"The time changes are meant to reflect the lyrical shifts." Daria Morgendorffer sighed, as she strummed aimlessly at her guitar. "That's why the song is called 'Shards.'"

"We get what you're trying to do, Daria," Quinn Morgendorffer said. "But I don't think it works with what we're doing. I mean," she laughed, "can you imagine playing this in front of a bar crowd in Crestmore Square?"

"Well, I'm sorry, Quinn, but I can't help what I write," Daria snapped. "If I'm going to write a break-up song, I'd rather challenge the listener than do the usual gloppy, I-can't-live-without-you crap that most people do."

If pressed, Sandi would have said she agreed with Daria. She just wished Daria had picked a better fight. Daria was damn prickly about her songwriting, though--something Sandi could sympathize with. Oh, well, she thought. Maybe I'll finally get an opening.

Jane, at least, seemed to be doing her best to give Sandi that opening. "Daria, no one's telling you to write like everyone else. Hell, there wouldn't be a point to the band if you wrote like everyone else. But sometimes, you have to admit the idea doesn't work, and I don't think the amount of music or lyrical ideas work with the way we play right now." Of course, Jane's support wasn't intentional. Sandi's relations with the rest of the band weren't good enough that she would confide in any of them.

"Fine," Daria snapped. "What do you think, Sandi? Since Jane and Quinn both hate the song."

Sandi smiled inwardly. She had the opening she wanted. Her mother's words suddenly rose in her mind. Go hard or go home. Linda had been talking about sales. I suppose this is a sales job, too, Sandi thought.

"Jane and Quinn don't hate it, Daria," she said, deep voice calm. "I do, though." Ignoring Jane's low whistle and Quinn's gasp, she continued. "It's all 2/4, 3/4, 4/4. I don't see the point of all those changes when there's, like, nothing musically interesting going on. Frankly, it's a mess."

"Oh, so it's a mess?" Daria's voice was dangerously flat. To outsiders, it might seem hard to differentiate the tones of Daria's voice, but after a year in the band, Sandi had gotten quite good at it. "What about the other songs? Are they messes, too?"

Sandi shrugged. "No. I think 'One in Every Crowd' is one of the best songs you've written, and 'Don't Take It Out on Me' is nearly as good. But those are the only songs you've written in the last two months. I think you could use help with the songwriting."

"Oh, I can, can I?" Sparks flew in Daria's narrowed eyes. "And I suppose you have a candidate for this role?"

"Not a candidate," Sandi said. "A song. It's called 'My Eyes.'"

"Uh, Sandi," Quinn said, in the voice she used to defuse conflicts, "I think maybe this isn't the right time for this."

I hate that fucking voice, Sandi thought. She used to use it on me all the time. Like I didn't know what it was for. "Sorry, Quinn," she almost snarled, "but I disagree. I think this is a great time. And I want to hear what your sister thinks." Sandi had long since learned it was pointless to attack Quinn over her relationship to Daria--which was why she saved it for special occasions.

Expecting an explosion, Sandi was disappointed. Daria merely shut down. "You know, I don't want to discuss this right now. We're about done anyway."

"Whatever." Acknowledging the dismissal, Sandi grabbed her gear and hurried up the stairs before Jane could attack her again for challenging Daria.

She was surprised to find Quinn on her heels, though she didn't speak to the other girl until they emerged into the early afternoon sunlight. Friday rehearsals started around noon to accommodate Daria's work and class schedules. "Someplace to go?"

"No reason to stay," Quinn responded, ignoring Sandi's tone.

Sandi didn't respond immediately, but she slowed her pace enough for Quinn to move alongside.

"Well, that could have ended better," Quinn said, attempting to sound friendly.

"Could have ended worse. At least I got my point across." Sandi shrugged. Let her chew on that.

"Thank goodness for small favors, anyway." Quinn said, her smile a bit crooked.

Sandi raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that? I thought you were in Daria's pocket."

"I like most of her songs," Quinn said, again ignoring the cut. "But she can be so stubborn. Sometimes you really have to whack her across the face to get her to realize a song is just bad."

"So why bother?" If I can just get Quinn going, maybe she'll spill something useful in the flood.

Quinn gave her an odd look. "I'd rather sing stuff I'm excited about. If you don't like the music, it's just another job. And I've got one of those already."

"So you don't mind being Daria's voice?" Sandi asked.

"Why would I? She doesn't mind being my brain." She turned and looked around. "You parked around here? Cos the T's just up the block, but I'll walk you to your car if you want."

"Uh, no," Sandi said, dismissing the offer coolly. "Actually, I'm heading past the Square to meet a couple of friends." She gave a fake smile. "I guess I'll be, like, fashionably early for once."

Quinn shrugged. "Have a good time," she said and crossed the street, quickly disappearing from view.

As soon as Quinn was gone, Sandi headed toward a coffee place she liked. She wasn't actually meeting friends, though. Unless you count decaf cappuccino as a friend, she sighed as she slid into a favorite booth. Sandi had a hard time making friends. Linda Griffin had encouraged her daughter to have followers, not friends, and even though Linda no longer had a place in her life, Sandi still struggled to undo her mother's influence.

She sat for a couple of hours, sipping cappuccino and thinking about rehearsal. Daria's reaction to her criticism of "Shards" wasn't surprising--after all, Sandi had been pretty harsh. But Daria's reaction to the mention of the song was surprising and bore further consideration. Does she see me as a threat? It's possible, I suppose. But wouldn't Quinn have said something? When Quinn followed her out, Sandi had expected her to offer sympathy, or at least say something useful. But Quinn had remained carefully neutral and not said much of anything.

I suppose I shouldn't be shocked, Sandi thought. She hasn't said much of anything to me since I joined the band. She still caught herself in unguarded moments wondering why she'd joined a band with some of her least favorite people. Of course, right now, my least favorite people includes most of the world. Realizing she wasn't going to figure it out then and there, and that she'd hadn't touched the cappuccino in over an hour, she headed for the door, leaving behind enough bills to cover the check and a hefty tip.

She hopped in her purple Vexer--one of the few indulgences left from her Lawndale days--and headed home. It was too early to be in on a Friday night, but more and more she found she just couldn't deal with the bar scene. She had no problem getting in and she usually drank for free, but getting propositioned by guys with ten or fifteen years on her was too much of a price to pay. Most of them don't even want a date, just a quick fuck. Like I can be had for new wine and old pickup lines.

She actually lived only one town north of Daria, so she was home in less than ten minutes. The brick-and-paneling two-family house belonged to her aunt, but she had the upstairs apartment to herself. She wasn't thrilled about being dumped off here with her father's older sister, whose own children has scattered to the four winds years ago, but she knew it could have been worse. I could have been stuck in Colorado with Mom's brother and his bitchy daughters, she thought as she unlocked the front door. I've got an apartment, and my aunt leaves me alone. Just like my parents and brothers do. She sighed and lugged the bass up the stairs to her door.

The apartment wasn't much, two rooms off a small central foyer with a bathroom across from the front door. It did have a full bath, which she often took advantage of, though she was a little too unsettled to do so tonight. Instead, she put the bass away and threw herself on her bed. The decor in her bedroom was minimal--a full sized bed with light blue comforter, a fine wooden armoire her aunt had given her, a small desk, and a hope chest. The wooden floor screamed for a rug, but she hadn't bothered. Even though she'd been here for almost eighteen months, the Boston area still felt like a pit stop on the way to her real life.

None of the band had ever been here, and she was just as happy to keep it that way. Every so often she had a chuckle at the thought that she was so close to them, especially Daria, and they didn't know where. Who am I kidding? I'll bet Daria's known where I lived since three days after I joined the band. But as long as they don't break the illusion, I won't. It wasn't so much Daria and Jane, although she had her issues with both of them. Quinn was a different story.

Bad enough Quinn had gotten into New England School of Design, when Sandi had ended up at Lawndale State. But explaining to Quinn what had happened since then was way down on Sandi's list of things to do--right under "shave head, gain thirty pounds, and join cult that wears only shapeless brown robes." Of course it's still three slots above "make up with Linda," which is part of what I don't want Quinn to know about.

