A/N:I chose Claire because she's like the shorter end of the stick people hate. Also, I do believe there is a complexity and depth there that, as you can see, is being explored. Yes, more club members will be mentioned, this is just simply, the filling.

Stick around and find out you neo-maxi-zoom dweebies😉

"I'm not that pristine."

-Claire Standish

Shermer High 1986

7:40 a.m.

Girls' restrooms

The bathroom lights had already been switched on by the time Claire entered the same, chipped peach stalls and faded, cement block walls. But her mirrored image reflected quite differently from the previous year. The red locks had grown out a bit, hanging in loose, curled waves that brushed just the curve of her freckled shoulder. Her brows were slightly thicker from disuse of the salon. But it was her eyes that set her truly apart from her former self. The ever-dark chocolate brown was leaden with a forlorn sadness.

That wouldn't abate.

Just that change would be obvious to the popular posse she secretly dreaded to see. No doubt there would be question upon question thrown at her from all different directions. She hadn't particularly kept in contact with anyone over the summer. Not even for a party, shopping spree, or a beach day.

In truth she wasn't altogether prepared to answer their inquiries. Much less divulge a raw part of herself. Especially when a large chunk of herself had not begun to heal in its entirety.

It still felt like yesterday.

"Let's do lavender." she decided, speaking aloud if only to push down the swell of tears surfacing.

It would match the loose, cashmere long sleeve she wore in a soft, powdered subtlety. She was not one for the new bright, pink shadows, and eccentric blue liner. She was opting to blend in this year rather than stick out.

As she'd, otherwise, make a statement of.

With a quick swipe of mascara, and a dab of a darker rouge, Claire deemed herself presentable. Granted, it would not be up to the socialites' standards. She was not wearing pastel shirts or tweed skirts. Which was very unlike her. But if she were honest with herself, she didn't really care.

It was completely uncharacteristic of her. If anyone knew this she would immediately be cast out of the group. More than likely considered an ash person or a "grody." Presentation was everything, was boss, and the latest trends and rad hairstyles, was what kept one up on the "fresh" social pyramid.

Either her dad had been too preoccupied to notice her change in attire, or he simply hadn't wanted to press the issue. The two were already walking on a fine line. Claire suspected it had to do with her knowledge of his affair. In which case she could expect another "butter me up" gift, incoming.

Sigh.

After making sure she'd gotten through the familiar, swinging doors of Shermer High, he'd sped off. More or less to make astronomical amounts of money off the old buildings his company bought and then remodeled. Which left him a target to the bimbettes that moseyed their way into his graces.

Claire had seen it so many times amongst the bred wealthy and it disgusted her. She'd lost count on how many old men in crisp suits slipped off their weddings rings to entertain fresh, young bombshells. The women would have so much Aquanet in their permed hair it physically nauseated her.

Then there were the older women who hired bulky, jock type pool boys to tend to their... pools. Unfortunately, her mother had hired one of these last summer. If only to admire the scenery she'd said. Thus far, Claire hadn't seen her mother extend any further invitations.

Yet.

Claire had a feeling that was about to change.

"Oh, god please, no."

"Well, well, well, look who it is."

Claire had been so caught up she'd missed the posh, group of girls that walked in. Dressed in pegged pants and layered tops. Claire was ill prepared for the tall strawberry blonde who emerged from the girls.

Parting the socialites as if it were the Red Sea itself.

Their first encounter had come years ago at a social gala. Still, she carried that air of superiority. The Queen S herself, Stacia Marten. With strawberry, permed hair, spritzed with enough Aquanet to weather the cool winds outside. She was dressed in a pastel yellow top with black corduroy pants.

Oddly, it reminded Claire of a banana.

Stacia's blue eyes laid into hers with a cat like stare, the intensity of her dislike for Claire more than obvious. "Appears the Queen C has fallen from her pedestal. Trying to become one of the ash people, Claire?" she sneered.

The way her tongue fit into the grove of her teeth as Claire's name rolled off her lips, struck a nerve within. Her brows furrowed as she retorted, "Gag me with a spoon, Stacia." Not about to pick a fight, Claire gathered the remaining cosmetics scattered across the sink. She took heed to maneuver herself around the clone of followers.

However, it appeared Stacia had other plans.

She quickly side stepped Claire's path, blue-mascara lashes, framing the coolness that settled in those orbs. Her red tipped fingernails clicked against the cement blocks, grating on Claire's nerves with each tap. "Got nothing to say now, Betty? Cat got your tongue? It sure didn't last prom."

Ah, there it was as predicted. Rehashing last years infamous prom night. That night Stacia and herself had had a major falling out. Claire had won Junior Prom Queen title and it had left Stacia green with envy.

So long ago that now seemed.

"Get a grip, Stacia." Claire grit her teeth, pushing her arm out of the way. "The last thing on my mind is some stupid promenade, has been title."

"Are you serious?" Stacia laughed, crossing her arms, miffed. "Wow, you really have become a freakzoid. Guess the rumors about this summer are true. Outcast official."

