Part Six
"So, will you sit for those other two paintings?"
Daria meditatively chewed a mushroom longer than necessary. She wiped her fingers and mouth on a napkin in a thoughtful manner, then looked up at Jane. "You say you'll split the sale price fifty-fifty?"
"Yes."
"No."
"No?" Jane was surprised. "How much, then?"
"Well, how about fifty bucks apiece?"
Jane let out a breath and smiled. "Daria, that's really good of you, but one or both of those other paintings might well take me a lot longer to complete. It's not like I've been cranking them out for years. You might wind up posing for minimum wage or below. Take forty per cent."
"I couldn't do that. You're the one with all the talent. You're the one doing the work. I usually lie around reading for free. I might take a tenth, but I'd feel guilty."
Jane smiled around a bite of pizza, thinking how lucky she was to have a friend like Daria. "Daria, I don't have much experience with models, mostly at that art colony last summer, but I've heard stuff and read stuff. You're a treasure as a model. You hold a pose like a rock, even when you're talking, and even long poses. That's rare. Not to mention that you've got a physique a lot of pro models would kill for. At least take three eighths."
Daria colored slightly. "Yeah, not to mention... please. Even if that's true, I'm still just lying there. And you're the one who needs to raise the money. If I took a quarter, would you let me eat my pizza?"
"Daria, learn from my situation. You never know when the money you were counting on will suddenly vanish, unless it's in your very own bank account. And I'd never have sold that painting and landed those commissions without you. At least take a third."
Daria smirked wryly and shook her head. "You never were that good with fractions in math class. Well, I intend to take as little money from my parents as possible, because I have a feeling Quinn is going to need all the help she can get. All right, Lane, you twisted my arm. I'll take a third. Now stuff some pizza in your piehole or I might stuff something else in there." Jane grinned happily at her friend around her slice of pizza.
~*~
A few minutes later, a couple of boys came in. One was Corey somebody, whom Quinn had briefly dated in her freshman year, the other Daria didn't know, except that he was in the same year. They got a drink and a slice each, and took a seat at one of the round tables near Daria and Jane's traditional booth.
Corey was saying, "And you thought this trip would be a total waste. " he laughed his squeaky porpoise-like laugh. "'A nude painting of Daria Morgendorffer- who in their right mind would believe that?' you said. I told ya it'd be worth checking out, though, didn't I?"
The other boy, who had a nose ring that seemed to accent his dimwitted expression, replied, "Yeah, you told me. And you were right for once. But she's about the last chick on earth I'd expect to do something like that. What do you suppose it means?"
"It means she's ready for it, dude! She wants it! She's tired of being an old maid. She wants some guy to make her a woman!"
Back at their booth, Daria's expression didn't change noticeably, but Jane could see storm clouds moving in. Silence descended on the former fashion club's table, as Quinn and her friends watched and listened intently.
"Ya think? Just any guy, I wonder, or a certain kind of guy?"
"Well, I'd say that when a chick advertises like that, she's willing to take on all comers!" Cory replied, in that squeaky voice that made people wonder if her was related to Brittany Taylor.
"Hey. Look over there in that booth... that's her!"
"And that weird art chick is with her- I bet she's the one who painted it."
"Aww, jeez, you think they're lez?"
"Naah, they both date boys. Watch this, Don. I'm gonna be the answer to her maiden's prayer!" Cory turned in his chair toward Daria and Jane's booth, and in a voice reminiscent of a dolphin in great pain, called out, "Hey, sweet thing, haven't I seen you somewhere before?"
Daria looked at him like she'd just stepped in something. "Yeah, you have. That's why I stopped going there," she riposted, drawing a smirk from Jane.
"Hey, honey! Just being friendly! What's your sign?" he persisted.
"Keep off. Trespassers will be shot." Daria fired back.
Stacy was smiling and scribbling rapidly in her notebook.
Don decided to take his shot. "Hey, beautiful, your place or mine?"
"Both. You go to your place, and I'll go to mine."
"Come on with me, sweet cheeks, and I'll make your fondest dream come true!"
Daria's expression hardened. "You're going to burst into flames? You can do that right here."
Seeing his wingman shot down even worse than he'd been, Cory felt emboldened to try one more time. "Ha, ha, that's funny, but you know you want it. I've got just what you need. Come on over, Darla, and park that fine fanny on my nice warm lap!
