Daria

in

“The Misery Chicks”

            Of all the creatures that were made, man is the most detestable. Of the entire brood he is the only one – the solitary one – that possesses malice. That is the basest of all instincts, passions, vices – the most hateful. He is the only creature that has pain for sport, knowing it to be pain. Also – in all the list he is the only creature that has a nasty mind.

 - Samuel Clemens, Mark Twain's Autobiography

            Wretched, ephemeral race, children of chance and tribulation, why do you force me to tell you the very thing which it would be most profitable for you not to hear? The very best thing is utterly beyond your reach: not to have been born, not to be, to be nothing. However, the second best thing for you is: to die soon.

 - Aristotle, Eudemos

            To judge from the notions expounded by theologians, one must conclude that God created most men simply with a view to crowding hell.
 - Marquis Donatien Alphonse-François de Sade

            The young girl lowered her book, blinking myopically in the dim light. She frowned to herself and started looking around. The lights around the camp had started coming on. She sighed and closed her book, tucking it under her arm.

            “Quinn!” she yelled. Her voice carried through the area and several campers turned to look at her, but that didn’t matter to her.

Why does she always do this? Dammit, if she wandered off and got lost or hurt I’m the one that’s going to get yelled at by Mom and Dad. She’s ten, you think she’d be able to take care of herself.

            Daria stood and started wandering around the camp, looking for her sister. Quinn wasn’t in the mess hall or the bath house. Daria checked a few of the cabins and then started walking down towards the lake.

            “I hate hide and seek,” she muttered under her breath, glaring at everyone that crossed her path. “Quinn!” she shouted again, “it’s getting dark, and I’m not in the mood to play your stupid kid games. Where are you?”

Great, all the other kids are looking at me like I’m some kind of raving lunatic. After tolerating the Perfect Princess all this time, I may very well be . . . too much time looking into the abyss and all that.

            Daria spun around when she saw a flicker of red in her peripheral vision. She jogged over to the spot she’d seen it, but there was nothing there but the beginning to one of the hiking trails.

I hate hiking. I hate the woods. I hate being shuffled off to camp all summer instead of staying home and enjoying the library. Mostly, I just hate Quinn.

            Daria frowned and squinted her eyes, peering down the trail. She saw nothing except the gathering gloom, and with a look of annoyance she turned back towards the camp. She took a couple of steps and stopped. The flash of red had been the exact color of Quinn’s hair. If it was her . . . if she was running off into the woods at night . . . .

            “Dammit,” Daria muttered as she turned and started following the trail. She walked along slowly for a couple of minutes as the woods became darker and scarier. She kept jumping at what she was certain were harmless woodland noises, being made by harmless woodland creatures. All completely harmless, she was quite sure.

I just know that she’s going to jump out of a bush any second now, and she’s going to scream and wave her arms at me. I bet she’s got a bunch of her idiotic little friends out here, too. They’ll all have a big laugh when I freak out and then run back to camp. I’ll have to trudge all the way back by myself in the dark, and they’ll probably wait and scare me again.

            Daria froze when she heard the muffled scream from up ahead.

            “Quinn?” Daria asked, her voice weak and rusty with fear. There wasn’t an answer, but Daria knew her sister’s scream when she heard it.

God, what kind of trouble has the little idiot gotten into now? Bah, this probably part of the joke.

            Daria squared her small shoulders and marched down the trail. She’d walked another dozen yards when she heard scuffling and whimpering from just off the trail. She pushed through the undergrowth into a small clearing and stopped, staring in shock at what was going on. She could see clearly enough despite the dim light, but for a few seconds she couldn’t believe her eyes.

            Quinn was lying on the ground with a teenage boy kneeling next to her. He had one hand on her shoulder and the other was covering her mouth. Quinn saw Daria and gave her a look begging for help. Daria didn’t recognize the boy, but whatever he was doing it couldn’t be good for Quinn and Daria knew she had to protect her annoying, stupid little sister.

            “Leave my sister alone,” she said, stepping into the clearing. The boy glanced up and smirked.

            “Whatever, four eyes. You run back to camp, maybe I’ll forget you tried to butt in.” Turning back to Quinn, he unbuttoned her shorts and started trying to work them down her legs while she struggled weakly to keep them up.

            Daria took a few running steps and brought her heavy, hard bound book down on the back of the boy’s head. He cried out in pain and lashed out, backhanding Daria to the ground. Quinn scrambled away, pulling her pants back into place. Daria sat up and realized her glasses were gone. She saw the fuzzy image of the boy turning towards her, a fuzzy Quinn standing behind him.

            “Run, you idiot,” she hissed. The boy whipped around and grabbed at Quinn, but she was already sprinting away. He turned back towards Daria with an irritated growl and walked over to where she was still sitting.

            “You don’t look so bad without your glasses,” he said, and reached for her.

            Daria gritted her teeth and closed her eyes . . . .

            . . . she opened her eyes and glanced around the car. She was riding in her father’s blue Lexus, she and Quinn were on their way to their first day at their new school. She turned around and looked at her sister, who was sitting in the back seat.

            “Everything ok back there?”

            “I’m fine, thank you for asking.” The redhead sat with her knees up and her shoulders hunched over, her long red bangs partially obscuring her features. Her baggy black jacket hid most of her slim figure, and her floor-length brown peasant skirt finished the job.
            Daria nodded and pulled her glasses off, polishing the lenses on her t-shirt. The frames had been broken in three places, each spot carefully mended with black duct tape. She put them back on and ran a finger-tip down her nose with a sigh, feeling the lumps in the cartilage where it’d been broken.
            “Now girls,” Jake said, “I just want you to know that your mother and I realize it’s not easy moving to a whole new town.”
            “I’ll have to put a bunch of new idiots in check,” Daria said in her flat monotone voice, “then I’ll need to work up a new schedule for maintenance beatings. Should be fun.”

            “You could try not making a bad impression on your first day,” Jake said with a nervous laugh.
            “What’s that supposed to mean?” Daria asked, glaring narrowly at her father.

            “Uh,” Jake said, his face paling slightly, “what I mean is, ah, that the first day at a new school is bound to be difficult.” Jake parked in front of Lawndale High and turned to look at his eldest child.

            “For Quinn, you mean.” Neither of them noticed Quinn getting out of the car.

            “Both of you, you don’t have to . . . .”

            “Oh, gross!” someone nearby said, “Do you shop at S-Mart or something? That has to be the nastiest looking outfit I’ve ever seen.”
            Daria opened her car door and stepped out. “I’ll try to help her through this difficult period of adjustment,” she said to her father, and slammed the door shut. She took two strides forward to the brunette that was picking on her sister and grabbed her by the throat.

            “So, what’s your name?” she asked in a conversational tone.

            The girl’s eyes widened and she made a few choked coughing noises.

            “Daria,” Quinn said, “it’s ok. She didn’t mean to . . . .”

            “Shut it imbecile,” Daria said calmly. Quinn took a step back and paled.
            “Sandi, her name is Sandi,” a pigtailed girl said, looking near panic herself. “Please, she’s turning blue!”
            Daria let go of Sandi, giving her a light shove so that she fell backwards into the other girl. “The next time I see either of you even look at my sister I will make it my life’s work to turn your existence into a living hell. Do you understand me?”

            Sandi nodded mutely, tears starting to form in the corners of her eyes. The other girl was already in full hysterical weep, and looked like she was on her way to passing out from hyperventilation.

            “It’s nice to know that we have an understanding,” Daria said, and then turned to Quinn. “C’mon, time to meet the principal . . . I wonder if she’s a Nazi or a feel good pansy like we had back in Highland.”

            Daria turned and walked into the school building, ignoring the stares she was getting from the other students.

            “I’m so sorry,” Quinn said to the terrified looking girls. She sighed sadly when she noticed that they had turned away from her, apparently taking Daria’s threat literally.
            “Quinn!” Daria called out, her voice cracking like a whip. Without thinking, Quinn spun and ran towards her sister, almost tripping over the hem of her long skirt.