Not wanting to dwell on that too-familiar pain, she headed into the other room, where the entertainment center and, more importantly, her musical instruments lived. Grabbing her acoustic guitar, she began to play simple rhythm lines and let her mind drift. She'd really only taken the offered audition to see Quinn squirm. But they sounded good together, something she hadn't been a part of in a long time. With her father's encouragement, Sandi had progressed from the cello in elementary school to guitar and bass in middle school, until Linda had put her foot down.

"But I like fashion and music," middle-schooler Sandi said.

Stone-faced, Linda glared at her eldest. "I told you to pick one thing and be the best at it. If you do a little of everything, you do a whole lot of nothing."

"What if I like music more?" Sandi asked. At thirteen, she was almost eye-to-eye with her mother, though the few inches seemed like miles when Linda was in this mood.

Linda's voice went even colder, if possible. "Guitar is not appropriate for a young lady. I don't know why I ever let your father encourage you."

"We have fun," Sandi almost whined. Her father was nowhere to be found. Linda must have cowed Tom before confronting Sandi. Divide-and-conquer was a common strategy in the Griffin house.

"Fun isn't important, Alexandra. What's important is that you have a bright future ahead of you. Fashion can open a lot of doors for you, doors I expect you to walk through. There's a Fashion Club in Lawndale High. I expect you to be the President by sophomore year."

Sandi grimaced as the memories faded. She'd bested her mother by becoming President during her freshman year. For all the good it did me. Fashion didn't open as many doors as Linda shut, or I wouldn't be working retail. Gradually, the rhythm lines formed into chords in a familiar progression, the opening of her song. "My Eyes" was simple, but very melodic, and she felt the Girls could give it an arrangement that added power without losing melody. If Daria will ever let me play it. She messed around with the chording for awhile before setting aside the guitar for the television.

* * *

On Saturday, an ugly surprise awaited her. Whacking the alarm with an angry fist, she dragged herself out of bed for the 9 AM shift at work. As usual, she got ready as quickly as possible, while still taking time to coordinate her outfit. After all, looking good was part of her job. Working at a Cashman's outlet in a suburban mall did have its points--she could have been working at J.J. Jeeter's--but she would much rather have been shopping there.

Even when she was busy, her shifts tended to drag, since she wasn't really suited for her job. She knew her stuff, of course, and had a keen instinct not only for color, but for which cuts would flatter certain body types. But her temperament wasn't really suited for the retail. Despite learning to control her feelings in a way she'd never had to in Lawndale, she'd been reprimanded more than once for losing her temper with especially irritating customers.

It was another such reprimand she expected when her manager called her into the back office near the end of her shift. She'd tried to persuade a stubborn customer that the dress she'd picked out wouldn't hang well on such a thin frame, but the customer just got more and more annoyed. The conversation had become an argument despite Sandi's best efforts. Thus, she tried to defend herself immediately.

"I'm, like, really sorry, Michelle," she said. "I tried to hold my temper. You heard all the insults she heaped on me."

Michelle, a dark-haired thirtysomething who was bitter that life had dealt her a future as a retail manager, shrugged. "No big deal. She was a bitch anyway."

Expecting a lecture on professionalism and threats of firing--Michelle tended to take out her dissatisfaction on anyone unlucky enough to call attention to themselves--Sandi could only gape at her manager.

"Look, I need to ask you something," Michelle said, ignoring Sandi's shock. "I just got a call from our supervisor. She wants us to send some employees down to the store in the Galleria. Do you want to go?"

Sandi's insides froze. The Galleria was home to the Books By The Ton where Daria worked. Perceptive Daria would find out where Sandi worked within a week of them being in the same building--if she didn't know already. I'm not prepared to think about that. "I, uh, don't think that would be a good idea, Michelle. I have enough trouble with the customers out here. They're pushier the closer you get to Boston."

"That's true," Michelle said, with a toss of her inky hair. "But Jean disagrees with you." Jean was the store manager, used to getting her way. "And so do I."

"So, what you're saying is you're not giving me a choice." Sandi was proud of how she kept both anger and nerves out of her voice.

"There's always a choice," Michelle said with a bitter laugh. "You can choose to work at the Galleria, or you can choose not to work for Cashman's." With a shrug, almost as if she was trying to apologize, she added, "C'mon, it's no big deal. Your commute will be shorter, and I know you won't miss any of your co-workers. You hate them all."

"I don't, like, hate them," Sandi said, which was true. I don't think about them enough to hate them. "Fine," she sighed. "I'll work in the Galleria."

Michelle nodded. "Take the rest of the day off. You start at nine on Monday."

Without another word, Sandi left.

* * *

Sandi headed over to Daria's around 5:30. She'd normally be there around 6:30 to help with the load up, if she wasn't stuck at work, but today she wanted to talk to Daria without their bandmates around. Her knock was answered promptly, if not especially graciously. "What are you doing here, Sandi?" Daria said. "I didn't expect anyone for another half-hour."

She bristled at Daria's tone. "If you don't want me here, I'll just get lost." Good going, Sandi. You were planning on not being a bitch, and lasted almost ten seconds.

Fortunately, Daria didn't react badly. "Sorry, Sandi," she said. "I just didn't expect to see you here. It's usually Jane or Quinn showing up early wanting to talk."

"Oh." Curiosity, and a little suspicion, unfurled in Sandi's mind. Do they talk about me? Strike that. What do they say about me?

"Do you want to come in?" Daria asked.

"Oh, yeah." Sandi was suddenly embarrassed. "Sorry about that. I just started daydreaming for a second." For just a moment, she felt Daria's regard cutting through her and was a little afraid. Then the other girl turned to the stairs and the moment was broken.

Almost before she got through the door, Daria confronted her. "Look, Sandi, I think I may know why you're here, but before you say anything, I wanted to say I'm sorry. I was totally out of line yesterday. You have every right to express your opinion about the songs I bring to the band, whether I like it or not."

Disarmed by the apology, which she had not expected at all, Sandi could only stare. She couldn't imagine herself doing the same thing in Daria's position. The loss of face would be crippling. It didn't seem to bother Daria, though. Of course, she did it while we were alone. Maybe she's trying to recruit me to use against Quinn. Intraband politics were tricky, given the web of relationships between the girls, and Sandi was never sure of where she stood.

Suddenly realizing that Daria was waiting for her, she blurted, "Uh, no problem, Daria. I mean, I accept your apology."

"Good," Daria said. "Do you want some coffee?"

"It's almost six."

"Diet soda, then?" Without waiting for an answer, Daria headed to the kitchen and returned with a diet coke for Sandi and a regular for herself. With a half-smile, she said, "I'm used to Jane, who drinks coffee at all hours. Now," she said, taking a seat on the couch and fixing Sandi with a penetrating stare, "you wanted to talk to me about your song."

For just a moment, Sandi blinked, taken off guard, before sliding into the spot next to Daria. She's good. All that scattered host bullshit to knock me off guard, and then right in for the kill. She took a sip from her drink to play for time, before finally deciding that honesty was the best policy, at least for now.

"Why did you react so violently? After all, it's just one song."

"That's complicated," Daria said, steepling her fingers as she considered Sandi. Before she could elaborate, thumping on the stairs heralded Jane's arrival.

"Fuck!" Daria growled. "Do you want to keep talking? It'll probably help for Jane to hear this too."

"I don't think so," Sandi said, as the lock turned audibly. "We'll finish some other time."

"You're early, Sandi," Jane said as she came through the door.

"I could say the same about you," Daria responded before Sandi could.

"Yeah, well there was nothing on TV. Any coffee on?" Jane asked, looking hopeful.

"You though I was kidding," Daria said in an aside to Sandi before calling out to Jane. "You know where everything is. Fix yourself a pot if you want."