Daria stared unbelieving at the two boys. Could they really be that dense? Or had they just decided that, if they weren't gonna get any, they'd be as annoying as possible? Well, perhaps she could put it a little more clearly. She rose and headed toward the boys' table, her hips swaying slightly, as Jane's eyes got big and round. So did several sets of eyes at the FFC table. "Oh, Corey, is your lap... really warm?" Daria asked breathily, batting her eyes.
There was a sheen of sweat on Corey's pimply face, and a bulge- a small one- in his shorts. "Oh, yeah, babe, it's hot... for you!"
In the same breathy, sexy voice, Daria cooed, "Oh, poor baby. Let me make it better." And she deftly poured Cory's full-to the top, icy cold soft drink into his lap.
Quinn and Stacy clapped their hands at this, Stacy adding a "Way to go!"
Sandi shot Stacy her patented bitchy look. "Well, gee, Stacy, why don't we just vote ourselves the Daria Morgendorffer Fan Club?"
But Stacy wasn't playing by the old rules anymore. "What a great idea, Sandi! All in favor say aye!" she smirked as she stuck her hand up.
"Aye!" crowed Quinn and Tiffany as they waved their hands in the air and grinned at a scowling Sandi.
Corey jumped up and brushed away as much of the cold, sticky liquid as he could. "Jeez, Darla, why'd you do that?"
"Why? Why are you two talking about me like I'm a bitch in heat, loud enough for everyone in the place to hear you? Believe it or not, Corey, not everything a girl does is a secret signal to guys that she wants it. My reasons for modeling for that painting had nothing to do with sex."
"But... you posed nekkid! What else could it mean?" Cory whined, his face a mask of cluelessness.
Daria looked at Corey and shook her head. His intelligence dropped several notches in her estimation. "I did it for two reasons. The first was to help my friend. The second... well, you probably don't want to hear the second reason."
"Yeah, we do!" Don exclaimed. Cory added, "Yeah, really, tell us, Darla!"
Daria looked from one to the other, came to a decision, and sat down at the table, causing several sets of wide eyes to get even wider. "I did it as sort of a memorial to my youth, to remind my future self that once I was young and healthy and not too bad looking and everything worked," she told the two.
"Huh? I don't get it." Cory squeaked quizzically.
"You will one day, sooner than you think. It creeps up on you. You don't even notice at first. There are these minor aches and pains, trivial, really, until you notice that they aren't going away any more. Some joint or other starts making noises like Rice Cracklies. You have to hold the TV listings farther and farther away to read it, until your arms are too short and you have to go and get glasses.
"Pretty soon, you start losing parts. Maybe it starts with your teeth. The dentist tells you that one in back that's always bothering you can't take any more fillings. He has to grind it down to a stump and put on a crown. That's expensive. Maybe you hurt your back, or your knee, or some other joint. They operate and fix it, and it's better, but it's never as good as before, and it'll hurt for the rest of your life. Maybe you get a hangnail, and maybe it gets infected. They have to surgically remove your toenail. It'll try to grow back, but it'll be all deformed, guaranteeing you a lifetime of pain and aggravation. And, of course, you'll start to go bald, your hearing will start to fail, and you'll get fat. One morning you'll wake up and ask yourself how many years it's been since you woke up with a hard on, and you won't be able to remember."
"Aww, that stuff isn't going to happen to me. I take care of myself," Corey boasted in his annoying squeaky voice.
"Do you know what DHEA is? Deprenyl Citrate? Melatonin? Methyl Sulfonyl Methane?"
"Uh, no."
"Then you aren't taking care of yourself. And even if you were, it only delays the inevitable. Your body is programmed to run down and die, Corey. It's in your DNA. Every strand of it has a timer built in. When the timer counts down to zero, that cell stops reproducing itself and dies, even if there's nothing wrong with it. That's what makes really old people get smaller and smaller before they die. How old are you, Cory?"
"Seventeen."
"Well, before you hit twenty-seven, you'll know it's true. When you get to thirty, you'll be going downhill. When you hit the big four-oh, it'll be so obvious, you won't be able to deny it, even to yourself. Ask any old person. They'll tell you. The rest of your life, you'll be watching yourself die, feeling yourself die, bit by bit, piece by piece. The aches will turn to pains, the pains will get worse, and there'll always be new aches starting up. And I won't even try to describe what will happen to your digestive system. Just listen to the noises old people make sometime. Steal a year for yourself sometime soon, Corey, and take a little bit of early retirement, because by the time you hit retirement age, you'll be too old and feeble and decrepit to have any fun. You'll just nap all day in your old grubby easy chair in front of your old dim TV set and wait to die."
