College is exactly what Daria imagined it would be, while managing to be completely and utterly different. The students are generally smart and involved in their school work, but she still finds many of them utterly void of any true substance or intellectual curiosity. The professors, just as she had predicted, are pompous and corrupt, and the whole campus reeks of the dewy, golden-red of New England autumns that are just as ridiculously vibrant in person as they are in the brochures.
She's a little ashamed to admit how much she loves it.
The first week however, she hates college. College is scheduling and books and payments and introductions, classes and supplies and un-packing and eating alone. It is unfamiliar and lonely and, though she hates to admit it, she is ready to drive back to Lawndale and take up residence in her old room with her grey padded walls. She suspects that her mother had them torn down the moment the last box had been packed away. She's even a little homesick for Brittany and Kevin for a moment. Sure, Lawndale had its fair share of idiots, but they were idiots she knew. Her idiots.
There are new idiots now, but more surprisingly she finds peers that seem promising. She studies in the library with Paul from her Literature class, compares Calculus notes with Charlotte, and even finds herself conversing with her roommate from time to time. She's writing for the school paper, interacting, making friends. It feels strange to be social; to have a group of friends rather than just one. She's so used to spending all idle time with Jane.
BFAC is treating Jane well, according to her emails, and it sounds like she is getting more inspiration than she had expected. Promises to meet up every week for pizza and complaining fall through more often than not as more tedium gets in the way. Papers to be written, portfolios to compile, the occasional date here or there. Every week turns into every few weeks and soon their visits become few and far between, then non-existent. They rely on the phone and the internet to keep a connection strong. Boston's a big city.
Towards the middle of November, the two decide to meet at an equidistant pizza parlor. They had decided after moving into their respective institutions that this location had pizza and an atmosphere much like Pizza King's. At that point, both girls favored the familiarity.
Daria catches the downtown shuttle and arrives at the pizza place at 5:30, right on time, and slides into the booth. The forest green vinyl makes a familiar squeak as she settles in with a paperback to wait for Jane. If experience tells her anything, she knows that her friend will not be as punctual as she.
Jane waltzes into the pizza place fifteen minutes later with all the lanky grace she can manage while wearing combat boots. She looks a bit different; another piercing in each ear, fishnets instead of her opaque leggings of high school, shorter hair with streaks of blue, green and purple, but her nails are still chipped and paint splattered. She still has a faraway look in her eyes, and with an "hola, amiga," Daria knows that she is still the same Jane Lane.
There isn't a squealing reunion, or even a hug. They've always been too good for that. Who needs physical contact when you can easily nod your head in acknowledgement?
Conversation doesn't come easily. They stumble awkwardly over words and phrases. It's all so unfamiliar, as though they've been down this path so many times that it's starting to wear under their feet, making it hard to find their way.
"So...it's good to see you."
"Yeah. You too."
"Finish that sculpture?"
"Yeah. Finish that paper?"
"Depends. Was the paper supposed to be comprised of 28 games of FreeCell?"
Enlightening. The minute-long silence is almost palpable.
"My roommate has a hand in a jar," Jane announces suddenly. "She calls it Antoine and kisses the jar goodnight. It's fucking weird."
"Sounds like it. When are you taking it?"
"Already have." Jane pats her bag and Daria hears the jar inside. "I figured it would make a cool piece. That or I can hold it ransom and rake in some cash."
"Artistic vision versus capitalist gain; a conflict for any college student."
"Except the smart ones. Ransom. Make a pretty penny and treat you to pizza more often, Morgendorffer."
"I wasn't aware I was being treated today."
"You aren't. This is after I sell out and make millions off of my obsessive roommate."
"Ah, the American Dream."
By the time the pizza is set down in front of them, things feel closer to normal.
Well, as normal as they've ever been.
Even after the last crumbs are devoured, the two linger at the table in the glow of florescent light, favoring its stale shine to the dreary rain that's falling steadily outside.
"This girl on my floor is throwing a party next Friday. Interested?" Jane asks, noisily suctioning the last of her soda out of her glass.
"I'm sorry. You must be mistaking me for someone who likes dark rooms, loud music, and sweaty co-eds trying to jump into each other's bodies tongue first."
"Come on, Daria. It's part of the college experience!"
"Wasn't it also supposed to be part of the high school experience? I made it through high school with limited party attendance; I can make it through college the same way."
"You're just scared that you'll be left alone in the corner sipping a warm beer while I'm off cavorting with my BFAC friends and freeing the fabulous attention whore that yearns inside me."
