Categories > Movies > Breakfast Club > Next Time Around

Making the Change

by TWBasketCase 0 reviews

Monday came and nothing changed. When five teens can't find the courage to like who they want to like, they are lower than ever. What happens when they land in detention again, one year later?

Category: Breakfast Club - Rating: R - Genres: Angst, Drama, Romance - Warnings: [!] [V] - Published: 2007-01-07 - Updated: 2007-01-08 - 2982 words


Dear Mr. Vernon,

We met here in this library again for the second time in our high school careers. By putting us here, you expected consequences for our actions displayed in school.

Why should we write a paper to you telling you what we did wrong?

You got the detention list. You know exactly what we did, and whether or not we acknowledge our actions means nothing to you. What do you care? We will always be the worthless brats you dubbed us to be. Our crimes were obviously wrong, but in the end, those crimes were distant in our minds today.

Today we learned how important it is be true to those whose friendships we really value. There will always be those people out there who we will associate with; people who we will study with, have sleepovers with, even get into trouble with. The people we value the most are the people we will laugh with, the people we will cry with, and the people who - no matter what silly obstacles get in the way - will lend you that hand when you get into trouble; the same people we take advantage of every day.

Today we learned our lessons, not only from our committed crimes, but our actions following the day that led us to this library the first time around. By sitting in this detention today, we learned to value our true friendships, and to no longer take advantage of them.

What we did wrong was that we waited until the next time around to set things straight. Hopefully you, like us, will learn not to take advantage of your social situation. Keep those true to you close to your heart.

Sincerely Yours,

The brain, the athlete, the basket case, the princess, and the criminal,

The Breakfast Club.

... ... ...

Vernon stared at the piece of paper in his hands. He wasn't sure if he wanted to crumple it with rage, or fold it up neatly and keep it in his pocket. His emotions were conflicted. On one hand he had realized that he had crossed the line with his students today; he had raised his hand to them, cussed at them, and completely blew his cool. He took advantage of his position of authority and lost it.

On the other hand, the little brats had deliberately disobeyed him once again. They not only made up a total bullshit essay on the values of friendship, but they did not do what he asked of them; it wasn't even one thousand words!

He wasn't quite sure how he felt towards them right then. He probably wouldn't admit it out loud, but he felt truly disturbed about his actions earlier in the day. He had never once in his whole twenty three year long career lost his cool like he had. Funny thing was it didn't even start with Bender.

He knew that he was hell bent on revenge. He also knew that it was his down fall. He was so focused on his vendetta that he lost track of what it was that he was really there for: his job. He excelled in school as a child, even going as far as getting a scholarship for all of his hard work. He went to an Ivy League school and got a master's degree in teaching. He loved what he did for the first few years that he had started.

Teaching got harder and harder each year that went by. He would get horrible students who teased him, gave him a hard time, who wouldn't do their assignments, and just messed around in the classroom. He got angrier and angrier with them, and after a while, it became difficult to be civilized with them at all. They didn't respect him, why should he do it for them? It got worse and worse as the years went by, and it didn't help any that he had nothing - or no one, rather - to help get his mind off of his work at home. All he had was himself, his loneliness, and an inner burning rage.

He remembered in his first few years of teaching he had taught kids like Carl; boys who liked to mess around outside of school and get involved in social clubs, but when they were in the classroom they meant total business. He admired students like that; students who were overall achievers.

He also thought that he had Carl to worry about. Carl had witnessed the whole thing. Even though he had offered him the hush money - and let the kids off detention - he had a funny feeling that the incident didn't sit very well with the custodian. He had developed an odd sort of friendship with the school janitor over the years, and he was sure that Carl had definitely seen that break in his mental stability. Would he report him to Principal Chambers for child neglect? He wasn't too sure that Carl was on his side on the matter.

But was his side even valid? He wasn't even too sure that he made any sense any more. Sure, these particular students had broken things and gotten into trouble, even getting him written up by his boss, but was he over reacting just a little bit? He used to cause trouble too, and he didn't once think about the consequences. He had hurt a lot of people - children and parents alike - and never once thought about the hurt that he had inflicted on them.

He was just being a kid.

And of course that is exactly what these kids - this Breakfast Club - were doing.

