5 Minute Fiction: Life Is A Four-Letter Word (3/3)

Quinn Morgendorffer was good at not thinking about troublesome things. It was a brilliant skill that let her compartmentalize life, focusing life into certain areas where it was best needed. With all the worrying and scary and nasty thoughts locked away, she was free to be bright and perky and happy. She wasn't sure when she'd started that, bottling and stacking things to worry about later (if at all) but she knew what would happen to her if she didn't.

She'd end up like Daria.

Maybe Quinn was smarter to do the things that kept her happy. Maybe Daria was braver to stare them in the face. Either way, Quinn wasn't going to change her mind any time soon. And definitely not after what she'd heard.

So Sandi Griffin was into girls.

Quinn's first reaction was to go "Ewww!", but truth be told told she had the same reaction when she found out precisely what boys expected in the backseat. Quinn was far more comfortable around girls (um, weren't all girls more comfortable around girls?), so maybe it made sense for Sandi to go that one step further.

Even as she tried to be cool with the news that Sandi was gay - Helen and Jake Morgendorffer were friends with lots of gays when they were crazy hippies back in the olden days, so they'd made sure their daughters grew up tolerant with the concept of homosexuality - Quinn was... bugged about it.

How the hell did Quinn, Stacy and Tiffany spent so much time with Sandi and never once, not once, realized that Sandi wasn't into boys? Okay, Tiffany missing it made perfect sense. And maybe Stacy was too frightened to say anything. But Quinn should have known. How could she have not known?

Quinn lay on her bed, hands behind her head, gazing up at the canopy and trying to think. How long had Sandi known she was gay? Had she set up the Fashion Club solely to get girls to hang around her? No, Sandi knew her product too well for that. Fashion mattered to her. And neither Stacy nor Tiffany could hide their sexuality any better than than they could their surnames.

And she knew that Sandi hadn't asked Quinn to join up because she was attracted to her.

She'd done it because...

...because Daria said it would be a good idea?

That couldn't be right. It just couldn't. Daria hated the Fashion Club. She'd not had any opportunity to talk to Sandi alone that first day when Sandi had invited her to join the Fashion Club. So Sandi had to have done it off her own bat.

But that didn't explain anything else. Quinn might have not spotted any hints Sandi was lying about into boys, but how could she not have noticed Sandi had the screaming thigh-sweats for Daria of all people? They'd only met a few times and Quinn had been there on each occasion...

The penny dropped and Quinn felt like screaming.

They were seeing each other behind Quinn's back!

And it was twisted, too, because Daria didn't want Sandi and Sandi knew it. And now Sandi was hurting herself? That couldn't be right. Sandi hurt other people, otherwise there was no point to it. Stacy's permanent cringe and flinching at loud noises was proof of that.

The redhead let out a deep sigh and tried to compartmentalize again. Sandi was gay. Sandi was into Daria. Daria was not into Sandi. Daria said Sandi should be friends with Quinn. And...

...Sandi couldn't make it work.

That was hard to put in the mental box. Sandi was the closest thing Quinn had to a best friend, she was like the sister Quinn would have admitted to being related to. She was smart but not a brain, she was popular, attractive, fashionable, had a cute Valley Girl accent. They should have been best friends!

But they weren't. Sandi was scared of Quinn, convinced that she wanted to topple her and take over the Fashion Club no matter how many times Quinn denied it. Quinn didn't want to run the Fashion Club, she didn't need the workload or the responsibility. She didn't want to lose one of the few proper friends she actually had.

So despite all the bitchy remarks between them, the time she'd finally lost her temper and abandoned Sandi at the paintball thingy, Quinn thought they'd managed to get a balance. Sandi had helped her after the fiasco with the play, forgiven her for the brain phase...

But it had been nothing. Sandi was just being nice to her because Daria said so. Sandi didn't like her at all. Daria had better things to say about her. Quinn being around Sandi drove her to literally try and cut her boob off!!

Quinn closed her eyes. File it away. You can't talk to Sandi about this. It'll devastate her if she knows you know and Daria won't react well either. File it away. It never happened. It doesn't matter.

"You took away my friend, Daria," Quinn sighed to herself.

But that's all she did. Because she was still friends with bitchy paranoid into-boys Sandi and all was right with the world.

***

"Mom," said Sandi, still sounding far weaker than she cared to, "I don't know if I should go to school tomorrow. I think I should, like, go to see the doctor or whatever."

Linda Griffin's perfectly-sculpted eyebrow arched. "Oh? Just what's the problem, Sandi?" she asked coolly.

"I, uh, have a bit of a fever," Sandi admitted.

Linda placed her palm on her daughter's forehead. It was indeed warmer than normal. "And that's enough to hold you back from going to school?" she sneered.

"It might be," Sandi protested. "I just want to get checked out. It might be, er, skeptic-seemia or something."

Her mother's dark eyes seemed to bore into Sandi's brain. "Septicemia," she corrected flatly. "And why would you get the idea you might have that?"

"I..." Sandi wondered how she could be feeling worse now than when she was actually dying. "I got a nasty cut and I think it got infected."

"And where is this cut?" Linda demanded, arms folded.

"Umm. It's sort of covered up right now."

"It was your stupid cat, wasn't it?"

"No!" Sandi blurted out, knowing what was coming.

"I said right from the start if that filthy animal started to affect your health he'd be thrown in the river, I'm happy to do it right now..."

"It wasn't Fluffy!" Sandi pleaded.

"Show me this cut."

Sandi was beaten. "It's just... kind of, like, embarrassing..."

"Embarrassing? Embarrassing, Alexandra Griffin, is being constantly forced to remember I have forced three naked human beings out of my formally-perfect womanhood. Embarrassed is to think that you and I actually touched genitals in front a room full of overpaid strangers. At least in Amsterdam I'd have got paid for acting like some paedo dyke in stirrups."

Sandi had to admit she'd never considered that view of childbirth, but assumed that no one ever cared about that. There was a baby born, ready to be loved and celebrated.

But not yours. Don't act surprised.

Sandi sighed and peeled off her T-shirt, along with the bra she'd borrowed from Quinn, to reveal her bandaged breast.

Linda glanced at the bandage without any apparent reaction. "So what happened?"

"I, uh, I think one of my old underwire bras scratched me, just under there. It got infected and I nearly passed out after school."

"And you managed to bandage yourself up like this?" Linda sounded sweet, which was always dangerous.

"No."

"It wasn't the school nurse. They would have called."

"It was a friend."

"A friend?" Linda narrowed her eyes. "You're letting some boy manhandle you while you're vulnerable? I've warned you what'll happen if you start acting like a slut, Sandi, and you KNOW what will happen if you get caught!"

"It was a girl!" Sandi blurted out. "It was, was Quinn's sister. She's good with first aid stuff and she said it was infected and I should see a doctor."

"You let that dyke touch your boobs?" Linda hissed. While she had no problem with having sex with other women for personal advancement, she considered those women degenerate perverts who deserved to rot in hell. The thought of being genuinely attracted to your own gender literally turned her stomach. "What the hell, Sandi? Did you like it or something?"

"She didn't do anything!" Sandi said. "She just put the bandage on! I hated it, but, it's medicine, you know?"

"You have any other little itches Miss Daria scratched for you?" snarled Linda.

"Nothing happened, mom! Quinn would have done it, but Daria's better with bandages! It wasn't dyke stuff!"

"It better not be," Linda grumbled. "You're a poor enough return on investment to start with. Okay, Sandi, you're going to go to the doctor tomorrow."

"Thanks, mom," said Sandi meekly.

"You have that cut checked out. And while you're there, make sure you get everything else checked out."

Sandi blushed. "Mom!"

"I want to make sure you're still clean, girl, and that you haven't sacrificed your virginity to some stupid dyke with coke bottle glasses and wandering fingers!"

"I haven't!" Sandi gasped, almost unable to breathe.

"Then you won't worry about the tests tomorrow, will you? Now you better go and play with that stupid animal of yours, because if you don't feed it or whatever, I sure as hell won't!"

Sandi nodded and ran to her room.

She didn't come out for dinner.

No one commented on it.

***

Sandi didn't show up for school the next day. Stacy was chosen to ring her up and find out what was happening. Sandi had a mild fever and was to take the rest of the week off while she went through a course of antibiotics. Fashion Club meetings were cancelled, to ensure no one else got sick.

Quinn remembered Daria's advice to Sandi to deal with her fever, and kept Stacy calm and confirmed it was just a fever and there was nothing to worry about.

***

Sandi lay in bed, cuddling Fluffy. The examinations and tests weren't too bad, she'd had them before, but it was humiliating even so. The GP had even wondered if she'd been attacked and raped, given the cut under her breast and the insistence on STI tests and proof of virginity.

Worse, she had a fresh reminder why she could never trust herself to relax around her mother. Who know thought that Daria was some woman-hungry whore on the prowl, and probably bitch about it to Daria's mother.

"I've got Daria into more trouble," she said to Fluffy, exhausted from the antibiotics. "And I don't know how I can get her out of it. I'm so tired, Fluffy. I'm so tired of making things worse."

Fluffy purred and burrowed his head into the crook of her elbow. It didn't help her much, but it helped a little.

***

Quinn was taken completely by surprise when Daria came to her asking for fashion advice. It was so unbelievable that it actually took her a moment to even understand what Daria was doing. Quinn knew from horrifying experience that Daria was capable of looking amazing if she chose.

The consultation didn't go well. Daria ran out, embarrassed and humiliated before Quinn could make a single change. "Daria, wait!" Quinn called. "I know you're scared - we'll start slow with some scrunchies!"

Daria vanished into her room and slammed the door. "Sorry, wrong number," came the muffled voice of the padded cell's occupant. "We apologize for any inconvenience."

Quinn frowned. "Are you trying to impress a boy?"

"No!"

"...are you trying to impress a girl?"

"Go - away - Quinn!"

Quinn went away. But she did notice Daria did not deny it.

***

"Yo?"

"Jane?"

"Oh, hey Sandi. What's this about, she asked as if she couldn't tell."

"Jane... I, I think I've got Daria into trouble."

"That would be very impressive. I never realized a girl could get another girl in the family way."

"I'm serious, Jane. I... Look, tell Daria, just tell her..."

"Tell her what? Sandi, you sound really out of it."

"Antibiotics. I'm sick. Daria knows. But I had to tell my mom and I think I got her in trouble."

"And you can't ring her because?"

"Because my mom checks the phone's outgoing numbers. If I called Daria, she'd know. She'd... she'd get really mad."

"...I take it this is to be avoided at all costs?"

"Please, Jane, just tell Daria. I don't know what to do. I can't... just tell her."

"Sandi, why would your mother be mad at Daria? Is this about... hello? Hello? Sandi, you still here?"

*click*

"God damn it."

***

The next day, Jane was helping a virtually-blind Daria find her way back home from school. "Oh, and speaking of crazy irrational girls making stupid decisions, I got a call from your beloved Sandikins the other day."

Daria gazed vaguely at Jane. "Oh? What did she want?"

"She's off sick at the moment, apparently high on proscription meds, but she's worried she's got you into some trouble with her mom and that you would understand what that meant." Jane frowned. "You know, I should get paid to take these messages for you. I'm being exploited in this twisted love polygon."

"Hrm. I'm sure you get enough non-material rewards for witnessing my suffering and embarrassment."

"You know what enough of a non-material reward is? A material award. So what's up with Sandi?"

"She dealt with her feelings in a mature and sensible manner by attacking her physical femininity with some sharp scissors."

Jane paled. "She..."

"Slashed herself under the boob."

"Oh." Jane let out a sigh of relief. "That is way better than what I thought she'd done."

"Yeah, that would have been more difficult to bandage up. Anyway, her cut got infected. Hence antibiotics." Daria looked around, unable to work out where they were. "I don't see how that could get her mom angry at me."

"Maybe she explained how her wild passion for you drove her to such lengths?"

"More likely she said I was drying to do the knife trick from 'Aliens' and accidentally stabbed her under the nipple."

"Oooh, that's definitely worth a canvas."

"Go ahead, at least I can't see it."

"Yeah. So, no more contacts. Your mother's gonna be disappointed..."

"Well, I have all afternoon to figure out how to break it to her," Daria added as a big blur that was obviously her mother in her car pulled up in front of her.

I really am blind without my glasses, because I definitely should have seen that one coming.

***

Once Sandi had completed her course of antibiotics and was able to remain conscious and lucid for more than five minutes at a time, it was time for her to go back to school. She wasn't particularly against this course of action. She'd been confined to her room for more than just sickness - her brothers were delighting in screaming competitions in their rooms across the hall, Fluffy was clearly getting a bit bored with sharing the bed with her all the time, and there was a look of cunning in Linda Griffin's eyes that made Sandi want to lock her bedroom door.

Linda made history by driving Sandi to school that day, taking precious time from her oh-so-important work, to take her only daughter right up to the entrance. Sandi would have had a more enjoyable journey if she had been crawling on her hands and knees over broken glass wearing sweatpants. She'd never really been frightened by her mother before; Linda would never hurt her children. Other people's children though? Yeah, Sandi wasn't afraid for herself.

"You know, according to my sources, Helen's dyke started wearing contacts recently," said Linda casually as she parked the car. "Got rid of those coke-bottle glasses. She said they were driving, but she was wearing them at school. So, obviously, she's trying to impress someone. Can you think of anyone?"

"Who knows what a loser like that is into?" sneered Sandi, surprised at how convincing she sounded.

"Not boys," said Linda smugly. "She could be as cute that that brat Quinn if she tried. She's keeping the boys off her so she can find some other filthy girl to play with. Maybe that freak with the black hair? They hang out, don't they?"

"I don't concern myself with their cliques," Sandi said. "Uh, mom, why are we discussing Quinn's cousin or whatever?"

"All knowledge is valuable," said Linda in the tone a cat might use before devouring a mouse. "Helen Morgendorffer's made some waves in this town. She's so snowed under at that law firm she probably doesn't realize how big a fish she is in this little Lawndale pond. I think it's best for us all if we make sure she doesn't twig any time soon, especially if she's concerned about her precious little sluts at school."

Sandi said nothing. She couldn't think of anything to say.

She wants to destroy Quinn's mom by attacking Quinn and Daria. I can't believe it. Why does mom care about Helen Morgendorffer? She's some corporate lawyer always on the phone, she's no threat to a proper TV journalist like mom! How can she be worried? Quinn's mom isn't even trying to take over...

Like Quinn isn't.

Oh my god, I'm just like mom.

Linda narrowed her eyes. "Are you alright?" she asked blandly. "You've gone a bit pale."

Sandi very impressively didn't throw up there and then. "Just... you know. Thinking."

"Sorry, I shouldn't talk about sick lesbos when you're still feeling delicate," Linda replied, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes as if she was pleasantly surprised at Sandi's reaction. "It's bad enough you have to share a school with them."

"What are you going to do about Quinn and...?" asked Sandi, controlling her breathing.

"Oh, I've got some long term plans for Quinn. She just needs to start putting out and the next thing you know she'll be another teen pregnancy statistic," Linda said casually. "As for the dyke, well, she just needs to make the wrong move and the wrong time and I think the Morgendorffers might need to move to another town. Don't worry about any of that now, Sandi, you just catch up with your school work and make sure no one gets suspicious."

Sandi got out of the car. Her mother drove off without saying goodbye.

She looked up at Lawndale High, suddenly feeling very unwelcome.

***

Sandi kept hearing Daria telling her how their two worlds didn't overlap. It was definitely true as Sandi spent virtually the whole day trying to find her. There was no sign of her or Jane in the hallways or the cafeteria at lunch, and Sandi couldn't look any further since the Fashion Club were delighted to once again have her back. It was a nice feeling, having Tiffany and Stacy seeming so happy to see her again. Quinn seemed pretty pleased too, but Sandi felt guilty looking at her, almost as if she'd agreed to help ruin the redhead's life.

Not that I agreed. I think it's a horrible idea. But I can't choose Quinn over my own mom... can I?

Oh god, she ached to see Daria. Or Jane. Someone who would UNDERSTAND!

"So, Sandi, how's your little, uh, cut going?" asked Quinn when the others were distracted.

"Almost totally healed," Sandi replied briskly. "Not even a scar."

"That's great, Sandi! It'd be really gross otherwise..."

Sandi glanced at her. "Good thing your cousin or whatever actually understands medicine. I dread to think what would have happened if it had just been you to my rescue." She moved off.

That was unspeakably cruel and rude. But it was meant to be. If Quinn hates me, properly hates me, I can't possibly betray her. Daria's right, she deserves better than that. And I know Daria would kill me if I did help my mom ruin Quinn. And if she didn't, I'd have to kill me. I can't even imagine trying to live with doing that.

Don't think about how hurt she looks. You are doing this to stop her getting any more hurt.

Oh god, Daria, where are you?

***

Quinn watched Sandi go. She was used to bitchy backhanded compliments - and it wasn't exactly a lie that Quinn's first aid skills would have made things worse if Daria hadn't been there - but something was off. It took a moment for Quinn to realize what it was.

Your cousin or whatever.

Sandi was pretending she believed Quinn's story. There was no way Sandi could be that close to Daria, actually be IN LOVE with Daria, and not know the truth. But why not say anything? It wasn't like Sandi hadn't been there with the whole school when Daria had outed Quinn as her sister. She didn't have to play along at all. So why?

The only thing Quinn could think of was that it was an insult. Sandi was angry that Quinn was lying to her, and was being extra bitchy by going along with it. It was a comment, like "Fine, if you think I'm that dumb, I'll act that dumb" which was actually worryingly close to how Quinn felt sometimes.

Her heart sank as she remembered once again how Daria was virtually blackmailing Sandi into being her friend.

The way Quinn acted, it was really no surprise no one would do it of their own free will.

***

"As part of the school district's first annual Awareness of Others Week, I'm asking each Lawndale High student to sign up for an extracurricular activity to make the world a better place. One hundred per cent participation will earn me, um, us special recognition from the superintendent of schools. Now, I want all of you to go out there and make me, make the school look good. Resume learning!" Miss Li had ranted at them at the end of the last period of the day.

"We should do that charity donation drive!" Quinn blurted out to the others. "You know, collect clothes for the homeless so they have something fashionable and practical to wear in the colder months!"

Sandi gazed at her, as though skeptical Quinn could care about other people. "That is an option," she conceded, folding her arms. "I suggest we put it to a vote. I will abstain and we will abide by the majority. All those in favor?"

Quinn put her hand up, and Stacy did the same a second later. Half a minute later, Tiffany caught up with the conversation and also voted in favor.

"Motion carried," Sandi decided. She did not sound happy at all.

But then, did she ever?

***

Sandi had declared a Fashion Club teleconference would be held instead of their meeting. Her cunning plan was to ring up the Morgendorffers, speak to Daria and find some last gasp of sanity. Quinn answered the phone first and that plan was scuppered like everything else Sandi attempted these days. She fell back onto her stand-by of being such a horrible bitch Quinn would be driven away from her, pretending not even to understand of "donating" clothes.

It was rather depressing that no one appeared to notice or comment on her newfound hostility.

She decided she'd go one further - she'd only buy clothes for herself, and leave the homeless to suffer. That would no doubt outrage Quinn, and it would easy to trick Stacy and Tiffany into getting into the argument. Once things were bad enough, she'd throw Quinn out of the Fashion Club for sartorial treason.

Gee, mom, I can't tell you what Quinn's up to anymore. She challenged my authority once too often. Still, she's unpopular now so you probably don't have to try and get her knocked up by some biker or whatever you sick evil monster...

The plan was going well until she found Quinn at Cashman's ALSO buying clothes for herself.

Stacy and Tiffany were there also, doing the exact same thing.

When did I become the most sensitive and compassionate member of this club? Sandi wondered. She turned down the sales rack Theresa pointed her to and left to the library in the vain hope Daria might be there.

She wasn't.

Because of court she wasn't.

***

The next day they went looking for donations. Sandi, still struggling to try and be more selfish and arrogant than the rest of the Fashion Club, spent most of the trip insulting her companions, ignoring the genuinely-homeless and being as hypocritical and aggravating as she could be. "Stacy! For once, try to look beyond your own petty concerns! Today we're thinking about others, remember? Just try to be a little more compassionate, okay?" she said, pretending not to notice the beggars asking her for spare change.

Oh god I hate myself, she mentally apologized, but this is the only way I can save Quinn!

Quinn didn't protest once.

Of course, she would be a lot easier to save if she didn't have such a low opinion of me in the first place!

Eventually, Quinn finally raised a single suggestion that maybe the homeless weren't worried about fashion and Sandi immediately went for the kill by suggesting they immediately get their hair style instead of lifting another finger to help others. "A new look would really draw attention to our cause!" she bragged.

Go on, Quinn. Tell me off. Demand I show a tiny scintilla of compassion.

She didn't. But she got her hair done like the others.

Finally, Sandi gave up on subtlety. "Is the box full, Quinn?" she demanded.

"Actually, it's kind of... empty. Maybe, um, we shouldn't be so picky?"

"Are you saying, Quinn, that perhaps today's canvassing has been mishandled?" she warned.

And Quinn folded like a house of cards because of course she did. "Oh, no! No way, Sandi. You're a donation-seeking expert!" she said and the others burst into a round of coordinated sycophancy.

Sandi sighed. It was no use making others suffer if Quinn wasn't going to help herself. "All right, I may possibly have been a little too selective, but it's because I was thinking of the homeless. New policy. From here on in we take whatever is offered and we let the homeless make their own fashion choices."

***

Miss Li was not impressed. "A pair of go-go boots and a belly chain?" she exploded, looking at the otherwise empty donation box. "Where's the rest?!"

"They may be poor but that doesn't mean they should be unfashionable," Sandi replied, hoping that Quinn would take the opportunity to blame her for the mess and spark a fight.

But she didn't because that would be just too damned easy, wouldn't it?

"They may be shallow but that doesn't mean they should be executed," chorused a familiar and beautiful voice.

"Yes, it does," objected a second, just as familiar voice.

"Very well, I'm sold."

Sandi casually glanced down the hall. Daria and Jane were there.

They must have seen the look of desperate relief on her face, because they both gave tiny nods and then glanced upwards.

Sandi counted the seconds till the rendezvous on the roof.

***

Both Daria and Jane had, for various reasons too numerous to describe here, mastered the art of inscrutable blank expressions when they observed the inane insanity of the world around them. At present, however, their respective poker faces were on the verge of failing them completely: they frowned, tilted their heads and were unable to hide their bewildered fascination from even the most casual of observers.

"You know," said Jane eventually, "Sandi really IS full of surprises."

"Uh-huh," Daria agreed.

"Really a lesbian. Actually in love with you from afar. Possesses hidden depths - if not any depths. Self-harming tendencies. But this? I wouldn't have suspected this in a leap ice age."

"Right there with you, girl."

Jane called out, "You can actually COOK?" with all her amazement and incredulity intact.

It was a rather redundant question, true, as Sandi Griffin worked away in the Casa Lane kitchen as they watched.

***

Sandi had managed to ditch the Fashion Club after school, claiming her mother was going to pick her up. After the public dressing-down given by Miss Li, the others weren't keen to hang around on school property and hurried away. Sandi had spotted Daria and Jane and hastily joined them.

Daria, of course, was not in the mood for pleasantries and wanted to know what Sandi's problem was so it could be either resolved or dismissed as soon as possible and they could go their separate ways. Normally, Sandi would have respected that, but this was not something she could casually blurt out. She asked to go with them to Lane's house, if only to get her away from the suffocating confines of the Griffin confines.

"You'll have to cross my palm with goods of equal value," Jane challenged.

Which was when Sandi offered to make them dinner.

