5 Minute Fiction: The Ballad of the Birthday Burden (3.5/3)

(set between "Jane's Addition" and "Partner's Complaint")


It was Daria's birthday. She found it hard to get excited about the anniversary of her birth at the best of times. Even when she wasn't feeling particularly depressed or cynical, it seemed ridiculously arbitrary to assume that just because the sun had risen and fallen three hundred and sixty-fiveish times that she should suddenly become wiser, more mature, automatically deserving of gaining responsibility and losing innocence. There were still parts of Earth where it had yet to be her birthday, and places where it had already been gone. It was all meaningless if you looked at it logically.

Especially when you were feeling particularly depressed and cynical, which she was.

***

Her birthday fell in November and that year that month had seen her reality turned upside and inside out. Jane had a boyfriend now. A smartass called Tom who thought he was better than other people and had the wit to point it out. Daria might have liked him if he hadn't snatched the only friend she had out of her life and made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her.

This was all clearly some ridiculously tortured metaphor for how Daria's clinical detachment was simply untenable in the long run when faced with human society and its environment.

Or just another reminder that she was stupid to assume even Jane Lane could ignore some primitive rutting instincts for her supposedly best friend. Oh, and Trent had made it unspokenly clear he wanted nothing more to do with her. She didn't get him, apparently.

Daria had tried to be very calm and mature about things. She'd stopped picking fights with Tom (which was surprisingly difficult, given every smug word out of his stupid mouth was to gloat how she had no one and he had Jane) and gone out of her way to avoid Casa Lane. Leave the two love birds together to fly or crash and burn.

She wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of letting them blame her for when it all went wrong.

***

Daria had woken up early as daylight crept through the windows of her bedroom, turned the dull grey padding into a slightly paler, more wasted shade of pointlessness. Daria lay in bed, staring at the ceiling she could barely focus and tried to sense any difference in the world since midnight.

Nope. Everything sucked as much as it did yesterday, with a confident promise it would get worse.

She held up a hand as far as she could while keeping it in focus. It was as blunt, graceless and unfeminine as ever, but she was sure once it had been softer and smoother. A dozen years of cruel reality hadn't improved it. What good did those hands do? They hadn't created anything, improved anything, even though they were easily enough to throttle Quinn. How long before they were gnarled, wrinkled arthritic claws even more useless than they were now? One day, one birthday, she'd not have to imagine.

What a wonderful thing to look forward to.

"Happy birthday, kiddo!" boomed a familiar voice from outside. "How's my sweet daughter feeling on this wonderful day! I'll make waffles if you like!"

"Sure, thanks," Daria grunted.

That was the peak excitement for the morning.

***

The waffle mix was out of date, so it was toast for breakfast. Mom had left early for some case but found enough time to embrace her daughter, kiss her on the head, wish her happy birthday and left.

"Oh, and don't forget to let us know if you want something special!" her father offered as he left for work with a wave.

She hadn't asked for anything, and painful experience had taught her parents it was a waste of time and money trying to surprise her. She'd got a printer earlier in the year, so nothing obviously useful and practical was on offer.

Daria didn't complain. That would sort of imply she'd expected anything else. Something better.

Quinn said nothing to her that morning. Not a word.

"Is this your special gift to me on this happy day?" asked Daria as she munched her birthday lukewarm toast. "Sparing me your voice."

"Something like that," Quinn croaked. Even Daria wanted to wince in sympathy; the girl sounded like her larynx had been replaced with sandpaper.

"Well, I was hoping for a card for your favorite cousin, but it's clear you have more important things to deal with. Still, at least you're not wishing me a happy birthday because we both know that would be an utter lie."

Quinn glared at her but said nothing.

"I'm sure your silence will provide plenty of allure with your suitors. Now, I must go before jealousy over your full and happy life drives me to despair."

***

"Hey, amiga, wait up!"

Ah. This is what happens when the person you're trying to avoid goes to the exact same school as you on the exact same street at almost the same time and can also easily outrun you.

"Something happen?" Jane asked as she caught up with Daria. "You didn't come round to my place to kick me out of bed. Did Russia launch missiles or something?"

"I just wasn't sure you'd want me round there."

"And what undermined your normal steadfast certainty?"

"Well, Tom might not have wanted you kicked out of bed and given me one of his withering, soul-destroying put-downs for daring to get in the way of his life."

"Worse, he might have wanted a threesome," mused Jane, stroking her chin. "And I know how selfish you are in bed, Morgendorffer."

"Then it was a narrow escape for all concerned."

"You wouldn't have interrupted Tom anyway."

"Already run off now he's got his oats, huh?" said Daria flatly. "Men, they're all bastards."

"He didn't stay over at my place, Daria, and we definitely didn't do the forbidden mommy and daddy dance. We do have some hygiene standards you know."

There goes that birthday wish, Daria thought. "Well then I guess I'm just young and naive, since I don't know what it's like to be in love with a fine and upstanding man."

"If that ever happens to me, I'll let you know," Jane promised. "As long as you're not avoiding me."

"I like to think I'd be better at it than this," Daria replied. "Plus, Tom made it clear he would enjoy your company more than mine."

Jane sighed. "Come on, Daria, he doesn't mind spending time with you," she insisted.

"But he's not dating me. He's dating you. So he prefers you to me."

"Yeah, I guess..."

"So, giving him more time with you is a nice thing to do, isn't it?"

"True. Which makes me all the more suspicious about your intentions."

"It's a new year's resolution."

"I think your calendar needs fixing, amiga."

"You're right. There's nothing special about today."

"Well, you're apparently trying to spread joy among other people. I think you could call in sick. Mind you, defining 'sick' to the teachers as opposed to your normal mindset would be difficult."

Daria thumbed the straps of her backpack. "Besides, what would I do with today off? I should save the sick day for a special occasion."

"Your call," Jane shrugged.

"Exactly. What's the date today?"

"You ask me this while the sun is still up? I'm barely awake as it is. I think it's near the start of the month..."

"Well, there's nothing this month to be interested in, is there?"

Jane shrugged. "Unless you know something about the Mayan Calendar I don't..."

"No. Nothing this month. So, I trust you and Tom had a good time the other night?"

"You would not believe what happened at the Arcade!"

"But you're not willing to risk it."

And Daria listened patiently all the way to school about how awesome Tom was and how happy he made Jane. Tom had told her he wasn't taking her friend away and Jane always talked about Daria to him.

Well, maybe they had.

In fact, she almost felt well-disposed towards Tom right now. She hadn't expected him to remember her birthday. And no illusions he would give a damn if she'd reminded him.

***

Classes. Bells. Hallways. A bathroom break. Lunch in the cafeteria. It was raining outside, so even sitting under a tree reading a book was off-limits. Jane told her about Tom. They discussed the idiocy they encountered in students and teachers alive.

Just another empty day, creeping inevitably to its conclusion.

"So, any plans for tonight?" Jane asked.

"I have a vague objective of being alive tomorrow, but easy come easy go." Daria sighed. "But don't worry, you're free to get pizza with Tom."

"Hey, despite what those gutter tabloids keep insisting, I have a life outside my stunning hunk of a boy toy, you know," Jane scolded her gently.

"I'm sure you'll find a way to overcome that obstacle given enough time, effort, and leather restraints."

"It's a Monday, Daria, and even I need a break from some wise-cracking sarcasm master screaming for my body and begging to get into my underwear. Still, you do bring other things to the table."

"Including a gag reflex."

"No one's perfect."

"Apart from you and Tom of course."

"I try not to fly in the face of public opinion. Is this about Trent?" Jane asked suddenly.

Yeah. Why not?

"Definitely."

"I thought we'd forgiven him about screwing us over with the music?" Jane frowned. "Damn it, are you saying we're supposed to be mad with him and all this time he's getting away with it..."

"Trent was quite disappointed with me."

"With YOU?" Jane was shocked. "Oh, I am just gonna love the explanation for this one..."

"He was upset I didn't understand how he thinks and that, deep down, he could never get together with me."

"On student projects or as star-crossed lovers?"

"Either. Both." Daria took a deep breath. "It's just awkward being around him."

"A huge tonal shift from your normal dynamic." Jane's voice became serious. "Daria, you know you can still come round anytime, right? Screw Trent. Well, I guess that's not an option now, but... I'll talk to him, Daria. I put up with a lot of crap with him, but he is not going to make you feel unwelcome."

No, no, you and Tom did that. Casa Lane is up there with a leper colony on Three Mile Island on places I feel safe and welcome now.

"Well, it'll save you time trying to pair us together," Daria said casually. "You can pour that into cementing your new relationship with Tom."

"Screw Tom. No, wait, forget I said that." Jane winced. "This is a Tom-free zone is what I mean. You know I still have the incredible feminine multitasking ability to hang around with you even though I can now claim to have a boyfriend on my CV."

Daria forced a small, fake smile. She thought about how within weeks of meeting Jane, the artists had ditched her at a party for some guy. And then there was the track team. Or Tommy Sherman. How often had Daria come crawling to the Lane household trying to get back in Jane's good books?

Trent doesn't want you. Tom doesn't want you. They are a Venn Diagram, two circles overlapping and the intersection is Jane. How much does Jane want you? Seriously? What do you bring to the table, Daria?

"You're not feeling neglected, are you?"

"No I think I'm getting all the attention I deserve, give or take a polygraph and a tracking device."

She doesn't need you to help her with school, she's never wanted advice on class. She definitely doesn't need your input on social interaction. Or inspiration for art. You're no good as a potential sister-in-law. You're miserable company, apparently, and her wonderful new boyfriend can buy her all the pizza she wants and shelter her from her family.

"So, what are you up to this fine evening then?"

Pity, that's all you're good for, Daria. A grudging sense of responsibility. She's used to looking after Trent and her nieces and nephews. You're just another charity case she's too kind to turn away, but it doesn't mean she wants you there.

"Generic stupid family thing," said Daria simply. "It'll probably drag on for a while."

"You don't need to be rescued?"

"I'd only end up seeing them again within 24 hours," Daria shrugged. "You probably need some alone time. Work on your artwork without distraction."

"Hey, us artists need a constant supply of heartache, misery and nihilistic despair to carve their canvas into meaning. How am I going to do that when I've only got my jolly Pollyanna personality for company?"

"Guess you shouldn't have chosen a boyfriend that makes you creatively sterile."

"Well, I'll show him! I can get very creative with a pair of eyebrow tweezers..."

"See? You're already inspired."

"Good point. Okay, but as long as you're not blowing me off for your own incredible adventures."

"Name one incredible adventure I've had without you."

"How could I? I wasn't there."

"Damn, there's no fooling you, is there?" Daria yawned, suddenly wishing more than anything else in the world she had a hip-flask and the opportunity to drain it dry. "You're a good friend, Jane."

"You're only saying that because your standards are ridiculously low."

"If they weren't, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Is this the bit where I say you're a good friend too?" Jane checked. "Or do we leave it unspoken as a clearly obvious fact that doesn't need saying?"

"Never let it be said I put words in your mouth."

"Not now you know where that mouth has been."

"Gross," said Daria amused, thinking of Trent walking away from her and Tom smirking in contempt at the idea he (or anyone) would ever want to be friends with her. Of how upset Jane got around her lately.

"As long as we know where we stand."

***

Art class was the last of the day. Jane stayed behind to talk with Ms. DeFoe. She didn't even notice when Daria left, not that Daria was eager to draw attention to herself.

Let her wean herself off you. She's already happier and better off now than when you met her. Her mom would tell you not to stifle her.

"If you love it, let it go," Daria said aloud as she trudged home. "If it comes back, then it's lost."

Maybe I'll call Aunt Amy. She doesn't need friends. Or maybe she does. Maybe she has lots of friends and can tell me the secret handshakes. Maybe I can go back to being my own best friend. Or at least someone who tolerates me. What has being the Misery Chick brain ever done for me anyway?

I bet Brittney never feels like this. She never thinks of herself as some malignant tumor in a world of healthy cells. She never feels like a burden on her friends. She'd have high-fived Jane and been genuinely happy for her. She'd never be miserable on her birthday party. What's the good of intelligence when all it does is qualify and quantify how unhappy you are?

Wow, it's interesting that emotional pain translates into physical pain. It feels like steel rods are in the veins in my arms whenever I think of Jane ditching me. Least I know exactly where to...

Daria stopped as she reached her house.

On the front doorstep was a small golden parcel neatly gift-rapped in green and brown ribbons. A little card said "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DARIA. NEVER FORGET THAT YOU ARE LOVED. XXX." The handwriting wasn't familiar, the words in block capitals. It was unsigned.

Daria picked up the parcel. It wasn't very heavy, but more important - who the hell would leave a present for her on her front step? Her family would leave it indoors and who else even knew it was her birthday?

Her heart faltered in her chest.

"Jane?" she whispered hopefully.

***

The rest of Daria's birthday was as unspectacular as any other Monday night. Given her typically low-key desires, it being a Monday night and other such matters, this was no surprise. Her parents arranged a small chocolate cake with a candle shamed as DM as was traditional (and, as was also traditional, Daria remarked with surprise she didn't know it was Danger Mouse's birthday as well) and piled up her presents.

It was mostly books. Aunt Amy had sent a paperback compendium of Tanith Lee's spookier stories. Marianne had found an illustrated graphic novel of the works of Edgar Allen Poe. Her dad had found a battered copy of the Reader's Digest Character-Naming Sourcebook along with another Modesty Blaise book (which she already owned, albeit in a different printing). Her mother provided video tapes of "Sick Sad World - Obscenity You Can't Unsee" and "Black Books" and a new edition of When Bad Things Happen To Worse People. Quinn provided only some coupons to the Mall of the Millennium, but together with her losing her voice, Daria was content.

Until her dad ruined everything.

"So what did Jane get you?" he asked brightly as he served out the lasagna. "Some terrifying ironic painting huh? Or some sculpture that looks really embarrassing until you know what it is? Or one that's only really embarrassing WHEN you know what it is?"

"Nope," Daria replied calmly. "She's decided to provide me with performance art of Girl So Into Her New Boyfriend She Forgets Her Friend's Birthday."

Her family stared at her.

"I could be wrong," Daria added and saw them all slightly relax. "Girl So Into Her New Boyfriend She Forgets Her Friend Period is probably what it's called."

"Oh, Daria, I'm sure Jane hasn't forgotten your birthday!" said her mother confidently. "But you know what these struggling artist types are like - she may not have enough money to get you a present."

"I bet she's planning a party or something," her father agreed. "Going to make a real night to remember. You, uh, going to see her tonight, kiddo?"

"No," Daria replied. "I guess she needs more time and space to prepare my birthday celebrations and doesn't want me around spoiling things."

Jake rubbed his chin. "That does make sense..."

"Daria," Helen said, frowning, "have you girls got into a fight over this boy?"

"Only passive-agressively. You know what bitches girls can be."

"Daria!"

"I admit, I was being selfish to want to monopolize Jane's time. I apologized to her and her new better half and they wished me well in my new solitary existence. So long and thanks for all the fish."

Helen's eyebrows raised in concern. Her daughter had only made one real friend since arriving in Lawndale - one real friend ever - and now it seemed she felt she'd been abandoned for someone else.

"Hey, Daria," said Jake before she could speak, "just because Jane has a boyfriend doesn't mean you can't be friends. I had plenty of friends, boys and girls, and we stayed friends when they found other people."

"Hence your overwhelming social calendar."

"Daria, that's not what your father meant and you know it. Will you still be best friends and constant companions with Jane in thirty years time? I don't know, and it's possible you won't. But that's no reason to assume that she no longer wants to know you right here and right now, is it?"

"Her boyfriend doesn't like me."

"I'm not surprised," Helen muttered.

"Excuse me?" Daria asked coldly.

"You're Jane's best friend, sweetie," her mother said quickly. "The one thing Jane's guaranteed to care about more than him. Boys can be very insecure, Daria, especially when they know the girl they like has an intelligent and protective best friend as you."

"And it's not like he's not letting Jane see you, is it?" her father agreed. "He's not cutting her off from all her friends and ensuring that life is meaningless except for the aim of pleasing HIS LUNATIC WHIMS FOR HIS OWN SADISTIC PLEASURE? Crushing the spirit of ALL INDIVIDUALITY to leave YOU COMPLETELY DEPENDANT ON AFFECTION YOU'LL NEVER EARN..."

"Jake!"

"Sorry, honey."

"That said, your father raises a point. Is this new boy likely to be trying to control Jane?"

Daria sighed. "No, she's too smart and stubborn to be controlled like that."

"Well, then," Helen concluded, realizing she was running short of excuses. "You know how Jane's family are, all bohemian non-conformists. Remember how little Jane cares about her own birthday - and would you expect her to treat you differently?"

"No, but even among the Lanes of Lawndale a simple 'Happy Birthday' or nearest approximate is considered polite."

"She forgot your birthday?" asked Jake, eyes wide.

"It's the impression she's giving."

"So what did she do when you told her?" asked Helen.

"Told her? Why tell her? What would she say apart from some awkward apologies, a hastily-bought stocking filler gift and some guilt-ridden promises to make up for it? What good would that do?"

"It'd remind her just how easily it is to overlook important things when blinded by the novelty of a new love!" said Helen firmly. "Daria, how do you think Jane will feel when she finds out not only did she forget your birthday but that you didn't feel comfortable reminding her?"

"You're right. The best thing is she never finds out."

"Wouldn't she notice after the first few years without a birthday?" her father wondered.

"Hey, it's taken less than a month for her to forget my birthday. I reckon that by spring she should no longer be able to identify me in a police lineup."

"Daria," huffed her mother, "you're being ridiculously melodramatic. You're also deciding you know what other people feel and want without giving them a chance."

"Exactly, Daria! You know," Jake added confidentialy, "I heard that Bono forgot his girlfriend's birthday and his next song was full of him saying 'I'm sorry' because he hadn't found the right present yet."

No chance of Trent writing me a song for my birthday. Or for forgetting my birthday. I'll get the music for the assignment before that. Probably being played at my funeral. Not that Trent would turn up.

