A week later, unable to stand it, Trent fled Lawndale.

     Daria, didn't understand, to say the least.

     "Look, Daria, I can't stay here. It's just not right!" Trent was throwing his gear into his car, willy nilly.

     "But why! I can't believe you, Trent. Don't I mean anything to you?" Daria felt a tear escape.

     Trent took her in his arms. "Look, baby, You're underage. You're setting my soul on fire and I gotta go before we both get burned."

     Daria was stricken. "What will I do? We just got together, and now you're leaving? What will I do?"

     Trent sighed. "Honey, we got more chemistry than DuPont. All that I can tell you is that the time isn't ripe. You deserve the chance to make your choices with wide open eyes."

     "But I have, you idiot! I made my choice and you're running out on me!" Daria sobbed. "I don't want a goddamned hero, I want you!"

     Trent gripped her shoulders, his eyes wet. "Do you really? Do you want a bum who lives with his parents? You might now, but what about when you're in college next year? What about when you meet a guy with a little success behind him? What about when I come crawling home at three AM every night, smelling of smoke and covered in lipstick from those damn groupies? What about if I knock you up before you finish school, or after, when you're trying to get a career started? I'd have to get a straight job in construction or something. How'd you like to be Mrs. Hard Hat? I don't think it's you, Daria.

     Daria was bawling now. "No... no, oh shit! Why doesn't anything good ever happen to me?"

     Trent felt his heart break. "Look, I gotta go. I gotta grow up and make good, Daria. No ties, no strings, just remember that if you weren't who you are, I'd be able to lie to you. I was weak in that damn theater and I've lost you. Goodbye, Daria."

     Daria leaned into him as he kissed away her tears, and almost collapsed when he sat her down on the curb, got in his car and drove away.

     "I still need a car." Daria trudged along, stooped under her heavy book bag.

     "What and give up all this exercise and fresh air?" Jane smirked. "Besides, when Trent gets back you won't have an excuse to ride with him anymore, Daria."

     Daria sighed. "If he comes back. It's been what, five months? I'm serious, Jane. I have to depend on the bus or walk everywhere. Maybe its time to get a job."

     "Job! Uh oh, you're not kidding about this. Have you been looking?"

     "Well, yes. I think I've got an inside track on a job at the city library." Daria looked away. Quinn had once predicted that she would end up as a librarian.

     "Daria the librarian. Tres' geek. What's it pay?" Jane looked at her inquiringly.

     "Eight bucks an hour. I interview next week. If it works out then I go full time for the summer."

     "Hey, that's pretty good. Maybe I ought to start looking around. With you working and Trent out on his wanders, its gonna get pretty boring at the old homestead." Jane thought about the three months before classes started at Middleton, spent sitting around alone, painting.

     "Have you heard anything new from him?" Daria carefully looked away as she spoke.

     "Got a call last night." Jane hesitated. "He asked about you, Daria."

     Daria's head whipped around. "Really? What's he doing?"

     God, she's got it bad. Jane smiled. "He says he loves you, can't live without you, wants--"

     "Come on, Jane, have some mercy." Daria made a face.

     Jane relented. "Okay but only this once. He said that he bought a newer car and that they were actually doing pretty good, making money and getting lots of gigs."

     "Where is he now?" Daria didn't like this news. The better the band did, the less chance she had of seeing Trent again.

     "Chicago still, as of last night. The band wants to head west though, so they might be gone already." Jane was getting depressed as she spoke. Jesse had probably forgotten her name by now.

     They walked along together as Daria mulled over this new intelligence. "Uh, Jane, what did he ask--"

     "He asked how you were and said to say hi from him. Consider it said." Jane smiled at the over-casual tone in which Daria had asked her question.

     Jane looked at her and Daria quickly looked away again, but not before Jane glimpsed her worried eyes.

     They walked along in companionable silence for a while until they came to the point where their paths diverged. Jane halted and finally spoke. "Daria, don't worry. I guarantee that Trent will be back. He's left before, but he always comes back.

     "Right. Lawndale. If you say so. Thanks for the update. See ya, Jane." Daria walked away, dejection evident in every line of her body.

     "Bye, Daria." Jane shook her head in pity, slipped on her Walkman and set off for home at a run.

     That night, Helen brought back Chinese takeout for dinner.

     At dinner, Quinn talked almost nonstop about boys, dating, clothes, school politics and makeup until Helen could stand it no more.

     "So, Daria, how are you doing in school?" Helen wanted Quinn to shut up and Daria's excellent GPA always did the trick.

     Recognizing Helen's desperation, Daria decided to cooperate. "Maintaining my usual four-oh. I had to threaten the Morris with legal action, but it looks like another straight A year."

     "Great, Daria! That's showin 'em who's boss! The scholarships are rolling in for college!" Jake was charged up about the money he was going to save on Daria. God knew he would have to pay through the nose for Quinn.

     "Daria, after dinner I want you to write down every detail of your conversation with Ms. Morris . I know you handle yourself well, but a little reinforcement never hurts." Helen was militantly ready to crush into the legal equivalent of jelly any measly little PE teacher who dared to trifle with her brainy daughter's stellar academic standing.

     "It's okay, Mom. I've been documenting every run in we had over the year. Taken together, it looks pretty bad for her. I don't think that there will be a problem, but I'll do as you ask." Daria was no pushover.

     "I want those documents." Helen smiled proudly at Daria, spinning out a brief fantasy of her as a future attorney general.

     Helen turned her gaze on Quinn. "Quinn, how do your grades look this year?"

     Quinn looked sullenly at her plate. "How should I know? I'll pass, anyway."

     Helen sighed. "Quinn, you simply must begin paying attention to your academic career. It really counts, now. Life isn't a game you know. You only get one chance. There are a million waitresses out there who were once popular high school girls. Looks are important, but you won't get very far without the substance to back them up."

     Jake grimaced. "No daughter of mine is going to end up slaving away in a greasy spoon truck stop! Quinn, you're going to Lawndale Academy--"

     "Jake!" Helen interrupted, shooting him an exasperated look. "Quinn, what your father means is that if your grades show that you need it we will enroll you in a private school for some tutoring over the summer."

     "NO!" Quinn abruptly stood up. "Why wait until the last week of school to tell me, when it's to late to change ANYTHING?" She shot Daria a poisonous glare. "Damn you anyway! It's all your fault, always showing off. If only you weren't such an ugly, four eyed freak BRAIN!"

     For an instant Daria looked dreadfully wounded, then like an iron blast shutter slamming closed behind her eyes, her face went absolutely expressionless.

     Jake, his eyes happening to be on Daria, was both shocked and appalled.

     "Get to your room young lady! How dare you speak to your sister that way!" Helen was boiling, barely containing herself. "You're grounded until you apologize to Daria and she decides to accept it!"

     "Ooh..." Quinn stamped her foot and ran for her room.

     "Daria..." Helen was almost frightened by the blank indifference Daria projected. Only someone who was used to being mocked and insulted reacted like that.

     "Its okay mom, my brain is pretty ugly," said Daria, emotionlessly.

     "It's not okay, damn it." Jake spoke in a tone of barely suppressed fury.

     Helen and Daria both blinked at Jake in surprise.

     "You're a beautiful girl, Daria. Don't you see, kiddo..." He sighed. "You shouldn't listen to her. You're a real heartbreaker." Jake paused and ruefully shook his head. "When they start noticing, I'm gonna have to get a shotgun just to keep the boys in line."

     Helen flashed a smile at Jake. Daria was expressionless, looking at her plate.

     Daria stood suddenly. "Excuse me, please," she said, heading for her room.

     Helen turned to Jake. "That was a nice try, Jake."

     Jake shook his head. "Have you really taken a good look at Daria lately, Helen? That wasn't just fatherly bullshit. She's probably grown four inches in the last few months. She's also ah, filling out if you know what I mean."

     Helen's face crumpled into misery. "Oh God, I've been completely oblivious again. Quinn was right. I should have paid more attention--"

     Jake took her hand. "Look, Helen, we're doing pretty good, considering who we are. My dad belonged in an asylum and my mom wasn't much better. God knows your parents were better than mine, but they--"

     "Were also a couple of basket cases," Helen interrupted. "But that doesn't excuse our failings as parents."

     "Nobody's perfect, honey. We just do the best we can."

     Daria lay on her bed, reading, when Helen knocked and entered.

     "Uh, those notes that you wanted are in that black notebook on the desk, Mom." Daria had been dreading this.

     Helen riffled through the notebook and smiled at the neat, perfect, legal form into which the notes were organized. "This will do nicely, Daria. There are associates at the firm who don't do work this good."

     She pulled the chair over to the bed and sat, facing Daria. "I want to talk to you, Daria."

     "I thought you might." Daria sat up.

     "How tall are you?"

     Daria shrugged uncomfortably. "Five foot seven and three quarters."

     "Three and a half inches! It's been so gradual that I hadn't noticed how much growing up that you were doing, Daria."

     "If you say anything about the birds and the bees I'm diving right out of that window." Daria was almost serious.

     Helen laughed. "We've already had that torture session. You know, when I was away at college your Aunt Amy grew four inches. She was about your age then. I'll bet you end up a little taller than her."

     "Hmm. I hope."

     "I hope that cheap shot of Quinn's didn't get to you."

     Daria shrugged uncomfortably. "A little." Daria was feeling a little vulnerable these days. It had hit her hard.

     Helen pursed her lips. "She can be such a miserable little brat. Your father was right, you know. Quinn is a very competitive girl. She knows that you're smar... more interested in intellectual pursuits than she is, so she became little miss popularity in order to compete. What will she do if she can't compete on that front either? She's not blind, Daria." Helen paused. "I know that she hurt you tonight, but I hope you show a little mercy and forgive her." Helen's face hardened. "But not to soon. I mean to hold her to the terms of the punishment."

     Daria sighed. She believed none of it. "I guess its up to her. I don't really care. When do you want her sprung?" Daria wished that she could forget that anyone called Quinn had ever existed.

     "When she makes a truly heartfelt apology. Let her twist in the wind for awhile." Helen stood. "I guess I have to go and talk to her now. Wish me luck"

     Trent played his guitar tiredly and wondered if anyone could hear over the drunken, drugged up crowd. Max had lost the beat and Nick was apparently improvising a new baseline on the spot, just like this was a practice session. Jesse mechanically played the rhythm and eyed the rowdy crowd with some trepidation. Throwing caution to the wind Trent began improvising lyrics.

     You've got a thousand twisted faces/
     Your name is Legion, well I know/
     I'm in the belly of the iron beast/
     Tryin' to hang on to my soul.

     A weed grew in the asphalt road/
     With the poison, smoke and wheels/
     A brutal struggle to survive/
     I know just how it feels.

