Was their meeting fate? Chance? Would their paths have always been destined to cross? This story explores the idea: What if Saturday detention never came to be?
CHAPTER 1 - THE BEGINNING OF THE END
Claire woke with a start, her blanket soaked in sweat. She glanced at her alarm clock with sleepy eyes and groaned into her pillow.
7:00 AM.
Oh no, she thought, her head aching. I'm gonna be late.
"Sweet pea?" Her father stood in the doorway wearing his big winter coat, a worried frown on his face. "Are you ready for school yet?"
"I'll only be a second," she said, standing up quickly, but as the room blacked out and began to spin, she felt herself falling backwards onto the bed. "Oh, I don't feel well.."
Sitting beside her, her father placed the back of his hand to her forehead.
"Do you have a fever, princess?"
"Maybe," she choked, pulling at the collar of her night shirt. "It's hot in here, isn't it?"
"Frank, are you leaving yet?"
Claire looked up to see her mother, all dolled up at 7 AM. Her makeup was impeccable, as was the deliberately messy updo of red curls. She hovered in the doorway, one hand placed on her hip.
Must have another appointment, Claire thought, stifling a giggle. ..with the best plastic surgeon in Chicago...
"I think Claire might be sick Patricia," her father said, slowly pushing his daughter to lay back down. "Now pumpkin, you just get your rest. I'll have Madris check on you later, okay?"
"Oh, she's sick now?" her mother snipped, waltzing into the room, both hands now squarely planted on each hip as she glared at Claire's father. "No wonder she's caught something Frank, you're always letting her do whatever she wants! Who knows what kind of diseases she could catch and bring into this house! Now I have to schedule an appointment with Dr. Levinson, which will make me late for MY appointment!"
"Patty," her father began in a patronizingly sweet tone, "Maybe she got sick because your always smothering her to stay in the house. Fresh air will only do her good. It's keeping her cooped up, breathing the same stale air...that's the problem."
"I do not SMOTHER her," her mother retorted, stomping her foot on the persian rug. "I keep her safe! And oh yes, it's much better to breath 'fresh' air full of dirt particles and germs and God only knows what! And what exactly are you trying to say, Franklin, I don't keep my house sanitary? Do we live in a sty now?"
Claire went by unnoticed as the two adults bickered back and forth. She only looked on with sad eyes as her father shooed her mother out the door, and after closing it, began to argue again. Throwing the blanket over her head she hummed to muffle out the yelling.
Why do they always gotta do this, she thought to the tune of Mary Had a Little Lamb.
They were always fighting. It had been getting worse in the last few weeks. She had enough to worry about without adding them on top of it all, what with prom coming up and yearbook club...she groaned as she thought of detention tomorrow. A whole Saturday down the drain...and all for a fuzzy pink angora sweater...
"Sweat pea?"
She yanked the blanket from her face and saw her dad peaking in the doorway.
"Why don't you stay home tonight, sweetheart. The school can get by without you for one day."
She nodded slowly as the door was quietly shut and his footsteps began to fade.
It didn't take long for the arguing to pick up again. She listened for awhile before throwing her pillow over her head to block out the sound. At least now she could just sleep. Her favorite part of the day...when she didn't have to think about anything.
No yelling parents...no prom committee...no pressures from her friends...
She smiled as she drifted off into the silence of her mind.
"...And here you can see the um...ears. Very large, because elephants have very uh...large ears. I used the sander...to shape them, because ears, the elephant's ears, of course, are very smooth, and uhh...good sanding will--ow!--ouch...um, allow...it will do that," Brian stuttered as he ran his hand over the stubbly sanded ears of his elephant lamp, a splinter now stuck through his nail. "The uh...the tusks, I decided to give him tusks because--"
"Johnson..."
Pulling his hand away, Brian watched as Mr. Ryan clutched his clipboard, an impatient expression on his face. "How about I just look it over? Then we'll do the test, huh?"
He nodded quickly and stepped back as Mr. Ryan moved forward to look at his project. His brow was beginning to sweat and he quickly brushed off his forehead with the back of his hand. Even though he was positive he'd gotten the electrical wiring right, he still wasn't sure if his lamp would light. He wasn't even allowed to test it beforehand...no one was.
