CHAPTER IXX

"So how's the writing coming along?" Jane asked Daria, who was visiting and typing away on Jane's used electric typewriter.

"Pretty good," answered Daria, "except for these damn typos. Jane, when are you going to get your computer fixed? I'm running out of Wite-Out."

"When my artwork draws the attention of a world famous gallery, rewarding me the millions of dollars of compensation my talent so clearly deserves," she replied, squinting at her glue gun in frustration as the glue oozed into a string when she pulled the device away from her piece. "Until then, maybe you should go back to typing class. I hear JumpStart Typing is loads of fun."

"Thanks for the tip, but I would rather have my hands glued to this humming keyboard."

"But then you wouldn't be able to get your paws off it," said Jane, "and those are already all over my brother."

"What?" said Daria, turning her head so suddenly her neck cracked. She sighed slightly and rubbed her neck. She was completely out of the headspace needed for her story now.

"Daria, I gave you and Trent my blessing long ago. Just don't make me have to see it. All the way at the other side of the house. Way back in his room. With the door closed. And Trent's usual loud music playing. Really, Daria, I would have thought somebody like you would know to be discreet." Jane chuckled.

"Discreet about what? He was showing me a CD before going back to work."

"And?" said Jane.

"And nothing? Then he said goodbye." And kissed her on the cheek.

"Whatever you say, Morgendorffer…"

"Jane, come on," Daria said, turning around fully to face her best friend, "nothing happened. Trent said goodbye, you found me looking at his CDs, and then we came to your room to work on our projects, like we planned."

"So… that's really it?" asked Jane, dejected.

"That's it," Daria replied. "Why are you disappointed? Did you want something to happen?"

Jane's eyes shifted. "I don't know how to answer that."

"Then don't," said Daria, hoping the flush in her cheeks didn't show. "Look, I came here to see you. Catching Trent before he left was just a coincidence. Besides," she continued, turning back to the typewriter, "even if more did happen, it would be too weird to say. You are his sister, after all. I don't want to put you into the middle of anything potentially weird and awkward."

"What's so weird and awkward about it?" asked Jane, standing up. Her arms crossed. "I'm your best friend. If you can't talk to me, who can you talk to?"

Daria stopped typing and looked up at the blank wall in front of her. She flashbacked to Quinn's various ambushes over the past few days. "Point taken," she said, looking back down at the typewriter. The once soothing humming of the electric typewriter seemed louder than ever. Daria made a face when she found another typo. "But… I don't know," she said, reaching for the Wite-Out once more. "It's a little weird, isn't it?"

"It is," replied Jane, relaxing her stance, "but we'll get over it. Daria, I want you to be able to talk to me about my brother-if you want to.-Sure, Trent has me, if he ever decides to grunt and slur more than a few words at a time between naps, but he also has his music and the band when he needs his guy time. I want you to feel like you have more than just your writing to rely on when you have something to say-about anything, including this."

Daria rolled another sheet of paper through the platen. "I know I have you," she said. Daria turned again to face her friend. "But, um, it is okay if it's still a little weird for me? It's all too new right now."

"Yeah, I get it," said Jane with a side smile. She stooped back to work on her art project, while Daria focused again on her writing. "But I still think more went on in that room before I got there," she teased. "The sheets were a wrinkled mess."

"Jane, tell me honestly," said Daria, typing away, "when was the last time you saw the floor of Trent's room?"

"Back when Trent first moved into that room and redecorated." Jane looked up from her piece in a trance. "It's been eighty-four years," she said, "and I can still smell the fresh paint. The stereo had never been used. The sheets had never been slept in. Trent's room was called 'The Thing of Dreams,' and it was. It really was."

Daria turned and stared. "You've been exposed to Quinn and her cronies too much. I think it's time for your annual vaccination, Fido."

"Woof."