Chapter 1
Jake Morgendorffer was shifting nervously in his seat as he drove his two daughters to their new school. Helen had talked him into giving the girls a pep-talk on the way. Jake was always reluctant to have a heart-to-heart, especially with Daria. He was always afraid that he'd say the wrong thing.
"Girls, I just want you to know your mother and I realize it's not easy moving to a whole new town - especially for you, Daria, right?", he managed to say. After some moments of silence, he began to doubt whether he was heard at the back seat, where Daria was sitting. "Right, Daria? Kiddo?"
Quinn, who was riding shotgun, turned around and put her head between her seat and her father's. She took a look at Daria who was staring out the window, oblivious. Quinn noticed two thin strings disappearing into her sister's thick hair. Why does she get to have a CD-player just because she's got "issues"?, the redhead thought, full of spite. She then grabbed the cord and pulled the headphones out of Daria's ears.
Daria seethed, but tried to compose herself. "What is it, Quinn?", she asked feigning indifference.
"Dad wants to talk to you.", Quinn said and turned her back to her sister.
"Daria, I was just saying that the first day at a new school is bound to be difficult..."
Daria put her headphones back on. "Speak up, Dad! Can't hear you!"
About half an hour later, Daria found herself in the office of the school's middle-aged psychologist along with Quinn. Mrs. Manson was living proof of how brainless one could turn out when raised in the sixties.
Of course, Quinn, when asked to describe what she saw on a picture, gave a frivolous performance of shallowness, which was praised by the psychologist.
After that, it was Daria's turn. "Now, Dora, let's see if you can make up a story as vivid as your sister's."
Mrs. Manson had gotten her name all wrong, but she didn't bother to correct her. Make up a story as vivid as her sister's? Daria could make up several stories on the spot, each one of them a hundred times more vivid than Quinn's rant about one of her admirers. She was a writer, for heaven's sake! However, instead of making a show of her literary prowess, she just shrugged.
"I can't.", she said in a pathetic voice. She didn't want to be there, she didn't want to answer, she didn't even want to face the ignorant psychologist.
"Now, Dara, I'm sure you can do better than that. Why don't you concentrate and try again?", Mrs Manson said in a patronizing tone.
By that point Daria was fuming. Daria gritted her teeth and looked at the middle-aged woman in contempt.
"Why don't you go fuck yourself?"
After being sent to the principal's office and not being able to be received by Ms. Li who was conferring with a sponsor, Daria got off with several threats of expulsion by Mrs. Manson. She waved them off and headed for her first class. History.
The history teacher, Mr. DeMartino, was something to look at. Between his crooked tie and bulging eye he looked like a ticking time bomb.
"Class, we have a new STUDENT joining us today. Please welcome Daria Morgendorffer. Daria, raise your hand, please."
Daria raised her hand gingerly.
"WELL, Daria! As long as you have your hand raised... Last week we began a unit on westward expansion. Perhaps you feel it's UNFAIR to be asked a question on your first day of class."
When he realized that Daria was not going to reply he went on: "Daria, can you concisely and unemotionally sum up for us the doctrine of Manifest Destiny?"
Daria sighed. "Manifest Destiny was a slogan popular in the 1840s. It was used by people who claimed it was God's will for the U.S. to expand all the way to the Pacific Ocean."
Mr. DeMartino raised an eyebrow. "Humph! Very good, Daria."
Back home, Daria, once again had to put up with her sister's babbling.
"Then they asked me to join the pep squad. They said I didn't have to try out, but I said, "Look, I'm new here. Give me a chance to get used to things." So, for now, I'm vice president of the Fashion Club, and that's it."
After praising Quinn's decision, Jake turned his attention to his eldest daughter. "What about you, Daria? How was your first day?"
"Meh."
"Daria, what happened today?", asked a suspicious Helen.
"She got sent to the principal's office.", Quinn chimed in.
