ESTRANGESTERS
Chapter Four
…

The door of the Lane house opened to reveal a rumpled, semiconscious Jane, clutching a mug of steaming coffee and squinting in the sunlight. "Dobré ráno, môj priateľ," Daria greeted her.

"Nrg?" Jane squinted harder and took a pull on her coffee mug.

Daria smiled. "That's 'good morning, my friend' in Slovakian."

"Oh. Well, buenas dias, mi amiga. That's 'Dobré ráno, môj priateľ' in Spanish." Jane took another gulp of coffee. "You speak Slovakian?"

"Not really. I just picked that up somewhere."

"Ah. Well, come in for a minute while I rake my hair."

…

As they headed toward school, Daria observed, "You didn't get your full eight last night, did you?"

Jane snorted. "Not hardly. Spiral played till after two at McGrundy's. A couple of tables of drunks got to throwing money at them. But you look pretty cheerful this morning."

"I was just thinking about dinner last night. You should have stayed. I made steam come out of Quinn's ears."

"Sorry I missed it. Maybe you can do it again for me sometime."

"I suppose I could. But I might have to pay for my fun today. At school she's got her zombie army."

"You think she'll try something?"

"She wouldn't if she had any sense. Unfortunately…"

"Ah."

…

Daria and Jane visited their lockers and went to their first period English Lit class without seeing Quinn. Mr. O'Neill was still covering Romeo and Juliet. Brittany was dreamily listening to O'Neill, while Kevin was dreamily dozing. Jane passed Daria a doodle of O'Neill dressed as Romeo with an oversized codpiece. Daria added one of their science teacher, Ms. Barch as a less-than-dewy Juliet handing him a fuming test tube, presumably of poison, and passed it back.

On the way to second-period World History, Daria spotted the fashion club headed into the girls' restroom. Quinn shot a glare at Daria, which changed to an evil little smirk as she went in.

As they were heading for third-period science, a boy Daria didn't know bumped into her, knocking her books out of her arms, and kept walking. Scowling, Daria looked up and down the hallway as she picked up her books. Quinn was nowhere to be seen.

After science class, as Jane and Daria approached the cafeteria, a large male student hurried up from behind them, shouldered Daria roughly into Jane, and kept walking, as the first one had. This time, however, Daria was ready. Her foot shot out and kicked him in the back of the knee. His knees folded under him and as he fell backward, she dealt him a sharp axe hand strike to the side of his neck behind the ear. He hit the floor and lay there, apparently unconscious. As Jane looked on wide-eyed, Daria bent over him, surreptitiously stepping on his fingers as she did so.

"Oh, my goodness, are you all right?" she asked innocently, while grinding his fingers beneath her boot.

The boy came to and, with a cry of pain, pulled his fingers out from under Daria's boot. He lurched to his feet and staggered off, bumping into some other students as he went.

Daria looked back down the hallway the way they had come, and saw Quinn about thirty feet back, scowling in frustration. Suddenly Quinn smacked herself in the face several times and then began pounding her head on the nearest locker door, much to the surprise of the other members of the fashion club.

"Damn, Daria, are you all right?" asked Jane.

Daria turned and resumed her course toward the cafeteria. "I'm fine."

"Is he all right?"

"He'll live. I didn't hit him very hard."

"You knocked him cold, and he's a big guy." Daria turned around at the sound of the voice behind her. It was Jodie Landon, looking at her strangely. "I guess you weren't kidding after all."

"What do you mean?"

"After we talked yesterday, I got to thinking that you might have been pulling my leg about the transsexual thing, but now that I've seen you in action, I believe it. Girls don't hit that hard."

They were in the chow line now. Jane, in front, was choking back a fit of laughter. Daria covered her face with her hands, shaking her head, then lowered them. "Keep your voice down, Jodie. I was kidding about that. I don't know whether you noticed, but Charles uhh…"

"Ruttheimer," Jane supplied.

"Charles Ruttheimer was standing right behind you. I said that for his benefit."