***

"I only really know one recipe," said Sandi, calling over her shoulder to answer Jane's question. "But it's, like, a good one."

"And we actually eat it?" Daria checked. "This isn't a prelude to bulimia?"

"No way. Not this."

Ten minutes and a much lighter wallet at the corner store, Sandi had swept into the kitchen with a bag full of ingredients and started preparing the food. She had just sliced and diced two onions and a rasher of bacon before depositing them into a hot saucepan to fry gently, then used hot water from the kettle to submerge a handful of broken fettuccine in a pot.

"My old au pair, Florence, used to make this for me and my brothers," Sandi explained. "She was really nice, but really old. Her hands stopped working after a while, so I learned how to cut up the stuff for her. When my mom found out I was the one making dinner, she fired Florence and I didn't see her again. When I cried, mom told me to stop or she'd call the FBI and she'd have Florence locked up in like, jail or whatever, and never see her bambinos again. So I didn't cry, but I always remembered this recipe."

"A heartwarming fable," Daria said at last. "See what you're missing out on, Jane?"

"I wanted to call my cat Florence," Sandi added as she emptied a tin of bean-mix and some chopped mushrooms into the saucepan. "But mom was already saying she'd put him down. So I call him Fluffy instead."

"This explains everything," Daria mused. "Except for anything we might actually want an explanation for."

Sandi returned to rummage in the shopping bag. "My mom... my mom isn't a nice person."

"No!" Jane gasped. "After all that kindness she shows to animals and the elderly?" She shook her head. "You think you know someone..."

Sandi used the tip of the chopping knife blade to pop the lid of a jar promising to contain equal amounts of ginger, garlic and chili, then tipped half the contents into the saucepan and mixing it in with a wooden spoon. "My mom's also kind of a big deal in this town," she continued. "All the important people know who she is, and that as a TV reporter she can be their best friend or their worst enemy. She likes that."

"It would be a pretty poor career choice if she didn't," Daria agreed, sniffing the stew-mix in the saucepan.

Sandi took two small jars of herbs from the neglected spice rack, contemplated them, then chose the fresher options she'd just bought. "She doesn't like the fact your mom is a big-shot lawyer," she explained. "And that she's on the side of important people my mom likes to bully. Your mom could, like, put a restraining order on my mom or something."

"Enough of the legalese," Jane tutted. "But your mother's basically one step up from a weather girl - the lawyers would go after the TV station, not her."

"My mom thinks she IS the TV station. Maybe she's right." Sandi poured the herbs with reckless abandon into the strew, then spun an egg whisk through the softening pasta. "Maybe not. The point is, she only does what she does because no one has the guts to stop her. And once people know your mum could beat her in court or whatever..."

"Narcissistic paranoia," Daria mused, inhaling the different scents of the stew. "Why, that'd be ridiculous as thinking Quinn's out to steal presidency of the Fashion Club."

Sandi sighed in frustration and rolled her eyes. "OK, point taken. But my mom's got more to lose..."

"...even if she's not in danger of losing it..." Jane chipped in.

"...so she's not going to take a chance," Sandi agreed, returning to the kitchen table to chop up a small capsicum. "She's decided she's going to go after your mom. Strike first. Stuff like that."

Daria was unconcerned. "Others have tried. Mom's a perfectionist workaholic. There's nothing she can use."

Sandi tossed the sliced capsicum into the stew and twisted it around.

"Is there?" Daria asked. She was concerned now.

Sandi took a plastic bag of bloody beef mince and emptied it into the saucepan, mixing it through the other ingredients and breaking it up until it had turned a healthy brown colour. She didn't say a word. And even though whatever she was cooking was now smelling really rather nice, Daria became very tense.

"Tell you what," said Jane after several minutes. "I'll grate the cheese, you talk the talk."

Sandi let Jane take the grater and went to check on the fettuccine. "Mom thinks she can break your mom by attacking her daughters. If something happens to you and Quinn, your mom would drop everything to help you, maybe even quit the job and leave town."

"That's unlikely," said Daria quietly.

"My mom doesn't think so," Sandi said, stirring the pasta and seeing how soft it had become. "She thinks it's, like, your mom's one weakness. It's why she makes sure she doesn't worry about me, Sam and Chris, so we can't be used against her," she explained. She sounded matter-of-fact about it, as it had been explained to her when she was young as an unpleasant but necessary fact of life. She'd taken it better than her brothers, though, who ended up with a lot of rage they took out on their enemies in real life or in computer games. "She says love is what we call our hormones tricking us to have babies."

"Is that what her mother told her?" Jane asked, happily grating cheese as if the cheese were someone she disliked. "Cause I could buy that, probably at Christmas when the whole family gets together."

Sandi sighed again and looked around for a colander she could use to drain the pasta. "Sometimes I think she might be right," she admitted, as much to herself as to Daria and Jane. "Where's love got me, huh?"

"A different place than loneliness," Daria replied. "Sometimes, that's enough. More than enough."

Jane found the colander, emptied out the pebbles that had been filling it to make a Japanese rock garden, and rinsed it clean in the sink. "Enough of the girl talk. Linda Griffin is after Helen Morgendorffer's baby girls. That's what you wanted to tell us about, right?" she asked, handing over the clean sieve to Sandi.

"Yeah," Sandi said, draining the pasta and setting it aside while she found one last jar and twisted the lid off. She violently shook out the thick, brown-red sludge out into the stew and mixed it together. "She wants me to try and get Quinn to put out on her dates, go the whole way. Then, I dunno, she'll hire the most fertile man in Lawndale to knock her up and skip town, so Quinn'll have to drop out of school and freak out your mom."

"Oooh, Quinn the teen mom?" scoffed Jane. "That'll happen for sure. She has the maternal instincts of a pet rock. Like she'd risk putting on weight for nine months and then spending money on clothes for someone else - someone who might be cuter! She'd never keep a baby!"

Daria said nothing.

"Besides, Quinn's virginity is the biggest currency at Lawndale High," Jane went on. "I know, I checked mine on Dow Jones and it's only worth one-twentieth a Quinn. Fifteen Brittneys and two Dawns, but only one-twentieth a Quinn."

Daria smirked. "Well, it's probably because it's second-hand."

"Gotta try before you buy." Jane collected some plates from a shelf where they had been on display for the floral patterns painted on them. "So, Quinn's in no immediate danger."

"So what's she got on me?" Daria said, folded arms. She remembered hearing of Sani's drug-added guilty apologies.

Sandi tipped the fettuccine into each plate, scooped a large glob of reddish stew atop each and then dusted with grated cheese, handing the meals to Daria and Jane. It smelt good. It looked good. Jane took a bite. It tasted... interesting. She would even have said it tasted good, but then she knew what had been in the pots and pans before Sandi cooked with them and she could imagine how they reacted with this homemade spaghetti bolognaise.

"Eat up," said Sandi. "Bolognaise ala Florence."

"Worth the train trip," agreed Daria, eating a little herself. She was very hungry, but understood that the displacement activity of cooking was more important to Sandi than the end result. "So what's she going to do to me?" she asked again.

"I don't know," Sandi admitted. "She thinks you're some sick perverted dyke."

"Two out of three ain't bad." Jane sipped some water, trying to get the tang of old paint off her tastebuds.

"Everyone thinks I'm gay," Daria said, unimpressed. "How could I possibly maintain a relationship with another human being unless there was sex involved?"

"Of course, the people that know you know you're not gay," Jane chipped in. "In any sense of the word."

"So what, Sandi? Your mother thinks I'm gay because I don't hurl myself at boys?" A brief Mona Lisa smile reminded Sandi why she still thought of Daria as 'Beautiful Girl'. "We both know how poor a judge of character she is. And even if I was, the people who matter to me wouldn't care and the people who care wouldn't matter to me."

"I had to tell her," Sandi admitted. "About, you know..."

"Boobgate?" Jane offered. "You should have cut Daria's name into the skin, that would've got her weak at the knees!"

"She knows that Daria bandaged me up. She thinks, like, it was just an excuse for you to make out with me. I told her you weren't, but she thinks I'm too stupid to tell the difference."

"If anyone was making out with you, it was Quinn."

"Hah! I knew it!" Jane laughed, happily wolfing down some more fettuccine. "The coyness, the dimples, the refusal to settle for any man while she hung around with the cutest girl in school! Heavens to Gertrude, Sappho, we got another one!"

Sandi looked thoughtful at that. "Maybe. But she was as much into me then as you were, Daria. I think you're both as repressed as each other."

"I'm not repressed!" Daria complained.

Jane spat out her mouthful of dinner and giggled uncontrollably for the next nine minutes.

"Of course," she continued dryly, "how people with no self-control perceive me is another matter."

"My mom might start rumors about you, though. If there's some rednecks in Lawndale who hang lesbians as witches, she can find them and give them your address. She can say you rape little girls. Worship Satan. I don't know, she might do any or all of it and it's my fault. I'm sorry, I don't know what to do."

Jane looked sympathetic, but was still giggling.

"Sandi, you were an injured human being who needed help. So, your injury was under your breast? A few centimetres to the left it would have been your elbow and I would have treated that just the same. If people got worried that touching the human body could be misconstrued as sexual interest, how could doctors do anything?" asked Daria. "If your mom is like that, I dread to think what her relationship is with her GP."

"Or her gynecologist," said Jane, before breaking up in laughter once again.

"My point is," Daria continued, glaring at Jane, "your mom's issues aren't your fault. You were hurt and I helped you. I know that, you know that, Quinn knows that." She paused. "Quinn knows that, doesn't she?"

"I guess so," Sandi shrugged, twisting fettuccine around a fork. "She didn't make a big deal about it." She contemplated her meal and lowered her fork. "I've been trying to start a fight with her. Get her kicked out of the Fashion Club. Not because I hate her or anything, but..."

"...but it will keep you away from Quinn, and therefore keep your mother away from Quinn?" Daria completed.

"Yeah. Dumb idea. I don't have other types."

"Don't worry about Quinn. She won't spread her legs for anything except Waif's latest stylish leggings," Daria assured her. "Maybe tell people she's got a purity or ring to save herself until marriage. A guardian angel told her to do it. Keep her in the Fashion Club, make her popular. Untouchable."

"What about you?" Sandi asked.

"People say I was seduced by Ted at the Yearbook Club," Daria shrugged. "Maybe you can fuel those rumors."

"Or maybe," said Jane between sniggers, "I could set Daria up with a nice boy."

"Shut up, Jane."

"If only there was someone right for her."

"Mouth closed, Jane."

"Say, a musician with a goatee and tattoos? You could settle down and breed eighth-chord diminished minors!"

"Could we get your mother's vendetta changed from Helen Morgendorffer's daughters to Amanda Lane's daughter instead?" asked Daria politely as she continued to eat the meal. It really wasn't bad. If her diet didn't already subsist mainly of pizza and lasagna already, she'd probably enjoy it.

"But Daria's not repressed, oh no no no no," Jane smiled. "She's very healthy and open about her feelings, emotions and body. In fact, she's commissioned me to make a sculpture - it's like a candy cane but it vibrates on three settings and it's called 'Daria's Not-So-Little Helper'. Or 'Trent' if she's alone...'

Daria's eyes widened to fill the lenses of her glasses and her face turned beetroot red.

Sandi burst out laughing.

(It was only later she realized she couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed like that, so carefree.)

Daria robotically got to her feet and wiped her mouth with a napkin. "I am going home now. Thank you for the meal and the warning, Sandi. I'm sure everything will be fine. Don't feel guilty. And if, when I'm gone, you drown young Jane here in your homemade bolognaise source I for one am happy to claim it was self-defense."

"Gee, Daria, such venom comes out of your mouth!" Jane gasped. "We can only wonder what goes in."

"And that's when I snapped her neck, Your Honor," said Daria as she turned and left.

"Going to go home and have a nice warm bath, just you and the shower-head, huh?" Jane called after her. "You go, girl! You ain't repressed by nothing! You get down with your bad self!"

"And then I snapped it again, just to be sure..."

Daria slammed the door behind her.

"That's my girl," said Jane happily. "If she was any more ashamed of her body she'd wear a suit of armor."

"Pity," Sandi mused.

"Oh we all know you want her body, Griffin," Jane taunted. "But that's my sister-in-law you're talking about. If I can just get her uninhibited around my brother when he's conscious long enough to seduce her."

"You really think they'd be good together?"

"They'd be good for each other," Jane shrugged. "And better for me, which is of course the most important thing."

"Make sure they use protection."

"Must I? Getting through Daria's ice cold demeanor is hard enough. You worried my brother is unclean?"

"My mom made me get myself checked every three months since I started my period," Sandi mused, staring at her cooling meal. "I haven't even had sex. She gets that checked too. I'm not allowed to ride horses or anything in case that gives me an excuse to, you know, no longer be intact down there."

Jane gazed at her. "Is your mother planning to sell you to a Bedouin Prince or something?" she asked.

Sandi gazed into the mess of pasta, meat and cheese. It was like the inkblots Ms. Manson sometimes made them look at. Her thoughts were far away. "After Florence left, we got another au pair. She was this cool girl from Brazil, her skin was caramel and her smile was brighter than the sun. She didn't speak much English, but she was nice. My brothers liked her. I liked her. She picked me up and carried me on her shoulders. She was real strong."

Jane said nothing, but decided not to keep eating. And possibly invest in new kitchenware.

"She had a boyfriend, and man they shouted at each other all the time. Like, we couldn't even guess what they were arguing, they spoke so fast. And in Brazilian. But they had great make-up sex. Well, we didn't realize it at first, we thought they were fighting and she was always winning because she was so happy at the end. Anyway, one day it turned out she was pregnant. My mom told her to get rid of it or lose her job. She didn't want to lose her job, she loved me and Sam and Chris. But she wouldn't get rid of her baby. So mom got rid of her."

"Not very nice, but I've heard of worse employers," said Jane gently.

"I was there. Mom had this pack of tablets that she wanted her to take, you know, to get rid of the baby. She was really angry that she'd said no, that she'd wanted to have a baby more than work for Linda Griffin. But then mom was really nice to her. Got her presents and stuff. Went to a baby shower. And then... then one day mom came home and threw the pack of tablets in the bin and all the tablets were gone. We heard R... that my au pair, she was rushed to hospital. She was okay, after a while, but..."

"She lost the baby?"

"Babies. Twins. She was almost ready to deliver but they died inside her. She actually had to give birth to two dead babies and she knew they were dead." Sandi's voice was as toneless as Daria's ever could be. "I didn't, like, understand at the time. I didn't make the connection. And I saw mom throw the packet away. I asked her why she'd used the pills now. She just said 'Because at the start she didn't have anything to lose. And now she's lost everything.' And she smiled." Sandi finally lifted her head. "I never once realized what she'd done, that she had anything to do with it, until I was fifteen and she wanted to make sure I was a virgin. She said if I ever got pregnant, she'd get those pills again - if I wanted them or not. Especially if I didn't want them."

Sandi got up and started to tidy up the kitchen. Jane helped.

"After a while, I wondered if it was true. I mean, I never actually saw her do it. Sometimes babies do die before they're born. I thought, 'Hey, what if my mom was just pretending she had done it just to scare me into not having sex'?"

"It's not much better, is it?" Jane mused. "She thinks the best parenting method is pretend to be a homicidal psychopath. I honestly think I prefer my mom's hands-off approach. Is that why you're into girls? No risk of little bambinos?"

"No," Sandi mused. "But how could I ever have kids? Knowing how easily I could lose them?"

"Heh. Let me tell you about my sister and her kids..."

***

That night, all three girls had a restless night of troubling and confusing dreams as their bodies coped with the trace elements and chemicals Sandi had unwittingly cooked the meal in.

Daria dreamed she was stalked by Cupid and St. Patrick's Day who, like everyone else in Lawndale it seemed, were desperate for her to help them sort out their messy life and comment on who she was attracted to.

Jane dreamed Trent had asked three angry musicians to stay over, and it turned out they were named after Holidays and managed to be about as annoying as they were incredibly attractive. Even though Halloween reminded her of Monique.

Sandi dreamed that Quinn was constantly ringing her, complaining that her parents were going to have another baby and she'd no longer be the cute one until she collapsed from exhaustion trying to keep them apart.

All three woke up wishing they'd eaten takeaway at the local Chinese restaurant.

***

Sandi Griffin didn't have nightmares.

Oh she'd had bad dreams - who hadn't? - and some of them she even remembered. She had dreamed she was going to buy a dress from Cashman's and somehow lost her wallet and had been relieved when she awoke to find it wasn't the case. She had dreamed of a beautiful girl (but not THE Beautiful Girl) telling her they could never be happy together and leaving her in an empty playground, and when she had awoken she had been miserable and grumpy for days. She'd also had a dream of shocking vividness and intensity about the tambourinist from the Dandy Warhols that she swore had taken her virginity. That had been an awesome dream, until she'd woken up alone in bed.

But not a nightmare.

She'd always thought if she ever had one it would end with her sitting bolt up right in sweat and terror. But instead she found herself very definitely not waking up, her desperate half-conscious plea that this must be a dream falling on deaf ears the exact same way it happened in real life. It wasn't a dream, it was real and she was going to die.

Sandi had dreamed that she was half asleep, curled up against someone else, soft and warm. They were both naked, but that wasn't important. She wasn't alone, she was safe and warm and happy. Music that was probably Enya swirled and eddied around her, safe and soothing and sad and loving. It was nice. She was home.

And then something invaded home. Something swirling and black and dead, like a swarm of insects make of scorched bone. It billowed out through the comforting red-pinkness. She had no clothes to protect her, no breath to scream. It burnt and boiled against her unprotected skin. She could feel it burrowing into her flesh, corrupting her guts, killing her bit by bit. But worst was the fact she couldn't help whoever else was there with her. They were dying too, scared and hurting and wondering what they had done so wrong?

The blackness poured in and in, engulfing Sandi inch by inch. It swallowed up her shoulders and she knew it would eventually rise over her head and she would drown or suffocate or dissolve. Her companion was gone now, leaving her to die alone as the black tide rose higher and higher. Sandi was angry, desperate, beaten. She ran out of feeling anything but a desire to get it over with as soon as possible.

The blackness swallowed her up and she couldn't move or breathe or do anything except burn in the darkness.

She waited to die. Or wake up. One or the other.

It was far too many lifetimes before her alarm clock woke her and she lay still on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and unable to believe she was alive and terrified at what might happen to her next.

***

Sandi was rattled. She was more rattled than the Rattling Girl of Lawndale. She felt like she was about to die, terrified yet desperate for this anticipation to end. She knew it was stupid and that no one was going to hurt her, that she'd just had a bad dream. But for some reason her brain wasn't connected to her body; every second felt like she'd been dragged down into a dark alley by a painted clown with a fetish on unwarranted genital surgery with corkscrews. She sweated, she breathed faster than she could, she could not relax.

As she went to school - perfectly safe Lawndale High where no one was going to hurt her/utter deathtrap full of the demons from hell wanting to peel the skin from her body and watch her bleed out - she thought about trying to talk to someone, anyone. She couldn't. The Fashion Club wouldn't understand, the teachers would be useless, and she refused to humiliate herself in front of Jane and Daria. Her nightmare was so blindingly easy to explain even Kevin Thompson could have spotted the metaphor. Two unborn children poisoned in the womb? What could that POSSIBLY refer to, huh?

I don't know if that happened. It never happened to me. It never will happen to me. I will never have children. Better to die childless than lose them. I'd suck as a mom anyway.

She found herself wondering about Daria if she had kids. Or Jane. Or even Quinn. She imagined Daria sitting under a tree reading a book to a little girl with glasses, smiling her Mona Lisa smile - not getting all mushy, but the little girl never once thinking she wasn't loved with all Daria's heart. She could see Jane with a papoose, the baby helping holding paints and listening to his mother's dry wit. Casa Lane was a strange place to grow up, but Jane would make it fun and her paintings would make her child giggle and clap. And Quinn? She could just see the girl with three beautiful redhaired boys, each adoring her and getting into trouble as their mother gave very heavy-handed hints about the punishments they'd get if they didn't behave. And then Daria's daughter would look after Jane's son and together they'd sigh and roll their eyes and stop Quinn's triplets from hurting themselves...

Damn, Griffin. You're not supposed to be broody before you're sixteen. This isn't Alabama, damn it!

She thought about all the nasty things she knew or believed about pregnancy, birth and raising children and how much misery and suffering and debt they caused. Her mom had always made it clear that paying for Sandi, Chris and Sam was a bottomless pit of money she'd never get back and that she could have just flushed her paycheck down the toilet every month for fifty years if she'd wanted to know what parenthood was like.

Quinn would never say that to her children.

Jane and Daria probably would, but they'd be joking because they'd never believe their babies weren't worth it.

Sandi wondered if Sam or Chris would ever had kids. It seemed a stupid idea, they were kids themselves. Would they knock up some cheerleaders come the twenty-first century? Would they stand by their offspring? Or would they just go to an ATM and demand the girls got abortions? They certainly would had it if their beaus gave birth to girls. There was no chance in heaven, hell and all points in between they'd ever name a girl after their older sister. But then, she'd never name her own kids after Sam and Chris because...

Sandi stumbled and sat down on the parapet around the bushes outside the entrance of Lawndale High, white-faced and gasping.

In a split second, faster than an eye could even suggest blinking, she'd imagined herself pregnant with twin boys, Little Sam and Little Chris, and then drinking a drink her mother had prepared and her swollen belly suddenly turning cold and still as all life vanished from it. Dead twins rotting inside her. Linda Griffin smiling cruelly.

"Sandi?" someone said. "Are you okay?"

Sandi looked up at Stacy, but it was all meaningless.

"You're crying."

Sandi nodded, feeling her make-up fight valiantly against her tears. "I... I just had a really scary thought," she said vaguely, hugging her flat and empty stomach and insisting she hadn't lost anything, there was nothing there to lose. "I just had a really scary thought," she said again, dully.

"Oh no," said Stacy gently, leaning closer. "What is it?"

"Do you ever think about having kids?" Sandi asked dully.

"Um, maybe, I guess," said Stacy, bewildered. Sandi could imagine Stacy freaking out over a newborn, panicking and blaming herself for every time something didn't match up with all the parenting books. She could also imagine Stacy smiling serenely at a baby in her arms. "Maybe, one day. But not right now. That would be so stupid!"

"Yeah," Sandi agreed dully. "But what if you wanted them and you couldn't have them?"

"Like if there was something, like, wrong with your insides?" Stacy shrugged. "I guess I could adopt. Why? Oh, Sandi, did they say you can't have children when you went to the doctor?"

"No," Sandi said quickly. "It's just, I imagined losing a baby."

"Like at the park?"

"Like miscarrying."

"Oh. Well, it might not happen."

"No. But it might." Sandi felt like slapping herself in the face. For god's sake, Griffin, it's not fair to expect Stacy to help you! What next? Ask Tiffany to help the UN Peacekeepers in Bosnia? "I dunno. Just thinking."

"You know, you shouldn't feel guilty," Stacy said. "You know, if it's that time of the month. It's not like you're a loser if you're not having a baby. It doesn't mean you should go out and..."

"I am well aware of that, Stacy," said Sandi icily. "And for your information, my menstrual cycle doesn't start for two weeks. I'm sure you'll be glad to know that and plan your pep talks appropriately."

"Oh. Um. OK." Stacy nodded. "Should I get Quinn?"

Sandi was surprised. "Why?"

"I think you're upset about things and I'm not making it better," she said guiltily. "But I bet Quinn will know what to say!"

"Maybe then she'll say nothing, since that's the best policy?" grumbled Sandi, getting up. She focused on bullying Stacy; it was a jerky move but right now anything - ANYTHING! - was better than the terror she'd just felt. "It's amazing how often the key to civilized discourse is knowing when not to say anything, Stacy."

