Christina

After Jack made a PSA apologizing to all the newsies, it was to Tibby's we went.

We all sat there, drinking our water out of the fancy glasses, most probably wishing it was alcohol. The majority of us were quiet, but some were having small conversations. Jack sat next to me. Mush and Race sat across from us at the table for four.

"So," I began, "did you win that bet, Race?" to be honest, I couldn't care less whether he won or not. I just wanted to put an end to the silence. Too much quietness tended to make me itchy.

Race grumbled something incomprehensible as he lit a cigar. He shoved it in his mouth and said, "No. I know that guy cheated. They just always think the poor kid with the gambling problems does the dirty work. Well, it wasn't me this time, I can tell you that," he ranted.

"How much did you have on it?" Mush joined, taking a final sip from his glass.

"50 cents. Complete waste," Race grumbled once again and started chewing furiously on his cigar like he usually did when he was mad about something. It was almost comical.

I gave him a sympathetic smile, patting his back and trying to suppress my laughter. "I bet you'll win next time,"

He scoffed. "I better,"

***

After Tibby's, the boys and I went to the orphanage to discuss how we were going to bring our news of unfair working conditions to the public.

"We could write our own newspaper!" Davey suggested, standing up from his chair in excitement.

"Sure!" Jack said, standing up from his seat as well. "I know that Pulitzer's got an old printing press down underneath the Distribution Centre. We could use that," he suddenly frowned, slouching a bit along with it. "One problem: none of us know how to write a newspaper."

Everybody in the room sighed with that statement. Jack wasn't wrong. None of us knew how to properly write an article. There was silence as the boys began to think of some other ideas.

"Wait," Davey spoke up again, bringing his index finger to his temple. "I know a guy who can write." Spirits were immediately lifted and the wave of disappointment that once hung over the group was lifted like a giant blanket.

***

Jack and I waited for what seemed like hours. It had grown dark outside and the town was asleep. We were down in the Distribution Centre's basement, and the distinct smell of mildew and dust made it difficult for me to not wrinkle my nose in disgust.

"So, this is where you slept?" I asked, tempted to plug my nostrils with my thumb and index finger. I resisted it though.

"Yep," Jack stared at the floor. "I hated it. But it was worth it if what we're going to do tonight works out," he dragged his boot around the floor, making small circles out of the collected dust. Suddenly, the door opened, and Davey and man came walking down the steps.

"Hey, Dave,"

The man by Davey's side had dark brown hair, and he was dressed considerably nice. He had an inviting smile and warm, kind eyes. "Hello, Jack and Chris. I'm Denton. I write for the New York Sun." He outstretched his palm.

"Pleasure to meet you, Denton." I returned the hand shake and the smile.

"Well, let's get to work," he said, stepping further into the semi-lit room. "We don't have much time."

Jack stepped over to a large table with a seemingly once-white sheet draped over it. He took hold of it and pulled backwards, revealing a press underneath.

Denton bared his shiny teeth. "Alright, a Platinum Press. Let's go."

Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed.