[Author]: Betting on Delusions

[Info]: I whipped this up as a response to Roger E. Moore's PPMB "Iron Chef: Lawndale High: 0 A.D. (After Daria)" challenge. For those of you who aren't familiar with the guidelines...the idea was to write a story about the first day at LHS of the first school year after Daria, et al. left for college. The idea was to only use one teacher (or whomever) but I found this such an interesting idea, I couldn't stop at just one.

[Disclaimer]: The only thing in this story that I own is Shannon. Everything else belongs to those...people...that are elsewhere. Grrrr.


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(Scene: A bird happily flies along, chirping a merry tune; the sun is just rising, casting a slightly-creepy-yet-beautiful orange glow on everything. The bird suddenly crosses into Lawndale High's airspace, and immediately drops from the sky, in mid-flight. A dark thunderhead appears out of the west and settles directly over LHS. Somewhere nearby, a vulture caws.)


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(Scene: Ms. Li in her office, attired in the exact same way she was for all of Daria's hard time spent there. Though she wears the exact same power suit, it's evident that she suckered some money out of someone, judging by the fact that her office has been completely remodeled. Behind her is a picture of dogs playing poker, with a small pit bull [bearing a strange resemblance to Li] is obviously winning; a large pile of money sits in front of it. She sits back in her brand new reclining office chair, and holds the small PA system microphone box close to her.)


"Good morning, future benefactors...students and faculty of Laaaaaawndale High School! Today is our first day back, as you can tell. Let's try to make it a *financially* rewarding one!" Ms. Li crowed into the PA. "Damn students, with their damn costly educations. Damn faculty, always wanting their damn paychecks for giving the damn students their damn educations. Hey, what's this little red light..."


The PA clicked off.


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(Scene: Mr. DeMartino's class. He's got on the same ratty brown pants, same pointy-toed cowboy boots, and same threadbare Goodwill polyester work-shirt. His disposition hasn't changed for the better; in fact, he's grown more cynical/bitter...if possible...over the summer. However, a frightening addition to his usual predictability is immediately noticeable: he's been hanging out with O'Neil. That's right...he's developed emotions. He stands in front of his desk, hands on his hips, his very aura demanding that the students in his class pay attention.)


"Hey, what's this little red light..."


The PA clicked off.


"This is history, thus explaining the sign on the door. I am Anthony DeMartino, and I will be attempting to pump your pathetic-excuses-for-brains full of historical dates and information. If, by some God-granted miracle any of you do actually retain any of this information, please find solace in the fact that you'll never need to know this stuff again!"

The entire class stared at him, wide-eyed. He noticed their dumbstruck faces and promptly burst into tears.

"I could have learned to be a doctor. I could have learned to fight fires. I could have taken up professional croquet!" he wailed, crying unabashedly in front of his students. He turned and grabbed a tissue from the box of Kleenex that Timothy O'Neil had left in his room and dried his eyes. "Please forgive my outburst, students. Let's see who can answer this obnoxiously simple history question: who was the first president of the United States of America?"

Everyone remained silent, refusing to interact with him. Most weren't even making eye contact.

An all-too-familiar-looking boy wearing the yellow jersey, blue pants, cleats, and clutching a football for dear life spoke up. "Uh...Mr. D.?"

Mr. DeMartino glanced at Kevin, trying to imagine what kind of dimwitted answer he was going to provide. "Don't worry Kevin, the sun isn't gone. It just went behind that cloud."

"Like, I know that, Mr. D. I wanted to answer your question!" Kevin babbled happily.

"Oh. Go ahead, Kevin," Mr. DeMartino responded, bracing himself for the worst.

"The first president of the United States of America was George Washington..."

Mr. DeMartino reached for his chest; he was visibly in pain. He clutched his heart, gasping for air. "Kevin...you answered correctly..."

"...Carver!" Kevin finished off, cheerily.

Mr. DeMartino fell to the floor, twitching. Kevin didn't notice this, however, because a shiny coin had fallen from "Mr. D.'s" pocket. Kevin couldn't seem to look away from it...

