Daria slouched in her chair as her English teacher spoke. "For want of a single nail, the horseshoe was lost. For want of a single horseshoe, the horse was lost. For want of a single horse, the messenger was lost. For want of a single messenger, the message was lost. For want of a single message, the war was lost."

He looked out over the class. "So what does this mean? We’ve all heard it before, but do we truly understand it?"

Daria raised her hand.

"Yes, Daria?"

"It’s a very simple idea," Daria said. "A nail is worthless, inconsequential. But at the right time, in the right place, even the smallest thing can have a disproportionate effect."

"Very good Daria."

Before he could say anymore, the bell rang, signaling the end of school. Daria headed into the hallway, pausing a moment to look back into the classroom. "I will never set foot in that classroom again."

With a shrug, Daria headed out of the school.

#

"Daria, could I speak with you for a moment?"

Helen raised the paper. "Would you care to explain this young lady," Helen asked, her face radiating frustration.

Daria looked at the paper, taking a moment to read the personal ad circled in red. "Moving Sale, everything must go," Daria read, her voice betraying not a hint of emotion. "Books, old records, and one young female, suitable for work as a maid or in an off-shore sweatshop once her will is suitably broken."

Glancing casually up at Helen, Daria resisted the urge to smirk as she responded. "I wouldn’t do it mom. We’ve already got Quinn. We don’t need another will to break."

Helen sighed. "Daria, this is OUR phone number. Do you have something to tell me?"

Daria turned her head. "Oh, yes. The movers said they’d be back in an hour."

Helen’s head snapped around, looking at the door. "An hour? Don’t they know that we have to leave early tomorrow? Are they going to have time …" Helen stopped abruptly. "Wait a minute. Daria, did you place this ad?"

Daria looked up innocently. "No."

"Did you by any chance ‘modify’ the ad Jake sent in to the paper?"

"Would I do that?"

Helen simply stared at Daria for a moment, her eyes conveying every ounce of the pressure that she’d been under the past week. After a few moments, Daria relented. "Would I admit to it?"

Helen shook her head. "Daria, we’re leaving Highland for Lawndale tomorrow morning, and there’s still a million different things that need to be done. I don’t need any trouble from you. Can you just stop tormenting your sister until we’re done?"

Daria thought for a second. "No, probably not."

Helen turned away for a moment, looking over the boxes. "Damn literal teenagers." Turning back to Daria, she gave a slight sigh. "Would you at least try and be nice? Or would you rather spend the trip in the van?"

"The van? Alone with movers who probably won’t say a thing the whole trip, condemning me to an eerie silence for the whole trip?" Daria paused for a moment. "Where do I sign?"

Before Helen could respond, Quinn entered the room. Daria cringed as Quinn looked over the boxes. "Ewww, these are, like, still HERE? Weren’t those mover guys supposed to get rid of them or something?"

Helen shook her head in vain as she walked over to deal with Quinn.

#

Daria walked down the sidewalk in the warm night air. She was done packing, and had been for the better part of the week. Staying in the house would only mean helping the rest of her family pack.

She slowed as she turned the corner, listening carefully. Peeking over the fence, she saw Beavis and Butthead crouched in an open lot. She smirked, watching the two from a distance.

She headed down the street, ignoring the small explosions emanating from the lot. From time to time, she stopped to gaze at the houses gracing the street. It was a strange feeling for her. She wouldn’t miss Highland, not in the slightest. And yet, a strange feeling came over her as she walked the streets, knowing that she would never again see this town.

#

Daria returned to the house to find the rest of her family on the floor, fast asleep on Jake’s bargain-bin air mattresses. Removing her boots to avoid waking them, Daria headed for the single open box of blankets when her father turned in his sleep.

She looked down at her father, noticing immediately that his air mattress was almost completely deflated. Looking carefully, she could see that both Helen and Quinn would soon suffer the same fate.

Daria shook her head. Reaching into the box, she pulled out three large comforters. Folding them, she made herself a makeshift mattress, setting it down in the corner. Pulling out a sheet and a pillow, she laid down to go to bed.

#

"Good Morning High-Land! You’re listening to WASP, the best radio station for the upwardly mobile professional. Now, coming up at the top of this lovely hour…"

The radio abruptly stopped as Daria ungraciously pulled the plug from the wall. She walked over to her mother, stopping a few feet away. "Mom?" Daria took a step forward, speaking more loudly. "Mom! Time to get up!"

Helen rolled over in her sleep.

With a sigh, Daria walked out the door.

#

Helen, Jake, and Quinn were still asleep when Daria returned, a bag in her hands. Taking a seat on the stairs, Daria removed a stack of Styrofoam cups from the bag. She placed them on the stairs, and removed a large thermos. Pouring herself a cup, she set the thermos back on the stairs.

As Daria sat, sipping her coffee, Helen and Jake gradually stirred from their slumber. "Hmmm … Helen," Jake asked, barely awake. "Coffee?"

Helen replied in a slow, tired tone. "No coffee Jake. Moving today."

Suddenly, Helen sat straight up, looking around the room in shock. "Ohmigod! Daria! Quinn! Jake! Wake up! It’s, um …"

Helen looked around the room for a clock, but was unable to find one. Looking over to the stairs, she saw Daria.

Daria glanced at her watch. "It’s ten to five mom. You’ve got forty minutes to pack the one remaining box."

"Forty minutes?" Quinn looked at Daria for an instant before running up the stairs. "I’ll never have enough time to get ready!"

The door slammed upstairs. Helen, shaking her head, looked over at Daria. "What’s in the bag?"

"Coffee and doughnuts."

Jake sat up in a flash. "Hey, thanks kiddo!"

Jake dove into the doughnuts as Daria poured Helen a cup of coffee.

"Thanks Daria," Helen said, accepting the cup.

"Don’t mention it, mom."

#

Nearly an hour later, Jake stood in the front lawn with the movers. "Now, we’ll meet you down at the gas station at the corner. I need to fill up before we can go…"

"Sure thing Mr. Morgendorffer. We’ll be there in about ten minutes."

"Great!"

The movers exchanged a look as Jake returned to the car. They then spent a few minutes securing the van, loading the hand-truck, and doing a number of menial tasks that were much easier without the constant oversight of Helen Morgendorffer.

After a moment’s struggle, she pried the knob off, dropping it in her pocket. As she turned back to the van, a voice startled her.

"You ready to go," Bill, the younger mover asked.

Daria breathed a sigh of relief, somewhat embarrassed at being so easily startled. "Yeah, I’m ready."

"After you, miss."

#

Later that afternoon, shortly after lunch, Daria sat in the van, reading a copy of Beowulf as they flew down the highway. As she turned the page, Bill looked over at her book. "What’s that," he asked, pointing at the page.

"Old English," Daria replied without looking up.

"You can read that?"

"Sure," Daria said. "Reading is easy. It’s the understanding that’s the hard part."

Bill looked up at her curiously. "If you don’t understand it, why are you reading it?"

Daria looked up, tilting her book so that the mover could see it clearly. "The odd pages are in old English. The even pages are the nearest English translation."

"Oh." He looked satisfied with the answer. "What’s it about?"

Before Daria had a chance to respond, the van slowed suddenly, pulling over to the side of the road. As the traffic swerved around them, Bill leaned over, looking past Daria. "Problem Sam?"

The older mover shrugged, pointing down the road. Daria craned her neck, searching, when she noticed a car ahead of them, stopped at the side of the road. As the van slowly pulled up behind the car, Daria could see that it was Jake’s Lexus.

Stepping out after Bill, Daria immediately noticed the flat tire on the Lexus. As Jake unloaded the trunk to find the spare, she shook her head. "Figures. I think the universe enjoys playing with me sometimes." Little did she know just how right she was.

Helen barely noticed the van pulling in behind her. "Dammit Jake, I thought I told you to get the tire checked!"

"I did Helen, I swear! There must have been something in the road!"

Quinn, sensing an open quarter-second, took the chance to complain. "Mo-om, the car’s getting hot! It’s going to completely ruin my makeup, and sunlight is not good for my wardrobe!"

"Quinn, we’ll worry about your clothes later." Helen pulled out her cell phone, looking down at the flat tire. "Jake, what type of tire is that?"

"How should I know?"

Helen dropped her phone to her side, giving Jake a frustrated look. "Well, we’ve got to call and get it repaired before we can go on. We can’t make the rest of the trip on a temporary spare."

"Temporary? Dammit Helen, we don’t have time for this!"

"Mo-om, it’s hot!"

"Quinn, what did I just say?"

"But Mo-om!"

Daria smirked as the movers looked over to her in surprise.

"Are they always like this," Sam asked.

Daria turned her head, looking at him. "Nope. They’re usually much worse."

Cocking his head, he shot Daria a look of uncertainty. "You’re kidding."

Daria shrugged. "Why do you think I’m riding with you two?"

Sam laughed, giving Daria a pat on the back. "You’re all right kid."

#

Daria sat quietly in the car reading her book as Helen burned up the airwaves, desperately trying to find an open repair shop. Quinn, for her part, did her best to play the good daughter in their time of need, whining and complaining constantly in a gallant attempt to distract her parents from the current crisis.

After nearly a half hour on her phone, Helen dragged both Quinn and Daria out of their respective vehicles. Standing in front of them, she stared with an expression of exhausted determination.

"Well girls, I’ve tried every tire dealer within fifty miles of here, and the best they can offer us is an appointment tomorrow morning at 8:30."

Quinn looked up immediately. "Well I’m not going to sleep in the car. That might be Ok for DARIA, but for someone with MY natural beauty, it would be just DEVASTATING."

"Don’t worry about me Quinn. I’ll just sleep in the back of the van. I figure that between the sheet metal and the massive piles of boxes, it just might be enough to drown you out."

"Mo-om! Daria’s insulting me again! Tell her to stop!"

"Tell her to grow a brain."

Helen raised her voice, putting herself between her two daughters. "Girls, I want you to stop this instant! Nobody is sleeping in the car OR in the van. I reserved two rooms for us at the Ambassador Suites." She looked down for a moment, mumbling. "Thank God for relocation reimbursment."

