John Bender was like a natural disaster. He was like a tornado and a hurricane and a hail storm and a blizzard and a heat wave all rolled into one ball of denim-wearing, chain-smoking trouble. And he was the sexiest boy Claire had ever seen in her life.

When she'd pulled away from him reluctantly, she had held his gaze for as long as possible even as her father drove her away from him. She saw him put the earring in and smiled. Then there was her father to deal with.

"Who is this boy? Claire, answer me right now."

"He's a boy I met in detention, daddy. We don't know each other that well."

"Well, it looked like you knew the inside of his mouth more than anything right there!" her dad scowls at the steering wheel.

"Ew, daddy!"

"Your mother's not gonna like this. That's all I'm going to say about it."

The rest of the car ride transpires in silence but Claire can almost hear the wheels turning in his brain, setting her and Bender's plan in motion. If her mother wasn't going to like this boy on the principal of him being a burned out criminal junkie, then maybe Mr. Standish should make it a point to support his candidacy as Claire's boyfriend one hundred percent...

Here begins the revolution.

Claire had been tired for a long time. She was tired of her friends always telling her what to do. She was tired of her parents constantly fighting over her. She was tired of the threats of divorce. She was tired of her brother not visiting her more often. She was tired of having to do her makeup and hair every day in the same way and she was tired of wearing the same kinds of clothes day in and day out.

She was tired of eating sushi.

Today is the day she has been waiting for. The day where she can stop being tired and start to shake things up.

Part of Claire had always wanted to be a rebel. All it took, as it turned out, was a run-in with a rebel to trigger that part of herself.

It felt damn good.

"So are you going out with this boy today?" her father asks as they dismount from the BMW in front of their McMansion suburban house.

Bingo.

"I don't know. Mom said I was grounded."
"Oh, sweetie, c'mon. Don't mind that old drag. You're young. You should enjoy your Saturday evening."

Double Bingo.

"Although, really, he didn't seem like a nice guy, Claire. You have to be careful with those rebel types. They only want one thing, you know. And the torn-up jeans and the scruffy boots, what's attractive about that? In my day, boys used to wear collared shirts and trousers..."

Claire smiles sweetly at her gullible father as they make their way inside. Bender would be so proud of her. She's being converted into a stellar agent of chaos.

Well done, Cherry.

She finds her mother in the kitchen pouring herself her pre-dinner Bailey's. She turns around when she hears Claire come in and fixes her with blank, penciled eyes for a moment before something brings her back into focus.

"Claire, dear. Martha's almost ready with dinner."

Having no actual plans, Claire is forced to comply.

Dinner at the Standish house is always a painful endeavor stopping one step short of throwing plates at the wall but always pushing the limits of what can be considered severe passive aggressive abuse. Claire hates family dinners. Indeed, if it were up to her she would take no part in them. She would rather take her car and go shopping by herself rather than try to constantly diffuse the situations that her parents seemed to love to put her in. No more. From now on, she would be the one striking the match instead of putting out the fuse.

She sits down at the dinner table in her usual spot. In the middle of the table, of course, as her parents sit opposite each other at the heads of the table.

How symbolic.

"I'm sorry to hear you had to spend your entire day trapped in some horrid room," her mother begins, dishing herself some salad, "What a waste of time. This is why you need to stay in school, dear. You have plenty of time to go shopping. There's no need to go in the middle of the day."

Claire knows this. She also knows that the real reason she had cut class in the first place was because her new friend, Sarah, had asked her to bring in her white Ralph Lauren scarf for a wedding she was going to. Claire had looked everywhere for the damn scarf but hadn't been able to find it. The solution? She had to go get one exactly like it.

Why not tell Sarah that you couldn't find the scarf and have it done with, you might ask.

Sarah was the most popular girl in school and her approval could make or break a person's social status. So there was only one solution – go to the store before the end of the day and give Sarah the scarf lest she risk majorly losing face. Claire's big mistake had been in getting caught.

"I know, mom."

"Come on, Mildred, the girl is seventeen years old," her father smiled at her, sickly-sweet, "We can trust her."

"Obviously we can't, Harold, if our little girl is getting herself sent to detention," her mom retorts, the bitterness dripping from her mouth.

"It was that damn principal that overreacted. Wasn't it, sweetheart?"

"Don't you dare do this to me, Harold."

"Do what?"

