Once Upon A Time At College
by Galen Hardesty

Jane spread the plastic dropcloth and aligned her easel with the chalk marks on the carpet. She placed the nearly-completed painting on the easel. Daria, wearing her white terrycloth bathrobe, covered the coffee table with a smaller sheet of plastic, then set out Jane's oils and turps on it, followed by a vase holding the brushes she would use. Jane freshened the colors on her palette as Daria walked over to the window, where there was another set of chalk marks on the carpet, and pulled the cord to open the curtains. Daylight streamed through the gauzy curtains that remained closed.

"This is great! The ideal model, the perfect place to paint, and no one to interrupt. Do you think we'll have time to finish a couple more before Upchuck shows up?"

"Don't keep calling him Upchuck, Jane. He'll be here pretty soon and..." Daria parted the gauze curtains and peered down toward the street. "Correction. He's here now." She hurried to her bedroom to dress.

"Put on something slinky!" Jane called after her. Then she put her palette down and began capping her paint tubes. "Dammit!" she muttered.

Daria reached the first floor just as Mrs. Ward was giving Chuck his keys. She wore jeans and a pullover sweater woven in a geometric pattern of mostly dark green and blue. "Hi, Chuck," she said.

"Daria! A vision of loveliness, as ever!" he exclaimed, and threw out his arms to embrace her.

Daria quickly planted a hand on his chest and shoved him back. His expression registered surprise and disappointment. "Hey, what's the matter? I'm just happy to see you."

"I'm… not displeased to see you, but that doesn't call for a passionate embrace."

Mrs. Ward was regarding the two of them warily, as if assessing whether they represented a possibility of a disturbance.

"I just wanted to give you a friendly hug," said Chuck, sounding a bit hurt.

Daria bit off a sarcastic retort and instead asked, "Where's your car?"

"Out in front."

"Take it around back, quickly, and park in space 302. The cops around here will ticket you in a New York minute," said Daria, motioning which way he should go. "I'll meet you there."

After he'd gone out the door, Mrs. Ward asked, "Problem?"

Daria turned her head toward the older woman. "No. I'm just not a hugger," she replied, and headed down the hall to the back entrance.

Chuck was getting out of an old Cadillac convertible when Daria reached the parking lot. The cow horns were gone from the hood, and some other aftermarket ornamentation was missing, but Daria recognized it as the former Love Machine. "You still have this thing?"

Chuck grinned. "It's a classic. It'll be an antique before too long. I'm restoring it, a little at a time. I drove it up here because it's got tons of room. Listen, Daria, the last thing in the world I'd want to do is offend you. If I did, I'm truly sorry."

"You didn't offend me, Chuck. But there's something about me you need to know. I don't like to be touched. I don't like to be hugged, kissed, patted, poked, pinched, or groped. Not just by you. By anyone, even my parents. I sometimes put up with it, but I very seldom like it."

"Oh. I didn't know."

"Of course not. That's why I told you. Now, what can I carry upstairs?"

Chuck opened the trunk and was handing Daria some pillows and blankets when Jane arrived. "Miss Lane! What a pleasant surprise! Do you also have an apartment here, or are you just visiting?"

"You didn't know? Daria and I are living together," Jane smirked, making eyes at Daria.

Several expressions chased each other across Chuck's face. Jane's smirk widened. Daria rolled her eyes. "It's a two bedroom apartment," she said.

"Spoilsport!" Jane pouted.

Chuck looked around the mild disarray of his apartment. "Well, there are a lot of things I didn't think to bring, and a lot of other things that I'd have needed to buy anyway, but nothing that can't wait till tomorrow, thanks to the kind-hearted generosity of you two lovely ladies."

"A bar of soap and a roll of tissue. We're a couple of Mother Theresas, all right," Daria observed.

"You made me feel welcome in a strange city, and you even carried some of my stuff up the stairs. I am eternally in your debt," Chuck replied, making an exaggerated bow.

Jane cocked a sardonic eyebrow at Daria. "How about you just buy us dinner and we call it even?"

"A capital idea! I'm famished! With what exotic delicacies may I delight your discerning palates?"

"Chuck…" Daria shook her head. "You're not on stage. Give it a rest."

Chuck looked from Daria to Jane and back. "Trying too hard?"

Daria nodded, holding her thumb and forefinger about three inches apart. "A little."

"Well, then… where would you like to eat?"

"Well, there's a good cheap pizza place nearby…" Jane began, then stopped when she saw a brief pained expression cross Chuck's face. "What?"

