A/N: And finally chapter one has been created. Well, much revised off my old account with so much more detail! I can honestly say I'm pretty satisfied thus far and can't wait to hear your thoughts. This helps gives my brain a much needed break from other more intense stories. This by far the most fun and less dark haha out of my stories. I LOVE The Breakfast Club and every character has such a story I wish they'd made a prequel on.

Alas this neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie [;)] girl can dream...

Note: This story will have slower updates so I don't overwhelm myself with too many deadlines.

x Cheers

"Do you want to know how popular I am?

I'm so popular everybody loves me at this school."

-Claire Standish 1984

Northbrook, IL

1986

ONE YEAR LATER…

"That's right, Louis. Runaway like you always do. Go screw that young little secretary you've been sneaking behind my back with, since Rick died."

"That is not what I am doing here, Caroline, and how dare—"

The walls of the grand Victorian house shuddered as Claire shoved the toe of her chic, leather boots between the doorframe off the entryway. The rattled sound resounded, drawing the attention of neighbors awake within the upscale cul-de-sac.

It wasn't as if her mother, who often cared about preserving an image, were paying any mind. She was busy fixing up another one of her fancy cocktails in the family den. Soon, she'd be in a drunken oblivion.

Her father would question her mothers mental stability before he'd retreat from the situation to come after her. He'd spend the next hour assuring Claire it was all just one big misunderstanding, the usual drawl she was all too familiar with after YEARS of continual patterns.

At this point she actually opted for her parents' divorce. If they were at all invested in the best interests of the children. Their marriage was only getting worse. The drinks were piling higher and the "business" trips frequent. Which didn't include the endless supply of money thrown her way, every bribe of daddy's little black card.

All was supposed to be forgiven then. Wrong. "Bullshit." Claire took off across the cobbled stones that led down a patio, framed by a manicured lawn their gardener, Jose', kept in top condition.

It was almost sickening; the perfection of it all. They even had the white picket fence to match. It was such a far cry from the reality. It made her want to impulsively throw a bucket of red paint against the pristine image. Just as her parents fought to uphold as "the perfect family" in high society.

A lie really.

Image is everything, such a bullshit mantra.

Out of the corner of her eye she spotted the brand new, cherry red Convertible parked in the family's driveway. She had gone completely out of her way to avoid it for its representation.

Daddy's last little bribe.

Claire had been the very person to discover her father's infidelity. Or, adulterous affair. It hadn't taken much. Just a few phone calls and tracking down her father's whereabouts at the city's Plaza Hotel. Akin to how her mother found out, but through the family's bank statements. Then she'd taken off to the Virgin Islands for two weeks.

Once Louis realized Claire knew, he'd gifted her a necklace from Tiffany's costing well over 1,000 dollars. To his shock she'd flushed it right down the toilet in front of him. Too many years she'd accepted these expensive briberies; the five-star vacations, high end dining, and black card shopping trips. All of it had run its course.

She was over it.

Presently, all she wanted was to put as much distance between the parentals as possible. Because she only lived a few blocks from school, she'd make the trek on foot. Glancing at the watch wrapped as a leather strap around her wrist, the gold numerals read: 7:00.

Thirty minutes before class to gather herself. Because her parents had decided to start their screaming match early, it had been difficult to focus on vanity. Especially when the mention of their dead son surfaced. That's when she'd snapped, throwing everything within reach into a leather pack she'd use for classes.

Before storming out of the house.

It made her sick their spite for each other, how severe had it truly gotten within the last year. Instead of solving any of their issues, they buried them. As they'd done for years, now. Her father's solution was voluntary business excursions. While her mother took off to a lavish, vacational destination or a social gala to keep her occupied.

After this particular fight, Claire knew her mother would be departing for the tropics. Likely before Claire's first period.

Wonderful.

So, the only person she expected to come home to was their housekeeper, Rosa. This was not exactly a bad thing. In truth, Rosa had been more of a mother than her own over the years. It was often who Claire confided in.

Or cried to.

When she had lost her brother, Rosa had been the one to pick up the pieces. That had been this past summer and Claire was far from over it.

Rich Maurice Standish had been the ideal brother. He'd helped keep her sanity intact over the years of dealing with their parents dysfunctional relationship. Unless Claire was busy, he'd drive up from Chicago once a month to hangout for the weekend. If he couldn't make it due to a scheduling conflict since he worked as an auto mechanic—much to their parents dismay—he'd make sure to call. And even then, he'd make up for it by a long phone call. Usually it was catching up on the latest girlfriends, life events, and her high school dramas.

Which he never seemed to mind.

Claire appreciated that even after her brother moved out, he'd continued playing a brotherly role in her life. He'd been her one constant since they'd only had each other growing up. He'd been no stranger to the dynamic in their home. Or lack, thereof.

Maybe that was why he'd never become a snob as she had. He'd never allowed their parents to change him into something he wasn't. Instead he'd gotten out and made the life he'd wanted.

