Categories > Movies > Breakfast Club > Black Friday

Red Monday

by MidnightBlue88 0 reviews

Andy talks to Brian; John's financial troubles deepen.

Category: Breakfast Club - Rating: R - Genres: Angst, Drama, Romance - Published: 2007-01-10 - Updated: 2007-01-11 - 4869 words


Chapter Two: Red Monday

On Monday morning, Bender didn't wake up slowly, like he normally did. He didn't yawn or rub the sleep from his eyes or curse the sunlight peeking in through a gap in the curtains. Instead, he woke with a start, heart hammering, gasping for breath, eyes darting around the room like a scared animal. Someone had been chasing him. They'd followed him home, and they were hiding in his room, waiting for him. Waiting to take him.

But, no, they weren't. There wasn't anyone else in the room, unless you counted a couple of cockroaches, which Bender didn't. No, it was a dream, a really bad dream, and it was over. Bender reached down to pull the covers away from his chest, only to find that he'd kicked them off at some point during the night and that they were in a loose ball at the foot of his bed. The sheets were damp with sweat, and so was his body. Bender lay there for a moment catching his breathing, trying to get his heart rate under control.

He had to do something about Frank Durbin.


Andy pulled up to the stoplight at the corner of Sycamore and North Main, right behind a huge white Buick, and stifled a yawn. He'd gotten up early that morning for a light cardio workout, and he was already missing the extra sleep. It didn't help that he'd stayed up until midnight the night before trying to finish his Calculus homework, which he'd been putting off all weekend because he knew that it would take forever, which it had. As it was, he hadn't even finished all of the questions since he'd fallen asleep on Friday during Mr. Hall's lecture on finding the derivatives of functions and couldn't remember the difference between a product rule and a quotient rule. He'd probably end up asking his friend Chris, who was a whiz at math and science, to help him out during lunch.

After a couple of minutes, the stoplight turned green. Andy started to lift his foot from the brake, but the Buick in front of him didn't budge. Andy hesitated, then tapped his horn lightly. Nothing. A little louder this time, and the car finally moved. Andy had just enough time to make it through the light before it turned red.

"Fucking old people, man. They shouldn't be allowed to drive."

Andy glanced over at Jeff, who was sitting next to him in the passenger seat. His younger brother was slumped over in his seat, forehead pressed against the window, breathing clouds onto the glass with his warm sighs. His eyes were still puffy from sleep.

Andy grinned and looked back at the road. "Wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?" he asked.

Jeff ignored him and reached for the air vent to adjust the heater. "Can't you get this fixed already? It's always so cold in here."

Andy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure, no problem. I'll just pull the hundred bucks out of your ass and pay for it that way."

Jeff sighed and settled back into the seat. "God, I was just asking. You don't have to be such an asshole about it."

"And you don't always have to be such a whiny brat about /everything/," Andy retorted.

Jeff made a face at him, but didn't say anything else.

A couple of minutes later, Andy pulled the Bronco into the student parking lot and cut the engine. He grabbed his gym bag from the back seat, along with his Calculus textbook and a couple of notebooks, and opened the driver's side door. It was cold as Antarctica outside, and immediately Andy felt a chill go down his spine, even though the inside of the vehicle was, admittedly, nearly as cold. Andy stuffed his hands into the pockets of his letter jacket and started walking towards the building. Jeff trailed closely behind, rubbing his swollen eyes with the back of his hand.

Inside, the hallways were crowded with students talking with friends and getting books from their lockers before they went to first period. As he walked, Andy kept his eyes open for the others. Actually, he kept them open for Allison. He didn't know what was going to happen when he saw her, either on his end or hers. He was nervous about seeing her, but he wasn't afraid. In fact, he was more nervous about what she was going to do than how he was going to react. She was so unpredictable, and when it came down to it, he really didn't know her very well. Maybe she would just pretend that she didn't know him and that detention had never happened. Just brush right past him like he was just another guy in the hall. He hoped that she wouldn't do that, but he knew that it was a distinct possibility and that he had to be ready for anything where Allison was concerned.

