Notes | so, um, i had this idea for a dylan-centric fic, but there was only one problem…it wasn't depressing. but then i thought, hey, write it anyway. it's about time we put some fluff back on this archive and poor dylly deserves a happy ending too, right?

Warnings | alternate universe, brief language, ooc moments

Disclaimer | I do not own the Clique, Sixteen Candles, Pretty in Pink, the Breakfast Club… basically I don't own anything.

Dylan Marvil loved eighties movies—the music, the fashion and, of course, the one and only Molly Ringwald. She had found similarities between herself and John Hughes's redheaded muse after watching the three movies she stared in (and not just the fact they had the same hair color). Molly Ringwald portrayed an accurate cadence of adolescent life. A concoction of apprehension, humiliation and hope that was the teenage years.

"When you don't have anything, you don't have anything to lose. Right?"
-Samantha Baker, Sixteen Candles

-:-

Every girl dreams about having her sweet sixteen, just like Samantha Baker. But unlike Samantha, everyone remembered Dylan's sweet sixteen. How could they not? She was the most popular girl in school. Her mom only gave her two rules prior to the arrival of the guest: only invite people that she truly knew and if anybody came to the door with even as much as a drop of alcohol, ask them to leave immediately. It was no worry; popular people didn't need alcohol to have fun. All they needed was to have friendly competition through their usual banter, bragging to each other about how their daddies' latest investment just made them another million dollars.

Ugh, Dylan rolled her eyes, why are popular people so fake?

"Hey, birthday girl." Dylan's best friend, Massie Block, cooed as she waltzed over to the kitchen counter and gave her an affectionate stroke on the chin. In actuality, Massie was the one who threw the party together, but decided to give Dylan all the credit (Massie was always looking for ways to maintain Dylan's popularity). "How many times have I told you? Sulking is bad for your complexion!"

"Do you expect me to be happy all the time?" Dylan asked. It seemed as though she always had to force things when she was around these people.

"No, but today you should. Now let's see that smile."

Dylan tried her best to get the corners of her mouth to stretch from ear to ear.

"That's better. Now mingle, it's your day." Massie gave her a hug before leaving.

Being part of the popular clique, she should find company with anybody in an instant, right? But whenever they talked to Dylan, they usually would expect her to give updated information on Hollywood's hottest celebrities, much to Dylan's dismay (she could've cared less about the shenanigans Abby Boyd was getting into). People always labeled her as "girl with the famous mother"; they didn't realize she had an identity far beyond her mother's status. After studying the party, she stopped searching when she came across a boy with brown hair, horn-rimmed glasses and a wide mouth. Standing against the wall, steering clear of the active party goers, he reminded her of Anthony Michael Hall's character, Farmer Ted, in Sixteen Candles. Dylan doubted he would really be interested in conversation, since he was already engrossed in a math textbook. But, it didn't hurt to go over and see what he would say.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave." she smirked. "Your lack of having fun is throwing off the party vibe."

"Au contraire, officer." Math Textbook Guy countered. "This happens to be state of the art fun. Speaking of which, I saw you over there by the kitchen counter. It looks like you're in violation of your own rules."

Dylan laughed out loud. Finally, someone who understood her sense of humor!

"I'm just kidding," he closed the textbook and placed it on the glass table beside him, "I'd care less about graphing rational functions. This was just Kemp Hurley's math homework I was reviewing."

This boy knew Kemp Hurley. He and Dylan ran in the same social circle, but does that mean this boy did too? "How come I don't know you?"

He shrugged. "Parties like this aren't usually my scene. I'm Chris Plovert by the way."

"I'm—"

"Dylan Marvil, of course I know who you are."

"Why do I even bother introducing myself." she chucked.

"Dyl?" Massie called the redhead from the kitchen, motioning her to come over, "What are you doing talking to him?"

"Um, it's my party, Mass, remember? I'm pretty sure I can talk to whoever I want."

"He wasn't on the guest list. Kemp just invited him because he needed help with homework or something." She took a deep breath, as if she was about to explain something to Dylan she had clarified many times before. "Look, he's not like us. Besides, why do you need more friends when you have many people at this party who are perfectly fine hanging out with you?"

Why did Dylan have to lose so much over one little thing? She couldn't understand the logic of popularity.

But, then again, was there any logic to popularity?

"I hate it. I hate having to go along with everything my friends say."
-Claire Standish, The Breakfast Club

-:-

Junior year was the climax of a kid's high school journey. You had your SATs, decisions for college, there was barely enough time to enjoy one of your last years of adolescence. So if a few kids wanted to pull a few pranks, it was pretty understandable.