            When Quinn caught up with her sister, Daria was already standing with a small group of other students. She quietly took her place at Daria’s side and listened to the administrator that was addressing the group. The woman, presumably the principal, was a Korean woman of average height with an annoyingly high pitched voice.

            “As you can see,” she was saying, “our Lawndale High students take great pride in their school. That's why you'll each be taking a small psychological exam to spot any little clouds on the horizon as you sail the student seas of Lawndale High.”

            “Can’t let the weak be eaten by wolves, can we?” Daria muttered with a smirk. The preppie looking girl standing nearby frowned and took a half step away from the sisters.

            “Nobody told me about any test,” Quinn whispered to her sister.

            “Don’t worry,” Daria said snidely. “It’s a psychological test. You’re automatically exempt.”

            “Oh,” Quinn said, looking at her toes. “Alright.”

            “Quinn, Dora, my name is Ms. Manson,” the psychologist said, smiling benignly across the table at the girls.

            “Daria,” she grated, glaring back across the table. “I suggest you don’t mistake it again.”

            “Um, my apologies.” The woman, obviously flustered, shuffled some papers around on the table for a moment. She held up one, showing a silhouette image of two people conversing.

            “Daria,” she said, “what do you see in the picture?”

            “It’s a herd of beautiful wild ponies running free across the plains,” Daria answered. She hadn’t bothered to look at the picture.

            “Um,” Manson said, “there aren't any ponies. It's two people.”

            “Last time I took one of these tests,” Daria said, fixing the woman with another glare, “they told me they were clouds. They said they could be whatever I wanted.”

            “That's a different test, dear. In this test, they're people, and you tell me what they're discussing.”

            “I think they’re discussing pushy, nosy school councilors that have delusions of adequacy. Or they’re talking about ponies . . . take your pick.”

            Ms. Manson blinked at Daria a couple of times and then turned to Quinn. “What do you think is in the picture, dear?”

            Quinn took a fast, surreptitious glance at her sister and then muttered the word, “Ponies.”

            The Morgendorffers sat around the kitchen table eating dinner, a frozen lasagna Helen had warmed in the oven. Jake ate steadily, washing his meal down with a few glasses of red wine. Daria also ate at a steady pace, mostly ignoring her family. Quinn pushed her lasagna around on her plate, but didn’t seem interested in eating it. Helen quickly finished off her meal and leaned back, looking at the others.

            “Quinn, are you feeling ok?” she asked.

            “I’m fine, thank you for asking.”

            “How was your first day at school?”

            “Fine,” Quinn answered, her eyes flickering to Daria and then back to her plate.

            “Did you make any friends?” Helen asked with a sigh. “Meet any new people, join any clubs, anything?”

            “Some people tried to be mean to me, but Daria made them stop.”

            “I’m glad you’re still watching out for your little sister, Daria.” Helen smiled at her elder daughter, who shrugged and continued eating. “What about you, anything interesting happen to you today, dear?”

            “Well,” Daria answered, “my history teacher hates me because I know all the answers, but there are some interesting idiots in some of my classes.”

            “That’s great,” Jake said.

            “Jake!” Helen snapped.

            “I . . . uh . . . .”

            “What your father was trying to say,” Helen said in an exasperated tone, “is that you shouldn’t judge people before you know them. This is a new school in a new town, and you don’t want it to be Highland all over again.”

            “Not much chance of that,” Daria muttered, “unless there’s uranium in the drinking water here, too.”

            “You girls need to make a couple of friends. Don’t be so critical, give people the benefit of the doubt.”

            “It all boils down to trust,” Daria said flatly.

            “Exactly,” Helen answered with a smile. “Show a little trust.”

            “Because that mentality has worked out so well for me in the past,” Daria answered dryly.

            “Daria,” Helen started before she was interrupted by the phone. “Hello? Yes. Yes, she’s my daughter . . . I see . . . listen, will this require any parent-teacher conferences, and if so is it the sort of thing my assistant can handle? Ok, great . . . bye.”

            Quinn and Daria shared a sad look at the mention of Helen’s personal assistant.

            “You girls took a psychological test at school today?”

            “Yeah,” Quinn answered dully.

            “Quinn, honey, they want you to take a special class for a few weeks, then they’ll test you again.”

            “I knew I was going to fail.”

            “You didn’t fail anything, sweetheart. You just seem to have low self-esteem.”

            “That’s too bad,” Jake said, frowning at his youngest daughter.

            “We tell you over and over again how wonderful you are, and you just don’t listen to us,” Helen said. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

            Quinn stared at her plate without answering for a few moments, and then glanced up at Daria with a pleading expression.

            “She doesn’t have low self-esteem,” Daria said. “It’s a mistake.”

            “I’ll say,” Jake said with a decisive nod.

            “In fact,” Daria continued with a smirk, “I’d say that the test just revealed that she has a refreshingly honest opinion of her own value as a person.”

***

            The next afternoon, Quinn walked into her English teacher’s classroom and dropped into a desk in the very back of the room. Sitting next to her was a dark haired girl from Daria’s grade who was industriously working in a sketch pad. Every few seconds the girl would glance up, stare at one of the people in the class for a moment, and then return to her drawing.

            “So,” the girl said after a few minutes, “if I draw a picture of you, is your sister going to threaten to kick my ass?”

            “Only if she finds out,” Quinn answered.

            “Cool,” the girl replied, and started drawing again. After another couple of minutes, the classroom door opened again and slightly upset looking Mr. O’Neill came in. He sat on the edge of his desk and smiled at the students.

            “Esteem, a teen,” he said. “They don't really rhyme, do they? The sounds don't quite mesh. And that, in fact, is often the case when it comes to a teen and esteem. The two just don't seem to go together. But we are here to begin realizing your actuality and when we do, each and every one of you will be able to stand proudly and proclaim, "I am." Now, before we unlock your potential I have an interesting instructional video for you to watch. It explains why self-esteem is important.”

            Quinn frowned while the teacher turned on a television and put the tape into the VCR. When he dimmed the lights she leaned over to whisper to the girl sitting next to her.

            “Between this guy and the school psychologist I’m getting the idea that around here the illusion of mental health is a lot more important than actual mental health.”

            The other girl snorted with amusement. “Illusion is all that matters around here.”

            “Great. How am I supposed to test out of this class if it’s all smoke and mirrors?”

            “I can fill you in later,” the girl answered with a grin. “I’ve taken this course six times already.”

            “Cool, I’m Quinn Morgendorffer.”

            “Jane Lane.”

            An hour later, Quinn left the school building with Jane a couple of steps behind. Daria, who had been waiting outside, smoothly stepped between the two girls.

            “Hi,” Jane said, smiling brightly.

            “Leave my sister alone,” Daria said flatly, glaring up at the taller girl.

            “Calm down,” Jane said, “I’m just trying to make a friend. I’m cool with you hanging out, too. Let’s go get pizza.”

            Daria took a step back so Jane could leave the building, and the three girls stood on the school steps looking at each other.

            “Maybe I didn’t speak plainly enough,” Daria said. “Stay away from Quinn, or else.”

            “Or else, what?” Jane asked, moving forward into Daria’s personal space. Daria snapped her fingers and pointed at the door, and Quinn vanished back inside.

            “You had best step off,” Daria grated, “before you get stepped on.”

            “Witty,” Jane said with a smirk. “You stay up all night thinking of that?”

            “She has enough trouble with boys, the last thing she needs is some dyke chasing after her.”

            “Dyke?” Jane said, glaring down at the shorter girl. “Sorry honey, but I like the dick. What the hell gives you the idea I’m a lesbian?”

            “Short hair, butch attitude, combat boots,” Daria answered.       Jane smirked and looked over Daria’s nearly flat-top hair, her aggressive scowl, and her own clunky combat boots.

            “Ok, look Ms. Crewcut,” Jane said, taking a half-step back. “While appreciate your invitation to join the pot-and-kettle society I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline the honor.”

            “Whatever,” Daria said. “You want to stay out of trouble, you steer clear of me and Quinn, got it?”

            “Why are you all over her case? What’s wrong with letting her make a few friends?”

            “She’s not smart enough to make her own decisions,” Daria answered. “For God’s sake, the girl is so out of balance she got stuck in a special class for losers.”