"I hate Mondays," Jeff muttered as he brushed past a group of girls huddled in a small circle outside of the girls' bathroom.

Andy sighed. "Yeah, me, too."

They'd just made it to the center staircase when someone called out, "Jeff!" Andy glanced up in time to see one of Jeff's buddies waving at him, trying to get his attention. Andy wasn't very familiar with Jeff's friends since he never brought them over to the house, but he did recognize the kid--a short, dark-haired guy wearing a black leather jacket and a pair of ripped jeans--as someone that Jeff hung out with a lot at school.

Jeff nodded in Andy's direction. "See you later."

Andy nodded, and Jeff went over to join his friend. The two of them slapped hands in greeting, then started off down the hall, already deep in conversation. Andy watched them until they disappeared into the crowd, fighting the urge to follow them.


Andy looked over to see that Brian was standing next to him, hands jammed into the pockets of his khaki pants. The expression on his face was slightly pinched, like he was expecting Andy to start yelling at him, or maybe to hit him. God, was he really that much of an asshole, or was Brian just being...Brian?

"Hey," Andy said casually. "What's up?"

Brian paused uncertainly, then let out a little breath that sounded a lot like relief. For some reason, Andy felt a little bit relieved, too. All of this nervousness and second-guessing was starting to wear him out. He wished it was Friday already so that he wouldn't have to keep wondering how everyone else was going to react to seeing him.

"Nothing, I just thought I would say hi," said Brian, pulling one hand out of his pocket. "How was your weekend?"

Andy shrugged. "It was okay. Didn't do much because of the rain. What about you?"

"Same," said Brian. "I just stayed in and watched TV with my sister."

Andy nodded, and the two of them lapsed into silence, uncertain of what to say next. Andy glanced over Brian's shoulder at the wall of lockers on the opposite side of the hallway. There was a boy standing at an open locker, watching Andy and Brian closely. He was a little taller than Andy, but a lot thinner, and he had jet black hair just long enough that it fell into his eyes when he bent forward. His clothes looked a little bit too big for him, like maybe they'd been passed down from a larger older brother. He was wearing a grey t-shirt, black trousers, and a pair of worn out, bright red sneakers. Andy could see that the skin around his left eye was slightly yellowish from a bruise that hadn't completely healed.

Larry Lester.

Andy swallowed deeply and looked back at Brian. "Do you, well do you know him?"

"Who?" Brian glanced over his shoulder to see who Andy was talking about. When Larry realized he'd been spotted, he turned back towards his locker and started taking out books.

"Oh, uh..." Brian looked back at Andy. "I don't know him very well. He's in the Latin Club with me, and I have a couple of classes with him, but that's about it." He shrugged. "He doesn't really talk to anyone that much."

Andy glanced back over at Larry, who was still rummaging around inside of his locker. "Did he ever talk to you about what happened?"

"What happened?" Brian asked. "You mean..."

Andy nodded.

Brian pursed his lips together nervously. "Um, not really. I mean, no, not to me. Maybe to someone else, but..." He smiled apologetically. "Like I said, he doesn't really talk to us very much."

Andy nodded quickly. "Yeah, that's okay. I was just wondering."

Brian opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by the warning bell, which told them that they had one minute to get to their first period class.

"Well, I guess I should go," Brian said hesitantly.

Andy nodded. "Yeah, me, too."

Brian adjusted his backpack strap and nodded. "I'll, uh..." He smiled, embarrassed. "Bye, Andy."

Andy nodded, and Brian turned to walk away. He'd only taken a few steps when suddenly Andy felt like there was something missing. "Hey, Brian?" he called out.

Brian stopped and turned around, eyebrows lifted expectantly. "Yeah?"

Andy offered him a hesitant smile. "I'll see you later."

Brian paused, and then his face broke into a wide grin that showed off his braces. "Yeah," he said. "I'll see you later."


