Special THANKS go out to Thomas Mikkelsen and Nemo Blank for their patience and assistance in beta reading these stories!

Nick: Larissa? Barry? You two are up. What did you find out?

Larissa: That Charles Ruttheimer the 3^rd wasn't as much a pig as I'd originally thought.

Barry: Uh, what Larissa is trying to say is we've noticed references to Charles Ruttheimer, a.k.a. Upchuck, that gave us a little bias into his personality.

Larissa: Meaning we thought he was a pig.

Barry: Um, right. Anyway, we started researching him after reading the story since it didn't match up to his, ah...

Larissa: ...pig-ish?

Barry: Look, do you want to give this intro or not?

Larissa: Hey, you won the toss fair and square.

Mrs. Whitmore: Something going on here that I should know about?

Barry: No.

Mrs. Whitmore: Fine. Then Miss Simpson, why don't you continue with the intro.

Larissa: Fine by me. Okay, here's the scoop. Before reading the story, we went into research mode. We got the four yearbooks he showed up in and there were constant labelings of 'Upchuck' which I think most of you know. So I started thinking who was this guy? I found a couple of other people in the yearbook still around...

Barry: Your grandmother.

Larissa: Hey, she went to school when he did. Anyway she remembered him. And she thought he was a pig. This and other references we found is what jaded us during our research. Then we actually get around to reading the story.

Barry: Snoozer.

Larissa: Hey, it really wasn't that bad...

Nick: Please, you two, no reactions until the story's been presented. I'd like to let the audience make up their own minds if they like it or not.

Larissa: Understood, Nick. Anyway, after reading it we get with Nick here who is nice enough to find a couple video clips to set the story up and end it out. Here's the story in sequential order. Barry?

Barry: Hmm?

Larissa: The clicker, Barry. Just cue the damn video.

The electronic blackboard flickered to life.

Location: Lawndale High, hallway

Time: May, 2002

Charles Ruttheimer III comes up to both Daria and Jane who are standing at their lockers. He has a CD in his hands that he holds out.

Upchuck: Here you go, my sweet Daria.

Daria: Whatever it is you're handing to me better have been sterilized, Upchuck.

Upchuck: What a cruel thing to say. Cruel, but feisty. Rrrrowwrrrr.

Daria: Can it. What's this?

Upchuck: I heard that Mr. O'Neill had you transcribing the stories for the time capsule into an electronic medium. This is my story – already formatted for your reading pleasure.

Jane: I think I'm going to hurl.

Daria: Pass the bucket when you're done.

Upchuck: I take you won't be reading it then?

Jane: Now whatever gave you that idea. The green tint to my skin right now?

Upchuck: But it's a story of love...

Daria: Yeah, right.

Upchuck: Passion...

Daria: Yeah, right.

Upchuck: Adventure...

Daria: Yeah, right.

Upchuck: Betrayal...

Daria: That I believe.

Upchuck: Lies...

Daria: It's got a catchy beat, but I just can't name that song.

Upchuck: And let's not forget, more passion.

Jane: Alright, enough already. You're giving me the heebie-jeebies.

Upchuck: Moi?

Daria: Vouz.

Upchuck: I take it then, you won't be reading my masterpiece?

Daria: I'll leave that for future generations to ponder.

Jane: Don't look at me. I'm not going near it.

Upchuck: A masterpiece for future generations to read you say. What ever will they ever think of me?

Daria: That you learned to read and write through Playboy correspondence school?

Jane: Here, Daria. Put that disk in this baggie so we don't get contaminated.

Upchuck: Farewell, ladies. My duty here is done.

Daria puts the disk in the baggie as Upchuck leaves.

Jane: Well, at least that's one story you don't have to read and correct grammar on.

Daria: Yeah, I don't have to.

Jane: I feel a big but coming on...

Daria: But I'm going to anyway.

Jane: Why?

Daria: Because he didn't want us to.

Jane: What? He all but begged us to read it.

Daria: No. He all but begged us to read it and then gave us an out to not read it. There's a difference. He's hiding something. And I'm going to find out what it is.

Winter was a cruel time of the year. The sun rose late and set early. It meant you had to go to school when it was dark and if you had to stay late to get something else done, it was dark when you got home. That was bad. And even when you came home, what did you find? It certainly wasn't a warm supper waiting for you. It was you waiting for a warm supper. That, or the vision of a bikini-clad lovely lady on the beach. Only there wasn't a bikini-clad lady on the beach waiting for you. Or a warm supper. That was worse.

The thoughts of what winter really meant circled through Larry's mind as his legs pumped and pumped while he jogged along the streets early in the morning, before the sun had risen. A November storm had come through town a few days before and left enough of its wake to keep the town closed up, trying to retain some vestiges of heat. He ran past closed homes, shops, cars. Pump, pump, pump.

Breath could be seen escaping through rapidly expanding and contracting lungs. It was cold. Jeez, it was cold. He knew that if he stopped, within minutes the warm sweat down his back and legs would turn to cold sweat down his back and legs. And that would be bad. Not as bad as the poor sap who'd left his lights on the night before and would find out the hard way as he frantically tried to start a dead car, but hey, that was the business of winter.

Shift – red. He picked up the pace as he ran past what he considered the big ol' freakin' Strawberry-thingie. He headed for the park. He thought back to yesterday's stress.

He ran through the park, sprinting around trees, shrubs and park benches. Red, red, red! Lousy, good for nothing... he pulsed through his mind, fueling his dash like it did every morning when he worked on his stress levels. He recalled over and over the major stress factor he'd gotten.

Red shifted to white as the trees blurred. It was the moment. He sprinted a few more feet and jumped onto a park bench. "BASTARD!!" he yelled as loud as he could.

He stood there panting a few more moments as the silence engulfed him again. Winter did that – it kept people away from the park in the early morning and allowed him to run and vent when no one could interfere or ask him questions like... like... he dropped it. There was no use allowing self pity in. It served no positive purpose. He could only hold it at bay if he released it now and then, which he'd just done. Back in control, he got off the bench and continued his run. He needed to get back to the shop.

He needed to finish out the semester at his school. Oh, joy. Then he had the summer to prepare for his last year at a new school. Double joy. He remembered an old saying: Tomorrow was always another day.

He liked his remake of that saying which went: Tomorrow was always another day of a new level of stress.

Sigh. He was going to have to find a longer route.

May slid in while it was still snowing. However, by the end of the month, the cold was long gone. Green grass assisted green leaves in showing that the world was full of weeds and other green things. The day was warm.

It was the last week of school before summer vacation. There were still a few yearbooks left to purchase and Larry went to the open table and purchased one. He looked through the relatively thin book and found his picture. Ugh, he thought. Still as lame a picture as in the last two yearbooks.

Yearbook in hand, he went to his classes.

By the end of the day his yearbook was still unsigned. At home, he put it alongside the other two unsigned yearbooks on his bookshelf. He hadn't been asked by anyone to sign theirs. Deep down he had hoped he'd made friends this year but as usual, his classmates only thought of him when they needed something – not when they simply wanted to be around him.

That was the way it had been since he'd started going there three years ago.

He began to block those thoughts as he changed clothes and got into his work clothes. He had a regular client whose monstrosity of a van he called a "Tank" needed engine work. Again.

All he needed to do was get through one more year of school. That was all. Then he'd be in the clear. One more year.

The end of July was a miserable month to work on a hot car. Especially if you were in a garage that had no swamp cooler. Like Max's "You Break It, We Fix It" Fix-It shop. Although primarily a garage that serviced cars, Max and his staff had branched out to other areas over the years as needed – such as when broken cars were in short supply but the bills didn't take that into consideration.

"C'mon, you stupid hunk..." Larry said under his breath, straining to get the last screw loosened on a radiator. The rusted piece was wedged in good and tight.

"Need help?" Hector asked, wiping the grease from another car off his hands.

"Nah. It's finally loose. You get the Chevy's timing belt replaced?"

"Si, si. One more month, eh?"

"Hmmm?" Larry asked distracted.

"One more month and then you go to new school. Look forward to it?"

Larry stopped his work and looked at Hector. He was a good guy. Had been for years. If he hadn't, Larry wouldn't have spent as much time as he'd had teaching him English. "No, not really. Nervous as hell is a better description."

"Why?"

"Well," Larry started, "here I am having to go to a new school and finish out my senior year at Lawndale. I don't know why I couldn't have just stayed at my last school. At least there I knew what to expect. Going to a new school, I just don't know. I just don't want to interface with them."

"Interact."

"What?"

"You said interface. That computer term. Manny always going on and on about computer stuff. He say that a lot. You mean interact."

"Your English is getting better," Larry grinned.

"Gracias. But you not a computer. You a man. I think you use computer word to hide behind."

"Hector..."

"Larry... You know problems you have at last school. You need to find way to fit in."

"I tried that last time and look where it got me," Larry complained.

"I know. But at time you were around cars and other jobs in town most of time. You no make good impression not being with friends. Now, you got me. I take on extra work. Give you time."

"Hector..."

"Larry... New school, new people. Give them a chance. Who know, maybe something come up good. Baby steps, remember? That what you told me couple years ago when you hire me. Baby steps. Work now, study hard, get citizenship."

"Yeah, yeah. Eye on the prize and all that. You're a smart cookie, Hec."

"Gracias. Speaking of food, how 'bout coming over to the house tonight. Anna and kids always love to see you. Especially Manny. He look up to you."

"What's for dinner?"

"It Italian night so spaghetti and pizza."

"Pepperoni and extra grease?"

"Si."

"Anna sure likes that international cookbook she got last Christmas. I'm there. Thanks, Hec."

"Welcome. You need interference today?"

"I don't think so. I'm not expecting anyone. I'll let you know, though."

Fall was still a little ways off. It was the ending days of summer, when it seemed to get hotter just because it could and stayed there to make life miserable for those without air-conditioning. Red, red, red!

"BASTARD!" Larry yelled, then jumped off the park bench and continued his run.

Several hours later Larry stood in front of Lawndale High. Students poured into the school for the first day of a new school year. Whoopee. Resigned, he opened the doors and went in.

"New student?" asked the voice of a receptionist in the school's front office.

"Yes. My name is Larry Petersen and I'm transferring..."

"Got it. Petersen, L. You're with that group over there," she indicated to an empty corner.

"No one's there," he said, stating the obvious.

She looked up. "Oh, for crying out loud. Ms. Li, they all left again. Now what do I do?!"

"Contact Landooooon! She'll take care of it," came a voice from another office.

Ten minutes later Jodie Landon walked alongside Larry. "Down this hall is the cafeteria. Don't eat there if you can help it. Second floor has the science labs so try not to have any classes on the first floor under those rooms after lunch since there are a lot of clowns up there after lunch who aren't paying attention to chemical reactions as they're half asleep from eating bad food. It's not like I don't have anything else to do anyway – so why not show the new kid around, grumble, grumble."

As she grumbled this out, a strange guy in a football uniform and a cheerleader walked towards them. "Hey, Jodie. Who's this? Mack-Daddy's not getting competition is he? Ho, ho, ho!"

"Kevvie," squeaked the blond cheerleader. "Don't tell Jodie that, she can't help it if he's cute."

"Hi, Kevin, hi, Brittany. Meet Larry Petersen, new kid and my current responsibility for the next six minutes until classes start."

"What do you mean, he's cute? I'm cute, not him. You said so this morning!"

"Kevvie!"

"Hey, pal, you going to try out for the team?" Kevin asked. "No, wait. You're too skinny. Oh well. Did I tell you I'm the QB?!"

"Do my eyes deceive me or is it the fair Jodie Landon?" a suave and sophisticated if yet feisty individual asked as Kevin left with Brittany.

"Go away, Upchuck," Jodie said.

"How was your weekend, Ms. Landon?" he asked.

"Upchuck, I'm not in the mood," she said tiredly.

"...look, all I'm saying is that if I had to lose an appendage and have a chainsaw grafted on in its place, losing my left hand wouldn't be the worst place to lose it," a dark haired girl said to an auburn haired girl as they walked by.

"Hey, Daria, Jane," Jodie said.

"Hey," replied one, then the other.

"I'm still saying the foot would be better to lose than a hand," the second girl replied.

"But how would you get around? You can't walk on a chainsaw?"

"You get people to take you everywhere. And that leaves your hands free for other things."

"Such as?" the dark haired girl asked.

"Pistol whippings," the other replied.

"...you know, a good pistol whipping isn't something we should discard right now. Get lost, Upchuck!"

The red headed individual with the feisty freckles departed alone.

"Who's this?" a nasal voice asked.

Larry turned around and saw four girls looking at him. He had the feeling they were eyeing him over like a piece of beef.

"Oh, hi, Sandi. Quinn. This is Larry Petersen, a new transfer student," Jodie said.

"Trans... transfer...?" one of the other girls asked.

"Transfer student," supplied the fourth girl. "Hi, my name's Stacy. This is Tiffany."

