Title: I Don't Like Mondays.
Character(s): Allison; Andy; Bender; Brian; Claire.
Summary: The infamous words carved into the wall; how does it fit in with the clichéd Monday after/aftermath story of TBC's detention?
Disclaimer: I don't own TBC.
"I Don't Like Mondays."
Allison
Basket Case- n. A person who is helpless or incapable of functioning normally.
Allison's room was her sanctuary; her refuge from the outside world where she was judged, labelled and ignored. The thick, heavy black curtains that had hung from the white metal rod for seven years not only blocked out the sunlight trying to spill into the mess that was her room; it prevented prying eyes from looking into her bedroom. Not that there was much to see – textbooks merged with CD cases, novels and art supplies on her desk; her entire wardrobe was spread out into piles on the floor, organised by colour and type of clothing article, her bed was a mess of sheets and pillows and Allison's previous works of art that she was particularly proud of were tacked on the wall along with posters of her favourite bands, photos she had taken, and pictures of places she wanted to go that she ripped out of the Travel section of the newspaper every Sunday, wishing she could break away from this place she was forced to call home.
Allison stepped away from the mirror, all traces of the makeover that Claire had given her on Saturday gone. Except for the side fringe; Allison liked the side fringe. She glanced at herself one last time. She wore a plain white shirt underneath Andy's blue jumper; and paired her knee-length grey skirt with odd socks and Chucks. She looked like a basket case, and she liked it that way. Her eyes flickered over to the clock that was wedged in between a lamp and a photo of her family; fake smiles plastered on their faces at the beach. The white numbers, printed on black squares, read 6:45.
"Reason number six hundred and thirty four as to why I don't like Mondays;" Allison told her reflection. "I have to wake up at six 'o'clock; and after sleeping in until ten on the weekend, all I feel like doing is smashing the clock to pieces with a hammer."
The one exception to this statement was Saturday; when she had woken up at the usual time, decided she had nothing better to do with her day; and so walked into her brother's bedroom, and announced that he had to drop her off outside Shermer High School before seven 'o' clock, in order for her to be at school on time for detention. She'd never said that she had detention; her brother just assumed that she did. She'd made some friends – for the first time in her natural existence, Allison believed – and so here was another reason she didn't like Mondays:
"Reason number four as to why I don't like Mondays: things happen on the weekend that makes you all confused, and when Monday comes around, you have no idea whether to return to complacency land and carry on with your life as per usual, or to adapt to the new circumstances and make room in your life for them." Allison frowned, picked up her grey shoulder bag, and headed for the door.
Shermer High School; how I loathe thee. How shall I count the ways? Allison let out a small smirk at her play on Elizabeth Barrett Browning's infamous words. She was positive that her expectations of the day were not going to be fulfilled; a belief that seemed to be confirmed the moment she jumped out of the bus and viewed the few hundred students milling around the school; split into their cliques and in the process of a Monday ritual: gossiping and exchanging details of the events which occurred during the sixty or so hours since they had last seen one another.
"Reason number nine hundred and eighty as to why I don't like Mondays;" Allison murmured under her breath, to make sure nobody heard her. "Monday morning rituals always make me view my year mates as sheep. They also remind me why I chose to become a recluse."
Allison searched for the quickest way through the crowds; towards the prize at the end of a rainbow that was made of typecasts, rather than colours: the glass double-doors of Shermer High School which acted as the entrance towards Allison's morning haven away from the majority of the student population. Geeks and excitable freshmen that were still too green to not be embarrassed by being involved within the school and come early to school for no reason were the exception. The rest of the populace were out on the lawns, and were likely to stay there until the second bell for homeroom rang. God forbid they turn up outside their lockers at the warning bell and are ready for homeroom by the second, Allison thought as she pushed her way between a group of nerds and a group of jocks. As she was knocked to the ground by a jock that appeared to be close on seven feet, Allison sighed and cursed the person who invented Mondays.
"Reason number twenty as to why I don't like Mondays;" Allison whispered to herself as she walked down the hallways of Shermer High School towards her homeroom. "It means that a new cycle of assignments, homework, detention, malicious gossip, and arguments begin; a vicious cycle that will never end."
Allison ducked as a paper plane floated down the hallway – narrowly missing her head – and turned into FG9 – the classroom in which she was forced to sit in for fifteen minutes every morning while her homeroom teacher marked off their names and announced the morning notices.
Reason number one thousand, two hundred and ninety five as to why I don't like Mondays; Allison thought as she walked down the aisle to her usual seat in the right hand corner of the back row. It means the return of Mr Aubusson and his stupid jokes and lame remarks about what he calls "juvenile delinquents," but what the rest of the world considers to be "teenagers."
