( A/N: Hello, ! I only recently watched The Breakfast Club and fell utterly in love with the film, and fanfic ideas just started storming through my head! This is my first fanfiction, and beginnings have never been my strong point, but trust me, I'll get better. Now, onward with the story! )

I still don't know what I was waiting for
And my time was running wild
A million dead-end streets,
and every time I thought I'd got it made
It seemed the taste was not so sweet
— Changes, David Bowie

Prelude: What A Criminal World

It's been two weeks now since the last time he set foot in Shermer High - and Bender commemorates this now with nothing but a grumble about 'stuck up rich yuppies' as he exhales a mouthful of cigarette smoke into the chill Chicago air. This absence isn't because of summer vacation, no - the biting chill that cuts into every inch of exposed skin belies that assumption.

Rather, John Bender had, in the course of one short week, been swiftly disillusioned in the so-called yuppies that populated the school. Of course, he had never been the most dilligent of students - that title ought be awarded to Big Bri and his clique, Bender thinks bitterly - but lately he had been engaging in downright truancy, skipping school more days than he attended it.

Part of this was because of his home life. After all, the old man had been hitting the bottle extra hard lately, which, Q.E.D., meant he'd been hitting Bender extra hard lately. And although anyone who cared one whit about him could easily discern the nature of him and his father's relationship, he had a reputation to uphold and didn't want the careless marks of drunken rage noticed by nosy teachers and mocking peers.

But mostly? But mostly (and this is something that stung Bender even more than the meanest of his old man's punches) he had abandoned his education due to four other teenagers, fellow students at the school. Four young people who he had, for the briefest of times, considered as friends and allies. But in one mere week after that fateful Saturday, he realized just how little the time they had spent together had meant.

Take Claire, for example. The Princess, his precious Cherry. Theirs had truly been a whirlwind relationship. He had given her his trust - quite the rare and precious gift from someone like him - and his love, something more precious still. In return she had given him a diamond earring and her own 'cherry' - and these were the meaningless gifts, for she had money to go around, and sensuality as well. But, just four days after the giving of these gifts, Claire had shown just how meaningless this all was for her.

On the Wednesday morning - Wednesday's child is full of woe, he thinks, snorting up acrid smoke as he laughs - after their first and last fight as a couple, he swept through the school doors to find her giggling with the 'activities people', something she hadn't done since before that Saturday. He approached her, even attempted to apologize, but was greeted with a cold shoulder. When he finally turned and left - although not before hollering a 'Fuck You!' that resounded throughout the hall - he heard her mutter to one of the preps "I mean, everyone should at least try it with one of his type, but not forever. They're not meant for that."

Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me. The childish saying springs, unbidden, into his mind, and he takes another long drag of his cigarette in an attempt to clear his memory of it, walking even faster down the bustling Chicago street. What bullshit. What total, utter crap. Claire's words hadn't broken any bones, true, but they sure had hurt. Words, he'd discovered, had the power to break what was already broken, kill what was already dead.

And the rest of the Breakfast Club had been no better, although to be honest, Bender hadn't had much motivation to rekindle their spark of friendship after Claire's betrayal. But Andy - whom the criminal had always regarded least fondly of all the Breakfast Club members, anyway - had chosen Claire's friendship over Bender's. And although he would have enjoyed even Brien's nerdy company, the geek was nowhere to be seen in Shermer High as of late.

Yes, for four short days Bender had thought he'd found four real friends, but, as was everything, it was too good to be true, and now John Bender was alone. But that didn't matter. It was the past, albeit the recent and painful past, so he shoved it into the recesses of his mind and instead put his attentions towards getting back to the shithole he called home without freezing to death.

The streets of Chicago were certainly not a friendly place, but Bender was used to unfriendliness. He was used to walking on eggshells around his father, hyper-vigilant… which was why he immediately noticed what many may not have: a sudden lightness in one of the pockets of his jeans. Dropping his cigarette in surprise, he turned around - immediately noticing a hooded figure, nothing discernible save for a glimmer of brown eyes under a fur-lined hood and Bender's wallet held between long, pale fingers.

Now, it must be said that the battered wallet held next to nothing of value - five bucks: most of it in coins, two condoms, and pictures of every girl he'd ever 'considered' were all there was to steal. But there seems to be a sort of instinct in humans to protect their own property, no matter how little of it there is. So Bender lunged at the thief, hoping to knock him to the pavement, but to no avail: the nimble little pickpocket merely darted out of the way, edging through the crowd in an attempt at evading Bender.

A smirk appeared at the badboy's lips. Oh, no, he wasn't going to let this little bandit off that easily - lately he'd been listless, cheerless, and a fight might be just what he needed to bring his spirits up. So in an instant he had given chase, jostling through the crowd of the busy street and after the thief down an adjacent alleyway. He was a fast runner, and surely would catch this lowlife soon, he thought - until Bender realized that the alley was completely devoid of fleeing pickpockets. The only living beings in this dingy backstreet were him, some scuttling rats, and a few bums huddled at the ground.

Bender was about to give this up as yet another shitty event in his shitty life - but then the fur lining adorning the hood of one of the homeless bums caught his eye. Ah, so the pickpocket was hiding in plain sight! Clever little street rat. Bender crouched next to the hooded figure, eyebrows lowered in a glare.

"Give me my fucking wallet," he demanded, voice raspy from the running he'd just done.

No answer. Not even a flicker of movement.

"Give it to me!"

Once again Bender was met with silence, and he lost his patience. And for the second time that day he lunged forward towards the thief, although this time fully prepared to beat the shit out of the wallet-snatcher.

Only to stop the beating short just a few seconds after he'd started. For the first thing he'd done was yank the pickpocket's hood away from his face, and once that happened, Bender had been surprised by two things.

Firstly, that the thief was female. Bender had assumed that he'd been robbed by a man, not some girl. And yet her face was unmistakably one of a young woman, although not a particularly feminine one. And while Bender quite believed that one should employ equal-opportunity beatings for wallet-stealing, he couldn't help but be more hesitant at punishing the thief now that he knew she was a girl.

But what was even more surprising was the realization that her face was a familiar one, although at first he couldn't quite place her. Dark mop of dandruff-spattered hair, pallid face dusted with freckles, and, most identifiable, the dark belligerent eyes that stared up at him. Although, honestly, it took Bender far less time for him to place a name to the unique face than it did to believe that she was actually here, lounging in a back alley as if she were some homeless bum. But, finally, he managed to sputter out words:

"Basketcase? What the living hell are you doing here?"

So I turned myself to face me
But I've never caught a glimpse
Of how the others must see the faker
I'm much too fast to take that test
— Changes, David Bowie

( A/N:So, there's the beginning! I know it doesn't seem like much now, but this is just the prologue, and my writing will get better with practice. If you have praise or constructive criticism, don't hold back: praise will motivate me immensely, and constructive criticism will help me learn to be a better writer. )