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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     That night, Helen brought back Chinese takeout for dinner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     Helen and Daria both blinked at Jake in surprise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "I thought you might." Daria sat up.

     "How tall are you?"

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

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

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

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

     "Hmm. I hope."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     Sandi turned and hit him with her purse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     Daria raised her hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Pork chop run!" Kevin looked ecstatic.

     "Wrong! How old are you, boy?"

     "Eighteen." Kevin looked defensive.

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

     "Iwo Jima!" Brittany looked vaguely triumphant.

     "Hah!"

     Daria slipped a note to Jane.

     "Hue City!" Jane smirked.

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

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

     The bell rang and the school day ended.

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

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

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

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

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

     "Whatever you say, Mr. Boss."

     Kevin paused, tired.

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Oh, that was cute," said Jane.

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

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

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

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

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

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

     Daria answered after eight rings. "Hello."

     "Daria!"

     Daria was struck dumb.

     "It's Trent!"

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

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

     "Sure." Daria took down the number.

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

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

     "Really?"

     "Really."

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "That's kind of profound, Trent."

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

     There was a pregnant silence.

     "Trent?"

     "Yeah, Daria?"

     "I--"

     "PLEASE DEPOSIT TWO DOLLARS FOR ANOTHER TEN MINUTES."

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

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

     BEEP BEEP BEEP

     "Goodb--"

     "Oh, no! Trent!"

     There was only a dial tone.

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

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

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

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

     "Hiya, Kiddo! Is that the paper?"

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

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

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

     "Here's your stack, Dad."

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

     She toasted two for herself and joined him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     Daria and Quinn were laughing together when Helen came down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Just a little turnabout."

     "A dancer?" Jodie was hopeful.

     "Sure, you could say that."

     "Fully clothed, I trust."

     Jane smirked. "Oh, yeah."

     Brittany sat down beside Kevin at the table behind them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     Jane smiled. "Big tippers are always welcome."

     The three girls finished eating and left.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Daria! Come on."

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

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

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

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

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

     "You're weird, man."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     Daria opened her front door and ran into trouble.

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

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

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

     Helen rapped out, "Are you pregnant?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "He..."

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

     "He..."

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

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

     "He..."

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

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

     This was too much for Daria.

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

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

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

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

     "Trent."

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

     "Yes, Jane's brother."

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

     Daria's laugh sounded forced.

     "But marriage is--"

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

     "Yes?"

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

     "No."

     "Are you sexually active?"

     Daria hesitated. "No."

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

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

     "Are you seeing anyone?"

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

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

     "Five months ago."

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

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

     Helen relaxed.

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

     "I was being ironic," Daria sidestepped.

     "How did you know where he was staying?"

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

     "Explain the irony."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Phone, Daria. A guy!"

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

     "Hi, Daria."

     Her parents stared at her.

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

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

     "What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Hell yes," said Trent, dressing rapidly.

     "What are you doing?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     There was no response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "There went my perfect attendance record."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "In what way, Quinn?"

     "Well, you know, sarcastic."

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

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

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

     "What's an iconoclast?"

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

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

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

     Later that night Helen decided to check on Daria again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Yes dear?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     Christophe laughed in delight.

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

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

     "Why yes! Are you THE Christophe?"

     "I 'ave that honor, Helen."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     Daria looked at her mother. Helen hesitated then nodded.

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

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

     "When will you be leaving?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     Daria was speechless.

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

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

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

     "I'll need to pack a bag--"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "NO!" Quinn almost fainted with envy.

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

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

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

     "Why yes, thank you."

     "CUT!"

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

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

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

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

     "But not at Christophe's."

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

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

     "Sure."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     In the cab Christophe was quiet, thinking.

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

     "Well I had an interview--"

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

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

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

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

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

     The phone rang and Helen picked it up.

     "Hello."

     "Hi, Mom."

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

     "We're pretty busy."

     "Are you shooting today?"

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

     "You're kidding." Helen was stunned.

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

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

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

     "I'm proud of you, Daria."

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

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

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

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

     "Assistant to the chairman."

     Helen was thrilled. "Fabulous, Daria."

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

     Helen frowned. "College first, Daria."

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

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

     "Bye, Mom."

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

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

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

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

     "Hello, this is Daria Morgendorffer."

     "Hello, kiddo!"

     "Dad! Good to hear from you!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     Caught wearing only a towel, Jane shrieked.

     Alex recoiled a little and looked around nervously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     Stacy chimed in. "Where is she anyway?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     The three girls gasped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Thank you."

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

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

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

     Quinn looked at her cohorts triumphantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     It was unanimous.

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

     The phone rang.

     Quinn picked up the handset.

     "Hello"

     "Hello, Quinn, is Daria there?"

     "No. Is this Jane?"

     "Yes."

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

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

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

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

     "Hello, this is Quinn."

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

     The girls perked up at the rough, low voice.

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

     Trent scowled out of the phone carrel, scaring a passing Japanese tourist. "When will she be back?"

     Quinn scowled. "She took a job in New York. Is this Trent?"

     "Yes. What do you mean, New York? Daria? In New York? What job? She wouldn't go without..." Trent collected himself. "Can you give me her number?"

     She had to oblige him with the Fashion Club watching. "Okay, Trent. I just gave it to Jane so I have it handy." Quinn rattled off the numbers.

     Trent felt a little relieved. "You talked to Jane? Did she leave a number?"

     "No, there's no phone at that weird place she's staying. Are you still in New Orleans?"

     "Yeah. We're getting plenty of gigs but it's a real drag here. Daria's not staying in New York for good, is she?"

     Quinn really didn't know. If she had a shot at a modeling career, she wouldn't waste a microsecond on college, that's for sure. "Daria does whatever she wants. That's all I can tell you."

     "Yeah, that's true. Lotta good nightclubs in New York. A good band could probably find plenty of gigs there. New York...Thanks uh... Quinn. Thanks a lot. Goodbye."

     "Who is that guy!" Stacy leaned forward, eyes shining.

     "Oh, well, that's Daria's boyfriend, I guess. Trent Lane."

     "You don't seem to care for him, Quinn. How come?" Sandi looked at her, eyes narrowed.

     "I thought she broke up with him. That's why she went to New York to be a model." Quinn smiled. We who practice to deceive.

     "He loves her." Every one stared at Tiffany. "It was in his voice. That receptionist said she was an actress." Tiffany concentrated. "How did she get to be a model and then an actress?"

     Quinn looked smug. "Daria's a brain. No, a superbrain. She understands how to make things like that happen. The whole thing might be a plot to get Trent to come back. She's really like, deep. I don't understand her at all and she's my sister. She was valedictorian, you know."

     "No! Really? And a member of the Fashion Club too! Now people can't go around saying we're shallow! Not with a superbrain in the club!" Stacy laughed. Maybe she could be popular and not have to act like a complete spamdroid all the time, now that Daria had broken the trail.

     Trent stood in the phone carrel and thought. Daria couldn't give him a number for Jane and hadn't talked to her yet. He had no excuse to talk to Daria. Shifting his feet in indecision, he let the arrival of a mob of Japanese tourists start him away from the phones. He had no plausible reason to call Daria, and it would only cause him more pain.

     Daria sat in the pneumatic beauty chair and tried not to writhe with embarrassment. She was wearing a white cotton string bikini and a set of white cotton shorts. She felt like she was making a porno movie. The camera was very close; the huge lens tightly focused on her brightly lit face. The fact that she was nearly blind without her glasses helped a lot.

     Christophe provided the voice over, describing Daria's flawless skin and coloration. Sometimes a strip of some makeup would be applied and then removed. Daria listened and marveled that there could be so many possible makeup strategies and that anyone had ever cared enough to discover them. Christophe lectured on the Zen of makeup for over an hour. Then they started on her hair.

     It had been a very long day. Daria looked at the blur in the ceiling mirror. Her neck rested in a support that kept her hair from contacting any surface. It was wrapped in a towel, newly styled in curls. She looked like a different person. Daria was effectively nude, with just two strategically draped towels covering her. A cosmetologist worked on each hand. They had already done her feet. The filming was done for the day and Christophe and all the cameramen had left, thank God. Daria was really tired of the table. When these people gave you a haircut they didn't stop at the neck. It had become a torture rack soon after they had begun to depilate the little hair she had on her legs and pits. Then without a by your leave, the woman had begun on her 'bikini line'. Daria had nearly freaked out, then just frozen in utter shock as the two women, in a swift synchronized move that seemed almost choreographed, suddenly twitched off Daria's shorts and top. Awful, unspeakable hair removing things were done to her. She was getting the "Star" treatment. Daria then and there decided that showbiz was for the birds.

