The Brat Pack

Early Sunday afternoon, April 8, 1984. The Clark Household, Shermer, Illinois.

"There he is! My winner!"

Andy stops at the bottom of the stairs when he hears his father's voice, smiling as he pulls his shirt on over his head. "Hey, Dad."

"Morning, son." Mr. Clark folds the newspaper down, peering up at the clock. "Or should I say afternoon. Go for a run this morning?"

Andy nods, going to the fridge and pulling out the orange juice. He holds the bottle up to his dad, who shakes his head and pushes his reading glasses further up his nose. He smiles at Andy.

"You did good yesterday at the meet, kid. I'm proud of you."

Andy takes a sip of his juice, leaning against the counter. "Thanks, Dad."

"Listen," Mr. Clark begins, turning the page, "why don't we go out for dinner when your mother gets home from work? To celebrate your victory."

Andy grins wide. His family doesn't celebrate wrestling wins, not really. His dad always congratulates him and pats him on the shoulder, then goes off muttering how he only wants a son who is number one. His mother crushes him in more hugs than he can count. And that's that.

"Yeah, that'd be awesome."

Mr. Clark nods. "Why don't you invite Stubbie? My treat." He smiles.

Andy stares down into his cup of orange juice.

"Andrew?" Andy looks up, startled. "Did you hear me?"

"Uh, yes, sir. I just, uh, I think Stubbie is busy tonight." Andy can feel the lump in his throat and pulls at the neck of his tank top.

"Did something happen?"

Andy is quiet for a minute. "We fought, Dad."

"Fought?" Mr. Clark's voice begins to raise as he haphazardly folds the newspaper, standing from the table. "Did he hit you? That rat bastard kid. I should call his father and tell him what great parenting he's done! I hope you socked it to that son of a -"

"Dad!" Andy is shaking, nearly crushing the glass in his hand. "Dad, no, it wasn't like that. We just... yelled at each other." Andy runs a hand through his hair. "It's fine, okay?"

"Oh." Mr. Clark frowns, probably at the sudden need for no confrontation. "Well, that's different. I'm sure whatever it is, he'll apologize for." Mr. Clark stands in front of his son now. He leans forward, resting a hand on either of Andy's shoulders. "Remember, son. It's a dog eat dog world out there. And you need to be focused on number one – yourself. On being number one. Once you make it to the championships next month and win, we'll have that scholarship to Ohio State in the bag. Don't worry about Stubbie."

Mr. Clark straightens and smiles. Andy refuses to look up, running his finger around the rim of the short glass in his hand. "Thanks, Dad," he mumbles.

Mr. Clark leans against the island counter, unconvinced. He folds his arms. "So, what was this fight about, exactly? Is he jealous of you for some reason? Probably for the fact that you're going to make it to college and his grades aren't exactly the best..."

"No, Dad. It wasn't like that."

"So? Tell me what it was then!"

Andy runs another hand through his hair, setting his cup down on the counter behind him. "It was about..." Andy licks his lips. His father is about to have a field day. "A girl, Dad."

Mr. Clark grins, just as Andy knew he would. "A girl? I didn't know you had a girlfriend!"

"I don't," Andy mutters under his breath, sure he wasn't heard thanks to his father's happy chattering.

"Andrew, I'm your father! You should be telling me about these things! Why, what's her name? Does she live here in Shermer, or did you meet her at an away tournament? I bet she's a cheerleader. You should bring her to dinner tonight! Andrew, do the two of you need condoms?"

"What? Dad, no!" Andy put his hands up. "Just. I'm going for another run."

"Andrew, we need to talk about this!"

"There's nothing to discuss, Dad. She's not even my girlfriend!" Andy is at the back door now, hurriedly playing with the locks.

