The Breakfast Club

...and these children that you spit on,as they try to change their worlds are immune to your consultations. They're quite aware of what they're going through...

-David Bowie-

A black car pulled up in front of my house, its driver honking its horn. The car, a brand new Volvo V60, was Andrew's only pride and joy.

Aside from that Buster sword replica that he bought online.

He gave me a disarming smile as I slid myself into the front passengers seat.

"Good morrow, dear sir," I said, trying to sound Elizabethan, "How fare you?"

"I'm doing okay," Andrew replied as he put the car into gear, "And dare I say that you look rather ravishing today,"

I looked out the window as he pulled the car out of the mostly empty street; the sun was just beginning to show itself, its bright light filtering through a thin layer of mist.

"Practicing the art of flirting are we?" I said as I turned my gaze towards him.

"Guilty as charged,"

"Book? Blog? YouTube?" I asked, wondering about the source of his cheesy pick-up lines.

In all honesty, he should stop looking these things up; they're lame and pathetic, and he's better off without them.

"Neither," he replied, looking pleased with himself, "I'm letting my natural charisma do all the work,"

"Oh, bother," I sighed as I put my hands over my face, clearly embarrassed by his statement.

The car slowed down as it reached an oncoming intersection, a bright red light just visible a few feet away.

"I don't really need your approval, Winnie the Pooh,"

"Speaking of approval," I began, recalling the conversation that we had a couple of days ago, "What did your father want?"

"Nothing important," he replied seriously as he glanced outside, "And again, poor correlation,"

I felt his mood dropping once the question was answered, immediately throwing me into a state of guilt.

I should have known better, he has been going through a rough patch with his father ever since he turned sixteen.

Why can't family relationships ever be simple?

Since when was growing up a complicating, heartrending process?

"Whoa, there," I teased, "Your mouth is smiling but your eyes look all sad. Why?"

Maybe this isn't the time for such a joke.

No one quotes Get Him to the Greek.

"But I'm not even smiling," he said, scrunching up his eyebrows.

"I know," I said, trying to undo the damage, "I was quoting Aldous Snow. But you do look sad, though. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not today, bud," he said as the light turned green, "I've got to put my game face on,"

I decided to leave it at that, knowing how it feels like not wanting to talk about things.

Especially one so emotionally scarring that all you want to do is bury it deep beneath the ground.

Never to be seen or heard from again.

"And you're not the only one with secrets here, Kristen," he said after a few minutes, breaking the silence, "Everyone's got something that they want to hide,"

---

"Auditorium 2," I read the sign aloud, "It's definitely this one,"

Andrew placed a hand on the door handle, looking at me as if to silently say;

"You ready?"

I gave him a small nod before he pushed the door open, pulling my messenger bag close.

The small auditorium, a rather large room located within the Continuing Medical Education building,was lined with wooden acoustic panels, its surface perfectly polished and dust free. There was also a semi-circular stage at the front of the room; in which it was surrounded by six rows of seating, each row higher than the other.

Fairly similar to the Roman coliseum.

And it was mostly empty with the exception of three teenagers; all of them sitting at a distance from each other, staring blankly at the walls or at the screen of their phones.

I turned to look at Andrew, who simply shrugged and walked towards the boy sitting in the front row;

"Mind if we sit here?" he asked, indicating the seat that was next to his.

The boy looked up from his phone, his brown eyes examining Andrew. Based on first impressions alone, anyone could obviously tell that this boy was Hispanic. From his olive coloured skin to his thick, black hair...

And don't get me started on his dark, deep set eyes. Seriously, anyone can get lost in them.

Anyone.

"Who's we?" the boy asked, his voice deep and husky.

"Andrew," Andrew replied as he pointed towards himself, "Kristen,"

He did a quick inspection as Andrew nodded towards me, a look of disgust on his face;

"Whatever," he grunted as he leaned back in his chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He ran his hand through his disheveled hair, trying to put the strands back into place.

Andrew sat down, calling me over by patting the empty seat beside him. I bit my lip as I considered my options; should I sit next to him like I always do?

Or should I take this opportunity to branch out and make new friends?

Like that girl wearing the cap that was sitting at the back, or that gothic-looking girl leaning her head against the wall... who just showed me a not so pleasant finger after she caught me staring at her.

Maybe not then.