Looking back up at her girls, she sighed. "Can you two just get along until 7 tomorrow morning? By then we’ll be back on the road, and we can forget that this ever happened."

Daria looked at her mother with a smirk on her face. "You know mom, maybe I should just sleep in the van."

"Daria…"

Sensing that Helen’s patience was quickly wearing thin, Daria decided to switch topics. "Mom? Have you called our school and let them know that we won’t be in tomorrow?"

Helen’s eyes went wide as she looked down at Daria. "Crap," she said, pulling out her phone once again. Daria and Quinn exchanged a look as Helen talked once again on her cell phone, this time with Ms. Li. After a long conversation, a loud beep filled the air, causing Helen to shut off the phone in annoyance.

"Damn batteries. Why can’t they make a cell phone that lasts more than a few hours?" Turning to look at the girls, she sighed. "Well, they know that you won’t be in school tomorrow, and I’ve made arrangements for them to show you around on Tuesday when you get in. That’ll have to do for now…"

#

Once the tour moved on, she made her way into Mr. O’Neil’s room. Taking her usual seat, second row from the back, in the corner, she slouched back in her chair. She didn’t want any attention. Mr. O’Neil was usually all too willing to oblige, especially if you took the time to smear your name on the seating chart.

Mr. O’Neil smiled as he walked into the first class of the week. "Welcome, class, to another exciting week here at Lawndale High. I’m sure that you’re all just as excited as I am about the wonderful possibilities that are open to us here. Just remember that you are all our future, you promising young people."

"Now class, it’s time to go over the optional summer reading list. Did anyone choose to read the selected material?"

Looking over the class, a single hand raised as its owner spoke up. "I read them," Jodie replied.

"Um, anyone else," Mr. O’Neil asked in disappointment.

As he watched, not a single member of the class other than Jodie raised their hand. Sighing, he picked up a book off his desk. Holding it up, he showed it to the class.

"Well then, I suppose there wouldn’t be any harm in assigning the book, now would there? I’m handing out copies of ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’, which was on the summer reading list."

As Mr. O’Neil began to distribute the books, he looked up thoughtfully. "Did anyone, maybe look into the books? Does anyone know what this book is about?"

Jane smirked at the futility of the gesture when she noticed Kevin raising his hand.

"Yes Kevin?"

"Um, it’s about, like, hunting or something?"

"I’m sorry Kevin, that is not correct. Although I could see how it would be easy to make a simple mistake like that…."

#

"So what do you know about this Lawndale?"

"You know, I’m not really sure. Mom’s excited about some big law firm, and my father has a consulting business lined up. All I know is that it would be hard to be worse than Highland."

"Eh, you’re probably right." Bill paused for a moment before uttering something that managed to cut straight through Daria’s protective walls. "So what’s there for you?"

Daria’s face flashed a moment of surprise. "You know," she said without thinking, "I think you’re the first one to ask that question."

He looked at her in sympathy. "Geez, I’m sorry. I figured that your parents had talked to you or something."

Daria thought for a second, not particularly wanting to get sucked into a real conversation. "Um, not really … Ours is not to wonder why, ours is but to do and die."

From the left side, the driver chimed in. "You probably shouldn’t be comparing your mother to a marine miss."

"Yeah," Daria replied, "It’s not fair to the marines."

#

"Can anyone concisely and unemotionally sum up for us the doctrine of Manifest Destiny? Kevin?"

Mr. DeMartino glared slightly at Kevin as he walked over to his desk.

"Manifest Destiny," Kevin said aloud. "Manifest … Isn’t that, like, a part of a car or something?"

"That would be a manifold Kevin. Would you care to try again?"

Kevin thought for a second. "Um, no?"

Mr. DeMartino stared at Kevin, ready to launch into an angry rant. Before he could, however, Jodie’s voice filled the room. "Manifest Destiny was a concept popular in the 1840’s that embodied the belief that it was God’s will for the US to expand all the way to the pacific ocean, regardless of who claimed ownership of that land at the time."

Mr. DeMartino stared at Kevin for a long moment before heading back towards the front of the class. While his back was turned, Jodie leaned over to whisper in Mack’s ear.

"You owe me."

"Well, Coach owes you."

"No, Coach owes YOU. You owe ME."

"Ok, Ok, I surrender."

#

"No, no, no, the couches go over there," Helen said loudly as she turned off her phone. "And the television is supposed to go against the far wall!"

"Yes ma’am," Bill replied, picking up the couch from where Jake had asked them to put it and dragging it over to the wall. Daria entered just as they set it down.

"Did you guys unpack my box yet," she asked.

"Is it that little one by the stairs?"

Daria looked over at a small box with ‘DARIA’ written across the top in large black letters. "That’s it. Thanks."

"Are there any more?"

Daria shrugged. "Nope, it all fit in one box. It’s a bit heavy, but I had to make room for my sister’s wardrobe," she replied sarcastically.

"Here, let me give you a hand with that," he offered.

"That’s really not necessary…"

"Hey, your mom’s paying us to carry boxes around."

Daria paused for a moment. She really didn’t want him to carry the box, but she didn’t really care enough to press the issue. "Sure, who am I to argue?"

"Which room," Bill asked, setting her box down at the top of the stairs.

"The first one. With the padded walls."

He walked to the doorway, a strange look on his face, peeking his head in. "This is your room?"

"Yes."

He looked in a second time. "Are you going to, um, have it redone or something?"

"Maybe. Depends if I can get them to put the bars back on the window."

Bill looked up in surprise. "You’re kidding, right?"

Looking over at him, Daria smirked slightly. "Of course. Before I get the bars up, I’ll need at least twice as much padding to fully soundproof my bedroom."

"Why would you …"

Before he could finish, a door slammed downstairs.

"Quinn," Helen shouted, "You need to take some of your boxes upstairs and start unpacking."

"Mo-om! You don’t want me to get all puffy before my first day at a new school! I’d be ruined."

"Well, they can’t stay in the hallway"

"Why can’t the movers do it?"

"Because they’re moving the furniture in first."

Looking over at Daria, Bill smiled. "I should probably get back to moving or something before your mother finds out."

"Um, Ok." Daria hesitated a moment. "Thanks."

"Don’t mention it. That’s what we’re here for."

#

"Esteem... a teen. 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 continue..."

Jane leaned back slightly, well aware of what was happening in her seventh attempt at the course. Pulling out a sketchbook, she began to work quietly as the class progressed. Shifting forward slightly, she began to draw quickly in her sketchbook. For some reason, these silly esteem classes gave Jane a chance to really tap into her artistic side, more so than even in her house. Maybe it was the different setting, or maybe it was just the fact that she wasn’t serenaded by ‘Icebox Woman’ every twenty minutes.

"Jane?"

Without looking up, Jane responded to Mr. O’Neil. "There’s no such thing as the right weight, or the right height, only what’s right for me."

"Very good Jane."

Jane shook her head as he went back to lecturing.

#

She shook her head as she headed for the door. True, she didn’t have much, but that didn’t really bother her. She wasn’t particularly interested in owning a lot of junk anyway. It just got in the way. As she opened the door to her room, she was surprised to find a box sitting outside the door, with a note lying on top of it. Opening it, she read it aloud to herself.

"Daria – Just thought you should have something in Lawndale for you. Our previous clients left it, and I don’t think they’ll miss it."

Prying open the box, Daria was surprised to see a microwave lying inside. "Well, I guess I can cook lasagna in my room now." Lifting the box, she carried it over to her closet. Setting it down, she turned, a slight smile on her face. She closed the closet door, and was immediately assailed by a loud debate going on in the kitchen.

"But pizza is so fattening, and greasy!"

"Quinn, we’ve already ordered the pizza. I don’t think one night is going to cause you any trouble."

Sighing, Daria made her way down the stairs, entering the kitchen.

"Mo-om, I’ll have to eat, like, a million carrot sticks to get rid of all of that fat!"

Daria smirked. "That many carrot sticks will make your skin turn orange, you know."

"See mom! I just can’t have pizza."

Daria turned to Quinn. "Can I have yours?"

"Daria! Quinn! Stop this right now!" Helen walked up, next to the two girls. "Until Jake or I can get to the store, there will be absolutely no complaining about the choice of food, understood?"

Daria looked up. "Fine by me, as I wasn’t …"

"Providing information or otherwise inciting others to complain will be dealt with in exactly the same manner."

Daria sighed. "Has anyone ever told you that you can be pretty ruthless when you set your mind to it?"

Helen looked at her daughter, slightly surprised. "Of course they have Daria. Why do you think they hired me?"

#

Early the next morning, Jake brought Daria and Quinn in to school. Jake pulled up to the front of the school, dropping Daria and Quinn off.

"Now you two have a nice time."

Daria responded as she climbed out of the car. "Dad, it’s school. You’re not supposed to have fun."

"Yeah, they make you, like, learn stuff…"

Daria turned to Quinn with a sly smile. "Why Quinn, did you actually agree with me?"

Quinn stood upright with a start, banging her head against the car door as she got out. "Ohmigod! Did I? I couldn’t have; that would be, like, sooo wrong…"

"Now girls, there’s no reason to …"

"Oops, gotta go dad, I think that’s Ms. Li waiting for us."

Daria and Quinn started towards the door as Jake drove off to work. As they approached the door, Daria glanced over at Quinn. "Why did we have to come in early?"

Quinn replied matter of factly. "Because mom said so?"

Daria shook her head. "Can you really be so stupid?"

"I don’t have to answer that. It’s like, in the Bill of Sights or something."

Before Daria could respond, Ms. Li opened the school door, waving the sisters inside. "You must be the Morgendorffer girls. I’m Ms. Li, the principal of this school. As you’re new here, I’ll give you a brief tour, starting with the metal detector, and then you’re both scheduled to meet with Mrs. Manson."

Daria looked at Ms. Li. "Who’s Mrs. Manson?"

"She’s our school psychiatrist. She’ll be administering a simple psychological test, to help us get to know you better."

"They didn’t say anything about a test," Quinn whined.

