THE MOST UNKINDEST CUT
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"If only looks weren't everything!" - Stacy Rowe, "Fat Like Me"
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"Good use of color, Quinn," said Ms. Defoe.
"Tha-anks," said Quinn, smiling at the papier-mach‚ puppy she was almost done with.
Sandi looked at Quinn's puppy and frowned. She couldn't see why it was any better than the cat she was working on.
"Uh, Sandi," said Ms. Defoe, "watch your proportions. The head's a bit too large."
Sandi glared. The cat was modelled on Fluffy, who happened to have a large head. She was about to say something, but Ms. Defoe had moved on to Stacy.
Sandi turned back to make a comment to Quinn, but three boys had just walked over from the other side of the room.
"Hey, Quinn, that's a great dog!" said Jeffy.
"It's not a dog, stupid, it's a puppy, right, Quinn?" said Joey.
"Yeah, a puppy, I knew that," said Jamie, ganging up on Jeffy.
"Uh, what did you guys do?" asked Quinn.
They walked across the room.
Quinn looked at the three boys' projects. They were nearly identical. Each was an hourglass-shaped female figure with long hair painted red.
"I did one of you, Quinn," said Jamie.
"Me too," said Jeffy, "only mine's better!"
"Mine's the best," said Joey. "Don't you think so, Quinn?"
"They're all so nice," said Quinn, impartially, "are you guys done with the glue? I need some more."
Quinn picked up the large plastic bottle of glue. It was unexpectedly heavy. She had to use both hands.
"I'll carry that for you, Quinn!" said Joey.
"No, me!" said Jeffy.
"I'll do it!" said Jamie.
Quinn had started walking toward her project already, carrying the bottle of glue.
"Quinn, watch out for that paint ..." said Ms. Defoe, glancing up from trying to figure out what Tiffany's project was supposed to be.
It was too late. Quinn stepped in the small puddle of paint. Her legs went out from under her and she fell flat on her back. The bottle of glue popped open and began running onto the floor under Quinn's head. Some had splattered on her face.
"My eyes!" screamed Quinn. "Get it out of my eyes!"
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Quinn awoke and blinked. She remembered Ms. Defoe pouring water in her eyes, being taken away in an EMS vehicle, and being sedated in the emergency room.
She saw a blur, but things started to come into focus. She was still in the emergency room, laying down.
"Quinn! You're awake! Doctor, she's awake!"
Quinn turned to see her mother.
"Mom! You're here!" she said.
"We're all here, Quinn. Your father's here and Daria's on her way, too. You gave us quite a scare."
"I'll say!" said Jake.
A doctor shined a light into Quinn's eyes.
"Don't look at the light, Quinn, stare straight ahead," said the doctor.
Quinn did so as the doctor checked her eyes from several angles.
"How do things look, Quinn?"
"Blurry" she said.
"Well, we had to take your contacts out," said the doctor. "We'll see how things look when you get your glasses on."
"I don't have glasses," said Quinn.
"Oh, here's Daria," said Helen. "She's got your glasses."
"My glasses?" said Quinn, confused.
"Quinn," said the doctor, "your eyes are going to be sensitive for a while. If Ms. Defoe hadn't flushed your eyes with water you might have been permanently blinded. I'd strongly advise you not to wear contacts until we're sure everything's OK. I asked your sister to get you some glasses based on your contacts prescription."
"They have one-hour service," said Daria, handing her the glasses. "Here you go, Quinn."
"Um, can I sit up?" said Quinn.
"Sure," said the doctor.
Quinn sat up. Her head felt lighter, different. She ran her hand behind her head.
"What happened to my hair?" she screamed.
"Quinn, your hair was full of glue," said Helen gently. "They had to cut it."
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Quinn insisted on a quick trip to a haircutter before being taken home. She wasn't going anywhere with the crude cutting the hospital had done to see if the glue had gotten into her scalp.
Glasses. Short hair. What a nightmare.
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Quinn sat in her room, staring sadly at her reflection in the mirror.
Helen knocked and walked in.
"Quinn? How are you feeling?" she said.
"Terrible," said Quinn.
"Should I call the doctor?" asked Helen.
"No, I mean, look at me!" she sobbed.
"You look fine, Quinn," said Helen.
"I do not!" shouted Quinn. "I look like a boy! A geeky boy!"
