Author's Note: I wrote this at the same time I wrote the first chapter, then lent my flash drive to someone before transferring the file. Argh! But, anyway, here's the second part….

Dragging her bags, it took her nearly an hour to reach the garage where John worked. With no desire for college, had had thrown himself into the work force, hoping to earn enough to move out officially of his father's house, instead of unofficially living on his friend's couch. He no longer spent money on booze, and only rarely on pot. Neither was as important as getting the hell out of that house.

That was why, on this muggy August night, he was the last one in the garage. Overtime was worth anything at this point. Andrew was in Chicago with his parents until the morning and John was hurrying through this last tune-up so he could get to Allie's. He didn't like leaving her alone – and if he was going to be honest with himself, he was looking forward to some time alone talking to her. Nowadays, he felt himself falling deeper and deeper into the background when those two were around each other. They always apologized when they realized they were shutting him out, but time to talk to the girl he'd come to consider his best friend in her own home was rare. Usually, they had their talks here, in the garage, when he worked late. In fact, he was surprised she hadn't shown up yet – she was usually here not long after work with a sketchpad and a story of her day.

Just as he thought this, he looked up to grab another tool and saw her standing in the doorway.

"Allie! Thought you'd never show." He straightened to greet her, then saw her face. And then the luggage. "What's wrong?"

"I need help," she whispered.

Worried by her haunted eyes and deathly-pale face, he pulled her over to a bench to sit. He loved her too much not to worry. Oh, he wasn't in love with her, or anything tragic like that, but she had become like a little sister to him. He had spent his life thinking no one had it worse than him. But no matter how many times he took his father's beatings – well, at least it was attention, right? For however short a time, his father saw him. Allie's parents never saw her, not at all. So John found himself wanting to protect her, take care of her. See her.

And in return she loved him more than anyone ever had. She listened when he talked, laughed with him, and altogether made him feel like a worthwhile human being. Nowadays, when he remembered how he behaved on the day of the Breakfast Club, it seemed strange. Oh, the rest of the world still saw him that way, and he still braved it up for Sporto – but never for Allie. He didn't have to pretend anymore, not with her. She'd woken him from nightmares, and spent hours tending to the damage his father inflicted on him. There was nothing more to hide; she knew him too well anyway.

Which is why worry was becoming panic as she sat, silent, rocking on the bench, her face a mass of moving shadow as the overhead light swung in a breeze.

"Allie?" he questioned. He reached for her and her hand shot up, grasping his. Suddenly her eyes were staring into his intently.

"I'm leaving. Tonight. Come with me – I can't do it alone."

He blinked a few times. A year ago, he would have had the car packed and both of them on the road before she even had to ask. But things, and people, change. So instead, he just asked, "Why?"

"Are you coming?" she demanded.

"Are you going to give me a good reason for coming?"

She glared at him and shoved herself to her feet. She looked out the window, her back to him, and the words came in a rush: "I'm going anyway, you know. With or without you, and with or without your car. But if you don't come with me, you have to live with yourself. For letting a pregnant woman hitchhike."

John blinked a few more times, his brain struggling to take in this new information. "You're . . ."

"Pregnant, yes."

"So why are you running away with me and not Jockstrap?" Even as he said the words, he thought he knew. Preppie had refused responsibility. Demanded an abortion, claimed it wasn't his kid, left her. He saw it played out every day, practically. "I'll kill him," John muttered as he yanked off his work gloves. No one knocked up his little sister and walked away.

"He doesn't know." Allison's soft voice broke through the angry haze in his head.

"So you're just going to run? Not tell – just disappear on him? How can you do that? Don't you think he should know –"

"Because I won't get an abortion, John. And if I don't, and I stay, he'll try to be honorable. He loves me too much not to be, and I know that. And his parents will disown him – you know how they hate me. And what about college? He'd never get to go with a wife and baby hanging around his neck. He's got a scholarship. I can't fuck that up for him. I've left him a note, just saying I've taken off. Thanks for the good times, have a nice life, and all that."

She took a deep breath, obviously having more to say. John waited impatiently. "I've got money saved. I have an aunt in California who has wanted me to live with her since she found out she can't have kids of her own. I'll just show up at her doorstep – I can't explain over the phone, and I can't risk her double-checking with my parents. She'll let us live there for awhile. I can do chalk portraits on the beach, and there are plenty of rich people who need their cars fixed – please, John."

He couldn't believe he was actually considering doing this. He couldn't believe he was considering not doing this. "But Andrew . . ."

"He'll recover. And he'll go to college, and he never has to know. If you go with me, he's the only thing here I'll miss. And I've already let him go."

It was a lie, and John knew it. She loved Andrew, adored him. She could go home right now, rip up that letter, tell him the truth, and marry him. And neither one of them would ever make it out of Shermer. Ever.

"When do we leave?" John asked.