Modern Girls and Retro Rock and Roll
by Dennis

“One, two, three―” Daria Morgendorffer began to count out the time again, when her sister Quinn interrupted. “I hate this stupid song. Why do we have to do it?”

“We’ve gone over this before, Quinn.” Daria’s eyes behind her glasses were narrowing, which Quinn knew never a good sign. “It’s a good song to close with. We'll mostly be doing the same covers everyone else does, and this will help us stand out, even if our own stuff doesn't.”

“Why would they want to hear it?” Quinn knew she was being petty―after all, they'd had this argument several times before―but she didn’t care. “It’s a stupid song.”

“’Roadrunner’ is a Boston classic, Quinn,” Jane Lane jumped in from behind the drum kit. “Lots of people know it, but not too many bands play it any more.”

Quinn was feeling ganged up on again and didn’t like it. She knew better than to look to Sandi Griffin―standing mutely, bass in hand―for support. Sandi rarely involved herself in the squabbling unless it was really important to her, and she’d made it clear that she didn’t really care what was in the set list.

Daria cleared her throat. “If we’re done?” Without waiting, she started counting time again.

Quinn knew the argument was tired, and that having it again would piss Daria off to no end, but she couldn’t help herself. “We’re not done. Isn’t there another song we could close with?” When Daria rounded on her, Quinn swore she could see steam coming out of her sister’s ears.

“You want us to maybe play something perkier, Quinn?” Daria said, an edge to her voice.

“Well, it might help.” When Quinn got nervous, she started babbling, and under Daria's withering glare, she was off and running. “I mean, I know we're not doing anything really perky, because that's what boy bands and teen pop girls do, and we're going for a cooler crowd, because this is a college town, but there's gotta be something that's cool enough for college, but not, you know, weird, or anything because not that many college students wear clothes that are three sizes to big and don't comb there hair, or at least I hope not...”

“Quinn!” Daria shouted, bringing her to a stop. “We have reasons for doing this song, you know.”

“But....”

Before Quinn could get going again, Daria rolled right over her. “We’re definitely closing with one of the covers, right?”

Quinn nodded, knowing she wasn't expected to say anything.

“And we decided it would be cool to close with something related to Boston, since that's where we all are. No one thinks a rockin' medley of hits about New York, LA, or Chicago is going to bring the house down here. So we decided to close with 'Roadrunner.'”

You and Jane decided, Quinn started to say, before deciding it was a bad idea. Getting in Daria's face when she was already angry would only make it worse, and she didn’t want this to turn into a screaming fight. “But it’s so geeky,” she said, retreating for now.

Jane laughed. “If you didn’t want geeky, Quinn, you picked the wrong bandmates.”

“Look, this all very productive, but could we, like, get on with it?” Sandi didn’t bother to hide her irritation. “If we’re not playing, I have better things to do.”

Daria grimaced. “Sandi’s right. We’ve got auditions in ten days, and I’d like to get through this damn song once without screwing up. So, if you don’t mind,” she shot Quinn a glare before counting off again. “One, two, three, four, five, six...”

Quinn slid the key into the lock. No light under the door. Good. She unlocked and opened the door as quietly as she could and slipped in, letting as little of the hall light as possible into the living room. Jane would sometimes crash on the couch when she’d been sketching or just watching TV. Waking her would probably be Bad.

Quinn wasn’t really sneaking―at least she told herself that―she just didn’t want to talk. Work had sucked. She’d made mistake after mistake, and her “But I’m cute, redheaded, and really, really trying” defense hadn’t worked with anyone―not even the guys. Even though it was only Wednesday, some of the other waiters were going out after work, but with less than half her usual take in her pocket, Quinn didn’t feel like paying Crestmore Square prices for even one or two drinks.

Shedding her light jacket―Septembers could be cold in the Boston area, especially at night―Quinn was about to congratulate herself on her escape when Jane’s bedroom door opened suddenly. Frozen, Quinn swore lightly under her breath as the living room light came on.

“Hi Quinn,” Jane didn’t look out of it at all, which told Quinn that she hadn’t been asleep. Quinn knew from experience that her roommate took as long as half an hour to wake up sometimes, and never less than ten minutes. “I thought you might like to talk.”

“Uh… thanks, Jane.” Quinn said, “but I think I’d rather just go to sleep. It’s been a rough day.”

“Let me put that another way.” Jane gave her a Look―one that said Quinn would not get off the hook that easily. “I thought you might need to talk.”

"What's to talk about?" Quinn said. "I had a rotten night at work and I'm ready for bed."

"Not so good during the day either," Jane quipped. "How long did Daria lay into your after Sandi and I left?"

"Twenty minutes," Quinn sighed.

"Only twenty?" Jane grinned. "Daria must be getting soft."

"That's how long it took me to get past her and out the door. For all I know, she's still there yelling at my picture or something." Quinn looked down. "Jane, the nicest thing she called me were childish and unprofessional, or at least I think those were the worst, because I'm not sure what some of the other words meant."

"She can really do damage when she gets going. I've never seen someone wield a tongue quite like that." Jane's face twisted into a leer. "Other ways are more more fun anyway."

"Ewww. I don't want to know."

Jane laughed. "Have a seat. You've had a tough day. I'll grab a couple of beers from the fridge, and we can talk."

"Uh sure." Quinn took a seat on the sofa. They'd gotten it secondhand, and she felt the red was a little strong for furniture, but she had to admit it did balance the rest of the room nicely. Unlike Daria's place, which was plain and functional, her and Jane's apartment had a touch of class. Drapes hung in the windows, and the coffee table was elegant rather than boxy. Prints of some of the old masters, courtesy of Jane, decorated the two of the three walls―the fourth was a kitchenette.