Helen exhaled loudly. "Daria, please try to get along with people this time. You don't want it to be Highland all over again."
Daria mumbled something about uranium.
Her mother was about to ask what got Daria sent to the principal when the phone rang. Helen rushed to answer it.
A long minute passed, during which Daria lazily started stabbing a piece of frozen lasagna with her fork.
Helen came back into the kitchen. "You girls took a psychological test at school today?"
"They said we wouldn't be graded!", cried Quinn.
"Daria, they want you to take a special class for a few weeks, then they'll test you again. It seems you have low self-esteem. I've also been informed about... your... umm... argument with the school psychologist.", Helen sighed.
Daria, making no comment, got up and headed for her room.
The next day, Daria had to attend the after-school self-esteem class. The teacher, Mr. O'Neill, who was also teaching her English class, was mouthing a heap of New Age gibberish. At first, Daria had tried to take some notes, but she quickly gave up. She spent the rest of the class drawing doodles on her notebook.
Daria was relieved when the bell rang. While she was packing her backpack, the girl who was sitting behind her offered her hand.
"Jane Lane."
Daria appraised the other girl. She had a wiry frame, short black hair, big blue eyes and sharp aggressive features. She shook Jane's hand warily.
"Daria Morgendorffer."
"I know, we share some classes." There was an awkward pause. "So how did you like Mr. O'Neill's class?", Jane asked with a smirk.
"I didn't.", Daria replied and stalked away, leaving the black-haired girl staring after her, baffled.
Daria developed a routine over the following weeks. Every morning she would wait at least five minutes after Quinn's departure before she would start walking to school. This attempt at avoiding her sister would often result in Daria being late for her first class. While in class she would remain as silent as possible, never raising her hand and giving laconic answers when asked. She would spend each lunch break by her locker, intimidating anyone that happened to pass her by with a cold stare. She didn't bother eating lunch; the very thought of choosing a table was terrifying.
While at self-esteem class she would pretend to be taking notes, while in reality she was writing about a fascist female assassin she had invented to vent. That Lane girl had tried to approach her a couple more times, but had given up, after Daria had seemingly turned her down flat.
Upon returning home she would make herself a quick meal, usually pop-tarts or cereal. She would lock herself in her room for the rest of the afternoon, where she would spend her time watching TV, sometimes reading, but almost never studying. Dinner with the family was one of the few things she couldn't avoid and the only reason for her to venture downstairs. During the meal, Daria would try to ignore her parents who invariably scolded her for her failing grades or her lack of friends.
At night, sitting in bed, she would write in her journal, a notebook filled with every thought she wished to exorcise. When she turned off the lights, after neatly placing her glasses on the nightstand, she would start sobbing. It was like that almost every night. Most mornings would find her cheeks stiff, covered with a thin film of dried tears.
Daria got up from her desk and was about to walk out of her history class, when her teacher's gruff voice stopped her.
"MISS Morgendorffer, I'd like to TALK to you!", Mr. DeMartino said in his usual tone but in a lower volume.
Daria reluctantly turned around and walked to his desk. The teacher waited until most students were gone and ordered the last ones to close the door on their way out.
"Miss Morgendorffer, can you IMAGINE what I want to talk to you ABOUT?", he said once they were alone.
"No.", she lied.
He searched through a stack of papers that sat on his desk and came up with a sheet. He put it in front of Daria's face.
"Can you, perchance, TELL me what this is?"
"A history pop quiz?", Daria replied, feigning uncertainty.
"Yes. In FACT, it is your pop quiz. Can you tell me what GRADE I gave you?", Mr. DeMartino asked, his eye twitching.
"An A."
"You are CORRECT. Now could you please EXPLAIN how is it that you pass all the TESTS with flying COLORS, but fail to participate in class or hand in any assignments at ALL?", he snapped, visibly irritated by her seeming lack of interest in the discussion.
Daria did not reply. After some moments of silence, the teacher noticed her eyes starting to well up. Mr. DeMartino found himself at a loss for words.