"Relax Quinn," Daria said. "They just want to know who will make good drones, and who to kill outright."

Ms. Li glared at Daria, clearly not amused in the least at the situation. "Ms. Morgendorffer, the Supreme Court has determined that a simple psychological examination is not a significant intrusion upon a student’s constitutional rights."

Daria looked at Ms. Li with an apathetic expression. "And that which is not wrong MUST be right?"

Ms. Li merely looked at Daria, considering the new arrival carefully. "Right this way please."

#

Inside an office, Daria and Quinn sat opposite Ms. Manson as she pulled out a card with a picture of a couple on it.

"What do you see in the picture Quinn?"

"It's a picture of two people talking."

She made a quick note in her notebook. "Can you make up a little story about what it is they're discussing?"

"Oh. Okay, then. Let's see... they've been going out for awhile, and he's upset because other people keep asking her out, and she saying she can't help it if she's attractive and popular, and besides, nobody ever said they were going steady, and if he does want to go steady he's got to do a lot better than movie, burger, back seat, movie, burger, back seat, because there are plenty of guys with bigger back sets waiting to take her someplace nice!"

Daria sighed as Quinn finished her spiel. "That’s very good Quinn," Mrs. Manson said as she jotted a few notes in her notebook. Setting down her pen, she turned to Daria. "Now what do you see here Daria?"

Daria looked at the card for a long moment before responding. "I see a herd of wild ponies running free across the plain."

Mrs. Manson looked a bit askance. "Um, no Daria. It’s a picture of two people talking."

Staring across the table, Daria allowed the slightest hint of a whine to mix with her sarcastic deadpan. "Last time I took this test they told me it could be whatever I wanted."

Mrs. Manson closed her eyes for a brief moment. "That’s a different test Daria. In this test, it’s a picture of two people talking."

"Oh, I see." Daria thought for a moment. "Ok, he’s a professor in a prestigious psychiatric school, and she’s an inquisitive student. She’s asking him how psychiatry can ever work with an uncooperative patient, as anyone with more intelligence than roofing tar can figure out the stock answers that everyone wants to hear. He made the claim that most people who do see a psychiatrist really do want to be helped, or else they wouldn’t go in the first place. She’s countering, claiming that with the incidence of mandatory psychiatric evaluations on the rise, the days when the patient and psychiatrist share a common goal are long gone. "

Mrs. Manson made a quick note, dropping her pen in her notebook in frustration. "It’s just about time for class. You two don’t want to be late to your first class."

"Don’t bet on it," Daria said, walking out of the room.

#

Quinn looked up as a creak reverberated down the hallway from the opening doors. "Ok, people will be here now, so I can’t be seen with you," Quinn said, departing.

Daria stood alone in the hallway, watching Quinn hurry off. "Now why does this feel so familiar?" Shouldering her bag, Daria crossed the hallway, entering Mr. DeMartino’s classroom.

#

A few minutes later, the class began as Mr. DeMartino entered the classroom. "Class, it would appear that we have a new student today. Would Miss Dara Morgendorffer please stand?"

Reluctantly, Daria stood.

"Although I do find it suspicious that we have a new student on Tuesday, when district policy specifically states that new students are introduced on Mondays…"

"Ok, you’ve caught me," Daria said sarcastically, uncomfortable at the focused attention. "I’m actually a Russian spy sent under deep cover to infiltrate the US school system. I’ve been trained in cryptography, identification fraud, under-cover operations, and hand to hand combat, but I was still stupid enough to request special treatment and get into school four whole days earlier."

"Whoa, cool," Kevin said.

"Kevin," Mr. DeMartino said in a condescending tone, "She was obviously being sarcastic."

"Huh?"

"She’s like, not telling the truth babe," Brittany interjected.

"Oh," Kevin replied in disappointment.

Ignoring Kevin and Brittany for a moment, Mr. DeMartino looked back at Daria. "Do you have anything else to add Ms. Morgendorffer?"

"Daria."

"What?"

"My name is Daria," she said, sitting down in her chair.

#

During lunch, Jane sat on the school roof, sketching in the enveloping silence. As she worked, a sketch of Daria and Mr. DeMartino took form, showing the normally confrontational teacher beaten, for once, at his own game.

#

Daria sat alone in the living room that night, writing in her notebook. As she turned the page, the front door opened. Helen walked in, setting down her briefcase. "Where’s your sister?"

Daria responded without looking up. "On a date. Something about having to keep up with some fashion club or something."

"Fashion club?"

Realizing that she wouldn’t get any work done until Helen was satisfied, Daria set her notebook down on the table. "Quinn met someone named Brittany, who convinced her to be a cheerleader. But apparently, there’s some fashion club group that doesn’t like the cheerleaders too much and is threatening Quinn’s popularity."

Helen cocked her eye suspiciously at Daria. "Daria, why do you know so much about Quinn’s day?"

Daria sighed. "Because I also know that you got a call stating that I’ve been an obnoxious bitch today, and I figured that it couldn’t hurt."

"Aggressive and confrontational, actually. They’d like you to take a special class to improve your self esteem."

Daria looked up, her eyes hardening. "No."

"Won’t you at least consider it?"

"I was up late last night listening through the padded walls to Quinn complaining that nobody had unpacked her boxes, leaving me with a pounding headache for most of the day. On top of that, I had to go in early, only to be subjected to an incompetent psychological test. So I see no problem with being a little confrontational with teachers when they give me a hard time."

"Oh." Helen took a step back, considering. "Ok, you don’t need to go PROVIDED that you at least make an effort to be nicer."

"That’s asking an awful lot…"

"Daria…"

"Fine, I’ll try."

#

Daria stood in front of her locker, staring inside as she waited for classes to start. As she slowly pulled her books from the locker, Quinn tapped her shoulder.

"Daria?"

Daria turned, looking at Quinn. "Yes Quinn?"

Quinn looked around, making sure that nobody important was watching them. "Could you, um, help me with a paper? Like, could you write it?"

Daria looked over at Quinn, saying nothing.

"There’s this stupid paper that I have to write for History, and it’s like really boring stuff that you probably find, like, really interesting, because I figured that you’re into that type of stuff, right?"

Daria sighed. "Quinn, you’ve forgotten the most important part of our discussion."

Quinn thought for a moment. "Oh, yeah. It’s on the revolution. Five pages."

Daria smirked. "Not that Quinn. How much?"

Quinn scowled slightly. "Ten"

"Forty."

"Twenty"

"Thirty"

"Done," Quinn said reluctantly. "I’ll need it by this afternoon."

"Wait a minute," Daria said. "There’s no way I could write it by this afternoon, even if I wanted to."

Quinn pleaded with Daria. "Please? It’s really important."

"No. It doesn’t matter. I simply don’t have time to finish it, no matter how important it is."

Quinn was about to press the issue when she heard Brittany’s high-pitched squeak around the corner. "Um, I’ve got to go," she said quickly. Daria scowled slightly as Quinn headed around the corner to avoid any association between her and Daria.

#

Mr. O’Neil stood in front of the classroom, looking over the students in gleeful anticipation. His gaze flitted past Daria, sitting in the second row with some interest. He knew her to be a good student; even after this short time, there was no room left for doubt. But she just seemed, well, downbeat, frustrated with the world.

Timothy perked up as the bell rang. He knew that with a little work, she could see the power of positive thinking for herself.

"Class? Could you please take your seats?"

Slowly, the students sat down in their seats, gradually winding down their conversations. Mr. O’Neil walked forward, a stack of papers in his hands. As he handed them back, he simultaneously addressed the class.

"I’m now handing back your essays on whether or not Mac Beth would have been a more powerful play without all the violence and killing." He handed a paper to Daria. "An interesting premise Daria, that works are representative of their times, that a writer’s most powerful works are those that he or she actually knows." He took a breath. "I fear, however, that you didn’t grasp the true meaning of the assignment."

Daria looked up at him with a detached gaze. "Oh, I grasped it. But it promptly filed a lawsuit, so I had to let it go."

He walked away from Daria, continuing to hand back the assignments. As he handed the final paper back, he made his way back to his desk, standing squarely in front of it.

"Now that you have your papers back, I regret to inform you that there was a problem with this assignment."

"Only one," Daria asked softly.

"Aw man," Kevin said, "I changed the frond and everything."

"Kevin," Mr. O’Neil said, "Changing the font is still copying."

"It is? Man!"

"Now, according to school regulations, I’m supposed to report all of you to Ms. Li." Timothy paused, watching for any response other than apathy. He did not receive it. "But instead, I thought that perhaps we could make something positive come out of this."

"I was thinking that we could do a collaborative project for a change. That way, you can all work with a partner, and you won’t have to worry about the whole copying problem. Won’t that be great?"

Daria raised her hand.

"Yes? Daria?"

"Can I work alone?"

"I don’t think so Daria. That would defeat the whole point of the assignment."

Daria shrugged. "Yes, I know."

#

As the class finished, Daria stood up, closing her notebook. A girl walked up behind her as she was putting her books away.

"Um, Daria was it?"

Daria turned. Standing behind her was a girl dressed in red and black. "Yes?"

"I’m Jane. Your partner?"

"Oh."

Jane cocked an eyebrow at Daria. "Something wrong?"

"Always." Daria paused for a moment. "But mostly, I’m tired of all these touchy-feely assignments."

"That’s Mr. O’Neil for you. He’s always trying to make you feel good about yourself."

"So I’ve noticed." Daria looked at her bag as she picked it up. "I guess we should get together or something. Are you free after school?"

Jane shrugged. "Pretty much. I can always skip out on the self-esteem class."

Daria looked around at the nearly empty classroom. "So, um, where do you want to meet?"

"Um," Jane said, "my house is a bit busy lately." The Spiral had been ‘honing their new sound’ for a few weeks, a sound suspiciously similar to their old sound.

"Well, I guess you could come over to my place," Daria offered.

"Um, sure." Jane accepted, hearing the uncertainty in Daria’s voice.

"I guess I’ll see you then," Daria said, heading out of the room.

#

"Daria!"

"The answer is still ‘no’ Quinn."