Watching the ease with which Jane roamed Daria's apartment and the comfort the two had with each other, Sandi felt a sudden pang of jealousy. Most of her relationships had been empty. The Clubbies were tools to be used or lackeys to be dominated, not friends, and her emotional connections in Boston were few and far between. She hadn't made any real friends, and the odd hook-up she'd had now and again was just that, a hook-up. College had been different, but that was long gone. Sometimes it seemed like a fantasy.

Daria watched Sandi thoughtfully but said nothing, until Jane emerged from the kitchen, mug in hand. "Anyone else want? I made a whole pot."

Sandi shook off her reverie, and gave Jane a disbelieving look. "Normal people don't drink coffee this late in the day."

"Why not? It's not like I'm going to bed anytime soon." A feral smile lit Jane's angular features. "Besides, I'm a drummer. I'm not supposed to be normal."

Daria half-smiled. "And a good thing, too, since you haven't got a prayer."

Another key sounded in the lock, and Quinn opened the door. A sudden frown crossed her face, quickly hidden behind the usual vapid smile. "Did I miss coffee hour?" she asked lightly.

"No matter," Jane said. "There's always another one."

"Ugh," Quinn said. "How can you drink that stuff? You're going to be a mass of wrinkles by the time you're thirty."

Jane took a long slug, and quirked a smile at Quinn. "Even if I am, it'll be worth it."

"Well, since we're all here early," Daria said, "and kaffeeklatsch is over," she shot Jane an amused look, "why don't we run through a couple of songs before the load-up."

"One sec," Jane said. She drained her mug and refilled it as Quinn and Sandi rose. "Okay. Now I'm ready."

With a sigh, Daria led them downstairs. Once there, the Girls got right to work, cracking through some of the older numbers that were starting to get a little sloppy. When they were satisfied, they set their instruments aside and began packing up. First came the small speaker stacks--miniature speakers that gave enough sound to fill places larger than Octobers but could be loaded easily by four young women. Then came Jane's drum kit, followed by the guitar and bass, three mike stands, and a crapload of input and output leads.

The process was efficient and usually quiet, though one of the others, usually Jane, might crack a joke to lighten the tension. Sandi never did. She often thought the other three could work just as efficiently without her, which they sometimes did when Sandi was running late from work or just feeling pissy.

The unload after they reached October's mirrored the load up. As they unloaded, Sandi watched Daria out of the corner of her eye, wondering what Daria would have said had Jane not shown up. Would she have listened to my song? Would she let the band play it? Would I even want them to? For the first time, Sandi considered how much Daria was exposing by letting the band use her words. And she's so guarded, part of her mind said. Almost as guarded as you, the rest responded. She suddenly felt Quinn's eyes on her, and realized she'd stopped moving. Hitching the coil of leads higher on her shoulder, she sighed and got back to work.

After set-up, they did a quick sound check, treating the stragglers in the day crowd to a couple of quick songs, then headed downstairs to wait for the show. As she sat, "My Eyes" ran through Sandi's mind. Again she wondered if Daria was nervous that her inner thoughts were being put on public display, and again she wondered what it would be like for her own words to fill the space upstairs--her words in Quinn's voice.

Several times she almost spoke up, but in the end, it was Mike Tierney's voice that broke the silence. "It's time, ladies." Still wordless, they filed up the stairs. "Good crowd out there," Mike said as they passed. "Send 'em home happy, huh?"

More and more, Daria's songs were getting pride of place in the set, and tonight was no exception. The ecstatic crowd cheered as the Girls kicked the show off with "Charmed Circle." Quinn was in fine voice, Daria's playing was unusually expressive, and Jane's drumming was rock solid. For once, Sandi found herself struggling to keep up, as part of her mind kept rolling over the question of her song.

The band rolled into "Little Girl Found," Daria's idea of a love song. With a raging guitar and pounding drums as accompaniment, Quinn nearly spat the bitter, cutting lyrics. Bad enough she bares her soul, but through Quinn? A thousand slights and insults at Quinn's hands popped into Sandi's mind: being shot by Quinn and left behind on that stupid paintball trip; having everyone ditch her party to go to Quinn's dance; flunking that stupid essay Daria set during the teacher's strike, an essay Quinn had aced; getting rejected by Pepperhill when Quinn got into New England School of Design. Let Quinn sing her words? The idea made her stomach suddenly turn. But here was Daria doing just that. And Daria must have put up with more than I did.

A sour note struck her ears, and she realized it was her own. Head in the game, Griffin, she thought, and concentrated on the bass.

"Little Girl Found" gave way to "Hard World," an unprecedented trio of GTS originals to open a show. The crowd seemed to be eating it up, despite Sandi's sloppy playing, though "Helter Skelter" did get a bigger roar than any of the originals. Unusually, they closed out the first set with "Roadrunner," part of their strategy to shift the focus to the originals. As the last "RADIO ON!" died, Quinn said, "Thanks! You've been great! We'll be back for the second set in a little while." Sandi worked her way towards Daria as the four Girls left the stage.

"How do you do it?" Sandi asked, as they walked downstairs.

"Do what?" Daria asked.

"Put your words out there for everyone to judge?"

"Oh," Daria said as they reached the landing. "Thick skin. If you have something to say, you'd better be prepared for someone trying to shout you down."

Sandi pondered Daria's words as they turned towards their little "dressing" room. Before she could say anything else, she felt Jane's angry eyes on her. She's pissed. And at me. For a second, she thought about confronting the other girl, but a sudden burst of chatter from Quinn cut that off, as well as any chance she had to continue her conversation with Daria. Instead, she sat and lapsed in to moody silence until the call came for the second set.

The second set went much better. Despite, or maybe because of, her black mood, Sandi focused totally on the bass and its interlock with the drums. Since Jane's drumming, whether due to her own anger or for some other reason, was especially crisp and propulsive, this wasn't hard to do. The band roared with energy, and by the time the set closer, "Wherever You Can Find It," rolled around, the crowd was in a joyous frenzy. The Girls left the stage to chants of "G-T-S! G-T-S!"

It should have been a triumph, but Sandi was too confused by Jane's anger and too aware of the distance between herself and the other Girls to enjoy it. She spoke little during the load-out, even when Daria disappeared for ten minutes, and climbed into van without acknowledging her bandmates. The complicated rotation the Girls had worked out had Jane at the wheel and her in the passenger seat, which made for an extra-uncomfortable ride until Daria finally spoke.

"We have an audition next Tuesday," she said, as matter-of-fact as only she could be. "That's where I was during the load-out, in case you were wondering."

The two girls in the front only nodded, not even caring whether Daria could see.

"It's at LL Wolf's in Middletown Square," Quinn said, almost burbling. "It's a big spot. They can get over a thousand people in there on a Saturday night. Not that we'll be playing Saturdays. Well, not right away at least, but it's a big chance for us, so we have to play really, really well, and--"

"Thank you, Quinn," Daria cut in. "It is a big opportunity, but I think we're ready for it." Sandi caught the sardonic look in the rear view mirror, "In spite of our issues tonight." Is that directed at me?

"Not my issues," Jane muttered loudly enough for everyone to hear.

"That answers that," Sandi's own mutter earner her a sharp look from Jane.

Daria ignored then both. "Do you guys want to have extra practices?"

"Whatever," Sandi shrugged, as Quinn held a spirited debate with herself about all the ways they could approach the audition. Jane said nothing more, and just drove.

Moments passed with Quinn's chatter as the only noise. Finally, Daria sighed. "Guys, this is a pretty big deal, so I was hoping you guys would give it a bit more consideration."

"I did," Quinn interrupted.

"Yes, Quinn," Daria deadpanned. "And we're all grateful for you taking every possible position on the issue. But I'd like to hear from Jane and Sandi, too."

Neither Jane nor Sandi said anything, as the van turned onto Daria's street.

"Fine," Daria said. "The audition's not for ten days, so why don't we talk about it on Tuesday. We can always squeeze in extra practices over the weekend if we need to."

