First One Out of the Pan
"It's like pancakes," Quinn said to Sandi, Stacy and Tiffany as the Fashion Club members gathered at the Schloss Morgendorffer kitchen table to discuss their strategy for Cashman's Winter sale over breakfast. "Everybody knows you never eat the first one out of the pan. You feed it to the dog."
"But you don't have a dog, Quinn," Stacy helpfully pointed out.
"Oh, Daria, here. You want a pancake? It's fresh out of the pan," Quinn asked her older sister who had conveniently just walked into the kitchen.
Quinn held out a plate laden with a slightly off-center pancake.
Daria yawned, scratched and observed the four girls taking up all the chairs around the Morgendorffer's kitchen nook table. Even in her pre-coffee state of less than full wakefulness, Daria noted the slight smirk on each face. She also noted that the girls were still in their sleep-ware, much as she was: tasteful, cute pyjamas for the Clubbies and a long tee-shirt, baggy shorts and high socks for Daria.
"Thanks, Quinn," She took the plate and sat at the kitchen island after starting coffee. "You know I thought I saw a heaping van load of football players slowly cruising by. You never know when they might stop and ask for directions or pancakes or something."
"Football players!" Quinn exclaimed. "Oh no!"
Each girl pawed at her untidy, unmade hair which she would only allow other Fashion Club members to catch her sporting or non-entities such as Daria. The four girls scampered out of the kitchen each leaving a plate with half-eaten breakfasts surrounding a larger plate with fresh, hot, untouched round as round pancakes.
"To the victor," Daria said not bothering to finish the quote as she sat at the table in Tiffany's vacated chair, Daria's customary spot by the window.
Daria heaped more pancakes on her plate and added butter and real maple syrup followed by blueberries. She thanked whatever gods there be presiding over her breakfast nook that this was one of the Fashion Club's every-other-Saturday diet-cheat mornings.
"And thank you, sis. You always make great fresh pancakes. It's a talent to make up for your general lack of other worthy skills."
She happily sipped coffee, stuffed spongy pancakes into her mouth and read the Lawndale broadsheet while occasionally smirking at the frantic rustling noises coming from Quinn's room. When Daria was satiated of coffee and pancakes the small teen pushed her plate back and settled back to pick apart the arguments in the opinion section.
Her right leg twitched and Daria glanced around what she could see of the empty first floor before she hiked up her tee shirt to scratch at her inner thigh.
"Going to be a change in weather soon," She speculated to herself. Daria pushed aside the blinds to watch the storm clouds gathering in the north on an otherwise bright, sunny day.
"Some people get a trick knee to forecast the weather; me, I get a trick thigh. Hey, let me rephrase that even to myself."
Not for the first time she absently wondered at the line which ran straight, narrow and whiter than her pale skin along her inner thigh. Only two people outside family and medical personnel knew of it: best friend Jane Lane and ex-boyfriend Tom Sloane. Jane's artist eye noticed everything. For Tom Daria had let his eyes, hands and yes, mouth explore higher than was her usual wont one hormone drenched evening.
She knew that when she was very young, right before Quinn even came along, before she could remember much, she had been cut with glass by accident on that thigh. Daria also knew that glass could break into fragments sharper than surgical steel. Father Jake had clamped his hand over the cut and heavily pregnant Mother Helen drove them to the emergency room like hell on wheels. When she would tell the tale on rare occasions, Helen said she could not tell who was wailing the louder, father Jake or baby Daria. Still except for its prognosticating power Daria rarely gave the narrow scar a thought although something seemed a little off about things.
Daria got up from the kitchen table to answer the need of her kidneys filled with two cups of coffee in the early morning. She paused as the doorbell rang and four impeccably coiffed and artfully casually dressed teen girls came down the stairs to answer.
"Robert! Joaquin!" Quinn exclaimed as the doorway filled with beefy teenage boys. "Joey, Jeffy, uh, Jammy. What a pleasant surprise. So where are you taking us?"
On impulse, unusual as it was, Daria sauntered from the kitchen area into full view of the assembled teens. As she paused to let the Clubbies shift positions in their sudden horror of her presence, she noted with interest that the boys' eyes were widening as they looked at her in her modest but apparent sleep wear.
Daria enjoyed the boys' response almost as much as the horrified looks on the Clubbies' faces as she paused at the foot of the stairs to propose in her sweetest voice, "Quinn, could you all wait about fifteen minutes? I would love, absolutely love, love to get out this Saturday morning. You don't mind me tagging along, do you guys?"