Bender spent most of Monday morning on the bleachers high above the football field, chain smoking and trying to figure out how he was going to get his hands on 300 dollars by Friday. He and Ricky had talked about it extensively the night before, though they hadn't come up with any viable options. Ricky had all of 30 dollars to his name, and Bender had about 25, which meant that they still needed 250. And cash like that didn't just appear out of thin air.

Ricky hadn't been very helpful. He'd suggested everything from mowing lawns to cleaning houses, shutting up only when Bender suggested having a charity bake sale. That was the problem with Ricky; he was too nice, too good. He wasn't used to dealing with guys like Frank Durbin, who had no soul and would kill some poor idiot just to light a match off the bottom of his shoe. Guys like Ricky didn't need to get involved in shit like that, which is why Bender had told him not to worry about it and that he would make sure they got the money in time.

It was a good thing Ricky couldn't tell when he was lying.

By the time third period came around, Bender had gone through an entire pack of Marlboros, but he wasn't any closer to figuring out how he was going to get the money. Knowing that he wasn't going to get anywhere sitting by himself in he freezing cold, he tossed the empty red and white package over his shoulder and slumped down the bleacher steps, heading for the main building.

Mrs. Naslund's English class was one of the more tolerable classes on Bender's schedule and was therefore the class that he attended with the most regularity. Mrs. Naslund didn't assign pointless worksheets or homework assignments, but instead focused mainly on classroom discussion and student participation. The desks in the room were arranged in the shape of a horseshoe so that the students could see one another when they talked. Bender always sat in the seat right next to the door, against the wall.

When the bell rang, Mrs. Naslund initiated a discussion on Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath, and Bender leaned his chair back against the wall, already bored. He thought about carving another set of his initials onto the top of the desk, but when he went looking for his knife, he realized that it wasn't with him. Shit, he'd probably dropped it in a rain puddle, which meant that it was lying in a drainage tunnel somewhere. Great.

About halfway through the discussion, Bender felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention, and he looked up to see who was watching him. It was a guy sitting on the back row on the opposite side of the room. He had short, spiky blonde hair, and he looked like he weighed about 250 pounds. He was wearing a red long-sleeved shirt and stonewashed jeans with a pair of worn out red sneakers. He didn't look happy.

Bender offered the guy a friendly smirk, then leaned his chair back against the wall and tried to get some sleep.

As soon as the bell rang dismissing them to lunch, Bender jumped out of his seat and slipped out the classroom door. He was halfway down the hall when he felt someone come up from behind and push him into the wall of lockers to his left.

"I think you and I need to have a little talk."

Bender looked up to see the beefy blonde guy from his English class standing in front of him, jaw clenched in anger. Bender ignored the throbbing in his side where his hip had made contact with a combination dial.

"I can think of better ways of getting my attention," he said, making a show of adjusting the collar of his jacket.

The guy ignored the comment. "Do you know who I am?" he asked.

Bender opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by another guy, this one taller and thinner, with short dark hair and a troubled expression. Bender recognized him from Mrs. Naslund's class.

"What's going on, Steve?" the guy asked.

Steve, the blonde guy, glanced over his shoulder. "I'm just having a little chat, Mark. Nothing to worry about." He turned his attention back to Bender. "So, do you know who I am?"

Bender's eyes widened with mock surprise. "Ed McMahon? Have I won?"

"No, you asshole," Steve spat out. "I'm the guy you hit last week in the parking lot. You damaged my fender!"

Bender definitely remembered that. His friend Cody had let him borrow his car that day since he didn't have anywhere to be and Bender didn't want to walk to school in the rain. Cody hadn't been all that upset by the dented fender, especially when Bender pointed out that it complimented the dent on the bumper, thus adding an element of symmetry that the car had been previously lacking.

"You just drove off without doing anything!" Steve exclaimed.

"Yeah, that was bad judgment on my part," Bender remarked sadly.

Steve scoffed. "Whatever. You're paying for my fender. 150 bucks. I need it by this weekend."

