I wasn't really worried about being late for the self-esteem class which the so-called school counselor pseudo-shrink condemned me to until I considered that being late might be considered a sign of low self-esteem and condemn me for a longer sentence in whatever purgatory 'teen self-esteem class' was a euphemism for in Lawndale High's jargon.

After the last class bell on my second day at Lawndale High, I had expected nearly everyone to rush out the doors to freedom and pizza but a large portion of students seemed to be heading hither and yon in the hallways, apparently bent on making it to these 'extracurricular activities' I had heard certain of my peers and my mother speak of so highly.

"Should I ask someone where 'teen self-esteem' is held? Nah, my self-esteem would take another hit; can't afford that."

I considered just heading home and stopping at the park to read a bit in Heart of Darkness. I could always say I didn't know the school layout and had too low a self-esteem to ask directionsbut then I noticed that a few stragglers in the emptying hallways were slinking sheepishly in a common direction.

These students were some of the more interesting people I'd noticed in school, all dressed uniquely and so uniformly unlike the general prep or jock styles everyone else sported. One guy in jean shorts and top with meticulously torn-off sleeves was carefully putting a chain-secured ring in his nose. A girl in skull-emblazoned leather jacket was sniffing her fingers then spraying something into her mouth. A few others in the converging herd looked like they thought about dressing preppy but could not muster the enthusiasm. These clearly were Lawndale's dregs, the unpopular, the nerdy, the geeks…oh what the hell.

"Looks like my kind of crowd and I bet I know where they're all slinking to."

I followed and soon about a half-dozen of us scattered in the room and predictably sat as far away from each other as possible although I noticed skull-jacket lass and nose-ring lad seemed to acknowledge each other. I was able to grab my long-favored in any classroom middle-of-the-middle spot seated just ahead of a black-haired girl who seemed to be intensely doodling.

A teacher in a pink shirt and grey slacks was regarding us with a mix of nerves and hopeful helpfulness. I followed his gaze then to the clock and at the exact moment the speedy red second hand met the big black numeral twelve he began without preamble.

"Esteem... a teen. They don't really rhyme, do they? The sounds don't quite mesh."

"Esteem, teen. Well, not a bad slant rhyme. Is that the right term? Have to check that out."

I began a doodle of him as an frightened ice cream cone being lapped up by a doggie. Hey, a girl's gotta right to dream, doesn't she?

"And that, in fact, is often the case when it comes to a teen and esteem. The two just don't seem to go together. But we are here to begin realizing your actuality..."

"Huh? What? Doing what to my actuality? Is that legal in Maryland? Sounds iffy even for Texas. Mom might grill me on this so I better get it right"

I put my pen down and raised my hand.

Pink-shirt ran his eyes over me, smiled and continued without pause, "...and when we do, each and every one of you will be able to stand proudly and proclaim, "I am." Now, before we..."

"Is he ignoring me? Hey, I'm proclaiming here. This is not good for my self-esteem. What the hell, why don't I just drop it? No, I want to know what my actuality actually has to do with school and how to get out of this class with a shred of dignity, no, sanity intact. Dignity I can do without if I can leave sane."

"Excuse me. I have a question."

"Good, good, that was said with authority and plenty of esteem."

"Sorry, question and answer time is later."

"Okay, buster, no one ignores a Morgendorffer on a roll. And my curiosity is piqued. Gotta get that curiosity lanced like a pus-filled boil, at least in school."

"I want to know what "realizing your actuality" means," I said pressing ahead like a person with high self-esteem.

"It means... look, just let me get through this part, okay? Then there'll be a video! Before we unlock your potential..."

"Oh goodies, a movie. I sure hope it's a talky and not those film-strips, the only medium Highland could afford. Okay, you win. I'm whipped."

I dropped my hand and picked up my pen.

Then a crisp female voice behind me softly said, "He doesn't know what it means. He's got the speech memorized. Just enjoy the nice man's soothing voice."

"How am I supposed to follow him if I don't know what he's talking about?" I asked as I leaned back exhibiting my mastery of talking backwards while looking at the teacher, the only worthwhile skill I got out of Highland High.

"I can fill you in later. I've taken this course six times."

"Six times? I wonder if I have the self-esteem to beat that record."

