Disclaimer: I do not own The Breakfast Club or any of its members. The title of the story is also that of a Hall and Oates song. Coincidentally, I do not own that either. Please do not sue me, as I am a poor college student that can't even afford a place of her own and therefore owns little to nothing of any real value.

Summary: Friday before Detention. All five soon-to-be members of the BC are having a bad day. Little do they know that they are affecting one another's lives before they even meet. Short series.

A/N: This is an idea that I've had rolling around in my head for a long time. I'm still working on Not As Easy As It Looks, and I'll continue updating both until I finish with this one.

Chapter One: The Golden Child, the Black Sheep and the Heartbreaker

Friday, March 23, 1984

6:28 A.M.

Andy Clark woke up at approximately 6:28 A.M. on Friday, March 23, 1984. School started at 8:00, but he didn't usually sleep past 6:30. It wasn't that he didn't want to (because Lord knows he did) but because his father had other plans.

When he got downstairs, dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, his father was already waiting for him, a bottle of cold Gatorade in one hand. "You ready, Sport?"

The workout proceeded as usual with Andy's father hovering over or beside him, yelling into Andy's ear and hitting the sides of the machines with the palm of his hand for emphasis. Mr. Clark called this "motivation" and sometimes, if he wanted to sound really helpful, "spotting". Andy had to admit that this was somewhat accurate, as he worked twice as hard when his father was in the room.

"Come on! What the hell was that? Higher!"

Andy pushed the weight into the air as high as he could, arms shaking violently with exertion.

"You've got three more. I want to see you hold it this time!"

Andy took another deep breath and pushed up again, holding it for three solid seconds before lowering it back to his chest. He didn't stop before he pushed up again, hoping that if he could just get those last reps out of the way that his father would stop screaming. He held the weight for at least two seconds that time, his muscles too weak to do anything more.

"Are you giving up on me? Your intensity is for shit!"

Andy felt the pressure of the weight against his chest, mirrored by the pressure he felt on the other side of his ribcage. He held the weight against his chest for an instant, trying to gather up the strength for one last rep.

"Up, dammit! Up! I won't accept that!"
Andy felt the wave of pressure transform itself into a ball of hot fury, burning its way through his stomach muscles and up into his shoulders and biceps. He thrust upward, though his muscles were screaming in agony, and held the weight high above his head.

"I won't tolerate any losers in this family!"

Andy managed to hang onto the weight for almost five seconds, his stomach and back and shoulders and arms screaming altogether in a chorus of pain. Finally, when he could stand it no more, he let the weight fall towards his chest, where his father caught it and replaced it on the stand.

Andy sat up shakily, taking deep breaths to calm down. His father handed him the sports drink and he accepted it from him, taking long, deep gulps. When he'd finished off the bottle, he kept the rim pressed against his lips, too dazed to tear himself away. After a moment, Mr. Clark grabbed the bottle from his son and Andy watched dumbly as he tossed it into a garbage bin a few feet away. His hands were shaking so badly that the tangibility of the empty bottle provided some comfort, however small.

"Good job today, Sport."

Andy jumped when his father patted him roughly on the back. He looked up to see if he was kidding, but Andy knew that he wasn't.

"Keep givin' me effort like that and you'll end up with another patch for that jacket." Mr. Clark checked his watch. "It's 7:25. Go hop in the shower."

Andy nodded and trudged into his room, where he closed the door and fell onto the bed. For a few minutes, he stared at the ceiling, unable to move. What had just happened? Nothing earth shattering, he supposed. He worked out with his father nearly every morning and was used to his father's "encouraging" comments. Well, most of them.

"I won't tolerate any losers in this family!"

Andy let those words soak in for a moment, afraid to think about what they might mean. Was his father calling him a loser? Andy Clark, State Wrestling Champion? He couldn't have meant that. Of course he didn't mean to imply that one workout meant the difference between Golden Child and Black Sheep. His father said a lot of things, but he'd never insinuated to Andy the possibility that he wasn't good enough for their family.

Until now.

Andy stood up from the bed and walked into his bathroom, where he took a shower and brushed his teeth and combed his hair. He went through the motions, but didn't let himself feel much of anything else lest he start thinking about those words again.

"Your intensity is for shit!"

Andy splashed a handful of water onto his face, letting it spill over his chin and down his throat. He grabbed a towel from the stack next to the sink and pressed it against his face, breathing in the scent of laundry detergent. He swallowed deeply and pulled the towel away from his face so that he had a clear view of himself in the mirror. He looked tired, which made sense. He also looked old, which didn't. He was only eighteen.

"I won't tolerate any losers in this family!"

Andy threw the towel on the floor and stormed out of the bathroom, slamming his bedroom door behind him. He looked around his room, hungry for something to throw or kick or punch. He saw a pair of running shoes on his floor and ran over to them, kicking them roughly against the wall. He looked over at his desk, which was half covered in football and wrestling trophies, and reached for the largest one, wondering what kind of damage it would do against the mirror in the bathroom or the window behind him. He turned towards the window and pulled his arm back and-

"Andy?"

Andy froze, arm suspended in the air like the figure on top of the trophy he was holding.

