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

1985

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 door and frame of the entryway. The cut squares rattling from the impact. The sound, seeming to resound, drew the attention of the few 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 too busy pouring out one of her fancy cocktails in the family den. Soon to be lost in a drunken oblivion.

While her father grappled for answers to alleviate the tension. Before he would retreat from the situation and come after her. Then he'd spend the next hour assuring Claire it was all just one big misunderstanding. The usual drawl she was all too familiar with from YEARS of their repeated patterns.

At this point she actually opted for her parents' divorce.

If not in their best interest, then at least her's. It was only getting worse. The drinks were only piling higher and the "business" trips becoming a frequent occurrence. And that wasn't even including the endless bouts of money thrown her away.

Every bribe in the form of daddy's little black card.

All was supposed to be forgiven then. Everything all freakin' rainbows and flowers then, right? Wrong. "Bullshit." Claire took off across the cobbled patio, framed in 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 freakin' fence to match. It was such a far cry from the reality. It made her, on impulse, want to throw a bucket of red paint against it. Taint the image her parents fought to maintain, in high society.

To the reality.

Image is everything, such bullshit mantra.

Out of the corner of her eye, which she had to refrain from rolling, she spotted the brand new, cherry red Convertible parked in the family's driveway. Purposely she had gone completely out of her way to avoid it for what it represented, really.

Daddy's last little bribe.

Why? Because Claire had been the one to discover her father's infidelity. It hadn't taken much. Just a few phone calls and the tracking down of her father's whereabouts at the city's Plaza Hotel. It was exactly how her mother found out, except, through the family's bank statements.

After, her mother had taken off to the Virgin Islands for a month.

Once Louis realized Claire knew, he'd gifted her a pure carbon Tiffany necklace costing well over 5,000 dollars. In a fit of rage she'd flushed it down the toilet right in front of him. Too many years she'd accepted these expensive briberies; the five-star vacations, high end dining, black card shopping trips, all of it had run its course for her.

She was just over it all.

Now all she wanted was to put as much distance between them as possible. Because she only lived a few blocks from school, she could make the trek on foot and arrive on time. She glanced at her watch wrapped with a leather strap around her wrist.

The gold numerals read: 7:00.

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

Before storming out of the house.

It made her sick to know their spite for each other was only growing in its severity. But instead of solving their issues they buried them and had for years. Her father would volunteer to take off on a business excursion. While her mother took off on lavish, vacational destinations or a social gala to keep her occupied.

After this particular fight, Claire knew her mother would be departing for the tropics. Maybe Maui this time. Most likely before Claires first class of the day.

Wonderful.

So, the only person she could expect 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. And who Claire often confided in.

Or cried to.

Like when she had lost her brother that past year: Rick Maurice Standish.

He'd been the brother that helped keep her sanity intact. After all the years of dealing with their parents dysfunctional relationship. At least once a month, unless Claire was busy, he'd drive up from Chicago and the two would hang out all weekend. If ever he couldn't make it due to a scheduling conflict from working as an auto mechanic—much to their parents dismay—he'd make sure to call. It was his way of checking up on her. Usually, they spent the next hour then catching up with the latest girlfriends, life events, and her high school dramas.

Claire appreciated that even after her brother had moved out, he'd continued playing the brotherly role in her life. Aside Rosa, he'd been the one constant and he'd known that. All they had had growing up was each other. So 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.

He'd gotten out and made the life he'd wanted.

In a way Claire had envied that about him despite the lavish lifestyle her parents income provided. Over time those materialistic things grew old. Rick hadn't allowed money to change him. In fact he'd lived off much less after he'd left.

And yet he'd seemed a lot happier.

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

When she wasn't absent.

The tears swelled at the mention of her brother. The loss of him was still felt so deeply. He'd always been the one to see the positive in everything. He was the glue that held the family together, basically. It was no secret his death had affected her parents on another level. He had been, after all, their firstborn and the star athlete.

Claire came to abrupt halt, hand to her chest. Oh, did his absence hurt. She missed him so much. It was as if there were a piece of her missing ever since that night...

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

And that when she heard it, the most agonized, blood curdling scream that would be imprinted to memory.

Her mothers.

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. Something she'd never seen. Dress horridly wrinkled, pearls askew, and thick mascara smeared across her face.

Claire instantly knew something was very, very wrong. She'd NEVER seen 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. "M-Mom what is it?"

Something deep in her gut already told Claire she wouldn't like the answer. It was as if a leaden weight had been dropped into the pit of her stomach, her worst fears conveyed as her mother raised her head.

Slowly, Caroline 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. Shadows passed. Time froze. She couldn't move or think. But everything became a blur, to shapes and then, nothing. Just blackness. And then, in the far distance, she heard a piercing scream that cut through the air like a knife.

Until she felt the heavy vibration it carried.

Later, Claire would realize it had been her 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 a party, the driver intoxicated. The rest of the report had nearly done her in. The driver had driven into the oncoming traffic lane and hit a semi in a full, head on collision.

None, other than the driver, had survived.

Claire believed he was currently serving time for involuntary manslaughter. And that was about as much as she knew. But for her it just didn't seem like enough. It would never, ever be enough because it didn't change anything.

It wouldn't bring Rick back; this would be for the rest of her life. And thus she hadn't attended his wake.

Closed casket as requested by her mother.

"Claire?"

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

She'd know that checkered scarf anywhere.

Dammit, he had caught up to her. Claire started walking, her fingernails sinking into the leather fabric of her school bag. Louis Standish was the last person she wanted to see right now.

Her dad wasn't a person who gave up that easily though. An unfortunate, 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 out, most of which were standing on their porches retrieving the morning paper. A passing teenager on the way to school had to, no doubt, be a common occurrence for them.

Especially since it was the first day classes were back in session. Something she was rather dreading.

And for certain reasons.

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

As soon as the word please came from his mouth, Claire bit the inside of her cheek and reluctantly turned around. "No, just leave me alone." she stated, keeping her voice firm.

"Claire, hey!" The car pulled over to the curb. The door to the BMW swung open as her father climbed out, dressed in pressed business attire, thinning hair combed neat. His worn, tired face looked as if it had aged a couple years. Which 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, beginning to stir. "Don't, Daddy!" She retorted, sharply. "I don't want to hear your bullshit excuses. That's all I ever do is listen, listen, listen, and you know what? I am TIRED of it!"

Louis Standish's face remained calm, the wrinkles on his forehead smoothing out before he turned his back on her. Claire almost began walking again until she heard an all too accustomed sound. It caused her to turn just as he pulled out the glossy bag.

Stanley Korshak

Her favorite sushi place. Which was no secret. "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 jutting out her chin, stubborn. "I don't want it."

Even she heard the hesitance in her words. Yet this time, she held her ground and began walking again.

It was of no surprise her father gave up the fight. At least, for now. Still, he'd follow her anyway, until she reached the cement steps that led to Shermer High.

For senior year.

And that's just the beginning! More 80's nostalgia to come. Please don't forget to vote/ reveiw make my day its up to you;)