Quinn had to admit, living with an artist had its good points. Jane had unerring color sense when she chose to use it, and she knew how to get good stuff cheaply, something Quinn had never even thought about until now. Even the paintings fit the room's design. Of course, Jane's room was different, but that had been part of their agreement on moving in together. Jane got the bigger bedroom for her artwork, but Quinn got the closets, and the living space had to be kept inspiration-free.

After a long moment, Jane returned with the beers. "So, what's up? I assume this isn't just part of a complex plot to put Daria in the loony bin.” With a smirk, she added, “If for no other reason than that she'd probably be sent up for killing you."

Quinn opened the beer and took a sip. “I don't know, Jane. It's not like I'm trying to piss Daria off.” Unhappiness painted her face. “I'm just good at it, I guess.”

Jane gave Quinn a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, well. It's pretty easy to do, and you've had more practice than anyone.”

“I know,” Quinn said, “And it worries me. Remember what that girl said at the first audition.” She felt fear closing over her again―the fear that she and Daria were doomed to repeat the sibling battles of their mother and Aunt Rita. A total stranger could tell.

“Not really,” Jane smiled. “She was kinda out there.”

“I don't know,” Quinn said. “She seemed pretty sharp to me. She said that Daria and I would never get along, that we'd eventually mess up everything with our fighting. She compared us to the guys from Oasis, you know, the brothers who are always beating each other up and saying mean stuff about each other in magazines.”

“Quinn,” Jane's expression grew serious. “It's no big deal. Cinder spent an hour with us. What makes you think she knows us better than we do?”

“If it was no big deal, why do you remember her name?”

Jane tried to shrug it off, but Quinn was having none of it. Her eyes bored into Jane's until Jane gave in. “Alright. She got to me too. But that doesn't change what I said. Sometimes, you have to ignore what other people say. You know, like Daria. She didn't have any problem ignoring Cinder.”

"Yeah, well, Daria's good at ignoring people," Quinn said, flatly.

"Usually you, right?" Jane gave her an impish smile.

“You're not helping, Jane.” Quinn's voice came out as a whine. She knew Jane wasn't trying to push her buttons, but the angry words Daria had hit her with this afternoon were still stuck in her head.

“I'm sorry, Quinn. Look, I'll just shut up for a minute.” Jane grinned again. “I got a beer to finish, anyway.” She took a long drink. “So do you.”

Comparative silence reigned until Jane finished and stood. “I'm getting another. You want?”

“I'm okay. I still have half of this one left.” As she watched Jane walk into the kitchen, Quinn shook her head. If only my high-school self could see me now. It's Saturday night and am I out on a date, drinking wine at a French restaurant? No, I'm sitting home, drinking beer with Jane Lane and wondering if I should save everyone some time and let Daria kill me now.

The offer to room with Jane had come as something of a surprise for Quinn. It had taken Daria all of three weeks as a freshman to decide that dorm life wasn't for her, but Raft rules required her to finish out the year. When Jane moved up to Boston in January, she lucked into an apartment. Her mother's friend's niece or something had needed a roommate for the rest of the school year―the last roommate had finished school in December and left for a gallery job in Austin, Texas. When Jane's roommate finished school, she left too, to backpack across Europe, an idea Quinn found disgusting. I'd love to go to Europe, but not with one change of clothes.

Quinn had naturally figured that Daria would move in with Jane, leaving her to find a place for herself, unless she wanted to deal with what Daria described as, “mutant mystery meat that will make you long for Dad's kitchen sink stew.” But Daria had found the one-bedroom in the next town and Jane had invited Quinn to move in. Jane had never said why she hadn't roomed with Daria, and Quinn hadn't asked. After all, the price was right, the place was convenient to the T, and Jane wasn't a bad roommate when she was around, which wasn't all that often. Quinn wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Fresh beer in hand, Jane rejoined Quinn on the couch. “So why do you put up with Daria?” she asked without preamble.

“How can you say that?” Shocked, Quinn narrowly missed knocking over her own beer. “You're her friend.”

“Yes. That's my answer. But sister's not the same as friend.”

“Don't I know it.” Quinn sighed deeply and downed the rest of her beer.

Jane said nothing, just waited as the silence stretched out. It started to feel like it was alive, alive and pushing down on Quinn. When the weight of it became unbearable, she blurted, “I want to understand her.”

Like a light coming on, sudden knowledge filled her and the words came out. “We pretty much grew up apart. Even living in the same house, even sharing a room, we never talked, never showed any interest in each other. It's only in the past couple of years I've even tried to get to know her, and now I feel like she's this really weird movie with no plot, but maybe if I watch it over and over again I might figure out the littlest part of what happened. Being in the band gives me a chance to watch the movie again.”

“So?” Jane gave a half-smile. “I don't understand my sisters, and it doesn't bother me.”

“You can get away with it. The Lanes don't have any family expectations.”

“Well, except for the Lane family reunion.” Jane shuddered in memory. “Did Daria ever tell you about that? It was the same weekend you guys went camping and got whacked out of your skulls on psychotropic berries.”

“Yeah, she did or you did. I don't remember.” Quinn waved a hand dismissively. She didn't really remember the camping weekend at all. “You're never going to go back to the Lane reunion, though. The Barksdale women don't have that option. We'll get pulled into stupid family stuff, no matter what. Have you ever seen my mom and Aunt Rita together?”

“Daria's told me stories. Your cousin Erin's wedding, for one.”

“I don't want that to be me and Daria in twenty years.” Something new came into Quinn's voice, maybe equal parts sadness and resignation. “My mom says she loves Aunt Rita, but they fight like cats and dogs whenever they see each other. I want to be able to say I love my sister and know that it's true, and that we love each other because we understand and respect each other, not because we have to. And the band is the best way to spend time with her. When she isn't ready to kill me, anyway.”

“There are easier ways, Quinn.”

“You've been Daria's best friend for five years, Jane. Do you really think 'easier' is the right way to go with her?”

“Point.” Jane laughed.