     The technicians finished and Daria, now decently robed, was shown to her dressing room. She sat in front of the mirror and tried to make sense of the vague blur that looked back at her, but failed. She opened the closet that should have contained her suit and found an unfamiliar crimson and yellow dress. She was peering into random drawers, looking for her glasses, when there was a fast knock and a pretty, twentyish brunette woman wearing a white lab smock entered.

     "Hi, Daria. I'm Susan, your dresser today."

     "Excuse me?" Daria didn't know if she had heard right.

     "I'm Susan, your dresser. I'm here to help you dress and to make sure that everything fits alright."

     "When in Rome..." After her grueling day, Daria just wanted it to be over. She couldn't really see well enough to cope with unfamiliar sartorial constructions anyway.

     "We'll start with undergarments then, Daria."

     Daria, for the first time since she was a toddler, found herself being dressed. Various accessory items were thrust into her hands and snatched away. Items of jewelry were similarly checked and discarded until Susan announced herself satisfied.

     Susan happily gestured at the mirror. "What do you think, Daria?"

     Daria peered at the mirror and said, "Very abstract. Can I have my glasses back now?"

     "Glasses?"

     "Yes, I left them in the drawer there this morning. They seem to be gone."

     "Daria, just what do you see when you look in the mirror?"

     "A very professionally dressed red blur?"

     "Oh, damn. They were told to get rid of your old clothes and I guess some bonehead took the glasses. Come on out and I'll see if I can find them for you."

     "If you can't, I'm going to need a white cane." On the way out Daria tripped over the wastebasket and was caught by Susan.

     "Holy cow, Daria. You're not kidding, are you." Susan looked worried. She hadn't planned on glasses.

     Christophe was astounded when he saw her. He had known she would look good, but not this good! He reached into his pocket and surreptitiously crushed Daria's glasses. He gave her a wide smile and the remaining crew spontaneously applauded. "The glasses were broken, Daria, but they will be replaced. I took the liberty of calling your optometrist yesterday and here is a selection of contact lenses." Christophe handed her a large box of disposable soft contact lenses and solution. "Put some in and take a look!"

     Daria was blushing.

     Christophe had little compunction about deceiving someone for their own good, and Daria's awful, false self image had to be snuffed out, utterly. When he got done with her she would have as little false modesty as any other model.

     Susan guided her back in to the dressing room and Daria put her lenses in. She blinked several times until the sting grew bearable and she could focus.

     "Well, Daria, what do you think?"

     Daria stood and looked in the mirror. The tears in her eyes cleared and she stared in absolute disbelief. "Who the hell is that?"

     Susan laughed. "You like?"

     "Um yes. I do. A lot." Daria was riveted. She looked good! She looked damn good! She looked weather girl good! "Thanks, Susan."

     Daria stood on the sidewalk outside the Christophe building and waited for her cab. The early evening traffic was heavy and the noise was omnipresent. Boredom had at last driven her out and she was going to hit some bookstores to browse around a little. Suddenly there was a crash, and she looked up and saw that a car had been rear ended in the intersection, starting a three-car chain reaction. She stood gawking and a police car rolled up. The policeman checked the occupants, spoke to the drivers and then walked over to her.

     "Miss, did you see the accident?" He was fit, very tall, in his forties and had a mustache.

     "No. I heard the crash and looked up in time to see the last car hit. Is everyone ok?" Daria peered at the accident and wished that she had good eyesight.

     He smiled. "They're not having a nice day but there are no obvious injuries either." He opened his pad. "I need your name and address, miss. If anyone sues, you might have to testify."

     Daria shrugged and gave her name, Lawndale address and phone number and then pointed at the Christophe building. "I'm staying there while I'm in the city. Courtesy apartment 3, Christophe building, extension 121."

     He smiled and noted it all down. "Daria, can I have a quick look at your ID? It makes it a lot easier to find you if we have a drivers license number."

     She nodded, dug out her license and handed it to him.

     He looked at the license and then at her. "Is this your license, miss?"

     "Why yes, that's me." Daria was a little puzzled for a minute, then she remembered. "Oh I do look a little different now, don't I?" She smiled. "I got a makeover and some contacts yesterday."

     He was looking back and forth in puzzlement. "You need to have this retaken, Daria. You look completely different." He smiled at her. "Not that you aren't ticket proof anyway. Daria, please don't take this the wrong way but I can see that you just really don't understand. You shouldn't stand in sight of busy traffic patterns anymore, if you can help it. A girl like you causes accidents. Someone could get hurt."

     Daria looked at him without comprehension. "I didn't go into the street. They just cra--"

     He laughed. "The guy in the second car was looking at you and rear ended the lady in the front. The three guys behind him were also looking at you. It's not in any way your fault, Daria, but that's what's going to happen anytime you stand near a heavy traffic flow looking that good. You gotta be careful."

     Daria blushed. "I was just waiting for a cab."

     The Charbonet Club was really jumping that night. Helpful Corn had been playing there for three weeks and was drawing a big crowd. The band was getting good.

     I am what I am/
     I ride for the brand/
     Don't care about wrong and right.

     If the orders come through/
     I'll say goodnight to you/
     Through my best telescopic sight.

     They call me a killer/
     They call me a demon/
     But a craftsman is what I am.

     To those that object/
     I ask for respect/
     Listen and understand.

     You'll never know Jack/
     About your executioners knack/
     For turning people out like a light.

     Death is your friend/
     You gotta go in the end/
     I'll send you gently on into the night.

     People die every day/
     In every conceivable way/
     We plug 'em and bury 'em deep.

     If somebody pays/
     It's the end of your days/
     And no eye left open to weep.

     I was carefully trained/
     I learned to be sane/
     To see the world just as it is.

     It's natural to slay/
     Sentiment does not pay/
     At murder, I'm a whiz.

     When their usefulness ends/
     I'll kill all my friends/
     It's just something I have to do.

     I'll retire at thirty/
     With hands that aren't dirty/
     The monster next door to you.

     The crowd in the club cheered wildly as Helpful Corn ended its set. Trent's hands were sweating, thinking of the demonic old man in St. Louis who had inspired the song with his boozy cold-war reminiscing.

     Later at a table alone, Trent looked up as a shadow fell across him. His heart lifted. A slight framed auburn haired girl with small round glasses and a green jacket was standing in front of his table.

     "Hi. Looking for something?" Trent smiled at her, riveted.

     "Could be." She smiled. "I'm Doris."

     "Trent." He drained his beer. For some reason he felt obscurely disappointed at her New Orleans accent.

     That morning Trent woke up in his room feeling better than he had for a long time. He turned his head and smiled at the auburn hair splayed out on the pillow next to him. He blinked and his smile faded. The hair was dyed.

     He got up quietly and showered.

     When he came out she was sitting up in bed, chewing on a twist of her hair and watching him.

     "Who's Daria?"

     Trent's good feeling instantly disappeared. "What? How do you know..."

     "You kept calling me Daria last night."

     Trent groaned "I'm really sorry about that. You look a little like her you see and--"

     "Hey I'm not mad. I got what you wanted to give her, and I loved it. That was some ride, like really volcanic. You got a rocket in your pocket baby!"

     "Jesus Christ!" Trent was disgusted with himself.

     "So give, who is she?"

     "I can't talk about her." Trent was feeling a little disgusted with Doris now.

     "Sure you can. Is she your girlfriend?"

     "No." Trent sighed sadly. "She's just a kid, Doris. My little sister's friend. I got the hell out of Dodge when I started dreaming about her every night for a month."

     "A kid! Just how young is she Trent?"

     Trent gave her a black look. "Seventeen. She's a month younger than my little sister."

     Doris laughed. "Oh Trent, you crack me up. You still think of your sister as a little girl. You took care of her a lot, didn't you Trent?"

     "Well yes. But what has that got to--"

     "Daria and your sister are not 'kids' anymore Trent. How old do you think I am?"

     "OH SHIT!"

     "I'm seventeen babydoll. As of last month. It's all perfectly legal in Louisiana, Trent. I can get married, or have sex or join the army or do anything I want. Just like Daria can or your sister can. Time to adjust your mind, Trent."

     Trent, looking stunned, sat on the bed.

     "You've really got it bad, sunshine." Doris sat up and began dressing herself. "I'm sorry I can't be her for you." She finished dressing and looked around. "So, Trent, how about a little memento?"

     "What?" Trent was puzzled.

     "You know, like a souvenir." She walked to the dresser and picked up one of his earrings. "This will do!"

     "Why do you want my earring? Its not like I'm going to be around here for much longer. I'm thinking of taking the band to New York."

     "I like to screw rockers. You're going to be famous some day and I want a trophy."

     Trent was suddenly very glad that he had insisted on protection. "Uh...ok. Look, Doris, I gotta go meet the band and--"

     She smiled. "I know. Good luck with Daria and have a nice life, Trent." She winked at him and left.