"Hi," Larry said, offering his hand.

Sandi, the one with the nasal voice looked at it with disdain. "Like, I don't think so. C'mon, everyone. Immediate accessory meeting." They shuffled off.

Larry took a quick glance at himself in a window reflection. He didn't think he looked that bad. Sure, he had on blue jeans, sneakers and a red t-shirt but none of them were grease-stained or dirty. He wasn't wearing his baseball cap like he normally did and he'd even gotten his hair cut a few weeks back. There was a little grease under his nails but he had long since given up trying to get them completely clean.

"Hey, Ted," Jodie said to another person who came up.

"Hi, Jodie," he replied in an upbeat way. "How are you? Ready for another fun filled semester?"

"Sure, Ted," Jodie sarcasmed.

"Great!" Ted replied, not really having heard the subtly. "Do you by chance have any... gum?"

"Sorry, no."

"Darn."

"This is Larry Petersen, a new transfer student," she supplied.

"Do you by chance have any... gum?" he asked.

"No," Larry said. With that, Ted was off. Probably to locate some gum.

"Hey, guys," Jodie said to a trio of individuals walking by.

"Hi, Jodie," they greeted.

"Joey, Jeffy, Jamie, this is Larry Petersen. He's a new transfer student."

"Hey, you're not going to try to go out with Quinn, are you?" Joey or Jamie or Jeffy asked.

"You'd better not since I'm her boyfriend," Joey or Jamie or Jeffy said.

"Um, I don't know who she..." Larry started.

"And she only goes out with us anyway, buster, so don't even get any ideas," Joey or Jamie or Jeffy said.

"Yeah, if you try to go out with her, we'll have some words outside," Joey or Jamie or Jeffy said.

"Yeah, and... hey, Quinn! Wait up! Are you doing anything tonight?!" Joey or Jamie or Jeffy asked.

"Can I carry your bags?!" Joey or Jamie or Jeffy asked.

"Can I carry your bags and go out with you tonight?!" Joey or Jamie or Jeffy asked.

As they left, Jodie asked, "So, Larry, have you given any thought about joining an after school activity like fund raising or... advanced fund raising?"

Before he could reply with a resounding "no", overhead speakers staticed to life. "Miss Landon, please report to the principal's office immmmmmmeeediatelyy. Work doesn't wait for the slothful, you know."

"One of these days," she groused. Eyes downcast, she went towards her fate.

The school bell rang sharply a moment later and kids headed for classes. Within moments he was alone in the hallway, looking for his classroom. He summed up his first 15 minutes with, "Looks like it's going to be another day in paradise."

Afternoons after lunch dragged. It was almost as if time itself worked against students. And teachers. And worse yet was when you were assigned to an after school self esteem class by some shrink nutjob who thought she was doing you a favor by punishing you. Larry entertained these thoughts as the students filtered out of the first self esteem class. The first of many.

God, he needed to get out of this if only to keep his sanity. Fortunately he'd been thinking of a way to get out for the last hour instead of partaking in any of the psychobabble. Once the rest of the kids left, he went up to the instructor who was also his English instructor, Mr. O'Neill.

"Mr. O'Neill?"

"Yes? Leroy, right?"

"Larry. I was wondering if I could take this class as an independent study? I learn better on my own anyway."

"I'm sorry, but this is a participation class. You'll get more out of it. You'll get to know more kids at school this way. This is a journey I'm sure you'll enjoy."

"All the students I've met are nuts. I don't want to get to know them," Larry said honestly.

"Now that's the wrong attitude to take," Mr. O'Neill said.

"Yeah, I know," Larry replied. "Tell you what, how about I make a more concentrated effort to get along with others and meet with you every day and give you an update. That way you can determine for yourself if I'm making headway. If no headway, then I come back to the esteem class. Deal?"

"This is highly irregular..." Mr. O'Neill started.

"But it's one of the perks of being a teacher, right?" Larry finished.

Mr. O'Neill thought about it for a minute. "Since you put it that way, I guess it is. Okay, deal it is. But I want to really work at getting to know others and let me know how you feel."

"...so that's the assignment. Write a story about 2000 words long due in three weeks. Now let's put our thinking caps on, split up into groups of two and spend the rest of the class brainstorming those wonderful ideas I know each and every one of you have. And remember, you only get out of this assignment what you put in to it," Mr. O'Neill said to a vacant class.

"Does that mean if I put more effort into not doing the assignment and then actually don't follow through with writing anything I'll pass since I will have gotten out of this assignment what I put into it?" Daria Morgendorffer asked subtly.

Mr. O'Neill gave it some thought as the rest of the class paired off. "No, I think with that little effort going into the assignment I would then have to give you a corresponding lack of grade," he replied, catching on after having heard her remarks for the past few years.

"Can't blame a girl for trying," her friend replied as she moved her desk to face Daria.

In an opposite corner, two other students moved their desks to face each other. "Hi, my name's Larry," he said quietly to the red head with freckles who sat across from him, extending a handshake.

"Charles Ruttheimer. I've seen you in school, haven't I? A few weeks ago, when Jodie was doing the new student rounds, right?"

"Yeah. Transferred in for my senior year."

"More's the pity you," he replied.

"Tell me about it."

"So?" Charles asked, sitting at his desk in the English class they shared. "You get it done?"

Larry looked over at Charles and nodded. "Yeah, I read it. It's, well..."

"Yeah?" he asked anxiously, unsure where Larry was going with his review of O'Neill's assignment from a week ago.

"Truthfully, it's B- work, Chuck."

"What? Why?"

"If Mr. O'Neill was grading on imagery, you'd get an A. That part was great. Pacing was a little slow in areas, but overall I liked it. Not too slow, not too fast. Comfortable. The characters were also well defined. I liked the background references to Birch and O'Shea as well as the Dana and Joan friendships. It showed thought. But the dialog. I'm sorry, but it was a little... stiff."

"In what way?" Charles asked, listening.

"They each sounded as if they'd swallowed an encyclopedia and dictionary. The words were correctly done but they didn't match up with the characterizations. You know what I mean?"

Charles considered this. "I think so," he finally said.

"Look, Chuck, I know you can do better. I'm sure of it," Larry encouraged.

Charles took his story back from Larry. He looked at the comments in the margins and saw that Larry had enjoyed the story even with the "stiff" dialog.

"How about my story?" Larry asked.

"I finished it," Charles replied. "It was very good and I feel a little bad that I can't tell you where you need to improve on. I liked all parts of it."

"But?" Larry prompted.

"But, um, it was like a bar band."

"I don't understand the reference."

"A bar band. You go to a bar, listen to the band, enjoy the music and 10 minutes after leaving the bar, you forget about them. I guess what I'm trying to say is that it wasn't memorable."

Larry sat back in his desk. "Yeah, I was afraid of that. It's missing something but I don't know what."

"It's A-work, no doubt about it," Charles replied. "But if you want to do better on it, then you're going to need to talk to someone other than me about it."

"Who do you suggest?" Larry asked.

"Have you met Daria Morgendorffer?" he suggested.

"Don't look now, but here comes trouble," Jane said to her friend, looking up from the cafeteria table.

"Somebody gave their kid the name 'Trouble'? What were they thinking? I bet they were hippies or something."

"One of these days, Morgendorffer... Pow, zoom! To the moon!" Jane grinned.

"Um, excuse me," Larry said with a little trepidation. "Daria Morgendorffer, right?"

"Don't answer that," Jane warned. "You ain't got nothing on us, man. We weren't even in town that night. We were in Buffalo."

"She always like this?" he asked, confused.

"Only to people she knows she can befuddle."

"Well, then I guess my fuddle's been be'd."

"Huh?" Jane asked.

"What can I do for you?" Daria asked.

"Um, I was kind of hoping you might review my story for Mr. O'Neill's assignment."

"Sorry, but that would entail work and if it's anything I don't do it's work."

"Sounds to me like you're working on finding a way to get out of reviewing my story."

"He's got a point, Daria."

"Actually, that's my standard answer. So technically, I'd already worked it out and therefore am not in the process of working now."

"She's got a point, stranger."

"Who's side are you on anyway?" Larry asked.

"My side," Jane replied honestly. "Always."

"Fair enough. My name's Larry Petersen, not stranger. I'd heard you were the best writer in town, Daria, and was hoping you could help me get better."

"Oooohhh, flattery," Jane commented.

"It won't get you anywhere," Daria said stonefaced.

"How about five bucks then?" he asked, opening negotiations.

"You couldn't even get me to change your punctuation for that. I'll give you an introductory price of $300."

"Ouch. A little too high for me. Tell you what, how about we do some sort of barter for it?"

"Well, unless you can fix my PC I really don't have anything that needs working on since I don't have a car yet."

"Problem?" Larry prompted.

"It's either the mother board or the BIOS."

Larry stood, pondering it over. "Okay, I'll do it. I'll even fix your PC upfront so you have the opportunity to see if the job is up to par. If not, no work on your part will be required. Fair enough?"

"Um, yeah."

"Good. Can we do it after school? The only free time I have this week is today."

"Um, yeah."

Later that afternoon, Larry said, "Okay, boot it up."

Daria did and the system came up without any errors. "Good job. Thank you. How did you know it was the BIOS?"

"I had the same problem last year. Look, if you have any problems let me know and we'll troubleshoot it as needed, okay?"

"Um, yeah. I'll begin reviewing your story and get back to you."

"Time?"

"Let's say by next Wednesday. Fair enough?"

"Sure. And, thanks." Larry collected his tools and Daria escorted him downstairs. The front door opened before they got to it and Mr. Morgendorffer burst in.

"What is it?! What's wrong?!" he asked, panic in his voice.

"What're you talking about?" Daria asked calmly.

"What's broken? It's the stove, isn't it? Shoddy workmanship! I knew I shouldn't have bought it over the internet! Oh, when will I ever learn?! The house almost burned down again. Is it fixed? Who fixed it? Did you fix it? Who're you?"

"My name is Larry and if I understand you right, then no, I wouldn't know, no – you shouldn't have bought it over the internet, hopefully sometime, no it didn't, it wasn't broken, and I didn't do it."

"Huh?" he asked.

"Dad, this is Larry, from school. He came over to fix my PC, nothing else. It's working again so he's leaving."

"Oh, heh, heh. Sorry about that. Saw the Fix-It logo on your truck outside and I guess I..."

"...was concerned for your family," Larry completed for him. "Yes, I can see that. Well, Daria, thank you again for taking the time to review the story. Sir, have a good evening." Larry headed for his truck.

"Say, m'man," Mr. Morgendorffer said trying to sound more grown up than he had a few minutes ago. "Do you repair cars? I mean, my Lexus needs a tune-up and I haven't had time to take it to the shop or anything. How much would you charge to get it done?"

"Now?"

"Um, yeah."

"Hmmmm. It's after 5pm. That means overtime. Take into consideration that I'll have to run to the parts store before it closes. How about... you pay cost for all parts and in exchange I'll take a home-cooked meal."

"Deal!"

An hour later, Mrs. Morgendorffer drove up the driveway in her SUV. She had noticed the Fix-It logo on the truck parked alongside the curb in front of the house and wondered if Jake's internet-stove had exploded. If it had, it wasn't going to be the only thing that exploded.

She got out and then noticed someone was under the hood of Jake's Lexus. "Hello?" she called out. "Excuse me, but who are you?"

Larry stopped his work and stood up. "Hi. My name's Larry Petersen. I'd shake your hand but I don't think you'd want grease on it."

"I'm Mrs. Morgendorffer. What're you doing on my husband's car?"

"Tune up, ma'am. Your husband said it needed to get done and he wasn't kidding. These sparks are black. I'm surprised he hasn't noticed any lack of compression in the engine."

"You'd be surprised," Mrs. Morgendorffer sarcasmed as she thought of the way her husband drove his car – which was pedal to the metal and fist outside the window as he screamed for others to get out of his way. "How much is this costing us by the way? I want you to know that I check all prices in as a means of comparison shopping..."

"Ma'am, all I'm charging is dinner."

"That's all?"

"That and the cost of parts. But Jake and I already went out and got those earlier."

"Tell me, how did Jake find your services? Did you stop by his office?"

"Not quite. I go to school with your daughter, Daria. She's going to review a story I wrote and in exchange I fixed her PC today. Your husband asked me to do the tune up after I finished with her PC."

"Yo, Larry," Jake said, coming outside, apron on. "Dinner's almost on. You at a stopping point?"

"I've finished the tune up and oil change, Mr. Morgendorffer. But I noticed the wiring around your battery is getting eaten by acid. You want, I'll fix that after dinner."

"No problem, m'man. But I told you to call me Jake. Anyway, get cleaned up. Bathroom is around the corner as you go in the front door."

"I'll be right there."

