Author's Note: Okay, second chapter :D Thanks for your reviews guys! You're awesome! I'm sorry it's been a while, but today, being my birthday (woo!) and not really having anything to do, decided to finally update, you lucky people. Also: SPOT WEEK!!!! April 1-8, so get ready! Details on my profile :D

Disclaimor: Newsies belong to Disney, any character not in Newsies is allllllll mine!

It was on the second day of selling that Camille noticed a familiar, stooped over woman with one wandering eye. "Race," Camille hissed, grabbing his elbow and pointing in the direction of the hag.

Racetrack cringed at the sight of her. "Blech," he muttered, then in remembrance, "Oh wait, ain't dat—"

"Yup," Camille nodded her head. She weaved through the crowd to get nearer to the lady. "Madame Schleffel!" she called when she was close enough that her voice wouldn't be drowned out in the masses.

Schleffel looked around in bewilderment, noticing Camille running up to her, Racetrack lagging behind. "Well, I've certainly never been called that before," she smiled warmly at them.

Camille and Race exchanged a bit of a worried look. "Madame Schleffel, it's me, Camille, and this is Racetrack Higgins," Camille told her.

Schleffel's eyes sparked. "Oh yes! You're the two that absolutely raked in the winnings yesterday, aren't you?" she exclaimed. "How do you do it?"

Camille groaned, burying her face in her hands. Schleffel didn't know who they were. Race patted her on the back. "'S okay Chip," he soothed.

This time, Schleffel's eyes grew wide. "Chip, did you say?" she questioned.

"Yeah, 's what we'se like ta call 'er," Race explained.

Schleffel's face lit up. "They said you'd be coming."

Camille glanced up. "'They' who?"

"The powers that be," Schleffel answered hastily, eager to move on to what she was meant to tell the girl. "Now, where is the other one? You haven't sent her back yet, have you?"

Camille gave her an odd look, "Alicia? No, we ain't sent her back yet. Why would she go back without me?"

"Because that's how it has to be," Madame Schleffel proclaimed. "Only one of you will return back to the time from which you originated. That's the only way to fix this time predicament we've caused. You see, when you all were in 2009, every day you spent there, was only a minute there. Now, every day you spend here is only a minute there. You need to balance time out, one must go back and one must stay. That is the way. The decision of who is up to you." An announcement overhead of the next race sent Schleffel into mild hysterics. "Oh dear! I must go bet on that hot tip I was given the other day!" She shuffled along the corridor, Camille's jaw hanging open after her. Then Schleffel turned around, flapping her arms. "And one more thing I was to tell you Chip: if you find yourself forgetting things, fear not." Then she was gone, lost in a line of people wishing to make bets on the day's races.

Race stood next to Camille awkwardly. They had already finished selling papers for the day, and were only watching the horses when Camille had seen Schleffel. Racetrack desperately wanted to stay, but deep down, in the non-sarcastic and caring part of him, he figured he had probably get Camille back to the lodging house where she could try and work this out in peace. He wrapped a protective arm around his shocked friend and led her out the door.

They walked in silence all the way, with Camille leaning her head against Race's sturdy shoulder. She didn't even know where to begin to think. Her mind was numb. Only one of the girls could go back? How was she supposed to choose? Why was she the one who had to choose? And yet, she knew it had to be her that chose, because each of the girls would offer themselves to stay, and it would be a mess if Camille tried to involve others in the picking process.

As they neared the lodging house, they spotted a boy leaning against the wall next to the entrance. Racetrack raised his hand in greeting. "Heya Spark!" he shouted. The boy grinned handsomely, nodding his curly, dark-golden head in acknowledgment. "What brings ya ta 'Hattan?" Race asked cheerily.

"An invite from Spot ta a party we'se holdin' tonight," Spark replied smoothly. Race grinned widely. Whenever a party was held, it always meant money was to be won.

Spark shifted his gaze to Camille. "And who's ya lovely lady, Race?"

Racetrack removed his arm, chuckling, "Well, she ain't my goil, but this is Chip, Chip, dis is Spark. He's Brooklyn's best runnah."

Spark took Camille's hand, and she found herself lost in his deep green eyes. "A pleasure," Spark murmured before gently placing his lips on the back of her hand. He did this with much more skill than Skittery had the other day. Then Spark did something Camille had never seen done before: he flipped her hand over and kissed her palm.

Camille caught her breath. Whoa. Spark released her hand, tipping his hat to both her and Race. "Spread da word. Hope ta see you'se both at the gatherin'." And with a wink he was gone.

Camille sat alone at one of Brooklyn's tables. Manhattan hadn't been the only borough invited, and she found herself stranded in a crowd of strangers. She absentmindedly shuffled the deck of cards Racetrack had presented her with the other day and stared pathetically across the room at Spot, who had a blond bimbo draped over him. Her card shuffling steadily became faster until she lost her hold on the cards and sent them flying in every direction. "God bless it!" she cried in frustration, gathering them up. As she reached down to pick some off the ground, a hand with a few cards came into view. Camille looked up into the green eyes of Spark. "Hi," she breathed out, standing from her bent position.

He raised his eyebrows and a lazy grin spread across his face. "Havin' a good time?" he asked rhetorically. He had been watching her, per Spot's instructions, and knew one hundred percent that Camille would give anything to get out of there.

They sat down at the table and Camille fumbled with the cards nervously. "I dunno," she thought. "I guess I was never really a party person."

