John Bender heard the radio of his alarm clock go off, interrupting what was turning out to be another uneasy dream. Though glad to have been whisked out of it, he still groaned at the lack of sleep he had received last night, not that it was anything new.

He opened his eyes halfway and let his long bent fingers crawl around his nightstand like spiders as they searched for the button to turn off the cheap radio. They eventually found it and John's room went quiet. He turned onto his back and rubbed at his eyes, going through the motions of his morning ritual of attempting to make himself more alert before climbing out of the comfort of his bed.

A loud thump resounded across his room as something hit the other side of the wall opposite his bed. John jumped slightly, his hands jerking away from his eyes, which had opened fully now. He felt no fear, but rather wryly thought that he was glad his father had decided to have a temper tantrum so early in the morning, now making him more adequately awake. John listened to his father's yelling from the hallway, guessing he had thrown something in his trivial anger, hence the thud against John's wall.

John sat up, shirtless, and stood up, his bare feet pressing against the cold wooden floor. He stood there in his torn up jeans and just listened for a moment. His father and his mother were yelling, both of them sounding very relentlessly angry as usual, fighting like starved jackals over the smallest piece of meat. Well, John thought, there was a reason he set his alarm as early as he did.

He walked over to his small dresser, and pulled out a change of clothes. He put them on, then got down on his hands and knees, reaching under his bed. His hand went through the hole in the canvas and searched through the box spring of his mattress until he triumphantly pulled his knife, wallet containing his thin wad of cash, and bag of pot out. He put them all accordingly in his jacket before finding his boots and slipping his feet inside them. He crossed the room with practiced weightlessness so as to not be noisy about it, and stood by his door, leaning his ear near it.

Judging by the way his parents' yelling was receding; he assumed that they were taking their fight into their bedroom, where they would then most likely get more violent. His father would slap his mother hard across the face, followed by his mother's wrathful retaliation of swinging a frying pan, which still contained eggs she had probably been cooking when they had first started arguing, at the back of his head. His father would bend over in pain, clutching his head, and his mother would push him onto the bed in disgust before marching out of the room. His father may hit his mother, John thought, but could it really be called abuse if his mother did just as much damage in return? Either way, she definitely was not one of those women that cowered wide-eyed in horror as her husband raised his fist at her. John would not call her 

strong, but still tough. He did not like her, and had a lot of anger towards both her and his father, but he appreciated the fact that the abuse was not one-sided.

John listened and waited for the slamming of their bedroom door before quietly opening his own. He headed down the stairs and fled the house before anyone could find something to pick a bone with him about. He walked to school, carrying no books, no notes, nothing to write with. It was cold outside but he shoved his hands in his pockets and paid no attention to the weather. When he got to school, he was unsurprised to see that there were barely any cars in the parking lot. John opened the doors and walked through the halls, welcoming the warmth as he led himself inside the boys' locker room. Making sure no one was around, he took off his clothes and set them on a bench right outside the showers, being especially careful to make sure his jacket was covered by the rest of his garments on the off chance someone did take it and steal his few possessions of worth to him.

He started one of the showers, closing his eyes as he felt the hot water pour onto his hair and over the tense muscles down his back. He just stood under the water for a moment, not opening his eyes, just enjoying the relaxation it brought him. After a few minutes of this, John scrubbed his hair and body, wishing inside that he could clean himself of all the mistakes he had ever made, of all the hurtful things he had done, both to others, and himself. Feeling the soapy bubbles cascade down the limbs of his body, he did not think there would ever be anything good enough he could do to rid himself of all of his negative emotions or his screw-ups.

John turned off the water once done rinsing his body off and began to dry it with one of the school's towels. He changed back into the clothes he had worn over and found himself proceeding over to the mirror above one of the sinks. His hands began brushing through his damp hair, trying to make it look decent. It was Monday, and he wondered nervously if she would still have feelings for him. He touched the diamond earring that he had put in his ear two days ago, and it winked back at him in the mirror. He gave a grim smile, wondering when he passed her in the hallway if she would wink at him just like her earring, or if she and her friends would just walk on by as if he didn't even exist.

He had never found the wrestler Andy Clark's words about how he didn't matter perturbing until just now.

While John was standing in front of the mirror, Brian Johnson was being awoken by the sound of his mother's voice.

"Come on, Brian, time for school," she said from the doorway. Brian moaned and his mother moved impatiently over to the bed and began to shake his shoulders. "Brian, don't start this. You need to get up. Being late is unacceptable. If you're late for school, you'll miss things and you won't get as good grades as you should. Now get up and get moving."