     Trent collapsed into the armchair next to the bed. "What the hell was that?" he said aloud to the empty room. Damn groupies. He felt alone, empty, used and completely lost. He picked up his acoustic and aimlessly picked out a little tune. Presently he began to sing.

     The plastic whore/
     Was standing by the bed.

     Her cold eyes/
     Glittering and dead.

     She laughed so cruel/
     And opened wide the trap.

     But I thought of you/
     And slipped out through a gap.

     Oh Daria/
     Bring me through the fire.

     Oh Daria/
     At the far end of the wire.

     "Dude!" Jesse Moreno stood at the open front door, pad in hand.

     Trent jumped in mortification. "Hey, man."

     "What do you call that one?"

     "Nothing. Its just a little ditty I made up."

     "It's great, man. I wrote down most of it." Jesse smiled. "Plastic whore? Who could that be?"

     "Just never mind. What you don't know...can't hurt me." Trent grinned at his friend. Except for business they had been avoiding one another for many weeks, sick of each other. Now the old easy friendship was back.

     Jesse shrugged. "Well I guess you still got the Daria thing."

     Trent sighed. "Yeah, I got a pretty much terminal case of Dariaitis and it gets worse every day."

     "Hey, man! I almost forgot why I came over here! I ran into that clerk, Sammy, from the Speedyrest. He said you had a bunch of long distance calls over there." Jesse paused. "Maybe its Jane."

     Trent stiffened in alarm. "Jane! Shit, why didn't I get the phone turned on? I gotta get to the bank and get some change! Daria will know what's happening."

     Jesse gestured impatiently at Trent. "I've got a phone. Let's go over to my place and call."

     Soon Trent was smiling and dialing. Jesse laughed at him and went out for some beer and hot pickled eggs.

     "Hello?"

     "Hey, Daria."

     "Trent!"

     "Or an electronically reproduced facsimile thereof."

     "Hi, Trent." Daria's voice was unsteady.

     Silence.

     "What's this I hear about New York?"

     Daria launched into an enthusiastic explanation of the office end of her job. When she ran down, Trent laughed.

     "Seventeen and already kicking ass in Gotham. Someday you'll shake the whole world, Daria." You already shook mine, baby. Trent sighed.

     "Eighteen next month. What about you, sw- Trent. How are you doing?"

     "Okay. It's lonely and boring here. Our music is really improving though. We have an agent and we're getting plenty of gigs, making real money. That's about it. Um, Daria, I don't have a phone yet but I can give you Jesse's number."

     "Great, fire away."

     Trent gave her the number and his address. "Have you heard from Jane?"

     "Yes, but not for three weeks. I keep missing her. I've got a number for a phone booth at an Amoco station near Centennial Wash. She usually leaves me a message that tells me when to call, but she has trouble getting there. It's a long way and the return trip is usually in the dark. She's had it pretty rough out there, Trent."

     "Uh, oh."

     Daria sounded angry. "That asshole brother in law of yours is treating her like some kind of freeloader. I got a voice mail message today to call at six. Jane sounded really stressed. I think something's wrong, Trent."

     "Well, Summer's there, so it ought to be alright." Trent sounded like he was trying to convince himself. "Give it to me and I'll call that number at six thirty. Tell her to wait around there till then."

     Daria complied. "If there's a problem, she can stay here with me. That would be pretty cool anyway." Daria was worried.

     "I wish you could come and stay with me." Trent blushed bright red. Talk about your Freudian slip! He couldn't believe what he had just said. It was like he was possessed.

     Daria gasped. "What did you say?"

     Silence.

     "Trent? Are you there?"

     "Um..."

     "Trent?"

     "I meant to say that Jane could come and stay with me." Trent wondered why he kept torturing himself like this. He shouldn't have any contact with her until she was legal.

     "Oh. Well. Do you have room for her? Won't it be kind of crowded with you, Jane and your girlfriend?" Daria spoke in a monotone.

     "What!?" Trent had a brief vision of Daria as the proprietor of a vast and shadowy empire of spies. Did someone tell her about depressing Doris?

     "Well I imagine your place is kind of small..."

     "Daria, I don't have a girlfriend. I never have had one. Not a real one worth remembering anyway." Want to apply? thought Trent. "It's really lonely here. I'd love it if Jane stayed here for a while. It'd be almost like home."

     "Well!" Daria felt a great weight of despair lift off of her. If things worked out, then Jane could keep an eye on Trent for her. "That's great then! How do we get her from that Amoco station to the airport, and from there to New Orleans?"

     "I guess I could arrange it by money order."

     When Jesse returned an hour later, Trent was still talking.

     Seeing Jesse, Trent said goodbye and hung up.

     "Well dude, how did it go?" Jesse was a little buzzed.

     "Good. It was good to talk to her. She's worried about Jane."

     "Worried! Why?!" Jesse paled and looked upset.

     As Trent explained the situation, Jesse paced anxiously around the room.

     "Let's go get her! Where the hell is Phoenix, Arizona?" Jesse was ready to motor at once.

     "Hey, Jess, I think you got a little buzz going. I also think you got a little thing going with my little sister, about which I want to hear." Trent looked him in the eye. "Right now."

     Jesse hung his head. "Well, Trent, I never really thought about Jane much until that time we went to Alternapalooza." He looked up and laughed. "Remember how me and Jane used to argue when we were still in high school and she would tag along with us? That's what she was to me, just Trent's mouthy little tag along sister. Then there we were, sitting on those milk crates in the tank and she leaned on me. I looked down at her and saw her face. That's all. I just suddenly noticed how beautiful she was. It was like a... a bolt of lightning. I couldn't look away. After that I tried to stay away but you know, there was practice. Every time I saw her, the hook went in a little deeper. I got this road trip started to get as far away as I could and try to forget her." He looked at Trent, his face etched with sadness. "Jane's just out of reach for someone like me. I'm to old for her, to broke for her and just not as smart as her. She's going places, Trent, and I know that I can't go with her. It's tearing me up, man... Tearing me up."

     Trent stared at his best friend in shock. Jesse had just described Trent's own misery in exact detail, right down to when he had first fallen for Daria. "There must have been something in the air on that trip. That's when I started to fall for Daria." Trent shook his head. "You know, Jess, I really respect you for not trying to make a play for my little sister. She's been throwing herself at you since she was thirteen. I saw how well you handled it and never had a worry. I know that you'll always do right by Jane." Trent took a deep breath. "This is hard for me, Jess, but I know that I have to adjust to reality. You're a true friend and a real gentleman and I have no objection at all if you want to date Jane. She can decide for herself if you're to old dumb and broke for her." Trent grinned. "As far as I can tell it's the woman who decides these things anyway. Besides, my Mom and Dad married when Mom was sixteen and Dad was twenty two."

     Jesse shrugged and looked embarrassed. "Hey, thanks, man. You don't know what a load that is off of my mind. Now if only Jane feels the same way..."

     Trent looked ready to jump out of his skin. "Now Daria, there's a girl who's going places. Hell, she's already got to places. Goddam, I love her." Trent smashed his fist into his palm and paced rapidly back and forth. "Let me tell you about her summer job." Trent told an astonished Jesse about Daria the executive. "What's a girl like that going to see in a raggedy assed, bar-hopping, grunge musician? Screw this, I'm going to college, and I'm going to be the best student they ever saw."

     Jesse grinned at his friend. "Hey, man, what you said. To bad about you being the number two student though."

     A little later, the beer began to flow free.

     "What about Nick and Max?" Trent felt a little responsible. He had started the band and now he was plotting its demise.

     "Fuck 'em." Jesse had long since had enough of both of them. "They'll get over it. Shit like that happens to musicians. Thank God I'm getting out of that racket."

     Trent shrugged uncomfortably. "Not yet though. We gotta push hard, make some fast cash, Jess. College is expensive and we aren't exactly the poster boys for scholarships. First I'm gonna need at least five bills to get these tattoos burnt off. Then there's the year's tuition, but I think I can cover most of that from savings. Maybe my Dad will help, if I can find him." Trent removed his earrings and sailed them into the garbage can, one by one. "Its hip to be square in the corporate rat race, man."

     Jesse felt a little embarrassed. His dad had started a college fund for him before he was born. Now the old man was referring to it as the yacht fund, and Jesse was really looking forward to telling him the good news.

     Jane was walking in the desert. She wore an evaporative tropical sun helmet, a long-sleeved khaki shirt, a blue bandanna, jeans, desert boots, wrap around sunglasses and a heavy layer of sunscreen. On a gold chain around her neck she wore an old chrome-plated bosun's call that she had found in a packrat's den.

     Her well-trained gang of yard apes followed silently, in single file, each carrying some painting artifact. The three largest kids pulled and pushed a shiny aluminum garden cart filled with other supplies.