"Eep!" whimpered Stacy.

I'm sorry, Stacy. You don't deserve it, but I don't know what else to do.

***

Sandi acted like nothing was wrong for the rest of the day. Everyone who wasn't Sandi totally fell for it, and never once noticed her flinch at loud noises, unexpected movement or the way her skin was goosebumped almost permanently. Sandi was just about braced enough for the school bell not to whimper in fear.

"Oh, um, class," Mr. O'Neill said as his class ended, "before you go, we're still looking for someone to head the dance committee. Remember, to volunteer is to say 'I care'."

"Dance committee," repeated Sandi before a violent shudder rant through her.

She stands by a ruined banner Sam and Chris are destroying but it was crap anyway. The whole school expected her to do everything and now they'll blame her because it's messed up and she hasn't even had time to get clothes. Her mother stands over, smiling like she's the roadrunner watching the coyote hurt himself again.

"Sandi, I warned you. To volunteer is to say, 'use me'."

And then she pours the inky black powder into the glass and offers it to the pregnant au pair to drink...

"Sandi, are you okay?" asked Tiffany, breaking the nightmare.

More grateful to Tiffany than she could ever admit, Sandi nodded and looked to the others. She remembered Daria's advice about helping Quinn. Give her a chance to head the dance committee. She'd never make those stupid mistakes and even if she did, she could sweet-talk her way out of it. Maybe she'd even get Jane to help decorate it. Another feather to Quinn's cap. That was a good idea. Daria would approve.

"Gee, Quinn, I think you should volunteer. You have such good taste," she said, trying to keep her breathing calm.

"Um, but you have even better taste, Sandi," Quinn replied reasonably. Maybe she saw this as a poisoned chalice, or maybe she just didn't want to work. "You should volunteer."

"I know, why don't you take the job and appoint the Fashion Club as your committee?" Sandi blurted out, just wanting to get it over with.

Oh god mom will get her knocked up and then poison her drink and...?

"Of course, if you don't think we're up to it then just say so!" Sandi almost shouted.

"Um, okay, I guess. Mr. O'Neill, I'll head the dance committee."

Sandi bolted from the class. Stacy and Tiffany automatically followed.

"Shouldn't we stay to help?" Stacy asked, concerned.

"Quinn doesn't need our help," Sandi said, gulping down air. "You know that. She'll make the dance the best one ever without us. She just needs confidence in herself."

"Oh, Sandi, that's so kiiiiiiiiiiiiind," said Tiffany, who might have even been paying attention.

"Yeah, but shouldn't we tell her that?" asked Stacy, looking over her shoulder back at the class. "She might think we've abandoned her for no reason and get upset?"

"I take full responsibility, Stacy," said Sandi haughtily. "It is the main reason I am President of this club and you are not. If Quinn can't appreciate the opportunity I have given her, then that's her problem."

She'll hate me and never speak to me again and I'll tell mom "She hates me and won't speak to me, I don't know what she's doing, how can I know what she's up to, oh god mom, please don't hurt her, please, god, anything but that, don't hurt her like you did Ramonica, don't make her have to go to a hospital to have a dead baby, please, god, not that, not that, not Quinn, don't do that to her...

"Sandi?"

"What, Tiffany?"

"I think you're crying."

Stupid emotion juice coming out of your eyes.

"Maybe I'm just hurt at your lack of faith in me, Tiffany," Sandi lied. "If Quinn needs our help, she'll ask."

"And we'll do it?" asked Stacy nervously. Sandi felt a wave of absolute affection for the pigtailed girl. You're hopelessly in love with Quinn, aren't you? Good for you. I can't judge. I fell for her sister after all. Morgendorffer girls get into your head and heart and never let go.

"There you are," said Quinn, emerging from the classroom. "We should all meet tonight to discuss the dance at my place."

She felt the comfortingly-familiar ache of going to the Morgendorffer house and not being with the Beautiful Girl. "Sorry for ducking out of the class like that," Sandi said lightly, as though only a brain-damaged mouth breather could possibly be offended by such an act. "We do have other classes to go to."

"Oh, don't be silly, Sandi," giggled Quinn. "I know the Fashion Club always has my back."

God damn it, is there nothing I can do you won't forgive? Sandi thought.

"Sandi, are you crying?" asked Quinn.

"Allergies," said Sandi calmly. "All the cheerleaders are making a deal not to go to the dance with Kevin. Their combined perfumes can make the eyes water."

"That is sooooooooooooooooooo true," Tiffany agreed.

They headed off to their class as Sandi tried not to imagine Quinn sobbing over three dead baby boys as Linda Griffin laughed in Helen Morgendorffer's face.

***

Sandi, ostensibly en route to the second floor bathroom, knocked politely on the door to Daria's room.

"Speak friend and enter," came the Beautiful Girl's voice from the other side.

Sandi opened her mouth, then frowned. Daria was testing her, even though she didn't know who was on the other side of the door. Speak friend and enter. Speak "friend" and enter?

"Friend," she said aloud and pushed open the door.

Daria glanced at her from her desk where she was doing some homework. "Are you into Tolkien now?"

"No, but I guessed you like trick questions," said Sandi. She knew Tolkien - or was it pronounced "Token"? - was the guy behind those geeky movies about magic rings. "You know, at the start I really believed Quinn was an only child. I mean, who would live in a room like this?"

"Three guesses and the first two don't count," Daria replied, writing away in her exercise book.

"Do you keep the room like this because you like it?" asked Sandi. "Or just to piss everyone else off?"

Daria shrugged. "Who said I couldn't do both?" she said, a smile in her voice if not on her face.

"I guess you heard how I got Quinn to take on the dance committee," Sandi went on.

"Oh really? Darn, that humble Quinn keeps cards close to her chest."

"I thought it'd help her, you know, be popular."

"Uh-huh. And you're telling me this because...?"

"I'm scared."

Daria didn't look up from her work but Sandi could tell she was giving the other girl her full attention. "About what?"

"Everything. I had a really bad dream and I'm scared all the time." Sandi took a breath. "I keep thinking about my mom poisoning Quinn. Did Jane tell you...?"

"She did mention something. Took all the fun out of the fetus-filled pickle jar museum, I can tell you." Daria turned the page and continued writing. "Sandi, even if your mom is that evil, Quinn's no closer to being sexually-active than she was back in Highland. There are no unborn babies in danger."

"Yet."

"Yeah, cause that's a practical and healthy perspective to take," Daria tutted. "Look, if Quinn actually starts getting her freak on with boys, we'll just coordinate our efforts. You convince her to only do oral and I'll replace her vitamins with birth control. Is that all?"

Sandi was sure she was blushing. "Sorry to bother you."

"Don't apologize. Focus on not bothering me in the first place."

"Sorry. Sorry, even so."

"Oh go to your girl band of sycophants and get them to make you feel good about yourself," said Daria impatiently. "I appreciate your concern, but if I have any new insights into this weird family feud, I'll let you know."

Sandi nodded and turned to leave, then stopped. "Do you get nightmares?" she asked.

Daria shot her an inscrutable look. "Yes. Yes, I do."

"What about?"

"The usual. Spiders. Claustrophobia. Heaven rejecting me and sending me to burn for all eternity in hell. And if I wear contact lenses my face will melt off the bone. And that time I was nude on the debating team and wondering why everyone kept throwing up when they saw me. You?"

"My mother drowning me in poison before I'm born," Sandi replied flatly.

"Mmm," said Daria. "Guess that gives you the edge I guess. If that's all, the door's still open and waiting for you leave."

"See you round."

***

Sandi's unusually-long bathroom break was not commented on by the rest of the Fashion Club, so she went back to her goal of trying to make Saint Quinn the Cute hate her. She ridiculed and objected every single suggestion Quinn made, even the ones Sandi personally considered worth exploring. Stacy and Tiffany, of course, concurred with her and Quinn patiently came up with different ideas.

Eventually, the redhead snapped. "Gee, Sandi, since you don't like any of my ideas, maybe there's something you'd like to do?" she suggested sweetly. Any casual observer would have struggled to spot the slightest irritation in the younger girl.

Sandi thought of the dumbest thing she could.

"I think we should decorate the gym like the inside of the Concorde."

Quinn somehow didn't burst out laughing at the stupidity but instead delicate skirted the issue like a surgeon with a compound fracture. "Um, it's a cute idea and everything, but I'm not sure there would be much room to dance, and..."

A good enough reason to start a fight.

"Gee, Quinn, if you're not going to listen to ideas from your own dance committee, maybe you should just plan the dance alone!" she accused as if Quinn had just spat in her face.

"Don't be silly..." Daria's sister protested, clearly upset at her anger.

Sandi cranked her unreasonableness up to another level. "So now I'm silly?" she exploded.

"I meant, it would be silly for me to plan the dance alone when I have such a talented committee. I know the four of us can come up with something really fun!"

"But I already did come up with something really fun!"

"But it's just... well, not practical."

"Maybe I should just have my own party, since you obviously think I'm postal?"

"I don't think you're postal!"

"Come on!" Sandi was virtually screaming now. "I know a really nice insane asylum!"

Quinn's eyes glistened. "But I need you guys!" she said in a small voice.

Sandi almost gave in there and then.

Then she thought of Quinn sobbing in front of three empty cribs.

"Then next time, maybe you'll act like it," Sandi sneered and storm out of the Morgendorffer household.

I don't care if you hate me for the rest of your life. I am not going to let that happen to you.

***

"So little Quinny is going to have to do the dance all by herself?" sniggered Linda. Somehow she made her nickname for Quinn sound dirty. "What an idiot. Do you think she'll manage to actually do anything?"

Sandi still couldn't look her mother in the eye without her guts churning. "I don't know. She might."

"Well, we must make sure that she doesn't have an audience either way," Linda said. "I think you should hold a party the night of the dance. Tell everyone your father and I are out of town - don't worry, we can stay at a motel. I'll let you finally use the hot-tub. Make sure everyone who's anyone is here. Or if not, not at that stupid dance."

"Yeah," Sandi said, fascinated at the surface of the kitchen table. "I bet that'll destroy her. No one will ever care what she ever says or does again. Her mom will be so humiliated."

"If she isn't, I have other plans," Linda promised with that smile audible in her voice.

***

Sandi didn't sleep that night. She hugged Fluffy to her chest, and he struggled to get free when her tears got his fur damp.

***

"Quinn, I just want to say that I'm really sorry about our fight," were the only words Sandi said the next day she actually meant. Everything else was either a lie or a bait. Despite what she said, she hoped Quinn was furious at her insane betrayal and would stay mad. She hadn't forgotten the dance or was unable to cancel her pizza orders. Quinn fought back with enough promises to nearly tear the three Jays in two.

You stupid ginger bitch, I'm trying to help you! fumed Sandi inside her head. Stop trying to be my friend and get out while you still have a chance in hell!

The three Jays ended up settling for Sandi's promises, mainly because she'd convinced Kevin to come over. He was in one of his spats with Brittney and some stupid bros-before-hos etiquette meant they had to come. Stacy and Tiffany were press-ganged into coming along, which wasn't difficult - Quinn aside, they had no interest in attending the dance anyway.

"I know this is cruel and selfish," she said to Fluffy. "But I'm not doing any of this because I like it, am I? I could have helped Quinn make the dance a success and then she would just be a bigger target for you-know-who. She'd be all, like, 'Quinny's stealing all the glory you should have! I'm totally going to make her pay! When she's burying her babies I'll laugh at her and remind her of this as Helen Morgendorffer cries!'"

Fluffy gazed levelly at her.

"I couldn't live with myself if that happened, Fluffy. You tell me, huh, you tell me what else I can do? I'll do it!"

Fluffy blinked and yawned. Maybe get some actual sleep? he seemed to suggest. You're sounding kind of crazy.

"Well, who wouldn't be crazy, huh?" Sandi demanded. "No one believe me! And I wouldn't either! If I... If I'd realized earlier than those babies wouldn't be dead," she realized quietly. "That's why I'm getting nightmares. It's my fault Ramonica lost her babies. I let that happen to her. All these years and I never thought about it till now."

Sandi sat on her bed and stared at the wall for the rest of the night.

***

No good deed goes unpunished.

Sandi could imagine a cold, reptilian voice hissing those words triumphantly in her ears as snow hit her warm shoulders, half-melted and then froze again. The water droplets on her bikini were thickening into icicles. In other circumstances she might have been worried about her nipples being visible, but right now she was too busy worrying about frostbite.

The whole evening had been a shambles, and that was putting a positive spin on it. The snowstorm had meant the Saturday night football game was cancelled and replaced with a repeat of stage dance routines. Between that and the lack of Quinn and Brittney, the boys had fled the house while the girls had been changing into their swimsuits. It was only now Sandi realized that Kevin Thompson of all people had realized sitting in a hot tub with snow on the way was a dumb idea and he had led his fellow footballers to the promised land of Quinn's dance party.

Eventually, Sandi had given up and had agreed to follow the others to the dance.

But, because she was Sandi Griffin and thus chronically incapable of getting a freaking break, her twin brothers had locked the patio doors and trapped the three girls in the backyard. If either of them looked up from the TV long enough to see their plight, they just grinned and looked away. The little bastards weren't aware of the risk of nerve damage three half-naked teenagers in a blizzard could suffer and were unlikely to care.

"Come on, you little punk, open up! Open this door, you little brat!" shouted Sandi, her teeth chattering as she banged on the closed door.

"Oh, my God, let us in! Hello?" moaned Tiffany unhappily while Stacy just whimpered.

Sandi heard two familiar voices say something she didn't understand and looked around.

Daria and Jane were on the street beyond the fence, looking through the falling snowflakes with smug impressions.

"Help!" wailed Sandi pitifully.

"I'm sure at least some of us here are beyond that," Jane said, leaning against the fence and smirking.

"My stupid brothers have locked us out!" Sandi pleased, running across the icy grass towards them.

"Oh, if I had a nickel for every time time that happened..."

"You'd have one nickel," Daria said to Jane. "As you only get A nickel for EVERY time that happened."

"Well, as it never happened anyway," the other girl shrugged, "I'd still be up on the deal."

"Please!" Sandi cried.

"Why are you out in your bathing costumes anyway?" asked Daria, having run out of crap to give long ago.

"Hot tub!" Sandi said, teeth chattering.

"Well, why not get back in it instead of risking hypothermia?" Daria suggested. "Or is this some kind of fashion statement?"

"Maybe she's testing the strength of the bikini top against erect nipples?" Jane wondered thoughtfully. "Those are as big as nickels, easy."

"Please don't discuss what they may taste like..."

"Probably chicken breasts right out of the fridge." Jane frowned. "Why are you still here? Get in the tub, dammit!"

Sandi whimpered and hurried over to the tub. Stacy and Tiffany were already climbing back into the warm water, the former peeling icicles from her backside before sitting inside. Sandi let out a choked-out cry as her chilled flesh hit the tub water and she imagined herself as a lobster being boiled alive.

Five minutes later, Jane appeared on the other side of the patio doors. She clicked it unlocked and opened it. She had some fluffy, dry-looking towels on offer. "Come inside, my children!" she called to them in a sing-song voice. "You know that the Judderman roams the moors when the moon is full..."

The three-quarters of the Fashion Club didn't question the bizarre allusion and simply bolted through the ankle-deep snow and into the warmth and safety of what Jane called the Hacienda del Griffin.

***

Tiffany and Stacy bolted for the nearest bathroom while Sandi dried herself off in the kitchen. "H-how did you get in?" she asked, trying to dry the frost out of her hair. "Why did those punks let you in?"

"I guess since they knew you three were out in the backyard, they had no reason to be rude to the person ringing the front door," Jane suggested. She clicked on the kettle and rummaged through the cupboards to get a hot water bottle. "We explained we were here to check the place out for Quinn and they couldn't have been more obliging."

"Of course," grunted Sandi. "Quinn. Everyone loves Quinn."

"My brother doesn't," mused Jane. "Is that a good or a bad thing?"

Sandi saw her dad's dressing gown was still draped over the back of the chair. Without another word she tore off her cold, wet and half-frozen bikini and dried herself off with the towel. As Jane finally located an empty hot water bottle she turned and saw Sandi standing stark naked in the kitchen. "Well, someone is self-confident," she said wryly.

"Like you've never been in a changing room before," Sandi snapped, pulling on the dressing gown.

"True. Though normally I'm not looking for scars."

"It's almost healed. If it doesn't, at least I'll have a reminder for which side is left."

Jane held out a hand, her thumb at a right angle to her fingers. "Just look for the hand that makes a L-shape."

Sandi smirked. "Now you tell me. Did you go to the party?"

Jane began filling the hot water bottle from the kettle. "Go to it, I spent all week getting it ready for Princess Pore-Cleanser," she said. "Turned out to be a great success which means that Quinn gets all the credit. Oh, and the only two decent guys we met at the party are Upuchuck's cousins."

"My night is still sucking more than yours," Sandi grumbled, accepting the hot water bottle gratefully.

"Still, no one has ended up dead, pregnant or emotionally-scarred this evening," Jane pointed out.

"Ewwwwwwwwwwww!" screamed two voices from the living room.

Sandi arched an eyebrow. "Looks like the night is still young or whatever."

In the living room, Daria was sitting on the couch and talking calmly to Sam and Chris Griffin who both looked like their bodies and internal organs wanted to be in very different places and neither of them were here.

"...and that is the story of how Quinn became a woman," Daria was saying. "The people who ran the swimming pool were all very understanding, though they did insist on singing the Jaws theme tune when everyone else ran screaming out of the water. Took a while to clear the water out, but that's what happened when you shed the lining of your uterus. I remember at the time she looked me right in the eye and said very loudly 'Gee, Daria, you're right, it's grossly-satisfying when all the chunks are gone!' and I've never heard a truer word spoken..."

"Gee, Daria," said Sandi with a grin, "I hope you're not ruining Quinn's feminine mystique in front of her little fans?"

"Oh Sandi as if I, Honest Daria, could ever do such a thing."

"Got to the bit about finding all her hair in the plughole?" asked Jane idly.

Chris swayed unsteadily. Sam looked like he could no longer breathe oxygen.

"I have plenty of others things I can tell you about Quinn," Daria offered. "Since you two are so interested, it would be remiss of me to keep these things secret. Hey, what do you two know about yeast infections?"

Sam started to cry. Chris passed out.

"And another blow for the sisterhood struck," said Jane, holding up a hand.

Sandi automatically gave her the requested high-five. "Tonight is definitely improving," she said with smile.

***

- What does your husband do?
- He keeps his distance!

Sandi didn't remember where she'd heard that joke on some TV show or whatever, just that it made her laugh all night. The sneering voice of the horrid old woman, proud that not even marriage could make anyone find her attractive, seemed so utterly against logic Sandi couldn't laugh. Who in their right mind would want to keep people at a distance instead of up close and worshiping beauty and fashion.

Sandi knew better now, of course. This time she really was going to keep her distance, but a friendly distance. She hadn't seen or spoken to Daria and Jane for weeks. She wasn't actively avoiding them, but since she hadn't had another spasm of total terror, she hadn't needed to see them. She'd also decided to ease off on trying to get Quinn chucked out of the Fashion Club, though she had to maintain the bitchiness so no one suspected anything.

Apparently Daria's writing had attracted Val - as in "Val" - to Lawndale to meet the Beautiful Girl herself. Sandi wasn't sure how she felt about that. Daria deserved to be recognized but she wasn't sure that Val would realize what she was looking at; there was no way Daria would have send her stuff to Val, so that meant Brainbox O'Neill was behind it and had probably sold Daria as some anguished conformist-wannabe of the new millennium. The truth was going to be messy, so Sandi had let Quinn go solo on the whole "impress Val with the Fashion Club" mission.

Then Val came to Lawndale High to "experience" high school life again. Lawndale High (and Miss Li) responded sensibly by demanding everyone wear school colours and all the seniors suddenly found it impossible not to stop and chat with their good friend Daria and her new friend who was, oh what a coincidence - Val!

Sandi had to admit it was weird-in-a-cool-way to see Val in real life. And it also revealed how much photo-touching up went into Val Magazine. The real woman seemed around thirty years older than she should have and while she wasn't stupidly old and wrinkled, she was not young enough to get away with the trendy blouses and jeans no matter how perfectly form-fitting they were. She looked like a normal teenager that had been aged by a time machine or something. Ironically, she would have looked better if she'd been rocking Daria's screw-you fashion, while the Beautiful Girl herself could have carried off Val's trendy fourteen year old look...

Down, girl, thought Sandi as she felt her body trying to betray her desire.

Beside her, Quinn was chewing on her lower lip - cute girly pout #44 - as she tried to work out a way to separate Val from Daria. She'd put her own spin on Val's visit to Lawndale which Sandi had tolerated in part because she knew it would end this way. "Quinn, I'm confused," she said innocently. "You said you had a close relationship with Val. So why is she hanging out with that girl who lives with you?"

As ever, Quinn's ability to avoid discussing Daria could only be admired. "Oh, don't worry about that, Sandi. Val happens to be doing a special unpopularity issue!" Sandi felt only a mild desire to slap Quinn silly this time; it was, after all, the truth. No one mindlessly craving the mainstream would go to Daria.

At Quinn's urging they went over to Val and Daria. The really-actually-very-old-now-you-got-to-see-her-up-close Val finished a phone call and stared blankly at Daria. "Who are you?"

Sandi knew Daria's voice well enough to hear the note of genuine anger there. "It's me, Val," she said. "Dar?"

Val gave a noise of what-am-I-like embarrassment. "Oh, I forgot where I was for a sec!" she tittered.

Sandi's fists bunched up. She imagined if she punched Val's face it would shatter like icing sugar and damn her to hell if that wouldn't be worth it. She forgot Daria?! Daria was not worth remembering?! Even after you came down from New York SPECIFICALLY TO TALK TO A BEAUTIFUL GIRL WHO KNOWS MORE THAN YOUR ENTIRE MAGAZINE STAFF PUT TOGETHER, you DARE TO FORGET WHO SHE IS?!

Quinn stepped forward, unwittingly saving Val from a Griffin-fist-related tooth-disorder. "Hi, Val! These are my fellow Fashion Club members!" she said perkily.

Tiffany and Stacy said hi.

"How goes it?" asked Sandi coolly, reminding herself Daria could make Val pay way better than Sandi could.

Val rolled her over-made-up eyes. "Finally, some popular people!" she breathed in relief, then very visibly pretended to remember who she was standing next to. Since they'd all seen her genuinely forget, the difference was pathetically obvious. Sandi honestly wasn't sure what was more insulting - mocking Daria for being unpopular or thinking Daria could possibly be stupid enough to think it was a joke. "Just kidding, Dar!" she preened.

Daria can destroy her life, thought Sandi, but I bet I could force that Michael Jackson nose of hers through her cheek and out her earlobe... or maybe something worse.

Sandi held up a hand, not in a "teacher pick me" way but a "please, sir, stop before I call security" way. "Um, Val? Sandi Griffin, Fashion Club president. If I may? Mixing primaries during daylight hours? Not done."

Bits of Val's face shriveled and blotched as botox tried not to let her dismay show. "It isn't? Um, excuse me. I'll be right back," she said and ran off as fast as her liposuctioned legs could carry her.

Sandi glanced at Daria. Neither of them showed any expression, but Daria nodded ever-so-slightly.

And that, for Sandi, was more than enough.

***

The next issue of Val Magazine boasted a huge article from the woman herself.

