The Community Club

Dear Mr. Hawthorne,
We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was that we did wrong. But we think you're crazy to make us write this essay telling you who we think we are; what do you care? You see us as you want to see us--in the simplest terms with the most convenient definitions. You see us as a brain, an athelete, a basket case, a princess, and a criminal. Correct?
That's the way we saw each other at seven o'clock this morning. We were brainwashed...
-----
Annie, Troy, Abed, Britta and Jeff are in detention together. Arguments and heartfelt conversations take place, and they enter the room as ememies and leave as friends.
A Community Breakfast Club au. You don't need to have seen The Breakfast Club to read this.

Notes:

Okay, so firstly, I had the Breakfat Club script next to me while writing this, so a lot of the dialouge in the begining is directly quoted or paraphased, before I got into the groove of it towards the middle and end. So just so you know, not all the dialouge is mine.
I wrote this in about a month, finished it on new years eve, and did not touch it again until literally just now, the end of January lmao
I won't keep you with a long authors note up front (brace yourself for the end notes lmao) because I worked really hard on this and I don't want to keep you.
trigger warnings: mentions of child abuse, mentions of and talk of suicide, mentions of drugs, underage alcohol, abusive adults, use of the f slur (just the first three letters), bad thoughts, and a brief implication of an eating disorder that won't be apperant to anyone that doesn't think about that kinda thing way too much.
(wow, that's a lot of trigger warnings. that's The Breakfast Club for you lol)

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Britta didn’t think she should be in detention.

Her father grimaced sympathetically as they rolled up to the school. “I’ll make it up to you. I think it’s ridiculous that skipping class once warrants detention.”

“On Saturday, no less,” Britta grumbled. She scowled. “If you’re so against it, why can’t you get me out of it?”

“I tried! I’ll make it up, I promise. Don’t listen to what your mother says; it’s not your fault. Have a good day sweetie.”

Britta rolled her eyes and left the car.

-----

“Is this the first time or the last time we’ll do this?”

Annie looked down at her hands, twisted in her lap. “Last…” she muttered.

“Good. Now go over there and use the time to your advantage,” her mother said. “You have eight hours to study.”

Annie didn’t comment that they weren’t supposed to study. She nodded, not looking at her mother.

“Well go!”

“Yes ma’am,” she said quickly, grabbing her backpack and closing the car door behind her in the least slam-y way possible.

-----

“Hey, I screwed around, guys screw around, ya know, it’s no big deal. Issue is you got caught, champ.”

Troy nodded, not really paying attention. He shifted in his seat, ready to just get it over with. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Get out there and kill those fags, sport,” said his father, and Troy didn’t bother responding. He got out of the truck.

-----

Jeff Winger didn’t have anyone to drive him. Not that he cared.

He also didn’t care about the fact that if he kept walking and that car kept driving they’d be in a direct collision course.

Luckily(ish) the car stopped before it hit him. He walked on, tipping his sunglasses cockily.

-----

The drive to detention was silent for Abed. He looked over at his mom. Her face was tight and screwed up, like when she ate that really sour candy but tried to pretend like it didn’t affect her. She was probably mad at him, because she’d made the same face when she found him watching Batman when he was supposed to be doing his chemistry homework. But then again, she’d made the same face when she really wanted a sandwich but couldn’t find the restaurant they wanted to go to, so she could just be hungry. Either-or.

The car came to an abrupt stop to avoid hitting Jeffery Winger, who Abed had never talked to but had seen in the halls. Winger was a senior and nineteen years old; he repeated tenth grade because he had been caught cheating on either one or all of his finals (Abed had heard different things from different sources), he failed the SAT last year, and he wrote slurs on his locker.

Abed stayed away from Jeffery Winger. He seemed a lot like the people who bullied him.

Abed stepped out of the car. He turned to say something (he didn’t really know what, just something, anything but the silence, ‘bye’ maybe) but his mother sped away before he could.

“Bye,” he said even though she couldn’t hear him. “Cool. Cool cool cool,” he murmured, watching her drive off.

-----

Detention was held in Study Room F, in the library. Britta sat in the first seat she saw, facing away from the rest of the room, dropping her bags. Annie sat awkwardly to her left. Troy walked in next, adjusting his letterman jacket. He sat away from both of them, on the other side of the table.

Then came Winger, and with him an aura of chaos. He ran his hands along the checkout desk right outside the study room, knocking things askew. Everyone watched him. He walked over, shooting everyone an arrogant smile, and stood wordlessly in front of Annie, cocking his head to his left. She shivered and moved, and Winger sat down in her spot and put his feet up.

Abed said nothing as he walked in, sitting next to Britta Perry (eighteen, senior, rich kid, two older brothers, one of which was in college and majoring in psych, failing or close to failing all her classes), who scooted over a little. Troy Barnes (sixteen, sophomore, star quarterback, popular with the ladies, said slurs in the locker room, once directed at Abed, marked STAY AWAY in big letters in his brain) snickered as Abed took his seat, which he ignored. Troy was probably remembering something funny. Unless he was laughing at Abed. One or the other, he decided. Either way he didn’t care, or at least he didn’t react. He took out a computer and began to type away furiously.

A few seconds passed.

“Well!” said Mr. Hawthorne, walking in with a stack of paper in one hand, a handful of pencils in the other, and a disgusted look on his face that clearly projected his feelings to everyone but Abed. “I’d like to congratulate you on being on time. It is now seven-oh-six. You have exactly eight hours and fifty-four minutes to think about why you’re here. To ponder the error of your ways. You may not talk. You will not move from these seats. You will not sleep. And you” --he shut Abed’s computer with a snap-- “will not play computer games.”

Hawthorne waved around the stack of paper in his hands. “Alright people, we're gonna try something a little different today. You are going to write an essay--of no less than a thousand words--describing to me who you think you are.”

Winger scoffed loudly. That was such bullshit. Hawthorne passed out paper and pencils to each person, slamming them aggressively when he got to Winger.

“And when I say essay...I mean essay. I do not mean a single word repeated a thousand times. Is that clear Mr. Winger?”

Winger looked up at Hawthorne, smiling pseudo-pleasantly. “Crystal.”

“Good,” said Hawthorne, smile equally as full of contempt. “Maybe you'll learn a little something about yourself. Maybe you'll even decide whether or not you care to return.”

Annie, seizing her chance to prove herself, because fuck if she was going to get her life ruined because of her own stupidity, raised her hand and stood up. “I definitely, I’d say that’d be a no, no for me, I don’t care to return at all sir, ‘cause--”

“Sit down, Edison,” Hawthorne growled.

“Yes sir,” Annie squeaked.

“My office is right across the hall. Any monkey business is ill-advised.” Hawthorne looked around, scanning them all one more time. “Any questions?”

“Yeah, I’ve had a question nagging me this whole time,” Winger said, still sickly sweet. “If I throw a stick, will you leave?”

“I'll give you the answer to that question, Mr. Winger, next Saturday,” hissed Hawthorne. He turned on his heel and left.

Abed opened his computer again.

“That man is the reason shampoo has instructions,” Winger muttered. Not his best insult, (the stick one), but it got results. That asshole didn’t deserve actual thought put into a one-liner anyway.

There was silence in the study room.

Annie fidgeted with her purple pen, tapping it against the table. She stared intensely at the paper in front of her. “Who am I,” she muttered. “Whooooo ammm IIIIIIII. Whoooo do I think I am. Who are you.”

“Don’t tell me you’re actually doing the essay?” Winger scoffed disbelievingly.

Annie looked up, eyebrows drawn together. “Well… yeah,” she said. “He told us to.” She was going to do everything right. Because one more slip up and she was fucked. She stared intensely at her paper, as if that might make her manifest an identity.

Winger shook his head.

Silence.

Britta started humming softly, but in the otherwise quiet room everyone could hear her humming ‘Come Sail Away’ off key. Troy turned away and blinked hard.

Suddenly Abed, who had previously been pretty chill typing on his computer but could not deal with other people humming (it vibrated his skull), thumped his fist on the table, which made Britta stop humming. Everyone turned to look at him, but he went on typing as if nothing had happened.

Another quiet minute.

“What are we supposed to do if we have to pee?” Troy suddenly whispered, eyes wide with realization.

“God gave us pants,” Winger deadpanned.

“He said we’re not supposed to leave. What if we have to pee?” Troy repeated.

“That’s a good question, actually,” said Annie, more to herself than to the rest of the room. She couldn’t follow the rules if she didn’t know them.

“Right??”

“You’re like a man with a fork in a world of soup,” said Winger rolling his eyes.

“Buzz off!” said Britta. “Keep rolling your eyes, you might find a brain.”

Winger had to physically stop himself from rolling his eyes. “I could eat a bowl of alphabet soup and poop out a smarter statement than anything you have or will ever come up with.”

Britta sputtered. “Pshh.”

“You’re pretty sexy when you get angry,” he said, stupid, sleazy smile on his face, and Britta wanted to slap him.

“Hey!” yelped Troy. Winger ignored him. “Hey!” he said again.

“What?”

“If I lose my temper, you’re totaled, man.”

Winger’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Totally?”

“Totally!”

“Why don’t you just shut up! Nobody here is interested!” Britta snapped.

“Seriously!” scoffed Troy. He turned to Britta. “What a buttface!”

“Good one, Champ! ‘Buttface!’ Wow!”

Annie (on whose resume it would look really bad to have been caught in the middle of a fistfight in detention) looked nervously back and forth between Winger and Troy, who was getting riled up. “Um, excuse me, fellas? I think we should just write our papers…”

“Just because you want attention doesn’t give you the right to be an asshole to everyone!” Troy said, slamming both hands on the table.

Winger gasped sarcastically. “Oh, how dare!”

Britta wrinkled her nose. “He’s just doing it to get a rise out of you, just ignore him.”

Winger smiled sweetly at her. “You couldn’t ignore me if you tried.”

Britta and Troy looked back down at their papers and the room fell quiet again. Winger took another jab: “So...so! Are you guys like boyfriend/girlfriend?” A beat. “Steady dates?” Another beat. “Lo--vers?” Still silent. “Since no one in their right mind would ever bang either of you, did you settle for each other? Mm, tiny dick, salty--”

Britta and Troy turned to face Winger, fury obvious on their faces (except to Abed).

“Go to hell!”

“Shut up!”

“Hey! What’s going on in there?” yelled Hawthorne from the other room. “Smug little pricks,” he muttered to himself.

Winger looked over his shoulder, swung his legs back down, and leaned forward as if to tell a secret. Abed leaned in too, as if to hear it, but no one else moved. “What do you say we close that door. We can’t do shit with Hawthorne peeking in here every other second.”

Annie shifted uncomfortably. “The door’s supposed to stay open.”

“So what?”

“So why don’t you just shut up!” piped Troy. “You’re not the only person in this room you know. Maybe consider for half a second that the four of us don’t want to deal with your bullshit!”