Not waiting for an answer she turned and walked slowly up the stairs. Daria smiled as she heard the boys quickly give their assents.
"Ugh, boys are terrible; I can feel their eyes on my butt. My ass in this baggy oversize, below my knees cotton shirt no less. Boys are bad but I'm worse; it's making my put some sway in my walk. Yep, I'm going to hell."
Thoughts of eternal destiny were stopped by more pecuniary concerns as, just as Daria predicted, she heard Quinn quickly scramble up the stairs after her.
Quinn waited to accost her until they were down the hall a few steps and out of sight of her visitors.
"Daria, wait. You can't go out with us."
She turned and stood nose-to-nose with her kid sister.
"No? I heard Robert, Jeffy, Joey and Jamie and that other guy all agree heartily to my added presence and they're driving or at least one of them is. You think that's too many Morgendorffers? You stay home, Quinn."
"Okay, Okay, Daria. How much?"
"Seventy-five."
"You're killing me. Thirty."
"Don't insult my intelligence, sis. You do a good enough job insulting your own. Six—"
A low rumble of thunder distant and deep; a twitch of her nostrils as she caught ozone in the hall, and a twitch of her thigh as her scar prickled and tickled and twinged stopped Daria in mid counter-proposal. Quinn looked at her expectantly, each Morgendorffer sister knew that they would settle at fifty but Daria suddenly knew they would not.
"You know what, Quinn? I do want to go out with such delightful company, you, Tiffany, Sandi, Stacy, Robert, the mustache guy, Joey, Jeffy, and I think that other one IS named 'Jamie'. It's going to storm."
Daria leaned in even closer to her sister. "I love storms."
"At least don't wear such geeky clothes," Quinn pleaded to her sister's back as Daria turned and entered her room.
Daria stuck her head back out the doorway. "No, and you know what else, Quinn? You're right. I won't wear my usual 'geeky' clothes.
Daria's accent changed to something both sisters could ape easily but which Quinn never, ever considered using in Lawndale, not even only with family unless Jake bribed her on the rare occasion he grew nostalgic for West Texas.
"Thanks, sister dear." Daria twanged. "I got me some new duds I've been itching to break out. Now scoot downstairs and entertain your gentlemen guests before your frenemies get their meat hooks deeper into them fellers. I'll shower right quick, dress and be down, eh, when I'm down. Two shakes of a lamb's tail. Run along now."
Quinn blinked and stood aghast as she listened to the Texas accent Daria had unexpectedly adopted and exaggerated. Then Quinn stared gobsmacked as her sister did something utterly past imaging and out of character: she stuck her long cat-pink tongue out at Quinn before pulling her otherwise deadpan mug into her room and closing the door soundly.
As she turned to go downstairs, Quinn spun in place then as she heard Daria's door reopen. Daria leaned against the door frame and gave her a sickly sweet smile.
"By the by, Quinn dear. You're just as cute as a bug's ear, you are."
"Daria! Are you mental in the morning? Please don't talk like—" Close, click snap. The door's crisp locking cut her off.
"I was right," Quinn muttered to herself as she descended the stairs in a demi-daze. "The first pancake is cursed or something. Cursed for me that is, doesn't matter who eats it."
Quinn raised her eyes from contemplation of the floor as Sandi Griffin accosted her at the foot of the stairs. She heard the murmur of the Pigskin Channel from the living room.
"Quinn, your cousin or whatever, is NOT to come with us."
"Sandi," Stacy cut in. "I think that it's nice we have the chance offer fashion help and exhibit popularity cues to the less fortunate. Besides, Daria and that other one Janet or something helped me up the other day after I tripped on my shoelaces. You know, I think sometimes even Waif can get things wrong or at least unsafe; long, long shoelaces with huge bows are cute and everything but, but, oh, I want to use a big word here, Mr. O'Neill mentioned it in English. Starts with a 'p'."
"Perilous." Tiffany unexpectedly, prodigiously pulled out the word slowly.
Three girls stared at their Asian-American comrade. They discussed the pros and cons of including Daria or persuading the malleable boys into absconding without her until they heard the soft and assertive tread of Daria's boots coming down the stairs. They saw Tiffany's eyes widen as she looked over their heads and Sandi, Stacy and Quinn all pivoted to look up.