As Jane pulled the van into Daria's driveway, Sandi felt a sudden stab of anger. Sure, she'd missed a couple of notes, but she very rarely did. Jane barely wanders by the beat every twelve measures or so, and she has the nerve to get mad at me? Dark thoughts still churning, she hopped out of the van, grabbed her bass, and headed to her Vexer, not bothering with the unload or the comments of her bandmates.

* * *

By Monday morning she was still a little angry at Jane, but she was far more worried about her first workday at the Galleria. Not only did she have Daria to worry about, but she had to make a good impression on her new bosses. Just because I don't like my job, doesn't mean I don't want to keep it, she thought as gave herself a once-over in the long mirror on the bathroom door.

She needn't have worried. Although her day began with a half-hour lecture from her new manager Sarah about "the importance of decorum to the Cashman's employee," her new coworkers were bawling out customers and telling her not to sweat things by the time lunch rolled around. Around 4, she found herself dealing with a pushy big-haired woman of about twenty-five or so with a nasal while that went right through Sandi's head. And probably brick walls. Somehow she managed to find the woman a pair of shoes in the exact shade of purple--purple?!--she wanted without beating the woman to death with a stiletto heel, or even losing her temper.

"Good job," said a voice behind her. Sarah, a platinum blonde with a long face, grinned at her. "If you can survive the neon high-heel crowd, you'll do fine. She had a pretty smile that lit her otherwise unremarkable features.

"Like, uh, thank you," Sandi said, not used to compliments.

"Look, you've only got about a half-hour. Why don't you restock some of the displays up front. If any customers bother you, just play dumb."

She seems nice, Sandi thought as she arranged this season's blouses on the sale table. I wonder what Michelle and Jean told her about me. Might be nice to get a fresh start.

A familiar voice interrupted, "Sandi?"

She looked up into bespectacled eyes framed by auburn hair. Fuck! she thought, inner voice sulfurous; outwardly, she merely said, "Oh. Daria."

"I, uh, didn't know you worked in the Galleria." Daria said, clearly confused.

"I just started here today," Sandi said, trying to be matter-of-fact. "I was up in the Middlesex Mall before." Inside, shame burned. There goes my comfortable illusion.

"Well, that explains where you found the outfits," Daria muttered.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sandi said, suddenly defensive.

Daria colored faintly with embarrassment. "Sorry, just thinking aloud. I should probably thank you for using your employee discount on us."

Anger rose in Sandi, and sarcasm poured forth. "Oh, you're so very welcome, Daria. You know I live but to serve with my humble employee discount."

Daria raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry if I was rude, but I don't think that was warranted."

"You come over here, give me crap for working retail, and don't, like, think me losing my temper is warranted?" Sandi's voice started to rise, but she got control of it.

Daria almost took a step back out of shock. "Sandi, why would I care that you work retail? I work four stores down."

How could someone so smart be so dumb? Or is she playing me? If she is, I swear I will hurt her. "I'm supposed to be shopping in Cashman's, not working here."

"Okay," Daria said with a shrug. "Look, my shift starts in about ten minutes, so I've gotta run. But I'll see you tomorrow at practice."

"Sure, whatever," Sandi said, scanning the other girl's face for hidden emotion. I don't want your contempt, Daria, and I sure as shit don't want your pity.

Unnoticed, one of her co-workers came up behind her. "Someone you know?"

Sandi regarded the other girl coldly. "None of your business," she snapped.

"Well, excuse me for asking," the girl snapped.

Sandi suddenly felt ashamed. "Wait," she said, as the other girl turned to go. "I'm sorry. I just ran into someone I was hoping not to. But I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"That's alright. No one's happy working retail." the other girl said. Black hair framed a wide face and large brown eyes. "You're the new girl, Sandi, right?"

Sandi gestured toward her nametag. "That's me," she said. Seeing the other girl's tag, she added, "And you're Lina."

Lina nodded. "Listen. The day shift sometimes goes out for dinner and drinks when we get off. You're welcome to come."

A dozen reasons why not rose in Sandi's mind. She was tired; she was still mad at Jane; now she was pissed at Daria, too; she didn't want to hang out and talk about the job. She ignored them all. "Sure. Sounds like fun."

* * *

On her way to practice the next day, Sandi reflected that last night had been both good and bad. It was good because she hadn't been out and about in awhile. There were clubs and pick-up bars when she was feeling physically lonely, but she hadn't felt comfortable enough around anyone to have a gossip over cosmopolitans in a long time--not since she last saw Tiffany, and that was before she moved to Boston. But Lina was easy to get along with, and she'd smoothed Sandi's way with the other girls. It had been a nice night, something she missed.

On the other hand, it was bad because cosmos packed a wallop. Even though she'd left at a reasonable hour--sharing a cab with two of the other girls--she still had the remains of a pretty unpleasant hangover. Having to take two different buses to get her car hadn't helped. It's only four, I said. But I forgot that I only drink wine when I go clubbing. And two glasses of wine is a world apart from four cosmos. She turned on to Daria's street with a little shudder. And now I get to deal with the fallout from Saturday.

It was Jane who let her in. "Where's Daria?" Sandi asked.

"Downstairs with Quinn," Jane said.

"Left you to be the doorman, huh?" Sandi said, for once trying to commiserate. Jane didn't respond. She can't still be mad. Can she?

It soon became clear that she was. Rather than lead her to the basement, Jane stopped in the middle of Daria's living room and fixed Sandi with a cold glare. "I asked Daria and Quinn if I could talk to you alone."

"About what?" Sandi said, suspicious. Pain began to pulse in her temples, pain that had nothing to do with the morning's hangover.

Jane's blue eyes flashed. "About what your problem is."

Sandi's anger rose to match Jane's. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"We've got a big audition coming up next week, and you act like you don't care," Jane snapped. "You didn't say a word about it."

"I seem to remember someone else not saying anything." Sandi's voice was sardonic.

"That's because I was pissed at how badly you sucked!"

"I flubbed one fucking note! Half the time you don't even bother to keep a beat."

"Don't give me that bullshit," Jane growled. "You're late for practices, and half the time you don't even show up for the load up."

"Because I work!" Sandi cut in, not caring that her secret was out.

If Jane was taken aback, she didn't show it. "Daria and Quinn work, and they're never late."

"Of course not! The band's schedule is built around Daria." Sandi invested the name with all the scorn she could muster.

"And what the fuck is your problem with Daria, anyway?"

"I don't have a problem with Daria."

"Sure. That's why you flubbed her songs and not the covers. And why you're acting like you're some big songwriter."

"If you have something to say, Jane," Sandi hissed, "why don't you just say it."

Before Jane could, a bespectacled head popped out from the downstairs doorway. "Judging from the yelling I heard through the floor, this conversation hasn't been very productive," Daria said. Sandi, balanced on a knife edge of rage, wasn't sure if she wanted to thank Daria or punch her.

Apparently, neither was Jane. "I'm not finished," she roared.

Daria was unmoved. "I think you are. What say we work out of some of our aggression by playing?" Neither Jane nor Sandi moved. Daria gave them both a flat look. "Fine. Sandi, you first." Wanting to end the confrontation, but not wanting be back down, she stood until Daria barked, "Move!" Almost against her will, her legs carried her to the door.

As they went down the stairs, Daria was between Sandi and Jane. Deliberately, I'll bet, Sandi thought. They found everything set up, and Quinn seated on the drum stool. Sandi plugged in, ignoring the questioning look Quinn was giving her.

They ran quickly through the originals that were part of the set. Sandi was still angry from her conversation with Jane, but she was able to focus on her playing with ease. They rolled from song to song with ease, before jolting to a stop after "Hard World."

Daria gave them a small smile. "Sounding good, Quinn. And the bass was steady as a rock, Sandi." Jane's drumsticks clattered to the floor, but Daria continued without missing a beat. "I don't think we should bother with the covers this week. The guy from LL Wolfs was interested in the originals, so I think we should focus on them. What do you all think?"

"But Daria, we've done all the originals." Quinn said.

"Not the new ones," Daria said. "'No Light Shines' is right there, and if we concentrate on the others, I think we can have them ready, too. And that gives us more options, right?"