That struck a deep, bruised chord. "Shut. Your. Mouth." Claire warned, voice abruptly sharp. If Stacia wanted to go there, it wouldn't be pretty. Claire hadn't dealt with this type of confrontation yet.

But it was stirring up a dangerously, boiling pot.

The girls grouped around Stacia, a few having been former friends, looked on with gaping mouths. Stacia made a swift zip motion across her bright, painted pink lips as if to quell them.

If Claire hadn't been in a fowl mode, it would've amused her. These were the same girls that once gossiped behind Stacia's back in disgrace. Disgusting. Once upon a time Stacia had been the leech. A follower of Claire's that begged for the attention the popular princess had by copying everything down to the trends Claire concocted.

She'd even dyed her hair once: a copper.

With no obvious identity for herself, the similarities had really unsettled Claire. From Claire's mannerisms, down to the lunches she ate from. When Stacia had tried to date Andrew Clark just because Claire knew him, oof.

It was her bitchiness that had never won her any brownie points with the other cliques. Much less a guy like Andrew Clark. Thus, not many people had liked her. Nearly everyone within their groups was aware of Stacia's jealousy of Claire. Which in turn made them a little wigged out by her actions. To this day Claire still didn't know why Stacia was so envious. But it had all come to a head the moment Claire's name had been announced as Shermer's Junior Prom Queen.

And, seemingly, her attitude had only gotten nastier.

Claire wasn't sure why. Her "Princess" status had been steadily declining since end of last year. Those same followers of hers had dubbed Stacia as the new Queen B, since. Maybe because Claire hadn't attended every single party as her title demanded. Perhaps it had to do with standing up once for Alison Reynolds after some of the posse wouldn't leave her alone. Despite having parted that Saturday detention, life resuming that following Monday, Claire had vowed to never insult what Brian had dubbed: The Breakfast Club.

Though reality resumed after, that detention would stay with her.

Later she'd divulge the story to her brother. Including the uncomfortable assess of her character Brian had made. It had niggled at the back of her mind, after. Especially when Alison had made bold statements specifically about her attitude. Whether Claire had realized it or not, her perspective would slowly change in a variety of ways. Little things she'd start to notice in herself.

From her mannerisms down to the treatment of her so called friends.

Claire would even take notice of her own two faced tendencies that made her a stuck up brat. If she wanted to be quite frank like John Bender. However, that entire chapter was a whole other story. A hornets nest best to stay distanced from. That was a topic all on its own. At the moment, Claire was not about to pick it apart.

On top of the shit slide her life was spiraling into.

So it was what Stacia said next that would cause Claire to become unglued. As her head swiveled back, her eyes narrowed beneath that fringe of bangs. A sly smile formed across her lips. And then, she said it, the straw that broke the camels back. "By the way, how is that brother of yours, Claire bear?"

That did it.

Claire, even hours later, wouldn't remember who acted first. There had been a ringing resounding in her ears. And then, an audible SMACK as Claire's unmanicured hand connected with skin. A body falling so hard through the restrooms swinging doors, Claire toppling after from the sheer force behind that slap.

Stacia.

The door slammed against the cement wall, both girls tumbling to the floor. Claire's elbow scraped tile, creating a small laceration she felt through the threads of her sweater. She grabbed for Stacia's hair and yanked her crunchy, sprayed curls.

"Ah! Get off me you has-been freak!" Stacia dug her manicured nails into Claire's arm, hoping to throw off her adversary.

But Claire's grip was unrelenting, red tinting her vision as a boiled pot of emotions bubbled over. Ignoring the crowd of onlookers forming. She grabbed at the yellow Ralph Lauren shirt and screamed, "Don't you ever mention my fucking brothers name!"

Stacia's shriek turned into rage, kicking out her heeled legs. "Get the hell off me you psycho!" Her body weight shifted, turning her waist so Claire lost her balance.

Stacia gained the upper hand, grabbing at Claire's sweater she twisted the fabric.

Claire began to taste the metallic remnants of blood, a small gouge in her tongue. Left from the hard impact of the steel door, no doubt.

Stacia got in one, good smack. Instantly it set Claire's cheek aflame as the small blood vessels burst beneath the skin. "How does that taste?!" Stacia gritted out.

Students were filling the hallways now, hundreds of eyes set upon them as they began to chant, "Cat fight, cat fight, cat fight!"

"Oh, THAT'S IT!" Claire cried. Before Stacia saw it coming, Claire locked one leg around Stacia's legs, flipping her so fast her head thwacked against the floor.

"Ah you troll!"

"Bite me!"

"FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT!"

"ALL RIGHT THAT'S ENOUGH!"

The crowd suddenly grew quiet until all Claire could hear was the sound of their conjoined, labored breathing.

"Alright, let's go!"

A familiar voice broke through the red, clouded haze that had overtaken Claire. Slowly, she retracted her hands, Stacia's eyes narrowed to venomous slits sporting a busted lip. "Bitch." she muttered.

Before Claire could retort, two strong arms hoisted her up from the ground.

"My office, now you two."

It was Richard Vernon.

T&B&C