So, what happens next? (The breakfast club)

The begining of a day for my therapist

Schermer High.

Oh, how incredibly depressing it was to see you on a Saturday before I'd truly woken up.
It felt almost sickening to be out this early. I wasn't even in the mood to eat breakfast and, if you know me, you know just how off-putting that is.
My stomach growled beneath the high-waisted pastel skirt that I'd had the best time having to pin to the seat as I peddled. 

I sighed, pushing back the hairband, two select front pieces of my dirty blonde hair falling in front of my eyes as I clutched my practical shoulder back. Last thing I'd want would be to have a clumsy moment. If I'd broken my mini camera or any of my disposables right now, I would really just give up and go home. No way in hell would I sit through all those hours with nothing to do.

The library was a familiar place to me. I was hardly ever out of it, planning, meeting with other groups and committees about demands for projects. But on a Saturday, totally empty besides two semi-familiar faces at the front two tables was off. I offered a polite smile before moving to the seat behind the red-headed girl to join the blonde boy sporting braces.
Claire. She was one of Danas friends, always asking for photographs of her design pieces to be put up on the bulletins, posters and newsletters. Not that I minded. It's what I was there for.
The next boy walking in with a large paper lunch bag wore a sports jacket, so I could only guess he was on the football or wrestling team. I didn't know him well enough to get a closer look at the patches on his sleeves to find out as he pointed to the seat by Claire who motioned him to go ahead.

Now would have been a good time to start counting my minimal blessings since John Bender was next to walk in, sunglasses clad, pointlessly touching everything on the entry librarians' desk as he passes, probably pocketing some knick-knacks. I avoid looking at his menacing face as he stops in front of the blonde boy, gesturing for him to move, which he did reluctantly to other row of tables.
Bender sat in the newly vacant chair, resting his feet on the one between us.

Finally, a girl I can't say I've ever seen before walks in with her head hung low, dark hair covering most of her face. She makes her way around the library and finally sits at the back corner, far from the majority of us. I turn to look at her as she turns her back on everyone, but decide there really wasn't a point in staring. Unlike the other two at the front who exchanged a look, snickering.

Principle Vernon enters the room, casting a glaring look over us as he holds a small stack of paper in his hand. "Well, well... here we are..." He addresses, calm voice filled with a venom that makes me wonder how he got this job in the first place. "I want to congratulate you for being on time."

Claire raises her hand, giving Vernon no time to time to give her permission to speak. 
"Excuse me, sir? I think there's been a mistake. I know it's detention, but I don't think I belong in here..." she said, feigning a gentle tone as to not offend the room of people she was implying weren't in her league. For punishment.

Vernon, among everyone else, didn't care, moving on. "It is now seven-o-six. You have exactly eight hours, and fifty-four minutes to think about why you're here. To ponder the error of your ways."
Bender pays no attention, spitting into the air, and catching it in his mouth, widely repulsive, but a great photo opportunity if you look deep enough.
"And you..." Vernon starts, moving to pull the chair from under Benders feet. "...will not sleep. Alright people, we're gonna try something a little different. We are going to write an essay of, no less than, a thousand words describing to me who you think you are."

"Is this a test?" Bender challenged, no one taking notice as we're handed a pencil each, and a piece of paper. 

"And when I say essay, I mean essay. I do not mean a single word repeated a thousand times. Is that clear, Mr. Bender?"