Oh, Christ. "150 bucks?" Bender echoed. "You've got to be fucking kidding me! I'm not paying that!"

Steve stepped forward and grabbed Bender by the collar, pushing him up against the row of lockers again. "Listen," he whispered menacingly, his face just inches from Bender's. "Both of us know that if I wanted to, I could snap you in two, right here, right now. But that could get messy, and I would rather have my fender replaced. So, get me my money, or I'll reach down your throat and pull out your fucking spine." With that, he pushed Bender away and started walking down the hall.

Bender stood up straight and readjusted his collar. 150 bucks. Holy fuck, that had to be some kind of cosmic joke. If he added that to the 250 that he and Ricky had to get to Frank Durbin by Friday, then he had to get his hands on 400 dollars in four days. Four days. He was so screwed.

"I'd watch what you say to Steve."

Bender turned to see that the other guy, Mark, was still standing next to him, watching his buddy walk down the hall. He looked over at Bender, expression blank. "The guy's a loose cannon. Say or do the wrong thing, and he'll probably take a baseball bat to your windshield."

Bender glared at him. "I don't have a windshield."

Mark shrugged. "Your head then. If I were you, I'd watch out. He's pretty unpredictable."

The guy's tone wasn't giving much away, and Bender couldn't tell if he was friends with the other guy or if he was just an irritatingly helpful, non-confrontational kind of guy. Either way, Bender didn't appreciate him butting into his business, and he sure as hell didn't appreciate the assumption that he couldn't take care of himself. As if Muscle Head was some kind of threat or something. Let him take a baseball bat to whatever the fuck he wanted...Bender would just jam a knife into his Adam's apple. Problem solved.

"Thanks for the advice," Bender said sarcastically, moving away. "But if /I /were /you/, I'd mind my own fucking business."


By the time his third period English class ended, Andy was hungry enough to eat his own hand. He'd almost done it, too, when Mrs. McMillan started in on comma rules and ending up spending twenty minutes discussing comma splices. The word splice reminded him of slice, and then all he could think about was pepperoni pizza...with extra sauce.

When he arrived at his usual table, the only person there was Kevin, one of the basketball players. He greeted Andy with a nod and swallowed a bite of his sandwich. "What's up?"

Andy shook his head and pulled out his lunch bag. "Nothing. Where's Chris?"

Kevin shrugged. "Haven't seen him. Why?"

Andy grabbed the first thing his hand landed on: a package of chocolate chip cookies. "I need him to help me figure out my Calculus homework," he said, ripping open the bag.

"Quotient rules?" Kevin asked, reaching for his orange juice.

Andy rolled his eyes. "How'd you guess?"

Before Kevin could answer, Warren dropped his backpack onto the bench on the other side of the table. "If you're looking for Chris, don't bother," he informed them.

"What?" Andy exclaimed, forcing a mouthful of cookie down his throat. "Why not?"

Warren sighed and took a seat. "Because he's not here today. He has a cold."

"What a pussy," said Kevin.

Warren nodded. "That's what I said. I need him to help me with my Calculus homework. I mean, what the hell is a--"

"Quotient rule?" asked Andy and Kevin at the exact same time.

Warren scoffed. "At least I'm not the only one."

Within a couple of minutes, the other guys had arrived, and everyone was eating and talking, catching up on what had happened over the weekend. Andy was halfway through his first sandwich when Mark arrived, tossing his red backpack under the table and sitting down next to Andy.

"Hey," he said tiredly.

Andy glanced over at him. "What's wrong with you?"

Mark sighed. "Nothing. I've just been dealing with assholes all day. It's like they're following me around or something."

Andy lifted an eyebrow. "Anyone I know?"

Mark glared at him. "Do you even have to ask?"

Andy nodded. "What did Steve do this time?"

Mark shook his head. "Nothing, just...he was just being a jerk, that's all." He picked up his lunch sack and opened it, pulling out a bag of small red cherry tomatoes.

"...would have seen it if he had /been there/!"