     With the eyes of no God upon me/
     With the back of the world's hand/
     I continue my studies at ol' Fuck U,/
     On the endless slogging plan.

     They say the devils in the details/
     And it's never to late to try/
     That water always flows downhill/
     And grown men shouldn't cry.

     People with the madness/
     A lot more than you think/
     Buyin up the whisky/
     Tryin real hard not to think.

     God's a callous bastard/
     Some seeds grow straight and true/
     Some get eaten by the birds/
     Those seeds are me and you.

     Some times the ties that bind us/
     Become the chains that chafe/
     Retreat into the vacuum/
     Imagine that you're safe.

     The enemy will find your door/
     He'll pound and raise a din/
     That's all just to distract you/
     From the enemy within.

     "Good night folks. We're ....Helpful Corn, unless you're a cop or a bill collector."

     Oddly the crowd now cheered, stamped and howled for more. The owner ran out and paid them and then offered the same amount again to stay until closing at two. After a quick huddle and renegotiation the reinvigorated band decided to play two more sets and then cut out of Chicago on a high note.

     They started playing LA Woman and Trent smiled at what Daria would say if she could see him now.

     Trent glimpsed a familiar face in the crowd and frowned when it seemed to morph into someone else. It seemed to be happening more often lately. Whenever it got late and he got tired, Trent would start glimpsing familiar faces in the crowd. This had happened to him before, but never with such regularity and never one person so often. Why did his tired mind have to torture him by projecting Daria's face onto the faceless crowd? Daria was still a kid for god's sake. Underage. Trouble. Janey's best friend. Why the hell did she have to be so dammed perfect? Those incredible eyes... Trent struggled to think of something else.

     "Get away from me you freak! You're not my sister! I hate you, Daria!"

     Quinn and Daria were walking to school as usual, but not together.

     Daria ostentatiously pulled a spiral notepad out of a zip pocket of her book bag and made a note. "Ooh, that's gonna cost ya."

     Quinn looked rebellious. "I don't care how long it takes. I'm not going to crawl to you and apologize. I meant every word."

     Daria quickly extinguished her hurt feelings and looked at Quinn expressionlessly. "You're really not doing yourself any favors here, Quinn."

     Jamie, Jeffy and Joey appeared at the end of the block.

     "Those poor boys will be crushed when they find out that they don't even get their usual thirty three and a third percent of a date for the prom." Daria tisked in mock dismay.

     Quinn froze in horror. "Oh my God the PROM!"

     Daria shook her head sorrowfully. "It's a human tragedy of intergalactic proportions." She looked at Quinn's horrified face. "Well so long, former sibling. I've got to go find an alley somewhere to cry in until I get over the awful shock of familial rejection." Daria strode rapidly away, wearing a small smile.

     Jane walked through the front doors of the school, turned down the hall and saw Upchuck standing next to Daria at her locker, hitting, on her hard. Jane watched in amusement as he slowly wilted under the power of Daria's cold stare. Only Daria could laser someone that way. As Jane walked up, she heard his parting shot.

     "Ah, Daria, my sweet, someday I'll melt that icy heart of yours in the raging fires of my burning love!" He struck a dramatic pose, finger in the air. "You will be mine!" Upchuck caught sight of Sandi, walking along with her nose in the air. "Rrrrooowwwlll. Well, gotta go toots!" He ran off after her.

     "Just as soon as I get that brain transplant," said Daria as Jane halted beside her.

     Daria and Jane watched in amusement as Upchuck began hitting Sandi with all of the same lines.

     Jane laughed. "That boy just keeps on going and going and going. That kind of determination in the face of overwhelming odds is a little bit admirable. One day he'll get it right and be a dangerous type."

     Daria nodded. "Yes. You have to respect that kind of unquenchable optimism, at least a little."

     Sandi turned and hit him with her purse.

     "So what have you been up to, Jane?"

     "Painting, television and sleeping. It's really boring around there with Trent gone. Mom barely came out of her studio and Dad is still out of the country." Jane opened her locker. "How about you?"

     "Well, Quinn foolishly insulted me at the dinner table last night and delivered herself into my power." Daria tried to look happy about it and failed miserably. "Mom grounded her until she apologizes to my satisfaction. Woo-hoo."

     Jane was concerned. Daria had been so depressed lately, and now she was even going to let Quinn off the hook without amusing herself. "What are you going to make her do?"

     Daria sighed. "I don't know. I'm thinking about it, but it all seems like a huge waste of my precious time. The whole situation depresses me. Maybe I'll just go off to college and never have to see her again."

     "Damn, Daria, don't let things get you down so much." Jane smirked. "Hey I know! Let's make her kiss Upchuck!"

     Daria cheered up a little. "You're a truly sick and twisted person, Jane. That's inspired. I don't think I can get her to do that, but I'm proud to call you my friend."

     "That's what I'm here for." Jane laughed along with Daria, happy that she had managed to cheer her up a little. She felt bad about the whole Trent fiasco. She'd put them together, but the combination had turned out to be pure high explosive. Trent hadn't been able to stand it, and ended up running for his sanity.

     "If I can have your ATTENTION I will get ON with this last FUTILE ATTEMPT to inculcate some RECENT HISTORY into your EMPTY little SKULLS." Mr. DeMartino stood glaring down at Kevin, who grinned back with his most idiotic grin.

     "TO continue my review, what WAS the fundamental mistake at the HEART of US policy in South East Asia that led to the DEBACLE that we call the Vietnam War?" DeMartino glared furiously at the silent classroom.

     Daria raised her hand.

     "Please, Daria, give these IMBECLES a chance to AMUSE me." He lit on his favorite target. "Ah, Kevin, your KEEN insight is just what the doctor ORDERED!"

     "Well coach says you got to hit hard, so maybe we should have like bombed them harder or something." Kevin looked anxiously at the ogre.

     DeMartino laughed for a long time. "He would have FIT RIGHT IN with the FINE STRATIGIC THINKERS of the Johnson administration. For THAT matter so would YOU."

     DeMartino smiled a genuine smile. "Okay, Daria, lets hear your gems of wisdom."

     Daria blinked. "Well, Sun Tzu said in The Art of War that you should only fight if you're in danger. Vietnam posed only the most distant of threats and was unworthy of our attention. Domestic politics played a much greater roll in President Johnson's decision to escalate the war than any consideration of some global strategy to fight communism." Daria paused and gazed into space, thinking. "The fundamental mistake was in our not acknowledging that South Vietnam wasn't a viable country and cutting our losses after the South Vietnamese President was murdered in the coup de' etat."

     DeMartino blinked, nodded furiously and gestured for her to continue.

     Daria cleared her throat. "With no effective ARVIN formations and a corrupt, illegitimate regime in the South, President Johnson decided to use US troops to fill the gap until a decent native army could be trained. His error was in thinking that the Vietnamese peasantry would fight for the regime in Saigon. Our troops won every single battle, but every tactical victory was a strategic defeat. Our men were in an untenable position occupying a hostile country, without the political will to take the brutal measures that would have been necessary to really pacify it. The American people were unwilling to fight a war of attrition, even one as lopsided as that one was. Johnson and the Democrats lost the White House and President Nixon took some of those brutal measures, secured peace with honor, declared victory, pulled out our army and then disinterestedly allowed the place to be overrun by the communists a year later."

     DeMartino stared at the wall, his face working. He was seeing hundreds of NVA regulars exploding into bloody spray and rags under the merciless hammering of his quad .50 machinegun mount. He killed and killed and killed and killed but there were thousands of them. Just as it began to look like they might get through and actually breach the American wire, the killing ground in front of his position exploded with napalm. American jet bombers shrieked overhead and added their chilling note to the cacophony of battle. The burning enemy soldiers screamed loudly enough to be heard over the massed automatic weapons of the fire base. As the survivors got closer, American flamethrowers hosed them down. Some human torches ran around aimlessly, some enmeshed themselves in the coils of razor wire and some deliberately set off mines or grenades to end their suffering.

     Eighteen-year-old Pfc. DeMartino stared through his ring sight, felt the intense heat on his face and laughed helplessly at the bizarre spectacle. His loader also laughed, crazily, as the red hot guns crackled and cooled. There was a ripping noise, like a giant zipper and the loaders head disappeared as a communist shell fragment tore him apart. The empty neck sprayed blood all over DeMartino.

     DeMartino spat his best friends blood out. He sobbed, once, pulled back the lever that cocked all four machineguns, and swiveled the mount down to cover the wounded enemy survivors. DeMartino howled in rage, "Fuckin' Diiiinks! Eat shit and DIEEEEEEE!" The four massive fifty caliber machineguns roared out their fury as he began methodically chopping down the pitiful survivors who tried to limp stagger and crawl away from the widening sea of blood and flame. The burning ones he ignored. He wanted them to suffer.

     "Mr. DeMartino? Are you all right?" Daria looked concerned.

     DeMartino fought his way back from the dark place in his soul and gave Daria a shaky smile. "You have once again grasped the heart of matters Daria. That's an A for the class."

     He regained his composure and fixed the rest of the class with his popping eye, a souvenir of a communist mortar shell. "If any of you MORONS ever bother to VOTE, be sure not to vote for a FOOL. That was the fundamental MISTAKE this country made in Southeast Asia."

     He looked at the clock. "Ah, only 3 minutes of class time left. If anyone besides DARIA can tell me the name of a BATTLE in Vietnam, they will move up one letter grade."

     "Pork chop run!" Kevin looked ecstatic.

     "Wrong! How old are you, boy?"

     "Eighteen." Kevin looked defensive.

     DeMartino laughed, nastily. "Ever considered a military career, son? You'd be perfect."

     "Iwo Jima!" Brittany looked vaguely triumphant.

     "Hah!"

     Daria slipped a note to Jane.

     "Hue City!" Jane smirked.

     "We have a WINNER! Ms. LANE, what a SURPRISE!" DeMartino looked knowingly at Daria. He had fought in Hue. He never told anyone about his war, but Daria had tricked him into all but admitting it once.

     "I was going to say that!" Brittany pouted.

     The bell rang and the school day ended.

     Daria and Jane went to their lockers then walked out and watched Kevin beat up Upchuck again.

     Brittany was doing cheers, like it was a football game.

     Upchuck couldn't concentrate on the fight because he kept getting glimpses up Brittany's skirt.

     Kevin had him by the hair and was attempting to beat his head into the ground, but they were on grass and Upchuck was stiffening his neck so that there was not enough momentum to make the blows serious.

     "Don't.. you...hit....on .....my......girl.......anymore........Upchuck."

     "Whatever you say, Mr. Boss."

     Kevin paused, tired.

     Upchuck used his supine position to look up Brittany's skirt. "Gimme a Rrrooowwwllll!"