Quinn finished her beer and rose. “Look, it's been a long day, so I'm going to sleep. Thanks for listening.”

“Any time, Quinn. Sleep well.”

Much to her surprise, Quinn did.

Over the next couple of days, Quinn's mood lightened a lot. Getting back into the swing of classes helped―it always took her a couple of weeks to settle in at the start of a semester. So did her Friday night at work. She made more than enough to make up for her disastrous Wednesday, and got asked for her phone number by three guys. She hadn't given the digits to any of them―there was far too much going on in her life to keep anything like her old dating schedule―but it was nice to be noticed.

Daria would appreciate the irony, if she ever thought about my dating habits, Quinn thought as she counted her take on Saturday morning. She sighed, and gloom settled over her like a blanket. Today was the first GTS practice since their blowup on Wednesday, and Quinn wasn't sure what to expect. Daria ignoring or resenting her was easy to deal with, but Daria actually mad at her was totally unpredictable. Well, it was a nice couple of days while it lasted. She pulled on a pair of jeans and a tan top and headed out the door to catch the T, and headed over to Daria's.

Jane greeted her at Daria's door, in her usual outfit. In high school, Jane had favored a red jacket and black t-shits, but now she favored red t-shirts and black or dark brown pants. “Sandi's not here yet, and Daria's already downstairs,” Jane said.

Quinn wasn't sure what to make of that. Quinn knew Daria often wanted to be alone when she was mad, but she also liked to be alone when she was happy, and at most other times for that matter. Wordlessly, she followed Jane, wondering what to expect.

They found Daria with the acoustic guitar over her knee, in jeans and a black t-shirt, similar to the outfit she'd worn to Alternapalooza all those years ago. Her face was creased with deep concentration as she fingered the strings. After a moment, she looked up, expression unreadable, at least to Quinn.

“Jane,” Daria said quietly, “can you excuse us for a moment? I need to talk to Quinn.”

Jane shrugged. “Sure. I'll come back down when the screaming stops.”

Quinn gave Jane an unfriendly look, and noticed that Daria did the same. Jane grinned and headed up the stairs.

“Have a seat, Quinn,” Daria said, her voice still quiet.

A little worried, Quinn grabbed a chair. For once, she truly had no idea what Daria would say. Her jaw dropped when Daria's next words were, “Look, I'm really sorry.”

At Quinn's stunned silence, Daria continued. “About Wednesday. I had no right to lay into you like that.”

“No,” Quinn finally managed, “you didn't.”

Daria digested that for a moment. “Touché, Quinn,” she said, with her little smile, and Quinn started to calm down. It's funny. Even though she's the most sarcastic person in the world, Daria's smiles are all genuine. She does it so rarely that she only has one.

“I thought about it and I realized I was out of line. It's not like you were making trouble just to make trouble. I should have listened,” Daria added.

“Look, Daria,” Quinn said, “I know you think I'm, what's the word..., frivolous, but I do have reasons for the things I do.”

“I know you do,” Daria returned. “I don't know why I decided you didn't.”

“Maybe because old habits are hard to break,” Quinn smiled, but knew there was an edge to it. Unlike Daria, she did have more than one smile. It would have been easier to just take the peace offering, but her words to Jane last night came back to her. Easier is not the way to go.

“For both of us, I think,” Daria said, all smiles gone. “You can take or leave the apology, Quinn. I don't care. I needed to say it, and it's done. But I also wanted to talk about what happened Wednesday.”

“Why?” Quinn was suddenly uncomfortable. “It's over. I accept your apology, and let's get back to work.”

“Sure, Quinn. But on what? We still have auditions in a week and we still don't have Roadrunner down.” Quinn started to object, but Daria raised a hand, and Quinn stayed silent. “I know you don't like the song, but I've got a good feeling about it. I know it's pretty old, but like Jane said, it's a Boston tune. Not that many people play it, but lots of people still like it. And it's pretty catchy, so even if people don't recognize it, they'll probably dance along anyway. We get credit for being fun, without being predictable.” Daria finished, and sat as if expecting something.

What seemed like years, or maybe a minute, passed. Quinn started to get nettled. “What do you want me to say, Daria?”

“I want you to tell me why you object to the song. Believe it or not, Quinn, I respect your opinion, so if you have good reasons for not wanting to do the song, we can talk to Jane and Sandi and come up with something else. But I need to know what they are.”

Shocked, Quinn thought. “Well, you know, it's like...,” she trailed off. The problem was, now that she was on the spot, she didn't really have a good argument. “I mean, I just don't think it fits my, you know, that thing, like style, but more....” Not liking the song wasn't going to be enough. “We're four girls, and the song is old, so the audiences won't... I mean, we won't... that is....” If she couldn't tell she was beaten by her inability to finish a sentence, Daria's smug expression definitely gave her a clue. She gave in. “All right, Daria, but if people don't react, we're pulling it right away.”

“Whatever you say, Quinn,” Daria deadpanned, and Quinn was amazed that she'd been outmaneuvered so badly. She liked hearing that Daria respected her opinion, but she also recognized the leverage that it gave her sister. Before she could consider the problem any more, the thump of boots told Quinn that Jane was coming back down. Sandi, dressed in a skort and top combination made up of several complementary shades of blue, followed. Quinn noted that Sandi now favored blues as the base for her outfits far more often than she had in Lawndale.

“Check it out, Sandi,” Jane said. “No blood.”

Sandi gave her a thin smile, one that Quinn recognized from the Fashion Club. Now there's someone whose smiles are never real. I don't think I've ever seen Sandi smile just because she's happy. She's always sending a message. Quinn wasn't sure what the message was this time, which made her uncomfortable.

Practice began and they rolled through the dozen or so GTS originals first. Since Sandi joined four months ago, their playing had become really tight. Her steady bass kept Jane, who liked to play fast, from falling out of time, but left room to add rolls and fills, which made the sound denser. Daria's economical leads were easy to hear but never got in the way, and Quinn could feel the strong rhythm section forcing her to find more power in her voice. To her ear, they sounded good. Like pros. She thought “Charmed Circle” sounded especially great, and “Wherever You Can Find It” was only a little behind.