Sandi read it out to Fluffy, relishing every word. "'My Day With D! A disturbing true-life look at America's underground bummer culture!'" she laughed. "'Recently, I spent an entire day hanging out with a disturbing girl I shall refer to only as 'D'. Unenthusiastic, unpopular, cynical, D. just doesn't understand how great it is to be a teen. In fact, she may be the anti-teen...'" Sandi laughed again and looked Fluffy in the eye. "Do you think Daria would sign this for me?"

***

The day of the Lawndale High Pep Rally started off with beautiful weather. Sandi frowned over her bowl of breakfast cereal at the TV as a worried-looking black weatherman said this wouldn't last. "The sun might be warm and the sky might be bright but don't be deceived, things are far from all right! As low-pressure systems, this calm will turn into a storm! So everyone in Lawndale, beware! A hurricane we warn..."

A perfectly-manicured hand reached out and turned off the TV.

"Ah," said Linda Griffin, "enough about the weather, Sandi, we really need to chat
I'm spending today out of town doing news stories about those formally-fat
But before I go, a little update if you will, call it a council of war
Discussing those pesky daughters of wretched Helen Morgendorffer?"

"Uh, hi mom," Sandi replied, "Can't we talk about about something new?
Oh please mom, let's discuss politics and the latest military coup?
Or maybe mom, we could just sit back here and enjoy the stunning view?
Oh dear mom, can't you see how scared I am of talking with you?"

"That's all very nice, dear, but I have a plane to catch,
So before I go I have a new scheme for you to hatch
I read about that hated dyke in the latest Val ish
But Helen's not embarrassed yet, what a total bitch!
I'll break her yet, you wait and see, now what about the other
Little harlot slut, Quinn? Tell me she's an underage mother?"

"Uh, hi mom, can't we talk about about something new?
Oh please mom, the girl won't have sex, or go past base two!
Or maybe mom, we should not make her bite off more than she can chew?
Oh dear mom, Quinn's not so bad and I'm sure you'd like her too!"

"Never mind, there are many long games for us yet to play
Starting with that thing at your school, for it is Prep Rally Day today
Gather up your Fashion Club and make sure Quinn skips school
Take her to Cashman's and say you want to buy some clothing cool.
Then spread the word Quinn badmouths Lawndale High, spread it far and wide
Let that psycho principal Angela Li against Quinn and on our side!"

"Uh, hi mom, can't we talk about about something new?
Oh please mom, I promise I will do whatever I can do.
Or maybe mom, you could just stop being an angry shrew?
Oh dear mom, what if we're outdoors when the hurricane blows through?"

"Oh Sandi, why do I bother with you when you only disappoint?
Why worry about the weather when you'll be inside the Cashman joint?
So a big wet rain-storm is coming, so what if you get wet?
So what if Lawndale is blown away, you'll never catch me fret.
I have insurance policies for my husband and children dear
And if anything happens to you, then of my future do not fear!
Of course I don't WANT you all blown away and smashed and drowned and dead
But on must always be prepared, that's what all the girl scouts said!"

"Uh, hi mom, can't we talk about about something new?
Oh please mom, your callousness makes me feel blue
Or maybe mom, we none of us were good enough for you?
Oh dear mom, I'm sorry, it's sad and yet it's true."

"Enough of this, Sandi, I said all that I am going to say
It's hardly going to be my fault if Lawndale blows away
If I worried about the rest of you, it would simply make me weak
And whoever inherits the Earth, you can bet it's not the meek
I thought I raised you with a backbone to stand up and never balk!
Now I'm leaving you and the others here, but I'm glad we had this talk!"

Linda swanned out of the kitchen.

Sandi frowned. There was something odd about her mom was speaking today. Still, it was probably nothing.

***

It took around five minutes to convince the rest of the Fashion Club to cut school and head to Cashman's. Clouds were thickening and growing grey and heavy, slowly blotting out the sky. Sandi tried not to keep looking out the window, but it soon became obvious this oncoming storm was far from hypothetical. She decided to hurry things up so they could get out of the building before it started to rain.

Quinn was trying on a truly unflattering dress. "This one doesn't make so much noise..."

"But Quinn, aren't you afraid that you look like a Hefty bag?" asked Sandi automatically. Idiot! Now she's going to want to stay and find something else! "Not that you do," Sandi added, but not quick enough.

Theresa came to their aid. "Sorry, ladies, the store's closing." She shrugged helplessly. "The hurricane."

"Let's get out of here while there's still time to walk," said Sandi, trying to hide her own rising panic. "Running for your life is so geeky.:

"Oh, no. Wind hair." Tiffany shuddered.

"Come on, Quinn!" Sandi called as she lead the others to the exit. "We'll come back tomorrow and find a color that doesn't make you look so sick."

Quinn remained where she was, looking depressed.

And then she started singing to herself. For some reason. Actually singing to herself about staying to find a dress.

Ri-goddamn-diculous.

Shaking her head, Sandi hurried off. Quinn could catch them up later. She'd already done plenty for the redhead, but risking death by hurricane while she crooned about matching outfits was too much of an ask...

***

Quinn eventually caught up with them and they ditched her at her house. Her parents were already home, but Sandi didn't have time to see if Daria and Jane were around. With time running out before the storm hit, Sandi decided they'd seek shelter at the nearest of their houses - and that was Tiffany's. They retreated into the sturdy building, closed all the doors and windows and brace themselves.

Sandi had called home and found her dad and idiot brothers were there and safe. Her dad, at least, was glad to hear she was somewhere secure - probably wishing he was with her instead of with Sam and Chris. Stacy convincing her mom that they were safe seemed to take the rest of the afternoon.

Outside, it was as if night had fallen. The sky was black with dark swirling clouds lit from within with pale grey flashes. Mother Nature was well and truly pissed and was reminding the so-called dominant life form of Earth just who was in charge and why they were no safer now than when they'd been hiding in caves from woolly mammoths. Lawndale and everything in it wouldn't make this hurricane break sweat. Or whatever hurricanes did when something fought back.

It was beautiful.

I bet Jane'd paint an amazing picture of this.

They closed the windows and sat by the bed, not speaking. Outside they could hear the wind howl and trees buckle. Things were thrown aside and crashed. A rumbling like an avalanche drew closer and closer, rattling the entire Blum-Decker household and then...

...it died away.

Much later, it would be explained that a unique set of strange weather conditions had led to a second hurricane being formed in the middle of Lawndale by the displacement of the first. The two hurricanes merged and cancelled each other out, leaving the battered by unbroken city basking in afternoon sunshine and the most beautiful rainbow anyone could ever remember seeing before.

The streets were filthy with mud and broken branches and even a few overturned cars, but otherwise everything was fine. It seemed Linda Griffin wouldn't get her insurance payout anytime soon, Sandi realized dazedly. She hadn't quite been aware of how frightened she was till now. Looking back, it seemed almost certain they should all have been killed by this twister and they'd all acted like it was no big deal.

"The big, wet rainstorm's over," she said out aloud, exactly as Tiffany and Stacy did likewise. "Where's Quinn?"

"And do we care?" Sandi wondered, thinking more about Daria and Jane. If Sandi hadn't realized the danger until it was too late, what would they have done? Oh god, what if they'd gone up on the roof to avoid the Pep Rally - which would be just like them - and got caught in the downpour.

No. They're fine. They're all fine. Nothing's wrong.

"The big, wet rainstorm's over," the remaining three of the Fashion Club chorused.

"She's in a store somewhere," predicted Stacy confidently.

Yes, Sandi decided. If Quinn was shopping, they'd go and find her and make sure her cousin or whatever and her weirdo friend were all right.

And then they'd find out why the hell everyone seemed to be singing today.

***

Daria was fine. As was Jane. They had, however, managed to nearly get themselves killed in exactly the same manner as Sandi feared but were, as always, philosophical about the experience and how close they'd come to "dying in nowheresville."

No one mentioned the singing, so Sandi - content to know Beautiful Girl and her friend were safe - didn't push it.

****

"Alexandra Elaine Griffin, get up this instant!" demanded Linda, hammering on the bedroom door.

It had been ten minutes without any reply. Linda fumed, cursing how her daughter's selfishness was going to set her back hours if not a whole day of work. In frustration, she used her master key to open the bedroom door and was assailed by a strange smell that could only be described as "cheesy". She barely noticed the terrified white cat bolt through the doorway and feel down the steps - when she eventually remembered her daughter's cat, it was long gone to either find a new home or die on the streets looking.

Linda stormed into the bedroom, shouting for Sandi to get up as she was already half an hour behind schedule.

Sandi make no response.

Impatiently, Linda grabbed her daughter's shoulder and pulled sharply. Sandi rolled onto her back, staring up with sightless eyes. Linda scolded her daughter, but even she noticed how rigid the figure in the bed and how it was breathing. Frowning, she pressed her two forefingers into the flesh of Sandi's ice-cold neck. There was no pulse.

Linda pressed her ear to Sandi's motionless chest and quickly confirmed neither heartbeat nor respiration.

She straightened up, folded her arms and let out another frustrated sigh.

"You selfish little bitch. This has totally ruined Friday for me."

"Something wrong, sweetheart?" her husband Tom asked airily as he passed the bedroom door.

"Sandi died during the night," Linda grunted irritably.

"Dead? Sandi's dead? You're sure?"

"Uh, I would hardly make a statement like that if I was unsure, would I, Thomas?"

"No, good point, dear. Oh this is terrible."

"I know. Fifteen years of work and non-refundable payments down the drain." Linda sighed again and brushed a lock of chestnut hair out of her eyes. "What a waste. She must have died in the night."

"That's terrible," said Sandi's father again, unable to think of anything else to say. "Do we know what caused it?"

"Oh probably some defect," Linda shrugged. "We probably won't be able to donate any organs."

"Oh what a pity. Still, we've still got Sam and Chris."

"That's true," Linda agreed happily. "This isn't a total waste. And I suppose we can sell off her stuff to recoup some of the losses. And I bet a dead daughter will really screw Helen Morgendorffer over. She can't impress everyone with two living daughters, now, can she?"

"That's true," Tom Griffin agreed. "You know, I never actually liked Sandi that much."

"No one liked her, Tom. She was ugly, stupid and between you and me I think she was a dyke."

"Eww, gross!" Tom shuddered in disgust. "We'll have to get this whole house fumigated and then sealed in cement and dumped in the North Sea. I heard lesbians have a half-life of a thousand years."

"I blame myself for not aborting her when I had the chance," Linda sighed. "Maybe then I could have kept Ramonica's twins."

"The ones you murdered, dear?"

"Uh, 'ethnically-cleansed' please, Thomas. Still they couldn't have been a bigger failure than Sandi."

Tom put his arm around his wife's shoulders. "It's not your fault, Linda. You're a saint for not strangling that evil thing the moment it was born. She was such a revolting baby, wasn't she?"

"Oh please, Tom don't remind me I had that... that tumor inside me for nine months!"

"Hey, I had to watch you swell up like a blister full of pus," he protested. "That would have been more fun actually. At least they wouldn't expect us to raise pus and potty-train it."

"You're right. This is a blessing in disguise."

"Not a very good disguise."

Linda Griffin laughed, sounding more happy than she had for a decade and half. "Good point, Thomas. Oh, life finally feels worth living again now she's gone! Come on, let's tell the boys that their allowance has increased! I can just imagine their cute little faces smiling and happy!"

"You're a perfect mother, Linda," grinned Tom. "Oh I forgot how wonderful the world was when Sandi was alive!"

"And I bet if she knew how hideous she made our lives were, she'd be glad."

"I know. Let's pretend she never existed!"

"No, wait, let me tell the school first. Those poor students need to know they're free now!"

"Linda Griffin, you are a god damned fricken saint!"

They walked away, closing the bedroom door and forgetting it ever existed.

***

"Students of Laaaaaawndale High," crackled Angela Li's voice over the public address speakers (accompanied for some reason by what appeared to be ABBA's "Gimme Gimme Gimme" performed by the Chipmunks). "I have excellent news for us all. It appears last night the pestilential president of the so-called Fashion Club dropped dead last night, and needless to say she died alone, unloved and unmourned. As if anyone would share her bed, ho-ho!"

Quite a few students sniggered at that. The rest dry-wretched at the thought of Sandi Griffin naked.

"I don't know if there's going to be a funeral and frankly I don't care. Even so, I declare all students free for the rest of the school year with mandatory As in all subjects. This is a time of celebrating and rejoicing, so I want the whole student body to embrace one another and appreciate that the nightmare of Sandi Griffin is finally at end. We're ALL FINALLY FREE!"

***

Mr. DeMartino started to sob uncontrollably. Mr. O'Neill rubbed his back. "It's all right Anthony, just let it out."

"I'm just SO HAPPY!" he whimpered. "Every time I looked at her I WANTED TO KILL MYSELF but now I know there is a world FREE OF HER DISGUSTING LESBOTIC INFLUENCE, it's like I've been given the cure OF A HORRIBLE FLESH-EATING DISEASE! Oh, Timothy, IS THIS WHAT HAPPINESS FEELS LIKE?"

O'Neill sniffed. "Yes, Anthony. And you deserve it. Sandi Griffin was like an ingrown toenail in this school. We never deserved her and now she's gone we can finally achieve our full potential."

Mrs. Barch strutted him. "Oh, you pathetic weak males," she sneered. "We've been given the rest of the year off and you're wallowing in puny self-pity and wannabe catharsis! Stop crying we're free of that sick Griffin pervert - just acknowledging her is cheapening this victory."

DeMartino sobbed and nodded. "You're so right, Janet. We CANNOT let her take THIS from us as well!"

"Darn tooting!" Barch turned to O'Neill. "Now come here, Skinny, we've got a dead teenager to forget about!"

"That's my boy, Timmy!" DeMartino cheered him on. "You find that G-spot on behalf of everyone!"

***

Stacy was sobbing. "Is it true, Tiffany? Please tell me it's true! Tell me she's gone!"

"You betcha," said Tiffany. Her voice was fast and clear. "Ding-dong, the bitch is dead! I finally don't have to pretend to be retarded to stop that bitch bullying me whenever I say anything! I can finally be myself! She's not going to hold me back and make my life a living hell any more!"

"Are you sure?" Stacy wailed, tears running down her cheeks. "What if it's a false alarm? What if she's still alive? I don't know if I can cope finding out she's still alive! If I got my hopes up..."

Tiffany placed her hands on Stacy's cheeks and stared in her glistening eyes. "She's gone, Stacy. We're finally free of all the hell she put us through every second of every hour of every day. We can be whatever we want to be, instead of faking as fashion-lovers to stop her bullying us. We don't have to lie about remembering the time that German Shepherd beat her at scrabble, Sandy. We can finally be happy again."

Stacy sniffed. "What if she comes back, though?" she whimpered.

"Never fear," said a familiar perky voice. "If she does, I'll hack her to pieces with an axe!"

"Oh Quinn, really?" asked Stacy, hope rising. "You know we love you already, but that would be the best."

Quinn flung her arms around the shoulders of the others. "And I love you too, Stacy and Tiffany. I know everyone liked me better than Stacy, but she was like that sword that dangles on a rope or whatever. We couldn't even live our lives while she was hanging over us. All the hours we've spent pretending to care what she thinks or being interested in what she said..."

"You're a saint, Quinn," said Tiffany, shaking her head. "How did you do it?"

"Because I'm a good person, duh!" Quinn laughed. "And a good person would always triumph over a malignant whore like Sandi Griffin sooner or later. Our lives are finally our own, and we'll never be upset or miserable again!"

"You mean it?" sniffed Stacy. "I can finally feel good about myself."

"We all can," Quinn promised. "The whole world can finally move onward! This is the dawn of a new age without any poverty, cruelty or hatred. All the worst things mankind has to offer died with that Antichrist Sandi Griffin. I bet Jesus will come back now he knows she's gone!"

"It's Satan I feel sorry for," said Tiffany sadly. "He doesn't deserve her, does he?"

"Oh, Tiffany," laughed Stacy gaily, "we all know Hell's too good for Stacy. Only people go to hell!"

"Yeah," snorted Quinn in a cute and endearing way. "Since when did Sandi Griffin..." She paused to spit on the floor. "...ever count as a person? Not since I got here, that's for sure!"

***

"Party tonight at Tori Jericho's house!" screamed the three Jays. "Ding dong the bitch is dead!"

***

And up on the roof, Daria sat jotting down notes for another short story while Jane leaned against an air vent, sketching the horizon. "Hmm, fancy that," said Jane casually.

"Oh I'm not falling for that one again. What am I supposed to fancy this time?"

"Seems Sandi Griffin died in bed last night." Jane added some shading to the clouds in her sketch. "Hey, Daria, what's small and hard and cold and makes women scream?"

"Cot death."

"Aw, you've heard it! Mind you, it surprises me it's what got Sandi in the end. I would have thought she would have bled out taking a tin opener to her boobs or something pathetic and self-pitying like that. And we all know you shouldn't do that at home unless you have a full tin of gasoline and some matches."

"Mmmm."

"It really makes you think, huh?"

"Uh-huh."

"Nope, you're right. Doesn't make you think at all."

"Jane."

"Yeah?"

"Who's Sandi Griffin?"

"...no one you'd remember."

"Good."

***

"Alexandra Elaine Griffin, get up this instant!" demanded Linda.

Sandi lay on her back staring up at the bedroom ceiling. Her nightdress and pillows were damp with tears.

I can't believe it took me long to realize this. I thought I was happy. Everyone else was miserable. All I've done is ruin everything. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Oh God, please. I'm so sorry...

She closed her eyes tightly and wished she would die.

No blessed relief ever came.

***

Got up. Got out of bed. Dragged a comb across my head. Made my way downstairs and had a stroke and somebody spoke and I fell into a dream. Or something like that. She couldn't remember the song or the lyrics. She didn't care. She couldn't care. Either it had all stopped hurting or it was hurting all the time. She couldn't complain. She didn't deserve to complain.

Sandi Griffin went downstairs and had her breakfast. Her father grunted a few pleasantries at her as he wondered what crime he'd committed to have spend the best years of his life with a hideous and horrible brat like Sandi. Sam and Chris argued on their way to school, just so happy to be out of the house where Sandi infested their lives. Her mother wasn't there, and everyone knew why.

Sandi went to school. Stacy, Tiffany and Quinn arrived after her. They tried to make their grimaces look like smiles at her, and Tiffany drew out her words even longer so Sandi wouldn't talk to her as much. Stacy flinched with barely-hidden revulsion when her bare arm came into contact with Sandi, and she immediately found an excuse to go and disinfect herself. Quinn smiled pleasantly, patiently waiting for Sandi to curl up and die and the wonders that would unfurl.

They mocked her for not talking much, but she knew they were just desperate to enjoy the silence and dreaded her stupid, honking brain-dead voice interrupting their thoughts. In class, they all went to the other extremes of the classroom to avoid her. Mr. O'Neill smiled at everyone except her. Ms. Barch looked at her with infinite disappointment. Mr. DeMartino ignored her as the lost cause she was. Ms. DeFoe tried to not to look sad when she saw Sandi had turned up for glass. Mrs. Bennett pretended to be sick so the class had to revise a chapter on economics so she didn't have to spend much time in the same room with Sandi. Couch Morris visibly had to choke down a gag reflex when she used Sandi's surname.

School ended and all the students fled home, or at least as far away from Sandi as they could possibly get. The rest of the Fashion Club eagerly talked about how they couldn't possibly force themselves to go to the Griffin household for the next meeting, still angry were they with Sam and Chris. They were more angry with Sandi, though, and they thought she was out to get them. They only stayed with her for fear of what she'd do to them behind their backs. Quinn was wistfully cursing the day she'd got Daria the right medicine to fix her and not smothered her instead, but what poor pillow would they sacrifice to touch that disgusting face and foul breath?

Sandi went home. She looked at school books she was too stupid to understand and homework assignments she would never be able to complete. Fluffy avoided her, preferring the backyard. Her brothers avoided her. Her father avoided her. Her mother didn't even come home. Sandi ate a microwave shepherd's pie, not because she was hungry or deserved it, but because she knew her parents were only just willing to feed and shelter their least favorite offspring and she should be grateful. None of them said anything about her being quiet today, they were just glad she'd shut up.

***

The next day was a virtual repeat of the first.

As was the one after that.

And the one after that.

***

Finally one Tuesday, Bing and the Spatula Man pulled up in the Z-93 Party Van in the school carpark. Everyone was happy to see them. Sandi could tell because no one ever reacted like that when they saw her. She spotted Daria and Jane in the crowds. They weren't happy, but then they must have seen her and she'd ruined their day. She did her best to keep out of their sight, knowing how much they must despise her for her hideous body, stupid scratched underboob and her cooking that had made them all ill. Why they hadn't got Helen Morgendorffer to sue her and have her sent to juvie she didn't know. Linda Griffin would probably call it one-all, maybe even start to like Daria's mother.

Bing and the Spatula Man invited the Fashion Club to critique the outfits of some less stylish students, but they only let Quinn speak on the radio. Tiffany was too slow, Stacy was too nervous and no one wanted Sandi near popular people. She didn't object, just marveled at the professionalism of the DJs. You really could believe they were happy to be in her presence without their skin-crawling with disgust.

***

The day after that, Quinn refused to turn up to school.

"Where is she?" asked Sandi, avoiding the looks of pitiless hatred from the other FC members.

"We don't know," Stacy snapped impatiently. "She didn't call and she's not answering the phone."

"Are we sure we got the riiight numbeerrrr?" asked Tiffany, who clearly blamed Sandi for all this.

"Well, let's hope it's nothing too serious," Sandi said, wishing she had anything useful to say.

Tiffany rolled her eyes in disgust.

Sandi squirmed and got out of their sight, but it wasn't anywhere near good enough.

***

Sandi spotted Daria and Jane approaching the school and stood in a corner of the fence, like a naughty child standing in the corner of a classroom. Except naughty children were allowed to be forgiven. Daria and Jane were talking and if they noticed her, they ignored her, so at least that worked.

"And it was definitely not the guacamole?" Jane was asking.

"No," said Daria. "That man with the fancy white coat, special heart-listening gizmo and the framed diploma said it all in fancy words that it was a very mild heart attack."

"Milder than the guacamole?"

"That's still up for debate."

"I dunno, Daria, it was at the scene of the crime. And your dad flopped face-first into it. Very suspicious."

"Yeah, he could have drowned. And the last thing my dad would ever say on this Earth would have been 'Blurk'."

"...it DOES capture some existential cosmic angst, as monosyllables go." Sandi could hear the sad smile in Jane's voice. "I'm sensing this pleasant bantering isn't cutting the mustard today, huh?"

"All of us just stood there. Or sat there. Or did nothing. If it hadn't been so mild, he might have died there and then. I didn't do anything to help. I was beyond useless. At least Quinn made sure he heard a daughter call him daddy with genuine daughterly love and concern."

"Daria, if you'd said that he would probably have been even more terrified than a mild heart attack. Jeez, what were you two supposed to do? You and your mom got him to the hospital, didn't you? And I bet your cool compose helped with the healthcare professionals no end."

"Yeah. Mom and Quinn were wailing their hearts out. I just sat there asking questions."

"You feel guilty for actually doing the sensible thing?"

"My dad... I could have lost him. There's going to come a time where he's not going to be there any more. And it could have happened today. Quinn cried so much. I didn't." Daria sounded very uncertain. "She wants to study medicine now, cardiology. She said, and I quote, she would have been freaked out for, like, years if dad had died."

"It sounds plausible, without a lie detector to hand. And she might be able to help if he has another attack."

"Yeah, I know. It's actually a halfway noble and practical course to affairs."

"Is that envy I hear?"

"I don't know what to do. Mom's got a book full of things to help. And she's even made sure when he wants his mummy, he'll get her - so my grandmother Ruth will be staying with us while my dad recovers."

"Is this the grandmother who said she'd give you 100 bucks if you changed your hair?"