Despite the lavish lifestyle her parents income provided and for that, Claire envied him. Rick never allowed money to change him. He'd lived off much less after he'd left.

Maybe that was why a part of her remained grounded when it came to him. With him she could be authentic. She did not have to worry about the latest trends, gossips, or social standing her mother had impressed upon her at a young age.

At the mention of her brother, the tears swelled. The loss of him felt like a deep cut that continuously stung. He'd always been the one to see the positive in everything. He was the glue that held the family together. His death alone had affected her parents on another level. After all, he's been their firstborn and the star athlete.

Claire came to abrupt halt, hand to her chest. She missed him terribly and since that night a part of her felt forever lost...

It was odd but she couldn't shake this weird feeling. Her fresh mauve nails sunk into the bright-green wrapping paper. All too eager to see what this year's seventeenth birthday would bring. But she was really trying to wait for Rick to show since it was his present. Where was he anyway? It had been nearly an hour since his last call. When was he—

The most agonized, blood curdling scream imprinted to memory suddenly split the air.

Claire was on her feet before she'd even realized it, racing down the hallway and towards the sound of her mothers sobs. What she found, was her mother in a crumpled, most unruly state that she'd ever seen. The usual poised woman was slumped over, dress horridly wrinkled, pearls askew, and thick mascara smeared across her face.

Claire instantly knew something was very, very wrong. NEVER had she witnessed her mom in such a frazzled state. "Mom?" She heard the shaking in her voice as she bent down, gently placing her hands over her's noting the defeat in her eyes. "M-Mom what is it?"

Something told Claire she wouldn't like the answer. A knot in her stomach formed, her worst fears conveyed as her mothers head slowly rose.

Claires mother, Caroline Luanne Standish shook her head, her blue eyes blood-shot and puffy. Snot dribbled down her lips, lipstick staining her teeth as her mouth opened in another wail. The spiraled cord fell against the decorative, floral wall with a thwack, as the phone dropped from her hands.

"Rick..." She finally gasped out, her voice on the verge of hysteria. "H-He's, he's gooooone!"

Everything around Claire suddenly became static.

Voices rang as a series of shadows passed. It was as if she froze over. She couldn't breathe or think or move. Her vision tunneled and then, in the far distance, she heard a piercing scream that vibrated through the atmosphere.

Only later would Claire realize she'd been the one screaming.

According to the later police reports, Rick had been in a pickup truck with a few of his work buddies. They had been coming back from local bar, the driver intoxicated. The driver had driven into the oncoming traffic lane and hit a semi in a head on collision.

None, other than the driver, had survived.

Currently the driver, Sam Dates as read, was serving time for involuntary manslaughter. But for her it just didn't seem like enough. It would never, ever be enough because wouldn't bring back her brother.

Thus, she hadn't attended his wake, closed casket or not.

"Claire?"

Claire's head snapped up as she heard a familiar engine. A stylish, 1985 BMW suddenly came into her peripheral, the sun glinting off the polished exterior. Hastily she wiped a few stray tears that had fallen.

Dammit, he had caught up to her. She'd know that checkered scarf anywhere. Her fingernails clenched the leather fabric of her school bag. Louis Standish was the last person she wanted to see.

Unfortunately her father wasn't a person who gave up that easily. A stubborn trait she'd inherited herself. "Claire," he began in that too annoyingly calm voice, "let's not make a scene, honey."

Claire almost snorted, almost. There were only a few people standing on their porches retrieving the morning paper. A passing teenager on the way to school wasn't uncommon given it was the first day of the new term.

"Claire, honey," Louis continued, "please just get into the car and I'll drive you to school."

As soon as the word please was ushered, Claire bit the inside of her cheek and reluctantly turned around. "No, just leave me alone." She made sure her voice remained firm.

"Claire—hey!" He pulled the car over to the curb. The door to the BMW swung open as he climbed out, dressed in pressed business suit, thinning hair combed neat. His worn, tired face spoke of the rigors from stress. It spoke of how familiar their spats were. "Sweetie, let us not make this into a big issue today. Let's discuss the real reason why—"

But Claire cut him off. The anger simmering beneath the surface from the morning's events, stirred awake. "Don't, Daddy!" She retorted, sharply. "I don't want to hear bullshit excuses. That's all I ever do is listen and I am TIRED of it!"

Louis Standish's face remained calm, the folds in his forehead smoothing out before he turned to retrieve something from the front seat. The accustomed sound caused her to turn back as he pulled out a glossy bag.

Stanley Korshak

It was her favorite sushi place. "You forgot your lunch, sweetheart." he proceeded to say.

Damn, he'd gotten her there.

Claire stared at its contents for a long moment before squaring her chin, stubborn. "I don't want it."

Yet even she heard the hesitance. Still, she refused to give him the satisfaction she felt and stomped away in a huff.

It came as no surprise her father had given up the fight fairly quickly. Still, he followed her until she reached the cement steps that led to Shermer High for senior year.