The Promise/Don't You Forget About Me
In honor of The Breakfast Club movie (1985)
"You wanna walk with me to class?" Andy asked, nudging him again.
Brian nodded. "Yeah. Just… maybe don't tell your dad you got detention for saving a nerd. I feel like that wouldn't go over well."
Andy rolled his eyes. "Nah. I'll just tell him I got it for decking a guy who deserved it."
"He'll probably throw you a party," Brian said.
"Right? He might even let me keep my stereo this time."
They turned the corner together, voices fading into laughter as they disappeared down the hall.
And for once, Brian didn't feel like a fish out of water.
He felt like he belonged.
Brian headed down the hallway, dragging his feet toward the football field, lost in thought. Russ Bainbridge from the physics club and Wyatt Donnelly from math caught up with him, practically bouncing with curiosity.
"Hey, Brian!" Wyatt called.
Brian offered a half-hearted smile. "Hey, guys. What's up?"
Russ jumped in first, "So, I got a new telescope from my dad yesterday. You wanna come over and—uh—check it out?"
It was a transparent cover. Everyone in the clubs had seen it—Claire Standish, laughing next to Brian Johnson at lunch.
Wyatt couldn't hold back. "Dude, you were sitting with Claire Standish. At lunch. What the hell?"
Brian shrugged, already tuning them out as they neared the field.
"You know what? Maybe later..." he mumbled, motioning toward the bleachers.
Russ grabbed his arm. "Brian, what are you doing? Physics is that way. That's... wasteoid city."
"I know," Brian replied simply. He shrugged off the concern and kept walking.
John Bender spotted him first. He stood up from the bleachers, squinting in disbelief. "Brian? What are you doing here?"
"What, I can't have a joint now?" Brian asked, feigning nonchalance.
Jim Baker, the towering smoker next to John, stomped out his cigarette and stalked forward. "What's this dweeb doing here?"
John threw out a casual hand, signaling Jimbo to back off. "I'll handle it."
Brian sighed, stepping closer. "What happened? Since lunch, I mean. Everyone scattered. Like none of it mattered."
John guided him toward the edge of the bleachers, a little away from the others. "What're you talking about?"
Brian narrowed his eyes. "Don't play dumb, John. I thought... I thought what we had—' The Breakfast Club'—meant something."
John's jaw tensed. "Look, lunch was fun, alright? And we're friends. But this?" He gestured around him. "This is the real world. Don't get soft."
"You say that like you don't believe it meant anything."
John hesitated. Then, softer, "I didn't say that."
There was a long pause. John fished out a joint and lit it, then handed it over.
"Here. Now beat it."
Brian took it, lips twitching into a smile despite himself. "Yeah... sure. No one needs to know."
John nodded and turned back toward his friends, but not before throwing one last glance over his shoulder.
Brian ducked behind the dumpster, trying to light the joint. The wind kept snuffing out the match. The cool March air had turned sharp and gray. He was just about to give up when he heard a voice behind him.
"Brian?"
He turned. Claire was walking toward him, Angela beside her, both wrapped in their coats, faces glowing in the fading light.
"Claire? What're you doing here?" he asked, caught between surprise and awe.
"I could ask you the same thing," she said, her eyes twinkling. "I saw you with Bender's crowd. That was… pretty bold."
Brian chuckled nervously. "I had a thing. You know. A... joint thing."
Angela grinned. "Classic Brian."
Before he could reply, Andy and Allison appeared from behind a parked car, their cheeks pink, Andy suspiciously glossy-lipped.
"Seriously?" Brian muttered, deadpan. "What does a guy have to do to get some peace?"
John reappeared like smoke on the wind, sauntering over with a smirk. "You're all way too easy to find."
Angela's eyes met his, and the storm brewing in him calmed instantly. "Hi, John," she said softly.
He blinked, caught off guard. "Hi."
His voice lacked its usual bite.
"So, Sport-o," Bender asked Andy, "heard you got detention."
"Already? News travels fast," Andy muttered.
Bender grinned. "Heard you broke Gus Polinski's nose. Guy cried all the way to the nurse's office."
Brian winced. "You say that like it's a good thing."
John shrugged. "And who says it's not?"
Andy chuckled, trying not to. "I told Vernon Gus was using slurs and threatened someone. Only got two Saturdays."
Brian still looked guilty.
"Don't sweat it," Allison chimed in. "I've got Saturday too."
Andy raised an eyebrow. "What did you do?"
She looked away, dramatic. "My plot to assassinate the teachers was foiled."
They stared.
"She defaced a hallway mural," Bender translated, deadpan.
"Of course she did." Andy sighed. "You're a bad influence on everyone, Bender."
"Next stop: Vegas," Andy added, "where we blow our money on booze and strippers."
Brian choked.
"To be fair," Bender laughed, "she was already painting when I found her."
"And you stayed?"
"Nah, Carl caught us. Said he'd let it go if we helped clean. But she insisted on confessing."
Andy turned to Allison. "Why?"
She looked at him, quiet and sure. "I knew you and John would be there."
Andy's ears turned pink. He looked at the sky. "You're ridiculous," he mumbled.
"Aww, look—he blushes," Bender teased.
Allison took Andy's hand, and he didn't pull away.
John passed the joint down the line. "Help yourselves."
Brian grinned, exhaling smoke. "Bender's a terrible influence."
Andy just laughed. "That he is."
John looked around the circle of mismatched souls, the last remnants of a Saturday they once shared.
"So, we're really doing this?" he asked. "The Breakfast Club. Throwing the rulebook out the window?"
Angela raised her hand. "Done with the snobs. I pledge allegiance to the misfits."
Andy smirked. "Told off the wrestlers. No going back now."
"I-I guess?" Brian stammered. "I mean, I want to. But if you guys—"
"Shut up, Brian," Andy and John said in unison.
Andy raised a fist. "To The Breakfast Club."
The others joined in, one by one, voices soft but steady. "To The Breakfast Club."
John lifted his fist last, eyes scanning their faces. And for a moment, beneath the gray clouds, it felt like something more than rebellion. It felt like home.
As the final bell echoed faintly in the distance, none of them moved. The wind tugged at their coats, and the school behind them loomed like a closing chapter.
But out here—beside the dumpster, sharing stories and smoke and stolen moments—they weren't athletes or brains or princesses or criminals. And for the first time, maybe ever, they weren't afraid to burn a little brighter together.
Everyone remembers the fist pump. No one talks about what came next. On Monday morning, the masks crack, the identities shift, and the five