"I'm not accusing you of cheating.", he said in a much softer voice. "I have been watching you closely during the tests and I know you're not. Your answers to essay questions, though short, are far more insightful than one would EXPECT from someone your age. What I'm asking to KNOW-", he stopped himself when he realized he had raised his voice. "What I want to know is why you choose to get bad grades. I could fail you, what with your lack of participation and homework. Is my class so boring?"
Daria casually put a hand over her mouth to hide her trembling lip. No one had dared to confront her like that before. "It's not your class. I don't study for any of my classes."
Mr. DeMartino sighed. "Look, I'll make you a DEAL. Instead of the class assignment on WW1, I'll give you a separate, SPECIAL assignment."
Daria raised an eyebrow, but didn't dare to speak.
"I want you to write down what's bothering you. You'll be GRADED on it, though, so make it good. UNDERSTOOD?"
Daria nodded and rushed out of the classroom.
That afternoon, when Daria returned home after her self-esteem class she found her mother waiting in the living room.
"Hi, honey.", Helen said in her cheeriest voice.
"Hi.", Daria replied unenthusiastically and headed for the stairs, not bothering to ask why her mother had come home from work before 5 pm.
"Daria, wait. I took the afternoon off to work with you on your self-esteem."
"Leave it alone, mom."
"I will not.", Helen declared sternly. "I don't pretend I'm going to cure you, but if a lack of mother-daughter bonding is part of your problem, we're going to remedy that right now. We're going out to do something you want to do."
They ended up at Cashman's. Daria waited as her mother tried on several outfits; all office-appropriate. Helen often asked for her daughter's opinion and Daria supplied a few disinterested comments.
While she was waiting for her mother to come out of a changing booth she realized that she knew exactly what she would write for Mr. DeMartino's class. It would be a big step, showing emotion to someone-especially a teacher-, but what was it that her mother had repeated over and over again for the past few weeks? Ah, yes. It all boils down to trust.
Anthony DeMartino was spending his lunch-break in the teachers' lounge. It was empty, apart from Mr. O'Neill, who seemed lost in a self-help book.
He had planned to take some time to read the assignments the sophomores had handed in earlier that day. On top of the pile sat Kevin's essay. Kevin had apparently mistaken the First World War for the Second because the title read: HITLER AND THE NAZIS. Mr. DeMartino cringed upon looking at it.
Why, oh why had he chosen to work in education? The pay was dirt and it wasn't just Kevin's paper awaiting him, there were also the papers of the rest of the football team. And the cheerleaders.
He decided to skip the papers of the mentally challenged and cut to the chase: Daria's assignment. Since their talk about a week before, he was filled with curiosity about what she'd write. It was as if the expectation of her paper gave him something to look forward to. His empty life was now dedicated to unraveling the mystery of that intelligent, yet morose girl.
He searched in his papers for her assignment. She had delivered it in an envelope so it wasn't hard to find. He had made a point of not opening the envelope until he got home, but it was becoming hard to resist. He held it and inspected it. Her name was written on one corner but nothing else. Daria Morgendorffer.
"What do you KNOW about Daria Morgendorffer, Timothy?", he asked his colleague.
Mr. O'Neill looked up from his book. "Hmm... Could you describe her? It seems that I'm having trouble remembering names."
"Big glasses, big BOOTS, brown hair. A girl of FEW words. She's new here."
Mr. O'Neill pondered for a while. "I think I know who you're talking about. The newest addition to the self-esteem class. The poor thing hardly ever speaks. Even when I ask her. She just looks at me intently until I give up and ask someone else."
"Huh." was DeMartino's sole reply. Count on Manson to shove all the misfits into Timothy's self-esteem course, he thought.
He proceeded to open the envelope.
"Why do you ask?", inquired Mr. O'Neill.
