Okay, so here's the ending I had always planned, even if this did end up being about 8 chapters longer than I originally thought it would be! :) Hope its okay…

Andy knew he had won, minutes before it was all over. But it was the last thing on his mind.

His knee was throbbing, and above the shouts and cheers from the crowd, he could his father's voice, bellowing at him to 'get stuck in' and 'win, win, win!'

He flung his opponent to the floor one last time.

He didn't care anymore. His heart wasn't in it.

He didn't care about the stupid match, his stupid father, or even that stupid scout from UIC. Who wanted a dumb scholarship anyway? Not him, that was for sure. After all, there was no way he wanted to be stuck doing this same shit all through college, and that was if his knee didn't give out first. Perhaps he just wanted to be like everybody else- go to college, study something average and spend time with his girlfriend on the weekends.

Coach Carr blew the whistle, hoisting Andy up off the ground and raising his arm in the air.

He had won (somehow).

Andy shook hands with his opponent, as someone draped a towel across the back of his neck.

Somebody else handed him a water bottle, but he shook his head, turning and making a swift exit in the direction of the changing rooms. He could hear his coach and his father calling to him, but he didn't turn back.

He made it as far as the changing room doors before his father caught him up, grabbing hold of his arm and turning him around roughly.

"What are you playing at?!" his father demanded, clearly furious.

Andy exhaled deeply, leaning back against the wall. "I won didn't I?"

What more do you want?

"By the skin of your teeth! What the hell was that, Andrew? What the hell was that?! That was a joke. You weren't on your A game today- you looked like you didn't give a stuff out there! And that's not you, son. You didn't deserve that win, and you know it!" the older man shouted.

And then something snapped inside of Andy. Five years of pent up rage came flooding out.

"Maybe I didn't want the win!" he cried, taking the towel from his shoulders and flinging it onto the floor. "Maybe I didn't even want to wrestle today! Did you think of that?! Do you EVER stop and think about what I want?!"

His father had gone very red in the face now, and that was never a good sign.

"How dare you, boy! This has all been about you! I've not spent the last however many years busting my ass to get you into a top school for nothing! You're going to blow your ride if you carry on like this. You're a joke, and today was pathetic. You're acting like this- all this that you've worked for is nothing! Like you don't want it!" he cried.

Now or never.

"That's because I don't," Andy said.

There. Simple.

Come to think of it, he didn't know why he hadn't done it earlier.

"This is what you wanted, Dad. Not me. You messed up your own chances, so you put all this shit on me. I've spent pretty much all of my time at high school busting a gut for you and this stupid wrestling team, whilst all my friends were out having a good time. And for what? For shit. My knee's screwed and so are my chances. So you might as well go and tell the UIC scout to go home. He's had a wasted journey… this isn't what I want. This isn't me anymore. Hell, maybe it never was. I'm done with wrestling," Andy said, calmer now.

With that, he turned and walked through the door, into the changing rooms, for what he hoped would be the last time. Behind him, he could hear his father warning him to get his ass back out there, to stop throwing away the best opportunity he was ever likely to get.

Andrew had no intentions of doing either. Instead, he sat down on the bench, letting the pain in his knee and the emotions inside of him engulf him for the first time that day. Picking up the nearest thing (someone's jockstrap), he flung it across the room in anger before resting his head in hands, ignoring the hot tears spilling down his cheeks.

The changing room door opened again.

If this was his father or his coach coming to give it to him both barrels…

"Leave me alone!" he shouted angrily, not bothering to raise his head.

No body replied, and for a moment he thought the person might have taken his advice.

And then a pair of Chuck Taylor's appeared right in front of him.

Allison. The one person that he didn't mind seeing him cry. The one person he knew understood, better than anybody else, despite the fact that they were both from such different worlds.

She was sitting beside him now, one hand on his back, urging him to sit up straight and look at her.

He did.

She didn't say anything. She didn't need to. Instead, she dried his tears, wrapping her arms around his neck. He leant into her, resting his head against her shoulder, and suddenly the end of the world was a little bit further away than it had seemed, just moments before.

OOOOOOOOOOO

He wasn't sure how long they sat there, on the bench, but it seemed like a long time.

Eventually, however, Allison broke the silence.

"Do you wanna go back out there?" she asked, somewhat cautiously.

He shook his head, firmly. "No. I wanna get out of here. And I can't go home right now. Could we go back to yours?"

