I saw The Breakfast Club at Danielle’s father’s house. We were in the sixth grade. Danielle was my “cool” friend. To be her friend, you had to recite the name of every Guns N Roses album. She wrote the word “ugly” next to people’s pictures in the yearbook (“Sorry” was all she said when I saw mine). She got to stay home from school the day that Kurt Cobain died. Her mom worked at Gloria Jean’s in the mall, and I remember pretending, multiple times, to like the taste of an Iced Latte.
The day I saw The Breakfast Club, Danielle’s father wasn’t home, though it was his weekend with her (this partly explains Danielle). She brought the videocassette out of her father’s cabinet as if it were a piece of fine jewelry or a loaded gun. She said we could get into a lot of trouble. We sat transfixed for the next two hours. Read More »