"I guess you're right," Daria sighed. "It's just another situation where my abject refusal to knuckle under the hormonal herd mentality and accept nothing but compromise is my own downfall."

"Uh... that's the spirit?" said Jake, with a hopeful glance at Helen that this was the right response.

"I'd ask my much more popular and well-adjusted younger sister for her advice," Daria went on, "but she is refusing to speak to me for the duration of my birthday."

"Daria," Helen began.

"I'm not upset, mom, it's a great gift." She grinned her scary grin and gave a thumbs up. "Awesome birthday present, cousin!"

"Your sister has lost her voice," Helen snapped. "If a little sympathy is beyond you, you could at least not mock her for it."

"But if I wait until she can talk back, where's the fun?" Daria looked at Quinn. "But what would YOU do if your best friend abandoned you for some guy and refused to acknowledge your birthday, popular girl?"

Quinn glared at her. She spoke, and her voice sounded like a butter knife scraping across steel wool.

"I'd listen to a CD," she rasped.

"Oooh! A Bono one!" Jake enthused. "That's a great idea, Quinn!"

"I'm not sure that's what Quinn meant, Jake..."

Daria thought of the unopened parcel. She'd left it in her jacket pocket and now she thought about it, it was easily the size of a CD. She took it out and began to unwrap it, cutting the ribbons with her dinner knife.

"Oh, what's that?" asked Helen.

"A secret admirer left it," Daria muttered. "I was going to test it for contact poisons, but hey, it's my birthday. I'll live a little."

The wrapping paper fell away to reveal a plain transparent CD case. The disc itself was a pleasant shiny yellow-gold. The same block capital non-handwriting stenciled a phrase on the disc.

PLAY ME
TWO TRACKS
NO WAITING

"Someone made you a CD?" exclaimed Helen, delighted.

"I think the technical term is 'burn'."

"CDs don't burn, Daria," Jake chuckled. "They melt!"

"Shall we listen to it, Daria?" Helen offered, hands clasped hopefully.

Anything to make them feel better. Or at least shut them up. I hope this isn't anything embarrassing. Or at least the right level of embarrassing, like heavy breathing and orgasmic grunting and dear god please don't let this be from Upchuck...

"Well, it doesn't warn about explicit lyrics or advice parental consent," said Daria, handing over the CD and glancing suspiciously at Quinn.

What do you know about this? If you had something to do with this, why leave it on the doorstep? What twisted game are you playing Quinn? Damn it, I'm almost intrigued. You're really taking my mind off things, sister of mine...

With his usual glee-of-a-three-year-old, Jake opened the CD player, dropped the new disc in and hit play. The drawer slid closed, there was the faintest crackle from the speakers and then there was the sound of a simple tune being strummed on a ukulele.

Then a familiar voice burst out of the speakers.

It was Jane.

And she told the simple story of a young girl who murdered her entire family.

The Morgendorffer sat in near-silence listening to Jane's voice emerging from the speakers. Daria's expression was one of amazement, flickering into amusement and genuine enjoyment.

Her parents likewise went from surprise to recognition, while Quinn just loitered in the kitchen doorway finishing her lasagna.

"About a maid I'll sing a song
Who didn't have her family long
Not only did she do them wrong
She did every one of them in!

One morning in a fit of pique
She drowned her father in the creek
The water tasted bad for a week
So we had to make do with gin!

Her mother she could never stand
And so a cyanide soup she planned
The mother died with a spoon in her hand
And her face in a hideous grin!

She set her sister's hair on fire
And as the smoke and flames rose higher
She danced around the funeral pyre
Playing a violin!"

Daria actually laughed at that, eyeing Quinn. Her younger sibling rolled her eyes and kept eating.

"She weighted her brother down with stones
And sent him off to Davy Jones
All they ever found were some bones
And occasional pieces of skin!

One day when she had nothing to do
She cut her baby brother in two
And served him up as an Irish stew
And invited the neighbors in!

And when at last the police came by
Her little pranks she did not deny
To do so she would have had to lie
And lying she knew was a sin!"

Jake laughed and started clapping. "Ah, Tom Lehrer, huh! Classic!" he grinned.

Daria was surprised. "YOU know Tom Lehrer."

"Daria, we aren't complete philistines," harrumphed her mother. "He was releasing these songs when we were teenagers ourselves, you know."

"Oh yeah," Jake grinned. "He was one clever guy, Daria. Poisoning Pigeons in the Park, The Masochism Tango, We'll All Go Together When We Go..."

"Mind you, it's pity Jane didn't perform one of his more educational songs," Helen mused.

Daria was still smirking. "Like Wernher von Braun? Or MLF Lullaby?"

Helen glowered. "Like New Math or The Elements."

"You mean the song that refers to a periodic table superseded thirty years ago and sung to a generic Gilbert and Sullivan tune?"

"Still, kiddo, it just goes to show you," said Jake happily. "Jane's still a true friend! Going to all this trouble to do a song you liked, and never once giving it away to you!"

Daria nodded. "Yeah, dad," she admitted. "Good point."

"No doubt that's why she's been spending time away from you," Helen said, nodding sagely. "This sort of project was clearly quite an effort. You should probably go and ring her to thank her for her gift."

Quinn looked up sharply at that.

"You're right. I'll go do that," Daria promised, rising to her feet. "Um, thanks," she added self-consciously. "As birthdays go, this really hasn't sucked and I appreciate that."

"Hey, kiddo," said Jake warmly, "it was one of the three happiest days of my life then and it still is now." He looked at his wife fearfully. "I didn't say an order! Just one of the three! The day Daria was born, the day Quinn was born and the day you and I got married, honey, those are the days!"

"Yes," Helen murmured. "Mind you, I think the three following days were the ones I enjoyed."

Daria shook her head in mild amusement.

At this exact moment, she was happy.

***

"He's the grave digger who will bury the coffins upside down and back to front - or any which way balances out the chi! The feng shui funeral home NEXT on Sick Sad World!"

Jane looked up from her painting as the phone began to ring with its usual affronted mechanical quack. Abandoning her canvas for the moment, she reached out with her free hand towards the phone.

"Yo," she said, eyeing her artwork. "Legal Aide for Convicted Wiccas - you curse em, we reimburse em."

"Hey Jane," came Daria's contented voice from the other end.

"I do occasionally answer to that name. What can I do for you, amiga?"

"Just ringing to say thank you for my present."

"What, like temporally-speaking? Like you give thanks for your past and future?"

"No, my birthday present."

"Kinda out of left field, but you're welcome."

"I shouldn't have doubted you."

"I told you that switching all Manson's inkblots for Batman logos would send her into convulsions. Amazed she still has a job after the chick she declared had low self-esteem graduated from self-esteem class six weeks early in front of the whole school."

"Excuse me? That was last year."

"Last year? Daria, it was when we first met."

"No, not the self-esteem class, us tampering with Manson's inkblots."

"Who's us, paleface? I did all the work!"

"No, it was my birthday last year."

"Don't you have a birthday every year?"

"Yeah, I'm talking about this year's."

"Oh! Gotcha," said Jane, adding a little dab of detail to the canvas. "So... what present did you have in mind, amiga? And be aware my budgetary constraints mean that it will definitely be the thought that counts and yes, I've checked, that does stand up in a European court of law."

Silence.

"Daria?"

"Jane... you haven't gotten me anything for my birthday, have you?"

"Well, no, not yet. You haven't said what you want yet. What's the deadline again?"

Another pause. "Call it another fifty-two weeks."

"That is definitely planning ahead, amigo. I might actually be able to factor in..." Jane froze. "You mean... your birthday..."

"Is today."

Another pause.

"I was going to say that you're wrong and it's due till November 20th but now I seem to recall seeing that date everywhere today and my righteous outrage no longer seems appropriate."

"Don't worry about it, Jane."

"No, no, no, I DO worry about it! Daria, it's your birthday and I totally forgot about it..."

"Seriously, Jane. Don't worry about it. It was just another day. Who cares?"

"I am so sorry about this..."

"Don't be. It's not important."

"Of course it's important! Daria, I..."

"I gotta go. Parents. Cake. The usual. See you tomorrow, Jane."

"Daria..."

And suddenly she was talking to a dial tone.

Jane looked back at her portrait, which was an attempt to recreate the first moment she'd set eyes on Tom Sloane back at the Zon a few weeks ago. She'd been regarding it with a critical eye, gauging each shade and brushstroke.

Now it was just paint on cloth and Jane had never felt more empty and alone.

***

Daria calmly hung up the hands-free phone and put it on her bedside table. She would take it downstairs later. If at all. Right now lying back on her mattress and trying to abandon any grip on solid matter was very appealing - melting to shapeless sludge could only be an improvement on how she felt.

Jane had forgotten Daria's birthday.

She'd forgotten that she'd forgotten.

There was no present, no benevolent conspiracy like Helen had predicted. Tom had taken Jane away from her after all, so completely and utterly Jane hadn't even noticed. Daria had been able to find some guilty shame for thinking Jane could be so fickle - until now.

The name's Daria Morgendorffer, but you can call me Totally Surplus To Requirements. Assuming you ever call me at all.

Ted. Tom. Trent. Jane. All gone now.

It was embarrassing she was even surprised. How could she have ever deluded herself that she was worth anything more than brief distraction in the lives of others? She should probably be getting down on her knees and thanking some cruel god that she had enough emotional blackmail to get consumer goods from close relations just once a day. One strand of DNA's difference and no one would want to know her.

...except...

Marianne wasn't technically family, of course, but that still left the question of who the hell had given her the CD? And how the hell had they got Jane to sing Tom Lehrer's Irish Ballad without her realizing? That was the sort of thing Jane would definitely mentioned earlier. Even if she'd forgotten Daria's birthday - which she had, Daria found herself reminded.

How the hell did that work?

Daria took a deep breath and thought rationally. Someone who knew Daria well enough to know she'd appreciate not only a jolly folk tune about a teenage female psychopathic serial killer but also would love to hear it sung by Jane had organized this.

She had either got Jane to sing it and recorded it without her knowing or else somehow recorded all the random words and edited them together like the audio equivalent of a ransom note made out of cut-up newspaper and magazines. Actually, neither of those seemed particularly likely.

In fact, there seemed to be only one possible explanation to fit the facts.

Daria's secret admirer either had access to (or actually was) someone who could impersonate Jane Lane utterly perfectly.

An idea as fascinating as it was terrifying.

***

It was pure coincidence that Tom happened to be passing the telephone when it rang. Liesurely, he picked up the reciever and any potential observer would have been impressed at his seemingly-rehearsed casual attitude.

Unfortunately there was no one there to see him being so effortlessly cool. Not that he minded, which arguably made him cooler. Or not.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Tom?" an anxious voice pleaded down the line.

"Jane?" he asked, frowning. "Something wrong? I thought we were taking tonight off to let our feelings of bitterness and resentment build up to give us something to talk about in our next date..."

"Tom, it's the 20th of November!"

"Yes it is. 41 days till the end of the year. I am grateful for the reminder."

"I forgot who's birthday it was today!"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Einstein's."

A pause. "Einstein's birthday is today?"

"Yep. Not Albert Einstein, though. Bob Einstein."

"Who the hell's Bob Einstein?"

"That's the birthday boy you're talking about, Jane."

"Tom, this is serious! Today is Daria's birthday and I totally forgot about it!" said Jane wretchedly. "I mean, completely and totally forget! I didn't even realize it was coming up!"

"Okay, don't panic," said Tom smoothly. "How come Daria didn't mention it before now?"

"Oh you know how much Morgenmdorffer wants to be a spectacle! I haven't spent more than ten minutes with her lately!" Tom could almost hear Jane beating herself up. "All that crap I told her, insisting I wasn't going to ditch her and now this!"

"Hey," said Tom firmly. "It takes less than five seconds to say 'My birthday's coming up', remember? And Daria could easily have booked you up to get you away from my disgusting claws. Is it your fault she didn't take a clear opportunity?"

"Tom, you know how lonely she gets!" said Jane angrily. "She thinks I've deliberately abandoned her - on her freaking birthday!"

"Did she tell you that?"

"...no," Jane admitted.

"So you just think she thinks that?"

"Yeah. I do." He heard Jane sigh miserably. "She spent the whole day hinting it at me, she must have been wondering if I was pranking her or something. And then she rang up and downright asked me... I..."

"Jane?" asked Tom gently after a pause.

"I've never screwed up like this before," she said quietly. "I don't know what to do. What would you do, Tom?"

"Well, I personally would burn the house down, flee to Mexico and start a new life as a goat-farmer but then I get told I tend to under-react to crises."

"That's not helping."

"Would be worried if it did. Look, Daria never really struck me as someone who gave a crap about birthdays."

"Tom, she wasn't expecting me to take her to Disney World, she was just expecting me to remember she was born today. And I've proved beyond a shadow of a doubt I didn't even do that. She's already in a funk with Trent and you and me..."

"Are you sure she's depressed?" Tom asked. "I mean, how are we supposed to tell?"

"That's not funny, Tom!"

"It's not meant to be, Jane, it's a serious question. What we consider warning signs in most people are Daria's standard operating procedure."

"Okay, that wasn't viciously insensitive, but it still wasn't very helpful either."

"Jane, you forgot her birthday. You didn't ignore it to make her suffer. You're cut up about it, because you care. You just forgot. It does happen - especially if she's going to have the temerity to be born the same day as Bob Einstein."

"You're not really Samaritans material, are you?"

"I can't tell, every time I went for an interview, everyone committed suicide. Look, Jane, focus on what you can actually do about this."

"But what am I supposed to do about this?"

"Make it up to her for starters. You know Daria better than anyone - if any mortal can sweet-talk her, it's you. Tomorrow, you get her presents and stuff that she wants that will make her feel better. Technically it'll still be her birthday somewhere on Earth thanks to amazing international timezones."

"Guess so." Jane sounded far from convinced.

"Look, I'll keep on the down low for a week and you can focus on giving Daria the tender-loving contempt she needs. Get her a present or an IOU. Maybe sort out whatever her issues are with Trent, so at least she's got someone else to talk at."

"You mean 'talk to'?"

"It's Trent. I know what I mean."

"Heh. Thanks, Tom. I know your relationship with Daria is her repeatedly trying to force your soft dangly parts into a blender..."

"Well, SOMEONE'S looking through rose-tinted spectacles."

"But she's my best friend. And just this once it's not her being paranoid and over-protective, it's me genuinely being a bad human being."

"Jane, would Daria be your friend if you were a so-called 'good' human being?" He sighed. "Hey, you know Bono forgot his girlfriend's birthday and he wrote 'I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For'?"

"What? His excuse was he hadn't got her the right present yet?"

"Maybe. Watch the music video, though, it's full of people holding up signs saying 'I'm sorry!'."

"Somehow I'm not sure Bono's routines would win over Daria. Did they even work on his own girlfriend?"

"No idea. Really should ask Bob Einstein, maybe wish him a happy birthday or something..."

"OK. Look, Tom, thanks for this. I never realized just how few people I have to talk to about this."

"Guess your mom's not home?"

"Physically, mentally, emotionally. I don't know if comparing Daria with a butterfly would help at the best of times. And as for Trent... You're right, I should go and kick some sense into him."

"Let me know if you need new boots afterwards."

"Why? Will you buy me new ones?"

"No, I just have a foot fetish. Good luck, Jane. Feel free to blame me for everything if Daria doesn't already. Whatever helps."

"You know Tom, I'm waiting to find out what your crucial flaw is, because you're dangerously close to being the perfect boyfriend now."

"What part of foot fetish did you miss?"

"There's nothing wrong with liking girls with feet."

"Who said anything about girls? It's only the feet I'm interested. The rest of you can go. If Trent had better feet, I'd be fighting Daria for him."

"...and now I officially want to talk about anything to anyone else ever."

"It's my most endearing ability. Call me when you sort it all out and make it look effortless."

"Will do," Jane promised.

Tom put down the phone. "I think it would be easier to have gone on a date with Siamese twins," he muttered to himself. "At least they wouldn't be so co-dependent."

***

Sandi was doing the washing up. It was quite relaxing, and it was a neat way to remind everyone how her hand was properly healed after her little breakdown following the sinking cruise liner. Plus it showed she didn't have some freaking fear or water or whatever following that trauma.

Hopefully soon everyone would be cool with her trying to cook. She wanted to add some recipes to her repertoire, and they always said the way to a guy's heart was through his stomach. Of course, she wasn't that interested in guys, but it was a good principle.

Mind you, if you want to get to a guy's heart through his stomach, sharp knives are definitely required...

The phone rang.

Sandi sighed. Mom and dad were away tonight, leaving her with the Brats - she was getting on much better with her little brothers of late, but she still couldn't stop calling them that even in her head. She also knew that every day she didn't have a nervous breakdown, the more she and her siblings fell back into their usual state of total warfare.

Hoping she still had enough sympathy points, Sandi called over her shoulder. "Can someone get that?" she yelled as she rinsed another glass platter.

"Why can't we let the machine do it?" Chris called back.

"Because that leads to the Matrix and the Terminator! Just answer the phone, you little bastard!"

"Okay, okay," Sam grumbled. "Don't cut yourself!"

Sandi winced. In a way it was good they could laugh about it now, but it still wasn't that funny.

"Hello? Yeah? Who? Fine."

Sam stuck his head around the kitchen door.

"Sandi, it's for you."

"Of course it is," Sandi sighed, grabbing a towel. "Who is it, anyway?"

"I thought it was Quinn's sister," said Sam. "You know, the scary one? But it's not."

"It isn't?"

"No, it's someone called Beautiful Girl."

And Sam was surprised to see his big sister suddenly grow very, very pale.

***

Routine Surveillance Transcript:
Lawndale Phone Network

TRANSCRIPT READS:

SANDI: Er... hello?

DARIA: Hello, Sandi.

SANDI: Uh. Yeah. Um... what can I do for you, Daria?

DARIA: Actually, I needed a time check. What day is it today?

SANDI: November twentieth.

DARIA: And what does that mean to you?

SANDI: It's your birthday?

DARIA: Correct. Five points. Now how did you come across that particular factoid, oh stalker of mine!

SANDI: Hey, I'm not a stalker!