     "God dammit! You lousy little bastard! I'm gonna pile drive you to China!" Kevin began his futile head knocking again.

     "I can't help it man! Jeez! Ow! There's a rock!"

     Upchuck suddenly grabbed Kevin's hand and got him in a finger lock, forcing Kevin to release him. He swept Kevin's feet out from under him in a well practiced Judo move, jumped to his feet and then froze, paralyzed by lust.

     Brittany had leaned in close and was showing Upchuck an unparalleled view of the goods. Kevin recovered, got up and knocked Upchuck down, hitting him from behind with a clumsy tackle.

     Brittany gave Upchuck a private little smile which he returned, and leaned back away from the fight. She felt a little bad. It was unfair, but she had to do something. It wouldn't be good for the Lions to have the QB beaten up by a geek.

     "Oh, that was cute," said Jane.

     DeMartino, who had come up behind them, glanced incuriously at the fight. "Good day, ladies." He got into his car and left.

     "So what do you want to do today?" Jane nodded at the affray. "This is getting monotonous."

     "Well, we could start cheering for Upchuck, but he would probably pull himself together, knock Kevin out and then be on us like white on rice." Daria yawned.

     "Does Sick Sad World, cookie dough, painting, writing and conversation sound good?"

     "No." Daria shrugged and they walked to Jane's house, as usual.

     Later that evening the phone rang while Jane was in the bathroom.

     Daria answered after eight rings. "Hello."

     "Daria!"

     Daria was struck dumb.

     "It's Trent!"

     "Uh I know. Hi, Trent. I Lo... Where are you?" Jesus, she had to watch the Freudian slips.

     "We just pulled into New Orleans. We have two weeks worth of gigs lined up already. I'm staying at the Speedyrest motel. Would you take down the number for me?"

     "Sure." Daria took down the number.

     "Are you going to come back?" Daria almost bit her tongue off when she realized what she had blurted out.

     "Yes." Trent paused. "Yes, I'll be back, Daria. It's lonely on the road and I miss... Lawndale. I'll be glad to see you."

     "Really?"

     "Really."

     "When?" Daria couldn't believe herself. It was like she was possessed.

     "In the fall. I'm going to attend Lawndale Community College, get an AA degree and then hit Middleton." Trent winced. These things were just coming out of his mouth.

     "Wow, Trent, College. That's a big step."

     "Yeah, Daria, I think it's time to take a few steps. Music is fine, but a man sees other things he wants. Living in my parents house and sleeping twelve hours a day won't get me anywhere, and this touring... It's not fun. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy."

     "Don't give up your dreams, Trent. They're all that anyone ever really has."

     "Don't worry, Daria. I'm not giving up anything. Dreams can grow and change, and you have to grow and change with them."

     "That's kind of profound, Trent."

     "Well, our conversations do seem to turn out that way. That's why I like talking to you so much."

     There was a pregnant silence.

     "Trent?"

     "Yeah, Daria?"

     "I--"

     "PLEASE DEPOSIT TWO DOLLARS FOR ANOTHER TEN MINUTES."

     "Damn! Daria, I'm out of change! Do you mind if I call you sometime? This gypsy life is for the birds. There's no one to talk to. I get a bit lonely. I... miss you, Daria. A lot. More than a lot."

     "Call me anytime at all, Trent. I mi--"

     BEEP BEEP BEEP

     "Goodb--"

     "Oh, no! Trent!"

     There was only a dial tone.

     Daria slowly hung up. She drew her knees up and hugged them. "Yes, yes, yes! He IS coming back! He's coming back to me!" she whispered, eyes blazing in wild triumph.

     With infinite stealth, Jane backed away from her door, and returned her mother's cordless phone to its cradle. Jane went into the bathroom and washed her hands. Itching to paint, she tried to fix Daria's blazing eyes in her memory. She felt obscurely guilty, even though she had just answered her own phone. Her eavesdropping had begun by accident but the intense, strangely riveting quality that she had heard in her brother's voice had seized her attention, and the supercharged conversation that followed had trapped her like flypaper. So she went to the kitchen, got some Cokes, set them on a tray and delayed. Jane wanted to give Daria some time to herself.

     Daria woke up early, filled with a vague anxiety that had come with a dream. Trent had come running across a field for her, arms open. She had run to him, but as she did the perspective changed. He got bigger and bigger and she seemed to shrink. When he reached the middle of the field he could no longer see her, so he shrugged and walked away, crushing houses and cars under his giant sneakers. The bug sized Daria had desperately shouted up at him but he couldn't hear. She had awakened as his huge sole came down on her.

     Daria made some toast and went for the paper. When she got back, Jake was eating the last of the toast.

     "Hiya, Kiddo! Is that the paper?"

     Daria handed it over. "Can I get you some waffles, Dad?"

     "Thanks, Daria!" Jake, through long habit, separated out the arts section and put it at Daria's accustomed place, the style section at Quinn's, and after a quick perusal the legal notices at Helen's place.

     Daria filled the toaster oven with waffles and microwaved the syrup until it was hot. Then she melted a small tub of margarine and dug a small whisk out of the drawer. She dug out some plates and set them on the toaster oven to warm, then made orange juice. The toaster oven dinged and she took the four waffles and painted them with margarine. Dousing them with hot syrup, she dug out a fork and brought the plate to Jake.

     "Here's your stack, Dad."

     "Thanks, Kiddo!" Jake was absorbed in the paper.

     She toasted two for herself and joined him.

     Without looking up Jake said, "Ya know, Daria, you're the only one in this family who actually cooks for anyone else. Just think, somewhere out there in the wide world there is someone who will be the luckiest dog under the sun when you decide to marry him."

     "Right." Daria smirked. "It will probably turn out to be some unsuccessful rock musician who at this moment is snoring the morning away in his bed at the Speedyrest motel in New Orleans."

     "Ha! That's a good one! I'm serious, Daria, you'll make someone a great wife someday. But not to soon, I hope." Jake finished his waffles, folded his paper and went to work.

     Quinn came down the stairs and scowled at her. "I see you ate all the waffles, Daria. Maybe you'll get fat now."

     Daria read her paper and tried to ignore Quinn. Quinn still seemed to think that breakfast appeared by magic.

     "You're not going to the prom anyway, so I guess it doesn't really matter." Quinn smirked.

     Daria lowered her paper and fixed Quinn with her dark, steady gaze. She had had enough. "Are you happy now, Quinn? What do you want from me? Do you want to make me cry? Are you trying to get me to run away? Maybe it just makes you happy to hurt me. Because you do, you know. I bleed just like anyone else, Quinn. I just do it inside."

     Quinn gasped and looked stricken. She hadn't realized that Daria had feelings.

     "I'm almost eighteen, Quinn. I'll be leaving soon. I'm the only sister you'll ever have and our time together is almost up." Daria narrowed her eyes. "Lay off if you ever want to see me for anything other than funerals."

     Quinn took a ragged breath. "I'm sorry, Daria. I don't know why I was doing that. I didn't mean any of it, not really."

     "I'm glad. I'm also a little worried about you. What's the matter? This just isn't you, Quinn." Daria stood, pulled out a chair near Quinn and motioned her into it. "I don't understand why you're acting like this. If its something someone else has done or is trying to get you to do, well, you can talk to me and I swear it will never go any farther."

     Quinn looked up the stairs. "It's the prom. Jamie's taking me and he's rented a motel room for after." She looked shocked with herself for telling and on the edge of tears.

     Daria stood immobile and expressionless for a moment then sat down and leaned back in her chair. "Quinn, do you love Jamie?"

     "Um, well... sort of. I like going on dates with him. Its fun."

     "Love is an overwhelming thing, Quinn. It fills your mind and heart until they feel like they'll burst. When you're in love there is no 'sort of,' only certainty." Daria gazed into space wearing a strangely radiant, abstracted smile.

     Quinn gaped at her. "Daria...? Um who--"

     Daria's face assumed its usual lack of expression. "If you were ready to do the deed it wouldn't be bothering you so much, Quinn. You would be happy. Clearly you're not, so I conclude that you are being pressured. This offends me."

     Quinn blinked uncertainly. "Well every one else in the Fashion Club says that they already did it. I don't want to be some kind of freak."

     Daria sighed. "I'll stand by my word, Quinn. I can't tell Mom, but there is something that I can do for you." Daria shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "Sorry, Quinn, but you're grounded until I forgive you. This news of Jerkimy's motel room has put me into an unforgiving sort of mood."

     Daria got up and put a couple of waffles in the toaster.

     Quinn sat silently at the table until Daria brought orange juice and waffles.

     "Daria, um, I don't mean to pry but... never mind." Quinn shrugged. Daria had closed up tight and her face didn't encourage questions.

     Quinn picked up the phone and dialed. "Hi, Jamie, bad news I'm afraid. I can't go to the prom... No, I'm grounded. It's the truth... Well if that's what you think then maybe you don't really love me after all." Quinn smiled at Daria. "Owe you? Well so what? Maybe you can pick someone up out at the truck stop. The result would be guaranteed and it would still be a lot cheaper, Jamie." She pushed the mute button and sniggered.

     Quinn rolled her eyes and released the button. "You can bet its never going be me. Why don't you ask Sandi? I hear she's easy. Bu bye." Quinn hung up, met Daria's eyes and exploded into laughter.

     Daria and Quinn were laughing together when Helen came down.

     "Well, I guess you'll be going to the prom after all, Quinn." Helen said brightly.

     They laughed harder and Quinn shook her head. "Sorry, Mom. Can't go. Grounded you know. Really unforgivable things I said to my sister. Gotta like, atone, you know." She squarely met her mothers eyes. "No prom, no dinner and no dammed motel room afterward either."

     Helen's eyes ignited then filled as she realized the full import of Quinn's statement. "Quinn, you're growing up! I'm proud of you today."

     The school day crawled by, teachers and students alike anxious for the summer vacation to begin.

     O'Neill blathered away about poetic license and Daria doodled in her notebook. Jane made a pencil drawing of O'Neill as a Roman Emperor, sitting on a toilet. Daria drew him as a Hells Angel riding a tricycle. They exchanged, and Jane drew a picture of Daria and Trent getting married. Daria retaliated with one of O'Neill and Jane getting married. Jane drew one of O'Neill and Barch getting married, with O'Neill wearing the dress. Jodie, even more bored than them, passed one back depicting Daria and Jane as Go-Go dancers. Daria passed one to Jodie depicting Mack and Jodie as pro wrestlers in absurd Viking costumes. Jane passed one up depicting Jodie in a dominatrix getup. Mack intercepted it, looked, grinned and carefully put it in his notebook. Jodie looked back at Jane and lifted an eyebrow. Daria passed Jane one showing Brittany and Kevin as blank eyed wind up toys. Mercifully, the bell rang.