"You look like a lovely young woman with short hair," said Helen.
"It's too short," said Quinn, sullenly. "And I hate these glasses."
"Quinn, you can't wear your ..."
"I know! I can't wear my contacts! They had to cut my hair because of the glue ..."
Quinn threw herself face down on her bed, sobbing uncontrollably.
Helen closed her eyes and sighed. She had no words to offer.
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Quinn got up from her bed. She had cried herself out. She put her hand to the back of her head and hoped she'd feel more hair than the last time. But there was nothing below the level of her earlobes, and it was very short all the way up to the top of her head, where they hadn't had to cut.
Quinn reached over to her bookshelf and grabbed "Tina and the Tennis Pro." She set her glasses aside and tried to read.
"Tina ... spied ... acre ..." she tried to read aloud.
It was no use. She couldn't read it without her glasses. She put them back on.
"Tina said, 'are you going to Wimbledon?'" she read.
Quinn threw the book on the floor.
"Damn it!" she said.
She picked up her cellphone and pushed a speeddial number.
"Hello?" came the answer.
"Stacy, it's Quinn!"
"Quinn! Oh, my God, we're all so worried! Are you all right?"
"I'll, uh, be OK, Stacy."
"What about your eyes? You were screaming about how your eyes hurt."
"Stacy, they'll be OK, but I can't wear contacts for a while."
"Oh. Can you see without them?"
"Stacy, I'm going to have to wear glasses for a while."
"Glasses? Oh, Quinn ..." said Stacy, almost crying herself.
"And Stacy?"
"Yes, Quinn?"
"I got glue in my hair and they had to cut some off."
"Oh, that's not so bad, Quinn, I remember at the last Fashion Club meeting we discussing hairstyle changes and we decided you'd look really good with shoulder-length hair and ..."
"It's shorter than that, Stacy."
There was a long pause from Stacy.
"How short, Quinn?"
"Like ... down to my ears."
"I'm so sorry, Quinn."
Quinn had hoped that talking to Stacy would make her feel better. It wasn't working.
"Well uh thanks for listening bye Stacy," she said quickly, hanging up.
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Quinn woke up the next morning hoping it had all been a nightmare. Running her hand over the back of her head reminded her it was real.
But it was still a nightmare.
She put on her regular outfit. Her neck felt naked with no hair in the back.
She looked through her closet and found the hooded Middleton College sweatshirt her parents had gotten for her. She put it on and pulled up the hood.
She looked almost normal that way. Even with the hood down it felt like there was something on the back of her neck.
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Quinn went downstairs to breakfast.
"Good morning, Quinn," said Helen. "Feeling better this morning?"
"Sure, I guess," said Quinn unenthusiastically.
"Got some that ol' Middleton spirit this morning, eh, kiddo?" said Jake, who had finished his breakfast and was getting up.
"Yeah, Daddy, I guess so," said Quinn.
"How are the glasses, Quinn?" asked Daria.
"OK, Daria, I mean, the frames fit and all," said Quinn, almost mumbling.
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Quinn walked to school alone, with the hood on her sweatshirt raised. She hoped she could get into her first class without seeing any of her friends, but she saw her fellow Fashion Clubbers standing in front of the school along with Joey, Jamie and Jeffy.
Time to face the music.
"Hi, guys!" she said with forced cheeriness.
"Oh, my God, Quinn, you're OK!" said Sandi. "Stacy told me about the glasses and about your hair."
"I hope that was OK, Quinn," said Stacy nervously.
"Um, no problem, Stacy," said Quinn, trying not to sound peeved.
"So, like, can we see your haiiiir?" said Tiffany.
Quinn took a deep breath and pulled down the hood of the sweatshirt.
Stacy, Tiffany and the three boys all stared, their jaws slacked, their eyes wide.
Sandi had a look of smug triumph.
Quinn gulped and said, "I'll, uh, see you guys in class, OK?"
She ran into the school, into the bathroom, and vomited.
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Quinn slipped into Mr. DeMartino's class just before the tardy bell rang. She saw the Fashion Club sitting with the three J's on the left side of the room. She saw an empty seat on the right side of the room and took it.
She tried to concentrate on Mr. DeMartino's lecture about the Red Scare. She glanced over at her friends and saw them all laugh silently at some whispered remark by Joey.