DARIA: I beg your pardon, I thought I was talking to the girl who's lusted after me since the second I arrived at Lawndale High. You know, the closested self-harming lesbian with paranoid delusions who sneaks out sci-fi videos from the library?

SANDI: I'm not a stalker. I promised not to bug you after Tommy Sherman and I didn't!

DARIA: It was just pure bad luck we keep meeting since?

SANDI: Uh. Yeah. You know that.

DARIA: Hmm. Fair point. How did you know it was my birthday?

SANDI: One of Stacy's jobs as Fashion Club secretary is to work out the birthdays of every senior so we can coordinate parties and dates. I just remembered it because... because I love you. Sue me.

DARIA: I might. My mom's the best lawyer in Lawndale.

SANDI: I bet she'd love to know her daughter's a homophobe with, like, a persecution complex or whatever. So are you having a birthday treat by trying to hurt me? Is that going to make you happy?

DARIA: You left a present outside my house today.

SANDI: Yeah.

DARIA: Why?

SANDI: Uh, it's your birthday? It's a birthday present? It's kind of traditional. I thought you'd appreciate it. I definitely didn't think you'd ring me up and start reminding me how much I suck.

DARIA: You didn't get me a present last year.

SANDI: I know. I regret that.

DARIA: And how exactly did you get that present?

SANDI: Huh? Oh, this is about Jane, huh?

DARIA: Another five points. You're improving, Griffin.

SANDI: Did you like it though?

DARIA: ...did I like it?

SANDI: I thought it'd work for you.

DARIA: What led you to that conclusion?

SANDI: My little brother learned the Element Song, and I found out Tom Lehrer did other stuff. I just thought you'd really like his stuff. But you might already have it, so I though, how could I be sure you'd like it? So, get it sung by someone I know you like.

DARIA: And you thought I'd never suspect a thing?

SANDI: It's not about suspecting stuff. Did you like it?

DARIA: You got someone to pretend to be Jane with a talent known only to super-villains and evil robots from the future. You think I'd appreciate that?

SANDI: ...uh, duh! Of course I did. So, I guess Jane was freaked out when she heard it, huh?

DARIA: She hasn't heard it.

SANDI: Oh. Well, uh, did you know it wasn't her?

DARIA: The card said it was from someone who loved me.

SANDI: ...and? You don't think Jane loves you?

DARIA: I know she doesn't.

SANDI: Oh, go back to saying I'm a stupid dyke slut, Daria. At least that is true.

DARIA: I know Jane had nothing to do with this because that would require her to both know and care it's my birthday. Amazingly, I have a deeper connection with the Fashion Club than anyone in the Lane clan.

SANDI: Is this, like, going to start making sense soon?

DARIA: Jane didn't get me anything this year, Sandi. She didn't remember it was my birthday. I thought, for a moment, she was playing some classic Jane bluff and had got me a CD of her singing amusing dities so I rang her up and confirmed that, no, I was right the first time. She has nothing to do with this.

SANDI: Is she okay?

DARIA: "Is SHE okay"? Yeah, Jane is clearly the victim in all this! Poor Jane Lane!

SANDI: Well, something bad must have happened...

DARIA: Yeah, he's called Tom. Her new boyfriend. You know, the one you said wouldn't take her away from me? Well, turns out, you were right because he already had taken her away from me! And Trent too!

SANDI: I... I don't believe it.

DARIA: Tell me, Sandi, on a scale of one to ten, just how much do you think I care whether or not you believe me?

SANDI: Look, my gut told me you'd like Tom Lehrer. My gut told me you were never going to love me back. And my gut says Jane won't abandon you. Ever.

DARIA: Well, two out of three ain't bad. Now, the final question and a wrong answer I must warn you will lose you all your points. Who did you get to pretend to be Jane?

SANDI: Sorry. I pass.

DARIA: No, you don't get that option.

SANDI: Fine. I lose all my points. What are you going to do, Beautiful Girl? Tell me how much I suck? Way ahead of you, there. I spent six months wanting to be dead, when that stupid boat sank, I tried to drown myself. I've tried to carve myself up like a Sunday roast. So what, precisely, are you going to do to make me tell you? What can you possibly threaten me with?

(3-second pause.)

DARIA: Why WON'T you tell me?

SANDI: The person or persons unknown who provided the uncanny Jane Lane impersonation did so at my specific and unique request. In return, they get total anonymity. I know who they are, they know who they are, everyone else goes to their grave wondering.

DARIA: And you wouldn't even tell me, the Beautiful Girl.

SANDI: I'm not telling Daria Morgendorffer. The Beautiful Girl would have respected me not to ask to break a promise. You don't sound like the Beautiful Girl right now, Daria.

DARIA: Guess your gut instinct IS fallible after all.

SANDI: Guess so. So, unless you want to get some more insults in about me, I should probably let you get back to your birthday celebrations. Don't worry, I don't expect you to get anything for my birthday.

DARIA: Wait. Sandi. How about an early birthday present?

SANDI: Uh, excuse me?

DARIA: Let's do a straight deal. Quid pro quo. You tell me who ersatz Jane is...

SANDI: ...yeah, and?

DARIA: ...and you and me. Naked. Baby oil twister. Whatever sick sapphic scenarios get you the screaming thigh sweats, you get to do them to me. Access all areas, the prize is Daria Morgendorffer's virginity.

(32-second pause.)

SANDI: ...excuse me?

***

"I'm willing to have sex with you," Daria said calmly over the phone. "Tell me who did the voice."

"Why do you even need to know?" asked Sandi quietly. "What's so important about it? Do you think I'd let someone use it against you or something?"

"Just tell me who it is."

"Why? What are you going to do with that info?" Sandi asked. "Are you going to start leaving fake messages on answer phones in Jane's voice? Get her into trouble, mess things up with her boyfriend? Anything that will hurt her?"

"What makes you think I want to hurt Jane?"

"Because I remembered your birthday. And if you're going to humiliate me like this for trying to help you, I dread to think what you'll do to someone who isn't. You're going to wreck her life, aren't you?"

Daria's voice darkened in anger. "Humiliating you? I'm offering you what you've always wanted!"

Sandi's voice was low, broken. "How dare you?" she whispered. "How dare you say that? Is that what you think I am? Someone with some kinky turn-on for short, chubby brunettes with man-stopper glasses and a more boring voice than the speaking clock? I guess I was just lucky someone fitting my fetish turned up one day!"

"Sandi..."

"You think I want to have sex with you?" Sandi said icily. "You think I can't get my rocks off with anyone else? Hell, I could have half the cheerleadering squad if I wanted! You honestly think anyone would want you instead of Brittney or Quinn or Stacy or hell, even Jodie? I just need to tell Upchuck he could watch and he'd arrange a lesbian orgy and pay for it!"

"But..." Daria was uncertain. "You've always..."

"Always what? Been in love with you? Yeah, Daria. I have. But I've always known you don't love me, and that's fine. I deal. So why would I want your body if I know you'll never love me? After everything you really think you offering me your flesh is what I want?" Sandi felt water on her shirt and for a moment wondered if it was from the washing up.

But no, she was crying. Crying in anger.

"You think I only want you because I've got an itch I can't scratch? I'm only interested in you to have sex with? What did I ever do to make you think I'm so pathetic? Or is this just you punishing me for all the times I've been a burden on you, is that it?"

"Sandi, it's not that. You're not a burden and I know what it's like to be a burden..."

"Congrats, Daria. You finally made me realize someone hates me more than I hate myself. Never saw that coming." She sniffed and swallowed. "But I'm not telling you. Ever. You go and enjoy your birthday."

"Sandi," said Daria, voice softer. "I'm sorry..."

"If you never call me again, I would consider it a big, big favor."

Sandi hung up, crossed over to the stool by the kitchen bench, sat down and started to cry.

"You okay?" asked Chris. He and his brother were standing in the doorway, looking worried.

Sandi lifted her head, wiped her eyes, and coughed. "Yeah... I, uh... I'm okay."

"It was Quinn's sister, wasn't it?" asked Sam.

Sandi nodded. "Yeah. She... she didn't like her birthday present. She was... she was mean to me."

"You mean that CD?" Chris asked. "How could that piss her off so much? It was the sort of thing she'd like."

"I guess..." Sandi fought off a burst of tears. "I guess I just didn't know her like I thought I did."

"It's not your fault," said Sam.

"Hey, sis," said Chris brightly. "I know what'll cheer you up!"

Sandi sniffed. "What?"

Chris slammed an empty can of ultra-cola against his forehead, compressing it into a thick green-yellow-silver coin with a satisfying crunch.

"Boo-yah!" he said triumphantly.

Sandi laughed despite herself, wiping her eyes.

"Encore!" Chris cheered and slammed a second can against Sam's forehead. As it was not empty like the first, the younger brother was knocked off his feet with a string of inarticulate curse-words.

In moments they were fighting and, for a little while at least, Sandi forgot her troubles.

***

 Trent brooded over the sparse contents of the refrigerator and while part of his mind tried to work out what possible meals could be made, another part wondered if that recipe list could be a song. Fridge Horror Hunger? Or was that too similar to Icebox Woman? It was hard to concentrate on an empty stomach.

"Concentrating on an Empty Stomach," he said aloud, trying out the name. Album title, song title or new band name? Or maybe 'Album Title/Song Title/New Band Name' was the way to go...?

"Trent!" cried a voice behind him. It was Jane.

"Hey, Janey," he replied, deciding to close the fridge and turn to face her.

"Trent, do you know what day it is?"

"...are you asking me if I know or do you want me to tell you?" he asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Jane paused. "Both," she challenged.

"Uh... it's Monday?" Trent asked hopefully.

"Anything else?"

Trent shrugged. "Well, it's Daria's birthday, isn't it? The twentieth of November?"

Jane turned puce with rage. "How the hell did YOU of all people remember that?"

"Hey, Janey. Birthdays are important. Plus the band is likely to get a gig for birthdays." Trent scratched his arm and contemplated the coffee maker. "Why did you need to check?"

As though mirroring him, Jane suddenly needed to massage her left elbow with her right hand. "I forgot," she said grimly. "Completely and utterly and totally. I forgot it was her birthday."

Trent looked up, mildly-surprised. "Whoa. Is Daria mad?" he asked gently.

"Detached, disappointed and aloof."

"Bummer." Trent picked up a cup. "You want some coffee?"

Jane sighed. "Maybe. Any caffiene would be welcome now," she told him. At least Trent comprehended just how bad she was feeling and didn't need it explained to him like Tom. "Hey, brother of mine, how come you didn't do anything for Daria if knew it was her birthday?" she demanded.

Trent shrugged. "I thought it'd just make Daria mad if I bugged her," he explained. "She was really upset when I didn't do that music for your project."

"Yeah, an A-minus," Jane agreed drily. "You know she'll never recover academically from that. Hell, Trent, I was angrier with you than she was. She actually forgave you and told me to calm down."

Trent gazed at the kettle as it started to boil. "Yeah," he said quietly. "She did. I thought that too, but then I talked to Monique about it..."

Jane arched an eyebrow. "You and Monique talk about Daria? Hell, you and Monique TALK?"

Trent didn't reply. "Monique told me I really screwed it up with Daria," he said as if she hasn't spoken. "I mean, I couldn't think of any music. Inspiration doesn't care about deadlines, you know that."

"Though they apparently make lovely whooshing noises as they go past."

"Daria said I should have told her I was having trouble. And Monique said the same thing. I promised to help you guys out, and not telling her was like... disrespectful. Monique said it would really have hurt her. And I can see how it hurt Daria."

"And you think avoiding her would help her?" asked Jane, not as contemptuous as one might have expected.

Trent poured out two cups. "I know Daria likes me," he said. "Well. Liked me. And I know you've been trying to hook us up since day one."

"I just assumed you were oblivious," Jane admitted. "And I have plenty of witness testimonies to back me up. You knew all the time?"

"I wanted to wait. You know. Till she was ready." He didn't need to elaborate. "But she's decided she's better off without me."

"You can hardly blame her."

"Never said I did. But now she thinks I'll always let her down. Not even be a proper friend."

"Monique tell you that?"

"She told me it would hurt Daria more if I still hung around after her. She said, if Daria wants to stay friends, she'll come to me."

"Did Monique say that would also apply to her birthday?"

Trent supped his coffee. "No," he admitted grimly. "I guess I thought you were going sort that out."

"Another brilliant bit of Monique wisdom right there," Jane sighed. "Okay, so both of us have definitely messed up big time and we need to make it up to poor Daria now because if we still had souls they wouldn't definitely be damned for this." She inhaled sharply. "Okay, so any ideas?"

Trent opened his mouth to speak but a rapid metallic quacking was heard instead. He reached out with his free hand and picked up the phone.

"Hey?"

"Uh, Trent?" asked a vaguely-familiar voice.

"Yeah."

"Um, is Jane there or, you know, whatever?"

"Yeah." He held out the phone. "It's for you."

Frowning, Jane took the phone. "Hello?"

"Jane, it's me. Are you okay?"

"Can't complain. You sound pretty wretched though."

"Yeah, Daria just phoned me up."

"Oh, she wants to entwine you in her thighs now she's legal now huh?" Jane laughed weakly.

"Kinda."

Jane's eyes widened. "You're kidding!"

"Jane, you know it's Daria's birthday today? She came on the phone saying you and Trent have ditched her and she's really not coping. She offered me sex, because she thought I could, I dunno, help her get revenge."

"I trust you said yes?"

"You really all think I'm such a shallow slut?"

"No, but that is the public stereotype the writer's guide forces us to follow," Jane said with a helpless shrug. "Look, Trent and I are trying to work out a way to fix this mess. We just lack any plans, concepts, inspiration or practical resources."

"Well, my only idea is you do something tonight. And... I'm sorry, I can't help you."

Jane's expression softened. "She really hurt you this time, didn't she?"

"I... Look, just help her. For me."

"I will. Stay safe."

"You too."

Jane soberly hung up the phone.

"Who was that?" asked Trent.

"A concerned party," said Jane. "Forget your healthy disregard for deadlines, Trent. This has to be done right now, tonight. Ideas, please!"

Trent nodded and finished his coffee. "Okay. You know, something like this once happened to Bono..."

***

The evening was winding up. Quinn had changed into her shorts and night-shirt for the evening and was now in the upstairs bathroom brushing her teeth.

Daria entered. "Knock-knock," she said flatly.

Quinn paused in her brushing, glancing at Daria's reflection in the bathroom mirror.

"Thanks for the birthday present."

Quinn resumed brushing.

"I know it was you."

Quinn glanced at Daria, but gave no other reaction.

"You losing her voice, given the amount of perky talking you do every single day is quite an achievement. Almost like you'd done something unusually strenuous with your voice. On the day I get a CD of someone pretending to be Jane. A CD you seemed to know I'd got as a present."

Quinn rinsed her mouth out and dabbed her lips with a soft towel. "So?" she croaked.

"So... thanks. Though I imagine you did it for Sandi as much as you did it for me."

Quinn looked annoyed, but if she didn't agree she wasn't prepared to say so out aloud.

Daria let out a deep and controleld sigh. "I was very rude to Sandi today. She got me a present and I think I was meaner and nastier to her than I've ever been to anyone before."

Quinn seemed to be waiting for more.

"She didn't give me a chance to apologize, not that I blame her. But I would consider it a huge favor, redeemable at your discretion, if you told... well, communicated... with Sandi that I am truly sorry. Sandi deserves better. I don't expect her to forgive me, just make sure she knows I am sorry and I mean it."

"Izzat all?" Quinn rasped.

Daria lowered her head. "I know I'm not the easiest person for you to live with. Let alone be related to. I did, however, assume I was a good friend. There's not much evidence to support me on that nowadays."

Quinn shook her head.

"Your friends wouldn't abandon you if they got new boyfriends. Not unless they were sure you were really more trouble than you worth. Unless you're a burden."

Quinn's face creased with pain. "You're... not," she gasped, barely audible. "Not a burden."

Daria didn't have the strength to argue. "Anyway, tell Sandi I'm sorry. I owe you." She went to leave then stopped. "And I know this was done out of kindness, but pretending to be Jane isn't going to help someone who needs the real thing. Don't do that again."

Quinn nodded sadly.

***

Daria crossed the hallway to her bedroom, feeling drained and empty. Some sweet unconscious oblivion was required, and then she'd need to find some way to break things off with Jane.

Jane Lane, the best human being I have ever been privileged to know. You deserve better. If it's the last thing I do, I'm going to free you...

Daria pulled off her glasses and wiped her eyes, breathing a lungful of sharp dry air.

"I do this because I care," she said quietly. "And you won't catch me making that mistake again any time soon..."

Her strength ebbing, she flopped down onto her bed.

"I have climbed the highest mountains, I have run through the fields,
Only to be with you, only to be with you...
I have run, I have crawled, I have scaled these city walls, these city walls...
Only to be with you..."

Daria frowned, wondering why she could hear Quinn's clock radio when there was faint tapping. She turned in time to see some small dark stones rattling off her window panes and fall out of sight.

And again. And again.

And all the time, the voice singing.

"But I still haven't found what I'm looking for!
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for!"

Daria got to her feet and crossed to the window.

Outside, down in the yard at the side of Schloss Morgendorffer, she could see that someone had parked Trent's blue Plymouth in the grass beside the house. The boot open and stacked up were two tall speakers, one connected to the guitar Trent was playing, the other to the stand microphone he was singing into.

Beside him, Jane stood holding above her head a hand-drawn placard screaming the words 'I'M SO SORRY, DARIA!' and 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY!' Her expression was the dictionary definition of desperate hope.

Trent wore sunglasses. Jane didn't. Her make-up was slightly smudged as if she'd cried a bit.

"I have kissed honey lips, felt the healing in the fingertips
It burned like fire, this burning desire
I have spoke with the tongue of angels, I have held the hand of a devil
It was warm in the night, I was cold as a stone..."

Jane looked up at Daria and Daria looked right back.

"But I still haven't found what I'm looking for
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for..."

***

Trent stopped singing but continued to strum the U2 guitar riff as the front door opened and Daria stepped out to approach them.

