The odor of stale beer permeated the Zen’s interior, and Quinn resisted the urge to retch on the spot. The walls were colorless with mildew and grime, and she walked carefully to avoid the puddles of whisky and what looked like urine on the floor. But the worst part was that there wasn’t a person with a normal hairdo in sight.

Quinn frowned at the scene before her. She had come into a disgusting grunge club (and had had the obvious regulars scrutinizing her as if she was the freak) to listen to a band that she didn’t even like. And for what? So what if she’d written a song for Mystik Spiral? She wasn’t so narcissistic that she’d go into a gross building just to admire her handiwork. So why was she here?

Trent Lane.

As much as she hated to admit it, Trent was really her sole reason for being there. It was his voice over the phone that had brought her to the Zen. If it had been any other member of the band, she’d have laughed in his face. But Trent was different. His voice over the phone had been so soothing that she’d agreed without even thinking about it.

Not only that, Quinn had spent the past two days reviewing the conversations they’d shared, and she began to realize how comfortable he made her feel. As she watched the technicians set up the stage, she wondered just how he’d introduce the song she wrote.

"Hi, I’d like to sing a song that my friend Quinn Morgendorffer wrote."

"I’d like to sing a song that my special friend Quinn Morgendorffer wrote."

"I’d like to sing a song that my very special friend Quinn Morgendorffer wrote."

Quinn shook her head. God, that was stupid. You’d think I have a crush on him or something.

The crowd burst into applause as Mystik Spiral took the stage, and in spite of herself, Quinn began to join in. Well, it’s polite, she rationalized. However, the applause that the rest of the crowd was giving them was a bit more than mere courtesy. Ever since the band’s Freakin’ Friends video had gotten airplay from College Television Network, more and more people had begun to show up for their gigs. At least that was what Trent had said.

Quinn rolled her eyes at herself. Trent, Trent, Trent. He’s just some grungy singer! Who cares that he’s cute and dreamy and his band is on the road to success?

Wait a minute! Where did that come from?

"Hey. We’re Mystik Spiral, but we’re thinking of changing the name." Quinn quickly turned her attention to Trent as he began his introduction. What was he going to say?

"I want to sing a song that my friend’s sister wrote for us."

Quinn’s jaw dropped as she felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. "My friend’s sister?" Is that all I am to him? Granted that she wasn’t going to hear any of the romanticized titles that she’d just thought about, but friend’s sister was just so… distant. She should have been closer to him than that, especially after all that they had said to each other. She had told him things that she’d never told anyone. She’d certainly felt close to him.

I don’t like Trent. He’s just some guy that my sister knows. And the fact that Daria knows him makes him someone completely unsuitable for dating, period.

She began to listen to the music, hoping that it would drown out all of her thought on the subject.

"This is our encore song," sang Trent. "We’re so sorry, but we didn’t plan it like thiiiis, yeah!" The song came to a close. "Thanks for coming out, but we really have to get going. We’ll see you next time. Good night."

As the members of the grunge club began milling around, Tiffany headed for the stage. She’d already forgotten why she’d come here, but that was understandable, since the music was loud enough to jar a few thoughts loose. Maybe talking to some of the band members would help her remember.

She spied one of them: A long-haired, green-eyed burly man in his early twenties. What was his name again? Oh, yeah. Jesse.

Tiffany went up to Jesse. "Doooooooes this make me look faaaaaaat?" she asked. It was as good a way to start a conversation as any.

Jesse eyed her for a pair of heartbeats. "Yeah," he answered.

"Oh," frowned Tiffany.

Jesse pointed at her dress. "Blue," he observed.

"Uh-huh," replied Tiffany.

"Nice," complimented Jesse.

"Thanks," smiled Tiffany. Then she frowned in thought. She was doing well, but she needed something else to spur the conversation along. Then, it came to her. "Hypotherrrrrrrrmia!" she cried.

"Cool," replied Jesse.

"Is that what it means?" asked Tiffany.

"Uh… yeah," replied Jesse.

"Wow!" exclaimed Tiffany in admiration. "You’rrrrrrrrrrre smart!"

"Tiffany?" Tiffany turned to see Quinn coming toward her. "What are you doing here?"

Tiffany scratched her head in thought. "I forgot," she replied. "Um… What are you doing here?"