Allison rummaged through the 'shit' in her bag; digging through the books, pencils, pens and screwed up pieces of paper for her sketchbook. She pulled it out triumphantly as the bell rang and a few more students entered the classroom. She smiled fondly as she flicked through the graphite-covered pages that showed representations of Allison at different stages throughout the year, and of topics and issues that interested her during these times. In a strange way that would reinforce Allison's label of 'basket case,' Allison considered her sketchbook to be her best friend – it showed her the important events of her life, she could always turn to it when she was troubled about something and draw away her emotions, and wherever she went, it went. Even better, it didn't argue with her, it didn't say nasty things behind her back about her, and it wouldn't blab her many secrets to the entire school. She tilted her head towards the ceiling, and began to cast her thoughts about for something she could draw. She smiled, the perfect idea forming in her mind.
"Nice picture." The words were breathed into her mind, and she spun around in her chair to see the owner of the voice.
"Thanks," she muttered, spinning back around in her chair to face her sketchbook once more. While there were a number of positive things about having a sketchbook for a best friend; the unfortunate thing was that there were a number of things a sketchbook couldn't do. For example, create butterflies in your stomach.
"You should keep my jacket; it looks good on you," Andy continued with a grin. Allison's pale face flushed red, but she smiled at him shyly.
"Good, 'cause I wasn't going to give it back anyway," she grinned. It smelled like him, she wanted to keep it just in case he decided he didn't want anything to do with her. That way, she'd always have something to remind herself of him.
"I'll see you at lunch," he told her softly, as a way of saying goodbye. Allison moved her head slightly, but didn't give any further acknowledgement that she had heard his invitation. She was standing on unknown ground – and it gave her an unpleasant feeling; right in the pit of her stomach.
"And so, the super continent Pangaea split into two; forming Laurasia, which was made up of the countries in the northern hemisphere, and Gondwana, which was made up of the countries in the southern hemisphere…"
Reason number two thousand, four hundred and seventy five as to why I don't like Mondays, Allison thought, as she scribbled down Ms Mackenzie's dictation into her notebook. It means sitting through Biology first period, which is then followed by Geometry, which makes me want to stick my head into an oven and shut the door tightly.
Biology wasn't exactly what one would call Allison's favourite subject; however, she was kept amused by the presence of John Bender in the classroom. As Ms Mackenzie viewed Bender as a "distraction" and "detrimental to the learning of others," he sat up the front of the class, where Ms Mackenzie could easily keep an eye on him. Unfortunately, his comments were, if possible, even more audible from the front than from at the back, and so Ms Mackenzie kept on getting sidetracked as she stopped every five minutes to have a few harsh words with Bender.
"Ms Mackenzie, I am only trying to learn. If you don't wish for me to ask questions, how is it possible that I understand the reasons why Pangaea was split into two? How am I even going to learn how the hell you spell the name?"
It was comments like this that made the Biology teacher, straight out of college, to lose her temper and become sidetracked. While it meant that Allison's exams were slightly easier because they had barely learnt anything during the term; it also meant that they received a lot of homework. Not that Allison did it, but what if she decided to recreate herself as academically inclined? It would mean a lot of thinking and effort on her part, two things that she wasn't so keen about. That's why she enjoyed art – it was simple, and effortless. It just… came to her. The bell signalling the end of first period rang, startling Allison out of her reflection on art. The sound of chairs scraping and papers being crumpled as they were shoved into book bags filled the room, before a stampede towards the door occurred.
"So, Klepto. Tell me - did you find my witty conversation with Mackenzie amusing?" Bender asked, as Allison walked out of the classroom. Allison grinned at the nickname Bender had coined once he realised that not only had she "borrowed" his pocket knife, but his combination lock had also gone missing.
"I wouldn't call it witty; I think it was more a desperate attempt to avoid the education system's aim in providing you with solid learning."
"Y'know me, always willing to bring down an institution in order to better society," Bender replied mock-solemnly. Allison burst out laughing. Out of the other four members of The Breakfast Club, she had decided that Bender amused her most. Andy confused her, Brian intrigued her, and Claire astounded her, but Bender amused her, and that was what she really needed the most.
"I see the work that Princess did over the weekend has magically disappeared," Bender noted as they navigated through the crowds towards Allison's Geometry class. Allison simply shrugged in reply.
"I decided that it wasn't really me," she said carefully. "It didn't really bring out essence de Klepto, nor did it fit with the artistic recluse thing that I've got going on." Bender grinned.
