"Daria" is owned and copyrighted by MTV. All rights reserved. This is *not* an episode, but the best imitation of an episode that I could write. Thanks to the creators of "Daria" for providing so much rich material for fanfics.... This is the twenty-first episode of The Driven Wild Universe. It follows 1) "Rose-Colored Lenses," 2) "The Tie That Chokes," 3) "That Thing You Say," 4) "'Shipped Out," 5) "Andrea Speaks!", 6) "Cheered Down," 7) "None in the Family, Part One," 8) "None in the Family, Part Two," 9) "Outvoted," 10) "Of Absolute Value," 11) "Breaking the Mold," 12) "Surreal World," 13) "Erin the Head," 14) "Primarily Color," 15) "The Age of Cynicism," 16) "Charge of the Math Brigade," 17) "An Uneasy Marriage," 18) "In Her Own Words," 19) "All But Forgotten," and 20) "Memory Road." This installment takes place two to three weeks after "Memory Road" concluded. I would call it a 3S... but since some people read these in one sitting, I suspect these Seating ratings are kind of useless. As a more accurate measure, I would say that it is about the length of "All But Forgotten." I mentioned in my end notes for "Memory Road" that there's no clear timeline for the Driven Wild Universe, but that by now, Daria is a senior and Quinn a junior. If I had to estimate when the break between years occurred, I would say between "In Her Own Words" and "All But Forgotten," since "All But Forgotten" and "Memory Road" are supposed to take place early in the school year, possibly Labor Day Weekend. If it doesn't make any sense... well, the real show's timeline didn't make a whole lot of sense either. Enjoy! [intro theme music...................] INTO THE FIRE -- by Kara Wild ACT ONE SCENE 1 (Lawndale High hallway) (Students are clearing out their lockers and heading home. Daria and Jane are by theirs, and Daria appears even more antisocial than usual. Her eyes are downcast as she quickly stuffs books into her bag. Just then, Kevin and Brittany appear behind her.) BRITTANY: Maybe we should *say* something, Kevvy. KEVIN: I don't know, babe. She's kind of freaking me out. BRITTANY: But she *always* does that, babe. KEVIN: Oh, right. BRITTANY: Only now she's, like, even *more* miserable than before, which will make her less popular, and if she's even *less* popular, she'll be even *more* miserable, until she's down to nothing, you know, babe? KEVIN: (squints, confused) But if she's more miserable.. . shouldn't she be *more* popular? BRITTANY: We have to help her! As popular people, we have a duty to reach out to anyone less fortunate than we are! KEVIN: You mean we have to hug her? BRITTANY: Eap! DARIA: I can hear you, you know. (She straightens up and turns to face them, her expression grim. Brittany edges closer, looking sincerely contrite, if vacant as ever.) BRITTANY: Daria... if you ever want to talk about, um, stuff? We're, like, here for you. (Bt) But no touching! JANE: Yeah, Daria, why don't you tell Brittany about that run-over squirrel we saw in the parking lot this morning. All those little black bugs eating away at its dead glazed eyes -- BRITTANY: EWWWW! No! I meant your parents' (whispers) *separation*. DARIA: And just how did you learn about that? (Brittany starts twirling her hair frantically.) BRITTANY: I heard it from Angie, who heard it from Nikki, who heard it from Corey who used to date Nikki, even though I told her she was far too *good* for that squeaky-voiced little weasel and -- (Daria groans.) KEVIN: I heard it from the janitor guy. Or was it the hedge-clipper guy? JANE: Oh, and Mr. O'Neill's been announcing it to some of his classes on the condition that they not say anything. Which I can see worked like a charm. (Daria glares at her.) JANE: Sorry I didn't tell you, I just thought you'd had enough brain hemorrhages for the past week. DARIA: So the whole school knows. That explains why so many people have been staring at me today. BRITTANY: And if you ever need to talk to someone who's "been there," I can tell you about how my mom, Vivian, threw my dad's *entire* collection of extinct stuffed eagle earmuffs down the garbage disposal, and made him cry for a week! DARIA: That's -- BRITTANY: And how she cleared out all his secret bank accounts to buy this *really* neat condo in Malibu so she could be an actress in movies where you don't have to wear a bra! But that's okay, Daria: I'm sure *your* dad won't move to California to star in any movies. JANE: Not unless they waive the clause that makes him wear underwear. DARIA: That's very thoughtful of you, Brittany, but I'm dealing with this just fine. I'll let you know, though, when I could use a really good topless movie story. BRITTANY: Sure thing, Daria! KEVIN: And I'll tell you about the time my mom kicked my dad out of the house and threw all of his beer bottles at the TV. Oh, wait (chuckles) they're still together... BRITTANY: Come *on*, Kevin. (She and Kevin leave. Daria closes her locker and leans her head against it.) JANE: See? You saw for yourself: It can always be worse. DARIA: Damn that Quinn. I *told* her not to tell everyone. JANE: You can't blame her, Daria: As you can see, the whole thing kind of got out of control. Telling just one person could have been enough for the gossip mill. DARIA: People's parents get divorced all the time. Mine are only separated. Why is everyone acting like my life is over? JANE: Because reveling in someone else's troubles makes them feel like theirs aren't so big. DARIA: Damn human nature. (Jodie comes over.) JODIE: Hey Daria, I heard -- (She's stopped short by Daria's dark frown.) JANE: Run away, Jodie, run away... JODIE: (understands) I'll talk to you later. (She leaves.) JANE: So how are you holding up? Really. DARIA: I'll tell you when I know. (She starts walking down the hall. Jane follows.) DARIA: Right now, it just feels too weird. My dad is living at the Happy Acres Apartment Complex across town -- yet somehow, he seems to be around just as much as when he was at home. Every night, my mom tries to breach the wall of silence that Quinn and I have built to close her out, with little to show for it. JANE: So no difference there. DARIA: The only real change is... oh yes, I loathe them with every fiber of my being. JANE: So all that forgiveness you were feeling wore off, huh? DARIA: Along with the numbness. Now that my parents' separation is official and has some staying power, the only feeling I can pick out of the haze is resentment. JANE: Why don't we just drop the subject, then, until further notice? Anything exciting and whimsical that you want to share? (Daria pauses as Mr. Phelps hurries past. His eyes flicker in her direction before he disappears around a corner.) DARIA: I'll tell you later. (cut to: ) SCENE 2 (neighborhood sidewalk, after school) (Quinn walks home by herself, her expression clouded in thought as she gazes down at some papers.) SANDI: (O.S.) Quinn. (Quinn jerks her head up, folds the papers, and lays them in her backpack as her old nemesis approaches.) QUINN: Sandi? Hi, how are you? SANDI: Can't complain. How about *you*? QUINN: I'm fine. I feel like we haven't talked for a while. SANDI: You're wearing contacts, I see. (Quinn touches the corner of her eye. For the first time since "Cheered Down," she looks like Quinn from the series.) QUINN: Yeah, they finally came out with the kind that can handle my eye problem. I was *so* happy to get them, even though they've been kind of hard to get used to 'cause they sting a little. Do you like them? SANDI: Well at *least* they're not the glasses. (Quinn presses her lips together in a strained smile. Sandi still knows how to give backhanded compliments.) QUINN: So what have you been up to? I feel like I never see you at the places we hang out, and you're not around at lunch. SANDI: I've been extremely busy with many important things. (She eyes Quinn's backpack.) Though frankly I'm a little surprised *you* would even notice, given how busy you've been with your *math* stuff. QUINN: (defensive) I'm not *that* busy. Mathletics season hasn't started yet and all I'm doing is some extra credit to boost my grade. SANDI: Your grade must be pretty *abysmal*, because it seems like you're *always* in the math room with that Mr. Phelps. (Sandi tosses her hair.) I don't know how you can hang *out* with that creep. (Quinn's eyes narrow, even though Sandi's insult seems more directed at her math teacher than her.) QUINN: He's not a creep! You don't even *know* him. SANDI: Well then what *non*-creepy things does he say to you? QUINN: He -- (She closes her mouth, realizing that Phelps doesn't say much about his life at all.) *Look*, you're not president of the Fashion Club or vice president of the school anymore, so I don't have to explain *anything* to you. (She starts to break away. Sandi gets a brief look of contrition on her face, like she never meant for their encounter to turn hostile.) SANDI: Quinn, *wait*. (Quinn stops and turns, warily.) SANDI: I just came to tell you that since you've been busy, I've been noticing a lot more fashion *don'ts* have been running around school without reprisal. If you want some help -- QUINN: No, I will *not* give up my position as Fashion Club president. SANDI: I'm not asking you to, *God*. I'm just saying that to preserve fashion in the school, maybe we should overcome *differences* and work for the common good, or whatever. QUINN: (surprised) That sounds... nice. Is that all you came by to tell me? (Sandi nods curtly.) QUINN: Well, okay, then. Thanks. SANDI: See you around. (She nods again, starts to go, then stops.) Oh, and sorry about your parents. QUINN: (surprised, grateful) Thanks. (Sandi leaves, and Quinn watches after her with a remorseful, longing expression. She's missed Sandi more than she would have ever thought possible, since...) QUINN: Wait! (softly) You never told me what *you* were up to. (cut to: ) SCENE 3 (Morgendorffer residence, late afternoon) (Shot of the outside, before cutting into Daria's room. Daria sits at her computer desk while Jane leans over her, both looking at the screen.) JANE: So you and Quinn finally had *the* talk, huh? DARIA: A couple days after my parents announced their separation. JANE: Did she say if Phelps was doing anything underhanded? DARIA: Just that he would sometimes get the answers to mathletics problems ahead of time so she would know them during the event, but she never needed them anyway, because she studied so much that she already knew how to work the problems. JANE: Do you believe her? (Beat) DARIA: I hope so. JANE: Did he do this just for Quinn, or for all the mathletes? DARIA: (uncomfortable) She never said, but somehow I got the feeling they were just for her. (She gazes forlornly at the computer screen.) JANE: So now what? Are you gonna go to Ms. Li? DARIA: (sighs) Quinn begged me not to. She said nothing bad had happened and that Phelps just wanted her to have a little extra confidence. (She swivels around to face Jane.) Besides, could you see Ms. Li launching an investigation into her award-winning mathletics team? JANE: (snorts) She'd be more likely to launch an investigation into *you*. DARIA: Exactly. JANE: Are you gonna tell your parents? (Daria doesn't reply. She turns the chair back around to face the computer screen.) JANE: That was the basis of your Phelps paranoia, huh? DARIA: So I thought. Since working on the underground paper gave me a severe case of Nancy Drew, I've scanned issues of Fielding's newspapers, alumni newsletters, and yearbooks going back ten years. I looked at both of the Lawndale newspapers, at archived student evaluations -- JANE: You *were* dedicated. DARIA: -- asked for graduate contact information, and e-mailed some of the faculty, asking them if they knew Phelps very well. But still no smoking gun. Then I got this e-mail from a Fielding administrator. (She clicks it open, revealing a line of correspondence between her and the respondent. At the bottom is her simple question about Phelps, followed by the reply, "Why are you so interested in Alfred Phelps?", followed by Daria's explanation that she is a student at Lawndale High and has heard some troubling things about him, followed by, "Why don't we meet at Cafe Brunoli (formerly the Metreonopolis)?") JANE: His last e-mail is almost a month after yours. DARIA: And he wants to meet next week. JANE: Are you gonna go? DARIA: Of course. If only to hear him say "there's nothing going on." JANE: He wouldn't need to tell you that in person. DARIA: Unless there's corruption at Fielding that he's afraid I'll stumble onto by mistake. JANE: Or unless Phelps has a "very special problem" that requires a big explanation. DARIA: *Off* the record. JANE: Or maybe he really *does* have your smoking gun. (Daria ponders this for a moment, before hearing the familiar sounds of the front door opening.) DARIA: Great. (checks her clock.) Mom's been coming home earlier lately. Better head out, unless you want her to beg you to stay for dinner. JANE: I can always jump out the window. (Bt) Those rose bushes won't leave permanent scars, will they? (cut to: ) SCENE 4 (Morgendorffer kitchen) (Daria, Quinn, and Helen poke at their dinners.) HELEN: (forced cheer) How was school today, girls? DARIA: Okay. (Quinn utters a grunt that sounds like "fine." Helen's brow creases at her passive-aggressive demeanor.) HELEN: Anything interesting happen? DARIA: If this were kamikaze flight school, the answer might be yes. HELEN: What about you, Quinn? (Quinn shrugs, her eyes focused squarely on her food.) HELEN: Are you enjoying your new contacts? QUINN: (stony) Can't tell yet. They're kind of stingy when I wear them, 'cause my eyes keep getting wet. HELEN: (gets her meaning) I'm sure it... just takes time to get used to them. (Quinn makes a grunt that sounds like "whatever." Helen sighs noiselessly, then turns to Daria for support -- but Daria is in no mood to be their bridge. Like Quinn, she turns her eyes toward her plate.) HELEN: Well *my* day was good. Yes. Very good... yes it was. (Her voice fading, she picks at her food. Quinn then perks up and turns to Daria.) QUINN: Have you turned in your transfer notice to DeMartino yet? (Daria winces a little at the sound of his name, as does Helen.) DARIA: Not yet. QUINN: I think Mr. Nelson's gonna be way better. He doesn't yell at you or call you names. DARIA: Mr. DeMartino doesn't do that... unless you do something stupid, like not study. QUINN: Maybe not to *you*, but he yelled at me even when I did study. Just because it was a chapter that I should have read the week *before*. Yeesh! HELEN: He calls you *names*?? QUINN: (ignoring her) If he wants people to do well in his class, he should learn how to motivate them, the way Mr. Phelps does. DARIA: With cold, hard cash. (Daria pops this remark out in jest, but Quinn