She saw a few other classmates staring at her curiously. Her face burned at the attention. She kept her eyes on her notebook or on DeMartino's whiteboard for the rest of the class.
When the bell rang, she was the first one out the door.
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"She'll probably make short hair and glasses into a fad," said Daria, sitting with Jane at lunch.
"Hmmm," said Jane. "Where is she? I don't see her with her usual crew."
Daria saw the Fashion Club, minus Quinn, sitting with the three J's across the lunchroom.
"Hi, Daria, hi, Jane" she heard Quinn say.
Quinn had somehow arrived at their table without them noticing and sat down next to Jane.
"So what brings you to the unpopular table?" said Daria.
"Unpopular table?" said Quinn, "Daria, only stuck-up people think like that."
"Hmmm. I won't argue," said Daria.
"I hear you had an accident in art class, Quinn," said Jane.
"Oh, yeah, no big deal, I can't wear contacts for a while and they had to cut off a teensy-weensy bit of my hair, but it'll grow back."
"Quinn," said Daria, "if it's no big deal, why are you sitting with us?"
"Why can't I sit with my own cou-, uh, sister and her best friend which kind of makes her my friend too since she's my sister's friend?" said Quinn.
"'Kind of' being the operative words," said Jane.
"Ha, ha," laughed Quinn, though the laugh sounded forced, "like Daria says, you have a great sense of humor, Jane."
"Actually," replied Jane, "I was being ser- ..."
But Quinn had finished her meager lunch.
"Bye! Gotta go! See ya!" she said, disappearing as fast as she had arrived.
"Did something just happen here?" asked Jane.
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After school, Quinn sat in her room, waiting.
Waiting for the phone calls from boys asking her for dates. The calls that had never stopped since she had moved to Lawndale.
An hour passed. Two hours. No calls.
Finally, the phone rang.
Quinn answered, taking care not to sound too eager.
"Hello?"
It wasn't a boy. It sounded like a grown woman.
"Yes," said Quinn, "I'm sure it's important that the Giant Strawberry be made into a national monument but ..."
The caller continued.
"I'm not interest - ..." Quinn tried to continue.
Finally she sighed and hung up the phone.
Then she hit a speeddial button.
"Hello?"
"Sandi! Hi!" said Quinn.
"Gee, Quinn, you were avoiding us all day, I'm surprised you called."
"I'm, uh, just double-checking that next week's Fashion Club meeting is at Tiffany's, right?"
"Uh, Quinn, you've been given a leave of absence from the Fashion Club for the duration."
"The duration of *WHAT*" Quinn practically screamed.
"Your, uh, illness," said Sandi.
"I'm not ill!" shouted Quinn.
"You don't have to shout, Quinn. I think it's better that you take a leave of absence while still suffering the aftereffects of your recent illness."
"You mean until my hair grows back."
"And other aftereffects," said Sandi. "Look, Quinn, I'd like to talk but I have a date tonight and he's arriving any minute."
"Um, who is it, Sandi?" asked Quinn.
"Joey," said Sandi. "Bye, Quinn."
Sandi had already hung up by the time Quinn said "yeah, bye."
So Sandi had a date with Joey. No big deal.
Quinn thought of calling Stacy, but remembered what had happened the other night. She decided to call Tiffany instead.
"Hello?"
"Uh, hi, Mrs. Blum-Deckler, is Tiffany there? This is Quinn."
"I'm sorry, Quinn, she's on a date tonight. A nice boy named Jeffy, I think you know him."
"Yes, I do, thanks, Mrs. Blum-Deckler ..."
"Would you like me to leave a message?"
"No, I'll see her in school tomorrow, thanks."
Quinn hung up.
Joey and Jeffy. No big deal.
Quinn hit another speeddial button.
"Hello?"
"Stacy, hi!"
"Hi, Quinn, I didn't see you around much today."
"Oh, I was around. Are you busy?"
"No, not particularly."
"No date tonight?"
"No, not tonight."
"Not even with, uh, say, Jamie?"
"That's tomorrow night, Quinn."
Quinn closed her eyes and tried to think of something to say.
"Quinn?" said Stacy, "are you there?"
"I gotta go, Stacy, bye!" said Quinn, hanging up quickly.
Quinn sat silently for several minutes, then went to bed early.
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Quinn put on the Middleton sweatshirt again the next day. She told herself it was kind of chilly outside.