I soon saw the futility of note-taking. After class I turned to talk to her and fell into the deepest blue eyes I had ever seen.

"Eap."

"Well said," she said, her smooth gravelly voice loud enough to speak over the respectably loud chatter of teen-age low self-esteemers vacating the premises.

The sweet rocky road contralto continued, "Although, the noise I generally make is, 'Thank God, it's over. Oh, crap, again tomorrow?'."

She stood and I watched her secure her lopsided black hair into a neat mass using a golden scrunchie which even Quinn would covet. That's one thing I watched when I wasn't looking at the slice of her flat bare belly between a red top and grey shorts. I could feel my face heating and dropped my eyes. I dropped my eyes but not before black hair-blue eyes dropped her arms covering her navel with said red top. It was an outie, the navel not the top.

"Wow, every new school year in Highland I had to sit through the same lecture with the same slide of the same girl of indeterminate race with her bra straps splayed over her shoulders and the same principal telling us that he knew spaghetti straps were fashionable but were strictly verboten in our school. Lawndale seems stricter but I've never seen so much bare female belly flesh and thigh. Not that I'm complaining, I think. Oh, she's talking again?"

"See something you like? I'm Jane Lane."

"No, no. That is, yes. I mean, I'm Daria Morgendorffer. Hi, Jane."

"Mom and Dad always told me to look someone in the eye when talking to them but I don't think I could talk if I did that. Drop my eyes? Oh, now I'm looking at the slice of belly and those long legs. Look at her lips? She'll think I'm autistic; I'm not, they had me tested. And her lips are too red. Okay, look at her scrunchie. That's neutral but I just ran my eyes over her whole body to get up to her scrunchie."

"Daria Morgendorffer," Jane Lane said, getting it right the first time. "Mind if I just call you 'Morgendorffer' for short?"

She smirked and cocked a hip which did not help my concentration. I catalogued her smirk for future practice. The red of aforesaid top was only outdone by her fire-engine lipstick smoothly applied on full pouty lips which I noticed after I dragged my eyes off her body.

She paused and asked, "And why are you looking at the top of my head when I talk? Don't chicks sport man-buns in your part of the world?"

"No, they don't, I mean, sure, yes they do. I was just wondering where I could get a scrunchie like that for my sister's collection."

"Yes, yes, the world is mine. I am victorious. I can look into her cerulean eyes and talk at the same time, semi-coherently maybe but without stammering."

On the way out we passed Quinn and Quinn's instant friends. That is the friends Quinn got instantly just by being Quinn and not the instant friends she got by slopping water on some dust in the hallways.

She waved me and Jane over and introduced me to Sandi a classically beautiful brunette with a flinty look in her eyes; Tiffany a dusky-skinned Asian in a minidress so short she would have been sent home from Highland, after the male teachers took photos for illustration of what not to wear strictly for future orientation sessions of course, and Staci a peppy hair-braided brunette.

I followed our plan and looked each in the eye as I uttered a distracted, "Hey." Only hair-plait Stacy stuck out a hand for a limp shake.

Quinn was owning me as her sister. Still a thing to get used to for the both of us having come about only recently after Quinn had caught me borrowing and, uh, using the latest swimsuit editions of her teen-age girl fashion mags. Even Quinn could figure out what it meant to find her older sister with her hand up her skirt while studying a pic of a blonde girl in a bikini (can't a girl get even a half-hour alone in her own home?). It took her a day but even Quinn figured that out.

I expected Quinn to rat me out to Mom and Dad but that same day I took the heat after Mom found Quinn's ineptly hidden Playgirl mag in our shared bedroom. She and Dad sat us both down and politely demanded to know whose it was. I was surprised to find Dad there and calmly at that; I would have thought he would run out the door like when he accidentally touched my first training bra but he just held the magazine rolled up and muttered something that sounded like 'I'm bigger.'

I took the rap and Quinn unexpectedly took it to mean I, the older sister, was protecting her kid sib. Well, okay, I admit to that motive accounting for about twenty-percent of it, I do confess it. Eighty-percent; however, was sheer opportunistic misdirection, a chance to throw the 'rents off the scent-trail of me figuring out I was a twisted little cruller and me quite liking it.