“God, you can count! Wow. I knew you had to be smart to be a football player,” Winger smirked.

“Hey! Well you’re--you’re a loser!” said Troy, definitely not pouting. “And football is cool.”

“You know Winger, you don’t even count,” spat Britta. “You could disappear forever and no one would give a shit. You’re just an attention seeking asshole with no real identity and no one who loves you. So let me say this one more time: NO. ONE. CARES.”

Winger paused. He took a deep breath before speaking, keeping a the same cocky (more like penis-y, Troy snickered to himself) smile on his face. “Well, I’ll just run out and join the football team.”

Troy laughed sarcastically. “Yeah right. Like your scrawny ass would have the skill it takes to play football.”

“Maybe the prep club too! Student council,” Winger continued.

“You couldn’t find the room,” Britta scoffed.

“I’m hurt,” he said, gasping in mock offense.

“You know why guys like you knock everything?” said Britta. “It’s ’cause you’re afraid.”

“Oh, no! You’re so smart! That’s exactly why I’m not heavy into activities!”

“You’re a big coward!” said Britta, voice growing in volume. “Trust me, my brother’s a psych major and I took a psych class in freshman year. I know how to differentiate a creep like you from a normal human being.”

“I’m in the math club…” said Annie to no one in particular.

“See, you’re afraid they won’t take you. You don’t belong so you just shit all over everything--”

“Of course, and my lack of activities wouldn’t have anything to do with you guys being assholes, right?”

“You wouldn’t know. You don’t know any of us,” Britta shot back.

“I’m in the physics club too,” Annie added.

“What are you talking about?” Winger said, turning to Annie, who jumped a little at suddenly being paid attention to by Winger of all people.

“Um, I’m in the math club, and the Latin club, and the model UN club, and the physics club…”

“Hey Blondie, do you belong to the physics club?”

“That’s an academic club,” she said.

“So?”

“So, academic clubs aren’t the same as other kinds of clubs.”

“Oh, but to dorks like her, they are.” Winger turned to Annie. “What do you guys do in your club?”

“In physics we talk about… physics. The properties of physics.”

Winger nodded, sarcastically enthralled. “So it’s kind of social, in a sad way. Right?”

“I mean I guess…” Annie trailed off. They looked good on her transcript.

Troy shook his head. “You guys need to stop talking or Hawthorne’s gonna come in here and give us another detention. I got a game next Saturday and I’m not gonna miss it.”

“Oh, wouldn’t that just be a tragedy,” said Winger sarcastically, and wasn’t everything he said sarcastic, and oh Troy wanted to bash his head in. “Missing a whole football game.”

Troy pressed his fists into the table and hissed, “Well you wouldn’t know anything about it, fag! You’ve never cared about anything in your life!”

“Oh, I know… I feel so empty inside. I have such deep admiration for guys like you, that roll around on the floor with other guys!”

“Shut up! Football is very manly,” Troy said, ignoring how hot his face felt and definitely not on the verge of tears because he was not gay. “You- You wouldn’t know anyway. You don’t have any goals.”

“Oh, but I do!” said Winger, eyes mockingly wide, putting his legs back up on the table, quite enjoying watching Troy squirm.

“Yeah?”

“I wanna be just! Like! You! I figure all I need is a lobotomy and some tights!”

Annie looked up. “You wear tights?”

Troy bristled. “No, I don’t wear tights. I wear football gear and stuff. Like pads and helmets.”

“And tights.” Annie imagined Troy in some tights. She didn’t dislike the image.

“Shut up!”

“Oh no, gay tights,” Winger laughed.

“Fag!”

“I’ve been called worse things by better men.”

“Oh, so what, I’m not a man? I’m not--I’m not manly? Is that what you’re saying?” Troy forced out. It was hard to talk while trying not to cry. He swallowed thickly.

“You’re a dumbass football player through and through,” Winger scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Oh?”

“It’s in your blood!”

“That’s racist,” Troy pointed out.

“Your soul!”

“That’s racist!”

“Your eyes?”

“That’s gay?”

“That’s homophobic!”

“That’s black!”

“That’s racist!”

“Damn!”

Rustling in the hallway made Winger quickly put his legs down. He folded his hands on the table and smiled pleasantly at Hawthorne when he looked in. Hawthorne went back to his office.

“That man has room temperature IQ,” Winger laughed. He got up and walked to the door.

“Hey,” Annie said nervously, “he said the door should stay open. And I’m not getting my life ruined by some hooligan.”

“A little screw won’t ruin anybody’s life.” Winger reached up and removed one from the door. It fell shut with a thump. He quickly ran to the other end of the study room and did the same thing before rushing back to his seat with the screws in his pocket.

“That’s school property you know,” Annie chastised.

“Shh!”

“Goddammit!” yelled Hawthorne, stomping in. “Why are those doors closed?”

Silence.

“Why is that door closed?”

“I dunno sir, it just closed,” Winger shrugged.

Hawthorne turned to Britta. “Why?”

“Yeah, it just closed,” Britta said quickly.

“Who closed that door?”

“I think a screw fell out,” said Winger innocently.

Hawthorne pointed at Abed, who froze. “Who?” Abed let out a high pitched squeak that he quickly stifled.

“He doesn’t talk, sir,” said Winger.

“Give me that screw.”

“I don’t have it.”

“Do I gotta shake you down?”

“I don’t have it! Screws fall out all the time. The world’s an imperfect place.”

“Give it to me, Winger.”

“Excuse me sir,” interjected Britta, “why would anybody want to steal a screw?”

“Watch it, young lady.” Hawthorne grabbed the empty chair next to Winger and stuck it in the door.

“You’re blocking the whole door,” Winger pointed out. “What if there’s a fire? I think violating fire codes and endangering the lives of children would be unwise at this juncture in your career.”

“There’s another door,” Annie muttered.

“Shut up,” Winger hissed.

Hawthorne pulled the chair out of the door and tried not to look like he was pouting. “You’re not fooling anybody Winger. Next screw that falls out is gonna be you.”

Winger scoffed. “Eat my shorts.”

“What was that?”

“EAT MY SHORTS!”

“You just bought yourself another Saturday mister!”

“Oh, what fun!”

“You just bought yourself another one, right there! Don’t test me!”

“Oh, are you gonna throw a tantrum? Sorry, I could’ve sworn I was dealing with an adult here!”

“You want another one? Say the word, just say the word! Instead of going to prison, you’ll come here? Are you through?”

Winger grit his teeth. “No.”

“I’m doing society a favor!”

“So?”

“That's another one, right now! I've got you for the rest of your natural born life if you don't watch your step! You want another one?”

“Yes!”

“You got it!” Hawthorne spat, jabbing his finger into Winger’s chest. “Another?”

“You’re not allowed to touch me!” Winger blurted, definitely not flinching.

Hawthorne withdrew his finger, but his face stayed the same. “You through?”

“No!”

“You got it! That’s another one, right there! Done?”

“Cut it out!” Britta hissed to Winger, because this was honestly getting concerning.

“Not even close,” he said, ignoring Britta. His chest burned where Hawthorne had touched him. He sucked in a harsh breath.

“Good! You got one more!”

“You really think I give a shit?” said Winger, lowering his voice for dramatic effect.

“Another. You through?”

Winger glared at Hawthorne, hoping to convey all he contempt he felt, and none of the other feelings. “How many is that?”

Annie chirped, “That’s eight, including the one from when we first came in and you asked Mr. Hawthorne whether he would leave if you threw a stick.”

“Shut up, Muppet,” Hawthorne snapped. “You’re mine Winger.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s exactly what you want them to believe,” Hawthorne said, hatred dripping from his voice. “Maybe spend a little more time doing something with your pathetic self and a little less time pretending to be greater than the little shit you are.”

“Fuck you!” Winger screamed.

And Hawthorne turned on his heel and left.

-----

After that, there was a long period of silence in the study room.

Britta sat her head on her hand and thought for a while. She tried to think about school or something (she probably should study, she had no clue what was going on in her last math class) but her mind kept going back to Winger. Specifically, the fact that she defended him. The guy was an asshole. He deserved all those detentions. Like Hawthorne said, instead of going to jail, he’d come here. So why didn’t she say anything? Also, she was hungry. Some pizza sounded really good right then. Mm.

Annie stared at the clock, trying to soul search but failing miserably. Her paper was blank except for her name and the date written neatly at the top. Everyone else was still and silent and it was very distracting. A thousand words really wasn’t much. She could do this. She could do this. Who was she? She was…smart. (What got her in here wasn’t very smart.) She was…determined? She thought back to what she wrote on her resume when she applied for her first job: Perky, go-getter, hardworking, best for the company because she’ll follow every direction to the letter! Bend over backwards to suit everyone else! Get into college or you’re dead to me! Get straight As or you’re dead to me! Be perfect or you’re dead to me! You’re dead to me! You should be dead! Die!

Fuck. She didn’t write that last part on her resume.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She opened them and stared at her paper. Who am I?

Winger scrolled on his phone and fidgeted and tapped his fingers and bounced his leg and wiggled his feet and definitely did not regret all those detentions. It’d give him a place to be instead of home, he supposed, but also, he could wander the streets if he didn’t want to be at home anyway. So basically he just had to waste two months worth of Saturdays on this jackass. God.

Troy played with the sleeves of his letterman jacket, trying to sit and think in the most manly way possible. Eight hours was a long time to be sitting and thinking. He wondered how Winger did it. He gazed across the table at him, watching Winger stare off into space. Winger was tough. Troy was tough too, he thought, tougher than Winger’d ever be. Tougher than the weirdo next to him, too, the one typing on his computer. He was skinny. Small. Troy could probably beat him up if he wanted. An image of the kid’s pretty face, bloodied and beaten, forced itself into his brain. God. He looked away, disgusted. He hated himself.

Abed just typed away on his computer.

And the clock ticked in the corner.

-----

“Hey, you grounded tonight?” Troy asked Britta around Abed.

She shrugged. “I dunno, my mom said I was but my dad told me just to blow her off.”

“Well, there’s a big party at Magnitude’s. Should be pretty wild. Can you come?”

“Nah.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know… If I do what my mom tells me not to do, it’s because my dad says it’s okay. Then it’s like a huge deal, and it’s endless and a huge drag. It’s like any minute, divorce,” she said with jazz hands.

“Who do you like better?” said Troy, who had no tact whatsoever. (Abed, who was in fact listening because he was literally sitting in between them, thought that was a horrible question to ask someone, and pushed down thoughts of his own parents.)

“I dunno… I want to go live with my brother. Neither of them really give a shit about me anyway. They just kinda use me to get back at each other.”

“Feeling sorry for yourself?” Winger said, butting into the conversation for literally no reason. He put his legs back on the table.

“Well if I didn’t nobody else would!”

“So tragic. You’re breaking my heart.” He turned to Troy. “You get along with your parents?”