She hadn't been able to talk to Tiffany last night, so she decided to walk to Tiffany's house before going to school.
A block away from Tiffany's house, she saw Jeffy already knocking on Tiffany's door. Tiffany opened the door and walked out. The two held hands as they started walking to school. Neither one noticed Quinn watching.
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Quinn went into school without talking to anyone and went straight to her locker. She decided to wait until the last minute to go into DeMartino's class again.
The warning bell rang. She waited as the other students cleared the hall on their way to class.
But two students remained in the hall. Joey and Sandi.
Quinn hid behind the open door of her locker, watching.
Joey and Sandi looked around to see if anyone was still in the hall. They didn't notice Quinn.
Then they kissed, giggled, and went to DeMartino's classroom. Quinn shut her locker and followed.
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Quinn tried to take notes on the lecture Mr. DeMartino was giving about Joe McCarthy and blacklisting, but she couldn't help notice the looks that kept passing between Stacy and Jamie. They kept smiling at each other, and Quinn saw Stacy wink at Jamie once.
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Quinn went home that night trying to forget what she had seen. There were plenty of other boys who could call her. Most of them had, at one time or another.
But again an hour passed without the phone ringing.
Finally the phone rang. It was a boy.
"Hello?"
"Is this Quinn?"
"Yes, it is. Who is this?"
"George."
George. She didn't know any George.
"George who?" she said, trying not to sound snotty.
"George Oakes. Would you like to go out with me?"
"George," said Quinn, hoping she wasn't deterring a good prospect, "are you in any of my classes?"
"Last year I was in your homeroom."
Now she remembered. George was on the chess team. He was an inch shorter than Quinn and weighed 200 pounds.
For a minute she was tempted, but she turned George down more gently than she usually bothered to do.
She got no more calls that night.
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She got no calls the next night, after a day of trying to ignore the fact that not only her Fashion Club friends, but every girl in the school seemed to be steady-dating one of old suitors. If she ever got her contacts back and her hair grew long again, she didn't think there would be any unattached boys to date.
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Quinn was spending another night waiting for the phone to ring.
"Quinn?"
She looked up to see Daria and Jane standing at her door.
"Quinn," said Daria, "I know this usually isn't you sort of thing, but Jane and I are going to the Zon tonight, and we wondered if you'd like to come with us."
Quinn looked at them for several seconds.
"Mom put you up to this, didn't she?" said Quinn.
Daria hesitated, then said, "She suggested it ..."
"You don't have to feel sorry for me," said Quinn.
"Quinn," said Jane. "Lots of people go to the Zon. It'll be something different."
"You don't have to feel sorry for me, either."
Daria and Jane looked at each other and shrugged. They'd tried.
"If you want to go some other night ..." began Daria.
"I don't. Thanks anyway," said Quinn, not sounding like she meant it.
Daria and Jane left.
The phone rang.
"Hello?" said Quinn.
"Is this Quinn? This is Bob," Quinn heard a somewhat nasally voice say.
"Bob?" she asked.
"Yeah, Bob Waller, I'm vice-president of the math club and you're vice-president of the Fashion Club, so we have something in common."
We both wear glasses, thought Quinn.
"Uh, yeah, Bob, I guess we do," said Quinn.
"So, Quinn, I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me, say, to dinner?"
Quinn closed her eyes and thought. Bob was certainly not short, if fact he was about 6-foot-one, but he was kind of gangly and had a nasally voice. And he was a math geek. Still, his parents had a nice big home since his father had a successfully computer-supply business ...
"Sure, Bob," she heard herself say, "what night?"
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The date had started off well. Bob had picked her up in his father's Lincoln Continental and taken her to a new restaurant, Giuseppe's.
But it turned out that Giuseppe's served nothing but pasta. It was like another night at home eating frozen lasagna.
The worst was that Bob's already nasal voice sounded horrible when he laughed, which had been nearly the entire night as he had regaled her with tales of his Mathlympics experiences.
"... so, Quinn, this guy from Cumberland High, he didn't even know what the half-angle formulas are, can you believe it? Hnnn-hnnn-hnnn!"
She couldn't stand that laugh.
"Really? Half-angle formulas?" she said, hoping he would keep his voice down. People were staring.
