2.
The sound of a broken, wailing man filled the house – which was not entirely a problem since Daria was reading a Mikhail Bulgakov and it worked as mood music, but she figured she should check it out anyway.
What she found was her parents in the kitchen, Jake screaming "What have I done? Oh God, what have I done…"
"It's all right, Jake. We'll get through this as a family."
"What's wrong?" asked Daria.
"Your father-"
"Nothing's wrong!" His face was masked by an insincere smile. "Absolutely nothing! Jake Morgendorffer Consulting is doing great, kiddo! But how are you doing? Everything's fine, right? The ol' guitar playing going okay? You're okay, right? Right?"
Daria paused, took in her father's desperation, and went for sarcasm rather than think about it.
"Well, Quinn's at work and there's still some a whole night before school starts. This is the closest I will ever get to sheer bliss."
"THAT'S GREAT!" The look in his eyes was starting to scare her. "Say kiddo, I'm going to be having a go at brushing up my rusty cooking skills – how'd you like to sit in, learn some tricks from the old man? We never taught you how to cook, now's your chance! What do you say?"
Her father's cooking rarely – if ever – turned out edible. Government biohazard teams put themselves on standby whenever he was seen buying pasta. There was no way in God's brown burbs that she wanted to suffer cooking lessons from him.
But he so clearly needed to do it. And she knew why.
"I dunno if I can find time in my busy social schedule, but I'll try and fit it in."
That was it for family time: back to the book. Quinn eventually came in but headed straight for her room, which wasn't the first time she'd done that and which Daria found odd. Quinn always talked about her day, whether you wanted it or not.
Daria still couldn't believe Quinn had signed on with Amazon Modelling, because that would mean believing Principal Li would invite the firm to school and let them get students to pimp themselves out. (Budget cutbacks must be fierce) But that's how it seemed to go, and her parents had given in to Quinn's pleading, and now Quinn was off being paid to be bouncy and shallow. There was a God and He picked favourites.
Oh well. Tomorrow after school, she had another music lesson. Another hour in Trent's company. She could make her own damn Heaven.
Ms Li had come in to art class that morning to order- I mean, request that students get involved in a state-wide art contest about "Student Life at the Dawn of the Millennium". She said some other stuff too, but Daria tuned it out. In her head, AC/DC was playing – just the thing to get her relaxed enough to paint – and who wanted to stop the rock?
After the principal had gone, Daria vaguely heard Brittany squeak "I've got a great idea for a poster!".
On instinct: "Me too. Mine's going to be about cheerleading."
"Oh no! Now what'll I do?"
High score!
Jane was the best artist in school and had a rapport with art teacher Miss Defoe – both of which meant Jane felt compelled to enter the contest. She'd been grouchy until she'd realised her painting could show student life sucked.
"Yes," said Daria.
"Got any ideas of what I can do?"
"No."
"Come on, you're the most negative person I know."
"A photo of Kevin and Brittany, and the words 'America's Future'."
"That's too negative."
"Ahhhh, this is going to bug me... I'd blackmail you into helping me brainstorm, but you've got practice with Trent so that's out. Hey, you think Amelia might have any ideas? I could give her a call."
"Good choice. Underneath her sweet and helpful exterior beats the heart of an angry misanthrope."
"Course it does, she spent time with you. I give you a month before Mr O'Neill gives up on life."
"Three weeks, and loser buys pizza."
"You're on!"
An objective observer would have noticed that Trent wasn't so much teaching as putting sheets in front of Daria and watching what happened. If you asked Trent, he'd say he didn't really think about playing guitar – "I just, y'know, touch the strings" – and having to think about it in a way people could understand made his head hurt.
But Daria kept turning up and wanting lessons. So who was he to deny?
Daria, for her part, was consumed by thoughts of Trent and his proximity until she started on Metallica's One. Within seconds, her entire mind was focused on the song. There was a long, long instrumental bit, but it wasn't that complicated – she was hitting more notes than normal. Simple.
And then the lyrics, sneaking up with their implications without any warning.
