Author's Note: Oh man I feel horrible for taking so long! You can blame those things called exams that I've been (and still should be) studying for. Once again, I'm so sorry!! Thank you for your reviews guys! Yayness!

Disclaimer: Camille, Alicia, Spark = Not Disney's; the other characters = Disney's

It was that evening on the roof that Spark confronted Camille. She was lying stretched out on the shingles, arms folded comfortably under her head as she gazed at the stars. A small smile played on her lips as she thought of Spot's confession. He liked her. The thought made her giddy; it sent butterflies to flying inside of her. She licked her lips thoughtfully, daydreaming of the possibilities that were spread out in front of her.

She knew that she, not Alicia, was the one that was going to be left behind. It was a sobering thought, and yet it was also an exciting one. She was going to get to live out the rest of her days in New York, preferably lounging on a throne of crates with a particular Brooklynite next to her.

The sound of a shoe scuffing brought her back to reality and she snapped up into a sitting position to see a different Brooklynite than the one she had been thinking of. She smiled softly at Spark, who grinned, making his way cautiously towards the relaxed girl. "So…you and Spot seem alright again," he muttered with a heavy sigh.

Camille, oblivious to Spark's tone, pulled her legs up, wrapping her arms around them and looking dreamily over the Manhattan rooftops. "Yes," she replied with a far-off smile.

"Well good luck with that," Spark grumbled at the sky.

Camille's eyebrows knit together, this time hearing the nature of his voice. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Spark scowled. "Ya really don' know him, do ya?" he asked, a little bitter.

Camille's face fell and she lifted an eyebrow inquisitively. No, she didn't really know Spot that well, but she couldn't help the feelings she had for him either. And she wouldn't like a truly bad guy…would she? "Whaddaya mean?"

Spark propped his elbows on his wide-spread knees and shrugged. "He just ain't really a one goil kinda guy," he explained in a hushed tone, glancing at Camille's face, as if afraid of the girl's reaction.

Camille swallowed, a reflective look coming over her as she took a deep breath, finally meeting Spark's eyes. "Go on," she half-ordered.

Spark blinked, staring fixedly at his fidgeting fingers, deciding to occupy his hands by playing with his worn out shoelaces. "He just…has a way with the ladies…"

Camille glared at the shingles next to her. She hadn't noticed Spot being overly flirtatious or suggestive with anybody but her. Granted, she was usually the only girl around, and at other times Spot had thought he was her son. She bit her lip. Turning her head in the opposite direction of Spark, who reached his hand out to squeeze her shoulder comfortingly.

"Chip, I just…I don' wanna see ya get hurt. Spot's a good guy most a the time…but…he has his habits…" Spark trailed off and a foot fall introduced another rooftop visitor.

Spot's gray eyes darted from Spark's green ones to Spark's hand, which was still resting on Camille's tense shoulder. The look in Spot's gleaming orbs made it clear that Spark had better scram back to Brooklyn for the night; so Spark gave a gentle pat to Camille's back, mumbled a good-bye, and disappeared down the fire escape.

Spot sauntered over to Camille, who was looking in the opposite direction, and plopped down. He reached out and pulled her face to look at him in a surprisingly caring way. It was dark and he wasn't paying attention to the way her eyes were moist and how her mouth was set defiantly. Instead, he started the conversation right away, cutting to the point. "I know that Schleffel lady told ya more than ya let on at Tibby's t'day," he dove in. "An' I wanna know what she said that made ya so frazzled."

To Camille, in her current state of hurt and suspicion, Spot's question sounded annoying and hideously nosy. It was no business of his what Madame Schleffel had decided to disclose to her. She knew she couldn't just ignore him, and opted for the easy way: restating what had already sort of been said at Tibby's. "She told me that I'd begin forgetting things," then Camille added, "if I stayed here too long." So she embellished a little to try to get Spot off her case; she didn't think that was such a crime.

Spot cocked his head to the side. "There's more than that," he knew.

"Good god Spot! Ya want me to retell my life story to ya?" Camille spat, somehow slipping into the newsies' accent for a time.

"No," Spot yelled in defense. "I just wanna know what the old broad did ta make ya more noivous!"

"I am not nervous!"

"Well maybe ya should be a little noivous," Spot insisted. "You'se ovah a hundred years from where you'se belong and ya ain't exactly been tryin' ta get back!"

Camille clenched her teeth in fury, "How do you know I havent' been trying to get back? Maybe I have been!"

"What did she say?" Spot sought out.

Camille glared at Spot. "Why does it matter?"

Spot glared right back. "'Cause it seems like you'se don' want no one ta know, which means it was somethin' important."

Camille set her jaw and pointed looked away from Spot's calculating eyes. "Didn' she tell ya how ta get back?"

"No," Camille replied curtly.

"Then why ain't ya tryin' ta get back?!"

"Cuz I ain't goin' back!" she accidentally grit out.