Larry put his tools away and then went inside. A few minutes later he came out of the bathroom to yet another person asking him questions. "Who're you? What're you doing in the bathroom? Is that your truck outside? What's getting fixed?"

"I'm here to fix Daria's..."

"Daria's getting fixed? You're probably working on her closet or seeing if you can move that bathroom into her room. That's not fair – why should she get someone to fix her wardrobe when I don't? Or have their own bathroom when I don't! Mo-om!"

Puzzled, Larry headed for the kitchen where Jake directed him to a chair. Larry listened to Jake and Mrs. Morgendorffer explain to their other daughter, Quinn, who he was and what he was actually fixing. She seemed relieved to know that Daria wasn't getting anything better than she was. Conversations ran around Larry as Jake served up dinner.

"So, young man. What are your goals?" Mrs. Morgendorffer asked after everyone had gotten something to eat and was in the final process of picking around Jake's add-in's to normal lasagna (except for Larry who ate everything).

"Well, I'd like to finish dinner and then finish fixing Jake's car," Larry replied candidly. Daria coughed into a napkin.

"No, no," Helen corrected. "I mean, what are your eventual goals?"

Larry had a pretty good idea what was going on here. He had been on a few dates over the years that always turned into the meet-the-parents fiasco. She was sizing him up. Truth be told, he could see her point. He was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans that had seen better days several years ago. His hands were still grimy with accumulated grease from a thousand oil jobs under his nails. He had slicked back his hair to hide the hat-hair impression but there was never a way to remove it entirely unless he washed it. His whole appearance screamed blue-collar worker. And obviously, that just wasn't good enough for one of her daughters to date.

It didn't seem to matter to her that he wasn't dating any of her daughters either. She was trying to size him up and let him knew where she stood on matters. "Well, ma'am," he said, "I'd like to graduate high school and go to college."

"No, no, no," she said again. "I meant, what are your long term goals?"

Quinn stopped her latest brainstorm on compromising Daria's wardrobe fix in order to get those funds shifted to her since she was having difficulty coming up with a fresh angle and instead listened to Larry.

Mrs. Morgendorffer had been trying to keep the tone conversational in order to gather anything she could, a trait she had used with the law firm for the past few years. However, with this little question, he turned serious. She could tell as he said, "Well, ma'am, I'd like to have something that I can't have now. I'm going to eventually meet the right person and when that happens I'm going to tell her that I love her every day for the rest of my life. We'll have kids and I'm going to tell them I love them every day for the rest of my life as well. I'm going to make sure they're happy and well cared for and always welcome in my home."

As Larry spoke, Quinn's eyes softened and her imagination began to drift. That sounds dreamy, she thought, smiling. Then she noticed the grease under his fingernails. She quickly snapped out of her vision of living her life with a... a repair man! and shuddered, involuntarily mouthing, "Ewwwww." That was worse than when she'd begun to fall for that computer geek at the hotel!

Daria took another look at Larry, rethinking what she had initially pigeonholed him into which was that of a non-thinking lout who could only focus on cars and football.

Mrs. Morgendorffer refused to lose her grip on the subject. "Actually, I meant what are your goals, career-wise?"

"Well, I've always thought that once I found my true love, everything else would just be gravy. I can always find something to do."

"How long have you lived in Lawndale?"

"Seven years."

"Do you participate in any activities in school?"

"No," he replied, finishing his dinner.

"Why not?"

"I have a business to run."

"You own it?"

"No. My uncle Max owned it. But he's a little under the weather these days so I run it for him."

Daria looked at Larry, reflecting on what he said but not sure if she heard it right.

"Where are your parents?"

Larry struggled on this. It was something that was asked of him every year, but it was still hard to say even after all these years. He finally managed, "When I was little, my mother went away and it was just me and my dad. Then, seven years ago it became just me and my uncle."

"You like being with your uncle?" Daria asked, breaking her mother's train of questions.

"Oh, yeah. He's a better parent than mine ever were. He taught me everything I know about fixing things. Never assume and always question."

"That sounds like you, mom," Daria commented.

"Daria, please."

Jake laughed aloud, getting up and picking up the dirty dishes.

"Thank you for dinner, Jake, Mrs. Morgendorffer. But if you'll excuse me, I'd like to finish fixing the car while the light's still good."

After Jake finished putting the leftovers away and the dishes to soak in the sink, he went outside to check on Larry's progress. "Hey, m'man, what's the word?"

"Hey, Jake. Almost done here. Cable work isn't that hard, it's just time consuming."

"Uh, listen. I'm sorry about what happened with Helen at dinner..." Jake trailed off.

"No problem. I've had experience with this before."

"Yeah? How do you handle it?"

"Usually I find out what's the score and then fix it if I can. Diffuse it if need be. But don't ignore it. It's like... no, I'd better not say. It's not my place."

"What? It won't go any further than us."

"Um, okay. I've only known your wife since this evening and I can tell you the best thing you could do for her is to break her cell phone for a weekend. She seems tied to it which I'm sure has got to be a strain on you."

"You have no idea. I'd love to break that damn thing. I did once. Broke it into a hundred pieces. Except it was during a big case and she went crazy. Not for the first time, I tell you. So what does she do but go and get a warranty plan that covers husband-destruction of phones. Now she's covered under this plan and... I don't think I should be saying any more than this."

"I think you're right, Jake. Look, you seem like a good guy and I can tell you care about your family. If you can't talk to your wife then at least try to have a dialog with one of your daughters."

"What do you mean? I talk to them all the time."

"Not from what I saw at dinner tonight. At least, not with Daria."

"Well, she doesn't want to participate in any conversations."

"Not true. I've noticed that she participates in conversations with her friend at school all the time."

"Then why doesn't she want to talk to me, dammit?"

"Have you ever tried actually talking to her? I mean, actually talking with her about something of relevance other than simply putting in the customary idle chitchat? Can you hand me those wrenches, please? Thanks."

"Sure I do. All the time." Jake sounded unsure.

"Really? And what do you talk about?"

"Lots of stuff. School, job, college..."

"Uh-huh. But when was the last time you actually talked about the way you feel when you're with her?"

"What do you mean?"

Larry stopped his work and looked at Jake. "I'm not sure I'm explaining myself the right way. It's what I saw at dinner that popped this idea in my head. I saw both Quinn and your wife talking about clothes, events, meetings. They were on the same wavelength, you know? They were communicating even without saying anything and that was okay with them. Then there was you. You tried to participate in their conversation but really weren't connecting. Yet you tried. Then there was Daria. She didn't chime in at all. She sat there and the few times you asked her questions, I had the feeling they were the same questions you've probably asked her yesterday and the day before and so on. It was like a routine you all had that she didn't want to participate in."

"But when I try to get her involved in the conversation yet she doesn't want to get in. I don't know what else I can do to get her to open up."

Larry returned to the job. "Maybe it's the conversation itself that she's not interested in. Have you ever tried just having a conversation with her – about her? When was the last time you let her know how much she means to you? That might be an opening. It's just that I had the feeling that Daria doesn't say anything because she already feels left out of the conversation and saying anything would prove how distant she actually is and drive her and the rest of you further apart. But keep in mind that's just my opinion. I could be totally wrong. Okay, give the key a turn and let's see if I did some good work."

The engine turned over on the first try. Larry gathered his tools, loaded his truck, shook Jake's hand and left.

Jake watched him go, thinking.

Jake sat in his office, thinking. The phone rang, he answered it absently and when the voice on the other end wanted to know what he thought of the latest marketing concepts being used in corporate America, he said what was on his mind, not bothering to waste any time sucking up to the potential client. He then hung up the phone, still thinking.

The phone began ringing a few minutes later and this time Jake let it go. He had more important things to attend to. The caller would either have to leave a message for him – or not. He didn't really care as he grabbed his jacket, closed the office and drove home.

Jake drove home, calm and reflective vs. his normal psychotic state, shouting for other cars to move out of his way all the while shaking his fist in the air. He made better time getting home, strangely enough, but he didn't think about that. He didn't even notice the time or the traffic. He was lost in thought.

As he entered the house, he listened for activity. He could hear the TV in the family room. "Hi, kiddo," he greeted.

"Hey," his daughter commented, not looking away from her program. "Mom's working late and Quinn had a fashion emergency which necessitated her getting mom's gold card. I've already eaten. Dinner's leftovers."

Jake stood there and surveyed his kingdom. A man's house was his castle and all that. He could see the cracks in the foundation and the barbarians at the gates. Well, not literally since that many people would've been considered a mob and the police would've used tear gas to break them up, but they were there nonetheless.

"Daria? You have a minute to help me outside?" he asked.

"TV," she replied, pointing.

"VCR," he pointed.

"Damn," she conceded and went outside with her old man. The sun was still high enough in late September that darkness was hours away. He walked past his car and continued down the sidewalk.

Daria followed, puzzled. She had figured he was going to need some help bringing in some files or something from the car. "Um, dad? Where are we going?"

"Out for some fresh air," he replied, stealing a glance at his daughter.

"This is fresh air? Give me the polluted skies of a friendly city anytime."

He grinned at that.

"So what's up?" she asked. "Where're we going? You do realize I know my way home so you can't simply take me to the woods and let me go free."

"Well," he started. "I need your help on something that's been on my mind lately. I've been going over and over what your friend Larry said at dinner last night."

"That he didn't like broccoli?"

"Nope. Not that I can blame him. All that green weed in one bite? Eeeeewwwww. No, it was his description of what he planned on doing when he got married and had kids."

"What? Oh, you mean the hippie talk?"

"The hippie talk, yes. You know, that was the same kind of idea your mother and I had when we were younger. I think along the way we just sort of... forgot about it." He stopped and looked her in the eye. "Daria, I want to let you know that I love you very much. And I'm happy you're my daughter. I'm sorry I haven't told you that more often."

Daria stood speechless. This wasn't normal. "Um," she started.

Jake began walking again before Daria said anything else. She hurried to catch up. He was grinning. "Y'know, when you were a lot younger, I used to take you for a walk in your buggy everyday once I got home from work."

"Really?" Daria said, avoiding the previous comment.

"Sure. It was the only way to get you to take a nap so your mother and I could have some quiet time. When you were little you wanted books, television – anything to invigorate your mind. Doing a walk was boring which meant after about five minutes, you were out."

"So that's why I don't like nature," she quipped.

"Anything's possible. Anyway, along came Quinn and work and then everything got harder and harder to do, and my mind just forgot. I've missed out on a lot of walks with you but I'm hoping to change that."

"I don't do exercise. Jane knows that. So should you."

"Good, because my feet are killing me in these shoes. Damn 10-minute shoes. Let's go home."

They finished walking the block and started up the walk to their front door. As Jake opened it for his daughter, she looked up to him and said, "I love you too, dad."

"Four down. An escaped criminal, starting with the letter 'c'," Daria said.

"Easy. Cannon fodder," Jake replied.

"Dad, there's only seven letters."

"Yeah, but the first one starts with a 'c' doesn't it? That's what the old man used to say to me if I tried to get out of KP. He'd say, 'Son, you get them dishes done right or you're cannon fodder come morning – got it?' Lousy bastard."

"Dad..." Daria warned.

"Okay, okay, 'cannon fodder' has too many letters. It's convict. C'mon, kiddo, you've got to lighten up."

Daria wrote it in as her mother came rushing into the kitchen. "Jake, have you seen my..." Breep-breep. "Hello? No, Eric, this isn't a bad time. They what?"

"Daria, I need you to cover..." Quinn started and stopped as she came into the kitchen, seeing her parents there. "...um, cover your bed. That's it. Heh-heh. Um, sorry, dad. Won't be here for dinner. Fashion emergency over at Sandi's. Be back late."

Daria whispered into her father's ear as Quinn turned to leave.

"Have fun on your date, Quinn," Jake said to his departing daughter.

"Ooooohhhh! Daria!" Quinn exploded as she went through the front door before her mother stopped her. As if she had listened anyway.

Daria and Jake went back to their crossword puzzle when Quinn left. Helen, distracted by the sound of a door slamming turned to ask Jake what was going on but saw he was involved with Daria on something. She almost asked what they were doing before another question in her ear distracted her for the rest of the night.

"Don't look now, but here comes trouble," Jane said.

"Somebody gave their kid the name 'Trouble'? What were they thinking? I bet they were hippies or something."

"One of these days, Petersen... Pow, zoom! To the moon!" Jane grinned.

"Hey," Daria said sitting down at the library table. "I had another meeting with Mrs. Manson after sending Mr. O'Neill crying to her the other day."

"That was you?" Larry asked.

"Hey, you were there, remember?" Jane asked.

"True. But I'm glad to know it wasn't my story that sent him over the edge. I mean, if I'm going to send someone nuts with my work I want to do it intentionally. Not because my work sucks so bad they get screaming fits from it."

"It can't be all that bad," Jane said. "I mean, Daria read it and she's not crying is she?"

"True," Larry responded. "But then I don't think Daria's entirely sane."