"That is the true nature of life, Corey. When you're a child, it seems you're never going to grow up. Then one day you're grown, and you immediately start to die. Before you figure out what you want to do with your life, the best part of it is already gone. That's why I let Jane paint that picture of me, so that when I'm old and feeble and wrinkled and my mind is starting to go, I can look at it, and it will help me remember that once I was young, and once life was sweet, and once it didn't hurt to move, or breathe. Go get yourself a picture made, Corey, while you still have all your hair and teeth, before you get too fat. Take your friend there with you. And be sure to make it a big picture, because your eyes are the first to go." Daria got up and went back to her booth. Corey and Don stared after her, thunderstruck, and then stared at each other, wondering why their vision was so blurry all of a sudden.
~*~
Quinn and her friends watched as Corey and Don stumbled out, tears streaming down their faces. "Gee, Quinn, I've turned lots of guys down and they never burst into tears over it," Sandi remarked, puzzled. "What did she do to them?"
Quinn was watching through the window as Corey fumbled vainly with his keys. "Damn, she must have told their future. That's brutal." She turned back to her friends. "Daria has some sort of strange power, Sandi. She can talk to people and mess their heads up, make them do stuff. Sometimes all she has to do is look at them."
"Oh, pish. That's ridiculous."
"But Sandi, remember when you were going to talk to her about Quinn wearing all black?" Stacy said. "You walked up to her, and she just looked at you, and you made a few funny noises, and then you just turned around and walked away."
Sandi cringed inwardly at the memory of Daria's deep green eyes, eyes that seemed to look right through her eyes and into her brain. She was trying to think of a rebuttal or an excuse, when Tiffany spoke.
"Yeaahhh, annd remember Binng and the Spattula Mannn? They took offf liike scalded do-oggs."
Jane slowed on her way to the door and listened.
"And you saw what happened to Kevin tonight," Quinn added.
"Oh, come on, you guys, you sound like you think she has a mental death ray or something." Sandi shot back scornfully.
An evil smirk flitted across Jane's features, and was gone. She laid a hand on Sandi's shoulder and leaned closer to their table. "Actually, that's a good working assumption when dealing with Daria. Remember Tommy Sherman? He insulted her. He called her a 'Misery Chick.'" Her voice took on an ominous tone, her eyes flicked from one former fashion clubber to another. "Those were the last words he ever spoke. Twenty seconds later, he was dead." And, with a meaningful look to the girls at the table, she departed.
~*~ Daria silently drove homeward. Jane turned to her and said, "That was beautiful to see. You even had me thinking you were gonna sit in that creep's lap, right up until you cooled him."
"Maggot." Daria muttered under her breath. "He's lucky I didn't stomp him into roadkill. I was about to, but I remembered you didn't have your camera."
Jane looked over at her friend's face. "You're having regrets, aren't you? You're wishing you hadn't done it."
After another short silence, Daria murmured, "Yeah."
Jane gazed at her friend with real regret. "Sorry, kid. I should have insisted you think about it more. Is there anything I can do?"
Daria pulled into the Lane driveway and stopped. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and turned to face her friend. "Jane, you wouldn't believe how much I thought about it before I decided to do it. I knew there'd be times like this, when I'd feel like I'd given up something I could never get back, when I'd wish I hadn't done it, when I'd feel like the whole world was seeing me naked no matter how much clothing I wore. I figured on all that, and I decided to do it anyway. You have nothing to blame yourself for. But there is something you can do that will keep me from feeling this way."
"Anything, Daria. Name it."
"You can kick butt at BFAC. You can learn everything they have to teach you. And when you graduate, you can become a successful artist. You can have a good life, doing what you always wanted to do and making lots of money at it. Then, if I ever get to feeling like this, I can just think of you, and I'll know that I did the right thing, and it won't bother me."
An affectionate smile lit up Jane's face, and her eyes began to get misty. "Damn, Daria, you don't want much, do you? Do you have any idea what the odds are? How few artists really make it big?"
"Yes, Jane, I do. It's the same as the percentage of writers who really make it big, and it's pretty small. That's why I want your word that you'll do it. Don't be like your flaky parents, or like your goofoff brother, no matter how much you love him. Promise me that you'll make it, and have a full, rich, happy life, and you will. Because I'll hound you unmercifully till you do."
"You will, won't you? All right, amiga, I promise you I'll be successful, and have a great life... if you'll promise me the same."
Daria smiled. "All right, Jane, I promise." And there in the night, in Daria's little car, they shook on it and sealed the deal.