"Honey, are you okay? What was that noise?"

Andy swallowed and let the trophy fall against his leg. "I'm fine, Mom. I just… I'm fine."

"Okay… I've got your breakfast waiting for you downstairs."

Andy clenched his jaw and stared at his window, which remained unharmed, but barely. "Thanks," he croaked.

Andy heard his mother's footsteps on the stairs again, fading as she got closer to the bottom. Andy looked down at the trophy in his hand and took a deep breath. Then another. And another. And another. After a few minutes, he replaced the trophy on the desk and reached down to retrieve the running shoes from the floor next to the wall. Robotically, he unrolled a pair of socks from his clean laundry basket and put on the shoes, tying the laces slowly as if he couldn't quite remember how it was done. He sat there on his bed for about five more minutes, staring at the laces, until his mother's voice brought him back to reality.

"Andy! You're going to be late!"

7:23 A.M.

Allison stared up at the ceiling above her bed, wishing she was a morning person. She hated getting up early, unlike her sister Danielle, who was always up at the crack of dawn, taking a shower and blow drying her hair and putting on layer after layer of powder and blush and mascara and God knows what else. Sometimes she even got up extra early for a run around the neighborhood, just to make sure that she stayed in shape. It didn't matter to Allison; she had a hard enough time waking up to her own alarm, much less her sister's.

Allison lay there for a good ten minutes before finally climbing out of bed and walking over to the closet. She kicked a pair of her sister's running shoes out of the way and opened the closet door, pushing aside the colorful, fashionable clothes and reaching for the dark grey skirt in the back. She looked along the closet floor and finally found a shirt that matched. Well, sort of. Black went with everything, right?

"God, don't you own anything that isn't black?"

Allison turned to find Danielle standing in front of her wearing a tank top and a pair of gym shorts. She looked Allison up and down, her nose wrinkling in disgust. "You look like you're going to a funeral."

Allison frowned and pushed past her. She sat down on the bed and put on her shoes and socks as Danielle started yanking clothes out of the closet. Allison was unabashedly envious of her older sister. Not only was she beautiful in a way that Allison would never be, but she was a genius. She'd already been accepted to Harvard, where their older brother Tom was already a student. One year at Harvard would cost them more than a new car (which they needed), but apparently that didn't matter. They'd already taken out a second mortgage to pay for Tom's tuition; what was another twenty grand a year?

When Allison looked up, Danielle was already dressed in an aqua skirt and a white off-the-shoulder top. When she caught Allison looking at her, Danielle lifted her eyebrows. "It's called color. You should try it sometime."

Allison rolled her eyes and stood up from the bed, going into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. By the time she got downstairs, Danielle was already there, along with five other members of their family. The twins Jenny and Michelle, who were in middle school, were eating cereal at the kitchen table next to their father, who was sipping coffee between bites of toast. Her mother was at the kitchen counter making everyone sandwiches while her little brother Steven played with a yo-yo in the corner. Allison took a seat at the table and reached for the cereal.

"Dad, I need money for school."

Mr. Reynolds glanced up at his youngest daughter. "For what? Your mom is making you lunch."

Michelle rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but what if I want a Coke or something?"

Mr. Reynolds sighed and pulled out his wallet. He gave Michelle a quarter, which she turned her nose up at, but accepted nonetheless. He started to put the wallet away, but Jenny cleared her throat and held out her hand as well. He sighed and dug out another quarter, depositing it in her hand. Without looking over at Allison to see if she needed any money, he stood up from the table and put the wallet back into his pocket.

"I need you to pick up the girls this afternoon, Robert."

Allison glanced over at her mother, who was stuffing bags of chips into the brown paper sacks she had lined up along the counter. Allison knew what was in there; it was the same almost everyday. Ham and mayonnaise sandwich, bag of potato chips, bag of carrot sticks or grapes. Allison reached over towards the counter and grabbed a stray sandwich bag from the counter, hoping her mother wouldn't notice. She didn't.

"I have a meeting until five," said her father.

"Well, I'm showing three different houses this afternoon."

Jenny leaned back in her seat and looked over at her parents. "Stephanie's mom can take us home."

Mr. Reynolds nodded with satisfaction and looked over at his wife. "Problem solved."

Mrs. Reynolds nodded distractedly and stuffed the remaining bags of carrot sticks into the lunch sacks. Allison sighed. Apparently, her parents had forgotten that she would also need a ride. Which meant that she'd have to take the bus again.

"Steven, can you stop playing with that yo-yo? It's driving me nuts."

Allison's brother, who was only eight, looked up at his mother and frowned. "I'm trying to walk the dog."

"We don't have a dog."

"I meant the yo-yo."

"Well, do it somewhere else."

Steven pushed up his glasses, which were as thick as Coke bottles, and walked out of the kitchen. Allison felt a little pang of sadness as she watched him leave. In a family of geniuses and go-getters, she and Steven were the only average ones. Jenny and Michelle had skipped two grades apiece and went to a tutor, who taught them Latin and Trigonometry… and they weren't even taking Latin or Trigonometry. Tom graduated from high school a year early and Danielle was going to be valedictorian if all went according to plan. That left Steven and Allison, who made average grades and hadn't learned to read until they were at least six. The were the family losers. The Losers and the Forgotten.