     Spotting a beautiful saguaro cactus, she halted and wordlessly pointed to a spot in front of it. The children, acting with speed and precision, set up a large tent fly then unrolled an old Persian rug and placed it on the sand floor. They opened her easel, propped up her blank canvas, unfolded her camp chair, unfolded a small table and set her paint box and an insulated jug of ice water on it. As each finished their task they hurriedly lined up in front of the shade.

     Jane waited until the last one was done. "Okay junior campers, that was... six minutes." They cheered. "That means that... Hey, what does that mean?"

     "Aunt Jane's story time!" The children capered anxiously "You promised!"

     "But only if..."

     "We come back here at three o clock," said an older boy.

     "What else?"

     "We has ta go away till three!" A little girl with bright red hair piped up.

     "And?"

     "STICK TOGETHER!" This was now a well known rule.

     "Dis-missed!" Jane watched them swarm back towards Rancho El Ramshackle.

     The kids, living in neo-primitive electronics free conditions ate up her "stories" which mostly consisted of recycled movie and television plots.

     Sighing luxuriously, she opened her paintbox and began to paint, seemingly oblivious to the worshipful little faces spying on her from under a clump of mesquite bushes. "Jane Lane, Desert Queen of the Munchkin Horde," she murmured to herself.

     Daria sat at the end of the board room table and frowned. Christophe was at the head of the table, his two top executives to either side. Scattered down the table in order of declining importance were the H&R Co. account executives that handled Christophe's American ad campaign. Daria had served as a sort of research subject/idea generator for them, but they had stopped listening to her and frozen their plans to conform to the schedule. Daria had her doubts about the feasibility of the marketing plan as it stood.

     Art Ball was presenting. "And in conclusion I think that this research shows that we can expect a response rate of between thirty five and forty three percent of the target market with this direct marketing campaign."

     "Very impressive work, Art, as always. Daria, do you have anything to add?" Christophe smiled as everyone looked at her sitting at the far end of the table. The power positions in the room palpably shifted as those close to Daria took on some reflected glory.

     "Well, Christophe, I can't fault the figures and I know the research was sound. I am the demographic after all. But we don't seem to be trying the indirect approach." Daria paused and took a breath.

     "What do you mean, Daria?" Art was curious and a little irritated. The meeting had run long already.

     "Well, Art, I read the H&R basic marketing manual and it had a lot to say about catalysts and secondary influences. Influences like my mother, who practically marched me into Christophe's of Lawndale." Daria looked a little embarrassed. "I know that if someone like my mother got the idea that there was a place to which she could drag her fashion challenged daughter to fix her, she would."

     The executives that hadn't seen Daria before Christophe had worked his magic looked skeptical. Daria could cause a heart attack if you were unprepared.

     Christophe slapped the table. "You heard it, people. Get on it!" The humiliated H&R execs rushed away.

     Christophe smiled at Daria. She was a marvel, but there was that little self image problem cropping up again. "I need to speak to you, Daria. You just earned yourself another bonus." His head tilted. "The director says that some of the final sequences in the last shoot were ruined, so I need you at the fashion studio before lunch."

     Daria smiled weakly and nodded. Just what she needed, another fine day of humiliating semi-public nudity.

     Jane got out of the truck and looked at her watch. Ten minutes to spare. After a brief rally two weeks ago Alex had collapsed in defeat and was now sucking around trying to curry favor. Jane suspected that he wanted her to keep Amanda off of his back when he couldn't make the payment again this month. Maybe she would oblige. In the meantime, Alex had given her a set of his truck keys.

     She went in and chatted with Red for awhile.

     Daria dialed five minutes early and Jane picked up at once.

     "Hi, Daria!"

     "Jane! Good to hear your voice! Did you have to run another damn marathon to get to that phone today?"

     "No, Alex has decided that appeasement is the best policy. I have his truck. How's tricks, Daria?"

     Daria told her a few work stories. "I don't know, Jane. I never would have dreamed that I would miss being an unemployed nobody in Lawndale. This whiz kid stuff gets a little wearing. You know, I haven't been to one museum or bookstore since I got here? I saw Miss Saigon, but it was boring. Don't repeat this, but I'm going to enjoy the downtime when we get to school."

     Jane laughed "I wish we could trade places for a couple of days. I've been painting a lot, really making some basic style changes. The light is different here. There are a lot of great artists staying here and I've learned something important from every last one of them. While I'm between paintings I run the munchkin troop back at Fort Beno. I've got things running pretty smoothly on that front, but I'm worried about Summer. I wish I could get a hold of Mom, Dad or Trent.

     "Fort Beno?"

     "There beno TV, beno telephone, beno hot shower, beno--"

     "I get it. I talked to Trent this morning. He's going to call there in about ten minutes." Daria paused. "From Jesse's apartment."

     "Jesse?" Jane's voice was low.

     "Yeah. He's the one with the phone. Big muscular guy, long hair--"

     "Lay off, Daria! So you talked to Trent? Did he tell you he loves you yet?" Jane teased back hard.

     "No, not yet. But I'm a deeply pessimistic girl with a nearly foolproof plan."

     Jane was shocked. Daria? Openly admitting that she still liked Trent? What was the world coming to? "Daria! What are you going to do?"

     "The next time that I see him I'll be eighteen. I'm going to tell him how I feel, and if he walks away, that will be the last time. I can't take the suspense anymore, Jane. Another six-month period of uncertainty like this one would just kill me. I'm tired of dying a thousand deaths every time he talks to me. I'd rather get it over with and know if we're gonna be together, up or down." Daria sighed. "Either that or I'll just stun him and keep him locked up in the cellar."

     Jane cracked up. "Wow. You really have changed, Daria."

     "You don't know the half of it." Daria laughed. "Part of this job entails me taking off my clothes in front of strangers, Jane."

     "WHAT!"

     Daria told her about the hair pulling torture table and other joys of stardom. "When I was doing the after bit I had to put on about a million outfits and 'learn how to walk' for the director. Then I had to do it again with film rolling. Then I had to do retakes. Then the still photographer. Then later I had to do about a million more because Christophe didn't like any of those." She laughed. "They don't provide much privacy for changing your clothes at the Fashion Studio, Jane. I have to change behind some semi private screens in the changing area. Luckily there were a lot of girls there who looked better than me."

     "Damn, Daria. You? That's just utterly weird." Jane was laughing so hard that she could barely talk.

     "Yeah. I can't say I'm thrilled with it, but you get used to things. Just think of it as a big girls locker room that happens to have about a thousand guys walking around in it ogling you. They all pretend that they're gay, so we pretend that we don't mind. By the end of the day I could care less who's watching." Daria grimaced wryly into the phone.

     "That has totally blown my mind, Daria."

     "Oh, speaking of blown minds I ran into an old friend of ours there. Remember Claude, from that cheesy modeling agency? The Amazon Modeling Agency of South Omaha?"

     "Oh yes, the conman with the fish net tanktop. Didn't that nut General Conroy cripple him or something like that?" Jane laughed.

     "He said that he was cured when the good General dropped a hand grenade into his wheelchair in court. When Claude jumped over the jury box to get away, his case sort of fell apart." Daria sniggered.

     "Along with the rest of the court?"

     "No, it was just a practice grenade."

     "I like that general. Sure, he's a homicidal maniac who enjoys shouting, looting and mass murder, but he's got style. And lots of self esteem." It gave Jane an idea for a painting.

     "He would do well in the rag trade." Daria smiled evilly, thinking of Buck Conroy dealing with the New York fashion industry, summarily.

     Daria's phone button lit up. "It's about time for Trent to call you, so I'll let you go, Jane. When should I call tomorrow?"

     "How about five thirty?"

     "That's good. Say hi to Jesse for me!"

     "Oh hang up already, Daria. Bye."

     "Bye, Jane."

     Daria pushed the button. It was the receptionist.

     "Ms. Morgendorffer, I have Ms. Morgendorffer's office holding for you on the line."

     "Thank you."

     Helen's assistant Marianne came on the line. "One moment please, Daria."

     There was a click.

     "Daria! Fabulous news! I've been made a full partner!"

     Daria was stunned. "Congratulations! It took you less than two years! Has anyone ever made partner in a shorter time?"

     "No, I don't believe so. Eric just quit, out of the blue. There was no one else who could keep all the balls in the air. I gave them an ultimatum and here I am!"

     "That took real guts, Mom. I'm so proud of you!"

     "So what's going on in your life, Daria?"

     "I made a five thousand dollar bonus today and got on the insurance plan."

     "Five thousand! What for?"

     "I told a major advertising agency that they hadn't taken you into account."

     "What?"

     Daria explained about catalysts and secondary influences.