Troy didn’t make eye contact. “If I say yes, I’m an idiot, right?”

“You’re an idiot anyway,” Winger shrugged.

Troy kept his balled up fists under the table. “You know, if we weren’t in school right now, I’d waste you!”

“Oh, sure.”

Annie looked back and forth between the two of them. “Hey, I mean, I don’t like my parents either.”

Winger turned to Annie. “You are a perfect fucking child. Any parent would kill to have you. Adults love dweebs.”

Troy scowled. “Why do you have to insult everybody? And she’s got a name!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!” He turned to Annie. “What’s your name?”

“Annie Edison.”

“Sorry about the jackass, Annie Edison.”

Britta looked over at Winger. ‘Winger.’ All she knew was his last name. “What’s your name?” she said.

“What’s yours?” he shot back.

“Britta.”

“Britta?”

“Yeah… it’s a family name.”

“The fuck kind of name is that?”

Britta flipped him off.

The door opened suddenly and everyone jumped. In came Jerry, the plumber.

“Hey Troy.”

“Hey,” muttered Troy, looking away.

“Hey, aren’t you the plumber?” Annie said. “This is a study room, not a bathroom. What are you doing here?”

“I have many jobs,” Jerry said mysteriously.

“Go clean a bathroom, weirdo,” Winger said under his breath.

“Oh really?” said Jerry, who had impeccable hearing. “You think I'm just some untouchable peasant? Peon? Huh? Maybe so, but following a plunger around after shitheads like you for the past eight years I've learned a couple of things. I look through your papers, I look through your lockers. I listen to your conversations. You don't notice, but I do. I am the eyes and ears of this institution my friends.”

The lights went out for half a second and when they came back on, Jerry was gone.

Winger stared at the spot where Jerry had been standing. “Well, that wasn’t creepy at all.”

-----

Hawthorne stomped in at 11:30. “Alright girls, you get thirty minutes for lunch.”

“Here?” said Annie.

“Here.”

“You’re not normally allowed to eat in the library, sir.”

“Well I make the rules.”

Winger rolled his eyes. “Uh, Penetrate? Excuse me, Pierce…Will milk be made available to us?”

Troy nodded vigorously. “We’re extremely thirsty sir.”

“I have a very low tolerance for dehydration,” Britta added.

Winger stood up. “I’ll get it!”

“What, do you think I’m gonna let you roam these halls?” Hawthorne pointed at Troy, then at Abed. “You, Troy! And you! Hey! What’s his name? C’mon, on your feet mister. Let’s go!”

Abed stood up, face impassive. He grabbed his bag.

“There’s drinks in the fridge in the teacher’s lounge,” Hawthorne continued. “Get up! Go!”

-----

“I’m only half Arabic, actually, my dad is Palestinian, I mean, he’s a US citizen and he’s not a threat to national security or anything, a lot of people want to know that after they meet him, because he has an angry energy, but not like angry at America, just angry at my mom for leaving him, although she did leave because he was angry and he was angry because she was American. My name’s Abed, by the way.”

Troy and Abed were in the hallway, and Troy had not been expecting the kid who’d barely spoken before this to have to much to say.

“Hi Abed,” he said dumbly. “I’m Troy.”

“I know. We have science, english, and spanish together. Also gym.”

“Really? I never noticed,” Troy said before he realized that it was probably rude to tell Abed that he didn’t know he existed even though they had four classes together.

“Yeah,” Abed replied, not even fazed. “I’m kind of a fly on the wall. An observer.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” said Troy, not knowing what to say.

“Cool cool cool.”

“Um… what were you doing on your computer?” he asked, changing the subject.

Abed perked up. A chance to talk about movies! Holy shit, he usually had to work it in, but this time it came up naturally. He kept his hands stiff at his side, because Troy was marked STAY AWAY and he should probably play it safe. “I was writing a screenplay, not playing computer games like Mr. Hawthorne said when he shut my computer earlier, remember? It’s a cop movie and it centers around a character called Police Justice--”

“‘Police Justice’?” Troy laughed. “That’s amazing. That sounds hilarious!”

“I--” It was a drama, not a comedy. Or a dramedy. Just drama. And cop. Cop drama. Crama? Dramop? Dracop? Croma? Copma? Cop drama. It was a cop drama. Not a comedy. Cop comedy. Not a cop comedy. He was about to explain this to Troy, when--

“I would love to watch that movie! Or be in it.” He gasped. “Could I be in your movie?”

Abed considered, pursing his lips. “I don’t know if you’re right for the part.”

“Awww!” Troy literally deflated, like a balloon or cartoon character.

“That’s okay,” he said quickly, because Troy’s eyebrows were tilting up and his mouth was tilting down and that meant sad and Abed didn’t want Troy to be sad because Troy was interested in his movies. “You can be in another movie.”

“Awesome!!”

“Cool cool cool,” Abed said. “We should make a movie sometime,” he blurted, and Troy beamed.

“Yeah, we should!” he said. Troy decided he liked Abed. But then he remembered he was supposed to be cool, and manly, and he didn’t think this feeling was manly, and he wasn’t supposed to be into movies, he was supposed to be into football, and fuck, he wasn’t supposed to feel this way. So he balled up his fists at his side again and looked away and ignored how his eyes burned as he said, “Actually, no.”

“No?”

“No,” he repeated. “I don’t want to make a movie with you. Movies are lame.”

Abed tilted his head, confused, and also sad, but he didn’t have time to deal with that. “But you said--”

“I know what I said.”

“Then why did you--”

“Shut up, fag!” Troy yelled, and Abed flinched, and Troy felt bad. He felt bad and he wanted to cry. He ran ahead and around a corner, leaving Abed to be confused and sad alone in the hallway.

-----

“Britta, truth or dare?”

Britta sighed. “I’m not doing this, Winger.”

He laughed. “C’mon, truth or dare?”

“I said, no!”

“Why not?”

“Because if I say truth, you’ll make me tell you something stupid, and if I say dare, you’ll make me kill myself or something!”

Annie sat silently in her seat. Winger turned to her suddenly, and she jumped.

“Hey Annie, truth or dare?”

“Uh--”

“I promise I won’t make you kill yourself,” Winger quipped. “Her maybe, but not you.”

“Shut up, Winger,” Britta scoffed.

Annie tried not to think about the irony as she shrugged and said, “I dunno… truth.”

“What’re you in here for?”

“Okay, I switch to dare.”

Britta shook her head. “That’s not allowed!”

“For someone who claimed to be uninterested, you sure do seem interested!” Annie snapped.

“Answer the question!” Winger pressed.

Annie sat up straight and crossed her arms. “I’m not obligated to answer any of your questions.”

“Boo,” complained Britta.

“If you’re so against me not participating, why don’t you participate yourself?” she responded.

“Yeah, truth or dare, Brittles!”

Britta sighed. “Truth.”

“What three adjectives best describe your vagina?”

“Is switching to dare still an option?”

“Jesus,” Winger laughed. “Just pick dare in the first place if you’re not gonna answer any questions.”

“See, this is why I didn’t want to do it.” She scowled. “I just knew you’d ask me something disgusting like that.”

“Truth or dare, Winger?”

Britta and Winger both turned to look an Annie, who was staring dangerously at Winger. He was compromising her perfect record. This detention was a stain enough, but if Winger continued to pull stupid shit, Annie might take the fall for it, and she couldn’t have that.

“Well? Truth or dare?” she said.

“I’d pick dare, but you’d probably make me kill myself,” he smirked. Annie still refused to acknowledge the irony. Irony-free Annie, remember.

“Why don’t you pick truth?” Britta said. “Or are you afraid we’ll ask you about your vagina?”

Winger scowled. “You know, since you guys are such trendsetters, I think I will pick truth.”

Annie glared at him. “Why do you act like such a dick?”

Winger rolled his eyes. “Think of something better than that. We all know why, right?” He pointed at Britta. “Like she said, I’m an attention seeking, insecure coward.”

“Fine. Do you like yourself? Like really. Do you actually like yourself? When you look in the mirror and see that ‘attention seeking, insecure coward,’ do you like what you see?” Annie’s eyes were wide as she stared at Winger, who was definitely not uncomfortable.

“Of course I like myself,” Winger said, cocky smile not faltering once. “Who wouldn’t?”

“Everyone that meets you,” Annie shot back. “C’mon. The truth, Winger.”

“That is the truth,” he lied. Because fuck if Winger was going to let a game of truth or dare make him think about himself. He shut off his brain and ignored the churning in his chest.

“Right.”

Annie looked back down at her paper. Who am I? She was mean. Willing to do truly anything to reach her goal. No, that didn’t sound right. Who am I?

Britta stared at her as silence descended over the room. Quiet Annie, who had been staring at her unstarted essay this whole time. Some people could really surprise you.

-----

Abed walked cautiously around the corner. “Troy?”

“Abed,” he acknowledged.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Abed looked genuinely sorry and Troy felt even worse now. He hardened his face. “Yes.”

“What did I do?” Abed said. “I won’t do it again. I promise.” Abed liked Troy. He did, and he didn’t want to lose a potential friend because of another stupid slip up on Abed’s part. Troy was leaned against the wall looking down with his arms crossed, which based on the music that tended to play in shows when the characters were in that type of position, meant he was angry. Or sad, or both. Abed didn’t quite know how to deal with another person being angry and/or sad other than to apologize. So he did. “I’m really sorry.”

Troy stood up properly and sized Abed up. “Race me.”

“Race me?” he repeated under his breath. “What?” he said at normal volume.

“I said, race me.” He assumed a starting stance. “To the teacher’s lounge. Readysetgo!” And he took off.

Abed lagged behind him for a few seconds, and Troy felt a surge of pride, the kind he got when his team scored in football, which was weird because he was racing a skinny non-athlete, not scoring a touchdown, but he didn’t care.

But then Abed sped up, and got a few inches on Troy, and then a few feet, and he pulled ahead completely and was standing in the doorframe of the teacher’s lounge when Troy got there.

“I won,” he said, smiling briefly. “Cool cool cool.”

Troy stared. “You won.”

“Yeah.”

Troy wanted to cry again. He blinked hard and pushed past Abed with more force than was necessary. “Let’s just get the drinks.”

They opened the fridge door and grabbed five Cokes. Troy carried all five in his arms, because he was stronger. Abed just shrugged and said “Okay.”

“Your win was a fluke,” Troy reminded him. “You wouldn’t win if we raced again.”

“I don’t think we should run with the Cokes,” Abed said. “They’ll get all fizzy and spray everyone else, and then they’d get mad at us.”

“I know,” said Troy, hunching his shoulders and definitely not defensive. “Just don’t forget I could beat you. Easily.”

“Cool cool cool,” Abed shrugged, nonchalant, and Troy wished he could be like Abed, uncaring about all the things that Troy had been taught were most important. Abed made him forget he had to be cool and manly and strong and he didn’t know if that scared him, or made him want to be with him more.