     At lunch Jodie immediately cornered them. "What was Mack grinning about?"

     "He's your boyfriend, you tell me." Jane was amused.

     "Come on, Jane, what was that picture?" said Jodie.

     "Just a little turnabout."

     "A dancer?" Jodie was hopeful.

     "Sure, you could say that."

     "Fully clothed, I trust."

     Jane smirked. "Oh, yeah."

     Brittany sat down beside Kevin at the table behind them.

     "So I notice that neither of you two exotic dancers have picked up prom tickets," Jodie commented.

     "Well, Jodie, the only guys that Daria or I would go with are in New Orleans right now." Jane looked sad.

     Daria sighed. "For 93 days, seven hours and twenty three more minutes." That was when the quarter began at LCC.

     Jodie looked back and forth between their somber faces and realized that they were serious.

     "Forever." Jane laid her head face down on the table.

     "What, are they in jail or something?" Jodie was trying to reconcile Daria and a boyfriend, but she kept coming up with a composite image of Mr. Spock and Sheriff Lucas Buck.

     "Don't you talk about my Thor like that!" Jane did a shrill trailer trash imitation. "The cops just don't like him 'cause he's a biker!"

     "Yeah, how was Pigpen suppose to know that someone put 32 pounds of crystal meth in his saddlebags." Daria shook her head in outrage. "Dammit it's unfair. Just because a guy is a Hells Angel everybody has to get down on him."

     "Well there is that little triple murder conviction, Daria." Jane looked mock thoughtful.

     Daria laughed derisively. "Come on, Jane, that jury was bogus. When judge Shovelnose ordered a new trial, the new jury voted to acquit. Boy those guys sure knew how to party. And who are you to talk? Thor gets drunk and shoots people every Saturday night!"

     "Yeah, but not big important taxpaying people. Besides, it's always their own fault. If they would just stay still he would only shoot the beer can off of their heads." Jane wore an expression of righteous indignation.

     Daria came right back. "But they do! He's just so drunk--"

     Jodie sighed. "As fascinating as all this is, I wanted to ask if you girls would consider taking out some guys that need a little help to get--"

     "No freaking way, Landon." Jane was adamant.

     "Sorry, Jodie, we have to pull down a double shift at the HoneyBunny club Saturday." Daria shook her head in mock sorrow.

     Jodie smiled. She knew that the cause was hopeless anyway. "Well, ok. I guess I'll just have to tell them to catch the show."

     Jane smiled. "Big tippers are always welcome."

     The three girls finished eating and left.

     Brittany turned to Kevin "Oh my God, Kevie! Hells Angels?! What if they crash the prom!"

     Kevin stifled a laugh, amused that she had been taken in by the banter. "Hey relax, babe. They're in the joint in New Orleans. Where's the HoneyBunny Club located anyway? I want to see Daria in her costume."

     Brittany exploded in full-throated rage. "You big jerk! Always sniffing around those damned Morgendorffer sisters! You just go ahead on down to that strip joint and slip your dollars into Daria's g-string. When her boyfriend gets out of prison he'll kill you!"

     "Aw, Babe! Come on! it was all a joke! I was only kidding!" Kevin rolled his eyes. Brittany had absolutely no sense of humor.

     She stamped angrily away, leaving a confused silence in the cafeteria.

     Jeffy turned to Upchuck. "Did you hear that, man? That Daria chick is a stripper!"

     Upchuck grinned at him, derisively. "I heard it, and I don't believe a word of it. Daria's feisty but she's also classy. She could be a stripper though. She's got a red-hot little body under that jacket. Anyone would pay to see that. She just doesn't like to show off the merch-an-dise."

     "Daria! Come on."

     Upchuck chuckled urbanely at Jeffy. "Don't you ever really look at the girls? The paint job isn't what matters; it's how solid the assets underneath are. Big thick goggle glasses and a loose jacket can't deceive the all seeing-eye of the Chuckmiester. Daria's really built and she has one ultra supreme asset."

     Jeffy looked at him thoughtfully. "You know, maybe you're right. Kevin's taken a couple of runs at her and he's got Brittany. I wonder why I never noticed her before? I guess I was to busy chasing the girls that flaunt it. But she's kind of scary. I've seen her shoot you down so many times that it's ridiculous. Hey, do you think she's a dyke?"

     "I've met her boyfriend. He's an older guy with a lot of tattoos. No head for business. Who knows what kind of trouble he's been in?" Upchuck shook his head, troubled. "I would hate to see anything bad happen to her."

     Jeffy shrugged. "A jailbird boyfriend. Maybe that's why she's so quiet all the time. She's got a secret."

     "Not for long. I think its time for a little investigation. I'll make it my business to find out everything there is to know about Daria Morgendorffer." Upchuck smiled in anticipation of the fun to come.

     "You're weird, man."

     "I prefer to call it 'self motivated'."

     In the teachers lounge, O'Neill, Barch, DeMartino, Morris and Li were discussing the students.

     "So it looks like our highest ranking student is going to be Daria Morgendorffer, with a perfect 4.0 GPA." Ms. Li shook her head in bewilderment. "I had such hopes... How such an alienated, antisocial loner can maintain a consistently perfect academic record is beyond me."

     "Was there ever any doubt?" DeMartino laughed, mirthlessly.

     "Daria's work shows great empathy at times, Angela. I doubt if she's as antisocial as all that." O'Neill was distressed by Ms. Li's description.

     "Don't you believe it. Daria is implacably hostile to authority and deliberately destructive to the dynamic of the group." Ms Morris frowned. "She nearly destroyed the track team and makes a mockery out of any game or organized event that she participates in. She carefully notes any and every little irregularity in the class so that she can twist it around and use it against me later!"

     Ms. Barch laughed. "In short she uses your own tactics against you! So now we know why she's getting an A in PE. I like her style. You should see her crush that little insect, Upchuck!"

     "Daria's vision is very poor you know. Making her participate in games that require her to see and intercept a ball coming at high speed, then berating her when she can't is a little humiliating, don't you think?" O'Neill was characteristically gentle in his criticism of his colleague.

     Ms. Morris looked troubled and unsure. "I never realized. That would explain a lot..."

     Ms. Li nodded at Mr. DeMartino. "Anthony, what's your take on Daria?"

     DeMartino shrugged. "Any girl who quotes The Art of War at the age of seventeen is wasting her time in our little day care center." He smiled. "She probably has a higher IQ than all of ours added together."

     "But her attitude!" Li was frustrated with the lack of support from the three teachers. "Anthony, we're suppose to educate the whole student! A bad attitude does not reflect glory on Laaawndale High!"

     "Ms. Li, what exactly do you want from her?" asked DeMartino.

     "I would like to see some enthusiasm! Look at our number two student, Jodie Landon. She's a marvel, involved in everything. That's what I want to see out of Daria." Ms. Li nodded firmly.

     "I have both students in my class, Angela. Daria achieves without effort what Jodie works hard to accomplish." DeMartino smiled. "Daria excels academically because it's almost effortless for her and it pleases her to do so. Jodie excels academically and socially because she's in a desperate competition with herself."

     Li looked at him with irritation. "Perhaps her low self esteem contributes to her demonstratively poor social skills."

     DeMartino laughed. "Has anyone ever seen Daria make the slightest concession to peer pressure? People with low self esteem engage in the common sheeplike behavior so evident in these hallowed halls. Daria simply stares down the rest of the world and does what she pleases."

     "Angela," O'Neill leaned forward earnestly. "When Tommy Sherman died it was Daria who everyone wanted to talk to. She handled it with grace and compassion. An unpopular person with poor social skills wouldn't have attracted such a following so quickly."

     "Or gotten rid of it so profitably when it started to bug her." Barch automatically supported O'Neill. She caught herself, then went into an internal dialog about it. It wasn't easy being a volcanically heterosexual man-hater. Barch laughed her witches laugh.

     "I wanted to hold some sort of assembly tomorrow to recognize the top achievers in the class and announce that Daria would be Valedictorian. I would invite the press but God knows what Daria might pull." Angela Li slapped the table in frustration.

     "What's in it for her?" Barch was curious.

     "Only recognition. She doesn't want recognition though." Li scowled.

     "I counsel complete tactical surprise, enlisting her mother's aid or dropping the whole idea." DeMartino stood. "Well colleagues, its that time again."

     Daria opened her front door and ran into trouble.

     Helen and Jake stood in the living room looking frazzled. The atmosphere was glacial as they fixed her with their eyes.

     "What's happened?" Daria let her book bag slip to the floor, steeling herself for the death, disease or divorce announcement.

     Jake spoke solemnly. "I got caller ID, Daria. Are you married?"

     Helen rapped out, "Are you pregnant?"

     Daria stared at them in puzzlement. "Have you guys been eating those glitterberries again?"

     "The Speedyrest motel in New Orleans, Daria! New Orleans! You can marry a thirteen year old there! Remember our talk at the breakfast table?" Jake tottered to the sofa and collapsed. "I plugged it in this morning a happy man and now look at me. Father in law to a musician. GOD DAMN CALLER ID! Ugh! My head's gonna EXPLODE!"

     Daria leaned back against the wall and slowly slid down, hunched over, arms clasped across her belly.

     "Oh my God no... Daria!" Helen began to make plans to get rid of this bastard who had trapped her daughter. She strode over, knelt down next to Daria, pulled up her shirt and felt her lower belly for any tell tale thickness and then lifted her chin.

     Daria's eyes leaked tears and her face was red.

     "Tell me, Daria! Are you pregnant? How far along are you? Daria?"

     "He..."

     Jake groaned. "Come on, Daria, talk!"

     "He..."

     "Oh my God, you're pregnant at seventeen! Oh no! Oh no, Daria!" Helen was feeling faint.

     A little muffled squeal came from the stairwell. Quinn stood there, looking shocked.

     "He..."

     "GO TO YOUR ROOM, QUINN!" Helen was in no mood for Quinn.

     Quinn shrieked and ran back up stairs, slamming the door of her room.

     This was too much for Daria.

     "He... He Heeee... He He... He....AHH HA HA HAH HA HA ..." Daria fell to the floor and came completely unraveled.

     Helen stared. This was not the reaction she had expected. "Jake! You bonehead, why did you scare me like that!" She looked at her hysterical daughter and giggled, then started laughing too.

     After about five minutes Daria was finally able to speak. "Wow. That was good, I needed that." she said, wiping her eyes.

     Jake, still bewildered, jumped in. "That doesn't explain... What I mean is... Who the hell called from New Orleans anyway?"

     "Trent."

     "Trent? Isn't that Jane's brother? The boy who stayed here that time? The tattooed one who took you to that rock festival?" Helen looked suspicious.

     "Yes, Jane's brother."