"Nothing," he replied, a bit too quickly. If pizza you want, pizza you shall have!"

Daria hiked an eyebrow. "I saw that look too, Chuck. Do you have an ulcer or something?"

"Nothing like that. It's just that, since I was home alone, I ate at Pizza king most of the last two weeks, hoping I'd see someone I know."

"Oh. And did you?"

"Well, I saw your lovely sister and her fashionable friends, and some others of nodding acquaintance, but no one wanted to talk to me but Kevin. Poor guy, he's worse off than I am. Brittany and the other cheerleaders he knew are off to Great Prairie State, as are several of the football squad he used to play with. He's not eligible to play this year, you know. So all he has to talk about are his days of faded glory, when he was the QB and Brittany was his girl. And since he's no longer the QB, no one feels obligated to talk to him. It's enough to make the statue of the unknown guy weep."

"Yeah, that's sad." Daria looked up and said, "So, you're burnt out on pizza for a while. Hmm, I heard of a Turkish place around here that has borscht and kebab, and I hear they serve a mean roast goat."

Chuck smiled a pained smile. "Ah, la belle dame sans merci. You know I just returned from Kazakhstan, and somehow you also know that those are the only three food items Kazakhs can cook. Such cruelty in one so young."

Daria smiled. "Okay, I was kidding. There's a Thai restaurant not too far away that we haven't been to yet."

Chuck's smile brightened. "I love Thai food. I've been hoping for years that Lawndale would get a Thai restaurant. What say you, Miss Lane?"

"I'll try anything once, with the possible exception of sheep eyeballs. I'm game."

"Excellent! Lead on, Miss Morgendorffer."

Soon the three were cruising down the boulevard in Chuck's barge of a Cadillac. Jane asked, "Do you know how spicy the dishes are at this restaurant?"

"I hear they have three gradations- warm, hot, and 'die screaming, running dog yankee', Daria replied.

Chuck grinned. "Ah, I like it already. What's the name of the place?"

Daria smiled slightly. "Thai Yi Yippie."

Jane took another spoonful of Tom Yum Goong and laid her spoon down as the tall glasses of Thai Tea arrived. Copying Daria, she stirred the whipped cream topping into the tea with her iced tea spoon, then stuck her straw into it and took a sip. She broke into a big smile. " Oh, I like this! What's that exotic flavor?" she asked.

"It's Oriental Star Anise. They brew some pods of it in with the tea leaves," Chuck said.

Jane moved her soup bowl off her plate as the waitress brought the Spring Rolls and the Yam Thalay, a spicy seafood salad. "So, Chuck, how was your trip to Kazakhstan?"

"Well, I certainly wouldn't want to live there, and it's not a nice place to visit, either. I wish I could've spent more time with my dad, but other than that, I was glad to leave. It's mostly arid plains and deserts, and the Soviets managed to mess it up even worse while they controlled it. Severe water mismanagement, industrial pollution, radioactive waste all over…"

"Ew. What about the people?"

"Interesting. There were several different ethnic groups. A lot of them looked like they were hoping that our presence was a good sign, but a lot of them were suspicious of us and acted like they were just interested in separating us from our money."

"That sounds scary," Daria observed.

"It was. I felt kind of like Davy Crockett deep in Indian territory."

"Ooh, what's this coming now?" Jane asked.

Chuck smiled. "That would be the Tong Todd- that's fried squash in sweet and sour cucumber sauce- and the Chicken Satay."

Daria sniffed appreciatively at the Chicken Satay. It looked scrumptious, and its aroma told of peanut sauce made with exotic spices. "It smells great, but we'll never be able to eat all of this."

"That's okay, they'll box up the leftovers. As long as someone pays for it, they're happy, and it'll stave off the day when I have to go back to eating my own cooking."

They all made sure to try every dish, and talked about the unusual variety of fresh herbs used in Thai cooking, and then of what Daria and Jane had been doing in Boston. Chuck told them something about what his father was doing in Kazakhstan. Then, as they were approaching satiety, he asked a question he'd been waiting to ask.

"Uh, I wasn't told, Daria, but may I assume that it's no coincidence that our apartments are adjacent?"

Daria took a thoughtful sip of Thai Tea. "No, it's no coincidence. Your father had someone hunt up some apartments, and he chose those two. He's supplying that one to me in return for my helping you adjust to life at Raft, as needed. I consider that very generous of him, although of course it remains to be seen exactly what the job will entail. How pleasant or unpleasant it will be, and consequently whether I continue with the arrangement, is entirely up to you." She wished that last part was true.