"Is everyone ready?"

Allison glanced up at her father, who was looking at his watch. She remembered the plastic bag in her hand and grabbed the box of cereal from the center of the table. As her sisters went into the living room for their backpacks, Allison filled the plastic sandwich bag with as much cereal as would fit and slipped it into her skirt pocket.

"Don't forget your lunches!"

Allison grabbed a sack from the counter and looked up at her mother, who didn't seem to notice she was standing there. She opened her mouth to tell her good morning or good bye or something, but before she could, Jenny bumped into her as she reached for one of the other bags. "Sorry," she said, not looking up.

Mr. Reynolds came back into the kitchen, Steven, Danielle and Michelle trailing behind him. "Okay, let's go."

Allison remembered her knapsack, which was still upstairs in her room. "Wait, I need my bag." She hurried upstairs and grabbed the knapsack from the foot of her bed. By the time she got downstairs, the kitchen was empty. Allison panicked and pushed open the door to the garage, where her parents' car was still parked. The family van was already backing down the driveway, ready to pull out onto the street. Allison ran down the driveway, knapsack knocking against her hip, and reached the van just before it started off down the street.

If it hadn't happened a hundred times before, she might have been offended.

7:28 A.M.

Bender opened his eyes on Friday morning to find that the sun was already out, shining through a hole in the curtains. He shifted a bit, groaning softly when he realized that he had a headache the size of Illinois. Not to mention the fact that he was nauseous. Two of the many side effects of an entire case of Budweiser.

When Bender glanced to his left, he remembered side effect number three. Janie was curled up in a ball on the far side of her bed, right next to the wall. Sometime during the night, she'd kicked off the sheets, leaving her legs and stomach exposed. Fortunately, she was still wearing underwear and a t-shirt, meaning that there was less of a chance that they'd done something really stupid the night before.

Yeah, right.

Bender rolled over and got out of bed, throwing on a pair of faded jeans and a white t-shirt that he'd discarded the night before. Janie squirmed on the bed, her knees gathering even closer against her flat, pale stomach. Bender felt a twinge of desire, but he pushed it out of his mind and looked away, grabbing a green flannel shirt from the floor. Just as he was pulling on his denim jacket, Janie rolled over on the bed and opened her eyes. "Hey," she said sleepily.

Bender froze. "Hey."

Janie ran a hand through her long brown hair. "What time is it?"

Bender looked at the small clock on her dresser. "About 7:30."

"Oh." Janie didn't make a move to get up. Her eyes locked onto his and he knew that if he'd wanted to, she would have let him do just about anything right then. Which was the problem.

"Gotta go."

Janie nodded, disappointed. "Okay," she said quietly. She sat up straight in bed and gathered her yellow quilt against her chest, covering her body.

Bender rubbed his forehead, trying to get rid of his headache. "I'll see you later."

"Are you going to be at Harrison's tonight?"

Bender shrugged. "Probably." He grabbed his scarf from the floor and took a couple of steps towards the door.

"John."

Bender turned in time to see Janie take a deep breath. "Maybe I'll see you there." She paused and shot him a sexy, if tired, smile. "Maybe you can walk me home again."

Bender shrugged. "Maybe." Without waiting for her response, he walked out of the room and into the hallway.

He slipped through the front door unnoticed and started down the street, sliding his sunglasses into his pocket as he walked. It took him about twenty minutes to get to school, a little quicker than the trip from his own house. He cut across the football field like he always did and slipped under the bleachers. Several dozen yards away, Zeke and Davis were smoking cigarettes and chatting idly. Bender came up behind Zeke and grabbed the cigarette from between his fingers.

"Hey!"

Bender ignored him and took a long drag, blowing a puff of smoke in his friend's face. Zeke rolled his eyes and yanked the cigarette back. "Get your own damn cigarettes."

"Why? It's cheaper if I just smoke yours."

Zeke shook his head and muttered something under his breath. Davis grinned lazily from his seat in the grass. "Saw you leave last night, man."

Bender arched his eyebrow. "Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"You and Janie looked pretty trashed."

Bender just stared at him, waiting for him to make his point.

Davis lifted his cigarette to his mouth and took another drag before looking up at Bender again. "So, how was she?"

Bender shrugged. "I don't remember."

Davis let out a sharp chuckle. "You don't remember? What the fuck, man? If I did someone like Janie, I'd sure as hell want to remember. Hit the rewind button in the morning, relive the dream."

Zeke shot Davis a disgusted look. "Can you please learn to keep stuff like that to yourself?"

Davis shrugged. "She's hot, dude. Tell me you wouldn't do her if you got the chance."

Zeke continued glaring at his friend for a moment before glancing over at Bender, who hadn't made a move to sit down. "You goin' to class?"

Bender looked over at the side entrance to the school, pausing thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess so."

Zeke nodded. "Well…" He shrugged. "Have a good day."

Bender removed his sunglasses from his front jacket pocket and slid them on. "Thanks… I have a feeling it's going to be pretty interesting."