Mom stopped Quinn's attempt to scurry out of the room after I copped a plea. She gave us a lecture about how she understood that we were young women, young curious women with little real experience-Dad broke in at that point to emphasize that he would be quite happy to have us stay inexperienced for the far foreseeable future-but that 'you can't unsee the things you see'. What really I could never unsee was Mom and Dad smirking at each other as Mom said that Playgirl might set up 'unrealistic expectations' about males in impressionable young teen-age girl minds. Dad then waggled his eyebrows. When they seemed to abruptly end with the lecture with some talk about straightening up the master bedroom, Quinn and I decided to go for a walk.

Thereafter Quinn dropped the long-held habitual 'cousin visiting from Europe, her English is poor' introduction and went out of her way to introduce me as big sister. To figure that out I had to pedal my bike out into the desert and sit and think next to an outcropping with ancient petroglyphs. Watching paleolithic hunters atlatl deer always cleared my head.

I was attractive and Quinn knew it. Me being gayer than Liberace's favorite feathered boa took me out of serious competition for male attention, retiring me as well as any potential girlfriends I could persuade to join the team. Not sure Quinn consciously thought it out like that but that's what it worked out as, I think.

Thereafter I began to closely observe this strange specimen of a sister. Quinn was always a bubbly, bright talkative little sprite who could get anyone to chat inanely and like her. And I was always happy to let her divert attention from yours truly; at least mostly happy on most occasions.

At any rate, Quinn came to thrive on the popularity, to rely on it for her self-esteem. To be at the upper rung of popularity in middle-school and beyond, I came to see, one had to cozy up to popular people who would think nothing of gaining a fractional popularity-point by knocking your popularity down, down and down.

I could see this playing out now in Lawndale as I listened to Sandi, she of the paleolithic projectile-point gaze, chatter inanely about some club or other. Here was clearly the Queen Bee of Lawndale High, Quinn's partner in a touchy frenemy game.

I was sort of listening to Sandi but actually paying attention to Tiffany sort of doing a curtsy so as to not compromise her modesty as she got books out of her lower level locker. As I came out of some trance induced by her trim golden-hued legs I became aware of Quinn looking at me with the look we had agreed upon that I was maybe giving myself away. On a personal level Quinn didn't mind me being queer as a clockwork orange but she was still unsure how that becoming common knowledge would play out for her, Quinn Ursula Morgendorffer.

Even worse, Jane was half-smiling and regarding me quizzically. She and the brunette Queen Bee had tightly nodded at each other before beginning practiced ignoring.

As we separated I heard Queen Bee mutter, "Snitch." at our backs. As I had not yet found a profitable reason to betray her I assumed it was meant for Jane.

Jane stopped and said without turning to face Sandi, "Good Sandi, improving your vocab is good. 'Tattle-tale' was so grade school."

Jane smiled and it was a hard-bitten, bitter smile.

Ten minutes later I had tamped down my hormones enough to walk the street with Jane like any other two friends. As we walked we seemed to become like any other two friends, not that I had much experience of that. My nascent gaydar told me Jane was straight as an arrow and I was thankful for that. I wasn't ready for any relationship, hell, I was scared to death. Or maybe I wanted her to be straight and my friend uncomplicated by, um, urges. God, feelings were so complicated.

I wasn't even sure what was my type or if I even had a type: blonde in bikini; flinty-eyed Sandi, sweet wholesome girl-next-door Stacy, exotic Asian Tiffany. I hated thinking that word 'exotic' but it gave me a delicious, shameful shudder. Or Jane of the blue eyes?

Jane quickly filled me in on how I could expect my self-esteem to ferment and bloom under Mr. O'Neill's tender ministrations. She pointed the way to her place as she told me I was lucky enough to catch the class at its very beginning, I would miss nothing!

Jane gave me a funny look when I guessed that the girls talked about 'secretions' while the boys were separated to discuss their own version. She swiftly corrected me on 'body image' which I should have known.

We paused in front of a house which I could hazard a guess at having been a peppy yellow shade at one time. A lonely, rusty mobile squeaked in the breeze on the lawn; at least I think it was a mobile, at one time maybe parts of it wouldn't have moved and squeaked.

"Behold, yonder lies the castle of my father, otherwise known to one and all or probably just me and Trent as 'Casa Lane'."