     "Well, you're right on the money there. We use image consultants all the time to make our witnesses look creditable, but I never really thought of using one for you. It was sort of a fluke that I took you there at all. I was so overworked and totally stuck in lawyer mode that I prepped you just like a shady witness. But if someone had pitched it to me back then, I would have dragged you down there two years ago. He's going to make a mint." Helen shook her head. Five thousand was chump change.

     "Well, Mom, speaking of things I should have done years ago, I'm getting my eyes done."

     "Laser surgery?"

     "Yes, Mom. I hate wearing contacts and there's an eighty seven percent chance of total success. Christophe says that my insurance will pay, so I'm getting it done next Friday. I mailed the permission slip down to you last night. If you don't object, I would appreciate--"

     "Of course, dear. I'm sure that you know what you're doing. Next Saturday will put you right at the two month mark. When are you going to be coming home, Daria?"

     "You're asking?"

     "As far as I'm concerned you're an adult now, Daria. I'll help you all I can, but I can't run your life anymore." Helen paused, her voice going a little ragged. "You don't really need me anymore. You've proven that you can manage quite well on your own."

     "Mom."

     "Yes, dear?"

     "I don't want to be an adult yet. It's cold, lonely and scary." Daria sniffled.

     "Sorry, dear, it's too late for you. No adult ever really does at first, but the sense of freedom grows on you."

     "I'll be home a week before school starts then. I need the vacation."

     "Oh, that's to bad. You'll miss your birthday party. Quinn and her little friends were so looking forward to your arrival."

     "Quinn's friends?" Daria was confused.

     Helen laughed. "Didn't she tell you yet? You're an honorary member of their Fashion Club now."

     Daria smiled. "I'm a little touched."

     "Quinn was afraid that you would be mad, or sarcastic."

     Daria laughed. "I used to think that those girls were nasty pretentious phonies, until I started working around Fashion Avenue. The Fashion Clubbers aren't even in the running. They still have good qualities. Most of the people you meet in the industry are just evil twisted bloodsucking goons."

     "Watch yourself around there, Daria."

     "I do. I'll call Quinn tomorrow and thank her."

     "Good. Be nice to her. You're her hero, these days."

     Trent and Jesse were drunk.

     Jane laughed at them and tried to hold a conversation, but it was hard.

     "Trent, do you like Daria?" Jane was enjoying herself.

     "Hell yeah!" Trent and Jesse giggled drunkenly.

     "Why haven't you done anything about it?" Jane teased.

     Trent frowned. "I like her too much. I love her."

     "Well she loves you to, so for gods sake, don't let her get away. Tell her. Its cruel, stringing a girl along like that." Jane was grinning, wishing she could record this.

     Trent coughed noisily into the phone. "Yeah, that's absluootly correct. Hear that, Jess?"

     Jane heard Jesse in the background. "Wha? "

     "If ya love a girl ya gotta tell her its cruel."

     "Yah. Cruel. Love Jane. Can't tell her though. Might hang up. Cruel." There was a loud belch and the sound of a door closing.

     "Trent?"

     "Janey!"

     "Did I hear what I think I just heard?"

     "Huh?" Trent laboriously worked it out. "Uh oh. You herd Jesse say that he loved you?" He started laughing. "Damn catsh outta the bag. He does ya know. That's why he ran off. He doeshn't think he'sh good 'nough for ya."

     "Get that big ape back to the phone."

     "He'll be back shorl, stho, in a minnit. Boy I wisht I did that with Daria."

     "I know just what you want to do with Daria, you nasty boy you."

     "Yah, that to." Trent sniggered drunkenly.

     "Well your chances for success are very high."

     "Jess! Phone!" Trent was out of there. He had to sober up and think.

     "Hello."

     "Jess, what was that you were saying?"

     "Hello." Jess was sobering up fast.

     "No before that."

     "I'm in love with you, Jane."

     "Yeah, that part. Say it again. Slower."

     "I'm...in...love...with ...you...Jane...Lane."

     "Say it louder."

     "I'm...in...love...with ...you...Jane...Lane!" Jesse's bellow shook the apartment building.

     "What was that thing in the middle?"

     "Love...with...you"

     "Good. I love you to."

     "Why would you want to do that?" The drunken Jesse was genuinely puzzled.

     "Well, Jesse, I could say a lot of things, but it really all comes down to the fact that you're kind, brave, smart and sexy."

     "Cool too."

     They talked for over an hour, until Jane noticed a very polite old Navajo man stoically sitting on a transformer box just out of earshot, patently waiting to use the pay phone.

     "Jesse, call me back tomorrow at four."

     "You got it, baby. Every day at four?"

     "Yeah, that'll work for me!"

     "Okay, tagalong, I'll talk to you then. I love you."

     "Bye, love." Jane hung up, laughing.

     Jane lay in the bed of the truck for half the night, looking up at the immense jewel like skein of the Milky-way blazing its slow way across the clear desert sky. She felt like she floated among the stars, fulfilled, a tiny but significant part of it all. Upon reflection, she realized that every thing she felt was subtly true.

     "You sorry little bastard, you're fired!"

     The little man blinked owlishly at Trent.

     Trent scowled "Get out, you thief! If I ever hear of you pulling this shit again..."

     Jesse casually crushed a hand full of walnuts, letting the fragments pour out of his clenched fist.

     Helpful Corn's ex agent blanched and hurried away.

     Trent had been walking down Bourbon Street and had seen a Helpful Corn poster in the window of a lounge. There was no gig that night, so he had curiously gone in to find out what was going on.

     What he found had been almost unbearable. A shitty local grunge band was on stage, butchering Ice Box Woman. Trent, outraged, had taken the stage and verbally laid in to the shamefaced band, almost causing a riot. The club's owner, an ex cop named John Book, had kicked the no names out and apologized profusely to the house. The cover had been refunded and tempers soothed. But not Trent's.

     Book used his contacts and helped Trent find the culprit. It was the local agent that they had used since they first got to New Orleans. The agent was sending the owners a Helpful Corn demo tape and then sending bottom feeding lookalike bands everywhere and pocketing the inflated commissions. Even worse, they found out how much the band was actually getting for an appearance. The little slug was robbing them blind.

     "You guys are pretty hot right now. You've been getting a hell of a lot of ink in the music section." John Book hesitated. "I could use you here, tonight and tomorrow. As long as you want to play, really. Same deal as the moleman was offering. Plus you get his commission."

     "Sure, John, no sweat." Trent looked thoughtful. "You don't happen to know any good agents do you? We didn't have much luck picking one out of the phone book."

     Book smiled. "I could tell you who the crooked ones are, but little else. I just listen to the promopacks they send and decide whether or not the band is worth booking."

     Jesse looked glum. "Well we got to get an agent. We still need the gigs, and I'm not going back to doing that."

     Trent nodded. "What we need is advice."

     Book looked at them, thoughtfully. "I do know a couple of record producers. They're fairly young guys, but they're well connected. I met them when I worked a little in the security business after I quit the force. They're half brothers. One came from LA and the other from Nashville. They hocked their entire lives and bought out a small, local label. They do country and Cajun music mostly, but they know all of the major players and most of the agents that are out there. I'll tell you what, boys, I feel bad about that phony band. I'm going to invite those guys in tomorrow afternoon and see about getting you that advice.

     Trent arrived at his apartment and decided to try out his new phone. He dialed nervously and tried to think of what he would say.

     Daria answered immediately. "Hello, Trent."

     Trent was dumfounded. "Hi, Daria. How did you know it was me?"

     "I don't know. I just did." Daria had known that he would call when she woke up that morning.

     "Wow, that's kind of spooky, Daria."

     "Yes it is, a little. Actually a lot. What's going on in your world, Trent?"

     Trent laughed. "Its getting pretty weird, Daria. Last week we got a new agent. A guy named John Book. He's never done it before, but we like him so that's that. He made us burn a new CD with all the new stuff we've come up with since leaving home. These record producer guys that John knows with a little country and Cajun studio did the work for free. All they wanted was the first crack at promoting it. So we signed a contract with Leapin' Bullfrog records."

     Daria gasped. "You got a record deal!"

     Trent cough-laughed. "Don't get too happy for us, Daria. These guys are as small time as Helpful Corn. Their biggest act is a group called Paw Paw Pickins and the Rollin' Steel Guitar Jamboree. They sell almost ten thousand CD's a year. Of course that's mostly out of their trunks when they're on the road, which is about ten months a year. These guys work harder than the Avon lady."

     "Hey, Trent, don't forget: From tiny acorns mighty oaks spring forth. Give these frogmen a chance!" Daria was deeply ambivalent about the whole thing. If she had her way, Trent would just stay nice and available in the Lane basement until she graduated college, got a big job and eased him into her place. Daria also knew that Trent was a winner at heart and would never accept such an arrangement, practical and sensible as it was.