"Yep. That about sums it up. Warm beer. Ew."
"You're coming."
"No. I can't. I have an exam the next day. A special Saturday not going to parties exam."
"Fine. It's up to you. I just figured that you would want to come, since there is someone there I want you to meet who you will probably hit it off with and save you from a lonely life of solitude."
"Fine. Crush my dreams of spinster-hood."
"Just give it a chance. Look, I'll buy you a slice if you come."
"You think you can force me to go to a party by promising me a slice of pizza?"
"Fine. A pie."
Daria sighs.
"That's more like the bribery I'm used to. You have yourself a deal, Lane."
They shake on the deal. Jane's hands feel the same. Rough. Dry. Cracked with the frequent washing off of paint. Not that they touched hands often in high school- it's one of those things that she just knows and keeps stored away in the back of her mind, like the words to "Mmmbop" and the smell of her grandmother's perfume. The familiarity is nice until she realizes that she's still holding Jane's hand and it's getting awkward. She lets go quickly and digs around in her wallet to pay the bill.
"I'll cover the check until you enter your life of crime."
"Damn straight."
The next week goes by in an anxious blur as Daria tries to come up with excuses that all result in her missing the party. Migraine. Big project. Alien abduction. But Jane seems excited about the party in her emails and when Daria's parents ask her to come home for the weekend, she is glad to have the party ready as an excuse for staying at school.
Friday evening after class she gets ready in her room. Her wardrobe is just as limited as it was in high school. She pulls on a brown turtleneck and olive corduroys, then changes her mind when she realizes that she looks like an upside-down tree. She's not sure what people wear to things like this, especially at an art school. It's not that she particularly cares, because she doesn't. She just doesn't want to stick out too heavily. She doesn't want to be the sore, corduroy clad thumb. The brown turtleneck goes back on with a pair of dark jeans and she resolves to no longer fear the social unknown.
It's not the sex or drugs or beer she knows she'll encounter that is scaring the shit out of her; he's used to it by now. She's seen drunken teenagers groping each other before. It's not the unfamiliarity of the BFAC campus or the BFAC students. Well, not really. Not entirely. The only parties she's been to have been with Jane. They always went together to snark at the idiotic antics of their peers. But this is Jane's party, with Jane's friends at Jane's school. Jane has other people to snark with now and it's much more entertaining to be a wallflower with someone else than alone. Her stomach turns and she goes to pick up the phone, but in an attempt at faux courage, she reaches for her keys instead and heads out the door.
Following vague directions, Daria eventually ends up outside Jane's dorm. She opens the door and is more than a little shocked at the sight inside. Jane is clad in low slung leather pants and a ripped, black mesh top over what Daria would like to think is a red bikini top. She could, however, be very, very wrong. Regardless, it's much more of Jane's pale white skin than she's ever seen. It throws her off for a second.
"What the hell are you wearing?" Jane asks, eyeing Daria's outfit.
"Um. Normal clothes? I could ask you the same question. Are we going to a party or a brothel?"
"It's an art school, Daria, not a study group. You're going to look lame. Get in here."
"Since when do you care how I dress?"
"Since I tried to set you up and invited you to a party. Now come on. We're putting you in something else."
Fuck.
Daria struggles against the short black skirt and low cut top and barely allows eyeliner to be smeared over her eyelids. It's only one night. Not worth fighting about. She'll stay for a couple of hours, meet this guy, head back up to Jane's room, put on her normal, non-whore clothes and go back to her safe bed in her safe dorm at safe Raft. Jane has put dark lipstick on Daria's lips and she feels like a clown under the fluorescent lights. The walk down the hall to the party room feels like a walk of shame. She knows when they've arrived by the increasing bass she feels through the floor.
Jane opens the door and they've arrived. The room is dark and smoky with incense and cigarette smoke. Possibly pot. Daria isn't sure. The girl who greets the two is short and blonde with purple streaks in her hair and tattoos around her collarbone. She greets Jane, looks Daria up and down and nods her in, which makes Daria's comfort level sink even lower. If Tinkerbell were a bouncer, she would be this chick. Someone hands her a plastic cup and she can smell beer. Jane's already off somewhere else and her worst fear has come to bite her in the ass. The room is hot and she's alone and it sucks. She takes a sip of beer, then another, then another. At least it isn't warm. She takes a seat on the far end of a futon, the majority of said futon is being occupied by what is either a couple making out, or a very large octo-human. Daria finishes off her cup and feels more at ease. Cheap drunk. She knows it's wrong and unlike her and against her principles, but dressed up and made up like this she doesn't feel like herself.
