Chapter 3

Daria had spent the entire day mentally rehearsing what she'd say to Mr. DeMartino. The whole thing felt weirder the more she thought about it. Why would he care?

More to the point, why did she?

The bell rang, marking the end of the class period. Daria waited in her seat as the other students hurried out.

"Hey, Daria?" Jane said, standing up next to her. "Are you headed out?"

"Uh, you go ahead. I need to ask Mr. DeMartino something."

"Good luck," Jane replied, shouldering her backpack and walking out. Once upon a time, Jane would've been a lot more curious about why Daria wanted to stay.

Mr. DeMartino sat at his desk, glaring at paperwork with the focused intensity that could only come from a lifetime of barely repressed rage. Taking a deep breath, Daria got to her feet and walked up to him.

"The class period is OVER! I'm sure there are other teachers you can IGNORE," Mr. DeMartino muttered, making an angry slashing motion on the top form with the red felt pen in his hand.

"Actually, it's me."

He looked up, his bad eye bulging ever so slightly. "Oh, Daria. What is it?"

"Uh, this is kind of an odd question, but do you have much memory of Lawndale High in the eighties?"

The left side of DeMartino's face twitched, the eye quivering in its socket. "It all blurs together, Daria. Suffice it to say, things were not much BETTER back then."

"I'm relieved that my faith in corruption and institutional malfeasance won't be shaken."

He made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a bark.

Daria hadn't been sure if she should actually mention The Trials of Lawndale or not. Potentially, it was the kind of thing that a teacher might get upset about. But DeMartino was probably safe, since he'd be angry for the same reasons (and then some) as N and E.

She unslung her backpack and opened it to take out the book. As she did, she spoke:

"The other day I found an old book in the library. It was put together by students, probably in or around 1984."

"Oh?"

Taking the battered book out, she laid it carefully on her teacher's desk.

"May I take a look?" he asked.

"Go ahead. It's a pretty vicious takedown of the student body and faculty of the time. The creators didn't give their real names and just used the letters N and E."

As she spoke, DeMartino opened the book. She approved of how carefully he handled the pages, the way any historian would when reading a primary document. His thin lips twitched as he scanned the documents.

"It APPEARS we had some satirists in the school. Reasonably skilled ones."

Daria relaxed a bit. As she suspected, he was more amused than offended.

"Right. Do you have any idea who they might have been."

He looked up from the book, and then shrugged. "I've had a lot of students, Daria. Only a FEW of them stand out. I can't even be sure that this N and E were ever in my class."

"Uh, well they did draw you."

DeMartino's palms slammed down on the desk and he thrust himself up with his arms so that he glowered down at Daria. His teeth ground together.

"OH?"

"You're on pages 10 and 11."

DeMartino growled and flipped over to the big double-page spread of Lawndale High. His gaze zeroed in on the monstrous rendition of himself tearing across the football field.

Then he started laughing. A hacking, berserk laugh that wouldn't have sounded out of place coming from a mad scientist in particularly cheesy 1930s horror movie.

"IF ONLY! HA! Maybe that's what it takes. I need to grow to giant size to physically DESTROY the football field. Then we'd get some decent FUNDING!"

"Keep reaching for the stars."

He laughed again, and then settled back into his chair. "You understand that them DRAWING me doesn't necessarily mean that I was their teacher."

It made sense. DeMartino's mannerisms made him one of the more well-known figures in the school. Even kids who'd never stepped foot in his class knew who he was.

"Sure, I get that. If you don't know who they are, can you think of anyone who might?"

"There are still some STUDENTS from that era living in Lawndale. Like DOUG!" He angrily shouted that name, as if it were a curse.

"Given the quality of Lawndale's students, you can see why I'm reluctant to look to the alumni. By any chance, do you have a yearbook from that era?"

"YEARBOOK? The only purpose of those misbegotten paeans to VANITY is for kindling! Not like I can afford the heat with this salary..."

"That seems to happen to a lot of Lawndale High yearbooks," Daria said, hiding her frustration.

"Wait. There IS a collection of yearbooks in the lounge. Though I'm not sure they go back that far."

"Would you be able to get it? If it's there?"

He growled. "I'm not supposed to give those out to students. While, ORDINARILY, spite would be sufficient motivation for me to do so, I can't give Li an excuse to further hurt the union. But I can borrow it and you can take a look on Monday. Under my SUPERVISION, of course."