            “It’s supposed to be a class to help people with bad self-images,” Jane said with a frown. “And I think I’m starting to figure out why Quinn needs help.”

            “Since you’ve known her so long,” Daria said with a sneer, “what profound insights have you come to?”

            “It’s your fault.”

            “What!?”

            “All your sister’s problems . . . your fault,” Jane shrugged. “You’re a bitch.”

            Daria’s face darkened with anger and she waded in, throwing body blows at the other girl. Jane danced back faster than Daria had expected and started using her greater reach to good effect. Jane was fast, but Daria hit hard and a few minutes later both girls sat on opposite sides of the steps panting and watching one another warily.

            “I think you bruised my ribs,” Jane said.

            “Wimp,” Daria replied calmly as she taped her glasses back together again.

            “Sorry about your glasses, I was aiming for your jaw and you ducked.”

            “Not the first time they’ve been broken, probably won’t be the last.”

            “Probably not, especially since you still haven’t convinced me to quit trying to be friends with your sister.”

            “You’re not gay,” Daria said with a sigh. “What do you want with her? Our parents don’t let her have any money.”

            “Sometimes people want to be friends and don’t worry about sex or money,” Jane said. “Do you really think everything is about taking advantage?”

            “Well, yeah.” Daria put her glasses back on and looked curiously at Jane. “That’s the way everybody is. People want things, and they try to take them. By lies if they can, by force if they have to, but if you have what they want then you better be ready to defend yourself.”

            “Why do you watch out for Quinn?”

            “Because she’s my sister.”

            “What do you get out of it?”

            “Nothing,” Daria answered with a frown. “She’s my sister, I look after her. She can’t take care of herself.”

            “Does the word ‘doublethink’ ring any bells?”

            “Yeah, what about it?”

            “You’re not much for the self-inspection are you?”

            “No, that’s a waste of time. I know who I am, I don’t need to sit around and think about it all day.”

            “You’re a twisted little crueler,” Jane said with a sigh.

            “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            “Look,” Jane said, standing and taking a couple of steps towards Daria. “Let’s call a truce. You can’t keep an eye on Quinn all the time by yourself, so let me help. We’ll both keep an eye on her, and we can watch each other’s backs, too.”

            “What do you get out of it?”

            “Two friends, and you and I don’t have to pound the crap out of each other again.”

            “You don’t back down, do you?”

            “Nope,” Jane said with a grin. “We Lanes may wander off, but we don’t back down.”

            Daria nodded and stood. “Alright, we’ll give it a try. You stab me in the back and I’ll break your knees.”

            “Same to you,” Jane said, and held out her hand. Daria glared at her a moment and took the hand, shaking briefly.

            “Quinn,” Daria snapped loudly. The redhead immediately stepped back through the nearby door.

            “Daria?” she asked quietly.

            “You can hang out with Jane if I’m not around. If she gets you in trouble or lets you break one of the rules, you come find me immediately and tell me. Otherwise, you do as she tells you. Understand?”

            Quinn nodded vigorously.

            “Rules?” Jane asked.

            “She’ll tell you what they are, if it comes up,” Daria answered with a shrug. “Now, did you say something earlier about pizza?”

***

            The three girls stopped in the hallway just outside Mr. O’Neill’s classroom.

            “You sure I won’t need a house key or anything?” Daria asked.

            “Sure I’m sure,” Jane said. “Just knock on the door until Trent wakes up and comes downstairs. If you get tired of that, just go on in and make yourself at home. My bedroom is upstairs, first on the left. There’s sodas in the ‘fridge, but don’t eat anything in the kitchen. I don’t want to have to call an ambulance when we get there.”

            “Ok,” Daria said, and then turned to Quinn. “Are you going to be ok without me?”

            Quinn nodded.

            “You stay with Jane, ok?”

            Quinn nodded again.

            “You keep her out of trouble,” Daria said, glaring at Jane.

            “No problem, amiga.”

            Daria stood in the hallway and frowned to herself as Jane and Quinn went into the classroom for their self-esteem class. With a sigh, she turned and walked off. She left the school and walked most of the way home, stopping in front of a yellow house.

            “Huge metal thing in the yard,” she muttered aloud. “This must be the place, can’t imagine two houses with that sort of decoration.”

            She walked up to the front door and started knocking loudly. After a moment, the door swung open to reveal a young man wearing boxers and one sock. Daria’s eyebrows went up as she looked him over: tall, dark hair and goatee, tribal tattoos, thin but decently muscled.

            “Hey,” he said in a deep, gravelly voice. “Um . . . are you selling something?”

            “No, I go to school with your sister.”

            “Cool,” he said, and stepped back from the door. “I guess you can come in. Janey isn’t home right now.”

            “I know, she’s at the self-esteem class with my sister. We’re gonna hang out after.”

            “Oh, ok.” Trent scratched the back of his head and looked down at her. “Um . . . you want something to drink?”

            “Sure,” Daria said with a smile. “Nothing American, though.”

            “Cool.”

            “So,” Mr. O’Neill said, “what are we talking about when we talk about ourselves? Anyone?” He looked around the room and then nodded to one of the boys who had his hand up.

            “We’re talking about us!” the boy gushed.

            “Excellent!” Mr. O’Neill said, clasping his hands together. “When we talk about ourselves, we’re talking about us. Now, I’ve got a little challenge for you: today we talked about turning your daydreams into reality. Tonight, I want each one of you to go home and do just that. What do you say?”

            The students muttered a little, and O’Neill glanced around and pointed at Quinn.

            “You,” he said. “What’s a daydream that you’d like to see come true?”

            Quinn nervously glanced at Jane, who shrugged at her. Then, she looked up at the teacher, who was watching her with rapt attention. Finally, she muttered something under her breath.

            “What was that?” O’Neill asked.

            “I don’t know,” Quinn said, speaking a little louder.

            “You don’t have a daydream that you’d like to make real?”

            “No,” Quinn answered, staring miserably at her desktop. “I just . . . no . . . nothing, never mind.”

            “Come on,” O’Neill said in a chiding tone. “You can share with us.”

            Quinn closed her eyes and balled her fists up on the desktop. Jane could hear the noise as Quinn muttered something over and over again to herself, but couldn’t quite make it out.

            “Well, maybe you can tell us tomorrow,” O’Neill said. “Class dismissed, everyone.”

            Quinn bolted from the room immediately, the door bouncing back sharply from its contact with the wall. Alarmed, Jane followed close on her heels as the redhead ran to the school’s doors and then skidded to a halt.

            “Jane?” Quinn asked quietly.

            “Yeah?”

            “Ok, I wanted to make sure you were with me. Are you ready to leave?”

            “Sure, Quinn. Um . . . are you ok?”

            “I’m fine, thank you for asking.”

            Jane put her hand on the younger girl’s shoulder and slowly turned her so they were facing each other. Quinn flipped her hair around so that her face was mostly covered by her long bangs.

            “You’re not fine,” Jane said. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

            “No, I’m not allowed. It’s a rule.”

            “Can you tell me about your daydream?”

            Quinn chewed her lip and seemed to shrink a little in her already oversized clothes. Nervous again, she glanced back and forth to make sure they were alone in the hall.

            “I wish I could trade places with Daria,” she whispered, leaning forward so that she could speak directly into Jane’s ear.

            “You still can,” Jane said. “Stand up to her, think for yourself. You can be your own person, I’ll help you.”

            “I’m too stupid, and I’m a coward,” Quinn said, shaking her head slowly. “I ran away.”

            Jane frowned, dismayed at the younger girl’s lack of faith in herself.

            “Can we go?” Quinn asked. “I don’t want Daria to worry about me.”

            Jane nodded and led the way out of the building and to her house. When the girls arrived Jane pushed the front door open and walked in, heading to the kitchen. Quinn followed along behind and almost ran into Jane when she suddenly stopped.

            “Trent, what happened in here?”

            “Um . . . nothing.”

            Queen peeked around Jane’s shoulder at the young man she was talking to. He was sitting at the kitchen table, shirtless. Two of the kitchen chairs were knocked over, and one of them was broken. A huge pile of junk mail and newspapers littered the floor between the table and the cabinets.