Abed decided to remove the STAY AWAY label on Troy in his brain and replace it with Confusing, but Worth the Effort.

-----

“What took you guys so long?” Winger complained as Troy and Abed dumped the Cokes by him.

“Shut up, Winger,” Troy grumbled.

Britta reached down and grabbed her lunch, which was in a small shopping bag.

“What’s in there?” Winger asked, craning his neck.

“Where’s your lunch?” she asked, ignoring his question and unwrapping her lunch.

“What the hell is that?” Winger asked, wrinkling his nose as he grabbed a Coke can and tossed it to Abed, who caught it effortlessly without even looking up from his lunch. Troy gaped.

“It’s vegan.”

“It’s Subway.”

“It’s vegan Subway!”

Troy took out his lunch, which was a bag of potato chips, a large sandwich, cookies, and some Gatorade. He was hungry!

Abed slid his own lunch out of his bag. “What are you eating, String Bean?” said Winger, leaning over to see.

“His name’s Abed,” Troy snapped.

“I have buttered noddles, falafel, and cold hot chocolate,” said Abed, not minding Winger’s not using his name. Plenty of people didn’t know his name, he rationalized. And there were worse things to be called than String Bean. “I call it Special Drink.”

“And someday, you’ll know it by its true name--Diabetes,” Winger said, sarcastically sweet. Troy wanted to punch him because Abed did not deserve to be insulted.

Abed did not give two shits. “It’s good,” he said, offering out his thermos. “You want to try it?”

“Fuck no. Jesus. Did the mental hospital test too many drugs on you today?”

Troy slammed his hands on the table. “Leave him alone, Winger! Asshole.” Abed looked at Troy in awe. No one had ever defended him before.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” he muttered under his breath.

Winger shrugged and turned to Annie. “And you, what’s in that nice, classic brown paper bag?”

“Standard, regular lunch I guess. Don’t try to pull anything, Winger,” she said meanly, because Winger had been silent for the rest of the time until Troy and Abed came back, and if mean meant she’d be able to move past this she’d be okay with that.

Winger grabbed the bag and reached in. He pulled out a thermos and set it on the table. “Milk?” he asked, pointing at it.

She shook her head. “Soup.” Winger reached in again, pulling out a small carton and squinting at it. “That’s apple juice,” Annie supplied.

“I can read!” He set the final item on the table. “And PB and J with the crusts cut off… Wow, what a nice, nutritious lunch this is!”

“It’s called health, not that your skinny ass would know anything about it,” Annie said.

Winger stood up and moved to the empty space next to the table, behind Britta and Abed, the latter of which turned around to keep watching. “Here’s my impression of life at Annie’s house…”

He puffed up his chest, and in a loud, friendly voice, said “Sweetie!”

He changed his voice to a high pitched kiddie voice: “Hey dad!”

Back to loud: “How was your day, honey!”

“Great dad, how was yours!”

“Super! Say, sugar, whatta you say I take you to the build-a-bear this weekend!”

“I’d love to dad, but I’ve got homework to do!”

“That’s alright sweetheart! You can do it after!”

“Gee, what fun, dad!”

“Dear, isn’t our daughter just swell?”

He switched to a quiet, motherly voice. “Yes dear.”

He leaned in as the mother and mimed kissing the father, the switched sides and mimed kissing the mother. Troy and Britta both laughed a little.

Then Winger mimed punching the mother, and suddenly it wasn’t so funny anymore.

Annie looked back down at her paper. Who was she? She was a member of a perfect american family? Fuck no. She was a build-a-bear enjoyer? Admittedly yes (how the hell did Winger know?), but that wasn’t who she was, was it? …Was it? Who was she?

Troy crossed his arms, not amused. “Alright, what about your family?”

“Oh, mine? Easy!” Winger pointed forward and adopted a lower, slightly slurred voice. “Stupid, worthless, no good, god damned, freeloading, son of a bitch, lazy, bigmouth, know it all, asshole, jerk!

A higher pitched voice for his mother: “Oh, Will--”

Winger slammed his hand backwards as his father, slapping his invisible mother. “Shut up bitch, I’m leaving!”

He turned around and used his normal voice. “Where are you going, dad?”

“Fuck you!”

“No, dad, where are you going?”

“Fuck! You!”

He was yelling now. “No, dad, where are you going!”

“FUCK! YOU!”

“Dad!”

He reached out and mimes being his father hitting him. “I’m going to get the FUCKING milk, bitch!” He stormed out of the empty space and then dropped the angry face and bowed. The group watched in stunned silence as he sat down.

“Is that for real?” Annie asked, shaken.

“You wanna come over sometime?” Winger replied severely.

“That’s bullshit,” Britta scoffed, crossing her arms. “It’s all part of your image.”

Winger actually looked hurt. “You don’t believe me?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Did I stutter?”

Winger rolled up his sleeve about halfway up his forearm, revealing a circular burn. He shoved in Britta’s face. “Do you believe this? Huh?” Britta looked away. Winger didn’t move. “It’s about the size of a cigar… Did I stutter? You see, this is what you got in my house when you spilled paint in the garage. And there’s more where that came from.” He laughed, borderline hysterically. “Do you believe me now?”

Britta nodded silently.

“Well I don’t think I need to sit with you FUCKING DILDOS anymore!” Winger said, and he sounded almost tired as he stalked off to couch in the other corner of the study room. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, crossing his arms. Fuck. Get yourself under control, Jeff.

Britta rubbed her eyes. Troy shook his head. “You shouldn’t have said that.”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I shouldn’t have said that.

-----

Winger poked his head through the door, making sure Hawthorne was out of the way. “All clear.”

“How do you know where Hawthorne went?” Britta asked, walking next to him.

“I don’t.”

“Well then, how do you know when he’ll be back?”

“I don’t.” He smirked.

“Why are we doing this?” Abed asked Troy.

“I dunno,” Troy replied.

“The camera just cut straight from the last scene to this one and skipped what was in between.”

“What? Camera?”

“Yeah.”

“Abed, we’re not in a movie.”

“Then what happened in between the two scenes?”

Troy’s eyebrows furrowed with thought. “I… I swear the time happened!”

Abed nodded knowingly. “Exactly.”

Troy shook his head. “Wait, I remember! Winger did like a whole speech about why we should go follow him to his locker. I have no idea how he convinced us.”

“Exactly,” Abed repeated. “It’s a mystery. Played for comedy.”

“This is wrinkling my brain, yo!”

“Exactly!”

“We’re here,” Winger interjected. He slapped his hand against the locker before quickly twisting the lock and opening it. They’d been expecting an absolute mess, but Winger’s locker was surprisingly clean and organized. Winger reached behind a book and pulled out a small flask.

“Alcohol,” Annie gasped.

“Scotch,” Winger smirked.

“Ooh, Scotty’s favorite drink! Did you know the actor who played him, James Doohan, who went by Jimmy, lost a finger fighting in world war two? So he was actually missing his right middle finger during the filming of Star Trek, but he was very ashamed of it, to the point where they got a hand double for whenever they needed close ups of his hands, but there are several episodes where you can see his missing finger, because they screwed up. They mostly do a very good job of hiding it though, and once you notice it’s really interesting the lengths they went to avoid showing his hand. It’s not technically canon that Scotty is missing a finger, because of the aforementioned hand doubles, but I like to think that--”

“Oh my god shut up, Abed,” Winger said, rolling his eyes.

“You shut up, Winger,” Troy shot back. “Put the fucking alcohol back!” Winger ignored him and walked away.

“Alcohol…” said Annie. “He had alcohol.”

Britta walked after Winger.

“That was alcohol!” Annie exclaimed.

“Shut up!” Troy hissed, following Winger and Britta.

Annie stared, mouth open. She looked at Abed, whose face was the same as it’d been the entire time Annie had known him, which was pretty much just detention, but still! She shook her head. “Do you approve of this?”

Abed shrugged. “Movies have taught me that underage drinking is one of the requirements of a fulfilling highschool experience.”

Annie gasped and followed the others. After a moment, Abed did too.

“We have to go through the cafeteria,” Winger was directing.

“No, Hawthorne’ll cut us off,” Troy argued. “We gotta go through the activities hall.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know this school, dude!” Troy said, not quite yelling. “We’re through listening to you. Let’s go.” Troy ran off, and Abed ran after him, not wanting to be left behind, which made everyone follow after the both of them.

And then the activities hall was locked.

“Shit,” Troy hissed.

“I hate to say I told you so,” said Winger. “So I’ll shout it through cupped hands. I TOLD YOU SO.”

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you!” Britta interjected. “Why didn’t you listen to Jeff?”

He stopped. When did he become Jeff?

“We’re dead!” Annie squeaked. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Jeff looked at the other kids--Britta, Abed, Troy, Annie. And he made a decision.

“No, just me.”

“Woah,” Abed whispered. This was so awesome. A close up shot of Jeff’s face as he sacrificed himself (a tiny glance down, face set), then reaction shots (eyes wide, mouths open), then another shot of Jeff nodding resolutely, plan forming in his mind.

“Get back to the library,” Jeff said. He shoved the flask into Annie’s cleavage. She was too shocked to recoil.

And he ran off, loudly yelling random nonsense.

The rest of the group stared in shock for a second.

And then they ran.

-----

Hawthorne found him in the courtyard, standing on one of the picnic tables.

“Get down from there Winger,” Hawthorne growled.

“Oh, hey there,” Jeff said. “What’s up?”

“Get. Down.”

“I was just thinking about the meaning of life,” Jeff said, ignoring Hawthorne. “And you know what I found?”

“Winger!”

“It’s not fourty-two, it’s seventy-three!”

“WINGER!” Hawthorne walked briskly up to him and grabbed his arm to pull him down. Jeff pulled his arm out of his grip.

“Don’t touch me,” he said. “I can get down by myself.” He stepped daintily down from the picnic table.

“Let’s go,” said Hawthorne, and Jeff followed him out of the courtyard.

Hopefully his friends made it.

-----

The study room had been drenched in tense silence as they sat down in their seats without Jeff.

No one said anything. Everyone held their breath.

“Hey!” said Jeff as he entered the room. They looked up, relieved, until they saw Hawthorne right behind him.

“Get your stuff, let’s go!” said Hawthorne, pushing Jeff.

“Don’t touch me,” he snapped with gritted teeth.

“Mr. Wiseguy Winger here,” Hawthorne said, ignoring Jeff, “has taken it upon himself to run off to the courtyard. I’m sorry to inform you, you’re going to be without his services for the rest of the day.”

“Oh no…” Jeff said sarcastically.

“Everything's a big joke, huh Winger? You caused a goddamned riot on Friday, that was real funny too, right? Screaming about how ‘school sucks’ like an elementary schooler… Some kids got trampled! What if your friends, what if your family…” He paused. “What if your booze was trampled?

He smirked. “Impossible sir… It’s in Annie’s cleavage.”