"Can I get you another drink?"
It's the blonde hostess and she has two cups in her hand. Daria nods and the girl hands her a cup.
"I'm Zoë."
"Daria."
"Having a good time?"
"Yeah. It's alright. The music is kind of loud."
"Well yeah. It's a party. You don't do this often, do you?"
"Nah. My friend dragged me."
"Jane?"
"Yeah," she takes a swig of her drink. "High school accomplices. She dragged me to this and dressed me up like a tramp, then ran off. Some friend."
"Yeah, I figured this wasn't really your scene."
"How'd you guess?" Daria replies sarcastically as she takes another sip of her beer, finishing off the cup. Zoë hands her another.
"Your hair is all one color. Natural looking."
"Oh, I thought it might have been because I reek of books and efficient study habits."
"That too. Come on, get off your ass; you're hogging the futon. The lovebirds need it. Wanna dance?"
"Do I really look like the dancing type?"
"No. But there's a first time for everything, especially when you're drunk."
Daria's stunned and confused by the quick social exchange, but she gets off of the futon. The couple makes quick use of her absence and she takes a step away.
"I'm not drunk."
She stumbles.
"Your empty cup says otherwise. Come on. This song is great."
It really isn't. It's loud and repetitive and sounds just like all of the crap on the radio, but she's already being pulled along and feels herself being pressed against Zoë's skin as she choreographs their movements.
Daria is too hot and too close and her head is spinning with the combination of beer and the smoke and Zoë's patchouli scent. She feels awkward and powerless and it's almost completely awful. Almost. It must be the alcohol. That must be why she lets Zoë dance with her for three more songs. And why she lets herself be lead into the hallway and why she doesn't head for the hills when she feels Zoë's lips pressed against her neck, inching up her throat, brushing against her own lips. The contact feels nice. Warm in a way that Tom's kisses never were. She finds herself responding, even as her brain screams at her to stop. She opens her lips against Zoë's and allows her tongue inside. Zoë's mouth tastes like liquor and her skin is soft under Daria's palms.
Daria feels hands moving up her borrowed shirt, inching up to her breasts and she knows she should say something and make this stop, but she's dizzy and confused and everything feels good so she doesn't. She kisses back and tries to shut out the voice inside screaming at her to stop.
Zoë moves a knee between Daria's legs, pressing up and Daria gasps,
"Jane..."
She's surprised herself. Her eyes fly open and her pulse is racing, stomach churning and she knows she's about to be sick. She pushes Zoë away and takes off down the hallway. Her head spins, her eyes blur. She thinks she remembers where Jane's room is and when she comes upon it, she is thankful for its unassuming dark walls.
She's torn between pulling memories of what has just happened closer to her mind for further analytical observation, and pushing them away, pretending it's all an imaginary drunken blur, rather than one that burns bring in her mind.
What the hell? Jane? Jane? It's not like she's unfamiliar with the idea; there were rumors, jokes, questions throughout high school. There was the brief, awkward art colony debacle that made Daria reconsider exactly where Jane's sexuality stood. She had considered hypothetical situations in which the gossip spread through the school were true, but, her thoughts had been more occupied with thoughts of Jane's brother. Hadn't they?
She closes her eyes and replays the scene over and over and it isn't until she's relieved it for the fifth time that she realizes that this was Jane's plan all along. Jane sent Zoë after her. Jane was trying to set them up. Jane thought Daria was gay.
Maybe she wasn't all that far from the truth.
Thoughts, feelings, and memories pushed back for years into the corners of her mind flood back with force and make Daria uneasy. The room is too small and there isn't enough air. The borrowed costume scratches at unfamiliar skin. She peels them off and finds comfort in her own clothes as she folds what isn't hers and lays it on the unmade bed. Though the clock on the night table only reads 9:16, she decides to head back to Raft. Being in Jane's room alone feels too personal and she has too much thinking to do to stay here.
Jane calls later that night. Daria lies in bed and listens to her cell phone ring. Throughout the night it keeps ring Daria shuts off the phone and turns to her side, attempting to sleep off her confusion and fear.
When she turns the phone back in the next morning a blinking red light stares her in the eye. She calls her voicemail with shaking hands.
"You have four new messages," the mechanical voice intones.
"Hey amiga, it's me. I just got back from the party. I didn't see you there before I left, so I'm assuming you went back to Zoë's room. I just wanted to say `I told you so'. You can thank me later."
"Hey. I thought you'd be back by now so we could talk about your little rendezvous. Call me back. I want to hear all about it."