            “Where’s Daria?” Jane asked.

            “Back yard,” her brother answered. Quinn frowned slightly as she looked him over. He looked surprised, and perhaps vaguely alarmed. He had what looked like fresh bruises blossoming on his shoulders, including a couple that looked like . . . .

            “Oh,” Quinn said quietly. Jane, not hearing her, grabbed her hand and pulled her out the back door into the overgrown yard. Daria could be seen sitting in a dilapidated gazebo, smoking a cigarette and drinking from a can.

            “Geez,” Jane said, walking over to the gazebo with Quinn trailing along behind. “What the hell happened to my kitchen, Daria? You and Trent get into a fight?”

            “No, not a fight,” Daria said with a smirk. She took another sip of her drink.

            “Trent let you get into his Iron City stash?” Jane asked, her voice full of surprise. “He doesn’t let anybody have that beer! What’d you do, blow him?”

            Daria’s smirk got bigger, but she didn’t answer.

            “Wait,” Jane said, finally putting the pieces together. “You just met him, and you . . . and he . . . excuse me.”

            Quinn sat on the floor of the gazebo at Daria’s feet as Jane stomped back into the house. The girls couldn’t hear Trent’s side of the conversation, but Jane’s was fairly clear.

            “You absolute moron!” Jane shouted. “You know she’s sixteen . . . she’s in my grade, idiot . . . and you gave her a beer . . . how many beers!? . . . what the hell were you thinking? . . . ‘she grabbed my dick’ is not a valid excuse, goddamn it . . . you’re going to bleach the damn kitchen table, too . . . I don’t want to know where else, just bleach it . . . God, I only left you two alone for an hour . . . wait ‘til I call Monique.”

            “Monique?” Quinn asked. “He’s got a girlfriend.”

            “Yeah,” Daria said, taking a last drag off her cigarette before grinding it out. “He probably should have said before, but . . . .” She let the comment trail off with a shrug.

            “You would have anyway.”

            “Yeah, but I would have enjoyed it more.”

            Quinn sighed.

            “Don’t worry about it, Sis. I can take her.”

            “I know.”

            “How are you?”

            “I’m fine, thanks for asking,” Quinn replied.

            Daria nodded.

            “The yelling has stopped.”

            “Let’s head in,” Daria said, finishing off her beer. “We’ll see if Jane still wants to be friends with us.”

            Quinn gave her sister a sad look and obediently followed.

***

            Daria sat cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom playing a video game. She didn’t look up at the knock, and a moment later the door opened. Jane entered, with Quinn trailing along behind.

            “Wow,” Jane said, looking around. “The walls really are padded. I wasn’t sure if I should believe you, Quinn.”

            “Quinn doesn’t lie,” Daria said, still mostly concentrating on her game. “First off, lying requires more imagination and a better memory than she’s got. Secondly, the last time I caught her in a lie I beat her black and blue.”

            “You . . . beat her?” Jane asked quietly. She glanced over at Quinn, who was busy trying to vanish under her own hair.

            “Past tense,” Daria answered absently. “I haven’t hit Quinn in . . . how long?”

            “Three years, six months, and fourteen days,” Quinn answered automatically.

            Jane relaxed slightly and walked over to sit on the edge of Daria’s bed. She looked over at the TV screen and her jaw dropped.

            “Daria?”

            “Hmm?”

            “I know I’m going to regret asking this, but are you the girl?”

            “No,” Daria answered absently, tapping away at her controller. Jane flinched at the results.

            “You’re the guy?”

            “Yup.”

            “You just had sex with that girl, and then killed her.”

            “Bitch had my money,” Daria answered with a shrug. “That’s how we roll on the street, home girl.”

            Jane glanced over at Quinn, who seemed to be stifling a giggle.

            “Can we stop playing the scary crime game now, Daria?”

            “Yeah, yeah,” Daria sighed. She saved her game and turned it off, then tossed the controller towards the TV and spun around to face the bed.

            “Thanks.”

            “So, how was Self-Haters Anonymous?”

            “Amusing,” Jane answered. “You really ought to start coming, you can just hang out in the back of the room. I doubt O’Neill will notice that you aren’t supposed to be there.”

            “He’d notice me,” Daria said, smiling wickedly at Jane.

            “Oh?”

            “Do you remember that he was late showing up to the first class?”

            “Yeah.”

            “I caught him in the hallway and explained a couple of things to him, mostly about how he’d better not upset Quinn.”

            “I couldn’t tell,” Jane answered with a shrug. “He wouldn’t lay off her the other day, he wanted her to OUCH!” Jane spun around at the sharp pain in her lower back, to see Quinn industriously writing in a notebook. Quinn looked up at the sudden movement, flinching back and flipping her hair around to cover her face.

            “He wanted her to what?” Daria asked.

            “He was pestering her about one of his stupid self-esteem exercises,” Jane answered, rubbing the sore spot and watching Quinn speculatively. “He has a habit of picking one person and making them answer questions through the whole class.”

            “I’ll talk to him again.”

            “Let me,” Jane said. “We agreed to both look out for her, right? I’ll take care of how she’s being treated in the self-esteem class.”

            Daria glanced from Quinn to Jane suspiciously, and then slowly nodded.

            “Good,” Jane said. “So, what are we doing tonight? We’ve got the whole weekend for homework, so I want to do something fun.”

            “We could go see your brother’s band,” Daria said with a smirk.

            “Daria, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

            “It could have been worse; you could have walked in on us.”

            “Thank you for that image,” Jane said with a wince. “Look, I was kind of hoping you’d like him, maybe a little crush I could tease you about or something. I wasn’t thinking about the possibility that Trent might get picked up for statutory.”

            “Satisfied customers file no complaints,” Daria said, her smirk growing.

            “Also, he confessed to Monique and they had a screaming break-up over it. Well, she screamed, he just nodded a lot.”

            “So he’s available now?”

            “Daria, focus. Monique is about six inches taller than you, and outweighs you by a good bit, too. She has a nasty temper and is probably sitting in the Zon right now downing beers, watching Mystic Spiral play, and waiting for you to show up.”

            “Ok,” Daria said in a defeated tone, “you convinced me, Jane.”

            “Good.”

            “We have to go now; I can’t miss a fight like that. Quinn, go get changed and we’ll head out.”

            Quinn nodded and left for her bedroom.

            “You’re insane. Hell, I’m insane. Insane Jane Lane rides again,” she said with a sour chuckle.

            Daria smirked and started lacing up her boots. Jane glanced over at Quinn’s school books and saw the open notebook. Looking down at it, she saw that the redhead had been working on her self-esteem class assignment: a list of ten ways the world would be a sadder place if she weren’t in it. Ten lines, neatly double spaced, were numbered below the title.

            At first, Jane thought every line was empty, but then she noticed that reason number one had eraser smudges on it. She picked up the notebook and tilted it against the light, and faintly read: Jane might be sadder.

            “You ready?” Daria asked.

            “Yeah,” Jane said, dropping the notebook back onto the bed. “Let’s make like Autobots and roll out.”

            The three girls walked passed the bored looking bouncer and entered the dimly lit bar. The noise washed over them first, then the smell. Quinn coughed quietly, hanging back and peering over her sister’s shoulder at the crowd.

            “There’s Trent and Jesse,” Jane said, pointing at a table. Daria recognized Trent, and assumed the muscle bound long-hair in the leather vest was Jesse. Jane led the sisters over to the table and they all sat.

            “Hey,” Trent said, nodding to Jane and then giving Daria a slightly guilty grin. “Jesse, this is Daria and her sister.”

            “Hey,” Jessie said, nodding.

            “Why aren’t you guys up on stage?” Jane asked.

            “Taking a break between sets,” Trent said. “Nick and Max went to go get us some cheese fries.”

            “They don’t serve food here?” Daria asked.

            “Oh, they serve food,” Trent answered. “If you’re brave enough to eat it.”

            “Ah, well then,” Daria said. “They check IDs here?”

            “Nah,” Jane said. “Not until your second or third beer, anyway.”