     Trent chuckled and started coughing. "Good one, Daria. Frogmen... I gotta use that acorn line the next time that I see those guys. It was a real trip recording at that place. It was a big old-fashioned boarding house, like in that movie Forrest Gump, and the place was full of these cornball acts staying there while they played the town. There were all these Coca-Cola cowboys and New Jersey Cajuns around and they all stared at us like we were the weird ones. The studio was pretty well made and modern though. They just hated IceBox Woman, and everything else we ever did in Lawndale. Pneumatic Superflex Plastic Model Blonde and Monster Next Door were the first and second tracks, then some other new stuff. They seemed to like it."

     Daria laughed. "I need to hear that CD, Trent. Pneumatic Superflex Plastic Model Blonde?"

     "A little ode to Max.'s surgically enhanced ex girlfriend." Trent paused. "Um, when we get together again I'll give you a copy, Daria." Then the shit would hit the fan, he thought. The third track was Daria, the fourth was Tagalong.

     "I guess you're putting off enrolling in LCC for a while then?" Daria was so sad that she could barely keep her voice even.

     Trent cleared his throat. "Well, the guys are pretty up about this recording deal. I want to go, but it just wouldn't be fair to pull the rug out from under them like that." Trent felt like screaming. His dreams were coming true and it was all ashes in his mouth. "We have to travel. The Frogmen are going to get us on the radio in the smaller western cities and promote us in local venues. It means being on the road for the next six months."

     "Well that's just great, Trent," said Daria brightly. She felt like she was going to be sick.

     The conversation grew strained and Daria brought it to a close.

     Trent hung up and sat staring at nothing for a while. He got his guitar and a tune came to him. As he picked it out his mind was suddenly besieged with lyrics to match the tune. Absently, he turned on his recorder.

     Quinn was impatiently waiting on Sandi and the rest of the club when the packages arrived.

     The FedEx guy brought four packages and made her sign for each one.

     They were from Daria. The largest package was addressed to Quinn. She tore it open and gasped in ecstatic shock. It was filled with designer dresses that hadn't even been copied by the retailers yet.

     Quinn changed rapidly and was whirling around and admiring herself in the mirror when the doorbell rang.

     She smiled and strutted to the door.

     Sandi, Stacy and Tiffany gasped in shock and envy when Quinn threw the door open.

     "Hiii guys, I got a little package from Daria so I don't think I'll be shopping at Cashman's today!"

     "Like wow, Quinn, you look sooo good. That dress does wonders for you." The jealous Sandi got a little cut in.

     The three girls peremptorily dismissed their devastated male escorts and rushed into the house, slamming the door behind them.

     They looked at the dresses and all tried them on. Finally Sandi noticed the other packages. One, addressed to Daria herself, had ripped open and the corner of a videotape was visible in the bottom of the box.

     "Look, Quinn, tapes!"

     "Oh, put it in the VCR! Daria said that she got a makeover. Maybe we can get a look at her!" Quinn was curious. She had tried to imagine what Daria would look like, but couldn't seem to get past the drab clothes and glasses.

     It was a copy of Christophe's training tape. It began with green jacketed Daria being subtly insulted by an insensitive receptionist and then by everyone else that she met in the salon. The first tape ended with her slipping out and then going into a cheap beauty shop. She came out of there looking almost exactly the same. Christophe walked on camera and began his analysis of the insulting behavior that had driven Daria away.

     Quinn fast forwarded through four tapes filled with Christophe's lecture until Daria appeared once again, in a white bikini.

     The girls watched enthralled as Christophe went through a three-hour lecture on makeup. Daria was made up again and again, each time looking good to the girls and each time rejected by Christophe. In the end he went with very little makeup at all. Then he started on her hair. Quinn and the girls watched as Christophe and his two assistants gave Daria her makeover. Every step was analyzed and carefully documented. In the end, Daria walked on camera in a red designer dress, looking good enough to give all four girls a serious feeling of inadequacy.

     Quinn stilled the tape. "I just have to go there."

     Daria looked out of the window in shock. She could see. Her astigmatism had been corrected and she had twenty-twenty vision. She had it done Friday, had endured a little pain, but hadn't seen any difference by Sunday. She woke to a whole new world on Monday.

     The doctor examined her eyes. "You seem to have beaten the odds, Daria. It looks like a textbook perfect job."

     Daria laughed, joyfully. "I just can't believe it. It's like magic!"

     The doctor smiled. "The Manhattan Vision Center is probably the best in the world, and your eyes were not exactly a challenge to our cutting edge LASIK techniques, Daria. I doubt if you'll even notice any of the side effects."

     Daria went walking in the financial district of Manhattan, seeing the sights for a while. When she noticed that she was causing traffic accidents again, she ducked into a coffee shop.

     Daria quickly became the center of a throng of admirers. Arrogant young traders competed to tell her less than thrilling stories of their business triumphs. When they persisted in asking about her, she told them a little about her job. They all seemed impressed and she got several serious job offers. Treating them with a gentle disarming courtesy that she copied from Christophe, she tried to pay for her coffee and then called a taxi. She took the cab over to the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum. In the museum, Daria quickly collected a little coterie of art school students who served as expert tour guides until closing at five.

     Daria had a nice time at the museum and fun afterward with her guides at a beat coffeehouse, but found herself wishing that Jane was there. It was fine to be pretty and she liked having self-confidence, but could she ever make a real friend again? Sitting in her cab, Daria reflected on the definition friendship. In her life she had a precious few people that mattered to her. Every one of them liked her for who she was inside, not how she dressed and wore her hair. How did 'popular' people find real friends? It seemed to Daria that all of the 'popular' people that she knew were locked in some sick kind of competition with the people that they called their friends. Did Quinn ever have a real conversation with her friends? Was there some trick to seeing past the surface of a person, a way to get past the facade and know who was really at home inside the meat puppet?

     Daria frowned worriedly and sent up a wordless little prayer that Trent would be there for her someday. Daria didn't think that she would ever have the patience to wade through the Teds, Kevins and Upchucks of the world in order to find another Trent. Trent and Jane would both have run a mile to avoid her if she had first appeared in Lawndale looking like this, but she was sure that it would make no difference to them now. The past was the past and Daria had outgrown her old shell. Surely they wouldn't hold it against her.

     Jane stood glaring, hands on her hips. Summer looked guiltily away and Alex looked resigned.

     "These children need care, Summer. If you let them run wild in the desert you'll lose one of them. Are you ready for that?"

     "They're not all mine, Jane! I can't control all those kids. Mom never tried to--"

     "Mom and Dad were lucky and lived in a safe suburb. They also did a pretty good job of making us look out for one another." Jane sighed in frustration. "Look, Alex, I know that you have a vision for this little commune. Does it include a ragged, dirty, hungry kid being lost in that burning hell, snake bitten, eaten by coyotes and not missed for a week because nobody was keeping track? Get it organized, Alex. You're the leader here, so lead!"

     Alex nodded sharply. "You're right, Jane. I just don't know what to do about it. I'm working like a dog trying to keep everyone fed and to pay the mortgage. I was living in Santa Fe when Summer first told me about this place. There are a lot of art colonies there but they have no corresponding spiritual aspect. When we visited the property I looked around and saw this place as a big opportunity to provide a self-supporting home for a group of artists and people of a more spiritual bent. Instead I've created a little hobo jungle / Lord of the Flies type of thing." He put his head in his hands. "I'm thinking of just giving up and trying to get my old upholstering job back. I'm just not cut out to be a leader."

     Jane sighed. "Look, Alex, why don't you delegate? Wasn't George an accountant before he freaked out and ran off to make kinetic sculpture? He seems to be able to find a good market for his stuff. Put him in charge of the finances. You have at least eight commercial grade artists working here. Start a big art sale or something. Then Summer could sell her pottery and blankets and Ed could sell his jewelry and Mary could sell the crowd coffee and food... You have enough people, talent, space and interstate frontage here to draw a crowd. All you need is organization and drive. The leader doesn't need to do everything himself, he just needs to encourage people to move in the right direction."

     Alex stared at her and then laughed. "That's exactly what I wanted when I got this place started. You're right. Each member of the community will have to start contributing voluntarily and helping more. But I'm not going to nag them. I've had it with that. I need a way to get people more involved."

     Summer looked excited. "Remember how we always used to have a big fire and a party every night when we first came here?"

     Alex looked upset. "Summer, the drinking and the drugs--"

     "All started after your good friend Jerry came to stay here. He's gone now and we can get things back to what they should be!" Summer was caught up in the vision now. "If we make it a regular meeting, where we all talk things out, decide on what to do and then celebrate a little we can get this place back together in no time!"

     Alex slammed his fist into his palm. "Yes! And we need a policy on drugs and drinking. Hey, I'll just throw that out and let everyone decide! I'm through leading by force. I'm not going to make it happen, I've got to let it happen. Hell, as far as I'm concerned we can just take turns with this leadership crap anyway."