Jodie looked dubious. "But you turned that guy's lights out with one chop!"

"By hitting him in just the right place. I caught him on the side of the neck, behind and below the ear…" Daria pointed at the spot on Jodie's neck. "Ooh, is that a cut?"

"Never mind that," Jodie said. "Go on."

"Anyway," Daria said, pointing to the spot on her own neck, "A sharp blow right there sets up a pressure wave in the blood in the carotid artery, which tricks the body's blood pressure regulator into drastically lowering the subject's blood pressure for a few seconds, causing him to faint. It doesn't require strength, just accuracy."

"Oh," Jodie said, looking less dubious. "Is that karate, or kung fu?"

"Dim Mak."

"Huh? I never heard of that."

Aware that several other people in the line were now listening in, Daria continued, "Those few westerners who have heard of it know it as the art of the delayed death touch."

Jodie gasped. "Death touch! You mean that guy…"

"No. Fortunately for him, not all Dim Mak techniques are lethal. Most are, but not that one. He'll have no lasting effects."

"So you're a Dim Mak practitioner? Why would you take up something like that?" Jodie asked, wide-eyed.

Daria put on her inscrutable face. "I am but a student. I became interested in it because it doesn't require great strength or speed, just accuracy. So, uh, what happened to your neck?"

Jodie gingerly touched the small cut on her neck. "I don't know. I just noticed it this morning. Probably just a fingernail scratch."

"It doesn't look like a scratch."

"I know. It doesn't feel like one either. It feels sore kind of deep down."

"Well, it couldn't be too deep. Your carotid artery is right there."

"Yeah, I guess. Funny thing is, there's another one like it."

"Where?"

Jodie pushed down the waistband of her skirt about an inch on the right side to reveal a slightly larger cut, nearly an inch long. "Right here. It feels sore too."

"Hmm, looks like some bruising around the edges, like it might be a puncture wound. And you don't remember how you got it?"

"No. It feels kind of like a puncture wound, but an old one. But if it had been, I surely would have noticed it before this morning."

"Yeah, I suppose. Are you going to get the nurse to look at them?"

Jodie frowned. "I thought about it, but I remembered that the nurse went to an abuse and self-abuse recognition seminar this summer, and I don't want to risk being misdiagnosed and falling into Manson's clutches."

"I hear that."

Having reached the head of the line, they picked up trays and slid them along the three chrome rails past steam tables laden with the tastiest, most nutritious food the federal government could produce. Jane groaned, echoed by Daria and Jodie.

"When they can't get rid of the mystery meat any other way…" said Jane.

"…it's Chili Mac day," Daria finished.

"Aw, it's not quite that bad," Jodie said.

Daria hooked a stringy, gristly bit of gray flesh from her plate with her spork and held it up for inspection. "Can't even tell if it's mammalian," she observed. "Probably vertebrate, though, judging by the abundant tendons." Jodie looked slightly icked out.

"Fortunately, it's been thoroughly overcooked, so all of the parasites and microbes should be dead," Jane said as she paid for hers.

"Note to self," Jodie muttered as Daria stepped up to pay. "Avoid Lane and Morgendorffer if wish to eat."

Jodie paused as Daria and Jane set their trays on a table no one else seemed to want. Looking Daria in the eye, she said, "So then, you're definitely not a…"

Daria returned her look squarely. "Definitely not. Always been a girl. I came this way. I'm just not yearning for mister Ruttheimer to make me a woman."

Jodie grinned. "Say no more. I'll see you girls later."

Daria sat as Jodie bustled off to combine lunch with some other of her many activities. She poked at her lunch of Chili Mac and generic green beans and looked around the cafeteria. "I don't see young Ruttheimer today," she observed. "He wasn't in his morning classes either."

"Funny, I didn't miss him at all," Jane said. "Hmm, there seems to be some small excitement over at the jock tables. Wonder what they're talking about?"

Daria looked. "I can guess. One of the two doing most of the talking and gesticulating was just in front of us in the slop line, and the other one is the guy that just bumped me in the hall."