Most of the covers sounded good too. It was just that one damn song. As soon as Daria began to count the time, Quinn began to tense. Her singing, which had been so effortless for most of the day, began to sound constricted. Halfway through, Daria called a halt.

“Aww...,” Jane said, “We still haven't gotten to the good part yet.”

“Quinn, what happened?” Daria asked. “That was awful.”

Quinn gave Daria a glare. “Thanks so much, sis.”

Daria ignored it. “You sounded great on all the other songs. We started 'Roadrunner,' and you suddenly sound like a bullfrog. What gives?”

Quinn didn't like the sudden look on her sister's face. “I don't know, dammit! I try to sing the stupid song, and it just comes out wrong.” Anger and nerves combined to take over her brain yet again. “You know, it's like when you've got the perfect outfit, except for the shoes, and you're so self-conscious that it messes up the way you walk, and pretty soon, you're stumbling over every third step until you end up throwing the shoes in the sewer, and making someone drive you home.” She ran down, and realized how silly she sounded. “Not that I would know, of course.”

“Oh, I believe you,” Jane cracked. “Doesn't sound like the voice of experience at all.” Sandi just looked smug.

“Fascinating sidelight, Quinn,” Daria said, “but I don't see what it has to do with the damn song.”

“Look, Daria,” Quinn snapped. “I'm trying to tell you that the song doesn't work for me. It's like my body injects it or something.”

“Rejects, Quinn,” Jane murmured.

“Yes, rejects,” Daria snapped, “which is what we're going to be if we don't get this song down. Sparing a glare for all of them, she added, “Try harder, Quinn.”

Quinn glared right back, but before either sister could speak, Sandi jumped in, "Gee Daria, if you want 'Roadrunner' in the set so badly, maybe you should sing it yourself."

A shocked silence fell, as the tensions in the room suddenly shifted. Sandi didn't involve herself in petty details, especially not the set list. Quinn's eyes narrowed. What's she up to? “I'm the lead singer,” she started to say, but was distracted by Daria's simultaneous, “Quinn's the singer.” The sisters shared a quick look before turning back to Sandi.

Indifferent to their glares, Sandi addressed Daria. “Look, Quinn's having a hard time with the song anyway, because it's too low for her voice. Maybe if she liked the song, she'd find a way to sing it, but she doesn't, so it's never going to work.”

To Quinn's eyes, Sandi's smirk was unpleasant. A quick peek at her bandmates told Quinn that, for whatever reason, neither Daria nor Jane had noticed. Well, they didn't have Quinn's experience with Sandi. It's weird, though, Quinn thought. She could have just let things play out. She did stop us, when we might have had another fight. But she didn't look like she was doing us a favor. As she thought, Daria made an “uh-huh” sound.

“So, if you're, like, intent on having us do the song, you're just gonna have to sing it yourself.”

“Sandi,” Daria said, trying to sound patient. “If Quinn's voice is too high for the song, what makes you think mine will be better? In case you've forgotten, I do high harmonies. You're the one with the deep voice.”

“The song's spoken, not sung, Daria.” Jane, forgotten for the moment behind her kit, jumped in. “And your speaking voice is right.”

“So's Sandi's,” Daria said, sounding annoyed.

If Quinn was any judge, Daria was starting to feel ganged up on. Sometimes that worked, like when she and Jane had convinced Daria that a fourth Girl was needed. If it didn't, though, Daria would eventually lose it again, and Quinn didn't want to deal with that for the second time in a week. She threw her sister a little support. “Yeah, Sandi. Your voice is better for the song than Daria's. Why won't you sing it?”

“I don't like it either.” Sandi's smirk grew more obvious, leaving Quinn feeling like she'd been outmaneuvered again. And this time, she didn't even know how.

“And you didn't point this out before, why?” Daria sounded like someone trying hard to keep her temper.

“I care about playing, not about what we play.” Sandi shrugged. “And your reasons make sense. If you think doing the song is a good idea, we should do the song.” A faint accent on the 'you' told Quinn that Sandi was referring only to Daria. “After all, it's your band.”

“That's a rotten thing to say, Sandi.” Quinn said, recovering from her shock.

Sandi, focused on Daria, ignored Quinn

“Look, Sandi,” Daria said, teeth clenching. “We all offer something, and we all need each other to make this work.”

“Sure. Whatever,” Sandi's eyes met Daria's. Her look was direct, challenging. “Are you going to sing the song?”

The question hung there, as Daria met Sandi's gaze with a cold expression. Quinn recognized that face on her sister. Daria was on a knife edge, wanting very badly to lose it and cut into Sandi but knowing it was important not to. With an effort―visible to Quinn, and almost certainly to Jane―Daria got control of herself. “Yes,” she finally said. “I'm going to sing the song.”

Quinn wondered if Sandi realized how close she'd come. Probably. I bet she wants to see how far Daria can be pushed. The grim predictions she'd made four months ago about Sandi wrecking the band for the sheer pleasure of it floated into her mind. She's like her brothers. But Sam and Chris break things. Sandi breaks people. Of course, Daria's not very breakable. Quinn knew her sister also didn't let things go, even if she had apologized today.

Daria's voice counting off the time called Quinn back to herself. “One, two, three, four, five, six...”

October's in Jefferson Square wasn't the nicest place Quinn had ever been in, but it wasn't a total dive either. The long bar extended back towards a raised bandstand, but there was space in between for a decent-sized dance floor. At least a hundred, maybe two hundred people could fill the space when a band was playing. Compared to the last place they'd auditioned at, it was a palace―a palace looking for a steady band for Tuesday nights. And Tuesday nights didn't conflict with either Daria or Quinn's work schedule.

