I do not own any rights whatsoever of any of John Hughes' productions. I just happen to be a HUGE fan of "The Breakfast Club," and love his other films as well.

Hope you enjoy this.

As they try to change their worlds…

"Claire, honey! We'll be back late, okay?"

"Sure, mom! Bye!" Claire yelled to her mother, breathing a huge sigh of relief as she heard the front door shut. She was finally alone.

She loved being alone, where no parents could trap her in the middle of one of their pointless disputes.

She flopped down on her bed and stared up at her ceiling, smiling. Her smile quickly faded as the words from earlier today echoed in her ears…

"So on Monday…what happens?"

Brian Johnson, the geek, had asked the question that no one would: on Monday, would they all recognize each other, or just confine themselves in their cliques, never exploring what may happen if they overcame their fear of the stinging judgments of high school? Was it worth risking popularity?

If Brian said hi to her in the hallway, would she recognize him, or just walk on by?

If Allison invited her to sit with her at lunch, would she acquiesce to her request, or just try to pretend she didn't see her at all?

Was it worth losing her friends?

She paused in her thinking.

Was he worth it?

She felt the place in her ear where her diamond earring had once been…

"I bet those were a Christmas gift, right?"

They were a Christmas gift, but obviously a meaningless one, for her father didn't even recognize that one was missing as she walked through the door.

"It looked better on him anyway," Claire said to herself. "Then again, what wouldn't?"

Her foolish teenage giddiness had caused her to fall for the bad boy, a walk on the wild side, a place forbidden for Claire Standish.

And she liked it.

But then again, what would her summer-in-the-Hamptons and daddy's-little-girl friends think if she really did walk down the hallways at school with John Bender? Maybe they'd be jealous…or not. What if they never spoke to her again?

"Sweets? You couldn't ignore me if you tried."

No.

She couldn't.

She thought about everyone sitting in a circle, first crying, then laughing, then dancing….

It seemed like some crazy dream, that she'd really fell asleep in her desk, that none of it had happened, but it did happened.

He happened.

She had to think about who her real friends were.

"I just want to tell each of you that I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't and I will not. 'Cause I think that's real shitty."

The Brain was right.

The ring of the doorbell broke her stupor. She'd remembered her father warning her about opening the door when they weren't home, but she didn't care. She'd had enough of her father…of her parents…of her friends… of being "pristine."

She opened the door without checking to see who it was through the window or the peephole, and her heart skipped a beat.

Her stunning criminal was standing in front of her, the front porch light illuminating the sly smirk spread across the side of his face.

"You lost?" Claire asked, trying to sound calm over the tempestuous pounding in her chest.

"I followed you home," he said, whipping his head around to sweep the hair out of his eyes, his hands placed coolly in his sleek, gray trench coat.

He took a step toward her.

She suddenly became rigid, intimidated.

He took another step forward; hands still in his pockets, he leaned in towards her ear, whispering:

"I won't harm you or touch your defenses…." He pulled his hand out of his pocket, touching her remaining earring, "vanity," he whispered. He freed his other hand and rubbed her trembling shoulders.

"Insecurity," he sighed, his hot breath a gentle breeze of warmth wind against the chilly Illinois air.

Claire remained still, closing her eyes.

"Remember what you said about your parents using you to get back at each other? Wouldn't I be outstanding in that capacity?"

He brushed her hair behind her ears, and softly rubbed his lips against hers.

"Don't you forget about me…"

She looked in his eyes, and for a moment, felt completely secure in his presence.

Her lips pushed into his; he kissed her, and she kissed him, neither one thinking about anything else but the feeling of being with each other. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he cradled her face in his hands, his leather gloves feeling soft and warm against her cheek.

Claire leisurely pulled her face away from his.

"So I don't have to bury my head in the sand?" she asked, looking into his crystal eyes once more.

The bad boy slipped his hands from under her cheeks, and slid them down her neck, playing with her blouse collar. Then he turned his eyes to meet hers, and for the first time since she had known him, really known him, John Bender was serious.

"No."

She smiled, and he smiled back.

She peeked over his shoulders at the neighboring mansions, checking for any nosy onlookers.

"Afraid someone will see me?" he asked, trying to sound casual, but disappointment and hurt shone in his voice.

"No," Claire shrugged, "just making sure no one sees this."

At this she took his hand in hers, and led him inside, locking the door behind them.