Vernon knew now that Carl was right; he was getting old. He had forgotten what it was like growing up, not fitting in, and dealing with parents. Vernon knew damn well that it was tough and even getting through school without boring himself to death proved to be a somewhat difficult task. High school was a very strange time for him, and he figured it must have been just as strange for these kids...even Bender.

He flew off the handle that day. He had made a mistake. He took his position of power for granted and now the people who were supposed to respect and trust him did not. He broke that trust, and the only people left in the world who spoke with him on a daily basis no longer relied on him. He was now probably seen as an authority abuser, a neglector, or worse, a criminal.

He decided to fold the paper up and place it in his jacket. Strangely enough, he agreed with them. He knew he was definitely a criminal, a basket case, a nerd, and hell, even a princess too. They were right, and maybe he could take a pointer or two from them in terms of adjusting socially.

He began his trek back towards the front of the library. As he passed the front desk, he trailed his fingers along the smooth surface of the counter. When his fingers came over a trail of shattered glass, he froze and looked down at the small trickle of blood that dripped down his finger. His eyes rose slowly to the desk, and he noticed that the mini globe of the world - which was damn expensive - had gone right through the librarian's computer screen, leaving a mess of glass everywhere.

"God dammit!"

... ... ...

Brian let out a long, low breath and stared down at the box in his hand. He felt an odd sense of de-ja-vu that made his stomach turn. The last time he had been standing at the top of his family's stairs with a box in his hand it had a gun in it. A flare gun that he was convinced was going to end his life. He had every intention of ending it all that day; he had felt that his whole life was falling down in front of him.

The difference between standing there then and standing there eleven months ago - besides the gun - was his outlook on life. At that particular moment he felt like his life was going to take a turn for the better. He wanted to make things right with his parents - at least start anyways - and he wanted to dump his bad habit. He wanted to be that good kid again; that nerd if that was what it had to come down to. He wanted his life back in order.

He gripped the edges of the box and began to descend the stairs into the living room of his family's home. He was nervous, so much so that he thought he could be sick. His stomach turned and he had to swallow down his emotions. He placed his foot down gently on the soft carpet of the living room and studied his family.

His father sat in his favorite easy chair; Brian was pretty sure that the brown seat was older than he was. He had been gently sucking back on his pipe and reading his newspaper. When the whole room was quiet, the stress lines and frown creases in his face were much less visible, and he seemed very relaxed. Brian didn't see his father this way very often any more, and it saddened him. He remembered a time when he and Ralph were close; he had no problem telling his father of any of his issues, and now it was as if they hardly spoke at all. They just spoke at each other. He knew that his father tried to understand and relate, but he just had so much going on in his mid life.

He turned his gaze to his little sister. She was lying on her back, on the floor, in front of the television. Her small arms were stretched so that her hands rested under the back of her head, and her knees were bent so that one was up in the air, and the other was off to her right. She looked very clumsy and awkward, but comfortable. She must have been on her medication again. Brian didn't like the stuff; he knew that it had helped her calm down, but it made her almost zombie like. She just sat down and watched the TV as if it was the most amazing thing she had ever seen. Brian figured that if he kept up on his road of drugs, then he would be that zombified kid watching the television set right along beside her. He wanted better for himself, and he wanted better for her. She got on his nerves a lot, but he cared about her so much that it hurt. He wanted to be a good role model, and to be a better example for her.

Lastly, his eyes trailed to his mother. Her lips were pursed gently, and she was humming a soft tune as she knitted a winter hat. She wasn't always so bad; he knew that she was just looking out for his best interests. She would probably never back off in terms of his schooling, either. She wanted him to be successful, and financially set; what parent wouldn't want that for their child? She may have been a bit over bearing at times, but it wasn't so bad that it was ready to turn into a Norman Bates situation. She was his mother and he loved her, and if they were going to bicker and banter forever then so be it. He only had a few more months of high school left, and then she could be shrill over the phone.

He had a funny feeling he would miss her though.

Her eyes rose from her knitting and she gave him a funny look. "Are you okay, Brian?"

Brian's eyes quickly darted to the box in his hands and he gulped. "Yeah, I'm okay. I just..." He stopped and walked towards his family. He stopped once he reached the coffee table and had their full attention. "I-I wanted to show you something."

Ralph Johnson furrowed his eyebrows. "What is it?"

