The first thing that Quinn saw as her eyes came back into focus was Trent Lane, hunched over her body from a bedside chair, eyes closed and head resting on her chest. Her eyes widened at a sudden thought entering her mind. Quickly, she checked under the covers of the bed she was lying in, and then breathed a sigh of relief to find herself fully clothed.

Quinn looked around, taking in her unfamiliar surroundings. Various hand-made crafts adorned the bedroom shelves-all of them seeming either Native American or Polynesian; and her blanket had been hand-woven, with intricate Spanish patterning.

At length Quinn turned her attention to Trent once more. As she gazed at his sleeping form, she couldn’t help but see why Daria had been attracted to him. He was kind of cute, in that grungy sort of way. Especially asleep, his breaths coming soft and shallow from his mouth. He almost looked like a small boy who had been put down for his nap. He was so sweet. He was so peaceful. He was…

He was drooling on the blanket. Ick.

"Well, look who’s decided to join the land of the living!" Jane walked in carrying two mugs of hot chocolate. "Welcome to the Penny Lane suite," she said glibly. "The best place in Lawndale to narrowly escape freezing to death." She set the mugs on the dresser and gently shook Trent. "Yo, Trent! You’re giving the tabloids a great photo opportunity!"

Trent stirred. "Where am I?" he asked.

"That’s my question," said Quinn.

Trent blinked stupidly as he fought to get his bearings. "Oh. Hey, Quinn." It was the first time she could remember him using her real name.

" ‘Hey, Quinn’ is right," said Jane. "Just what were you doing asleep that close to her… you-know-whats?"

"I was listening to her heartbeat," said Trent, raising his head off of the bed.

Jane just stared at him.

"I was making sure she was still alive, Janey," he clarified. "I guess I must have drifted off."

Jane shrugged. "If you say so," she replied teasingly. "I think I’ll leave you lovebirds alone for awhile." With that, she walked out of the room.

Quinn’s eyes were wide. "Still alive?" she repeated.

"You had hypothermia," explained Trent. "I tried to tell you not to go to sleep, but you’d already passed out."

Quinn felt her cheeks begin to heat up. "I… I’m sorry," she replied, not knowing what else to say.

"That’s okay," said Trent. "It gave me an excuse to drive seventy-five in a thirty-five mile an hour zone."

"You like to drive fast?" asked Quinn.

"No. I just had some rage to burn off, and that helped." He handed her one of the mugs. "Here. Drink this."

Quinn sipped at the cocoa and tried not to make a face. She’d never cared for instant, since all it really tasted like was dirty hot water. Hers was much better, she thought. But at least it was warm, and as she swallowed she felt it soothingly burning its way down her throat to her stomach. "So, what were you angry about?" she asked.

"Well… it’s kind of personal," replied Trent.

"So was what I told you last night," said Quinn evenly. "And that reminds me, you never told me why you pretend to be so stupid."

Trent cocked an eyebrow. "You know, you really have a weird way of expressing gratitude. Most people wouldn’t subject the guy who saved their lives to the third degree."

Quinn shrugged. "I like to be original."

The corners of Trent’s lips pulled upward on their own. "All right," he said. "The truth is that I’m not as stupid as I pretend to be, but I’m not all that smart, either. I’ve never really been into the whole intellectual thing. I just sort of feel things out, like I know something’s right, but I just couldn’t tell you how if you asked."

"You mean like emotional intelligence?" asked Quinn.

Trent scratched his head. "Is that what you call it?" He shrugged. "Anyway, I’m always afraid that if I come off as being a little smart, the people who are really smart will think that I’m at their level, and that I’m into the same stuff that they are. Like, sometimes Daria will start talking to me about some of the books she’s read. Mark Twain and that kind of thing. Stuff I’ve never even touched before. And Tom, he has this really creepy thing for Stalin. I don’t even want to know what that’s about. So I’ll just change the subject, or pretend that I don’t have a clue as to what they’re talking about. Easier than telling them that I’m not into what they’re saying."