He fiddled with the sides of his jeans as Mr. Ryan moved around the elephant lamp, examining all aspects of the shoddy workmanship.
It has to work, Brian thought vigorously. I followed the directions exactly, to every mathematical proportion...so maybe I was a little rusty with the hacksaw and shaping, but that's all minor detail anyway. It's all in the engineering...
"Okay, Brian, time to flip the switch." Mr. Ryan finished scribbling something on his clipboard and motioned for Brian to pull the trunk.
It HAS to work. It WILL work.
Brian moved cautiously forward, getting a firm grasp on the elephant's trunk. He breathed deeply as he held it and after a couple seconds, pulled.
All he saw was darkness.
It took him a minute to realize he'd shut his eyes. Slowly, peaking, he opened them.
No light.
He pulled again.
Still, no light.
He glanced up at Mr. Ryan, who only shook his head slightly as he wrote on the clipboard. Disappointment was etched into his face as he said, "Okay, Brian," before moving on to Larry Lester's lamp.
Brian could only stare at his project, eye twitching, pulling the trunk, his every thought attacking him as he pulled mercilessly, again and again, with the same never ending result.
Nothing but darkness glowed in the shadow of the elephant.
"GO WILDCATS! WOOOHHHOOO!"
Andrew began taping up his knee as his friends hooted and hollered in the locker room. Gym class had just finished and many of his wrestling teammates were rushing past him to get to the showers. One of his friends jumped up on the bench beside him and wrapped a playful arm around his neck.
"Aw, Andy got a boo boo?"
Shoving his friend's face away he grumbled, "Shutup, Avery."
Avery laughed as Coach Klemens walked into the locker room. He stopped as the coach shoved him forward with a grunt.
"Hit the showers, Avery."
As everyone moved out and the corridor became scarce, Andrew sat on the bench by himself, scowling at his knee.
"Took some fall there, Clarke." said Coach Klemens, leaning against the lockers with his arms folded.
"I can walk it off," he shrugged, standing up, slowly, and putting the athletic tape back into his locker.
"I sure hope so. Hate to bench you. Take care of that knee Clarke, we can't afford to lose our best man. You know we got a meet next Saturday."
"I know." Andrew glared at the inside of his locker so the coach couldn't see him. Klemens was always reminding him. Every day, every time he saw him. Like I'm gonna forget the last 20 times you've thrown it on my shoulders.
He thought of his dad...
Klemens lifted his hat to run a hand through his sweaty mop of hair before speaking again. "I spoke to Mr. Devlin the other day."
Peaking around his open locker, Andrew raised an eyebrow. "The talent scout from Central's game?"
"The very same. I spoke to your dad and we both agreed we should level out your options before you agree to anything."
We? he thought. Aren't they MY options?
"Agree to anything?" he asked, annoyed at how the coach had put it. "Agree to what?"
"You know," the coach said with an exasperated wave of his hand. "Sign anything, contracts, son! There's gonna be some big names, bigger than Devlin at the next meet. With your strength and your speed, you'll be first in line for a scholarship to any school in the country! So long as you don't get sluggish, now."
Andrew continued to give his locker a steely glare, if only to divert it from the coach. Klemens then moved past Andrew and heading towards the exit, called back,
"You'll get All-American, Clarke! The way your going! You just wait and see!"
He watched as the coach disappeared, and with a stubborn grunt, began shoving his things back into his locker. He hated the way they all talked...like it was their future.
It's MY future, he thought furiously. It's MY life. I should decide how I want to live it.
He angrily shut his locker, so hard that it only snapped open again. He knew there was nothing he could do about it...about any of it.
It's my old man, he thought. This is all his fault. I wouldn't take all this shit if I didn't care so much about what he thinks.
...Why do I care so much what he thinks?
As his locker door creaked back, Andrew noticed a small scrawny kid changing a few doors down.
Look at him, he thought, watching enviously as he pulled his skinny arms through his skinny tshirt. He'll never know what it's like...I'll bet he just floats by without anyone pressuring him, telling him how to live HIS life...boy he's got it made...
He felt the heat rising inside of him as he stared at the kid. So small. So weak. Everything he wasn't.
Before he knew it the heat had risen from his body, his adrenaline pumping as he kept punching, over and over again, the roll of athletic tape falling to the floor while wails of laughter and pleading screams flooded his empty mind.