seems to find it annoying.) QUINN: Just because a teacher's good at motivating people doesn't mean there's something *wrong* with him. Sandi said he was creepy, but I think the whole reason she even brought it up was to distract me from asking questions about *her* life. HELEN: When did you start talking to Sandi again? QUINN: (ignoring her) Did I tell you I ran into her when I was walking home? (Daria glances at Helen, who is pursing her lips together with growing frustration. Like her mother, she is getting tired of Quinn's "bratitude.") DARIA: And she begged you to lend her your lip liner. QUINN: She told me she's been doing great and important stuff, which is why she hasn't been to any of our usual hangouts. But if it's so great, why couldn't she just tell me? I mean, the only time you don't bring stuff up is if it's *bad*, right? (Daria eyes Quinn and nods wearily.) QUINN: Everyone's been wondering what's happened to her lately, so it's not just me. Maybe she's depressed and she needs friends. Since tomorrow's Friday, maybe I'll get Stacy and Tiffany to come with me to her house and we can do, like, a girl's night out to cheer her up. HELEN: (gentle, firm) Quinn, you'll have to save those plans for Saturday. You remember what tomorrow night is? (Quinn looks at Helen for the first time, her face growing tense.) DARIA: Cuisine a la Jake Morgendorffer. QUINN: But we just *went* to Dad's. HELEN: And now you're going again, every Friday, as you agreed. QUINN: Why do I *have* to go to Dad's on Friday night? Why does there have to be a *night* when I go to see Dad?! HELEN: Fine, then. Call your father and arrange to see him on Saturday night. Just as long as it is one night every week, as you agreed. QUINN: This is stupid. I'm almost an adult, I shouldn't have to do anything. HELEN: (harder tone) The point is that you *agreed* to do it, for your father's sake. QUINN: So? He'll probably just have his girlfriend over. HELEN: All right, ENOUGH! (A retort dies on Quinn's lips, and her face grows pale as Helen stands up from her chair and glares down at her younger daughter.) HELEN: I have *had* it with you, Quinn. You can ignore me and treat me like I'm some kind of criminal. You can pretend you're in the shower whenever your father calls. But I will be *damned* if I let you shut him out of your life completely. He is your father and he loves you as much as *I* love you, and tomorrow night you WILL go to see him, or you will be *punished*! *AM* *I* *MAKING* *MYSELF* *CLEAR*?! (Quinn is silent, her face changing from pale to bright red. Her expression crumbles.) QUINN: I hate you. (She jumps out of her chair and flees the room. Helen watches her go, her own expression crumbling a little. She puts a hand over her face until she has regained control, then returns to her place at the table. Daria remains in her seat, poking at her peas.) HELEN: I didn't want to yell at her like that. But I feel like it's the only way I can get *through* to her these days. DARIA: It *is* the only way you can get through to her. HELEN: You think I don't hate this, too? Do you think I *like* seeing you girls this upset, that I *wouldn't* prefer that the four of us be together every night?? DARIA: Then why'd you get separated? (Helen stares at her, as usual, unable to come up with a ready answer for that question. She stares down at her lap and shakes her head. Daria tosses her fork onto her plate and stands up.) DARIA: Look, Mom, I love you and all, but right now I'm closer to Quinn's perspective than to yours. Until you can find some convincing reasons for me to feel otherwise, that's how it's going to stay. (She turns to leave. Helen lifts her head and stares off into space, her cheeks coloring a little.) HELEN: To think I once thought hearing you say "I love you" would be the happiest moment of my life. DARIA: Yes, well, if only I'd been sincere. (Daria walks away, leaving her mother alone.) (cut to: ) SCENE 5 (bathroom) (Daria walks in to find Quinn gasping and sobbing, tears streaming down her face as she stands over one of the sinks while the water runs. Beside her, on the counter, sit a contact lens case, lens solution, and a pair of glasses. Quinn puts her second lens in the case before turning to her sister. Daria holds open her arms -- a gesture she never would have considered even a month ago -- and Quinn sinks into them.) QUINN: I hate her. I hate her so much... DARIA: Why do you fight her so hard? QUINN: Because she's selfish and thinks she controls everything and this is *her* fault. (Daria strokes her back with one of her hands, trying to soothe her.) DARIA: Last week it was all Dad's fault. QUINN: It's *both* of their faults! How could she just stand there and lecture *me* about putting family first when she and Dad never put *us* first! DARIA: I know. It *feels* that way... but they both love us. You know that, don't you? QUINN: I can't stand it, Daria. I can't stand being *around* them. I'll never be able to make it through a whole evening with Dad! At least with Mom, I can hide in my room. DARIA: You *can* make it through. I'll be there with you the whole time. We'll work out a strategy, okay? Make up special signals for when things have gotten too rough and we need to blow off some steam. Okay? (Quinn lifts her tearstained face to mull over Daria's words. She smiles faintly.) QUINN: Okay. (She leans forward to hug her sister harder. Daria wraps her arms around her, taking as much comfort in her sister's presence as Quinn does in hers, and wishing she felt as confident as she sounded.) (cut to: ) SCENE 6 (Phelps's classroom, Friday afternoon) (Quinn walks into the room. Phelps is at the blackboard, wiping away the last period's problem sets. He turns when Quinn approaches, and although he doesn't smile, his expression suggests that he is pleased to see her.) PHELPS: Good afternoon, Ms. Morgendorffer. QUINN: Hi, Mr. Phelps. (With elegant strides, Phelps walks over to his desk and reaches down to pull out a briefcase. He opens it and pulls out a few papers, which he then hands to Quinn. She looks them over and frowns.) QUINN: More number sequences? PHELPS: Statistics. You need to know them if you're planning to take college- level mathematics. QUINN: I didn't think the seniors *did* so much of this stuff. PHELPS: They don't. This is *real* university mathematics, Ms. Morgendorffer, the type I know you're more than capable of doing. (Quinn's face flushes from the praise.) QUINN: Thanks. PHELPS: Imagine how you'll surprise your friends and family when you sail through the Advanced Placement exam. (At "family," Quinn's face loses its glow.) QUINN: Yeah. PHELPS: Oh, and I'm afraid I can't stay late this time. I've got an appointment that I need to run off to in a moment or so. QUINN: That's fine. I need to go home and get ready for my dad's tonight. PHELPS: (brows lifting) Yes. QUINN: See you Monday. (She tucks the papers into her backpack and turns to leave. Phelps's hand brushes against her shoulder.) PHELPS: You've been crying. QUINN: What? Oh, no... PHELPS: No, I can see it. Your face is red and your eyes are bloodshot. You looked like you were crying earlier today. (Quinn steps back to look at him, feeling her body tremble a little as she nods.) QUINN: You must think I'm such a baby. PHELPS: What I think is that you must be *truly* upset to let your make-up run in plain sight of other students. (Quinn gasps and takes out a mirror to examine her red, puffy eyes, which *are* streaked with mascara.) QUINN: Why didn't anyone *tell* me?! PHELPS: It doesn't matter now -- QUINN: I've been walking around all day with *raccoon eyes*! Oh *God*! PHELPS: Maybe they were taken by the sight of your unhappiness. (Quinn removes her cold cream and dabs it under her eyes with a cotton swab. When she has wiped it away, she is surprised to find Phelps looking at her with a gentle expression.) PHELPS: So your parents' separation is hurting you quite a bit, is it? (Quinn nods slowly.) PHELPS: And your sister? QUINN: She's fine. PHELPS: So she's no longer emotionally distant or jealous of your talents? (Quinn starts to nod, then catches herself and shakes her head frantically.) QUINN: No, no, Daria's the only one in my family I can stand to be with right now. (flushes, looks at the ground.) But sometimes I'm a little nervous that I'll overwhelm her. Like if I put too much of my emotions on her all the time, I'll break her, like if one of those big fat wrestler guys sat on a rocking horse for little kids. PHELPS: (musing) Yes... when you're so used to being out of touch with your emotions, to get them all at once *can* be an overpowering experience. QUINN: I wouldn't say Daria's "out of touch" with her emotions... (She gets a distressed look.) ...but I don't want to freak her out too badly, or she might end up pulling away from me, or something. (She smiles wanly at Phelps and starts to leave. Phelps looks at her thoughtfully.) PHELPS: You know what? Scrap my appointment. How about I brew us a pot of tea in the teacher's lounge and we have ourselves a nice chat. What do you say? QUINN: (surprised) Oh, *no*, I wouldn't want to bother you. PHELPS: My tea has no calories, Ms. Morgendorffer. QUINN: Oh. (brightens.) All right. (Phelps smiles a thin but genuine smile, and Quinn looks happier than she has for quite some time.) (cut to: ) SCENE 7 (DeMartino's classroom) (Close-up of DeMartino.) DEMARTINO: Ms. MORgendorffer. (Wider shot, with Daria standing beside his desk, holding her transfer notice. She lays it in front of him, and he looks at it uneasily, before picking up a pen.) DEMARTINO: *Daria*, maybe we should talk. DARIA: About what? How you knew my dad was practically having an affair, yet chose to keep quiet about it? DEMARTINO: That's ONE of the things. DARIA: Save your apologies. They're three months too late. (His eye bulging, DeMartino quickly jots his name in the signature space. He slides it toward Daria, who looks at it blankly, almost as if she hadn't expected him to do it. She picks it up.) DARIA: Look, it's not that I think you're a bad teacher or anything. Of all the classes I've had, yours was the only one where I felt it was possible to learn something I hadn't known since eighth grade. It's just looking at you makes me think too much about what's happened, and those thoughts don't belong in school, where I'm near chemical explosives and sharp metal shop tools. DEMARTINO: (subdued) UnderSTOOD. BELIEVE me. DARIA: Sorry in advance for Kevin and Brittany. (DeMartino pictures a class where no one is there to counterbalance their stupidity, and groans painfully.) (cut to: ) SCENE 8 (Lawndale High, hallway) (Daria joins Jane, who is closing her locker.) JANE: You did it? DARIA: Yep. JANE: Well I must say, amiga, I will miss having you in History to cut down idiots who think the Red Scare came from mixing colors in the wash. DARIA: The whole class. JANE: Right. (Daria smirks glumly, her decision weighing on her. They walk down the hall toward the exits when, near the principal's office, Daria freezes. She watches several students walk in, their heads down and scowling.) JANE: What's the matter? DARIA: I know those guys. I worked with them on the underground paper. (Her expression grows uneasy.) **************** END OF ACT ONE [Want to relive every priceless moment of every "Daria" episode ever -- even the the occasional misfires? Don't look to The-N's butchered episodes (especially since not all of them are there). Go to DVDaria.info and sign a petition to put the "Daria" episodes on DVD.] ACT TWO SCENE 1 (Jake's apartment complex, evening) (Daria and Quinn climb out of a new Volkswagen Jetta parked on the street, each carrying an overnight bag. They walk slowly, surveying their surroundings.) QUINN: *Ugh*! Of all the places Dad had to move to, why'd he have to pick one so close to the freeway? DARIA: Because all of Lawndale's beachfront properties were full. (She and Quinn pass through a gate into an unremarkable apartment complex, beige- colored with brown trim, surrounding a quiet swimming pool.) QUINN: *Cheap* yellow lawn chairs -- gross. One of our parents *finally* gets a pool, and it's one I wouldn't be caught dead bringing my friends to. DARIA: Reason enough for me to come. (Quinn scowls at her, then her shoulders slump; she isn't looking forward to what's ahead. Daria understands, and her expression softens.) DARIA: So for the last time: Three blinks in the left eye, "God, get me out of here." Three blinks in the right eye, "You don't want to go in that bathroom. Believe me." QUINN: I think that was two blinks. DARIA: No, that was: "It looks like food. So why is it growling?" QUINN: Eww. (giggles) Daria, do you really think we'll *use* this? DARIA: If nothing else, it'll ease the tedium during one of Dad's military school stories. QUINN: Right. (They climb the stairs to the second floor, then walk down a corridor of doors, trying to find the right one.) JAKE: (O.S.) Gahhhhhh!!! DARIA: Straight ahead. (She knocks once, and the door flies open, revealing Jake in the doorway.) JAKE: Hiya, girls! (Before either can react, he gives them a big hug.) JAKE: How're Daddy's little sweethearts doing? DARIA: Checking for internal injuries. JAKE: (pulls away) Come on in! Wait'll you see what I've done with the place! (Daria and Quinn exchange skeptical looks as they follow Jake inside. Once their eyes meet the living room, they widen with surprise. They weren't expecting Jake's apartment to be so... set up.) (The living room contains a beige couch and two chairs, which face an entertainment center complete with a high-quality fifty-inch television. Although it contains few flourishes, it is neat and uncluttered.) JAKE: Sit down! Make yourself at home. QUINN: (sitting on the couch) What happened to all your boxes? JAKE: It's all put away. I even cleaned out the guestroom for you two. This place is downright cozy now, isn't it? (Quinn and Daria frown a little, not liking his implication.) JAKE: And check *this* out! (runs to the T.V.) Your old man got himself a top-of-the-line, state-of-the-art, high-quality Digiphonic! You could watch this thing from *Mars*! DARIA: Very cool. Mom would never let you have a T.V. that big. JAKE: (bitter) That's *right*! Well I *showed* her-- (catches himself, assumes a cordial tone.) I mean, I'm sure she had her reasons. DARIA: Maybe she thought the Martians would try to make bootlegs of "Farscape." JAKE: Now wait right there! I've got something for you! (Daria and Quinn exchange puzzled looks as Jake dashes around the corner. He returns with two gift boxes, which he lays in their laps.) QUINN: More gifts? DARIA: Dad, you don't have to do this. We already have the car. JAKE: Aww, but it's not every day you girls come over. I wanted to do something