"Yeah, I mean everyone knows that, and this guy's on a Mathlympics team and he doesn't know! Hnnnn- hnnn-hnnnn! Isn't that funny?"
"Pretty funny, Bob," said Quinn, wishing this night would be over.
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Quinn got home and stared in the mirror again. She looked like the sort of girl a math geek would date.
She wasn't going to go out with Bob again. She had let him know.
But she half-wished he'd call again. Nobody else was calling.
Before she went to sleep, she had an idea. Maybe she had to wear glasses, but she didn't have to wear geeky glasses. She knew where she'd go after school tomorrow.
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"I'm sorry, Miss, but it will be at least two months before we can get those frames in. There's a backlog of orders. They're very popular."
Quinn sighed. She *knew* they were popular. That was the idea.
"Would you like to order a pair?"
Quinn would have her contacts back in two months. She hoped.
"No, thanks," she said, and walked out of Lawndale Optical. She had hoped a more fashionable set of frames would improve her mood. Not to mention her appearance.
She walked past Pizza King and looked in through the window. She couldn't face the popular crowd, but it looked like it was nearly empty. She went inside, sat down by herself, and ordered a cheeseless pizza.
"Hi, Quinn!"
She looked up and saw Ted DeWitt-Clinton.
"Hi, Ted," she said. "Um, why don't you sit down?"
Ted sat down across from Quinn.
"I heard about your accident in art class, Quinn. I'm glad you're OK."
"Yeah, I'm OK," said Quinn, "except for my hair and these gl- ..."
She hesitated. Ted wore glasses.
"... well, my hair."
"It looks fine, Quinn," said Ted.
Another comment from the fashion-clueless, she thought.
"You're nice to say so, Ted," she said, forcing a smile.
"Really, Quinn, not that there was anything wrong with long hair, you're so pretty either way."
Quinn had fielded compliments of that sort all her life, but this one was so sincere and unexpected she found herself blushing fiercely. She turned toward the wall, unable to look Ted in the eye.
"Uh, Quinn, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," said Ted, sounding concerned.
Quinn took a deep breath to regain her composure and looked back at Ted.
"It's OK, Ted. Thank you. I really appreciate that," said Quinn, reaching out to pat Ted's hand. She was still blushing but she had a big smile.
"Uh, Quinn, you like music, right?"
"Music? Uh, sure. I like music," said Quinn.
"There's a musical peformance at Lawndale State tomorrow night. I usually go alone, but I'd like it if you could go with me."
Quinn realized she was still holding his hand. It didn't seem like the right time to let go.
"Yeah, Ted, I'd like to go," she said, still smiling.
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The next day, Quinn realized she was nervous. She couldn't remember the last time she was nervous about a date. She passed Ted twice in the hallway at school during the day and felt too tongue-tied to say anything but a stammered "hi."
She got home and looked in the mirror and realized why. Ted had sincerely said she was pretty, but she still saw an unpretty girl with boyishly-short hair and glasses. She felt like a fraud.
She realized she felt hot in the Middleton sweatshirt - my God, when did she make a habit of wearing it? - and took it off. She had hardly noticed the weather turning warmer.
She realized she looked better now with her old belly-shirt displayed.
That was it, she thought. If her hair and eyes were no longer two of her best features, why not accentuate the rest of her? Basic fashion philosophy to the rescue!
She looked through her closet and found the red miniskirt she had only worn when she wanted to look super-sexy. She smiled at her reflection as she put it on. Who'd care about her eyes when they could see those long slim legs?
The pink shirt didn't look right with the miniskirt, though. Too plain. She looked further through her closet and found a blue halter-top. If she was going for a sexy look, why not go all the way?
She put it on and looked in the mirror again. It almost took her breath away to see how seriously hot she looked.
It needed something more, though. She looked through her dresser and found a hot pink scarf. She tied it around her neck. (*)
Perfect. Quinn Morgendorffer, you sexy little devil you, she thought, grinning wickedly, we'll see which one of us is tongue-tied tonight.
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(*) Although the red miniskirt comes from the episode "Lab Brats," the entire emsemble is from D. T. Dey's "Quinn the Brain: Alternative Ending #2."
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Quinn realized that her parents probably wouldn't let her leave the house dressed like this. She put the Middleton sweatshirt on again and hoped she wouldn't get too much flak about the miniskirt.