Annie’s eyes went dinner plate wide. Troy giggled, which made Hawthorne scowl at him. “You think he's funny? You think this is cute? You think he's bitchin', is that it? Lemme tell you something. Look at him! He's a bum! You wanna see something funny? You go visit Jeff Winger in five years! You'll see how goddamned funny he is!” He turned and curled his lip at Jeff, who didn’t say anything. “Oh, no snappy comeback? What’s the matter, Jeffery? You gonna cry? Let’s go.” He put his hand on Jeff’s shoulder. Jeff threw it off.

“Hey keep your fucking hands off me!” he snapped. He started to follow Hawthorne, but not before taking his sunglasses out of his pocket and placing them in front of Troy. “For better hallway vision.”

And having gotten his last word, he left.

-----

“That's the last time, Winger,” Hawthorne growled, jabbing a finger into Jeff’s chest. Jeff recoiled. “That's the last time you ever make me look bad in front of those kids, do you hear me? I make $31,000 dollars a year and I have a home and I'm not about to throw it away on some punk like you…” He smiled menacingly. “But someday, man, someday. When you're outta here and they've forgotten all about you and you're wrapped up in your own pathetic life...I'm gonna be there.” He lowered his voice. “That's right. And I'm gonna kick the living shit out of you, man, I'm gonna knock your dick in the dirt!”

“Are you threatening me?” Jeff asked, voice small, looking up, eyes wide with disbelief. He tried to keep his breathing under control.

“What're you gonna do about it?” Hawthorne said. “You think anybody's gonna believe you? You think anybody's gonna take your word over mine? I'm a man of respect around here. They love me, you know? I’m a swell guy… And you're a lying sack of shit! And everybody knows it.”

Fuck, it was true, he knew it was, no one would miss him, Hawthorne could chuck his body into a ditch and no one would notice, you could disappear forever and no one would give a shit. This man could kill him. He looked away, keeping his face neutral, clenching his jaw. His heart pounded in his chest and it hurt and fuck, he was dying, he was dying in this fucking closet--

Hawthorne went on. “Oh, you're a real tough guy… Get on your feet, pal! Let's find out how tough you are! I wanna know right now, how tough you are!” He stuck his face in Jeff’s, pointing at his chin. Jeff shrank back. Hawthorne had a wide, mocking smile on his face. Jeff could smell his breath. He wanted to puke.

“Come on! I'll give you the first punch, let's go! Come on, right here, just take the first shot! Please, I'm begging you, take a shot! Come on, just take one shot, that's all I need, just one swing!”

And Jeff just sat there.

Hawthorne pulled back and faked a punch.

And Jeff flinched. He flinched. He stared at Hawthorne, eyes wide, fear unmistakable. Bile rose in his throat. His chest hurt. He hurt, and he was dying and good, honestly, and fuck, fuck, fuck, Jeff couldn’t breathe. He flinched.

Hawthorne stood up and looked down at him, disgust oozing from his expression.

“That’s what I thought,” he spat. “You’re a gutless turd!”

The door slammed behind him.

Jeff shut his eyes tight, trying to take deep breaths, trying to bring his heart rate back to normal, trying not to cry. His eyes burned. Fuck.

He was shaking. He was shaking and he couldn’t breathe and his stomach hurt and he was dying, he was dying and he was crying and fuck.

The closet smelled like mothballs. Mothballs and cleaning supplies. His hands found something to grab, and he gripped the fucking bottle of Clorox like it was the last thing tethering him to earth. Deep breaths, Jeff. You’re not dying. You’ll be fine.

His heart slowed down, and he could breathe, and the world wasn’t ending anymore, and he released the Clorox from his white-knuckled hands.

He stood up, wiped his eyes, and climbed out of the closet by pushing up a ceiling tile.

-----

The foam ceiling tiles probably weren’t made to withstand the weight of a whole-ass person, no matter how light Jeff had made himself. So he crawled very, very carefully through the dust and electrical wiring.

“Heyo,” he rehearsed quietly to himself. “What’d I miss? Oh, I was just taking a little sabbatical from detention. Just a much needed break from you knuckleheads. Hawthorne is lots of fun. He brings so much joy to everyone. You know, when he leaves the room. But what’d you guys do without me? Sit around? Not much you can do without the coolest person you know. Life of the party, yeah. Well--OH SHIT!”

The ceiling tile gave and a dust covered Jeff fell down from the ceiling onto the study table with a crash.

“Hi,” he said breathlessly.

Everyone gaped.

“What the hell was that??” yelled Hawthorne from across the hall.

“What’d I--” Jeff started, but Britta pushed him under the table.

“No time. Shut up,” she hissed.

Hawthorne stomped in. Jeff shivered.

“What was that ruckus?” Hawthorne yelled.

“Uh, what ruckus?” Troy said, smiling innocently.

“I was just in my office and I heard a ruckus!”

“Could you describe the ruckus, sir?” Annie asked, hands folded nicely on the table.

“Don’t ask me--Watch your tongue, young lady!”

Jeff smacked his head on the table. “Ah!”

“Ahh, ahhh,” said Britta, slapping the table, trying to cover the sound. Everyone else did the same.

“What is that? What, what are you doing?” Hawthorne said.

“That noise? Was that the noise you were talking about?” Britta said.

“No it was not,” said Hawthorne. “That was not the noise I was talking about.” He squinted and pointed at them. “I may not have caught you in the act, but I will. And that’s streets ahead.”

“What the hell does streets ahead mean?” Jeff said from under the table.

Britta coughed loudly, kicking Jeff. “Ack, sorry, I don’t know what happened to my voice there,” she said.

“What does streets ahead mean?” Annie wondered. “Does it just mean cool or is it supposed to be like, miles ahead?”

“If you have to ask you’re streets behind,” Hawthorne said haughtily. He narrowed his eyes. “You’re all streets behind. Don’t test me.” He turned around and walked out.

“Oh my god!” Britta laughed. Everyone else laughed too. Jeff climbed out from under the table with a big smile on his face.

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed. He walked over to Annie and stuck out his hand expectantly. She reached into her boobs, pulled out the flask and dropped it into his hand with a disgusted look on her face. Jeff shot her one of his signature Winger smiles and walked off to the couch in the corner.

“Hey!” Troy called after him. “You’re not gonna get wasted in here!”

Britta watched him, and considered her options. Get drunk, or not get drunk. She shrugged and followed Jeff. Annie turned off her brain and joined them.

“Shit…” Troy said under his breath. He looked at Abed, who looked right back at him.

And together they sat down on the couches with everyone else.

-----

The basement had always had a musty smell, but Peirce had been down there enough to have gotten used to it. The air conditioning rattled in the background as he leaned against the file cabinet, leafing through the papers in his hands. “Craig Pelton,” he muttered quietly, reading to himself. “Ooh, a history of slight mental illness? Woah, no wonder he’s so fucked up!”

“Good afternoon, Peirce,” said Jerry, the janitor, Peirce remembered. He looked up from the file he was looking at.

“Hey Jerry,” he said. “How you doing?”

“Good.”

“Good, yeah… what’s up?”

Jerry leaned against his mop. “Not much happening. What are you doing in the basement files?”

Peirce smiled, not making eye contact. “Oh, you know, nothing, nothing. I’m just doing some homework…”

“Homework, huh?”

“Yeah…”

Jerry’s face didn’t change, but suddenly Peirce got a very creepy feeling. The room felt colder. “Homework in the confidential files?”

Peirce stopped smiling.

He shoved the file back into its place in the cabinet. “Look, Jerry...this is a highly sensitive area and I, I tell you something...certain people would be very very embarrassed, if this came out, you know. I would really appreciate it if, um, this would be something that, that you and I could keep between just us two.”

“What’re you gonna do for me, man?” Jerry said.

“What would you like?”

Jerry considered. “Got fifty bucks?”

-----

Troy was flopped next to Annie on the red couch. “Do you have a middle name?”

“Yeah, I do,” she said.

“Your middle name is Elizabeth.”

Troy and Annie look up to see Abed, who had been chilling on the blueish couch across from them, come over to sit on Troy’s other side. They looked at him in confusion.

“What else do you know about me?” Annie almost whispered.

“Your birthday is December 19th, you like Mark ruffalo, you’re in second place for valedictorian, you’re Jewish--”

“Wow!” Troy exclaimed. “Are you psychic?”

“No.”

“Then how the hell do you know so much about me?” Annie said, a little creeped out. Okay, a lot creeped out.

“I listen.”

“You listen?” Annie questioned incredulously.

“We have spanish class together,” Abed explained.

“Oh?” Annie hadn’t noticed, which she felt kind of bad for.

“He’s kind of a fly on the wall,” Troy said in awe, quoting Abed’s earlier words. “An observer.”

Abed smiled briefly. “People say things. I remember them.”

“You’re so cool,” Troy whispered, and Abed didn’t hear him. Good, Troy thought, because Abed wasn’t cool. He was a loser, a nerd, a basket case. Troy was cool. He was a football player. He… played football. Yeah. So he was glad Abed didn’t hear him call him cool. Because he wasn’t.

(A part of Troy wished he had heard him. Because Abed was the coolest person he’d ever met. And he deserved to hear it. But Troy wasn’t going to overthink this. Or maybe he already did! What was the definition of overthinking? What counts as ‘over’? What counts as ‘thinking’? What--oh shit, he was overthinking overthinking. This was wrinkling his brain!)

“Wait,” said Annie, something registering late, a sinking feeling in her stomach. “Second place for valedictorian?”

“Yeah,” Abed said. “First place right now is going to Shirley Bennet, who is also in our spanish class, by the way. We’re actually all in the same spanish class.”

“What???”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ve noticed Jeff, and maybe Britta? Jeff sits in the back and doesn’t say much, but he does kind of inadvertently call attention to himself. Britta speaks up in class occasionally.”

“No, I meant Shirley Bennet? She doesn’t seem the type to be valedictorian,” Annie said, bristling.

“You’ve been going back and forth for a while.”

“I have worked my ass off!” Annie exclaimed. “And I’m not valedictorian??”

“You’re neck and neck--”

“It should be neck and foot because I should be in first!”

“Neck and foot?”

“I don’t know!” Annie grumbled. Abed smiled a brief, sympathetic smile.

Troy, who had been sitting there in the middle the whole time, said “I’m sure you’ll pull ahead, Annie.”

“I’m sure too,” she said. “I have studied so hard! So hard!”

“I’m failing math,” Troy lamented. “I mean, when the hell am I gonna use--I dunno, the quadratic formula in my real life?”

“You’d be surprised,” said Annie, sitting up straight. “Math is all around us.”

“Where, then?” Troy challenged, crossing his arms.

“Everywhere!” Annie insisted. “Look, that chair over there could not have been made without math.”

“Bullshit. People made chairs before there was math.”

“Oh come on. Money! Money is math!” She took out her wallet. “Look, I have two fives and a twenty, so I have thirty dollars.”