Quinn stepped in front of Daria, blocking her path. "But Daria, I got an extension until tomorrow!"

"So you want me to spend all night pulling together research and writing a paper for you so you can go out on your dates and have fun?"

Quinn smiled. "I knew you’d understand!"

Daria stepped around her younger sister, forcing her to keep up with her. "I understand perfectly Quinn. That doesn’t mean that I’ll help you."

"But we’re sisters!"

"Only when you need something," Daria said dryly. "Otherwise, we’re cousins."

"Daria, you simply don’t know how fickle popular people can be. Do you know how dangerous it is for me to even be seen with you?"

Daria shot her sister a dirty look. "I know Quinn, I simply don’t care." Daria stopped, turning to face Quinn. "Look, I have some stupid assignment that Mr. O’Neil stuck me with. I’m not going to have time to do your paper. End of story."

Quinn looked at Daria desperately. "I’ll pay you."

"You were paying me anyway."

"I’ll pay you more."

Daria smirked. "Well that’s a different story."

Quinn perked up. "So you’ll do it?"

"No. But it’s a different story." Daria headed off to her next class.

"Please Daria?"

Daria ignored her sister, stepping into the classroom and the temporary silence.

#

Daria answered the door, looking somewhat flustered. Unfortunately, Jane failed to pick up on this. "Come on in," Daria said, waving Jane into the living room. "Welcome to the house that lawsuits built."

Daria pulled out a notebook, setting it on the table. "I guess we should get started."

Jane pulled out the assignment sheet, reading from it. "Construct a creative story in which the protagonist must resolve a major conflict without resorting to violence or conflict."

"Do you think we could just turn in a report on Gandhi and be done with it?"

"So in other words, we have to write a dull, worthless story that nobody would ever want to read in order to make him feel good about life?"

"Wow," Jane said, "You’ve really got him pegged."

"He makes it easy."

"Daria?"

Daria looked back to see Quinn coming down the stairs. Quinn stepped into the living room, suddenly noticing Jane.

"Who’s this?"

"This," Daria said, "Is Jane. She is here to work with me on a project. While she is here, you will not be. I don’t care if you go out with your friends, sit in your room, or find a last minute date. I don’t want to see you. Is that clear?"

"Um …" Quinn looked at her sister, coming to a sudden realization that maybe she’d pushed her a little too much. "Ok," she said apologetically, "I’ll just, um, go back to my room."

Daria returned to the table, putting Quinn out of her mind. "Sorry about that. Back to work?"

#

Jane shook her head. As one of many children, sibling rivalry was nothing new to her. But she had never, to her knowledge, seen anyone cut someone down as quickly and forcefully as Daria had, in such a cold and calculating manner. If Daria could do this to her own sister with scarcely a thought, what would she do to someone she barely knew? Jane decided that she had to be very careful around her.

#

Quinn opened the door slowly, looking at her sister with trepidation. "Um, I’m sorry?"

"Quinn," Daria said, sighing slightly, "I may have been a bit rude earlier, but you have been bothering me constantly since this morning."

"But I need to get the paper done!"

"Quinn, if you spent half the time on the paper that you’ve spent bothering me, it would be done already."

Quinn thought about this for a moment. Despite her best attempts, she was unable to come up with a good response.

"The more you pester me, the less likely I am to help you at all." Daria headed out of the room, pausing to look back for a final statement. "And don’t ever pester me when I’m working with someone, or I swear I’ll come up during one of your big cheerleading practices and congratulate my ‘successful little sister’ in front of everyone."

"You wouldn’t!"

Daria looked back at Quinn with a cold stare. "Remember Quinn, I’m not popular. I have nothing to lose."

Daria closed the door, leaving a frightened Quinn sitting on her bed.

#

And so it came, several months later, that Daria sat alone on the grass outside the school, reading in lonely solitude.

"Um, Daria?"

Daria looked up from her notebook, somewhat surprised to see Jodie standing there. People came to her for help from time to time, but only when they were desperate. Or, in Brittany’s case, when they were too stupid to know that people were supposed to be intimidated by her. Daria set down her notebook. "Yes Jodie?"

"Could you help me with something?"

This gave Daria pause. If Jodie was asking her for help, it must be something pretty bad. "Sure, pull up a seat. Despite the rumors, I really don’t bite."

Apparently satisfied with the response, Jodie sat down, pulling a notebook from her pack. "An ex-lions QB is coming to visit Lawndale, and I have to put together a welcoming speech."

"Why do I care?"

"Fine. Don’t help me."

"What," Jodie asked flatly.

"I didn’t mean that like it sounded." Daria hesitated a moment before explaining further. "I didn’t mean to belittle you. I just don’t understand what the big deal is. Who is this kid anyway?"

"Tommy Sherman? He was the Lawndale QB a while back. He managed to win a state championship for Lawndale. He loved running in the winning touchdown himself, but also loved the crowd’s attentions. He got so distracted that he broke his own nose on the goalpost. Twice. "

"Ok," Daria said. "I think I see why the school is interested in him. I still don’t care."

"Join the crowd. Anyway, the school is getting a nice new goalpost that’s designed to break away rather than break your nose, and they want to dedicate it to him."

"And you got drafted to write the polite kiss-up welcoming speech, right?"

"That’s about the size of it. And I’m sick and tired of getting Kevin’s ‘Point of View’ on the issue."

Daria looked at Jodie sullenly. "I’m afraid I’m not the person to ask about happy, polite speeches." After a thoughtful pause, Daria offered a final statement. "But if you want someone to look it over when you’re done, I’ll try and help if you want."

Jodie smiled slightly. "Thanks Daria." Standing up, she looked down at her. "You know, you’re not as bad as people think.

Daria smirked. "Just don’t let it get out."

#

As Daria watched from down the hall, Brittany stormed away from a confused Tommy Sherman. "All right, all right, he can watch. Hey, where are you going? Did someone flash the bimbo signal?"

As Brittany turned the corner, Kevin came up to Tommy, adoration in his eyes. "Tommy Sherman!"

"That's my name. Don't wear it out."

"I've used that!"

Tommy looked over at Kevin, unimpressed with what he saw. "What do you want?"

"I'm Kevin Thompson. This is Michael Jordan Mackenzie."

Tommy gave Mack a questioning look. "Michael Jordan Mackenzie? You're kidding right?"

Mack answered quickly, with an answer clearly practiced on many earlier occasions. "It was Michael James Mackenzie, but Dad went to a Bulls playoff game when I was 12 and then he changed it."

"That's sick man." Tommy laughed. "So what, are you guys on the intramural squad or something?"

Kevin was quick to respond. "Varsity dude! I'm the QB!"

Tommy laughed. Confused, an uncertain Kevin joined in. As he did, Tommy looked at Kevin strangely. "Why are you laughing?"

"Um, why are you?"

"I'm just picturing a scrawny little guy like you trying to play for some third-rate junior college somewhere and getting your butt kicked every week."

"Oh, yeah. That's funny," Kevin said half-heartedly.

Mack looked at Tommy much more coldly than before. "No it isn't."

Brittany walked by the two, diverting Kevin’s attention from his attempts at comprehension. "Hey Britt! Did you meet Tommy Sherman?"

"Yes!" Brittany ran off in a huff.

"Hey babe, what's the matter," Kevin asked, chasing after her.

Mack looked to Tommy, his formal tone masking his growing dislike for the big football star. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Yeah. Make sure father doesn't go to any Whoopi Goldberg movies!"

Mack walked off, leaving Tommy Sherman standing alone. Carrying himself with a pompous air, he walked to the side of the hallway, leaning back against the lockers to ogle the passing female students.

"Excuse me," Daria said, coming up to him.

"You're kidding, right? You think I'm going to talk to you?"

Daria looked up at Tommy Sherman, standing squarely in front of her locker. "Why would I want to?"

"You said ‘excuse me’"

"You’re standing in front of my locker."

Tommy looked confused for a moment. "Do you know who I am? Tommy Sherman?"

"I know the whole school's turning itself inside out because of some egotistical football player. And I've seen you insult or proposition just about everyone you come across. So my guess is that you're the football player guy. Congratulations you must have worked very hard to become a colossal jerk so quickly."

Tommy considered this for a second, not expecting this response. Finally, he shrugged. "You know what Tommy Sherman's going to do now? He's going to go out onto the field and check out his new goal post. He's going to read the plaque and think of all the people who admire him. But you wouldn't know anything about that. You're one of those misery chicks. Always moping about what a cruel world it is, making a big deal about it so people won't notice that you're a loser."

As Tommy Sherman headed down the hall to admire the goalpost, Daria opened her locker.

"What a jerk," she said, to nobody in particular. "Well, at least I know that I’ll be in college making something of myself while he’s making millions of dollars running up and down a grass field with an inflated bit of pigskin."

As she closed her locker, she was surprised to hear a large crash as it slammed closed. Looking around, it took her a moment to realize that it was not her locker that made the sound. Students swarmed past her, heading towards the gym. Daria was watching them in curiosity when Kevin’s voice pierced the air like a siren’s wail. "Oh my God! The goal post fell! Tommy Sherman's dead! He's dead! "

Daria looked down the hall slightly morose. "Or maybe God has a sick sense of humor after all." With a final glance, Daria turned and walked away from the scene.

#

As the assembly drew to a close, Daria was one of the first to stand, heading out of the auditorium. She had no desire to be consoled, nor to hear stories about how great Tommy Sherman was. She simply wanted to be left alone. Alas, it was not to be.

Walking towards the school door, she heard someone coming up behind her. Turning slowly, she saw Kevin, stopping just in front of her with a forlorn expression on his face.

"Um, like, Daria?"

Daria couldn’t help but be a little amused. Even Kevin seemed a little nervous around her. She must be doing something right. "Yes Kevin?"

"Could I, um, talk to you?"

"Why?"

"It’s, um, about, uh, Tommy…"

Daria shrugged. "I guess. I didn’t really know him that well…"

"But you were, like, almost the last person to talk to him before he died. Doesn’t that, like, creep you out?"

