Better Hallway Vision

by UnicornPammy

A/N: Here we go, on to miss Claire. Not my best. She's hard to write well, I think. Claire is so multidimensional, and a lot of people try to pigeonhole her. It's difficult to find a happy medium between her self-confidence and her self-pity, her snobbishness and her follower attitude. I have done my best, and that's all we can do, right?

Disclaimer: I don't own blah blah blah anything. I'm poor. Leave me alone.

Chapter 4: Claire's Consideration

He tasted like cigarettes and Coca Cola.

Her mother was stone-faced as Claire lowered herself into the white Mercedes. Claire couldn't keep the smile from her face. Alicia was already annoyed by their kiss. She said a cheery hello to her perfect blonde mother, then settled down in her seat, reliving her memories of the day. Of course, her mother couldn't leave her alone for two minutes, especially not when she seemed happy.

"Where's your earring, Claire?" Alicia Standish vamped. "That's not what I saw you giving to that boy, is it?"

Claire's hand flew to her ear in mock surprise. "Oh, no! My earring! No, I wasn't giving John my earring, I was giving him my phone number." She bit her lip. "Dad is going to be so upset that I lost one of the diamonds he gave me."

Alicia pinned her with piercing green eyes. Claire stared back, her expression one of innocence and confusion.

"What?"

"Claire Suzanne, I swear to God, if you're lying to me..."

"Mom, why would I give someone I've just met a diamond earring?" She found it hard to keep up the false cheer around her mother. The woman's constant waspishness was grating.

"You don't give someone you've just met your phone number, and you don't kiss them either."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Why do you care?"

Her mother sat in frigid silence, silence that lasted all of fifteen minutes, just until they pulled into the driveway. After Alicia quit the engine, she turned in her seat to face her daughter. "You're not to see that boy again, do you understand? I will not have you embarassing this family."

Claire didn't answer, just made a disgusted noise and got out of the car. Alicia did the same, following her up the neat slate walk to the front door. "Don't walk away from me, young lady! Your father may let you walk all over him, but when I tell you to do something, you'd better listen." She caught up with Claire inside the large two-story foyer, grabbing her arm and spinning her so they stood face to face. "You are not-"

"Don't touch me!" Claire snapped, jerking her arm out of her mother's grip. Immediately, Alicia slapped her across the face. Claire was so surprised she couldn't speak, only put a hand to her throbbing cheek. She had never in her life been struck, not once.

"Listen to me, young lady." Alicia put a manicured claw in her face. Claire noticed that, ever-so-slightly, her mother's hand trembled. Was she really that angry about this? "You will NOT associate with that boy any more. He's a criminal, and a miscreant, just like his father."

"How do you know anything about his father?" Claire said, still breathless with shock.

Alicia straightened, a superior smile curving her lips, and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. She acted as if she'd just scored a point against Claire. "He's one of your father's pro bono cases."

"He would never defend someone like that."

"They went to high school together. They used to be friends. But all your father has left for him is pity." Alicia's stance changed again, her arms uncrossed. She was trying to loom over Claire, even though they'd stood the same height for almost a year now. "And that's all you should have for his son."

Claire's anger burned hotter with every word Alicia uttered; she hated being bullied, and more than that she hated what her mother was implying. When Alicia said the last part, Claire didn't even think. She heard a sudden loud smack, and her right hand was stinging. In disbelief, she lowered her arm, and stared at the reddening mark on her mother's left cheek. Her eyes widened, and she took a step backward. Her rage dampened as she felt the blood leave her face. "Mom," she whispered, her voice filled with horror at her own action. "Oh, Mom, I'm so sorry."

But there was no assuaging Alicia Standish's fury. Her face flushed with anger while her green eyes turned to ice. Even though Claire knew it was coming, she couldn't seem to get out of the way soon enough. The second blow landed in the same place as the first, while Claire turned her head to lessen the impact. She winced, gingerly holding the left side of her face as her eyes teared up. She glanced at her mother, a vision of Hell's fury in Coco Chanel. "Go to your room." Her voice was tight, strained, like she was hanging onto herself by the very threads of her self control.

Claire was stunned and afraid, and could only do as her mother told her. Her rage began to grow again as she climbed the stairs to her room, and she slammed the door behind her. She was breathing in rough, ragged breaths, overwhelmed by what had just happened, not understanding anything except that she'd never seen her mother so worked up over something like this. Covering her face with her hands, she sat on her bed, trying not to cry, simply because she knew it would hurt too much. Her cheek was throbbing. Finally she stood and went into her en suite bathroom, running a soft pink washcloth under cold water. She twisted out the excess and held the cloth lightly against her face, then went back into her bedroom to lie down.

How could her dad do that? How could he defend someone who beats up his own kid? She remembered the burn scar John had shown Andy. "This is what you get in my house for spilling paint in the garage." How could anyone do that to their own child? And how many times had he gotten away with it...because of her father?

"Oh, my God," she said aloud. "If John ever finds out, he'll hate me."

Then she sat up, moving the cloth away from her face, placing it on her night stand. "What if he already knows?" Was he just toying with her to get back at her dad?

No, no, he wouldn't do that. He wasn't like that.

How do you know, Claire? How long have you known him, about 9 hours? And how many girls were in his wallet?

She remembered sitting there, watching him "brush" his teeth with her eyebrow brush as she went through all the girls' pictures, feeling jealous of every single one of them. Each of them had had a piece of John Bender, or so he wanted her to believe. I want more than just a piece, though, she'd thought. I want all of him, all to myself.

She flopped back onto her bed, gazing up at the Jon Bon Jovi poster she'd tacked over it a few months ago. She felt so juvenile suddenly for having it up there. "I've got it bad for John Bender. I want him so much, I'm even thinking about taking down my Bon Jovi poster." She rolled over onto her right side, one arm hanging down over the edge of her bed. "What's wrong with me?"

A sarcastic little, it's-about-time voice whispered, You're becoming a better person.

A better person? That's corny, was her next thought.

Claire lay there for a while, then picked up the wash cloth again and rolled back so she could stare up at her favorite male singer, trying not to think about Monday, or her father. She pressed the cool terrycloth back to her throbbing cheek, her thoughts returning to that sarcastic little voice. Ok, so what about today makes me a better person?

The answer came with a mental sigh. You're finally ready, and willing, to put someone ahead of yourself. Now matter how scared you are of the immediate future, you know that you won't-no, more like you can't--ignore John Bender. You want him to be happy, Claire, and you want him to be happy with you.

Yeah, maybe you're right, she thought.

With a little chuckle, she realized that she was holding a conversation with herself. I wonder if this is what it feels like to be Allison. She laughed at herself, surprised that being like Allison didn't automatically register as a bad thing. Following on the heels of that was the realization that she genuinely liked the four other people she'd shared detention with today. She liked them, and she wanted to be friends with them.

But I'm afraid. I'm still afraid of being associated with them. What am I going to do?

The voice in her head spoke up again. Be a better person.

But it wasn't that easy.