special. (Quinn opens her box, and her face lights up with its first real smile of the evening.) QUINN: *Chez Musique*? Dad, this is the best, most expensive perfume on the market! How did you think of this? JAKE: I just asked the sales lady at Cashman's what I could buy for the prettiest daughter in town. (hits his wallet pocket, gets a pained expression.) Just don't ask for anything else for a month or so, okay sweetie? (Daria opens her gift.) DARIA: A... *savings* bond? JAKE: I was gonna give it to you at the end of the year when you graduated, but then I thought "Why not?" The earlier I give it, the more time it has to mature! DARIA: That's really... thoughtful. JAKE: The best is yet to come -- I'm making Mexican Miracle a la Jake! (He sets an oversized remote in Daria's hand.) You girls relax, watch some T.V. There's over 500 channels on this thing! (Daria hits a button, and turns on the stereo.) JAKE: You'll get the hang of it. I almost have. (He dashes out. Daria and Quinn slowly exhale, overwhelmed by their father's high-octane affection. Her smile fading, Quinn rolls the perfume bottle in her hand, then slowly lets it drop back into the box.) QUINN: (flat) She's *everywhere*. DARIA: Who? Mom? QUINN: No. *Her*. That woman Dad's dating who isn't Mom. DARIA: I didn't count more than three heads. QUINN: I mean she's *been* here. She's probably the one who bought me this perfume. DARIA: You don't know that. QUINN: *Think* about it, Daria. Do you really think *Dad* would know where to get us nice presents? DARIA: Deprive him of his familial comfort zone, and who knows *what* he's capable of. QUINN: I bet she helped set up his apartment, too. Dad was always misplacing and breaking stuff at home. DARIA: Quinn, as long as the lampshade isn't decorated with the latest in thong-wear, I'm more than willing to leave Dad's private life alone. In fact, I really, really don't want to know. QUINN: She bought him that painting. (points to a small framed landscape above the couch.) It's got really subtle shading and pastels. A guy would *never* buy something like that on his own. DARIA: For God's sake -- QUINN: I'm gonna take a quick look around. (She jumps up off the couch and disappears into one of the bedrooms. Daria scowls as she tries to figure out which button on the Space Age remote controls the T.V. When at last the large screen glows to life, Quinn emerges from the bathroom, looking shaken.) QUINN: Omigod... omigod... She keeps her *toothbrush* here. DARIA: (sitting up straighter) What?? QUINN: It's *coral*. She probably read Waif's August issue about sexy mouth decorations, too. They rated coral as the color you most want next to your teeth because it offsets your gums really nice. A guy would *never* know that! (She paces the room frantically.) QUINN: Bedspread with a *print*? *Textured* pillow cases? *Throw* rugs on the bathroom floor?? (She pauses, tries to steady herself.) The color scheme is all *wrong* -- cream colors mixed with warm tones. And Dad has knick-knacks, Daria. *Knick-knacks*! It screams comfort, safety, and stability, which are *female* concerns. Guys just want something they can set their soda cans on. DARIA: Quinn, *enough*. You haven't given one solid piece of evidence that Dad's "friend" even *is* a steady girlfriend, let alone one who sleeps over. QUINN: (wounded) Well then explain the second bathrobe in Dad's closet that's too small for him. DARIA: I... (The words die on her lips.) QUINN: He had a picture of her, too. A small one, kind of hidden away in his bathroom, like he's not ready to put it out 'cause that would make it official. It wasn't the kind that came with the frame. (Daria and Quinn look at each other, absorbing the significance of that last sentence. Then Quinn walks back to the couch and sinks down beside her sister, puts her head in her hands.) QUINN: Some strange woman is with *our* dad, Daria. She must stay overnight a *lot* if she's keeping her stuff here. Maybe she wants to start a family with him, which is why he got the apartment with a second bedroom. Next she'll be moving in, and she'll want to be pals with us so we'll be okay with whatever she does. But whatever she *does* do, it'll just take Dad further and further away >from Mom. (Daria wants to make a retort, but she really can't. Her sister's fears play too much into her own. Suddenly, Jake bursts around the corner.) JAKE: Okay, girls! Mexican Miracle a la Jake is complete-o! (He is met with two devastated expressions.) (cut to: ) SCENE 2 (Morgendorffer residence, that same time) (Helen sits on the center couch, surrounded by work files. She wears a headset and talks to Rita on it as she sorts through papers.) HELEN: Honest to *God*, Rita! I am *not* going to put on stilettos and stand on a street corner to pick up men! (Pause, blushes.) Well of *course* I knew you were kidding! (She searches around for a particular paper, not finding it, and becomes frustrated.) HELEN: You could at least *pretend* to be upset that Jake moved out of the house! (She listens, her face growing solemn.) I'm sorry. It's just I'm not like you -- I can't pick up and move *on*, just like that. Jake still has boxes here that I need to send him. And he packed some of *my* things by mistake -- my bathrobe, my tape recorder. I... (She finds her sought-after document and just stares at it without reading.) HELEN: I'm just not ready to go out and have a good time, even though I know there's nothing stopping me. I mean if Jake can be with some two-bit home- wrecking little *hussy*, then I--! (She takes a deep breath, calms down.) No, no... there's no blame in this situation. We both agreed that we needed this, and it will just make us stronger in the end. (She listens, her face growing thoughtful.) You know you're right -- I *will* do something fun. (Pause) Talk to you soon. Bye. (She removes her headset and looks at the document, then slowly puts it aside and starts to stand up. Her phone rings. Helen leans back and answers.) HELEN: *Hello*? (Pause, wan smile.) Oh *hi* Eric. (Pause) Of course I have time to go over some depositions... (cut to: ) SCENE 3 (Jake's dining room) (Daria and Quinn sit with Jake at a square wooden table, picking at their food. Jake watches them, his face growing concerned.) JAKE: You girls can tell, can't you? (Daria and Quinn lay down their forks and look at him nervously.) JAKE: I didn't make this. I had a, er, *mishap* in the kitchen about an hour before you arrived, so I ran out and bought everything at Good Time Mexican. I hope you can forgive me. DARIA & QUINN: *Oh*. (They pick up their forks and eat with more enthusiasm. Jake smiles a little, then takes another few more forkfuls before his face grows solemn again.) JAKE: So how's Helen? (Daria and Quinn look up.) JAKE: I mean *Mom*, 'cause you don't call her "Helen," *I* do. So how is Helen? *Mom*! I mean *your mother*! How is she? DARIA: She's fine. QUINN: I think she's on a date. (Jake's face turns bright red and he starts to gag. He reaches for his glass of water and takes a big, long sip.) JAKE: *Good* for -- excuse me. (He downs the rest of the glass, then smiles weakly, his eyes red and watery.) Glad to know she's... she's doing all right... (He takes another bite of food, swallows hard.) JAKE: So, is this her first date? Did you get a good look at him? Tug on his hair to make sure it was real?! Cheap polyester hair-*wearing* BASTARD! QUINN: Daddy, how long are things gonna *be* like this?! (Jake closes his mouth, seeing her on the verge of tears. He lays down his fork and reaches for Quinn's hand. She pulls it away before he can get there.) JAKE: I'm sorry, honey. I shouldn't have said that... (He sighs deeply.) I guess I'm still learning how to act... separated. (looks at them seriously.) The truth is, I don't *know* how long this will last. It's hard now, but it'll get easier over time. (Daria and Quinn stare at their plates, silent.) JAKE: Which reminds me: Girls, your mother and I were talking a few days ago, and she and I both agreed that the separation happened a little quickly. DARIA: That's like saying sub-zero is a little nippy. JAKE: We all have a lot of unresolved feelings and pent-up emotions from the experience. She seemed to think it would be a good idea if we went to family therapy. DARIA: Isn't that what you do *before* your family falls apart? (Jake chuckles nervously.) JAKE: Well I mean she and I have seen a few... but you girls have never talked to a therapist. We think it would be a good opportunity to say what's on your mind in a controlled setting. DARIA: Where you have a ready supply of mood-altering drugs. JAKE: No! I mean... so you won't feel so bad about all this. DARIA: Because we'll have accepted the situation. (Jake looks at her with sad, hopeful eyes. Daria tries not to let them get to her, then finds herself sighing with disgust.) DARIA: Fine. (Jake looks at Quinn, who is staring at her plate. She gives a shrug, much like the ones she gives Helen on a nightly basis.) JAKE: Okay, then. (forced smile.) Who wants seconds? (cut to: ) SCENE 4 (Jake's apartment, night) (In the guest room, Daria stands in her nightclothes, gathering items from her overnight bag sitting on the chair. Her features are marred by a scowl.) DARIA: I can't believe it. They want us to go into therapy, like *we're* the problem. They think that if some therapist can label us screw ups, we won't be able to call them on *their* big screw up. Mom and Dad have done many things that I've objected to over the years, up to and including the separation, but I think this is a low even for them. (She turns to Quinn, her intended audience, and finds her fast asleep on one side of the double bed. Daria's expression softens. She should have known that her sister wasn't listening -- Quinn was on the verge of falling asleep since dinner, and now it is almost midnight. Daria watches her chest rise and fall, envying her state of serene oblivion, knowing that she won't share it. She heads out toward the main bathroom.) (As Daria prepares to brush her teeth, she notices the coral toothbrush that Quinn had mentioned earlier, and picks it up for closer inspection. It looks new, yet not brand new, as though someone has used it a couple of times. Daria sighs, not wanting to think that her sister had guessed correctly about its owner.) (cut to: ) SCENE 5 (sidewalk, Saturday afternoon) JANE: Well that was five hours of my life I'll never get back. (Daria and Jane walk past rows of shops.) DARIA: Who'd have guessed Tom had such a deep abiding love for piccolo concerts? JANE: Oh, *I* did. Tom loves many things that are dull to the average sane human. DARIA: Then why'd you agree to go with him? JANE: I was making up for him attending one of my living art exhibitions. Boy, cover a man with stewed tomatoes and raw eggs for a few hours and he gets all touchy. DARIA: About that sanity claim? Does that cover even the women who live in cardboard boxes with twelve cats? JANE: Ha, ha, very amusing. (strained casual.) So, how was your evening at-- DARIA: *Hey*. JANE: What? (Daria points to the Pizza King entrance, their destination. Andrea has just emerged, a cigarette and her lighter in hand. She sees Daria and Jane, and although her face doesn't change expression, she looks welcoming.) DARIA: Andrea. (Andrea raises a hand in greeting.) DARIA: I don't mean to bug you, but there's something I wanted to ask. (Andrea shrugs a shoulder.) I saw a bunch of students who worked on the underground paper get called into Ms. Li's office yesterday. Would you happen to know what it was about? ANDREA: Yes. DARIA: And? ANDREA: They got suspended. Indefinitely. DARIA: (worry creeping in) For what? (Andrea shrugs a shoulder.) ANDREA: For the underground. What else? DARIA: For distributing articles that criticized the school on school grounds?? (Andrea nods.) I guess it would have been too much to expect her to honor the First Amendment. JANE: Not since she banished the federal government and renamed the school Liville. DARIA: (to Andrea) How did she find out it was them? ANDREA: You were there when they started getting more careless with the articles. Danny and a couple of the guys got so cocky that in the last issue, they wrote a bunch of hit pieces about teachers they didn't like. Even *I* could see they weren't accurate, but Damien didn't care. He liked the attention we were getting. DARIA: Of course. ANDREA: Then, like the idiots they are, they started bragging in class about who wrote what. Didn't take Ms. Li long to connect the dots. JANE: Especially when they're drawn right in front of her. DARIA: But we saw five students go into Ms. Li's office. Were they *all* guilty of writing smear jobs? ANDREA: I don't think so. (She takes a puff of her lit cigarette, exhales slowly.) But it wouldn't surprise me if she got Danny to squeal on other writers so she wouldn't go too hard on him. Maybe she's trying to see how deep it goes. DARIA: Were *you* called in? (Andrea shrugs a shoulder.) ANDREA: I don't know. I cut class after second period. I'm only telling you what I know second-hand. (She takes another puff, as Daria's worried expression deepens. Jane sees this.) JANE: (pointed) You left before it got bad, Daria. (Andrea shrugs a shoulder in agreement.) ANDREA: I was there the day you confronted Damien. I should have quit when you did. But they were like the family I always wanted, and I couldn't just give them up. (takes another puff, looks wistful.) Too bad: It was great while it lasted. (She shrugs a shoulder, signaling good-bye, and parts without another word.) JANE: You don't know he's named you. DARIA: I also don't know who shot JFK, but that doesn't mean he isn't rotting beneath six feet of rubble. JANE: Come *on*, how long's it been since you wrote for that paper? DARIA: (grim) Not long enough. JANE: So what's the worst that could happen? Li hears you did it, can't find anything on you, so she threatens suspension. You just get your mother, Lawyer Extraordinaire, to go to the mat for you the way she did when we got in trouble over the poster contest, and you'll get off with a warning. DARIA: Or she could threaten my graduation and otherwise make my school year a living hell, Hannibal Lecter-style. JANE: You told me that you never wanted to feel like you couldn't go to your folks if you had a problem. DARIA: That was before they suggested family therapy so Quinn and I could learn to accept *their* mistake. (reflective) Besides, I don't even know how to explain to them that I was *on* an underground paper. JANE: "Hey Mom and Dad, did you hear I won a Pulitzer for my ground-breaking work in local underground news?" DARIA: Shut up. (cut to: ) SCENE 6 (Stacy's house, afternoon) (Quinn sits on Stacy's bed, while Stacy rummages through