Even as Daria cringed at her poor attempt at comforting, she knew that it had exactly the wrong effect. Instead of helping Kevin, it seemed to only make him worse. She stood at the door for a moment when something occurred to her. "Almost?"

Kevin looked up. "What?"

"You said that I was almost the last person to speak to Tommy alive. Did he say something to you?"

Kevin looked around nervously, making sure that nobody else was around before leaning in to whisper in Daria’s ear. "He, um, was under the goalpost when I got there. He had this really weird look on his face." Kevin hesitated for a moment. "I tried to move the post thingie, and he,like, looked at me." Kevin’s voice grew softer. "He said that he was scared. Then he died…"

"Wow, I never thought of it that way!" Kevin improved dramatically, from morose to merely bummed out in the matter of a few seconds. "Thanks Daria. You’re really good with all this misery stuff," he said, walking out the door.

"Great, just what I’ve always wanted." Daria pushed open the front door to the school, turning for home when she was stopped by a squeaking voice.

"Daria?"

Daria looked over at the blue and gold cheerleader rapidly approaching her. "Brittany?"

Brittany walked up to Daria tentatively. "Daria I've got to talk to you."

"About..."

Brittany looked nervously to either side before exploding in an almost ultrasonic squeak. "Tommy Sherman!"

"Maybe you should talk to Kevin."

"I can't talk to Kevin! Tommy Sherman was a jerk!"

Brittany deflated slightly. "Oh! I can't believe I said that! I called a dead guy a jerk!"

Daria sighed, looking over at her. "So you are upset about what happened?"

"That's just it. I feel terrible. Why did that jerk make me hate him. Now he's dead and I feel bad but I don't feel that bad so I feel terrible! It really makes you think. I mean, you're used to being all gloomy and depressed and thinking about bad stuff..."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?"

"So I thought that maybe you can give me some tips."

Daria hesitated a moment. "Well, I guess what I'd say Brittany is that here's this guy who really wasn't very nice. And you didn't like him at all. You're sorry that he died."

"I am!"

"But you don't think you're sorry enough. And you're worried that you're not as nice a person as you thought."

"Yeah! It's like I feel bad but I think I should feel worse and not feeling worse makes me feel bad all over again."

Daria shook her head. "The truth is Brittany, is that you are nice, or you wouldn't be feeling bad at all right now."

Brittany looked down at Daria, uncertainly. "So, you're saying that feeling bad about not feeling worse is good."

Daria thought for a second. "Yeah. Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying."

"Thanks Daria!"

Daria removed a small notepad from her pocket, jotting down the phrase out of futility. "Feeling bad, not feeling worse, good."

Daria had just slid the notepad back in her pocket when Mr. O’Neil approached her. "Daria?"

Daria met his gaze slowly. "Hi Mr. O'Neill."

"May I ask what you're jotting down? A reflection about poor Tommy Sherman no doubt."

"Not really."

He looked uncertainly at Daria. "It must have been a terrible shock for someone as sensitive. It really makes you think."

"Um... Yeah, but I'm dealing with it."

"I figured you're be dealing with it. You probably think about the dark side all the time."

Daria’s changed to a ‘here we go again’ expression, looking up at Mr. O’Neil. "The dark side? Are we talking about the force?"

"The dark side of life. The thought other people try not to have. That's your thing, right? Facing the void? Yes, I'm sure you're dealing with it. I'm not dealing with it!" Mr. O’Neil broke down, beginning to cry.

Daria looked up, patting him awkwardly on the back. "There, there. You want to talk about it?"

#

Unfortunately, her train of thought was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Come in."

Quinn entered, only to stop, surprised by the décor. "Wow, your room still looks like this?"

Daria was in no mood to deal with her sister. "Need help filling out your picture order form? It's Q-U-I..."

Quinn shifted slightly, her normally confident voice becoming mouse-like. "Daria? Can I talk to you? About the dead guy?"

#

Daria sat quietly at dinner, listening to Quinn. "So I called up Brittany and Angie, and the cheerleaders are going to take up a collection to get safe new goal posts. Like to honor the dead guy's memory. "

Helen smiled at her daughter, speaking proudly. "Quinn, what a wonderful impulse. To make something positive come out of this devastating event."

Quinn beamed at the compliment. "Daria gave me that idea. She's really good at this tragic stuff."

Daria responded sullenly. "Thanks, but it was one of the safe new goal posts that fell on him."

Quinn shrugged, in her absent-minded sort of way. "Oh! Well, it's the thought that counts."

As Quinn left, Helen looked over at her daughter in concern. "And how do you feel Daria?"

"I feel great," Daria said, the sarcasm dripping from her voice. "How else could I feel? I'm the misery chick." She looked at her mother for a second. "I'm going out."

#

"Like, excuse me, you’re in the way."

Daria turned slowly, coming face to face with the girl standing behind her. "Excuse me?"

"You’re in the way."

Daria gave her a nasty look. "There’s plenty of floor. Just go around."

The girl looked shocked at the mere thought. "If I were to, like, go out there," she said, gesturing at the crowd, "I might, like, smudge my makeup." She looked at Daria for a moment. "Not that you would understand that."

"So if you don’t want to go out there, why are you here?"

The girl looked a little taken aback, retreating slightly. "I don’t have to tell you anything."

"I don’t know about that," Daria said smugly. "You might want to look behind you."

The girl turned to see a couple pressed against the wall, making out furiously. Turning back in annoyance, she looked back at Daria. "Please, just let me through."

"There’s nothing back that way, you know."

Behind the Zon, the girl sat next to a pile of boxes, her head resting in her hands. Daria walked over to her carefully, causing her to look up.

"What do you want," she asked rudely.

"Are you OK?"

"What?"

"I’m fine. Now will you go away," she said angrily.

"Sure thing." Daria turned away, heading back for the door when she heard a soft voice behind her, nothing like the angry, confrontational voice she had heard before. Curious, Daria turned back to her.

"What did you say?"

The girl looked up at her. "Why did you follow me?"

"Um …" Daria thought for a moment, trying to answer the question to herself as well. "Well, I, um, just wanted to make sure you were OK. You seemed pretty sad, and I was a bit hard on you inside. With all the grief going around, I guess I just didn’t want to be the cause of any more…"

The girl looked down at the ground, mumbling to herself. "Stupid football player and the stupid goalpost…"

Daria’s eyes widened slightly. "What was that?"

The girl looked up nervously. "Some football player guy was visiting our school for some big ceremony or something, and the post thingie that they were, like, dedicating or whatever fell on him, and now it’s all they can talk about…"

"Tommy Sherman. Tell me about it."

The girl looked at Daria suspiciously. "Do I know you?"

"I go to Lawndale too."

"Oh." She suddenly got very quiet.

"I’m Daria, by the way."

"Sandi."

"Did you know Tommy or something?"

"Um, no. It’s just, um …"

Daria looked over as Sandi debated whether or not to say anything. "Don’t worry. I don’t have any friends, so I’m not about to tell anyone."

Sandi looked at Daria sadly. "My cat, um, Fluffy … she like, got into my foundation the other night and, um, died."

Daria didn’t understand. "Ok …"

"But, like, anytime I mention it, everyone like, thinks I’m a bad person or something because I’m like, sorry about my cat…"

Daria paused, looking at Sandi for a thoughtful moment. "You were closer to your cat than Tommy Sherman."

"What?"

"You liked your cat more than you liked Tommy Sherman."

"Well, yeah," Sandi said. "I never even knew this Tommy guy anyway…"

"So when your cat died, it meant more to you than when Tommy Sherman died?"

"Um, yes," Sandi said sheepishly.

Daria nodded. "There’s nothing wrong with that. You never met Tommy. He meant nothing to you alive, so why should it matter that he’s dead?"

Sandi looked at Daria in shock. "How can you be so callous?"

Daria stood up. "I’m not, I’m realistic. You may not have wanted him to die, but if you didn’t know him at all, you’re not going to feel much. It doesn’t make you a bad person, it just is."

Sandi considered this for a moment. "Um, thanks."

"Don’t mention it," Daria said as she headed back inside. "I’m the misery chick. Depression and sadness is what I do."

#

The next morning, Daria entered Lawndale high, slowly making her way to her locker. While she did so, she noticed that nobody had approached her so far. "They must be coming to terms with his death," she said aloud. "Or at least they’ve found something more important to occupy their time."

Shrugging, she opened her locker when she heard someone come up behind her.

"Um, excuse me?"

Turning, Daria saw Sandi standing behind her, with Stacy and Tiffany at either side.

"Yes?"

Sandi hesitated a moment. "Thank you."

Daria smiled ever so slightly at Sandi. "You’re welcome."

Before either could say anything else, Quinn, dressed as a cheerleader, interrupted them.

"Daria! How can you sit here and talk to the Fashion Club?"

"Oh, it’s you Quinn," Sandi observed. "Still in your uniform?"

Quinn flipped her hair back. "Well Sandi, anyone can be popular with the right clothes. It takes an exceptional person to be popular no matter what I … um … she wears."

"Whatever," Sandi said.

Quinn could sense that she had the upper hand here. "Why, I’ll bet that even Daria could be popular with the right clothes."

Daria stared at her sister, a dangerous look in her eyes. "I don’t need clothes to be popular Quinn. I just need someone to die." Daria gave Quinn a once-over with her eyes. "Are you volunteering?"

Sandi looked between the two, realizing that there was something between them. "Daria," Sandi asked, "Do you know Quinn?"

Daria looked at her sister and gave her an evil smirk. "Her? That’s my cousin. Her parents abandoned her or something…"

"Daria, you, um, oooh!" Quinn left in a huff, leaving a bemused Daria behind.

Daria smirked as Quinn headed down the hallway. "That was my sister by the way."

Sandi looked at Daria strangely. "You mean that your sister is Quinn, the one who has been stealing dates away from the fashion club whenever she feels like it?"

"The same."

"That’s just, like, wrong," Stacy chimed in.

Daria walked up to Stacy, standing face to face. "She is my sister," Daria said. "Believe me, I was given no choice in the matter." Turning, Daria walked away to class.