"Boy, do I know what that’s like," said Quinn. "I mean, just because I’m starting to get into reading Daria thinks I should be reading what she likes, like Edgar Allen Poe and War and Peace and that kind of thing. But that’s so depressing! I like things that are funny. Or those stories that they have on the Web. Especially the ones about those cute little monsters from Japan."

"I guess it’s really all about what makes you happy," said Trent. "A lot of people go around worrying too much about looking like an idiot. they spend so much time being smart about trivial stuff that they forget it’s okay to act stupid every once in a while."

"But on the other hand, you shouldn’t act stupid all of the time," said Quinn. "Because pretty soon the only people who hang around you will be stupid people, and pretty soon you’ll be trying to think down to their level just so you’ll have someone to talk to and if you keep doing it after awhile it’ll get too easy and sooner or later you really will be just as stupid as they are." She paused for a breath. "It almost happened to me."

"You don’t smoke, do you?" remarked Trent.

"Of course not!" replied Quinn. "Do you have any idea what that does to your teeth? It turns them all yellowy! Uck!"

"Yeah," agreed "I bet it doesn’t help your lungs much, either."

Jane stuck her head in the doorway. "Yo, Trent! If you’re finished playing male nurse, the band’s waiting in the kitchen. You’d better hurry before Jesse nods off."

"Sure thing, Janey." He got up from the chair and began to walk out. "I’ll see you around, Quinn."

Quinn stared at the doorway for a bit. "Right… see you around," she murmured.

Jane turned to Quinn. "I called your parents to let them know what happened. They should be over to pick you up in another ten minutes. Unless you’d like to stay and admire the pseudo-Incan décor?" she asked jokingly.

Quinn was still staring absently at the doorway. "Huh?" she said as Jane’s remarks began to register. "Oh, right. Thanks." She got out of the bed.

As Quinn walked out of the room and down the hall, Jane stared after her, wondering what had caused her to space out like that. Then, it suddenly hit her. "Not again," she sighed.

"So what’s the situation with you and Monique?" Quinn heard one of Trent’s bandmates-Nick Campbell, she guessed-asking.

"There is no situation with Monique," replied Trent.

Quinn walked into the kitchen to see the four members of Mystik Spiral sitting around the table. She walked to the counter behind Trent and leaned against it as she listened.

"So you got dumped?" asked Max Tyler, the band’s drummer.

"We broke up," corrected Trent.

"Man, listen to him," cried Max. "’We broke up.’ You hear him? He sold out!" He turned to Trent. "You sold out! Using that politically correct crap! Just tell it like it is, man! You got dumped! Ain’t no PC newspeak gonna change your problems! Right, Jesse?"

"Uh… yeah," agreed Jesse vapidly. Jesse was Mystik Spiral’s second guitarist, and usually imposed a one syllable maximum on anything he said.

"In the old days, you’d have embraced that negativity and used it to fuel some great songs!" continued Max. "Ow! My Nose. That’s what it was all about, man! Pure, angst-driven grunge rock, not all this lovey-dovey friendship garbage. I’m telling you, we’ve gotta get back to our roots! Like what this is!" He handed Trent a song.

"Oh God, please," blurted Quinn.

As the band suddenly looked at her, she realized that she had just put both her foot hip-deep into her mouth and her nose squarely where it didn’t belong. But there was no going back now. And it might even just help the band out.

"Let me see that," she said, walking over to Trent. Trent wordlessly handed her the sheet of paper. "EEEEWWWW! Muh-ax!" she cried after a cursory read. "This is what you call ‘getting back to your roots?’ Trent, do the band a favor and don’t let your drummer write songs anymore."

"Well, it is kind of like our old stuff," conceded Trent.

"Hey!" said Max. "I’m not a drummer! I’m a percussion engineer." He turned to Trent. "Who is this teenybopper, anyway?"

"Isn’t she Daria’s sister?" asked Nick.

"Yeah," answered Jesse. "Daria’s sister."

"That’s Daria’s sister?" Max snorted. "Man, talk about defective genes! What’s she doing here, Trent?"