Daria, standing in the doorway behind Quinn, said, “Well, it's not bad. It's not like our first gig was going to be at the Paradise.”

Jane, to Daria's side, laughed. “It's no McGrundy's, but I could see us playing here.”

Sandi, bringing up the rear, said nothing.

The heavyset man who had let them wore faded blue jeans over work boots and a buttoned flannel shirt. Not quite a reject from Seattle, Quinn thought, but not far. He looked them over. “So, you're here to audition for the Tuesday night slot?” Quinn nodded slowly, and pale blue eyes under beetle brows flicked over her. “Well, at least you put a looker in front.” Before anyone could register what he'd said, he turned and walked into the bar. “Well, come on in.”

They followed him back to the stage. Sudden nerves gripped Quinn, and a quick look at her bandmates told her they weren't doing much better.

“Get yourselves set up,” the owner said. “We can do all the introductions and chit chat after I hear you play. After all,” he added with less than friendly chuckle, “we might not need to bother.”

“Uh, sure,” Quinn said. “We'll just get our stuff out of the van.” She hurried out, to hide her nervous confusion. The other Girls followed quickly.

Despite their nerves, they set up quickly. All four of them understood that wasting the owner's time was a good way to blow the audition without getting to play a note, so over the last few weeks, they'd practiced setting up and breaking down almost as much as they practiced music. Quinn had thought it dull, but had to admit it paid off when the bar's owner gave a little nod at their speed.

They finished setting up, and the owner stood, arms folded. Seeing no indication that he was going to ask them to play, Quinn looked to Daria and then to Jane, who shrugged and began counting the time. They tore into “Charmed Circle,” then rolled right into “Wherever You Can Find It.” Quinn knew they were playing well, could feel the music moving her, but she wasn't sure they were getting across. The owner didn't change position at all; the music just rolled over him. As Jane's last roll died, he grunted, “Let's hear the covers.”

The owner's disinterest hit Quinn like a lead weight, and she almost missed her cue in “Basket Case.” She could feel the first verse fall flat, earning her a quick glare from Daria that she hoped no one else noticed. As the song roared on, she found her footing again. The power of the rhythm section filled her, and she fell into the song, her voice gaining confidence and power. They steamed through “Rock and Roll Machine” and “Helter Skelter,” with Jane in a frenzy on the drums and Daria uncharacteristically bouncing around the stage wildly on guitar. “I've got blisters on my my fingers!” Jane shouted, and the music stopped. All three other Girls shot her a look.

“Sorry,” Jane shrugged, an impish smile on her face. “Couldn't resist.” Not for the first time, Quinn thought to herself that Jane's body was well-suited for shrugging. Her long arms caused her shoulders to roll just so, and the effect was very, very cute. If Quinn had Jane's look, she'd be sure to wear tank tops and shrug as often as she could. Quinn knew there was no way Jane would take this advice, but after her years in the Fashion Club, there was no way she could stop thinking it.

The owner was obviously unmoved by Jane's Ringo impression or her rolling shoulders. “You got anything else? Something that stands out a little, maybe?”

“We've got one more,” Daria said, sounding a little annoyed. “Ready?” Quinn nodded back. So did Jane and Sandi. Daria counted out the time for “Roadrunner,” and they were off.

Since Quinn didn't play an instrument and the song had very little harmony, at least until the end, she didn't have much to do except look good. So she danced along with the song, noticing that despite the weird lyrics and minimalist sound, it really did make her want to move. And Daria's voice did the song justice in a way hers didn't. As they hit the climax, Quinn began to get a good feeling, a feeling reinforced by the owner's tapping foot, the first movement he'd made since they started playing. By the end of the song, Quinn could see the man smiling, but he quickly hid it as the music stopped.

“Okay. Tuesday's yours. I'll give you a month at $100 a night. We can talk more if you stay past that. And no originals.” All the Girls stared in shock, but it was Quinn he fixed with his glare. “Take it or leave it. I'm not negotiating.”

Quinn, oddly flustered at being singled out, blurted, “We'll take it,” just as Daria started saying, “We'd like to talk it over for minute.” Daria glared, and Quinn wilted. “I mean, my sister's right. We'd like to talk for a minute.”

“I'll be back in five minutes. You can give me your answer then.” He headed towards the other end of the bar, but not before adding, over his shoulder, “The name's Tierney, by the way, Mike Tierney.”

Almost before he was gone, Jane rounded on Quinn. “What the hell was that, Quinn?” she said, voice low but angry. “You think maybe the three of us might want a say before you open your mouth?”

The anger in Jane's voice wiped away Quinn's embarrassment and replaced it with annoyance. “Were you planning on turning him down, Jane? He's giving us a steady gig.”

“At a hundred bucks a week, playing only covers.” Jane retorted. “I'd like a minute to think about what we're getting into.”

“We're getting into a gig, Jane. That's what we're getting into.” Quinn could feel her skin going red with anger. “What's your problem? Is it because I said something first?”

“I think that's a different Morgendorffer's line, right Jane?” Sandi's voice was quiet, but even as angry as Quinn was, she couldn't miss the smirk on Sandi's lips.

Before Quinn could say anything or Jane could round on Sandi, a whip-crack voice barked, “Stop! All three of you, just stop.” Quinn almost didn't realize her sister had spoken, as Daria hadn't used her 'I will get my way, no matter what' voice in a very long time.

“We have four minutes to decide if we take this gig,” Daria continued. “I don't care who said what. I want to know what you think we should do. What all of you think we should do,” she added, sparing a cold glare for Sandi.

“Well,” Sandi replied, unfazed by the glare. “What do you think, Daria?”

“I think we should take it,” Daria said. “I want the experience, even if it's a disaster.”

“What if he cheats us?” Jane asked. “I don't like being pressured, and that's what this Tierney guy is doing. And who's to say we're ever going to get to play our own stuff? I didn't get into this to be a cover band.”