#

Jane looked out her window, looking at Lawndale in the pale glow of the streetlights. She sighed as she watched a couple walking down the streets, hand in hand. Moving away from the window, Jane returned to her bed, sitting down for a moment.

With a critical eye, she eyed her canvas. "Definitely not one of my better works," she sighed, dropping her brush in a jar of thinner. Jane stood, staring at the canvas briefly when a racket downstairs disturbed her concentration. Curious, Jane headed downstairs.

Jesse had just brought an amp up from the basement when Jane entered the room. "You’re, uh, in the way," Jesse said in his usual observant way.

"Yes, I am," Jane said, smiling at him.

"Come on Janey," Trent said, entering the house. "We’ve got a gig in an hour. We worked really hard to get it…"

Jesse set the amp on the floor, looking at Trent in confusion. "But … you said, like … the other band got sick…"

"Hey," Trent said, "I had to answer the phone."

"Oh yeah …"

Jane shook her head at the two. "I’ll bet it woke you up, right Trent?"

Trent looked at Jane in surprise. "How’d you know I was asleep?"

"You’re always asleep Trent."

"Oh, yeah."

Jane looked at the growing pile of audio equipment occupying the living room. "Say, need a hand with this stuff?"

Trent looked at her. "Um, sure." He looked at Jane with a questioning gaze. "Um, Janey?"

Jane smiled at Trent. "Sure Trent, you can borrow some money for gas."

"Thanks."

#

Quinn sat in the back of class, chatting with her friends. "So then we went to make the pyramid, but Lisa was still wearing her heels. Can you believe it?"

Before her classmate could respond, Mr. O’Neil interrupted. "Quinn?"

Quinn looked up, uncertain at what was going on. "Um, I didn’t get my paper back."

"That’s right Quinn, I’ll need to see you after class."

"Oh." Quinn sat back in her seat, worried. Mercifully, the class lasted a mere minute or two longer. As her classmates filed out, Quinn approached Mr. O’Neil.

"Ah, Quinn. Now, I don’t want to worry you, but I’m afraid that you’re not doing too well in class. Let's go over our last assignment, "How I feel about poly culturalism." You wrote, ‘I definitely prefer all cotton.’"

Quinn was indignant, tired of having her time wasted. "I didn't copy it if that's what you mean."

Mr. O'Neill waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "No, no I believe you. The thing is, now I don't want to panic or upset you, please, take this in a constructive spirit. But I'm afraid you're not doing well in language arts."

"Okay. See you tomorrow!"

Mr. O'Neill spoke quickly, before Quinn had a chance to leave. "I don't think you understand! You're going to have to get an A on your next essay to maintain a passing grade!"

Quinn looked back in horror. "You mean, passing? As in passing or failing?"

"Yes! But don't worry! All it will take is some commitment, dedication, and some hard work!"

"Oh no!"

"You can do it Quinn! You know, when I was in high school, I wanted more than anything to be on the high school gymnastic team. But I just couldn't master the high bar. So I practiced everyday!"

Quinn looked at him apathetically. "And the big tryout came and you made the team."

"Well, no. But that winter I learned how to write holding a pencil in my teeth."

#

Helen turned as Quinn walked into the kitchen. "Quinn, this note came from school."

Quinn tried to dismiss Helen casually. "Don't worry, all I have to do is get like an A on my next essay and I'm fine."

Daria walked in, catching the tail end of the conversation. "I'll take the Vegas odds on that one."

"Daria, we need to be encouraging. Sit down Quinn. Honey, this isn't just about one essay, it's about setting goals in life and going after them. You know, when I was in high school, I wanted more than anything to join the swim..."

"No! No! Please, not again."

"Huh?"

Daria lent Quinn the slightest bit of moral support. "Mom? If you're going to reminisce, I'm afraid I'll be forced to call Social Services."

"All right Quinn. Let me try to put it another way. No matter what you do in life, a solid education..."

"You gave this talk when I got caught cutting my... when I forgot where my math class was."

Jake interrupted. "Helen, let me. Honey, did you ever here the tale of the ant and the grasshopper?"

"Ewwww! Bugs?!?!"

"Try imagining it this way Quinn..."

"You could be left back and be the oldest freshman at Lawndale High," Daria said.

Quinn looked at Daria for a moment, realization setting in. "You know what? I gotta get to work. Bye!"

As Quinn ran from the room, Jake smiled. "That's my girl!"

"You see how it's done?"

#

Quinn knocked on Daria’s door. "Daria, are you in there?"

"No, I'm taking it easy in Tahiti for a few days."

Quinn entered the room anyway. As she opened the door, she saw Daria sitting calmly on her bed, reading a book.

Daria looked up as Quinn entered. "Hang on, I'm just ordering another tray of coconut daiquiris."

"Um, I was wondering if..."

"I don't think so."

"I just need a little help with my essay. Like, could you write it for me?"

Daria set her book on the bed. "And what's my motivation again?"

"Come on Daria, we're sisters! We gotta stick together."

"Unless we're in public, you mean.

"But you're so smart, and this essay's so important. Believe me, I would do it myself but I have a date."

"Oh, that's different. When does the subject of compensation come up?"

"Ten?"

"Twenty."

"Fifteen."

"Done."

"Thanks Daria. This is going to work out for both of us. I mean, I get my essay written and for once you'll have something to do on a Friday night instead of sitting around like a loser, you know?"

"That's it Shakespeare. Do your own damn homework."

Daria smirked as Quinn looked on in horror. "But you can’t do that! It’s not fair!"

"Why not," Daria asked with a smirk.

"Well, um, fine! See if I care!"

And in an instant, Quinn stormed out of the room.

"Very strange," Daria said, returning to her book.

#

The next morning, Quinn showed up at school, meeting up with her usual cadre of cheerleader friends.

"Hey Quinn," Brittany said.

"Hey," Quinn said sullenly.

Brittany looked at her friend. She might not be the brightest of bulbs, but she did know when someone was having a hard time. "Is there something wrong," she asked.

"Well, um, there’s this assignment, like, for Mr. O’Neil. And, well, if I don’t get an ‘A’, I could fail…"

Brittany smiled at Quinn. "Oh, Quinn, you don’t need to worry about that. You’re a cheerleader!"

"What?" Quinn looked over at Brittany, confused.

"You’re, like, a cheerleader. Without you, there’d be nobody to lift the Lions’ spirits."

"So?"

"So, if the football players can get help to pass, so can we silly."

"I don’t get it."

"Like, what are you supposed to do," Angie asked.

"Um, a poem?"

"You’ll have it tomorrow," Angie said.

Brittany was excited. "See, now you can concentrate on what’s really important. Cheer!"

#

Even as Quinn thought it, however, she knew that there was something, well, just wrong about it. She wasn’t against Daria doing the occasional assignment for her, but that was different somehow. Daria made her pay, for one, and Quinn still had to be intelligent enough to read through it and make sure that Daria wasn’t pulling a fast one on her. Whereas Quinn knew that when she walked into school the next day, Angie or Brittany would be right there, ready to hand her an assignment that would guarantee an ‘A’ in the class.

Standing, Quinn walked over to her desk, picking up a small notebook. "Academic Imprisonment," she read aloud, "By Quinn Morgendorffer."

Daria had a way with words. She understood them, and could use them to paint a picture of anything she wanted. When she was inspired, the words sometimes just came to her, and she had a hard time typing fast enough to get them all down.

Quinn, on the other hand, struggled with words. Writing was a challenge for her, a fight to get her ideas down on paper. She much preferred people to books anyways. With people, she could see them, interact with them. Books always seemed flat to her.

Looking back at her paper, she sighed. "The school is my prison, and its teachers my imprisoners?" She shook her head. "Mr. O’Neil will hate this. I know it."

And come through she did. When Quinn came in the next morning, Angie handed her a well-written poem, one that even sounded like it came from Quinn. Quinn took it tentatively, reading it briefly.

"Don’t worry Quinn," Angie said. "You won’t get caught."

"Yeah, whoever does these is like, really good," Brittany added.

"Um, Ok," Quinn said, sliding the paper into her backpack.

#

Turning her head, Quinn looked at her assignment. "The primary cause of the Civil War in the United States was not slavery, but rather a number of social and political differences between the Northern and the Southern parts of the country. Support this statement, using no less than three external sources."

She sighed. "How am I expected to do THAT," she whined. "Between cheerleading and dating, I just don’t have time for this…"

Quinn slid her chair back slowly, searching for the books she’d managed to find in the scant half-hour she had before cheerleading practice. Quinn was startled by a knock at the door as she reached for the top book. She turned as the door opened, to see Helen standing in the doorway.

"Oh, you’re studying," Helen said apologetically.

"Uh, yeah." Quinn looked at Helen. "Did you want something?"

Helen looked down at Quinn. "Um, Quinn," she said, holding up a sheet of paper in her hand, "We got the latest credit card bill."

Quinn was nervous. "Um, Ok…" She offered nothing more, not wanting to confess to something that Helen had overlooked.

"You spent an awful lot at Cashmans Quinn," Helen said. Pausing, she looked down at the stack of books sitting next to Quinn’s desk. "But your grades HAVE been significantly better recently, so I suppose that we could let it slide just this once…"

Quinn smiled nervously as Helen headed back downstairs. Looking at her notebook, Quinn was dismayed at the paucity of information she had come up with. Sighing, she stood up, leaving the room.

#

Daria sat on her bed, reading. She had just turned the page when a knock at the door disturbed her concentration.

"Daria," Quinn asked from behind the closed door, "Are you in there?"

Daria looked at the closed door in annoyance. "If I help you answer that, will you go away?"

"Can I, um, come in?"

"That depends," Daria said sarcastically. "Have they taught you how to open doors yet in class?"

Quinn entered the room. "Very funny Daria. Could I ask you something?"

Daria looked at Quinn, noticing the notebook in her hand. "Which class?"

"Um …" Quinn stood nervously in the door, hesitating for a moment.

"Come on Quinn. Neither one of us wants this to go on any longer than it has to. Tell me what you want, so I can say no."