"Hey," he said. "Happy birthday, Daria."

"I take it you both lost a bet?" she asked.

Jane lowered her placard and stepped forward, wringing her hands guiltily. "Daria. I'm so sorry. I don't have any excuses, but I hate myself for screwing up like this." Jane's eyes glistened in the artificial light from the windows. "You deserve better than this, Daria."

"That's a matter of some debate," said Daria quietly. "I've been a truly disgusting human being tonight. I talked to Sandi..."

"I heard. Well, she told me."

"I always thought I was better than that. And if that's how I treat someone helplessly in love with me...?" Daria avoided Jane's gaze. "I think I've taken more out of this friendship than I've given. I don't blame you for wanting someone better."

"Daria, I still want to be friends with you," Jane said. "Apart from Tom, you're the only person outside my family who's ever been a real friend. Before I met you, I was so depressed I read 'Mein Kampf' for light relief. No one at school, except Ms. DeFoe, even noticed I existed. No one talked to me, no wanted to know me. I was surplus to requirements. Every hour awake was a lead weight on my shoulders."

Daria felt her own words thrown back at her. It felt so stupid, so laughably ridiculous that Jane would ever believe she didn't matter. Everyone knew Jane mattered, all the way from Jodie to Kevin. Even Quinn was in awe of her artistic skills. Lawndale's claim to fame was a giant strawberry and Jane Lane, nothing else.

And then Daria felt a stab of pain.

How could her friend have ever been so unhappy? Where was the fairness in that? What just god, what kind creator could let Jane feel so bad?

"Ms. Li thought I was suicidal, cause I kept failing self-esteem class. Ms. Manson thought I was schizophrenic, cause she's just plain stupid. They wouldn't display my art because it was too miserable. I was alone, Daria. Without Trent to keep me going, I woulda opened my wrists years ago."

Trent's eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

"You're the first person who was ever my friend, Daria. You even introduced me to Quinn like that. Your friend. The first one who understood me and still didn't recoil in disgust. The first person who really helped me." She smiled hopefully. "I'm upset I missed your birthday, Daria. Not only just because it hurt you, but because this is a day I celebrate. This day gave the world you. And Bob Einstein, apparently."

"You know who Bob Einstein is?" asked Daria surprised.

"No, but Tom told me about him. The point is, Daria, I'm sorry we made you think we didn't want you around any more - and it's on us, not you."

"You shouldn't stick with me out of guilt," Daria warned her. "I'm incredibly high-maintenance."

"Everything important is high-maintenance," Trent declared. "Everything beautiful bleeds."

"We're here because we want to be here, Daria," said Jane firmly. "That's all there is to it. There is no part of our lives you haven't improved."

"I find that very hard to understand."

"And now you know how I feel when it comes to long division. Let us use this bonding experience to bring us closer together." Jane's smirk faded. "Happy Birthday, Daria Morgendorffer. And we are happy that you were born, Daria. Always will be."

Daria's glasses were in danger of steaming up. "I don't want to sound ungrateful, but please don't do this out of social convention," she said softly. "I could really cope if you just left now, but don't get my hopes up like this."

"Daria," said Trent calmly, "you're really smart. How could any of us trick you? If we say we're proud to be your friends, you'd know if we were lying."

"Sometimes I don't know how smart I really am," said Daria sadly. "I doubt the people I shouldn't and hurt the people who need me."

"Well, if you want nothing but mindless certainty in your own godlike infallibility," Jane shrugged, "why would you want to socialize with cynics like us?"

"And if would we really go to all this trouble if we didn't think you're worth it?" Trent wondered.

Daria gazed at the lawn guiltily. "I just tried to be impartial and look at the evidence objectively," she admitted.

"Well, see, that's always a crucial error," Jane predicted with a smirk. "No one's perfect, Daria. Well, my current boyfriend's trying to totally disprove that theory, but I don't want him because he's perfect."

"You're saying him being perfect is an imperfection?" asked Daria flatly.

"I know! Chicks, huh? Never happy!" She grew a little more serious. "You forgive us?"

Daria glanced at Trent. "Yeah. I just thought we'd all reached a point of no return."

"Only if you want it to be," said Trent. "You're still one of the coolest people I know, Daria. I like hanging out with you."

Daria nodded. "You know, Bono didn't write that song because he forgot his girlfriend's birthday?"

Jane and Trent exchanged looks. "...he didn't?" they said in incredulous unison.

"No. He wrote 'Sweetest Thing' for her."

"Oh," said Trent. "Guess that does make more sense. Sort of."

"Are you gonna play it?" Daria asked.

Trent shrugged. "I don't really know it."

So saying he starting strumming a different, upbeat tune of ascending notes.

"Hey I gotta lot of a faith in you!
I'll stick with you, kid, that's the bottom line
Hey, we have a lot of fun, don't we?
And heaven has to be with you all the time?

Hey-ya, beauty, when the mood gets you down
Your bottom lip's near dragging on the ground!
That's when I gotta play the clown for you!
Black humor made you kick your boots!

Howdy angel! Where did you hide your wings?"

***

Quinn looked down from the arched window at the front of the upstairs landing down at the impromptu concert outside. Jane's weirdo brother singing a stupid song for Daria. She bet he wouldn't have to take days off before his voice recovered.

Still, Daria was happy again - as much as she was ever happy - and not worrying that her only friends had dumped her like last-year's polka-dot gussets.

Quinn headed for her bedroom, contemplating tomorrow and all the hassles and obstacles she'd have to face thanks to Daria. More voicelessness, an upset Sandi to deal with, which meant an even more upset Stacy to deal with and as well as Tiffany.

So many burdens to bear, but then what else did you call being alive?

***

Helen and Jake Morgendorffer loitered casually by their front step watching Daria and Jane watching Trent perform. A causal observer would assume the two girls were bored to the verge of full-blown catatonia by his performance.

Helen and Jake weren't casual observers.

"That's such a relief," she breathed. "I worry how poor Daria would cope without her friends, especially now she has some."

"Hard to believe, huh?" Jake said wistfully.

"Oh, Jakey, I knew she'd find people who understood her sooner or later..."

"Huh? Not that, Helen! Of course Daria'd make friends. I just meant Bono not writing 'Still Haven Found What I'm Looking For' for his girlfriend. I swear, how could we have got that impression?"

Helen smiled and rested her head on her husband's shoulder. "Shut up, Jakey," she sighed affectionately, and together they listened to Trent sing.

"Your love shines over my horizon,
She's a slice of heaven! Slice of heaven!
Warm moonlight over my horizon!
She's a slice of heaven, hey-yeah!"

***

Sandi was getting ready for bed. Sam and Chris had retired to for the night with only the usual amount of blood-soaked carnage and death threats; they were trying not worry about her. It was nice, knowing they really did care about her.

Fluffy was sitting on the bed, paws crossed and looking up at her with childlike innocence. Sandi tickled him between his ears. "I hear these voices in my head," she told her cat with a sad smile. "'Time for bed' is what they said."

Fluffy trilled and padded around the bed to allow her to climb under the covers. "Life'd be really easy if I could just hate her, Fluffy," Sandi said. "How come there's nothing she can do I won't forgive her for?"

Her cat curled up behind her legs and purred loudly. Fluffy loved her, and she loved Daria. You couldn't change that or stop that, just celebrate the rewards and suffer the costs.

There wasn't much else left to discuss, really.

Sandi reached out and pressed the 'play' button on her boombox CD player. The CD was the rough cut of the one she'd made for Daria, before she'd had to streamline the songs - there were a lot of "rickety-tickety-tins" in the Tom Lehrer song, and Quinn pleaded for them to be cut out to stop her throat of splitting.

So Sandi went to sleep listening to the original, longer, slightly-more-obviously-Quinn version of the song including the last verse they'd cut.

"My tragic tale I won't prolong, rickety-tickety-tin
My tragic tale I won't prolong
And if you do not enjoy my song
You've yourselves to blame if it's too long
You should never have let me begin! Begin!
You should never have let me begin..."

5 Minute Fiction: Life At First Sight (1/3)

Sandi Griffin didn't believe in love at first sight. It was a stupid idea. Yes, you could want something when you first saw it, or like it. But love? You couldn't love something right away. Even her beloved cat Fluffy had taken time for her to truly love, even though she'd liked him the moment she'd got him. As her mother Linda had told her: "People say they fall in love at first sight so they can excuse their dumb decisions, to say things won't stay so sucky because destiny or whatever is on their side. You ever see a TV show where a baby is born and everyone cries how beautiful it is? All lies. The babies you see are all months old so they look cute. Newborn babies are disgusting and the parents cry in horror at what a waste of time it was. I sure know that I did. Thankfully they become more tolerable to be around and eventually they make it worth your while. Mothers say they love their babies at first sight just to impress other people and deny how revolted they really are. Oh stop sniveling, Sandi, at least I respect you enough to tell you this instead of lying to you..."

Stacy, Sandi was sure, believed in that mushy stuff. They were both standing with a small crowd out the front of Lawndale High waiting for the new intake of students to arrive and assess. The Fashion Club was looking for a new fourth member, with them either accepting Brooke out of pity or placating Tori when Sandi's masterplan came to fruition and Miss Jericho fell from the perch of the most popular girl in school.

A blue car pulled up nearby and the passenger door opened to let out a cute redhead in a pink T-shirt with a smiley face on it. Stacy immediately stepped forward, eyes gleaming. "Hi! You're cool!" she blurted out. "What's your name?"

"Quinn Morgendorffer," the redhead replied.

"Cool name," said Sandi, appraising the newcomer. Perky, cute, fashionable, new and vulnerable. Possibly a better choice to join the Fashion Club than the others, and better company than Stacy's panic attacks or Tiffany's ever-slower speaking.

Boys were already flocking around Quinn, begging for dates. Irritated, Sandi looked away. Let the new girl enjoy her brief novelty before the dust settled and Sandi was left on top. She turned to see that someone else was getting out of the car that Quinn had arrived in.

It was a girl. And she was beautiful.

For a long time after, Sandi would wonder why she immediately thought of the girl as beautiful. Her hair was a lopsided and barely-kept mess the colour of drying mud. Her clothes were dull, depressing and unimaginative. Her eyes were covered by man-blocking coke-bottle glasses that covered half of her plain and uninteresting face. Sandi would be hard-pressed to find anything cute or pretty to describe, but together... it was beautiful. It was why people invented poetry, to try and explain how they could see the unseeable.

The girl was beautiful. Serene. She seemed wise and quiet, like a goddess calmly observing an imperfect world. She wasn't wearing makeup or carefully-coordinated clothes. She had never felt the panic of a fashion crisis or worried about behind the times. She had never looked into a mirror and felt her guts twist with fear others would mock her weight or size or shape. Every part of Sandi's life she secretly hated, this girl had effortlessly rejected.

"See you, Dad," the beautiful girl said to the driver. She had a naturally deep voice, almost accent-free, without inflection, somewhere between boredom and outright insolence. Sandi had never heard anything like it before. Like the girl wasn't trying to impress anyone or flirt or anything. Like nothing scared her.

Playing it cool, Sandi turned to Stacy and Quinn. "Who's that girl you came here with?" she asked. She'd heard her call the driver "dad", but was Quinn his daughter as well. "Your cousin or something?"

"What girl?" asked Quinn casually.

Sandi was surprised. She'd been fairly sure the girls were sisters (you needed only look at Sandi and her brothers to see how different siblings could be) but Quinn had denied the girl's existence. Taken aback, Sandi looked for the brown-haired goddess in spectacles, but she'd already disappeared into the crowd of other students.

Sandi scowled. The first time in who knew how long she'd seen something worth looking at...

Something she liked.

Something she... she...

Her chest ached like someone had stabbed her, and suddenly she wanted to be anywhere but here.

***

Sandi spend a worrying amount of time wondering if Beautiful Girl was a figment of her own imagination. She liked boys - as much as anyone could having to live with two of them - but there were girls too that she desired. Her mother caught her eating the eye-candy at Stacy's birthday pool party and was unsurprised. "Always have two irons in the fire," she said. "Not everyone you have to outwit is a man. It's good to be able to tackle women as well."

Sandi had been delighted to hear that at the time. Her mother didn't think she was a hideous freak or should become a nun or whatever. Linda Griffin didn't care her baby girl swung both ways, was even glad about it. At the time, Sandi had felt like walking on air. Now she knew she was just expected to screw her way to the top if it was a man or woman. Nothing about finding someone to love. And didn't Linda love Tom?

Sandi tore her thoughts away from that question. She could not - ABSOLUTELY NOT - think about the answer.

The problem was, had Sandi started to imagine an unobtainable girl? Unobtainable girls (and guys) in real life were bad enough, so why torture yourself with more?

And torture was definitely the word. The day passed with agonizing slowness. Everything annoyed her. The lights too bright, the colours too loud, the school bell and car horns and air condition flooding her head. Stupid loser teachers all saying nothing except "find your seats, get your school books and study hard" over and over again. Sitting in uncomfortable chairs and greasy desks, surrounded by folk she didn't want to be with. It was hell. It was like a broken radio suddenly cranking up to full volume, and Sandi was unable to think from the din. Beautiful Girl had ruined everything.

She bet Beautiful Girl wouldn't be bothered by this. Beautiful Girl wouldn't growl or bicker or fume, but sit at the front of the class - maybe to see better, definitely because she wasn't afraid of teachers - and effortlessly answer every question. DeMartino would be torn between liking a student who could answer a question and a living reminder so many couldn't. O'Neill would get her name wrong, treat her like she was LD while bigging up potential. Barch would like her because she wasn't male, but dislike her if she hadn't murdered five potential rapists before breakfast. DeFoe would leave her be. Bennett would be intimidated by her. And Morris would vow to make Beautiful Girl hate herself as much as Morris hated herself and she'd fail because Beautiful Girl was, like, so far beyond that it was awesome.

But there was no Beautiful Girl, was there?

No one had seen her. Quinn seemed genuinely unaware of anyone else riding with her to school that day, and Sandi had allowed herself to be convinced by Stacy that Quinn should join the Fashion Club. Quinn was tempted to join the Pep Squad, but seemed to prefer being part of the quartet for the moment. Sandi had pressed the point that it was traditional to disclose any immediate siblings who may draw on their free time - like the idiots she called brothers. Quinn confidently declared herself an only child, just like Stacy and Tiffany.

"Great to know," Sandi had grunted at the time, wondering why she was more upset that Beautiful Girl wasn't real than the hints she might have a tumor or something.

***

Tuesday morning, Sandi kept at eye out for the blue car but it never turned up. Quinn arrived on foot, alone, and they went inside right away to talk with the others. There was no sign of Beautiful Girl at the cafeteria, and social convention insisted that Sandi and the rest of the club stayed together for maximum exposure. No hope of wandering around campus looking for her.

The whole day Sandi was sure that Beautiful Girl must have been in the library, reading books and learning secrets and actually, like, enjoying the whole thing. Sandi knew knowledge was power, but reading books sucked as far as she was concerned. Plus anything that tried to make you think inevitably depressed you - it was only because of reading stuff she learned about diseases and pollution and how lots of cool women were killed for being witches and stuff.

Sandi offered to accompany Quinn home, sizing out the potential of her new house as a base of FC operations. While her parents were not home and there was still plenty of stuff to unpack, there was no sign of Quinn having any immediate female relatives. There was her parents' bedroom, Quinn's bedroom and a padded cell that had clearly been part of the fixtures and fittings. If Beautiful Girl existed, she didn't live here.

Sandi went home and spoke to Fluffy about it. He listened and offered his body to be cuddled, which was more than anyone else in her stupid family would do. Maybe Beautiful Girl was just a dream after all? If so, Sandi wished she could have stayed asleep and kept dreaming. There was nothing about being awake to match up to it.

***

Sandi forced herself to act normal as Wednesday began. She took great care not to scream at Tiffany to talk faster and give her a nickname like "broken record player" (only something more modern and stylish, obviously). She was ruder than normal to Stacy, who of course took every blow without standing her ground. Quinn was smart enough to twist out of any accusation Sandi made, which was kind of fun so Sandi kept getting more outraged and offended just see how Miss Morgendorffer could talk her way to safety. If she wasn't a fashion guru, Sandi would have recommended Quinn take up a job as hostage negotiator for the police.

How did you learn that, Quinn? Digging yourself out of trouble? You don't do that without a reason, and don't be that good at without practice. Someone's thrown you in the deep end a lot in your life, to the point it's second nature. You had someone. A cousin or a sister or adopted neighbor, whatever, but they were there to warn your parents when you had your hand in the cookie jar and you had to sweet-talk like your life depended on it.

At the end of the day, Sandi found herself talking to Tiffany. It was a rough day.

"You know, Tiffany, Quinn doesn't act like an only child. It's almost like she lives with someone but is pretending they don't exist. Does that strike you as somewhat suspicious?"

Tiffany blinked slowly. "But... she is an only child," she said. "You said that there's only her bedroom, just for her."

"Gee, Tiffany, forgive me for asking your opinion. Obviously I really needed basic facts I already know repeated to me."

"Well," Tiffany said after a surprisingly brief moment, "maybe she did but now she doesn't."

"...excuse me?"

"Maybe she's an only child now, but she used to have a brother or sister. Maybe they died, so she had to come here to Lawndale to start all over."

Sandi stared at Tiffany and wondered if she was always capable of this level of abstract thought. Either way, it raised something Sandi didn't like. Quinn had just lost someone and was grinning through gritted teeth pretending it was normal and Sandi had unwittingly been needling her. That was a truly jerky thing to do. Sandi felt ashamed. And then she wondered if her dead relative had been Beautiful Girl.

And Sandi's shame turned to bone-deep fear.

***

"Ghosts aren't real," Sandi told Fluffy, who cracked open a single eye to look at her, then closed it again. "Seriously, how dumb can it be? If everyone who dies leaves a ghost, they must, like, be everywhere. There shouldn't be room for ghosts and people. And what about ghosts of animals, huh? One pig farm would keep the Ghostbusters busy forever!"

Fluffy rolled onto his back. She obediently stroked his tummy.

