Arrows Through Her Heart

by EntrancedCat

Daria is home for the summer after freshman year at Raft. She's picked up a sport and has a boring part-time job. Is she changing but still remaining the ever-in-control Daria? Quinn has some revelations about Daria which Daria must come to terms with. This is a post-canon story which would take place about a year after "Is it College Yet."

2. Dates to Shoot for

Arrows through her heart

by EntrancedCat

Chapter 2: Dates to shoot for

Daria was on the afternoon shift and chatting with her boss, Dale Arnsdorf, during slow periods. Arnsdorf was both owner and manager of the local It's a Nutty, Nut World franchise and a minority owner of the national business. The previous manager who hired Daria the year before had been promoted to a position in human relations in the national office. Daria's father Jake had come up with marketing strategies which turned the business around, like dropping one 'Nutty' from the name and the 'ty' from the final 'Nutty'.

Jake Morgendorffer came up with the idea of infusing the nuts with distinctive flavors. He emphasized to the national leaders that they needed to use only the purest, finest ingredients to add bold flavors to their nut choices, like chipotle-lime cashews, and tout the benefits of a healthy snack. Some of Jake's concoctions, however, were enjoyed by Jake alone like the apricot-lemongrass-papaya almonds.

Jake, sadly, had not been able to persuade them to change the uniforms which counter-staff like Daria had to wear. She had to serve customers in a uniform which looked like her auburn head was being eaten by a squirrel. In another move which surprised her, Jake and Quinn had redesigned the costumes and material to be less heavy, hot and scratchy. That the new designs saved money was the deal clincher with the national office. Quinn had happily banked her first professional fee for fashion design; Jake had further impressed a client, and Daria and comrades were less itchy and sweaty. Daria had never really seen her father at work; she was coming to better appreciate Jake as a father and as a businessman.

Dale had turned Daria and Jake into traditional archers the previous summer. Jake, in turn, had interested his best friend, Anthony DeMartino. The three men were planning a squirrel hunting trip to Kentucky for that fall.

Dale went into the back office. Daria scanned the scant Tuesday mid-afternoon non-crowd and wished her six o'clock quitting time were closer. Her blood froze when she saw Trent Lockher making a beeline for the nut-shop's large kiosk. He was carrying a blanket wrapped around a long, slender object and a couple large plastic canisters. Different Trent, same situation of being caught in a stupid costume doing a menial job was playing out and it made her cringe.

She was both a bit heartbroken and relieved when Trent did not seem to recognize her under the squirrel head.

"Is Dale Arnsdorf in?" Trent asked idly scanning the bins of nuts.

"Ummm…yeah," Daria said very quietly in an attempt to remain unrecognized. "I'll get him."

Trent lifted his eyes, "Pardon? Sorry, I didn't hear…Daria?"

"Hi, Trent, yeah, it's me. I'll get Dale. Then I'll jump in a vat of almonds and never resurface."

Trent burst into laughter. "Sorry, that's the dumbest uniform I've ever seen."

His sincere, mock-free laugh broke her anxiety and she laughed along before she stuck her head in the back and asked Dale to come out front.

"Trent! Whoa, you've got it for me?" Dale greeted him. "Let's see it. Just unroll your blanket on the counter."

Trent unrolled the blanket to reveal the osage orange bow Daria had seen the day before.

"Wonderful, beautiful," Dale said. "And arrows for me too. Hang on, I'll get your dough."

Dale disappeared in back briefly. He came out to begin counting one C-note after another on the counter in front of Trent and Daria. Her eyes grew wide as he stopped at eight. Taking his bow and the canisters ,Dale went into the back grinning with delight. Trent casually picked up the money and stuffed it in his pocket.

"Uhmmm…," he began, his turn to stammer. "You know they're starting a Fellini festival on Saturday at the Orpheum. Do you want to go?"

"Great, ummm…I'd like to go too." Daria was back to stammer mode too.

Trent smiled in relief and asked, "I'll pick you up at six for a bite first and I guess I'll need your phone number and address then. Though I suspect you're the only Morgendorffers in Lawndale."

