Daria Morgan glanced over at her paper, and noticed she was having a difficult time completing the assignment. "Ain't that hard," she said. "It's like a shootin' range...well, I guess you wouldn't know what that's like," she said, as the airy blonde cheerleader seemed very much like the type you wouldn't find at such an establishment.
"Oh! I go to the shooting range all the time! My Uncle Buck takes me."
"No shit?" Daria was impressed. "What kinda gun you shoot?"
"A Smith and Wesson .44 - Dirty Harry's gun!" Brittany squeaked out enthusiastically.
Daria smirked. "Not bad, not too damn bad. I usually use a smaller caliber m'self, since then I get more bullets, which I think is better at killin' the shit out of shit."
A small gasp from behind alerted the two girls that Ms. Defoe had overheard their entire conversation. "Oh, sorry, Ms. Defoe, we was jus' talkin' 'bout perspective an' sh-stuff like that," Daria explained. "We'll try to keep it down fer now."
Ms. Defoe lingered just a little while, and listened as Daria explained one-point perspective to Brittany, using firing range-inspired metaphors. She looked over Brittany's shoulder and observed two things: One, Brittany had indeed mastered the basics of one-point perspective; and two, Brittany was just as capable of producing violent imagery as Daria. She decided to slip out and head to Dr. Manson's office.
XXXX
"Uh...Daria, do you know why you're here?" Dr. Manson asked. Daria rolled her eyes in response, but Dr. Manson waited.
Finally, Daria sighed. "'Cause my art teacher's got an overactive imagination, I guess," she finally replied.
"And why do you say that, Daria?" the school's psychologist asked, after jotting a few notes down.
"Well, I'm guessin' cause I got to talkin' with my new friend Brittany -" Daria jerked a thumb in the direction of the office door, behind which Brittany waited her turn. "-and we found out we both like shootin'."
"Shootin'? Er, shooting?"
"Yeah...like, on a target range and shi-stuff."
"Oh!" Dr. Manson's gut unclenched itself in relief. "You understand that Ms. Defoe was just concerned, Daria. We don't want another Columbine on our hands, and we take our students' psychological welfare very seriously."
"So I guess Mr. O'Neill ain't teachin' that class of his no more, then?" Daria asked sharply, causing Dr. Manson to wince. "So why ain't y'all expelled me'n Brittany yet?"
Dr. Manson shook her head. "Daria, unlike most other schools in the county, Lawndale doesn't have a zero-tolerance policy, since we understand that not all situations are black and white." Especially after the lawsuit from the ROTC when Ms. Li had expelled the lot of them for bringing (non-firing) rifles onto campus, Dr. Manson thought to herself.
"Schools in Highland didn't have no zero tolerance policies either," Daria pointed out. "If they'd banned kids from takin' guns into school, they woulda been killed by the kids with guns outside of school."
Dr. Manson shuddered. "I'm certainly glad you were never a target down there, Daria."
"Who said I wasn't? Shit, I took more fire than the average World War II soldier. Why the fuck you think I know how to shoot?"
Dr. Manson paled and visibly swallowed. "Well...uh. Daria. The thing is, Lawndale is a much safer community than Highland, and you shouldn't have to worry about such a thing as a shooting at school. Just because Brittany has a permit to carry..." At the look in Daria's eyes, Dr. Manson gulped. "You didn't know about that?" she asked meekly. Daria shook her head no, a grin slowly spreading on her face. "Eep."
XXXX
Later, Daria and Brittany were standing together in the girl's bathroom. "Show me, damnit!" Daria said, eager.
"Okay, okay!" Brittany squeaked. She reached under her skirt and revealed her handgun to Daria. "Ta-daaaaaa!" she cheered.
"Fuckin' cool," Daria said, taking the gun with reverence. "And you can wear it in school with a permit?"
Brittany nodded. "Yep! Uncle Buck got me the gun, but Daddy got me the permit. He doesn't like guns very much...or Uncle Buck...but said he wanted me to be safe if I was going to attend public school."
"Public school? You mean you could attend some shitty place like Fielding or Grove Hills?"
Brittany smiled. "Yeah, I could have! But...I guess I wasn't good enough to get in." Her face fell, dejected at the rejection.
"Brittany, to hell with those goddamn sons of bitches. It's not you that weren't good enough for them, it's the other way 'round. Same with me - I got kicked out of both those places in less'n a day, and that's 'cause I made it perfectly clear to those idjits that if I wanted my head as far up my ass as theirs was, I'd see an ass doctor."
Brittany's eyes welled up. "Oh, Daria, that's the nicest thing anybody's ever said to me!" She began sobbing tears of joy as she embraced Daria tightly. "You're the best friend ever!" she wailed.
Daria hesitantly returned the embrace, a little embarrassed. "There there, Britt, that's alright. I think you're a mighty fine friend too." Daria sniffled...damn allergies.
After the two had composed themselves, a question occured to Daria. "Say, I know you and that fuc...that football player Kevin Thompson are, ah, together. What's he think about your gun there?"
"Oh, Kevvie? He doesn't know."
Daria eyed Brittany with skepticism. "How the fuck does he not know? He practically glues hisself all over you in the halls, and I sure as shit don't think he's any less grabby in private."
Brittany smirked, an unfamiliar sight on her face. "Well, if he'd actually move his hands 'south of the border', then he'd find out I actually have three 44s." Daria couldn't help but laugh aloud at the joke. "Daria, I want you to come to the party I'm throwing on Saturday night."
"Will there be drinkin'?"
Brittany frowned. "Oh, will that be a problem? It's just wine coolers and some beer, but -"
"Shit, is that all? Brittany, I'm used to 'shine strong enough to blind you just from bein' in the same room. I can't even get proper drunk 'less somethin's at least a hundred proof. But yeah, I'll definitely be there."
XXXX
"So now she knows she can get a permit to carry a firearm onto Lawndale's campus." Ms. Li's voice was neutral.
Dr. Manson nodded, a grave look on her face. "I'm so sorry, Angela, it just slipped out. I thought she already knew!"
Ms. Li nodded. "Think nothing of it, Margaret. Did she say anything else?" Dr. Manson shook her head. "Very well, then. Keep an eye on her, as I told you to do. Dismissed."
Once she had left, Ms. Li opened up the surveillance camera feed on her computer. She watched unblinking as Daria and her new friend the head cheerleader exited the girl's bathroom, smiling and talking soundlessly. (Mics were in the budget for next year).
Morgan had sullied her school, KEPT sullying her school, and had made Ms. Li cry and beg. Never again.
She clicked out of the surveillance feed, opened a link to the police surplus web store, and ordered a kevlar vest to her size. Just in case.
XXXXXXXXXX
For some reason, I really like the idea that Buck Conroy is Brittany's uncle. (I also used the idea in Mart of the Dead).