"Both my grandmothers said that..."

They continued onward. Sandi rested her forehead against the chain-link fence. Poor Daria. Poor Quinn. Poor Mr. and Mrs. Morgendorffer. They didn't deserve this. At least she could make sure none of them were bothered by her. No crawling to Casa Lane for help. No more loitering in the library. She owed them that and more.

Bing and the Spatula Man pestered Daria and Jane. Sandi liked them less now.

***

Daria attended school the next day. Quinn didn't.

Stacy and Tiffany continued to wonder what had happened. Sandi thought about telling them, but they'd only ask her all sorts of questions she couldn't answer. What sort of heart attack, Sandi? When did it happen? What do the tacos have to do with it? Why didn't Quinn ring you if you're supposed to be so important? Admit it, Quinn's dad got a heart attack because of you! You're just pure filth, aren't you, trying to make other people as miserable as you!

"Gee, Sandi," said Stacy. "You must really be worried, you've hardly spoken all day."

Not that you could say anything useful, you empty-skulled dyke bitch, but maybe you've finally wised up and realized that we're sick of your slime filling our ears every day SO THANK FREAKING CHRIST YOU STOPPED TALKING!

"Shouldn't we caaaaaaaaaaaaaalll her?" wondered Tiffany, obviously sick of waiting for Sandi to do something halfway worthwhile like suggest a logical course of action.

Why are you still alive? What is the POINT OF YOU, Sandi Griffin?

"Maybe we should let Quinn choose to call upon us, when she's ready," Sandi said, eyes lowered.

She could easily imagine the looks of raw hatred the others shot her.

***

Mercifully there was distraction as Bing and the Spatula Man as they tried to find Upchuck a date. In return, they offered the poor unfortunate girl a free "Mental In The Morning" bumper sticker. No one - NO ONE - came forward, and Upchuck withered slightly. Sandi felt sorry for him, being humiliated like this.

And then the Spatula Man jumped off the top of one of the huge speakers like he was stage-diving. Some dormant survival instinct made Sandi get out of the way so she wasn't flattened beneath them, and felt more dislike for the fat fool who had made Upchuck and more importantly Daria and Jane feel bad. "Watch it, Spatula Geek!" she spat.

Her feelings meant nothing to the DJ, and she wasn't sure why she expected otherwise. "Hey, chickaritas!" he said cheerfully, skillfully avoiding acknowledging or even looking at Sandi. "Which one of you lovelies wants to go out for a night on the town with my man Charles and win a free bumper sticker, on Z-93?!"

Somehow the microphone ended up aimed at her. Unwilling to speak on the air and make even more people hate her, Sandi stepped back out of mike-range. "Tiffany, dear, would you please explain to the Spatula Man why a bumper sticker cannot possibly compensate for the shame and permanent reputation damage involved in a single date with Charles Ruttheimer?" she hissed, glaring angrily at the Spatula Man.

Tiffany shot Sandi a look of contempt at her pathetic feebleness, but did say "Upchuck? Eww!" into the mike which was good enough for all concerned.

As they left, the Spatula Man decided to bully Daria again.

You can't do anything right, can you, Sandi? You just had to make things even worse for Upchuck and Daria. I mean, god, how are you making things even worse? You can't just settle at rock bottom, can you? When Daria and Quinn are worrying about their dad, you can't even leave things as they are! If you were at least doing this DELIBERATELY... but no, you couldn't even manage it, could you?

You are beyond all hope, Sandi Griffin. I can't even find the strength to hate you any more.

Just end it already.

***

Tiffany and Stacy loomed over her, faces twisted in cold pitiless anger as Sandi shamefacedly dialed the Morgendorffers' number. Her mouth was dry. What was she supposed to say? What could she possibly do to help Quinn?

"Hello?" It was Daria.

"Uh, hi," said Sandi, throat suddenly closing up. "Uh, um, is Quinn there...?"

If Daria recognized Sandi's voice, Sandi would never have guessed. "Yes, Quinn's here, but she's studying."

"Studying?" repeated Sandi, taken aback completely. Then she remembered what she'd heard earlier, about Quinn wanting to study about heart problems to help her dad.

"Stud-y-ing." There was nothing but sneering, fiery hate in the drawn out word. No pretense of friendship or tolerance, not any more. The Beautiful Girl had given up on her forever.

"This is serious!" Sandi protested, hurt. "Don't prank us about it!"

"No, this isn't prank call," came the spiteful reply. "You called me."

Oh god, she really does hate me too. Sandi was sure she was starting to cry. "Just tell Quinn the Fashion Club's really worried about her and..."

Daria didn't let her finish, because why should she? "Okay, I'll tell her," she said and immediately hung up.

Tiffany and Stacy stood there, waiting impatiently for Sandi to gather her excuse for wits. "Um, Quinn's really busy studying at the moment," she mumbled guiltily. "That, uh, girl who lives there told me. Her dad's sick."

Stacy glanced at Tiffany. Just how dumb does that vile bitch think we are?

Tiffany glanced back. I know, right? Why hasn't someone put her out of our misery yet?

Ewww, you mean touch her? Gross! She's the type who gives lesbians a bad name!

"Well, maybe we should reconvene the next meeting when she's free?" asked Stacy, already eyeing the doorway and itching to be as far away from Sandi as possible. Ideally, when you're dead, you horse-faced bint.

"That's a reeeeeeeeeeeaaaallly good idea," Tiffany agreed. Dear sweet god, why do we have to put up with Sandi?

"Yeah. I'll catch you later or whatever," said Sandi, still looking at the floor.

To their credit, neither Tiffany nor Stacy gave in to the impulse to bolt from the bedroom door.

***

Bing and the Spatula Man left the next day. Apparently, they'd finally got Daria to talk on radio. Whatever she'd said, and no one really wanted to discuss it, had got them to abandon the entire school. Sandi wasn't sure if she felt good or bad about that, or even if she felt anything at all.

That night, Quinn suddenly started ringing up Stacy and Tiffany. Her dad wasn't sick any more and she was glad to get back into the flow of things. She was so happy she even wanted to talk to Sandi, but of course no longer than necessary.

On top of everything else, she didn't die during the night and woke up the next morning.

Things continued to go downhill from thereon in.

***

The next Fashion Club meeting was at Quinn's house. Sandi didn't object, even though she dreaded going there. She was sure Quinn's dad would take one look at her and then drop dead in horror. She'd probably caused his first heart attack somehow. They just hadn't mentioned it yet because she didn't deserve to know anything.

"Good," said Quinn as they arrived at the house. "They're gone." She didn't sound like she gave a crap if her parents were healthy or happy or safe. Maybe she was just glad they didn't have to be in the same house as Sandi? "We're all alone!"

Daria glared at them from the sofa. "Uh, excuse me, but I'm here."

"Oh, all right, you can stay," said Quinn generously. "But if you could be really, really quiet, that would be great?"

As if Daria wanted to be around Sandi. Disgusted, she immediately went to answer a phone call while Tiffany and Quinn discussed the latest issue of "Waif" and Stacy idly day-dreamed of a world where Sandi didn't existed. It was probably a really nice place.

Then she saw some beautiful shoes and burst into tears.

"It's okay," said Sandi. Everyone ignored her.

Tiffany gave some money to Stacy to buy the shoes, and shot a venomous look to Sandi for being so selfish and cruel not to do the same. Quinn was busy running the meeting better than Sandi, coyly commenting that Sandi was very quiet lately and obviously relishing the quiet. Daria left the house entirely and didn't come back.

All in all, the meeting went exactly how Sandi imagined it would.

***

"What are you hiding?" Linda demanded impatiently as soon as Sandi got home.

Sandi wasn't expecting the question. She wasn't out late, and it was not like she had anywhere or anyone to go to.

"I'm not hiding anything," mumbled Sandi, looking at the floor.

"Look at me!" her mother snapped. "And speak up! I didn't give you elocution lessons for you to mumble!"

Yeah, and I got your unique accent, lucky me. Sandi felt guilty for the thought, but looked up at Linda into her cool grey eyes. "I'm not hiding anything, mom," she said.

"You've barely spoken for the last two weeks, you spend all your time in your room with that stupid animal," snarled Linda. "You practically stink of failure and weakness, Alexandra Griffin, so you must be hiding something. Just what mess have you made that I have to clean up now?"

"Nothing, mom, honest!" pleaded Sandi.

"Then why are you so lame and miserable? Am I supposed to think your father or I am to blame, is that it? Are you trying to make our lives even more unbearable than they already are so you can get some attention?"

"No!" Sandi said.

"God damn it, are you crying? What the hell is wrong with you? You like upsetting your parents? Is that what you're into now, Sandi? Dealing with those whiny cry-baby bimbos in your little club not enough fun for you any more? Or is that Morgendorffer harpy just kicked you out? That's it, isn't it?"

Dead babies waiting to be born.

"No!!" Sandi screamed.

"Don't you dare raise your voice to me, girl!" shouted Linda. "If you're still in the club, if you're not hiding anything, if you're not after attention then START ACTING FREAKING HAPPY THEN!"

"Yes!" Sandi croaked, her voice cracking. "I will!"

Linda sighed and rolled her eyes. "Oh, get out of my sight. You depress me."

Sandi managed to do both.

***

So Sandi tried to act like nothing was wrong. She started arguing with the others again, showing off her dominance of the club. She knew it made them hate her even more, but nothing would make them hate her less. When Quinn turned up in a strange black turtleneck sweater, Sandi demanded an explanation. Quinn panicked, insisting it wasn't an anti-fashion statement before the three Jays came over claiming that Daria and Jane were Martian communists.

Give. Me. Strength.

Quinn eventually agreed to explain in the safety of her own bedroom. It turned out she had an unsightly neck zit and the turtleneck was the only acceptable garment she had to hide. Somehow this stupid little fashion crisis seemed so normal, so comforting, Sandi felt almost able to relax for once.

"Quinn, I'm so happy you're still one of us," Stacy cooed, adoration in her eyes.

"Really," said Tiffany in what might have been some pertinent comment.

"Well, God, Stacy, what did you think?" scoffed Quinn.

"Quinn's right, Stacy," gloated Sandi, acting like they were back the old days when she could pretend she wasn't less popular than flatulence in a space suit. "Just because she was acting completely weird and not confiding in her dearest, most loyal friends is no reason to decide she'd finally given up her sad charade and revealed herself as a two-faced, little..."

Daria was in the doorway, staring at her.

So, so disappointed.

It is not your place to judge her sister. It is not your place to judge anyone, you monster.

"Um, let's resume discussing... plaids... later," said Daria lamely.

"Plaids?"

"Yes, Stacy. Plaids!"

Quinn hastily bundled them all out of the house. Daria watched them go, saying nothing.

Sandi managed to go home, her demeanor satisfying her mother long enough for her to go to bed and cry herself to sleep.

***

The next morning, Sandi and the rest of the Fashion Club wore black turtlenecks as an act of solidarity.

It didn't work and between them Stacy and Tiffany managed to humiliate Quinn and her unsightly blemish.

"Did I say the wrong thing?" wondered Tiffany.

"Don't worry about it," said Sandi, knowing that she would be the one to get the blame. She deserved it.

***

For some reason no one blamed Sandi. Not even Quinn. She must have been beneath their contempt by now, and Quinn was more interested in boosting her popularity by dating the most popular boy in school. Sandi decided to get a date for the upcoming Casino Night that was going to be held on a luxury liner called the Princess Fairy.

In the girl's bathroom, the rest of the Fashion Club were ignoring Sandi again as they praised Quinn for going out with the most popular boy in school (this week), some loser named Rex. Finally Sandi spoke up, clearing her throat imperiously. "Actually, I believe Brent, my date, may be a little more popular than Rex. Not that it matters," she added smugly.

Not that it matters. Brent's a guy. Brent's not Daria. Brent hates me anyway. Not that it matters.

Quinn was flustered. "Um... did you say you were definitely going with Brent?" she asked, taken aback.

"Gee, Quinn, I hope this inability of yours to retain simple information is just temporary and not symptomatic of a more serious, underlying problem?" retorted Sandi, finding another spark of energy as she briefly felt she wasn't as pathetic and useless as someone else at the bathroom mirror.

"It's just that I wait-listed Brent, you know, in case something happened to Rex - like he got a pimple, but if it does - I'll go to the next person on my wait-list!" Quinn gibbered. "No problem!"

"I see," replied Sandi coolly. "I guess Brent asked you while he was waiting to hear back from me. You know, using you as his 'safety date'?" Yeah, ginger, not fun when the boot's on the other foot, huh, bitch?

Stacy leapt to Quinn's defense. "I know how you can figure it out. Quinn, which day did Brent ask...?"

"Stacy, who cares about such trivial matters?" Sandi snapped. "Can't we find something less shallow to talk about than when someone asks someone out?" Like there's a chance in hell of that happening. She stormed out of the bathroom, and heard Stacy pretending to be upset, like she gave a flying crap what Sandi had to say.

***

The next day, Quinn had ditched Rex and got a date with Marco. THE Marco, talcum powder model and all-round international lust object. Sandi didn't give a damn, but even she was impressed how Quinn bounced back. She was the sort to bring a thermonuclear warhead to a knife fight.

***

Yet Quinn arrived to the boat unfashionably late. Sandi had been making excuses for her lack of presence by suggesting she and Marco were grooming themselves out of sight when Quinn turned up alone. "Boy, I'm so glad I found you guys!" she said with relief as she entered the ballroom.

"Where's Marco?" asked Stacy eagerly.

"Oh, um, he got stuck at a photo shoot, but he said he might stop by later," Quinn lied very obviously.

So obviously even Tiffany frowned. "Later? We're on a boat!"

"You know, Tiffany, there are things called helicopters!" huffed the redhead.

"Gee, poor Marco must be the only model in the world who's ever had to work on a Saturday," said Sandi, trying to support Quinn's tissue-thin tale of blatant falsehoods.

Quinn, however, leapt to the not-unreasonable conclusion Sandi was mocking her. "Sandi, you act as if you don't believe me!" she accused her, hurt.

"Of course I believe you, Quinn!" Sandi lied, trying to sound as convincing as she could. "And even if I didn't - which I do - I would never tell anyone you've been stood up. It could put your popularity in free-fall, and I'm too good a friend for that!"

Quinn glared at her. "Thanks, Sandi. You are a good friend," she said flatly, and went off to get a soda.

Tiffany and Stacy turned their backs on Sandi, clearly furious with her.

"Poor Quinn," said Sandi quickly, trying to show some solidarity. "I can't believe she's been stood up."

She didn't mean to emphasize the last two words. She just belched and somehow ended up making sure everyone in the ballroom heard her stab Quinn in the metaphorical back. In moments every female voice was whispering and gossiping about how Quinn had been stood up.

"Sandi, what have you done?" whimpered Stacy.

"I just said I can't believe she's been stood up!" protested Sandi. "And I can't believe it! It's not true!"

"But everyone will thiiiiiiiiiiiink it is," Tiffany protested.

"Well, we can correct their assumptions," said Sandi. She was suddenly absolutely desperate to make amends, and she was absolutely certain this was her last chance. In her guts, she knew tonight was the cliff edge and she was dangerously close to falling over. If there was to be any future, she had to make amends now!

"We just need to find an unimpeachable source to confirm Quinn's story," she said.

"Where are going to get one of those?" asked Stacy, leaving the "you stupid bitch" unspoken.

"Ms. Li made sure everyone from school turned up on this boat, right?"

Which means Daria is here.

Would Daria help Quinn like always? Or would she tell the truth? Either way, Sandi couldn't do anything else. She went to Quinn's sister for the truth, like any friend did. Whatever Daria told them wasn't her fault. For once, she was blameless.

For once.

***

Finding Daria was not easy. It turned out because she and Jane had found some deck chairs out on the port side and were now fast asleep. Sandi wanted to smile. The Beautiful Girl looked even more beautiful when she was asleep, lit by the moonlight. And of course all this gambling and showboating wouldn't impress Daria.

Sandi felt a surge of love for Daria again. It had been a while since she'd felt anything. It was giddying.

"Excuse me... Quinn's visiting exchange student or whatever?" she called.

Daria cracked open an eye, looking like Fluffy when Sandi came home from school.

"We're really worried about Quinn!" Stacy said.

"Yeah, we want to make sure she wasn't really stood up," Tiffany drawled.

"Marco did call from the shoot, right?" Sandi pressed. "Because it would be just awful if he didn't!"

Daria gave no hint of understanding her unsubtle clues.

And then she grunted "Yeah. He called."

Beautiful Goddess Daria strikes again. Why did I ever doubt you?

Then she saw the look Daria was giving her. Out of my sight, you filthy hag. Nothing you do redeems you.

The love in her heart was replaced by the familiar lead weight. Like a dead child in a womb.

"Oh," said Sandi guiltily, and left as fast as she could.

***

Sandi didn't know what was she expecting anymore. Yes, she was lower than the warts on the fleas clinging to the underside of filthy maggots, but come on! She had confirmed Quinn's dubious alibi and she, Stacy and Tiffany had started spreading the word to stop the rumor mill. It was the right thing to do. The kind thing to do.

And Quinn reacted by stealing Sandi's date, blatantly flirting with Brent in a way that would have earned a dowry in some countries. Quinn's boobs were ready to leap up into Brent's face and he was only too willing to receive them. Of course, Quinn would never give up the goods. So why was she doing this?

To punish you, Sandi Griffin. Your last chance has been and gone. The only way left is down.

And that was when the Princess Fairy smashed straight into the closest equivalent of an iceberg available - a garbage barge that split the horizontal seam of the liner, effectively slicing off the lower half of the boat. The remainder skidded forward across the water before it finally started to sink.

In the ballroom, everyone was flung to the floor screaming before cold water started to gush upwards through the carpeted floor and dozens of other rents and fissures that had been until then invisible.

"We're sinking!" screamed someone.

"Damn it! Where's the lifeboat?" demanded someone else.

"THE lifeboat?! Certainly you have MORE than ONE LIFEBOAT!" DeMartino shouted back.

Everyone started fleeing the ballroom, climbing up over the railings and diving into the water. Sandi watched dazedly, wondering if she'd lost track of reality altogether. Was she on the Titanic? She remembered reading about it, seeing a photo of the sunken ship at the bottom of the ocean with one passenger window hanging open and darkness within. People had drowned there, trapped, knowing it was useless and feeling icy water flood their lungs.

Black poison filling a womb, the babies trying not to get it in their mouths, swallowed up by the black tide...

Everyone was going... going... gone. Sandi was on her own. No one had even stopped to talk to her. Her feet were wet. They were going to let her drown. They all wanted her dead. Wanted her at the bottom of the sea, out of sight, out of mind, nobody wants you, nobody needs you, nobody cares...

Sandi was out on the deck now. She couldn't see. She couldn't breathe. The stench of hell was in her nostrils. Her stomach churned. Everyone was gone except her. Was the boat going to go over the edge of the world? Would that be better than drowning? She couldn't think. She literally couldn't think. Her thoughts were abacus beads too far apart.

Sandi was dizzy. She turned around and around.

Through the mist she saw someone else on the deck, staring at her.

Daria.

This is all your fault.

The boat crumpled against something. Sandi fell. The rails gave way under her weight and she was falling. Falling into the water. She was underwater. It was cold against her skin, pressing in on her. She couldn't see anything. She didn't know which way was up. She was alone, drowning in blackness.

This is what poor Ramonica's twins felt like.

I never deserved that last chance. I get that now.

I'm sorry I let you down, Daria. But that will never happen again.

Sandi forced her mouth open and let the cold water flood into her throat.

***

Chris and Sam shoved at each other as they raced to be the first through the front door of the Griffin residence. They'd spent Saturday at their friend Matthew's place, but had come back home early with plans of general mischief and fridge-raiding. Their parents were at work and Sandi was on some cruise ship somewhere, which had hopefully struck an iceberg and sunk without trace.

The door was open. The key in the lock was the spare one that was normally hidden inside a fake rock in the garden. The house was in darkness except for the light shining from the kitchen.

And music was blaring from the radio boombox on the counter.

"Sucker love a box I choose!
No other box I choose to use!
Another love I would abuse!
No circumstances could excuse!"

The brother exchanged looks. This was hardly a conventional breaking and entering, which was a pity since beating the crap out of a burglar Home-Alone-style would be the perfect way to end the night.

Together they crept down the hall, ready to pounce.

"In the shape of things to come
Too much poison come undone
'Cause there's nothing else to do..."

Chris craned his neck and glanced around the doorway.

"Every me and every you
Every me and every you
Every me..."

"Sandi?" he said, incredulous and disappointed at the same time.

"What?" Sam said, abandoning stealth and striding into the kitchen.

Their older sister was sitting at the table, staring at the patio doors to the backyard. It was night outside and the kitchen lights turned the doors into a dim mirror. Sandi gazed at herself, her lips moving in time with the music blaring from the boombox.

"Hey!" Sam shouted over the music. "What are you doing back here?"

"Yeah, don't you have your dumb girlfriends to annoy?" Chris complained, glancing at the CD case next to the boombox. It had a picture of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on it, but was named "CRUEL INTENTIONS: THE OFFICIAL MOVIE SOUNDTRACK".

"Sandi!" shouted Sam, kicking at her chair leg.

Sandi didn't notice them. She was staring into what was basically a mirror and didn't even register they were beside her. Sam noticed for the first time her hair was all stringy and messy, and her dress was sodden and stained. She smelled like she'd fallen in garbage.

"What the hell happened to you?" he grimaced.

Chris snapped off the music and for a moment there was silence.

Then they realized that Sandi was still singing along with the music, staring into her reflection and not blinking nearly enough.

"Sandi?" Sam asked loudly. "Are you freaking out or something?"

Chris paled as he remembered Daria's discussion with them a while back. "Is it... girl stuff?" he asked, praying whatever the answer was he didn't have to do anything about it.

Sandi didn't react.

"Like the naked leads the blind," she sang softly to herself, "I know I'm selfish, I'm unkind. Sucker love I always find someone to bruise and leave behind..."

"Hey," Sam said, waving his hand in front of Sandi's face.

"All alone in space and time," Sandi sang, "there's nothing here but what here's mine. Something borrowed, something blue... every me and every you..."

Chris snapped his fingers in front of her eyes.

"Sandi?" asked Sam in a smaller, less-certain voice.

"Every me and every you... every me..."

***

She couldn't even drown herself properly. The water tasted vile and she spat it out with such force she broke the surface. She was screaming and wailing in blind panic.

Daria and Jane were standing beside her. For a moment she thought they could walk on water, but then she realized the water was only slightly higher than knee-height.

Daria looked down at her with utter disgust. "Stay there," she spat. "I'll be right back with the life vest," she lied and then she and Jane waded off to shore, wishing the water had been deeper.

As Sandi tried to get out of the stinking water which sucked her dress down, someone else stood over her. "Hey, Sandi? About going out for some food... I think I'll take a rain check," said that someone, then all but sprinted away from her.

It was only as she heard girls whispering "Sandi's been dumped!" that Sandi realized the someone was Brent. She'd had dates before, but leaving her to drown in front of everyone was a new low.

Everyone went to shore, leaving her alone.

So Sandi did the same. Whatever happened that got her to the beach and back home never reached her consciousness. And even as she realized she was at her kitchen table, she was reluctant to go too close.

She'd got away before. She just had to stay away this time.

***

"She's just trying to freak us out," said Sam. It was no more convincing than the last four times he'd said it. He shoved at his sister's shoulder, pushing her hard back into the chair.

Sandi absorbed the blow and returned to her own position, like one of those inflatable-clown-punching bags. Her eyes moved neither left nor right, and she just kept singing to herself.