     "Trent's in New Orleans and you're gonna marry him?" Jake looked very confused.

     Daria's laugh sounded forced.

     "But marriage is--"

     "Jake! Let me handle this." The trial lawyer turned to Daria and eyed her suspiciously. "Jake said that you said that you... "

     "Yes?"

     Helen reverted to lawyer mode. "Are you married?"

     "No."

     "Are you sexually active?"

     Daria hesitated. "No."

     Lie number one, thought Helen. "Are you in a serious relationship?"

     "What does that mean?" Daria dodged a bullet.

     "Are you seeing anyone?"

     "I don't even have a date for the prom."

     Helen smelled trouble. "Quit evading! Answer my questions. When was the last time you saw Trent?"

     "Five months ago."

     Oh, good!, she thought. Helen didn't want Daria throwing herself away on a looser. "How often do you talk to him?"

     Thank God I read that book, thought Daria. How to Lie with Statistics was well worth the ten bucks she'd paid for it. "Two hours a month, average."

     Helen relaxed.

     Helen was methodical once she'd started on a hostile witness. "Why did you tell your father that you would likely marry someone who exactly fits Trent's description?"

     "I was being ironic," Daria sidestepped.

     "How did you know where he was staying?"

     "I talked to him yesterday over at Jane's. I answered the phone and took his address down for the Lanes."

     "Explain the irony."

     Daria frowned. "Cool your jets, Lawyer-Mom! Trent's the only guy who ever took me out. It's not like I've got guys lined up around the block, like Quinn. After dad's 'you'll make some lucky fella a good lil wife' routine I just thought of Trent."

     Helen shot Jake an irritated look. "Musicians rarely make good husbands, Daria."

     Daria smirked. "Ironic, isn't it?"

     The trial lawyer stared at her for a moment. "I don't know... Daria, do you love Trent? Look at me and answer, yes or no."

     Daria swallowed and looked away. "Get real, Mom. I'm not gonna answer questions like that!"

     "Daria..." Damn, that's a yes. Helen pursed her lips in concentration.

     The phone rang and Quinn entered. She had been spying from the top of the stairs.

     "Phone, Daria. A guy!"

     Daria gulped. It was Trent, with his usual impeccable timing.

     "Hi, Daria."

     Her parents stared at her.

     "Hello, Trent. Look, I'm going to have to switch phones." Daria grabbed the portable and ran outside.

     "I've only got a few minutes, Daria. I've got bad news for you."

     "What?"

     "Mom made a snap decision this morning and decided to join Dad in Mexico while having the house remodeled. When Jane got home today, her things were packed. Mom put her on a plane to Summer's place in Arizona. She made the mistake of telling Mom that she wasn't going to the commencement. She'll be gone for the next three months. She called me from the airport and asked me to tell you."

     "Oh damn. Damn, damn. I'm really going to miss her." Daria sighed and shook her head. "I'm valedictorian, you know. I have to give a speech. Now they'll be no one in the audience that'll care."

     "Hey, cool! Congratulations, Daria! I wish I could be there. I know you guys are tight, but cheer up, It's only a few months. Hey, look it might be a while before she calls. Summer doesn't believe in telephones or modern technology." Trent sighed. "I'm moving out of this place today. I 'm doing pretty good here, really making decent money. I got myself a little apartment now. When I get a phone, I'll call you with the number." A distant female voice came through the line. "Come on sweet thing, get off the phone. We've got some business to take care of before the gig." Trent sighed. "Damn it. Look, I've got to go now. Take care, uh... um ...uh... Daria."

     Daria stiffened in shock. Tears began leaking out of her eyes. "Good luck with the career, Trent. Thanks and goodbye."

     Daria came in, hung up and looked at her mother. "Jane got sent to Arizona. Trent's got a girlfriend. I not only have no boyfriend, I now have no friend at all. Happy? Want to cross examine me more about my wild social life? No? Then I'll just go upstairs and curl up in the corner of my padded cell and rock for a while, if you don't mind."

     Trent hung up the phone and tried to avoid looking at Natalie. Max.'s silicone enhanced girlfriend had walked in, removed her bikini top and was standing on the other side of the bed, pushing her huge synthetic breasts out at him, hands on hips. She looked like an illustration out of a thirteen-year-old Trent's favorite wet dream.

     Natalie laughed at him. "What's the matter, Trent, you dead from the neck down? Don't you wanna quick fuck?"

     "Hell yes," said Trent, dressing rapidly.

     "What are you doing?"

     "Getting out while the getting is good." This plastic whore would break up the band just to amuse herself, if he let her. Besides, he couldn't right now, not so soon after he'd talked with Daria.

     Helen knocked and opened Daria's door an hour later. As awful as it was, the room had always had a cheerful irony to it that fit Daria to a tee. Helen had held off her remodeling plans because she could see that it amused Daria to live in a padded cell. That changed the instant Helen saw her daughter. The scene was stark, depressing and horrible. Daria was listlessly sitting on the floor in the corner of the darkened room, with her knees drawn up in a semi fetal position. She was wearing her usual sleeping attire, but the shirt was inside out and her hair was a mess. She had no glasses, which accounted for her vague, unfocused, red-eyed look, but her skin was blotchy and mottled looking. Helen's breath caught at the effect. Daria looked damaged, hopeless and lost, exactly like a mental patient.

     "Daria?" There was no answer. "Speak to me, damn it. Why are you on the floor?"

     "I like it here. You can't get any lower," she croaked.

     "Did that boy disappoint you, Daria?" Helen pulled the desk chair up near Daria and sat.

     "Disappoint literally means to break an appointment. I never had one." Daria never looked up.

     "Don't take things so hard, dear. You have all the time in the world to date, find friends and romance." Thank God! Helen was sure that this situation could have gotten serious. Her daughters were too young and inexperienced for serious. She knew. She had been sixteen when she met Jake.

     "Why would I want to do that? I've got a TV, this nice cell, and my books. What else could I need to keep me company?" Daria pulled at her hair. "It'll be just like good old Highland."

     Helen sighed. "What can I do for you, Daria?"

     "Put the bars back on the windows, paint the glass black and lock the door on your way out."

     "That's not going to happen, dear. This place is going to be gutted just as soon as I can find a contractor." Helen had had about enough self pity.

     "Whatever. I'm about done with it anyway."

     "Daria, I was just talking to Ms. Li. She told me that you have distinguished yourself once again. You are the district's top student. You've been chosen as the class valedictorian."

     There was no response.

     "She wants to recognize your achievement at an assembly tomorrow."

     Tears began to leak from the corners of Daria's eyes.

     "Daria!" Helen sighed, sat down on the floor next to her and folded her arms around her. Daria hadn't cried since she was a baby. "It can be so hard at your age. You're still too young to understand the randomness of things, but old enough to think that you're capable of defending yourself against life's hard knocks."

     Expressionless, but with a river of tears streaming down her face, Daria asked in her normal voice, "How do you defend yourself?"

     "Ultimately you don't, Daria. Life is hard, complicated and always in a state of change. Hard knocks always come your way. You keep a close eye on the things that you can do something about and try to go with the flow. Sometimes you just have to break out and reinvent yourself when the old you wears out and won't work any more. One thing's for sure, you can't hide from life. Life is an enemy that you have to keep close."

     Daria wept silently in her mother's arms for a time. "I was so sure... He has an apartment and a girl...Damn it all!"

     Helen sighed. Daria's heart was well and truly broken. "Forget school tomorrow, Daria. I don't think you need the stress right now. Ms. Li will have to do without you for one day."

     "There went my perfect attendance record."

     Helen laughed and felt a little better. Daria was getting her edge back.

     Having gotten a confused and wildly inaccurate version of the story from Jake, Quinn stood outside in the hall listening. She thought of the joy she had seen on Daria's face and clenched her fists angrily. It's that Trent creep. He led her along and then dumped her. That shit! That bastard! Now he's got his little love nest in New Orleans so he blows her off. Well good riddance, he's to old for her anyway.

     Daria walked through graduation in a daze. She made her speech in an absent, strangely intense way that seized the attention of everyone that heard it. She had cribbed most of it straight out of The Big Book of Cliché's

     Daria took the podium and glumly looked out at her classmates. Things did not bode well for the future. She cleared her throat and began.

     "As the last graduating class of the twentieth century, it falls upon us to look back at the achievements of all the previous twentieth century classes. We have seen the end of many evils in this century. Authoritarianism and totalitarianism have been refuted as saleable political philosophies. Racism is on the ropes, and the environment is a real issue now. Mankind is on an upward climb due to our scientific and industrial achievements, and the world is a better, more comfortable place. Our predecessors have much to be proud of."

     "Now it's our turn to carry the flag for a while. We have the power to make the future into anything we want. No graduating class in history has gone forth into a world more filled with promise and peril. Old and new technologies create opportunity and risk in equal measure."

     "The unraveling of the iron curtain and the emergence of scientific talent and nuclear proliferation in the third world has brought about a great peril to our civilization. Everything that has been achieved by man is resting on a knife edge of chance. These are the scientific, technical and moral challenges that only our generation can deal with.

     "The countries of the world must be brought into a truly global civilization, with peace and plenty for all. No longer can we be content to mind our own business and allow our fellow world citizens to be exploited by corrupt, often insane leaders."

     "Our job is to tip the balance to the side of peace and order, whenever we can. We must do our part to end the long, dark-age of poverty and ignorance that most of the world's citizenry still labor under. We can no longer tolerate a world in which some men dream of the stars, while their less fortunate brethren dream of bread."

     "If we all add our strength and will to the right side, we can pass the flag one day, as our predecessors do now, with a light heart. So farewell, class of two thousand. You have a long way to reach, but remember, you stand upon the shoulders of giants."

     The class cheered, and Daria was surprised to see tears in the eyes of Ms. Li and most of the other faculty and parents.

     "So long, suckers," she said quietly, giving the speech she'd originally written. She walked to where her family was and then began shaking hands with her classmates.

     Sunday evening, the family made an effort and watched videos together. Quinn was totally turned off by Daria's bleak choice of movies. As far as Quinn was concerned, Saving Private Ryan was a twisted vision of hell.

     After the film, a still subdued Daria retreated back into her room to write, and the rest of the family began to talk.

     "God, that was awful." Quinn still felt sick. The movie had made her cry. "Mom, is Daria ever going to get back to like, normal?"

     "In what way, Quinn?"

     "Well, you know, sarcastic."

     "Daria's never sarcastic, Quinn. She's ironic, sardonic, satiric and very deadpan at times but her humor is never designed to cut, unless you cut yourself. There's a difference between sarcasm and irony."

     "Well, whatever you call it, Daria's just not herself. I don't like it."