"Quinn! Your date is here!" she heard Jake shout up the stairs.
Quinn walked slowly down the stairway, stretching her legs out fully on every step, hoping Ted would notice them.
But Ted was talking with Jake.
"So just what *is* a viola da gamba?" said Jake. "Is it like a guitar?"
"More like a small cello," said Ted.
"Hi, Ted," said Quinn, smiling.
"Hi, Quinn," said Ted. "Are you ready?"
"Sure. You like my outfit?"
"Of course,"said Ted, looking at her face, "you always look so pretty."
Quinn blushed again.
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As they walked outside, Quinn noticed that Ted's car was very small.
"Uh, Ted, what kind of car is that?" she asked.
"A Yugo," he said. "Very fuel-efficient."
Quinn couldn't believe they were both going to fit in that little car. Maybe it would work to her advantage, though. He could hardly ignore her sexy outfit in such close quarters.
Ted was holding the door open for her.
"Uh, Ted, it's a little warm tonight, you mind if I take my sweatshirt off?" said Quinn
"Sure," said Ted. "I wondered why you had it on anyway. You're right, it's pretty warm tonight."
She pulled off the sweatshirt and waited for Ted's eyes to pop out at the sight of her halter top. But he stood there politely holding the door open.
Quinn sighed, threw the sweatshirt in the back, and got into the Yugo.
----------------------------
Quinn found that it was indeed crowded in the Yugo. She had to sit with her knees drawn up, which was awkward in her short miniskirt; she wanted Ted to notice her legs, but she really didn't want to flash her panties at him. She tried to cross her legs, found there wasn't enough room, and settled for pointing her knees away from Ted.
Ted, looking uncomfortably crowded but not seeming to mind, started up the car and began driving towards Lawndale State University.
Quinn couldn't believe Ted had shown no signs of noticing her outfit.
"Do you like my miniskirt?" she said.
Ted glanced over quickly.
"It's red. Matches your hair," he said.
Quinn grimaced. She didn't want him talking about her hair.
Maybe Ted was too occupied with driving to notice her outfit yet. She decided to find out about the night's music.
"So, Ted, is this like a band we're seeing tonight?"
"Student recital. Viola da gamba," said Ted.
"Uh, who's she?"
"That's the instrument. It's an old stringed instrument. A bit bigger than a viola and smaller than a cello. Very versatile."
Now Quinn was blushing for a different reason. "Who's she" had been a stupid question.
"Uh ... uh ... so who's playing?"
"Sarah Petrowski. She's a graduate student in the Department of Music. I've never heard her, but I've been told she's excellent."
-----------------------
Ted parked in a campus lot. They had a few blocks to walk to the music building.
Quinn took Ted's hand as they started walking. She saw him turn and smile at her. Finally, a bit of a reaction.
She decided to avoid any more stupid questions by admitting the truth.
"Ted, I really don't know much about this viola thingie or what sort of music it plays."
Ted sighed.
"Not many people do, I've found. It's an instrument from the Renaissance era that a few people are trying to revive today. The music we'll hear tonight is also from the Renaissance era, except for one original composition of Sarah's, or so I've been told."
Quinn had shifted her step subtly so that she and Ted were walking a little closer together. She felt his hand brush against her bare thigh. He had to be noticing, even if he gave no sign of it.
"That's ... uh ... really interesting, Ted," she said. She saw that they were almost to the music building.
"I'm glad you think so. I was trying to tell my lab partner in chemistry about it last week and she kept talking about something called 'Boys R Guys'," he said, with an air of exasperation.
The boy has a knack for making me blush, thought Quinn, feeling her face burn again.
---------------------
Still holding hands, they entered an auditorium that would hold about 250 people, although there were only about 30 in the room.
Quinn got the once-over from a middle-aged man. The middle-aged man got an elbow in the ribs from his wife.
Most of the audience was women, though, including the college-aged audience. Quinn got a few dirty looks from them. Quinn and Ted had to step past two college guys on the way to their seats, but they took little notice of Quinn. Quinn wasn't surprised, since she had pegged them as a gay couple at first glance.
"So, Ted," Quinn purred as they settled in their seats, "I wasn't sure what to wear for this. Is this OK?"
Quinn slowly crossed her legs as Ted turned to look. She also tightened her chest muscles so her breasts would stand out.