Smoke rose into the air and disappeared on the far corner of the building where Bender sat with his usual crew, Mickey and Jay, smoking a joint and hassling all the kids they saw.
"Hey sweetheart," called Jay to a preppy girl with long dark hair. "You got fries to go with that shake?"
Disgusted, the girl headed in the opposite direction with her lunch.
"What!" Jay yelled defiantly, his hands in the air. "I'm hungry! You can share your fries, you already have your shake!"
Bender and Mickey snickered as they puffed on their joints.
"Seriously man," said Jay sitting back down on the picnic table, his eyes puffy. "I got serious munchies...like seriously."
"No, seriously?" asked Bender with a laugh.
Jay looked him with a straight face. "Seriously."
"Why don't we have what she's having?" said Mickey, pointing to a girl sitting on the other side of the wall, alone.
They stared as she began to eat. It was a sandwich of some kind. Cap'nCrunch cereal spilled from the sides as she chewed.
"I don't think we want what she's having," said Bender, swallowing hard as his eyes followed a lone cereal oat rolling on the gravel.
"I heard she's a witch, man," said Jay suddenly, his eyes wide and red. "She's got all these gnarly powers and shit. Fuckin nuts, man..."
Mickey shoved Jay as he shook his head, "No, man, I heard she speaks no english. That's why she never says nothin. Her only way of communication," he said, pausing for dramatic tension. "...is telepathy."
They all sat staring at her as she ate her bizarre lunch. It seemed she knew she was being watched, for she slowly turned her head to meet their eyes. Each one of them looked away, convinced that she was now reading their minds.
"Let's just not mess with her, alright?" Bender dropped his joint to the floor as he glanced back at the strange girl, who was now staring back at him with wide eyes. He returned her gaze with a hardened face, slowly softening as he stared at this quiet girl, her dark clothes blending into the shadows that surrounded her.
It was as if an understanding stood between them.
"Dude!" Jay said, grabbing Bender's shoulder. "She's probably reading your mind right now! Let's get the hell out of here!" Running, Jay and Mickey scampered off the table in the opposite direction.
Bender held her gaze for another moment before turning to leave.
So what if she can read my mind, he thought, a surge of sympathy for the girl who tried to keep herself invisible to the world.
I hope she did.
Allison stared after Bender as he left, turning her head oddly to one side before smiling an offbeat smile. Standing up, she slowly crept up to the picnic table where Bender had been sitting and spotted a brown leather wallet. Snatching it up, she read the ID staring back at her: John Bender II.
Looking to see if anyone was watching, she quickly shoved the wallet into her purse and walked away.
Andrew Clarke sat in Richard Vernon's office, awaiting his inevitable punishment. He leaned back against his seat, listening to the clacking of the secretary's typewriter, the phones ringing and the gentle but ever present ticking of the nearby clock on the wall.
Sighing, he looked out the office window. It was as if the day had gotten darker, if that was possible. Looking among the trees and towards the entrance of the school, he spotted someone familiar, and jerked his head to get a better view.
Larry Lester, the kid he'd beaten up, the kid whose name he wouldn't have even known, sat on the end of the stairwell, his head turned down to the floor as the cold Chicago wind rustled his long hair over his fallen face. Andrew stared at him for a long time, sending silent messages of apology to the boy silently sobbing into his knees. A car pulled up and he saw a man with a mustache at the driver's side, leaning over to open the passenger door. Larry looked up at the car before him and stood, trudging slowly to the open door and sliding inside. Before he got in though, Andrew could've sworn that Larry had looked right at him.
Andrew looked away quickly.
I'm paranoid, he thought. Still, he could see Larry's glassy eyes burning a hole into him. Andrew sighed deeply. The coach had to pull him off the poor kid. By the time he'd realized what he'd done, it was too late. Lester was gone...they were trying to pull the tape off...
How could I have done that? he thought to himself. It was as if something took over his body...his head was blank and empty as it happened, but he knew what he'd done.
And he knew why he did it.
It was his own fault.
Burying his head in his hands, he fought the urge to cry, to tear at his face with his own two hands and trash the room. Then, he suddenly just seemed to notice there was another person sitting across from him. He glanced up from his hand at the gangly boy sitting there, legs crossed over the other, and picking at the sides of the armchair. The boy caught his eye and they shared an awkward glance before Vernon emerged from his office.