     "She's feeling pretty fragile right now, Quinn. It's hard to be an iconoclast when you don't feel up to dealing with the consequences."

     "What's an iconoclast?"

     "It means 'idol breaker' in Greek, dear. Now it refers to someone who denounces other peoples false beliefs or obsessions." Helen knew all sorts of trivia.

     "Yeah, princess, that's Daria. When you're knocked down like she was you stay down for the nine count." Jake was still unclear about the whole affair, but he knew enough to be happy that Trent was out of the picture. "Don't worry, she'll get over it!"

     "At least she's coming out of her room now." Helen shook her head. "She had me worried Friday and Saturday." Helen or Jake had dropped in on Daria every hour or so. The teen suicide statistics spoke for themselves.

     Later that night Helen decided to check on Daria again.

     "What are you reading, Daria?" Helen awkwardly tried to cover the purpose of her visit.

     "The Forty Eight Laws of Power, by Elffers and Greene. Don't worry, Mom, I'm not the self destructive type. Besides, it's impossible to hurt yourself in here anyway."

     "I just want to help you get through this, Daria."

     "Mom, can I ask you for some advice?" Daria looked pensive.

     "Sure, honey! That's my business you know." Helen was thrilled, but not showing it. Daria NEVER asked for advice.

     "I've been thinking about what you said, about reinventing yourself if things aren't working out. High school's over and I have a job interview Friday. I... um.. need to know how to dress." Daria plucked at her green jacket. "This outfit was a birthday gift from Quinn, you know. It was meant as a joke but I turned it around on her by making it my look. This outfit says 'go straight to hell, conformist.' That's not gonna work out in the real world. I need one that says 'hire me, I'm housebroken."

     Helen was floored. It was too good to be true. "Oh? A job interview? With whom?"

     "The city library is looking for a summer assistant librarian."

     Helen rapidly calculated her influence on the library board and knew that Daria had the job even if she showed up wearing an ape suit and a toque.

     Helen frowned, feigning deep thought. "Its always best to dress like the person who is going to hire you. Do you know how the chief librarian, Ms. Tern, dresses?"

     Daria looked up at her with a touch of suspicion. "Yes, I know her. I spend a lot of time in the library. We're sort of friends and she told me about the opening. I didn't know that you knew her."

     "I know a lot of people, honey. My advice is to dress much like her, but a little less conservatively." Helen felt some anxiety. She may have over egged the pudding. Daria had a bloodhound's sensitivity to the faintest whiff of deceit. Ms. Tern favored very expensive designer clothing. She looked like a slightly over aged swimsuit model.

     Daria looked a little daunted. "Mom..." She swallowed.

     "Yes dear?"

     "I uh don't really have much in the way of clothing." Daria looked uncomfortable. "I don't actually know or care much about the subject..."

     Helen happily strode over to Daria's closet. "Let's take a look!" She swept the door open and halted, appalled.

     The closet contained three identical outfits, a few T-shirts and a few sets of blue jeans. It was almost empty.

     "Oh for god's sake, Daria, this isn't the army! Tomorrow I'm making an appointment and Tuesday we're going to Christophe's to visit Lori, my image consultant. Then we're going clothes shopping." Helen shot a quick look at Daria and marshaled her arguments.

     "Um." Daria rapidly shifted her eyes around the room. "Okay."

     Helen felt the same rush of victory that she got when she won a difficult case. Helen hesitated then walked over and kissed Daria. "Everything will be alright, Daria. Trust me."

     As she left, Helen made a mental note to have Jake dispose of the contents of the closet while Daria was out. When Helen had gone from free love hippie chick to wife and mother, she had disposed of every trace of drug culture paraphernalia overnight. When Jake objected, she had bulldozed him aside, made him buy a new wardrobe for himself and get a respectable job. When she had been admitted to the bar, Helen had similarly disposed of her young housewife/student persona and become another power suited legal shark in the pool. When she won her spurs in court, she had learned about image consultants and begun using one. Helen knew the value of a clean break when reinventing oneself.

     Helen went to the living room bookshelf and took a cardboard file box off the top shelf. She sat down at the coffee table and dug through the box. Pulling out a manila envelope, she opened it and dumped out a thick sheaf of photographs. Rapidly sorting through them, she picked out five and put the rest away.

     Monday was nightmarish for Helen. One of the partners, a newly minted millionaire, had a heart attack in his palatial office. All of the associates, Helen not the least, had to absorb even more of a workload. Even with the relatively young and well-liked partner's death announced, the race for billable hours never ceased.

     Helen had the photos couriered to Lori at Christophe's and had her secretary talk to the receptionist and arrange a phone appointment. At one o'clock, she spoke to Lori and explained Daria's troubles in detail. Lori acknowledged receipt of the photos and readily agreed to a Tuesday at ten o'clock appointment for them, seeming oddly excited. Helen, dulled by the crushing pace of her work, noted the oddness but let it pass uninvestigated.

     Helen picked Daria up at nine thirty and took her to a discrete little building, its identity denoted only by the numbers on the polished brass doors. Inside the marble and oak lobby, the walls were decorated by huge, glass covered posters of stunningly beautiful women. The receptionist showed them to a small, expensively decorated waiting room, unhurriedly served tea and cookies and then left them alone. Daria was amazed at the original art on the walls.

     Between calls, Helen spoke to her in a low tone. "I had your school pictures sent over by messenger yesterday. Lori asked a lot of questions and said that she would see both of us today. Be grateful, Daria. Its really unusual to get such a favor from Christophe's."

     "I guess a fashion emergency brings out the best in them." Daria was getting more intimidated with every passing second. What was she doing here anyway? She could have picked something up at Cashman's, trimmed her own hair as usual and spared herself this upcoming humiliation.

     Daria stood and walked over to a small mirror on the wall. "God. This is going to be another fiasco. These kind of people are always so snotty. I swear, if they make one snide remark..."

     "Nonsense, Daria! This is Christophe's, not Supercuts. They might ask you to leave, but they will never be impolite."

     "Indeed not, Madame," said a severe voice.

     Helen gasped as a very tall, stylish and obviously gay man walked into the room and halted before Daria.

     The man smiled warmly at Daria and took her hands. "Daria, I am Christophe. I will be supervising your metamorphosis myself." He reached out and gently brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. "Yes... perfect. Daria, I would be honored to be your personal image consultant, if you permit."

     Daria stared right through him, chin up, without expression.

     Christophe laughed in delight.

     "Uh... sure," said Daria, her spell broken. "Is this your place?"

     "My place is with you until I am no longer needed." He turned to Helen. "Ms. Morgendorffer... may I call you Helen?"

     "Why yes! Are you THE Christophe?"

     "I 'ave that honor, Helen."

     "Don't you do the first lady's hair?"

     "Not anymore. The woman is impossible. Regretfully I had to drop her from my client list." Christophe hesitated then launched into his pitch.

     "I would like to engage Daria as a model for our training program." He turned to Daria. "If you do not wish to undertake this employment, my appointment as your personal image consultant of course remains unaffected. Should you choose to accept my offer there would be a quite substantial monetary gain, plus some valuable perks for six weeks work."

     Daria looked stunned. "Why me? I'm not exactly the model type. As a matter of fact I'm probably the anti model." She looked at him suspiciously. "What are you doing, making a video on how to turn the mediocre into the average?"

     Christophe looked at Helen sharply. "She truly believes this?" He saw in Helen's face that she also shared Daria's assessment of her looks. Recoiling away from Helen slightly, Christophe addressed Daria. "You are far from average, Daria. I was shown your photograph yesterday and the elegance and effectiveness of the camouflage you wear immediately struck me. I know my business. I, of course, saw behind the glasses and deliberately ugly clothing at once. You are a very beautiful girl indeed, Daria, but not in the overblown modern fashion. You will never be a beach bunny or a valley girl. Your face and form have a quality of gracious sweetness that is straight out of the renaissance."

     Daria blushed and looked away from his intense eyes. "Um... thanks."

     "I am the master of my trade, and my trade is to uncover and showcase the beauty of women. But I am no longer a craftsman working with my hands. Christophe's of Hollywood has become in excess of five hundred franchise operations. They all bear my name and carry my reputation. I spend most of my time trying to inculcate a certain level of quality in the staff. I do this through personal visits, training handbooks and tapes and by closely tracking levels of customer satisfaction. You can help me with this. You can help me shock them out of their complacency and teach a few of them to really see. I would like you to appear in a training film, some advertising posters and a makeup manual."

     "Ok." Daria was amused and a little thrilled. "What the hell. What do I have to do?"

     "You must come with me to New York. We have a studio there for the production of these films. We will of course provide all that you need for the duration of your stay."

     Daria looked at her mother. Helen hesitated then nodded.

     "New York...How much do I get?" This might enable her to get a decent car.

     After a short negotiation, Helen and Christophe agreed on a sum that was a little high, in Christophe's opinion. Daria had wandered away to look at the art on the walls. Helen read a contract that Christophe provided, made a few changes, mostly involving supervision, and the deal was done. Daria and Helen signed, then Christophe.

     "When will you be leaving?"

     "I will be taking Daria today. She will be returned to her home when the project is complete." His gaze turned steely. "You may go now."

     Helen nervously said as she rose, "We were going clothes shopping this afternoon..."

     "All will be well, dear lady. This young swan will return to you in bright new plumage. Fear not, Christophe extends his personal assurance." He bowed slightly to Helen.

     Helen was torn. She wanted to argue and fuss over Daria, but work beckoned. A new partner would be chosen soon and now was the time to shine. Helen hugged Daria. "Behave yourself and you be sure and call me tonight. Here's some cash, and a credit card for emergencies." Helen kissed Daria, grabbed up her briefcase and bolted. On the way out she slowed, stopped and looked again at the posters that lined the lobby. "Oh...my. Daria?"

     Christophe smiled at Daria. "An impressive woman, your mother."

     "Oh yeah, she's a legal eagle all right. Well, now what?" Daria was feeling a little nervous.

     Daria expected to get on a plane or something, but Christophe simply ushered her to another, more intimate waiting room where a small table was set for lunch. Soon Daria was completely at her ease and speaking freely to the charming Christophe.

     Christophe used his immense skill to draw her out about her life, and before she knew it, Daria had told him absolutely everything. Her parents, life back in Highland, her battles with Quinn and the rest of the fashion universe, her "Misery Chick" image at Lawndale High, her closest friend Jane, Jane's art and finally under his exquisite and relentless probing she told him about her hopeless love for Trent.

     "Daria, if I may be so bold, you have jumped to conclusions. What you overheard has many possible explanations." Christophe steepled his fingers. "You are young, inexperienced in matters of the heart. He is a young musician in a strange city, far away from home and surrounded by all manner of temptation. Yet he seeks you out and promises to return." He smiled at her. "He is a rather honorable young man. I admire his fortitude. Age, ha! You are both very young. Four years is nothing! It was his lack of success that drove him away, not you. You have a string tied to his heart, Daria. Never fear!"