"Can you explain to me what the point of this prank is?" Dylan asked Massie as they raced out the main entrance of Briarwood-Octavian High School, aerosol spray cans in hand.

"The point is, Dylly, Mr. Myner is being a total asshole and needs to stop giving us all of these projects to do over the break. Don't we work hard enough during school?"

They met Kemp Hurley and Danny Robbins in the parking lot, where they were standing beside Mr. Myner's pickup truck. The three of them started spraying the truck as Dylan was still wondering why she was wearing heels when she about to make a run for it. ("You must look good at all cost." Massie always said). Everything was going accordingly until…

"Mr. Myner, Come quick!" a shrill voice called. Coral "Strawberry" McAdams, the Ariana Grande wannabe with henna dyed hair. Dylan should've known Strawberry would say something; she's practically Mr. Myner's teacher's pet.

Kemp, Massie and Danny made a mad dash out of the parking lot. Leaving Dylan trying to keep up with them, but ending up tripping and falling to the ground.

Girl Rule #3465: When wearing heels, always take them off before running.

Dylan should've known that. But when you were forced to act fast, there was no time for logical thinking.

"Ms. Marvil, what do you think you're doing?" Mr. Myner scolded, his arms folded across his chest.

Dylan stammered, trying to get the words out that she wasn't the one who was vandalizing his truck, but he didn't believe her because he saw the aerosol paint can in her hand.

-:-

Mr. Myner offered Dylan two choices: she could either serve her detention that Thursday after school, or she could serve it Saturday morning. She chose the latter because she didn't want to see anyone from school there, and no one serves detention on a Saturday. The more Dylan though about it, the more she realized, she didn't really do that much after school. Sure, there were parties she attended, but would she really have gone if everyone hadn't always convinced her?

That just proved how close she was with the popular kids. In the day, she usually graced the halls of Briarwood-Octavian High School with a swarm people around her. On Dylan's left was usually Massie, followed by her guy-of-the-week draping his arm around her shoulder. But outside of school, Dylan was usually at home watching her favorite eighties movie, wondering what would have happened if Brian Johnson and Claire Standish ever had feelings for each other just how Molly Ringwald and Anthony Michael Hall did during filming.

-:-

Suspecting nobody would be in detention with her, Dylan didn't even bother dressing up. A typical school day outfit consisted of bright and bold patterned skirts, dresses and blouses. But that day, all she wanted to do was just throw on a baggy sweatshirt, some sweatpants and short brown Uggs. She discarded her usual shimmery lip gloss, mascara and left her frequently straightened hair wild and unkempt—it's natural state.

Detention was held in the library. Upon entering, Dylan could feel her stomach drop when she saw a figure sitting at one of the round tables (so much for being alone). She took a deep breath and mentally prepared herself for whatever self-defense she could muster under the attack of the camera on that kid's phone. Followed by whatever "clever" title that would headline the school newspaper the next day, "Dylan Un-Marviled", perhaps.

The soon-to-be-freelance-photographer swiveled around in his seat, hearing her footsteps, "What are you in for?" he smiled.

Dylan recognized the horn-rimmed glasses and wide mouth. It wasn't a scandal stalker at all. It was Chris Plovert, the math textbook guy from her sweet sixteen last year. "Almost vandalizing Mr. Myner's truck." she answered his question, "You?"

"I got busted for selling answers to Mr. McGowan's math test. Funny, you don't seem like the one to vandalize."

She shrugged. "I was framed."

"Something's different about you." Chris stroked his chin as if he was trying to solve some mystery. "Did you change your hair?"

Dylan smiled, looking down at her clothes. "I usually dress like this when I don't really have anybody to impress." She pulled up a chair and took a sit beside Chris.

"You have to impress people? I thought everybody already knew who you were."

"You'd think that's true but it really isn't."

She told him how everyone wanted to be her friend only because she was related to Merri-Lee Marvil, the host of the popular talk show The Daily Grind, and had easy access to the celebrity world, but no one wanted to get to know her personally. And he told her about how people only used him when they needed help studying for a test, then they wouldn't even as much as look at him after they passed. This slowly became a regular thing for them, these "detention dates", where they had their own two-person breakfast club discussing things they could never reveal to their respective social circles.

Conversations ranged from plans after high school: "I was thinking of applying to Harvard." Chris said.