Jane observed the gesticulating, which included several chopping motions, for a moment, and noted that the jocks were casting frequent looks their way. "So you think the word is spreading that you're a Dim Mak master?"

"Practically death incarnate, I shouldn't wonder." Daria gave a small lopsided smile. "You know, there's another art that's often more effective than the delayed death touch."

"And what would that be?"

"The art of the lurid rumor."

Jane smiled. "Leaves fewer bodies to dispose of too, I suppose. But you do actually know Dim Mak?"

Daria shrugged. "I read a book on it. This is the first time I've tried out one of the techniques, though."

"Oh, you didn't take clas… oh, I guess not," Jane said, looking down.

Daria smiled. "Right. You can't just pick up the yellow pages and look up the closest Dim Mak school. Even the book is illegal in many countries."

"Where'd you get a book like that, anyway?" Jane asked.

Daria smiled a little smile that made Jane think of the Mona Lisa. "A yard sale."

…

The last bell sounded. Daria and Jane made a final trip to their lockers as the hallways rapidly emptied. Daria felt many pairs of eyes on her but no one attempted to jostle her. She looked out the exit doors at Lawndale basking in the afternoon sun, then sighed, turned away, and headed back to O'Neill's classroom for self-esteem class.

Daria took her usual seat beside Jane, as far from O'Neill as they could get without getting too close to the deeply strange students occupying the back row, and got out a notebook and pencil to foster the impression that she might conceivably make a note of something. Jane, she saw, was already beginning to doodle.

Happening to glance out a window, she saw several boys standing out by the street, and noticed that Quinn was with them. They were competing for her attention and Quinn was working her wiles, but they all seemed to be waiting for someone else to emerge from school.

O'Neill droned on. Daria was looking down at her notebook page, considering how to draw a picture of herself on the far side of the moon, when she half-heard O'Neill ask, "So, what are we talking about when we talk about ourselves? Anyone? Yes."

How do you expect anyone to answer a stupid question like that? Daria wondered.

A boy in the back row said, "We're... talking about us!"

Of course, she thought, with a stupid answer. I cannot believe I'm in this class, with these… people.

She glanced out the window again, just in time to see Quinn smack her forehead. She then said something to the boys and walked off. They stood and looked at each other for a few seconds, and then most of them started following her. When Quinn saw this, she looked annoyed and said something else, waving her hands in the air. They dispersed, looking disappointed.

It had just occurred to Daria that Quinn and her posse might have been waiting for her, when her train of thought was interrupted by Jane passing her a piece of paper. It was a sketch of a softie cone with O'Neill's face on it. Daria added a sketch of a dog licking the cone and handed it back. Jane smiled at it, then added a stick figure to the cone and drew an alligator biting its legs.

Mr. O'Neill was saying, in that patronizing, Mister-Rogers tone he used, "Now, guys, I've got a little challenge for you. Today we talked about turning your daydreams into reality. Tonight, I want each one of you to go home and do just that. What do you say? Um... you." He pointed to Daria. "What's a daydream that you'd like to see come true?"

Daria chose her words carefully. "Well, I guess I'd like my whole family to do something together."

O'Neill exclaimed, "Excellent!"

"Something that'll really make them suffer," Daria added.

Surprised, O'Neill said, "Uh... it's healthy to air these feelings... I think." He was visibly relieved when the bell rang. "We'll talk more about this tomorrow. Class dismissed."

"Nice one," Jane smirked as they left the room.

"Thanks."

…

As they emerged into the Lawndale summer afternoon, Daria remembered Quinn and the group of boys standing out here a short time ago, watching the doors. "Hey, Jane, are you in a hurry?" she asked.

"No. Why?"

"I'd like to walk around the building once."

Jane gave her a curious look. "I guess we could do that. Why?"

Daria turned and started walking along the face of the building, looking at the bushes and under the roof overhang. "Just a thought I had."

Jane followed without comment until they came to a corner and started around the side. "Penny for your thought?" she asked.