“Addition does not count as ‘math is all around us’, and even if it did, it still isn’t the quadratic formula,” Abed said.

“What else you got in there?” Troy said, ignoring Annie’s point and Abed’s counterpoint in favor of reaching over and plucking the wallet from Annie’s hands.

“Hey!”

Troy once again ignored Annie and opened up her wallet. “Hey, what’s that?”

“Uh--”

“Oh my god. Is that a fake ID?” Troy snickered, sliding it out of the pocket. “This is the worst fake ID I’ve ever seen. You made yourself sixty eight!”

“Oh, I know,” Annie sighed, smiling a bit. “I know, I Britta’d it.”

“Wait,” said Britta, who had been sitting with Jeff at the four-seater table behind them. She turned around. “Are people using my name to mean ‘make a small mistake?’”

“People are using your name to mean ‘fucked up,’ Britta,” Jeff deadpanned.

“Why would people do that?” Britta exclaimed. “I’m, I’m popular!”

“You’re popular among your friends,” Jeff said, raising an eyebrow. “Your stupid rich friends. Everyone knows that.”

“I don’t even know you guys!” she said, eyebrows furrowed.

“We have Spanish together,” Abed said for the third time, wondering idly how anyone could be this unobservant. “We all have the same Spanish class.”

“Chang?” Britta said.

“Yeah.”

“Are you passing?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, shit,” she said, burying her head in her hands. “I’m so stupid even Abed is doing better than me.”

“Screw you,” Troy said, turning back around. “What do you need a fake ID for?” he asked Annie, returning to their previous conversation.

“So I can vote!” Annie said like it was obvious.

Troy snorted. “You made a fake ID so you could vote??”

“That’s voter fraud,” Abed commented.

“I only have food and sports shit in my bag, no crimes,” Troy laughed.

“Wanna see what’s in my bag?” Abed said. Without waiting for an answer, he poured it out on the couch.

“Holy shit!” said Troy, staring at the mountain of what could only be described as ‘stuff.’ Papers, DVDs, pens, a couple wads of cash, one of those pocket kleenex thingies, a tampon for some reason, multiple notebooks, chocolate, hot chocolate powder, a ziploc bag of uncooked pasta, sunglasses, a dog-eared book, big red headphones, normal black headphones, folded up toilet paper, postcards, keys, a scarf, scissors, a stapler, markers, socks, and more that Troy couldn’t see.

“Do you always carry this much shit in your bag?” Annie asked, mildly grossed out.

“Yeah. I always carry this much shit in my bag,” Abed said, doing that half a second smile thing he did. “You never know when you may have to leave.”

“Leave?” she said.

“I’ll do what I have to do.”

“Why do you have to do anything?”

Abed did not make eye contact. He hadn’t made eye contact before, but now he was actively avoiding it. “I don’t want to live at home.”

“So you’re gonna run away and live in the streets?”

Abed bristled, sitting up straight. “I neither have to, nor want to stay here.”

“No one want to live at home,” Troy said. “Otherwise we’d all live with our parents forever.”

“Cool cool cool,” Abed said, shoveling everything into his bag. “Nevermind… forget it, everything’s cool,” he said, words clipped.

“Abed?”

“Forget it, leave me alone.” He walked away briskly, and stood in the opposite corner. Troy left Annie on the couch to follow him.

It was a different temperature in the corner. Abed leaned against the wall, looking down, and wondered how that was possible--you’d think the temperature would be uniform, since it wasn’t that big a room. No matter how much he wished it was bigger so he would walk further away. Why did I do that? There was no reason to pour out his fucking bag. None. This is exactly why his best friends shoved him into that washing machine, and why he spent half his time in lockers, and why he wasn’t wanted at home--because he was attention seeking. Attention seeking and broken and unlovable. Fuck.

“Hi, you wanna talk?” Troy said, and in his peripheral vision Abed could see him lean against the wall next to him. He didn’t look up.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Go away.”

“Where do you want me to go?”

“Go away!” Abed said, looking up, and his eyes were shiny.

Troy turned away and fuck, he’s leaving and Abed didn’t actually want him to leave.

“You have problems,” he said, words bubbling out louder than he intended.

Troy turned around. “Oh, I have problems?”

“You do everything everybody ever tells you to do, and that’s a problem!”

Troy set his jaw. “Well, I didn’t dump my bag out on the couch and invite everyone into my problems.” Abed looked away, blinking hard. “So what’s wrong?” Troy continued softly, coming closer. “What is it? Why don’t you want to live at home?”

Abed stayed silent.

“Parents?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, and his face felt wet.

“What… what happened?”

“My mom left because of me,” Abed murmured. He was crying. Watching Abed cry made Troy want to cry. And looking at the coolest person he’d ever met with tears falling down his face, Troy felt a tear slip down his.

And they stood in the corner and cried together.

-----

“What did you want to be when you were young?”

Peirce had his legs up on one of the storage bins and was sitting on another. Jerry sat next to him, shaking his head. “When I was a kid, I wanted to be Oprah.”

“I’m serious, Jerry!” Peirce said. “I’m tryna make a point. I’ve been at this school for thirteen years, and each year these kids get more and more arrogant.”

“Aw, bullshit, man, that ain’t true,” Jerry said, shaking his head again. “The kids haven’t changed, you have! You took a teaching position, 'cause you thought it'd be fun, right? Thought you could have summer vacations off, run around on the beach, lalalala. And then you found out it was actually work...and that really bummed you out.”

“These kids turned on me,” he grumbled. “They think I’m a big fucking joke…”

Jerry sighed. “Look man, what would you think of you if you were sixteen, huh?”

“You think I give a shit what these kids think of me?”

“Yes, I do.”

That made Peirce bristle. Because those dumbass kids in there had no goddamn right to judge him. None at fucking all! “You think about this,” he hissed. “When you, when I, when we get old, these kids, they’re gonna be the ones running the country.”

“Yeah?” said Jerry, infuriatingly nonchalant.

“Yeah! And this is the thought that keeps me awake at night… These kids, when I get older, these kids are gonna take care of me.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” said Jerry.

Peirce looked away.

-----

“What happens if you drink Coke then eat Mentos?” Troy wondered.

“The Mythbusters did an episode about that,” said Abed. They were back at the table, in their seats. “It was season five, episode thirteen, Grenades and Guts. Turns out a stomach doesn’t explode if you drink Coke and then eat Mentos.”

“Myth busted!” Troy said. Abed smiled.

“They still wanted to blow up the stomach though, so they pumped it with air,” he added.

“That’s disgusting,” Britta said, wrinkling her nose.

“Well, it wasn’t a real human stomach, it was a pig stomach.”

“That’s even more disgusting!” she gasped. “That poor pig!”

“They didn’t kill the pig themselves,” Abed said.

“Still! I’m vegetarian,” Britta said, puffing up her chest, and everyone groaned. “What?”

“You’re so annoying,” Jeff said, rolling his eyes.

“Hey!” Britta said. “I am not annoying.”

“Yeah, you are,” said Troy.

“Hey, if Britta can eat and not eat what she wants,” Annie shrugged.

“That’s true,” Abed said. “Do you keep kosher?”

“What?”

“Well, you’re Jewish. Do you keep kosher?”

“Not really. Not anymore,” she sighed. Maybe she should start saying she ‘grew up Jewish’ as opposed to actually being Jewish. Because fuck, she hadn’t gone to temple since before… well. Her mom didn’t want to bring her bum daughter to temple. She looked back at Abed. “Um, are you Muslim?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but not a very good one.”

“I’m an atheist,” Britta butt in, and everyone groaned again.

“I’m agnostic,” added Jeff, and everyone groaned louder.

“That’s just atheism but lazy!” Troy booed.

“Oh come on,” Jeff said. “What’s your religion?”

“I’m not really practicing, but I’m a Jehovah’s Witness.”

“The hell is that?”

“That’s rude, Jeff,” Annie chastised. She turned to Troy. “What does that mean?”

“Oh, it’s just Christianity but lame,” he said, looking to the side. “We don’t even celebrate birthdays!”

“Christianity was already lame,” giggled Annie, which made everyone else giggle with her.

“We should change the subject before someone gets offended,” Jeff deadpanned.

“As if you care if people get offended,” Britta scoffed, but her smile betrayed her.

“That’s true. You all suck.”

“Boo!” Troy laughed.

“Doesn’t get much more offensive than that,” Britta said, nodding pseudo-seriously.

“What do you guys wanna be when you grow up?” Abed said, pulling from his list of conversation starters that could lead to him talking about movies. His usual formula was wait until at least one other person answered the question before jumping in himself, so as not to seem like he only asked so he could talk. Even though he did. Because he’d been told that made him come off as self-absorbed.

“I dunno,” said Troy.

Jeff crossed his arms. “Don’t you wanna be a football player?”

“I mean, I guess… but I dunno.”

“I want to be a lawyer,” Jeff said, puffing up his chest.

“You failed the SATs last year,” Abed commented. “I don’t think--”

“Shut up Abed. I’ll do it. Mark my words.”

Britta rolled her eyes. “Suits you, since lawyers are scumbags.”

“Britta,” he said, sitting up, eyes more alive than Britta had even seen them, “lawyers are smooth talkers. Lawyers are the type of people who could walk into a room of strangers, and walk out of a room of assets. I once saw a lawyer convince a room full of people that when that man caused a multi-car pile up by driving drunk, his only crime was loving America. Plus, lawyers aren’t the only ones that are scumbags. All you need to manipulate regular people is a couple compliments. Tell them they’re pretty, tell them they’re smart, they eat that shit up. To make someone like you, all you need to do is make them feel good about themselves, and make them associate that feeling with you. You’re gorgeous, you’re brilliant, keep coming back for more, and maybe in return I deserve something too. Yes, yes, you’re right, that’s why my client should walk. Right, of course, I’d never thought of that, since you’re so smart maybe you should do me a favor. I did nothing wrong, and if it suits me, neither did you. A lawyer can change anyone’s mind, make anyone think anything. I discovered at a very early age that if I talk long enough, I can make anything right or wrong. So either I’m god, or truth is relative. In either case, booyah!”

Britta stared. “...Like I said. You’d be a great lawyer.”

Jeff did not say thank you. He puffed up his chest and tamped down the surge of pride in his chest, but he did not say thank you. Instead, he smirked and said, “Duh doy.”

“I honestly have no clue what I want to be,” Britta sighed, “and that’s kinda scary to be honest.”

“I don’t know what I want either, other than what I was supposed to be,” said Annie. She wasn’t going to be anything anyway, since she lost her scholarship. “I was supposed to be a lot of things. Like smart. I was my parent’s smart little girl.”

“I wanna make movies,” blurted Abed. “All I want is to make movies. I know everything there is to know about movies. The tricks, the tropes, everything. I’m gonna go to film school and I’m gonna be the next Tarantino. I’m going to make the next Matrix, or Pulp Fiction, or Forrest Gump, or--”

“You’re so weird,” said Britta, cutting him off. Abed looked away, not responding.