"Abandon hope all ye who enter here," she continued as she opened the unlocked front door. "Sorry, I mean 'Bienvenido, mi casa es tu casa.'"

"Same difference," I said. "Gracias."

"No lockee the front door?" I asked.

"Nah, everything of value is gone, although once in awhile someone steals my paint thinner. Probably to sniff. Hm, I should consider making Trent fix the lock just to protect the general stupid public but it's most likely his generally stupid bandmates."

I had developed a bad habit I had of imaging some guys as a female version, a habit I was trying to curtail after a bad dream about Dad. I abandoned all hope of curbing it that afternoon when a tall, lanky guy emerged from the basement as we collected sodas from Jane's fridge.

"God, if only he were an, an older Jane."

I shook my head and snapped out of it as I became aware Jane was giving me one of her patented bemused looks.

Jane-analogue almost tripped over me before some flicker of awareness crossed his features.

"Hey Janey and uh, Janey's friend."

The voice rumbled out slower than Jane's and deep enough to rumble some deep parts of me. Visions of older Jane's with different hair-cuts danced rapidly through my head until I shook them away.

"Hey," I said figuring the cool approach was the best or maybe I was just stunned. "I'm Daria, Daria Morgendorffer."

"And stick out the hand for shaking."

"Trent, Trent Lane," the handshake returned was surprisingly firm and just right.

His eyes got more fire as they flicked between me and Jane inquisitively.

Jane couldn't decide to smirk or scowl and somehow combined both as she watched the passing pleasantries.

"Practicing Trent? You stay awake long enough to learn the baseline to Final Fantasy IV yet?"

"Janey, I told you: it's Come as You Are. And anyway, I'm lead guitar."

"You play in a band?" I asked.

"Yeah. We're Mystik Spiral. Remember that name,uh, unless we decide to change it."

As Jane led me upstairs to her room, I had a final fantasy involving someone named Trentina-or was it Trientje?-in a pair of ripped cut-off jeans or maybe smoking a cigarette in a black nightie and high heels.

Before making my way to the bed to sit I stopped to try to make some sense of the paintings on easels making a maze of her spacious room.

"Jane, I think you need to turn this faux Van Gogh right side up. I think it's still wet and the colors might run the wrong way."

"Nah, I'm making a statement, say, maybe you can help me figure out what the statement says. Anyway, once I deliver it to Gary's Gallery he can turn it over when he turns it over to the customer."

"Jane, I fully support a teenager making a decent living from art forgery but you know, Starry Night is a fairly well-known piece."

"Ha, Gary has me commissioned to make reproductions of famous pieces for people who want to show off their good taste in ancient art and that they're too poor to afford the real things."

"And this?" I asked while examining a fantasy dragon immolating what appeared to be a very realistic life depiction of an average family of Mom, Dad, two kids and a dog.

"I've not a clue why some people want to see themselves in the jaws of fantasy death but, hey, Gary takes the orders; I paint 'em and we split the simoleons."

"Although," Jane continued. "This one of the Balrog fire-whipping a woman off the bridge is just right for a happy ex-husband, or so I'm told."

"Jane Lane," I commented. "Taking art therapy to untold levels of degradation for clams."

She grinned and bowed low. "Eyes on the prize."

"Don't change your name; after being called 'Daria Morgendorffer' of all things, I like 'Jane Lane'."

"Seven syllables not enough for you? Anyway, I see your lesser-syllabled sister made the acquaintance of Lawndale High's Queens of Fashion."

Jane leaned closer all the better to observe me it seemed. "Sandi's beautiful. One might almost say, 'classical', 'regal'. Eh, Morgendorffer?"

"Deflect, deflect, deflect."

"So what is it with Sandi calling you 'snitch'? Um, if you don't mind. Not that it's any of my business."

Jane's eyes and lips hardened. "You're right, it is none…"

Then she sort of deflated or maybe softened is a better word. Jane sighed.

"No, it's okay. I need to talk about it sometimes."

Jane waggled her head at me drawing attention to the thicket of hoop earrings jangling in her left ear, the one not obscured by her asymmetrical haircut.

"Your head doesn't list to the left," I observed. "So I assume you balance it out with lead fishing sinkers on the right?"

"Only during the season," Jane responded. She flounced up her right side mop displaying a line of what I believe are called studs and some long bar thingies; I'd have to consult Quinn on the exact nomenclature.

