Chapter 2

Seated at her desk, Jane wore an expression of vague bemusement as she leafed through The Trials of Lawndale, the yellowing and rough-cut pages crinkling as they turned. A spring storm had hit that day, and rain crashed down on the old Lane house. Buckets stood on guard throughout the cluttered rooms to catch the leaks. The ones Jane and Trent knew about anyway.

"See, making this book doesn't make sense to me. I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying to repress all memory of Lawndale High," Jane said.

"As any reasonable person would," Daria concurred, sitting on the edge of Jane's bed.

"So why create a physical record?"

"A warning to future generations? What do you think of the art?"

Jane shrugged. "Actually, I gotta say it's pretty good."

"I can't say I'm that impressed with the writing," Daria said. Then she wondered why she'd read the thing cover to cover twice the previous night. It was short, if nothing else.

"Wouldn't really know about that. Oh, hey, I think that's Coach Gibson. Wow, he was a lot more fit back then."

Jane held up the book, pointing to a picture of a muscular athlete in a tight t-shirt flexing his biceps as a bunch of women (most of them with rings on their fingers) watched in awe. He did look a bit like Gibson, sans the flab and the resentment.

"Good to know that Lawndale High really does suck away the youth and vitality of anyone on its campus," Daria said.

"But where does it all go?" Jane put the book back on her lap, turning the page again.

"Probably to Ms. Li."

"Ms. Li?"

"I said they sucked it out. I didn't say they did anything useful with it."

Jane chuckled, and then yawned. She closed the book and handed it back to Daria.

"I can't help wondering who N and E were," Daria said, tracing her fingers along the edge of the book. The thing was lucky to have survived the library flood last year.

"What's there to wonder about? They were bored students, like us."

"This is a lot of effort for simple boredom."

"Hey, not having to worry about an art portfolio means you have a lot more time to record all the humiliation of school life."

Daria adjusted her glasses, still turning the puzzle over in her mind. "Do you think Summer might know who wrote this? Or maybe Wind?" She hadn't seen either of them in the book, though it's possible that she just hadn't recognized them.

"Maybe. Summer was there at around the same time Doug was."

"Think we should call her?"

"Wow, you are curious. Summer doesn't usually like to be bothered with these things. Or with anything else."

"In other words, calling her means you get the bonus of annoying a sibling."

Jane sighed, and Daria got the vague feeling that she'd said the wrong thing. "I guess it couldn't hurt," she finally said.

"You can call?"

"Sure, hold on."

Jane reached for the phone and opened up an address book. Moments later, she punched in a number and put the phone on speaker.

"I'll make the introduction, but you're going to have to explain everything," Jane said.

Someone picked up. "Heeeellloooo!"

It was clearly a child's voice. Jane brightened up a bit. "Oh, hey, Courtney!"

"Aunt Jane?" Courtney's voice almost squeaked with excitement.

"Yeah, it's me. How old are you now? Wait, don't tell me: ten?"

"Not yet. Nine."

"Oh, right! That's a big year. Fourth grade and all that."

Daria drummed her fingers on the cover, wishing Jane would hurry things up.

"Courtney, is your mom there? A friend of mine had a question for her."

"Nope!" The enthusiasm in her voice left no doubt that the little girl considered this to be a very good thing.

"That's okay, it's not urgent. Think you could take a message?"

"I can, but I don't know when she'll be back."

Jane tensed up, her fingers tightening around the phone. "Any idea where she went?"

"You know how we run away from her sometimes?" Courtney asked.

"Sure." Jane drew out the word, as if trying to stay calm.

"This time, mommy ran away! From dad, not from us."

"Wait, why?" Jane demanded.

"She kept saying… what was it? Oh yeah, he's cramping her style."

"Your dad's with you?"

"Uh huh. He buys us ice cream for dinner because he doesn't know how to cook! It's a lot of fun."

Jane exhaled. "So, you don't know when your mom will be back?"

"Nope. We'll probably run away when she does come back. Just a head's up."