"Awww, you're just saying that to get on my good side," Daria replied mockingly.

"You have a good side?" Jane asked with a straight face.

"One of these days, Lane, just one of these days," she warned.

"Daria, you still looking for a car? If so, let me know and I'll check it out and make sure you're not getting a lemon."

"Thanks," she replied.

"Hey, can I get in on this?" Jane asked. "What kind of car do you think I should get?"

Larry looked at her and said, "Hmmmm. I don't see you as a car type. I see you more as a biker chick."

"Ooohhh, a motorcycle, eh? What about Daria? How Harley-esq do you think she is?"

"None," he replied.

"Why?" Daria asked. "You don't think I can handle a motorcycle?"

"It's not that," Larry said. "I just see you more as a truck-type."

"Why?" she asked again. "Because you have one?"

"No. Because if you were ever nervous about driving thinking you would get hurt in an accident, then driving a truck is the way to go. With it you don't worry about small cars. You simply run over them if they get in your way. Of course you'll be spending quite a bit of time in the car wash prying them out of your fenders but hey, that's the price you have to pay for peace of mind."

Daria looked at Jane. "What kind of car does Trent want to buy you for a graduation present again?"

"Um, a pinto."

Daria and Larry looked at each other and nodded. Daria said, "A truck it is then."

"Eeep!" eeeped Jane. Then, "Do you know anything about musical equipment, Larry?"

"Sure. Drums go boom and draw kids to them in department stores."

"How about amps?"

"Hey, amps is amps," he replied.

"I take it you can fix amps?"

"I know basic wiring. But what I can't figure out, I just go to the internet and download specs for what I don't know. So yeah, I'd be able to fix an amp."

"Would you be willing to barter on a job to fix some amps? Mystik Spiral's feedback is ruining my concentration while painting."

"Hmmmm. Tell you what." He pulled an old, faded, wrinkled picture out of his wallet along with another one that was new. "This is a picture of my parents. Here's a picture of me. How about you do a portrait of them with me in the middle and we'll call it even?"

"Deal," she said.

Several days later Larry opened the garage door of the Lane residence. He went back to his truck and hefted an amp up on his shoulder and brought it into the cluttered garage, looking for a place to put it. Jane had told him Trent was due back in town that evening and wanted the amps fixed in time for his birthday the next day. He was moving a box of... something "clay-ish" when the door to the kitchen opened up and a mostly squinting dark haired man sporting a triangular goatee came out with a baseball bat.

"Hey, man, why're you stealing my band's amps?" he asked calmly. His body reflected a stark contrast to his calm voice, screaming its own intentions of wanting to beat Larry senseless and then ask questions.

"Uh, I'm not stealing them. I'm returning them," Larry said nervously.

The man blinked his eyes, focusing them. "Do I know you?" He blinked some more. "You work at Max's Fix-It Shop don't you?"

"Yeah," Larry admitted. "Do you mind if I ask who you are?"

"I usually drive my car over there when Jesse is dropping off the Tank for repairs. That's where I recognize you from. Whew. I thought I was having flashbacks, man."

"Oh, you're a friend of Jesse's? I haven't seen him in a couple months. Hope that means the repairs are holding and the Tank hasn't crapped out instead."

The tall, semi-conscious man finally lowered the bat and scratched his head. "The Tank's cool, man."

"Good to hear it. Um, I take it you're Trent, Jane's brother?"

"Yeah. So what's the deal with the amps, man?"

"You found the amps, dude?" a muscular man missing his shirt said, walking up the driveway.

"Yeah. This guy's got 'em, Jesse."

"Larry? You're stealing our amps, dude?"

Larry sighed and put the amp down since it was heavy enough to transport it let alone hold it for any length of time when he didn't have to. "No. Actually, I was fixing them. They certainly had enough bad wiring. The rest of the amps are in the truck."

"Why're you doing that, man?"

Larry looked Trent in the eyes and simply said, "Happy Birthday."

"Whoa, dude. He knows your birthday. That's freaky."

Trent looked at him critically. "No way, man. He didn't know it was my birthday. This is Jane's doing, isn't it?"

Larry nodded.

"You fix cars, you fix amps. I don't suppose you know anything about fixing a kiln that kind of, cough, got a little cracked when some harsh sonics bombarded it the other day would you?"

Larry smiled and said, "Tell you what. I'm pretty sure I can learn to fix it if I don't know how to do it upfront. You keep our little conversation here quiet from Jane and also act surprised on your birthday and I'll only charge for materials and mileage."

"Cool." Trent and Larry shook hands on it. "But if you don't mind me asking, why so cheap?"

"Jane's doing a project for me and I think I'm getting the better end of the bargain on it anyway."

"Hey, Janey," Trent said as he came into Jane's room later that evening. She was working on a painting like she always was and was oblivious to him until he was almost on her.

"Oh, hey, Trent. I thought you weren't going to be back until tomorrow but I saw your car earlier. When did you get back?"

"This morning. I was pretty tired so I just had to get some sleep."

"Like that's anything new?" she grinned. "Good to have you home. How was the gig?"

"Cool. Hey, that looks like Larry," he said, pointing to the canvas.

"Yeah. He asked me to do a portrait of his parents and him."

"He must really like his parents if he's going to all this trouble to surprise them with a portrait and all."

Jane put the brush down and proceeded to squeeze some more paint out of a tube. "Not really. I talked to Daria a few days ago and she told me his parents are dead. I think he's doing this in memory of them."

Trent thought about it. He was at a loss for words. He didn't really know his own folks, but at least he had them. Sort of. But Larry didn't even have that.

"I heard that Larry lives with an uncle on the outskirts of town. By the way, Trent. How do you know about Larry?"

"Um," Trent started for the door.

"Trent!"

Leaves turned color and the pro football season swung into full gear, all of which meant that it was getting colder and more insulating clothes were required when Jane went for a run. She surprised herself by not only getting up early one morning, but also getting up early and not needing coffee to do it.

She put on a layer of spandex and then a layer of sweats with a fleece vest on top of that. She was ready – or would have been only if she could find her shoe. Trent had had a gig last night and when he came home, had been wired enough to stay awake (if only long enough) to make it to the couch and turn on the TV. Jane searched for her shoe in all its usual places but dammit if the little bugger hadn't gotten up and run off.

Static snow was showing on the TV as the station had gone off the air several hours earlier. It was still dark outside and Trent snored softly on the couch. Jane went over to turn the TV off and nearly fell over her shoe. That's right, she remembered. She'd used it to turn the TV off last night when she'd gone to bed. She had been on the steps going up and saw it on. She'd taken her shoe and threw it at the TV's power button, a trick that never worked and usually required the other shoe as well as the obligatory trip back downstairs to turn off the TV, pick up the shoes and put whatever she'd broken into the trashcan. But this time it'd worked. So she went to bed and forgot about it.

Now fully dressed, she stretched for a bit and then went out to face the cold air. There was a crispness to the air at that time of the morning, a feeling that she liked. It was actually an hour earlier than when she liked to run but the weird dream she'd had about being a klutz who kept having danish after danish land on her face and head had finally gotten the best of her. So naturally she had gotten up, had a danish and then felt it was time to burn those danish calories off the best way possible.

Go for a run.

She was out running for 15 minutes, just starting to get in stride when she noticed that she wasn't alone in the early, early morning. A couple blocks up she noticed another runner just turning the corner and heading away from her. She wasn't sure but she though it was Larry. She picked up her pace.

They were running through the park when he suddenly sprinted down a stretch and jumped onto a bench, shouting, "BASTARD!!" She slowed herself down as she came up to the bench. He was still standing there, breathing in and out, the puffs of his breath seen as the sun began to peek over the horizon.

It was Larry alright. She recognized his face, but the fury that was emanating from him was unreal. She hadn't seen that side of him before.

"Yo," she greeted.

Larry spun and noticed Jane. He jumped off the bench and closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm. He didn't want her to catch him like this. He knew he didn't look the best after he went red. "Hey, Jane. No Daria this morning?"

She laughed. "You kidding? This is a form of work for her and you know her rules on work."

"I didn't know you jogged," he said, massaging a crick in his neck that had been bothering him the last six miles.

"I enjoy it," she replied. "So what was that?"

Crap. She'd seen him. "An outlet," he admitted. "I use physical exercise as a way of getting rid of frustration and stress that bothers me. I focus it out that way instead of bottling it up inside myself until it bubbles, I get ticked at someone and say something stupid. That's not happening again if I can help it."

"Hey, cool. I can relate. I don't use running for that – I run just because I like having the wind through my hair."

"That, and it feels good when you stop, right?"

"Absolutely," she laughed again. "Y'know, I never knew how you liked the portrait I made last month."

"Are you kidding? It was great. I love it. It reminds me of happy times when I'd had a family." Whoops. Slip of the tongue there.

"So what did you get out of Trent for repairing the kiln he damaged? He kind of spilled the beans the night before his birthday so don't try to deny it."

"I guess with you, I can't. I did it for cost. I thought of it as a way of balancing the scales. I felt I was getting the better end of the deal we had with the portrait so I opted to do the kiln if Trent kept quiet about spoiling the surprise. I guess I just wanted to keep my end of the bargain with you."

"What do you mean?"

"You wanted the amps repaired as a surprise and I spoiled that surprise. I felt bad about that."

"Well, that was sweet of you, but you realize I now have to make it up to you," she said, stretching, not letting herself get cold.

"I don't need anything, Jane. We're cool."

"That's nice. But too bad, you're getting it. How about I spend an afternoon working at your garage doing oil jobs?"

"You know how?"

"No," she admitted.

"Then forget it."

"Okay, how about I bake you a cake?"

"You know how?"

"No, not really."

"Then forget it. But thanks for the offer."

"Okay, here's my last offer. How about we jog together in the mornings?"

"Deal," he said, smiling. She grinned back and they set out on a jog.

Fall continued its struggle against winter and on a cold morning, Daria saw a certain someone in the hallway she'd been looking for and walked up to him, tapping his shoulder. He turned around. "Do my eyes deceive me? Is it the lovely Daria?" he asked in his debonair and sophisticated manner.

"Stuff a sock in it, Upchuck," she returned. "I need your... ...assistance."

"Assistance only the Chuck-meister can give? That's simply... delicious."

Her eyes narrowed into evil looking slits as she replied, "Look, Upchuck. These boots aren't just made for walking. Catch my drift?"

"Crystal. Well, as long as you're here, why don't you tell me what you want so I can ascertain a proper fee schedule."

"What I want is for you to search the school's computer records to find out some information on a certain individual since he keeps his past very quiet. I know where he lives since his address is in the phone book but other than that I don't know much about him."

"Aaah," Charles said knowingly. "Been there, done that. So you're looking for some adequate blackmail material, eh? No problem. I'm your man."

"Not blackmail, Upchuck."

"Revenge then? You're looking to find his schedule in order to lay a fiendish trap. Been there, done that."

"No revenge. Look, all I want to know is his birth date."

"So you can jump out of a cake for him?"

"Does all your thinking go down this logical trail?"

"Of course. Yours doesn't? Anyway, a rival you say? My dear, you know I don't wish to violate the sacred oath I took upon installing the security software on Ms. Li's systems just to waste an undetectable hack on a rival of mine."

"Terms?"

"Not cash this time, my sweet."

"Sigh. Terms."

"A minimum of three dates with yours truly."

"One."

"Two."

"Grumble... the things I do for others... Alright, I'll do it."

"And the name of my rival?"

"It's for Larry."

"Larry Petersen?"

"Yes. You know him?"

Charles remembered.

"Yo, Upchuck? You in there?" Daria asked, snapping her fingers in front of Charles' eyes, breaking his train of thoughts.

He looked at her and with a firm resolve in his voice said, "I won't do it for you, payment or not."

"Waitaminute. I thought we had a deal..."

He cut her off. "I'll do it for myself, for a friend. I'll crack into the school system later today. Meet me by the library after school."

Several hours later Charles walked down a hall, making sure no other students or faculty were near. He was heading for the library and anticipated meeting people then, but not now. He was working on a cover reason to gain access to the lab when he was surprised by an arm shooting out from behind a door, catching his shirt in a grab and yanking him into the empty classroom. Empty save for him and Ms. Barch.

"So, Upchuck. We meet again, eh?"

"Um, Ms. Barch. I didn't do anything today..." he stammered.

"You're a male. You're always up to something."

"Really, Ms. Barch, I don't know a thing about..."

"Can the excuses, Upchuck. I know what you're up to. Me and skinny were near enough to hear part of your plan today to get hack into the school's computer."

"Um, I think I'd like to talk to a lawyer?"

"As if I haven't heard that excuse either! Normally, I'd let you do what you want and let the pieces fall where they may, but dammit, Upchuck, now you're including an innocent young woman in your plans. I don't know what you said to Daria to overwhelm her normally sensible senses and throw in with the likes of you! You're probably planning on getting some dirt or blackmail material on someone and then using her to take the fall in case you're found out. Typical male pattern. Well, let me tell you, it's not going to work this time. You're going down, male!"

