On Thursday, Allison wanted to find Andy and apologize for being so moody. She'd spent a damn long time last night thinking that once Andy was gone, she'd regret ever arguing with him. Even if she believed she was in the right (and she still did) it was better to let Andy know she would await his return with great anticipation, and that she still loved him.

But something was wrong. Every time Allison caught a glimpse of Andy and tried to communicate with him, he'd turn away or ignore her totally. Allison wondered if Andy was being stubborn too. They both were stubborn creatures. But with two days until Andy moved to Kenosha, even Allison felt Andy was being harsh more than he was being stubborn. Several times, she'd approached him with the words "I'm sorry." And all those times, he found a way to avoid her.

It was getting close to the end of the day, and Allison knew that every day, she saw Andy in the hallways on her way to 8th period (French for Allison, History for Andy). It was the best chance she had of catching Andy. She even pretended to have a headache in Biology so she could get a head start to that fateful corner. Allison really hoped she could just apologize so she could be on good terms with Andy for Friday…their last day together. It would make the last day a LOT less painful for the two of them. Maybe Andy was feeling bad himself, but unlike Allison, he handled his pain and guilt passively. Allison was an extroverted reactor; Andy was introverted in all aspects. Andy liked fact, Allison like opinion. Allison was comfortable expressing herself. Andy would've rather put a bullet in his head than cry in front of people. It made Allison wonder what was different about March 24, 1984. Andy had openly expressed his feelings about his intense father when they sat in their circle, and there were even tears falling down his face. Maybe it was because he was talking about his father. Allison really wanted to see him hanging high above the town after the way he treated the two of them on Monday night. She knew for a fact Andy would want to be the one to put the noose around his father's neck and open the fatal trapdoor.

Allison leaned in her corner. The bell had just rung. Andy should've been arriving any minute.

Bingo. There he was, clutching his books at his side, looking around almost cautiously. Allison didn't like the look on his face. "Andy!" she called out. Andy didn't hear her. "Andy!" she hollered again. Andy looked in her direction. He then hung his head and began to walk past her. "Oh no you don't…"Allison muttered. She quickly pursued him down the hallway. She finally caught him near the attendance office and grabbed his shoulder. He couldn't ignore her now!

"Andy! Why are you ignoring me? You can't ignore me now! TELL ME! If it's me, I'm sorry! Andy, listen!"

Andy just stayed quiet. Allison couldn't believe him. "ANDY! PLEASE! I want us to be on good terms before you leave!! Andy!!!!" Allison was getting hysterically upset. Tears ran wildly down her face like a midsummer thunderstorm. She was red as a ripe apple, and shaking more than a baby tree caught in a Californian earthquake.

Allison couldn't stand this. He wasn't even looking her in the eye. She couldn't take it anymore. On an impulse, she took a swing. A powerful, passionately-driven swing. It landed on Andy's left cheek and was so strong, the inertia sent him hurdling into the row of lockers nearby. Even his wrestler's quick reflexes didn't prepare him for it. Andy smacked into the wall hard on his right side. It was right then he felt his knee weaken. He sank to the floor in a crouching position, holding his left cheek. Allison only looked at what she'd done for about 5 seconds before running down the hallway. She really needed to talk to someone. Anyone. Even if it was herself reflected in the girl's bathroom mirror.

Andy watched her as she ran down the hall and turned left and away from him. He fell back on his ass and felt himself crying…

What the hell was happening to him?

It was a little known fact that John Bender took art class.

It was more widely known that he was FAILING art class.

Bender chose art class because he felt it was better than taking drama (too girly) or cooking (ditto) as an elective. He already had taken shop and auto science. What else was there but girlish classes? Of all of them, he'd decided that art was the least girlish. But, of course, he couldn't draw stick figures to save his life, so he obviously was flunking. Madame Valjean, the overly dramatic art teacher, had seen a glimmer of hope when she decided to get an art tutor for Bender from her advanced art class. It was almost a coincidence that out of all her advanced art student to choose from, she chose Allison to tutor Bender after school. It was Thursday, so as much as Allison wanted to go home and slit her wrists off, she had an obligation to teach Bender how to draw.

Bender immediately noticed Allison looking like she'd been the sole survivor of a train wreck. Her posture, her overall presence, was different. Bender had taken a special interest in Allison. She was almost like a specimen under his microscope. He'd come to memorize how she carried herself, her attitude. Sometimes he could even tell what time of the month it was for her (she'd wear pants instead of frumpy skirts for a week). He knew almost every little physical detail about her, just because, well, Allison fascinated him. He didn't think Andy had taken such detailed notice of her, which he felt was a crime on his part.

Allison literally slammed her homemade purse on the table and threw her pencil bag at Bender. "Depth. Draw it. Live it. Love it. Kill it," were her first words. Bender looked at her strangely, and then warily picked up a pencil.

"One problem, Psycho," he said ("Psycho" wasn't a bad name; he'd called her Psycho since they met out of friendliness. Allison liked it). "I don't know what the hell depth is!"

"Oh Jesus!" she yelled uncharacteristically. Bender leaned back.