Ted's eyes quickly flicked over her body and settled on her face. He smiled and said:
"People don't really dress up for student recitals. I think they're ready to start now."
A jowly professor came on stage and introduced Sarah Petrowski, who reminded Quinn of a non-Goth Andrea, if such a thing were possible.
Sarah started her first piece. Quinn looked over at Ted. His eyes were closed and he was smiling with pleasure at the music.
They were still holding hands.
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A half-hour later, Quinn was having serious doubts about her choice of outfit. It wasn't just that it was having no discernable effect on Ted. The air-conditioning in the auditorium was strong, and Quinn was freezing. Her bare legs were covered with goose bumps. She uncrossed them and recrossed them in the other direction, hoping to create some heat by the movement.
She found herself wishing Ted would say something to make her blush again. At least that would warm her up.
Finally, the recital ended. Quinn hadn't understood any of it. The names of the pieces were all in Latin or Italian or something like that, and there were no lyrics. Did people really like music like this?
Apparently so. There was a standing ovation from the small audience as Sarah took her last bows. Quinn joined in, not quite understanding why. Ted's enthusiasm was obviously unfeigned, though.
----------------------
Ted was humming one of the pieces as they walked back to the car, holding hands again.
Quinn let go of Ted's hand, crossed her arms and vigorously rubbed her shoulders and upper arms.
"Are you cold, Quinn?" asked Ted.
"Yes! It was freezing in there! What's with the air-conditioning?"
"The instruments go out of tune if the temperature gets too warm," said Ted. "Did you like the music?"
"The music? Uh, I suppose it was OK," said Quinn, still trying to get warm. She couldn't wait to get her sweatshirt back on.
-----------------------
After dropping Quinn off, Ted sat in his room, thinking.
He had a feeling the date hadn't gone too well. Quinn hadn't seemed to enjoy the recital.
Ted opened an envelope full of photographs and looked at one of Quinn that he'd saved from his yearbook collection. He liked looking at the picture. Quinn had the prettiest face he'd ever seen.
He'd heard some rude comments made about Quinn since she'd cut her hair and started wearing glasses. Some of the comments came from people he'd thought were Quinn's friends. They used words like "geeky" and "dork," words he'd heard used about himself.
He couldn't see the difference. Quinn still had a pretty face.
He sighed. Was this what kids called a "crush"? He supposed he had one on Quinn.
Then again, he'd always thought Quinn was a bit shallow, and decided he'd been right. Quinn had kept talking about her clothes all evening, and kept trying to get Ted to comment on them. He thought maybe she'd changed since she no longer hung around with those fashion girls, but apparently she hadn't.
Such a shame. She was so pretty. He wondered how long it took to get over a "crush."
-----------------------
Quinn stormed into Daria's room, ignoring the fact that Daria and Jane had been discussing some school project.
"I can't believe it!" screamed Quinn. "I wear a special outfit to impress a guy and he doesn't even notice!"
Jane's jaw dropped as she saw Quinn's outfit. She felt the sting of primal girl-jealousy at the flawless miniskirt-legs Quinn usually hid under jeans, and at the busty-but-not-too-busty figure set off perfectly by the halter-top, but usually muted by a t-shirt.
Quinn sat on Daria's bed and buried her face in her hands.
"I'm such a geek. This haircut and glasses have completely ruined my looks."
Jane thought this was unlikely.
"Uh, Quinn," said Daria. "Maybe he was just being a gentleman, not drooling all over ..."
"Daria!" said Quinn, almost in tears, "when I say he didn't notice, I mean he really didn't notice. I'd notice if he noticed, OK?"
"OK, Quinn. He didn't notice. But I'm sure other guys will ..." began Daria.
"Daria," said Quinn, "can I hide out in your room? You know, until my hair grows back and I can wear contacts again?"
"Quinn," said Daria, "you have your own room."
Quinn flung herself on the bed and cried.
"I'm not cute anymore!" she wailed.
"So settle for drop-dead gorgeous," muttered Jane, wondering what Quinn was complaining about.
Quinn, who hadn't heard Jane's remark, continued crying.
"Uh, Quinn," said Daria, "I know we asked you this before, but we're going to the Zon. Would you like to go?"
Quinn stopped crying and looked up.
"Isn't that kind of an ... alternative place?"
"Yeah, sort of," said Jane.