"Every me and every you... every me and every you... every me..."

"SHUT UP!" screamed Chris into her left ear.

She didn't even flinch.

"Hey! Stop it! All right, just stop it!" he shouted, grabbing her by the jaw and pulling her around to face him. "Stop it now!"

She couldn't see him. She couldn't hear him.

"Sucker love is known to swing, prone to cling and waste these things," she said, slurring slightly with Chris holding her chin. "Pucker up for heaven's sake, there's never been so much at stake."

"We're going to call mom and dad!" he threatened. "We're gonna get them throw you into a loony bin forever! Don't think we won't!"

"Yeah, we really mean it!" Sam agreed, sounding too frightened to be convincing. He didn't want to ring their parents at the best of times, let alone on the one Saturday night in ages they had to themselves, but the threat had to get through to her.

Except it didn't.

"I serve my head up on a plate. Its only comfort, calling late. Cause there's nothing else to do. Every me and every you. Every me and every you... Every me..."

***

She tried not to think or feel or reason. It was getting easier. She imagined a band singing and she was lost in a sea of sweaty dancing bodies and grinning faces. Was the lead singer a butch girl or an effeminate boy? Either way, they needed basic training when it never came to lipstick and eye makeup.

It was nice. Safe. The band had been muted but she could pretend she hear them singing. She liked the song. Not just because of the hot chicks kissing in the music video and looking so happy and proud, not just because it was in that film where Buffy was an evil coke-snorting bitch who also kissed girls...

She liked the song. The guitar sounded tired, like it was angry and hurt but couldn't give it up. She barely understood the lyrics, but the singer sounded somehow triumphant. A victor after terrible odds. A cynic but still idealistic.

It was a song like Daria.

No, no, don't go there! There are people yelling and shouting and your brothers hurting you and don't go back there! Whatever you do, don't go back there now you've got away!

***

Sam was regretting slapping Sandi across the face. It had hurt his hand a lot more than it could have hurt Sandi, who just sat there, trying to outstare her reflection and la-lahing to a song only she could hear.

They'd forced her to stand and go into the lounge, but she still didn't say anything or give any clue she knew she was there.

"Maybe she fell in some toxic waste or something?" Chris wondered, considering the ugly smelly stains on her dress. "Maybe she needs a shower or, like, whatever?"

"I'm not taking her clothes off!" said Sam firmly. "And if she's like this, what's to stop her drowning? No, you're right. We should call mom and dad."

"What are they going to do about it?" his brother wondered.

"I dunno! Adult stuff! This isn't our fault!" Sam shouted.

Chris was about to shout back when a thought occurred to him.

"Where'd she go?"

The two of them were alone.

***

Stay calm. Don't panic. She had to keep away.

Sandi remembered a long, long time ago when she was little. A nanny had run the tip of a knife along the lines of her palm, tracing each fold of skin. It hadn't hurt but from then on she was sure the lines were deeper and more wrinkled that she should be, as if the knife had damaged her skin somehow.

She remembered telling someone about it. Ramonica? No, don't think about her. But she was told that sometimes people did that to calm down babies. They slide the flat part of the knife over the skin, the coiol metal being comforting and soothing.

Comfort. Soothing. She wanted that.

A nice cool knife blade, so relaxing against her skin.

It worked for babies...

***

They found her in the kitchen, going through the cutlery drawers. Since she actually seemed to be doing something, they held back. After all, wasn't the most dangerous thing you could do was wake a sleepwalker?

"Sucker love is heaven sent," she sang, gazing into nothing. "You pucker up, our passion's spent. My heart's a tart. Your body's rent. My body's broken. Yours is spent..."

She held up one of those big round-edged knife for cutting cakes and sang to the pinky-brown blur that was reflected in the blade.

"Carve your name into my arm. Instead of stressed, I lie here calm cause there's nothing else to do, every me and every you..."

She pressed the tip of the blade into her palm. Frowning ever-so-slightly, she increased the pressure and blood welled up around the knife-tip.

"Every me and every you... every me..."

***

"What now?" Linda asked as Adelaide, one of the office assistants, hurried up to her looking particularly harried. "Something else about that love boat sinking?"

"It's about your daughter," Adelaide said breathlessly.

"Yeah, yeah, she was on board. So was everyone else. No one drowned. Hell, according to Vick's latest, they found a couple who'd stayed on board when the boat went down to do the nasty."

"No, it's your sons, they've rung us up about your daughter."

"And?" asked Linda, far from impressed.

"They want you to come home right away."

"Why? Is she hurt?"

"I think so. Linda, they say she's hurting herself and they can't stop her..."

***

"Well, that was worth over a year's wait, I don't think," grumbled a sulky voice.

"It's the biggest TV event in human history, Nige," a quieter, meeker voice replied.

"Oh, so it wasn't a crap TV trailer, it was just made with unmitigated arrogance that the brain-dead Netflix-binging flesh-bags will lap up without a second thought?" the first voice retorted. "Great, glad you clarified that for me, Dave. I'm sure the episodes themselves will be really good. Oh wait, the last time I thought that, it turned out Jon Snow and Danny were related and bonking! Which is still necrophilia, by the way!"

A third, lilting voice that might have been Irish yawned. "Meh, if it's good enough for Buffy, the Khaleesi can get away with it."

"Andrew, when I want your opinion, I will read your entrails," the first voice said bluntly. "But it's not the incest zombie loving I'm complaining about, it's that it's done so bloody badly. There have been fart jokes more convincing and emotionally-detailed than those two getting aroused by the undead apocalypse."

"They have had a year and more to sort out."

"Two words, Dave. Sand Snakes."

"Oh Christ, I forgot about them," Dave admitted.

"And what a blissful existence you must have been enjoying," Nigel bitched.

"Well, they're all dead now, aren't they?" Andrew pointed out. "I mean, I suppose it makes a nice change for them to kill off characters we actually hate for once. Personally, I think I'm just too jaded to give a damn about any of them. I mean, apart from Sam and Cassie from 'Skins' and the baby, who do we actually care if they live or die?"

"Tyrion, dude," Dave answered. "Everyone loves Tyrion."

"Yep, of course I was a fan of his before he was famous," Nigel boasted.

"Bullshit," chorused the others with amused confidence.

"It's true!" protested Nigel, outraged. "He was brilliant in the American remake of 'Death at a Funeral'."

"Not much competition, given it was an American remake and thus by definition utterly awful!" Andrew scoffed.

"What about 'The Office'?" Nigel retorted.

"What ABOUT 'The Office'?" asked Andrew, bewildered. "You mean the show that had to abandon virtually every single attempt at being a remake to forge its own identity and only then was it popular?"

"I hated the English version of 'The Office'," Dave opined. "It's a constant reminder that Ricky Gervais' mother never took vows to be Carmelite Nun. Oh god, he's worse than the Sand Snakes. Even when he was in 'Family Guy' as a dolphin I wanted to strangle anyone that might donate organs to save his life."

"An ugly bastard and he's just not funny," Nigel said with a shrug. "Still, nowadays that's all forgiven as long as you haven't date-raped your underage co-stars. How many childhood heroes have fallen, eh? Oh, the gods of our youth had feet of clay. Or at least high-grade plastic in Michael Jackson's case."

"You know," Andrew said, "I used to really like Jacko's music. And then one day I actually heard it and realized it was all the parodies and Weird Al rip-offs that I actually enjoyed."

"Even 'Black Or White'?" Dave wondered with mild surprise.

"Considering he was neither at the end, it smacks of a superiority complex to me. Anyway, we've seen the trailer for the last series of 'Game of Thrones.'" Andrew clapped his hands together in an energized fashion. "What do we do now?"

"Address the elephant in the room?" Nigel suggested, then said in a louder voice "Not that we're implying you're overweight or anything, I must stress!"

"Yeah, she's been very quiet since she got here," Dave agreed. "Kinda creepy."

"Especially as we've just been to her funeral a few years from now," Andrew mused.

A new voice spoke. "Like, what am I doing here?"

"Well that," said Nigel grimly, "is precisely the question we were going to ask you, Sandi Griffin."

***

Where am I, anyway? I can't focus, like this whole place is a tune in my head I can't remember the name of. There's me and three others here, three guys huddled together. They clearly hate each other, but they're stuck here, wherever here is. Some weird Middle Eastern tent? A cabin in a submarine with light shining through portholes? Maybe just nothing but darkness and cobwebs for ever, like the inside of a dead woman's eyelid...

"Am I... am I dead?" I ask.

The one to the left shrugs. He's as vague and uncertain as everything else, but I get a hint of someone chunky in a singlet with long messy orange-brown hair and the grin of a happy lunatic. His eyes are green and twinkle in a way that tells me he has bad dreams. "That's not our department, I'm afraid," Andrew says. "Mind you, I'm not sure if we do have a department."

The one to the right, small and slender in a heavy plastic trenchcoat that reminds me of the beach of an island in the Caribbean - the shoulders are ocean turquoise but it turns to blistering white-gold at the hem. Sad, meek but stronger than most. "We're fairly certain this isn't the afterlife," Dave tells me. "It's definitely not the reception desk anyway."

The one at the back, chocolate-coloured skin, mirrored shades, bleached-blonde dreadlocks and a hot pink T-shirt with the letter "I" in toothpaste white and the words "AM WHAT WOMEN WANT" underneath in smaller letters. It's easier to make out the outfit and the hairdo than anything behind. Hidden depths no one is invited to see. "As you can see, stone-cold certainties are definitely NOT part of our wheelhouse," Nigel says, insulting the others.

"You said you were at my funeral," I point out.

"Did we?" Nigel challenges me.

"Does that sound like the sort of thing we'd say?" Andrew ponders.

Dave shrugs. "If it was true, yeah. So we must have."

"But WERE we, mmm?" Andrew smirks. He grins at me. "Yes, we were definitely in Lawndale for the funeral of Sandi Griffin but we're not there now. And now is not then, is it? It hasn't happened yet."

"May never happen," Dave agrees. "Unless you're snorting saddle-bags full of your mom's cocaine?"

I frown. "My mom does cocaine?"

"Definitely not from that particular line through the pattern of infinity," Nigel muses, sounding bored. "It would be just typical if it turned out that absolutely none of that business on Monday happened at all! I said at the time it wasn't worth our time and effort finding out what happened next because nothing happened before!"

"You said that about political history, too," Andrew retorts. He frowns. "Are we not being hospitable? It's been ages since we had practice. Come on over, come on over, spend some time," he says, quoting something and waving me to approach.

"Who are you?" I ask.

"Names are for tombstones," Andrew says, then frowns. "I'm very morbid today, aren't I? Call me Andrew. That's Dave over there and the walking advert for retrospective birth control is Nigel Verkoff."

"They call me Big N," grins the one at the back, like Upchuck after a lobotomy.

"If they call at all," Dave mutters. "But, uh, Sandi, we can't be more clear than that. It's all... in flux."

"Precisely!" Andrew says, slinging his feet up onto the table or whatever it is they sit at. He wears sandals. "Imagine the biggest library ever, Sandi - can I call you Sandi? I won't call you Monkey or Pigsey, promise. Now, you want to read a book, a specific book. Except, you can only read that book once and you can only read it once you've read every single other book that was published before it, one after the other, in chronological order, and never going back."

"Uh-huh," I say.

"Well, that's life," Nigel says cheerfully. "Well, for you suckers, it is."

"We can read any book in any order," Dave explains. "Till the point we can't be sure what book is which. We can read about the history of the 20th Century, but when we read 'The War of the Worlds'. One book says Martians invaded Earth, another book says they did. Some books say they did but we forgot about it, and maybe they invaded later?"

"When everything is equal and original, it's impossible to be objective," Andrew agrees. "Are we three high school students from New South Wales? Survivors of a nuclear war? Alien abductees? Denizens of Satre's Hell? Three ancient narrative archetypes used to spice up otherwise-dull prose?"

"The athlete," says Nigel proudly, then indicated Dave, "the virgin," then to Andrew, "and the fool."

"The whore," Dave replied, pointing to Nigel, then himself, "the scholar," then to Andrew, "and the fool."

Andrew seemed devastated. "I always get typecast!" He composes himself with an over-elaborate gesture. "Everything that ever happened is a story," he says, suddenly serious. "And between those stories, is this place. Now I don't pretend to understand how you managed to run out of your story and end up here, but the how is not as important as why."

"Huh?" I ask, not quite keeping up.

"Not where are you, or how you got here, but why you came here," Andrew explains.

"What could possibly drive someone to flee beyond the outskirts of infinity itself?" Dave wonders.

Nigel's sunglasses reflect her pale face. "And what are you going to do when there's nowhere left to run?"

***

ANDREW: So, what's the big problem then?

NIGEL: Spill the beans, Sandi, it can't be that bad. Probably worse, but not that bad!

DAVE: Yeah. Go on.

SANDI: I... well... I guess. Everyone hates me.

ANDREW: Everyone? That's impressive.

NIGEL: We didn't think everyone knew you in the first place.

DAVE: I mean, there are looneys out there who like Hitler...

ALL: GODWIN!!!

DAVE: ...and he didn't exactly confine himself to being a high school alpha bitch, did he?

NIGEL: I can think of numerous bestiality-related jokes at this point.

ANDREW: And we are not remotely surprised.

NIGEL: Hey, Sandi, how do you tell if someone is into bondage, necrophilia and bestiality?

SANDI: Uh, how?

NIGEL: Cause why else would they be flogging a dead horse?

ALL: Yo-ho-ho!

SANDI: Uh. Okay.

ANDREW: So, why?

SANDI: Why what?

NIGEL: Why does everyone hate you?

DAVE: Yeah, what did you do that was so bad?

SANDI: They... they just do.

ANDREW: Oh they just do, do they? And how do they demonstrate this hatred?

DAVE: Yeah, burning crosses on the lawn? Headless horses in your bed?

NIGEL: Plastic wrap over the toilet seat?

DAVE: Did they write to Ricky Gervais and say you really loved his work and wished you could be so clever and irreverent?

SANDI: They, uh. They just all hate me and wish I was dead.

DAVE: But they're being really passive aggressive about it, is that it? Those sick bastards!

NIGEL: Did they tell you to kill yourself?

SANDI: No.

NIGEL: Did they say they wanted you dead?

SANDI: No.

NIGEL: So how did they communicate their vitriol and displeasure to you?

SANDI: I just... know. Every time I speak, they all wish I'd shut up. They never want to be with me. They all think I'm horrible and worthless and would all be happier if I was never alive.

DAVE: But they never say this or do anything to suggest it?

NIGEL: It's almost like it's some paranoid fantasy in the mind of a deluded and arrogant teenager.

ANDREW: There speaks the voice of experience.

SANDI: It's true! No one wants me, no one loves me. Everything I do goes wrong. Everyone I try to help gets hurt. They'd all be better off without me.

DAVE: So why haven't you been lynched then?

SANDI: Maybe I'm not worth killing!

ANDREW: What? You think everyone is going to be that practically-minded? Don't be ridiculous!

DAVE: Yeah, who are you to go round telling people they'd be better off without you?

NIGEL: Arrogant little cow. This is just inverted narcissism, plain and simple!

SANDI: Inverted what?

ANDREW: You want to be the most important person in the world, not because everyone loves you but because everyone hates you.

DAVE: "Oh no! Everybody hates me!"

NIGEL: "Nobody likes me! Me! Me! Me!"

ANDREW: "Oh my problems are so insurmountable, no one can possibly care!"

NIGEL: "I'm not Sandi, I'm a human being!"

SANDI: It's not like that! I don't want any of this!

ANDREW: "You foolish peasants, my suffering is beyond your comprehension!"

NIGEL: "Woe is me!"

DAVE: "Oh you all hate me, don't you!"

SANDI: You guys aren't helping!

ANDREW: Helping? You cross the boundaries dividing the multiverse and you expect help!

DAVE: We're not even sure we exist! How are we supposed to help you?

NIGEL: And it's not like there aren't other Sandi Griffins out there. Some of them real psychos. Remember that one who tried to beat Daria to death after Quinn got glasses?

ANDREW: Or the one that tried to drown Daria in hot beef stew because Daria once told her she had toilet paper stuck to her dress?

DAVE: Then there was the one who was an insane orphan who only coped with Daria marrying both Jane and Jennifer that she needed to become a bondage dominatrix mistress of pain.

NIGEL: Or the dead ones. There are a few of those. Drug overdose, nuclear war, being smothered with a pillow by Stacy after being in a coma for six years...

SANDI: (quiet) Have you ever seen one that was happy?

NIGEL: Well, I do remember one who fell in love with Quinn and had a foursome with the whole Fashion Club...

DAVE: Yeah and we all know why you remember it.

NIGEL: She was cute. Love suits you, Sandi.

ANDREW: Pity you'll never find it. Not here anyway.

DAVE: You've jumped the casual nexus with both feet and on a clear day you won't be able to see the back of your own head. A mediocre charity telethon subplot in the DVD collector box set of time.

ANDREW: I'd go back if I were you.

NIGEL: If you were her, Andrew, we'd all be grateful. Ugh, what's this you're reading? Another kid's picture book about Pol Pot?

ANDREW: It's about a military dictatorship that takes over a rural village. The dictator comes in with tanks, soldiers, guns, the whole kitten kaboodle. Then someone throws a shoe at him. The dictator works out it comes from the school and barges in there and finds everyone there is barefoot and a huge pile of shoes in the corner. There's a very embarrassed pause, and then the dictator and his men abandon the village.

DAVE: I like a happy ending.

NIGEL: I like a BELIEVABLE ending. What self-respecting fascist insurgent gives up like that? Even if he couldn't find the owner of the shoe, he coulda just torched the school to the ground and shot everyone inside it for conspiracy, make them a real object lesson to the rest of the town!

ANDREW: (deep sigh) Isn't that the point? He WASN'T a self-respecting fascist insurgent. He saw how ordinary people would never respect him of their own free will and realized he had to change. The village didn't defeat him, he defeated himself. He wasn't a monster and wanted to be something better. Not every monster is as bad as they seem.

NIGEL: Oh, heavy use of metaphor there. I hope you're taking notes, Sandi. Sandi?

DAVE: Sandi?

ANDREW: Pigsey? Monkey? TRIPITAKA?!?

DAVE: She's buggered off.

NIGEL: How rude.

(Beat.)

NIGEL: It must have been something you two said.

***

Linda Griffin gritted her teeth through the stink of overheated rubber as she got out of the car. Considering how much those tires cost, she expected them to stand up better to actually being used. She had run enough red lights to make sure her fines would consume most of her next pay check, but getting home within seven minutes was worth it. Part of her was annoyed she was the one rushing to the rescue instead of Tom, but he was out of town, after all. He couldn't get home within seven hours let alone seven minutes, so of course it was up to her.

Linda had to face what Sandi had done entirely on her own.

The front door was closed, and there was a bloody hand-print on the glass of the window like something from a horror movie. It was Sandi's blood. Sandi's hand-print. As Linda opened the door, she cursed Helen Morgendorffer who never had to deal with anything like this with her oh-so-perfect daughters...

Sam was standing with his back against the kitchen door, which was shut. He was barricading it with his body. He looked very pale. The handle to the door was crusted with black, dried blood. He saw Linda and his face fought between relief, terror and guilt. The moment he moved away from the solidness of the kitchen door, she realized he was shaking.

"That was quick," he observed lamely.

"Sam!" Linda barked. "What happened?"

"Chris and I came home and, and Sandi was already here, she was sitting in the kitchen singing along to a CD, and just sitting there, staring at the window. It was like she couldn't see us or hear us, she was like a zombie and when we tried to, uh, make her notice us..." Linda imagined there would be a few bruises not self-inflicted on Sandi now. "...well, then she pulled out a knife and stabbed her hand. We took away the knife, but she just got another and another, she wouldn't stop, so Chris said to get out of the kitchen. She kept trying to get inside but he took her up to the bathroom and..."

"Stabbing her hand?" Linda frowned, already heading for the stairs. "Not cutting? Not her wrists?"

"No, just her hand," Sam confirmed, miming plunging a knife into his palm. "She wasn't angry, she wasn't crying, it was like she was sleep-walking..."

Linda paused on the stairs, her mind racing. "Sam, go back to the kitchen. Get me a knife, one of the butter knives, and bring it to me. Okay?" She continued up to the bathroom without waiting for a reply.

Chris was smarter than his older brother, everyone knew that. He'd sensibly isolated Sandi and kept her away from anything sharp. Linda felt a surge of motherly pride for him but forced herself to ignore it; she could praise her son later, when Sandi was dealt with. If she could be dealt with. Oh god, why couldn't Tom be here?

She reached the bathroom. The door was closed. She knocked gently on the door.

"Chris? Are you in there?"

"Yeah, mom," came the reply. "Come in."

Steeling herself, trying not to gag at the coppery scent of her daughter's blood, Linda opened the door. Sandi was sitting on the toilet seat, staring with empty eyes at the wall opposite. Her dress was dirty and stained, clinging to her arms and legs. Her hair was a tangled cascade of black ringlets, her make-up smudged and almost washed off. One cheek was very red, obviously where the boys had tried to slap her out of it.

Her left hand was a bloody mess cradled in her lap.

Chris was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, holding up a Rubik's Cube which he seemed to be trying to solve in front of Sandi's vacant gaze. It was one of Linda's hand-me-downs, something she hadn't played with since she worked out how to solve it and thus could find no further entertainment value in it.

"How is she?" Linda asked softly.

"Just like this," Chris said quietly. "She doesn't feel any hurt, but she won't let me fix it."

"You can fix it?" his mother asked incredulously.

He shrugged. "It's not as bad as it looks," he said nonchalantly.

Linda forced herself to look closer. There were two messy cuts in the centre of Sandi's palm, and the blood had crusted and split several times. Compared to the injuries the boys inflicted on each other, this was mild and probably wouldn't even need stitches. The real problem was Sandi had done to herself.

And only now I remember her cutting herself under her breast. Only now do I put two and two together. I'm supposed to be an investigative journalist for the love of Led Zeppelin and I can't even spot self-harm when it's literally in my face.

Chris saw the look in her eyes and she killed the thought.

"Hey, sweetie," she said gently, stepping over towards Sandi and crouching down beside her.

Sandi didn't react.

"I heard about the boat you were on tonight sinking and with no life boats," Linda continued. "Going to be big news tonight. Course some one else can report it. Maybe I can interview you about it, huh?"

She might as well have not been there.

"Good thing you can swim, huh?" Chris chipped in. "I bet you got to shore before anyone else, huh? We used to say you swam like a shark was chasing you..."

Linda shot him a look. Ix-nay. Chris shut up.

Sandi didn't react.

Sam arrived, looking like he was about to throw up. His left hand was dirty red from Sandi's blood on the kitchen door handle, which he'd had to touch to collect the butter knife which he held in his pristine right hand. Linda shot him a grateful look and took the knife between her fingers. "It'll be okay," she promised and almost convinced herself.

Linda reached out and took hold of Sandi's right wrist. She did not resist, but the limb was a dead weight.

"You gave us a little fright, Sandi," she continued in a soothing voice. "You hurt your hand. But I know what you were trying to do. And I'll help you."

She flattened out Sandi's right palm, placed the blunt end on one of the lines and gently traced it back and forth. After a few moments, Sandi seemed to sag slightly and flopped against Linda. Her head bowed. She suddenly seemed exhausted. Linda continued to use the butter knife on Sandi's hand, delicately tracing patterns against the skin.

"What are you doing?" asked Sam in a frightened whisper.

"When Sandi was a baby, she got a bad fever," Linda explained. "Something to do with the booster shots. She hated cold towels or anything else we tried to cool her down. Eventually I tried this. Cool metal on the skin. She stopped crying every time. I think she wanted to do this, but she hurt her hand instead."