"So, will you sit for those other two paintings?"
Daria meditatively chewed a mushroom longer than necessary. She wiped her fingers and mouth on a napkin in a thoughtful manner, then looked up at Jane. "You say you'll split the sale price fifty-fifty?"
"Yes."
"No."
"No?" Jane was surprised. "How much, then?"
"Well, how about fifty bucks apiece?"
Jane let out a breath and smiled. "Daria, that's really good of you, but one or both of those other paintings might well take me a lot longer to complete. It's not like I've been cranking them out for years. You might wind up posing for minimum wage or below. Take forty per cent."
"I couldn't do that. You're the one with all the talent. You're the one doing the work. I usually lie around reading for free. I might take a tenth, but I'd feel guilty."
Jane smiled around a bite of pizza, thinking how lucky she was to have a friend like Daria. "Daria, I don't have much experience with models, mostly at that art colony last summer, but I've heard stuff and read stuff. You're a treasure as a model. You hold a pose like a rock, even when you're talking, and even long poses. That's rare. Not to mention that you've got a physique a lot of pro models would kill for. At least take three eighths."
Daria colored slightly. "Yeah, not to mention... please. Even if that's true, I'm still just lying there. And you're the one who needs to raise the money. If I took a quarter, would you let me eat my pizza?"
"Daria, learn from my situation. You never know when the money you were counting on will suddenly vanish, unless it's in your very own bank account. And I'd never have sold that painting and landed those commissions without you. At least take a third."
Daria smirked wryly and shook her head. "You never were that good with fractions in math class. Well, I intend to take as little money from my parents as possible, because I have a feeling Quinn is going to need all the help she can get. All right, Lane, you twisted my arm. I'll take a third. Now stuff some pizza in your piehole or I might stuff something else in there." Jane grinned happily at her friend around her slice of pizza.
~*~
A few minutes later, a couple of boys came in. One was Corey somebody, whom Quinn had briefly dated in her freshman year, the other Daria didn't know, except that he was in the same year. They got a drink and a slice each, and took a seat at one of the round tables near Daria and Jane's traditional booth.
Corey was saying, "And you thought this trip would be a total waste. " he laughed his squeaky porpoise-like laugh. "'A nude painting of Daria Morgendorffer- who in their right mind would believe that?' you said. I told ya it'd be worth checking out, though, didn't I?"
The other boy, who had a nose ring that seemed to accent his dimwitted expression, replied, "Yeah, you told me. And you were right for once. But she's about the last chick on earth I'd expect to do something like that. What do you suppose it means?"
"It means she's ready for it, dude! She wants it! She's tired of being an old maid. She wants some guy to make her a woman!"
Back at their booth, Daria's expression didn't change noticeably, but Jane could see storm clouds moving in. Silence descended on the former fashion club's table, as Quinn and her friends watched and listened intently.
"Ya think? Just any guy, I wonder, or a certain kind of guy?"
"Well, I'd say that when a chick advertises like that, she's willing to take on all comers!" Cory replied, in that squeaky voice that made people wonder if her was related to Brittany Taylor.
"Hey. Look over there in that booth... that's her!"
"And that weird art chick is with her- I bet she's the one who painted it."
"Aww, jeez, you think they're lez?"
"Naah, they both date boys. Watch this, Don. I'm gonna be the answer to her maiden's prayer!" Cory turned in his chair toward Daria and Jane's booth, and in a voice reminiscent of a dolphin in great pain, called out, "Hey, sweet thing, haven't I seen you somewhere before?"
Daria looked at him like she'd just stepped in something. "Yeah, you have. That's why I stopped going there," she riposted, drawing a smirk from Jane.
"Hey, honey! Just being friendly! What's your sign?" he persisted.
"Keep off. Trespassers will be shot." Daria fired back.
Stacy was smiling and scribbling rapidly in her notebook.
Don decided to take his shot. "Hey, beautiful, your place or mine?"
"Both. You go to your place, and I'll go to mine."
"Come on with me, sweet cheeks, and I'll make your fondest dream come true!"
Daria's expression hardened. "You're going to burst into flames? You can do that right here."
Seeing his wingman shot down even worse than he'd been, Cory felt emboldened to try one more time. "Ha, ha, that's funny, but you know you want it. I've got just what you need. Come on over, Darla, and park that fine fanny on my nice warm lap!
