Author's Note: I wrote this because I always wondered what Allison was thinking during this scene...

I've never written a TBC fanfiction before, so I'm really nervous! But I think today's a lucky day to post a fanfic, though, because on February 15, 1985 The Breakfast Club was released in theaters! (Don't you just love the random facts on the Internet Movie Database?)

On the Fringe

It was just the two of them. Everybody else had gone upstairs. Allison looked at the scratched table in front of her, trying to suppress her anxiety. She'd never been in this situation before—alone with a peer, especially a boy.—and then today it had happened twice, going to get sodas and then now. The fact that he didn't appear at all aware of her existence didn't help her nerves at all.

Maybe he'll start talking to me again. She remembered the casual way he'd chatted with her in the hallway. It had been a pretty trivial exchange, she knew, but it had felt surprisingly nice. He hadn't treated her the way people normally did—meaning that he hadn't laughed, or insulted her, or—the worst—ignored her. It had felt, for those few minutes, like she could have been anybody.

What had made him talk to her? A few reasons occurred to her, all equally thrilling and disturbing. She needed to relax, she decided. He couldn't possibly have had any... motives for talking to her. He was just bored. After all, the fact that he had been so casual proved that he didn't think about her as anything but just another faceless classmate--if he thought about her at all. Allison chewed pensively on her left thumbnail. She wasn't the kind of girl who made boys nervous. She'd always known that, so why did it suddenly seem like such a surprise... a disappointing surprise?

She didn't really care for surprises. It was one of the few things she had in common with her parents, who hated surprises even more than her. They'd never actually said it to her face, but she knew that she had been a surprise... a devastating surprise that had made her grandparents force her parents into marriage and out of high school when her mother had gotten pregnant with Allison at seventeen. Her mother had done well in school, better than Allison herself was doing now. Her perfect report cards were still affixed to the refrigerator in Allison's grandmother's kitchen, although the ink was starting to fade. Her mother's grades could have bought her a prosperous future, but instead she'd spent her entire life in Shermer, working behind the register at the local Snappy Snack Shack, making Slushies for obnoxious teenagers. Sometimes, Allison got the feeling that her mother resented her for taking away her mother's chance at success, as though she had planned her own birth just to sabotage her mother's potential. The tension in her house was unbearable sometimes. She had asked for a ride to detention that morning, just to escape it for a few hours, but she hadn't expected detention to be anything like this. Allison had gone to the Saturday 'Breakfast Club' twice before, and both had been pleasant opportunities to catch up on her sleep.

Allison wiped her hand off on her skirt. Maybe it was time to stop biting her nails. She'd been doing it for as long as she could remember... but what if it made her look childish? She furtively glanced at Andy, where he sat with his back to her, then caught herself. Since when did she care what other people thought of her? She started on her right index finger. After all, if she let people's opinions hurt her feelings, she'd go insane after a week. She just had to do her best to ignore it and push them away if they tried to get too close—something that had always come easily, considering that nobody had ever tried to get close to her.

Now, for reasons she couldn't pin down, she was feeling uncharacteristically nervous. Before, she'd always felt superior when she saw her peers obsessing over what boys thought of them, but here she was, unable to stop wondering about the boy in front of her. Had the conversation in the hallway stood out to him too? Was he thinking about her?

He shifted around in his seat uncomfortably. Allison was so shocked that she bit down hard on her finger and almost broke the skin. Clenching her teeth, she examined her hand. No blood. Quickly, she inserted the finger back between her incisors and resumed chewing. So he was nervous, too! Did that mean he was actually--?

"Shit," she heard him mutter. He pushed his chair back, grabbed the sunglasses on the table in front of him, and walked quickly out of the room to join the others. It all happened in such quick succession that Allison took a few seconds to completely process what was happening. She watched him go with her mouth hanging open, then faced forward in her seat and hugged her arms around her chest. Stupid. Of course he hadn't been thinking about her. He had been contemplating whether or not he wanted to go and do whatever everybody else was doing. Allison was pretty sure that they were getting high—she could hear laughing and whistling from upstairs.