"I'll get to the point to avoid your further distractions, Daria. The lowest holes on each side were done in sixth grade by my then bestie, Sandi Griffin."

"I'm at a loss for words," I admitted. "Please go on."

"Sandi set up a piercing parlor in the biggest girls' room in middle school. She had it all: piercing needles; rubbing alcohol and potatoes for back stops. Only ten bucks per girl for both lobes, bring-your-own starter studs."

"She had everything but common sense. And nobody's ears got infected and fell off a la Van Gogh?"

"Nope, of the two girls besides me no one got infected. To this day everyone was happy with the new holes in their little old heads."

"Okay, so how come you're not a fashion zombie with Sandi or at least not being threatened with 'snitches get stitches'?"

Jane looked down and rubbed one foot in the carpet.

"The night before I was her practice dummy. She charged me ten bucks for materials she said, and acted like it was something cool and special just for the two of us. I got, uh, petty and jealous, something, anyway the next day when I saw she was opening a piercing parlor. I went right to the authorities, the principal and, Daria, I sang like a canary. Sandi had girls lined up around the hall, and a couple guys even, including Kevin. Everybody got mad at little Janey for narcing."

Jane muttered, "Not sure I blame them."

I nodded, "So even the outcasts threw you out of the outcast club before you had a chance to officially join?"

'Yeah, not sure I blame them for that either. And I was teacher's pet precious for the rest of the year. Didn't help either."

"Jane, at my risk of sounding like a killjoy old fuddy-duddy you surely know now with all the vast experience of a year in high school that a sixth-grader using a spud as essential piercing equipment should have been stopped. You did the right thing. Don't worry we can work on that."

"Yeah," She said without conviction. "The right thing for the wrong reasons."

I actually attempted at that point to be a day-brightener. "I'm trying to picture Kevin with a nice pair of hoops. Or I guess guys usually get one side done. I think there's even some kind of code to it. Let's find out and try to get him to pierce the most embarrassing side."

Jane brightened a little.

"Yeah, Daria, sometimes I try to picture him trying to get a football helmet over his earrings."

"Hmm," I went on. "Let me try to guess. I met nearly everyone in our class today. Based on my incredible gift of reading people I'd say the two girls Sandi did get to operate on were Andrea and uh, what's-her-name, the bouncy, bouncy in all the right places cheerleader, oh yeah, Brittany."

"Daria! You're psychic. How did know?"

"Psycho, please. I didn't. I just get these intuitions sometimes. Alas, not about the next lottery numbers, just trivial crap."

Just as we were about to start homework and other insanities Trent knocked politely and came in without warning anyway. He was carefully carrying a tray set with wine glasses and what appeared to be a real-life bottle of red wine, open and breathing no less. All this he set down on Jane's desk and smirked at us politely.

Judging from Jane's "Trent WTF?" I took this offering to be unusual behavior and not a common way for the Lanes to make their underage guests feel at home.

"The guy at the liquor store said this was the best plonk he had. Not sure what that means but I spent a whole two dollars on it. I figured it's a good way, Jane, for you and your guest to get to know each other better. Oh, and I got candles too."

"Yeah, bring the candles on up if they're not those gross boysencranstraw scented things from Jesse again." Jane said glancing down at her math textbook. "I can't suck any worse at math if I do it in half-light I guess. But Trent, we're both addicted to the rich, jagged caffeine buzz of Ultra-cola so get your rotgut vino out of here and let us study."

"Sure, Janey," Trent smirked pleasantly again and picked up the tray. "I'll just leave you two lovebi, uh, I mean chicks, alone now to study or, you know, whatever."

As he made his way out of the room Jane called, "How much have you already had, young man? I'm cutting you off."

She shook her head at his retreating form then once again at her math book adding a scowl of frustration at the book.

"Having a little trouble, Jane?" I started. "Um, I'm no Isaac Newton but I've successfully helped Quinn, and she will deny that ever happened to the bottom of her pretty smart, vapid little mind."

About a half-hour later I was happy to see Jane's eyes light up in understanding.

"Daria, you are a genius! I've never understood it better. Hey, don't blush like that. You should be a teacher. Eek, what am I saying? I take back my curse."

Jane and I finished homework while sucking down her sodas. Then the talk turned to serious matters once again.

