I don't own the Breakfast Club

Enjoy!


After lunchtime, the group returned to the library. As Allison expected, Ms. Wilson was nowhere to be seen. She might as well had not come in on Saturday if she was too busy watching her show. However, that was all the better for the four of them, especially since Andrew wanted to spend the remainder of his meet with them. Allison took her seat at her original table and Andrew sat next to her. He made a face when he noticed the list of library chores that Ms. Wilson had given them.

"What's this?" he asked as he snatched the paper and looked at it. His eyes scanned over the instructions and he couldn't help but laugh at it. "She wanted you to dust the place?" he asked and then looked up as John stalked over to the table in front of them and plopped down.

John took the liberty and propped his feet on the table. "Yeah, like we're her little minions," he commented and watched as Susan passed by them, "yo Picasso!" he called over to her, "come and join us."

"In a bit," Susan said, "I'm just gonna do some inventory really quick." She hurried behind the front desk and pulled out a binder that had the list of books that library possessed.

John rolled his eyes at her comment. It wasn't as if Ms. Wilson was going to check over their work! He glanced back at the clock and saw that had only a few more hours to go before they were let go. Maybe doing something would help time go fast, but John wasn't willing to execute any of Ms. Wilson's orders. He then turned his attention over to Andrew and said, "you could've made the damn scavenger hunt a bit longer you know? Either we were too good or your clues were too dumb."

Andrew gently shrugged his shoulders as he looked at John. "What else were you going to do in detention for nine hours? I mean, I'm not a poet with those clues, but at least it killed some time." And just like he had told them, he had wanted to get Allison out, even though she didn't have reason to be in there. As he had been setting up those clues, he had run into Carl who was curious as to what Andrew was doing. Andrew, at first, hesitated in telling him until he eventually did. He had proposed about using the master key, and not to his surprise, it had taken some negotiation to retrieve the key with Andrew promising that he would return it back.

He was right about that. Find me in the mystery section. That was top tier poetry, which made Allison chuckle. Even thoughAndrew wasn't a poet like he claimed, he at least put the effort into making it fun for them. "But we managed to work together," Allison spoke up and then looked at John with a smirk upon her lips, "and fixed up that catalog drawer."

"Yeah that was the highlight of the whole damn hunt," John sarcastically commented and put his hands on the back of his head.

At this point, he was willing to use the time for a good nap but with Andrew and Allison whispering between one another, was a challenge. He looked over at them and he couldn't believe how smitten they were with one another. Andrew whispering at Allison, Allison smiling at his words, Andrew stroking her arm as if she was a delicate flower. God, it was revolting! One would think that Andrew would keep this to a minimum, but it was like he was rubbing it in John's face.

Look at me! I have the girl and you don't! Even if that wasn't Andrew's intention, John couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. He loudly cleared his throat, catching Andrew's and Allison's attention. "Shouldn't one of us check up on Picasso? She's been go for a long time."

Allison exchanged a glance with John and then looked over at Andrew. She would, but she felt that Susan would pull her into doing inventory with her. John didn't want to, for he felt the same as Allison did.

Andrew let out a sigh and got up from his seat. "I'll go," he said as he proceeded in the direction where Susan had gone off to.

Allison watched as Andrew walked away from the table before she looked over at John. "Was that necessary?" she asked him, knowing that there was meaning behind John's intentions.

"Just trying to keep things straight around here," John told Allison, "I never expected homeboy to be so lovestruck over you."

Allison stared at John when he said that. Why did it sound like he was teasing her about that? Didn't she deserve to have someone that loved her for who she was? Allison clenched her jaw. "What's wrong with it?" she asked him. When John didn't respond to her question, she continued, "you think that just because someone is in love with me, doesn't mean that I deserve it?"

At first, John hadn't expected to be riddled by such a question. His concept of 'loving' someone did not match what Allison valued. What was the point in trying to love someone when they were going to leave you in the end? "Just looking out for you," John told her, "you don't know what the next couple of weeks before prom will bring."