her wardrobe, separating the current from the dated.) QUINN: It was *so* weird the way Sandi just came up to me, like old times. I mean, she's been nice, but kind of distant, like she has this double life she doesn't want anyone to know about. STACY: *Yeah*, she's been really weird. (holds up a dress.) Do you think this dress is in, or out? QUINN: (shudders) Definitely *out*. I can't believe you kept it in your closet for so long -- it's at least two seasons old. (Stacy flings it toward the Out pile as if it were an animal carcass.) STACY: (squeaks) I just kept it there to remind me of the unfashionable girls who wouldn't *know* it was so dated, and pity them. QUINN: I figured this was Sandi's way of reaching out to me, like she was asking for help. So I thought the Fashion Club could arrange a visit, kind of-- STACY: You mean there's still a Fashion Club?? (Quinn looks at her strangely.) QUINN: Of course there is. When *hasn't* there been a Fashion Club? STACY: It's just that we haven't had a meeting in so long. You were always at your math things and then your parents were having problems and I'm *sorry*, Quinn! It was *me* who told the school your parents were separating! I tried to hold it in as long as I could, but every day people kept asking me why your face was all blotchy and I ran out of excuses --! QUINN: (barely registers) That's fine, Stacy. But why didn't you *ask* me if the club was still around? STACY: I guess I just thought you cared so much about math, that it kind of went without saying. We haven't done anything like *this* for a long time. (She gestures at her In and Out piles. Quinn's face grows solemn.) For a while Tiffany and I tried holding our own meetings, but Tiffany was acting president, so you can imagine what a disaster *that* was. *Not* that I don't like Tiffany as a friend -- QUINN: Why weren't *you* acting president? STACY: Bu-but that would have been jumping ahead in line! You're president, *she's* vice president, I'm -- QUINN: But you have a slightly better grasp of reality than she does. *Not* that I don't love Tiffany, but -- (She and Stacy share a "Yeah, I know" chuckle.) QUINN: I've really been out of it for *that* long? What other things have gone on with you when I wasn't there? STACY: Oh *nothing*, really. (Bt) A few things. (She rummages through her closet and pulls out a karate gi with a purple belt.) QUINN: (stunned) Oh. (cut to: ) SCENE 7 (Quinn's room, later) (Quinn walks in, lays her overnight bag on her bed, and sits down beside it. She lets her eyes wander about the room.) (On her desk sits her math textbook, which she leans toward instinctively. Quinn stands up and walks over to it, opens it up, and flips through the pages. Math problem sets have soothed her on more than one occasion, and the impulse to immerse herself in one is strong. Yet Quinn finds herself noticing other details about her surroundings.) (Hanging by her mirrors is a set of pom-poms, remnants of her brief career as Lawndale High's head cheerleader. On her wall is a certificate she'd received for raising funds two years ago to open Cafe Lawndale. Beneath it is a newspaper article heralding the Fashion Expo's first appearance at Lawndale High.) (Quinn closes her math book and walks over to them. She gives each a closer look, as if seeing it for the first time.) (cut to: ) SCENE 8 (Morgendorffer living room/kitchen) (Quinn walks down the stairs, then stops part-way and looks toward the kitchen, where Helen's voice can be heard. Her expression is a mixture of reluctance and longing, as she wonders if her anger toward her mother has faded enough that she could have a deep talk with her.) (Quinn finally continues down the stairs, into the living room, where --) HELEN: (O.S.) ...and for all I know, they're still there -- I haven't heard either of them come home yet. So it *was* very quiet, but these days, that's hardly different from when they *are* home. (Quinn freezes. Meanwhile Helen sits at the kitchen table, dressed in old clothes and wearing the phone headset. She adds clay to a wire and wood structure that rises up like a volcano and blocks her view of the living room. Her sculpture isn't going well, and frustration toward it and life in general is evident in her tone.) HELEN: They're rude and sullen, and rarely give me a straight answer when I ask for one. And yes, I know they're teenagers, but it's gone above and beyond their normal behavior to the point where I can't deal with them at *all*, especially Quinn. The only time she *hasn't* given me attitude is when she woke up one morning with her contacts stuck in her eyes. (Quinn's face falls. Gritting her teeth, she turns and heads back quickly in the direction from which she came.) HELEN: Wait a minute, Amy, I thought I heard -- (struggles to take off her headset.) *Damn* this thing! (Pause, listens, her face puckering.) I want to be honest with them. But what can I say? "Daddy and I separated so we could find ourselves"?? That sounds like New Age nonsense even to *me*. (She takes a wad of clay and finds it stiff from prolonged exposure. With frustration, she pounds it against the table, then reaches for a squirt bottle.) HELEN: That's why I'm hoping the family therapy session will allow me to express myself to them in a way that I otherwise couldn't. It just hurts so bad to see them upset, sometimes I wish I were dead. (The clay is unsalvageable, and Helen stabs it with a fork, which barely cuts the surface.) HELEN: (listens) Oh, honey, of *course* you go lie down. Amy, weren't you sick like this the *last* time we...? (Helen is cut short, listens. A slow smile spreads across her face.) (cut to: ) SCENE 9 (The Grove, weekday afternoon) (The exterior is an attractive, stand-alone, wood-paneled building set amongst trees. Inside, the decor is almost en par with Chez Pierre, with high ceilings, elegant white tablecloths, and servers in uniform. A small stream runs through the center of the room from a waterfall in one corner, and a pianist plays light classical in another. Near him sit Quinn and Mr. Phelps, who are looking over menus. Quinn can hardly keep her eyes on her own, so impressed is she with her surroundings.) QUINN: When you said we should go to a "coffee shop," I didn't think it would be this cool. Usually coffee places are these dark holes full of grungy nerds who quote books. PHELPS: Yes, The Grove has a long, proud history of serving *the* best coffee, tea, and tea trays in this part of the state. (raises his brows.) And since I'm English and you no doubt define me by my tea, I thought we would do it right. QUINN: Thanks for taking me here. This is really nice. PHELPS: I like to keep my math prodigies happy. I don't care if you hate me, but I'd prefer you were content with all other aspects of your life. (Quinn chuckles a little, then flushes.) QUINN: How long have you been coming here? PHELPS: My partner and I have come on and off for, oh, I'd say six or seven years. There's a meeting hall round the back, which hosts an excellent lecture series on Tuesdays and Thursdays. QUINN: Your "partner"? (She realizes, smiles.) Mr. Phelps...? PHELPS: Yes, yes, my "partner," "boyfriend," "significant other," whichever loose term adequately describes our years of devotion to one another. (He takes off his glasses to rub his eyes wearily.) Feel free to recoil from me in horror if you're so inclined. QUINN: (smiles) I don't care if you're gay. The rumors around school were saying it for months, anyhow, so it's not like a surprise. PHELPS: (sarcastic) Ooh, that's a relief. QUINN: Besides, you dress *much* too nicely for a straight guy. (Phelps cocks an amused brow as a waiter appears.) WAITER: Have you decided? PHELPS: Yes, let's see... a pot of Earl Grey and a slice of lemon tart. You've a sweet tooth, Ms. Morgendorffer? QUINN: Not really. PHELPS: Then you might prefer scones with clotted cream. The scones themselves are a bit bland, but they go well with tea. QUINN: (wrinkles nose) Can I just have the tea? PHELPS: (small smile) Come on, give it a try. You won't regret it. QUINN: Well... okay. (The waiter jots down their order and leaves. Phelps leans closer to the piano, and listens with evident pleasure.) PHELPS: The blackboard environment is all well and good, but some days it's just nice to come here and let the music run through you. QUINN: Right. (Phelps glances at her, notices that her expression has grown pensive.) PHELPS: Are you all right, Ms. Morgendorffer? (Quinn opens her eyes and keeps them focused on the table centerpiece.) QUINN: Mr. Phelps, I shouldn't have let you bring me here. PHELPS: (frowns) Are you feeling ill? QUINN: Oh no, I'm fine. But I wanted to tell you -- ask you, um... (gives it thought.) I've been thinking the past few days about school, and stuff. PHELPS: (nods) All right... QUINN: And, well, before my parents split, it was okay if I did extra math assignments, because if I fell a little behind in my other classes, it was never *too* much behind, like I could always make it up. (Phelps nods.) QUINN: But after my dad moved out, I got really depressed and started sleeping a lot more, sometimes ten or twelve hours a night, because it felt like an escape from things. And I've been trying to cut back, but it's turned into, like, this really bad habit that's kept me from finishing a bunch of assignments. I'm not in trouble yet, 'cause my mom's secretary got my other teachers to excuse me, but I soon *could* be if I don't start catching up. (She glances at Phelps. He nods, the expression gone from his face.) PHELPS: So you need time to catch up in your other classes is what you're saying. QUINN: And... more. PHELPS: Yes? QUINN: Mr. Phelps, lately I've been thinking about school, and my life and my future. A few weeks ago, Daria told me I was smart, but what mattered most was how I used it. PHELPS: How charitable of her. QUINN: And, well, I just started Mr. Nelson's History class last week, and he's been talking about World War I, and the way he talks, I can, like, *see* the battles, and the dead soldier guys, and all the destroyed houses, and it's kind of gross. But it's also kind of exciting. PHELPS: So you're saying... QUINN: It makes me wonder if there's stuff out there that I'd like as much as math. That I'd be as good at as math. (Her cheeks redden, and she again averts her gaze.) And so I was thinking, maybe I should stop doing the extra math projects so I have more time for other stuff. (She looks at him. The piano has stopped playing, emphasizing the silence at her table. Finally, Phelps exhales slowly and fiddles with his glasses.) PHELPS: Ms. Morgendorffer, I understand the temptation. Truly, I do. Even the most gifted individuals, when they work *so* hard for so long in their chosen areas, are tempted to just goof off every now and then. Go shopping, dating -- QUINN: But I never said that. I mean sure, I wouldn't *mind* dating and shopping more, but that's not what I was talking about. PHELPS: No, but I've seen it before in my other math prodigies. They say "time for other things," "time for the family," but what they really mean is time to date, time to shop, time to play video games, even if they don't realize it at the time. I was hoping you wouldn't fall into that trap. (Quinn feels the redness spread down the back of her neck.) QUINN: Mr. Phelps, you keep calling me a "prodigy." Do you really think I'm *that* talented? (Phelps looks at her seriously.) PHELPS: I would never use that word if I didn't mean it, Ms. Morgendorffer. (Quinn smiles faintly.) PHELPS: Unfortunately, your gift is also something that is easy to lose. Let your focus stray, and you might lose it forever. QUINN: Mr. Phelps, I'll always love math. It will always be a part of me. I just don't see why I can't also love something *else*. PHELPS: Because we as human beings only have a finite amount of time and energy to devote to our passions. If we focus it on too many areas, our knowledge becomes thin, our understanding shallow. Hence the expression "jack of all trades, master of none." QUINN: But, um, Dar-- some people I know seem to think it's a good thing to be smart in more than one area. PHELPS: And would you call any of these people "prodigies"? QUINN: I'm not sure... PHELPS: If you hesitate, I'd guess the answer is no. Non-prodigies rarely understand a prodigy's lot in life. How could they? (The waiter arrives with the pot of tea and sweets, which Phelps barely acknowledges with a wave of his hand. His gaze is focused intently on his student.) PHELPS: You're so advanced now, Quinn. You're so far beyond your peers, even your sister's peers. It would hurt me deeply to see you become mediocre. (Quinn bites her lip.) PHELPS: I really wanted to see you through to our goal before I retired. QUINN: You're retiring? (Phelps nods.) You're *leaving* me -- I mean Lawndale?! But you just started! PHELPS: Well, it wouldn't be for at least another year. I've been teaching for many years altogether, and it's rather draining. I have a bit of property abroad that my partner and I have discussed moving to. QUINN: I don't want you to go. (Phelps looks at her with gentle eyes.) PHELPS: And I don't want to leave. At least not until you've graduated. (He takes the teapot and pours into the two saucers. Quinn watches the colored water swirl around in hers.) QUINN: Mr. Phelps, I'm sorry about that stuff I said earlier. Now that you've explained it, I understand why doing all those extra math assignments is so important. PHELPS: Nonsense, Ms. Morgendorffer... (He lifts the bowl of sugar cubes and offers it to Quinn. She shakes her head.) You've brought up an important point. We won't always be together, and sooner or later you'll need to learn how to maintain the focus on your own. And if you can't complete your other coursework, you'll never *graduate*, let alone go to the top-level university of your choice. (His face loses expression again as he takes a sip of tea and stares off into space. To Quinn, it looks as though he is thinking many deep thoughts, though of what, she couldn't guess. Finally he turns to look at her.) PHELPS: Let me make a proposal. I will let you pursue independent study, through which you can decide when and how to complete my extra assignments, as your schedule permits. However, before doing so, I have one last assignment for you to complete on our current schedule. If you can, you'll have shown me that you are serious about your dedication to mathematics and your intent to take it far beyond high school. It's a larger assignment than any I've given you before. Do you accept? (Quinn thinks for a moment.) QUINN: Okay. (nods) I'll do it. (Phelps smiles.) **************** END OF ACT TWO [Are you an international fan who yearns for "Daria" on DVD? Visit The Irony