Andy glanced up at see that everyone at the table was watching him. He looked over at Kevin, who was grinning. "Where were you, man?" he asked.

Andy frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Kevin rolled his eyes. "Stubby's party. You missed out. Our friend Ronald--" He paused to punch his teammate, whose cheeks were red with embarrassment and anger, in the arm. "--put on quite a show for us, didn't he?"

Ronald glared at Kevin. "You're such a prick."

Andy smiled. "What happened?"

Kevin grinned at Ronald. "Gave everyone a little striptease. Kimberley Hollis was particularly appreciative, wasn't she, Ron?"

Ronald pushed Kevin away, knocking him into Mark.

Everyone started laughing except for Warren, who was still watching Andy. "So, why weren't you there?" he asked through a mouthful of potato chips. "I thought you were going."

Andy glanced over at Mark, who was watching Andy closely, waiting for his response. He knew that Mark wasn't satisfied with his excuse on Sunday when he'd called wondering why Andy hadn't picked him up like he was supposed to. The two of them had known one another for a long time, and Andy figured that Mark could probably tell when he was lying, or at least hiding something. The thing was, he wasn't hiding anything, at least not in the way that Mark was probably thinking. On Saturday and Sunday, Andy had spent all of his time at home, mostly because he didn't want to be around anyone, particularly his friends. It wasn't that he didn't like them anymore. It was just hard to explain what had happened on Saturday in the library, and he needed time to process it all. He figured that if he couldn't figure it out for himself, then the other guys sure as hell weren't going to understand. Not even Mark.

"I was just tired," Andy explained, looking back over at Warren.

Warren lifted an eyebrow. "Now who's being a pussy?"

Andy rolled his eyes and looked over at Mark, who had gone back to eating his tomatoes. "So, how was chemistry?" he asked, referring to Mark's least favorite class.

Mark sighed. "Fantastic," he replied sarcastically. "I have a take home test due on Wednesday, but Sarah said she's going to help me."

Andy grinned. "You never did tell me what happened between you two on Saturday."

"That's because nothing did happen," Mark responded irritably. "I told you that."

"Oh, come on," said Andy. "You two must have at least talked on the ride home."

Mark glared at him, but Andy thought that he could see a smile in there somewhere. "We talked," he admitted.

"About?" Andy prodded, popping another cookie into his mouth.

Mark sighed, defeated. "Nothing too serious. Just about classes mostly. She's taking this advanced biology course at the community college so she'll get college credit, and..."

As he listened to Mark talk about how smart and talented and motivated Sarah was, Andy glanced around the cafeteria, looking for the others. He spotted Claire almost immediately. She was sitting at her usual table of friends, listening as one of the girls told some long, involved story that required extensive use of her hands. The story must have been very funny, because suddenly the entire table started laughing, Claire included. She didn't notice Andy watching her.

It took a little bit longer to find Brian's table since Andy had never really cared or thought about where the nerds sat. As it turned out, they sat against the back wall, right under the mural that the Art Club had painted the year before. There were five or six other people at his table, including a couple of girls, which shouldn't have surprised Andy, but it did.

He was trying to figure out which of the girls Brian was probably drooling over when he saw /her/. She was sitting right next to Brian, who was talking a mile a minute, waving a carrot stick in the air to illustrate a point. Her body was hidden by her dark grey parka, but her hair was pushed back out of her eyes with a dark red headband. He could see her mouth, curled up in a mischievous smile as she listened to Brian talk. She was right in the middle of everything, but somehow not part of it, or maybe it was just that his mind couldn't focus on anyone else but her.

Then suddenly she looked up, like maybe she could sense that he was watching her, and their eyes locked together. Andy felt his breath catch in his throat. Allison looked a little bit surprised, if her wide eyes were any indication. Her mouth dropped open slightly, but she closed it quickly, biting down in her lower lip to keep it closed. Andy couldn't tear his eyes away from her face.

" that maybe she can graduate in three years instead of four."