"And why would I see the ghost of Quinn's cousin or whatever? I've never seen a ghost before." She gulped. "Have I?"

Fluffy's tail curled up, on top of Sandi's hand, as if to reassure her.

"Do you think I'm going crazy, Fluffy?"

Fluffy opened both eyes. You're asking a non-speaking domestic pet to judge your mental health because you may have seen the ghost of a virtual stranger's hypothetical sibling. Who you fancy. Take three guesses, girl. First two don't count.

"Shut up, Fluffy," Sandi grunted.

***

Thursday came and went. No sight of Beautiful Girl, no ominous storms, no priests being called in when the walls dripped with blood. Quinn had apparently had a really sucky time with her parents who wanted to bond with her (keeping her cheerful after the death of her sibling?) but seemed in pretty good spirits. When Sandi apologized, Quinn genuinely wondered what for? She didn't feel upset about any questions about her family, embarrassing though they were.

So why had Sandi seen Beautiful Girl? Maybe she was just, you know, horny? Apparently guys could only go so long without sex before they went crazy. Maybe her internal fuse had finally burnt out? It was a sign she needed to get laid, with a girl, a beautiful girl with glasses and messy brown hair and army boots and sweet mother of god, when had Sandi Griffin suddenly got so damn lonely? Quinn was probably the closest thing Sandi had to an actual friend and they'd barely known each other for a week. One wrong word and Morgendorffer would go straight for Pep Squad and Sandi would lose even that.

Friday started well with the news that assembly had been pushed back and would now replace the last two classes of the week - getting Sandi out of maths class full of idiots talking about understanding or not understanding algebra or finding the fact it had the word "bra" in it hilarious. She kept distance from Quinn, letting her deal with Corey and Johnson on her own and not bothering her. Absence made the nose grow longer and all that.

As the assembly filled, Sandi took her place and idly wondered why the change of time. What was so important it would take this long? The usual assembly barely lasted half an hour, though depending on how long Principal Li took to say "Lawndale High" it could be fifty minutes. Was it something to do with the new intake of students to make sure they kept their heads down and did what they were told?

On stage, Sandi saw Li and O'Neil setting up the podium. Coach Gibson and Manson the psychologist were directing two girl students to set out the chairs. One was tall, dark-haired and Asian wearing blood-red jacket and black pants. The other was... was...

It was Beautiful Girl.

She was real.

She was on stage.

And Principal Li wanted the entire school to see her for themselves...

***

Sandi had pinched both her arms and was very sore. There was no doubt she was awake. Beautiful Girl and Unimpressed Girl were now sitting at the far end of the assembly, and a few mutters from her surrounding students showed that they too could see the "losers" and wondered what it was all about. Sandi wished she knew.

Finally, Li gave up the podium. "Now, Mr. O'Neil has exciting news about our after-school self-esteem class!" she said, stepping back and allowing pitiful meager applause to fill the air.

The after-school self-esteem class was the lowest of the low, held in more contempt than Oakwood and other rival schools. Sandi had no sympathy for any idiot condemned there; it showed they were so lacking in basic reason they couldn't fool the idiot teachers that they were normal. Morons who didn't realize just how far their popularity would sink if they admitted their problems. These were people who shouldn't be allowed to have kids and let their loserdom spread.

So... why the hell was Beautiful Girl there?

How could anyone not see how calm and wise she was? How could they have thought she was so fragile she gave a damn whatever any of their miserable opinions were? Frankly, the idea Beautiful Girl was a ghost made more sense. Still, expecting O'Neil to understand something like that was asking a bit much.

Beautiful Girl said something to Unimpressed Girl. Neither of them wanted to be here, Sandi could tell. She wished she could hear what Beautiful Girl was saying, and felt a pang of hurt that Unimpressed Girl got to sit next to her. To talk to her. Like they were friends.

O'Neil was talking, saying something about how two students had completed a self-esteem course in a quarter of the time. The idea that maybe Manson had misdiagnosed them obviously never occurred to him. She's Beautiful Girl for crying out loud, Sandi wanted to scream. Why would she be unhappy with herself?

"Please join me in congratulations as I present these certificates of self-esteem to... Daria Morgendorffer and Jane Lane!"

More applause, only slightly more respectful. The audience knew in their guts the students were embarrassed enough already.

Daria Morgendorffer. Sandi wanted to punch the air. She wanted to scream with joy. She wanted to kiss someone. Especially if they were called Daria Morgendorffer. Daria. An ugly-sounding name, a name you had to sneer to pronounce. Not like Quinn, all sickly-sweet and cooing. Yeah, that was a name she could see Beautiful Girl choosing. Daria, a name you could say as you breathed out, exhaling in ecstasy...

Unimpressed Girl - Jane? - had swaggered up to the microphone. She bragged loudly about her self-esteem, then suddenly wilted as she realized she was being humiliated by her teachers and then ran off stage sobbing hysterically. Sandi laughed and so did others intelligent enough to see the joke. Idly she wondered if any of the Fashion Club had even cracked a smile at the display, but then Bea... then Daria... took the stage.

Oh god she was beautiful.

Sandi felt like shaking her head. Why weren't they all shutting up to listen to her? Hell, why weren't they tearing this building down and putting up a temple to worship her? Could people TRULY be that stupid? I mean, really?! Did no one here understand how damn lucky they were she was real and talking to them?

'No one can battle a terrible problem like low self-esteem on their own,' she was saying. Her voice was flat and empty, leaving just the words without distraction. She wasn't here to entertain, she was here because she had something to say. One sentence and she'd already told them more than O'Niell's self-esteem class ever would.

Oh beautiful Daria, you know how it hurts to be lonely, don't you?

Sandi felt upset and angry. Yeah, she felt lonely, but she deserved it. Daria didn't. Unimpressed Jane stepped up in Sandi's estimations right away. If you made that goddess feel even a moment of happiness, girl, then I will owe you for the rest of my life. Sandi frowned. I've only seen her twice, at a distance, and I'm ready to worship idols of her.

That's crazy. No one does that.

Unless they're in love.

Am I in love?

No, I can't be. I'm just horny, so desperate for release I'm sullying Beautiful Girl even thinking about it with her. She's better than that. She doesn't know who I am. How can she love me? And can it be love if they don't love you back? Oh, Daria, you'd hate me if you knew about this. I'm worse than Stacy. I'm worse than Tiffany. Only my brilliant acting talent kept me out of self-esteem class and maybe I should have gone there because you would have been there...

"Hey," scoffed a jock beside her, "I know that loser's voice sucks, but you don't need to cry about it!"

Sandi's hand went to her cheeks. They were wet. Holy crap, she was crying. Thank god her mascara was waterproof.

Daria looked out at the students, all so arrogant and ignorant they had no idea how important her words her. "Winning the fight against low self-esteem takes support - from teachers, from friends, and most of all, from family. And so, the one person I'd like to thank more than any other is my very own sister, Quinn Morgendorffer."

There was a bit of a gasp as people realized that the new girl Quinn might have something to do with the beautiful goddess on stage. You could almost hear a hundred mental slaps to the forehead as they realized that "Morgendorffer" wasn't a very common name and it was obvious.

Sandi looked at Quinn, whose jaw was making a bid for the floor. She looked like she had seen a ghost. Corey and Johnson were looking at her on either side as if they'd just woken up next to a gigantic spider whose stomach was rumbling.

I knew it, thought Sandi numbly. I knew Quinn had a sister. I knew Daria was real. Daria is Quinn's sister. Quinn is related to that beautiful girl and she lied about it. Are you jealous, Quinn? Do you want to be remembered as yourself, not Daria's little sister? Do you lie awake at night so close to that beauty and burn with rage you can never achieve it? Should I pity you, Quinn? Or hate you for being so stupid?

"My sister Quinn has forgotten more about self-esteem than I'll ever know," said Daria and there was pride in her voice. "Are you out there, sis? Stand up and let me thank you!"

Go on, Quinn, stand up. You're blessed by the goddess, stupid, so don't just sit there!

"That, like, brain is your sister?!" Sandi heard Corey gasp.

"Are you a brain, too?" Johnson whimpered.

Sandi felt herself reeling. A brain? Was that all anyone saw? The homely girl in the glasses used words with more than three syllables and suddenly she's a freak who thinks too much? And suddenly she realized that yes, no one - except maybe Jane - could see Daria as the Beautiful Girl. Not even Quinn, who would have been more cheerful if she'd been offered unprotected sex with a warthog with leprosy in a back-alley dumpster next to a toxic gas factory.

It's you. You're the one who made Daria feel lonely. I bet you get all the good stuff from your parents and you treat her like dirt. You don't even admit to being related to her. I might hate my little bastard brats, but they're my brothers and who the hell are you to reject anyone, you ginger-haired lying bitch? You're ashamed of her? You don't deserve to breathe air!

A surge of utter loathing and hatred rose up in Sandi. She was going to fire Quinn from the Fashion Club, make her outcast of all outcasts, start up a collection for "We Hate Quinn" charities, maybe hire a hitman...

And then she saw the most beautiful thing beautiful Daria had ever done.

She was smiling at Quinn. Not a big, cheesy grin. Not a cruel smirk. Just a smile, like the Mona Lisa.

Triumph. Acceptance. Forgiveness.

She could have called you out in front of everyone, Sandi thought. Told her you drove her to low self-esteem, said how you lied she didn't exist. She could have made everyone at school hate you, and I bet your parents wouldn't like to know about any of this. Instead, she's made you look good - the cute chick helping her ugly sister. Everyone's shocked they're related, but they all think Quinn's secretly a good sister to the social embarrassment.

Sandi smiled back at Daria, who didn't notice.

Nice one, Daria.

OK. You forgive Quinn? I forgive Quinn. And with her in the Fashion Club, I can go to your place. I can be near you. I can learn about you from Quinn. I can work out the right things to say to you. I can make sure you never feel lonely or unloved again. And if I'm really, really, like crazy-stupid lucky, you'll think I'm worthy of you...

*** 

"So, Quinn," drawled Sandi down the phone, "we were all impressed about you getting singled out in assembly on Friday."

"That was a total misunderstanding," Quinn replied, sounding like she believed it.

"Gee, I would have thought being thanked publicly in front of the whole school by your own sister..."

"She's not my sister," Quinn interjected, but apart from that she was unconcerned.

"She called you her sister. Twice."

"She means that like in the girl power feminism movement. We're all sisters, that sort of thing. I am her sister as she is Nancy Reagan's sister. Don't worry about it."

"So how did you manage to help her with all that self-esteem stuff? Does she, like, live at your house or something?"

"Oh, Sandi, I'm not half as good at time-management as you. I'm still amazed how you managed to reorganize Tiffany's winter solstice package with wisteria piping in less than four hours..."

Give her her due, it was several minutes before Sandi realized she'd lost control of the conversation.

***

In the week that followed, Sandi didn't get more info out of Quinn. Her house was used by her parents for couples therapy and sometimes depositions for her mother's law firm, so there was no way to visit and plenty of excuses why Daria might be there. Stacy and Tiffany politely agreed to forget the social hurt Quinn had suffered on Friday and decided to put the FC into silent running for the next twenty-three days, Waif-updates permitting, until the heat was off.

Daria and Jane, in the year above, were elusive as smoke. The one time Sandi glimpsed them in the cafeteria, she'd been physically-educating Upchuck on inappropriate sexual terminology. By the time she'd finished flipping his dinner tray in his face, they were gone. Sandi had tried to sneak into the library without noticing, but they weren't there either. One lunch she glimpsed the pair of them, somehow on the roof of the school and reading and drawing. How they got up there, Sandi didn't know, but she wouldn't be surprised if they'd sweet-talked the custodian into letting them up there.

In the meantime, she hoarded the knowledge she had and pieced together some of the story. Daria was one year older than Quinn, and they had previously lived in Highland. Unsurprisingly, Daria's smarts had singled her out for ridicule by the rest of the morons living there. What made you a brain in Lawndale made you a witch with those mouth-breathing rednecks. Daria had been bullied, badly bullied, but while she (of course) dismissed it all like unwanted tobacco smoke, Quinn hadn't coped as well with the verbal and physical abuse simply for being Daria's sister. Her default insistence they weren't related wasn't very surprising, but still god damned ungrateful.

For Daria herself, Sandi was drawing up blanks. She was good at all her classes, and while not many students actually dealt with her, they seemed to respect her. She spent most of her time with Jane, at Jane's place, alone together where no one could interrupt them doing whatever they damn pleased. Exactly what that was they were doing seemed to include everything from watching TV to Satanic orgies of blood-drinking sex and violence.

Sandi refused to let that bug her. If Jane makes Daria happy, fine. At least I don't have to worry about her being lonely.

***

Brittney Taylor was holding a party. Sandi was, of course, invited as were the rest of the Fashion Club. They all agreed to arrive and depart separately and not mingle too notably given Quinn's recent trauma. Sandi decided to embrace the chance to focus on Fashion Club objectives: destroying Tori Jericho, for starters.

After a great deal of time, effort, not to mention a small fortune in bribes, Sandi had discovered Tori had been checked over for chlamydia after using a particularly unsanitary toilet seat at the Zon. Once she had a copy of the paperwork saying she had been tested for it, Sandi merely had to allow some geeks to release it into the world wide web or whatever. Tori Jericho, the diseased whore of Lawndale as she would soon be known, was screwed. It didn't even matter that she checked out clean as a whistle, not once the idea of her doing it with some filthy diseased Oakdale boy came out...

Sandi listened to Tori as she pointed out the levels of popularity for everyone present, unaware she was giving up the intel that would allow Sandi to take over the social vacuum about to appear. Tiffany stood nearby, nodding politely, and if she was listening she definitely wasn't understanding.

'Those three aren't popular at all,' Tori said, frowning as she pointed across the hall. 'I don't know what they're doing here. Maybe some kind of exchange program?'

Sandi didn't react. Because any reaction other than screaming in primal joy that Daria was somehow at Brittney's party wouldn't do it justice. And there she was, with Jane and... Upchuck? Talking like they were normal people worthy of talking to each other. Sandi felt a pang of guilt, knowing that Daria wasn't scared of being unpopular.

"But what's with that girl with the glasses? Her face looks weird. All the same color..."

Sandi's knuckles tightened. She was tempted to cave in Tiffany's skull right there and then, but wasn't sure it would much difference. Thankfully, Tori stepped in to explain things.

"She's not wearing makeup," she said, clearly puzzled at the idea.

"Is that a new look or something?" joked Sandi before they could insult Daria further.

"Brrrrr. Scary!" said Tori, sounding like Upchuck, and Sandi felt absolutely no guilt at what was about to happen to her.

Upchuck had moved on and two other guys tried it with Daria and Jane. Sandi wondered what they were saying, since it could only be Shakespeare compared to Dumb and Dumber she was stuck with. Where was Stacy anyway? Or Quinn, for that matter? How would she react that her shameful secret had followed her to the party?

Daria waved happily to a ceramic tiger and said with exaggerated glee, "Yoo-hoo, siiiiss!"

Sandi realized she was smiling as she saw a redhaired figure retreat deeper into the shadows.

***

She needed time to think, to breathe and also to empty her bladder. Sandi made her way to the bathroom and saw Jamie, Jeffy and Jehovah standing nearby, looking like abandoned dolls, and Daria managing to loom over them despite being shorter than Quinn. Sandi licked her dry lips, worried to be seen attending to bodily functions by the Beautiful Girl and tried to slip past her.

The door was locked. Someone was in there. Because of course there was.

"Hi, I'm Quinn's brainy sister," Daria was telling the three boys. "People say we look alike."

Sandi sniggered. Who do? The blind? As if Quinn's that beautiful!

She tried the door handle again, but got no reply. Was Quinn hiding in the bathroom? It was a good thing Sandi wasn't desperate yet, but already a line was forming behind her. "What's she doing in there?" Jodie asked impatiently.

"Maybe she's taking a Jacuzzi," retorted Sandi. She knocked on the door. "Uh, Quinn, either you say this is a girl problem and let us in, or we break the door down because these drinks are racing through us all with great speed. Do the smart thing, Quinn. Be... brainy, like that girl who calls you a sister."

The door was almost ripped open. Quinn was white faced and had clearly not used the facilities.

"Thank you, your majesty," huffed Sandi and stepped inside.

"Were you using my Jacuzzi?" demanded Brittney, outraged.

"No!" huffed Quinn. "It was... girl stuff."

"Then you better the hell not have used my Jacuzzi! I learned from that ages ago!"

Sandi closed the door and let out a genuine chuckle. Daria's presence knocked over dominoes and each one made Sandi like her life a little bit more.

***

Sandi was dancing. She didn't have a care in the world and she knew across the room a Beautiful Girl was watching her. She grinned and waved at Daria, who held up a hand like a Native American saying "How!" Her expressionless face seemed to convey so much. She didn't look away, but kept her eyes on Sandi.

"It's the Soul Train," she said flatly. "Beep-beep. Get on board."

Feeling like she'd got a high-five from Jesus himself, Sandi gave off her best moves. She spun and twirled and flexed and she didn't give a damn about anything. She had the full attention of Beautiful Girl, she was in a party full of popular people about to be magnetized to her as she stabbed Tori in the clasp of her bra strap and...

Daria would never do something like that. You should be ashamed.

The thought stopped Sandi in her tracks.

Almost instantly, the three boys fighting over Quinn literally started fighting over her. Daria's sister looked like she'd just hit the jackpot, and would remember this late in her bed before dawn with lots of other nasty thoughts.

And then the cops showed up.

Daria was long gone.

Why would she stay for someone like you?

***

By Monday, Tori Jericho was ancient history and Sandi Griffin was top of the totem pole.

It was surprisingly little comfort.

***

You are unworthy of her love. You deserve to be abandoned.

Sandi lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, cuddling Fluffy. He would forgive her, but no one else would. Even though no one could hint with any proof she had anything to do with Tori's downfall, the fact was she had some something utterly horrible. If Daria didn't know the truth already, she was smart enough to find out and would never want anyone as hideous and revolting as Sandi - daughter of Linda - Griffin.