"Brian Johnson. My office, now." Andrew watched the other kid reluctantly stand up and follow Vernon inside his office, the door slamming shut with a loud bang.
"Where did you get the gun Brian."
Brian stared at his feet as Vernon sat behind his desk, Mr. Ryan with his one hand over the other, leaning on the side of the wall.
"Johnson!" bellowed Vernon, startling Brian and making him lose count of every fiber in the berber carpet. "I asked you a question. Where did you get the gun?"
"...It was in Mr. Tierny's office," he began slowly. "I...I took it..."
Shaking his head, Vernon asked, "Why would you take it? Why would you--Wait...why does Tierny have a flare gun in his office? Wait, nevermind, Brian you are gonna have to pay the damages to repair that locker, alright? I'm gonna have to call your parents and sort out the bill with them..."
As Vernon reached for the phone, Mr. Ryan coughed slightly. Vernon glanced up.
"Isn't there more you want to say to the boy?"
"Oh," said Vernon slowly, "Yeah you're right..."
Brian stared at him nervously as Vernon cleared his throat.
"For that little stunt, Tiny Tim, you can expect to join me here this Saturday morning for detention! Blowing up lockers, for God's sake, do you know how much--"
"Richard!" Mr. Ryan stared at Vernon in disbelief. "Don't you want to ask Brian WHY he had the gun in his locker? What his intentions were?"
"It went off by accident!" Brian said defensively, "That's it, that's all it was! It wasn't a prank, I swear!"
"Right," Vernon said skeptically, "You think I'm gonna believe that cockomaimee bullsh--"
RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG
Brian clasped both hands over his ears to block out the wailing siren.
"What is that!" yelled Mr. Ryan.
"Goddamn alarms are going off!" shouted Vernon. "There's a fire somewhere! Come on, let's move it!"
Vernon shoved his way out the door, pushing Brian along as they entered the waiting area. Andrew looked up in alarm as Vernon picked him up by his shirt and pulled him along.
"C'mon Clarke, let's go, let's move!"
Everyone piled out of the office and headed towards the outside grounds.
Bender laughed to himself as he walked the empty cooridors, pulling down posters and banging his hands along the lockers as he went. The alarm had stopped and the very distant sirens of fire engines could be heard.
He really had gone big this time.
"I'm a goddamn genius." he said, applauding himself and taking a bow to a non existent audience. "I'm gonna have to tell Mickey and Jay it was me..."
Chortling, he stopped short as he noticed someone turn the corner ahead of him. Slipping behind the wall, Bender peered out the corner to see who it was.
He didn't recognize him. He was a small kid. Skinny.
What the hell, thought Bender angrily. Don't he know there's a fake fire in the building? Why isn't he outside with those other clowns..
He was walking fast, carrying something at his side. Bender took another peak and felt his stomach drop.
The kid had a gun.
Andrew stood waiting with everyone else outside. Vernon was pacing at the front, talking angrily with a fireman. After a few minutes, he stormed away from the him and approached the student body now gathered on the grass.
"FALSE ALARM! RETURN TO YOUR CLASSES IMMEDIATELY!"
Groans were heard all around as kids began trudging back up towards the school. Andy trailed behind them all as they entered the building and he stood in the hallway. Vernon would be expecting him in his office...
Andrew began his slow walk to Vernon's office through the emptying hallway. He wasn't eager to discuss what had happened again...he had to live with it, after all. As he walked, hands in his pockets, he heard running footsteps.
"EVERYBODY DOWN, HE'S GOT A GUN! GET THE FUCK DOWN"
"OH MY GOD"
"RUN, GET DOWN!"
"HEY!"
Voices were coming from all directions. Andrew turned quickly to see what was going on and saw Larry, standing a few feet in front of him. Staring at him.
Just staring.
He was holding something in his hand. Suprised, Andrew opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't say anything. All he heard was the echo of screams as the hot lead pierced through his body.
What did you think? I don't see many prequels to this movie (even though in my story, the movie never happens) but I just thought it would be a nice twist. Anyway, please R/R, constructive criticism is always welcome :) Expect more chapters later...