She just nodded, and then the corner of her mouth turned up mischievously. "You might wanna hit the shower first through. You stink."

For the first time all day, Andy smiled too. "I'll meet you out front in a bit, then."

OOOOOOOOOOO

After a quick shower, Andy changed and got his stuff together, hoping his father wasn't still hanging around outside, waiting to give him another serve.

He was just about to leave the changing rooms when the door opened, and Jake Turner sauntered in.

"Thought as much," he said simply, watching Andy with an unfaltering gaze.

This was all he needed.

"You're nothing if not predictable, Clarke," Jake continued. "I thought to myself: 'where will the golden boy be right after winning the biggest match of his life?' In the changing rooms of course, making himself pretty again before he runs off to celebrate with Daddy. What's your reward, Andrew? A new car? College fund? Or is that all scholarship now?"

"I don't have time for this, I'm getting out of here," Andy sighed, picking up his bag and standing up from the bench where he had been sat.

Taking one stride across the room from where he had been standing at the door, Jake pushed him back down onto the bench.

"You're not going anywhere, Clarke. You and I have unfinished business," he growled.

Whilst he might have been through with wrestling, Andrew Clarke was certainly not about to let anyone push him around, and it didn't take much to bring his temper out. He was back on his feet in seconds, squaring up to the taller boy.

"What's your problem Turner? Get outta my way," he warned.

"Is your memory really that bad?" Jake asked, standing his own ground so that their faces were just inches apart. "Or are you just stupid? You must be, if you think I'm about to forget what happened in the cafeteria the other day. Sit down."

"What happened in the cafeteria you brought on yourself," Andy replied. "You messed with my girlfriend, and that's not okay."

"No, what's 'not okay' is you disrespecting me like that in front of all those guys, and the rest of the school for that matter. Now sit down!" he cried, pushing Andy back toward the bench again.

Seeing red, Andy lunged at the soccer player, but Jake was quicker and knew he exactly what he was doing, bringing his foot up until it connected with Andy's knee.

Crying out in pain, he fell to the floor, clutching his knee.

"Not so big now, eh Clarke? 'State Champion'," Jake snorted. "What a joke. You're just a state, full stop."

With that, he started to lay into Andy, kicking the wrestler in the stomach several times.

Andy didn't fight back- he didn't see the point anymore. His wrestling career was over, and without that who was he really? Just another average student who couldn't think for himself, whose temper always seemed to get the better of him, and whose girlfriend deserved a lot better than he could ever hope to be.

Lay in a heap on the floor with the metallic taste of blood in his mouth; Andy made no attempt to counter Jake's attack. Instead, he counted the kicks and waited for everything to go black.

Five… six… seven…

And suddenly Jake Turner let out a roar of pain, grabbing onto his right shoulder and staggering forward slightly. He narrowly missed standing on top of Andy, who managed to scramble up into a sitting position to try and figure out what the hell had just happened.

Jake was on his knees now, still wailing like a baby, and Andy realised that Allison was standing there, looking rather bored as she zipped her bag back up.

The door flew open again, and the other three members of the Breakfast Club appeared led by Bender, obviously alerted by all the noise coming from the changing rooms.

"Oh my god, what happened?!" Claire cried, pushing past Bender and looking from Andy to Jake in horror.

"She stabbed me! That lunatic stabbed me!" Jake gasped, looking back at Allison and holding onto his right shoulder. Sure enough, something was sticking out of it.

Clumsily, Jake tried to pull the offending object out, but didn't succeed, instead just causing a trickle of blood to run down from his shoulder and onto his football jersey.

Seeing the blood, apparently, was the last straw for the six-foot-something sport, who promptly proceeded to faint, flat out on the floor in front of them.

The changing room was quiet again now. Silent, in fact.

Slowly, the four of them turned to look at Allison, their mouths hanging open in shock.

Blowing her hair from her face, Allison stared back at them, with casual disinterest.

In perfect synchronization, her four friends slowly turned their heads back to look at Jake again.

After a moment, Bender decided it was time to get a better look at Allison's weapon of choice, which (let's face it) could have been anything, owing to the fact that it had come from her bag (which was full of shit). Clearing his throat, he took a step forward, leaning down and inspecting the object sticking out of Turner's right shoulder.

A pause.

"Is that my freaking knife?!"

END.