“Most of the other places didn't even offer to pay,” Quinn countered. “They thought we'd be happy with the exposure. I'm with Daria. I say we take the gig and get the experience. If he screws with us, we know not to work for him again. And if it works out, we can build up a following. He'll be begging us for our own stuff.”

“That's two for, one against,” Daria said. “Sandi?”

Sandi nodded. “Whatever you guys want. After all, it's not much, but it's a paying gig.”

Jane sighed. “I never said I was against it. I just said I wanted time to think.”

“I know,” Daria said, “and I'm sorry, but we don't have time, and it's three to one, so it looks like we're taking it.”

“Looks like we are,” Jane agreed, as Tierney came back. “I just hope we're not the ones who get taken.” The rest of the discussion went quickly, and mostly without surprise, although Daria did get him to agree to paying them half before the show.

As they got in the van to head back to Daria's, Quinn realized she had a lot to think about.

She didn't have much time to think over the next couple of days, though. Between schoolwork and work-work, they went by in a blur, until before Quinn knew it, she found herself on Monday night sitting in a café in Jefferson Square sipping a mocha latte and waiting for Sandi, who was already fifteen minutes late.

I really don't have time for this, Quinn thought as she waited. She'd just decided to give Sandi another five minutes before finishing her latte and leaving, when through the store window, she saw Sandi hurrying up the street, several bags in hand. Another blue outfit, she thought aimlessly. It does suit her, though not as much as some of the more vibrant colors she used to wear in Lawndale.

As Quinn's frown deepened, Sandi made her way to the table, her swinging bags just missing some of the other customers. “Sorry I'm late, Quinn, but I stopped to pick up a dress and three of the stores in the Galleria were having sales. You know how that goes.”

“Sure, Sandi. I know how that goes.” Quinn buried her irritation and took a sip of her latte. “So, what's up?”

“Well, I just wanted to, like, catch up.” She sat and hailed a passing waitress. “Double cappuccino, extra cinnamon.”

Quinn gave Sandi a curious look, which Sandi met with a sheepish smile. “I know we see each other all the time, but we never sit and talk. It's always play this, tune that, how do you want to arrange the other. When's the last time we had a real conversation about something other than the band?”

“The last week of High School. We didn't see a lot of each other over the summer.” Quinn tactfully didn't mention the reason they hadn't spoken much.

“Well, don't you think it's time we did again?” Sandi looked up as the waitress brought her cappuccino. “Seriously, I feel like I don't even know what you've done for the last two years. Well, besides sing, of course.”

“Like that's not enough,” Quinn gave Sandi an arch look. “I also tried to play the bass, which probably wasn't such a good idea.”

Sandi smiled thinly at the reference to her own position. “Gee Quinn, I'm just surprised you ended up in a band with Daria.”

Quinn found the slight emphasis on Daria's name unpleasant. “She's my sister, Sandi.”

“Not your cousin?”

“High School's over.” Quinn gave Sandi a flat stare.

“Sorry,” Sandi's expression didn't change. “It's just that you two never got along, and now you're, like, spending all your time with her and Jane. I'll bet you don't even keep up your old dating schedule.”

“Do you?” Quinn asked. “Look, it was fun when we were in high school, but you grow out of things. Or into them,” she added. “I've learned a lot these past couple of years. I know that I have to work hard to get the life I want.”

“Just because of school?” The waitress placed a cappuccino in front of Sandi, who began to stir it absently, intent on Quinn.

“School's part of it. But there's my job, the apartment, the band. I still go out every couple of weeks, you know, to make sure I haven't lost my touch, but my priorities are different.”

“I didn't know that waiting tables could be a priority.” Sandi's face was all artless innocence, but her tone was cutting. “Couldn't your parents pay for your apartment?”

Suddenly uncomfortable with Sandi's questions, Quinn took a sip of her latte to gather her thoughts. She knew Sandi wanted something, but in typical Sandi fashion, she was being deliberately confusing, asking one question to get the answer to another. If I know what she wanted to know, Quinn thought, I'd know how to answer her. I'll bet she doesn't think I'll be honest, though, so maybe that's my best bet. Hiding one step behind where she thinks I'll be may throw her off. “Well, it's kinda hard to explain.”

“Oh?” Sandi raised an eyebrow and sipped her cappuccino.

“Well, I probably could guilt them into covering for me, but I don't think it's the right thing to do. I want to be in control of my life. As it is, they still pay for college, but I have my own place, that I pay for with money I earned, and it makes me feel independent and more ready for the real world. Otherwise, I'd be dependent on them even after I got out of school. I might even end up back in Lawndale. Brr...” Quinn shuddered at the thought.

“What about the band? You're not in control of that.”

“But I'm not dependent either, Sandi. The band needs all of us to make it work.” Quinn let a little irritation touch her voice.

“Oh, I think I understand. Jane and I and you and your sister are equals.” Sandi sipped her cappuccino, but Quinn thought she saw the hint of a smug Sandi smile, the same one she'd worn when she was about to maneuver Tiffany and Stacy into blabbing about Quinn's neck zit back in high school.

Shit, Quinn thought. Whatever Sandi wanted, I just gave her. I just wish I knew what it was. She decided to turn the tables on Sandi. “So,” she said, “you still haven't told me why you're in Boston. Last I knew you were going to Lawndale State to major in marketing.” Right before you blew me off because I got into a real design school, she didn't add.

“Oh, you know,” Sandi's voice was cool. “Plans change. I decided school wasn't for me.”

You flunked out, you mean. “I'm surprised you didn't stay in Lawndale for a while, or head to New York to look for your big break.”

“My aunt lives up here,” Sandi said. “Boston's not as fashion forward as New York, but it's better than Lawndale, or even Baltimore. My aunt's cool, so I thought I'd see what life was like someplace less lame than Lawndale before I decide what to be.”