Maiden (http://www.sylvesternet.freeserve.co.uk/irony-maiden/) run by Martin Sylvester for tips on how you can make your voice heard, and much more.] ACT THREE SCENE 1 (sidewalk, morning) (Daria and Jane walk to school.) JANE: Today's the day you meet your e-mail penpal, huh? DARIA: Nope. Cancelled. JANE: He *bailed* on you? DARIA: I bailed on him. It turned out our secret rendezvous coincided with Morgendorffer Family Therapy Day, and I had to reschedule for next week. JANE: Family therapy. Whoopie. DARIA: That's more or less my take on it. But since Mom "misplaced" the keys to the Jetta, there won't be a liberating joyride out of town. JANE: And who knows: You might actually *get* something from it. DARIA: Acid reflux? (They approach the school.) DARIA: Truth be told, I'm not completely sorry to be missing this meeting. I've had reservations about exposing Quinn's math teacher for the past week. Math is the only thing she has right now that doesn't make her miserable. JANE: But she'll still have math even if you *do* find something on Phelps. It's not like the two are interchangeable. (wistful) If they were, I would have only had to take math for *one* year. (They enter the school building, walk down the hall.) JANE: So you think the therapist will make you lie on a couch and discuss the meaning of an imported cigar? DARIA: Can we get off the subject? JANE: Just trying to get you in a lighter mood. DARIA: It's all right. The stupidity of the whole thing has just gotten to me. My parents think Quinn and I need a stranger to tell us what we're feeling so we can parrot it back to them, when in fact, I already *know* how I feel. JANE: You do? DARIA: I feel as though the one second I let my guard down, someone stole my life right out from under me. Now I don't know where it's gone or what will happen to it. JANE: (softly) That bad, huh? DARIA: Nearly all of the basic components of my daily existence are the same, yet everything's different, because my parents keep us in a perpetual state of ambiguity. They say they don't know if they'll divorce, but they're not planning to get back together. Yet they talk about each other more often, and with more affection, than when they *weren't* separated. Dad says that he still loves Mom, but he has a girlfriend. (Daria groans softly as they stop at the lockers, some emotion evident.) DARIA: I thought I could handle it, but sometimes it just gets to be too much. (She opens her locker to get some books, her eyes deliberately focused on the dark interior so she won't have to look at her friend and possibly lose control.) JANE: (softly) Do you think you could tell them that during the session? (Daria slams her locker shut.) DARIA: And *what*? They'll listen? They'll make it better? Why *should* they, when they know we'll just go along with whatever they want? JANE: At least they'd know how you felt. DARIA: Forget it. If this therapy session is just a way for them to think they're doing their job as parents, I'd prefer to keep them in suspense. (She walks on without waiting for Jane to follow. Jane watches pensively.) (cut to: ) SCENE 2 (Lawndale Health and Wellness Center) (Shot of a nondescript two-story building. Cut to shot of the four Morgendorffers seated in an office, forming a semicircle of chairs across from the therapist, who sits in a chair facing them. Daria and Quinn are in the middle, with Helen to the right of Quinn and Jake to the left of Daria. The parents Morgendorffer observe their daughters' silence with worried expressions.) THERAPIST: (kind) Daria? Quinn? This is your time to say whatever's on your mind. JAKE: Yeah, girls, we've still got fifty minutes to kill. HELEN: *Jake*. JAKE: Well we do! (The therapist gives them a pleasant, firm look, and Helen and Jake close their mouths.) THERAPIST: (to Daria and Quinn) How have you been feeling about your family life of late? DARIA: I think his intentions were noble, but Steinbeck's over-reliance on nonstandard spelling for the Okie vernacular results in a distancing of the reader from his protagonists. THERAPIST: How does that relate to your family? DARIA: It doesn't. You said I could say whatever was on my mind. THERAPIST: Well now, how about saying what's on your mind about your family life? DARIA: *Oh*. (She closes her mouth and is silent.) HELEN: (annoyed) Come *on*, Daria. (The therapist gives Helen a wave to tell her to back off. She turns to Quinn.) THERAPIST: What about you, Quinn? Do you want to say anything? (Sullenly, Quinn stares at the floor and shakes her head.) THERAPIST: I see you two are a little on the shy side. HELEN: No they're *not*. Daria makes wry and pointed observations, and Quinn *loves* to talk. At least she *used* to. THERAPIST: Why don't you feel like talking, Quinn? QUINN: (whisper) I don't know, maybe it's my *attitude*. THERAPIST: Your what? HELEN: Come on, Quinny, please? I know you've been keeping a *lot* inside. (Something stirs in Quinn. She lifts her head and peers sideways at Helen.) QUINN: Don't call me "Quinny." I hate it. HELEN: I haven't called you that since you were a little girl. QUINN: I know. I hated it then. (She looks more directly at her mother and sees a gleam in her eye: She was trying to get Quinn to talk and she succeeded. Quinn feels an urge to be upset, but instead can't resist a small, grudging smirk.) THERAPIST: Anything else you want to share? (Quinn debates whether to sink back into her I-don't-care pose. She glances at the therapist, then at her mother, who looks at her with such hope and concern that, temporarily, Quinn's anger toward her dissolves. She lets out a resigned sigh.) QUINN: I don't know where I should start. THERAPIST: Have you noticed a change in any of your habits since your parents' separation? A change in your eating habits or your sleep patterns? QUINN: I guess... I'm not really hungry and I sleep, like, *all* the time. I even tried drinking coffee one evening, but I still fell asleep at eight-thirty. (Helen glances at Jake, and they both nod, as if relieved to have a concern of theirs out in the open.) QUINN: I can't even go out on dates because I'm too scared that if I nod off in some movie, the guy will start *groping* me. JAKE: Uck! THERAPIST: What specific feelings have caused this change, you think? DARIA: She's pissed off. What else *could* she be feeling? (Quinn, who was about to speak, veers to look at her sister, wincing a little at her almost sneering tone. Daria sits with her arms folded, expression blank and hard. Her eyes are on Quinn, and Quinn can feel their accusation -- that she is betraying Daria, falling into their parents' trap.) THERAPIST: Is that what *you're* feeling, Daria? Would you like to elaborate a little? (Daria merely cocks an eyelid. Helen looks at her with an annoyed expression, wanting to tell her daughter to behave, but not wanting to risk her shutting up for the rest of the session.) THERAPIST: (to Quinn) Is that how you feel Quinn? (Quinn glances in Daria's direction and nods slowly.) THERAPIST: Where would you say this anger mostly comes from? QUINN: Oh, I don't know... (glances in Daria's direction.) Places. THERAPIST: Could you explain? QUINN: My stomach, mostly. THERAPIST: I mean, what do you *think* that causes you to feel anger? QUINN: That Mom and Dad should've... (glances at Jake, but sees Daria in her line of sight.) should've... (The therapist nods at her to continue. Daria lets out a mild yawn.) HELEN: Do you have anything *constructive* you'd like to say, Daria?? DARIA: It depends on your perspective. THERAPIST: Quinn? (Quinn considers talking, then closes her mouth and shakes her head quickly. She slumps over in her chair.) HELEN: (groans) Girls, *please*. Dad and I want to know what you're feeling so we can *work* with it. We did this for you! JAKE: Dammit Helen, I *told* you this therapy session was a lousy idea. HELEN: (indignant) No you didn't! You told me it was a *great* idea. JAKE: Well that's what I was thinking. HELEN: *Oh* I'm *sorry*. (turns to the therapist.) Throughout our marriage, I've had to compensate for the tragic fact that I wasn't born psychic. JAKE: *Hey*! THERAPIST: (firm) Maybe to get your daughters in the right frame of mind, you could discuss your *own* feelings about your situation in a constructive, nonjudgmental fashion. If you feel you're capable. (Helen and Jake look at each other, and nod slowly.) HELEN: All right... Well... (She turns to look at her daughter.) I don't know if we ever explained our reasons for the separation as well as we could have. It really *wasn't* because of anything specific I did or your father did. It wasn't to *punish* one another, but to help each other. And neither of you did *anything* to cause it. (Jake nods. Daria looks slightly less cynical: She sensed this already, but it makes a difference to hear it from Helen. Quinn still looks unhappy to have ended her confession so soon, but listens intently.) HELEN: We just realized that for some time now, we'd each been feeling more and more bottled up, like there were experiences we'd never had that we wanted to enjoy. So in order to have them, we needed to take a break from each other. JAKE: (nods) Yeah, we wanted to see if our marriage was dragging us down, or if *we* were. HELEN: Um, yes. Remember girls, your father and I fell in love when we were just freshmen in college. I was younger than Daria. I knew how to study and read a lot about world events, but didn't know much about life. I was afraid to be on my own, so I joined as many causes to meet as many people as possible. And while I certainly wasn't *quiet* in those days, I never felt as confident or independent as I might have. Sometimes I think it would have been better if I had waited longer to settle down, until I'd had the chance to grow as a person. (She pauses, and Daria and Quinn give faint, acknowledging nods.) HELEN: So you see, girls -- JAKE: Are you saying you wish we hadn't met, Helen? (Helen turns to look at him with shock, sees a tense look on his face.) HELEN: Of *course* I'm not saying that, Jake. I just meant I wish we'd met when we were a little older. JAKE: But we wouldn't have *met* when we were older. We met in college! HELEN: Well -- you don't know that. (Her cheeks flush.) We could have met later, at one of our causes. JAKE: But I wouldn't have joined any of those causes if it weren't for you. HELEN: Now, Jake -- JAKE: You said you were just a stupid kid when you fell in love with me. Are you saying if you'd been older and wiser, you'd have found someone else?? HELEN: Jake, don't twist my words around -- JAKE: That's what you said! HELEN: I was *being* hypothetical. Obviously, we met in college and that's never going to change. JAKE: Only now you wish that you'd waited to start a whole *different* life! HELEN: Oh for the love of -- if *anyone* here has always wanted a different life, Jake Morgendorffer, it's *you*. After all, you have a girlfriend now. Someone who must be far better than *me*, or you wouldn't have jumped right into dating her while we were still married! JAKE: You said we weren't gonna bring that up during the session! THERAPIST: *Yes*, Helen and Jake -- HELEN: You said that you loved me, Jake. What makes her *better*?? THERAPIST: That's *really* not for -- JAKE: What do you even care what I think, when *you* think our life together was a mistake from the start?! It all makes sense now, why you spent so much time pining after that musclebound lump of -- HELEN: *Don't* drag him into this! JAKE: Greg! *Greg*! I said his name. *Greg*! I said it again! HELEN: I haven't even *seen* him since -- JAKE: Since you planted your lips on his and wouldn't let go?! HELEN: I was in *mourning* for *us*, Jake. I felt that we were drifting apart. (glowers) And now I'm starting to wonder why I was so upset. JAKE: It's not like you had a reason! HELEN: You know, I'm really seeing a side of you that I've *never* liked. So angry and vindictive, foisting all the blame for your problems on someone else -- JAKE: You mean *honest*, Helen. Something I could never be when we were together! HELEN: Because *I* dragged you down! Oh *yes*, I'll bet your girlfriend *never* drags you down! I'll bet she hangs on your every word! JAKE: She just doesn't expect me to be *perfect*! She doesn't try to stuff old Jakey into a box and force him to be something he's not! HELEN: You mean she has no expectations for you like *I* did. Silly unimportant things like being a good husband and father, and *employed*! THERAPIST: This is getting *out* of -- HELEN: In fact, it seems pretty clear to me that you've already got the woman you want, so why don't you just come out and *say* it?! Say it, and let us get on with our lives! JAKE: Don't make *me* be the bad guy! HELEN: You want a divorce! Just *say* it! Unless the only reason you *don't* is because you know I'd wipe you out. JAKE: Oh yeah?! The only reason *you* won't file for divorce is because you'd have to pay alimony! (They pause, catch their breath, and absorb what they've just said.) THERAPIST: (terse) Your time is up. (Helen and Jake gaze at her, dumbfounded. Then something snaps in each of them, and they remember their daughters sitting right there. Turning at once, they see Quinn looking pale and stricken, Daria resigned. Helen lets out an anguished gasp, and Jake's face loses all of its animation.) (cut to: ) SCENE 3 (Lawndale Health and Wellness Center, outside) (Quinn emerges from the building and walks past the parked cars, down the sidewalk, her expression dazed. Moments later, Daria emerges, looking tired. She is followed by Helen, whose face is pinched as if she were fighting back tears. Jake is last, his shoulders slumped and face numb.) (Without speaking, Helen walks over to her SUV, pauses by the driver's side, and looks at Daria.) DARIA: Thanks for the offer, but I'll take the two-legged mode of transportation. (She walks off in the direction where Quinn went, as Helen slowly climbs into her car.) DARIA: *Quinn*. (Her sister doesn't respond, and Daria finds herself walking very quickly to catch up with her.) DARIA: Quinn, *wait*. (Quinn finally stops and turns to face her.) DARIA: I know it was bad in there. I know what you're feeling right now, because I feel it, too. But it'll be okay. I think everyone just needs -- QUINN: (low voice) Why'd you have to do that? (Daria stiffens at her accusing tone.) DARIA: Do what? QUINN: Make me stop talking. If I hadn't stopped talking, Mom and Daddy wouldn't have started talking and they wouldn't have started *fighting*! DARIA: "Make" you? I didn't make you do anything. QUINN: Each time I tried to talk, you made me feel like I was letting you down. And I felt guilty, because we're in this separation thing together and I didn't want you to think I didn't