"Really?" Dylan asked. "I never knew you were into law."

"No one does. It was kind of just a secret ambition of mine."

Embarrassing moments: "When you had crutches in the seventh grade it was actually because you accidently ran into a pole?"

Chris chuckled, cringing at the memory. "Yeah, when I was twelve, I never really had the most common sense."

Even favorite food: "So let me get this straight, you would trade a salad any day for a double cheeseburger?"

"Exactly," Dylan giggled. "I hate salad! I don't understand why something that's healthy for you has to taste so bland."

"Wow, a girl that actually likes food!" Chris mused. "You don't usually run into those too often."

"There's actually a lot more than you think. We just hide it because we don't think that's what you guys want. It's kind of like how guys think all girls want this macho man, when really we like it when guys are a little quirky and aren't afraid to admit they have a few flaws. Or at least that's just me."

Chris smiled inward and awkwardly adjusted his glasses. Dylan could tell she was making him feel uncomfortable, but in a good way.

But their reoccurring discussion was always their roles in the high school caste system:

"If you hate your friends so much, why don't you stop hanging out with them?"

Dylan heavily contemplated this. She never really thought about it before, "It doesn't matter if I don't like them. When we're together, I feel safe. I can't just drop them because if I do, then who do I have?"

Realizing how much they enjoyed talking to each other, the two of them went out to eat to get to know each other better.

And of course, they went out for burgers, not salads.

"I just want them to know that they didn't break me."
-Andie Walsh, Pretty in Pink

-:-

As the seniors of Briarwood-Octavian High School breezed by their classes, prom was the true thing on their minds. Only one more big blowout until they packed their bags and shipped out of Westchester for good. Sure, to some people it was a stupid tradition. But to quote Iona from Pretty in Pink, "You could say life itself was a stupid tradition". Because, come on, you had to go, even if it was for a couple of minutes. And think of all the stories you would have to tell.

"Are you listening to me?" Massie slammed Dylan's open locker in her face. She had just snapped her out of a daydream about who she would take to the prom.

"Of course I am," she lied.

"Good," Massie continued. "Now, as I was saying, I think you should go to the dance with Derrick?"

"Derrick Harrington," Dylan practically spat out his name, "why?"

Derrick Harrington was the Blane McDonough of Briarwood-Octavian High School. He had it all— the looks, the money, the alpha male status— all things Dylan didn't give two shits about. After all, she never really liked Blane. She was more of a Duckie Dale kind of gal, Andie Walsh's lovable but dorky best friend. It didn't matter if the two of them didn't get together at the end, Dylan wanted Duckie all to herself.

"Well, you know, you two are the most popular kids in school. It's pure high school politics!"

"Massie, had it ever occurred to you that I can make decisions for myself?" Dylan finally snapped, surprising herself.

"I'm just doing what's best for you to survive at this school. Do you want to know why everyone wants to be popular? Let's face it, everyone's life sucks. But when you're popular and everybody worships you and tells you how smart, beautiful and amazing you are all of those problems just seem to go away."

Massie did make some valid points. She agreed to go with Derrick. Besides, she only had one more year of playing it safe until she left high school.

Everything would have been fine if Chris Plovert hadn't come to talk to her during lunch that day. "I think I may have told you this before, but social gatherings like prom aren't really my thing. But I only say that because I never really have anyone to go with. Do you want to go with me? I'm not trying to ask you out or anything. Not that I wouldn't because, getting to know you, I actually though you were pretty cool."

And you're going to hate me for a life time for what I'm about to do.

"Can you please say something? 'Cause, I kind of feel like an idiot with you just staring at me like that."

Dylan sighed heavily, "Chris, don't take this the wrong way, I'm really glad we became friends. But I can't take you to the dance; I'm kind of going with somebody else."

A small frown was tugging at the corners of Chris's lips, "If you didn't like me in first place why didn't you just say so. I would understand it happens to me all the time." he walked off with his head hung low.

It hurt Dylan to let Chris go. He must have thought all the time they spent with each other was part of some joke. That she was just as heartless as the rest of the popular kids. That was what her problem was. If she hadn't been so concerned about how the school saw her she wouldn't have been in this mess. Well, she had had it. It was time to take matters into her own hands.

