Author's Note: This story takes place in the spring following the events of "Is It College Yet?" and in the "canon" universe. I can be empty-headed when proofreading, so please let me know if I made any factual or mechanical errors.

I claim no ownership of or association with "Daria" or the creators thereof. This story contains profanity, drug/alcohol use, and sexual references, so the faint of heart/weak of stomach/children-whose-parents-shouldn't-be-letting-them-on-the-internet/etc., etc. should look away now.

"You weren't kidding about the food," Jane observed, swirling a few strands of spaghetti around her fork. "Raft does not take its cafeteria lightly."

"They don't spare any costs," Daria agreed, "and those non-savings get passed on to the consumer, meaning I have to eat those bulk Cup o'Noodles my dad sent me."

Jane shuddered slightly. "I'd rather eat the Styrofoam cup itself, personally."

"And miss out on the synthetic shrimp?" Daria drained the last of her green tea, and forced some more teriyaki sauce out of the packet and onto her less-than-authentic noodle dish. "Have you heard anything from Fort Sloane lately?" she asked.

"Nah," Jane replied, clearly indifferent to the subject. "Tom doesn't have much…motivation to speak with me anymore."

"Why not?" Daria's interest had been piqued, but not enough to aggressively pursue the topic. "I really haven't heard from him recently, either."

"From what I've gathered," Jane continued, shifting a bit uncomfortably in her seat, "he has a new lady caller, and she doesn't like him getting 'friendly' with any former flames."

"We're former flames, huh?" Daria mused. "I always imagined I'd be remembered as the pinnacle of neurosis who left a permanent negative impression of all brunettes."

"Oh, I'm sure that's his pet name for you," Jane responded dryly, "I was just using the common vernacular."

A silence befell the table after this exchange, not out of any awkward lapse, but rather a mutual remembrance of all the things, attractive and otherwise, that that relationship had wrought.

"Are you going back to Lawndale for spring break?" Daria interrupted the lull.

Jane snorted. "My parents are in Australian studying aborigines domestic crafts, Trent is with them seeking inspiration amongst the crashing tides and monotremes, and you're sitting right here, so there's nothing to compel me to return there." She paused to pop a piece of breadstick in her mouth. "You're not going back to that cesspool of good health and prosperity, are you?"

"Not exactly." Daria tried to gather a good explanation. "You know how the high schools have the break later than us?"

"Mm-hm."

"So, Quinn really wanted to visit, and get a little bit of time away from the parentals and in an…environment like this, so after we're well rested from the break, it looks like Lawndale is coming to is."

Jane blinked and set her utensils onto the table. "I refuse to condone this huge breach of all that is good and holy," she informed Daria.

"I don't have a choice, truthfully," Daria attempted to clarify. "My parents told me this was happening, and I'm still dependent on them, you know, financially."

"Ah. Since you have a practical, if selfish, motive, I'll let it slide," Jane smiled. "But, back to spring break: I didn't really have plans to go anywhere…"

"Neither did I," Daria declared, feigning surprise for Jane's amusement. "We could have some fun, wholesome roadtrip adventure…"

"Like Thelma and Louise!" Jane remarked, feigning cheerfulness in her turn. "Or we could go to the next town over where nobody knows us, find someone who will buy us alcohol, and have deep, existentialist discussions while shitfaced."

"It's a plan then," Daria adjourned, rising to ceremoniously throw away the trash.

Quinn looked out the window of the living room, not really seeking anything, just pretending to be occupied so no-one would bother her. A party was raging in the Morgendorffer household, although, as the utter lack of beer and bodily fluid stains would attest, it was relatively tame.

As spring break, and, ultimately, graduation, rapidly approached, Quinn felt herself drifting. There had been some comfort in being a sessile creature in the popularity ecosystem, but as she went loose, despite enjoying her burgeoning independence, there seemed to less meaning in her school life.

"Kuu-win," Sandi intoned, snapping Quinn out of her momentary solitude. "I think we need to do something about that thing oozing all over Stacy."

Quinn passed her gaze over to the sofa, where Upchuck has all his available appendages grasping at a blindly flattered Stacy. She was inclined to agree with Sandi's sentiment.

"Isn't that guy supposed to be at college?" Quinn questioned.

"He is," Sandi replied, before ominously continuing, "at Lawndale Community."

"Oh god." Quinn felt herself moving to the couch, her old ways of superficiality and borderline classism beginning to surface. Stacy was, for all intents, her friend, and she couldn't let her be involved with someone who didn't even go to a university or liberal arts school or something.

"Upchuck. Get out." The young man looked away for the first time in quite awhile from Stacy's figure, and found himself looking at a wrathful expression on the face of the hostess.

"Miss Morgendorffer, I hope you're not the ice queen your sister was—"

"This party is for seniors," she snapped, pulling him up by the scruff of his neck. "Jeffy, give me some help."

All three J's came to Quinn's service at her beckoning, and carried Upchuck out hog-style to the curb.

"He really liked me!" Stacy whined, her eyes following her brief companion's pathetic attempts to pull himself up.

"You'll thank us later, Stacy," Sandi assured her. "His hair would never go with anything you'd wear."

"I guess so," Stacy whimpered a bit, dragging herself to the kitchen for more chips, and possibly dip.

A look of regret crossed Quinn's face, but Sandi shook her head. "It's tough love. As president and vice-president-"

"Sandi, the fashion club's been obsolete for nine months," Quinn reminded her.

"As the acknowledged leaders of the Lawndale High uppercrust," Sandi continued, looking slightly perturbed, "it is our duty to practice tough love."

"And safe love!" a tipsy young fellow lying on the floor called out, "like Lady GaGa said."

"Keep your condoms to yourself, please," Sandi hissed.

"Aren't they fashionable now?" Tiffany wandered into the room. "Like those ones with the plaaaid on them?"

"Ooh, if they made cute ones like that, I might use them!" a female partygoer giggled.

Quinn returned to the window, tuning out the frustrating conversations of her classmates. She appreciated Sandi's (slowly) blossoming maturity, but it couldn't be avoided that most of the people there hadn't progressed mentally since they'd stopped taking naps in school.

Quinn felt an almost imperceptible wave of nausea, and shook it off. She was almost beginning to think like Daria.