Feeling their eyes on me, I quickly padded over to Andrew, uncomfortable with the attention that they're giving me.

"You said that this would be fun," I fiercely whispered as I sat down, "I wasn't expecting the Breakfast Club,"

"Looking like the character doesn't guarantee you a spot on the Breakfast Club," he hissed back.

"You've got John Bender over there," I said, pointing towards the boy sitting next to us, "And I'm pretty sure that that goth over there is Allison Reynolds,"

"There are five people in the Breakfast Club," he said, "You've only named two,"

"You're obviously the Brian Johnson of the group," I added snarkily.

Just then, a dark haired woman, smartly dressed in a black pantsuit, sauntered towards the center of the stage; standing at an average height, this woman looked like a force to be reckoned with. She stood with her arms crossed, her large brown eyes giving each of us a once-over.

And she doesn't look happy.

"All right, listen up," she called, "My name is Ms. Perkins and I--,"

She paused, checking to see if everyone was giving her their utmost attention;

"am in charge,"

"You've got to be kidding me," the boy next to us snorted, "A woman? In charge?"

Ms. Perkins fixed her attention towards him, a flash of anger in her eyes;

"Mr. Ramirez, I presume?" she asked coolly.

"Why, yes I am," he replied as he sat up in his seat, "Am I in trouble, sweet cheeks?"

"Not exactly," she said, "I don't really see the point in keeping tabs on kids like you,"

"So...?"

"Let's make a deal, Mr. Ramirez," she said as she stepped off the stage, "Or should I call you Tony?"

"Tony's fine with me," he replied, raising both of his arms.

"Okay,Tony," she said, "What about th--,"

She paused again, a look of realization dawning upon her face;

"Oh darn," she exclaimed, "I left something on the front desk. Can you go get it for me? Just ask the nurse. She'll know,"

"Is this some kind of trick?" Tony asked doubtfully.

"I can assure you that it's not," she said as she gave him a reassuring smile, "I just want you to go out to the front desk and get me my notebook,"

"Okay,"

"Thank you," she called to him as he walked out of the auditorium.

A few short minutes passed as Tony returned with a small notebook in hand. He looked relieved as he handed it over to Ms Perkins, probably thankful that this wasn't some kind of ruse to lock him out of the auditorium.

"Now was that so hard?" she asked with a smile on her face.

"No...," he replied as he returned to his seat.

"And Ramirez?" she said as she walked towards him, the notebook tightly clasped in her hands.

Whack!

All eyes were diverted towards the both of them, each and every one of us soaking in the events that just took place.

No one, and I mean no one, was expecting her to whack him on the back of the head with her notebook.

"That's for being a little s**t," she said as she returned towards the center of the stage.

"You can't do that to me!" he barked, "I'm the mayor's son! Just wait until he hears about this! He'll--,"

"Make me pay?" she interrupted, "We'll just have to wait and see, then. Take a seat, Tony,"

"Crazy b***h," he muttered, rubbing the spot where she hit him.

"What was that?" she asked as she opened her notebook.

"Nothing,"

"Alright," she continued as if nothing had happened, "Now where was I...,"

Ms Perkins looked up from her notebook, clearly waiting for a brave soul to answer her query.

I was in the midst of avoiding eye contact when I suddenly felt a small amount of pressure being applied to my hand. I immediately looked down to see Andrew's hand squeezing mine, something that he usually does whenever he's nervous.

"I think that you were about to tell us about our jobs," he said as he raised his free hand.

"Right," she said, unimpressed, "And you are?"

"Parker," he replied, his voice taut, "Andrew Parker,"

"Dr. Parker's son?"

"Yes, ma'am,"

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Parker," she said before she began her brief, "Now, you guys are what we call front liners. You will be assisting the greeters in welcoming families and visitors, by giving them directions, getting them wheelchairs and guiding them to where they need to go,"

"Is that all?" someone from the back asked tonelessly.

I turned to see that it was the goth, her heavily made up face showing a deadpan expression.

"She's pretty," Andrew whispered to me.

Her pale skin, despite her attempts at covering them up with make up, was riddled with freckles that naturally brought out her piercing blue eyes. Her wavy black hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail with her long bangs swept to the side.

"No," Ms. Perkins said, "Miss...?"

