SIX SHADES OF PSYCHO
Rating: K+ (language)
Written by: TrueWarrior
Summary: The events of The Breakfast Club as told from the P.O.V. of my favorite member.
SECOND SHADE
In the Library... What the Fuck Did
He Just Say?!
I hate libraries.
I just hate 'em.
I hate them like I hate everything in this world. Ever since I started attending Shermer, I've never spent more than five minutes in there. My classmates enjoyed it, what with the many magazines and books and other shit that was in there, but I didn't. Now, I'm going to be spending my entire Saturday for who knows how long in a place that I dread going to. Six tables in two rows of three. Terrific. I roll my eyes and see five other people in the library already walking to their seats.
One of them is a redhead. I don't know who she is, but I think she was the Prom queen. I mean who else could she be with that snobbish attitude of hers. I can see her look of shame from where I am. There is a shy guy sitting behind her, and there's no mistaking that he looks like a geek. Just throw on a pair of glasses, any kind, and doll him up with his pants and shirt inside out, and you'll have a geek. Next is an obvious jock. My last boyfriend, yeah, I had a boyfriend, was a jock. We enjoyed playing pranks on anyone who got in our way.
I felt something brush past me. I looked up and saw that it was the same guy my brother almost ran over. I follow after him, but not immediately. He's a criminal too, taking a few books from the counter, a few magazines.
Whatever.
I walk in last, a storm cloud obviously hovering over my head. I am in no mood to make any friends with anyone today, and I could care less about what brought them here. All I know is that my ex boyfriend fucked up my weekend, and it's him who should be in here and not me. I take a seat in the back corner table, just behind the nerd. I ignore the stare between the redhead and nerd and just sit there, bored and frustrated.
The doors open again, and Richard "Dick" Vernon. No one calls him Dick, but sometimes he acts like one. And the way he was walking to us right now just proved my point. It also proved that I shouldn't have deflated his car tires. I'm glad I don't have him as one of my teachers, but I can tell that he is all business and no play. There was a large stack of papers in his left hand.
What the hell were they?
"Well, well, here we are!" he said, as if he was congratulating us. I didn't feel like applauding for something that I didn't even do. "I want to congratulate you for being on time."
A hand was raised, almost as if they were in class. I realized it was the Prom queen, because the arm was slim and the hand was adorned with a ring. This is detention you bitch, I spat mentally. You don't raise your hand in detention!
"Excuse me, sir?" she asked, her voice soft and almost musical. "I think there's been a mistake. I know it's detention, but...um...I don't think I belong in here..."
Vernon seemed to ignore her and just continued with his tirade. "It is now 7:06," he continued. "You have exactly eight hours and fifty-four minutes to think about why you're here. To ponder the error of your ways..."
I hear something strange, like someone is about to vomit. I just look in its direction and see Criminal boy spit in the air and catch that same saliva in his mouth. The queen looked uneasy, almost as if she was going to throw up. Dick was not through with his rant. "And you," he pointed to the Prom queen. "You may not talk. You will not move from these seats." He looked up at the thief in our little group. "And you..." He yanked the chair out from under the criminal's feet. "You will not sleep. Alright people, we're gonna try something a little different today. We are going to write an essay - of no less than a thousand words - describing to me who you think you are."
"Is this a test?" Criminal boy asked.
Vernon once again ignored the wise crack and passed out paper and pencils. Damn, he wasn't kidding. He wanted us to write an essay? "And when I say essay, I mean essay," he droned on. "I do not mean a single word repeated a thousand times. Is that clear Mr. Bender?"
Bender.
That was his name. Funny thing is, he didn't look like a Bender, whatever the hell a Bender is supposed to look like. I heard his answer, which mirrored Vernon's stern tone. "Crystal..."
"Good," Vernon said.
I rolled my eyes in agitation, hatred, and exasperation. Didn't Vernon ever shut the hell up? I mean who does he think he is, the President? "Maybe you'll learn a little something about yourself. Maybe you'll even - decide whether or not you care to return."
Another hand was raised, and they stood up. It was the geek. "You know, I can answer that right now sir," he started. "That'd be no, no for me. 'cause -"
"Sit down, Johnson," Vernon snapped.
"Thank you, sir." And just like that, Johnson sat down.
"My office is right across the hall," Vernon added. "Any monkey business is ill-advised." His eyes swept across the room. "Any questions?"
"Yeah," Bender said. "I got a question." There was a look of suspicion on Vernon's face when he looked at Bender. I hope what he had to say was good. This was already becoming the most boring day of my entire life. "Does Barry Manilow know you raid his wardrobe?"
I laughed silently, my voice not even so loud as a whisper. "I'll give you the answer to that question, Mr. Bender, next Saturday," he deadpanned. "Don't mess with the bull young man, you'll get the horns."
And on that note, Vernon left us.
"That man... is a brownie hound..." Bender quietly said.
Indeed he is.