Daria stared unbelieving at the two boys. Could they really be that dense? Or had they just decided that, if they weren't gonna get any, they'd be as annoying as possible? Well, perhaps she could put it a little more clearly. She rose and headed toward the boys' table, her hips swaying slightly, as Jane's eyes got big and round. So did several sets of eyes at the FFC table. "Oh, Corey, is your lap... really warm?" Daria asked breathily, batting her eyes.
There was a sheen of sweat on Corey's pimply face, and a bulge- a small one- in his shorts. "Oh, yeah, babe, it's hot... for you!"
In the same breathy, sexy voice, Daria cooed, "Oh, poor baby. Let me make it better." And she deftly poured Cory's full-to the top, icy cold soft drink into his lap.
Quinn and Stacy clapped their hands at this, Stacy adding a "Way to go!"
Sandi shot Stacy her patented bitchy look. "Well, gee, Stacy, why don't we just vote ourselves the Daria Morgendorffer Fan Club?"
But Stacy wasn't playing by the old rules anymore. "What a great idea, Sandi! All in favor say aye!" she smirked as she stuck her hand up.
"Aye!" crowed Quinn and Tiffany as they waved their hands in the air and grinned at a scowling Sandi.
Corey jumped up and brushed away as much of the cold, sticky liquid as he could. "Jeez, Darla, why'd you do that?"
"Why? Why are you two talking about me like I'm a bitch in heat, loud enough for everyone in the place to hear you? Believe it or not, Corey, not everything a girl does is a secret signal to guys that she wants it. My reasons for modeling for that painting had nothing to do with sex."
"But... you posed nekkid! What else could it mean?" Cory whined, his face a mask of cluelessness.
Daria looked at Corey and shook her head. His intelligence dropped several notches in her estimation. "I did it for two reasons. The first was to help my friend. The second... well, you probably don't want to hear the second reason."
"Yeah, we do!" Don exclaimed. Cory added, "Yeah, really, tell us, Darla!"
Daria looked from one to the other, came to a decision, and sat down at the table, causing several sets of wide eyes to get even wider. "I did it as sort of a memorial to my youth, to remind my future self that once I was young and healthy and not too bad looking and everything worked," she told the two.
"Huh? I don't get it." Cory squeaked quizzically.
"You will one day, sooner than you think. It creeps up on you. You don't even notice at first. There are these minor aches and pains, trivial, really, until you notice that they aren't going away any more. Some joint or other starts making noises like Rice Cracklies. You have to hold the TV listings farther and farther away to read it, until your arms are too short and you have to go and get glasses.
"Pretty soon, you start losing parts. Maybe it starts with your teeth. The dentist tells you that one in back that's always bothering you can't take any more fillings. He has to grind it down to a stump and put on a crown. That's expensive. Maybe you hurt your back, or your knee, or some other joint. They operate and fix it, and it's better, but it's never as good as before, and it'll hurt for the rest of your life. Maybe you get a hangnail, and maybe it gets infected. They have to surgically remove your toenail. It'll try to grow back, but it'll be all deformed, guaranteeing you a lifetime of pain and aggravation. And, of course, you'll start to go bald, your hearing will start to fail, and you'll get fat. One morning you'll wake up and ask yourself how many years it's been since you woke up with a hard on, and you won't be able to remember."
"Aww, that stuff isn't going to happen to me. I take care of myself," Corey boasted in his annoying squeaky voice.
"Do you know what DHEA is? Deprenyl Citrate? Melatonin? Methyl Sulfonyl Methane?"
"Uh, no."
"Then you aren't taking care of yourself. And even if you were, it only delays the inevitable. Your body is programmed to run down and die, Corey. It's in your DNA. Every strand of it has a timer built in. When the timer counts down to zero, that cell stops reproducing itself and dies, even if there's nothing wrong with it. That's what makes really old people get smaller and smaller before they die. How old are you, Cory?"
"Seventeen."
"Well, before you hit twenty-seven, you'll know it's true. When you get to thirty, you'll be going downhill. When you hit the big four-oh, it'll be so obvious, you won't be able to deny it, even to yourself. Ask any old person. They'll tell you. The rest of your life, you'll be watching yourself die, feeling yourself die, bit by bit, piece by piece. The aches will turn to pains, the pains will get worse, and there'll always be new aches starting up. And I won't even try to describe what will happen to your digestive system. Just listen to the noises old people make sometime. Steal a year for yourself sometime soon, Corey, and take a little bit of early retirement, because by the time you hit retirement age, you'll be too old and feeble and decrepit to have any fun. You'll just nap all day in your old grubby easy chair in front of your old dim TV set and wait to die."