"Well, I'll certainly do all in my power to make it a pleasant and mutually beneficial arrangement," said Chuck. "That's pretty much what he told me, that you'd agreed to "help" me, no specifics given. I was hoping you might fill in some details."

"I can't at present. I'm assuming that 'help' doesn't include doing your coursework for you, although it might include some study help and tutoring. I'll tell you the least harrowing way to get registered, and I'll tell you what little I know about good and bad professors, that sort of thing. And, uh, if you just want to talk, I can do that. Oh, I should point out that Jane has no arrangement with your father, only I do. I've asked her not to kill you without consulting me first, though, and she says she'll try."

"I can't guarantee anything, though," Jane put in.

"Good night ladies." Chuck waved a last time as the door of apartment 301 closed on Jane and Daria, and then turned toward the hallway to 303, still smiling. He happened to catch a bit of movement out of the corner of his eye. The door to apartment 302 silently closed, and Chuck had an impression of a staring eye and part of a thin face at the crack. He hesitated a second, then, shrugging, headed on down the short hallway that led only to his apartment.

Letting himself in, he looked around at his belongings placed randomly on the floor in armload-sized clusters. It was only messy in a relative way. He didn't have enough stuff to make a real mess. Charles settled into an armchair and smiled. Here he was in Boston, a huge city in which he only knew two people. But those two were in an apartment right next door, and he'd just had a very pleasant dinner with them. His smile widened a little. A better than average day, he thought, much better than average.

Chuck's thoughts turned to his father, as they often did at night when he was alone. He wondered where his father was, and what he might be doing. Chuck picked up his shortwave radio off the floor and tuned it to the BBC. There was something about an Egypt-based Islamic telephone hotline, and some senior Chinese official urging international talks over the U.S. missile defense system. It reminded him of something he'd read in the bible about the jews repairing the walls of Jerusalem, and some other guys wanting them to stop the work and talk about it.

There was fighting in Waziristan and Sri Lanka, but no news out of Kazakhstan. Well, no news is good news, he supposed. His father might not even still be in Kazakhstan. The man flitted across the globe like an asteroid shadow. Chuck turned off the radio and sat there. Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, Chuck believed he'd be all right. He always had been before. Anyway, there wasn't a thing Chuck could do about it.

Chuck himself, however, was not all right. Things were looking up for him, granted, but not all things. He had a problem, a serious problem, and his time for solving it was running out. Not that there was anything he could do directly to solve it. The woman who'd gotten him into this fix was doing her best to get him out, but with limited success so far. Well, that wasn't really fair. He'd brought it on himself, in a way.

Faintly from the next apartment there came the sounds of female voices, and the occasional footfall or closing of a drawer or cabinet door. Old memories came back to him, memories of the sounds of his mother puttering around in the kitchen. A tear leaked out of the corner of his eye and ran down his cheek, but Chuck continued to smile.

There was a possibility that another woman could save him. Too bad he had no idea who this other woman might be. It could be some girl he'd meet at Raft, or it could be Daria, or Jane, or some woman he'd meet by chance in a store or on the street. Chuck just hoped he'd meet her soon. If he didn't, he wouldn't be graduating from Raft. He might not graduate from freshman to sophomore. But there was nothing he could do about it. Or… was there?

Charles Ruttheimer the third sat alone in the silence of his apartment, and thought.

"Okay, that's got it. Except for some shading on the curtains, 'Nude Watering Cactus' is complete." Daria put down the juice glass half full of water, gave her arm a shake, and picked up her bathrobe. "At last!" She slipped on the robe and walked over to where Jane was studying the canvas. "I thought you were never going to get that glass of water right."

"Reflection and refraction are hard, Daria, especially if they're both happening at once."

"It's easy, once you look at it as a ray tracing exercise." Daria studied the image of the glass critically. "I showed you how. Thought you had it."

Jane looked at her friend, and shook her head. "You actually do ray tracing problems in your head, and think it's easy. Sometimes you scare the hell out of me, Morgendorffer. When your species takes over, I hope you'll remember me kindly and have mercy on us poor homo sapiens."

That drew a small smile from Daria. "You don't actually do math. You visualize it, like a bank shot in pool. And I'd be more inclined to think kindly of you if you hadn't picked the most phallic-looking cactus in the whole store for a prop."

