DISCLAIMER: John Hughes, the lucky jackass, owns the Breakfast Club, not me.

AN: Ok, I twisted things around a little. The original famed Saturday Detention will still have taken place... except in 2008, not 1984. Kapish? Also, this story deals with attempted suicide. Don’t read if you are offended by some such things.

For Huffle.

Claire trips for her cell phone, which is laying on her bed.

She quickly dials and waits for it to ring. She could imagine unsuspecting Andy on the other end, probably driving home from wrestling practice, not a care in the world.

Please pick up… she mentally wills Andy. Pick up, this is important… and then-

“Yo, Claire. ‘Sup?” she can hear him breathe into the phone, she can hear his Nickelback playing in the background. She's always liked Nickelback, but in the present situation she finds it hardly appropriate.

“Alli, she- she-” Claire breathes, inhaling hard through her nose. “She tried to kill herself last night, Andy. We’ve got to go to the hospital. I just found out-”

She hears Andy swear (a loud “Mother fucking bitch!”), the Nickelback turn off, and a loud squeal that sounds like Andy just switched three gears.

“I’m coming to pick you up, Claire. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Be in the yard.”

and then a dial tone.

Twenty minutes later, true to his word, Andy pulls up in his blue Honda.

Grabbing her Gucci handbag and a bottle of water from the fridge, she slips on her black flats and races for the car.

She hesitates when she gets to the car.

Her boyfriend, John Bender is sitting in the front seat, a look of pure sadness and depression on his normally nonchalant face.

“Get in!” Andy huffs, impatiently tapping the steering wheel.

She pulls open the back door and slides in on the leather seats beside Brian.

None of them speake for the half-hour ride to the hospital, and Claire knows they are each thinking the same thing.

This is all my fault.