"Does that include 'Shards?'" Jane asked, an unaccustomed note of challenge in her voice.

An inscrutable half-smile crossed Daria's face. "Well, if anyone else has something better, now would be a good time to mention it."

Sandi watched Daria as Quinn exploded angrily. "That's not fair, Daria. You know damn well none of the rest of us has any songs and you're using it to push that piece of crap on us."

For just a second, Daria's face froze in anger. Sandi knew this would be a good time to step in if she wanted to keep things from spiraling out of control. But she didn't like being manipulated, especially this blatantly, so she said nothing. Who says I want to keep things in control, anyway? Let's see what happens.

"Um, Quinn--" Jane started, but Daria interrupted.

"So what do you think we should do, Quinn?" Daria's voice was calm, and if there was a bit of an edge to it, Sandi, at least, couldn't blame her.

"Not play 'Shards,' that's for sure," Quinn retorted.

"I get it, sis," Daria said. "Do you have any strategy beyond that?"

Quinn glared back at her sister, but said nothing.

Daria gave her a satisfied, "I thought so," look before turning to the other two. "Sandi?"

Real subtle, Daria. "What?"

Silence stretched, as Sandi struggled to choose. Do I trust her? She could almost hear her mother's voice saying, "Anyone you trust will abuse that trust. It's just another way to let people use you." She wanted to shriek at her mother to shut up, but she knew there was no point--her mother was long gone from her life.

Tired of waiting, Daria broke the silence. "Well, the only thing I have left is 'Shards.' If you guys want to, we can work on it, you know," she shot Quinn a humorous glance, "make it less crappy."

A subconscious shift occurred, immediately reflected in Sandi's conscious brain. The hell with this, she thought. Forget about trust. It's just about not hearing that shitty song again. "Wait," she said. "There's 'My Eyes.'" Daria, she noted, looked satisfied.

"What?" This from Quinn.

"I've got a song, Quinn," Sandi said, voice tinged with mockery, "you know, that I wrote, like, by myself."

Quinn looked taken aback. "You wrote a song?"

Sandi gave her a patronizing look. "If you remember, I told you all last week. Then Daria threw me out."

"You were serious?" Quinn asked, still looking shocked and dismayed. "Not just trying to get Daria's goat?"

"Don't act so surprised, Quinn," Sandi sneered. "I've always been better with words than you."

"And you want us to listen to it, and maybe play it on stage?"

"No, I want you to take me out to congratulate me, maybe Chuck E. Cheese. What do you think I want?"

"What does Daria think of this?" Jane, behind the drums, looked troubled.

Daria shrugged. "You've heard everything I have. If we want another song, it's gonna be Sandi's."

"Do we need another song?" Quinn asked.

"Options, Quinn. That's what Daria said, right?" Sandi shot back.

Quinn didn't speak, but Sandi recognized the look on her face. She was ready to lose it. In Lawndale, that look had always been followed by Quinn giving in, but not really giving in. Here, though, she expected something more direct.

She wasn't disappointed. "We don't have time for this, Sandi," Quinn snapped. "We'll freaking do 'Shards' if we have to."

Daria tried to interrupt. "Uh, Quinn--"

"No," Sandi raked Daria with a glare. "Let's hear it. We can't hear 'My Eyes' but we can hear that piece of shit again?" She saw Daria's face darken, but ignored it.

"Daria's earned our attention. We know we can trust her."

"And you can't trust me?" For Sandi, the room had narrowed. It was her and Quinn, alone, finally having the confrontation she'd expected since sophomore year of high school, five long years ago.

"Why should we?" Quinn was beginning to redden. "I don't mind being used, but I don't even know why you'd want to. You won't tell us anything--not what you want, where you live, why you're in Boston, where you work."

"So sure I have to work, drinks-for-tips?" She knew it was a mistake as soon as she said it, but she was beyond caring. She wanted to hurt Quinn badly, but she forgot that attacking can leave you open to counterattack.

"It's not working at Cashman's, I know," Quinn said as nastily as she could. "But at least I'm proud of it."

A sudden roaring filled Sandi's ears. Rage poured forth in red torrents. It was all she could do not to launch herself at Quinn, at all three of them, but her dignity would not allow it. Instead, she channeled her anger into words. "You know what? Fuck this. Fuck you, Quinn Morgendorffer, and fuck your sister, and fuck your little band."

She hadn't realized how deep her anger was, with her mother, with her life. It felt good to take out some of it on a source that richly deserved it. "I've put up with you and your asskissing and your backstabbing for five years, and I'm done with it. Let Daria find you another bassist. Maybe if she walks across the Charles, there'll be one waiting." She gave them all another vicious glare as she grabbed her bass. "It'll be a cold day in hell before I see any of you again. I quit!" With that, she headed up the stairs and out the door, and was gone.

* * *

Wednesday and Thursday were work days, and Sandi was grateful for the dull routine after Tuesday night's drama. Wednesday went smoothly, and if she seemed a little drained or lethargic, Sarah was kind enough not to notice. Back at the apartment, she saw she had several voice mails. The caller ID indicated they were almost all from Quinn. She deleted them.

After a long, hot bath, she considered her options for the night. A small, but insistent, voice said she should put on her little black dress and find some action. She was tempted enough to locate the article in question in the bedroom closet, but in the end, she decided to stay in. If I'm still in a funk on Friday night, I can go looking for a lay. Right now, I just want to think.

Almost without knowing why, she grabbed her guitar, and began strumming random chords until she found two chords that fit together well. Dimly aware that this was how 'My Eyes' came about, she continued playing until she had four chords and a key modulation. The words "mother's love" popped into her mind.

Linda, she thought as she played, had not been pleased to find that Sandi had begun to play music again in college. Of course, Linda wasn't pleased with much of anything when I was a freshman in college.

"I thought we settled this in eighth grade, young lady," she'd snapped when she saw Sandi emerge from her car with guitar case in hand over Thanksgiving. If the look Linda gave her daughter was cold, the look she gave her husband when Tom got out of the car promised slow, painful death.

"Don't blame Dad," Sandi said. "This was my choice. Dad didn't even know until he came to pick me up." Truth be told, she'd expected a confrontation. She still wasn't sure if bringing a musical instrument was her way of hastening it.

"Your choice?" Linda's eyes narrowed. "To what? Throw away your life on nonsense?"

"My choice to find out who I am," Sandi flung back. "Isn't that what college is about? Testing boundaries, spreading your wings?"

"Maybe if you're a pothead," Linda spat. "It's about focusing your goals and getting a toolkit of skills you'll need to succeed in the real work. Look at me! I went after a career in broadcasting and I was interviewing the First Lady by the time I was 25."

"And what have you done since then?"

"Raised you, you ungrateful little wretch," Linda was almost growling.

"Don't pin this on me, Sam, or Chris," Sandi laughed bitterly. "It's not like you let your three children interfere with your glorious career."

"How dare you!"

"How dare you tell me how to live my life!" Sandi shrieked. She hefted her guitar case and fled from her mother's rage-filled eyes, until she reached the safety of her old room. Once there, she locked the door, flung herself on the bed, and wept until no more tears would come.

A discordant note brought her back from her reverie. She grabbed a piece of paper and pencil and begun to make quick notes: the chord progression, a rhythm line, and the beginnings of some lyrics. She swore as she began to play again, then crossed out the lyrics and begin again. After an hour and a half, dozens of fits and starts, and a mass of crumpled paper, she had a verse and chorus to go with the music:

     Make me your shadow. Make me your pawn,
     Use me as something to pin your hopes on.
     Tell me you love me, but I know that it's lies.
     I'm just something else to accessorize.

     How can you tell me this is a mother's love?
     Steer with an iron hand in your velvet glove.
     I left you behind to be who I should be
     So why does my mirror show you and not me.

She sang and played what she had so far, varying the tempo during the chorus. "What crap," she said with a bitter sigh, but carefully set the page aside, remembering her father's reaction to the fight.