"Fair enough. We can't all be like Princess." Allison nodded; glad that Bender had understood why she had reverted back to her old ways, bad fashion sense and all. Allison stopped outside her Geometry classroom, looking mournfully at the doorway.
"This is my stop," she sighed, casting an evil look at her teacher's back as he busily wrote up problems on the blackboard. Bender appeared to be highly amused by her expression; although that could have been because the teacher chose that moment to drop his cup of coffee and have it splatter all over his trousers.
"Well, in that case, I'll see you around – I have a date with the esteemed Dick," Bender winked. "By the way, I like the jumper," he added, before disappearing into the somewhat reduced crowd. For the first time all year, Allison walked into Geometry with a smile on her face.
Reason number eighty one as to why I don't like Mondays: at lunchtime, you get that vague feeling of being at a zoo during feeding time. Allison paused as she picked up a carton of chocolate milk. No, wait, that's everyday. Picking up something that looked slightly cheesy, but mostly inedible, she headed towards the cash register to pay for her lunch.
"Hi Allison," came a soft, slightly nasal voice. When Allison turned around, she saw that it was Brian who stood behind her, tightly clutching onto a brown paper bag. She grinned when she saw it, and Brian followed his gaze.
"Got something real nutritious in there, Brian?" she joked. Brian let out a little laugh that sounded forced, and his gaze went towards the ground. Instantly, she felt bad.
"Oh, I didn't mean it like that! I just meant -" she paused, searching for a word. "It was kind of like an in joke," she concluded finally. Brian brightened up at the sound of that. He knew the popular kids had in jokes; and he had tried so hard to fit in, despite his nickname 'Geekasaurus Rex.'
"Okay," he beamed. "Well, uh, I just stopped to say hi… that's all." With that, he disappeared as quickly as he came. Allison turned around, walking the rest of the distance towards the cash register. Maybe she was wrong. While it was true that Andy confused her, Bender amused her, and Claire astounded her, maybe Brian wasn't there to just intrigue her. He mystified and bewildered her, provoked her into thinking thoughts she wouldn't usually think, and then he would say something that would either melt her heart; cause her to bawl her eyes out; or wish that she could just wrap her arms around him and give him a big hug. He was a big tangle of different emotions, and it caused her to be over protective of him. She shook her head and headed towards a table, trying to work out that mystery that was Brian Johnson.
Allison had learnt a very important lesson during Geography. Not about land degradation or how geographical features were formed, but why she had earned herself a reputation as a basket case – when you stare at a person intermittently for fifteen minutes, they are bound to get a little freaked out. Stare at a person continuously for a whole hour, and they going to get a little paranoid and begin to carry around a pair of sharp, shiny scissors.
"OK, Claire, I give up. Why do you keep on staring at me?" Allison muttered to Claire, who, by complete coincidence, was seated next to her. Claire shifted slightly in her seat, stared at Allison with wide eyes, and then shrugged.
"I don't know," she replied. "I'm waiting to get some reaction from you, I suppose. It's not every Saturday you make a friend during detention, but you can't really be friends with them because of who your other friends are." Allison's head spun from Claire's sentence. Claire had been honest with them from the start – she had highly doubted that she would be able to be friends with them once all resumed back to normal on Monday, and as far as Allison knew, Claire had been right. She'd barely acknowledged Brian at lunchtime, and she'd made minimal effort with Bender in the hallways. The only one she had really been slightly civilised and courteous to was Andy, and that's because they had the same friends, the same pressure on them to interact with certain people. Allison turned back to Claire, a sad look tacked on her face.
"You're not going to get a reaction from me, Claire. I know a lost cause when I see one." Allison buried her head into her notebook, for once doing the work required of her in order to hide the tears threatening to fall.
The hallways are empty; the afternoon sun happily reflects off the dirty linoleum floor. Allison realises that Carl will come through soon with a bucket of hot, soapy water and a worn mop to clean up the mess her schoolmates create soon, and she feels a pang of sympathy towards him.
"Reason number eight as to why I don't like Mondays," Allison told the empty hallway. "When you meet new people over the weekend, it makes you think about things you've never thought of before." She paused, admitting to herself that it wasn't really a reason as to why she hated Mondays; she just made it up because Saturday had turned out to be a catalyst for change. A change which meant that she no longer knew what she was anymore – was she simply a recluse who had spent time with four other people for a lack of something better to do, or was she a former recluse, who had friends, but simply chose to limit the time she spent with them. The definition of their friendship confused her, until she no longer knew anything about social hierarchies and conformity and labels. The only thing that she really knew, deep down, was herself. And that thought scared her more than anything.
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