Daria surprised herself with how quickly she scrawled the pertinent information on a blank receipt. Dale came back in time to see her hand it to Trent. Trent left without another word just a happy smile.

"You know," Dale observed looking at the departing Trent. "I'd say he's a great guy but that usually jinxes things but he's a great guy."

"You know him?" she asked anxious like a first-crush seventh-grader for any intel.

"Well, mostly through archery but after a while in business you kind of get a sense of people too. He's an up-and-coming bowyer and I wanted to snag one of his bows before they got even more expensive."

"So bow making is how he gets his gelt?" she asked, having learned the term from Dale.

"Not totally or even the most of it. Trent's a wizard at designing circuits for computerized control systems or some such thing I should have trained for instead of flogging nuts. And rumor has it he's a trust fund baby, although rumor also has it it's not a massive chunk of change."

"You know, Dale," Daria began. "I have a friend who just might like to meet you. If you think you can tear yourself away from inventing new flavors of pistachios, like the arsenic-cherry for instance."

Dale was startled at the abrupt change of topic. "Friend of yours? Is she big enough to peek over the bar?"

"And drink you under it," she retorted.

"Well, I'm too…Oh, what the heck. Sure, see if your friend's interested but you have to tell her right away that my daughter, Tori, comes first."

"I don't think she would have it any other way," the auburn matchmaker said thinking of Jane's oft absentee parents.

"Well, I'm off to go play with my new toys," Dale announced. "You and Jake will have to try them sometime."

"Don't shoot your foot," Daria warned him.

Jodie Landon showed up near the end of Daria's shift and changed into her own squirrel head. As they were chatting Daria again experienced a sudden chill as Kat approached the stand.

"Hide me or kill me," she told Jodie. "Better yet, do both. Don't get yourself in trouble, kid."

It was too late as Kat ordered, "I want a pound of those sea salt pistachios...Daria?"

"Yep, Daria. Welcome to It's a Nutty, Nut World. We're just nuts about nuts. Crunch nuts with your lunch. Buy them by the bunch. Send them to friends far away to munch." Daria recited the absurd jingle figuring all dignity was lost.

"That's the most ridiculous costume I ever saw. I thought I had a stupid job but...," Kat said giggling.

She laughed along but with more self-consciousness than with Trent. She was saved by Jodie handing Kat a bag. "Here's your pistachios, ma'am."

"Ma'am?" Kat said. "Please, I am only a couple years older than you, I bet. Please, my name is Kat. Are you a friend of Daria?"

"Friend, former classmate and now fellow nutty nutter. I'm Jodie," Jodie smiled. "Haven't I seen you by the employee elevators, Kat?"

"Yes, I have a silly job doing data entry in the top-floor offices, Jodie. I thought it was the dumbest job in the world but now I see you two."

The three young women chatted. "Oh, great," Daria said. "It's 6:03 and I endured three unnecessary minutes in this uniform."

"Oh, you are off now?," Kat said. "Daria, let's have dinner. This is the one day a week that I ease up on my training regimen a little and I want pizza. Do you know a good pizza joint?"

"Oh, she knows a good pizza place and 'joint' is a good way to describe it," Jodie said.

"Let me get this brain-eating squirrel off me. And I need to tell my sister not to pick me up if she hasn't forgotten about me anyway."

Daria got into her civilian clothes in the small back office bathroom. She called Quinn who told her she was missing Jake's actually quite good coq au vin.

By 6:40 the two young women were ensconced in a booth in the Pizza Prince. The place had not changed except for the clientele, Daria thought. It was now mostly kids who were a year or two or more behind her at Lawndale High. A few of her classmates were there, people she had not known well. All had a look of puzzled nostalgia which she had a feeling she wore as well.

"Probably not coming back here," she thought until the pizza came. Kat enthused about its gooey, greasy goodness.

Not much later the two girls were settling back in the booth in a pleasant state of carb-lethargy. Daria was surprised with how quickly she was opening up to Kat. She was fascinated with the stories of epic Daria-Quinn battles and the bribery schemes the sisters had perpetrated on their parents.