Quinn rubbed her chin and pretended to think. "You know what? I forgot, too," she lied glibly. "I’ll tell you what. As long as we’re forgetting stuff, why don’t we forget that we even saw each other. Okay?"

"Uhhhhhhhh…"

"That’s great!" cried Quinn. "Now, you just keep that way for at least twenty-four hours, okay?"

Quinn’s words finally drilled their way through Tiffany’s thick skull. "Okayyyy," she said. She turned to Jesse. "Number?" she offered.

"Yeah," replied Jesse.

"That was awesome, man!" cried Max as he and Trent walked up to Quinn, Tiffany and Jesse. "No one ever asked for an encore before! I’m telling you, man, we’re going all the way! All the way!"

"Yeah," agreed Trent. "They really liked the first song, too. Right, Quinn?"

Quinn crossed her arms and deliberately looked away from him, frowning. Trent’s eyes widened at her. She was obviously mad at him. But why?

But before he could ask her what was the matter, Max jumped in. "Hell yeah! Your muse rules! She’s gonna make it happen!"

"That’s great, Max," Trent said to the drummer, hoping that he’d take the hint.

"Hey Max, we’re all set with the equipment," Nick called from the rear entrance.

"Okay," Max acknowledged. "Meet you back at the house," he said to Trent. He walked off.

Jesse turned to Tiffany. "Ride?" he asked.

"Sure," answered Tiffany. The twosome followed Max out the exit.

Trent turned to Quinn. "Ready to go?" he asked with an appeasing smile.

With a scowl on her face, Quinn stormed out of the club.

In the car, Quinn continued scowling.

"So how did you like the show?" asked Trent.

"It was fine," answered Quinn curtly, deciding to devote her attention to the passenger side mirror.

Trent’s eyebrows raised. "You know, you’re a lot prettier when you’re smiling."

Quinn turned her head to face Trent, smiling the phoniest smile she ever had. Then she resumed her scowl.

Trent’s shoulders drooped. "I give up," he sighed. He glanced at his watch. "Time for dinner," he remarked, getting out his candy bar.

"That’s you dinner?" demanded Quinn as soon as she saw the candy bar.

"Yeah," replied Trent. "It’s got peanuts in it," he noted defensively.

"So what? It’s junk food! Do you do this every time you have a show?"

"Actually, I do it a bit more often than that. Usually the kitchen doesn’t have any food in it, and this is all I can afford."

Quinn’s face softened slightly, but then she began frowning all the more. "Well… that’s just too bad. We’re going to Pizza King."

"I don’t have any money, Quinn," replied Trent. "Max collected the pay for tonight’s gig."

"Fine! I’ll buy, then. But like it or not, you’re getting some real food!" argued Quinn.

"Pizza is real food?" asked Trent skeptically.

"It’s better than what you’re eating right now," retorted Quinn.

"Okay… Mom."

Quinn let him have the last word as Trent began to drive toward the pizza parlor.

At Pizza King, Trent finally confronted Quinn. "So, why are you so mad at me?"

Quinn crossed her arms and looked away.

"Is it because of how we arranged the song? We can try some different music, if you want."

"Oh, don’t worry about the song. The song’s just fine," said Quinn sarcastically. "Especially considering that it was written by your friend’s sister."

"Oh, that," said Trent. "I’m sorry about that. It’s just that Max was really riding me about the fact that you’re still in High School and that you were writing a song for us. He thought that it was kind of fishy." Trent frowned. "He can be annoying like that."

"Assuming you’re not too oblivious to notice," remarked Quinn.

Trent’s laugh trailed off into a cough. "Yeah. But I guess we all have people who get on our nerves sometimes."

"Tell me about it," remarked Quinn. Then she swallowed visibly as the door to the pizza parlor opened. "And speaking of whom…" she trailed off.

Sandi walked in, accompanied by one of the numerously interchangeable High School boys of Lawndale. Quinn couldn’t even remember this one’s name, but she had the vague impression that she’d blown him off sometime last year. "Oh hello, Quinn," Sandi greeted her. "I didn’t know that you were going out with a guy tonight."

"Hi Sandi," said Quinn with phony cheerfulness. "I wasn’t expecting to see you here. I just decided to get some pizza with my um… my date, here."