Quinn was sure there was more to it, but she knew better than to push Sandi. “So,” she changed the subject, “have you heard from anyone back in Lawndale? I know Stacy's still going to Lawndale Community, and she's been dating the same guy for almost two years. Not someone from Lawndale High; I think he went to Oakwood, or maybe Fielding.”

Sandi shook her head. “I haven't heard from Stacy since college started. I'm not surprised, though. She was never cutthroat enough for the popularity game, so finding a nice guy was only a matter of tine.” A wicked smile suddenly lit her face. “I know what happened to Tiffany, though. She's married. To a much older man. Regular little trophy wife.”

“No!” Quinn gasped. “Anyone we know?”

Sandi's smile grew even more evil, if that was possible. “How about Charles Ruttheimer, Jr.”

“You mean she's,” Quinn's voice rose with every syllable, “Upchuck's stepmother?! You're kidding me.'
“I swear on my old official Fashion Club scrunchy,” Sandi managed, before having a fit of giggles. Quinn soon joined her. For the next half hour, they chatted about old places and familiar faces, as if they'd always been the best of friends. Later, Quinn reflected on the weirdness of her relationship with Sandi―one minute competing in a game that made one of those games like Risk that Daria used to play look like tic-tac-toe, the next laughing like the best of friends. She knew Sandi had won tonight, so she would be extra-careful until she'd evened the score.

The next day, just after three in the afternoon, Quinn stood in front of her sister's door, wondering whether to knock. The Girls had agreed to meet at five for a quick run through the set before loading up the van and heading for the bar, and Quinn wasn't sure how, or even whether, Daria would welcome her two hours early.

The decision was taken out of her hands when the door swung open. Daria's dress sense had improved since high school. The skirts had gotten longer and shirts fit better. She still favored green, but softer shades. The outfit was a bit too librarian for Quinn, but she had to admit, it suited Daria very well.

If Daria was surprised to find her sister on her doorstep, she gave no sign. “I'm sorry, but the this week's meeting of Fashion Anonymous has been canceled. If you want, we can organize a field trip to Wal-Mart, though.”

“Dar-i-a,” Quinn said, drawing out all three syllables, something she usually tried not to do. “I'm not here to talk to you about fashion. It's not like I have so much free time that I can afford to waste it trying to do the impossible, like that guy with the rock.”

“Then why are you here?” Daria asked.

After a long moment, Quinn sighed. “I need someone to talk to.”

Daria looked her over for a long moment before speaking. “Well, I was just heading out to the supermarket, but it can wait until tomorrow.”

She turned and Quinn followed her up the steps and into the apartment. As she headed into the kitchen, Quinn threw herself on the couch grabbed the TV remote.

“So,” Daria said, as returned with two drinks and handed one to Quinn, “shouldn't you still be in class?”

“Well, you know.” Quinn said, in her best vacuous Quinn voice. Now that she was here, she suddenly wasn't sure what she wanted to talk about. “My last class for the day is over.”

Daria, of course, was having none of it. “If memory serves, it ends at 3. It's now 3:15, and your campus is 45 minutes from here by T.”

Quinn sipped her drink. “It's nice of you to keep diet cola for me, Daria. I know you don't drink it, and Jane doesn't either.”

Daria fixed her with a hard glare. “Spill, Quinn.”

“I did cut my one o'clock,” Quinn said with a sigh. “I just couldn't concentrate. It was like there was a voice in my head saying, 'Tonight's our first gig,' every minute. My first two classes were disasters. I mean, I got called on three times, and I wasn't close on any of them. Once I answered for the other class, and once I started talking about the band, and I knew I had to escape, so I got an early lunch, a nice salad with a fat-free vinaigrette―Bagel-Bagel does a good one, for a chain bagel store―and walked around for a while―”

“Quinn,” Daria interrupted, “I don't need the entire itinerary. I just want to know why you came here.” She frowned, but added after a moment, “Not that I mind.”

“Well, I figured you'd know what to say to calm me down. After all, nothing gets to you.”

“That's not quite true, Quinn.”

“Oh?” Quinn smiled slightly, “I'll bet you're not nervous about tonight.”

“Well, no,” Daria said.

“See?

“Actually, I'm scared shitless.”

“Daria!” Quinn wasn't sure if she was more shocked at the admission or the language.

“Well, why wouldn't I be?” Daria sounded a little impatient. “The last time I played music in front of an audience was 'Pop Goes the Weasel' the summer after fifth grade. You remember how well that went.”

“I enjoyed it,” Quinn said with a smirk.

“Because you were laughing at me. Mom and Dad and all the other parents had to polite.”

Quinn had the grace to look sorry―a little bit. “That was a long time ago.”

Daria sighed. “Look, Quinn, I know it's not the same. For one thing, I can actually play. For another thing, it's not just me. There are four of us, and I know we sound good, so there shouldn't be anything to worry about. But every time I think that, in the back of my head I hear 'hum hum HUM-HUM hum.'”

“I can see that. But I know you. You're not going to let it stop you.”

“Of course not.” Daria said, “I may throw up before we get on stage, but I'm still playing tonight.”

“Ewww.... Daria.”

“Don't worry. I promise not to get any on you... as long as you don't annoy me.” Quinn saw her sister's Mona Lisa smile and knew she'd been gotten. She stuck her tongue out at Daria, who chuckled.

“And Quinn,” Daria added, all smiles gone, “I know you're not going to let it stop you either.”

Her sister's bald statement gave Quinn a warm feeling inside. She knew Daria wasn't one to sugarcoat things or lie to make anyone feel better, so for Daria to simply say that Quinn wouldn't fail meant more to Quinn than a hundred pep talks. “Uh, thanks, sis.”