     Looking into his worldly wise face, Daria felt a little better.

     It was two o'clock by the time Christophe finished gathering information. He lifted his hand and snapped once, and the small waiting room rapidly filled with his silent, efficient staff. Christophe gave a series of orders in French and then turned to Daria with a reassuring smile. "And now my dear, we begin!"

     "Begin what? I've really enjoyed our talk Christophe, but I don't think that I can pull off some pose..."

     Christophe's face turned serious. "Please, Daria, have some faith. I do not expect you to dress up, smear on some lipstick and become your sister. What I do is much more profound and lasting. I cannot change anyone's image. One's image is a reflection of a whom one is on the inside, a view of a facet of one's soul."

     "Uh oh..." Daria worriedly glanced at a mirror.

     Christophe smiled widely, leaned forward and took her by the hand. Looking intently into Daria's eyes, he spoke. "You, Daria, are one apart. That is your true image. There are only a few viable roles for one apart. Your particular circumstances have thrust you into the role of social outcast, but you know in your heart that you have outgrown that disguise. Your academic achievement alone would have inevitably lead you to a new role as a savant, but in the end that would also fail you. I, Christophe, will make a stitch in time and bring you early to your destined role. Christophe will see you live up to your name."

     Daria looked puzzled for an instant, then blushed. The name Daria could mean queen. "I can't go around acting like some demented royal pain." Daria looked a little upset. "What would people think? And Trent!"

     Christophe laughed. "There is no acting, Daria. You will not change your behavior or your demeanor at all. You will speak, walk, think and act exactly as you do now. Any other course would be doomed to failure. I, Christophe, will simply equip you so that others perceive you properly. A glorious diamond is indistinguishable from broken glass when both are on the sidewalk. I will give you the lightest of polishing and place you in a proper setting. Your family will begin to treat you with the respect you deserve. Your true friends will like your handsome new look and sense no difference in you at all. Those insulting little cliques will quietly realign themselves around you and be far too intimidated to approach you directly, exactly as they are now. From your perspective the only change will be that people will rush to accommodate you in your desires and tend to fawn over you, if you permit it."

     Daria was speechless.

     Christophe leaned back and smiled. "Your Trent will not allow himself to be intimidated if he truly loves you. When you see him again simply look into his eyes, smile, take his hand and say his name." He chuckled knowingly. "I think that you will be amazed at the result!"

     "Okay Mr. Satan. Where do I sign?" Daria was sold.

     Laughing, Christophe stood and took her hand she rose. "I think that I like you, Daria. Come, we go!"

     "I'll need to pack a bag--"

     "I'll have a cab take you home and then to the airport. Just get a change of clothes and whatever else you need. We'll provide your wardrobe, so don't bother packing much."

     Jake grabbed his temples. "New York! You let her go to New York with a strange man!"

     Helen was defensive. "An employer. A rich, famous employer who knows full well that I will pull him through a legal knothole if anything even slightly bad happens to Daria. Besides, he's gay."

     Jake was flummoxed. The whole Trent thing had unsettled him, and now Helen had gone crazy and shipped Daria to New York. If anything happened to Daria... "Well I can't do anything about it now, but I'm not happy about this, Helen."

     "This will be good for her, Jake." Helen spoke earnestly. "She has a tremendous opportunity to get away from the confines of her life and grow up a little. Besides, it will take her mind off of her troubles. Daria's very mature for her age. She can take care of herself."

     "What's going on?" Quinn had come in.

     "Daria went to New York." Jake spoke glumly.

     Quinn was shocked. "WHAT! You mean she ran away?"

     "No, worse. She's a model." Jake said it with the same hopeless inflexion that he would have used saying hooker.

     "NO!" Quinn almost fainted with envy.

     Helen sighed and waded through her explanation for the third time.

     Daria walked into the salon, perky and smiling. Hi! I'm Daria! I've got an appointment for eleven!"

     "Welcome to Christophe's, Daria! Yes, we have you here. It will be just a few minutes, would you like some tea?"

     "Why yes, thank you."

     "CUT!"

     The director, a thin balding man in his late thirty's, smiled. "Good work, Daria. That's the scene."

     "A totally unrealistic scene of course." Daria had been a little stiff at first, but she found that if she just imitated Quinn it worked out fine.

     "Oh? In what way?" Christophe had walked up behind her.

     "Well, in my experience there's usually some humiliating or insulting little comment that comes with the tea."

     "But not at Christophe's."

     "Ha! People who work in those places are a little... fashion conscious. When a real challenge like me walks in they tend to get rattled." Daria smiled slightly. "That's one reason that I always avoided those places."

     Christophe frowned, thoughtfully. All of his considerable business instincts shouted at him that the real money wasn't to be made from power suited business women and matrons who's self image had been clearly defined for years. Any decent salon could maintenance them. His extensive market research showed that the real need, and disposable income was in the hands of the young. But that segment of the market was being serviced by the end of the industry least equipped to give satisfaction. With a tuned combination of the Christophe method, advertising and new technology, he should be able to create a virtual brand monopoly. There were billions to be made if the right formula could be hit on. "Daria, I would like to try a little experiment, if you would indulge me."

     "Sure."

     "My name's Daria Morgendorffer. I have an appointment for three thirty."

     The receptionist stared and then smiled. "Hi Daria. Welcome to Christophe's. It looks like you got here just in the nick of time!"

     Christophe removed his dark glasses and looked at the receptionist in absolute amazement. Dressed as he was, in a deliveryman's coveralls, he went unrecognized. "Good God!"

     "Can I help you sir?" The receptionist surreptitiously buzzed for security.

     "You already have, you silly woman. Come on Daria, let's go." Christophe took Daria's arm and they left.

     "Remember our deal. You can't fire her." Daria looked at him anxiously.

     "My word is my bond, Daria." He walked aimlessly along the Manhattan sidewalk. "This is incredible. I had absolutely no idea."

     "Its not that unusual. People are judged by their appearance. If you want to experience it first hand, just try to get into a fancy restaurant wearing that deliveryman's suit." Daria paused, weighing her words. "They aren't actively hostile, well not usually, but it can be intimidating for someone who isn't that pretty to have to walk a gauntlet of subtle criticism like that. There's always an 'in' crowd, and they always circle the wagons when they see an 'outsider.' I've got to say that if it wasn't for my mother kind of dragging me in, I wouldn't go near a fancy snobby place like yours, even if the haircut was free."

     Christophe was stung. His establishments didn't do 'haircuts'. "Daria, you're a beautiful girl. Secondly you are absolutely right in your analysis of the situation." He stopped and looked at her. "How do I get you to go to my 'fancy, snobby place,' Daria?"

     Daria smiled a little. "You have to find out who I am and invite me, personally. Several times. And if you don't want me to walk right out, you have to make sure that nobody makes fun of me or stares at me like I'm some kind of ghoul. The place has to be friendly. And of course you have to give a good haircut. Or else you just get my mother to force me."

     "Yes. You are absolutely right. Changes have to be made." Christophe itched to fire the receptionist.

     Christophe and Daria walked along until they reached the corner, where he hailed a cab.

     "Daria, what are you planning to do when you graduate from college?"

     Daria shrugged. "I don't know. I thought I might try my hand at a writing job somewhere. It's my only real talent."

     Christophe snorted. "Nonsense. Come and see me if you find yourself at loose ends. I could use someone of your insight and intelligence in the management end of the business."

     Daria was flattered. "Um... Thanks."

     "I thank you. That was an extremely valuable bit of research. I am in your debt."

     In the cab Christophe was quiet, thinking.

     "Daria, would you like to extend your stay indefinitely? I think that our training program needs to be completely redesigned. You could be very helpful with the research phase of that. What we have now will not be at all sufficient."

     "Well I had an interview--"

     Christophe cut Daria off. "You will make a great deal more here, Daria, my word on it."

     Daria shrugged. "Its fine with me, but Helen is the one you have to convince."

     Christophe smiled. "I am very good at persuasion, but you had better ask her first. Now it's time to get you some clothes and things. My assistant, Nancy, will help you pick out a proper business wardrobe."

     Helen was really dragging when she got home that evening. Eric had been so busy Thursday that he had forgotten his daughter's birthday, provoking a domestic explosion. So today he had announced that he was taking her and the family to Disneyland to try and revive his marriage, and then left. Helen had managed to keep the show on the road but it hadn't been easy. She had been assigned three interns and a brand new associate. After an unbelievably rapid reorganization, things had finally settled into a state of controlled chaos.

     Jake brought her a cool drink and then massaged her feet as she chattered away about her day, and he vowed that he would never let things get that bad in his marriage. He still felt lucky every time he saw Helen and often wondered why she had picked him.

     The phone rang and Helen picked it up.

     "Hello."

     "Hi, Mom."

     "Oh, Daria! Jake, it's Daria! How are things going over there?"

     "We're pretty busy."

     "Are you shooting today?"

     "No, we had to push that back. Christophe's got me working in an office at his ad agency, doing market research."

     "You're kidding." Helen was stunned.

     "No. I kind of like this work. We're assembling a focus group to try and get an accurate view of peoples perceptions of the beauty biz. It's really interesting, and I like the people in the business end of things." Daria paused and took a deep breath.

     "Well that's fantastic, dear! That will look great on a résumé. Are you still in the same place?"

     "Yes. It's a nice little apartment for visiting junior executives at the headquarters building."

     "I'm proud of you, Daria."

     "Um... Thanks. Mom, I have a chance to make a lot of money here. This project could take over a month to do right. We're designing a whole new customer interface and I need to stay on for at least another month, maybe more." Daria was careful not to plead.

     Helen was troubled but could hear the excitement in her usually stoic daughters voice. "How much are we talking about, Daria?"

     "Five thousand a month. Plus the original contract. That will really put me ahead of the curve for college and give me a huge jump on employment afterward."

     "I agree, Daria, but your father will have to agree also. I'll talk to him and call you back. Oh, what is your job title?"

     "Assistant to the chairman."

     Helen was thrilled. "Fabulous, Daria."

     Daria smiled to herself. Fabulous was Helen's favorite word. "You know, Mom, this is a great place. I've got a fun job and people really respect me for my brain here. I could make it in this town."

     Helen frowned. "College first, Daria."

     "That's what everyone here says. Oh look, Mom, could you give Jane my number and get hers for me when she calls?"

     "Of course, dear. Let me talk it over with your father and call you back now. Bye."

     "Bye, Mom."

     Jake had been listening, his alarm growing. "Is everything alright?"