"Short hair and glasses are, like, alternative. Right?" asked Quinn.
"There are girls like that at the Zon," said Daria, trying to sound encouraging.
"She can't go like that to Dega Street," whispered Jane to Daria. "They'll think she's a prostitute."
Quinn stood up, spent several seconds looking thoughtful, then walked over to Daria's closet.
"Quinn, what are you doing?" asked Daria.
"Finding something to wear," said Quinn, going through Daria's clothes.
"Uh, Quinn, your clothes are in your room," said Daria.
Quinn turned around, holding up some blue jeans and a black t-shirt.
"Isn't this what you wore to Alternapalooza?" asked Quinn.
"Yeah," said Daria, puzzled.
"Can I borrow it for tonight? Please, Daria?" said Quinn.
"OK," said Daria, still a bit puzzled.
----------------------
"Who shot the hippies?
Who locked them in a zoo?
Who gagged the beatniks?
Who filled their mouths with glue?
Who crushed the bohos?
Who turned their work to poo?
Hey, Mr. Normal, it was you!"
To Daria and Jane's surprise, Quinn had listened attentively through Mystik Spiral's entire first set.
At one point, Quinn had shouted in Daria's ear "better than a viola da gamba!"
Daria wasn't quite sure what that meant.
Daria and Jane applauded after "Mr. Normal" was finished.
"Hey, where'd Quinn go?" said Jane.
Daria looked around.
"Looks like she's found a guy to talk to," said Daria, spotting Quinn on the other side of the room.
"Wow. Big surprise," said Jane, sarcastically.
They saw Quinn walk over with her latest catch.
"Daria, Jane, this is Tom Sloane."
"Hi," said Tom.
"Hi," said Daria and Jane.
"Look, we're going to get something to eat," said Quinn. "I'll be back for the second set, OK?"
"Uh, Quinn ..." started Daria.
"Bye!" said Quinn, leaving with Tom.
Daria and Jane sat down at a table.
"How does she do it?" asked Jane. "That guy's cute."
"It's not genetic, obviously," said Daria, self-deprecatingly.
"You know, Daria, I was trying to catch his eye myself. It looks like Quinn beat me to it."
"Me too," sighed Daria.
"You?" said Jane, surprised.
"Hey, I'm not made of stone," said Daria. "Hmmm, maybe I do have a *few* of Quinn's genes."
"Maybe it's just as well, then," said Jane. "We'd have ended up fighting over him."
"Us fighting over a guy?" said Daria. "You've got to be kidding!"
"Yeah, I guess that's pretty ridiculous," said Jane, laughing. "Forget I said it."
------------------------
A month later, Quinn stood on the practice putting green at Winged Tree Country Club. She glanced up and saw Tom, off in the distance, arriving at the eighteenth tee with his father. After another few months' worth of lessons, she'd be able to join them on the course. Her putting was coming along nicely, she thought, as a fifteen-footer found the cup.
Dating Tom was a bit like leading a double life. He liked to hang out at places like the Zon, and then again there was the country club side of his life. Quinn preferred the country club.
She rarely thought about Sandi, Stacy and Tiffany any more. They had been *so* jealous when they found out Quinn was dating the only son of the richest family in Lawndale, not to mention that he was cuter than Jeffy, Joey and what's-his-name put together. She had new friends now.
Her hair was growing back, but she'd decided to let it grow to shoulder-length at the longest. Maybe not even that long. It was easier to take care of this way, and much more convenient for playing golf. Besides, Tom said he couldn't imagine her with long hair.
She'd kept the glasses, though she'd found more fashionable frames. Tom liked those, too.
She didn't go to Cashman's anymore. The pro shop at Wing Tree had such nice clothes. Right now she was wearing a pink sport shirt and khaki shorts from the Annika Sörenstam Signature line. They looked so cute.
Tom was now approaching the eighteenth green. In a few minutes, he'd be finished, and she'd join him for dinner in the country club's dining room. The dining room was so elegant. She couldn't believe she'd once thought that Chez Pierre was a nice place. Those phony French accents! Please!
There were worse things than Chez Pierre, though. For a few seconds, she thought back to those dark days when she had been reduced to dating math geeks and going to viola da gamba recitals.
Those days were over.
Oh, yes, thought Quinn. Quinn Morgendorffer is back. And back to stay.
THE END