She remembered when she was little, talking to Andrea. Andrea had told her that in China, the worst thing you could say to something - the absolute WORST THING - was to tell them "I hope you find what you're looking for."

Sandi understood that now. She'd wanted to be the most popular girl in school, untouchable, standing on the top while the rest burnt down? She'd got it. And she'd lost the only chance of being with the one person that made her glad to be alive. She would rule alone. Everything now would be defined by an absence of Daria. Her classes, her family, her life.

Maybe that's what mom meant about not falling in love? Anything is better than this hurt.

***

Sandi accepted it with dignity. She avoided Daria (not difficult, but she made a conscious effort not to look for her) and focused on the Fashion Club. Whenever they ended up at Quinn's house, Daria was not there. The knowledge the Beautiful Girl had to stay in the padded cell angered Sandi, but she knew Daria was there by choice. Maybe she felt like the only sane person in a world of crazies. Maybe it kept her safe from people like Sandi.

Day in, day out, Sandi forced herself to embrace everything she'd gained. Meetings were held, decisions made, Stacy panicked faster and Tiffany spoke slower and Quinn was clearly qualified to take over the whole organization with the snap of her fingers. More and more of Sandi's outrage was genuine, wondering how long before some embarrassing photo or test result was released to the world and Sandi was condemned to the waste pit where Tori Jericho was already waiting...

You deserve this.

The Mall of the Millennium offered a respite and a chance to catch ahead of the current fashion trends. Quinn twisted a random guy around her little finger to drive them there, all of them taking a day off school. They were popular enough to get away with it, after all.

In the food court, Quinn was coming up with more good ideas, like making over hideous out-of-style nobodies.

"That's so great, Quinn, I wish I'd had such a brilliant idea!" Sandi sneered. Yes, it was actually a good idea, yes, she should have thought of it herself, that's what annoyed her so much. She looked to Stacy and Tiffany. "You guys should impeach me and make Quinn president!" she advised with exaggerated surprise.

Go on. The lot of you, drop the act and turn on me like rabid dogs. It's no more than I deserve.

Of course, Quinn knew what to say. She insisted Sandi was the great inspiration and Stacy and Tiffany immediately went back to discussing the makeover like nothing had happened. Maybe they were worried she'd do to them what she'd done to Tori. They weren't here by choice. They were terrified she'd hurt them.

Daria could never love someone like me.

Stacy pointed across the court at two girls - one in green and one in red - who were clearly perfect for making over. It looked like Daria and Jane, but it couldn't be them. Sandi had been imagining seeing them more than she cared to admit. She thought nothing of it until Quinn tapped the green girl's shoulder and she turned around.

It WAS Daria.

And though Quinn was screaming, Daria seemed to be staring directly at Sandi.

Sandi felt herself crease up in an involuntary, hopeful smile.

"Good to see you, too," Daria said, returning the smile.

Is this a second chance? No, that can't be right. She just doesn't know yet. And when she does, she'll hate me even more for pretending I was ever anything but scum. Every moment she smiles at me is just another moment I'm letting her down.

Oh god, for the first time ever, Sandi wanted to literally die.

***

Quinn somehow managed to convince Daria and Jane to leave them for a while in return for a ride home. Sandi might have cursed the fact there where five other gooseberries between her and the Beautiful Girl, but she deserved it. And she deserved to ride in the front, not getting to see Daria or even catch a trace of fifth-hand body heat or the smell of her hair.

You coulda had that, Griffin. But you wanted popularity. Congratulations.

They dropped off Quinn and Daria at their house. The driver guy dropped Sandi off at home, without Daria, without someone she wanted to be with, at a house full of brats and psychos. And Fluffy who could be both or neither if he wanted and wouldn't judge her for crying as she cuddled him that night.

***

She dreamed. She dreamed of Daria sitting on a window sill, legs dangling over the edge, looking up at the moon. She dreamed Quinn was standing behind her, arms folded, frowning, pouting.

"Hey, Quinn," Daria would ask, her glasses white with lunar blue-grey. "Tell me about Sandi."

"Sandi? Jeez, Daria, why do you want to talk about my friends? Don't you have anything better to do like, er, read a book or build a computer or something?"

"I'm just curious and want to learn things. It's not a concept you'd grasp easily, I know."

"Fine! What do you want to know about her?"

"What have you got, my little Encyclopedia Lawndalica?"

"Oh, great, more Latin insults! Up-ay-ors-yay, Aria-day!" But, because it was a dream, Quinn still answered. "She's the eldest kid in her family, she has two brothers and a beautiful cat called Fluffy who actually loves her unlike the others. She's really popular now, though, she's the top girl in the whole school."

"Impressive. How does she make everyone like her so much?"

"Huh, oh please, Daria! She didn't make anyone like her, she made everyone hate Tori Jericho. She was the real popular one, the one everyone liked till they thought she caught something off a date..."

Daria would turn to her sister, eyes wide. "What?" she gasped.

"Well, admittedly I can't know that for sure, but since she's dreaming this, it's definitely true."

The Beautiful Girl will lower her head, hurt. "How could anyone be so evil?"

"I know, right! I'm the most selfish and ungrateful little brat you know and even I wouldn't dare do that, not even to get control of the Fashion Club! I mean, come on, Daria - I've never done anything so unforgivable."

"That's true, Quinn." Daria would look up at the moon. "Very true. I'm glad you saved me from ever putting my faith in that evil harridan. I'll know better now."

"It's no big deal, Daria," Quinn will sigh. "Say, now we've sorted that out, should we strip each other naked and lick chocolate pudding mixture off our boobs wearing only nurse's hats?"

"I see someone has decided to forget we're sisters," Daria will observe with a knowing smirk. "But then, as long as Sandi knows I'll even take you over her, Quinn, you better get the pudding mix while I put on the Enya's Greatest Hits CD. Oh, and get Stacy round here to tag in when necessary..."

Which is when Fluffy clawed at Sandi's shoulder and returned her to a frankly-unsatisfying reality.

***

Sandi threw herself into the Amazon Modelling Agency opportunity feet first. She walked the catwalk, she looked good, easily impressing as every other contender (and that meant the whole Fashion Club, obviously). She strutted, she pouted, she groped and fondled one of the Jay-named-boys as Miss DeGregory demanded. Not bad, nice and warm and supple.

Acceptable, that was the word. She could find no flaws to outweigh the plusses, and vise-versa. Hoo-freaking-ray.

Quinn looked like she was going to wet herself. She might have enjoyed four topless guys on stage but up close and personal? She looked like a little kid, scared and wanting help. Sandi spared her no sympathy - it was hardly rocket science what models were really meant to do in this business. If she was in such a moral panic, she should quit.

And then Principal Li arrived and flipped her lid. Seemed she too had a line she wouldn't cross and this was it. All the other girls apparently suddenly found their chastity too, all innocent little princesses corrupted by the wicked modelling contracts and not one of them brave enough to admit they were tempted to join the darker side and would have done if Li hadn't broken it all up. Sandi played along, not caring if she was convincing or not.

As everything came to an end, Sandi saw for the first time Daria and Jane in the audience, watching her.

Judging her.

Judging her unworthy.

Sandi managed to last all the way home before hugging Fluffy and sobbing herself to sleep.

***

The modeling contract was ruined by someone clever enough to draw in the media and the army at the same time. Sandi didn't discuss it with anyone, especially not Quinn. Had it been Daria? Was she saving them from DeGregory and her soft-porn child brothels? Did she do it because it was right or had she been looking out for her sister? She didn't do it to save Sandi, though, that was certain.

More time passed.

Quinn was getting more and more popular. People kept asking her about Quinn, wanting the juicy details of beautiful redhead who everyone wanted. When the Jay-boys finally asked her to start inserting Quinn into her anecdotes at random, she knew she was on borrowed time. Tori could have dealt with it, and Quinn, but not her.

You deserve this.

And then Brooke - forgotten, overlooked, thrown aside for Quinn Brooke - got a nose job. A good one, too, from Dr. Shar. Not too obnoxious-looking either; Sandi had to give the choice full marks. And she immediately threw Quinn under the bus by implying she didn't like Brooke's new nose and thought the Fashion Club were all, just to watch Quinn inevitably bounce back from this quagmire.

"Quinn's just so deep, she thinks we would say something's cute when it's not cute, which we wouldn't!" she jeered. "Example: I would never tell Quinn that she looks cute in that thing she always wears."

"I don't have a 'thing' that I always wear!"

"If you say so."

"I have lots of things which I wear at different times, far apart in time!"

"As you wish."

"You're just mad because I said you're shallow... which I meant in some other way!"

"So then, it is cute?" asked Brooke nervously.

"Let's ask an average person," Sandi said, all bitch-modes set to maximum as she spotted Daria and Jane in the distance and with them another chance to hurt the unworthy redhead. "Quinn, there's that girl you know. Let's ask her! Hello, Quinn's cousin or something?" she called.

Go on, Quinn, say she's your sister. Be a millionth as brave as she is.

Quinn said nothing.

Oh why has no one murdered you yet, you treacherous harlot?

"So Quinn's little friend, or whatever," said Sandi to Daria politely - again, Quinn did not comment. "Take a look at this."

Daria examined Brooke's nose with full concentration, but gave no hint of what she thought about it. Sandi looked at the two of them together, a girl who was beautiful because of logic and reason and objective thought, and Daria who was the stuff they carved stars and suns out of. It almost gave her a headache, inner beauty and outer beauty flaring and strobing over each other...

Daria's voice broke into her thoughts. "What is it?" she asked politely, and Sandi wanted to laugh.

Yeah, what is it? A waste of money? A cry for help? A metaphor for, like, modern society? High school in a nutshell?

"It's Brooke's new nose," Tiffany explained. "Isn't is cute?"

Daria stared at Brooke for a moment. "Don't worry, it'll grow out," she promised her kindly.

Sandi pressed the fingers of her left hand against her lips and pretended to be deeply-troubled by what Daria said, and not about to bust a gut laughing. No one but the Beautiful Girl would be brave enough to dismiss successful plastic surgery as a failure, or fearless enough to be proud of everything cosmetic surgery wanted to get rid of. And the thing was, no one could argue with her. Not Brooke, or Quinn or anyone. Any excuse boiled down to "I want to do what I think other people might like even though they don't."

Daria wandered off and Sandi would have sold off her kidney to go with her.

***

Sandi had found herself in a library. Not the campus one, because that was dangerous on countless levels but a normal one. She idly filled in a form to get a library card - she could always say it was a present from an overenthusiastic geek admirer she had yet to throw away if questioned - and considered the books. Daria read books. Jane probably did too.

Sandi didn't like books. She got that they were important and stuff, but all those words jumping around a page? And worse, they weren't even, like, stories or anything. She wandered over to the video section and saw one video titled simply THE ROMANS. She picked it up and borrowed it without a second thought.

Somewhere she remembered a story about a man in Rome who got arrested for making a statue of a beautiful woman. Apparently they thought it was all air-brushed and fake and you weren't allowed to fake beauty for a statue. The guy got off the charges by presenting the beautiful chick to the court. They all immediately agreed the artist hadn't faked anything and lined up to get her phone number or whatever Italians did back then.

If only I could do that with Daria. Say to the world - look at her. Isn't she as beautiful as I said? Hell, haven't I been under-selling her to you? Can't you all appreciate how wonderful she is and how lucky we are just to know she's here at all?

Sandi watched the VHS with Fluffy that night. It was not, in short, what she'd expected. It wasn't any documentary or anything but some ancient black-and-white stage play of English actors. It was about four time travelers who went on holiday in Ancient Rome and got into all sorts of crazy stuff, like being sold as slaves, fighting gladiators, trying to poison Nero. Sandi found bits of it funny, bits of it scary and bits that were both. She was also sad as she imagined everyone in this play was either ancient or dead by now, especially the little girl time traveler who gave zero craps about being cool and could see the funny side in Rome burning down and throw a vase at a centurion without blinking. She was like Stacy, if Stacy had ever managed to spontaneously grow a backbone.

But the best bit was when the old man was asked to play the harp for Nero. The old man had no idea how to play, so after a volley of excuses and manipulation that would have made Quinn proud, he did the harp equivalent of air guitar and told the audience that only losers couldn't hear his music. Everyone applauded and Nero himself was impressed. The old man and the little girl laughed like drains that the morons had fallen for it.

And Sandi laughed too, a proper big laugh that for one moment made all her troubles go away.

And it gave her a good idea.

This time, she was going to make Daria proud.

*** 

Sandi flexed her face, testing her mobility with the bandage applied over her nose. Stacy and Tiffany were already wearing their own, under strict orders not to reveal they were only pretending to be post-op. She glowed inwardly with joy when Quinn arrived and ranted at them for getting nose jobs without her.

"But you would never get a nose job," retorted Sandi smugly. "You're not that shallow. A really deep person like you has too many important things on her mind, like the news or something, to pay attention to her appearance. What else could possibly account for your showing up at school in such a dated outfit?"

"But you helped me buy this outfit!" shrieked Quinn in despair. "Anyway, I could've come along for moral support!"

"Like you were so supportive with Brooke?" Tiffany asked, for once saying the right thing.

And then Brooke showed up, with a smaller waist, bigger lips and dimples. She was gorgeous and she knew it, but not - as Quinn gasped - beautiful. Still, Sandi rammed home the last nail into poor Quinn's crucifix. "Brooke, I must say, and I mean this in a not shallow way, you are totally cute now."

"Wait, so does that mean I can join the Fashion Club?" gulped Brooke hopefully.

"Who knows? We may have an opening soon. What's the rule? Last hired, first fired?" she asked, shooting a look at Quinn.

***

"And you should've seen her face," Sandi told Fluffy as he lay in the crook of her arm, head resting against her boob and purring happily. "And we didn't even need to have plastic surgery. If anyone asks, we saw Dr. Shar gave us her best works and only mouthbreathing losers wouldn't be smart enough to spot the difference. And no one will be brave enough to say so. Except maybe Daria. And I can tell her I didn't have surgery, because I never needed it, I was just proving a point to Quinn. She'll appreciate that, don't you think, Fluffy? It's just, you know, tough love. Honestly, Brooke getting plastic surgery? Everyone knows you wait till you're done growing before you start changing things. Ask Michael Jackson."

Fluffy growled slightly.

"Well, you know what I mean."

Sandi found the next video after THE ROMANS, called THE WEB PLANET. It was longer and weirder, about the time travelers visiting the moon where a giant spider had covered the whole place in cobwebs and was using giant ants to fight an army of singing butterfly people. Apart from the bit where the little girl adopted one of the giant ants like a pony, it sucked, and Sandi didn't borrow any more of the series.

That said, she was in the right mindset when the next morning Brooke's whole face collapsed in on itself right in the middle of a discussion with Stacy and Tiffany. They were utterly horrified and hyperventilating, until Sandi ripped off their bandages (with a pair of deeply-satisfying screams to boot) and reminded the idiots they'd never had surgery in the first place. "You don't have anything to worry about!"

"But... what if Quinn asks?" Tiffany replied, rubbing her raw nose.

"Then she was deeply-shallow to consider us deeply-shallow enough to take discount cosmetic surgery," Sandi huffed, carefully removing her own bandage. "She should have more faith in us."

"But what if she's going to get surgery, Sandi?" asked Stacy worriedly.

"She can't afford it," Sandi predicted confidently.

"And I don't need it," came a haughty voice further down the hall. It was, of course, Quinn.

"Really, Quinn? I guess I must totally have been imagining the way you've been begging everyone to pay for your surgery to bring honor to the whole school?" Sandi teased, remembering the way Andrea had been shaken by Quinn's slightly-crazy-sounding sales pitch. "Unless of course you changed your mind?"

"Only a fool refuses to listen to advice, fashion or otherwise," Quinn said smugly. "There's nothing wrong with me that needs any surgery. I have the looks that make other girls mentally ill. People say I'm perfect."

Mentally ill? You don't talk like that. You'd say "crazy". Who told you that, as if I couldn't guess?

"And just who are these people, Quinn?" asked Sandi innocently. "And why aren't they here to back you up?"

"Uh, well, they have confidence in me to stand on my own."

"Or is it you're embarassed to be seen with your supporters?"

Go on. Admit, Daria told you not to have surgery and you listened because not even you can be that stupid. Just say your sister told you to be as brave as she is and not change yourself out of fear. Say it. Amaze me.

"Sandi, if I didn't make them work for it, they wouldn't respect me, would they?"

"Yeah," drawled Tiffany. "Good point."

Sandi looked around for Daria. I was trying to help. I was trying to be smart, like you were about the self-esteem thing. Make her do the opposite thing, make her refuse to get surgery because everyone else was doing it. It's what you would have done, right?

Except you didn't do this for the fun of upsetting her. You're better than that.

Sandi sighed.

How the hell does Jane do it? Is she a freaking saint or something?

***

Alternapalooza was a blow-out, but Sandi was grateful they'd gone to a mall instead of the concert when she learned that Quinn's "cousin" was going. She'd even caught a glimpse of her on the road with Jane and some guys examining a broken down van. When Stacy spotted them, Sandi quickly found an excuse to close the hood and change the subject.

On the way home, Sandi kept hoping Daria had enjoyed herself at the concert.

***

"Tommy Sherman is dead, long live Tommy Sherman," Sandi told Fluffy with solemn tones. "Nope," she sighed after a moment. "I still don't get what what that means."

She'd been absent the day the big man had returned to school and then died when his own goalpost had fallen on him. Since it was designed to allow idiots like him to slam their heads into it without getting hurt, it was funny. No, not funny. Ironic. Yeah, all that effort to avoid it making it happen, like that Greek guy who was told he was going to die because of a horse-drawn taxi so he banned all taxis and the furious out-of-work taxi drivers killed him in revenge.

Tommy must have been real likable, though. Everyone seemed bummed out at his death. Brittney had said Daria made her feel better, and now everyone was making a pilgrimage to the Beautiful Girl to listen to her wisdom. About freaking time, Sandi thought. No one went to Quinn for advice about anything important, and if they did they were sure to be disappointed. Mr. Sherman was gone and it was time people realized they were lucky Daria was still there.

A pang shot through Sandi's heart and her mouth went dry.