"I chose it because it had that beautiful blossom. Anyway, a nude needs a certain element of suggested sexual tension. This is nowhere near as blatant as Dali's 'The Autosodomization of Chastity'."

"Nothing's that blatant, till you get to Mapplethorpe. And that's a paper flower, stuck on with a thorn."

"What?" Jane walked over to the window and touched the cactus blossom. "Dirty rotten conniving gardeners! Ya can't trust any of 'em!" She turned back to Daria. "Well, I need to start planning out the next one, so we can start on it before you have to start shepherding Upch- er, Chuck around getting him registered. Got any ideas?"

"How about "Nude wearing a sweatsuit?" Daria suggested. Jane gave her a 'yeah, right' look but said nothing.

"Okay. "Nude knitting a sweater." I'll be sitting in this recliner, holding the sweater up to look at it. It'll be almost finished, and…" Jane's look hadn't changed. "Hey, you'll be able to see my nude shoulders, and some thigh…"

Jane shook her head. "Doing something is good, but the paintings that were best received were the ones where you're doing something intellectual or creative. I really think you've finally managed to make brains sexy."

Daria thought about that, and dismissed it as highly improbable. "So, something like 'Nude Taking an IQ Test?'"

"Hmm, maybe if you were in a classroom filled with students… should they be clothed, or nude too? Mmm, no, I don't think so. Compositional problems."

"Well, I've got this article to write. How about 'Nude Writing an Article for the School Paper?' I'd be typing on my laptop…"

"I dunno. Sounds like you'd be all hunched over."

Daria gave her a sardonic look. "Okay, I've got it. 'Nude Shooting a Layout of the Artist.' I'll be standing, taking photos. Beside your painting, we'll hang a collage of my photos of you painting me, and you'll be nude, too. The artsygentsia will love it! It's guaranteed to make all the art magazines."

"Hmmm… let me think about it."

"I was kidding."

"I kind of thought so, but they probably would love it. You know it'd be more popular than meat sculpture, which is the latest thing."

"Meat sculpture! Gaah! Doesn't it rot?"

"Sure. That's part of the idea; to illustrate that everything is ephemeral, everything perishes."

Daria sat down in her recliner. "More 'concept art?' From what I've seen, concept art is what you get when a would-be artist gets an idea, but is too lazy and lacks the talent to execute it properly."

Jane considered this. "You'd make a wicked art critic, Daria. How many times did you read 'The Emperor's New Clothes', again?"

"Just once, but I understood it. Jane, I sincerely hope you realize that it's just one step from what I facetiously suggested to setting up webcams in here to show us doing it live on the Internet."

Jane shook her head, smirking. "Yep, a real slasher of an art critic. They'd love you at parties."

The phone rang. Daria stepped over to the counter to get it. "Hello?"

"Hello, Daria."

"Oh, hi, Mom. How are you doing?"

"Very well, Daria, and you?"

"I'm doing great. How are things at work? Are you a partner yet?"

"De facto. I'm getting the money, and I've got Eric's caseload, as well as my own. But it's not official yet. The surviving partners are afraid I'll go the way of Lothar and Eric, and I can't tell them why that's not going to happen. So I guess I'll just have to wait." There was a brief pause, then Helen asked, "Daria, is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"Uhhh…" Alarm bells went off in Daria's head. This meant one of two things, she knew. Helen either knew or strongly suspected something, something she thought Daria should have already told her. And she had no idea what that might be. "I may be getting on The Castaway."

"What?"

"It's the Raft paper. The editor liked some of the letters I've sent in and asked me to do an article. So I'm writing one that advocates changing from two-person dorm rooms to single occupancy. I have an idea for another one about the parking problem. It'll take a lot of research, but I know they'll be interested in it. If they take me, I'll be the first freshman on staff since 1978."

Helen scribbled "Call Rita. Brag!" on the notepad by the phone. "That's wonderful, Daria! But is there anything else?"

"Let's see… Chuck showed up yesterday afternoon. We helped him get moved in and he took us to dinner. As soon as registration opens, I'll get him started on that."

"Daria, is that young man giving you any trouble?"

"Ha. Just the opposite. He's so eager to please he makes me want to run away and hide. He reminds me of a puppy at the dog pound."

"Hm. I guess it could be worse. But don't let your guard down, Daria. Now are you sure there isn't anything else you want to tell me?"

Daria's expression of exasperation made Jane drop what she was doing and come over, a look of anticipation on her face. "Um, I can't think of… oh there is one other thing. You know how I used to be kind of… a virgin?"