"I see," replied Sandi. "But Quinn, don’t you normally date guys who look a bit less… sickly?"

Quinn’s eyes flashed. the game of social chess had begun. "I don’t have a problem with it," she admitted casually. "He is a musician, after all."

"Oh?" challenged Sandi. "Isn’t he a bit old for boy bands? Gee Quinn, even I never thought you’d sink this low. Why, he must be forty-eight years older than you, or something."

"Gee," Trent interjected abruptly. "I’m really sorry that I don’t meet your standards as Quinn’s date," he said to Sandi. His look grew speculative, and then he cocked an eyebrow. "You must have a real crush on her to be so concerned. Maybe you should take her out."

"What?" cried Sandi. "Wait a minute! I’m not gay! Not that there’s anything wrong with that," she added quickly. "But I’m not! I’m just looking out for my friend."

"Maybe," said Trent. "But maybe you are, and you just don’t know it yet. One of those weird mind things."

"I know for a fact that I’m straight," said Sandi. She turned to her date. "Curtis, to the car, now!" she commanded. As the two headed for the door, Quinn heard Sandi mutter to him, "And you’d better have a good make-out spot."

Quinn began to crack up. "I’ve waited two long years for someone to do that!" she cried.

"Make her wonder if she was gay?" asked Trent.

"No, shatter that smug self-image she’s created for herself. She’s always been such a control freak, and she usually succeeds. Watching you shake her up like that was hilarious!"

"But what if she really is gay?" asked Trent.

Quinn shrugged. "So what? I like guys." Suddenly her eyes narrowed conspiratorially. "Of course, she doesn’t have to know that," she smirked. "I could have her on her knees with just a smile in her direction."

"And then she’ll ask you to make out," noted Trent.

"Then I’ll just turn her down," replied Quinn. "I do it with guys all the time. It keeps them coming back. I could have her wrapped around my finger like my little fan club on the football team."

"Whoa," said Trent. "Sounds like you’ve got Lawndale High wired. Good thing I don’t have a crush on you."

"Is that so?" said Quinn. She stuck her lower lip out. Then she smiled winsomely at him and began to bat her eyelashes.

Trent laughed. "Aw, stop. It’s not like you’re not attractive or anything. It’s just that I have someone else in mind."

"You mean like a girlfriend?" asked Quinn.

"Occasionally, yeah," answered Trent. "Right now she isn’t interested."

"Don’t worry about it," said Quinn. "You’re cute enough that I’m sure she’ll come around."

"Thanks," replied Trent. Then his eyebrows raised. "So, you think I’m cute, huh?"

"Yeah," answered Quinn. "Not that I’d want to date you or anything," she tittered.

It was about then that the pizza came.

"…so then after I finished my solo, everyone in the audience cheered," Quinn told Trent as he pulled up to her house. "Not applauded, cheered. and up until then, I hadn’t really appreciated being the center of attention. But then I liked it so much that I’d do almost anything for it."

Quinn and Trent both got out of the car and walked up to the house. "So fifth grade chorus was the start of your singing and acting career," Trent mused.

"And my popularity career, too," remarked Quinn. "What about you? What made you decide to be a musician?"

"It was like the family business," said Trent.

"Family business?" repeated Quinn.

"Yeah. My entire family is into the arts and crafts thing," said Trent. "My mom and Janey are both artists, and my dad’s a photographer. My second oldest sister, Penny, is into making these hand-crafted trinkets. My oldest sister is a stage actress, and my older brother does voice-overs. So I guess I got it into my head that I should be doing something like what they were doing. I really liked music, so I decided to do that."

"So you don’t care about the attention it brings you or anything like that?" asked Quinn.

"Actually, I do care," replied Trent. "I mean, when your parents mainly ignore you for most of your childhood, it’s kind of nice to be paid attention to." Trent paused. "You know, maybe you ought to go back to trying to act, too," he said.

"I don’t know," replied Quinn. "The last time I got humiliated really bad."

"Yeah, I know what that’s like. Our first gig, some moron threw a stink-bomb on the stage mid-set just to make us get off. It was really embarrassing. For a while, I didn’t want to go back on stage because I was afraid it would happen again."

"And when you got back on again, it didn’t happen, right?" remarked Quinn.