"That is the true nature of life, Corey. When you're a child, it seems you're never going to grow up. Then one day you're grown, and you immediately start to die. Before you figure out what you want to do with your life, the best part of it is already gone. That's why I let Jane paint that picture of me, so that when I'm old and feeble and wrinkled and my mind is starting to go, I can look at it, and it will help me remember that once I was young, and once life was sweet, and once it didn't hurt to move, or breathe. Go get yourself a picture made, Corey, while you still have all your hair and teeth, before you get too fat. Take your friend there with you. And be sure to make it a big picture, because your eyes are the first to go." Daria got up and went back to her booth. Corey and Don stared after her, thunderstruck, and then stared at each other, wondering why their vision was so blurry all of a sudden.
~*~
Quinn and her friends watched as Corey and Don stumbled out, tears streaming down their faces. "Gee, Quinn, I've turned lots of guys down and they never burst into tears over it," Sandi remarked, puzzled. "What did she do to them?"
Quinn was watching through the window as Corey fumbled vainly with his keys. "Damn, she must have told their future. That's brutal." She turned back to her friends. "Daria has some sort of strange power, Sandi. She can talk to people and mess their heads up, make them do stuff. Sometimes all she has to do is look at them."
"Oh, pish. That's ridiculous."
"But Sandi, remember when you were going to talk to her about Quinn wearing all black?" Stacy said. "You walked up to her, and she just looked at you, and you made a few funny noises, and then you just turned around and walked away."
Sandi cringed inwardly at the memory of Daria's deep green eyes, eyes that seemed to look right through her eyes and into her brain. She was trying to think of a rebuttal or an excuse, when Tiffany spoke.
"Yeaahhh, annd remember Binng and the Spattula Mannn? They took offf liike scalded do-oggs."
Jane slowed on her way to the door and listened.
"And you saw what happened to Kevin tonight," Quinn added.
"Oh, come on, you guys, you sound like you think she has a mental death ray or something." Sandi shot back scornfully.
An evil smirk flitted across Jane's features, and was gone. She laid a hand on Sandi's shoulder and leaned closer to their table. "Actually, that's a good working assumption when dealing with Daria. Remember Tommy Sherman? He insulted her. He called her a 'Misery Chick.'" Her voice took on an ominous tone, her eyes flicked from one former fashion clubber to another. "Those were the last words he ever spoke. Twenty seconds later, he was dead." And, with a meaningful look to the girls at the table, she departed.
~*~ Daria silently drove homeward. Jane turned to her and said, "That was beautiful to see. You even had me thinking you were gonna sit in that creep's lap, right up until you cooled him."
"Maggot." Daria muttered under her breath. "He's lucky I didn't stomp him into roadkill. I was about to, but I remembered you didn't have your camera."
Jane looked over at her friend's face. "You're having regrets, aren't you? You're wishing you hadn't done it."
After another short silence, Daria murmured, "Yeah."
Jane gazed at her friend with real regret. "Sorry, kid. I should have insisted you think about it more. Is there anything I can do?"
Daria pulled into the Lane driveway and stopped. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and turned to face her friend. "Jane, you wouldn't believe how much I thought about it before I decided to do it. I knew there'd be times like this, when I'd feel like I'd given up something I could never get back, when I'd wish I hadn't done it, when I'd feel like the whole world was seeing me naked no matter how much clothing I wore. I figured on all that, and I decided to do it anyway. You have nothing to blame yourself for. But there is something you can do that will keep me from feeling this way."
"Anything, Daria. Name it."
"You can kick butt at BFAC. You can learn everything they have to teach you. And when you graduate, you can become a successful artist. You can have a good life, doing what you always wanted to do and making lots of money at it. Then, if I ever get to feeling like this, I can just think of you, and I'll know that I did the right thing, and it won't bother me."
An affectionate smile lit up Jane's face, and her eyes began to get misty. "Damn, Daria, you don't want much, do you? Do you have any idea what the odds are? How few artists really make it big?"
"Yes, Jane, I do. It's the same as the percentage of writers who really make it big, and it's pretty small. That's why I want your word that you'll do it. Don't be like your flaky parents, or like your goofoff brother, no matter how much you love him. Promise me that you'll make it, and have a full, rich, happy life, and you will. Because I'll hound you unmercifully till you do."
"You will, won't you? All right, amiga, I promise you I'll be successful, and have a great life... if you'll promise me the same."
Daria smiled. "All right, Jane, I promise." And there in the night, in Daria's little car, they shook on it and sealed the deal.