Daria silently cursed.

"Heh, well you know where to run to if you really have to. But stick with your dad for now, okay?"

"If you say so, Aunt Jane."

"I do say so. I gotta go, but I'll check in later."

Jane put the phone down and sighed. "Well, it looks like your curiosity about an old book uncovered another Lane family crisis. Wonder how long this one has been going on."

"Uh, sorry."

"It's okay. Not much I can do about it. Mom and dad are both out of the country. Mom didn't bother to leave contact information, and dad said something about the phone lines in Mozambique not being reliable."

But Daria was already thinking of alternatives. "I don't suppose Summer has an old yearbook lying around?"
Jane raised an eyebrow. "Wait, you're serious about this?"

"Sure. A yearbook might have the information I need and comes with the bonus of not having to talk to anyone."

"I guess I just don't get what's so interesting about this book. I mean, it's kind of cool, but it mostly looks like in-jokes and making fun of the same stupidity we deal with."

"You don't feel kinship with the misanthropic contempt of generations past?"

"Nope." Jane sighed. "Sorry if I'm being a bringdown. There's just a lot of work for me to do if I'm going to have any shot at BFAC and that's been weighing on my mind lately."

Daria nodded. "I understand. I take it that's a no on the yearbook?"

"Yearbooks don't last long in the Lane household. They just make such handy kindling, you understand."

The Carter County Inter-School Track Meet is Decadent and Depraved

Written by N, illustrated by E

I reached the track meet a few minutes before it started, by mouth still dry and my head feeling like a rabid gorilla had taken up percussion within its confines. Sugar's a deadly thing and don't let anyone tell you otherwise, but by God I was in its grip. Even then, in this outdoor cathedral to clean living and All-American Healthy Bodies, I had the stuff in my pack: three packs of M , a bag of Reagan-approved jellybeans, two dozen complimentary mints, ten or so Tootsie Rolls, sugar packets nabbed from local restaurants, and five Pixie Sticks. It was the Pixie Sticks that really scared me. Little vials of pure processed sugar, treated with the kinds of chemicals that the military-industrial complex had deemed too inhumane for war.

Coach Reznick was there, blathering on about statistics with Principal Ellis. His gut showing as he tried to talk around the grape-flavored sucker in his mouth, his hand clutching a can of Coke the way a drowning man clings to a life raft, I saw that, athlete or not, I was in good company with a fellow sugar junkie…

Back in the safety of her personal padded room, Daria looked up from the text and rubbed her eyes. She'd left Jane's house a while ago. As usual, Jane had work to do. Come to think of it, so did Daria. As much as she hated the boredom of the last few months, she still had plenty to keep her busy. Between college prep and Tom, it didn't seem like she had time for anything else.

In other words, she didn't have time to waste on N and E and their long-forgotten book.

Except the question kept worming its way through her brain. Who had these two students been? Jokesters? Brains? Secretly resentful popular kids?

She had a vague feeling that N and E were both boys, though she wasn't so sure that she'd feel comfortable betting money on that. They were (or one of them was) well-read, judging by the references. The book's tone was cruel and mocking, so the pair had obviously hated the school, which struck her as a reasonable stance to take.

There had to be clues of some kind. Authors loved to sneak in little in-jokes and references for their friends. But she was working without any personal knowledge of Lawndale High circa 1984.

Who did have personal knowledge? Doug and Charlene Thompson were two options. Two last-ditch options to be undertaken only in the most desperate circumstances. Besides, popular kids like them wouldn't deign to pay much attention to (probably) brainy misfits like N and E.

The Thompsons couldn't help much. If they couldn't, Coach Gibson was also out. But Mr. DeMartino might offer some insight. N and E hadn't spared him in their skewering, but if they were anything like Daria, they probably shared a vague sense of fair-weather solidarity with the embittered history teacher. Maybe he'd known them or could at least offer some hint as to their identities.

Resolving to ask him tomorrow, she began flipping through the book again, searching the pages for any clues she might have missed.