"She's brilliant.", he said, looking at the single sheet of paper that the envelope contained. With a look of puzzlement in his face, he read:
WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME
by Daria Morgendorffer
I AM SICK OF EVERYTHING.
The bell signaled the end of History class. Mr. DeMartino looked at his watch with relief and shouted "CLASS DISMISSED."
The students hurried out the door, with Kevin being the first among them. Mr. DeMartino was planning on having a talk with Daria, but he hesitated to call her to his desk. He watched her taking her own sweet time closing her books and putting pens and pencils in her pockets. It seemed that she expected him to talk to her. She was checking under her desk, stalling.
"Daria.", he said, removing her from her awkward position.
She looked at him expectantly.
"I've READ your assignment.", he reached for one of his desk drawers and produced Daria's envelope. He extended it toward the girl. "Open it."
Daria walked to the teacher's desk and cautiously took the envelope from her teacher's hand. She opened it and found her paper marked with red ink. She looked hard at it and slowly realized what grade she had been given.
"Why?", she asked timidly, close to tears.
Mr. DeMartino shrugged. "Don't you think that's what your paper DESERVED?"
She shook her head.
"Well, I DO." He cleared his throat for the next part. "I really APPRECIATE your honesty, Daria. And I see your POINT. You're too SMART to be happy. I USED to think like that when I was your age and look at me NOW! I live on BREADCRUMBS and have to deal with those IDIOTIC classmates of yours that you UNDOUBTEDLY resent as much as I do. Do you WANT to end up like me? I'll bet my good EYE that you don't!"
She nodded in understanding, although she just wanted all this to be over.
He sensed her nervousness and hastened to conclude. "ABOUT your self-esteem class... I can pull some STRINGS to get you out of it. Maybe then you'll have TIME to make some friends..?"
"Yeah, OK...", she said meekly.
"RIGHT. So-", he was ready to dismiss her when she cut him off.
"Mr. DeMartino?"
"Yes?"
She looked at her hands anxiously before continuing. "Mr. O'Neill assigned us to turn a daydream into reality and... I could only think of one thing..." She whispered the last part.
Mr. DeMartino groaned inwardly. What had he gotten himself into? That's what you get for being a softie, as his father would have said if he was alive. He knew he was treading on thin ice with this girl, but he didn't expect such a revelation.
He closed his eyes and sighed. "I've BEEN there, Daria. Back THEN, ending it all was the most PLEASANT scenario in my mind. But... have you READ Dante's Inferno?" Daria nodded. "Of course you have. Well, in the slight chance that Dante is RIGHT, you'll spend the rest of ETERNITY in the shape of a TREE between serial killers and SODOMITES! I didn't think it was worth the RISK. I still don't."
"I get your point.", Daria muttered and let some moments pass. "Does it get better?"
"Not REALLY. But you can find ways to COPE."
"Like what?"
"Find a FRIEND or two and then we'll talk." He saw that she seemed lost at his mention of friends. "I've seen Jane Lane sketch portraits of you during my class. She's a CHEEKY one. Not one of my best STUDENTS, but she's bright. Go talk to her."
Daria and Jane were sitting on Daria's bed, watching yet another episode of Sick, Sad World.
"So... Will you tell me how you managed to get out of Self-Esteem Class?", asked a curious Jane during the commercial break.
"A girl has her ways."
"Ha, ha.", Jane faked laughter.
"If you want, I can try to get you out, too. Then we'll have more time for UFO conventions."
"That sounds lovely. I'd like to see that Artie guy in person. He makes me shiver all over. In disgust.", Jane joked. "But, pray tell, oh mighty one, how will you accomplish such a feat?"
"I have connections.", Daria said. She smiled and looked at the sheet now taped to the wall over her nightstand. It was the paper she had written for Mr. DeMartino. Next to the title, in big red sloppy handwriting, was a circled "A+".
A/N: I don't know if I should continue this. Please review and tell me what you think. Also, I welcome suggestions for future chapters. Thanks for reading!