Days passed as Dylan tried to separate herself from her friends as much as possible. At lunch, she sat alone. In science lab, she tried to find different partners. She never replied to any of the messages Massie left her, because they all asked why she left her. Dylan didn't want to tell her true thoughts; it would just make her hate her even more. As the day of prom got closer, Dylan contemplated her decision of going. She couldn't go alone, yet if she didn't go she might regret it. It was times like these she always asked WWMD (What Would Molly Do?). If she was in Pretty in Pink, Molly would be Andie Walsh going to her mother figure, Iona, for advice. And Dylan didn't just have a mother figure, she had an actual mom.

One would think being a big-time talk show host, Merri-Lee Marvil wouldn't exactly be that much of a mother figure, but she was willing to push all celebrity business aside for her daughter. They had a close-knit relationship, especially after Dylan's father left.

"Mom," Dylan poked her head in the crack of her bedroom door as she opening it. "Can I ask you for some advice?"

"Sure," Merri-Lee jumped out of her seat on the couch and patted a seat for her daughter to sit on. She had just finished reading the latest issue of US Weekly, "What's bothering you, Pickle?"

Affection nicknames: embarrassing in a public setting, yes, but a true sign she really cares.

She explained how she left her friends because she was tired of being a doormat. And how she turned down the only guy that truly understood her, just so she could still fit in with said friends.

"Can I tell you something?" her mother asked. "When your dad and I divorced, he said he didn't like what I have become because of the Daily Grind. And he was right, it did change me. There's no proof that it was the right path I chose. But it was the path I chose, that's all that matters. Dylan, there will always be people who disagree with you. But if you continue to go along with whatever they say, you'll feel even worse about yourself."

"Thanks." she hugged her mother. "So, should I go to prom even though I'm going alone? Because I feel like there's no point when you don't have anybody to enjoy it with."

"If you really want to go, then just go. And if you feel uncomfortable, you can always leave. You don't have to stay for the whole night."

"There's only one problem, I don't have a dress; and it's too late to go get one from a store. Mom, can I borrow one of your dresses?"

Merri-Lee knit her eyebrows, not sure where her daughter was going with this, "You want to wear one of my dresses?"

"The one you wore to your prom. I know for sure it fits me."

"Sure, if you don't mind prom dresses from the eighties." she joked.

Her daughter smiled brightly, "I don't mind at all."

-:-

Dylan pulled up in front of the school in her new BMW, a gift from her mom and the crew of the Daily Grind. Her freshly curled ringlets were in a half-updo, bounded by a pink ribbon to match her long, strapless pink dress (vintage, courtesy of Merri-Lee Marvil's closet).

It seemed weird for her arriving to an event like this alone. The feeling of loneliness sent a naked, or rather, claustrophobic sensation through her. It was an out-of-body experience, peering through the gym and seeing all of her ex-friends in a circle by the DJ, with Massie and Derrick in the middle. It was no surprise, really; Dylan always knew Massie had a slight interest in him.

Almost everyone was there.

Almost.

"One Christopher James Plovert at your service." Her old detention buddy came up to her and brought his right foot forward and bowed—ballroom style. Dylan instantly remembered why she liked him so much. There was never a dull moment with Chris Plovert.

"I take it you're not mad at me?" she asked, slightly grimacing.

"I was never really mad, just hurt. But then thinking about it, I probably would've done the same thing. I didn't realize the popular kids were so intimidating."

"They're not, I just allowed myself to think that." She was too blind to see that Chris Plovert was a better choice all along. Someone that laughed at her jokes no matter how terrible, someone who she wasn't afraid to eat fast food in front of, someone who accepted her true self. "Can we just start over?"

"I was thinking the same thing," Chris replied. "Dylan Marvil, may I take you to prom?"

Dylan beamed and said firmly, "I'd love that!"

They grabbed hands and walked into the gymnasium as did John Hughes justice, reviving the roles of his muses, Molly Ringwald and Anthony Michael Hall—the princess and the geek—proving that different social circles could never hide the fact that all kids had one thing in common. They were all lost souls trying to find their place in the world.

Upon entering, Dylan didn't even glance at her former friends because, really, it didn't really matter. She wasn't going to see them again after high school. That night, it was just going to be about her and Chris. He twirled her around in circles, not caring how outdated it was or inappropriate for a fast song. And she planted her lips firmly on to his, imagining the moment freeze framing as white credits rolled on to a movie screen.

It was sweet, heartwarming, wonderful, uplifting, cheesy but oh-so endearing.

Just like an eighties movie.

okay, this was longer than i expected, i swear.

qotd: what's your favorite eighties movie?

mine? check my profile.

hope you all had fun eating your body weight in turkey meat :) see you later.