Daria nodded. "That seems reasonable. In the meantime, I'll keep looking for clues to see if I can narrow it down."

"I'll also point OUT that their real names may not start with N or E. Those could be based on nicknames, or letters chosen at random."

"No one ever said history was easy."

"If they did, they were probably a FOOTBALL player who got a bye on the test!"

Daria thanked Mr. DeMartino and left the classroom. At least she had a lead.

"Now that you've backstabbed your way to the ASB presidency, where do you see yourself going from here?"

Daria looked up from The Trials of Lawndale and glanced over to Tom, who sat across her at the least greasy table they could find at Pizza King. His jaw firmed and his brow furrowed, playing the part of someone making an important announcement as he read the next line in the faux interview.

"Well, N, this is America. I believe anyone can backstab their way to the top, so long as they work hard and believe in God. That's why they call it the Land of Opportunity."

She smiled. Daria had to admit she liked it when Tom committed to something like this. Though she wondered if she shouldn't be more alarmed at how well he played the role of a sleazy politico.

"Always refreshing to see a young man with such ruthless ambition. But what about your more immediate goals? Now that you've seized power over the ASB, what do you intend to do with it? Or maybe I should ask: what will Principal Nicholson let you do with it?"

"I think we all agree the football is the heart of Lawndale High."

"As opposed to the enlightened leadership of Grove Hills," Daria said, this time as herself instead of N.

"Oh, not at all. I'm sure my principal looks up to Li and takes notes."

"Let's keep reading before the thought of anyone admiring Li turns my stomach even further," Daria said.

"Right!" Tom cleared his throat. "I think we all agree the football is the heart of Lawndale High. It'd be great if we emphasized it with a new stadium. Also, jocks shouldn't have to go to class."

"I think we can all agree academics are for commies."

"Agreed! As ASB president, I'm proud to make this school part of the front lines of the Cold War."

That was the last line.

"It's true what they say: nothing ever changes," Daria said.

"Hm, I'll have to check but I'm pretty sure the Cold War ended."

"That's just what they want you to think."

"Pesky mind control devices. This is a neat find though."

"I just wish I knew who'd written it," Daria admitted. "I've been combing the book for hints, but there aren't many. Or, more likely, they aren't hints that anyone outside of mid-eighties Lawndale High would understand."

"What hints do you have?"

"Let's see: I'm pretty sure that N was part of the school newspaper. He mentions having a press pass in the Hunter S. Thompson pastiche."

"Plus, he did the interview with the ASB President Cole."

"As journalists tend to do. There are bits of French scattered throughout the book, so one of them might have been in French Club. Or just taking a French class without being in the club."

"What do they say?"

"I'm not exactly fluent, but as far as I can tell they're mostly references to well-known French personages. I'm including Jerry Lewis in that number."

"The French brought that upon themselves," Tom said. "You've been doing a lot of work figuring this out."

"I know. I even talked my history teacher into retrieving an old faculty yearbook from '84 so that I can do some research. I'm not sure why this interests me so much. The book's occasionally clever, but not to the point where I'm overly impressed."

"Yet we just spent time publicly reading a passage."

"I'll admit I can't explain why I'm so interested. For the past week, this dumb book's been my animating drive. Maybe I just don't want to think about college."

"If it helps, look at college as a way of escaping high school."

Daria met Tom's gaze. "Except what if it isn't? What if it really is more of the same. By the looks of it, 1980s Lawndale was just as dreary as today, and I'm sure the Lawndale of the 2020s won't be better."

"Maybe we'll get lucky and a giant meteor will smash the town," Tom said with a shrug.

Daria sighed. As much as she liked Tom, there were some things she just couldn't discuss with him. Though maybe that wasn't fair considering she couldn't even figure out exactly what was bothering her.

"What's the matter?"

He was attentive, at least. Now she'd awkwardly explain the problem, and he'd offer a platitude sandwiched by comforting sarcasm.

"Nothing. But there are some school projects I need to finish this weekend and I've already put them off for too long."

It was a dirty lie, but an effective one. Nothing that'd make Tom worry.

"Oh, you sure?"

"I'm sure." She took the book and stood up. "See you later."

As she walked out, she wondered what she'd do for the rest of the night. Then she realized that she'd go right back to analyzing The Trials of Lawndale.