Jane clearly heard the gasp from the phone. Daria grinned wickedly. "Well, I kind of… still am."

"Daria! Don't do that!"

"Well, that's the third time you've asked that same question, and I'm out of stuff to tell you!" Daria kicked ineffectually at Jane, who was rolling around on the floor, convulsed with silent laughter. "Whatever it is, just hit me with it."

Helen exhaled volubly. "I hope you have at least four daughters, Daria." She hesitated for a second, then said, "I had to run some documents up to Eric's lawyer today. William Dewey, of Dewey, Cheatum, & Howe, in Baltimore. When I entered Mr. Dewey's office, what do you suppose I saw?"

Daria was really baffled now. "Uh, law books?"

"I saw a painting of you, Daria, painting a picture. Naked."

Daria realized that the lengthening awkward silence following her mother's revelation was due to her failure to say something. "Oh. That. Uh… hey, Mom, Jane sold a painting. I sold one, too."

"Do tell. And when were you planning to tell your family this… 'good news'?"

Daria checked her phone's earpiece to see if frost was actually forming on it. "Come on, Mom. This just happened a couple of days ago, and I'm still pinching myself over it. You saw that little landscape. An eleven by fifteen piece of paper that took me a couple of hours to finish, and that I only did because Jane wanted me to be painting something, and it wasn't really even on sale, it was just being photographed at the gallery, and…"

"Photographed? Gallery?"

"Oh, yeah. Um, there's a possibility that Jane's painting, and maybe my painting too, may appear in a future issue of Art Horizons magazine. And there's a slight possibility that there may be a photo of Jane and me standing next to our paintings."

The silence this time was technically for lack of Helen's reply, but Daria broke it. "The editor told Jane she knew a spot at the D'Uberville Gallery that would be just right to photograph them, so we were getting set up there, and this guy just walks up and looks for a minute and then wants to buy both of them on the spot. And before we know it, the gallery owner has sold Jane's painting for five thousand and mine for half that."

Helen wrote down these dollar figures, then she underscored 'Brag!' on the notepad several times, and began drawing stars in front of and behind it. "Editor?"

"Anita Goodman. She's a contributing editor to Art Horizons. She saw our paintings at the BFAC galleryand wanted to photograph them, and the owner of the D'Uberville gallery is a friend of hers, so…"

Helen stopped drawing a sunburst border around the figure $2500 and scribbled 'Anita Goodman edit Art Horzn'. "Goodness, Daria, it sounds to me like you're getting pretty deeply involved in the Art scene up there. You are going to keep up your studies at Raft, aren't you?"

"Oh, sure. I'm not a professional-grade artist, and probably never will be. Becoming a writer is going to be hard enough without trying to pursue painting at the same time."

Helen smiled in relief. "I'm glad to hear that. Daria, I'm happy for you, and for Jane, but you know how I feel about you posing nude. And for a nude painting of you to be published in a magazine…"

"Yes, I know, Mom, but don't worry, that magazine has a very limited circulation. It's kind of a trade publication for art galleries and museums. And I'm trying to cut back. Oh, Jane also sold another painting. It's one of me sitting at my desk writing. Jane titled it 'Short Story'."

"Another nude?"

"Yes."

"Oh, lord. Where is that one going to end up, in a saloon somewhere? The bank lobby? The board room at my law firm?"

"As it happens, I can answer that. It was sold to the Athena Womens' Health and Fitness Spa here in Boston, and it will hang in a lounge/sports drink/juice bar overlooking the pool and the main exercise room. The patrons will gaze on my perfect physique, and be inspired to go work out some more instead of having that third carrot juice."

Strange noises came over the phone. Daria was about to ask her mother if she was all right when she recognized the noises as laughter. "Hey, my physique isn't quite that funny."

"Ha ha! No, Daria, I was just thinking about… well, never mind. You have as good a physique as any I've ever seen, honey, and don't try to tell yourself different. That painting belongs in that spa. I just hope there's going to be an end to this series of nudes." Helen made more notes on the pad.

"Oh, there will be. I'm only doing it to get Jane started on the road to Successful Artist land. And it seems to be working. Even though the money she insists on paying me is starting to pile up, I don't really like modeling. But tell me how Dad and Quinn are doing."

"Your father has a new client, a local chain of lawn and garden centers. He was buying some supplies and got to talking with the owner, and it seems he liked your father's enthusiasm. They're doing some funny commercials with squirrels and garden gnomes. His blood pressure has been lower recently, but it's still too high. His doctor just changed his medication."