It wasn't fair, she thought, feeling miserable. Some people could just coast right through life, always able to say the right thing, never hesitating to jump right into the action—and other people were stuck on the fringe. She had always accepted that she would never be one of the people who could flirt, tell jokes, and be generally charming... and, of course, she'd never minded. It wasn't like it bothered her now, but for the first time for as long as she could remember, Allison was actually curious about what that life felt like.

From upstairs, somebody yelled. Feeling restless and bored, Allison reached into her bag and rummaged around until she found a leather wallet, her most recent acquisition. She'd taken it from the boy in front of her—hadn't he said his name was Brian?—when he wasn't looking. Hopefully, it would provide some entertainment.

There wasn't anything too interesting---a disappointingly meager amount of money, some crumpled receipts, a fake-looking ID—but then she felt the piece of paper folded up in one of the pockets. What could it be? SAT answers bought on the black market? Plans for world domination? No, she realized with disgust, it was a photograph of—ew! Allison hurriedly stuffed the paper back into the wallet and gingerly set the wallet down on the table.

More laughter, but now it sounded as though it was closer. She looked quickly over her shoulder. Yes, there were people downstairs, right behind the statue. Very close. Allison whirled around to face front again, feeling almost out of breath.

The picture in the wallet was still disturbing her. She didn't want the wallet anymore, and she was starting to feel a little guilty for taking it from Brian—what if he needed it later? She could just lean forward and slip it into his coat pocket—that would make the most sense.

Before she could stop herself, Allison looked over her shoulder again. Brian and Andy were sitting a few yards away from her, joking loudly, but not loud enough for her to distinguish the actual words. She had never seen them together around school—in fact, she was positive that the two of them weren't in the same group. I could just go over there, she considered suddenly. If Brian could do it, I can. Besides, they won't be expecting it. Defying people's expectations was something she enjoyed.

Allison pushed back her chair, picking up the wallet. She realized with embarrassment that her face was heating up and her breathing was fast and shallow. And I haven't even stood up yet! She took a deep, shaky breath and stood, lingering by the table a few minutes after she'd pushed in her chair.

When you don't have anything, you don't have anything to lose. Allison had no idea why she was so nervous. Actually, that was a lie—she had a very good idea of why she was so nervous, and it was embarrassing even to think about it. Crushes were pointless—all they did was make you whiny and sad, and they were even more pointless if, like in her case, nobody else cared.

Shaking a little, Allison sat down again, then quickly stood back up. At this point, she decided, there was no way she could spend the rest of the detention the way she'd spent the others. She knew she'd never be able to sleep comfortably with the knowledge that he was in the room, and she couldn't imagine spending the last few hours as listless and distracted as she'd been in the past couple of minutes. Moving fast so that she wouldn't have time to change her mind, she walked towards them. Once she got to the statue, Allison lost some of her willpower and crouched behind it.

Turning the wallet over in her hand, she remembered the way he'd listened to her and been curious when they were alone in the hallway. She remembered running behind them in the hallway. She'd joined the group then, why couldn't she do it now? Of course, then she could have attracted more attention by staying in the library than by following them—but still.

She was just being a coward! Allison was suddenly so angry at herself that she felt like throwing up. In a few hours, none of this would matter. Her father would pick her up, they'd drive home, she'd have to suffer through the rest of the awkward weekend—spending as much time sleeping as possible so she could avoid her irritable, bitter parents, and then she'd have to go to school. For another three and a half months, and then it would be another boring, smothering summer, and then she'd have school for another year and then... who knew what? The whole future seemed increasingly bleak and depressing.

More laughing from them, and now it felt like they were laughing at her—which was crazy, they couldn't even see her!

"No, no man..." Allison froze as she heard his voice. "You got a middle name?"

Brian laughed, clearing his throat. "Yeah, guess."

Wait... Allison remembered what she'd read in the wallet. She knew his middle name! Taking a last deep sigh, she stepped out from behind the statue, shoving the wallet into her bag and then nervously hugging her bag in front of her chest.

"Your middle name is Ralph." Her stomach churned with more humiliating nerves. "...As in puke. Your birthday's March twelfth, you're five nine and a half, you weigh a hundred and thirty pounds, and your social security number is 049-38-091...3."

Disclaimer: The Breakfast Club and Heathers (you probably didn't even notice my reference to it) do not belong to me. The line Allison thinks about having nothing to lose was from Sixteen Candles.