"Asher," the goth answered, "Gwyneth Asher,"

Finally, I thought,I can call her by her name instead of; 'the goth'.

"Well, Ms Asher," she smirked, "You'll be glad to know that you'll also stock supplies and, here's the fun part, make deliveries,"

A collective groan traveled throughout the room, making Ms. Perkins smile in delight.

"I know, I know," she laughed, "How exciting. Now let us lay some ground rules for you to follow. Do your job well, and I'll be a happy woman. If you don't, well, we all know what happened to Tony. And it's only his first day,"

Tony groaned upon the sound of his name, sliding further down his seat.

"Name tags," Ms. Perkins continued as she showed us hers, "Wear them at all times. If I ever hear about you guys not wearing them, I will skin you alive. Now, do I make myself clear?"

Andrew and I exchanged a look that said;

She's definitely something.

"I'll take that silence as a yes," she said, "We'll talk more after lunch,"

---

"Do you want to go over and talk to them?" Andrew asked me as we entered the auditorium.

We have reached the end of the day, or more accurately; the end of the orientation.

If you could call it an orientation.

Don't get me wrong, I'm all for the out of the box approach.

But hers were a bit too unorthodox.

For instance, upon deciding that our group lacked a certain bond that was needed for this kind of work, she therefore assumed that it would be a good idea to 'accidentally' lock us in the morgue.

And did I mention that the lights were out?

And that they were nonfunctional?

Why weren't they functioning?

What kind of hospital have nonfunctional switches?

"I don't know," I said hesitantly, "They look kind of... iffy,"

My words weren't far from true as I thought of our 'bonding' session back in the morgue; everyone here was just so cold and hostile.

Not to mention sexist, I thought as my eyes traveled towards Tony.

Not something that I would look for in a friend.

And everyone was probably tired anyway; judging by how they've collapsed in their seats.

"Your voice travels," Tony said threateningly as he tried to push himself off his seat, "So I would try that again if I were you,"

"Is that all you've got Mr. Big Shot?" I asked, "You can't even get yourself off the chair,"

Tension filled the room as the others watched us, their lethargy dissipated with the anticipation of a fight.

"Why you little--," he growled, a sudden force propelling him out off his seat.

I had no time to react for the next thing I knew, his fist had made contact with my cheek, sending stars into my vision. My cheek began to throb with pain, sending me into an intense state of anger.

"You're dead, Ramirez," I spat as I violently yanked him by the hair.

Watching a small, dainty girl going against a tall, muscular person may seem comical to some; but this boy definitely deserved what he was getting.

"Kristen," Andrew warned as he pulled me away from Tony, forcing me to release his hair, "This isn't a good idea and you know it,"

I let out a loud sigh as I thought over his words, incidentally blowing a strand of hair off my face.

He was right.

I was better than this.

And this jerk wasn't worth it anyway.

"You're lucky that your boyfriend's here," Tony said smugly, fixing his messy hair.

"And you," Andrew hissed as he pulled me behind him, forming a barrier between Tony and me,"You should have known better than to hit a girl,"

"And he's not my boyfriend," I added over his shoulder.

"Are you guys sure about that?" asked a silvery voice from the seats, "Because you guys look good together,"

Andrew and I turned our heads towards the direction of the voice, our sights greeted by a beautiful girl with bronze skin.

"Yes," we answered unanimously.

Her eyebrows shot halfway up her forehead, doubtful of the answer given. I was self conscious at first; but I then realised that I had been standing incredibly close to Andrew throughout this entire conversation.

"Sorry," he added apologetically as he took a few steps away from me, "And you are?"

"Keisha," she replied, "Keisha Baxter,"

Keisha looked like an optimistic person, with her smiling hazel eyes and her beautiful glowing skin; both of which were complemented by her honey brown hair that stopped at her shoulders.

"Nice to meet you, Keisha," Andrew nodded.

"Likewise," she said before adding,"Then what are you?"

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"If you're not a couple," she said, "then what are you? Brother and sister?"

"No," I replied.

"We're just really close friends," Andrew said.

"So was Mondler," she pointed out.

"Me and my ex," Tony shrugged.

"Death," Gwyneth added.

"What does death have anything to do with this?" I asked, my eyes widened with shock.

"And what's with all these questions anyway?" Andrew said.

"Plain curiosity," Keisha replied, "I don't see anything wrong with that,"