Author's Note: Um, yeah, this chapter is turning out to be *really* long, so... here's the first part. I know it's short, but I can't really break up what follows because it wouldn't make sense. =X Bear with me, my lovers.

Chapter 2 (Working Title: Thievery in Symphony)

For well over a week, Johnny watched the comings and goings of the squat. There was always some kind of activity: people came and went seemingly as they pleased – the door never seemed to be locked. From what Johnny could gather, they had managed to wire up a little bit of electricity – a few lights here and there, the occasional sound of music. Johnny could watch them for hours. There was no end to the variety of people who came and went.

Unfortunately, the people in the neighbourhood started to notice as well. Johnny overheard his mum on the phone:

“Yes, that despicable lot from the city, with their drugs and crime and no doubt whores… no, I forbid my children from going near them. I hope someone alerts the good people who own that house and takes some legal action. We don’t need scum like them bogging down our neighbourhood.”

Johnny wished his mum wasn’t so stupid.

At dinner one night, the issue finally came to the surface. Johnny was nose deep in his plate of casserole, not speaking, as always. His sister, Tina, was yammering on about some booger Bobby Jenkins had flicked at her during recess or some other immature playground nonsense. Both parents had condescending looks of interest on their faces, trying to do their best to feign interest in Tina’s story.

“And after I’d come back from the bathroom from washing it off, he did it again! And he called me a poopyface, right in front of Mrs. Carp! She made him say sorry and put him in time-out.”

“Serves him right,” Nicholas Newman said, with perfect parental timing. Tina nodded, looking superior. Nicholas was just glad she had finished speaking.

Six-year-olds, thought Johnny. The eleven-year age gap between them made it hard for Johnny to relate to his sister. Not to mention she was far too chipper for his preferences.

There was a brief moment of silence, save for the clang of stainless steel utensils against porcelain plates. Johnny had a small celebration occurring inside – he was almost finished with his meal, meaning he could escape probing questions from his parents. This was his nightly goal, as speaking to his parents was a torment he equated with water boarding.

“Johnathan, Tina, we need to have a family talk,” Tiffany Newman said, sitting up a little straighter and shedding the condescending look. It was replaced by one of superiority – Johnny groaned inwardly. His mother used that posture when she was going to gossip about someone – or tell her children something bad.

She had also used his full name, which he hated, but he could overlook it.

So much for a clean getaway, he thought, not looking up from his nearly diminished casserole.

“A couple of bad people have moved into the neighbourhood lately,” Tiffany began. “You’ll be able to tell by their appearance; they just don’t belong here. Both of you need to know that you are not to look at these people, talk to them, take anything from them, or anything of the like. These people are dangerous, filthy, and are out to corrupt you. Hopefully they’ll leave soon, but until then, give them a wide berth.”

“Isn’t that how babies are born? Birth?” Tina asked.

“No, that’s B-I-R-T-H, nitwit. Mum means B-E-R-T-H,” Johnny snapped at her.

“Johnathan Peter Newman, do not speak to your younger sister that way,” Tiffany snapped back.

Johnny snorted, polished off his casserole, and half-threw his dishes into the sink.

“Johnathan!”

“It’s Johnny,” he said, spinning on his heel to face his mother, defiance in every fiber of his being. “And don’t tell me what to do. I’ll talk how I want, and to who I want, too.”

“Need I remind you that you are under the age of eighteen and therefore are subject to our rules,” Nicholas intoned, unable to keep his university-professor lingo out of his speech. “You will diligently obey your mother and I and you will not interact with the persons your mother has so specified. Are we clear?”

“Go to hell, University Boy,” Johnny snarled. “How can you and Mum judge them like that? Call them filthy, call them dangerous? Do you know them? Have you spoken with them? They could be the nicest people in the world, for all you two know.”

“They’re bad influences, and you are to stay away from them,” Tiffany broke in, anger broiling in every syllable. Nicholas instinctively put a hand on his wife’s shoulder to calm her down – or to keep her from leaping over the table and throttling her oldest child.

“Make me,” Johnny said, and left without another word.