            “Cool, you want to go get us a couple of beers?”

            “Sure. What about you, Quinn?”

            “Just a soda please,” Quinn said. “Do you want me to help you carry them?”

            “Sure,” Jane said, rising to her feet. “Ah, crap.”

            Everyone turned to look in the same direction as Jane, and it was obvious who she was looking at. A tall, rail thin woman with black hair was stalking towards their table, her glare obviously aimed at Daria.

            “I called it,” Jane said. “I’m getting in my ‘I told you so’ now, while there’s still time.”

            “You said she was taller and that she outweighed me,” Daria answered. “She can’t even outweigh Quinn, I’ve been cheated.”

            The woman stopped a couple of feet from the table and transferred her glare from Daria to Trent.

            “Hey, Monique,” he said weakly.

            “You put your dick in that?” she asked, pointing at Daria.

            “Um, a couple of times.”

            “Jesus, Trent. She looks like a guy.”

            “You’ve got a lot of room to talk,” Daria said. “How much duct tape did you need to produce that cleavage? I’ve seen better tits on a bull.”

            “Stop staring at ‘em then,” Monique shot back. “With that hair cut and those clothes, I’m not surprised you’re a dyke.”

            “I fucked your boyfriend, you dumb bitch,” Daria said with a sneer. “That’s the reason you’re mad at me, remember? Kind of precludes the dyke angle, don’t you think?”

            Jane glanced around the table and found herself surprised at the intense way the others were following the argument. She knew Jesse and Trent would be all about watching a chick-fight, especially Trent since he was the object of the dispute. She just hadn’t considered they’d be as interested in it as they apparently were. What surprised her most was the way the normally skittish Quinn was openly staring, her eyes flicking back and forth from Daria to Monique.

            “I’ve never heard somebody so proud of being a whore,” Monique said.

            “I’m just an amateur,” Daria replied, “I leave the professional work to girls like you.”

            “You get away from my man,” Monique hissed.

            “He’s not yours now, and if he ever was he’d have turned me down, wouldn’t he?” Daria leaned back in her chair and smirked. “And that’s what’s burning your britches, isn’t it?”

            Monique lashed out, slapping Daria across the face with a resounding crack. The bar noise subsided as several patrons turned to look. Daria slowly turned back to face Monique, a bright red palm print clear on her face and a tiny trickle of blood seeping from the corner of her mouth.

            “Oh, you bitch,” Daria said, grinning broadly. “Thank you, thank you so very much.”

            Daria’s chair hit the floor as she exploded to her feet, burying her right fist in Monique’s stomach. The taller girl staggered backwards and raked her nails across Daria’s face, sending her glasses skittering across the floor and leaving three bloody lines across her forehead and one cheek.

            “Nails? Girl fighting,” Daria sneered, moving towards her target. She took a solid punch to the head from Monique and lashed out again, putting her fist right back in the same spot in the other girl’s midsection.

            Monique got in a couple of more good punches to Daria’s face and head, as if the younger girl wasn’t bothering to defend herself at all. In return, Daria landed another solid body blow and then punched Monique dead center mouth, landing the punch hard enough her boots left the floor for a moment. Monique dropped to the floor and made pained gagging noises.

            “Daria, behind you!” Jane shouted. Quinn grabbed her as she lunged up from her seat.

            “You sawed-off little bitch!” A girl with a green mohawk stepped up behind Daria’s right side and brought a pool stick down on her. The cue shattered across Daria’s shoulder and back, and she was forced down on one knee.

            “Lemme go,” Jane snapped at Quinn.

            Daria lunged back to her feet, tackling the girl with the mohawk. They hit the floor in a rolling ball of fists, elbows, and profanity.

            “She lost her glasses, she’ll hit anybody that gets too close,” Quinn said, pleading with Jane.

            “It’s two on one, I’m not letting her take a beating.”

            Jane pushed Quinn aside and walked into the broad chest of one of the Zon’s bouncers.

            “Settle down,” he rumbled. Jane peeked around his giant bicep and watched two more bouncers grab Daria and the Harpies’ drummer. Monique had staggered to her feet, and stood quietly with a sulky expression.

            “Trent, sit your sister and her friends down and keep ‘em quiet, or else.”

            “Sure, Bobby. Sorry about the trouble.”

            Quinn fished Daria’s glasses out from under the table and handed them to her. Daria nodded her thanks and put them on, just in time to watch the Harpies being escorted out of the bar.

            “Why didn’t you try to stop that from happening?” Jane asked, glaring at her brother.

            “Number one rule,” Trent answered, pausing to take a swing from his beer bottle. “Never interfere with a chick fight. They just beat the crap out of you trying to get at each other.”

            “Yeah,” Jesse said, nodding.

            “It’s alright,” Daria said, “the fight after is the best part of sleeping with some other girl’s guy.”

            “I’ll take your word for it,” Jane said, obviously still annoyed.

            Everyone sat around the table in slightly uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, except Jesse who seemed oblivious to the tension. Trent sipped his beer and stared off into space. Jane spent her time trading off between studying Daria and Quinn, who seemed to be carrying on a completely silent conversation with finger movements, head nods, and facial expressions.

            “Could you guys cut it out with the damn drowspeak?” she finally said.

            “Drowspeak?” Daria asked, quirking an eyebrow.

            “Evil underground elves, they use sign language to coordinate their attacks on their victims.”

            “If they live underground, how can they see the sign language? Wouldn’t it be better to use light signals?”

            “They can see in the dark,” Jane said patiently. “They’re elves.”

            “Oh.”

            “Hey,” Trent said, nodding towards the door. “There’s Nick and Max with the cheese fries.” He glanced at the girls and frowned. “We, uh, didn’t order enough for you guys. We didn’t know you were gonna be here.”

            “It’s fine,” Jane said.

            “Yeah, I’m getting about tired of here anyway,” Daria agreed. “We’ll hear you play some other time.”

            “Cool,” Trent answered.

            The three girls left the bar, passing the blue haired guy and his bald friend on their way out.

            “Cheese fries actually sound pretty good,” Daria said. “Where’s a good place for that, Jane?”

            “Well, there’s ACK!”

            Daria spun around and saw a couple of women she didn’t recognize grabbing Jane and Quinn. Jane struggled with her attacker, and it was obvious the woman had her hands full holding onto the athletic girl. Quinn started screaming at the top of her lungs and thrashing wildly.

            “Leave my sister alone!” Daria shouted, moving towards the attacker and the hysterical redhead. She only got a step before being grabbed herself by the girl with the green mohawk. Monique stepped out from behind a nearby car and smiled.

            “You loosened a couple of my teeth,” she said. “So I figure I’m gonna knock a few of yours out. That sounds fair, right?”

            Daria ignored Monique and continued towards Quinn, the girl holding onto her being brought along for the ride. Quinn managed to tear loose from her captor and sprinted off down Dega Street, still wailing like a banshee.

            “Jane!” Daria barked. Jane jumped a little into the air and came down on her captor’s foot with both boot heels, causing the girl to scream in pain and stagger backwards. Jane vanished down the street after the fleeing redhead.

            It took Jane almost a minute to catch up to Quinn, who was hiding behind the mailbox in front of Axl’s Piercing Parlor. She slowly approached the younger girl, staying well in the streetlight and holding her hands out.

            “Quinn, it’s me, Jane.”

            Quinn glared at her from behind the mailbox.

            “Are you alright?”

            “I’m fine, thanks for asking,” Quinn replied.

            “Ok. Come on, we need to go help Daria.” Jane turned and jogged back up Dega Street with Quinn following along behind. The blue lights cut on in front of the Zon while they were still fifty yards away.

            “Crap,” Jane said, and slowed to a walk. She and Quinn approached to see Monique and her bandmates being put into the back of the two Lawndale Police cruisers. Daria was sitting on the sidewalk, leaning against the wall of the building and talking to a cop.

            “S’fine,” she muttered as Jane walked up. “Jus’ a l’il fi’, officer. I’m fine. Ri’ as rain.”

            Quinn knelt next to her sister and checked her pupils.