Quinn ignored Daria’s comment. "Could you help me with my history paper?"

Daria looked over at Quinn suspiciously. "Help?"

Quinn looked down at the floor. "Like, if I give you an outline, could you, um, write it for me?"

"And why would I do that," Daria said, drawing Quinn out.

"Come on Daria," Quinn whined. "I just don’t have the time to do this."

"Then maybe you should take some more classes on time management. I’m sure that Mom would be glad to help you…"

Daria watched as Quinn deflated slightly. "Please Daria? Between cheerleading and dating, I just don’t have time to finish it. You don’t know what it’s like to be popular."

"And you don’t know what it’s like to really be a ‘brain’." Daria smirked. "Consider this an object lesson," she said, picking up her book.

"But why? It’s not like you have anything else to do!"

Daria recoiled slightly. "Because I don’t feel like it."

"Please? I’ll pay you."

"No."

"Fine," Quinn said angrily. In a huff, she headed back down the hall.

Quinn’s angry march to her room was interrupted just outside her door, where she ran into her father.

"Daddy?"

"Hey sweetie." Jake looked down at Quinn, thinking for a moment. "There was something … oh yeah! That’s it!" Jake’s eyes perked up. "Congratulations on your schoolwork. Here," he said, slipping her a small stack of bills, "get yourself something nice."

Quinn accepted the money uncertainly. "Um, thanks daddy."

"Yes Quinn," Jake continued, "a good education will take you far." His face scowled slightly. "Yes, far, far away from an evil, repressive man, even if it is military school." Jake looked up towards the ceiling. "Even if they DO tie you up and lock you in the closet, it’s STILL better than trying to please a fickle, self-absorbed father. You hear me, old man," Jake shouted to no one in particular.

"Um, thanks daddy," Quinn said, slipping back into her room.

Sitting down at her desk, Quinn looked from the pile of books to the clock. "One and a half hours until my date," she said in despair. "And I still have to get ready."

An air of defeat spread across Quinn’s face as she picked up the phone. She slowly dialed, putting the phone up to her ear. Quinn was tempted to hang up the phone as it started ringing. Before she could act on her impulse, however, the call was answered.

"Hello?"

"Angie? I need a little help…"

#

She set down her book again, looking around the room. As hard as it was for her to believe, she had actually found herself missing Beavis and Butthead. She knew that they weren’t much for companionship, intelligence, or even basic humanity. But they were amusing, and they did give her something to do.

#

Halfway across town and a good two weeks later, Jane was thinking the exact same thing. She had tried to paint, but with Trent and Monique occupying each other rather loudly down the hall, it was a very difficult task. Jane kept hoping that they’d get tired of it someday, but then again, she could only imagine what would happen if she found a steady boyfriend. Tossing her paintbrush across the room, she undressed, changing into her running clothes. She might pretend for Trent’s sake that she didn’t hear anything, but that didn’t mean that she had to sit here and listen to it. Lacing up her shoes, she left the house in a hurry.

Pacing her room restlessly, Daria stopped at her window, staring outside. Acting on impulse, she decided to go for a walk.

Jane was breathing hard as she made her way through the park. She was running harder than usual, but she thought she had a good reason for it. You couldn’t think when you had to spend every spare effort merely to breathe.

"Great. I’m talking to myself without even talking," she said, speeding up once again.

Jane ran off, past a park bench. Mere moments after she passed, Daria emerged from the trail behind the bench, taking a seat. For a long moment, she merely stared out at the world, looking eerily like an otherworldly observer. Looking past the park, Daria sighed as she saw a couple emerge from their car to steal a furtive embrace before entering the theatre.

Leaning back against the bench, Daria tried to relax, paradoxically trying as hard as she could to let go of a year’s worth of tension. She failed miserably. Whenever she tried to relax, she found herself alone. Alone with her thoughts, her mind, that just wouldn’t let up, wouldn’t shut down. Sometimes she even envied Quinn and her naïveté for the sheer simplicity.

Daria got up. "If I wanted to play tag with my inner demons," she said, "I’d have just stayed home."

Daria walked across the park, across to the movie theatre. "Weepy Mr. B IX," she read apathetically. After a moment’s consideration, she walked up to the ticket window. "One please."

The boy working the booth handed her a ticket before slipping back into a stupor. Amused, Daria entered the theatre, taking a seat in the back row.

The crowd began to file in for the late night movie. Daria fought the urge to leave. She wasn’t interested in the movie, she just wanted to be around people for a while, even if they did completely ignore her. Running out of the theatre would be rather counterproductive.

"This is great Quinn. You and I are so good together"

"Of course we are, I’m good wherever I go, Matthew"

Matthew smiled at Quinn. "You’re pretty, popular, funny, and smart. How could I be lucky enough to go out with you?"

"Smart?" Quinn was confused.

"Well, you’re not even worried about that big test tomorrow…"

"Oh, um, I, uh, studied with some friends…"

Daria suppressed a laugh. Quinn’s friends had the combined intelligence of rock salt.

"And you’re so confident. I love that in a woman," Matthew said slyly.

"Thanks!" Quinn looked over at Matthew softly. "Could you get me a soda? With just a little ice, and maybe a teensy slice of lemon?"

"Sure Quinn!"

#

The next morning, Jane got to school a few minutes earlier than usual. "Damn birds, and their damn annoying song!"

"What was that," Jodie asked from the side of the hall.

"Oh, nothing," Jane said. "Some bird built a nest by my window, and started chirping at five in the morning."

"Sorry."

Jane shrugged, continuing down the hallway. "Whatever. It’ll be gone tomorrow, one way or the other." Jane moved quickly down the hallway before Jodie had time for a comment. Turning the corner, Jane stopped as she noticed the sports sign-up tables.

"Swimming," Jane said, scanning the back of the hallway. "not likely. Tennis? Get real. Maybe … Oh!"

Jane stopped, her eyes locked with the cute guy standing behind the bench. Breaking the look, Jane was overjoyed to see that it was the track table. Gathering her courage, she walked over to the bench.

The boy smiled as Jane approached the table. "Hey there beautiful."

"Actually, it’s Jane. But beautiful works too…"

"Hey, I’m Evan." He looked at her for a second. "Did you want to sign up?"

"Sure. You got room for a runner?"

"Always," he replied. "Distance or sprint," he asked, picking up a form.

"Hey, I ALWAYS go the distance," Jane replied.

Evan was taken by surprise. "Um, practice at six," he managed weakly.

"See you there."

Jane headed off to class, confident and in high spirits. "I get to run, display my, um, school spirit," Jane said with a laugh, "and flirt with a cute guy in the process? What a good day!" Her good mood lasted exactly three minutes into Mr. DeMartino’s class.

#

Daria lurked in the hallway outside Quinn’s classroom. Getting out of art for a few minutes had been pretty simple, given that Ms. DeFoe was nowhere to be seen. She had figured out that Quinn’s test was next block, with Mr. DeMartino. She wasn’t sure what she expected to find, but she figured she had nothing to lose.

Peeking around the corner, she quickly noticed Quinn in the back corner, with her cheerleader friends. To her surprise, they were not taking notes, nor were they talking and passing around magazines. As far as Daria could tell, they seemed to be passing around a few sheets of paper.

"Interesting," Daria said, slinking back to class. "Very interesting…"

#

Lingering after school, Jane changed into her running clothes, and made her way out to the track. Now that the hour was actually here, she was a little nervous. Walking onto the track, she sat with a group of other students.

"Ms. Lane?"

Jane turned around to see Ms. Morris walking towards her. "What are you doing here," she asked.

"I like to run."

"You never run in gym."

"I don’t like to run then," Jane answered smugly.

Ms. Morris looked at Jane suspiciously. "If this is a joke, you can be sure that Ms. Li will hear of it."

"I’ll hold you to that Ms. Lane," she said, walking back into the center of the track. Turning to face the entire group of students, she raised her voice so everyone could hear her. "Ok, it’s six, and we’re going to get started. How many of you newcomers are distance runners?"

About half the group raised their hands. "And sprinters?"

Most of the remaining students raised their hands. "Ok, that’s good enough for now. First things first. Two mile run, starting now. Last five do an extra lap."

Ms. Morris smiled as the students scrambled to their feet to start their run.

#

Daria walked quietly down the hallway. Quinn was preparing for her date, guaranteeing a good half hour of straight bathroom time. The only catch was that Daria needed to be quiet enough not to attract too much attention.

Moving carefully, she slipped into Quinn’s room. Ignoring the sheer number of outfits scattered about in a sacrifice to the gods of fashion, she moved slowly through the room until she spied Quinn’s backpack. Opening it, she began to search.

"The Boys of Music magazine?" Daria pushed it back into Quinn’s pack, shaking her head. "Even Playgirl would be more respectable."

Searching deeper, Daria pulled out Quinn’s English notebook when a small scrap of paper fell to the floor. Picking it up, it took Daria only an instant to recognize what she was looking at. "Answers," Daria said, placing the sheet in her pocket. Searching the notebook, she found a number of similar papers, obviously for different classes. She put a number of them in her pocket before carefully replacing the notebook.

Slipping out the door, Daria slid down to her room, quietly closing the door. She had a serious problem on her hands. Daria figured that Quinn had picked up some cliff notes, or maybe gotten a copy of previous years tests from someone on the cheerleading squad. She had no idea that she had access to the test answers before the test was even given.

Daria slumped down in her chair, staring at the wall. Reaching down, she pulled a sheet from her pocket, looking at it from all sides. "Anything I do will hurt someone," she said softly to herself. "If I don’t tell anyone, Quinn gets away with it, and comes out of high school a complete idiot. If I tell anyone, it’ll get out, and end up on Quinn’s permanent record, which will make it even harder for her to get into college."

Daria stood up, looking out her window. She loved Quinn. She loved her sister, even when she didn’t like her. She might tease her, humiliate her, and generally make her life hell, but she had no desire to get her into real trouble. She had still hoped that Quinn would realize on her own that she was no idiot, but it appeared that she had made the opposite choice.

#

On the day of her first race, Jane sat on the bench.