"Uh… well, she’s actually…" stammered Trent.

"She’s a band-aid," interjected Jane as she walked into the kitchen to browse the contents of the refrigerator.

"Band-aid?" repeated Jesse.

"You know, Jess, band-aid," said Nick. "One of those people that can heal you with their touch. Sort of like E.T."

"No, band-aid," repeated Jane as she got a soda from the fridge and shut the door. "She aids the band. You know, like in that Cameron Crowe film. She inspires the artists and makes the music come alive. That sort of thing."

"Sort of like a muse," remarked Trent.

"This high-schooler is your muse?" asked Max incredulously. "Geez! No wonder our music’s gotten so touchy-feely. Because of some chick with Britney Spears on the brain! What does she know about good music, anyway?"

Quinn’s eyes narrowed at Max. "For your information, I happen to know a lot about good music. Watch." She stooped to get a pen out of her backpack. Then, still kneeling at the table, she turned her History quiz over and began jotting down words on the back of it.

"What are you doing?" asked Nick.

"This…has…been…going…through…my…mind…for…the…past…year," said Quinn as she scribbled madly on the paper.

"My nose is so perrrrrrky, perrrrrrky, perrrrrrky," sang Max mockingly.

Quinn looked up, her eyes narrowing critically at Max’s nose. "No," she disagreed, and then turned back to her writing. "There," she said, putting the pen down and handing the quiz to Trent.

Just then, the doorbell rang. "Quinn, your mom’s here," Jane called.

"Gotta go," Quinn said. "Bye, Trent. Bye, drummer-boy!"

"That’s percussion engineer!" Max called after her. "Man, I’m sick of this. I’ll be in the basement, pounding the skin." He got up.

"You mean engineering the percussion," smirked Trent.

"Whatever," said Max, walking out the door.

"Max’s right," said Jesse. "How good could something written by a high-school girl be?"

"Yeah, you’re right, Jess," Trent conceded. He looked at the lyrics. "I guess I’ll… whoa-hoa-hoa!"

That night at dinner, Quinn recapped what had happened. "And so then I had to walk home in the freezing cold!" she cried.

"I’m sorry, sweetie," said Jake. "I guess I was so busy shoveling the driveway that I didn’t hear the phone ring."

"Gee Dad, you must have been working really hard," remarked Daria, "considering the driveway’s only about half-done."

"Yes, Jake," said Helen. "How do you explain that?"

"But those kids made me have a snowball fight with them," whined Jake. His eyes suddenly gleamed as a smirk creased his face. "When I get my hands on those little turds…" he muttered.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" exclaimed Quinn. "I got an A on my History quiz!"

"That’s wonderful, sweetie!" said Helen.

"Excuse me, but I’d like to see some evidence before dolling out any abject praise," remarked Daria.

Quinn flashed Daria a small frown, and then turned to Helen. "May I be excused so that I can show off my uncommonly high grade?" she asked.

"You certainly may," said Helen.

As Quinn left the table, Helen turned to Daria. "You know, Daria, Quinn has been doing well in school this year. You could give her the benefit of the doubt."

"Oh, certainly," said Daria. "I doubt she’s had the benefit of an A on one of DeMartino’s quizzes. They’re harder than they’ve ever been."

"Oh, no!" shrieked Quinn from her bedroom. She ran frantically down the stairs. "It isn’t here!"

"Oh, come on," deadpanned Daria. "That old line?"

"Mom, you’ve got to believe me! I…" She frowned in thought. "I left it at Trent’s!"

"Well, I suppose we can find out for certain when I call the school tomorrow," said Helen, in what Quinn noticed was a somewhat threatening tone.

Just then, the phone rang. "Hell-ooooo," crooned Helen into the receiver.

"Hey, Mrs. Morgendorffer," Trent’s voice came through the phone.

"Why, hello Trent! We were just wondering if you had something of my daughter’s."

"Yeah, that’s what I was calling you about," said Trent. "Quinn left her History quiz over here. She was really proud of it, getting an A like that, so I thought she’d want to know where it was."