Allison let out a scoff. She could care less about a frivolous school event where everyone dressed up and spent the night gossip about pointless things. She may have felt that, but the thought of dancing close with a partner, looking into their eyes, and sealing the night with a gentle kiss was something that she hoped for. Now that she had that chance with Andrew, why wouldn't she use it? "I don't need your protection, John," Allison told him, "I can take care of myself." Like I've always done she thought.


Andrew walked from one bookcase to another until he noticed Susan sitting on the ground. "Hey," he greeted her as he saw her with her sketchpad on her lap and she excessively drew on a blank sheet of paper.

Susan hadn't expected anyone to find her and she flinched when she heard Andrew's voice. She looked up and let out a sigh of relief. "I thought you were someone else," she chuckled and put down her pencil.

"And I thought you were doing inventory," Andrew said as he approached Susan and sat down across from her. "What're you drawing?" he asked her.

Whenever someone asked about her drawings, Susan's response was to pull her sketchpad close to her and avoid it from being seen. Regardless, she had opened to her classmates about her sketches last week, even though she had hesitated. "Just an idea that came to mind," Susan told him as she boldly shaded a section of her sketch. "When you're surrounded by so many books, you just want to sit down and draw from imagination."

Andrew looked down at the discarded book on the floor as he picked it up. The title of the book read Jailbird. Andrew had not read it, but he was intrigued on what Susan's interpretation of the title was. "Let's see what you got," Andrew told her. When he saw her hesitate, Andrew asked, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Susan said, "I did share my drawings with all of you, but…sometimes it's hard to share them."

"Why?" Andrew asked her, "you think I'll make fun of them?" he asked her. When Susan nodded her head in response, Andrew shook his head. "No," he answered her, "I still kept that drawing of Allison that you gave me."

"That's because I drew it for you," Susan told him, "I didn't draw it for myself."

Andrew wasn't a stranger to criticism. He faced it every day at home and strived to do his best. Sometimes, criticism was needed but it depended on how it was delivered. If his father had been supportive that he was trying, perhaps Andrew would have had a different outlook on his athletic achievement. He just didn't have the passion for it like he used to. He wondered if it was the same for Susan. Was she capable of taking criticism? If not, would she lose her passion for her art?

"It's tough," Andrew suddenly spoke up, "sometimes you think you have it, when others tell you that you don't."

"I've been thought that," Susan nodded her head to him. Both academically and with her family. When her hard work wasn't appreciated, what was the point in opening up to them? With class, she had no option. She needed her grade…after all is seemed like art class was the only class keeping her GPA at the acceptable minimum.

"Me too," Andrew said with a nod of his head.

Susan looked over at Andrew when he said that. A moment of silence passed between them as her eyes seemed to study every inch of Andrew. "Is that why you have that cut under your eye?" she asked him as she looked up and then went back to her drawing.

Andrew was caught off guard. "What do you mean?" he asked her defensively.

"You said 'sometimes you have it when others say you don't,'" Susan repeated, "it's the same with me. I had a teacher earlier this week tear down my artwork because it didn't meet her expectations." She stopped sketching and looked up at Andrew, "it's the same with every adult. You try not to anger them, but they get mad at you anyway."

Andrew averted his eyes from Susan. Those words held truth in them. It wasn't just him that was going through it, but everyone in high school. Trying to find their way, trying to make themselves and their parents proud…until they were left disappointed with the decisions that their children made. In Andrew's case, his father's disappointment was evident and Andrew was carrying it with him. "Have you been in a similar situation?" he asked her.

Whether Andrew referred to her parents or uncle, Susan stopped sketching and then looked up at Andrew. "We all have," Susan cryptically told him, "but those situations are what changes us. I'm not the person I was before and I'm not the same person I was last week…and I'm sure that after your injury, you are not the same either." Taking a deep breath, she ripped out a page from her sketchpad and handed it over to Andrew.

Andrew looked at Susan before he took the paper in his hands. It was a picture of him, running across a running tracks and towards the finish line. A smile came upon Andrew's lips and he chuckled. "I think you got my sport confused."

"It's the same thing for all sports," Susan said to him with a smile, "eventually, you cross the finish line."

Whether it be a winner or a loser, Andrew hoped that he was able to cross it regardless of the outcome.