Author's Note: Whoa! It's the sequel...that I didn't think would ever begin, yet, I was home sick today and this is what came of it. So hopefully you enjoy the second installment to the story!

Disclaimer: I own Camille and Alicia

Time. It seems so stable, so secure. Everything we humans do is based around the system. Be on time, we're always told. Time stops for no one, we're constantly reminded.

But maybe it does.

The World was clutched in Camille's hands as she stared at the date in horror. 1899. No. It couldn't be. This was all just some hideous, horrible joke. In fact, going back to what she had thought earlier that week, maybe these boys weren't even really newsies. Maybe she was on a prolonged version of Punk'd. Yes, that definitely had to be it, she tried convincing herself, knowing though, that it was not true.

Ever dramatic Alicia fainted into Blink's lap, sending Davey into hysterics over his beloved. Honestly, the kid just didn't understand the creepy factor of his over-obsessive nature. Poor Blink was shoved away during Davey's distress. "Quick!" the boy yelled. "I need water!"

Camille rolled her eyes, knowing all Alicia really needed was a few light smacks on her pale cheeks and she'd be back to normal. Racetrack suggested taking the girls to a place called the Lodging House. Mush piped up about how some cowboy would know what to do. Now, what a cowboy was doing in New York, Camille didn't know.

She got shakily to her feet, and, while Davey was attempting to hoist Alicia into his arms, made her way over to them. Camille shook the girl, slapping her face gently. "Dude!"

Alicia blinked a few times, her eyelids fluttering, then she looked around in confusion. "'Mille?" she addressed Camille with an old nickname they had used as toddlers, when Alicia hadn't been able to pronounce the "C" sound.

"Yup," Camille nodded. "It's me. Now stop being such a Drama Queen and follow the guys."

She nodded. "Yeah, okay," then, "We're really here, aren't we?"

"Pretty much," I affirmed.

"Wow," she stated, beginning to follow Race and Spot, who had already started for the Lodging House. Spot was apparently miffed at the fact that Camille had pushed him off of her when they had landed. For some reason, even though Spot was annoyed at her for something stupid, she couldn't help but smile. It was just such a Spottish thing to do.

Camille trailed behind the group, Snitch at her side. He seemed considerably more comfortable now, yet still not quite brave or outgoing. Mush and Blink were skipping ahead of them, grins upon their faces at finally coming home. A thought popped into Camille's head. Would she be that happy when she got home? She shook her head, trying to rid her mind of the question. Of course she'd act like that…right?

They had reached what appeared to be the Newsboy's Lodging House, at least that's what the sign above the door said, and Camille cautiously entered, Snitch prancing in behind her.

"You'se all late," scolded a boy wearing pink, then, noticing Alicia and Camille, he blushed.

"Shut ya trap Skittery," Race barked. "Dese goils are gonna be stayin' wit' us for a bit."

Alicia waved, a small smile crossing her face as she attempted to keep her cool. Camille just looked around the room in bewilderment. There were tons of newsies lounging around at various tables, playing card games, shooting marbles.

Snitch scratched his head. "Ain't ya wonderin' where we'se been dis last week?" he asked.

A young man with a red bandana wrapped around his neck looked at Snitch oddly. "You'se been sellin' papes…"

The group of time travelers exchanged glances. Had time stopped when the boys were in Wisconsin? And if so, had time now stopped in 2009? As Camille pondered this, the bandana boy stepped forward. "I'm Jack Kelly," he informed us, just as a tiny boy hardly older than ten ran up.

"We call him Cowboy," he piped up.

So this was the cowboy that supposedly would know what to do. He didn't look like much to Camille, sure, he was handsome, but he didn't seem as if he could possibly transport her and Alicia to 2009 if they wanted to go back. There was that thought again! Yes, they wanted to go back…she thought.

Racetrack slung an arm over Camille's shoulder. "Dis heah is Chip. She's got brains, Jack. And Alicia ovah by Davey, she's a hoot," he introduced us.

Camille cleared her throat, "Um, actually, my name's Camille."

Jack held his hand out and she shook it. "Whatevah ya say, Chip," he grinned down at her. He repeated the gesture with Alicia, who looked absolutely smitten with the guy. Poor Davey.

The little kid that had called Jack 'Cowboy' held out his hand as well. "I'm Les. Davey's my brother," he told Camille with a sort of pride.

"Cool…" she replied, taking his hand.

The pink wearer, Skittery, walked up next, standing before Camille. "The name's Skittery," he offered his hand, and when she placed her hand in his, he brought it to his mouth, kissing it. Camille couldn't help but blush.

Unexpectedly, she felt someone grab her opposite hand. "How's it rollin' Skitts?" the person asked, but the question was clearly in a warning tone.

Skittery glanced down at their intertwined fingers, perspiration visible on his forehead. He dropped Camille's hand as if it were a hot coal. "Oh, heya, Spot," he mumbled before slouching back to his seat.

As introductions were made, Spot protectively gripped her hand. "Ow," Camille complained once.

"Sorry," Spot grumbled, never loosening his hold.

It was sweet the way he tried to make sure the other boys knew she was with him, Camille thought, yet, kind of annoying. She could take care of herself, and Spot too, as Blink and she had previously proved.

Once Camille and Alicia had met everyone in a whirlwind of greetings, Jack and Race figured out the bunking situation. "Now, if Chip sleeps there instead of Snipes…and Alicia goes there…" they were murmuring when Spot interrupted.

"No," he said with authority. "Chip's comin' with me ta Brooklyn."

Camille looked at him skeptically. "If I'm going with you, then Alicia's coming too."