Chris was amazed. "How do you remember stuff like that?"

Linda chuckled humorlessly. "How could I forget it."

Sam looked at Sandi, who had now buried her head in her mother's shoulder. "It's working," he said hopefully. "What else did you do to help her?"

Linda was taken aback. "Uh... I... I sang to her, I guess. Till the other kids in preschool picked on her for sounding like she was from Ireland," she explained. "We both went to speech therapy so we sounded fashionable."

Sam looked at Chris. "We're from Ireland?" he boggled.

"Yeah, that's why we celebrate St. Patrick's Day!" Chris replied.

Sam was surprised. "I thought we just did that because it was fun." He turned to Linda. "Maybe you could sing to her again, mom? Would that help her wake up or, like, whatever?"

"I don't know," Linda admitted in a small voice. Her thighs were starting to kill her, bending over like this. With a grunt she straightened up, still supporting Sandi who's head now rested against Linda's stomach. Her blouse and jacket would probably need to be bathed in industrial solvents, but she could worry about that later.

"Okay, sweetie, one from the vaults..."

Placing her arms around Sandi, Linda took a deep breath. She started to sing, and her voice was softer, more delicate than either of her sons had ever heard before. Her accent was different, too.

"One fine summer's morning, both gallant and gay,
Twenty-four ladies went out on the quay
And a regiment of soldiers did pass them by
A drummer, and one of them soon caught his eye."

Sam and Chris watched as their mother swayed gently back and forth, rocking Sandi in her arms.

"He went to his comrade and to him did say
'Twenty-four ladies I saw yesterday!
Oh and one of them ladies, she has me heart won
And if she denies me, I'm surely undone.'"

Her voice deepened slightly, becoming impatient as she took on the voice of the drummer's friend.

"'Then go to this lady and tell her your mind!
Tell her she has wounded your poor heart inside!
Go and tell her she has wounded your poor heart full-sore
And if she denies you what can you do more?'"

Linda smiled hopefully, resting her chin against the top of Sandi's head.

"So early next morning, this young man arose
Dressed himself up in a fine suit of clothes
Put a watch in his pocket and a cane in his hand
Saluting the ladies, he walked down the strand

He went up to her and he said, "Pardon me
Pardon me, ladies, for making so free!
Fine-honored lady you have my heart won!
And if you deny me I’m surely undone!'"

Her lips curled and a familiar contemptuous note entered her voice. She was sneering, not singing.

"'Be off little drummer! Now, what do you mean?
For I'm the lord's daughter of Ballykisteen!
Oh I'm the lords daughter that's honored, you see?
Be off, little drummer, you're making too free!'"

Fat tears welled up in Sandi's eyes and began to dribble down her cheeks. She closed her eyes, pained.

"Well," Linda sighed, "he put on his hat and he bade her farewell
Said, 'I'll send my soul down to heaven or hell
For, with this long pistol that hangs by my side,
Oh I'll put an end to me own dreary young life!'"

Sandi was sobbing gently now and Linda held her tighter, voice desperate, pleading.

"'Come back, little drummer, and don't take it ill!
For I do not want to be guilty of sin,
To be guilty of innocent blood for to spill...
Come back, little drummer. I'm here at your will.'"

Linda sighed in what sounded like relief. She sounded tired but hopeful and calm.

"'We'll hire a car," she promised, "and to Bansha we'll go
There we’ll be married in spite of our foes!
But for what can be said when it's over and done?'"

Sandi opened her eyes and in a dazed, lost voice croaked:

"'That... I fell in love... with the roll of your drum...'"

Linda closed her own eyes, suddenly looking so much younger. "You could never resist that bit, could you?"

"Sis?" asked Sam hopefully. "Are you okay?"

Sandi looked at her brothers sadly. "No," she croaked softly. "I'm pretty freaking far from okay right now."

***

Once Sandi was "conscious" (for want of a better word) Chris went to work bandaging her hand. Sandi hissed in mild discomfort, and Sam giggled in nervous relief at her having a human reaction. Linda scolded him; the girl didn't need to think they found her suffering funny after all.

Sam and Chris were eventually sent out of the bathroom and told to clean up the kitchen. They did not object, though Linda knew the odds were they'd at best merely rearrange the mess, they needed to know they were helping. She gently but firmly convinced Sandi she needed to clean herself up.

After putting a plastic glove over Sandi's hand, Linda stood watch over her daughter as she slowly stripped naked and got into the shower cubicle. Linda didn't dare leave the girl alone right now, and she also needed to see just how much damage Sandi had done to her own body. Mercifully, bar some bruises that were no doubt caused by her brothers or being in a sinking ship, Sandi only had two barely-noticeable scars - one just below her waist from the appendectomy, the other almost healed under her breast. No other cuts, scratches, grazes or wounds.

In a way, that might have been easier to cope with than the terrible emptiness in Sandi's eyes.

After the shower, Linda wordlessly helped Sandi dry her hair and put on some shorts and T-shirt. When was the last time she'd had to bathe and dress the girl? A decade and change ago? Then as now she'd been helpless and vulnerable, but back then it had only been because she was an infant. A fifteen year old girl should be able to function on her own. A mother should never let their fifteen year old girl fall so low. Helen would never have allowed that.

If Linda hadn't had Sandi to focus on, she would probably have just curled up into a ball in the corner and cried.

***

Sandi lay on her bed, gazing up at the ceiling. Fluffy lay in the crook of her left arm, nuzzling her armpit and trying to remind her how much more important he was to her than her current trauma, the closest to compassion a cat can show. Chris and Sam sat at the end of the bed, not sure what to do but unable to just go downstairs and play computer games. So Chris entertained Sam with his Rubik's Cube, able to make patterns across the grid with a few twists.

"How come it's so easy for you?" Sam wondered, trying and failing to restore the cube to its former state.

"You know, every one of these you buy comes with a little book telling you how to solve it?" Chris replied.

"No way!"

"Yes way," Chris grinned. "I don't think many people notice it. Or they're all 'I can do this without a stupid book!' and throw it away. You wanna know how to solve it?"

"You could, like, teach me?"

"Hell yeah. It'll impress girls. Right, Sandi?" asked Chris, young and hopeful.

Sandi looked at them and gave a vague "I dunno" noise.

"You wanna see how it's done?" Chris pressed on.

"Go ahead," mumbled Sandi, sounding exhausted.

"OK," said Chris eagerly. He offered the jumbled up cube to Sam. "Right, the first bit, anyone can do. Solve one side of it. Doesn't matter what the rest of the cube looks like, just make one side fit right. All one colour and matching colours on each side."

Sam bit his tongue in concentration and set to work.

By the time he'd finished, Sandi was fast asleep.

***

It was late morning when Sandi awoke again. Fluffy was gone, but her body hadn't moved an inch and she felt stiff and sore. Her dad was in her room. "Hey, cupcake," he said brightly. "Guess who's got two thumbs and is back early?" He indicated himself. "This guy!"

Sandi smiled weakly. "Hey," she croaked.

"My little girl's been in the wars, huh?" Tom Griffin said, sitting down beside her bed. "Heard about that boat sinking. Real Titanic stuff, am I right? Did some boy drown trying to save you from the iceberg? You know, there was definitely room on that bit of driftwood for the both of them..."

"No one saved me, dad," Sandi explained. "Actually, I got dumped afterwards."

"What? Well, whoever the boy was is a damned fool. I'd have him killed, but he sounds brain-dead already..."

Sandi dimly remembered Brent ditching her. Odd how she'd been thinking of Daria turning her back.

"You shouldn't let people make you feel that bad, cupcake," Tom continued. "No boy is worth, you know. Hurting yourself for. Not even Leo DiCaprio. You know that, don't you?" He looked more helpless and scared than his sons did. "If he needs to see you hurt before he notices you, that's a dumbo you don't need."

Sandi stared at him. "You're only here cause I hurt myself," she said dully.

Tom was smart enough to realize just how damn stupid he'd been. "I'm here cause you need me, cupcake," he said gently. "OK, I had a conference to go to this weekend, but it wasn't like I was avoiding you. But you're more important to me than anything! Well, except for your mother and Chris and Sam, but..." He sighed. "Why are you unhappy, Sandi?"

Sandi thought about it. "Maybe I deserve it?" she said vaguely. "I'm an idiot. I've been held back at school. I only got popular by bringing down someone more popular than I am. I fell in love with someone who thinks I'm only good to babysit h... their sister. My date dumped me. No one helped me drowning. It's a real pattern."

"Darling," Tom pleaded, "you know the school thing wasn't your fault. I got held back a year, did me the world of good. All the classes suddenly made sense, and being the tallest in class kept the bullies off my back. I thought it was working out for you too?"

"Did you?" asked Sandi, dully-surprised. "Why?"

Tom stared at her. "You never said it wasn't working," he said, shrugging. "I mean, why would you not tell me?"

"I didn't want to disappoint you," said Sandi. Part of her said she should have lied, but she could find the strength. It was like truth drugs, making your brain too tired to come up with anything false. "Any more than I already do."

"Aw, hon," Tom said softly. "I ain't disappointed in you."

"Oh. I never realized. I thought that's why you kept working late."

"Working late and working hard, Sandi!" Tom protested, a little angry. "You think paying for the family is going to get cheaper all of a sudden?" He winced. "I mean, it's what needs to be done, cupcake. It's not like I'm crossing my fingers hoping not to spend time with you."

"Why not? I wouldn't blame you."

"Sandi," Tom spluttered. "I... What did I do? What did I say? How can you think your dad doesn't love you?"

"Why should you?" Sandi asked, managing a shrug. "I'm just this thing that you have to spend money on. I don't make you proud or successful or even breakfast. What's in it for you? I'm just like a backwards ATM you put money into and never get back. You wouldn't have to work so hard if I wasn't here. You could have more fun."

"Sandi..." Tom began, but he didn't know what to say. The entire English language was suddenly just strange grunts. "You shouldn't think that," he said eventually.

"Why not? Isn't it true?" asked Sandi blandly. "What have I ever done to be worth any effort? Any love?"

"Sandi," said Tom, his eyes hot, "you are my daughter and me and your mother love you so much."

"Mom doesn't love me," said Sandi robotically. "She hates me. She thinks I ruined her figure. She thinks I'm stupid. She wants me to be worth the effort, but I can't. She wishes she never had me."

Tom's hurt turned to outrage. "How dare you say that!" he protested angrily.

Sandi blinked a slow, owl-like blink. "She told me."

Tom was quiet. "That's not true. You didn't hear her right."

"I don't blame her, dad. Chris is smart and Sam is strong. I'm just a failed first try."

"Stop this!" Tom shouted. "Please, for god's sake, Sandi! Stop this! We don't regret having you! We don't regret having to work to feed you and keep you! You're not a burden on us! You hear me, cupcake?" He scooped her up in her arms. "We love you, Sandi. God, the day you were born I was so happy! You were just a little poop machine that screamed like a car alarm, but we didn't care! You never once weren't worth the effort! Sandi, you completed us!"

Sandi stared at him. It made no sense to her. It was a string of meaningless words.

"Mom hates babies," she said. "She always complains."

"Your mom..." Tom looked uncomfortable. "Not every woman likes the whole 'pregnancy' thing, Sandi. Your mom has reasons not to. But you're not just nine months of nausea, Sandi. You're our little girl and there isn't a day, not one second of one minute of one hour, we would ever give you up. And if you've ever thought that, then you're wrong and I have really screwed up somewhere bad." He stroked her cheek. "Your mother loves you so much."

Sandi blinked again. "She's not here."

"She was last night!"

"But not now."

"She, she's on the phone to work. Hey, everyone needs some sleep..."

"She'd be better off without me. If she wants me to take those pills, I will."

"Sandi, for the last time, I..." Tom stopped. "What pills?"

"The pills that kill babies. I guess if I take enough of them or whatever it'll kill me. Or maybe any other poison."

"What the hell?" Tom boggled. "You talking about the morning-after pill or something?"

"What she used on Ramonica." Sandi gazed up at the ceiling. "When Ramonica was pregnant and quit, mom made her take those pills so she lost the babies. She wants to do the same to Quinn if she gets pregnant. I guess it's easier to be upset losing a baby before you know what a disappointment they'll be. Better than having them and hating them."

"Ramonica," said Tom softly. "Your nanny Ramonica?"

"She was nice. She didn't deserve that." Sandi's blank expression creased in pain. "Why couldn't mom have gotten rid of me instead? Why did she have to hurt Ramonica?"

Tom's mouth was open but he had nothing to say. Gently the stoked the back of her right hand, then got up and walked out of her room. He closed the door behind him and didn't come back.

At some point, Sandi fell asleep.

***

At some point, Sandi woke up again. It was late afternoon. A tray was being placed over her thighs, a platter of a sliced French loaf, buttered with slices of cheese and green apple on top. Little salt and pepper shakers sat to one side. A glass of Gatorade stood to the other. There were no sharp objects.

"You should eat something," said her mother gently.

Sandi allowed herself to be sat upright in bed. "I like this," she said quietly.

"Of course you do," said Linda. "It's comfort food."

"You know I like this."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because it's not important."

Linda sat beside Sandi, staring deeply into her eyes. "Of course it's important. You are important." She picked up one of the little cheese-apple-platters and offered to Sandi. "Hey, look - here comes the flying saucer," she sang and Sandi automatically opened her mouth like an obedient toddler.

She chewed and swallowed in short order. It tasted good, but somehow that didn't make her feel better.

"Your dad's really worried about you," Linda said once Sandi had eaten some more. "He thinks you should see someone, get a professional to look after you."

"Not worth it," Sandi said, gazing down at the uneaten platters. "Too expensive. Too embarrassing for you."

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't," Linda conceded. "I'm not sure yet."

"You wouldn't want Helen Morgendorffer to know about it."

"No, but then it doesn't matter what I want..."

"Yes it does."

"No," said Linda firmly. "It. Doesn't. You're what matters."

"You're always telling me to take down Quinn to get at her mom."

Linda was silent for a moment. "Yeah. I do. And I shouldn't. Look, Morgendorffer is untouchable at that job of hers. She's got that and her family. There's nothing else to go at, but I really don't give a crap about what either of her kids do. I just... I just thought it would help!"

"Help?"

"Help you, Sandi!" Linda said, her cool very much in danger of being lost. "God, you think I didn't notice? You think you suddenly locking yourself in your room every night, not talking, not smiling WOULDN'T get my attention? And it all happened the day the Morgendorffer sisters arrived!"

Sandi blinked in amazement. She had literally never thought of that before.

"Even when it turned out Tori Jericho had chlamydia, you weren't happy!" Linda continued. "When Quinn got the renaissance fair play and not you, I thought I could help you get even! I thought she was making you miserable! Or maybe Daria was, feeling you up... I never thought you'd hurt yourself over this!"

My god. She's crying.

"Oh God, Sandi, please don't tell me this is because of me! I was just trying to help!" And then Linda let out a laugh that sounded even to her daughter a little bit crazy. "Just trying to help! Oh, the worst excuse for anything. The worst. Oh Christ, I can't believe it!" She was hysterical. "It almost happened again!"

"What did?" asked Sandi.

Linda focused on her daughter with visible effort. "A long time ago, on the worst day on my life, someone once said they were just trying to help. I never forgave them for that. And now I'm doing the same thing. Oh god, I knew I was... I never thought I was that bad." She swayed as though about to faint. "Sandi, please. Believe me. I care about you more than Helen or her kids. I don't care if she's more powerful than me or if they're the leaders of tomorrow. I care about you, my daughter, and I am begging you - please, just know I am sorry."

"You said you were going to get Quinn," said Sandi quietly. "You were gonna hurt her."

"Hey, you know how many boys she goes through. One of them was going to end up being newsworthy." Linda frowned. "What did you think I meant?"

"You were going to do to her what you did Ramonica," was Sandi's simple reply.

It was a long, long time before Linda spoke again.

"Your dad told me you said something about Ramonica," said Linda eventually.

"I did."

"Sandi, I really don't know what to say about this. You think I hurt Ramonica?"

"Yes. When she got pregnant, she told you and you fired her."

"That's not exactly what happened."

"Isn't it?"

"Look, Sandi, Ramonica couldn't look after you kids and her own baby. I knew how well you guys got on. I didn't want her to give that up, but she wouldn't be convinced. She quit, I accepted it." Linda sighed. "I don't understand why you think I didn't like her. She was practically part of the family! I kept in touch with her afterwards, don't you remember?"

"I remember you told her to get rid of the baby."

Linda glared at her daughter. "You heard that?"

"Yeah. I didn't even know you could get rid of babies till then."

"You shouldn't have been listening, Sandi," Linda snapped. "That was between me and Ramonica."

"You told her to kill her baby!"

"Yeah, I did!" Linda snapped. "Because her GP and a dozen other doctors told her to do the same thing!"

Sandi was bewildered. "But... why...?"

"The only reason doctors ever say abort, Sandi! Because it's too risky to the mother!" Linda looked like she wanted to punch the wall. "You know what happened to a woman's heart when she gets pregnant, Sandi? It swells up, just like everything else. You think it can pump blood for a woman and a baby on it's own? It gets three times bigger and then, because the baby is taking up so much space, her heart actually get curled sideways! And Ramonica? Big, brave, beautiful Ramonica? Her heart wasn't up for that. But she was sure she could cope. She was sure she and the baby would be fine and damn anyone who said otherwise!"

Sandi tried to concentrate. "But you gave her pills..."

"For pre-eclampsia. It was medicine, Sandi. Medicine she needed. I took it myself when I was pregnant. I still had some after Chris was born, so she was welcome to it."

"No," said Sandi. "They... they were bad."

"They were fine, Sandi! You ask any doctor about them and they'll back me up! I didn't want Ramonica to lose the baby, I didn't want her to die! What could have made you think that?"

Sandi pressed her fingertips to her temple. "You... you hate babies. You hate kids."

"What?" Linda exclaimed. "Sandi, I'm not a fan of being pregnant. You've never been pregnant and hopefully when you have kids they'll be printed out from DNA or something. Because being pregnant sucks. It is the absolute worst. There is nothing good about it, and hound down anyone who says otherwise. I hated being pregnant, every second." Her expression soften. "But I sucked it up and got on with it, because you, Sam and Chris turned up at the end of it. It was horrible and painful and undignified but it was worth it. You are worth it." She rolled her eyes. "But it can be a close-run thing at times."

Sandi felt a dim spark of anger. "You told me you cried when I was born because you were revolted by me."

"Sandi, newborn babies look disgusting, that's just a fact. You're covered in blood, hair, cheesy-lubricant and plenty of other stuff. You were purple and covered in white veins. You were gross." A pause. "And then you opened your eyes and none of that mattered a damn. Ask your dad, he was there."

"You said it was a waste of time having me."

"I..." Linda closed her eyes. "This conversation wouldn't have happened back at the start of September, would it?"

Sandi shrugged. "I think so. You were drunk."

"Yeah. I always get drunk at the start of September and ranting about kids not being worth it." Linda sighed, closed her eyes and rested her forehead against her hand. "And for some reason I let you get the brunt of it."

"I don't blame you," said Sandi. "I'm not worth it."

"You are!" shouted Linda. "You are worth it! You know what Ramonica called her little boy? Alessandro. As in, Alexander? As in, the masculine of Alexandra? She named him after you! You really think you're not worth that? Ramonica didn't!"

"You didn't poison her?" asked Sandi slowly. Her brain was normally faster than this, she was certain.

"I didn't!" Linda sagged. "But she died anyway. Complications in labor. She told the doctors if they could save only one, it would be Alessandro. And they did. He'll be about five by now. Never knew his mother. He's got his dad, who didn't want to know us after Ramonica died. Too painful, I guess."

"Ramonica's dead?" Sandi boggled. "But... I thought..."

"What?"

"You came home. You had those pills. You threw them in the bin and said if I ever got pregnant you'd get more, whether I wanted them or not."

"Pre-eclampsia medication, Sandi. Which you would take. And better fresh stuff than old tablets." Linda rubbed her forehead. "You thought I was going to force you to take morning-after pills or something, to make you miscarry?"

"It's what happened to Ramonica's twins!"

"Ramonica died, not her son! There were never..." Linda trailed off. "Twins. Oh god." She covered her face with her hands. "I know what has happened, Sandi. You have overheard some stuff and got it mixed up in your head. You forgot that Ramonica died, and think it was her babies and you think I did it to her. Well, I didn't."

Sandi glared at her mother. "I didn't make this up! I wouldn't just imagine two babies dying in the womb and the poor mother having to give birth to them! You don't just think stuff like that up without reason!"

"You didn't," said Linda quietly.

"I know I didn't!"

"Ramonica didn't have twins, Sandi. She had one baby boy and it killed her."

"Then who had the twins?"

Linda didn't look up from the floor. "I did."

"...what?"

"It was me. I told Ramonica about it. You probably heard it, conflated it into one story. And the worst thing is, it's probably a better story than what actually happened." Linda gazed into the carpet, seeing patterns of long ago. "It was back in the seventies. Before I met your father. I was a free spirit. I got pregnant. Twins. I barely knew who the father was, and I didn't care. I was better than any man. I could raise twins without some phallocentric warmonger. I had my girlfriends, a commune, everything I could want. And I had pre-eclampsia. That's when, basically, you don't expand fast enough for the baby. Nasty. There's medicine you take. A friend made sure I got it. But they gave me the wrong dose. I got better, but my babies didn't. They stopped kicking. My friend was sure it was nothing. I should have had three heartbeats, Sandi. One for me, one for each of the twins. Only one heartbeat. My friend had killed them. Killed me too, in a way. And I always remember the way they kept saying 'I was just trying to help.'"

"It was you," said Sandi at last. "You had to give birth."

"Yeah. They... they took the twins away when they were born. I wanted to see them." Linda's face was totally devoid of expression. "I shouldn't have. Newborn babies are bad enough when they're alive but they were..." She closed her eyes. "I was angry at my friend. But I was angrier at myself. Those kids were mine, it was my job to keep them safe. No one else's. So who should I have blamed?" Linda let out a very deep sigh. "I spent a lot of time after that wishing I was dead. Weird, huh? I would have spent ages and a fortune raising them, Sandi. Somehow that didn't matter a damn when they were gone. I didn't care if they might have been a good long-term investment. I didn't care if they never wrote symphonies or cured diseases. I just cared that I was empty and they were gone."

Silence. At some point, the sun had set.

"I guess that kind of killed any affection I had for being pregnant," she said later. "It's hard to go through all that crap knowing what can go wrong. If I'd lost you, Sandi, I'm not sure I could have gone on. Your dad convinced me it was worth a try, that I wasn't automatically a bad mother. I was so worried I'd lose you. And Sam. And Chris. Maybe I should be the person in therapy. I don't know. Maybe I pushed you away because I'm still feeling guilty about the twins. But if that's the case then it's still my fault. Not yours. I love you, Sandi. Your dad loves you, and so do your little brothers." She wiped her reddened eyes. "I've screwed up so much, Sandi. I don't mind if you hate me. But don't hate yourself. Please."

Sandi sighed. "Sorry, mom. Too late."

"It's not..."

"I'm a dyke."

That gave her mother pause for thought. "You're sure?" she asked eventually. "You don't like boys even a little bit?"

"I'm sure," said Sandi quietly. "Sorry. I know how much you hate dykes."

"Hate them?" Linda started to laugh than stopped. "No. I don't hate gays or lesbians, Sandi. I guess I just protesteth too much. It's easy for me. That friend I mentioned, who gave me the medicine? She was a lesbian."

A beat. Sandi knew what she was going to say next.

