Authors Note: I know, I didn't finish my other one – but I had a dream last night, just one scene, and I had to write the entire story that went with it.
Disclaimer: I don't own nothin'.
It had been a good summer, at least for some of them. Graduation was behind them, and college still a month away as July became August. The five members of the Breakfast Club had survived high school, and it was a summer of celebration.
Claire was in Europe. Of all of them, she distanced herself the most from that fateful Saturday, so leaving them all for London, Paris, Rome, and Calais wasn't a hardship. She had a place at Wellesley and was waiting for college – a minor independence from her parents, her clique, her life.
Brian was taking summer classes at the local community college, getting some English credits out of the way before going off to MIT in a few short weeks. He had stayed friendly with them all, but still stuck with the "nerds".
Oddly enough, Allie, John, and Andrew became, especially in their senior year, very close. Allie's parents had furnished an apartment over their garage for an aging parent, now gone. Allie took that space over. Finally completely out of her parents' eyes, she was able to relax a bit. She decorated the space like a bohemian loft; full of beanbag chairs, beaded curtains, and candles.
And, of course, John and Andrew. It was a rare night she spent alone now, quite different from her life before, and far more welcome. Often, John spent the night on the futon couch he had helped lug up the stairs. He complained about her music, the scented candles, and her strange food, but when she told him that he could always go back to his parents house, he quieted his complaints to a grumble.
Andrew spent most evenings there, too. With no TV, the three spent their time doing homework and getting high with the stereo blasting. More interesting, at least to Allie, were the nights Andrew stayed over. He didn't sleep on the futon. Whenever it looked as though Andrew wouldn't be missed at home, John quietly kicked himself out and either went home or crashed on the horrible mattress in the back of his van. Watching them be all kissy was enough – sleeping in the other room for the rest would be above and beyond.
But now Allie sat up there alone. No music, no pot, no people. Nothing. She sat, staring at the wall, her mind throwing thoughts at her faster than she could process them. Finally, with a small cry, she sprang to her feet. Two strides brought her to a closet and, reaching in, she tried to tug out her duffel bag. It was stuck on her hangers and with a great pull the bag and most of her clothing exploded out of the closet, sending her sprawling on the floor.
Pulling herself to her knees, she stuffed all her clothes into the duffel with no regard for folding or wrinkles. When that bag was so full it could hardly be zippered she began searching for others. In under an hour, she had a duffel of clothes, a suitcase full of sketchbooks and her portfolio, and her large purse with all the necessary toiletries. One last touch – a note taped to her stereo – and she paused to take one last look at the apartment. Softly, sadly, she closed the lights and, with her luggage, began to make her way to John's job in the center of town.