"I'm glad you and Quinn are friendlier now," Kat said. "My friends in school complained about the fights they had with their sibs. They said, 'hate her', 'hate him' too many times, I thought. They envied that I was an only child. I never understood. It sounded like fun sometimes the fights and I wanted always to have someone in the house closer to my age. More noise and action than two scholar parents turning pages. And your father sounds like a real hoot."

Kat sucked at her Ultra cola. She looked at the cup, "Wow, keep me away from this stuff. It will ruin my training."

"You will be happy to know it does not come in diet," Daria told her. Then she blurted, "You have a beautiful accent. Oh sorry…" She could feel her face getting red.

Kat only waved a hand slowed by heavy portions of pizza. "No sorry. It is part of who I am: a Central Asian mongrel." She giggled at that and started her story. Kat's mother's mother was a Polish woman named Aldona. Her parents went to Central Asia to better their lot. Aldona married a Mongol man named Batukhan, "Means 'brave ruler' or 'strong ruler', take your pick." It would have been a scandal in Poland or Mongolia but in their frontier town no one cared.

Kat's mother's name was Anka in Polish and Narantsetseg was her Mongolian name. Kat's father, Sasha, was "110% hot-blooded Russian." Sasha had antagonized some mid-level government officials in Moscow. He had thought it best to accept an offer to hide in the boonies for a few years. Sasha and Anka-Narantsetseg married and Ekaterina came along a couple years later.

"So I am," Kat pretended to calculate. "One-quarter Polish, one-quarter Mongol and half Russian. Although Daddy Sasha would make me more Pole or Mongol if he was mad at me or Mom."

"Mongolian name?" Daria asked fascinated.

"Khongordzol."

"That's strong and beautiful. It must mean something?"

Kat leaned close and whispered, "Thistle." Both girls laughed.

"But my story is nothing," Kat declared. "Thousands have stories like that, happy ending or terrible in the old Soviet Union. 'Morgendorffer', now there's a name to conjure by."

"Ha, I wish," Daria said. "It means 'from the morning village' or some such and that's exactly how much more German I know than Mongolian. Both sides have been in America for decades and decades striving to become more boring with each generation. The only faintly interesting thing is I am a direct descendant via Mom of an obscure though competent Civil War general. And he was on the wrong side. Jodie gave me no end of teasing when she somehow found out about that."

Daria even told Kat about Jane, things she had never said even to Jane. How she had thought she was almost losing her mind, that there was really something wrong with her. She wanted to talk to someone except she had no confidence in any of the counselors or psychologists she had ever met. After she met Jane, Daria felt that she was slowly climbing out of some pit with Jane ahead of her stumbling herself sometimes but showing the way.

Kat nodded. "I'd love to meet Jane. I wasn't a loner in school, well not much, but I never, ever had a real, close friend, not in high school or college even." She sighed and sat up. "Oh, I should get home to bed. Training regimen and I have to get to the office really early tomorrow."

They went out to Kat's huge, old dark-blue Detroit sedan, in perfect condition with a 'For Sale' sign in the back window. "Inheritance from an uncle in Poughkeepsie." Kat said.

As they settled onto the long bench seat Daria snickered at Kat's driving posture. "You look like an ape." she told Kat. Both girls laughed.

Kat had the seat almost all the way back and her long limbs were stretched out to steering wheel and pedals. Daria felt even more diminutive than usual on the passenger side. She stretched out her black-booted legs and crossed her ankles as she snuggled down on the massive bench.

"Have enough room over there, short-stuff?" Kat asked. Daria did something very un-Daria like and impulsive; she stuck out her tongue. Kat giggled and sort of leered back.

They drove along in the dark in a comfortable silence, Daria only speaking to give directions. In front of Manse Morgendorffer Kat parked and killed the old purring engine.

"I had a wonderful time tonight," Kat began. "But I blame you for making me want to gorge on Pizza Prince and Ultra Cola. I have to exercise and go to the range tomorrow to get those evil thoughts out of my head."

"I'll teach you the rapid-fire technique," Daria offered. "Of course you don't need it to show up Trent and Jason and any other guy out there."