“Shut up Britta,” Troy scowled.

“I mean, he is! He doesn’t say anything all day and when he finally does open his mouth he just dumps a bunch of random stuff about movies on us!”

“He’s right there,” Troy pointed out. “You’re just jealous because he’s more sure of himself than you. And Jeff talked for way longer about lawyer-ing.”

“Doesn’t make it any less weird.”

“What’s weird?” said Troy. “I mean we’re all pretty weird. Some of us are just better at hiding it, that’s all.”

Britta eyed him. “How are you weird?”

“Do you guys know…” he started, taking a deep breath, “Do you know what I did to get in here?” Everyone shook their heads. “I taped Pavel Iwaszkiewicz’s ass cheeks together.”

Britta laughed a little, until she saw Abed. His eyes were wide and almost fearful. “That was you?” he said, voice quiet, small.

“Yeah,” said Troy softly. “You know him?”

Abed nodded. Pavel was one of his closest friends. Not that they were even that close, but he was one of the only people who’d ever been nice to him for as long as he had been. “Yeah, I know him.”

“Well then you know how hairy he is, right?” Troy said, and he almost sounded sick. “When they pulled the tape off, most of the hair came off, and some skin too.”

Britta covered her mouth, disgusted. “Oh my god…”

Troy went on, stomach churning, eyes shining. “And the weird thing is, that I did it for my dad. I tortured this poor kid, because I wanted my dad to think I was cool, and manly, and stuff… He’s always going on about all the things he did when he was in school, all the crazy bullshit he pulled. And I got the feeling that he was, I dunno, disappointed, that I never did any of that. So, I’m sitting in the locker room before gym, and I’m looking through my bag for my socks. And Pavel’s a couple lockers down from me, and he’s undressing. He’s kinda skinny, you know… weak. And I started thinking about my dad, and his attitude on weakness. And I wanted to cry. And- And next thing I knew, I, I jumped on top of him, and my friends laughed and cheered me on. And afterwards, when I was sitting in Hawthorne’s office… all I could think about was Pavel’s father. And Pavel having to go home and, and explain what happened to him.” He choked. “And the humiliation… the fucking humiliation he must’ve felt.” Troy was crying now. He was crying, which was very unmanly, and what the hell was wrong with him. He took a deep breath, locking eyes with Abed. “I mean… how do you apologize for something like that? You can’t… and it’s all because of my fucking dad. Oh god, I fucking hate him!” His voice cracked, and he thumped his hand on the table. “I used to… he used to be my role model, and I wanted to be just like him. Maybe I still do.”

Troy looked down, voice lowering to almost a whisper. “Sometimes, I wish my knee would give, and I wouldn’t be able to play football anymore. And he could forget all about me.”

Silence.

“It’s like me,” Annie began, breathing shakily, “with my grades. Like, when I, step outside myself, and look, you know? I see me and I don’t like what I see, I really don’t.”

“Why not?” Britta said softly.

“Because I’m stupid. Because I’m failing shop.” A pause. “We had this assignment, we were supposed to make, like, a ceramic elephant? It was supposed to be a lamp, and we had eight weeks to do it, and when you pull the trunk the light was supposed to go on… And my light didn’t go on. I got an F on it. Never got an F in my life.” She looked down. “When I signed up for the course, I thought I was being smart. ‘Oh, I’ll take shop, it’ll be such an easy way to maintain my GPA.’”

“Why’d you think it’d be easy?” Jeff said.

“Have you seen some of the dopes that take shop?”

“I take shop,” Jeff hissed. “You must be a fuckin’ idiot!”

“I’m a fuckin’ idiot because I can’t make a lamp?”

“No, you’re a genius because you can’t make a lamp!”

“What’s your grade in math right now?”

“Who gives a shit about math?”

Britta rolled her eyes. “Okay, you’re both equally stupid.”

“My favorite movie is a tie between Ghostbusters, An American Werewolf in London, Back to The Future, Blade Runner, Stand By Me, Stripes, Star Wars IV through VI, Ferris Bueller's Day Off, Jaws, Raising Arizona, Jurassic Park, Seven, The Matrix, Goonies, Breakfast Club, Real Genius, Better Off Dead, The Fog of War, and Pulp Fiction,” said Abed randomly. Everyone stared.

“What?” said a wide eyed Jeff.

“Those are my favorite movies.”

“That has literally nothing to do with anything. Also, ‘Breakfast Club?’ I don’t think that’s even a movie.”

“I can make spaghetti!” blurted Annie.

Britta smiled. “What can you do?” she said to Troy.

“I can… uh, tape your ass cheeks together,” he said, laughing a little.

“I wanna see what Britta can do,” Jeff said.

“I can’t do anything.”

“Everybody can do something,” he encouraged.

“Well,” she started, before shaking her head. “No, forget it, it’s too embarrassing.”

Jeff leaned forward seriously. “You ever seen Wild Kingdom? That guy’s been doing that show for like thirty years.”

Britta considered it. “Okay, fine,” she nodded, “but you have to promise you won’t laugh.” She took a lipstick out from her bag and stuck it in her cleavage. Everyone watched in suspense as she ducked her head down.

When she lifted her head, her lipstick was perfect.

Everyone clapped. Troy and Abed both broke into wide grins.

“That was awesome!” Troy exclaimed. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

“Camp, seventh grade.” She smiled, giggling a little.

“That was amazing, Britta,” said Jeff, tone perfectly normal, but something about the tightness in his smile made Britta want to hide in her sweater.

“You’re an asshole!” Annie said, eyebrows furrowed. “Don’t do that to her! You promised you wouldn’t laugh!”

Winger smirked. “Am I laughing?”

“Dude, what the hell!” Troy frowned. “You were being alright until literally two seconds ago and suddenly you become an asshole just because you fucking feel like it?”

“You fucking prick!” Britta said, blinking hard. “I have just as many feelings as you do and it hurts just as much when someone stops all over them!”

Jeff’s eyes went wide with contempt. “What do you care what I think, away? I could disappear forever and no one would give a shit, right?” he said, and Britta remembered her earlier words, now hurled back at her, words that had been swirling in Jeff’s brain since they’d been said. “I’m just an attention seeking asshole with no real identity and no one who loves me.” He curled his lip, almost snarling. “God, you’re so pathetic. Don’t you ever, ever! Compare yourself to me! Okay? You got everything, and I got shit!” He took a breath, eyes narrowing, voice lowering dangerously. “I like those earrings Britta.”

“Shut up,” she said quietly.

“Are those real diamonds, Britta?”

Now louder: “Shut up!”

“I bet they are… did you work, for the money, for those earrings, Britta? Or did your daddy buy those for you?”

“Shut! Up!” Britta was crying, which she did not enjoy. She wiped her eyes hard.

“I bet he bought those for you!” Jeff continued, ignoring her. “I bet those were a Christmas gift! Right?” And suddenly he was yelling-- “You know what I got for Christmas this year? It was a banner fucking year at the old Winger family! I got a carton of cigarettes. Old man grabbed me and said “Hey, smoke up Jeffy!” Jeff slumped, tired. “Okay, so go home’n cry to your daddy, don’t cry here.”

There was silence.

Britta wiped her eyes again, but the tears kept coming, which was stupid, because fuck, Jeff was right, she had nothing to cry about. She was just a spoiled rich kid with no brain who’d do better to just drop out and never force anyone to deal with her again. She was insecure and stupid and god, look at this pity party, I can’t do anything right!

Jeff looked down and studied the wood of the table. He really was an asshole. That was completely unprompted. What the fuck. Why did he feel the need to ruin every mildly good thing that ever happened? God, he fucking hated himself.

It was Troy who finally broke the silence. “My god,” he rasped, “are we gonna be like our parents?”

“Not me,” said Britta. “Ever.”

“It’s unavoidable,” said Abed softly. “It just happens. When you grow up, your heart dies.”

Jeff crossed his arms, not looking at anyone else. “Who cares?”

Abed smiled a little, eyes wet. “I care.”

“Um, I was just thinking,” Annie said. “I know it’s kind of a weird time, but, I was just wondering… what’s going to happen to us on Monday, when we’re all together again?” She looked up, scanning the faces of everyone at the table. “I mean, I consider you all my friends. I’m not wrong, am I?”

“Yeah,” said Troy, smiling. “Yeah, we’re friends.”

“So on Monday,” she said, “what happens?”

“Are we still friends, you mean?” Britta asked.

“Yeah…”

“Do you want the truth?”

“Yeah, I want the truth.”

Britta smiled sadly and shook her head. “No… no, I don’t think so.”

“That’s a real nice attitude, Britta,” Troy scoffed.

“Oh, be honest, Troy,” she said, voice warped a little by tears. “If Annie came walking up to you in the hall on Monday, what would you do? You’re surrounded by all your friends, all the sports guys. I know exactly what you’d do, you’d say hi to her and when she left you’d rip her apart so your friends wouldn’t think you really liked her!”

“No,” said Troy, shaking his head. “No, never.”

“What about me?” said Abed quietly.

Britta shook her head again. “Same thing.”

Jeff grit his teeth. “You are such a bitch!” he yelled.

“Why? I’m telling the truth, and that makes me a bitch?”

“You know how shitty that is to do to someone! And you don’t got the balls to stand up to your friends and tell them that you’re gonna like who you’re gonna like!” he said, jabbing a finger at Britta, but not touching her.

“Well what about you, you hypocrite!” she cried. “Why don’t you take Abed to go watch a court session with you or something, or take Annie out to the parking lot at lunch to get drunk? What about Troy, what about me? What would your friends say if we were walking down the hall together? They’d laugh their asses off, and you’d probably tell them you fucked me so they’d forgive you for being seen with me!”

Jeff was almost shaking with rage. “Don't you ever talk about my friends! You don't know any of my friends, you don't look at any of my friends, and you certainly wouldn't condescend to speak to any of my friends, so you just stick to the things you know-- shopping, nail polish, your father's BMW and your poor, rich, drunk mother in the Caribbean!”

“Shut up!” Britta screamed.

“And you don’t gotta worry about what’s gonna happen when we walk down the hallways at school, ’cause it’s never gonna happen! Just close your eyes and wait for your fucking prom!”

“I hate you!” she said through tears.

“Yeah? Good!”

Silence again.

Jeff should really learn to keep his mouth shut.

“Then I guess Abed and I are better people than you guys, huh?” said Annie, voice cracking. “Us weirdos…” She looked at Abed. “Would you do that to me?”

“I don’t have any friends,” said Abed quietly.

“Well if you did?”

“No,” Abed said, smiling a little. “I don’t think the kind of friends I’d have would mind.”

“I just wanna tell, each of you, that I wouldn’t do that,” said Annie, looking around the table, on the verge of tears. “I wouldn’t and I will not! Because I think that’s real shitty.”