Charles knew there was only one tactic left. Since weaseling hadn't worked, it was now time for the truth. He stopped squirming and stood up straight. Her hand still gripping his shirt, he looked down and pulled her hand gently off. He then looked her square in the eye and said, "No blackmail. No dirt. Daria asked me to find out Larry's date of birth so she can get him a birthday present."

Ms. Barch, jaw clench and fists ready to wail, strangely enough calmed a bit. She gave Charles the once over to see if she could detect any lies. She asked, "Larry Petersen?"

"You know him?" Charles replied.

Ms. Barch remembered.

"If I find out you're doing anything to harm Larry," she threatened, scowling her intent without finishing it.

"I'd as soon as ask you out than do anything hurtful," Charles replied full force.

Several corridors away, Daria headed towards the library. As she rounded one corner, Mr. O'Neill caught up with her. "Ah, um, Daria. Funny meeting you here," he began.

"In school? Funny, I thought that was faculty and students usually hung out," she replied, wishing he would go away.

"No, no. I mean, going down this hallway. You know, I've always thought going down hallways as an opportunity to go down another corridor of life."

"One corridor is enough for me, thanks," she replied.

"Are you sure? Wouldn't you like to do something different? How would you like to participate in an afterschool activity?"

"If I've told Jodie once, I've told her 1,402 times the answer is still 'no'."

"Um, how about being a teacher's aide similar to what is done in college?"

"If it's anything that requires me to work, then 'no'. Mr. O'Neill, why are you so interested in getting me involved with something? That is what you're trying to do, isn't it?"

He stopped as did she. He then started to cry, saying, "Oh, bwah-hah-hah. I can't help it, Daria. I don't want to see you head into a life of crime. Ms. Barch and I overheard that you and Charles are going to break into the computer lab for nefarious reasons. I can't allow that to happen, even for you. If only you'd gotten more involved in school activities, then you wouldn't be swayed into this criminal activity. Bwah-hah-hah!"

"Um, there, there," Daria almost consoled a dejected Mr. O'Neill who's head was sobbing on her shoulder. "Um, Mr. O'Neill? You're getting my jacket wet. Besides, we're not going to do anything harmful. I just want to find out the birth date of my friend, Larry."

He stopped crying and lifted his head. "Larry Petersen?" he asked.

"You know him?" Daria replied.

Mr. O'Neill remembered.

"If I find out you're doing anything to harm Larry," he threatened, scowling his intent.

"I'd as soon as ask Upchuck out than do anything hurtful," she replied honestly.

Minutes later Ms. Barch unlocked the lab door and both Daria and Charles entered the computer lab. "Don't be long," Ms. Barch instructed. "The warden makes her regular sweeps through this area every half hour."

"The warden?" Mr. O'Neill asked as the two students slipped inside. "Oh, I get it. Okay, Daria, if Ms. Li does come around, I'll make a whoo, whoo sound like an owl to let you know she's here."

"How about just knocking on the door instead and saying she's here?" said Daria.

"Well, I guess I could do that. But don't you think it would be more covert to use a bird noise?"

"Whatever pumps your sockets," she agreed, rolling her eyes which he missed.

"C'mon, Daria," Charles said as they went into the room.

Soon enough, Charles had access to the school's computer records, quickly finding Larry's transcript. "This is odd," Daria said.

"What?" Charles replied.

"Larry's records indicate his parents as alive but custody given to his uncle Max. It also lists his birthday in 1985, making him 16, not 17 like he said he was."

"I thought he said his parents were dead," Charles pondered.

"I'm not so sure," Daria mused. "He said they were gone, not dead. Do you think he could be lying?"

"It's possible," Charles conceded. "But how do you find out the truth? You can't just go to him and demand answers. If it's one thing I've noticed, he's good at avoiding questions."

"Yeah, and then there's Jane to consider."

"Does it really matter? I mean, Larry's a really nice guy."

Daria nodded. "He is a nice guy. But we need to confirm the truth. It's always important. Maybe there's just some computer error somewhere. Let's check that route first."

"And if that doesn't pan out? Then what? How would you go about researching his life?" Charles asked.

"Simple," said Daria. "Like my mother always taught me when she did research – follow the money."

Eventually, one season slid into another one. The days grew shorter and the temperatures went from the uncomfortable hot of summer to the comfortable of fall back to the uncomfortable of winter. Daria was glad that Larry and Jane were spending time with each other. They had even double dated a few times and Larry was a huge step up over Nathan and his oddball nostalgia fetish. It was just that she couldn't help but feel that Larry was holding something back. Something important. She hadn't been able to find out anything yet, but she knew she was close. Daria was engrossed in this thought while standing at her locker as Jane walked up to her.

"Yo, Daria. So what's the latest crisis?"

"What do you mean?" Daria replied, snapping back to reality.

"What's the latest crisis? It's an easy enough question to answer."

"What makes you think there's a crisis?"

Jane counted on her fingers, "You've been avoiding me for the past week. We haven't even sat together at lunch. You've avoided tormenting Mr. O'Neill when opportunity arises. C'mon, you only do this when there's a crisis of some proportion hanging over your head."

Daria selected her books and closed her locker. "Jane, there's no crisis."

"Then why have you been avoiding me?"

"I haven't been avoiding you."

"Look at me in the eye and say that."

"I haven't been avoiding you."

"Ah-hah! I knew it. You've been avoiding me."

"I just said I haven't been avoiding you."

"Sure you did. I just heard you say it. Only you said it differently. Therefore you've been avoiding me. What gives?"

Daria rubbed the bridge of her nose as an ache began in her temple. "My brain's full from all your circular logic. Can I go home now?"

"No. Not until you tell me what the scoop is."

"Jane, there's nothing..."

"I'll start another pregnancy rumor on you."

"You wouldn't."

Jane looked at Daria, her eyes narrowing as an evil grin formed.

"You would," Daria conceded. "Fine. There's something about Larry that doesn't add up."

"And...?"

"I don't think he's being entirely truthful with us. With you."

"I don't believe it. You're trying to break Larry and me up. Well, it's not going to work, Morgendorffer. Not again."

"Jane, I'm not trying to do that," Daria implored.

"Save it, Daria," Jane seethed. "Some friend you turn out to be."

As Jane stormed off, a dejected Daria stood in the hallway, alone. She didn't like it. She'd been there before. As Jane turned the corner and was gone, Daria turned to go the other way and saw Charles coming towards her.

"Hey, Daria. Any luck?"

Daria quickly composed her features to an unreadable mask. "Yeah. I'm meeting with some of his old teachers next week. You?"

"Surprisingly yes. When I was over at the garage the other day I noticed a couple envelopes on the counter going to a Lester and a Jean, both having addresses in Las Vegas."

"Aren't those the same names of his parents?"

"First names, yes. There were no last names on the envelopes. I traced the addresses and they live within a block of one another. I leave for Vegas a week from Saturday. Can you pick me up at the airport on Sunday?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Something wrong? Usually you'd make some sort of comment about having to pick me up."

"Not now, Upchuck. I'm just having a bad day. Nothing I haven't experienced before. Unfortunately."

Jane walked into the Pizza King with her sunglasses still on her face. It wasn't so much a statement that she was cool or any crap like that – instead, she was really, really tired and didn't want the light of the overhead fluorescent lights to do any more damage than the already too-bright day was doing to them. She looked around and saw Daria waiting for her at their usual booth which was well away from the prying eyes of the "in" crowd.

"Hey," she said as she slid in opposite her friend.

"Hey," Daria got in, a bit of sliding cheese making its way back to the plate in front of her.

Jane helped herself to some of the remaining pizza. "Sorry I'm late. Larry's friend, Hector, finally got his citizenship yesterday and held a party last night to celebrate. Larry invited me and I didn't get home until late. Y'know, it was kind of strange..."

"The moment you tell me anything intimate, I'm out of here."

"Well, so much for the gratuitous sex in this story, Daria. Anyway, what I was going to say was Larry seemed really at ease during that party. He seemed to really relax, a whole lot more than he does at school."

"Can you blame him for being tense at school?"

"Um, I've been thinking about what we talked about the other day. I'm sorry I blew up at you. I couldn't help myself from thinking about the days when Tom was my boyfriend, and when you warned me about Larry – well, I thought you were going to do it again."

"I'd never do that. I don't even want to. You may not believe this, Jane, but I'm not attracted to him. He's more like... a cousin or something. Kind of family, but not the kind that drives you nuts."

"Yeah, I kind of thought that when I saw you two studying in the library the other day. Instead of having some kind of intense discussion, you two were both sitting at the same table quietly. Larry was reading something and you were writing notes on whatever you were reading. I admit I had that boyfriend stealing impression when I was dating Nathan, but I know you'd never do that."

"Again.," Daria supplied honestly.

"Again," Jane said absently, having put her stint with dating Tom long behind her. "But... I don't know. I guess now I'm starting to see some inconsistencies myself."

"Such as?" Daria inquired.

Jane struggled with her answer. Finally, she said, "At the party, it was getting late. Hector's kids had already gone to bed and the others were simply talking with one another. I asked if Hector or Anna had ever seen Max and they said they hadn't. Almost midnight, I then asked Larry if he needed to get back home. He seemed perplexed and asked why. So I asked him if he didn't he need to check in on his uncle since he was still very ill. It was as if he'd forgotten it and when I mentioned it, Larry's demeanor changed subtly. A few minutes later we were saying our good-byes. He took me home and then went back home himself."

"Well, sometimes people forget things." Daria said.

"True. Trent forgets most everything. But still, Daria, there was something... weird... about Larry forgetting. I mean, he's pretty sharp. You talk to him and he'll tell you about observations he's made and so on. We run in the morning so he picks up on a lot. And he's pretty determined to make sure people are treated right. So I asked myself, why would someone like that forget about an ill uncle? Especially if he's the last person left he's related to?"

Jane looked her friend in the eye. "And I couldn't come up with an answer to that."

Daria considered the best way to say something, ignored the feeling that she shouldn't and said instead, "Jane... what if I were to tell you that wasn't the last person left he's related to?"

"What're you saying, Daria?"

"We think he has other people close to him alive. That's what we're trying to verify."

Shocked, Jane said, "You're spying on Larry?"

"I wouldn't exactly call it spying."

"Then what would you call it?"

"Um, intent to spy. I haven't actually gotten around to doing the spying yet. You see, there's a difference – when you're spying, you are actively engaged in the act vs. having spied on someone where you have already done the spying..."

"Daria! You're spying on a friend! Why?"

Sigh. "Okay. Here's the deal. Larry's a good guy. He's helped me in a way no one else has, even though I think he did it indirectly and without thinking about it. As such, I wanted to get him a birthday present. It was while researching his birthday that I found some discrepancies that we're trying to uncover."

"Discrepancies that you were trying to shield me from?"

"Um... yeah. I didn't know what kind of person he is. I didn't want you hurt."

"Awww, you're going soft on me."

"You wish. If you don't believe me, find me a rock to throw at you."

"But one thing I just don't get – who's this "we" you keep mentioning? You going 'royal' on me?"

"Not today I'm not. But as for the 'we' – I'm talking about Upchuck and myself. We're trying to find any traces of his past so we can find any of his family."

"You and Upchuck? Eeewwwww."

"I don't know. He's kind of... feisty."

"Where'd that come from?"

"I don't know. But if I say it again, smack me."

"You can count on me."

"Thanks."

"Can I get in some practice?" Jane asked.

"I've got to start expanding my circle of friends."

"You wish."

"Just do me a favor, Jane. Don't let on with Larry.

"Let on that you're trying to find his family? I think he'd enjoy knowing it."

"I don't want to get his hopes up in case we come up with nothing," Daria supplied.

"Huh. Hadn't thought of that. I'll keep quiet. Who is it? An aunt? Uncle? No, wait, don't tell me."

Daria was glad that she didn't have to skirt the truth any more than she'd had to with her best friend. She didn't want to mention that she and Upchuck were trying to find Larry's parents. It wasn't that she was afraid that she would fail. Just based on observations of Larry and on comments that he didn't make, she was more concerned if she was successful.

Charles had left early Saturday morning for the four hour flight to Vegas. He'd managed to locate the address he had copied down from Larry's shop and was a little surprised that both listings were in the same trailer park on the north end of Las Vegas. The flight had met its share of turbulence once it hit the Rockies but had made it into McCarren International on the south end of Vegas a couple hours ago. Charles made his way through the concourses to a car rental stand. An hour after landing he was finally on his way in a Pontiac.