Brian sighed and opened up the box. Inside, there was a brown paper bag, which looked to have an oily substance of some sort all over it. His parents seemed to pick up on this right away, but Angela - his sister - seemed to have missed something. "What is it, guys? Mom! I don't get it!"

His mother bit her lip and sighed. "Angie, will you please go upstairs to your room."

The younger girl pouted and slumped over the coffee table dramatically. "Why? I wanna know why Brian's so weird!"

She gave her a stern look and pointed in the direction of the staircase. "Don't make me count to three! Now!"

The girl sighed and acted so melodramatic that she nearly crawled all the way up the stairs moping. Brian watched the expression on his mother's face go quickly from annoyed and angry to sad and concerned. She watched him. "What is this Brian? I want to know what the meaning of this is!"

Brian swallowed hard. "I have a problem."

Ralph Johnson took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Son, you don't have to do this."

Brian cleared his throat and blinked back the tears pricking his eyes. "Yeah...yeah I do. I need to get this off of my chest."

Diane Johnson shook her head, blonde curls bouncing with the movement. "No, Brian, I don't think this is necessary. Can you please dispose of this?"

"Can you please just hear me out?" He was almost pleading now. "Please? This is...this is important to me."

His parents regarded him somberly. He could tell by the looks on their faces that they had an idea as to what he was about to say. They looked as if they didn't want to hear they wanted to sweep it all under the carpet and pretend that it didn't exist like some picture perfect family in the movies. Brian didn't want to be that picture perfect family any more. If being a dysfunctional family helped keep them close, then he was willing to accept that. He wanted them to know how he felt - whether they liked it or not - so that he wouldn't be that little scared boy hiding underneath of them any more.

"I have a drug problem." He blurted. The eyes on both of the elders widened like saucers, but they said nothing. Brian raked a hand through his hair and sighed shakily. "This is everything that I have. There is a half quarter ounce of marijuana in there, a pipe, a pack of matches, a lighter, a pack of rolling papers, and a grinder."

His parents' mouths dropped in shock. His mother placed a hand over her face, almost as if she was trying to block out the site. "Brian Ralph Johnson! How dare you bring those items into this living room! Don't you realize that they are illegal? What if someone was to walk in here and see them?" She was almost frantic.

Brian remained calm. "They won't mom. I know its shocking..."

"I'll say!" Ralph agreed. "It's not everyday someone dumps illegal narcotics on your table!"

Brian bit his lip nervously. "Look, I know that it looks bad, but the thing is," He paused to collect himself. "I want it gone. I want you to take it away from me...get rid of it. I want all of this to be out in the open...I want it fixed."

His parents sat speechless for a few moments as they gathered their thoughts. Brian knew that it was a gutsy thing to do; he was surprised that they hadn't called the SWAT team on him or threw him out into the streets. He wanted his parents to see the real him, even if at first it was a bad sight for them. He knew that they wouldn't be happy, and that things weren't going to be rosy over night, but he knew that this was a start.

"We are going to take this and get rid of it." His mother spoke up first, almost confidently.

Ralph looked at her wide eyed. "What do we do with something like this?"

She looked at him as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "We throw it in the garbage!"

He looked at her dumbstruck. "Well that's real smart, Diane! What if that attracts criminals to our yard?"

She contemplated this for a moment and returned her gaze to Brian. "We will get rid of it. In the mean time, young man, you're grounded."

Brian nodded knowingly. "For how long?"

Ralph sighed and replaced his glasses on his nose. "That's not important right now. First we get rid of the..." he looked around nervously and whispered. "Drugs, and then we get you some help."

Brian's mother began collecting the box off of the table and gave him a stern look. "We're very disappointed in you, Brian." She blinked a few times, and Brian could have sworn that he saw tears in her eyes. "But I'm glad that you can come and talk to us. We've been so worried about you." Brian nodded again and stood, wrapping his arms around his mother. She began to silently sob into his shoulder, so he rubbed small circles along the lower part of her back.

From over her shoulder, he watched his father. He could see a range of emotions flash through the older man's face; anger, sadness, disappointment, but somewhere in there he could sense a small bit of pride. He knew that his father was happy that he entrusted in them again, but it was going to be a long journey to get back to normal.

His father smiled and patted his son and his wife on the shoulders. "We'll get this fixed."

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