            “They’re sisters,” Jane said, as the officer moved to stop Quinn. The policeman frowned and turned back to Jane.

            “Lane?” he asked suspiciously.

            “Yes, sir.”

            “I’m not going to have to bust you or your friends for anything am I?”

            “No, sir.”

            “Care to tell me what’s going on?”

            “My brother’s old girlfriend,” Jane said, pointing at one of the police cars. “His new girlfriend,” she finished pointing at Daria.

            “She looks a little young.”

            Jane leaned forward to whisper, “They’re not really dating, he just needed to make Monique back off. We didn’t think she’d start a fight over it.”

            The cop frowned at Jane for a moment, and finally sighed and shook his head. “I’m just gonna stop asking questions now. You’re a better liar than you used to be, Lane.”

            “Thanks?”

            “That wasn’t a complement,” the policeman replied, and then nodded at Daria. “She needs a trip to the ER. We can call for paramedics or you can take her, your choice.”

            “I’ll borrow Trent’s car,” Jane answered. “Be right back.”

            “I called Mom while you were talking to the lady at the desk,” Quinn said as Jane sat down next to her. The waiting room chairs were small, hard, and plastic.

            “Ok,” Jane said with a nod. “She’s gonna have to come down here to wave insurance paperwork at them anyway.”

            The girls sat together in a vaguely uncomfortable silence for a short while, until Jane noticed an auburn haired woman leave the elevator, glance around until she spotted Quinn, and then begin striding directly towards them.

            “Your mom?” Jane asked, gesturing at the woman. Quinn nodded in response.

            “Quinn Louise Morgendorffer,” the woman snapped. Quinn jerked upright in her chair but said nothing. “What is the meaning of all this?” the woman continued.

            “We . . .” Quinn began.

            “Dragging your poor sister to a bar of all places? And now she’s in the hospital. What were you thinking?”

            “I’m sorry,” Quinn said, looking down at the floor.

            “I can’t believe how irresponsible you are,” the woman said. “After all that your sister does for you, I’d think that you could be a little more concerned about her in return. Sometimes I just don’t know what to do with you.”

            “Wait a minute,” Jane said.

            “Who are you?” Helen asked, glaring down at Jane.

            “Jane, I’m a friend of your daughters. This wasn’t Quinn’s fault.”

            “I’ll be the judge of that,” Helen snapped. “I appreciate you helping get Daria to the hospital, but I think you should leave now.”

            Jane stood and took a couple of steps towards the elevator before stopping and turning back to Helen. “No,” she said quietly.

            “Excuse me?”

            “I made a deal with Daria, that I’d keep an eye on Quinn for her when she couldn’t. Also, Quinn is my friend. I’m not going to just walk off and leave her sitting here by herself.”

            “She isn’t by herself, I’m here now.”

            “And you need to go deal with the hospital people, and check on Daria. The nurse told me that she’s not too badly injured, but you might want to check on that yourself,” Jane said, and then narrowed her eyes. “Seeing as how she’s your daughter and all.”

            “Fine,” Helen answered with a scowl. “Suit yourself, young lady.” Helen turned and stalked off to the registration desk where she could make someone else’s life hell for a little while.

            “Don’t take this the wrong way,” Jane said, dropping back into her chair, “but your mom is a bitch.”

            “Daria gets hurt a lot because of me,” Quinn answered with a shrug.

            “This was not your fault,” Jane said, turning to glare at her friend.

            “I ran away,” Quinn said. “Again.”

            “What?”

            “I ran away, and you had to come after me. That left Daria alone with four girls who wanted to hurt her. If I wasn’t such a stupid coward it could have been four on three and we would have won.”

            “No, what do you mean you ran away ‘again’? This has happened before?”

            “I always run away,” Quinn said quietly. She shook her head and let her hair fall in front of her face. “I’m stupid, and I cause trouble, and then I run away and Daria gets hurt. I’m the worst sister ever.”

            “Daria brought this on herself, when she helped Trent polish my kitchen table,” Jane said.

            “That’s my fault, too.”

            “How the hell is that your fault?”

            “I can’t talk about it. It’s a rule.”

            “That’s crap.”

            Quinn’s eyes got huge.

            “Well, it is. You need to stop letting Daria run your life and maybe try breaking a rule every now and then. It’s good for you.”

            “No,” Quinn said, shaking her head.

            Jane sighed and rubbed her temples. She was pretty sure she felt a headache coming on.

            “Jane?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Why do you care?”

            “Huh?” Jane looked up and blinked at the redhead, confusion apparent on her face.

            “Daria and I aren’t easy to get along with. Why do you care?”

            Jane sighed.

            “You don’t have to tell me, I’m just curious.”

            “I’m just trying to think of a way to say it that doesn’t sound pathetic.”

            “Oh.”

            The girls sat in silence for a moment, and then Jane said, “First of all, I really and honestly do like you and your sister. You’re both fun to hang out with.”

            “Ok.”

            “I have no real family outside of Trent, and I spend more time taking care of him than the other way around. We both have to do what we can for money, just to keep the bills paid and ramen in the kitchen. Trent doesn’t make a lot of money with the band.”

            “He doesn’t have a regular job?”

            “No, he isn’t responsible enough to keep one. He can’t stand having to live by a schedule.”

            “Ok, but what does this have to do with me and Daria?”

            “You two are the only friends I have.”

            “Surely not, you’re so smart and pretty.”

            Jane snickered derisively.

            “You are.”

            “No, I’m a freak. I’m Insane Jane Lane, the creepy art chick that might be on drugs, or might be a lesbian, or might be a Satanist, and has huge orgies at her house every weekend that nobody has ever been to . . . but everybody has a friend of a friend who’s been there.”

            “People say that?”

            “The closest thing to a friend I ever had was that goth chick Andrea, and that was based entirely on shared misery. The only guys I’ve been with made me promise to keep it a secret before they’d come over.”

            “I hate guys,” Quinn said. “They’re all animals.”

            “Yeah,” Jane nodded. “But that’s what I like about them.”

            “Ew,” Quinn said with a small smirk.

            “You’re not much for the guys, then?” Jane asked. When Quinn shook her head, Jane asked, “Girls?”

            “No, I’m guy oriented,” Quinn answered. “I just don’t like how they act.”

            “I know what you mean, some of them can be pretty bad.” Jane looked down at the floor for a moment and then back up at Quinn with a small smile. “Can I tell you something without you freaking out at me?”

            “Sure.”

            “I’ve had a lot of guys, I’m sort of the go-to girl for guys that can’t get their girlfriends to sleep with them.”

            “Why do you let them use you like that?”

            “Better than no attention at all,” Jane answered with a shrug. “I was pretty much ok with it until one of the guys said his dad wanted to meet me.”

            “What did you do?” Quinn asked.

            “I made a hundred bucks,” Jane muttered.

            Quinn stared wordlessly.

            “You’re freaking out,” Jane said with a sigh.

            “I won’t tell anybody,” Quinn said. “We . . . we probably shouldn’t mention it to Daria, either.”

            “After the way she was playing that car stealing game? Damn right I’m not going to tell her.”

            “So, do you still?”

            “Yeah,” Jane said. “I make enough money now that it doesn’t matter if Trent works or not. He’d completely freak if he knew, so I let him think I’m selling pot. I make the guys at school buy me stuff now. Most of that goes straight down to the pawn shop, where they’re half convinced I’m the most prolific shoplifter in Lawndale.”

            “Well, at least the bills are getting paid.”

            “Yeah,” Jane said with a twisted smirk, “And just for the low, low cost of my human dignity. It’s ok though, by the time I graduate high school I’ll have plenty of money saved up and I’ll be able to go to a good art school and launch my career.”

            Quinn nodded.

            “I shouldn’t have told you, I’m sorry.”

            “It’s ok,” Quinn said with a shrug. “At least you enjoy your work.”

            “I guess,” Jane said with a sigh. “I just really had to tell somebody, and I knew I could trust you.”

            “I’m good at keeping secrets,” Quinn said with a nod.