care. DARIA: I never even spoke to you. QUINN: Oh come *on*, Daria! Everyone could tell that you didn't want to be there and you didn't want anyone *else* to get something from it! DARIA: That doesn't mean I made the session fall apart. I didn't cause Mom and Dad to fight -- they knew how to do that well enough on their own. QUINN: So what?! They were reaching out to us, Daria. DARIA: So much so, they spent *more* time yelling at each other. QUINN: They wanted to talk, and you *ruined* it! (Daria feels herself growing hot with anger... and guilt.) DARIA: So go talk to them. Go back to the cars. You don't need a therapy session to get them in the same room with you. QUINN: You'd never let me have a good relationship with Mom and Dad if *you* couldn't have one. You just have to control everything! DARIA: *I* have to?! You can't say one civil word to Mom over the dinner table, yet *I'm* the one who cut family communication off at its knees?! QUINN: Just leave me alone! DARIA: (undaunted) And don't forget your thoughtful treatment of Dad. The way you lovingly looked through his personal items when his back was turned just left me in tears. QUINN: I said *leave me alone*! (She turns and resumes walking.) DARIA: I'm a jerk because I tried to be nice and sympathetic toward you? Even when you were acting like a spoiled, whiny brat -- QUINN: SHUT *UP*! I just wanted to walk by myself, but you always have to get in the last word! Mr. Phelps was right about you! (This hits Daria like a five-ton weight.) DARIA: Mr. Phelps? What did he have to say? (Quinn keeps walking, doesn't reply.) DARIA: You've been telling your math teacher about me?? What the hell did you tell him?! (Quinn's walk turns into a run, and though Daria starts after her, she soon finds herself alone.) (cut to: ) SCENE 4 (Lawndale High teacher's parking lot) (The sun is setting over Phelps's car, one of the last remaining in the lot. Phelps has just emerged from the school building and is making his way towards it, when he sees a shadowy figure approach him.) PHELPS: Ms. Morgendorffer?? Is that you? (Quinn steps forward.) What on earth are you doing here at this hour? (Quinn just looks at him, her eyes glistening.) PHELPS: Come with me... (cut to: ) SCENE 5 (Lawndale High hallway, next morning) (Daria and Jane walk to class.) DARIA: Well I was right. The therapy session *did* suck. Only it was about a thousand times more grotesque than expected. JANE: I told you not to bring your crossbow. DARIA: My parents spoke the D-word, and this time they actually sounded serious. JANE: Oh God. You mean...? DARIA: (disquieted) No... I mean not yet. I don't think they've spoken to each other since then. And Mom isn't speaking to us. After her best-laid plans for family harmony were shot to hell, I think she's afraid that more attempts at bonding will send her into deficit territory. And Quinn's not speaking to me. JANE: Why? What happened? (Daria is quiet for a moment as they enter O'Neill's classroom.) DARIA: I messed things up. That's what. JANE: Really? (They sit down, and O'Neill, who is at the blackboard, overhears this last exchange. Sympathy face on, he walks over to Daria and Jane.) O'NEILL: Now Daria, I understand in your *troubled* position, you're feeling a lot of misplaced guilt. But I just want you to know that everything will be *okay*. Feel free to cry in class if you need to, or express your emotions in less conventional ways. DARIA: How about this? Get the hell away from me. (O'Neill starts back with a gasp that he tries to turn into a laugh.) O'NEILL: See? It feels *good* to vent! (He bites his lip and walks back to the board.) JANE: I was gonna suggest streaking down the aisle with "I Don't Believe in Jesus" painted on your backside, but sometimes the blunt approach works best. (Daria watches the other students filter into the room, and turns to face front.) DARIA: Mr. O'Neill? O'NEILL: See Daria? I *knew* you'd come around! DARIA: Where's Andrea? We haven't seen her for three days. O'NEILL: Oh, she's -- oh dear. (He puts a hand over his mouth.) I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss students' whereabouts. DARIA: Just announce their personal troubles to a classroom full of their peers. O'NEILL: Yes. (eyes widen.) I *mean* -- JANE: Come on, is it serious? O'NEILL: Oh Jane... *Daria*, I know I owe you an explanation after spilling the beans about your home life, but I've got a bigger obligation to Ms. Li. Sorry. (Daria and Jane exchange looks. O'Neill has revealed more than he knows.) (cut to: ) SCENE 6 (Lawndale High, hallway) (Daria and Jane walk to their next class.) JANE: It's probably a week's suspension. DARIA: I don't think O'Neill would get so spooked by a suspension. JANE: He gets spooked by a fly drowning in a glass of water. Plus, you still don't know if it has to do with the underground. (They pass students at their lockers.) DARIA: Ms. Li, suspended underground staffers... the connection's too big to dismiss. JANE: Even so, she might not know *you* -- ANDREA: Hey. (Daria and Jane swerve in her direction, but can't find her.) ANDREA: Over here. (They follow the voice, and both are shocked to see it come from a plainly dressed student with hair combed back and face free of any dark make-up. She shrinks back against her locker, extra vulnerable without her dark facade.) DARIA: Andrea?? JANE: I can't believe it's *you*. (She suddenly touches her own hair, a look of horror on her face, as if imagining that she might suffer the same fate.) ANDREA: You think *I* can? (Daria and Jane walk over for closer inspection.) DARIA: What happened to you? ANDREA: I got suspended. JANE: But you're back at school. ANDREA: It was just until Ms. Li could set up my "rehab" program. DARIA: "Rehab" program? ANDREA: I'm taking my classes under "specially supervised" conditions. DARIA: Does this mean you won't be at your normal classes? (Andrea shakes her head.) ANDREA: Li said I "engaged in dangerous behavior," and that this was a last- ditch effort at controlling me before I got expelled. (makes a sour face.) I'd have taken the expulsion, but my mother was with me. *She* made me come looking like Donnie and Marie Osmond's love child. JANE: What kind of "dangerous" behavior? (Andrea shrugs.) ANDREA: She never said. Except the part where I was spreading "lies" about the school. DARIA: But that wasn't you. ANDREA: It didn't matter -- I was involved with the paper, and I look the part. Or I did. (Andrea looks down at the floor sullenly. Daria removes her glasses.) DARIA: Here. I think you could use these more than I could. (Andrea puts them on, and gazes out with extremely distorted vision.) ANDREA: Whoa... *very* cool... (She smiles faintly and returns them to Daria.) I'd better go, or I'll be late. (She shrugs and walks on, as Daria and Jane wave good-bye.) JANE: And you thought you were the depressed one. (looks at Daria, notes her glum expression.) I know what you're thinking, Daria. It's *Andrea* who's in trouble, not you. DARIA: Yeah, Andrea. Who didn't do anything. JANE: We don't know that. We don't know that this "rehab" is about the underground at all. You said it yourself: The guys you worked with weren't the most stable, sociable bunch. Maybe the underground's fall from grace is causing them to act out in ways they hadn't before. (Daria tries to soothe herself with Jane's logic, but doesn't succeed.) DARIA: I just wonder why Ms. Li would go to so much trouble to "rehab" them in the first place. Why keep a possible security risk on school grounds? (Her face falls.) Unless she wants to make an example of them. JANE: To show how she can break the spirit of teens who deviate from her definition of pep? (Daria cocks a brow, nods.) Yeah, so maybe she can "scare straight" Andrea, but what could she do to you? Really do to you? You're already so straight and narrow, you'd disappear if you turned sideways. DARIA: Right. (uncomfortable) What could she do to me? (cut to: ) SCENE 7 (Volkswagen Jetta, driving) (Daria drives toward Jake's apartment complex for the Friday night sleepover. Quinn sits in the passenger seat. Neither speaks, and Quinn keeps her eyes firmly in front of her. Daria's thoughts are filled with the underground paper and dread of seeing their father. She glances in Quinn's direction, resigned to yet another period of stony silence between them. Daria steers the Jetta into an open space on Jake's street.) QUINN: Daria? (Daria finishes parking and turns to Quinn to make sure she had heard correctly, Quinn spoke her name so softly. Quinn meets her gaze reluctantly.) QUINN: I'm sorry I told Mr. Phelps about you. (Daria's eyes widen. Most of her anger from their last exchange flushes away at the sound of her sister's rare apology. She savors it for a moment before speaking.) DARIA: What *did* you say to him? QUINN: Just... you know, stuff you say to a friend. It wasn't always when I was mad at you -- sometimes I'd give compliments, like say how smart you are and that you read and write really well. (quietly pointed.) I know you tell Jane stuff about me. DARIA: True. But Jane doesn't have a position of authority over me. You really consider Phelps to be your friend? QUINN: (shrugs) I guess. DARIA: What about your other friends? (Quinn laughs a little.) QUINN: *What* other friends? I mean, I *have* friends, but I don't feel a really strong connection to them. Sandi's never around anymore, and you can't talk to Stacy without making her cry at least once, and she's no good for keeping secrets anyway. And Tiffany... (Quinn rolls her eyes and sighs.) DARIA: So your only alternative is a middle-aged man who gets his kicks from arranging his _Masterpiece Theatre_ catalogue. QUINN: When I talk to him, I don't have to *be* a certain way. I feel like I can talk about anything and he'll take me seriously. It's not like I *want* to be friends with old guys, Daria, but for now it's the best I have. This finding my inner brain thing, it's kind of put me in a weird position. I'm not shallow enough to be satisfied with the Fashion Club or the guys I go out with, but not geeky enough to relate to the nerds on my mathletics team. (She sighs and, smiling sadly, gazes out the front window.) DARIA: I'm sorry I was such a jerk during the therapy session. (Quinn glances at her, as Daria stares down at her hands.) DARIA: It's not that I'm opposed to getting along with Mom *or* Dad. It's the situation they've put us in that I can't stand, and I'll need time to get used to it in my own way. *Not* by having a family therapy session jammed down my throat. But still, I shouldn't have made it so hard for you. (Quinn smiles with sympathy and gratitude.) QUINN: I don't want to be mad at you, Daria. I need you. When I think about the things Mom and Dad said to each other, I feel so sick. DARIA: I know. QUINN: I'm scared to talk to them, because I feel like one of them will say they're getting a divorce. Mom's had this weird, tired look on her face like she believes it, too. (Daria inhales slowly, considering her sister's words, and scarcely feels Quinn take her hand on impulse.) QUINN: Do you ever think about what our life would be like? What would happen to our family stuff, like celebrating holidays? DARIA: Yeah, I do. QUINN: I mean, I guess it could work if we spent time with each of them. DARIA: Twice the turkey with a side dish of guilt. QUINN: But what if one of them decided to move to another state?? Who would we stay with? DARIA: Well, I'm an adult, as will you be in a little over a year, so we can stay wherever we want. QUINN: But which place would be home? (Daria thinks.) DARIA: Lawndale, I guess. As depressing as that sounds. QUINN: What scares me even more... what if one of them got remarried? I don't... I don't know if I could ever visit Mom or Dad if one of them married someone else. And if they had kids -- DARIA: *Quinn*. (She gives her sister's hand a squeeze.) Mom and Dad haven't said anything yet. Unless they do, I really think you should stop worrying. You already have enough to think about. (Quinn's cheeks color a little with embarrassment, then she smiles and rolls her eyes good-naturedly.) QUINN: See, this is why I need you, Daria. You're able to see stuff for what it is and be calm about it. DARIA: Like those firefighters who run into a flaming building knowing it'll collapse. QUINN: (scrunches her nose) I don't mean in a *bad* way. I mean you make everything seem like it'll be okay, even when we don't know for sure. Without you, I'd wind up having a nervous breakdown or something. (Daria's own cheeks color from the praise. She thinks about the troubles with the underground paper and looks at Quinn's hand holding hers.) DARIA: Yeah well, you're not so bad yourself sometimes. Not *all* the time. But I... kind of need you, too. (Quinn smiles.) QUINN: Thanks. DARIA: One more family member I can hit up for money. QUINN: Daria! (She pushes Daria lightly. Daria smirks and pushes back.) DARIA: Come on, let's go. Dad's waiting. (cut to: ) SCENE 8 (Cafe Brunoli, afternoon, next week) (The long narrow room is filled with small old-fashioned carved wood tables with lamps and upholstered chairs. Daria enters and takes a look around, feeling out of place amongst its older clientele. She walks down the aisle looking for the person she is supposed to meet.) (She nears one table where a man is seated alone, leaning forward a little, as if expecting someone. He appears to be in at least his mid-40's, with thinning brown hair and a beard with specks of gray. He wears glasses and is dressed in a tweed blazer and vest, with a tie slightly loose around his collar.) (His eyes meet Daria's, and for a moment neither speaks.) MAN: Daria? DARIA: Yes. MAN: Did I pronounce your name right? DARIA: You pronounced it fine... Mr. Winsett? MAN: Call me Marshall. (Daria awkwardly shakes his hand, and sits down in an empty chair.) DARIA: Thanks for meeting me. Sorry I had to postpone on you. MARSHALL: No trouble at all. I've looked forward to meeting you. DARIA: Um, thanks. Let me just say that whatever you've come to tell me, I'm really, really hoping it's not what I think it is. MARSHALL: (surprised) I'm not sure what I'm supposed to tell you. Your e-mail took me a bit by surprise. I wondered why a Lawndale student would care so much about one of our former faculty. DARIA: I told you... a little... I have reason to believe that he's mistreating some of the students at my high school. MARSHALL: (frowns) Mistreating, how? DARIA: Well... (cheeks flush.) He tried to get one of them to cheat in the mathletics tournaments. MARSHALL: Cheating? Oh dear. DARIA: It didn't actually happen... but it could have. (sighs) Truth be told, I don't really have much to go on beside some fuzzy clues and just a general gut instinct. That's why