Daria shrugged. "I just wanted to see if…" her attention fastened on a patch of white clover in the lawn. She stared unmoving at it for a while, and then Jane noticed that several bees were hovering in the air a few feet in front of Daria. As she watched, they moved to hover in front of her, then returned to their previous position in front of Daria. By now there were more than twenty of them. They circled around Daria's head a couple of times, then flew back to the clover and dispersed.

"You wanted to see if you could make bees fly around your head?"

"Something like that. Just after we got into touchie-feelie class I noticed Quinn and a herd of her boy-bots standing out front, watching the doors. Then she apparently remembered that I wouldn't be out for another hour, gave up, and left. So I thought, if she gets her timing problems worked out, what am I going to do about it?"

"Aa-a-ah, so you thought maybe you could raise an army to counter hers?"

Daria resumed her walk around the building. "Maybe. I'm sort of taking a census."

…

"So," Jane said, amazedly watching Daria put a bumblebee through its paces like a tiny RC model plane, "There seem to be plenty of bees and wasps around the school, and you're getting better at controlling them."

"You're right," Daria said as the bumblebee landed on her outstretched finger, "It does seem to be getting easier."

"So now the question becomes, can you make them sting on command?"

"Hmm," Daria said, looking dubiously at the bee on her finger. It took off and flew toward Jane. "Good question. Do you think we should find out?"

"Uh, well," Jane took a step back, eying the advancing bumblebee, "maybe not right now…"

The bee flew back toward the flowering shrub it had been working before being hijacked. "Yeah, you're right," Daria mused. "The sun's over the yardarm. We should be heading home before they roll up the sidewalks."

"Sounds good." Jane said, relieved, as they rounded the corner of the school and struck out homeward. " I think. What does 'the sun's over the yardarm' mean, anyway?"

"Dunno exactly. I read it somewhere. I think it means it's time fer a tot o' rum. Got any rum, matey?"

Jane grinned. "Got some Jooky in the fridge. How's that?"

"Close enough."

…

Later, in Jane's room, the two sat on the end of Jane's bed, indulging in a guilty pleasure they'd just discovered they shared.

"Show's on," Daria said.

Jane clicked the music off and un-muted the TV.

An announcer said, "And now, back to Sick, Sad World." The SSW logo faded out to show a blond reporter and an old man seated in leather armchairs on a set resembling an elegant study.

The reporter said, in a British-accented voice, "This is just astounding! Here you are, blind, deaf, and barely able to walk, yet you conducted simultaneous affairs with three members of the Royal Family! The question on all of America's mind is: how did you do it?"

The old man leaned toward her. "What?"

"She doesn't get it," Jane said. "It's the Royal Family. You'd have to be blind."

Daria smirked. "Good point."

Now the TV screen showed a small U.F.O. convention, apparently set up in a school gym. The SSW reporter's voice said, "U.F.O. conventions, once sneered at as the domain of so-called "kooks" have become big, big business, drawing hundreds of thousands of people each year, people as sane and rational as you and I, who come simply to satisfy a normal curiosity."

A dorky, pimply-faced, big-nosed young man walked on screen and said,

"Hi! I'm Artie."

The reporter said, "Artie, hello. Tell me, what brought you here, Artie?"

"It was a cone-shaped craft about 15 feet long, with an airspeed of, oh, I'd estimate mach 12. They kidnapped and stripped me, examined me briefly, returned my clothes, and dropped me here," he replied glibly.

"I... see."

"There's a visual I could've done without," Daria remarked.

"They pressed my pants. Did a nice job," Artie concluded.

Daria turned toward Jane. "You know all the answers to the questions on the release test, right?"

"I've got them in my notebook."

"Well, why don't we just take the test tomorrow and get out of the class once and for all?"

Jane pondered this. "How would I spend my afternoons?"

"U.F.O. conventions," Daria replied.

Jane grinned. "Now you're talking." She leaned over to grab her backpack, lost her balance, and slid off onto the floor.