"School starts in seven days." Jane Lane opened her closet doors wide and indicated its contents with a sweeping gesture. "And, as you can see, I have made radical adjustments to my wardrobe that I believe indicates my excitement level."

Daria Morgendorffer arched a brow sardonically, surveying the array of identical ensembles. "Jane, all I see is red buttondowns, black T-shirts and black shorts. You’re not rocking my world, here."

"Aha, but you are not looking closely my friend." Extending one long arm into the depths of hangers and fabric, Jane withdrew a black turtleneck and held it up against her chest. "I’m expanding my range, no?"

Daria eyed the shirt suspiciously. "Um...does this have something to do with your indie boyfriend? Because let me tell you right off the bat that I find French cinema to be ponderous and self-mocking."

Rolling her eyes, Jane returned the turtleneck to its place in the closet and flopped down on the bed next to her best friend. "Tom’s not an indie," she huffed, "he’s an independent."

"Funny, and I thought that’s what ‘indie’ stood for. Aren’t you going to show me your matching black beret? And where, might I ask, is your silver tin of unfiltered cigarettes? They’re all the rage among the Postmodern crowd this year." Daria ignored Jane’s irritated glare and propped her chin up on her bent knees. "I don’t know if I can weather this storm alone, Jane. First you begin dating a well-groomed coffee house refugee, and now you’re making drastic changes to your appearance just to please him."

Unruffled by Daria’s dramatic delivery, Jane gave the shorter brunette a sly half-smile. "Like you’re one to talk about changing to please a man, Miss Morgendorffer. If I’m not mistaken, there’s a scar above your navel that speaks to your commitment to Trent’s happiness."

Daria’s eyes narrowed. "Lick me, Lane." At Trent’s suggestion, she had allowed a silver hoop to be inserted into her skin. "It looks hot, Daria." God, if those words didn’t haunt her in the night. Then, of course, seeing as how it was impossible for her not to ruin everything when it came to romance, she had taken the ring out over night and the piercing had closed and healed. Unfortunately, a small pucker where the piercing had been would always remain, serving as a constant reminder to Daria that she could, in the face of a man, be a total ass. Also serving as a constant reminder was Jane, but Daria supposed that was to be expected, since Trent was Jane’s older brother.

"Testy. And besides, ‘indie’ stands for ‘independent record label’. Tom is not a record label." Jane rose and moved over to her easel, where a half-painted canvas was propped. "I’m sorry if I give you too much hell about Trent, Daria." She carefully avoided her friend’s eyes, which appeared slightly smaller than they really were behind the round lenses of her glasses. "To tell you the truth, I think I’d have cardiac arrest if anything ever happened between you two."

Daria leaned back and sighed. "I don’t think you need to worry on that count. I’m in the middle of an arrested development on the romantic aspect of life. The way I’m going, I might as well send my parents formal notification that any and all grandchildren will be courtesy of Quinn."

"Well, this is a day of revelations. I thought you hated kids, Daria."

"I do. But who could pass up the chance to play God with a young mind?" Daria shrugged. "I was kind of looking forward to motherhood as my own Prometheus project."

Jane dipped a sable brush into a thick mix of paints on her palette and began making long strokes across the gessoed canvas. "Somehow I can’t see you and Trent with a gaggle of munchkins happily prancing around some split-level suburban palace."

"I was thinking more along the lines of a New York City loft with two intelligent but misunderstood young iconoclasts."

"Yikes. That image is actually beginning to gel for me." Jane laughed softly. "Welcome to the abandoned warehouse home of Trent and Daria Lane, New York’s premiere underground couple, specializing in napping and dry wit, respectively."

Daria’s eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to make my life worse than it already is? Don’t taunt me this way, Jane, I don’t think I can handle it right now."

"Solitude becoming better in theory than practice?"

"You have no idea. Between you being with Tom all the time and the Fashion Club holding meetings in our living room, I’m really nearing the end here. Color me a martyr, Lane, because I think this particular incarnation is going to end with me burning myself in effigy."

"You’ll never reach Nirvana at the rate you’re going. Maybe you should switch to Hinduism and cash in your karma credits." Jane stabbed her brush into a smear of red. "And I’m sorry if I’ve been out with Tom a lot lately. It’s just that...well, our relationship is...more complicated now."

Daria sat up, eyes wide. "Don’t tell me that Jane Lane has answered the call to mate?"

Jane kept her attention firmly riveted to her painting. "Something like that."

"Holy Mother of God. How long have you been a member of the Stolen Innocence Society? And if it’s been weeks, I swear by all that’s holy..."

"Two nights ago." Jane laid down her brush and gave Daria a challenging look, as though daring her to say something. "On that very bed, I became a woman."

Daria swallowed. "I suppose that jumping up and vowing to soak myself in lye for laying on this bed might be bit childish. But I think I might do it anyway."

"Histrionics aside, you can’t tell me that this surprises you. We are seventeen Daria, not living in the seventeen hundreds. There were condoms in attendance, and afterwards we smoked a joint, so I believe that all modern requirements for sex were met."

"Were you drunk?"

"No."