"Everyone's going to finally see how beautiful she is, Fluffy. And then everyone will want her. I'll never get her now..."

Fluffy nuzzled her hip. Not if you act fast.

***

The first chance she got the next day, Sandi went up to Daria. Unfortunately, Jane was there. How the hell was Sandi supposed to pour her heart out when Jane was there? If she thought Sandi was lying or trying to hurt Daria's feelings, Jane would use those combat boots of hers without compunction - which she should because you deserve this - and she'd never get another chance.

"Hello," Sandi asked nervously. "Quinn's cousin or whatever?"

She wanted Daria to correct her, to open the conversation. No such luck.

"Yeah?" she asked mildly, as if she'd never seen Sandi before in her life.

She doesn't care about you. That's better than if she hates you. Get out now.

Sandi felt like her body had got a memo they were supposed to be running for their life and was puzzled they were standing still. She was breathing hard and her anti-persperant was about to vaporize from the workload. She needed a good reason to speak to Daria, something Jane wouldn't react badly to. "Quinn said you were really good with, like, bummed out stuff?"

"Yeah?"

"My cat, he got into my makeup or something and, like, ODed on foundation, and he spent the whole day puking!" blurted out Sandi, hating her cowardice, hating the lies and very much hating she would ever even pretend that Fluffy was sick or she would let him hurt. Is there nothing you won't sacrifice to your ego, Griffin?

"And the experience left him questioning the meaning of life?" asked Jane, nodding in understanding.

She knows you're lying. She knows you're not here for that. You might as well have pulled out a gun.

"And I've been feeling really bad about it," Sandi said, almost pleading as she looked to Daria. "And I was wondering if you had, like, some advice or something?"

"I'm afraid that inflation has forced me to institute a small fee for my services."

"Huh?" Daria wants money to help people? She isn't doing this because she's a wonderful person?

"Ten dollars. In advance."

Pay her! It's cheap at half the price if it makes her feel safe with you! Maybe it's a test to show her if you're worth caring about? Pay ten times that much if you have to! It's only money!

"Oh, uh, sure," Sandi said, handing over a ten dollar bill.

Daria took it without looking at it, and Sandi's belief it was a test strengthened. Only people willing to part with cash would be really interested in hearing what she said, after all.

"What is the animal's name?"

"Fluffy," Sandi breathed, guilty and loving at the same time.

Daria nodded. "I see. Fluffy," she repeated.

A long pause.

"So, like, what's your advice?"

"Find some other way to feel," said the Beautiful Girl as if it were obvious. "Then you won't feel sad."

Sandi boggled and felt a surge of outrage. She'd dared to imagine something bad happening to Fluffy and Daria was fobbing her off with sub-Tiffany logic like that? "That's what I get for ten dollars?" she shouted. "Are you kidding?"

Daria didn't react to her anger, of course, she was above such things. "See? It's working already."

Sandi bit down her anger.

Why are you expecting proper advice for a lie? Daria knows you're lying, why should she tell you the truth? You think you love her but all you do is lie to her face. You're a fool, Sandi Griffin, and a fool and her money are soon, like, separated legally in a court of law with no weekend access. How many times do you have to hear this?

You - deserve - this.

"Thanks," Sandi said quietly and turned away in shame before the tears started coming.

Behind her, she heard Jane speak grimly. "You just made ten bucks off of that poor girl's suffering."

"Yeah," she heard Daria sigh guiltily. "That was wrong."

Getting an idiot to pay ten bucks for advice? It's the American dream! It's not bringing down Tori Jericho, or winding up Brooke, or making Quinn want plastic surgery. Wrong? If that's the worst you've done, Beautiful Girl, you should be running the whole world and not whatever idiots are doing it right now!

"Really," Jane agreed. "Next time..."

Daria completed the thought. "Twenty."

She's going to charge you double because she hates you, Sandi. And you know you're getting off lightly. You know she could do so much worse to you and she'd be right to because you deserve it, you evil little bitch who stands against everything Daria believes in. You even lied about Fluffy, pretended you couldn't keep him safe, the one person who truly loves you and you poisoned him to fill up an awkward silence! He won't forgive you for this! No one will! Everyone who knows you will hate you, Sandi, because you're so hateable and every time we give you a chance you spit in our face!

Crying freely now, Sandi stumbled into the nearest bathroom, blundered into a stall and curled up into a ball.

Did you hear what the Beautiful Girl did to Sandi Griffin? Stole ten bucks off her. Even Daria Morgendorffer can't find anything good there. Did you hear Sandi Griffin thought she was good enough for Daria? I know, right, the crazy people who say their dogs told them to be serial killers make more sense than that! But who would ever want to talk to Sandi, did you hear what she did to Tori and Brooke and Quinn and Andrea and Stacy and Tiffany and Angie and even Fluffy?

She's a disease, she's a disease, she's a disease! Nah-nah-na-nah-naahhh!

Hey, what do you call Sandi Griffin lying dead in a toilet in Lawndale High? A damn good start!

Sandi moaned, unable to stop crying or even breathing despite all she wished. She would have done anything, said anything, just to stop that horrible pain filling her up to bursting. She didn't care if it was suicide or death or crippling or anything, she just wanted it to end.

You deserve this! You're a disease! You deserve this! You're a disease!

Nobody wants you, nobody needs you, nobody loves you, nobody cares...

"I'M SORRY! OH GOD, I'M SO SORRY!" Sandi tried to scream, hugging her legs to her chest and burying her head into her knees.

For a moment her head was exhausted and empty and seconds or hours or days or months or forever could pass.

"Sandi?"

Sandi lifted her tear-sodden, hot, dry face and saw someone was standing outside the stall.

Someone in army boots.

Someone with the most wondrous voice Sandi had ever heard.

"Sandi?" asked Daria again. 

***

 Daria and Jane stood outside the girls' restroom, having stopped their walk as a horrific, miserable scream had rung out. A full three seconds after the tormented howl stopped, Daria lifted her head slightly and asked, "Did you hear something?"

"It sounded like someone sitting in the toilet screaming 'I'm sorry' at the top of their voice."

"Hmm. Maybe the cafeteria has started using my dad's old bean recipes. Nothing will make you scream for forgiveness to porcelain like that."

"You think we should check it out?" Jane shrugged.

"I can't think of anything that caused that scream which might improve our current miserable lives."

"Oh, you little ray of sunshine, Daria. Come on," said Jane, pushing open the door. "If the toilets are attacking people, forewarned is forearmed."

"No, forearmed is the outer bits of your upper limbs," Daria said but followed her friend inside.

Only one of the stalls was occupied. Someone was slumped on the floor inside, curled up into a ball, sobbing. Daria felt a pang of concern as she recognized the slight Valley Girl slur to the pained gasps.

"Sandi?" she asked. "Sandi?"

More sobs.

"I think she's ignoring us," Jane said. "Maybe for the best. Toilets are like god - you can speak to them and it's all right, but if they speak back you're declared nuts."

Daria knocked on the stall door. "Sandi? Look, if you want your ten bucks back, there are easier ways to seek a refund." No response. "Sandi, please don't drive me to even greater levels of hysteria?"

Jane sighed, walked into the adjacent stall, climbed up onto the toilet so she could lean her head and shoulders over the dividing wall. In the next stall, Sandi was visible curled up in a ball sobbing.

"How is she?" called Daria.

"Well, she still has some dignity left to lose," Jane replied. She called down to Sandi. "Hey, you got our attention! Please state the nature of your emergency so we can annoy and frustrate you better?"

"I'm sorry," wailed Sandi piteously.

"I said," Jane yelled loudly, "open the damn door! Other people might need to use the facilities! And my friend isn't tall enough to hop up and use the sink if there's an emergency."

"Jane, you disgust me on many different levels."

"Yeah, the lower levels, short-stuff," Jane retorted, then called down to Sandi. "Come on, girl. You cannot be comfortable down there. Think of your cleaning bills alone... Oh, fine."

Jane clambered over the divider and dropped down into the cubicle. She flipped the catch, reached down, grabbed Sandi by her armpits, hauled her upright, opened the door and bundled her out of the stall.

"What do the judges score?" Jane asked Daria with a grin.

"An average 8.7 but the lack of steroids detected show you just don't have proper commitment to the sport," Daria replied, looking at Sandi. "Is there any particular reason behind your little breakdown?"

"I'm sorry," wept Sandi. "I lied... Don't hate me, please!"

"Gee, Daria," mused Jane, still all but holding Sandi upright. "Apparently our opinions count for something!"

"Well, I'm convinced it's a psychotic episode."

"Daria, please," wailed Sandi, her throat thick with distress. "I'm so sorry, I'm so freaking sorry!"

"I didn't want to be the first to say it," Jane admitted.

Daria sighed. "Sandi, I'm sure you are sorry. But hiding in the toilet crying uncontrollably is not a constructive use of the Fashion Club President's time."

"Don't hate me," was Sandi's tiny whimper.

"I don't hate you, Sandi," said Daria patiently. "I don't hate anyone. It's like negotiating with terrorists, you do it just once and you have to do it for everyone."

"Yeah, if Daria hated everyone who deserved it, there wouldn't be enough hours in the day," Jane confided.

This only seemed to upset Sandi even more.

Jane looked to Daria. "It's good to know our esoteric sense of humor is always appreciated."

"Sandi," said Daria firmly, her voice sounding more like her mother's for a moment. "Take a deep breath and try and pull yourself together. You're almost certainly overreacting. I don't hate you for whatever it is you've done. In fact, me caring what you've done is a very remote possibility at best."

Rolling her eyes, Jane reached into the nearest stall with her free hand and tore off a length of toilet paper. She bundled it up and wiped Sandi's eyes. "Come on, Sandi, let's get you out of here. Ms. Li's cheap ammonia is probably setting off your allergies."

"Where are the rest of your Fashion Club friends?" asked Daria, eager to get this over with. "They can look after you much better than we can."

Sandi shook her head. "No," she croaked. "I need to talk to someone. I can't talk to them." She gave the two girls a pitiful look. "Have you tried to talk to them?"

"She's got us there," Daria admitted.

"Well, we're not keeping her," Jane said firmly. "Trent is much quieter and properly toilet-trained."

"Maybe we can drop her off at the pound. Or off the roof."

***

A few minutes later, all three of them were stood on the roof of the main building of Lawndale High. It was a grey, cool afternoon with a gentle breeze blowing.

Jane sat Sandi down on one of the square flats of the parapet. The younger girl did as she was bidden, a broken look on her long angular face.

Daria closed the door. "OK, Sandi," she said, pocketing the duplicate key she'd got from the caretaker. "Now you know about our secret lair we cannot allow you leave alive. Now, are you going to tell us what's wrong."

Sandi's eyes glistened.

"Fine," said Daria, taking the ten dollar note from her pocket and shoving it into Sandi's. "You needed more advice for your cat. Well, the good news is that if he's puking all the time he's getting your makeup out of his system and more likely to pull through..."

"Fluffy's fine," Sandi said quietly, not looking up. "I lied."

"You lied about a sick cat?" Jane mused. "Why didn't you just tell us you were upset about Tommy Sherman?"

"Yes, because we never get tired of that," Daria agreed.

"I don't care about Tommy Sherman," grunted Sandi angrily through gritted teeth. "I just wanted to talk to you."

"Well, wishes seem to be horses today," Daria observed. "You're talking to us."

"I wanted to talk to you," Sandi insisted.

"Sorry," said Jane, not sorry at all. "I have to be here with Daria in order to balance out cosmic forces lest the waters sink Atlantis for a third time."

"That's an insurance scam and you know it," Daria replied. "I saw King Dalios of the Temple of Kronos take out a new policy just the other day."

"Wow, he's going for the full-drainage this year."

Sandi did not smile or laugh or even react.

"I think this is why we don't attract groupies," Jane observed, then prodded Sandi with a finger. "OK, Sandi, what are you so upset out. Listen. We promise not to point and laugh at you until you're finished."

"Maybe not even then," Daria agreed. "Try us."

"Tori," said Sandi thickly, trying to gather her thoughts together. "Tori Jericho. It's all my fault."

Daria looked to Jane. "Do you think it would scar her for life if I admitted I have no idea who Tori Jericho is?"

"Blonde girl, cute," Jane replied. "Used to be the big alpha female before Miss Griffin here rose from the depths to conquer dry land."

"She was at Brittney's party," said Sandi suddenly. "You were both there. I saw you."

Daria barely remembered the party; she and Jane had had much more fun pretending to be security at the main gate, tormenting the idiots trying to drive past. It seemed they'd made quite an impact on Sandi for some reason.

"Oh yeah," said Jane thoughtfully. "Gee, that must have been the last time she was at the top of the totem pole before it turned out she was a dirty girl." She shot Daria a knowing look. "The bad kind of dirty."

"She was unclean of spirit?"

"I can't comment on that but apparently she got chlamydia off a footballer from a rival squad. For shame!" Jane added in an exaggerated Welsh accent, then laughed. "My dad was always saying that after he went to Wales."

"It's good to know they have a ready-made exclamation for STIs down in Cardiff," said Daria calmly. "Well, chlamydia is perfectly curable. If Tori takes all the antibiotics and keeps it in her pants for a week, she'll be fine."

"You're really up to date with social diseases, aren't you?" remarked Jane with a knowing smirk.

"Just because I didn't think Gonorrhea is part of the Mediterranean Sea."

As Daria hoped, their banter was driving Sandi out of her shock and trying to regain control of the conversation. "It was my fault," she said guiltily. "I wanted to ruin her popularity so I could take over!"

Jane's eyes widened. "You gave Tori chlamydia?!" she gasped. "Oh, wow, Daria! Admit it, this girl is goal-oriented! Talk about dedication!" Her eyes narrowed. "Uh, you have taken your antibiotics, right?"

Sandi let out a pained noise. "No. Tori thought she got it from a toilet..."

"My last question still stands," Jane interjected.

"I found she was getting tested, and I made sure everyone knew," Sandi continued. "No one would ever trust her again, they'd think she was sick. And with her out of the way, I was the one to take it over." She looked up at Daria, her mascara finally giving way under fresh tears. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please, believe me..."

"Uh, I believe you," said Daria doubtfully.

"Tori fell from grace months ago," Jane pointed out. She gave a not-unsympathetic look to Sandi. "Has this been eating you up all that time?"

Sandi whimpered and nodded.

"Well, it doesn't sound like something that'll be top of the list come Judgement Day," Daria pointed out. "And if you're really feeling guilty about it, I'm sure people will forgive you."

"Tori's never been the forgiving kind," Jane warned.

"Hey, this is my first rodeo as a Samaritan, cut me some slack," said Daria bluntly. "Look, Sandi, you alpha females at high school are always squabbling over something. I wouldn't be surprised if someone else would have used that trick against Tori, or you for that matter. Maybe you should talk to the Fashion Club and try and help her out."

"That'll be twenty bucks," Jane said holding out her hand.

Sandi and Daria stared at her.

"What?" she protested. "It's good advice this time!"

Daria shook her head. "Sandi, I won't lie. This revelation hasn't made me think much higher of you, but it's not made me hate you. Not any more than anything else you've done, anyway." She tilted her head. "Why are you so worried about what I think anyway?"

"Yeah, Tori really hasn't much of a bearing on us," Jane agreed. "In fact, we're the only ones guaranteed to be coolly apathetic about the whole thing."

"I wouldn't go that far," Daria pointed out.

"Yeah, cool apathy sounds intense and hardcore, we're much more laid-back. So, Griffin," Jane went on, putting on a New York accent, "spill the beans. Why you got such a beef about what Miss Morgendorffer's feeling for you? You got a crush on her, ya little punk? Huh? You in love with her or something, is that it?"

Sandi looked at them, having never seemed younger or more fragile.

"Yes," she said simply.

"I knew it!" said Jane triumphantly.

"Did you?" wondered Sandi, amazed.

"Er, actually, no. I had no idea, I was just trying to lighten the load." Jane rubbed the back of her neck and looked out across the campus. "OK, we've gone from Misery Chick to Love Object. Over to you, Daria."

Daria was still staring at Sandi.

Aeons passed.

"...excuse me?"

***

It felt weird. Like when she'd been in hospital that time and they'd told her to count backward from ten and she'd never quite made it and suddenly it had all been over and she was in a bed somewhere. Like she'd lost her grip on events and was in freefall.

She could remember Jane moving like a spider monkey, leaping and bouncing and crawling down into that bottomless hole to fetch her and drag her up, up, up the stairway to heaven, up into the light and the endless clouds of skies to where she could finally breathe again.

And she was in heaven and the goddess was waiting, the beautiful goddess Daria Morgendorffer, bigger than the sky, more gorgeous than the sun, oh it hurt just to breathe!

"I'm sorry," Sandi said, unsure if she was on her knees or not.

"Is there any particular reason behind your little breakdown?" asked the Beautiful Girl, unimpressed.

"I'm sorry I lied... Don't hate me, please! I'm so sorry, I'm so freaking sorry!"

"Sandi, I'm sure you are sorry. I don't hate you, Sandi. I don't hate anyone."

You don't even matter enough to hate, do you? You're unworthy of love and hate! Only people who care about you would do either and no one cares about you! Haven't you got that now? Does she need glove puppets to explain it to you?

"Sandi, I don't hate you for whatever it is you've done."

Don't get your hopes up, Griffin.

"In fact, me caring what you've done is a very remote possibility at best."

See?

"I lied," Sandi blurted out. "I just wanted to talk to you." She had to confess. "Tori Jericho. It's all my fault. I wanted to ruin her popularity so I could take over! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please, believe me..."

"I believe you," said Daria.

She's lying. She just wants you to shut up and stop pestering her because she has Jane, someone who actually deserves to be there. You're sick and filthy and diseased. Do her a favor and jump from the roof!

"...something that'll be top of the list come Judgement Day," Daria was saying. "I wouldn't be surprised if someone else would have used that trick against Tori, or you for that matter..."

She wants you gone! If you love her, stop it, stop wasting her time and her energy, you fat ugly bitch-faced leech!

"That'll be twenty bucks," Jane said, holding out her hand. "What?" she protested. "It's good advice this time!"