     Helen rubbed her temples and then smiled at him. "It's better than alright, Jake. Daria has gotten herself a summer job that pays sixty thousand a year!"

     Jake bolted upright. "Holy crap! Well that's Daria for you."

     After some persuasion Jake agreed on one trial month. He called to tell her.

     "Hello, this is Daria Morgendorffer."

     "Hello, kiddo!"

     "Dad! Good to hear from you!"

     Jake had a sudden eerie sense of being marooned in the future. One day soon this sort of communication with his daughter would be the norm. Time was slipping by at a terrible rate. He silently vowed to pay closer attention and hang on to these times for as long as possible.

     "Helen told me about your good luck, Daria."

     They talked business for a long time. It was the first real adult conversation Daria ever had with Jake. He gained a lot of respect in her eyes.

     Jane stood in the stable and contemplated flight. Summer and her latest husband Alex were into an Amish-hippie sort of cult lifestyle that Jane hated. She was wearing filth spattered bib overalls, a man's long sleeve khaki work shirt and black PVC barn boots. Her hair was liberally spattered also. An ancient and indescribably filthy wooden wheelbarrow heaped high with partially liquefied horse shit sat next to her.

     The whole sequence of events had been a nightmare. She and Daria had made plans for pizza and parted at the usual spot on the way home from school. Jane had opened her front door and found her suitcases in the hall. Her mother had announced her little plan and hustled her to the airport, deaf to all counterproposals. Jane had managed to get to a phone in the airport. Unable to get through to Daria, she had managed to leave a message for Trent. Jane had not been met at the airport at Flagstaff. She had only the haziest knowledge of the local geography and little notion of her sister's location. It had been eight thirty the next morning before she had grudgingly been picked up by an unhappy Alex.

     The squalid and barren old ranch was isolated and overcrowded. Besides Summer and Alex, there were about ten other couples living in old trailers and outbuildings. Alex held court and made oracular pronouncements that the group accepted uncritically. When the horde of dirty children infesting the place had ransacked her belongings and ruined her few art supplies, Alex had declared that "Everything in the community is held in common." When she had acidly asked for his truck keys, Jane had gotten her lovely new job.

     Wednesday, she had run the eleven miles to the nearest phone, a booth at an Amoco station, and called Trent's motel. She was informed that he had moved out and left no forwarding address. Counting her change, she had then called Daria, who was out. Depressed, she went into the station and thirstily drank cold water from the fountain. The owner of the station, Red Hanks, struck up a conversation with her. Taking pity, he dug a rusty old bicycle out of a junkpile behind the station. A quick one dollar transaction had seen her suitably equipped for the trip back to what she was calling Jonestown north.

     Jane wheeled the barrow out to the compost heap and dumped it. After scraping it clean, she went and cleaned herself. As she came out of the roughly made communal shower building, Alex surprised her.

     "Have you learned your lesson, girl? Or shall I find you another little job?" Alex glared pugnaciously.

     Caught wearing only a towel, Jane shrieked.

     Alex recoiled a little and looked around nervously.

     "What lesson is that, O bearded desert messiah?" Jane was picturing Daria in this situation and trying to act like her.

     "You have to accept the rules and will of the community," said Alex, nonplused.

     "The only one with a will around here is you, Alex. You're a wannabe Jim Jones, pushing people around. That's fine for the volunteers, but I didn't sign on for this crap." Jane fixed him with Daria's cold 'get lost' stare and spoke in a low, reasonable monotone, making sure that only Alex could hear her. "You're three months behind on the payments for this place, Alex. Amanda still holds the deed. She's been very gracious in not turning you out, but I guarantee that if she were here right now and saw this little power play of yours, you would be packing your bags."

     Alex backed down fast. "Look, Jane, I don't want to argue--"

     "I'll bet you don't. Well I'll tell you what, Mr. Brother in Law, I'm not exactly thrilled to be here either. Amanda didn't consult me about where I wanted to go. I don't like you, not one little bit. You like to psychologically abuse people, get them under your control. It ain't gonna happen with me, buster. You pull any more of this kind of shit and I'll hike over to Red Hanks' Amoco station and turn you in for child abuse, dope dealing and any other weird cult thing that I can make up. Now get out of my way or I'll throw this towel away and start screaming rape."

     Alex gasped for a moment like a suffocating fish. He abruptly turned and bolted away.

     Jane went to her room and changed. She picked up her suitcase and removed a sketchpad. Sitting on the bed, trembling a little but still smiling, she drew Alex's' shocked face in colored pencil. "Thanks, Daria," she said aloud when she finished.

     Quinn was mad. She had told Sandi that the house was being remodeled but Sandi had still insisted on Quinn hosting the Fashion Club's regular Monday meeting. Then she found out why.

     The Fashion Club was in Quinn's room and Stacy had just read the minutes from the previous meeting. A circular saw abruptly whined into jarring life from inside Daria's room.

     Tiffany started it. "Like, isn't that your cousin's room being remodeled?"

     Tiffany surprised Quinn. She usually wasn't aware enough to remember that Quinn had a "Cousin." Oh the tangled webs we weave, thought Quinn. "Yeah. She's out of town."

     Stacy chimed in. "Where is she anyway?"

     "Back east," said Quinn neutrally. "She doesn't live here any more."

     "There is a rumor going around that she ran off to New Orleans with some guy and became a stripper." Sandi looked at Quinn piercingly. "There is also a rumor that she's your sister and not your cousin at all."

     Quinn hung her head. Sandi was going to put her in her place, and in her own room at that.

     "She's not my cousin," said Quinn, shamefaced.

     "So it's true!" Stacy gasped, writing furiously.

     Quinn smirked. "Her boyfriend Trent is in New Orleans, with his band."

     "Her boyfriend is in a Band!" squealed Stacy.

     Quinn nodded. "Daria is in New York. She's working for Christophe International Beauty Ltd." Quinn coldly stared into Sandi's eyes. "She's my sister and I'm proud of her!" Quinn looked challengingly at the rest of the Fashion Club. "I apologize for lying about her, before. I used to think that she was a looser and I was ashamed to be her sister." Quinn looked boldly into each set of eyes in turn. "I hope you can all forgive me. I'm just sorry that my thinking was so wrong."

     "I forgive you!" Stacy came through like a champion.

     "Like, me too." Tiffany followed in her usual indolent, serpentine fashion.

     "Before we rule this matter closed, we have to check on this story." Sandi smiled maliciously at Quinn. "Can you prove any of this?"

     Quinn thought for a moment. "We could call her. There's a voice mail system there. I think it says the name of the company."

     "Let's try it." Sandi was praying for the chance to catch Quinn in another lie.

     Quinn got her father's speakerphone, brought it to her room and plugged it in. Opening her address book, she punched in Daria's office number, sans extension.

     A receptionist answered. "Christophe International, may I help you?"

     The three girls gasped.

     "Yes, I'm looking for Daria Morgendorffer." Quinn smirked at her amazed friends.

     "One moment please. Yes I have her. I'll transfer you."

     "Wait," Sandi butted in. "Could you tell us her job title?"

     "Certainly." The receptionist paused. "She's listed here with three different titles. That's strange. First she's listed as a contract model. Then as a contract actress, finally as Special Executive Assistant to the Chairman. This listing is not up to date. Can I help you with anything else?"

     "Yes, who's the chairman?" Quinn grinned at Sandi.

     "Why, Christophe is the chairman of the board."

     "Thank you."

     "I'm transferring you now. Good day."

     The phone rang five times, then a voice mail message came on. "You have reached the office of Daria Morgendorffer. She is not in right now. Her usual office hours are nine AM to five PM weekdays. Please leave a message at the tone. BEEP"

     "Hi, Daria. This is your sister. Just checking in. Well, bye!"

     Quinn looked at her cohorts triumphantly.

     "Ah. Wow, Quinn. She really is working for Christophe! I declare the matter closed without prejudice." Sandi was amazed.

     Stacy squealed, "She should be a member of the club if she's a model!"

     Tiffany stared blankly. "Like, how could she be a model? She was unpopular and dressed sooo hideously."

     Sandi looked thoughtful. "That guy Claude from the Amazon agency was asking around about her, that time. I always wondered about that."

     "But she hated him! Daria hated models and everyone else who tried to be preppy. Why did she change?" Stacy was puzzled.

     Quinn leaned forward conspiratorially. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. "That wasn't always so. Daria was the fashion editor back at her high school in Highland. They dressed really badly there, no matter what she did." Quinn's voice dropped low. "There was no Fashion Club there. Daria tried to take on all of our responsibilities by herself. She was just not up to it. I think the pressure got to her at the end and she kind of like, flipped out." Quinn's voice dropped almost to a whisper. "She had to go to the hospital. When she came here it was like a new start. She...was just a little confused, I think. Wait, I have one of the papers here!"

     Daria had been coerced into being fashion editor. She had written a regular anti-fashion column that was so subtly subversive and satiric that few students or faculty had been able to understand it.

     Quinn showed them a copy of the Highland Howl, complete with Daria's byline as fashion editor. What she didn't tell them was that an eighth grader named Quinn had written the column and submitted it as Daria's work when Daria had been in the hospital with tonsillitis. Daria had only 'flipped out' after she saw it. It had thrilled Quinn at the time to see her fashion advise in print, even under Daria's name.

     "Oh my God." Tiffany had a sudden vision of herself trying to fill Sandi's shoes and cracking under all the pressure. "She was all alone, doing it all herself."

     "That's like so sad," said Stacy, reading. "This is really good advice, too."

     "It could happen to any of us." Sandi was determined to seize a little credit from this debacle. "I move that Daria Morgendorffer be immediately admitted as a full honorary member. All in favor?"

     It was unanimous.

     "I then officially appoint Daria Morgendorffer a member in good standing of the Lawndale Fashion Club. I hereby direct the secretary to enter her name in the club roll. I further direct the Vice President to notify Daria of her new status as soon as possible and to officially welcome her to the Fashion Club."

     The phone rang.

     Quinn picked up the handset.

     "Hello"

     "Hello, Quinn, is Daria there?"

     "No. Is this Jane?"

     "Yes."

     "Daria's in New York. She wanted me to give you her numbers and to get yours."

     Jane's eyes widened. "New York! What's she doing there? Never mind, I'll ask her myself. Shoot."

     Quinn gave Jane Daria's apartment and office numbers, and her schedule. Jane explained about her phone problems and hung up.

     As soon as Quinn put the handset down the phone rang again. She looked apologetically at the Fashion Club and pushed the speakerphone button.

     "Hello, this is Quinn."

     Trent, paused, then spoke. "Yeah... Hello, Quinn. Is Daria there?"

     The girls perked up at the rough, low voice.

     Quinn boiled internally. If she had been alone, she would have told him that Daria had gone to Europe with her new husband. "No, she's not."