"Hey, how’s it going," Evan asked, coming up behind Jane.

Jane jumped slightly. "Um, Ok … I’m a little nervous."

Evan smiled, placing his hands on Jane’s shoulders. Moving slowly, he began gently rubbing her shoulders.

"That feels nice," Jane said as Evan moved up to her neck.

"That’s the point." Evan looked down as Jane tilted her head back slightly. "My mother is a masseuse."

"So that’s why you’re so good at this," Jane replied as her tension began to melt away.

"You ain’t seen nothing yet." Evan stepped over the bench, taking a seat next to Jane. "Drop by my place for the party tonight, and I’ll show you what these hands can really do."

"Sorry, but I’ve got to study after the meet. Big math exam, and my grade really can’t take much more punishment."

Evan put his arm around her shoulder, shaking her slightly. "Jane, Jane, you’re on the team. You don’t need to worry about grades."

"Um …"

"Just let me take care of it."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Come to my party?"

"I’ll be there," Jane said.

#

In her first race of the evening, Jane got off to a bad start, slipping slightly due to all the pressure. Despite this, she still managed to come back, winning second in the qualifying heat by a split second.

"Take your marks."

Jane settled into the starting gate, staring down the track.

"Set."

Jane dropped down, her knee on the ground, ready to go.

"Go!" The starter pistol fired. Jane drove out of the gate, driving forward with single-minded determination. Her feet pounded against the rubberized track as she rounded the corner, heading for the finish gate. Jane crossed the finish line, her legs burning and her heart pounding like she’d never felt before.

Somewhat lightheaded, Jane made her way carefully to the fence, leaning up against it to catch her breath.

"Great race Jane!"

"Congratulations."

Jane looked up as her teammates crowded around her. She took a deep breath, buying her enough air to manage a simple question. "What?"

"You won," Evan said, coming up to her. "Didn’t you know?"

Jane looked at him sheepishly. "Um, no, I didn’t." She stepped away from the fence. "Lets just say that I’m a bit tired right now."

Evan smiled at her. "Come on. I’ve got just the thing for you."

#

"Oh, God Evan, that feels SO GOOD!"

"I told you these were magic hands, didn’t I?"

"Yeah, a little higher, oh, right there! Aaaahhhh!"

Jane screamed in pleasure as Evan’s hands moved gently over her calves. Jane bit her lip as Evan slowly pulled his hands back towards her feet, loosening the knots that the night’s competition had created. Laying back, she let her tension go, a temporary slave to Evan’s ministrations.

"I told you I knew what I was doing, didn’t I?"

Jane laughed. "You weren’t lying."

Evan smiled. "Of course not." Rubbing Jane’s leg a final time, he walked in front of her. "We should probably rejoin the celebration," he said. "We did win, after all, thanks to you."

Jane sighed slightly. "I’d much rather stay here with you. Or at least your hands."

Evan gave her a smirk as he headed towards the door. "The night is young."

The two walked out into a roaring celebration. There was an electric energy in the team, as the tension and sacrifices of several weeks of training and practice were released in a single night. Evan poured Jane a glass of punch.

"Do we know how to celebrate, or what?"

Jane laughed. "I’ll have to agree with you there." Jane looked around at her assembled teammates. "So what happens if you don’t win?"

Evan shrugged. "More alcohol, less dancing, and the sex comes later in the night, after they’re all drunk."

"Oh." Jane was about to respond when a guy approached her.

"Hey there," he said, obviously drunk. "You wanna go upstairs with me?"

Jane looked at him for a moment. "Um, no thanks. It’s hard to run when you’re pregnant."

"Oh." He thought for a moment, then looked at Evan. "How about you?"

Evan shook his head. "Walter? It’s Evan?"

The guy leaned closer to him, looking carefully. "Oh, yeah."

Evan took Walter by the arm. "If you’ll excuse me Jane, he’s had a bit too much to drink. I’m going to get him laying down in the basement bathtub, just in case, and I’ll be right back up."

Evan left, leaving Jane standing alone. Within moments, however, one of her teammates came over. "Jane," she said enthusiastically.

"Um, Leanne?"

"Hey, you remembered." The girl gave Jane a pat on the back. "Nice job out there. You really know how to run."

"Uh, thanks."

Leanne smiled at Jane. "No need to be modest Jane. You won. Enjoy it."

"What about that whole ‘pride goeth before the fall’ deal that Ms. Morris kept harping on?"

"Oh, pride doesn’t make you fall. That’s tequila." She leaned over to whisper in Jane’s ear. "I wouldn’t worry about it. If you do fall, I’m sure Evan would be glad to help you back up again…"

Leanne gave Jane a sly look as she slid back into the party. Jane only had a moment to think before she was approached by another teammate, looking to congratulate her. Between the party and her lingering excitement at victory, Jane never once considered the math test she had been so worried about.

#

Daria shifted her weight to her other foot. Looking down from her vantage point at the top of the stairs, she felt a twinge of excitement wash over her. Daria knew that there wasn’t any real risk, that discovery risked only a few amused questions from her parents. But there was still a bit of a thrill, watching surreptitiously.

Daria watched her sister, sitting in the living room. Quinn was reading through a book, slowly taking notes. After a stretch of work, Quinn set the book down, reaching for something on the table. Daria observed silently as Quinn picked up a mug, nursing it for a while as she took several small sips.

#

"I think that makes three in a row," Evan said in congratulations.

"Thanks," Jane said. "There’s just something about all you guys that makes me feel like running."

"Oh Jane," Evan said, feigning injury, "You wound me with your words."

"You’ll live," Jane replied as her teammates began to crowd around her.

"Great race Jane," a girl said, coming up to her.

"Yeah, congratulations. I wish I could run like you."

Jane looked at her teammate, smiling humbly for a moment. She straightened up, her face taking on a serious expression.

"Quiet everyone," Evan said, waving his hands. "I believe our little track star has something to say."

Jane looked over the crowd as they gradually stopped talking. "I’ve been thinking about this for some time," Jane said somberly. "This is not something I ask lightly, but it is something that I cannot, in good conscience, fail to ask."

Jane paused for a moment as her teammates looked at her in confusion. "Would you be so kind, my friends, as to join me at my house for a little post-match celebration?"

A laugh permeated the crowd as people realized Jane’s true intention. Evan came up to Jane, smiling. "That’s what I like about you," he said. "You have class."

"But of course," Jane said with a smirk, "Would you expect any less?"

#

Daria entered her living room, returning from a long night at the library. Sometimes, she just needed a change of scenery to keep her from going crazy. As she shut the door, she was surprised by a voice emanating from the living room.

"Dammit!"

"Quinn?" Daria walked into the living room, curious.

"Why is this so hard," Quinn asked, oblivious to her sister’s presence.

"What’s wrong Quinn?"

Quinn looked at Daria, noticing her for the first time. Her demeanor immediately softened as she composed a reply. "I, um, was, uh, just annoyed because Jamie’s parents dragged him off to some family thing instead of our date."

"I thought you always double-booked, just to avoid that."

Quinn put on a confrontational look. "Well excuse me if I finally got tired of Mom’s yelling at me."

Daria hid a smirk as she peered at her sister’s work. "Well, have fun with your math book. I’m sure you’ll make a lovely couple."

"Whatever," Quinn said in annoyance as Daria headed up to her room.

Daria entered her room, closing the door with a thud. She leaned against the wall, fighting her urge to laugh. Daria knew that Quinn had the answers nearby, that she could ‘finish’ her assignment whenever she felt like it. And yet, she was not only still trying, still studying, but it was frustrating her.

#

She took a step back, trying to get a better perspective on the painting. "Maybe it’s just me," she said, "Or maybe I’m subconsciously rebelling against math."

Jane thought for a second before pulling out her math book from beneath her bed. "I know there’s a picture like this in there. I wonder if IT looks right." Flipping through the book, Jane stopped at page with a photograph of a flagpole, casting a shadow across a field. Studying it for a moment, she shrugged. "Well, it still doesn’t look right to me."

Jane took a look at the triangle drawn over the flagpole. "I’ll just take their word on the math here. This is, um …"

Jane looked at the top of the page. "Chapter 8," she said softly. She closed the book, setting it on her bed. "We started Chapter 10 yesterday…"

#

The next morning, Jane sat outside the school, watching the people come in.

Jane was quickly distracted however, as Brittany entered the school. As Brittany bounced about, happy and ignorant, Jane couldn’t help but be repulsed. Brittany was nice and all, but the girl was a complete airhead, eclipsed only by her boyfriend, Kevin. She seemed happy, but Jane wondered how long that would last.

"Hey, how’s our track star?" Evan came up alongside Jane, his chipper mood and raw enthusiasm only irritating her.

"Um, not that well. It’s, uh, personal problems."

Evan looked at Jane for a second before he face-faulted. "Oh, um, I, uh, hope you feel better then."

Jane watched Evan leave, taking a moment before she put two and two together. "That’s not what I meant," Jane said softly, too softly for him to hear. Smiling, she shook her head. "But it seemed to have the desired effect."

Jane sat for a while, watching people from a distance before finally heading off for class.

#

"Time," she said morosely. As she watched, she came to an important realization. There simply wasn’t enough time. Jane could run track, she could paint, and she could at least hold her own in most of her classes. The problem was that she couldn’t do all three. There simply wasn’t enough time for Jane to maintain her life without something getting short-changed. And given the easy availability of academic relief, she was by no means certain that she could resist the temptation.

She sighed. "I’m not giving up my art," she said, exasperated. "Which only leaves one thing…"

#

Jane caught up with Ms. Morris in the hallways at the end of school that day. "Ms. Morris," Jane asked with trepidation, "do you have a minute?"

Ms. Morris stopped, turning to Jane. "Sure Jane. What’s up?"

"I, um …" Jane hesitated for a moment. "I’m afraid that I have to quit the track team."

Ms. Morris suddenly took on a hostile attitude. "May I ask why?"

"It’s just …" Jane paused a moment to collect her thoughts. "I just don’t have enough time to both do well in school and train for the team, and it’s just not fair for everyone else