"Andrew, there's nothing to be embarrassed about, nothing you need to deny. We don't have to tell your mother about this, but we've never really sat down and thoroughly had a talk. Now," Mr. Clark grins and wags a finger at his son, not noticing Andy pulling a pair of sneakers on quickly, "when I was your age, there was this girl named Lindsey-"

"Stop, Dad! There isn't anything to tell Mom, there isn't anything we need to talk about, and definitely not talking about that."

Andy pulls the door open, closing it behind himself and hurrying through the small backyard.

"Andrew!" Mr. Clark pulls the door open just as Andy hops the fence and into the road behind their house. "Andrew Clark, get back here this instant!"

Andy takes off down the road.

"Andy!"

Andy has his hands in his pockets and is staring down at his feet when he rounds the corner, smacking into someone.

"Shit," Andy mutters, jumping back. "Sorry." He looks up and smiles suddenly. "Allison? Hey."

Allison smiles back. "Hey, Andy."

"Where uh, where are you going?"

"I was gonna walk to Brian's house, see if he was home. What about you?"

Andy points a thumb from where he had came. "I, uh." He digs his hand further into his pocket, pulling out a small wad of bills. "Do you wanna go get some ice cream?"

Andy and Ally walk the trail through the park, licking at their ice cream. Allison has vanilla covered in caramel syrup. Andy has strawberry with gummy bears on top.

"So," Allison looks at Andy from the corner of her eye, giving him a smirk. She stops and turns around, walking backwards so she can stare at him. "How did you get into my locker?"

Andy feels his cheeks darken. "Honestly? I uh," he gives a small laugh, "I paid Sara Davenport, you know how her mom works in the front office? I paid her to get me your combination."

Allison stops, studying him. Andy stares down at his ice cream, realizing how much of a stalker he must sound like. He jumps when she forcefully punches him in the arm.

"Ow! You hit like a dude."

Allison bites her lip, smiling. "Thank you." Her face turns serious. "I don't like you like that."

Andy goes around her, sitting at the first bench he finds a couple feet away. She plants herself next to him. "Like what?"

"Drunk. And stupid."

"So now I'm stupid?" Andy turns defensive.

"I just mean I know you care what your friends think. And I know they don't think highly of me."

"So that makes me stupid?"

"You were acting pretty stupid that night. Alcohol does that to people, Andy."

Andy crushes the ice cream cone in his hand, strawberry spilling down onto his knuckles. He tosses it to the ground, shaking the rest from his hand.

"I'm not stupid, Allison!” he shouts, standing up. "And you know what? I'm getting pretty sick of people telling me what I am and what I'm not, what I can and cannot do, who I can and cannot be associated with!" He stares at her, pointing an accusing finger. "You're no better than my dad, or my friends. You think you are, you think you're some innocent little saint because no one wants to hang out with you, but you're just as judgmental as everyone else, no matter how many times you claim not to be!"

Allison stares as Andy starts to walk back the way they came. "Andy," she mutters, standing up. "Andy! Andrew Clark!"

Andy freezes at the sound of his name, staring back as Allison comes storming up to him and pokes him the chest. He stumbles back, rubbing the now sore spot. Ow.

"You think you're some saint too, huh? You're not either. You're just as mean as everyone else!" Allison stares at him with tears in her eyes. "We all are, huh?"

Andy watches as she reaches into her bag, pulling out a cloth and grabbing his hand. She starts to wipe up the sticky pink mess.

"I'm sorry, Allison," Andy says, feeling like the breath has been pulled from his chest. "I didn't mean to yell at you."

Allison drops the cloth back into her bag, straightening the strap on her shoulder. "I'm sorry I called you stupid. You're not stupid."

"I like you," Andy says before he realizes he even has. "And I'm tired of everyone telling me that you're not good enough for me."

Allison shrugs a shoulder. "Maybe that's because I'm not," she says, her voice squeaky and small.

Andy shakes his head, reaching out and looping his arm around her. He drags her close, still shaking his head. "No," he says. "No."

And then he presses his lips to hers and kisses her, and for the first time in his life, Andrew Clark does not care who can see.