A soft knock had sounded at Sandi's bedroom door. At first she ignored it, until her father's soft voice followed. "Honey, open up please."

She made no effort to hide her tear-streaked face as she confronted her father. "Why didn't you stand up for me?"

"Honey," he said, his pale, thin face downcast, "I'm sorry. But your mother--"

Sandi cut him off viciously, "Oh yes, my mother! She's turned you into a jellyfish, and Sam and Chris into monsters. And she wants to turn me into a little version of her."

Anger blossomed in Tom Griffin's face, but it quickly died. "I wish I could say you're wrong, Sandi," he said with a heavy sigh.

He sat down nest to her and continued to try and calm her, and she continued to let him. But from that moment it was clear, if it hadn't been before, that her father was not someone Sandi could depend on.

She came back to herself with a sigh, and flipped on the television. Sleep was a long time in coming.

* * *

Thursday went by in a blur and, by Friday, Sandi was drained enough to sleep until noon. She would normally have been up and getting ready for rehearsal by now, but she hadn't bothered to set the alarm last night. When she woke, the first thing she was aware of was the muffled whine of the doorbell. So I can hear it in the bedroom, her sleep-fogged brain thought. She took a minute to let her mind clear, hoping that whoever was there would take the hint, but no such luck. After the fifth ring, she struggled out of bed.

At the front door, she found Daria, looking sheepish. "I didn't realize I'd be waking you," Daria said by way of apology.

Sandi wasn't having it. "Can you think of one good reason why I shouldn't slam the door in your face?"

"Uh, you might just have won a million dollars?" Daria cracked.

"Nice try," Sandi said. "Now if you don't mind. I'm going back to bed."

"Don't you think we need to talk?" Daria asked, suddenly serious.

"About what? I quit the band. Remember?"

"I do," Daria said. "But I don't think making a choice like that in the heat of the moment is a good idea."

"So what can I do to convince you I'm serious?" Sandi asked, intrigued in spite of herself.

"Talk to me. And when we're done, if you tell me you're through I'll leave you alone."

"Fine," Sandi said, opening the door. Did Daria come here to beg? That almost makes up for her knowing where I live. Which reminds me.... "So how do you know where I live?"

"Got your address off the 'net," Daria said, shrugging.

Sandi could tell Daria was lying, but decided not to press her for the moment. She led the other girl upstairs and into the living room. "Nice place," Daria said as she looked around.

"It's okay," Sandi said, sitting down in her usual chair. "So talk," she said as Daria took a seat in the other chair.

Daria gave her a half-smile. "Let me ask you something first." Her eyes were suddenly piercing. "Why did you join the band?"

"You needed a bassist," Sandi returned without missing a beat, even as she wondered where Daria was going with this.

Daria gave her a curious look, almost approving. "That's the reason we asked you to join. It's not the answer to my question. Why did you say yes?"

Sandi didn't have a ready answer. She'd only been in Boston a couple of months when she ran into Quinn, and she'd only gone on the audition because Quinn looked so uncomfortable. Thinking about it, she thought it was spite that had motivated her--at Quinn and at her mother, who hated her music so much. But that's not the sort of thing you tell someone. Instead, she gave a little shrug and said, "Quinn asked me."

"Okay," Daria said. If she suspected that Sandi's answer was at best a half-truth, she gave no indication. "So, why did you quit?"

Shock registered in Sandi's voice, along with anger. "You were there! You know!"

"I know Quinn was being bratty and you got pissed," Daria said calmly. "But it was hardly the first time. So what was the straw that broke the camel's back?"

Part of Sandi very much wanted to toss Daria out, but she knew she wouldn't. She was too committed to finding out what Daria was getting at. Not that I'm going to make it easy. "Let me ask you a question first," she said. "Why did you react so angrily when I said I wrote a song?"

Daria turned away. "I don't know," she said quietly.

"Huh." Sandi said. "I figured you came here with all the answers."

"There are no real answers, Sandi, only competing guesses," Daria said.

"So let's hear yours."

"Well," Daria said, very thoughtful now. "There's the obvious interpretation. I'm the least attractive, and I'm not an exceptional guitarist. The one thing I bring is my songs. That's my role, and you'd be taking it away."

Sandi thought Daria was selling herself short, but wasn't about to interrupt.

Daria continued. "I think there was an emotional reaction beyond simple fight-or-flight. At a guess, I'd say I didn't want you providing something to Quinn, and to a lesser extent Jane, that only I can provide. Since Quinn's in the band because she wants to spend time with me, I need to be able to give her something back."

"So she's in the bend to spend time with you," Sandi said, voice heavy with sarcasm. "Not because she wants to be rich and famous, with millions of guys worshiping her?"

"Point." Daria half-smiled. "But we don't just do things for one reason, Sandi. For instance, I'm in the band because Jane asked me, and I thought it might be a way to redefine myself, get away from who I was in high school. And, I'm a poet, and the only way to get my words out where they can be heard are as song lyrics."

"So what does that have to do with me?"

"Well, there's your motivations, too. I'd say spite played a big part there."

"Oh?" Sandi asked mildly, nettled at how easily Daria read her, but determined not to show it. "How do you figure that?"

"Why else would you join a band with Quinn?" Daria half-smiled again. "It's no secret that you two never really got along, even when you were nominally friends."

"Counterpoint." It was Sandi's turn to half-smile.

"But I think you love music, and you like playing with us. You didn't have to stay in the band if you just wanted to tweak Quinn." Daria leaned forward, suddenly intent. "Am I right?"

Sandi found herself almost hypnotized by Daria's eyes. Magnified by her glasses, they seemed bottomless, filled with wisdom and a deep fire, and not a little compassion. She turned away to break the connection and let the fancy fade. When she turned back, her own eyes were hard. "So what if I do?"

"Then I owe you an apology." Daria met her eyes squarely. "It's only now that you might quit that I'm realizing what it means to have you as part of the band."

"What do you mean by that?" Sandi's tone was wary bordering on cold.

"I've been thinking of you as 'our bassist' and not as someone who brings their own needs and wants to the group. And that's not going to work."

"Oh," Sandi said, now thoroughly confused. Maybe I should just kick her out and forget I ever knew her. At least then my head will hurt less.

"If you want to write and you think it'll make the band better, the least I can do is take you seriously as something other than a threat. So if you don't mind playing it, I'd love to hear your song." Daria's normally flat voice had an earnest, almost pleading, tone. "It's called 'My Eyes,' right?"

As if in a trance, Sandi took her acoustic guitar, slid it over her head, and fiddled with the tuning. Her eyes locked with Daria's again, but only part of the time did she see deep brown eyes with a touch of pleading. Instead, she saw cold, disapproving eyes--her mother's eyes. She could think of nothing that would hurt her mother more than to play a song she'd written to a daughter of Helen Morgendorffer. And so she did.

The progression was ever so slightly dissonant. It wasn't tuneless; in fact, the melody was pretty but it was ever-so-slightly off, merging with the vivid, but unhappy, imagery of the lyrics--a tale of love offered in hope and rejected in despair. Now both her mother's eyes and Daria's were gone; only the music and her words remained:

     Your words build castles in the air,
     Bedecked with jewels to dazzle me.
     But my eyes see nothing fair,
     Only ruins devoured by sunless sea.

As the song finished, Sandi came back to herself, and to Daria sitting across from her, face unreadable as always. Regret crept over her. True, it was Daria and not Quinn she was playing for, but Daria was difficult to please and very good at showing it. Sandi steadied herself and waited for the onslaught.

"For some reason," Daria said. "I'm hearing harps and strings with that song."

"Look, I know you don't like it--" Sandi stopped, confused. "What?!"

"I love it. I'm just wondering how to arrange it for just four instruments. It deserves a lush '70s production with masses of strings and possibly a choir."

Sandi found herself saying something she never thought she would. "Be serious, Daria." There's certainly more facets to her than I ever thought in Lawndale.