"Wonderful," Kat slid a little closer, her eyes cement-grey in the dim light. "But I cannot touch a different bow until after my qualifier for the Olympic qualifier. Then you can teach me and I can show you my bow collection. But how about we meet, say, Sunday afternoon at the range? We can practice together, then I can cook you some delicious Russian food, if I can figure out what fits my regimen." Kat slid a little more towards her. "Heh, your hair smells like cashews."

"You smell like pizza grease."

Daria looked at her house, dark except for light in Quinn's room and one dim bulb on in the foyer. She had a odd feeling and was about to get out.

Kat leaned over and kissed her on the lips. The kiss was gentle, questioning and prying. A strong hand slinked behind her head and the other at her side pulled her closer to Kat.

Daria's mind both panicked and went blank. She opened her tight mouth and stuck out her tongue, a gesture immediately returned by Kat's warm tongue. The two wet members wiggled together for a few precious moments. Then she was aware of firmly pushing Kat away.

Kat instantly sprang back to the driver's side.

"Dammit," Kat exclaimed, fist pounding the hard old steering wheel. "Dammit, dammit, dammit."

"Stop, you'll hurt your bow hand," was the only thing Daria could say.

Kat turned worried, almost panicked eyes to Daria. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I always go too fast."

"Always?," Daria filed that away for future reference. Then she was not thinking much at all. She took full advantage of the bench's far-back position. She adroitly flipped herself ending up in the taller woman's lap, facing Kat. Daria's legs straddled her. She was aware of being parked on a suburban street, in front of her parent's house with her black skirt riding up but she didn't care. She dipped her head to meet Kat's lips. Neither young woman was wearing a bra and Daria rubbed her stiffening nipples against Kat's.

Kat's hands went to her sides then her back smoothing and caressing Daria. The two stole slow, then quick, then slow kisses. Kat stroked and traveled her hands lower and lower until she was smoothing down Daria's skirt then reaching under her skirt. Kat gave Daria's butt a couple tentative pats and then a big smack and squeeze.

"BLLLLAAARRRP," the old horn sounded as Daria jerked her rear against the steering wheel, not used to someone squeezing her ass. The car gave more loud bleats as the girls struggled in opposing movements but in the mutual goal of getting Daria off Kat's lap.

In classic teen movie fashion the Morgendorffer's bright outside lights came on. Daria finally got off Kat. "I better go in," she said.

It was hard for Kat and Daria to meet each other's eyes but Kat smiled ruefully and said, "I liked it too. That was nice. Too short and too public but really nice."

Daria said nothing, only got out of the big, old sedan and speed-walked to her front door. Kat sped off as soon as she got inside her house. Father Jake was there, a look of concern on his face and a classic martini no olives in hand.

"Are you okay, kiddo?" Jake asked his older daughter. Then he reached out and straightened out Daria's glasses, askew in her thick red hair. She blushed redder than her auburn hair.

"I'm fine, Dad. Thanks for staying up for me."

"Ahh, it's not that late, kiddo." Jake said. "Err...If you ever want to talk…we're here. Mom and me…either one or both. Maybe. Maybe Mom, but me too. Yeah, we're here."

Daria half-smiled, "I know Dad, not right now. Maybe soon though."

Jake looked a bit threatened then relieved and hopeful. "Sure honey, when you're ready."

"I'm a little tired, Dad. I think I'll go to bed."

Jake brightened, "That's my girl! Working hard."

Daria trudged upstairs and down the hall. By Quinn's room she heard suppressed wheezing noises then a snort and outburst of hysterical laughter. "Beep, beep….beeeeep," Quinn said. She was lying on the floor, kicking her legs with laughter. The red ribbon off a present from some worshipful boy was tangling up on her feet.

"Into your room this night I will creep and tie a bright, tight red bow around your neck," Daria predicted deadpan.

"Sorry….wheeze, sorry Daria," Quinn sat up and gasped for air and control. She held her sides. "But that was so funny….beep beep and then Daddy flicks on the lights."

Daria lay on her bed, boots off, and pondered the ceiling. She lit a candle which Quinn had said would purify and sharpen her thoughts. A few minutes later there came a light knock on the door. "Come in, Quinn," Daria called.

Quinn entered eyes red from laughter but composed and serious looking. "Daria, sis, can we talk?"

Daria thought she should send her packing but she allowed, "Yeah, Quinn. That might be good."

