Don't You (Forget About Assistant Principal Richard Vernon)

Fan fiction

It was a gray Saturday when they gathered again—five silhouettes, older now, softer in the middle, sharper at the edges. The man they had in common, Assistant Principal Richard Vernon, had finally kicked the bucket. Heart attack while arguing over expired parking validations at a strip mall Panda Express. Fitting, somehow.

Claire arrived first. Still polished. Still judging. Her Gucci umbrella matched her trench coat, and her heels clicked authoritatively on the funeral home’s tile floor like she was ready to chair a board meeting or kill a man in stilettos. She looked around and sighed. “God, even dead, Vernon makes us show up on a Saturday.”

Andrew came next, slightly balding but still broad. He wore a sports coat like it was a letterman jacket he couldn't let go of. He and Claire exchanged a nod and an awkward hug. “You smell like tax write-offs and eucalyptus,” he said.

“Yoga and a divorce settlement,” Claire replied flatly. “You?”

“Regret and protein powder.”

Allison drifted in without a sound. Same black clothes, but now they looked curated instead of chaotic—like she'd become the creative director of an Etsy coven. She still had the eyes that saw too much. She hugged Andrew. He flinched slightly, still not used to being touched in his soul.

Then came Brian. God bless him. He wore a suit two sizes too big and shoes you could hear from a county away. He was some kind of tech guy now—two divorces, three patents, and zero hair left. “Is it weird I feel nervous?” he said. “Like I’m gonna get yelled at for not walking fast enough to class.”

“We all feel that way,” Claire said. “That man could weaponize disappointment.”

The last to arrive was Bender.

Late, of course.

He sauntered in wearing sunglasses indoors, a long black coat, and the same damn boots. He removed his shades, looked around, and smirked. “I see the Breakfast Club reunion tour’s finally kicked off.”

“No band, no fans, just an open casket,” Brian muttered.

They sat in the back row, true to form. The priest, a man with a comb-over and a script, said something generic about Vernon’s ‘dedicated years of service.’ Claire rolled her eyes. Andrew sniffled. Bender yawned audibly.

After the service, they huddled in the parking lot like survivors after a storm.

“I still remember him screaming, ‘You mess with the bull, you get the horns,’” said Brian, shaking his head.

“And then Bender mooed at him,” Allison added.

“Man gave me eight detentions in one day,” Bender said, puffing a cigarette. “Honestly, I think I gave him purpose.”

Claire stared into the distance. “He called my dad once to say I had ‘potential.’ Dad told him to stop wasting his time.”

“Vernon called me into his office to say I wasn’t my brother,” Andrew said quietly.

Allison shrugged. “He asked me once if I was okay. I didn’t answer. He nodded like I had.”

Brian chuckled. “He gave me a B in shop class and an A in computer science. Said the world was gonna need guys like me. Then asked me to fix his VCR.”

They fell silent. The sky opened up with a drizzle, like someone upstairs was trying to set a mood. Bender stubbed out his cigarette and said, “You know what the bastard said to me once? Said, ‘You’re gonna end up a nobody if you don’t change.’”

“Did you?” Claire asked.

Bender gave a little half-smile. “Nah. I just learned how to be a nobody on my own terms.”

Brian pulled out a flask—because of course he did—and passed it around. They toasted the man who locked them in a room one Saturday and accidentally opened the rest of their lives.

“To Vernon,” said Andrew.

“To the horns,” added Claire.

“To Saturday detention,” whispered Allison.

“To Judd Nelson never doing another movie this iconic,” said Brian.

Bender raised the flask one last time. “To the weirdest damn club I never asked to be part of.”

They stood in silence, then turned to leave.

As they walked away, Bender pumped his fist into the air, just once—higher now, a little slower—but it was still there.

Some things never die.