"Miss Morgendorffer? A little...assistance...please..." Mr. DeMartino managed to say in-between his continued search for air.

Taken by surprise, Quinn dropped her fuzzy pink pen and looked down on him. Pity flashed across her face, and for a moment, Mr. DeMartino held out some hope that she'd help him; her sister certainly would. His chest seemed to grow tighter as he suddenly realized that Daria was no longer a member of Lawndale High, or even Lawndale proper. He'd called for the aid of the wrong Morgendorffer.

"Ewwww! But, you're all, like, twitchy and stuff!" Quinn said, aghast at the fact that he had the gall to ask her for help.

Suddenly, Mr. DeMartino stopped twitching.

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(Scene: Mr. O'Neil's class. It seems that over the summer, he's come to realize a few things. Though he dresses the same way as years past, his "teaching" methods seem to have diminished. He looks weary. He's completely lost faith in humanity, the goodness of others, and trying to teach any literature higher than kindergarten level. The words "Green Eggs and Ham" are printed on the chalkboard, along with, "Dr. Seuss". Mr. O'Neil sits on the edge of his desk, barely aware of his own voice. He's reading the story aloud to the class; fifty percent of them don't appear to be cognizant. The other forty-nine percent is clearly asleep. A boy snores, inhaling deeply, and gets the eraser end of his pencil lodged in his left nostril. He doesn't seem to notice. One student appears to be awake, and actually paying attention.)


"I will not eat them on a train, I will not eat them while in Spain," Mr. O'Neil droned.


The dry noise of the page being turned echoed throughout the classroom. Pencil-Nostril-Boy responded to the page turning with yet another definitive snore.


"I will not drink them on the rocks, I will not give them to a fo-"


The room's door flew open, revealing Ms. Li attempting to look intimidating. "Pardon the interruption, Timo-"


"I will not share them with a bear, I will not eat them 'cause I don't care," Mr. O'Neil continued, off in his own little "happy place".


Ms. Li pointedly rolled her eyes and approached the one conscious student, who happened to be seated in the very first desk in the very first row. "Shannon, I'm here to inform you that I will be putting you in charge of coordinating all school functions…if that's ok with you. Yes? Ok. Good-bye."


Ms. Li briskly exited the room, not allowing Shannon to get a word in edgewise. Wow, Li thought during her retreat, that's the first time Ms. Morgendorffer hasn't jumped down my throat for giving her something to do...oh. No wonder. That wasn't... It dawned on her that Daria was no longer a student. A slight tear came to her eye as she remembered all the times she'd gotten to exercise her principle-like powers over Daria. She'd never forget how fun it had been to boss her around...well, until that Satanistic mother of hers got involved.


"Dang," Shannon mumbled to herself; clearly no one else was listening. "A job. With responsibilities, no doubt. Surely, only trouble can ensue." She smirked to herself, and continued to listen to Mr. O'Neil bumble on.


"...O'Neil, I am. Ok, kids. Who can tell me what the moral of the story is?" Mr. O'Neil asked, still in a stupor.


Shannon, the one person who wasn't dreaming of escaping this hell...well, the only person who was awake, anyway...offered an answer. "The moral of the story is that if you don't refrigerate your eggs and ham after opening, like the label says, it will go bad."


"Very funny, Jane. Daria, what do you think the moral of the story is?" Mr. O'Neil replied, with a sigh. He stared intently at his shoes, and didn't notice that the girl who answered wasn't Jane.


Although this was her first day ever at Lawndale, Shannon had a sneaking suspicion that there was no Daria or Jane in this class. Or any of the other classes, for that matter. Jane sort of is a cool name, Shannon thought. But it's not mine...


"Daria? Daria?!" Mr. O'Neil seemed to snap out of his daze. He carefully scanned over the class; seeing all the people asleep, he knew she wasn't there. And since the one, lonesome kid who had managed to stay awake throughout his blathering was tall, fashion-savvy, and not wearing combat boots...he suddenly remembered graduation.


And he cried.

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[A/N - Thanks for reading. Hope that wasn't too difficult to follow. R/R, please.]