"Then all of the requirements were not met." Daria felt a surge of bitter jealousy rise in her throat, but fought it back, hating herself for being so petty. "I mean...well, I guess I don’t know what I mean. I don’t know how I feel about this."

Jane smiled gently. "You don’t have to feel any way about it. I just wanted you to know because we’re friends, not because I expect you to get a thrill out of my sudden interest in the erotic."

"Erotic? You and Tom?" Daria managed a small grin, but Jane wasn’t fooled. "I’ll concede that it’s normal for us to be having sex at this point, but I think we’re supposed to wait for that college exchange program to the Far East before ‘erotic’ enters the picture."

Jane gave her friend a hooded glance. "You’d be surprised, Daria. Not only are people like you and me above simple drinking games, but I think you’ll discover that intelligence, creativity, and an interest in the perverse pays off when the lights are low."

"And you know this after two days of sex."

"Two days of sex and two months of foreplay, yes."

"Good God." Daria collapsed backwards onto the mattress and squeezed her eyes shut. "The part that really gets me is that I’ve made it so hard for myself to take most people seriously that I can’t stomach the thought of even kissing someone who isn’t..."

"Trent?"

"Halfway intelligent," Daria finished. "I think I’ve pretty much given up on Trent as a reality. I mean, look at me and then look at Monique."

Dropping her brush into a cup of cleaning fluid, Jane grunted at the thought of his brother’s lean, trendy ex-girlfriend. "Monique has come and gone, Daria. You’re still here."

"Of course I am! I’m your friend, not his. And I’m in high school, so my presence in this town in mandatory for at least another two years." Daria struggled valiantly to keep her voice steady. "I’m only going to say this once, Jane, because I loathe self-pity and I’m staunchly against fascist beauty standards propagated by the likes of my sister, but...it’s not just Trent. I don’t think that guys our age are into plain, caustic girls like me. I have nothing to offer the hormone-driven male, so I honestly am not expecting anything like sweet lovin’ until I’m around thirty-five. Maybe if I were lissome and beautiful I could attract some older guy like Trent, or even some depraved college professor, but I don’t even have looks going for me. I’ll never have guys pining over me like they pine over you, and most of the time I’m okay with that. But even I’m not immune to the insecurities of youth, Jane. And I’ve always prided myself on being a realist." Daria quickly wiped away the single fat, salty tear that had snuck its way out from behind her glasses. "And now back to our regularly scheduled stoicism."

Jane was speechless. Unlike most of the town of Lawndale, Jane was under no illusions that Daria was some kind of unfeeling robot, but she did know that wallowing in emotions was somewhere on the order of being covered with leeches on Daria’s list of favorite things. When it came to Trent, Daria had shone the one major flaw in logic since Jane had known her. As much as she loved her brother, Jane had a strong suspicion that if Daria and Trent ever did get together, she would tire of him in a matter of months. He was attractive and introspective, yes, but Trent Lane wasn’t smart enough for Daria. Or was he?

"I’ve got to tell you, Morgendorffer, you never cease to amaze me."

Daria blushed, two bright stains of pink appearing under those heavy lenses. "I hate this, Jane. The more I think about how unhappy I am about me and guys, the more I can’t help thinking about how unhappy I am about me and everything."

Sinking down onto the carpet beside the bed, Jane hesitantly put one hand on Daria’s knee. "You got me, kid."

Daria inhaled deeply, feeling the inner calm she depended upon overtake her once again. "I’m glad you’re here, Jane. With you around, I feel like I really can be myself. I just wish...well, sometimes I wish ‘myself’ was something a little more attractive."

"To hell with what other people think, Daria. That’s always been you’re motto."

"Yeah, well, much like solitude, that particular motto is better in theory than practice." Daria rolled over onto her stomach and gave Jane a wan smile. "Now don’t start feeling all sorry for me, Jane. When the end comes, I will make all my enemies feel the razor sharp whip of my vengeance. Especially the enemies who wouldn’t ask me out."

Jane laughed; she had to. One of the best things about having a friend in Daria Morgendorffer was that you were never bored, even when absolutely nothing was going your way. "Look, I’m supposed to be meeting Tom out front in half an hour, but I’m going to call him and cancel," seeing Daria shake her head, the raven-haired artist held up a hand, "and you and I are going to watch the six hour version of ‘Dune’. Trent stole it from Evil Eye Video on Dega."

"Nothing doing, Lane." Daria sat up and attempted to shake off her melancholy. "How am I going to live vicariously through you if you’re here with me? Go on your sordid little date. I’ll se you later." She stood and had taken a few steps for the door before Jane stopped her.

"Why don’t you stay here and wait for me? I’ll only be gone a few hours, and I know you don’t want to go back home and risk being ambushed and forcibly made over."

"Gee, that sounds great. While you’re gone, I can count the tiles in your bathroom."

"Shut your trap, Morgendorffer. Besides, I have someone I think you should meet."

"Jane, I’m shocked." Daria gave her a stern look. "I told you that dead is dead, and there’s no talking to them after that."

"I’m not talking about a body stashed in my room, I’m talking about good old Mr. Jack Daniel."

Act Two