Quinn swung around Daria's desk chair and sat. She sighed then started, "I know it's really none of my business…"

"Then don't ask," Daria cut in from force of habit.

Quinn ignored that, "I need to know for your sake and…well…hers. Who is she, Daria? Is she anyone I know?"

Daria sat up. "It…we were that obvious? You saw all that? How?"

Quinn held up an odd looking pair of binoculars. "This was my present from Jaimie…or was it Joey…this morning. A weird present but night-vision goggles came in handy to spy on my sister and some chick making out in a car in front of the house. Sheesh, Daria, get a room or at least go to make-out point or something. These are pretty blurry. I couldn't tell who it was but I could see it was a girl."

Normally Daria did not care much what people thought of her, except for Jane and her parents, Quinn was slowly coming into that exclusive fold but this was too quick. Daria was a private person and at this point she did not know what to think of herself before she crafted what others should think of her.

"Does Dad know? Did he see?"

"He was in the kitchen fooling around with pasta while I was looking at you and lovergirl. He came to the front just a sec before you blew the horn with your butt." Quinn did not suppress her giggles. "He didn't see me spying and I snuck upstairs before you came in. I don't know what he knows or suspects. You know, Mom is a hard-charging lawyer and feelings don't mean too much in that. Dad, remember, is in marketing. It's not any simpler than law, maybe harder 'cause he has to be sensitive to all kinds of people's feelings and preferences and stuff like that. He might know a lot and just be waiting for you to be ready to talk to them."

Quinn, not for the first time, surprised Daria with her perceptiveness. The sisters were silent for a minute then Quinn spoke up, "But you haven't answered me. Is she anyone I know? Please, I need to know."

"No, you don't know her. I promise. I don't think she would care if I told you her name but I don't know so…"

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

"Okay, so then, who did you think she was, Quinn?"

"I can't tell you that," Quinn bit her lip.

"You little rat," Daria exclaimed. "But okay. I have too much to think about already. I don't want to know."

They were silent again until Daria announced, "Quinn, I'm sure those things are fun and all but if you spy on me again I will kick those goggles far, far up your nostrils; you'll be picking your nose for optics for years. Okay, now question time for snoopy, nosy Quinn. Tonight didn't seem to surprise you much. How long have you known…have you suspected…"

"That you're bisexual?" Quinn finished for her.

Daria blanched at the word. She would now have to start thinking of those terms about herself? She didn't much care what people did to or with each other as long as they left her alone but she had never given much thought to herself beyond always feeling that she was straight. Being possibly attracted to girls was at least complicating her life.

"God, Daria, you're so smart but you don't think other people are observant and can figure things out too? I've known something was...umm….different about you since the last year in Highland. But I was really young then and didn't know anything like that until I got to Lawndale and got corrupted by all the gross junk high school girls talk about. But really, do you remember when Brittany Taylor came to school without a bra and in that super-tight sweater? She was trying to make her 'Kevvy' jealous and, of course, it worked 'cause all the guys were gawking at her, the perverts. Anyway, I saw Mac looking at her and licking his lips! My God, boys are pigs. Anyway, I went to tell Sandi and Stacy and Tiffany about it and I turned a corner and there you were, Daria, you and Jane making snarky jokes but you were...you were licking your lips...just like Mac. I mean your eyes bugged out like that slut's nipples."

Quinn paused for a breath, fortunate as Daria was getting more uncomfortable. She was about to object or ask a question or something but Quinn went on. "Okay, exhibit two for Daria digs chicks: you don't like my Waif magazines, do you?"

"Of course not," she responded wondering where Quinn was going. "They're vapid and poorly written and worse they teach girls that image and fashion are the most important things in life and…"

Quinn held up a hand and cut her off, "I know, I know, and twice a year you pick up a certain month's issue for a very Daria-special reaming out. And do you know what's featured in those twice a year issues?"

Daria shook her head afraid now of where Quinn was going. "Waif does a swimsuit review twice a year. You spend a lot of time looking at those particular issues to get enough material to make fun of it and me," she concluded. "Why, I remember how you studied a spread of this blonde with almost no boobs in a tiny blue bikini like you had an algebra final."