Spark chuckled. "Ya friend ain't got a problem, I see," he nodded to where Alicia was dancing around with Mush and Blink; Davey had opted out for the night, too much excitement gave him hives.

Camille shook her head, laughing at the same time. "Alicia's fun. I'm not as care-free as she is," the girl confessed.

"And why is that?" Spark asked with genuine interest.

Camille found herself looking away from his intense gaze and back to where Spot was. "Oh, I don't know…" she trailed off.

Spark followed her eyes, noting where they were glaring at the blond girl practically on top of Spot. "Why don' ya give 'im a taste of his own medicine," Spark suggested, immediately wishing he could take back his words. He was supposed to be helping Spot, not Camille.

Camille's head snapped back to the newsie beside her. "Excuse me?"

Spark nodded in Spot's direction. "You'se've been starin' Spot down since ya got heah. The best way ta get ta 'im is ta not seem interested," he advised.

Camille thought that over. So many things could go wrong with a plan like that. She'd be doing exactly what Mush had accused her of doing when they were mucking out stalls back in Wisconsin. Using someone else to make Spot jealous. She'd feel horrid for leading someone on, unless she explained what she was trying to do, which would sound ridiculous. 'Um, yes, I'm in love with Spot Conlon, so could you help me win him over by stuffing your tongue down my throat?' That probably wouldn't work out so well. Unless…

She looked over at Spark who lounged elegantly in the chair next to her. He noticed her thoughtful glance and held his hands up with a chuckle, "Whoa no. I don' mess with Spot's goils."

"But I'm not Spot's goil, er girl," Camille insisted, surprised at how she had fallen into his accent, she had noticed herself doing that lately.

Spark lifted one brow skeptically. "Ya ain't?"

"Obviously," Camille gestured at the tangled figures of Spot and another girl.

"Just 'cause Spot's wit' anothah goil right now don' mean you'se ain't his," Spark remarked.

Camille furrowed her brows in disgust. "Well if that's how it is, I don't think I wanna be his girl," she said, but it wasn't true, she wanted Spot to herself.

Spark shook his head, "I still ain't willin' ta—"

"So you're chicken," Camille interrupted, using the only argument she knew was fool proof when it came to the male species.

Spark blinked. "No. I just don' wanna go against Spot's will," he explained.

"I think that was laced with fear," Camille prodded.

"I ain't scared," Spark declared, crossing his arms childishly. He knew he was digging himself into a hole.

Camille smirked, "So you'll help me?"

Spark grinned, pointing a finger at the clever girl, "Ya good," he commented, surrendering.

Camille shrugged. "So how we gonna do this?"

"I said I'd help ya, not make ya a plan," Spark clarified.

"Okay, well, how 'bout we just leave," Camille said. "We could stroll down by the docks, Spot would never have to know it was so innocent."

Spark laughed out loud. "Ya think that would anger Spot?"

"I don't want to anger Spot," Camille retorted, offended a little at Spark's laughter.

"I'm jus' sayin', that ain't gonna work," he told her.

"Alright, fine," she said airily, standing from her seat and placing her hands on the arms of Spark's chair. "Maybe this will." And she leaned forward, kissing him long and hard. Pulling away, she mumbled breathlessly, "Well, I feel like a whore…"

Spark grinned, "No, ya ain't," he reassured her before pulling her onto his lap and bringing her face back to his.

"I told ya ta watch her, not seduce her!"

The next day Spark stood tall, hands clasped behind his back as if he were in the military. Spot was pacing in front of the window of his private room, watching his newsies scamper around on the streets below.

Spark gulped. "In all respects Spot, I didn' seduce her. Nothin' happened but a bit of smoochin'."

"A bit too much," Spat warned. "If ya try a stunt like that again, you'se'll be out on the streets, got it?"

Spark's jaw muscles strained. "Yeah, Spot, I get it."

"Good," Spot calmed down slightly. "I like ya Spark, I really do, but Chip's my goil, and ya best not interfere."

"Maybe ya should start actin' like she's ya goil then," Spark shouted accidentally, the words slipping from his mouth, he seemed to be having a problem keeping his mouth shut.

Spot stood, glaring at Spark in the silence, a vein pulsing in his neck as his face steadily became more flushed. "Get outta heah and sell some lousy papes, Spark, befoah I decide ta soak ya myself," the leader hissed, pointing at the door.

Spark exited without a sound, leaving Spot to think upon what Spark had said. Sure, Spot wasn't exactly treating Camille with the highest regard, but it wasn't his fault, he wasn't used to having a girl that actually wanted more than attention in bed around. He didn't know how to act. Besides, she was the one who had turned him down when he wanted her to come to Brooklyn, he was only proving that he didn't need her, which he didn't…right? Spot shook his head, he was so confused. He wanted to be everything Camille needed, but he just couldn't.

Spark was right, Spot realized. Spark was always right. And maybe Camille was better off with a guy like that. But no, Camille was Spot's, would be Spot's.

Author's Note: So the plot thickens...sort of, ha ha. I'm so jealous of my own character! First she kisses Mush, then Spot, and now Spark! Lucky lucky! Anywho, just a reminder: SPOT WEEK IS COMING!!! ahhhhhhh! it's held by myself and huffle-bibin, so PM us or look at our profiles for details. It's April 1-8, and I'm so excited!!