"She did?" said Helen. "Why, that’s wonderful! On both counts."

"Yeah. I never was all that good in History. Those war films always turned me off." He paused. "Could I talk to Quinn? It’s about…you know…stuff."

"Certainly," said Helen. "She’s right here." She turned to Quinn. "Quinn, Trent would like to have a word with you." She handed her the phone.

"Hello," said Quinn.

"Hey, Quinn," said Trent. "I wanted to call you about those lyrics you wrote. They were pretty intense. At least, they beat Max’s song."

"Thanks," said Quinn in her perkiest voice.

"I was sort of hoping that you’d let us use them for our next gig. We’re running a song short, and so we were thinking of writing a new one to open with."

"Welllll," said Quinn indecisively.

"We’d give you credit, Quinn."

"In that case, why not?"

"Thanks. Our next gig is Wednesday, if you want to come see how we did. I can pick you up, if you can’t get a ride."

"Sure," said Quinn, smiling impulsively.

"See you then."

"See you then. Bye," said Quinn.

"Bye."

"Well, I guess you were telling the truth, after all," said Helen.

"Or this is the biggest conspiracy this side of the Kennedy assassination," quipped Daria.

Helen glared at her eldest daughter.

"All right," sighed Daria. "That’s check and mate."

"Good thing Trent called when he did," remarked Quinn. "Not to mention giving me a ride like that. He’s actually a useful guy to have around."

"The four or five hours of the day when he isn’t asleep," deadpanned Daria.

"Oh, I don’t know about that," replied Quinn. "The way his breath feels against your skin when he’s asleep actually feels kind of nice."

Helen’s eyes narrowed at Quinn in sudden scrutiny. Jake also began to stare at her as if he’d missed something important and now wanted her to fill him in. Daria’s gaze, on the other hand, was accompanied by a Mona Lisa smile which said that she knew exactly what was going on-even if Quinn didn’t.

Quinn looked at each of the three pairs of eyes in turn. "What?" she asked.

Trent hung up the phone and once again began to concentrate on Quinn’s lyrics. He sang them softly to himself, his foot tapping in time to the syllables. It was still hard to believe that a high-school girl-and a popular one at that-had written them. He stopped singing them and began to stare at them without reading. This might even make a good follow-up to Freakin’ Friends. Pretty cool of Quinn to let us use them. He smiled to himself, remembering Quinn stooping at the table, pen on the back of her History quiz. Pretty cool of Quinn to write them to begin with.

"What’cha got there, Trent?" Trent turned around in his chair to see Jane standing behind him, looking over his shoulder at the piece of paper.

"Quinn’s lyrics. I just called her about them, and we’re going to use them for a song. She’s even coming to the gig on Wednesday."

"Oh, I see," said Jane. "And now cupid’s tazer hath pierced thy brain synapses, and true love doth abound," she cried melodramatically.

"I thought the dimensional wormhole was closed down for repairs," mused Trent.

"Don’t play dumb with me, young man," said Jane, assuming her faux-mother routine. "You’ve got that moronic look on your face that you usually reserve for Monique on one of your dates."

"Well, these are good lyrics, Janey," replied Trent defensively.

"Oh?" said Jane skeptically. "Let me see." She snatched the sheet from Trent’s hand and began to skim it. "Hmm… I guess it’s better than her greasy fry period," she conceded. "Well, color me presumptuous. Maybe Quinn is talented after all. When she isn’t going on about how her cute little sockys match her cute little scrunchys."

"Actually, she’s kind of cool," said Trent. "You just have to get to know her. She isn’t as shallow as she pretends to be."

Jane frowned. "Something tells me that I’d better leave before you burst out into song. Oh, wait! You were going to do that already, weren’t you?" She walked out of the room.

Trent stared after her. Janey’s overreacting, as usual. I don’t have a crush on Daria’s sister. I’m in love with Monique.

But still, Trent smiled to himself, Quinn is pretty cool. For a high-schooler.

He went back to his music.