***

            A couple of days later, Daria limped down the school hallway towards her locker. Her ribs were still sore, and her left forearm was in a cast, but she otherwise felt fine. At least, she felt fine as long as she didn’t try to walk too fast or talk too much. She scowled slightly when she saw the two football players standing in front of her locker.

            The short, skinny white guy she’d dismissed shortly after arriving at Lawndale. His girlfriend cheated on him constantly, which told Daria he was probably crap in bed on top of being a blithering moron. The tall black guy was a much better catch, and she’d flirted with him off and on but she’d finally resigned herself to the idea that he wasn’t going to cheat on his girlfriend.

            “Move,” she said, stopping near them. The two guys stepped away from her locker and Mack gave her a concerned look.

            “Daria, what happened to your face?”

            “A steel toed boot,” she answered. One whole side of her face was blue and purple where one of the Harpies had gotten a couple of good kicks in.

            “You gonna be alright?”

            “You want to kiss it and make it better?” she asked with a smirk. “I got bruises in all sorts of places, if you’re interested in helping.”

            Mack stammered a non-reply as his face darkened with embarrassment.

            “You hang out with that art chick, right?” Kevin asked.

            “Yeah.” Daria stepped between the football players and opened her locker.

            “Ok, that explains it then.”

            “Explains what?”

            “Oh, I think you know,” Kevin said with a chuckle.

            “Kevin, shut the hell up,” Mack said. He grabbed the smaller player by his shoulder pads and steered him off down the hall.

            Daria finished getting the books she needed and headed off to English class. She arrived there a few minutes later and settled into her seat just before the bell rang.

            “Class,” Mr. O’Neill said, “I thought today we’d take a break from the tragedy of Romeo and Juliet to discuss the real life tragedy that happened last night here in Lawndale. Let's share our feelings of violation following the loss of our beloved cybercafé, alt.lawndale.com. Who would like to start?” The teacher glanced around the room and nodded at Kevin. “Charles?” he asked, and then frowned when Kevin didn’t answer. “Charles, did you hear me?”

            “Um,” Kevin said, “You mean, Kevin?”

            “Kevin, heh. I'm sorry,” O’Neill said while shuffling though his seating charts. “You . . . uh . . . look like somebody else. What do you have to say about last night's horrible event?”

            “I was home all night. You can ask my parents. Besides, I already have a computer.”

            “No, Kevin. I mean, how did the theft make you feel?”

            “Um . . . sad?”

            Daria rolled her eyes as a few other people in class snickered.

            “Are you asking me or telling me?” Mr. O’Neill asked patiently.

            “Angry?”

            “Hmm,” the teacher said, and turned to another student. “Jodie, how about you?”

            “I think the cybercafé served one very particular segment of the community,” the girl answered promptly, “but it still pisses me off when people take what isn’t theirs.”

            “That’s how I feel!” Kevin said with a big smile.

            “Thank you, Kevin.” O’Neill said before turning back to the second student. “Jodie, about that word, ‘community.’ Isn’t that the whole idea of a cybercafé, to jack us into the global community? I think what's most disturbing about this crime is the symbolism involved. Don’t you agree, Jane?”

            “No,” Jane said flatly.

            “Suddenly, we’re cut off,” he continued. “We can’t hail our friends across the globe and say, ‘It’s a beautiful day in the cyberhood.’ They didn’t just take a few computers. They took the symbol of our virtual community. To visit alt.lawndale.com was to come together with the planet!”

            “Oh, come on,” Daria said, her voice dripping with scorn.

            “Yes?”

            “Come together with the planet?” she sneered. “By staring at a screen for hours? Sitting in a room full of people you never say a word to?”

            “Hmm. Interesting point, Dorian.”
            “Daria,” she growled. Mr. O’Neill blinked at her a couple of times and suddenly paled. He began to nervously shuffle his seating charts.

            “Daria,” he said, putting emphasis on her name, “you believe that while connecting Lawndale citizens to our global neighbors, the cafe was alienating us from each other?”

            “I’m saying if you really miss the place, put a Mr. Coffee in the damn computer lab.” At that, she shared a smirk with Jane while an undercurrent of laughter rippled through the room again.

            “So, in your opinion, what we really need is a return to the traditional coffee house of yore, where you’d watch some performers and share a cup with your friends, face to face.” Mr. O’Neill smiled broadly at Daria, completely missing the scowl she was giving him in return.

            “You’re a visionary,” Jane said dryly.

            “Right here and now, let’s pledge to make Daria’s dream a reality,” Mr. O’Neill said, addressing the whole class.

            “You mean the one where people walking down the street burst into flames?” Daria asked. “Or the one where people don’t read more into what I say than I mean?”

            “No, the coffee house! We’ll plan it, locate it, raise the money, and open it!”

            “Would that qualify as an extracurricular activity?” Daria asked.

            “Of course,” the teacher answered with a smile.

            “I don’t do extracurricular,” Daria muttered darkly.

            Later that day, Daria sat in her room playing video games while waiting for Jane and Quinn to get out of their self-esteem class. She frowned and paused the game when she heard footsteps on the stairs, since no one else should be in the house. The footsteps paused outside her door and she leaned back, pulling a knife out from under her bed.

            “Daria?” Jake said, knocking lightly on the door.

            “Dad?”

            “Hey, kiddo.” Jake pushed the door open and stopping, looking down at his daughter and the very sharp knife she was holding.

            “Everything ok?”

            “Sure,” she answered, sliding the knife back under the bed. “I didn’t know it was you until you spoke.”

            “Oh,” Jake said, relaxing slightly. “Where’d you get the knife?”

            “Grandma Ruth’s attic.”

            “Your grandfather’s ka-bar?”

            Daria nodded.

            “It’s a good knife, be careful with it,” Jake said. “Don’t do anything bad with it, ok?”

            “Sure,” Daria answered, peering up at her father curiously. “Why are you home from work so early?”

            “I got a call from your English teacher.”

            “And?”

            “He was telling me about this coffee house project he’s got going, and he was wondering if you wanted to contribute somehow.”

            “Funny, since I’m pretty sure I clearly told him I didn’t.”

            “Maybe you should reconsider.”

            “Oh?”

            “Who is that dark-haired girl I’ve seen you and your sister hanging out with?”

            “Jane.”

            “She’s the first person I’ve known you to invite over to the house.”

            “So?”

            “And you leave Quinn alone with her.”

            “Yeah, sometimes.”

            Jake nodded to himself.

            “What does this have to do with the coffee house?”

            “Maybe the three of you should do a group presentation, poetry or something. You still write sometimes, don’t you?”

            “Sometimes,” Daria frowned. “I’m not sure if what I write is suitable for public display.”

            “Think it over, ok?”

            “Ok.”

            “I’m proud of you, Daria. No matter what else, you’re my little girl and I love you,” Jake said. He nodded once to Daria and left the room. Daria sat there for a long time, staring at the door with a faintly puzzled look on her face.

            Half an hour later, she was back to normal and playing her game when Jane and Quinn walked in. Jane collapsed across the bed and Quinn sat on the floor near Daria.

            “I feel self-affirmed, don’t you Quinn?” Jane said.

            “I feel very pretty,” Quinn answered in a sarcastic tone of voice. “This whole class is a farce. Maybe I don’t want to be pretty, did they ever think of that?”

            “Whoa there,” Jane said, looking surprised at the unusual vehemence in Quinn’s voice.

            “You had a whole class on how to be pretty?” Daria asked, quirking an eyebrow. She rapidly tapped buttons on her controller, resulting in the sounds of gun fire and explosions from the television.

            “Body image,” Jane answered. “Supposed to make us feel good about ourselves and how we look.”

            “Oh.”

            “Better than what the guys got,” Quinn said.

            “What did they get?” Daria asked.

            “A classroom full of guys and a male teacher?” Jane said with a grin.

            “Nocturnal emissions,” all three girls said after a short pause. Daria and Jane started snickering, while Quinn smiled quietly.

            “Dad talked to me today,” Daria announced. “He suggested we do something for O’Neill’s coffee house.”

            “I’m not sure how I feel about being a public spectacle,” Jane said.

            “Think of it as performance art.”

            “You want to do this?” Jane asked skeptically.