Daria buried her head in a pillow. "Oh God, I'm such an idiot."

"Let's talk about boys now," Quinn said relentlessly.

"I know, I know, Tom Sloane," Daria tried to make this quick.

"Forget Mr. Tom Sloane," Quinn waved her hand dismissively. She leaned closer. "I know you 'borrow' and 'use' my old Playgirls."

"Eep,"Daria responded as she added another pillow over her head.

"Need I go on? I can if you like."

"No, no, stop. I get the picture or pictures. But why didn't you ever call me on the Playgirls? You scream bloody red rum red rum if I use any of your stuff without asking."

"Well," Quinn said sheepishly, looking down and twisting one toe on the carpet. "I'm not proud of the fact myself that I like to look at big...men."

There did not seem much to say after that and the sisters just looked at each other. Quinn finally couldn't take Daria's expression of misery. She sat on the bed and pulled her older sister close. The taller Quinn put her fiery-red tressed head on her sister's auburn.

Quinn softly rocked them both, "It's okay. It's okay, Daria. I love you so much. Mom and Dad love you. You'll figure this out. Just be careful. A lot of bad people out there, boys and girls."

She fell silent but then asked, "Still, I have to ask you, sis. You never really cared what people thought of you and stuff and you never cared if someone was gay or straight or whatever. Why are you so upset when it's you?"

Daria buried her face deeper in her sister's shoulder. She came out for air and answered, "I honestly don't know. I guess it was never me before. I always thought of myself as straight...if I thought much of it at all. Maybe I'm a closet homophobe. And I always thought even if I could not control other people I could control and know myself perfectly. Now you show me I can't even read myself and I'm just an open book to you."

"Like the great Scottish poet Billy Burns said, 'O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us To see oursels as ithers see us!'" Quinn quoted in a credible Scottish accent.

"That's 'Robbie Burns', lame-o, but very good, Quinn."

Daria lifted her head. "You mentioned this one blonde model. Do you still have that issue? Could you find it?"

"Why sure, I keep all my Waifs. We could get another issue and hang framed pictures of Little Miss No-boobs up on your padded walls, big improvement. Or do you need to 'use' that issue to help you fall asleep?"

"I hates you. Hates you forever. No, no, I just have a funny feeling."

"Can I use your computer?" Quinn asked. "I'll check my Waif issue and article index."

"You index your magazines?"

"Sure, don't you? I just need to consult my cloud-account," Quinn said turning to Daria's computer. After a few keystrokes she announced, "Okay, got it. Back in a sec." She went to her room from which Daria heard fossicking noises. She returned with the glossy magazine opened to a photo-shoot of a blonde girl in a skimpy blue bikini.

Daria took the mag and sat up straighter. It was unmistakable, the girl in the picture looked several years younger than Quinn even, but she was plainly looking at Ekaterina Timofeyeva. She frowned as she checked the issue date. It had been published only about eight months prior.

She turned a page and her heart was pierced. Teen Kat was in a pink high-cut one-piece now and holding a bow like Daria's. Kat's right hand was on an arrow, ready to draw from the hip quiver belted at her side. The whole effect with the swimsuit and Kat standing on a sandy beach looking out to sea was incongruous almost to absurdity, but it was clear the model knew what to do with a bow and arrow.

Quinn was studying Daria and the model as a light-bulb flashed over her head. "Oh my God. It's her. It's her, isn't it? Your lovergirl!"

"Yeah, yeah, it's her," Daria admitted. "But the dates don't make any sense. Kat's got to be at least twenty-one."

"Oh, don't look at the dates too much," Quinn said authoritatively. She took the slick mag. "These shots can lay around for years in some photographer's files until Waif or some other mag buys them. Let's see." Flip, flip. "It credits the model as 'Kay Timmers'. Probably just a modeling name. Is that the name of lovergirl?"

"Stop calling her that!" Daria insisted. "I might as well tell you now. Her name is Ekaterina Timofeyeva and she's an archer too, a very good one. I met her at the range."