The only good piece of luck he'd had so far was that the air conditioner in the car worked since for a November day it was unusually warm – in the 90's. An hour later through stop-and-go traffic he made his way into the trailer park. It was nestled in the middle of nowhere and looked as if it had seen better days. Better days several decades ago. There were nearly 100 trailers rusting a slow agonizing death in the middle of the desert. Charles found the road he wanted and drove down it. He noticed the next trailer he wanted to go to was on the next road over.

He went up to the first trailer and knocked on the door. He noticed a fan in the window. So much for air conditioning.

A few minutes went by with no answer. He knocked again on the door, this time much louder.

"Awright, already, dammit! I heard ya the first time!" bellowed a nasal voice that sounded as if its owner had just woken up.

A minute later a very large, portly, at one time blonde (without the use of chemicals) woman opened the door. Her hair was pushed up on one side confirming to Charles that she had just gotten up even though it was fast approaching noon. She had some makeup tattooed on her head – the eyebrows, cheeks, lips. Like it would make all the difference.

"What do you want?" she rasped, lighting up a cigarette.

"Good afternoon. My name is Charles Ruttheimer..."

"Sounds like a dog," she blew smoke in his face.

Charles ignored the dig and continued on. "I'd like to talk to you about your son. Do you mind if I come in?"

She opened the screen door and motioned for him to enter. He did and was careful where he walked and where he sat. The inside of her trailer was filled with boxes and bottles and trash bags filled with whatever. He knew he'd be lucky to escape from that trailer without picking up some disease.

"So how is my little mone... darling?"

"Fine," Charles answered noncommittally. "What I'd..."

"You know why I call him my little darling?"

"Um, no?"

"Because that's what he is. Especially when he sends me the monthly check. You're not here to deliver the check are you?"

"No."

"Oh. Damn. I could've used another glass of wine."

"So, Mrs. Petersen..."

"Smith."

"Excuse me?"

"It's. Ms. Smith. I divorced my little darling's father, Lester, years ago. The rotten bastard."

"What do you..."

"He held me back, you know that?" Her voice deepened. "They both did."

"Excuse me?" Charles was truly baffled.

"He held me back from chasing my dreams. I could've been a movie star. But then Lester had to go and get me pregnant the night of our senior prom. So he did the honorable thing and married me. And now what do I have to show for it? A movie star career cut short. All because I had to give birth instead of having an abortion."

"You have a fine son" Charles pointed out.

"A fine son? Aaahh, he's not my son. He was an accident. He never writes. I even had to threaten him just to get him to send me some money like he does his worthless father!"

Some 1500 miles to the east, Daria walked up to a woman sitting on a bench outside of Highdale High. "Anna Smith?" she asked.

The woman sitting looked at Daria and stood, extending her hand. "Hi. I'm Anna. You must be Daria." They shook hands. "I must say you're a very persuasive person to get me to come here on my day off."

"Thanks for taking the time. I'm just hoping this helps."

"So what can I do for you?"

"You used to teach History to Larry Petersen. Do you by chance even remember him?"

"Absolutely. He's a great kid. Why?"

"I'm trying to find some background on Larry in order to get some ideas for a birthday present. Can you tell me what you thought of Larry?"

"Oh, that's easy. He was an exceptional student. Smart. Really smart."

"Really? What did his friends think?"

"What friends? He never had any. They were always intimidated by him. Calling him an egghead because he could ace tests. They always said he made it harder for them. That's probably... never mind."

"Yes? Please, go on. "

"Well, it's just a feeling really, but a year and a half ago Larry quit doing well in class. It's like he just quit trying. All of a sudden he goes from making A+ papers to doing B-work, from making a 100% on a test to getting an 86%."

"Maybe the material began to be more challenging?" Daria suggested.

"I don't think so. Of the six tests I gave one semester, he got an 86 on all of them."

"Coincidence?"

"I don't think so. He missed the same numbered questions – numbers 6, 12, 18 and 24 each time. He deliberately threw off his score."

"Maybe he was trying to not act like an egghead in order to get some friends."

"If he did, it didn't work. He still didn't have any friends."

"Well, at least he had Max."

"Max? You mean, Max Petersen? Larry's uncle?"

"Um... yeah. You know him?"

"I'd met him a few times but I take it you don't know."

"Know what?" Daria asked confused.

Charles ended his meeting with Ms. Smith and walked to the next trailer and knocked on the door. It opened almost immediately. Standing before him was a six foot tall, portly balding man wearing a stained undershirt beneath his robe. Stubble punctuated his face to make him look older than his 240 lb. weight implied.

"Who're you and what'daya want?"

"Lester Petersen?"

"Yeah," he replied warily. "What'daya want?"

"My name..."

"And what did you want at Jean's place? I saw you over at that fat cow's trailer, you know that?"

"Sir, my name is Charles Ruttheimer..."

"Sounds like a dog. Haw, haw. Good one, ain't it? Dog."

"Sir, can I come in?"

"Why? I pay my rent on time. I know my rights. What do you want?"

"Well, to get out of the heat for one thing."

"Awright, you can come in, but don't touch nothin'. I know what I got and where it all is." He opened the unlocked door and ushered Charles into the main living quarters of the trailer, also cooled off by a fan in the window.

"Sir, I..."

"I know I saw you go into Jean's trailer. I seen it."

"You're right, sir. I did."

"She's a no good, lying, cheating tramp. She didn't say anything about me did she?"

"She said you were the reason she was never a movie star. You and your son, Larry."

"Oh, I take it her lack of talent never came up did it?"

"Mr. Petersen, I'm a friend of your son, Larry."

"What's that little twerp want now? I bet he wants to sell the shop and needs my help. He should've listened to me earlier. He must've run it inta the ground by now."

"What's going on, honey? Who's this?" a very large woman in a bathrobe asked as she walked out into the main area of the trailer.

"Just a friend of my son."

"What does Barry want?"

"I was just asking that before you opened your fat yap!"

"Did he bring the check? Let's celebrate."

Later that day, Charles unwound at a Motel 6, calling back east. The phone rang and on the third ring Daria picked it up. He quickly brought her up to speed with his misadventures in parent-land.

"Really, Daria, I couldn't wait to get out of there," Charles admitted.

Daria sighed. "The news just doesn't get any better," she admitted and then brought Charles up to speed on her meeting with Larry's former history teacher.

Silence hung on the phone after she finished. Then, "Some birthday present this turned out to be," Charles said. "I mean, we've got to do something – Larry can't go on like this. But I'm at a loss for what to do."

"You know, I've got an idea. I need to get some legal advice from my mother..."

"You better watch it – she's going to think you're pregnant again."

"Don't even start that rumor again or I'll kick you so hard..."

"Hey, I learned my lesson the last time."

"Anyway, let me call you back once I run a few ideas by her. They have a fax machine where you're staying?"

"Yep."

"Good. When's your flight arrive tomorrow?"

"It lands at 1:03pm. So give or take, I should be in the terminal hopefully no later than a half hour after that."

"Good. That still gives us an hour to make the deadline. I'll call you back. Later."

"Later."

As Saturday fell into Sunday, the snow quit falling and a calm settled on the city. As dawn broke, Larry met up with Jane and they started out on their jog.

"I love coming out here the morning after a snowstorm," Jane commented, her breath clearly visible in the cold sky.

"I know what you mean. The crisp air, lack of other pedestrians to get in our way..."

"Yeah, that's okay and all but I really like being the first one to mess up the snow," she said, kicking a piece of hard snow out of her way as they ran down a street.

"You sound like one those aggressive drivers bent on going through a puddle next to someone on a sidewalk – just to get them soaked."

"Is there a problem with that?"

He grinned. "You've got some serious problems, you know that?"

"And that's just the way you like it."

"Yeah, yeah ...WATCH OUT!!"

The day before had been warm before the quick moving arctic blast arrived and did a number on the streets. The temperature had fallen quickly the night before, but not before some snow had melted on the asphalt. Once it did melt, it then refroze into black ice.

Larry and Jane ran against traffic on the streets as they normally did. The car coming towards them tried to brake and slow for the stoplight, but instead slid through the intersection and straight towards them at 40 mph. Larry, on the outside, pushed Jane back towards the sidewalk where she landed on her back as she heard the car thud into something.

A moment later she saw Larry's form sliding down from the roof of a parked car.

"Larry!" she cried, rising and running towards him. The car that slid on the ice bad finally stopped after it plowed into another parked car. Larry was on the next car up from that. The driver got out of his car.

Jane was at Larry's side and managed to catch him before he unceremoniously fell off the front grill of the parked car. She noticed that he had landed on the room and slid down to the engine cover and then down to the front of the car. "Larry?!" she cried again, clutching his hand and focusing in on his face.

It was bloodied, with cuts from his forehead dripping into his eyes and down his face. His eyes opened but there was already a glaze beginning.

"...oh, Christ..." he started, also beginning to shake as reality came in.

"Don't talk. Don't move. Yo! Buddy! Call 9-1-1! Have 'em send an ambulance! C'mon, Larry, don't freak out on me. Hold it together."

"...oh, god, Jane. It hurts... Jesus, it hurts so bad."

"I know it does, Larry, but you stay focused with me until the ambulance gets here."

"...help me stand up, okay? Then I'll be all better..."

Jane looked him over quickly and said, "Larry, you can't stand up. Your left leg is broken."

"Is it bad?" Larry asked, finding some reality again.

"The bone's sticking out of the skin."

"Too bad Daria's not here. She might've enjoyed the view. Gggnnnnnnnn!" he grimaced.

"They're on their way, miss," the driver said, still holding his cell phone to his ear. "I'm so sorry – I just couldn't stop. And when I was in the skid, I couldn't even steer anymore. I'm so sorry. Oh, God, I'm sorry."

Larry began shaking even harder. "Jane? I think I'm going into shock."

Jane took off her light coat and put it on him. "The ambulance is almost here – I can hear it now. You're lucky you were hit near a hospital."

Larry looked at Jane's blue eyes and asked, "Would you do something for me?" She nodded. "Let Hector know to open the sealed envelope – it contains instructions for what he needs to do."

The ambulance arrived and two men jumped from the van and rushed to Larry before Jane could say anything.

"Okay, son, you still with us? Good. What's your name?"

"Larry Petersen," he managed between shakes.

"Shock. I'm on it. I'll let the emergency room know we're on our way."

"Okay, Larry, what number can we reach your parents at?"

"No... no parents."

"Guardian then," demanded the paramedic.

"No one. I'm on my own..." Larry said before closing his eyes.

Jane looked down at her bloodied friend as the paramedics worked on him. He was alone. What the hell did that mean? What about his uncle? A few seconds later they had Larry strapped in a gurney, slid him into the van and were rushing towards the hospital.

A police car had arrived as well and one officer was talking to the driver while another was asking Jane if she was okay.

Jane nodded but continued to watch the departing ambulance.

BAM BAM BAM!

Hector Martinez roused himself awake at what he thought was someone pounding on his door.

BAM BAM BAM!

Someone was knocking on his door. At this hour? Grumbling, he put on some pants and shoes and went to the front door. Brrr, it was cold this morning.

"Go away! The shop no open until tomorrow. Bring car back then," he yelled through the door, not opening it.

"Mr. Martinez?" the voice asked. "It's Jane Lane. Larry's been hurt and needs you to do something!"

Hector opened the door and ushered Jane inside. As he did so he noticed the police car start backing up out of his driveway. He brought Jane into the kitchen and started some coffee while Jane told him what had happened this morning. He didn't feel like drinking any after hearing the news but knew that if he didn't he wouldn't be fully awake for another half hour. By this time the rest of the house was awake and in the kitchen, listening to Jane's story.

"...and then the police dropped me off here. What're we going to do? Larry said he was alone..." she left the rest of her thought unsaid.

Gulping some of the black liquid down, Hector opened a cabinet over the refrigerator and pulled out some paperwork. Most of it he put right back in but he kept out the big manila envelope which Jane noticed had written on the front and back 'Do Not Open'. He opened it and pulled out some papers. After a few minutes of reading he looked up and said, "Manny? Read this. Tell me what you think it means."

Manny took the paper and read it a lot quicker than his father. Finally, he said, "It says you need to call this lawyer, papa. Then say something to him and the business is yours."

Jane, confused, asked Manny, "May I?" He handed over the paper. "Um... should anything happen to me, Hector, the shop is yours... blah, blah, blah ...contact the lawyer listed in here to begin the title transfer... blah, blah, blah ...it says Larry was planning on doing this anyway once he graduated from high school but if anything was to happen to him, he wanted you to have it instead of as he puts it, some overzealous government bumpkins take it over and run it in his "care" until he turned 18. But what does all this mean?"

Upchuck came down the flight ramp and was met by an agitated Daria. He could tell she was agitated as she remained still as he walked out and asked, "What, no hug?"

"We need to get to the hospital. Larry's been hurt in a car accident," she said, turning to leave.

Upchuck grabbed his bags and ran after Daria. "Hurt? How bad?"