She left the room and Brian rolled his eyes as he grudgingly sat up in bed. He left his room in his green flannel pajamas and headed for the bathroom. After taking a shower, he went back into his room with the towel wrapped around his skinny waist and opened his closet door. He looked through the shirts and pants that were all hung up, trying to find an outfit that at least did not make him look completely like a dork. He thought of the conversation the Breakfast Club had had in the library, about if they would remain friends or not.

He doubted Claire would still talk to him; she had made it plain that she doubted she would. It was a bitch thing to say, but at least she was being honest. He wondered if John or Andy would still talk to him, or if they would snub him because he would not fit in with their groups of friends. Andy had said he would, but Brian had a bad feeling he was more so just trying to be nice at the time. And John? John was too unpredictable. Despite his wisecracking and blunt remarks, Brian had a feeling John cared more about things and/or people than he let on. He was sure Allison would still talk to him though. She had said she would. Of course, she had also said that she did not really have any friends anyway.

Brian sighed. He felt a mixture of anger and sadness. As he had told them all two days ago, he considered them his friends. They had all shared a strong and unique bond that was irreplaceable. It had meant something to him. He knew that, at the time, it had meant something to them too, but did it still? Or was it just for that one day? And why was it so hard just to be friends with him, or at least talk to him from time to time? His mother made him dress the way he dressed. She bought his clothes and insisted that it was important to maintain a gentlemanly appearance at all times, ignoring Brian's remarks that the sweaters and the khaki pants made him look like a dork. It was not as if Brian had money of his own to pay for clothes, and his parents would not let him get a job because they did not want it to interfere with his school work. They also dumped all that pressure on him to maintain perfect grades. It was all that he knew. He did not want to be a perfect student; he had to be.

If he was a nerd, it was his parents' fault, not his own. Why should he be shunned because of what his parents forced him to be?

All Brian wanted out of today was to go to school and find friends in the people that he had poured his heart out to that Saturday. He did not tell them everything he had told them 

with the idea that they would just listen and then blow him off, ignore him, walk out of his life in mind. He had told them those things the way he would if he were confiding with real friends. He wanted that information to remain with them and only them. He did not want Andy going up to a bunch of the jocks to laughingly tell them about Brian's incident with the flare gun and how stupid he was. He did not want Claire gossiping with her preppy friends about how that nerdy Brian kid is so pressured to get good grades that he has no time or skill to lose his virginity.

Brian yanked one of the hangers off the rail in anger. He had been a fool to tell those people such personal things. They were probably just going to continue talking about him behind his back like they had before Saturday's detention. He might have gotten a possible friend out of Allison, but he was doubtful about the others. Hell, he would probably walk down the hall to see John doing an impression of "life at Brian's house" for his bad-ass friends. That would be embarrassing.

Still…Brian was going to at least make an attempt at finding friendship with the people he had shared that sacred bond with in detention. Whether or not it lost meaning to the rest of them, it still meant something to Brian.

The shirt on the hanger he had pulled down was a button-up blue flannel. It was not all that cool, but it was better than most of the other stuff he had. He put on a nice, white undershirt first, then the flannel. He then went back to his closet for pants. He found the most casual pair of pants he owned, which were khakis that could almost pass as cargo pants. Hey, better than nothing. He put those on too and made his way into the mirror. He decided that for now he would tuck the white shirt in and button up the flannel one so as to avoid protest from his mother. He would pull the white shirt out of his pants and unbutton the flannel after he left the house. While in the bathroom, Brian held his hands under the water of the sink briefly and splashed it onto his hair. He got it a little damp and began to brush it back with his hands. He found a comb and made an attempt at styling his hair by combing it upwards. He settled on a look that made him look at least a little less nerdy and went downstairs for breakfast.

He sat at the table and quickly gulped down his mother's pancakes and a glass of milk before going back upstairs to brush his teeth. When he returned downstairs with his backpack, his mother handed him a neatly packed lunch and kissed him on the cheek.

"Oh, Brian, your hair's a mess!" she said, lifting her hands up to fix it. Brian jumped backwards and made his way towards the door.

"Sorry, Mom. I'll fix it on the bus, though. Like you said, don't wanna be late," he told her, opening the door and leaving before his mother could reply. He took a seat at the front of the bus when it came and made his adjustments to his clothes.

He would see what happened today, and then if no one still wanted to associate with him, he would put an end to this charade tomorrow, and go back to being lonely, nerdy Brian Johnson.