Trent nodded. "Exactly. This time it was cream pies. Jesse thought that they tasted good, but the rest of us were pretty annoyed."

Quinn giggled at the image. "At least when I was on stage they only threw food at me. Kind of nice of them to skip the bombing."

"Yeah," agreed Trent. He looked directly into her eyes. "But even if you do mess up or get stink-bombed, at least you’ll be doing what you dream. Most people don’t even get that far."

Quinn smiled at him. "That sounds like good advice."

"Yeah," said Trent. "Daria said something like that to me a couple of years back."

A nasty thought entered Quinn’s head. "Um… Trent? That girl you’re hung up on… it isn’t Daria, is it?"

Trent shook his head. "No."

"That’s good, because she does have a boyfriend, you know," replied Quinn.

For a while, the two of them merely stood there, looking into each other’s eyes. Then they began to draw toward one another, as if some rope was tied around them, pulling them closer together. Suddenly, Quinn felt Trent’s warm hand on her cheek, and…

"Is that you, kiddo?" Jake’s voice came from a window on the second floor of the house.

"Yeah Dad, it’s me," Quinn called to him. Her shoulders now drooped with relief, but the frown on her face was an annoyed one. "Um… I gotta go," she said to Trent.

"Yeah," replied Trent. "Me too. They’ll be wondering where I’ve been all this time." He smiled at her and began to walk away. "See you around."

Quinn wordlessly waved at him, and then went inside. Once there, her eyes widened. Was I just imagining things, or did I almost kiss Trent? Her stomach gave a violent jump. I’d better go to bed. This day was just too weird for me.

Trent lay asleep in his bed, engrossed in a dream.

The flowers were lilies, her favorite. The poem he’d written her was heartfelt, yet not excessively mushy, and with just a touch of Goth. He’d get her back, just like he always did. For a while, at least.

Trent scratched his head. "Gee, I could have sworn you like them."

"What? Did you have me confused with some other woman? You cheat!" she accused. "I bet it was that… that Jane girl."

Monique snorted. The snort turned into a chortle, which then became a full-throated laugh. "Love?" she guffawed. "Oh God, Trent, that is so last year!"

"If you really want to talk about ‘last year,’ talk about that outfit!" Quinn Morgendorffer suddenly materialized. "I mean, just look at it. Even our school goth girl doesn’t wear stuff that’s that dated! Not to mention your whole attitude! I mean, God! Trent’s this really nice guy who honestly loves you, and you write it off as some trend? And here everyone calls me shallow!"

She turned to Trent. "Honestly, Trent, I expected a little bit better from you than to follow some pseudo-goth poseur around like a lost puppy. I mean, there are girls that actually care about you." Her look softened. "You wanna go get some pizza?"

Trent sat up in his bed, cold sweat lining the sheets. What had brought that on? He scratched his head in thought. "No more pizza for me," he decided.

But what had the dream meant? Trent thought about the possibilities. It could mean that on some unconscious level, Trent was coming to understand that Quinn had a crush on him, and would be jealous of Monique. No, Quinn had said that she wasn’t attracted to him. Maybe it meant that Quinn just wouldn’t like Monique if they’d met. Or maybe, subconsciously he was still mad at Monique for blowing him off, and some part of him wanted to see her cut down to size. Only, why use Quinn to do it? There was no reason for her to be involved in his problems with Monique unless…

Unless he was attracted to her.

Naw, that can’t be it, thought Trent. I certainly don’t have anything for someone that manipulative. Trent snorted. She’d even lead a lesbian on if she thought it would get her somewhere, never mind that she’s straight. She even said so herself.

But even as his thoughts drifted to Quinn, Trent couldn’t picture her as a conniving, calculating little popularity brat. Every time he had talked to her this week, she had been nothing less than sincere. And what she had done for him so far had been completely selfless. All she really seemed to ask was for him to be her confidant.

Of course, mused Trent sourly. Why not confide in me? It’s not like I know any of her friends.

He dug around his bed for his lyric notebook. No, I like-I love Monique. And I’ll write a song to prove it.

On the top of the page he wrote in big, bold letters, Monique. Then, after a bit of thought, he penned some lyrics. She’s a raven in flight, with her hair like night.