Good advice. End it all. At least then they'll have to pretend to care about you. People might be kinder to you when you're not around all the time to remind them why they despise you so much...

"Why are you so worried about what I think anyway?" asked Daria, looking at her curiously.

"So, Griffin, spill the beans! You got a crush on her, ya little punk? Huh? You in love with her or something, is that it?"

Tell them. Tell the truth, watch their disgust and then you'll know for sure death is the only option left.

"Yes," she said, looking up at the Beautiful Girl.

"...excuse me?" she said at last.

***

"I'm in love with you," Sandi said quietly, looking up at Daria with guileless eyes. "The first day you came here, with Quinn, I fell in love with you. I didn't even know who you were or what your name was. Then you pulled that stunt with Quinn in assembly and I loved you even more, Daria Morgendorffer. You're beautiful and you're not scared of anything and none of the stupid fashion popularity stuff matters to you. You're the best person I know. I'm in love with you."

Daria nodded slowly, quite speechless.

"I know you don't love me back. You think I'm a stupid fashion-obsessed loser, and I am and even though I don't want to be, I'm not brave like you. I thought you couldn't love someone you didn't know and even though I love you, you don't love me. I'm probably sounding like some psycho dyke stalker, and maybe I am. I love you, Daria, and I know you probably never want to see me again. And I will, I'll leave you alone forever if you want. But please, don't hate me. Not that." She was crying again.

"Sandi, I don't hate you," Daria said at last. "And I'm not saying that to spare anyone's feelings. You were a bitch to Tori Jericho. You're not the first backstabber, you won't be the last. I can't forgive you about it, because it didn't affect me at all. You feel bad about what you've done, and anyone who does that deserves another chance. Try and make it up to Tori. Make sure you never hurt anyone like that again. Do that, and no one will hate you."

"Wow," said Jane, drawing out the monosyllable to a full ten seconds. "Do you do seminars?"

Sandi nodded and lowered her head. She was still crying.

"Gotta admit," Jane said, mainly to break the silence, "if this is some trick to find out if we're lesbians or not, the student body are pulling out all the stops..."

"Jane," said Daria sternly, "this isn't a trick!"

The other girl arched an eyebrow. "You're right, they'd never be this imaginative." She clasped her hands together and closed her eyes. "It must be 'terwoo wuv'!"

"And I am suddenly acutely aware why you've never been in a relationship before."

"Sorry, Daria, I have to console the kettle. The pot's been making racial slurs again."

Sandi let out a tiny, sad laugh.

"Hey," said Jane in a gentler voice. "Someone's finally getting the punchlines. You okay there, little guy?"

Sandi sniffed and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. "I wish I had a friend like you," she said. "I wish I wasn't so lonely. I'm sorry, Daria." She stood up. "I'll go."

"Maybe we should take you home," Daria advised.

"Yeah, meet your parents, work out your prospects, see how you treat the servants," agreed Jane, counting the reasons off on her fingertips. "Maybe your investment portfolio will prove irresistible. I'm happy to seduce my way into a fortune if needs be."

"Jane, she's not interested in you," Daria warned.

"Meh, a pair of glasses, a few insults, I'm sure I can rock Sandi's world." She smirked at Sandi. "Who, I notice, is not saying 'no', are you?"

Daria rolled her eyes, shook her head and turned to Sandi.

"Sandi, listen. I don't know you. I've barely thought about you. This afternoon is the longest time I've ever spent in your company, the first time I've ever properly spoken to you. You're a virtual stranger to me. I can't fall in love with a stranger, it's just not the way I'm wired. It's not that I hate you or that you cannot be loved, I just don't know you yet. Do you understand me?"

Miserably, Sandi nodded.

"Now, Jane and I will take you home. You should get some proper sleep, eat some proper food. Your cat is alive and well. You've done nothing that can't be fixed yet, so don't hate yourself. I don't hate you, and I'm not just saying that to avoid a messy homicide investigation."

"Oh the number of times you've done that," Jane tutted.

"But I don't love you, Sandi. Not now and, if I'm honest, I'm not sure I ever will. We're completely different people with nothing in common bar both being female students in this underfunded gulag. Plus, while I have no problem with homosexuality, I'm not actually into girls."

"That's what she said!" laughed Jane, then scowled. "Well, SOMEONE had to say it."

Sandi nodded. "I guess it was all in my head from the start," she said finally. "It was just a dream."

Daria shrugged. "It doesn't have to be. You can still find someone to love, and love you back. You're not an evil person, Sandi, and you shouldn't be ashamed of being alone."

"But... it's like, I wasn't alive until I met you," Sandi said helplessly. "I can't go back to that, can I?"

"Can I tag in?" asked Jane.

"You ask for permission now?" Daria retorted.

"Look," said Jane to Sandi. "I'm artist. I know about pain and loss and heartbreak. You're not in love with Daria. You're in love with who you think Daria is. And we've established you barely know who she is, so there's no way she can possibly live up to this ideal you have. And she can't love someone she barely knows."

"I can get to know her better," pleaded Sandi.

"Do you enjoy spending a lot of time watching 'Sick, Sad World' in a poorly-ventilated art studio?" asked Daria.

"Or reading actual books?" wondered Jane.

"Or being defined as antisocial outcasts with self-esteem problems for the rest of your scholastic career?"

"Deliberately avoiding any fashionable trends?"

"Treating idiots of both genders with the contempt they deserve and not using them to score free gifts?"

"Being a constant source of disappointment and possible psychiatric concern to all the responsible adults in your life?"

"Plus," said Jane, "our secret handshakes are just amazingly complicated. You could dislocate a knuckle."

"Because I sure don't want to hang around with the Fashion Club," Daria went on, "dealing with everyone from the year below me who offend my sensibilities on every level."

"I offend you?" asked Sandi in a small voice.

"Don't be ashamed of what you are because someone else doesn't share your opinion," said Daria firmly, but seemed to want to look away. "We're not compatible, Sandi. In fact, I think that's why you wanted me."

"Well, that and your washboard abs, chestnut curls and those teensy-tiny-weeny aerola of your mosquito bites," Jane pointed out.

"Whereas you appear to have slices of Polish salami affixed to your sweater puppies," Daria retorted.

"It does explain why people want to nibble them," agreed Jane thoughtfully, stroking her chin.

"Please, Jane, you're rubbing Sandi's face in... no, I'm not going to finish that sentence so you can yell 'That's what she said!' over again."

Jane scowled at Sandi. "You vile Jezebel, you see what you've done?" She sighed. "It was a joke. Stop crying."

Sandi got up, swayed slightly, and headed for the door. "Sorry about this," she mumbled. "I'll go now."

"We're coming with you," said Daria. "Not all the way, because you'll be embarrassed enough as it is. Just because we can't be lovers doesn't mean we want to hurt you."

Jane's jaw dropped. "Now she tells me!" she exclaimed.

"Can we be friends?" Sandi looked like she'd snapped the last draw she'd clutched.

"I don't know," Daria admitted. "Maybe. Apparently a lot of people respect the Misery Chick of Lawndale High, but I only have one person I can call a friend."

Jane folded her arms. "I always thought you and Brittney shared a certain sizzling sexual tension."

"As you can see, Sandi, my choice of Jane Lane shows my judgment is not necessarily faultless. But she's got me through this fresh and jaded hell till now."

"Though there's also the fact she is in love with my brother..."

"Shut up, Jane."

"If I do that, and we listen carefully, you can actually hear her ovaries singing 'Mmmm, Trent'..."

"I need a better friend. A proper one. And maybe you, Sandi, need a proper friend too?"

"I don't have any," Sandi admitted. "I've, like, burned all my bridges or whatever..."

"So?" shrugged Jane. "Build a replacement bridge!"

"Who would want to be my friend?" asked Sandi, so unable to think of an answer it didn't even depress her.

And Beautiful Girl smiled like the Mona Lisa and Sandi's heart leapt and broke at the same time...

***

"Ker-winn?" Sandi repeated for the upteenth time as Daria and Jane escorted her through the streets back home.

"By George, I think finally she's got it," said Jane flatly.

"Why would Quinn be friends with me?" Sandi boggled. "She's only in the Fashion Club to take over from me, she's not actually a friend..."

"Far be it from me to stand up for my sister," Daria replied, "but she talks about you a lot. Not complains, talks. Out of the faceless morass of hangers-on and fluxing groupies, I'm certain you are the only person she actually gives a damn about. Your opinion matters to her."

Sandi frowned. "But she's always trying to, like, undermine my authority or whatever."

"Cause there's no way you could be being paranoid?" Jane suggested. "Given you did the same thing to Tori?"

"OK, maybe I deserve it, it doesn't mean I'm wrong!"

"Quinn didn't have any friends back in Highland," said Daria calmly. "Her popularity extended to not being caught by gangs of death squads. Not one person wanted to be with her. Even I had more friends. Or at least some mutant mascots who provided some entertainment."

"Why don't you speak more of these good old days?" Jane teased. "I could enjoy this post-apocalyptic renaissance you describe."

"My point is," Daria said, ignoring Jane entirely, "is that Quinn cares about you. If you're not friends yet, you can build on what you have."

"I don't want Quinn," said Sandi, quiet and shamefaced. "I want you."

"You want me? Or do you want someone of your own age, in your own freshman year at school? Someone who likes fashion trends and boys and makeup and being popular? Someone you can talk to and understand?"

"She's not you."

"She's the product of the exact same unholy union between Jake and Helen Morgendorffer. She was exposed to the same upbringing, social stresses and uranium levels as I was. I crawled into a copy of Black Beauty and hid. Quinn covered herself in armor made of Waif magazine and strode out into the world to take it on." A pause. "Which Morgendorffer girl sounds a better match to you, Sandi?"

Sandi turned back and looked at the house she lived in, a place she hadn't thought of as "home" in a long time. Her stupid parents and loser brothers - and Fluffy - stopped it being a random building. She tried to remember a place she'd felt as safe as the roof of Lawandale High that afternoon with Jane and Daria.

"This used to be enough for me," she sighed. "Till I saw you, Beautiful Girl."

Daria looked at Jane. Jane shrugged.

"Do you think," Sandi continued, "you know, like, if you were into girls... would you ever have considered me?"

Daria chose her words with care. "I think I would have thought you were out of my league, and kept my expectations a little more reasonable." She shrugged. "But I'm finding it hard enough to fancy guys."

"A guy," Jane clarried. "A specific guy. Called Trent."

"Who will seek comfort in my arms after the sudden and mysterious disappearance of his sister Jane," Daria agreed. "But you're not ugly, Sandi, not on the outside and the inside isn't irredeemable either."

"Anyway," Jane said, regarding her wristwatch, "we should probably get going before our unpopular presence is detected and the birds stop singing and darkness swallows the moon."

"Probably for the best," Daria agreed. "Go home, Sandi. Give Quinn a chance, and keep an eye out for someone who can love you back."

"Statistically-speaking whiny self-hating bipolar lesbian freshmen is a growth sector," Jane said brightly, giving a thumbs up. "You'll be hooked up in no time."

"I don't really have anything left to say," Daria concluded. "But even so, come and find us. If you need to."

"Only if you REALLY need to," stressed Jane quickly.

"In the meantime, I hope you find what you're looking for," Daria said, then added, "in a good way. Not the Ancient Chinese curse way."

"Because we're already living in interesting times and coming to the attention of those in authority anyway," Jane mused, noting the other two ancient curses.

"But know that if you're happy, we won't begrudge you it," Daria concluded. "See you round, Sandi."

Sandi waved, awkwardly, and went home.

Daria and Jane stayed on the corner until she was safely inside.

***

Sandi lay on her side, arms wrapped around Fluffy, feeling utterly drained and strangely at peace for the first time in so long. As Fluffy purred, forgiving her for that stupid lie about eating the makeup, Sandi sang softly.

It was a song she'd heard on her old radio before it had broken down, a wierd love song from the eighties or whatever. It was about a girl called Leah, and if you sang "Daria" instead of "Ah, Leah" all the rhymes still worked

I see your lips and I wonder who's been kissing them
I never knew how badly I was missing them
We both know we're never going to make it
But when we touch, we never have to fake it...

She dozed off, a smile on her face and a song in her heart.

***

Jane Lane added a few streaks of yellow and white to the turquoise wash covering the canvas. The painting she was currently working on was a close-up of a shark's eye reflecting a deranged black woman with a harpoon and a snorkel, ready to take down "Great White" with her bare hands if necessary.

Jane had found little inspiration following the paint-balling trip. The idea of painting a pattern with a paintball gun proved impractical and had managed to split one of the canvases on the first shot.

There was a hammering from the front door.

Jane regarded the unfinished painting. "Next time, Great White," she warned the image as she put down her brush and palette. "Next time."

***

"Oh," said Jane, startled. "Um, welcome to Casa Lane."

Sandi took outside, looking miserable and wretched and spattered with an incredible amount of crusted mud and paint. "Is Daria here?" she asked dully.

"Uh, nope," Jane shrugged. "Her parents are still stuck at the paintball place, their car broke down or something. I take it today's recreational warfare did not go well then?"

***

"Sandi? What are you doing here?"

"I was looking for the bathroom, and all of a sudden you started shooting at me! I thought we promised not to do that?"

"I would never fire at you, Sandi. I didn't recognize you with your goggles."

"Yeah, why are you wearing them, anyway? They're so ugly."

"Because those are the rules!"

"Besides, you fired on us when you were already hit, and that's against the rules, too.

"Gee, if everyone's on Quinn's side, maybe Quinn should be president of the Fashion Club?"

"Don't be silly! I mean, do you really think I could replace you?"

***

"Meh," shrugged Jane as she made Sandi a cup of herbal tea. "Friendly fire's friendly fire. I shot Daria, and that barely caused a ripple on the surface of bubbling resentment and frustration that is our friendship."

"You just did it to get out of the game," sighed Sandi at the table. Jane hadn't told her that, but it showed Sandi was more in-tune with them than she thought. "Quinn got the whole Fashion Club to use me as target practice."

"Maybe it was some kind of combat makeover?"

Sandi took the cup and gazed into the brown-green liquid. "And then she and the others made sure I got left behind at the park. Quinn looked at me right through the bus window, and turned away. Left me behind in the mud."

Jane supped her own tea. "Yeah, abandoned you in the middle of nowhere and left you for dead. Worse, in Lawndale and with easy access to public transport. What a bitch."

"I thought she was my friend, Jane," said Sandi quietly.

"She is. She's the sort of friend who wants to grind you in the dirt for ever getting in the way of her own mercenary ambitions." Jane sighed wistfully. "We all have one."

"But Daria said..."

"...that you should try and drop the whole rivalry thing with Quinn because Quinn was genetically identical to Daria, prettier, into fashion, part of your age group, smarter than she admits and, oh, has never had a friend before and you could be it." Jane took another sip. "It's almost like I was there, huh?"

"You were," Sandi pointed out, almost smiling.

"Damn, Griffin, there's no fooling you."

"Heh," said Sandi quietly. "You know what Quinn said? She said she didn't know it was me when she started firing. She thought it was Daria."

"Wow. You took all those paintball thingies for Daria? That'll impress her in no time."

"Quinn hates me and Daria," Sandi sighed.

"At least she targets the best," Jane offered.

"I know I'm a bad person, Jane. I know I can't complain if Quinn kicks me out of my own Fashion Club. But still, it's all I've got."

"So I guess all those erotic drawings of Velma from 'Scooby-Doo' aren't helping, then?" Jane sighed. "I suppose I could do a new set with Daphne being on top..."

"Nah, thanks, Jane," said Sandi shaking her head.

"Can't you just, I dunno, plant some out-of-season clothes in her locker and fire her as a traitor to the sisterhood or something?" Jane asked, reaching the limits of her interest in the situation. Yeah, she felt bad for Sandi, but her angst wasn't half as clever or entertaining to merit not working on her painting.

"Maybe. Maybe I could put her on sabbatical the next time she slips up," mused Sandi. "Put her in her place. But I want a friend, Jane, not a defeated enemy."

"I take it Tori's not willing to bury the hatchet."

"Not anywhere except in my spine."

"Daria might have some ideas. You could ask her yourself?"

Sandi shook her head. "I can't even speak two words to her now. I just gibber like a freak. She knows more about me than anyone else."

"Even me?" Jane asked.

"Maybe not, but I don't care what you think, Jane."

Jane sniffed and wiped her eye. "My little girl is growing up. You're becoming a woman."

There was a companionable silence.

"Life was way simpler before Daria turned up," Sandi sighed.

"Yeah," agreed Jane.

Another silence.

"Damn those days sucked."

"Amen to that."

And they clanked their clay tea-cups together in a toast.

***

Leah, it's been a long, long time, you're such a sight!
You're looking better than a body has a right to!
Don't you know we're playing with the fire?
But we can stop this burning desire, Leah!

(Jodie in a wedding dress, splattered with blood and holding an axe behind her. Jane sketching a nude Daria, ala "Titanic". Quinn, pregnant, getting an ultrasound as the three Jays stand beside her, looking awkward. Trent as a sad perriot clown.)

Ah! Leah! Here we go again!
Ah! Leah! Is it ever gonna end?
Ah! Leah! Here we go again!
Ah! Leah!

(Stacy as April O'Niel with camera. DeMartino glaring out from a stormdrain like Pennywise the Clown. Helen as Marie Antoinette. Tiffany in a business suit sitting at the end of a boardroom table in the gloom, fingers steepled.)

Baby, it's no good, we're just asking for trouble!
I can touch you but I don't know how to love you!
It ain't no use! We're headed for disaster!
Our minds said "no" but our hearts were talking faster, Leah!

(Kevin as an Egyptian mummy. Jake as a trapeze artist. Andrea's face on the Necronomicon from "The Evil Dead". Brittney twirling her hair as she defuses a bomb.)

We're never, ever, ever gonna make it, yeah
Ah! Leah! Here we go again!
Ah! Leah! We're never gonna make it!
Ah! Leah!

(Daria and Sandi sitting on a hillside, watching the sunset, Daria resting her head on Sandi's shoulder.)