I wanted to hear from someone who really knew him. MARSHALL: Well, I *am* very familiar with Alfred Phelps and his personal biography. The general buzz is that he was a dedicated teacher that many Fielding parents were disappointed to lose. I have personally witnessed his single-minded dedication, the way it's inspired more than one of our students to pursue a math or science-related field on the university level. DARIA: Single-minded... inspired... MARSHALL: Has he changed since he came to Lawndale? DARIA: No. (exhales slowly.) He's still the same. MARSHALL: His background is rather inspirational. Back in England, he lost his mother at a young age and was raised by an alcoholic father. Though his father had a good living as an accountant, he drank away his income and Mr. Phelps was forced to depend on the government grant during his years at Cambridge. He later spent several years as an investment banker before realizing that he wanted to help others discover their potential at a young age, give them the encouragement that his father never gave him. DARIA: So he became a teacher. MARSHALL: That's right. DARIA: And that's all? He just left a lucrative field to help others? Not because he did anything wrong? MARSHALL: (sharp) Daria, Fielding Prep does *not* hire felons. No matter how inspirational their background. DARIA: I'm sorry. (embarrassed) It's just... I guess this is good. It *is* good. It's just... I can't explain, but it doesn't quite satisfy this uneasy feeling I have about him. MARSHALL: Alfred Phelps isn't the cuddliest of men, I know. He could be *very* zealous in pursuing his goals, and some teachers found it quite alienating. You have to get underneath the surface to learn what a gentle man he can really be. DARIA: And he never got into trouble at Fielding? MARSHALL: Not serious trouble. That is, no worse than any other teacher. He wanted to switch to Lawndale, he said, because he felt that he could make more of a difference in the public school system. DARIA: Okay. Thanks. (thinks it over, the color in her cheeks lessening.) This is good. I don't have anything to worry about, then. MARSHALL: (smiles softly) You don't seem less worried. DARIA: Only because... (She looks him in the eye, her face solemn.) Mr. Winsett -- Marshall, you would tell me if he really *had* done something, wouldn't you? One of the people he's working with now is someone very close to me, and I don't want her to get hurt. (Marshall gazes at Daria, notes her sincere concern, and settles back into his chair to think. He pulls at his beard, his expression clouding over.) MARSHALL: There is *one* thing... (Daria's eyes widen.) MARSHALL: It's nothing official. Just rumors. DARIA: What?? MARSHALL: Alfred Phelps had very close relationships with some of his Fielding students. Students who were very bright, but alienated from their peers for some reason or other. They came to trust him as their only confidante, and were willing to do anything for him. (Daria feels her heart beat faster in her chest.) DARIA: What kinds of things? MARSHALL: Supposedly a couple of them were computer whizzes who set up a program that could process numbers that accessed codes from various bank accounts and... siphon money from them. DARIA: You mean steal?? (Marshall looks a bit nervous at her bluntness.) MARSHALL: Just small bits of change from many different accounts, small enough that the owners would never miss it. DARIA: But still... MARSHALL: (nods) Yes. Rumor has it that the money was going to several overseas bank accounts. (quickly) But don't quote me on this, Daria, or assume that it's the truth. Supposedly this rumor was launched by a parent frustrated that Alfred Phelps had flunked his son. DARIA: And did this rumor include Mr. Phelps getting punished? MARSHALL: I'm sure that if there were any reality to it, he would have been. As I've said, Fielding doesn't employ felons. (Daria sits back in her chair, trying to quiet her pounding heart.) DARIA: Let's say, for the sake of argument, that these rumors were the truth. Is there any reason Mr. Phelps couldn't continue this at Lawndale? MARSHALL: Oh, I'm sure he couldn't... (His face loses expression, and he reaches forward to stir a long-forgotten glass of ice tea. His expression then becomes firm.) I'm quite sure he's not. DARIA: You don't seem sure. MARSHALL: Trust me, I am. (He smiles, though the smile doesn't reach his eyes.) Is that all you needed to know? (Daria nods.) DARIA: Yes, that's everything. (cut to: ) SCENE 9 (Daria's room, evening) (Daria lies on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. It's early evening and the room is growing dark, but to her, time has lost all meaning.) (At long last she stands up and walks out into the hallway. The hall is silent, but Daria can hear the roar of a car engine from the window. She walks over and sees one of the cars rumble off down the street into the darkness. She guesses that it was the SUV, but isn't sure. The Jetta isn't anywhere in sight. Daria glances toward Quinn's door.) (cut to: ) SCENE 10 (Quinn's room) (Daria opens the door slowly and walks in. The room is quiet, and Quinn's homework lies scattered across her desk. Daria creeps over to it to get a closer look. Only when she has reached the desk does she realize that Quinn is in the room.) (She lies asleep on her bed fully clothed, curled up with her smiley pillow. For a moment Daria debates whether to leave and talk to Quinn directly at a later time, until she notes that Quinn's breathing is soft, the breathing of someone in deep sleep. She glances down at Quinn's work.) (One of the pages contains problems that Daria recognizes as challenging trigonometry and some calculus. The others spread out on her desk contain two tables of digits, each with two rows of numbers neatly aligned, one row under the other. Underneath both rows are calculations in Quinn's pencil markings, where Quinn appears to be summing the products of several pairs of numbers. Daria notes a Greek sigma in front of the calculations. She picks up a page to study it, inhaling deeply.) QUINN: (groggy) Daria? (Daria spins to face her. She was mistaken -- Quinn's sleep breathing was that of someone about to wake up. Quinn struggles to sit upright, running a hand through her mussed hair. Daria puts the paper back where she found it and steps away. Quinn reaches for her glasses on the bedside table and puts them on. As the world comes into focus, she senses what Daria was up to.) QUINN: What are you doing? DARIA: I was just, um, looking for an extra paperweight. (Quinn walks quickly over to the desk, stumbling a little in her sleepy state. She stuffs her loose papers into a notebook and shuts it firmly.) QUINN: (edgy) You weren't supposed to see that. (Daria's heart pounds.) DARIA: Why not? QUINN: They're extra-hard problems for the Advanced Placement test. I was doing them so I'd get a high score -- it was supposed to be a surprise. DARIA: That doesn't look like any math I've seen before. QUINN: Of *course* not. It's college stuff, way harder than anything they teach in your grade. (She rolls her eyes, trying to maintain a smile and a good attitude, but clearly annoyed that her sister has been poking through her things.) DARIA: Mr. Phelps gave these to you. QUINN: Yeah, who else? So just pretend to act surprised when I give you the news, okay? (Daria considers how to broach the information she learned several hours ago. At the same time, something about what Quinn said doesn't sit quite right.) DARIA: You've mentioned the Advanced Placement test before. You don't mean the test to place you in college-level math, do you? QUINN: Uh-huh. DARIA: Quinn, that test, the official one, was held last spring. (Quinn snaps fully awake. Her eyes widen with shock.) QUINN: That's got to be a mistake. DARIA: There's no mistake. I was there. The only reason I didn't tell you was because I didn't know if that was the test you were referring to. (Quinn's face grows pale enough to delineate the individual freckles on her nose. She bites her lip for a moment to keep it from trembling. Daria gets a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach seeing how much it upsets her.) QUINN: Well-well maybe he *didn't* mean that test. Maybe he meant the one that puts you in an advanced class for your junior year. Maybe juniors don't take the Advanced Placement test at the same time as the seniors, or he didn't think I was ready for some reason. But he's got to have a reason -- Mr. Phelps *always* has good reasons for what he does. DARIA: Has he ever discussed the test sections or given you test samples? QUINN: (defiance) Mr. Phelps doesn't teach to the test, Daria. He always tells us that and I don't think it's a bad thing. DARIA: Okay, okay. But I find it a little strange that he's preparing you for this big test, yet never had a serious discussion with you about it. QUINN: So what are you saying? (Her eyes narrow.) You think he did it on purpose? Because he doesn't think I'm smart enough to do college-level work? I thought we'd talked about this, Daria. *You* said I was smart enough -- are you changing your mind?? DARIA: It's not about whether you can do the work. Don't you get it? It's about *him*. About why he's making you do these assignments. I don't think you should trust him. (Quinn rolls her eyes, this time with full-fledged irritation.) QUINN: This is getting old, Daria. But I get it now: You're still upset that I told him things about you and you're looking to get even. I *said* I was sorry, but if you really want to know, all he said back was that you sound insecure and need to be right all the time, which *I* tell you every day. DARIA: I don't *care* what he said. Quinn, I have something important to tell you. (Quinn sits back down on her bed, her mouth forming a straight line.) DARIA: This afternoon I met with a Fielding Prep administrator. He said when Phelps taught there, there was a rumor that he was getting students to break into codes for people's bank accounts. They stole money for him. QUINN: But that's just a rumor, right? (Daria shakes her head.) DARIA: I don't think so. I think the guy said that to cover his ass, but there was something about the way he said it that was just too easy, like he wanted me to know. I think he knew more than he was letting on. QUINN: (skeptical) If Mr. Phelps can get people to steal money for him, why would he bother being a teacher? Wouldn't he want to be something way more interesting? DARIA: I'm not saying it makes perfect sense, but that's what I heard. And I'm worried that he hasn't stopped, and that he's using *you* as one of his accomplices. (Quinn's tightly held mouth falls open.) QUINN: That's a really creepy thing to say, Daria. Even for you. DARIA: Quinn, take another look at those problem sets he's making you do. Go to test prep websites and look at college learning aid material. Try to find anything that looks remotely similar. (Quinn's face grows hot with anger. She springs up off the bed and shoves the folder into her backpack, out of Daria's reach.) DARIA: Remember when I said that I hoped you would know when it was right to move on? I think this is the time. You need to get out of his class. QUINN: Forget it! DARIA: I know you think I'm overreacting. If you don't want to transfer out, at least tell him you don't want his extra assignments, or ask him to level with you. QUINN: You're making it sound like... like everything he's ever done to challenge me is a *lie*. That it's all stupid made-up stuff and I'm not really any further than when he started teaching me. (Tears well in her eyes as she turns to face her sister.) Well you don't know *anything*, Daria! DARIA: You're right -- there's a lot I don't know. I'm just asking you to watch out for him, understand? Not because I don't respect you, not because I don't think you're smart enough, but because I don't want him to hurt you. (Quinn sniffles, wipes her eyes, and gazes at Daria with a blank expression.) DARIA: Just promise me you'll think about what I said. Please? (The "please" surprises Quinn. She looks at her sister probingly, before heaving a sigh and nodding.) (With nothing more to add, Daria leaves her sister alone in her room. Quinn gazes down at her math textbook mournfully, as if the book itself were capable of betrayal.) (cut to: ) SCENE 11 (Jane's room, a few days later) (Jane puts together a wire sculpture while Daria lies on her bed.) JANE: Stealing money from people's bank accounts? That's pretty low, I gotta say. DARIA: Unless your name is Vivian Taylor and the account holder's name is Steve Taylor. JANE: (smirks) Then it's an ingenious scheme to earn seed money for your topless empire. (Daria smirks briefly, and Jane pushes aside her sculpture to face her.) JANE: So what's been happening since then? You looked pretty spooked when you came over. DARIA: That's just it. *Nothing's* happened. As far as I can tell, Quinn hasn't changed anything. JANE: It's only been a few days. You dropped a pretty big bombshell -- give the girl some time to process it. DARIA: (frowns) If I'm right about Phelps, how much time can I give her before she winds up in trouble? Even if I'm wrong, he deserves to be held accountable for preparing Quinn for a test he never intended her to take. JANE: What I don't get is why Phelps would choose Quinn, when he could choose from dozens of students who are both bigger outcasts and more tech-savvy. That Barry kid could probably crack every one of Ms. Li's top-secret security codes without breaking a sweat. DARIA: But as big an outcast as Barry is, he seems too independent-minded to be swayed by Mr. Phelps. Too proud of his abilities and his disturbing hobbies. (quietly reflects.) Phelps would need someone who was smart enough to do the work, but not savvy enough to know what it was for, and devoted enough to *him* to not ask questions. JANE: Have you and Quinn talked about it since then? DARIA: Nope. JANE: She freezing you out? (Daria sits up a little.) DARIA: No, it's weird. We're fine. She doesn't act resentful, and is even pleasant. Except that she won't discuss math with me. The times I brought it up, she changed the subject as though she'd never heard me. JANE: Must be pretty mad at you, then. DARIA: Or something else. (Looking worried, she sits Indian style near the edge of Jane's bed.) I think she's in denial. She heard my information and pushed it deep down where she could pretend it didn't exist. The way she pushed down irrefutable evidence that Phelps wanted her to cheat in the mathletics tournaments. (She scowls, and focuses on the wall beyond Jane, almost not wanting to think the things she's about to say.) DARIA: It's as if no matter what wrongs Phelps is capable of, she's too locked into seeing him as