Trent smiled to himself. She’d like that. She’d always had a thing for ravens. He continued. With pale white skin…

He stopped. What could he do to rhyme with skin? "She’s not too thin…" No, that makes her sound like she’s fat. "She makes me grin…" that sounds stupid. "She lives in sin…" Truthful, but not exactly a nice thing to say. What else?

Trent’s eyes widened as the thought popped into his head. Then his eyes stared at the piece of paper he’d been jotting on. Suddenly, he tore off the sheet, crumpled it up, and tossed it on the floor. "Heck with it," he said aloud. "It can wait until morning."

As he lay back in his bed, staring at the ceiling, he began to see a silhouette of a girl’s face and body outlining itself in the darkness. Her hair was long, all the way down to her waist; and he thought he could see the girl’s lips form a winsome (if slightly mischievous) smile. Staring at the trick of the light, thinking about both Monique and this mysterious girl in front of him, something happened to him that had never happened to him before in his entire life.

Trent couldn’t sleep.

Lying in her canopy bed, Quinn dreamed as she slumbered.

"Um… David… I like you," said Quinn.

(Oh God, not this dream again, thought Quinn.)

"No, I mean like like you," Quinn clarified.

(I can’t believe I told him that, thought Quinn.)

"I mean, I never thought I could like like someone who wasn’t really cute, not that you’re uncute, but you know what I mean…"

(Geez, I sound like an idiot.)

"Right," said David.

(As if. Quinn gave a mental snort.)

(Not this part again! Wake up! Wake up, now!)

"Quinn look…"

(Too late, thought Quinn, giving a mental sigh.)

(Trent? Quinn gaped. What’s he doing here?)

"She was deep enough to see past your looks and give you a chance. And then there was this song she wrote for my band. Really cool."

(Okay, this is just too weird. I’m going to wake up, now.)

Quinn blinked as she sought to reorient herself within the darkness of her room. This is getting serious, she thought. Now I’m dreaming about him? No way would I go out with him. He isn’t my type! He’s so grungy and icky and… smart and deep and thoughtful… like David. A lot like David. I liked David. But he didn’t like me! Why would Trent be any different? Plus, we’d be all wrong for each other. I mean, so what if I can talk to him about things that I can’t even tell The Fashion Club, or that we share some of the same interests. Or that he’s so nice and gentle and… STOP!

She sighed. She needed help, and badly. Or at the very least, someone to talk to. I told Daria that I’d only call on my Guardian Angel in an emergency. Well, I think this counts as an emergency. "Hey, are you there?" she said to the sky. "I have a little problem. Don’t worry," she added hastily. "It isn’t about some pair of jeans or low-cal yogurt or anything like that. It’s about… it’s about a guy. You see, I’m starting to develop a crush on him. But the thing is he really isn’t my type, and the last time I liked a guy who wasn’t my type, he blew me off. So I’m afraid to tell him. Yeah, I know it sounds stupid. So I was wondering, if he likes me, could you tell me? Like some sign or something? Nothing like a bolt of lightning or whatever, but just a little signal. And if he doesn’t like me, could you… I don’t know… help me get over him? I mean, I didn’t want to like him in the first place, so it shouldn’t be that hard, should it? So could you help me with that? Thanks."

Satisfied with her conversation, Quinn closed her eyes. An hour later, she drifted back to sleep.

The cold weather had kept the snow from Monday morning’s snowfall firmly on the ground during the course of the week, and Jake Morgendorffer had managed to construct himself a crude snow fort, with a pile of well-made snowballs for ammunition. Now all he needed to do was wait for his targets.

As Sam and Chris Griffin came into view, Jake allowed himself a small chuckle. He almost couldn’t wait to pelt those two! Just a little farther, you bastards. Steady… steady… now!

"Ha-Ha!" cried Jake as he popped up on the unsuspecting duo and pelted them each in the chest with two snowballs at once.

Howling a fierce battle cry, the Griffin Brothers pulled out the snowballs that they’d been hiding in their jackets and flung them wildly.

"S-so you really aren’t… you know," Stacy timidly asked Sandi in between third and fourth period at school. "I mean, not that I’d have a problem with it if you were, but it would explain a lot."

"That’s what everyone’s been saying," commented Tiffany.

"No!" replied Sandi angrily. "That’s just what Quinn’s loser date thought. And what does he know? Like, he didn’t even wear decent pants!"