They talked quietly for a while longer, chatting amiably about nothing. Quinn liked the sense of closeness the conversation brought―something she worried she would never feel around Daria. Her relationship with her sister wasn't exactly like her relationship with Sandi, but it was still complicated and they still didn't entirely understand each other. The whole “Roadrunner” blowup proved that. But still, they were trying to get along, and mostly doing a good job.

Quinn gave her sister a fond smile as the TV started playing the Sick Sad World theme. “Okay. But I get FashionVision after this is over.”

“Deal,” said Daria, as they settled in to wait for Jane and Sandi.

At five to eight, Quinn let herself indulge in one more fit of panic. The amps and drums were already on stage, but the band was downstairs, waiting to be told they could go on. Jane was sketching away, while Sandi thumbed through a Waif magazine she'd brought, and Daria sat quietly, lost in thought. Quinn sipped at a diet soda and looked from face to face, silently screaming. I can't do this. I can't. I can't. What the hell was I thinking? There's no way. I wonder if I could make it to the back door. Would Daria kill me if I ran out now.

A voice interrupted her terror. “Five minutes, girls,” Mike Tierney said from the top of the stairs. Five minutes. What do I do?

“Is everyone ready?” Daria asked.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. “Yes.” Look at me. I'm Quinn, the little liar.

“Whatever,” Sandi said with a shrug. Quinn knew Sandi wouldn't show any weakness.

“If by ready, you mean terrified,” Jane said, “then I'm ready, amiga.” Quinn found Jane's remark, and Daria's answering smile, comforting.

“Okay, then,” Daria said, after a moment. “Let's grab our gear, head upstairs, and blow their socks off.”

“Whatever,” Sandi shrugged again.

“Better watch out Sandi,” Jane said. “All that enthusiasm might tire you out, and then you won't be able to play.”

Sandi bared her teeth. “I'll manage.”

Quinn looked over to Daria, wondering if they should interrupt. Daria didn't seem too concerned, though, so Quinn decided to take her sister's lead. I seem to be doing that a lot lately. But she's gotten us this far.

Jane and Sandi lapsed into silence and the next few minutes crawled by. “It's time,” Mike said from the top of the stairs. Daria and Sandi grabbed their instruments, and the four girls filed up the stairs. Too late to run now, Quinn thought, and seconds later found herself on the stage staring out at a small sea of faces, some curious or even intrigued, others bored or actively hostile to the noise that was going to ruin their conversations. Her stomach gave a sickening lurch, and all the fear and worry... was suddenly gone. We're going to do this! And we're gonna be good, dammit!

As Daria and Sandi finished plugging in, Quinn stepped up to the mike. “We're Girls Together Sarcastically. And we're gonna knock your socks off!” Insistent guitar chords signaled the beginning of “Basket Case,” and off they went.

As Jane let the cymbal wash die, the hundred or so people in the bar gave a happy cheer. Quinn smiled down, enjoying the sound. Sure, most of them were pretty drunk, and they weren’t tearing the roof off, but they weren’t booing or throwing bottles, which was a good sign for their first paying gig. She addressed the mike, “Before we go, we’d like to do a local favorite for you.” She turned to Daria, “Ready, sis?” Daria nodded in return, “Ready, sis.” Quinn turned back to the crowd, “You’ve been great. We’re Girls Together Sarcastically, and this is 'Roadrunner.'”

Daria counted off the time, “One, two, three four, five, six," and banged out three chords―BAM! BAM! BAM!―as Jane hit the drums in perfect sync. The crowd greeted the sound with their loudest roar of the night―after all, this was Boston. The music, simple but powerful, surged as Daria half-spoke, half-sung Jonathan Richman’s paean to Massachusetts, modern music, and the joys of cruising to the Stop and Shop with the radio on.

“Me in love with modern rock & roll/Modern guys and modern rock & roll/Don't feel so alone, got the radio on/Like the roadrunner,” she said, and raised her arms, letting Sandi and Jane carry the music for a couple of bars.

“Jane Lane on drums,” Daria shouted, and the crowd roared. Jane smiled as her sticks moved in time, almost too fast to see.

“Sandi Griffin with the bass.” Sandi didn’t even acknowledge the words, standing stock still as she had all night, though her fingers flew.

“Quinn Morgendorffer singing lead.” The crowd roared again as Quinn shook her long red hair and the beat kept going. With an arch smile, Quinn grabbed the mike and pointed to Daria, “And Big Sister Daria Morgendorffer wailing lead guitar.”

Daria dropped her arms and banged out the song’s signature chords. “And I’m in love with modern music,” she sang, “with the radio on.” The music once again roared to fever pitch. “What do you say, Girls?”

“RADIO ON!” Quinn and Sandi sang in harmony, heads bobbing in time to the chords, as Daria continued, “I got the FM…”

“RADIO ON!” The crowd was really getting into it, as Daria improvised lyrics about the “rockin’ neon streaming sound,” to go with the original “modern Massachusetts sound.”

“RADIO ON!” One last repetition as Jane went nuts on the drums and Daria spoke the song’s famous and appropriate coda. “Right! Bye, bye.” Quinn found the crowd’s full-throated roar to be quite satisfying. We're on our way. Now, let's see how far we get.

Author's Note:

Well, here's fic number two in the GTS series. “Roadrunner” is by Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers, who could sort of be considered a protopunk band insofar as they fit any categories. Jerry Harrison from Talking Heads was a Modern Lover. The song was recorded in 1973, though not released until 1976. As the story says, it's weirdly minimalist, but very catchy. If you haven't, I suggest checking it out. I don't know that it be a big hit with Boston crowds, but given that Jonathan Richman still plays here every year, it's not outside the realm of possibility.

Many thanks to my beta-readers, Brother Grimace, Scissors MacGillicutty, and Richard Lobinske, who helped me better capture the characters' voices. Without their help, this fic would be a lot less fun. Look out for installment #3 before the end of June (I hope).

Disclaimer: Daria and all characters are copyright MTV 1997–2002. I own nothing and am merely along for the ride.