"So was I." Linda found the carpet very interesting again. "She actually told me it was no big deal, losing the twins. I mean, she could just get drunk with some guy, get herself knocked up, same thing in the long run. She thought it was like getting a replacement teddybear. I never went with another woman again. They're not all like that, of course. I just had a very bad experience. A very, very bad experience. And I let it wreck your life as well as mine."

Looking very old and tired, Linda got to her feet and took away the lunch tray.

"Get some rest, Sandi," she said wearily. "The good thing about hitting rock bottom is that the only way left is up."

***

Sandi's absence from school on Monday was noted without surprise. After her humiliation on Casino Night, it was to be expected. The Fashion Club made sympathetic noises among themselves - Stacy was the most upset, of course, Tiffany was the most stoic, of course and Quinn actually stopped to think. Compartments of knowledge in her mind were bulging at the seams. Things she didn't admit she knew were bothering her. But Quinn was Quinn and didn't even slow her stride.

And then Sandi didn't turn up on Tuesday. Or Wednesday. Or Thursday.

No one heard from her. No phone calls were answered.

Stacy grew more upset. Tiffany said next to nothing, but her expression was grave.

And Quinn knew something had to be done.

***

Sandi had recovered enough both in body and mind for Linda to take her to the doctor on Wednesday. Sam and Chris were at school, and their natural boisterousness was up around near-homicidal levels but no one suspected they might be worried about their bitchy older sister, so that was all right. Tom buried himself in work, doing his damnedest not to think about what was happening. He was worried he'd might cry, not just because it was embarrassing, but because if he started he might never stop. He thought of the beautiful gurgling baby he'd held in a hospital and the hollow-eyed depressed girl in a bed wondering if she was going to be murdered by her own parents. And then he went to the bathroom and sobbed for half an hour.

As far as doctor visits went, this was not the most humiliating that Sandi had been forced to suffer through. She sat, downcast but attentive, as her mother briskly but truthfully outlined what had happened. Sandi had been showing signs of depression for some time, become convinced her own family despised her, tried to harm herself at least once and seemed at least slightly traumatized about the boat incident. Linda noted she'd probably mishandled things, trying to concentrate on combative and competitive measures. She also agreed that insisting on virginity checks was probably going too far, all told, as she had her own issues to deal with on that. Once she'd explained the situation to the doctor, Linda left Sandi alone to confirm or deny whatever she wished.

Sandi didn't feel like talking, but with an effort she confirmed what her mother had said. Linda had not lied or editorialized what had happened. She explained her bad dreams, her conviction she was hated and loathed by everyone unfortunate enough to know she existed, how she had done bad things and cut herself - if only the once - to make amends. She told the doctor about how she believed her mother hated her, but also that Sandi had turned out to be completely wrong about the fetus-killing mass poisoning. On some level, she hadn't been able to believe such a horrible thing had happened to her own mother and her childish mind had decided Linda was the one dishing out pain rather than receiving it. "Or maybe I'm just stupid," Sandi concluded dully.

The GP was a nice bespectacled man of Mediterranean extraction named Henry Loxton. He listened politely, asking only few questions for clarification, and kept a wisely-neutral expression throughout. Finally he concluded that Sandi was clearly depressed, and spiralling. He took some blood samples to check for a possible thyroid imbalance and wrote a prescription for some oddly-named chunky square pink tablets. They were not, he stressed, any kind of tranquilizers, anti-depressants or mind-altering drugs. He explained that it was common for depression to be caused by the brain equivalent of leaky pipes, dripping depression when not needed. These pills would soak up any excess misery and if nothing else at least clarify the deeper problems.

She got a sick note for the rest of the week, a referral to a psychiatrist she was not obligated to use, and a lollipop.

Sandi laughed at how lame that was, and Loxton smiled kindly. "It's not so bad, is it?" he asked.

She didn't comment on that.

***

"So, if you get one side done, it makes this kind of T-shape," Chris explained, showing Sandi the Rubik's cube that sure enough was solved enough to form upside-down Ts on the four sides and the bottom side perfect. "OK, now it gets a bit complicated," he said and began to demonstrate a spinning twist that sooner or later left the bottom two rows of the cube completely solved.

"Uh huh," Sandi said, interested despite her tiredness.

"She needs her own cube to work on, doofus!" Sam complained. "You think you can just tell her how it's done!"

"More than I can tell you how it's done, knuckle-dragger!"

"You take that back!"

"Make me, baldo!"

"That was only because my scalp reacted badly to anti-lice shampoo, you huge pile of bat guano!"

And then they were fighting.

"Cut it out, ya little bastards," said Sandi, weakly kicking at them. Yet for the first time she wasn't saying it in anger. It was... comforting.

Sweet onion chutney. I'm actually feeling... okay.

Sam had Chris in a headlock. "Say I am Conhorlio, Christopher! SAY IT!"

"Nevaaaaahhhh!" Chris squawked and slammed the back of his head into Sam's nose. "The hills have eyes, Samuel! THE HILLS HAVE EYES!!!"

Sandi laughed at their antics.

Which was all Sam and Chris wanted, if truth was told.

***

After Thursday came and went with no Sandi in sight, Quinn decided to take the initiative. She knew that Stacy and Tiffany would insist on visiting Sandi on Friday night and she wanted to get the lay of the land first. She approached the Griffin household and rang the doorbell. A few moments later, Sandi's brother Sam answered the door and - like many a boy - looked at her with blissful longing. "Hey, Quinn," he said, lovestruck. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I just came to check in on Sandi," Quinn replied casually as though she hadn't actually thought of a reason.

Sam's expression hardened ever so slightly. "Oh. Okay. I'll see if she wants to talk," he promised, then ran inside again.

Wants to talk? Quinn was almost offended. The girl drops off the grid for a full week and acts like it's a chore when someone wants to check up on her? Who the hell does she think she is? Unbidden, thoughts came to her mind. I bet if it was Daria answering the door, she'd have jumped for the chance. Doesn't want to talk to the stupid little sister with the bouncy hair who needs tight t-shirts to make it clear she's a girl at all...

Sam returned, sombre. "She, uh, she says it's okay. Come on." He lead her inside.

As they passed the kitchen doorway, Quinn was very aware of being watched suspiciously by Sandi's mom. It was like Scooby Doo when all the paintings turned to look at you as you went through the haunted house. Only less pathetic, more actually quite creepy. Quinn wasn't used to feeling unwelcome except for Daria's bedroom. And why wasn't Chris trying to win Quinn's favour? When was she suddenly unpopular in this place?

Oh, I get it. You're so angry that Brent dumped you, that you couldn't humiliate me on that boat, you're trying to get by telling everyone I tried to drown you or something! You're so sick of having to settle for me instead of Daria you've decided to get rid of the middle girl! Hah, well, you didn't know I knew, did you? Little stupid Quinn knows something you don't, Griffin! And you know why I haven't gone public yet? Because unlike you, I'm not a total bitch!

Sam opened the bedroom door and stood back, allowing Quinn to enter.

Shooting the boy a suspicious look she entered, forcing a cute smile onto her face. "Hey, Sandi!" she said brightly.

Sandi was lying on the bed, cradling her cat and looking sleepy. Her hair was... unkempt. She wasn't wearing makeup. Her left hand was bandaged. She looked old. "Oh, hey Quinn," she said quietly, a faint smile on her face. "Sorry. Get real tired nowadays. Side effects of medication, they say. Should be over it soon. Uh, what are you doing here?"

"I just came to check up on you," Quinn said, aware Sam was still standing by the door like a guard.

"Oh." Sandi blinked slowly. "I didn't think you'd care."

"Of course I care, Sandi! We're friends!"

"Oh yeah. Best friends." Sandi stroked her cat under its chin and it purred loudly. "How are the dates with Brent going?"

"Now, Sandi, you're not going to say I stole your boyfriend, are you?"

"I try not to state the obvious too much," she shrugged. "But hey, he's all yours. Just make sure you don't need rescuing if there's someone else he's attracted to in the area. He'll let you drown. Just saying."

"I didn't go round telling people you were stood up though, did I?" Quinn retorted.

"That was a mistake," Sandi said dully.

"Sure it was."

"You could ask Stacy or Tiffany. I went to rectify that confusion at once. Your cousin or whatever backed up your story."

Oh like you don't know who Daria is. Or that Daria would have helped me. She was practically unconscious all night.

"Well, I guess it just goes to show what goes around, comes around!" Quinn huffed. "Is that why you've been at home all week? Trying to wait for people to stop gossiping? It's yesterday's news, Sandi. No one cares. And what happened to your hand anyway?"

"I cut it," said Sandi simply. "A lot."

Quinn felt cold all of a sudden. "Like, on purpose?"

"Kinda."

"But why?"

Sandi shot her a desolate smile. "Because, Quinn dear, I am not a very nice person. Was that not made clear earlier on in the song?"

"Okay," said Sam briskly. "Maybe you should be going, Quinn..."

"Yeah and maybe you should aim for more realistic life goals," Quinn replied, slamming the bedroom door in his face. "What are you talking about, Sandi? Why the hell would you cut yourself up?" A compartment burst in her mind. "Didn't you learn from last time?"

"I'm not sure to what you're referring to," Sandi lied.

"When you tried to cut your own boob off with nail scissors, Sandi! That's what I'm referring to!" Quinn was aghast. "I thought it was a one-off, but if you still felt like this... why didn't you tell anyone? Why didn't you ask for help? You think we want you to hurt yourself?"

"Yes," said Sandi. She was lying this time.

Quinn tried to speak. "Sandi!" she managed eventually. "No one wants that!"

Sandi patted her cat again. "I've been told that. A lot. The ladies doth protesteth too much."

"Sandi, you're my friend! You're one of the few friends I've ever had!" Quinn insisted. "I'd never want you hurt!"

"Except when you're stealing boyfriends and popularity?"

"I didn't steal anyone!" Quinn exploded, pointing an accusing (but beautifully-manicured) finger at Sandi. "YOU never wanted him!"

"Oh, you just assume..."

"Brent's a guy! You don't want guys! You want Daria!"

A pause.

Fluffy decided this was probably none of his business and decided to hide under the bedclothes from now on.

***

Sandi stared up at Quinn. For all the days-weeks-months-forever she'd been numb with depression, she'd almost forgotten what it was like to experience total, bone-deep terror.

"Daria?" she said vaguely. "You mean that girl that lives at your house?"

"Yes," said Quinn icily, belying the flush to her freckled cheeks. "That girl that lives at my house. The girl with the coke-bottle glasses and the auburn hair. The girl you've been in love with since the day you met me. The girl who palmed me off to you so she could have more time on her own with her weird friend. The girl who helped you after you found me so horrible you started cutting yourself."

"Oh. That Daria."

"Yeah. That Daria." Quinn's fists were bunched so tightly they were white and bloodless. "It's why you let me into the Fashion Club, isn't it? Just so you could find out about her and get into her drab little panties! You never liked me, you never thought I knew anything about fashion, you even thought I was trying to steal that stupid little club from you! I'm just an excuse for you to be near Daria!" Hot tears were starting to run down her face. "Aren't I?"

Sandi fought the desire to look away, but kept meeting Quinn's gaze.

"Once, yeah," she said. "That's how it started, Quinn. I told Daria how I felt, she told me I should be your friend. And I was just like you, I thought Daria was just dumping you on me. But she wasn't. She knew you wanted to be my friend and I needed a friend."

"And this is how you treat your friends?" Quinn demanded.

"Yes," Sandi admitted. "I'm sorry. I'm a crappy friend. And when I thought Daria was just using me, I tried to get back at her through you. Chucked you out of my house. Then I ruined your play at the fair, making you all nervous and stuff." She sighed. "But it didn't make me feel better. It made me feel worse. I stopped being a swan and was just a really ugly duckling again. I was sure Daria hated me. I was sure you hated me, and Tiffany and Stacy and everyone just wished I was dead."

Quinn's expression softened. "That's not true."

"Yeah, I get told that," Sandi agreed. "But it's like being told the whole world is spinning. Part of me goes, 'Don't be stupid, everything is standing still, duh!' I hurt myself because I hurt you, Quinn. I should have been a better friend, a better president. You deserve better, Quinn. I believe that. So does Daria."

"How... how long have you felt so bad about this?" asked Quinn gently.

"Too long. Or long enough. One of them."

"We could have helped!"

"Could you?"

Quinn sighed. "We would have wanted to help," she corrected.

"I know. Quinn, I've been a really bad friend. I thought... I thought you would be in trouble if you got any closer. I thought you'd get hurt if we were friends. I was wrong. But I was just trying to help." She stopped, as if struck. "I'm sorry, Quinn."

Quinn sat on the bed. "I forgive you," she said softly. "I don't like seeing you unhappy, Sandi. You're one of the only friends I've ever had. I think you're smart and stylish and cute. And who cares if you don't like boys? I don't go out with them because I want sex. But I do care if you're this scared and lonely."

Sandi's eyes were getting hot. "I didn't think anyone could help me," she said, mouth dry. "I didn't think anyone would want to help me. Quinn, I've done so many bad things and it's only when I met you and Daria that, like, I even realized they were bad. I'm so sorry."

"You're not a bad person, Sandi," Quinn insisted. "Stacy and Tiffany told me how you checked with Daria and told everyone Marco didn't me up. And you told me what I needed to ever show my face after the play, and you were right, it was Joey who really screwed it up. You got me to do the dance party and got me all that good credit, you made sure we all dressed up to hide my neck zit and you kept me all up to date when daddy had that heart attack. You did that because you're a good person, Sandi. Sometimes you're better than I am."

"I might believe that," Sandi sighed. "One day."

"You remember the paint-balling thing?" Quinn asked meekly. "I really didn't know it was you when I, uh, shot you. I honestly thought you were someone else."

"Oh? Who?"

"Daria."

Sandi felt a stirring of familiar anger. "You wanted to shoot Daria?"

"Just to get her out of the game!" Quinn protested. "You know her, she hated that game. And, you know, she's my... she's family. It can be incredibly therapeutic to put a cap in their ass, gangsta-style."

Sandi reflected how Sam and Chris would attack each other. "Yeah, I guess so. I forgive you, Quinn. For that. Making sure the bus left without me? Not so much."

Quinn sighed. "Yeah, that was just me being a bitch. But it doesn't mean I hate you. Or that you deserve to be hated."

"Daria says the same thing about you."

"Yeah."

A pause.

"We can't tell her about this," Quinn said. "She would be insufferable knowing she was right all the time!"

"As opposed to how she normally is?" Sandi said with a smile.

Quinn laughed and pulled Sandi into a hug. "I love you, Sandi."

"I love you too, Quinn." She let out an embarrassed cough. "But just as a friend or, like, whatever."

Quinn smirked. "Puh-lease, I have enough girls already after me."

"Oh you do, do you?" asked Sandi as Fluffy emerged from under the blanket. "Do tell..."

***

Linda regarded the back of the VHS with one arched eyebrow. "Monks and vikings? Scenes of an adult nature? I thought this was for kids," she said. She read the title. "'THE TIME MEDDLER'. I bet that's not the only think that creepy priest meddles with..."

Sandi frowned. "Which one is that?" she wondered and collected the video. It wasn't one of the English sci-fi plays she recognized, so it must be new. Or at least as something as new from the sixties could be. Her excitement grew. This was the next one after THE CHASE, when the two teachers had gone home. She was sure that had been the very last one, but no, the old man, the cool girl and that weird panda-loving astronaut from the last one had more adventures ahead.

Awesome. I like that feeling.

"Sandi, I thought these were educational. Everyone knows vikings didn't really have helmets with horns on them."

"I dunno, maybe they're not real vikings?" Sandi shrugged. "Or maybe there's time being meddled. Sounds interesting."

"Well, if you've seen a dozen of these cheap-ass amateur dramatics, there must be something to them," Linda sighed. "But we're getting something from a more recent decade, just in case."

"Okay mom," said Sandi with a smile. She wasn't sure if this new tape was going to be good or bad, but it would be interesting to watch it with someone other than Fluffy. And Linda had been more than happy to come to the library with her to find something.

She felt a wave of love and affection for her mother. She hadn't felt that for a while, but she had felt it before. It was nice.

Probably those drugs soaking up the puddles in my brain, Sandi thought and was proven absolutely correct since when she turned and saw Daria standing there she didn't panic or cry out.

"Hey," she said to the Beautiful Girl.

Daria glowered at her from behind her glasses. Sandi felt a pang of worry that she might be angry with her, but just a pang. After all, just what could Sandi have done to upset her?

"I noticed the library was getting a new batch of videos in this week," she grunted. "I suppose it was a faint hope they'd have The Day The Clown Cried in stock..."

Sandi glanced across the spines on the shelves. "Let me guess, it's about an evil clown murdering people?"

"It's about a clown who kept children entertained before they stripped naked and put into gas chambers at Auschwitz."

"Whoa. Dark."

"'Dark' is just a word, Sandi. This is a Jerry Lewis film."

"Sick and dark." Sandi leaned in closer. She wasn't tense to be around the shorter girl. "You must really need cheering up."

"Uh-huh."

"What happened?"

"Well, I was hoping to go see a film with Jane."

"And she didn't want to see Jerry Lewis? The bitch."

"Oh, she wanted to see a film without me. And with a guy."

Sandi was surprised. "She blew you off for a date?"

"Oh no, nothing so civilized. She told me she didn't have a date, but then Prince Charming turns up out of nowhere oh so conveniently at Pizza King and wants to join us. Well, not me. He made it quite clear he didn't want to watch the film with me."

"What was the film?"

Daria glared at her. "That's the big question that occurs to you?"

"Well, I'm just interested what film Jane would watch with some guy rather than you. I mean, she just ditched you at the pizzeria?"

"No," Daria muttered. "She didn't get the chance. The love of Jane's life said he would rather go home and watch TV alone than tolerate my pleasant and friendly presence. His words. He just walked out."

"And Jane left with him?"

"No. She just wondered why I was being so obnoxious."

"So... she stayed with you instead of following this guy?" Sandi yawned. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

"She didn't want to stay with me," said Daria darkly.

"So she DID leave you?"

"No, I left her."

Sandi looked the Beautiful Girl up and down. Not so much of the goddess nowadays. "So, just to summarize. Jane wanted to spend the night with you. Her new guy turned up. You told him to scram. He scrammed. Jane was upset. So you left her as well."

"Pretty much."

"So... did you win there? I mean, what was your ideal scenario?" Sandi wondered. "Was Jane supposed to tell the guy to scram?"

"How should I know?" Daria huffed.

"You're jealous!" Sandi guffawed. "Holy hell, Daria Morgendorffer is jealous! And not envious, but jealous! You think Jane likes this guy more than she like you, don't you?"

"I don't abandon her to be with guys I like."

"No, you abandon her to be with no one you like." Sandi mused. "So which is it, Morgendorffer? Is it you hate the guy for taking Jane away from you? Or is it that you hate yourself for not being good enough for Jane to stay?"

"If Jane finds happiness in some vapid loser, who am I to stand in her way?" Daria said gruffly.

"So you want Jane to be happy?" Sandi confirmed. "Abandoning her at a pizza place because she spoke to a guy is definitely the way to do that, Daria. I bet she's so happy right now."

"Is this when you try and put on your particular brand of passive-aggressive flirting on me and promise me that unlike Jane you'll never abandon me?" asked Daria, pretending to be interested in a barcode.

"Well, I dunno, Daria. I mean, what's in it for me?" Sandi shrugged.

"I thought you were crazy about me?"

"Crazy, yeah, that sure sounds like we'd have a supportive relationship. I bet you'd whisper sweet nothings like that in my ear before you ditched me at a pizza place if you thought I wasn't committed to you."

Daria rounded on her. "Hey, I've been helping you!"

"Not doing a good job, though," Sandi replied calmly. "But it kept me out of your hair while you could do your own thing with Jane. Guess you know how it feels now, huh?"

Daria was silent for a moment.

"I'm not making her happy, am I?" she asked eventually.

"I'd say you're making her actively unhappy."

"I should just let her go off with her new boyfriend," she sighed. "Finish this class assignment and go separate ways. So long and thanks for all the fish."

"You know Lord Byron?"

"I am aware of him, yes."

"He said that love wasn't something that ran out. You can love more than one person. If you have a second kid, you don't suddenly love your first kid any less..."

"Well, I of course bow to the wisdom of a manic depressive club-footed womanizer who seduced and impregnated everyone in his girlfriend's reading circle!" Daria huffed.

"Why do you think Jane can't love you AND this guy?" Sandi wondered. "Why would you think she would drop you like a sack of last season's sweatpants just because she met a boy? If you got a boyfriend, would you expect Jane to cut you off and never speak to you again?"

Daria lowered her eyes. She looked small. Beaten.

"Sandi. Without Jane, I'm alone. And I can't cope with being alone any more. Before I came to this town, sure. But not any more. When Tommy Sherman died, when she joined the track team... She can function without me. I don't think I can function without her. I want her happy," she said quietly. "But I don't want her to leave me."

Sandi did something that seemed perfectly logical and obvious.

She drew Daria into a cuddle. Daria did not return the gesture, but rested her forehead on the taller girl's shoulder. Sandi wrapped her arms around Daria, gentle but firm.

"Jane wants you in her life, Daria. Be there for her. It's that simple."

Daria gently disentangled herself from the younger girl's embrace.

"Yeah," she said dully. "Good advice, Sandi. I'll do that. Thanks."

"Yeah," said Sandi with a sad smile. "You were right about Quinn."

"It's a curse I just have to live with."

"Being right or just Quinn in general?"

"Heh."

Linda had returned with some Back to the Future films under her arm. She regarded Helen Morgendorffer's first born almost breast-to-breast with her own daughter, then the wretched expression on Daria's face and the kind expression on Sandi's.

"Interrupting something, ladies?" she asked coolly.

"Guy troubles, mom," Sandi told her, eyes still on Daria.

"That's a tautology if I ever heard one," Linda replied. "We're going to spend the night watching the dangers of time travel. You interested?" she asked lightly.

"Thanks but no thanks, Mrs. Griffin," said Daria politely. "I have to work out a way out yet another fine mess my antisocial bigotry has got me into. It'll probably be an all-nighter."

"Well, if you need help, ask," Linda told her.

Daria nodded, but said nothing and left the library.

"Hmm," mused Linda for a moment. "She's pretty high-maintenance. But then, all the best ones are." She put an arm around her daughter. "Come on, Sandi. The night is young and so are we!"

"Well, I am at any rate."

"Well, then, sweet flower of youth you can make the popcorn while your withered old mother relaxes on the couch..."

The mother and daughter departed the library, watched by three rather disheveled-looking figures at a nearby table.

"That seems to have resolved itself rather well, wouldn't you say?" said one of them smugly, green eyes twinkling through a ragged ginger fringe. "I think we can take our leave."

"I'll miss this narrative," replied his companion in the trenchcoat. "Still, there are other stories to visit. Where shall we go now, then?"

"I don't have anywhere in particular in mind," shrugged the third in the pink T-shirt.

"Nowhere special, then?" mused the first, his voice drifting over now empty seats in an unoccupied part of the library. "I know just the place..."

***

You look pretty in your fancy dress
But I detect unhappiness
You never speak so I have to guess
You're not free

There, maybe when you're old enough
You'll realize you're not so tough
And some days the seas get rough
And you'll see?

You're too young to have it figured out!
You think you know what you're talking about!
You think it will all work itself out!
But we'll see...

And how have you gotten by so far
Without having a visible scar?
No one knowing who you really are
They can't see!

The only way you'll ever learn a thing!
Is to admit that you know absolutely nothing! Oh nothing!
Think about this carefully
You might not get another chance to speak freely

Maybe when you're old enough
Maybe when you're old enough
Maybe when you're old enough
You're not free
Yeah, you're not free...