Spot, for once, was at a loss for words. He was shocked and joyful and confused all at the same time. How could he possibly be so fortunate? Besides him barely able to buy food and clothing, he got to be the King of Brooklyn and he was staring at, what he could imagines as, the Queen. He knew how corny and idiotic he sounded, but he didn't care. And he didn't care that he didn't care. And it was at that moment that he knew Camille, somehow, someway, meant more to him than all of the other girls combined. "That's…that's…" he stammered.

"Horrible," Camille finished for him, rising from her sitting position and preparing to march precariously across the roof and away from Spot, who looked like he had been slapped by the word Camille had chosen.

Spot swiftly grabbed Camille's wrist. "Whoa!" he startled her with his volume. He clamored clumsily, for him at least, to his feet. "Whaddaya mean horrible? Sure, ya can't have all that fancy schmancy stuff of the future, but you'se can stay heah now, or Brooklyn—"

"So you can treat me like all the other girls?" Camille snarled, yanking her wrist free form Spot's now limp grip.

That's when it hit him. That's when he figured out why she was being cold rather than her usual sarcastic way. Spark. "What'd he tell ya?" Spot growled.

"Enough!" Camille shouted, not even bothering to look back.

Spot rushed angrily behind her. "I don' think so!" He grabbed for her wrist once again but she shoved him away. This didn't stop the Brooklyn leader at all, who wrapped his arm firmly around her waist, bringing her flush against him. "What did Spark say?" Spot whispered.

Camille breathed deeply. "Let. Me. Go," she hissed in his face.

Spot raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Now why would I do that when I got ya right where I want ya?" he glanced down at their proximity.

"You are disgusting," Camille replied, ripping Spot's arm off of her and entering the Manhattan Lodging House.

Spot stayed in the same place, staring where she had disappeared. So he hadn't really thought that last move over well. So he had fallen back to his lewd self. So she hated him—for the moment. So he could change that.

This made Spot smirk, and he started down the fire escape.

"I hate boys," Camille sighed as she fell onto the bunk that she and Alicia were sharing for the time being. A number of newsies glanced over at her and she rudely stuck her tongue out at them. Alicia laughed.

"You're acting like me now!" she exclaimed, happily clapping her hands. "Yay for drama queens!"

"I hate you," Camille grinned at her peppy friend.

Alicia rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you do, that's why you've stuck around with me for twelve years."

"Eleven and a half."

"Oh because you've been counting the days?" Alicia glanced at her glum friend, making a face that caused both of them to collapse into laughter.

"I just…he just…so frustrating…arrrgh!" Camille attempted to put her feelings into words.

"You two are worse than Chuck and Blair on Gossip Girl," Alicia declared knowingly.

Camille raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"Chuck is this bad boy who has the hots for Blair, and Blair keeps denying her feelings for him, but everyone knows they are totally meant for each other," Alicia explained as if it were the most obvious thing ever.

Camille shifted her eyes from one side to the next. "Oh…"

"Gossip Girl can explain anything," Alicia said reverently.

"Right…"

Walking to Brooklyn alone at night sent goose bumps up most people's spines. Spot Conlon was not most people. And he certainly was not going to take anymore of Spark's crap. Which, Spot thought, was a shame, because he had always liked Spark and enjoyed his company. But now Camille was priority number one, and Spark was not going to get in his way.

Spot slammed open the front door of the Brooklyn Lodging House, startling a large number of boys playing marbles. The poker players lazily glanced up from their cards, tipped their heads in greeting, and went back to their game.

Spark was seated on the stairs, looking like a puppy that knew it shouldn't have peed on it's master's new white rug. His eyes were lowered and he was shaking a little bit. Spot honed in on him like a hawk. "Spark!" he called from the doorway.

The inferior newsie stood slowly, all eyes on him and the leader. "Yeah?" Spark barely spoke, thinking that maybe, just maybe, Spot was going to spare him, give him another chance.

"I have a message for ya ta delivah ta the Bronx," Spot informed him, then he smirked, a cold glint in his eye. Spark gulped. Judging by the look on Spot's face, he wasn't going to be saved, he was going to be made into an example. "And when ya delivah it," Spot continued, "Feel free ta stay in the Bronx for as long as you'se wants."

Spark nodded, understanding what Spot meant by that. The other newsies either openly stared or respectfully diverted their eyes. Spark had always been counted on and never did anything wrong. Everyone loved Spark. And then he just had to get tangled between Spot and the girl Spot wanted, which was the biggest mistake anyone could ever make. They sympathized with Spark, but they would inevitably go along with Spot. Everyone would. They watched in a reverent silence as Spark trod to the door. The boy paused in front of Spot. "What's the message?" he asked solemnly.

"That I'm donatin' a runnah ta their cause," Spot informed his previous messenger.

So that was the parting shot, thought Spark, Brooklyn's best—former best—runner, as he slid through the door silently and onto Brooklyn's deserted streets.

Author's Note: I'm not so sure what I think of this chapter; anywho! I do not own Gossip Girl, I do not think it can "solve all of life's problems" as Alicia thinks, and I also was not making fun of it! Just wanted to make that clear. :D Now review and tell me how to make this story better!! ha ha, Thanks!