Quinn repeated the name appreciatively, pronouncing it perfectly. She cast a critical, professional eye at the layout. "You have really good taste, sis. She's one of their better models. So many of these models look sleepy or drugged or something. Sandi's mom says it's so they don't look like a threat or something to the girls who buy these magazines. Dad says it's also so 'ordinary' girls can better imagine themselves in the clothes. But your Kat looks so active and happy. Those eyes!"

"Yeah, 'good taste', 'my Kat'," Daria sighed and yawned. "God, I've had enough, too much for one night. I need to crash."

"Sure, basta. Good night, sis."

She was almost out the door when Daria asked, "Quinn, could you sleep here tonight?"

Quinn shot her an evil smirk, "Yeah, as long as you promise not to ogle my buns."

For a response Quinn got a pillow in her face. "Eep," she yelled using the pillow in counter-attack.

Jake Morgendorffer paused at the bottom of the stairs. He tuned his ears to the squeals and thumps coming from the second floor. Soon a smile played across his lips. Not long past, the sounds would have been of rage and he would have had to try to stop his battling daughters, or better have Helen make peace. Now Jake raised his eyes and martini glass skyward and mouthed a silent, heart-felt "Thank you." before starting up the steps.

She awoke before Quinn in the morning. She snickered as Quinn smacked her lips and snorted gently in her sleep. She padded out of her room and saw that it was much later than she thought, almost eleven. Scooping nuts all afternoon, strange events of the night, a heart-to-heart with Quinn and then a pillow-fight made for another deep sleep. Jake and Helen had left for the day. Daria was looking forward to the day with no shift at the mall to go to. The morning was shot but she had the rest of the day to read and work on her stories and essays.

She heard the mail drop through the slot. She went to retrieve it scratching her butt through her baggy boy-shorts. "Where Kat smacked me," she thought weirdly and guiltily and with a shiver of pleasure.

As expected the mail consisted of bills, junk circulars and the usual catalogs for Quinn. She got to the last envelope, an elegant one like a wedding invitation. "Jason Koenig," she read the return address and indeed it was addressed to her.

She inelegantly opened the squarish envelope and extracted a heavy card with an embossed Chez Pierre logo in their cheesy swirly script and curlicues. With some fanfare the card informed her that one Jason Koenig had reserved a table for the two of them at 7:30 that Friday evening. It requested her to call their number to confirm.

Quinn came down the stars, yawning. "Buon giorno, mia sorella...HEY!"

She lunged at the letter, "Daria! Just because I spied on you gives no right to open my mail."

"Back off, Quinn. This is my letter." Daria held the card above her head, a likely futile tactic as Quinn was at least two inches taller.

"But that's a Chez Pierre invitation card….oh!" Quinn smiled and stood down. "Wow, lovergirl, I mean Kat, sorry, has good taste too. Oh, Daria, Chez Pierre, so romantic. You'll have to find out what dress she's wearing so you two don't clash. Of course," Quinn put her finger on her cheek in thought. "you'll be the one in the dress and she'll have a tasteful pants-suit on but you still should coordinate."

"Quinn, I have no idea what you're talking about but it's not from Kat. It's from Jason, another archer I met at the range."

"Another archer? I didn't think it was such a hot pickup spot. Hmm, I might have to reconsider and take up the sport. Your bow would go great with my eyes."

"Yep, it's a regular orgyrama in the butts," Daria said drily. Quinn snickered at the funny archery term.

"Well, I can't go anyway," Daria said. "I have to close Nutty Nuts."

"Oh Daria, no, you have to go," Quinn was bouncing from foot to foot with anxiety. "You can trade shifts with somebody: Jodie or Brooke or didn't you say Burnout Girl owes you for when you did double shifts when her mom was sick?"

"Don't call her that. Jenn Penner is not a burnout. And she doesn't owe me anything if she needed help when her mom was recovering. But you're right, I guess I could ask around." Quinn insisted on Daria calling then and there and in the end it was Jenn Penner who switched.

"Wow, I have a busy weekend," Daria mused. "Jason: Friday night over-priced French restaurant; Trent: Saturday night Fellini fest, and Sunday archery with Kat."

"Trent? Another date? Not THE Trent? No? Don't tell me…another archer?!"

Daria nodded gravely as Quinn could only stand there gobsmacked.