"No way," Davey argued. "Brooklyn's dangerous—" Spot glared at the blue-clad newsie.

Alicia looked torn. "If Davey says Brooklyn's bad, I don't know if I want to go there…" she trailed off, switching her gaze between Davey and her friend.

Camille turned to Spot. "If Alicia doesn't go, I'm staying here," she informed the hard-eyed leader.

"You're comin' with me," he said plainly, as if his word were law.

This ticked Camille off. What gave him the right to boss her around? She wasn't about to go gallivanting around New York without Alicia, no matter how much she liked the egotistical leader clutching her hand. "No. I'm not." She stated, a few quick intakes of breath circulating around the room. Apparently it was very rare for someone to talk back to Spot.

For a tenth of a second, sadness clouded Spot's burning eyes, then quickly changed to irritation. He release Camille's hand. "A'right. Stay in 'Hattan." He marched to the door, then turned around and smirked to the room. "See ya boys latah." He slammed the door behind himself. He was acting like a spoiled child Camille thought.

She glanced around the room. A few awe-struck eyes were still fixed on her, and as soon as she made eye contact, they were quickly diverted. Race and Jack went back to figuring out what should be done about the girls.

Camille ended up sleeping in a bunk that traditionally belonged to Snipeshooter, next to Racetrack's bunk. A boy named Bumlets was kicked out of his bed to make room for Alicia. She was snoring the moment she hit the pillow, but Camille laid awake for hours, contemplating the predicament they had found themselves in. What would happen to them? Would they, could they, get back eventually? And then that pesky little thought invaded and Camille realized that, maybe, she didn't want to go back.

Camille was instructed by Jack to sell with Race at the track the next morning. "Er, I don't have any money," she admitted to the cowboy, who merely grinned.

"Race'll spot ya," he assured.

And true to Jack's prediction, Race purchased papers, not only for himself, but for Camille as well. Fifty for him, and a dozen for her. This way, he figured, Camille would be able to make twelve cents that day, buy twenty papers the next with a few pennies to spare, and be on her way to becoming a professional newsie. Jack simply called him cheap.

Davey bought Alicia her papers, but Jack sent her with Snipeshooter and another boy named Boots, who both gladly escorted her down the bustling street. She didn't seem concerned at all, which worried Camille. Alicia tended to forget the dangers of being in a different time, not to mention the dangerous task of being a newsie. She never did pay attention during history classes. Camille knew she needed to find out how to get home soon, Alicia wouldn't be able to survive happily for long. She needed her parent's wealth and her blow dryer.

Race and Camille stopped to watch some of the horses trot along before their race began. He explained how to pick a winner and Camille internally chuckled. She had been to numerous horse races in her life, and knew what to look for.

"Pick a horse," he allowed, and Camille pointed to number seven, a palamino thoroughbred. "Nice try, but numbah three's got this one." They walked to where the seats were located, yelling out improved versions of the day's headlines.

As the horses lined up, they both sat a little straighter, trailing off mid headline as the race began. Number three came charging from his chute, easily taking the lead, as number seven lagged behind.

Race chuckled. "See, I told ya that—" He stopped abruptly, choking on his words. Number seven, underdog of the lot, was rapidly passing his foes, galloping to the fore front. The golden-colored horse streaked past the finish line, one length ahead of number three, Race's choice.

Camille glanced over at the wide-eyed newsie. "You were saying?" she laughed before returning to her poor excuse at selling papers. Race continued to stand in stunned silence.

"How—how…" he sputtered. "How did ya do that?"

Camille chuckled at his surprised expression, then shrugged, "Dunno, I guess I'm just good with horses."

"Yeah," he sighed, scratching his head, replacing his cap afterward. "I guess ya are."

They spent the rest of the day at the races, Race helping Camille sell papers, she helping him pick horses in return. Racetrack was a rich man by the end of the afternoon. On their journey back to the Lodging House they discussed tactics for hot tips, and he shared a few secrets on how to improve paper sales. Racetrack was quite the teacher, and, needless to say, Camille felt well prepared for the next day, almost forgetting that she should have been finding a way to get out of the time period.

Old habits die hard. Spot was reminded of this as he lay, naked, his arm wrapped around some girl he hardly knew. She snuggled closer to him, and he couldn't help but wish it were Camille instead. Not because he only wanted to take her to bed, which he did want, because he was Spot Conlon and that's just the way he was. No, he wished it was her because she was clever and cunning and caring. She knew how to figure out what to do and did it. A little uptight at times, sure, but Spot always went for the feisty ones. She was the only girl who could come close to holding a candle to him.

Spot looked out at the harsh daylight. He had missed the morning edition out of laziness and, although he wouldn't admit it, a slight sorrow. Why had Camille slighted him? He wouldn't have tried anything too drastic right away on Camille; she was different than the girls Spot usually found himself with. He figured he could still catch the afternoon paper, and climbed out of the bed. The raven haired girl rolled, groaning. Spot was slipping into his clothes when she propped herself up on her elbows. "Spot," she cooed.

"What?" he spat in annoyance.

The young woman didn't take the hint. "Last night was really fun."

"I'm glad ya liked it," Spot smirked sarcastically, sauntering from the room without looking back at the girl who had stayed with him.

He sure had it bad for Camille if he couldn't even be his normal charming self to the girls he invited to his room. It was a new feeling for him, a feeling that made him want to vomit. And that's how he knew it was the beginning of love. Because love was a weakness. And weaknesses made him sick.

Author's Note: Well, I hope this story hasn't started out as a disappointment! Leave your reviews because they're greatly appreciated!! Thanks!