"You know what!" her eyes grow wide and glassy and her face turns red like it always does when she's trying to summon up some tears for dramatic effect, "You always paint me out to be the bad guy. Well, somebody needs to the disciplining in this house and if the father isn't up to the job than I guess I just have to step in, don't I?"

"I discipline her plenty, Mildred, don't you dare make it seem like I don't."

"Claire, what do you think? Does your father discipline you?"

Both of their heads turn in perfect sync to look her in the eyeballs. Her hands begin to shake out of habit. She hates this most of all. When they make her pick sides with excuses of We just value your side of things, sweetie and We won't take it personally and then when she actually gives them her honest opinion she finds herself ignored by her mother and then her father for days because they're both so fucking sensitive...

"Uh..."

But Claire doesn't have to think of a diplomatic answer this time because that's when the doorbell rings.

"Who could that be? Martha! Could you get the door, please?"

Claire watches the Standish maid and cook, Martha, march over to the door with a heavy sigh. Honestly, Claire can't for the life of her understand why Martha is still with them. If Claire had the option of getting the hell out of there, she would've done it a long time ago.

I guess it's hard to give up comfortable things.

As soon as the door clicks open, Claire recognizes his voice immediately coming from down the hall. It's low and snarky and it brings an involuntary smile to her face.

"Hello. Are you Mrs. Standish?"

"No, Mrs. Standish is inside."

"Oh perfect. I called earlier about speaking with Claire and since she said Claire was grounded I figured I would mosey on over here regardless and check out the old Standish family estate. Not to shabby for a couple of washed up lawyers, am I right?"

Claire hears Martha stammering even over her mother's outrage.

"Why the nerve!"

Mrs. Standish takes the napkin from her lap and violently throws it down at the table before marching toward the door. Claire and Mr. Standish's chairs screech loudly at the same time as they both follow Mrs. Standish.

There in the doorway, barely held back by a terrified-looking Martha stands John Bender in all his disheveled bad-boy glory.

Claire thinks back to the moment where she had kissed his scruffy neck in the closet Vernon had put him in. That look of shock in his eyes as he asked her why she'd done that. Because I knew you wouldn't.

He winks at her from the doorway.

For now they must keep it a secret. That he is much more of a gentleman than he would ever let on.

I gotta protect my image, Princess.

"Excuse me, sweetheart," Bender purses his lips as he pushes Martha's hand aside like it is made of butter, "Mrs. Standish? We spoke over the phone. John Bender here, reporting for duty."

"Nice to meet you, formally, John."

Claire's father sticks out his hand and Bender shakes it. Claire has to fight hard not to laugh at the shock in Bender's face.

"Harold!" Mrs. Standish squeals, "You don't mean to say you knew about this?"

"Mildred, come on. They're young..."

"This is no excuse!" Mrs. Standish's voice reaches a new level of screechiness, "I would like you to leave now, if you please. John."

"Now, I'm afraid I can't do that," John makes a show of unwrapping the scarf from his neck before strolling into the living room, "This is nice, yeah. Real nice, just like I predicted. It's a little Addams Family, though, don't you think? I mean, I'm not judging, if you like to live in a coffin. It's more convenient, really, cause when you die they can just roll you on over to your grave and tuck you in pro-bono. What's the matter, Mrs. Standish, never seen a man with an earring before?"

Claire isn't exactly sure what the hell Bender is talking about but the look on her mother and father's face is brilliant.

"You don't mind if I smoke in here?"

"The nerve!"

"I'd really rather you not," her father adds.

"Oh hi there, Cherry. You ready to get going?" Bender raises his eyebrows at her with that devilish grin.

Claire nods, "I just have to get my coat."

It's like they're in a fucking improvisation scene.

"Now wait just a moment! You may certainly not leave, Claire!" Her mother yells, "And you, young man, had better get going if you know what's good for you."

"You gonna make me?"

"The cops certainly will."
Bender holds up his hand in a sign of defeat, "I can tell when I'm not wanted."
He starts to walk away, then turns back and winks at Claire.

"I'll call you!" she says, the grin spreading across her face involuntarily.

"I'll be waiting by the phone."

"Get out!"

Bender pauses then shakes his hair back. The earring Claire gave him winks at her. Then he cocks the collar of his trench coat, pumps his gloved fist into the air, and struts out into the brisk night air. Behind him, he leaves rubble, uprooted trees, and two very shocked adults.

Mr. and Mrs. Standish turn to face their daughter with matching horrified looks.

Bingo.