A/N: Okay, so I posted this once, and I realized… all I had was the chapter! No funny comments from myself, no disclaimer, no chapter title, and no note at the end threatening people into a review. So, I had to go back and add all of it, o'course! So, I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own John Hughes. I do not own the breakfast club. I do not own Claire, Allison, Brian, or Andy. And I don't own John Bender… he just stays here. No, the chains, locks, and him being threatened by gunpoint don't have anything to do with him staying here!

Chapter One: Cherry Red

I didn't want to take high school again. I wanted this to be my last year. I wanted to graduate at the year I was meant to graduate in. But in order to graduate I needed to pass English. In order to pass English, I needed to write an essay on the event that changed my life the most in high school. That's why I wrote this. I guess you could say the whole thing started on Friday, March 23, 1984.

I got another detention for Saturday. Apparently, the school doesn't appreciate the creativity and humor behind false fire alarms. The thing is though; I don't even care about getting detention. I don't keep track of my Saturday detentions anyway. I just show up, and even if I'm not supposed to be there, Dick will come up with an excuse.

I've never really thought that hard about it, ya know? I've just always figured, 'Hey, it's Saturday, gotta go to school and annoy VP Vernon.' Like I said, I just show up. Hell, I practically live there. But why not? It's better than hanging around the house with the broad and the drunk.

The drunk. Pleasant guy to be around… when he's passed out that is. I got home from school today and my dad's sitting on the saggy and torn couch in his boxers and a holey, dirty white T-shirt sipping a beer.

When he saw me walk through the screen door of our tiny little shack- I mean, our humble abode, he began gesturing to me with his beer. No, he wasn't sharing it; he just didn't have any spare figures at the time, because a cigar was taking up the other hand.

Anyway, he saw me and called me by my name, "Boy!" I didn't respond. So he continued with a few other "clever" nicknames he has used on me before, "Good-for-nothing, stupid, boring, lazy-ass, free-loading, son of a bitch!"

That grabbed my attention, 'Best to focus and not get beaten.' I told myself as I forced myself to look into his eyes. I couldn't help but put on a bored expression though. He was too drunk to notice anyway.

"Go fix me car." He said to me, before turning his attention to his hands, and looking confused. As if he was trying to decide whether he should take a swig of his beer, or a puff of his cigar. He tried to do both at the same time, and it didn't work all that well mind you.

I shook my head, rolled my eyes, and quickly exited the shit hole. I made my way over to the garage, walked in, and turned on the solitary light that lit up our entire garage. It actually did a good job too, because our garage was that small. Seriously, it was barely bigger than our car, for god's sake!

Anyway, I had to figure out what was wrong with my drunken father's car, so I hopped in, put the keys in the ignition, and was about to pull out of our mini garage, when I stopped and looked at the dashboard. It was nearly out of gas.

'Wow.' I thought to myself. I took the car to the gas station, filled it up, drove around to check and see if there was anything else wrong (and there wasn't), then I brought the car back and parked in the garage again.

Feeling pretty lighthearted, I got out of the shitty old car. The first thing I noticed was that the light was off again. 'Since when did the folks care about saving electricity? Must be low on money.' I thought. 'Or maybe it's just burnt out.'

I took a step forward, and a shot of pain jolted through my foot. Well, not really pain, more like an annoyance, like a stubbed toe or a paper cut. Anyway, shortly following the pain was a loud crash, and the light snapped on. 'Okay, it's not the burnt out theory.' I told myself, before I saw what was right in front of me.

The whole picture- my dad, standing by the door with his cigar and beer still in hand, the paint can (I guess that's what I hit) a foot or two away from me, and I saw the paint. Cherry red paint had spilled on the floor, splashed on the walls, and even a little on his car.

"Oh, shit." I muttered. This was very… should I say, not good? I just stood there as my father came up to me. I tried to distract myself, anything to keep my mind of my dad. 'Good thing I've got that detention tomorrow.' I told myself. Yeah, that was the best and most distracting thing I could come up with. 'I'll get up before he's up, and leave, and just be gone.'

As I was trying to offer my condolences to myself, my dad started roughing me up, punching me and shit. It lasted awhile before he turned around. I was surprised, 'That was not as difficult as I expected."

But I must have thought that too soon, because only a moment later, I felt a bottle connect to my head, and dropped to the floor and everything went black.

A/N: Okay… that was chapter one. Short, but it sets the stage for the next chapter. So, just so you know… I KNOW if you don't review. I know… I'm a stalker… seriously. I will track you down if you don't review. Lol, just kidding, but you still shouldn't risk it, should you? Anyway, my system goes like this: I don't add the next chapter until someone reviews it and says that they are going to read the next chapter. That way I know someone, somewhere, will be pleased.

Until next time, SpiffySquee