"You can't be at Zoë's because the clothes you wore to the party are here and your's aren't. Where the hell are you?"
"Daria, this isn't funny. Where the hell did you go? Call me back."
She can't bring herself to do it. Hey, Jane. I'm in my dorm trying not to expel my entire digestive tract after getting completely wasted for the first time. Very funny, setting me up with a girl. She made me dance and when she kissed me I said your name. Not awkward at all. Best night of my life. Talk to you later.
Right.
For the next week she dodges phone calls, emails, and instant messages. She's angry and scared and talking to Jane is the last thing she wants to do. Well, thinking about Jane is the last thing she wants to do, but right now since she can't get the thoughts to stop, talking to her comes in a close second.
Sleep has been hard to come by. Nights have been restless and she sleeps lightly, fluttering on the edge of being awake. Her dreams are vivid and awkward and seem to intentionally torture her. Her subconscious replays the night at the party, but when Daria calls out Jane's name Zoë becomes Jane, and Daria doesn't run away.
A knock on the door jolts Daria out of the loose confines of sleep and she sits up in bed. Her roommate is yet again absent and wouldn't knock if she needed to get in. She pulls on a sweatshirt and opens the door.
In total and complete faux-ironic twist, it's Jane. Daria really shouldn't be so shocked.
"Where the hell have you been?" Jane demands.
"I plead the fifth."
"One minute we're at a party and you look like you're having a great time and the next minute you're gone and I can't get a hold of you."
Daria stares at the floor. This situation could be handled three ways: honestly, dishonestly, or silently.
"Can you let me in?"
Daria soundlessly steps to the side and Jane enters the room. She sits on Daria's bed, while Daria chooses the rigidity of her desk chair.
"So, are you going to tell me what the hell is wrong with you, or are we playing a weird telepathy game?"
"I'm thinking of a number between one and 87."
"Damn it, Daria. I try to break you out of your shell at one party and now you completely shut me out?"
"No."
"What would you call it?"
"Clever and subtle evasion."
"Is this because you had a shitty time at the party?"
"No."
They sit in silence and Daria can't help but to call to mind the hours of awkward tension between the pair after she began dating Tom. This situation feels similar.
"Why did you do it?" Daria asks finally.
"Do what?"
"Set me up with a girl. Why did you do that?"
Jane shrugs, "I thought you'd like her."
"Jane, I'm not gay."
"Okay."
"I dated Tom."
"Yeah."
"Are you forgetting about my crush on Trent?"
"No."
"Then what would posses you to think that I would want to date some girl from your school?"
"I don't know, Daria. I don't know. I thought it was worth a shot. I thought you would have fun, but I was wrong and you're offended and I'm sorry, okay?" Jane looks flushed. Her face glows red with embarrassment and anger.
"She kissed me."
"What?"
"She kissed me and I kissed her back and I said your name when she touched me-"
"Daria..."
"That's why I've been avoiding you. I'm scared and humiliated and confused."
Jane stands up and moves over to her friend, then sits back down. "Maybe now isn't the time for a hug."
Daria shakes her head.
"So, what do we do now?" Jane asks.
"Make sure Quinn never finds out?"
"Okay, I know that you said you're not gay, but this whole situation feels a little gay to me. If you are, it's alright you know."
Daria shrugs. "I don't know what any of this means."
"Well, maybe you don't have to figure it out on your own?"
"Are you saying what I think your saying, or are squirrels really laying nests in my skull?"
"Maybe. College is eye-opening."
"Are you scared, too?"
"Nah. I've been expecting this really. I'm not all that surprised. Seems to come with the turf, you know, being an artist and everything."
"When did this happen and why the hell haven't you said anything?"
"The timing hasn't been right. I was seeing Zoë for a little bit, but I was always thinking of someone else when I was with her, too."
"Guess she has that effect."
"Do you even hear what I'm saying to you?"
"Yes. Just let me wrap my mind around it. I'm still getting used to the idea that I might be in love with my best friend, who might also have feelings for me. This is all a little too MTV for me. Give me a second."
"Take your time."
Three minutes of grade A, USDA approved awkward silence is a long time.
"So, where are we?" Daria asks.
"You've been attracted to me since high school, right?"
The wheels finally click into place, "Yes."
"Me too."
"Oh."
"If this is too weird, I can go."
"No. Stay."
"If you insist, Morgendorffer."
Daria stares at Jane for a very long time.
"I believe you still owe me a pizza," she says finally.
"Is it a date?"
"Sure."