"I can't remember anything/Can't tell if this is true or dream/Deep down inside I feel to scream..."
That was too close for comfort. That was the part of her life she was trying to get past.
"This terrible silence stops me"
Her voice was starting to get louder.
"Now that the war is through with me/I'm waking up, I cannot see/That there's not much left of me"
Oh god. No.
"Nothing is real but pain now"
Trapped in that room, in that body, that prison of meat that dragged her around a gulag where she was hated and looked down on and she'd learnt to hate reading, learnt to hate herself, no hope
"HOLD MY BREATH AS I WISH FOR DEATH! AMELIA WAKE ME!"
The guitar dropped from her hands as she fell to her knees, and Trent ran to keep her from falling further. She was straining for breath and her eyes were watering and in the corners of her mind she recognised this was panic.
And then she noticed his arms were around her, steadying her, his voice softly reassuring her that she was safe, she was among friends, it was going to be alright.
"I-I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to – I looked stupid..."
"Shhh."
"I didn't realise it'd be – and it just – aaaahhhh"
"It'll be okay. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."
It was a little while before they noticed the rash creeping up her face. By that point, she'd stopped whimpering. When the rash was noticed, Trent – to his embarrassment – tried to leap back from her from a sitting position.
"Whoa!"
"...oh. Great."
"Daria, I think you better take a break and sit down somewhere. We've got some bottled water... somewhere round here."
Embarrassment was clawing at her, but she could see the guitar (it had scratches on it, Mum was going to freak about that) and above her, on the stand, she knew the music sheet was waiting. Gloating.
"No." She grabbed the guitar and got to her feet. "No, I'm finishing this."
"Dar-"
"I've started, I'm going to finish. I want to get past Grove Hills, then I get past it." She drew in a breath. "And crank up the speaker's volume."
Next day at school, Jane had finished her entry: a thin, lovely girl puking into a toilet.
"I call it 'Beauty is in the Gall of the Be-Throw-er'," she said proudly. "I'm sending Amelia a photo of it. She mentioned anorexia and, hey, since I've only got visuals to go from..."
"I think that girl must've heard your title."
"You may mock, but this makes a statement. It attacks our beauty obsessed culture. It shows us the price of our standards. And it's disgusting, so it has to be art."
"Amelia may have expected you to be more subtle." Daria shrugged. "Then again, she isn't in daily contact with you, so she doesn't know any better."
"Nice girl. We talked for ages, she's always interested in what I'm up to."
Daria suppressed a smile. Amelia's crush on Jane was serious and sweet, and not a laughing matter. (But Jane being unaware bloody well was)
Defoe came over to check Jane's painting, her mouth in a big, expectant smile... which then drooped.
"Oh Jane. I thought you were going to take the contest seriously."
Jane blinked. "I did-"
"This was a great opportunity for you, and you waste it with a crude joke? I expected better, I really did."
"It's not – I didn't-" Jane sounded upset, the first time Daria had her upset; upset and ashamed. "I thought I... I meant to-"
"She's making a statement about the price girls have to pay to fit our society's standards of beauty," cut in Daria.
Defoe glanced at Jane. "Really?"
"Well, I was trying to." She couldn't meet Defoe's eyes. "I guess I got carried away..."
"I apologise, Jane, I should've trusted that you were doing this for a reason. It'll go in the contest." She smiled apologetically. "Well, assuming Li will let it through, you know what she's like."
"Yeah, it's certainly hard to miss."
It was obvious to Daria that Li wouldn't let it through. Looking at Jane, it was obvious to her too – but Daria knew that wasn't the problem. The problem was failing someone.
First her dad, now Jane. This was not something she knew how to handle.
"Jane..."
"Ah, it's fine. I don't have to fear I'm bringing glory to Laaawndale High, which is a weight off my mind."
"Right. You want to go for pizza after school?"
"We usually do."
"Yeah, but... er... Can you help me out here and just say yes?"
Jane smiled, getting what Daria was offering. "Yes."