"I'm not sure," she replied, picking up the pace. "I'd gone over to talk with Jane earlier but she wasn't home. I then went over to Larry's Fixit shop – but she wasn't there, and neither was he. Once I got here, I called home to see if any messages had come in and my mother said that Jane had called looking for me and that she was in the hospital with Larry. Apparently they were running and he'd gotten hit by a car. She didn't know how bad it was."

"Well, thanks for at least sticking around to give me a lift," he said honestly.

"I figured you'd be concerned like me. You get the paperwork I faxed yesterday?"

"Got it."

"Any problems with the signatures?"

"Not after I added a few enticements they wanted."

Daria looked at her watch and said, "We don't have much time. We've got less than two hours to get this done if we want to reach the deadline."

"Your mother finish up with the papers here?" he asked, putting his luggage in the trunk of Daria's car.

"She wasn't really comfortable with it but my dad got her to agree."

A harrowing half-hour later, Upchuck got out of Daria's car, thankful to be alive.

"Oh, it wasn't that bad," Daria said, grabbing his arm and getting him to move his stubborn legs.

"Try telling that to my spleen," he griped, entering the hospital.

Daria and Upchuck went to the information desk and got the room Larry was in. As they got off the elevator on the third floor, they could hear his voice from a room not far from the nurse's desk.

"...but I don't want it. I only want you to be okay and come back to the shop," Hector's voice protested from inside the room.

Larry replied calmly. "It's too late. I kind of figured that you might need some convincing on this so I went ahead and called and left instructions on Mr. Green's answering machine to run the transfer through. It's yours no matter what, compadre. And believe me, I'd much rather you get the shop than anyone else."

"But you and your uncle..." Hector began again.

"I'll manage, Hector. I can't say the same about you if you don't get a bookkeeper, though. You stink at doing the books and paying the bills."

"So says the gringo who sweats more than a mule."

"Where'd that come from?" Larry asked, smiling.

Hector hung his head in defeat. "I don't know. I ran out of good ideas. It must be the air here in the hospital."

"What's going on?" Daria asked, walking into the room. Inside, Larry was lying on a bed, his left leg in traction. His head was bandaged and he generally looked like crap with dark circles under his eyes. Other smaller bandages adorned his face, nose, arms and chest. Hector and Anna Martinez were standing on the right side of the bed and Jane was on the left, sitting at the foot.

"Good to see you, Daria, Chuck," Larry said, smiling at her.

"Good to see you too, Larry," Daria returned.

"You look like crap," Upchuck noted. "What's wrong? Cut yourself shaving again?"

"Like you'd know," Larry returned with a grin.

"Jane?" Daria asked. "How are you doing?"

She looked a little less like crap, but a whole lot better than Larry. "Okay. It's just that everything I thought I knew about you," she said to Larry, "has been turned on its head. I mean, how can you give away the shop? You don't even own it. It's your uncle's, isn't it? What about him?"

"Max Petersen died three years ago, didn't he, Larry?" said Daria.

Larry's eyes softened as he replied, "Yes. He did. From cancer. How'd you know?"

Daria took a seat on the second bed in the room. "Three weeks ago I got together with Upchuck here to find out some information on you."

"We wanted to get you a birthday present but we didn't know when your birthday was. So when in doubt, break in to the computer records."

"I was getting to that."

"I didn't want to be here all day until you got to it," Upchuck returned.

"Anyway, we found some discrepancies in your computer record and began researching it to find out what the problem was – if it was a computer error, or if you'd been misleading us. Anyway, this is what we found. Your name is Larry Petersen, age 16 although you say you're 17 going on 18 in order to avoid certain labor laws. It also listed your parents as alive. Both parents, not just one.

"So we went into research mode. Near as I can determine, when you were 7, your mother left you and your father. Tax records suddenly went from joint filing to single filing and I couldn't locate a death certificate."

Charles said, "And the nearest I could figure out was that she took off and headed for Hollywood, to chase her dreams."

Larry remembered.

"I left for school one day and when I came back home that afternoon, my mother had already gone. Later on my father found a letter and drank himself to sleep that night. I didn't know what was going on then but I thought something bad had happened so I read the paper for stories and obits for the next few months for anything about my mother. As you can expect, nothing ever showed up. I didn't really know how to read either but I could look at every picture that I saw. Eventually, I just quit looking. And as I grew older, as far as I was concerned she was dead – she left and never came back."

"I think your father felt the same way," Upchuck continued. "He began moving you around took a variety of jobs over the next four years or so. Researching apartment rental records found you stayed in unit after unit for a few months, usually moving in the middle of the night to skip rent. My guess is that when you were about age 11 your father dropped you off here in Lawndale since that's when I found your first school record. I don't know if your father stayed here but your address is still the same – the Fix-It Shop owned by Max Petersen, your uncle."

Larry remembered.

"Leaving me with Max turned out to be a blessing in disguise when my father abandoned me. For the next three years Max went from a devout bachelor to being the best father anyone could have. He taught me everything I know about working on cars. How that you may not know what the problem is but you can usually figure out what it isn't and then work from there. How to always question everything and not simply take the easiest answer as the final answer. This allowed us to get a variety of odd jobs when not too many car jobs were coming our way as Max had only recently opened his garage.

"Heh. I remember this one time we got a job and I had it solved in five minutes, even before Max had gotten his wrenches out. I thought at the time Max would've been upset by me outperforming him, but instead he looked at me and said he was proud of me."

Daria picked it up again. "But then your uncle Max developed lung cancer and died three and a half years ago. Obituaries confirmed it. This was just before you entered high school. Since I never did find a school transcript for you for the 5^th grade, I surmise you skipped it. During all the time you moved around with your father he moved you from school to school as well which helped hide the fact that you simply skipped a year of school."

"But with your uncle gone, how'd you survive on your own?" Upchuck asked.

"I had to," Larry said, as he remembered.

"For some reason, my father came back here after the funeral. He wanted to sell the business and head for Vegas. I knew even if he sold it for some decent money he'd blow it in Vegas. I managed to convince him that it would be more profitable to let me run the business and then send him a percentage every quarter. That way there'd always be a source of income. My father agreed and drove off again with his toots in tow. That was the last time I ever saw him."

Upchuck picked up where Daria left off. "My research shows that shortly after your uncle's death, you hired a couple of mechanics. One of those turned out to be Hector here. He's lasted the longest of your crew. Correct?"

"Yep."

"I stay because Larry a good kid, not because of his cheap pay," Hector said with a wink and a smile to Larry. "He say his uncle Max was very sick and needed to stay in bed most of the time but we always thought highly of Larry. Especially after he started helping me study for my citizenship."

"So you were on your own," Daria said, glancing at her watch. "You hired people and ran a shop. You went to school and were mostly overlooked according to one of your old teachers. I looked at your transcripts – you're very bright. Almost all A's and I think the only reason they're not all A's is that you didn't want to bring any extra attention to yourself. You always wanted someone else to take the lead so you could slip in the background."

" I don't think you'd really know anything about that."

"I think both of us know a little more about that than you think," Upchuck replied for both of them.

"In any event, about nine months ago you received a letter regarding zoning changes in the county and found yourself having to go to a new school. You attend Lawndale High for your senior year. Only this time you do something different – you make friends."

"It was Hector's fault. He made me do it," Larry said with a half smile.

"Friends who wanted to get you a birthday present. The same people you said your parents were dead to and that your uncle Max was alive to," Upchuck pointed out.

"Max is alive," Larry replied, thumping his chest. "In here. I remember him. I miss him."

Daria said, "But your parents are alive as well. Upchuck went and found them in Vegas yesterday.

"I found both your mother and father living near each other in the same trailer park, each shacked up with someone else, and both being equally drunk. Through conversations with them, I pieced together your life. And when Daria and I compared notes, we found a lot of your motives that were strange before now had a reasoning behind them."

The room was quiet for a minute before Anna finally said, "All this is history, but what's going to happen to Larry now?"

Upchuck stated, "Well, since he's technically a minor in the eyes of the law, he's going to lose his independence, possibly go to a foster home which can be a crap shoot with what you get – either it's good or it'll be like going to prison. My guess is that Larry's not going to like it any way you shake a stick at it."

"So this is where Upchuck and I had an idea of what to get Larry for his birthday." Daria glanced at her watch again and was silent.

Another minute went by.

"Well?" Jane demanded. "What is it?"

"Almost there. In five... four... three... two... one..."

"Happy birthday, Larry," Daria said.

"We'd have brought a cake but the nurses confiscated it," lied Upchuck. "It's 2:37 in the afternoon. You were born at this time, 17 years ago. We checked."

"Um, hello?" Jane inserted. "What's the big surprise you have in store for him?"

"Larry wants something that he can't have for years to come. He said so himself." Daria looked at Larry firmly in the eyes. "Larry wants a family."

"But you said he's already got a family," Jane stated.

Upchuck replied, "No, Larry has biological parents but not a family. I'm going to make this as blunt as I can. Your parents suck. They suck at being parents and they suck at being your family. They both abandoned you and then used you. First your father wanted you to send him money and when your mother found out about it, she wanted in on the action."

"Which is where your present comes in," Daria said, pulling out some papers from a pocket inside her jacket. "It comes in two parts but it is for you to decide if you want it. First, here are some forms that divorce you from your parents. You need to sign them and we'll get my mom to finish up the legal work on it."

Larry took the papers from Daria. Jane noticed that the papers were shaking Larry's nervous hands. He said, "How'd you get my moth... Jean and Lester to sign these?"

"A case of bourbon did the trick for each. And worth every damn cent," said Upchuck.

"But if I sign these, then I'll definitely go to foster care."

"True," replied Daria. "But only if we didn't have a second form for you to sign. Here." She handed him another set of papers.

Larry read them quickly, glancing over the legal mumbo-jumbo and instead went straight to the content. His hands were still shaking as he finished reading and looked up at Daria and Upchuck who were standing next to his bed with the others.

"This is an adoption form with my name filled out," he said.

"Correct. You now get to decide if you want a family of your choosing, or one forced on you by the courts. My mother will help with these forms as well if you decide to fill them out."

"But... who? Who's going to adopt me? That part's not filled out."

"I'm game. I'd do it."

Larry looked at Upchuck and asked, "You mean it?"

"Yes."

Daria commented, "Upchuck is now legally an adult of 18 years. By adopting you, he can keep you from going to foster care – at least for the next year until you gain legal status of his own."

"Hey, don't rule me out of this," Jane interjected.

"Jane," Daria observed, "we don't live in the backwoods of Tennessee. Think about it. You'd be dating your brother."

"Eeeewwwww," said a voice near the author's ear.

"Where'd that come from?" Jane asked.

"I'm not sure. But it seems to follow me everywhere I go anymore," complained Daria.

"Why, Chuck?" Larry asked, his tone desperately wanting an answer.

"Because I can. And because... I want to."

"Jeez, Upchuck – I didn't know you had it in you," Jane smiled.

"Ahhh, don't read too much into it. I just need someone to bully around into cleaning the house every weekend so I won't have to do it anymore."

"Always with the ulterior motives, eh?" Larry said with a grin.

"Damn straight."

Daria said, "Larry? You do have more options. I turn 18 next month and am willing to adopt a brother."

"And me," Hector said. "I would be happy to make you my boy since you're my boy almost now."

"I've also talked tentatively with Ms. Barch and Mr. O'Neill. They're willing to look after you as well. You have friends and can make your own family as you choose."

"I... I don't know what to say," he stammered.

"Whatever you decide will be fine with us," replied Anna. "We all know you have heart in right place."

"You don't have to decide now, but give it some thought. There are a lot of people who want you in their lives. None of us feel burdened by it either. And by choosing one, it doesn't mean you'll lose any of the others. But it is your decision."

Several hours after visiting hours ended and the social services staff had made their rounds touting their fine list of foster homes, one of which they'd place him in since he had no other family around, Larry pulled a folder out of the stand next to his bed. He read the documents again and thought of his parents, his uncle Max, his friends, his feisty (where the heck did that come from?) girlfriend – then put a stop to the girlfriend images in case it caused other reactions in his body.

He knew he'd never be entirely free of the influence his parents had put on him. But if he didn't try, he knew he'd slump into depression or worse. That was a road he didn't want to go down.

Helen would be available to oversee the documents whenever he wanted to sign them, or if he ever did.

He thought long and hard about the idea of giving up his parents. He thought back to an event he remembered at the mall two years ago. A little 3-year old boy was being walloped by his mother because he was whining. A spank on his tush would have been all that Larry would have done to get the boy's attention and hopefully get him to stop whining or crying. But this boy's mother just used her hand and smacked him up one side of his head to the other. He might've started this by whining but he couldn't do anything to stop it. And she seemed out of control.

Another passerby, a hairy man with a beard, had stepped into the matter and started walking towards her, yelling for her to stop it and if she didn't, he was prepared to arrest her since he was an off-duty police officer. Larry didn't know if that man's story was true (he suspected it wasn't) but she had stopped swatting her son and promptly went back into the mall, presumably to get away from the man.

