhattan. We're gonna be on our best behavior. Wouldn't want ta ruin dis party."

I rolled my eyes. If I had thought Race had said something weird, Spot had said something insane. Since when did Spot Conlon attend a party without any intention of causing a ruckus? I got to my feet and brushed past him. I could feel his eyes following me as I walked away. He knew he had bewildered me, even if it didn't show on my face. That was one of the many things I hated about Spot. He could read minds.

I pushed open the door to Tibby's restaurant, expecting to hear the familiar 'Heya, Light! Hows 'bout a game a pokah?' or 'Lightning, can ya please do somethin' 'bout Goober? He's at his nose-pickin' again!' or simply 'How's it goin'?' from various newsies. But there was no one there except a couple of old guys playing chess in the corner. I frowned. Usually this place was packed. This day was getting stranger and stranger.

I left Tibby's, even more puzzled at the significant lack of newsies. Where in the bloomin' woild was everybody? I walked down to the docks, even though I knew no one would be there because Pie Eater (of all people) hates the smell of fish. I sat on the edge of the dock, kicking my bare feet in the water until the sun went down and I started to shiver. I headed back to the lodging house to get ready for the party.

Ah, okay, this one isn't exactly the longest in the woild either, but live w/ it!