"I don't get it, Jane. You've got the entire course memorized. How come you can't pass the test to get out?"

"I could pass the test, but I like having low self-esteem. It makes me feel special." Jane gave me another smirk to practice.

"Besides," Jane continued. "How would I spend my afternoons?"

I could broach that she spend more time doing as she already was: spreading paint on canvas and looking at me studiedly for poses. But I took another tack.

"Smoking crawfish," I proposed thinking of the creek which ran behind both our houses.

"And Dad does 'em up pretty good Cajun style."

"Now you're talking! Ah, what's a 'crawfish'? Don't tell Trent; he'll wanna get high on 'em."

I smiled as Jane took out the O'Neill cheat sheet from her notebook.

The next day in self-esteem class O'Neill finished clarifying an assignment sure to boost a student's self-esteem, if it did not drive said student to suicide.

"We feel really good about ourselves." I took a breath and began the call and response.

"We want to take the graduation test." Jane all but sang.

Mr. O'Neill looked confused and a tad frightened but responded quickly, "Well! I'm glad your self-image meter is on the uptick! But there's still three more weeks of class left."

"This first week has been a real eye-opener. It must be the way you teach." I countered with the planned butter for his ego which Jane suggested.

"Oh, well... thank you very much." He lapped it up then turned to Jane."You know, you look familiar somehow…"

Before he could fumble for his seating chart I kept him on topic.

"So can we take the test?"

"Well, it's not the way we usually do it, but... I guess so. Okay, question one: 'Self-esteem is important because…' "

"It's a quality that will stand us in good stead the rest of our lives." I parroted Jane's crib sheet.

"Very good. Now, 'The next time I start to feel bad about myself…' "

Jane was ready, "Stand before the mirror, look myself in the eye and say, 'You are special. No one else is like you.' '

Mr. O'Neill almost dropped his papers. "You two really have been paying attention! Okay, 'There's no such thing…' "

Jane wanted to get it over with quickly, "As the right weight."

"Or the right height." I picked up the tempo.

"There's only what's right for me," Jane added.

I concluded, "Because me is who I am."

"I don't think we have to go any farther. I am really pleased! I think the whole school needs to hear about this at assembly!" O'Neill simultaneously released us from class and sealed our fate.

Two days later Jane brought out a few snickers from the few students awake to watch us receive the coveted self-esteem graduation certificates. Twelve seconds into her speech she started sniffling in mock-fright and ran off stage with O'Neill calling 'Daria' as he chased her with in concern.

I took a moment to admire Jane's moxie and the sashay of her retreating form before I heeded the hurried insistence of Ms. Li and stepped up to the podium.

"No one can battle a terrible problem like low self-esteem on their own. It takes good coaching..."

"Good, good, you got everyone's attention, especially those two stoners smiling at each other and nodding slowly. You can get through this, just think of those crawfish in Dad's special filé."

I put my tongue on autopilot and rambled on, something I had learned from close observance of Quinn.

"...realize my actuality. Winning the fight against low self-esteem takes support... from teachers, from friends, and most of all, from the esteem which comes from the sweet love of a good…"

I could almost hear Quinn gasp as she tensed herself for the expected 'woman' which would subtly out me and cause probable damage to her popularity before she had a chance to damage it herself.

I did not mind so much at that moment that she had won a bet and guilted me into watching that crummy romcom with her last night. Quinn had grabbed my hand and burst into tears when the insipid hero blandly used 'love of a good woman' to describe the soporific effect his vapid love interest had on him.

"…sister," I came down on 'sister' with a lightening of my tone which should have sounded like emphasis.

"And so, the one person I'd like to thank more than any other is my very own sister, Quinn Morgendorffer. My kid sister Quinn has forgotten more about self-esteem than I'll ever know. I'd ask her to stand and take a bow but I know her innate sense of modesty and decorum would forbid it. And now before your acknowledgement gives me too much self-esteem I'd like to thank our esteemed teacher, Mr. O'Neill."

I paused for the applause which did not come so I stretched that pause out longer to emphasize that no applause resounded in the gym. Then I got off the stage.

The smug smirk which Jane greeted me on our walk home assured me that her self-esteem was safe. Dad's crawfish gumbo never tasted better.

THE END