She didn't bring her son with her, but as soon as the boy realized he wasn't being hit anymore, his nose still running and tears in his eyes, he went after her and tried to hold her hand.

Larry stood and thought about that for over ten minutes. The little boy didn't know anything else but that abusive mother. He felt sad for the little boy. His parents weren't abusive to him – mainly because they weren't around. But the effect was similar. Scars would be left and he was thinking he needed them because that was all he had.

Now, he knew different. That was the family he was born with.

Now it was time to make a new family. One he chose. One he wanted. And one who wanted him back.

He filled out the forms. He never wanted anything to do with his biological parents again.

He then pulled the phone on the stand nearer and dialed a number. A voice picked up.

"Hi," Larry started. "I was just going over the forms. Um... did you mean it earlier? Would you really be my family?"

"Yes," the voice replied.

"Come by as soon as you can tomorrow. And bring Mrs. Morgendorffer with you so we can get this legalized as fast as possible. I'm looking forward to spending some time with my ...family."

He hung up the phone and laid back, closing his eyes. As Larry fell asleep, he thought of his next run in the park. He could see himself running faster and faster and seeing the park bench come into view.

Faster and faster he approached it – only to pass it by. It wasn't important anymore.

"Family," he muttered as he fell asleep.

Location: Lawndale High cafeteria

Time: afternoon, May 2002

Jane: I can't believe you read it last night.

Daria: Believe.

Jane: How repugnant was it? Wait. Don't tell me, as your friend I don't want to know. No, tell me.

Daria: It was...

Jane: Wait! Don't tell me. I can't handle it. Some things are better left unsaid.

Daria didn't say anything. She sat at the table as Jane spoke.

Jane: So are you coming over later? We've got a moral imperative to crucify the latest 007 video...

Daria: That's it! Why didn't I think of it sooner? Jane, gotta go. Pizza later?

Jane: Uh, sure. Call me.

Daria: Later.

Daria takes off and is out of the lunchroom in moments. View angle shifts to a hallway. Upchuck is seen at his locker, sitting on the floor, reading a book. Daria comes up to him and nudges his leg with her foot. Upchuck gets up.

Upchuck: My ship has finally come in. What was it that turned you towards me, my Morgendorffer beauty?

Daria: Can it, Upchuck. I just wanted to ask you some questions.

Upchuck: Yes. I'm free this Friday night. In fact, any night you want me, I'm free.

Daria: You're not making this easy, are you? Fine. I'll cut to the chase.

Upchuck: Feisty, aren't we?

Daria: I read your story you handed in for the time capsule.

Upchuck: ... why? I specifically told you that you didn't have to. I'd already taken care of the formatting, spell check, everything.

Daria: It was the title. It wasn't nearly as repulsive as I thought it'd be so I wanted to see why not.

Upchuck sank back to the ground and put his hands over his face. Daria sank down next to him, her back to the locker.

Daria: Just tell me why you did it.

Upchuck: Did what?

Daria: Wrote about someone else.

Upchuck: It was the assignment.

Daria: I was there, remember? It wasn't part of the parameters. That was subjective on your part. You wrote about someone other than you. That was my first clue. But can you at least tell me why you put certain real-life references in there?

Upchuck: Can you be a little more specific?

Daria: My life. You picked up that I wasn't happy at home – how?

Upchuck: Who has a happy life at home these days? Name one and I'll show you a liar. We all pretty much have the same problems as well. Some differences but more often than not, they all boil down to the same thing.

Daria: Point. Then mine and Jane's life. Last week. Discussing the horrors of Evil Dead 3 we'd watched the night before.

Upchuck: You were within earshot at the time. I needed some movement on the character so I put that in.

Daria: There was more to it, don't deny it.

Upchuck: Really, my precious little ego-inflator, if I'd wanted...

Daria: You put in references to my family. You put in references to Jane's family. These references were more accurate than not. You put in references to your character Larry's family. But the only reference you put in for your own family was near the end when you mentioned something about not wanting you dad to contest an adoption. A writer usually writes from observations or from experience. Your descriptions of mine and Jane's life were also pretty detailed. Even Larry had a detailed life. Even Mr. O'Neill and Ms. Barch had more of a life than your family. Why?

Upchuck ran his hands through his hair. Once, twice, a third time. He looked at his watch. He wasn't smiling.

Daria: Dammit, why?

Upchuck: ...because I saw something in your life that I liked.

Daria: A family?

Upchuck: How did you guess?

Daria: You all but spelled it out in the story, Charles.

Upchuck: Truth, then?

Daria: No punches held, no quarter given.

Upchuck: Good enough. Think about it. A family is only part of it. I want its base component.

Daria: ...you want acceptance.

Upchuck: You're very perceptive.

Daria: It's the glasses. But you already have acceptance. You already have a family.

Upchuck: Tell that to my ever supportive parental units.

Daria: Not there much, eh?

Upchuck: You mean, show up for the humdrum of homelife when you can stay at work and go to the club later? Or stay home for the unique boredom domesticity gives you vs. going someplace where you can ignore the fact you have children? On my last birthday my father called me from a cruise ship and asked me if the lawn had been mowed. That was it. Hell, even Jane has a better life with her parents gone more than I do with mine here.

Daria: Charles, we all have...

Upchuck: Did I ever tell you that I have a younger brother?

Daria: You have a brother?

Upchuck: A year younger than me. His name was Larry. He was stillborn. I never got to know him. I wish I could've gotten the chance. As is, I'm an only child of noninvolved parents who seem to have time for each other when it's convenient but not for me. Not now, not ever.

Daria: How many friends do you have, Charles?

Upchuck: Do imaginary friends count?

Daria: Only if they carry plastic and can pick up the tab.

Upchuck: Well, in that case... none.

Daria: We can change that, you know.

Upchuck: How so?

Daria extends her right hand.

Daria: I'll be your friend. You can never have enough.

Upchuck: But what about you and Jane?

Daria: Like I said, you can never have enough friends.

Upchuck: Why?

Daria: Why what?

Upchuck: Why would you suddenly want to be friends with me? You've had the last few years to do it and you haven't gone out of your way to do it any of those times.

Daria: Your story was very specific in certain areas. The way you described my lack of a relationship with my father and how you wrote it so that I got to know him again...

Upchuck: I was writing about my own wishes for my own father on that, you know.

Daria: I gathered. But what I saw from it was... kindred spirits. We're more alike than you know.

Upchuck spent a moment digesting this. He looked at Daria who looked at him, her hand still extended.

Upchuck: Well in that case... friends.

They shook on it.

Daria: You know, I'm curious. Whose family did he join?

Upchuck: Who?

Daria: Your character, Larry. Yours?

Upchuck: Are you kidding? I'm looking to leave it as soon as I can – why would I want to subject someone else to the same thing I'm going through. Yours was a more favorable alternative. But at this point I'm not saying. I'll leave it up to the reader to decide what they want.

Daria: You suck.

Upchuck: I do, don't I? Um... I hate to bring it up, but being friends – how does that change things between us?

Daria: Well, you realize, of course, that since I'm now your friend you can't hit on me or use any pickup lines around me or on my friends or say the word feisty in my presence. Violation of these rules will result in my kicking you very hard where the sun don't shine.

Upchuck: Hmmm. I take it that it's too late to back out of this friendship thing?

Daria: You got that right.

Upchuck: Then I'll have to work on a new catchphrase. How about, 'Dyn-o-mite, Daria'!

Daria: I'm going to kick you.

Upchuck: 'What choo talkin' about, Daria'?

Daria: You will pay.

Upchuck: 'Kiss my grits'!

Daria smiled and lightly punched him on the shoulder.

Charles returned the smile but not the punch.

Nick: Discussion. What conclusions can you draw from this story? Larissa, you certainly seem to have an opinion on him.

Larissa: It was fairly obvious with the story by itself. The protagonist wanted a family. He had a family that he was stuck with who were a bunch of losers and he wanted to get away from them and get a new and hopefully better family. His new family came from his friends. Or, friendship is family. That was the underlying theme throughout the entire story.

Barry: Snooze alert.

Nick: Your input then, Barry.

Barry: I could barely keep my eyes open as I read it. So he had a couple of bad parents. At least he had parents vs. others who have never had any. Or at least his parents left him alone and didn't beat the crap out of him.

Diana: Each of those is a different kind of pain, but it is still a related pain to the kind the character felt.

Ben: It was still a snoozer. Where was the action?

Nicole: Who says a story needs to have action to be a good story?

Rich: Well, if it doesn't have any, then it might as well be a chick-flick story.

Jane: Better a chick-flick than a Stallone.

Dan: C'mon, that guy was the best action star of his time.

Naomi: Sure he was. When pigs fly.

Bob: I heard some guy was working on splicing that gene into a pig.

Kara: You would.

Nick: People! We're getting off track here. The story is the discussion, not Bob's obsession with flying pigs.

Bob: Hey!

Mike: No matter what you say, I thought the guy was a wimp.

Nick: Defend your position, Mike.

Mike: The author was correct in his statement that every kid has problems at home. Not all problems are the same. Again, true. But you can't just ignore them and hope they go away. You deal with them and work through it. This character wanted a new family instead of working with his current family. That was a cop-out. He gave up. He didn't defend his family.

Larissa: He didn't have a family to defend.

Mrs. Whitmore: Be that what it may, we could go on and on about this and how some people quit relating to family and how others work at maintaining relationships. We're running short on time. Barry, Larissa, where is Charles now and overview on his artifact, please.

Larissa: Charles Ruttheimer went to Columbia University and dropped out just shy of graduating. I think this put a strain on his relationship with his father and mother. Tax records indicate he held a variety of jobs on the west coast from working on a fishing boat in Alaska to a bar in Sacramento. This lasted for six years when he settled in Lincoln, Nebraska. In 2013, an article showed in their daily paper about his reopening of a farm sector for private use. This wasn't real news since conglomerates routinely gave sections of land back to farmers to work. What made this newsworthy was that he sued and won a huge stretch of land from a corp. I'm not sure I understood how he did it – it had something to do with Gummi worms and other sugar products. Anyway, he got it and then gave all the land away except for a small bit which he kept for himself to use. A couple years later he marries. Another article, this time giving family members in attendance. His family wasn't listed so I don't think any of them showed up. His mother died in 2019. His father remarried a woman 32 years his junior in 2021. He left control of the company to the new wife when he died in 2024.

Bob: What a bastard. He screwed his own kid out of his inheritance.

Larissa: And that's good enough reason to not associate with a blood family if you ask me. Anyway, Charles has lived the last 30 years in Nebraska. He's served on a couple city councils, fought for farmer rights especially when the sugar purge hit. I called him up for an interview and got his son instead.

Mrs. Whitmore: Does that mean... he died?

Larissa: No. He and his wife are on an Alaskan vacation and won't be back for another few weeks.

Nick: Barry? What did he leave behind?

Barry: He left behind some plastic egg shells, a small, frayed wicker tube and a black stick.

Nick: You didn't research it, did you?

Barry: Sure I did. Um... no.

Nick: Bob? What are they?

Bob: Magician props. A wand, the shell game trick, and I forget what the last one is called. It's to catch your finger and hold it in place.

Nick: Thank you, Bob. Good work, Larissa. Barry, you and I need to talk later. Who's up next? John, Elizabeth – you two volunteering? Good enough.

E-Mail me if you want.

Disclaimer

Copyright (C) 2001 by Steven A. Brown, all rights reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, with the exception of 1) brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews (yeah, like that's going to happen), and 2) the complete, unaltered text of this work, including this disclaimer (or an electronic document containing same and which has been data-compressed using a lossless algorithm) when used or reproduced for private and non-commercial use only (again, like that's going to happen).

Permission is granted to repost, republish, or retransmit this work in any way, shape, or form as long as these disclaimers remain intact, and no one except Glenn Eichler, Susie Lewis, MTV Studios, or Viacom, the parent of MTV receive financial remuneration.

The Characters of Daria Morgendorffer, Quinn Morgendorffer, Jane Lane, Trent Lane, Kevin Thompson, Michael Jordan "Mack" MacKenzie, Brittany Taylor, Jodie Landon, Sandi Griffin, Timothy O'Neill, Angela Li, Anthony DeMartino, and many more, even if not mentioned here, are the creation of Glenn Eichler and Susie Lewis and Copyright MTV Studios. This story is in no way to be construed as a challenge to said copyright.

The Characters of future students are entirely fictionalized and only sounds like the names of other fan fiction authors whose work I have read and enjoyed. Just wait until I start putting in other author's nam... er, that is, it's all a coincidence I tell you. A coincidence! To those of you who may be offended, remember: this is a cartoon. This is not and could never be real. Or could it? I leave questions like that to philosophers, or to OTR drivers who have experienced significant sleep deprivation.