"Does he have a blood pressure gauge?"

"Yes, but neither of us can get an accurate reading from the darn thing."

"I saw a really easy-to-use electronic one the other day. It has a big LCD readout. I'll send him one of those."

"That's so sweet of you, Daria. Your father will really appreciate that. He misses you too, you know. I sometimes find him just standing in the upstairs hallway, looking down the hall at your door."

"Aww. I wish I could get home more often. I'll put a note in with it. How's Quinn doing?"

"Quinn is doing much better in school than last year. She's getting mostly B's, and A's in trig and writing. She told me you were helping her with those."

"I am, but she's doing the work herself. I always knew she was smart. Now that she's admitted it to herself, she's making up for lost time. I just really wish she'd gotten to that point last year, so I could have shared it with her more."

"Quinn wishes you were still here, sweetie, and so do your father and I."

"Yeah, me too. I like Raft, but I miss you guys."

Daria awakened to the ringing of her phone. Her groping hand found it on the nightstand and somehow pushed the right button to answer it. "Mmmf?

"Daria, what did you do to Mom?"

"Quinn? Issamiddluhthenight!"

"Geez, Daria, this is the time I always get up. I wanted to be sure you'd be there when I called. I'm tired of playing phone tag with you. After Mom called you yesterday, she kept staring at your chair at the table, and she had this really funny expression, and then after dinner she called Rita, of all people, and took the phone and the message pad upstairs with her, and when she finally came down, she wouldn't tell me anything, and she made me wash the dishes! What did you say to her?"

"Thassa stupid question. I told her to look at my chair funny, then call Rita, then make you wash the dishes."

"DARiaa!"

Fully awakened by anger, Daria sat up and put her feet on the floor. "Quinn, you moron! How the hell do you expect me to explain a facial expression I didn't see and a phone call I didn't hear?"

"Just tell me what you told her!"

"I told her that I painted a watercolor landscape and a man bought it for a lot of money, not that it's any of your damn business. And I'll tell you something else. I know where you live, and I'm not that far away. If you ever call me before seven a.m. again, and it's not to warn me that Godzilla is marching on Boston, you will wake up the next morning with a bad headache, a purple head, and no hair, you got that?" Daria hit the disconnect button. She sat there on the edge of the bed, furious, knowing that there was no possibility of her getting back to sleep.

The phone rang again. Daria considered throwing it against a wall, screaming obscenities into it, and dumping the batteries out of it. Then she considered that Quinn was probably calling back to apologize. She glared at it for a couple of seconds, then pushed the button to answer.

"Hello."

"Daria, I'm sorry if I woke you up, but I figured you'd already be awake, since you have classes too."

"Quinn, I told you guys my schedule. None of my classes is as early as first period at Lawndale High, and on Tuesdays and Thursdays I can, and often do, sleep till after ten. I frequently work and study far into the night, when it's quiet. But I still need my sleep, and I don't appreciate being awakened as soon as the first birdie chirps on your windowsill. Hmm…" Daria grabbed a pencil and scribbled some notes on the formica top of her nightstand.

"Well, I'm sorry, and I won't do it again. I was just worried about the way Mom was acting. I guess she was staring at your chair because she misses, you, but why do you suppose she called Rita?"

Daria's feet and legs were getting chilled, so she tucked them back under the covers and lay down. "I dunno. Bragging, maybe?" she yawned. "How's school?"

"It's going really well, Daria, well, maybe not phys ed so much, but all my academic classes. Mister DiMartino even called me Daria a couple of days ago, isn't that weird? I think he misses you. Another weird thing is, guys still ask me out all the time, even though I get good grades, and they don't call me a brain or anything, I mean, who'd have thought that? In fact, just the other night, I was talking with Mike Taylor, and he said…"

Daria woke up again when her alarm went off, an hour later. The phone was still in her hand.

Author's note: The name "Dewey, Cheatum, and Howe" is from an old Three Stooges short.

Disclaimer

"Daria" and all related characters are trademarks of MTV Networks, a division of Viacom International, inc. The author does not claim copyright to these characters or to anything else in the "Daria" milieu; he does, however, claim copyright to all those parts of this work of fiction which are original to him and not to MTV or to other fanfic authors. This fanfic may be freely copied and distributed provided its contents remain unchanged, provided the author's name and email address are included, and provided that the distributor does not use it for monetary profit. (as if.)

Galen Hardesty [gehardestyyahoo.com]