Andy blinked, looking back at Mark. "What?" he asked, disoriented.

Mark paused. "Have you heard anything I just said?" he asked flatly.

Andy sighed. "Yeah, of course," he lied.

Mark didn't say anything, just picked up his sandwich and looked away. Andy watched him for a moment, then glanced back over at Brian's table. Allison was still watching him, but as soon as she realized she'd been spotted, she looked down at the table, busying herself with her sandwich. Andy sighed and went back to his lunch.


Bender spent his lunch period the same way he'd spent his morning: on the bleachers, smoking. Except this time he wasn't smoking them one after the other, like he had earlier. In fact, he hardly even tasted the cigarettes this time, he was so distracted.

400 dollars. He needed 400 dollars by Friday. 150 to make sure some meathead didn't bash his head in with a baseball bat and 250 to make sure that Frank Durbin didn't cut his and Ricky's throat with a switchblade. 400 dollars, 4 days, and 2 ways to die. Decisions, decisions.

Bender laughed, and a puff of cigarette smoke escaped from his throat. He was finding it hard to take any of it seriously after being confronted by that asshole in the hallway. It all seemed so absurd in his head, like it was happening to someone else, or maybe like it was some kind of fucked up dream. On Friday, he could be dead. Twice. Somehow, this didn't scare him the way it should have, and that was probably the scariest part of all.

Suddenly the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Bender tossed his cigarette onto the bench below him and put it out with the tip of his boot. Then he made the long, familiar trek down the steps, through the parking lot, and through the double doors leading to the hallway outside of the cafeteria.

And there she was, right in the middle of everything, just like always. She was wearing a dark red sweater and a brown leather skirt, and she was carrying a matching red purse. She was talking with some friends, nodding along with something that one of the other girls was saying, her red curls swishing with the movement. She didn't seem to notice that he was there.

Bender ducked his head down slightly and walked around the group, not wanting to draw any attention to himself. Because for some reason, he was suddenly feeling very self conscious. Fuck! Was he kidding himself? What the fuck did he care what a bunch of rich chicks thought about him, huh? What the fuck did he even care what one of them thought? He didn't, and he had to remember that.


Bender stopped and turned to see that Claire was right on his heels, struggling to catch up to him. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and her lips were redder than he remembered them being. Fuck.

"I, uh..." She offered a nervous smile. "Hi."

Bender nodded in greeting.

Claire released a tiny breath. "How was your weekend?"

Bender shrugged. "Uneventful." He paused. "You?"

Claire shrugged. "The same, I guess. I did homework, mostly."

Bender lifted an eyebrow. "Sounds /thrilling/."

Claire smiled. "Yeah, it was."

The two of them stood there awkwardly for a moment before the warning bell rang, signaling that they had one minute to get to class. Claire looked down at her watch and sighed. "Well, I guess I'll see you later," she said disappointedly.

Bender nodded. "Yeah, maybe."

Claire stood there for a moment, studying him. It looked like she was trying to make a decision, or maybe get up the courage to say something. Before Bender could figure out which one it was, Claire leaned forward and kissed him.

Maybe it was because he wasn't expecting it--or maybe it was because it was /her/--but suddenly Bender felt like he was drowning. He'd felt that way all day, like he was fighting to keep his head above water, but somehow this was different. Somehow, he didn't want to fight it this time. He just wanted the wave to swallow him whole, to take him under and never bring him back up again.

But just as soon as the kiss began, it was over. Claire pulled away, taking in a sharp breath, like a diver resurfacing. Her eyes flickered up to meet his, and she bit down on her lip again. Without saying anything else, she smiled and walked away.

Bender didn't watch her leave. He wanted to, but he forced himself not to. Instead, he looked straight ahead, at the people walking past him--some of them gaping at him, some of them not--and that feeling of absurdity washed over him again, causing him to laugh out loud. Yeah, it was someone else's life alright.

But it was his goddamn dream.

Thank you for reading. Reviews and/or ratings are much appreciated.
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