Daria

January 5th, 1984

It's been two days since Nico turned nineteen, and I'm sitting on what used to be his and Arwa's bed while he's out with friends. He's coming back tonight to pack up for uni again.

I feel rather bored right now, and what I do when I feel bored is go around searching people's underwear drawers. I know that sounds bunk, but it's a habit of mine. Besides, I haven't seen him in a dick year. What did he bring back from uni that we didn't get to see?

I unzip his suitcase and start moving stuff around just because. After piles of clothes, I find two bags. One is filled with brown powder, and the other has sugar in it. I take out both of them. Why would Nico bring back sugar and brown powder from uni?

"Nico! Nico!" I shout, as I see Nico's car pull up in front of our bungalow. Well, actually, it's his friend Eddy's, but whatever. I watch Nico step out of the car with a cigarette in his mouth, and smoke coming out of it. Reminds me that Dad used to smoke in the 60s. If I remember correctly, he was also a hippie. There's photos in his bedroom. He shuts the blue car door so hard, I can hear it from the doorway, where I'm standing in my pajamas, shivering from the winter cold. I hear another blast of wind howl as Nico walks up the snowy pathway. He's not making eye contact, as usual.

"You brought back sugar and brown powder from uni!" I say, as Nico steps up and opens the door. Dad, Arwa, and Frada aren't home because they're eating out. I chose not to go because I want to talk to Nico about the bags I found. "Why is that?" I continue on as I follow him inside, shutting the door and closing it. He's not saying anything, instead, he starts walking up to the kitchen without even taking his boots off, tracking snow around the floor.

"Dude, take off your boots!" I shout, kicking mine off and following Nico. He's just standing nearby the chairs, smoking his cigarette, still not talking.

"Speak!" I yell, tugging his arm. Nico has such a bohunk body, I have to use both hands to pull because his wrists are thick. Then again, I'm kind of small and petite and very skinny at around 4'7". That's why I feel like a hoser compared to everyone else in Grade 7. I've met fifth graders taller than me, I kid you not. I feel like I'll never be five feet. Like I said earlier, I'm very skinny as well, which is why Dad says I should gain weight because 67 pounds is unhealthy. It feels terrible. Can you relate?

"Bag your face, brat," Nico says, as soon as he pulls his arm away. My jaw drops in shock at what he just said. I haven't heard him say that since the last time we had a fight, which was in August.

"You bag your face!" I retort, and I stomp to my room and slam the door shut.

I hear a rap on my bedroom door. Quickly, I fold the corner of the page I was just reading and throw it on my desk. I run to the door and open it to see Nico standing there, with a bean in his mouth. Dad would kill him if he found out Nico was bringing beans home because they're illegal. Not only that, every time you turn on the TV, you see an advertisement about how drugs are bad for you. I even heard the First Lady started this whole campaign to discourage people from drugs. It's why I think TV's bunk nowadays. When I was Frada's age I would watch Scooby-Doo! Those were good days.

Unlike these days.

"I'm sorry, Daria," Nico says, after a long silence.

"Cheeuh," I say, folding my arms across my chest. I'm not even facing him.

"Those bags I brought back from uni..." Nico says, his voice low. "They're not sugar and brown powder. They're heroin and crack."

Heroin and crack? Aren't those drugs?

"Dad will murder you," I say.

"I'm keeping them for a friend."

It's a lie. I know it is. But I don't call him out for it.

Jack

January 12th, 1984

I can feel his figure hanging over me as I open my locker.

"You're such a butt ugly airhead, McKinley." I don't even need to look up to know Randall's smiling. "The only way a bitchin' girl would marry you is in the dark."

I try to hold back my tears as I throw my chicken and school crap into my locker. Why do I have to start lunch like this?

"Bag it, Cromarty," I shout, turning my face to the opposite direction. My face is hot, and I can feel the tears well up.

"Crunchy, McKinley? You're crunchy because I'm bodacious and you're not." It feels like the words are echoing themselves in my head like a record, over and over again. I curl up my fists, thinking of how to get back at Randall when the perfect plan hits me.

"If you're so bodacious," I yell, turning to face Randall, "then go hit on Aly and Daria!"

"Damn skippy I will," Randall says, folding his arms with a huge smile on his face.

This is just the start.

I crawl up behind Randall as he brags about his hair to Daria and Aly, who seem to ignoring him as he's yapping. I stick my fingers on the hip area of his gasoline pants. He's not wearing a belt, which makes my plan much easier.

I pull his pants down as quickly as I can and run to the washroom as fast as possible. Once I get there, I breathe a sigh of relief and put my hands on my hips. I am so proud of what I just did, I want to throw a huge party. But not in here. For now, I'll just let Daria and Aly giggle at Randall not even realizing I just pantsed him.

It's the end of the day, and I just finished clapping the erasers. I'm at my locker, pulling my chicken and crap out of my locker when someone punches me in the shoulder. I yelp out of pain and grab my shoulder, rubbing it as I turn to face a tiny stick in a black crop top and neon RaRa mini skirt with black tights and green scrunch socks. Her hair is blue and tied up in a black mesh hair tie, but I can see the red roots. It's clearly Daria, and next to her is a taller girl with a pair of black desert boots and a denim skirt. Her hair is green, and you can't even tell the colour of the roots because it's covered up so well, only with her, she's wearing her hair like Farrah, though weeks ago, it was something different. I don't remember what haircut it was, but it was different. This taller girl is Aly.

"Dude, we saw you pants Randall at lunch. I don't care about the pantsing part, but did you have to pull his calzones down?" Daria is giving me a death stare as Aly just looks at me.

"I didn't plan to pull his calzones down, and I'm pretty sure I didn't." What are they talking about?

Aly raises her hand but Daria grabs it. "He's not lying," she says, looking at me.

"Fine," Aly growls, her face pinched, "but if he does it again, then he can eat shit and die."

Daria lets go of Aly's arm, and Aly pins me to the locker. I can feel sweat beads roll down my forehead as she tightens her grip.

"Why did you pants Randall?" she asks. Her voice seems a lot less harsh this time. She's even making eye contact, though I wish she wasn't, with her blue eyes piercing into me.

"I w-w-wanted r-r-r-r-rev-v-v-v-venge," I stutter. "R-r-r-randall w-w-was b-b-b-being a d-d-d-dickhead and...and...I-"

"Aly, stop," Daria says, grabbing Aly's arm again. Aly lets go of me, and I pant with relief as I drop to the ground.

"I hope he's learned his lesson," Aly says, as she and Daria turn. Daria walks on, but Aly looks back at me, with an expression on her face I can't read, though something tells me it might be sympathy.

Does she feel sorry for me?