"I am. Lyrically, there are some things that I'd do differently, but it's your song. I have no right to change it. I think the chording works very well with the intensity of the lyrics. Maybe," she said, suddenly thoughtful, "we'd be better off using a sparse arrangement, just guitar and keyboards. Or," she continued, clearing her head, "maybe not. We'll see."

"So sure?" Sandi said, tone brittle. While she was elated that someone else liked her song, Daria's assumption that everything was better bothered her. "I don't remember unquitting."

Daria again looked sheepish. "You're right, Sandi. I got carried away. The decision is yours, of course."

"Of course," Sandi said, with heavy irony. "Now if you'll excuse me."

"Sure," Daria said and rose. "Before I go," she added before pausing. "I, uh-- Look, I'm not very good at things like this, and God knows I should have said it a year ago, but I know you've had a tough time with your parents' divorce and all, so, uh, if you need someone to talk to, let me know."

Sandi's insides froze at the word divorce. "And how do you know about that?" she demanded.

Daria was taken aback by the ferocity of her response. "Mom told us a couple of months after you joined. Neither of us wanted to say anything...."

"Because you figured you'd have a laugh at my expense?" Sandi snapped.

"Because it wasn't our business," Daria retorted, hurt in her eyes. "I figured if you wanted us to know, you'd tell us. It wasn't until today that I realized you had no reason to tell us because we never gave you a reason to trust us."

Sandi's anger drained away, leaving her empty and ashamed. "I'm sorry I snapped, Daria. But I can't talk about this right now. Maybe later."

"Fair enough," Daria said. "You know where to find me when you decide. I'll show myself out." With that she turned and headed out, leaving a very confused Sandi to grapple with her memories.

Her mother's face swam before her eyes, as it was the day their relationship had broken beyond repair. Linda's cheeks had been suffused with blood, her eyes glittering with rage as she berated her daughter. "Ungrateful little swine! How could you do this to me?"

"To you?" Sandi had been incredulous. "This isn't about you, Mother! It's about me wanting to live my own life, to be the person I want to be, not the person you want me to be." She'd been a sophomore in college, about to start her fourth semester--and declare a major.

"You're pathetic," Linda snarled. "Just like your father. Always complaining about who you want to be because you're too weak to be who you are." Her parents' marriage had been slowly collapsing for years, but the process had been speeding up recently, causing Sandi to avoid coming home as much as possible. Campus was closed over Christmas, though. So she'd come home right into the scene she'd been trying to avoid.

"It's not weakness," Sandi almost screamed. "It's strength! To go after what makes me happy instead of taking the easy way. Why can't you understand that? Is it because you're insane? Or because you insist everyone around you has to be as miserable as you are?"

"What do you mean by that, young lady? I'm trying to keep you from being miserable. Miserable and weak, like your father."

"Yes," Sandi flung the words at her mother, "because serving divorce papers during Christmas dinner is the sign of a content and fulfilled woman! I don't want to be you, Mother!"

"You want to be a failure." Linda's voice dripped venom. "You want to throw away everything I've given you to be some loser who lets the world walk all over you."

"What you've given me? What you've given me?!" Sandi's voice rose to hysterical shrieks. "You've never given me anything, Mother! You've just taken it away. You took my music away, and any time I tried to make a friend, you turned me against them. Well, no more! I'm going to major in music, and minor in learning to be a human being! Someone who can have friends and relate to other people as equals, not as tools to be used or victims to be exploited. I'm going to have my life! Not yours!"

"Oh, you will, will you?" Linda's voice went completely flat and cold. "I don't think so, Alexandra. You'll do what I say, or forget about going back to that school. As long as pay your tuition, I decide what you study." Eyes boring into Sandi's, she continued. "And don't think your father will help you. His assets have been frozen as part of the divorce. Right now, he can't pay for dinner, much less a semester of college."

Sandi refused to back down, but Linda was proven right. The only thing Tom could do for her when she told him of her intentions was to set her up with an apartment in his sister's house in the Boston area. After the previous Thanksgiving, she wasn't at all surprised. The real Tom Griffin was long gone, and whatever was left was broken beyond repair. Linda had seen to that.

So she'd packed up the Vexer and headed to Boston. She got the job at Cashman's right away. She tried taking some classes, but just couldn't do it. It was college that had torn her life apart, and she wasn't ready to try again. So she worked and practiced music and settled into a dull routine. And then she ran into Quinn.

Seized by a sudden impulse, she grabbed her acoustic guitar and dug out the sheet of paper with her lyrics from earlier in the week. She started running through the chords over and over, now jotting down a lyric, now crossing it out. Hours passed without her noticing. As the sun went low in the western sky, she found herself with a song, musically bare still, but with four verses and a haunting bridge. "Mother's Love," she said as she wrote the words the top of the page. "Now what the hell do I do with it?"

* * *

Saturdays were one of her early shifts, so she was up and out by nine. She'd spent a lot of time thinking about the band last night, but hadn't come to any conclusion. She knew it was foolish to throw away a year's worth of progress in a fit of pique, but she also knew there was more to think about than just getting paid to play music. She was in control of her own life, even if she'd had to reject her mother to do it, and she wasn't sure how much control she wanted to trade to fit in with the band.

When Quinn showed up halfway through her shift, Sandi was less than gracious. "What the hell are you doing here? Is this Morgendorffer Stalker Week? Or is Jane going to get in on the fun too?"

Quinn controlled herself with a visible effort. "I know Daria spoke to you, Sandi, but I want to talk to you too."

"Fashion Club Solidarity?" She knew Quinn didn't deserve her cruelty, but she couldn't help herself. "How very junior year of High School."

"Well," Quinn said, "I do know you the best, and I did pick the fight that made you quit the band. So if nothing else, I owe you an apology."

Both Morgendorffer sisters apologizing to me. And on consecutive days. What's next, Linda offering to put me through Harvard? For Quinn, she spared a wry half-smile. "Fine. Your apology is accepted."

To Sandi's surprise, Quinn made no assumptions. "Thank you. I'd still like to talk, though."

"I'm kinda working, Quinn."

"Can you take a break?" Quinn said, finally letting some annoyance show in her voice.

"I don't know. Maybe in a half an hour."

"Fine. Meet me in the food court in half an hour."

Sandi followed Quinn's red tresses as they faded into the mass of shoppers. She wasn't sure she wanted to talk to Quinn at all, but at least she had a half-hour's grace. And I can always blow her off.

She was unaware of Lina behind her until the other girl spoke. "So you're in a band. Why didn't you tell me on Monday?"

"I'm, uh, not sure I am anymore. I quit on Tuesday."

"Oh, too bad," Lina said. "Red trying to talk you back in?"

"Something like that," Sandi said. "Her sister did the same thing yesterday."

"Sounds like they want you back badly."

"Yeah, but the question is why?" Sandi started absently stacking shirts again, her face a thoughtful mask. Lina disappeared to talk to a customer, but returned a minute later. "I bet there's some history there."

"Yeah. Quinn, the redhead, was in my grade in High School. The other two girls in the band were a year ahead of us."

Lina nodded. "That can be tough. You gonna talk to her?"

"I don't know," Sandi said. "Right now, I think I'm just going to stack shirts."

"Cool." Lina smiled. "I'm going to help some customers. But if I were you I'd remember one thing: At least you know they want you." She chuckled to herself and was gone.

A half-hour later, Sandi was reflecting on the truth of Lina's statement as she walked toward the food court. She thought she might have trouble spotting Quinn in the crowd of diners, but the redhead was leaning against the wall under the Food Court sign.

"I wasn't sure you'd come," she said with an enigmatic smile.

"And miss the chance to catch up? Quinn, you wound me." Sandi was tempted to put a hand to her forehead, but decided the sarcasm was enough.

"Whatever," Quinn said. "Do you want something to eat?"

Sandi nodded. "This is the only break I get, and I'm not off until at least five." She followed Quinn to the sandwich stand, which also did a nice salad, and in a couple of minutes, they were seated across from each other, each with a salad in front of her.

Before Sandi could do more than take a bite, Quinn blurted, "I don't like you."