Britta sniffled. “Your friends wouldn’t mind because they look up to us.”

Annie laughed wetly. “You’re so conceited, Britta. You’re so conceited. You’re so, like, full of yourself, why are you like that?”

“I’m not saying that to be conceited!” she cried. “I hate it! I hate having to go along with everything my friends say!”

“Well then why do you do it?” Annie asked.

“I don’t know, I don’t…” Britta trailed off. “You don’t understand. You’re not friends with the same kind of people Troy and I are friends with! You don’t understand the, the kind of pressure they can put on you!”

Annie’s eyes went wide. “I don’t understand what? You think I don’t understand pressure, Britta? Well fuck you! Fuck you!” she screamed. She hid her face in her arms as she shook. “Do you know why I’m here today?” she forced out. “Do you!” Everyone shook their heads, even though Annie couldn’t see them.

“I’m here because,” she said tiredly, “The dean found pills and, and alcohol in my locker.”

Oh. So she was that Annie. Little Annie Adderall.

The air disappeared from Troy’s lungs. Pills and alcohol. He knew that combination. “Why’d you have pills and alcohol in your locker?”

“I tried,” said Annie, voice warped by tears. “You pull the fuckin’ trunk and the light was s’posed to go on… and it didn’t go on, I mean, I…”

“What’re they for, Annie?” he pressed, eyes wide, serious.

“Just forget it…”

“You brought it up!”

“I can’t have an F,” she went on, not looking at anyone at the table. “I can’t have it and I know my parents can’t have it. Even if I ace the rest of the semester, I’m still only a B. Everything’s ruined for me!”

“Oh, Annie…” said Britta.

Annie slammed her fist on the table. “So I considered my options.”

“No! Killing yourself is not an option!” Britta said emphatically.

“Well I didn’t do it, did I? No, I don’t think so!” She took a shuddering breath. “I-- They told me they’d make me focused, but instead they just made me lose my scholarship and my virginity and my fucking parents found out and I’m a disappointment and I-- I had to go to fucking rehab, and, the fucking light didn’t go on, I mean, what…”

Jeff looked at her solemnly. “Annie. Annie, look at me. The fucking elephant means nothing. You’re, like, the smartest person I know, and an elephant and a brief addiction to pills doesn’t change that.”

She wiped her eyes, laughed a little. “Five minutes ago you told me I ‘must be a fucking idiot.’”

“That was when I thought it didn’t matter,” he said seriously.

“You’re such an ass,” she sniffled. Her eyes softened. “Thank you.”

Jeff nodded once. Annie smiled. “Well,” she joked, “that’s my emotional confession done. Who’s next?”

“Euuuuuugggha!” mustered Abed. “I bought one of those big binders to store my DVDs in and I left it in the sun, and the plastic sleeves melted to the discs, and they’re all unplayable and it’s MY FAULT!”

Everyone stared. Abed put his head down and sobbed.

“That’s your deep, emotional confession?” Jeff said incredulously.

“I love cinema!” he cried without lifting his head.

“C’mon, there has to be something deeper than MOVIES MOVIES MOVIES in that caramel head of yours,” Jeff deadpanned.

“‘Caramel head?’”

“Shut up.”

“I’m plenty deep, Jeff,” said Abed deeply. “But that has already been revealed, and I’m not attention seeking, like you,” he said, definitely not deflecting, “so I don’t need as many moments of emotional vulnerability. My character is less of the explosive bad boy, more of a fast-blinking, stoic, removed, uncomfortably self-aware type. Like Data, or Johnny 5, or Mork, or Hal, or Kit, or K9, or Woodstock and/or Snoopy, of course Spock probably goes without saying--”

“Okay, you ruined it by going on too long.” Jeff rolled his eyes.

“You’re right… We’ll cut it down in post.”

“The fuck?”

-----

The room felt quieter without Jeff, now that he’d left back up through the ceiling. Britta gazed at Annie across the table.

“Annie?”

“Yeah?”

“You gonna write your paper?”

Annie smiled a little. “Yeah. Why?”

“Well, it’d kind of be a waste for all of us to write one, don’t you think?” “That’s what Hawthorne wants us to do…”

“Who cares about that old jerk?” Britta laughed. She smiled softly. “Besides, I think we’d all kinda say the same thing.”

“You just don’t want to write your paper,” Annie deadpanned. She knew the routine.

“Sure,” she conceded, “but you’re the smartest, right?” Annie smiled and blushed. Britta smiled back. “We trust you.”

“Alright, I do it.” She took out her paper and pencil, smiling to herself.

-----

Troy looked over at Abed. Abed was staring off into space, tapping his fingers on the table. Troy wondered what he was imagining. He wanted to be part of it.

“Hey, Abed?” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Do you…” He shook his head, changing his mind. “Whatcha thinking about?”

Abed answered without moving. “The thematic relevance of ‘yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker.’”

“Oh.”

He looked up at Troy. “Also, you.”

Troy blushed. “Really?”

“No.” Troy slumped, and Abed did that blink-and-you’ll-miss-it side smile. “But that’s what you wanted, right?”

Troy sputtered, because he had no idea what to say to that. “Uh--”

“I’m not wrong, am I?” Abed said, staring at Troy with those inscrutable chocolate eyes of his, and oh fuck Troy was so screwed.

“We should hang out,” he blurted. “I mean, it’s okay if you don’t want to but, um, if you’re free, like, tomorrow? Is that too soon? We could watch a movie? At my place.”

“Cool cool cool,” said Abed, and he smiled again, but this time for more than half a second. The sight made Troy smile too. He wanted nothing more than to see that smile, be the cause of it. Abed tapped his hands on the table happily, and Troy mirrored him.

“A’ight!” Troy said, beaming.

-----

The closet door creaked open, and in came Britta.

Jeff looked up, and quickly shoved the smirk back onto his face. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she replied, leaning against the doorframe. “C’mon. Time to go.”

-----

Annie put down her pencil.

She smiled at the paper in front of her. This was who she was.

-----

Annie, Troy, Abed, Britta, and Jeff walked out of the school together.

Thematically, awesome, Abed thought.

They stepped out at the same time, then stood in a messy blob, waving goodbye.

“Bye guys. See you Monday!” Annie chirped, leaving for her mom’s car.

“See you tomorrow,” Abed said. Troy nodded, unable to contain the giant grin on his face, or the tears coming to his eyes for literally no reason. He wiped his eyes, still beaming.

“Here,” he said, handing Abed a slip of paper. “My number.”

“Cool cool cool.”

Troy waved goodbye and walked to his dad’s car, not caring that his dad just saw him cry. Abed did the same, signing off with a Vulcan salute.

Britta smiled at Jeff. “Guess I’ll see you Monday.”

“Guess you will,” he replied slyly. He felt Britta put something in his hand.

One of her diamond earrings.

“Thank you,” he said looking up. Britta smiled and waved goodbye, closing the door of her father’s fancy car.

And they drove off.

Jeff Winger didn’t have anyone to drive him. Not that he cared.

He smiled to himself, put the earring in his ear, and walked off.

-----

Dear Mr. Hawthorne,

We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. But we think you're crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us: In the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain, and an athlete, and a basket case, and a princess, and a criminal.

Does that answer your question?

Sincerely yours,

The Study Group

Notes:

Heyyy remember how at the begining I said the end notes would be long? Yeah. Well here's my notes
-I really like this line, so I’m gonna point it out as a little pat on the back for myself: “He kept his hands stiff at his side, because Troy was marked STAY AWAY and he should probably play it safe.” He’s-- He’s masking. He’s not stimming. Thank you for coming to my ted talk.
- “‘Race me?’ he repeated under his breath. ‘What?’ he said at normal volume.” Echolalia Abed supremacy!!!
-can you tell Abed is my favorite? I tried to give everyone equal screen time, but some flies are too awesome for the wall.
-troy is so comphet I can’tttttt
-”Well I don’t think I need to sit with you FUCKING DILDOS anymore!” is my favorite line from The Breakfast Club
-Everything Abed says about Jimmy Doohan missing a finger is true :D
- “‘I hate to say I told you so,” said Winger. “So I’ll shout it through cupped hands. I TOLD YOU SO.’” is from an episode. I forget which one, but it’s in there somewhere.
-”The foam ceiling tiles probably weren’t made to withstand the weight of a whole-ass person, no matter how light Jeff had made himself.” EATING DISORDER JEFF IMPLICATION. I do seriously believe Jeff has an eating disorder. I mean, if you look at the show, there is copious evidence of how weird he is about food. I’m not gonna list it all here, but some food for thought. Pun intended. I sprinkled some eating disorder Jeff in this fic just for fun. I also think Bender also has an eating disorder, so that helped.
-I think Jeff is autistic. Did I purposely write him as autistic in this fic? No, not really. But I still think he’s tistic as hell. I mean, he’s Dan Harmon’s self-insert character, and we all know Dan Harmon’s self-insert characters are always autistic!
- “Could you describe the ruckus, sir?” is my other favorite like from The Breakfast Club
- “‘Your birthday is December 19th, you like Mark ruffalo, you’re in second place for valedictorian, you’re Jewish--’” All of these Annie facts are true! Except the valedictorian one.
-Abed has a tampon in his bag. Idk if you noticed. Could it be because he is trans??? WhooOOooooOOO knows.
-also in abed bag are big red headphones, aka his noise cancelling headphones
-Peirce mentions being at the school for 13 years, which is canonically how long he spend at Greendale.
-What Abed says about mythbusters is also true!!
-I have a list of conversation starters that could lead to me talking about my special interests, just like Abed does lmaoo
-The Pavel Iwaszkiewicz that got his butt cheeks taped together by Troy is the same Pavel from the show. And yes, that is his canon last name.
-I could write you a fucking essay on the thematic relevance of the fucking elephant lamp.
-Abed’s list of his favorite movies is canon
-“‘Euuuuuugggha!’ mustered Abed. ‘I bought one of those big binders to store my DVDs in and I left it in the sun, and the plastic sleeves melted to the discs, and they’re all unplayable and it’s MY FAULT!’” This is from the original Community pilot, although it got cut in the final. I put it in here because a) I like it and b) Jeff’s line afterward was originally “That’s your Breakfast Club doozy?” I changed it here because obviously The Breakfast Club does not exist as a movie here (hence Jeff’s reply to Abed’s movie list).
-In the original Breakfast Club movie, Andrew and Allison (or troy and abed here) kiss and stuff, but I decided against making them kiss here, because like I said in the tags I think they need a bit longer. also didn't want to make the ship mandatory
-Bender and Claire (jeff and britta) also get together in The Breakfast Club, but I cut it here for much the same reasons, but also, I am not the biggest fan if that ship tbh
I am so weird about The Breakfast Club. I would not stop talking about it for like two months straight because I am feral :D
please tell me what you think of this in the comments no one in my life is good at giving feedback and I feed on feedback

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