"Eep," Stacy, Sandi and Quinn shrieked together.
"That's so, so," Tiffany paused. "Something."
Daria stopped at the foot of the stairs, stood ramrod straight and looked from Fashion Clubbie face to Fashion Clubbie face. "What?"
"My eyes." Stacy said.
"Sister," Quinn gasped. "Daria is my sister." Quinn barely had presence of mind to clap her hands over her mouth at her sudden divulgence.
"I know, Quinn." Sandi said weakly. "I know."
Sandi rallied, "Quinn, like, your sister or whatever is wearing white after Labor Day."
"That's so wrong." Tiffany said finding her strength as well.
The heavy tread of football playing males hardly registered on any of the girls except Daria as the Schloss Morgendorffer foyer was quickly crowded with more teenagers. Daria found herself standing as the center of attention in the foyer for once not ill at ease with so many eyes upon her.
"You look very nice today, ma'am."
"Wow, Daria, great clothes."
"Yeah, oh, please wear those in school next week, Daria. Please?"
"Yeah, every other day, that and your usual, uh, uh, uniform. That'd be hot, I mean, oh gosh."
Daria permitted the fifth Lawndale Lion present, Joaquin, to simply take her hand for a moment in adoration.
"Well, thanks I guess." Daria said.
Quinn was silently thankful that the Texas affectation was replaced by her sister's customary deadpan monotone. As if anything was customary on Quinn's flapjack cursed morning.
The ten teens had barely noticed that the sky had darkened deeply until a bright flash and strobe of lightening highlighted Daria's white leather ten-eyelet boots with white soles and silver laces, crisply pleated white miniskirt, and magenta jacket over a cerulean blue tee shirt. Everyone but Daria jerked and jumped as the flashes were followed quickly by crashing roll of thunder. Daria merely buttoned her magenta wrap covering its inner cerise lining.
"So where ARE you taking us?" Daria asked. "I suppose the new Museum of Medical Oddities in Oakwood is too much on a casual first excursion. We could go to the old quarry and stand outside in the lightning but it's asking too much that only certain select people get struck."
Having recovered from the initial shock of Daria's inverted clothing, Sandi saw an opening in Daria's question.
"Not only where but how?" Sandi began haughtily. "There are ten of us now and only one vehicle. I think some select people have to stay here."
Sandi followed up with meaningful long looks at the Morgendorffer sisters and Stacy Rowe for good measure.
"Au contraire," Joaquin spoke up. "My vehicle is enough to hold ten teens in more than agreeable comfort."
Joey spoke up as he led the teens out the door, "Yeah, Sandi, Joaquin's bro-in-law owns that big used car dealership. Check out this ride."
Much of the Morgendorffer's driveway was taken up by a white and light-green van, massive but understated in its stylish Mercedes-Benz German craftsmanship manner. The license plate sported a 'Happy Herb's Autos' frame.
Daria's leg prickled and tickled intensely but she fought down any twitch. She noted that the sky was getting even darker with regular flashes emphasizing her magenta, cerulean and white clothing over the now dull in comparison attire of the Fashion Club.
Joaquin solicitously took her hand and squired Daria to the front passenger door. He opened it for her and she unnecessarily let him help her up into the high bucket seat. The other boys helped the four remaining girls by opening van doors and helping them into their own seats in the van. Joaquin took command in the driver seat and looked around to make sure his passengers were all buckled down.
"Well, fair ladies," Joaquin said as he started his machine. "Unless someone wants 20,000 volts I guess our first idea of a walk on the beach is out. How about that new expansion at the arcade? They've got a climbing wall and they keep the little kids out of the teen area now."
Daria noticed the slight accent now appearing in Joaquin's speech and she noticed that the 'fair ladies' bit sounded better from him than the boy who would normally use that cheesy line, Upchuck.
"Drive on, Joaquim," Daria commanded. "Anywhere, just keep talking."
She put her head back and let the comfortable head rest and bucket seat cradle her. Daria was giving up command and control in a van full of strange boys and the Fashion Club and for once she did not care.
"It's 'Joaquin', ma'am," Joaquin smiled at Daria without reproach and actually winked. He put the van in motion and carefully backed out of the Morgendorffer driveway. "And Joaquin is absolutely at your service, Daria. I will relate tales of my family and their friendship with the great hero Emiliano Zapata in Old Mexico."
Hard rain drops made dinner plate sized splashes on the windshield as they headed down the street.