"Something tells me we should be talking about psychology and not art," he said to himself. Allison overheard.

"Oh be quiet!" Allison couldn't stay pissed. Instead, she slowly melted into her incredibly depressed form. She sank to the floor and began sobbing. Bender looked at her, a heap of mess dressed in black on the floor at his feet. He sighed and thought a moment. He then leaned down next to her.

"What's eating you, Psycho?" he asked. Allison sniffed and looked up at Bender.

"Andy," was her only reply. Bender grew red in the face.

"What the hell did he do to you?" Bender asked with a rising hint of hatred in his voice.

"He's ignoring me," she said. "He's moving away and he won't even make up with me for a fight we had!"

Bender listened. It was funny how he listened to Allison more than Claire sometimes.

Allison continued after a pause to sniff again. "I couldn't stand it anymore. I…I hit him. Hard. In the face," Allison said.

"Wow, you deserve a medal," Bender said (he meant it too, but he purposely made his voice sound sarcastic).

"I thought it would make me feel better," Allison said. "But it only made me feel like hanging myself seeing him collapsed against the lockers like that. He looked like I've never seen him before. So…vulnerable!" she remarked.

"I wish you'd taken a picture," said Bender. Allison looked at him with a look of death. He rolled his eyes and held out a hand. Allison took his hand subconsciously, and he helped her to her feet. "Tell you the truth, Claire's gotten worse with Mr. Dickface. She wouldn't even tell me to leave her alone around her clones. She just walked away."

"I hate everyone! I hate this school, I hate his father, I hate everything!" Allison snapped. "Why is he blowing me off?"

"Why is Cherry-Queen blowing me off?" asked Bender in reply. Allison and Bender looked at each other silently for a moment.

"My god, is The Breakfast Club splitting up?" Allison asked with disgust and disbelief. Bender looked at his feet. He then realized he's never let go of Allison's hand.

"I dunno," he said, trying to sound as indifferent as possible. In reality, the possibility of a regression between them scared the shit out of him. "I bet if Dork was still here, we wouldn't be in this bad shape," he remarked. Brian, not being in a relationship within the group, had acted as the glue that held them together instead. Now that he was off to college, there was no glue. Nothing left to happen but for the walls to come tumbling down on the remaining four.

"I wanted to make peace with him before he left, but—"

"—wait. Does this have anything to do with your 'Monday night mission' up in his room?"

Allison nodded.

"He didn't dump you, did he?"

"No! But suddenly he has to MOVE! What does that mean? Tomorrow's his last day at school. I got mad at him, and now he's pretending I'm not alive!" Allison cried.

"If he was takin' advantage of you, I'll gladly kick his royal ass from here to Pittsburgh!" Bender said with a defiant tone.

"No, I was the one who asked for it. I came on to him," confessed Allison. She looked at the clock. "Madame Valjean will be back in an hour, get drawing," she said weakly.

"I could care less about art right now," he muttered, but he took up a pencil and aimlessly began sketching with one hand. He didn't even have his eye on the paper in front of him. "Cherry called me last night," he said. "She hasn't totally bailed."

"Oh?" asked Allison with fake interest.

"She just told me she had to cancel our night at Club Jupiter because Dickface was having a party. Douche bag," Bender said.

"John, at least Claire isn't moving away," Allison began.

"But she is. She's without a doubt starting to move away," Bender muttered. Allison bit her lip and looked out the window. The art room was on the second floor. Down below, a few teachers were walking to their cars, and a few students were waiting for a late bus. Andy was among the students. His cheek was still red, despite it having been about an hour since Allison had decked him. His eyes were just as red as his cheek, and he walked with a limp (his knee must have buckled on the way down).

"Psycho, you wanna come over?" asked Bender.

"What?" Allison turned to face Bender again. He was still drawing his assignment, but he was barely letting his pencil touch the paper.

"Aren't your parents away?"

"They were supposed to come back today, but I got a call from Mr. Hashimoto's office. My parents had called to tell me that they had to stay over the entire weekend," Allison answered.

"Come over to my place. My dad's in a holding cell in Chicago, so he won't be around for the weekend either."

"John, no. I really am not in the mood," said Allison.

"Listen, Al. Don't let that asswipe do this to you!"

"I can't help it! He broke me!" said Allison.

"Shit, this isn't you at all! You sound like Cherry when you whine like that! DON'T linger on it! You're above him, you hear! You've got so much more to offer in one fingernail, than he has locked up in his 20 trophy cases at home!" Bender said. Allison nodded and thought about this a moment. She shook her head.

"No, I won't come over, I'm sorry," Allison said coldly.

"Then you're gonna skip school with me tomorrow," said Bender. "No questions asked," he said. "Which will it be?"

Allison thought again. "Pick me up tomorrow at 10:30 at my place," she said. Bender smiled.

"You do need a break," he said. "I think we both do," he said. Allison nodded. Bender spoke again. "We haven't been beaten yet, Al. Not yet."

Bender finally lifted his hand from the page and looked down. So did Allison. She raised her eyebrows and looked up at Bender.

"John, that's not a bad drawing! Not bad at all..."