Sandi hid her shock at Quinn's bluntness. In a level voice, she said, "This is a strange way to talk someone back into a band."

"I know," Quinn said, with a nervous laugh, "but I decided it was important to be honest. I don't like you, Sandi, and I know you don't like me."

"So why do you want me back?" Sandi asked, toying with her salad. "And why do you think I want to come back?"

"Well, for one thing, what I said was honest, but not necessarily true."

"You sound like Daria now."

"I've spent too much time with her lately." Quinn waved a hand dismissively. "What I'm saying is that I don't like the Sandi I know, but you're not that person. I'm still treating you like the person you were in high school, because that's the person I don't like, but I haven't taken the time to find out if she's gone."

"You still sound like Daria," Sandi said. "How do you know I'm not the same person?"

"For one thing, the Sandi Griffin I know didn't play bass guitar. She listened to boy bands."

Sandi's expression soured for a moment, remembering the mass-produced crap that had filled her high school years.

Quinn saw the look and smiled. "I listened to that stuff because I liked it. You listened to that stuff because you had to." Sandi grimaced again as Quinn continued. "Even in high school, I didn't know you that well, because I only saw what you showed me, and now that we're in the band, it's even worse. I see you three or four times a week, and we never talk, and never bother to find out about each other. I'm still seeing the person who saw me as a threat and tried to keep me down while keeping me close. She'd never have told me off to my face."

Sandi nodded, conceding the point.

"Well, I'm a different Quinn, too. I told you that months ago. I'm not into status bullshit anymore. I just want to have the life I want, and right now, that means making the band work. If we're successful, who knows? If not, that's why I'm still in school."

"So where does that leave us?" Sandi asked.

"Getting to know each other again, if you want. We've wasted a lot of time over the past three years."

"We?" Sandi said, raising an eyebrow.

"We," Quinn returned firmly. "You didn't exactly go out of your way to show us a new side. If it wasn't for Mom, we wouldn't even know why you're in Boston."

"And why is it your mother's business where I am?" Sandi demanded.

"She was worried about you! As soon as the divorce went through, your mother resigned as head of the Lawndale Businesswoman's Alliance and left. She took Sam and Chris, but no one said anything about you. We didn't know if you were back in school or on your own or what. Mom was so relieved to find out you were up here with us."

A sudden tide of bitterness welled up in Sandi. Her own mother couldn't be bothered with her, but Quinn's mother, who had no reason to like her, was worried. "Unbelievable."

Quinn blinked. "What do you mean?"

"The whole situation." Sandi threw her arms wide, narrowly missing a diner at the next table. "I'm in Boston, of all places, surrounded by Morgendorffers. You and Daria want me back in your band, and your mother worries about me. Meanwhile, mine never wanted me to play music in the first place and could give a shit if I lived or died." An edge of hysteria came into her voice on the last words.

"Sandi, I--" Quinn started to say, but Sandi cut her off.

"So you can see why I hate you," she spat, and wondered at what she said. Will Quinn bolt? Isn't that what I want?

Quinn stayed where she was, and smiled. "Well, of course," she said. "How could you not?"

"Because you're better than me?"

"No!" Quinn said. "Because you had so much taken from you. And no one's ever tried to understand you."

"Except you, I guess." Part of her appreciated Quinn's attempt at sympathy, but she couldn't let go of her bitterness.

"Especially us," Quinn said. "Like I said, we've been looking at who you were you, not who you are. And I think that's why you quit."

"Not because I hate you?"

"No, that's just seeing us as who we were." Quinn's eyes, wide and serious, bored into her. "I'm sorry we're your way out, and I know how much you must resent it, but I think if you can, if we can, put everything behind us, we can be stars. But I don't think we can do it without you."

"And if I quit?" Sandi raised an eyebrow, hiding her shock at Quinn's sudden perception.

"We'll still try," Quinn said. "But I don't think we'll get as far. For some reason, we all fit together. It's sort of like the Fashion Club, I suppose."

"I don't think so," Sandi said. "For one thing, your sister and Jane can read."

Quinn smiled briefly. "Well, yeah. But that's not what I meant. I mean, when you think about it, there wasn't any reason for the four of us even to hang out, let alone to be popular. We all read the same magazines and liked the same clothes, but besides that we had so little in common with Stacy and Tiffany, it's a wonder we never killed each other. But for whatever reason, we stayed popular as long as we stayed together."

Sandi just shrugged.

"Well, that's what the band is like. It's not like bands have to be friends. You should hear Jane's stories about her brother Trent's band. You can even still hate us if you want, though I'd like it if you didn't. I'd like to try to get to know you again without all the baggage. Well, except the baggage from the band, but we can work that out."

"And why should we work it out?"

Quinn shrugged. "Like I said, we're better together."

"Girls together," Sandi said, and something inside of her loosened, something she didn't know had been tight until that moment.

"Exactly," Quinn said. "Look, no one expects you to be there tonight, so take some time and think about it. If you want to come back, you know where to find us." She stood, and then paused for a moment as if looking for something to say. "See you Tuesday," she finally said, and then added a Quinn smile and left.

* * *

Sandi spent the evening thinking about what Quinn had said. She supposed that she'd made up her mind to rejoin the band even before Quinn left, but the extra time was welcome. She had a lot of stuff to come to terms with. Quinn and Daria were right. Even though we've been together for almost a year, we haven't given each other a chance. Not everyone was her mother. Some people could be trusted. Or at least worked with. And if she couldn't let go of all her hate, at least she could channel it into the music. She had two songs to prove that.

She showed up at Daria's on Tuesday at 6, just as if nothing was different. It was Jane who answered the door. "So, I guess the demons are working on their slalom skills," she said with a smile.

A week ago she might have snapped at Jane, but right now humor seemed more natural. "At least all those evil penguins are comfortable now."

If Jane was surprised, she didn't show it, merely chuckling. "You're right on time."

"How'd the gig go?" Sandi asked as they headed up the stairs.

"We muddled through," Jane said. "Told Mike you were sick. Quinn didn't sound too bad, but Mike was pretty clear that he expects a four-piece next Saturday."

"And did someone tell you I'd be coming back?"

Jane turned and gave her a careful look. "Nope. Quinn and Daria both said you were still the bassist as far as they were concerned, but they didn't make any guarantees."

Sandi shrugged and wondered whether she should be angry, and then wondered why she wasn't. Eventually, she gave it up as a waste of time and followed Jane.

Downstairs, Daria stood calmly, guitar in hand, while Quinn paced nervously. Sandi merely murmured, "Hello," and went to plug in.

As she did, Quinn spoke. "Do you want to do your song, Sandi? Before we start rehearsing, I mean?"

It was the same tone she'd used the day they'd tried "Shards." But in light of their conversation yesterday, Sandi heard her differently. Quinn wasn't trying to win, just to keep the peace. And she did help me lose that weight, junior year. "Thanks, Quinn," she said and smiled a little uncertainly. "But let's just get ready for the audition. There's always next rehearsal for new stuff."

Daria's peace offering was more explicit. "And maybe you can help me with 'Shards.' Another point of view might help us salvage something."

"Daria, it's got too many points of view already," Jane grinned.

"Just call the time, Lane."

As they played, Sandi felt something well up inside her--not love, or necessarily even affection, but a sense of well-being, of belonging, that she hadn't felt in a long time. She'd been in the band for a year already, but maybe it was only now that she really felt a part of it. She had a sudden conviction that the gig at LL Wolf's was theirs for the taking. Girls Together, she thought as her fingers flew. Maybe not forever, but for now is good enough.

Author's Note:

And after more time thank I care to think about, Story Four is here. It was a bitch to write, and required extensive revision, which took far longer than I thought it would. The title is adapted from "Rosalita (Come Out Tonight)" by Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band.

For this one, my beta readers, smk, Kristin Bealer, Brother Grimace, and Richard Lobinske, went above and beyond, pointing out the flaws in the original draft and doing a second round of beta after the rewrite. This story wouldn't have been half as good without them.

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