     Jane was smiling now "Getting a handle on the kids is going to have to be high on the agenda, Summer."

     Summer stood and took her hand. "Jane, would you please bring it up? I hope that you'll come and participate. You're a member of our little group now. Everyone likes you and we love your painting. You've done wonders for the kids. They're all cleaner, we've seen you organizing them to look out for one another and everyone has heard about Aunt Jane's story time.

     Alex smiled happily, put his arm around Summer and laid his other hand on top of the sister's clasped hands. "This will always be your home, Jane. I hope that you can forgive me for my rudeness and foolishness. I just forgot who I was for awhile. Thank you for the reminder."

     "Maybe you ought to hang on to this one, Summer. He's got a certain charm." Jane smiled back at them. "I'll come, but I ain't gonna get stuck as the resident kid herder."

     "No, I can't see that happening either." Summer teared up a little. "You have changed so much, Jane. When did you grow so much bark?"

     "I just woke up that way one morning. Speaking of barking, can I use the truck again? I need to be at the phone by four."

     "Sure!" Alex grinned. "Is it a boyfriend calling you every day?"

     "Yes." Jane looked a little embarrassed. "He's in Trent's band in New Orleans."

     "Ooh. You've got to tell all, Jane. This is interesting!" Summer was happy for her.

     Alex rubbed his beard. "Perhaps its time to scrap the ideology and get a phone. We're going to need it for business anyway."

     "Oh good!" Jane was happy.

     Helen broached the subject diffidently. "Daria, What are you going to do tomorrow? I hope that you have something planned. It can be very depressing to be in a strange city with no family or friends around on your birthday."

     Daria sighed to herself. "Well, Mom, I thought that I would just let this one slip by unnoticed. I do have friends here, but most of them are older than me and I haven't really known them that long. Just a few people that I met at the museum. I wouldn't want to have them think that they had to bribe me with gifts to be their friend. I just don't have the time for much socializing and it would be very rude of me to extort presents out of coworkers. I have too much influence with the boss to even think about accepting gifts from people in the company."

     Helen couldn't argue. She privately marveled at her daughter's finely developed sense of ethics. Daria was a straight arrow indeed. "Well, there has to be something. Maybe you could arrange a teleconference and we could all call you, the whole family, and just talk a little."

     Daria laughed. "That will really stave off the depression. A big family fight via telephone. Now that's entertainment. Well, it's doable, if you want to arrange it with the family. I'll talk with Ms. Larsen, the office manager, about the mechanics of it tomorrow."

     Helen had been waiting for this opportunity for the last two and a half months. Daria and Amy talked all the time, but Helen really wanted to jam Daria's success down Rita's throat. Rita and Mother crowed endlessly about Erin's little successes, ignoring her clearly superior children. Now let them eat crow! "I'm sure it will be a very satisfying teleparty, Daria. If it turns ugly we can always cut it short and hang up."

     "That's true. Speaking of hanging up, I've got to get up early tomorrow. I had better get some sleep."

     "Goodnight, Daria. Sleep well."

     "G'night, Mom."

     It turned ugly very fast. Grandmother Barksdale was uncharacteristically angry with Rita and let slip the fact that Erin was already getting her first divorce. Helen took every opportunity to rub it in, and soon her and Rita were doing their best impression of two cats in a sack. The rest of the family quickly wished Daria a happy birthday and hung up, thanking God that it wasn't a face to face occasion.

     Daria thanked them, and finally hung up herself. "And so a new family tradition is born," she said to herself, wryly.

     Daria went to her cubical and immersed herself in business statistics for an hour. She was listless, unable to concentrate. Her phone rang.

     "Hi, Daria, how's the birthday girl?"

     "Jane! I'm bored as hell. Of course if I were at home right now I would be bored and miserable as hell."

     "I wish you were here, Daria. We're kicking off our big art sale and craft fare today."

     Daria was interested. "So, what are you doing for this?"

     "I'm selling paintings, hopefully. Paintings of picturesque desert landscapes. It suddenly occurs to me that all most of our prospective customers have to do to see the landscapes I paint is look out the window. This might not have been the best idea I ever had." Jane was eaten with anxiety.

     "Relax, Jane. It'll be alright. Put me down for one. I'll send a check."

     "Hah! No can do, Daria. I already Fed Exed you one for your birthday. Didn't you get it yet?"

     Daria frowned. "No, what was the tracking number?" Daria accessed the Fed Ex site and checked the package status. "Fed Ex says that they made delivery this morning. I didn't get it in the interoffice mail, so it must be down in the mail room."

     "Damn, I wanted to fish for complements." Jane sighed. "Have you heard from Trent?"

     "Not today. I guess he forgot. He's pretty busy these days. That record company is really promoting them hard." Daria hit the mute button and sniffled.

     "Daria, Trent wouldn't forget you."

     Daria sighed. "No, you're right, Jane. I'm just fooling myself. I guess I like to think tha--"

     "Damn it, Daria! I can't let this shit go on. Trent loves you. He's admitted it to me and to Jesse but the dummy can't seem to tell you!"

     Daria went rigid. "I can't take this anymore, Jane. I don't believe it. Whatever he said he didn't say it to me. I'm going to have to back way off of this whole Trent situation. I wish I had never heard of him."

     "But, Daria--"

     "I can't ride the roller coaster like this, Jane! It's making me sick! I have to get back to a stable life. Trent's either the love of my life or a raging case of puppy love. I haven't even seen him in seven months! I don't know what's real anymore. He knows where I live. If anything is real he'll find me. Otherwise I just don't care what happens. I've got to get him out of my mind. Look, I'll call you." Daria hung up.

     Jane stood looking shocked, the phone still at her ear. An overwrought, emotionally fragile Daria was something that she would never have imagined possible. Oh shit! What have I done now? When the hell am I ever going to learn not to juggle gelignite?

     Daria went to the mail room and learned that the package had gone to the executive dining room. As she left, the mail clerk hurriedly picked up the phone.

     Daria almost jumped out of her skin when the whole crowd in the dining room cheered. Embarrassed and overstressed, Daria managed a sickly smile. A surprise party, she thought. That damn office manager had ratted on her.

     It was a fairly predictable occasion, a cake and small gifts. Daria relaxed and was flattered that the people she had come to know so recently would make the effort. She got a little palm top computer from Art Ball and an autographed copy of On the Road from Nancy.

     Daria got a small package from Trent. She opened it and found a portable CD player. Glumly, she made a mental note to write him a thank you note. Opening Jane's package, Daria found a true work of art. It was at first glance a stark desert landscape, strikingly sterile, but on closer inspection the painting was filled with surprises. Smiling children hid amongst the cacti, small packrats and horned toads watched, and contrails filled the brilliant blue sky. The painting made the desert seem like a magical place.

     "Oh, Daria! Who is the artist?" Christophe looked at the painting, entranced.

     "Jane Lane. The one I told you about. My best friend."

     "She's really very talented. I must have some of her work. I'd like to display this in the lobby until you leave, if you don't mind."

     Daria smiled. "Go ahead. You can keep it for a while, if you like. She needs the exposure. She's selling her paintings as we speak. I'll tell her you said so."

     Christophe took her hand and led her to a semiprivate corner. "You seem unhappy, Daria. Can I help?"

     Daria shrugged. "No. It has nothing to do with anything here." She sighed.

     Christophe smiled slightly. "Ah, the musician. I cannot believe that a young man of his persuasion who had come to know you would allow your birthday to pass unacknowledged."

     "He sent a CD player. It's on the table."

     Christophe frowned, then shrugged. Smiling once more, he handed her a key ring. "Happy birthday, Daria."

     "What's this?" Daria was having a hard time staying interested.

     "Your bonus for all of your invaluable work. You took a job to get a car, so I got you a car. Happy birthday, Daria."

     She went to the parking garage and saw the Mazda convertible that Christophe had chosen to compliment her image. Excited, she threw the CD player under the seat without another thought. There it sat, for three weeks.

     On the way home, she tuned into an alternative rock station out of Flatbush, and heard what sounded like Trent, singing a dark, angst filled love song to her. She pulled over, her eyes filling, and listened to the song.

     "That was Helpful Corn, with their hot new single, Daria. next up, a commercial free hour of Nirvana--"

     Daria clicked off the radio, dug under the seat and found the CD player. She opened it and pulled out a CD. She put it in the car audio system and listened, tears of joy streaming down her face. Trent sang his song, then came on afterwards.

     "Happy birthday, Daria. P.S. I love you. Call me, if it's mutual."

     After she had gotten hold of herself again, she pulled back into traffic. She had to find Trent.