            “Sort of, maybe, not really, but it seemed important to Dad,” Daria said with a sigh. “He doesn’t do the parenting thing very often, he doesn’t think he’s any good at it.”

            “Oh.”

            “He seems to approve of you, though.”

            “Well, that gives me a fifty percent approval rating. Better than some presidents, I guess.”

            “Don’t worry about Mom, she does the parenting thing even less than Dad.”

            “Not good at it either?”

            “Something like that,” Quinn muttered. Daria nodded her agreement and continued sniper shooting virtual policemen.

            “I just don’t know what we could do,” Daria said. “Quinn is terrified of being the center of attention, I don’t much care for it, and apparently neither do you.”

            “I don’t mind attention,” Jane said with a grin. “I just said I didn’t want to be a spectacle. We could do something modest and tasteful, I’d be ok with that.”

            “Got any ideas?”

            “Yeah, but I don’t know where to buy stripper poles,” Jane answered with a shrug. Daria snickered, and Quinn’s jaw dropped in horror.

            “I . . .” Quinn said. “I . . . I am not . . . I can’t . . .”

            “Settle down,” Jane said, making calming motions at the redhead. “It was a joke, ok? Besides, we’d need you to stand in the crowd and urge people to throw money.”

            “Nobody is going to pay to see me naked,” Daria said. “I’ve got too many scars, for starters. You might be able to get some money like that, though.”

            Daria was too focused on her game to notice the uncomfortable look exchanged between her sister and Jane.

            “Nothing wrong with scars, even on a girl,” Jane said. “You should let your hair grow out, though. The Sinead look is very over.”

            “I don’t like hair pulling in fights, and that’s all those dumb bitches ever want to do.”

            “Anyway, what are we going to do at the coffee house?” Jane asked.

            “Dunno,” Daria said. “I’m not even sure I want to do anything yet.”

***

            “I'm here,” the angry looking goth girl snarled into the microphone. “But where are you? Sure, I see your body. Anybody home in that rotting bag of flesh?”

            The small crowd in the coffee shop applauded politely as she stomped off the stage. She walked past the table where Daria, Jane, and Quinn were sitting and seemed to hesitate a second. She gave Jane a tiny nod and continued on to a table in the back.

            “See?” Jane said to Daria. “You don't want to do poetry for this crowd.”

            “Good thing we decided to do nothing at all.”

            “We’re contributing by consuming coffee and adding to the bohemian atmosphere,” Jane replied with a smirk.

            “Thank you very much, Andrea,” Mr. O’Neill said from the stage. “It takes a lot of courage to expose your raw emotions that way.”

            One of the stage lights came on and swung around to illuminate Andrea sitting at her table alone. She was drinking from a suspicious looking, dark brown bottle and when she realized she was being stared at she quickly stowed the bottle away and began glaring at everyone around her.

            “Is that the friend you told me about?” Quinn asked quietly, seeing the worried look on Jane’s face. O’Neill began introducing the next act, but the girls were ignoring him.

            “Friend is a strong word.”

            “Sister in arms?” Daria asked.

            “I guess,” Jane answered with a shrug. “She and I used to sit together at lunch and make fun of people, or just complain about school and our shitty families.”

            “Why don’t you talk to her anymore?” Quinn asked.

            “I hang out with you two now, and I’m not as negative as I used to be. Before that, she started missing a lot of school because of her drinking. I think it’s getting worse.”

            “Maybe you should invite her over to our table,” Daria said. “She can join our gang.”

            “Daria,” Quinn said quietly, her eyes huge.

            “Gang?” Jane asked, quirking an eyebrow.

            “Sure, our gang: we’re the Misery Chicks. She’s pathetic and weak, I’m hateful and violent, and you’re obsessive and co-dependant. We could use a surly alcoholic to round out the membership.”

            “That’s not funny,” Jane said with a frown.

            “I wasn’t joking.”

            “We’re not as bad as you make us sound.”

            “We’re not?” Daria asked. “Should I start giving you examples? Which of us should I start with?”

            “Look,” Jane started, and then paused when she noticed Mr. O’Neill hovering nearby. “Can we help you?”

            “I sure hope so. I’m in sort of a pickle and I was hoping one of you could help me out.” The teacher smiled at the girls, although his smile started to slowly wilt under Jane and Daria’s combined glares. After a moment he started sweating and fidgeting.

            “What do you want?” Daria asked flatly.

            “I just got a call, the evening’s final performer won’t be able to make it. I don’t suppose one of you could reconsider doing something for us?”

            Quinn shook her head rapidly and tried to vanish inside her baggy skirt and jacket. Daria glanced over at Jane, who shrugged and rolled her eyes.

            “Jodie,” O’Neill said, looking at Jane.

            “Jane.”

            “Sorry,” he said, looking even more flustered. “Are you sure? Maybe a dance routine or some gymnastics? I heard you’re really good at that sort of thing.”

            “No,” Jane said, her voice cold as ice. The teacher flinched back from the waves of anger crashing from her cobalt blue eyes. “Further, I don’t want to ever hear anything like that from you again. Understood?”

            O’Neill nodded and turned towards Daria, who was busy giving her friend a puzzled look. Jane stared into her coffee cup and said nothing.

            “D-Daria? You write such evocative things, maybe you could do something off the cuff?”

            Daria slowly turned from the obviously upset Jane, to her terrified sister, and finally to O’Neill. “Off the cuff?”

            “Yes, like a spoken word piece; free form poetry, stand-up comedy, that sort of thing. Just get up and drop some jive rap for the coffee drinkers.”

            “Do I get a little set of drums?”

            “Um,” O’Neill said, obviously trying to think of where he could find a set of bongos at this late hour.

            “You know what, I think I will help out,” Daria said. “You let me know when you need me on stage, Mr. O’Neill. Don’t worry about the drums.”

            “Thank you, so much!” The teacher turned and scurried away, relieved to have solved the crisis.

            “He has no idea what he’s just done, does he?” Jane asked.

            “Nope,” Daria answered, then abruptly turned to Jane. “You’re a dancer?”

            “No, he still had me mixed up with Jodie, she used to do ballet. It makes me mad when he can’t remember who I am.”

            “Hmm,” Daria said, and glanced over at Quinn briefly. “I almost believe you, Jane. Don’t worry about it, though. If you want to keep some secrets I understand, and dance related secrets are certainly the kind I don’t expect you to share willingly.”

            “Thanks?”

            “Welcome. Now go grab your goth buddy and bring her over here, I want to meet her.”

            “Worst she can do is say no,” Jane sighed, and left to get Andrea.

            “You’re joking right?” Quinn asked as soon as Jane was out of earshot.

            “Nah, my sense of humor is lousy.”

            Quinn flipped her hair around to cover her face and crossed her arms. She then slumped down in her seat and stared at her sister from beneath her bangs. Daria sipped her coffee and watched Jane and the goth girl talk. After a couple of minutes the other girl shrugged and stood, following Jane back to their table.

            “I’m Andrea,” she said, dropping into an empty chair.

            “Daria, and the pouty lump is my sister Quinn. She’s off limits, by the way.”

            “Everybody knows Little Red is off limits,” Andrea replied with a smirk. “Sandi Griffin had to wear turtleneck sweaters for a week after you explained things to her.”

            “Nobody bothers me,” Quinn said quietly. “Nobody ever does, not anymore.”

            “Andrea writes angry poetry,” Jane said. “She’s also a decent illustrator and does a comic strip for the school paper.”

            “Really?” Daria asked.

            “Yeah, but I have to keep it all weak and tame or the powers that be get their collective knickers knotted. I still have my fun, though.”

            “Tell her,” Jane prodded.

            “Near the end of last year, the football team made it to the state play-offs and we were going up against some Catholic private school. So I wrote a strip depicting the Lions versus the Christians.”

            “It was a little bit graphic,” Jane added with a snicker.

            “Landon read it, and I swear that girl turned white for a second,” Andrea said. “Then, she turned green and had to leave the room for a little while.”

            “Nice,” Daria said. “How did Li take it?”

            “That’s the funny part of the story,” Andrea answered. “Li overruled Landon and