I DO NOT OWN THE BREAKFAST CLUB. THIS CHAPTER WAS WRITTEN BY POPPY471. SHOUTOUT TO A GREAT AUTHOR.

Friday. March 30, 1984. Henderson Family Home. Clarendon Hills, Illinois.

(Claire)

Luke and I said goodbye to the Breakfast Club as Daddy pulled up. Luke turned to me and asked, "Look, Claire, are you sure you want to do this?"

The thought of Luke facing that woman alone, his horrible mother, swelled my chest with such tenderness, I could only manage a small smile as I stroked his cheek.

"I want to be there for you, Luke." I insisted. "I care about you."

When he leaned in for a kiss, I gave him all the gentle care I could express. Bender loudly clearing his throat jerked me out of our kiss. I looked over and Bender tipped his head toward my father at the wheel, waiting for us. My father did not look happy.

"Here, Luke, you get in back," I said and opened the door for him, tried to help him into the car.

Suddenly all his softness was gone and he muttered, "I can get in myself, Claire." I pulled back, hurt. He had just been stabbed in the stomach, he needed to be careful. He thought I hadn't seen the stitches, but I had. They were ugly and purple. He shouldn't be pulling the stitches the wrong way. I was just trying to help. Why was he so cold now?

I could hear Daddy saying, "Hello, Luke," and wished he could be warmer. Last night, the argument with Mother had ended with Daddy defending Luke, but now it seemed like he wasn't as thrilled to be helping Luke as he had been the night before.

I slid into the front passenger seat, feeling sandwiched by Luke's sudden coldness and Daddy's disapproval. Had this been the right thing to do? I looked over my shoulder at Luke as I buckled my seat belt. He seemed tense. I guessed this was going to be hard for him. I remembered his mother's face, her snarling anger. I remembered the picture from the news story last night, of his father, a brutal-looking hulk of a man. Yes, this would be hard for anyone. But he wasn't going to be alone any more, I fiercely thought to myself. He'll never be alone again.

We drove into a part of town I had never seen. The houses were smaller and the yards weren't tidy and clipped. A lot of peeling white clapboard with old cars at the curb. The street was bumpier, too. We stopped in front of an ugly, moss green stucco house. It only had one story.

Before I could get out and help him, Luke was out of the car and on his way up the front path, my father right behind him. I slammed the car door and hurried after them. Luke was unlocking the front door as I came up behind. When the door opened, I admit I was shocked. I had expected things to not be as nice as our house, but this was horrible. There were torn magazines and newspapers strewn about, dirty clothes, plates crusted with old food. The couch was sagging and ripped, the light fixture gone, only wires dangling. It looked like a storm had come through, tossing the contents of the room about. My eyes focused on a squashed package of Twinkies. I was so glad we were rescuing Luke from this.

"My bedroom's back here," Luke said and disappeared down a grimy hall.

"Let's wait here, Claire. Let him have some privacy."

I could hear Luke scuffing about, and after a few minutes he came out with a black garbage bag. Where was his suitcase? Then I realized he didn't have one. All he had was a garbage bag. I bit my lip, trying not to cry. I had to be strong, for Luke.

"I need to find my birth certificate. I think it's in my mom's room."

He disappeared down the hallway again. I moved to my father's side, feeling uneasy in this wreck of a house. Like it had been abandoned by a giant who might return at any moment.

Daddy turned before I did. Luke's mother was entering the house. She looked as much like a harpy as she had the day before in the hospital, her brassy dyed hair damaged and tangled, her heavy make up smeared, the same snarling look on her face.

"What the hell are you doing in my house?"

"We are here to escort your son." I felt proud of my father's dignified, cool demeanor. He wasn't going to let anyone hurt Luke. I stepped up beside him. I wouldn't let anyone hurt him either.

"Escort him where? He's not going anywhere. He's staying right here. With his mother, where he belongs. Who are you anyway, what are you two richies doing here? Luke can't be friends with anyone like you." She spat this last at me.

I drew myself up and gave her a cold look. "You have no idea who Luke's friends are."

At this moment, Luke emerged, holding an official looking piece of paper and a small blue card I recognized as a Social Security card.

"I am obtaining an ex parte court order for temporary custody of Luke. Judge Owens, a good friend of mine, has been apprised of his extremely dangerous home situation. Luke is coming with us."

Looking beyond my father, Mrs. Henderson saw Luke, with the pieces of paper in his hand.

"The police are asking me questions, Luke, and all of this is your fault. If it weren't for you, none of this would have happened. I'm stuck with an attempted murderer husband because you came along. Do you know how much shit I've had to put up with because of you? My whole life ruined, because of you."

I sucked in my breath, about to speak out against this injustice, but my father put his hand on my shoulder.

"Mrs. Henderson, Luke is not at fault. You have failed to provide a safe home for your son and you will be facing the consequences." He looked at Luke. "Do you have everything you need?"

Luke nodded and picked up his garbage bag.

"What are you taking with you, you shit? Everything in this house is mine. I put food on the table, I put clothes on your back, you're not taking anything with you." It was like we weren't there. She continued railing at him, "Every penny I get goes to this house and your upkeep. I could be doing just fine on my own, without you dragging me down."

"Well, mom, you're getting your wish. I'm leaving. I won't be dragging you down any more. You never wanted me, so here I go, and you can get on with the lovely life you would have had without me."

I swelled with pride for Luke, for standing up to this horrible woman. She didn't deserve such a son.

Luke headed for the door, my father placing himself between Luke and his mother, and we left.

WILL THE STANDISH'S GET CUSTODY OF LUKE? REVIEWS NEEDED AND APPRECIATED.