     Daria pulled into Lawndale Thursday afternoon, two days ahead of schedule. The house was deserted so she lugged her suitcases up to her room and unpacked. The new room was large and airy without the mattresses on the walls and quite nice. None of the old furniture had been kept and the new stuff was well coordinated. Daria noted the new Mac on her desk and her carefully shelved books with a smile. She opened the new closet and froze. It was crammed with outfits, all of which she had modeled for Christophe's posters. "Oh Christophe, you are so full of tricks. Very nice tricks." She smiled and unpacked, marveling at the size and complexity of the new closet. After sliding her empty suitcases under the new bed, Daria took a look around the house. Everything else was the same, so she picked up the phone and dialed Jane's. Trent answered and Daria nervously hung up without saying a word.

     Daria got back in the Mazda and drove past the Lane home. The Tank and a new red Dodge were parked side by side in the driveway. Daria got a terrible case of nerves, drove away and put her Mazda through a car wash while she calmed down.

     Daria sat in a waiting room and planned out various meeting Trent scenarios, none of which seemed likely to pan out. Her number came up and she stood and walked to the collection point to get her car. The wash boy who was vacuuming the trunk turned and leered at her.

     "Upchuck?" Great, thought Daria, the first familiar face I see belongs to that little hormoniac.

     "Charles E. Rutthiemer the third, at your service, oh beautiful one." He looked puzzled. "Do I know you? I can't imagine ever forgetting your incomparable face, my pet. And yet you use that oh so humorous little sobriquet to which I have become so inured."

     Daria felt a pang of pity. The boy seemed to have grown a little smoother while she was away. "I'm sorry, Charles, you're right. I had a nickname once, to."

     Upchuck's unctuous leer turned into a real smile. "And what could it have been? Goddess? Angel? Sublime vision of unearthly loveliness?"

     Daria looked at him without expression as she had done dozens of times before, trying not to smile at his ridiculous pickup lines. This was the first time though that she had ever seen a real smile on Charles' face. It wasn't so bad without that predatory grin. "Diarrhea."

     Upchuck's eyes widened and he guffawed in amazement. "Where did you come from, the land of the blind? I can't imagine someone calling you that. If they called you Diarrhea what did the other people look like? You must have come from heaven!"

     Despite herself, Daria was flattered." A bit farther south, Charles. A radioactive little slice of the netherworld called Highland."

     Upchuck was off balance. She should have put him down by now or hit him with something. He had never encountered unwavering politeness and courtesy from a girl and he didn't know how to react. He forgot his lines. "Well color me confused. I've never been to Highland. You have New York license plates and a Manhattan parking garage sticker and I've never been there, either. You also have a Manhattan Fashion Studio parking sticker on your bumper, which doesn't surprise me at all. Yet somehow you know me. How about a clue?" He smiled at her, hopefully.

     Daria lightly punched his shoulder, got in to her car and started it. She put the top down, looked at him and smiled impishly. "Don't you remember, Charles? You were the first man ever to get his hands on my boobs." She laughed at his shocked face and pulled slowly away.

     Upchuck stared after her for a minute, thinking feverishly. It's like the damn Twilight Zone. Diarrhea. Hands on her boobs. A huge grin filled his face and he whooped. "That's Daria! I KNEW it!" He laughed. This is one for the books. I can't wait to see Brittany's face when Kevin gets a look! Upchuck had found out where Brittany was going and made sure that he got in there to. Yale be dammed. A large number of LHS seniors would be seeing each other again at Middelton. Presently, he began to plot ways to exploit any possible openings that this new development could create in the forbidding approaches to fortress Brittany.

     Daria drove to Casa Lane and passed it again. Suddenly she saw Jane exit the tank carrying a bundle of sheets. Daria whipped around in a U-turn, pulled up in the driveway behind the van, beeped and got out of the car.

     Jane heard the car pull up and honk. She sat her splatter cloths on the step and walked back. A very beautiful and polished looking girl stood by a sporty red convertible, smiling at her.

     "I think you've got the wrong house." Jane involuntarily smiled back.

     "Nope." The girl laughed. "This is the place all right."

     "The voice is strangely familiar... Daria! My God, what did they do to you!"

     "Just pray that you never find out."

     They hugged, and both were teary eyed. Both of the girls had changed so much that the intervening months seemed longer than they were. It was like they hadn't seen each other in years. They were laughing and talking a mile a minute when the front door opened and Trent walked rapidly out.

     He saw Daria and froze in his tracks. Trent stood looking at her, expressionless. He suddenly knew that it was to late for him. She was so beautiful that she could have anyone in the world that she wanted. He felt shattered and strangely excited at the same time.

     Daria stared back. Trent was gorgeous. He was well groomed, hair and goatee neatly trimmed, his ears unencumbered with rings. He had filled out and was considerably thicker in the arms and chest but narrow as ever in the waist. He wore a long sleeved blue and white chambray shirt, faded Levi's, a wide snakeskin belt with a large ruby eyed silver rattlesnake head buckle and brown suede desert boots. He was wearing a big silver signet ring with a corn motif on its jeweled face and an expensive looking watch with a carved gold and turquoise band that also featured a corn motif.

     "Trent! Come over here!" Jane smiled and waved encouragingly at him.

     He rocked on his heels for a moment and then walked over to the girls and stood there mutely, turning red.

     Jane laughed and then laughed again as she saw the red creeping across Daria's equally expressionless face.

     "Careful, I think its contagious, Daria."

     Daria glanced at her and then looked into Trent's eyes. She took a tremulous little breath and shakily stepped forward, close to him, holding out her left hand.

     Trent jerked to life and clumsily took her hand in both of his. She gave him her other hand too, causing his arms to open. She moved very close to him, almost touching, and smiled, eyes locked with his.

     "Trent?" Daria quavered, heart pounding. She trembled and felt faint. Just as her shaking knees began to buckle he swept her up into a tight, passionate embrace. Her mouth eagerly sought him out and they melted together for a timeless interval. After a long and unbearably passionate kiss, they reluctantly separated, both sighing contentedly.

     "Daria, I love you and I need you more than oxygen." Trent looked into her eyes, a big foolish smile spreading over his face.

     Daria's answering smile was glorious to behold. "Trent, don't ever leave me hanging like that again. I love you more than I can say. I missed you so much that I thought I was going to die." Her voice broke on the last syllable.

     Trent enfolded her. "Never again, Daria. Never ever again."

     Jane stood staring, openmouthed. "Hell, Daria, welcome to the family."

     They went inside. The house hadn't been touched. With no customer driving him, the contractor had gone on to other jobs. Amanda was in Peru and had changed her mind anyway.

     Jesse came out of the basement and rocked to a halt when he saw Daria. He gave her a wide smile and then laughed aloud when Trent enwrapped her from behind. "Alright, Daria and Trent! You look different, Daria, what did you do, get your hair cut?"

     "Hi, Jesse! I was taken away to a strange land and experimented on by a mad hairdresser for three months. He released me only after I helped him with his unholy plot to achieve global domination." Daria smiled at him.

     "Cool." Jesse laughed. "Same old Daria."

     "That's literally true though, isn't it, Daria?" Jane laughed and slid into Jesse's arms. "He IS plotting a form of world domination. You have the coolest things happen to you."

     "Well I met you guys. That was pretty cool." Daria pointed. " I see that you two have finally gotten together. That's really cool. See, cool things happen to everybody." Daria shuddered and almost collapsed as Trent kissed her neck. "Wow, that was almost too cool."

     The two couples laughed and talked the afternoon away, catching up on their adventures. As they began turning lights on, Daria reluctantly decided to go home for dinner. Trent walked her out to her car and stood on the sidewalk looking after her, long after her taillights had disappeared.

     Jane nodded at the figure just visible in the pool of light cast by the streetlight and turned to her lover. "What do you think of that, Jesse?"

     Jesse shrugged. "He's gonna marry her."

     Jane was teasing. "Are you gonna marry me?"

     Jesse looked at her, very serious now. "Yes. You're the one, Jane."

     Jane gulped, shocked and exhilarated. "That's what I wanted to hear!"

     "Lets do it tomorrow!" Jesse was excited, heart pounding.

     "Nah, lets wait till Trent and Daria decide and then double with them." Jane distrusted her own weakness when it came to giving in to impulse and preferred to let the methodically intellectual Daria set the date.

     Jesse shrugged in disappointment. "Cool. That way Trent will always remind me about anniversaries."

     "I wouldn't be to sure of that, Tarzan."

     Daria drove home very slowly, thinking hard. She pulled into the driveway and saw that all of the cars were there. She walked up to the door and stood listening. Quinn was there, and Helen and Jake. They didn't know that she was in town yet. She could hear their familiar voices, the individual words not audible but the pattern of their conversation so clear that she knew without really hearing, just what it was that they were talking about. It suddenly occurred to her that no matter what happened or where she went in life, she would always remember this as the sound of home.