"Gee Sandi, Curtis seemed pretty sure. He said you kissed like a guy," said Stacy.

"Yeah," agreed Tiffany. "He was adamant."

"Look, I’m not gay, and I certainly don’t have a crush on Quinn. Not that there’s anything wrong with that," she added hastily. "But I don’t. And just to prove it, I’ll kiss the next guy I see."

Sandi looked to her right to see a male walking around the corner. Quickly, she ran up to him, gripped his head as if it were a bowling ball, closed her eyes, and mashed her lips against his.

She opened her eyes… and stared in horror at the person who she’d just kissed.

"Rowr, feisty!" growled Upchuck. "Oh Sandi, I’ve always known you’ve harbored a secret burning desire for me. But I never expected you to be so… forward about it."

"Oh absolutely, Charles," said Sandi sarcastically. "Just like I have a secret burning desire to do this!" With that, she planted her knee firmly in Upchuck’s groin.

As Upchuck fell to the ground screaming in a high falsetto, Sandi turned to Stacy and Tiffany. "Now do you believe me?"

"Gee Sandi, I’m not sure," replied Stacy. "I mean, kissing him proves that you aren’t, but wouldn’t kneeing him afterward prove that you are?"

"Buuuuuuuut Stacy," said Tiffany. "It’s Upchuck. Wouldn’t it be the other way around?"

"Oh yeah," tittered Stacy. "Good point."

"Oh, yoo-hoo! Sandi darling!" Quinn strode toward The Fashion Club, smiling winsomely at its President.

Sandi paled.

Quinn put her arm around Sandi’s waist and gave her a small squeeze. "You know Sandi, I was thinking, wouldn’t it be nice if you and I went shopping tonight? Just the two of us, alone with our outfits and shopping bags. Doesn’t that sound like fun?"

"Um… er… well," Sandi stammered. "I… I gotta go!" She quickly broke free from Quinn and ran down the hall.

Quinn smirked to herself. That was actually worth the two weeks worth of rumors over doing that. With a smile on her face, she turned to Skyler Feldman, who was standing nearby. "Hey Trent, if you aren’t doing anything tonight, maybe you can take me shopping."

"My name is Skyler," replied Skyler scathingly.

"That’s what I meant to call you. It’s just that I have this guy… named… Trent… on the brain." She hung her head slightly and frowned at what she’d just said. "Oh crap," she whispered.

"In that case, why don’t you get him to take you out?" demanded Skyler. He stalked off.

From the opposite side of the hall, Daria and Jane observed the scene.

"Well now, wasn’t that interesting?" said Jane.

"What? My sister displaying ambiguous homosexual tendencies?" asked Daria.

"No, your sister using Trent’s name as a Freudian slip. While asking a guy out, I might add," replied Jane.

"So?" said Daria defensively.

"So, it’d be a shame to see my brother’s budding interest in Quinn go unrequited," said Jane evenly.

"Fat chance of that happening," said Daria. "All she’s been talking about for the past three days is Tall, Dark, and Narcoleptic." She frowned. "Oh God."

"So what are we going to do about them?" asked Jane.

"What are we going to do?" repeated Daria dubiously. "Sorry, but I make it a point never to get involved in my sister’s social life. Short of disrupting it by humiliating her completely. You’re on your own on this one."

"So then, you wouldn’t have a problem if Quinn started dating Trent? Hypothetically speaking."

"Jane, in case you’ve forgotten, I have a boyfriend now. And even if I didn’t, my crush on Trent is something I’ve put squarely behind me."

Jane shrugged. "Okay. Well, even if you are lying, you probably wouldn’t have anything to worry about. And relationship Quinn and Trent might have wouldn’t last more than two days, as Quinn is a money vacuum and Trent is perpetually broke."

Daria thought back to late last summer when Quinn came into her room, sobbing over David. "Oh, come on. She isn’t that bad."

"Well, she couldn’t be any worse than Monique," conceded Jane. "She still doesn’t realize that I’m his sister. But I just don’t see how Quinn could be better than her, either."

"Because I have easy access to beat the crap out of her if she breaks his heart?" remarked Daria.

"There you go!" said Jane brightly. "Just remember to invite me over to watch.

The twosome walked to class.