A/N: Things will start getting kicked off, by the way. I'm just getting the characters introduced to each other. I'm not too proud of this chapter, but I promise that it won't be so...dim...in the chapters to come. Anyway, I'm sorry for the long wait and all that jazz.

Jane struggled to keep her eyes open throughout the day. She'd spent the entirety of the night tossing and turning, mulling over her situation, desperate denial dominating her mind. She was clueless. She'd never dealt with a situation such as this in the past. Terror shook her, and continued to do so whenever she glanced at Daria, whenever she flowed through her mind, whenever she even heard her name.

Jane slumped in Mr O'Neill's self-esteem class, not even paying attention to the mumbling man that stood before her. She was lost in her thoughts, though trying to distract herself with the crap Mr O'Neill had scribbled on his board.

'"I'm okay, and so are you"? A board is trying to tell me I'm okay. A board is talking to me, now.'

Daria sat right in front of her, the board could no longer serve as a distraction. Her aroma of stale books swamped Jane's nose, replacing the constant fumes of paint that often loomed within Jane's nostrils. Jane sniffed, and sniffed again, longing to keep the smell of stale books, causing Daria to shuffle slightly in a self-conscious way. Jane panicked.

'Have I caused her to think I'm a freak? Am I making her uncomfortable? Damn it, Lane, when did you get so clingy? Who cares what she thinks. Who cares what anyone thinks. You don't need anyone. A paintbrush, a canvas, and Trent are all you need. Who cares?' Jane attempted to convince herself. She became satisfied…until Daria began to wave frantically to grab Mr O'Neill's attention.

"Excuse me. I have a question." Daria voiced, immediately grabbing Jane's attention.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Question and answer time's later." Mr O'Neill explained, a pathetic glimpse of sympathy plastered on his face.

"I want to know what 'realising your actuality' means."

"It means…look, let me get through this part, okay, then there'll be a video." Mr O'Neill stumbled, faltered and mumbled. Jane smirked, knowing Daria had just cut him down without even meaning to. He was clueless.

'Looks like I'm going to have to be the one to show her the ropes around here. It's my duty. Duty? I have no duties…argh! Lane! Talk!'

"He doesn't know what it means. He's got the speech memorised. Just enjoy the nice man's soothing voice." Daria turned her attention to Jane, a look of confusion met her.

"How am I supposed to follow him if I don't know what he's talking about?" Daria raised the question, feeling hopeless that no one seemed to know anything and wasn't receiving any help from anyone.

"I can fill you in later. I've taken this course six times." Jane felt quite proud of herself. She'd managed to talk to Daria and offer her help. Help that she clearly needed. She and Daria didn't talk for the rest of the class. Mr O'Neill hopelessly rambled on about upping self-esteem and forced the class to watch the video on how to increase self-esteem and what to do. Jane could recite the entire speech and the entire video. She noticed Daria wasn't paying any attention, either, but was scribbling in a notebook. Jane dared to lean over her shoulder and see what she was doing. A stick-drawing of O'Neill with the head of a cheese glared back at her, Jane struggling to hold herself together from laughter. A small squeak from Jane caused Daria to smirk, and she passed the drawing to Jane. Jane whipped her pencil out and began scribbling, creating additions to the drawing. Mr O'Neill didn't even seem to notice, or even care. Daria and Jane continued this throughout the rest of class before the bell rang to signify the end of their session.

"I'm just going to head to the toilet. Meet ya outside?" Daria nodded as Jane turned towards the lavatory. She leaned over the sink, staring into her reflection in the mirror. She began to laugh. "Oh, Jane, ain't ya in quite the pickle? This ain't you. You don't like girls. You've never liked girls, and you never will. Ain't that right, Talking Toilet?" She splashed her face with water, the cold liquid embracing her skin in a soothing forgiveness. "There's nothing going on. Nothing more will happen with the exception of sweet friendhsip." After re-applying her lipstick, plumping her lips together, she marched out of the lavatory with her mind racing. Daria was waiting outside in the school grounds, perched on the ground, book in hand with acute concentration. She noticed Jane's forthcoming shadow about to blanket her and stuffed her book in her bag, twitching a small smile at Jane. They began sauntering in the direction of Jane's home.

"So, you were going to inform me of what this abhorrent self-esteem course contains?" Daria asked.

"Well, you obviously know what happened today. Tomorrow, we're gonna be roleplaying. We'll go into pairs or small groups or something, and one of us will have to be the oh-so-confident human being who towers over us low self-esteem bunch. We much engage in conversation, physical contact like shaking hands and all that crap. Then, we swap and the same pointless said crap is repeated. So, then, after the roleplaying, in the next class, they put the boys and the girls in separate rooms, and a female counselor comes and talks to us about body image." Jane said coolly, surprised at just how well she knew the course and felt slightly embarrassed that she'd taken the course so many times, even if she didn't even need it.

"What do they talk to the boys about?" Daria asked, though already knowing the answer.

"A classroom full of boys and a male teacher?" Jane asked rhetorically, though she and Daria answered in perfect harmony.

"Nocturnal emissions." The answer was too obvious. Daria felt slightly stupid for asking. She quickly proceeded to leading on the conversation to ensure Jane forgot about Daria's supposed small blunder.

"I don't get it, Jane. You've got the entire course memorised. How come you can't pass the test to get out?"

"I can pass the test. But I like having low self-esteem. It makes me feel special." Jane kept looking on as she said this, almost missing the small smile that emerged from Daria, though noticing it eventually. Jane felt nervous. Her palms were sweaty and she shook slightly with nerves.

"Jane, are you okay?" Daria asked, slight concern in her deadpan voice.

"Hm? Oh, yeah, yeah, I'm okay. I was just thinking." Jane struggled to make a smooth recovery.

"About what?"

"It's nothing important. Trust me, amiga." Jane hoped Daria would leave it at that, but Daria kept looking at Jane with severe curiosity. Jane smirked, noticing that her house was in view. "Where do you live? My house is right there. See the white one with the metal sculpture in the garden?" Jane pointed out her house. Daria looked upon the plain white abode, studying the metal sculpture with interest.

"I like the metal sculpture." Jane giggled to herself at Daria's remark. "What'd I say?"

"Nothin', 'twas made by yours truly. I'm just takin' the compliment." Jane proclaimed with slight pride.

"I take it you have an interest in art."

"A talent, if I do say so. You should come check out my other stuff. It ain't too great, but I could use some inspiration." Jane bit her lip at the last part, but Daria didn't comment about it.

"I guess it wouldn't tear my legs apart to take a trek to your house. I'm in the next street. Just look for the big reddish house that screams murder-scene."

"I'll see ya, tomorrow." Jane departed, heading towards her house. She didn't want to leave, but at the same time, she couldn't be more thankful. She had to think things through. She didn't look back as she entered her house, the paint fumes taking residence within her nostrils once more.