her mentor and hero. She'll just keep doing whatever he wants until she gets screwed. (She squeezes her eyes shut for one moment.) I should have done something after Quinn told me about the cheating. Why did I wait so long? JANE: You're being too hard on yourself. DARIA: And the Advanced Placement test. She's mentioned that for a long time, and only *now* I connected the dots? I hunt down information on Phelps with an obsession that would shame Inspector Javert, only to drop the ball once my own issues became paramount. JANE: Allow me to make an unpopular suggestion? DARIA: I have got to get her out of that class. JANE: Why are you handling this alone? If Quinn really is in big trouble, your parents deserve to know. DARIA: I can't. Everything's been a mess. If only you knew what it was like. JANE: For my parents to be *separated*? (She laughs sarcastically.) Daria, I've known what it's like a *lot* longer than you have. And while yes, my parents still claim to be happily married, that's basically what it is. At least your parents give a crap how the kids feel. (Daria stares down at the bedspread, thinks for a moment.) DARIA: You're right. I'm sorry. (She looks at Jane.) I *should* tell them. But it will be hard to bring them up to speed, and I need to act sooner. Quinn has a follow-up appointment for her contact lenses this Tuesday after school. I'll talk to Phelps then. (cut to: ) SCENE 12 (Phelps's classroom, Tuesday afternoon) (Phelps stands at the blackboard, wiping away the latest problems. He feels something in back of him that causes him to turn.) PHELPS: Ms. Morgendorffer? I thought -- (His eyes narrow and the corners of his lips rise in a tiny smirk, as he sees he is being approached by a different Ms. Morgendorffer. Daria stands near the door at the back of the classroom. After a beat, she walks forward.) PHELPS: Hello, Ms. Morgendorffer. Daria. What can I do for you? DARIA: Nothing for me, thanks. But you can do something for Quinn. PHELPS: I'll do my best. (Daria hands him a transfer notice. Phelps looks it over, his brows lifting, but his expression otherwise unchanged. Finally he hands it back to Daria.) PHELPS: If Quinn is unhappy with my teaching, let me hear it from her directly. DARIA: She's not unhappy. But you and I both know that she could do better. Which is why I'm asking you to give her the Advanced Placement exam so she can pass into college-level math. PHELPS: Ah yes. (He nods abruptly, walks toward his desk.) I knew that issue would come up sooner or later. Let me explain something, Ms. Morgendorffer: I wanted your sister to take that exam, I certainly thought she was ready. However, the number of incoming seniors applying exceeded the school's expectations. Ever since the school board approved an A.P.-level class size restriction, the number of seats has been locked at twenty-five per class. Since seniors get priority, I thought maybe few enough would pass in that Quinn would have an opening. Unfortunately it wasn't to be. I was quite disappointed. DARIA: So your college-level math class is stuck at twenty-five students. PHELPS: I'm afraid so. DARIA: Okay. But *my* college-level math class has twenty-two students. Why not just move Quinn there? (Phelps's expression remains unchanged, but Daria notices a slight twitch in his nostrils.) PHELPS: Would you really want to compete against your little sister? DARIA: I just want what's best for her. PHELPS: And you're so sure you know what that is. (He gathers papers off of his desk to put in his briefcase, each of his movements smooth and deliberate.) PHELPS: Ah yes. Having her in your class would allow you to keep an eye on her. To deflate her with a sharp quip if she answers too many questions correctly. To make her feel as though she can never outshine you. DARIA: It's a math class, not the Ms. Lawndale Pageant. We do exercises and take tests. There's no room for catty backbiting. PHELPS: Come on now, those thoughts *have* crossed your mind. (He says this in a gently matter-of-fact tone, as though he knows Daria inside and out, down to what she is thinking at that very moment. Her eyes narrow.) DARIA: Mr. Phelps, I know Quinn has said stuff about me. I'm sure I look like a tremendous jerk to you -- but all in all, I just want my sister to have the opportunities she needs to succeed in life. PHELPS: Oh, I agree completely. Which is why I think she would be better off with me. Not to toot my own horn, Ms. Morgendorffer, but Mr. Hunter's college- level class is sub-par at best. He takes half of his lesson plans directly >from the textbook. DARIA: So he's not the world's greatest teacher. Is that really what Quinn needs? PHELPS: She's a gifted young girl. She needs stimulation. DARIA: Then which is worse -- putting her in a sub-par college-level class, where she'd be with seniors doing college-level work, or keeping her below her ability level and giving her special projects to keep her interested? PHELPS: (groaning) Ms. Morgendorffer, even if I wanted to, I couldn't just *give* the Advanced Placement exam to Quinn. It's only held on specific dates throughout the year, and the next one is several months off. DARIA: Then why not just promote her to a regular senior math class? She would still be doing advanced work. PHELPS: (scoffs) Subject her to Mr. Hunter's dull ramblings in a class where she'd be surrounded by mediocrity? Good heavens, no. DARIA: Send her to take math classes at Lawndale Community College. PHELPS: I have no authority -- DARIA: Or are you too afraid of losing control over her? (Silence, as Phelps tilts his head to look Daria directly in the eye. The cold smirk that he had greeted her with reappears. Daria holds her ground, looking him squarely in the face, though part of her wants to look away.) PHELPS: I'd heard you were a forthright girl. Now I see it for myself. DARIA: I'm just trying to understand why you steadfastly refuse to advance my sister. You could, if you *really* thought she was special. PHELPS: I could also wave my magic wand and eliminate world hunger, but unfortunately it got stolen at the drycleaners. I'm just a simple teacher, Ms. Morgendorffer. I have no special power. DARIA: Except for the ready ear of Ms. Li. And an ability to bend the rules when it suits your needs. (She says more than she meant to, and again feels Phelps's penetrating gaze.) PHELPS: What do you know, Ms. Morgendorffer? What are you hiding from me? DARIA: I know a few things. Enough to make me skeptical of your claims that your hands are tied by the school's bureaucracy. PHELPS: Are you threatening me? I don't respond very well to threats. DARIA: I didn't mean it as a threat. PHELPS: Of course not. Listen, I know about your parents, and I'm sure in your present state of upheaval, it's tempting to make up any story that helps the world feel a little more under your control. But what I've told you is all there is. I don't think you have any more business here. DARIA: I've seen the assignments you're giving Quinn. PHELPS: What about them? DARIA: There were number sequences that bore no resemblance to any math theory being practiced at the college level. PHELPS: (dry) So you, a high school student, are the self-proclaimed expert on what's taught at university? DARIA: I know she thought they were on the Advanced Placement test. I also know that they're not. I've checked. PHELPS: Don't you think that she could still benefit from university math that isn't directly on the test? DARIA: Not when it comes from you. (Phelps puts on his glasses and gazes at her with a hard expression.) PHELPS: All right, I'm tired of your insinuations. You know something, so say it. (Daria tries to hold back, but somehow feels that she can't do anything but tell the truth.) DARIA: I've heard about your past. PHELPS: Which parts? DARIA: The parts you wouldn't want leaked to the general public. PHELPS: From whom? DARIA: I'm not at liberty to say. PHELPS: They're rumors. You know not to take all rumors at face value. DARIA: All I know was what I was told. PHELPS: But then you would know something about spreading rumors, wouldn't you? (Daria feels a cold shiver down her back.) DARIA: What did Quinn tell you? PHELPS: I don't need her to tell me everything about you, Ms. Morgendorffer. I have working eyes and ears of my own. I know more than you think. DARIA: How much more? PHELPS: Enough, I'd say, to make your year pretty difficult at the very least. To make your future difficult, at most. (Daria looks at him, wondering whether he is bluffing. Phelps's cold, hard gaze quickly tells that he would never bluff. He holds this expression for several beats, before letting it give way to one of near compassion.) PHELPS: I hate to sound so harsh toward you, Daria. Hearing you those times in the hallway and listening to you now, I remember myself at your age. DARIA: Wouldn't that require having blood in your veins? PHELPS: (smiles) It's true. We always think we're our own person, that we could never be like the one we dislike the most. But I, too, was once young and sure of myself. I had my books and my ideals; I didn't need people. All that changed when I took a hard fall, after I pressed too hard in places I shouldn't have gone, said things that I shouldn't have said. I don't wish the same fate on you. DARIA: (soft) Mr. Phelps, believe me when I tell you that I don't care what you've done. All I ask is that you keep my sister out of trouble. PHELPS: I would never try to hurt your sister, I assure you. DARIA: That's not what I meant. (She again hands Phelps the transfer form, her face imploring.) DARIA: Here. If you really care about her. (Phelps looks at the form, takes it, and folds it neatly. Then, gently, he tears it into two even pieces and lays them in the waste basket.) PHELPS: I *do* care about her. (Daria just stares at the waste basket with a dumbfounded expression. Her mind reels -- she feels as though she has been pressing with all her might against a wall that refuses to give way. Phelps's expression grows fatherly.) PHELPS: Now, now, I'm sure you're tired out from all that worrying. Why don't you run along home, Ms. Morgendorffer? It's getting late. ********************** THE END [roll the credits.........................] COMMENTARY I owe Michelle Klein-Haas a huge debt of gratitude. Not just for everything she's contributed to fandom, but for posting a link to the shooting script for "Star Wars III: Revenge of the Sith" on her personal blog in early May 2005. At that point, I was in the midst of revising a teleplay and had little thought of going back to write the final two episodes of the Driven Wild Universe. Sure, I *meant* to go back and finish someday -- like maybe when this professional writing fetish proved to be a bust or if I became wildly successful and could afford to relax for a few months every year -- but there was no clear timetable set in place. Yet after reading the shooting script for "Revenge of the Sith," I once again felt the burning desire to write a DWU. What really got me was the relationship between Anakin and Palpatine, which reminded me so much of the one between Quinn and Mr. Phelps. I lamented over not having the time to write more about their relationship, thinking of my future time commitments and the plot hurdle that I needed to overcome in order to make the scenario in the final two episodes plausible. The plot hurdle was so great, I had considered finishing "The Age of Cynicism" first because of its self- contained story (although that one had a serious hurdle of its own in the form of historical accuracy). As I read the script for "Revenge of the Sith," however, I suddenly felt a barrier break. Eureka! I knew what to do! I quickly wrote down an outline for the concluding episodes, then decided to go further and type some scenes. Scenes begat more scenes, until I realized that I was writing a full episode at a whirlwind pace that rivaled the one at which I wrote when I first delved into fanfiction. Much of this was helped greatly by the fact that, following "Memory Road," I had already plotted out some scenes for the twenty- first DWU, intending to create a detailed summary (called a "Wildfeed") of the last two episodes in order to not keep readers hanging. I've always intended to finish the Driven Wild Universe. I knew that everything would come together in an explosive way, and it was hard, *very* hard, to put it aside and focus on my real-life writing, not knowing when I would be able to come back. That the last two episodes came together when they did was, as I noted above, a large fluke. Not only was it due to reading the "Revenge of the Sith" shooting script, but to the fact that my teleplay output was slowing down because I finally had a big enough backlog of polished works that I could afford to ease up a little. Writing "Into the Fire" was a joy, and I was very pleased with how it turned out. I had little trouble falling back into the rhythms of writing a scripted fic, even as I minimized some of the things that had been staples of my previous fics, such as (Bt) and references to camera angles. (You wouldn't find the latter in a real spec script, so why bother in one that's written for fun?) A lot of the tense exchanges between the Morgendorffers had been dancing around in my head for three years, so they wound up jumping onto the page with little need for editing. Even though I had stated that the DWU was meant to have twenty-two episodes, I know that many people thought that "Memory Road" was the last one. I wanted to give a realistic portrayal of Helen and Jake separated, and also show that after so much misery, the series *does* end on a happier note. On "Into the Fire" Like "All But Forgotten," "Into the Fire" is the set-up episode for the more action-packed episode that follows. Nonetheless, I feel it has a certain poignancy of its own. It starts out with Daria and Quinn against the world, or at least against their parents, putting aside their personality conflicts in the face of their mutual suffering. They're closer than they've ever been before -- and more vulnerable. Since they've already dealt with the break up of their parents' marriage, it seems cruel that they would have more hardship thrown at them, yet by the end of the fic, their very relationship appears threatened. The reasons go beyond Phelps's threats toward Daria. They lie in the very nature of Daria and Quinn's relationship, how much it is really built on trust in one another. Since the bond they've created is rather new (begun in "Memory Road"), they are still in the process of getting to know one another. Although sincere about taking care of the other, they still have years of animosity to get beyond. Only at the end of "Memory Road" did Daria get over her resentment of Quinn's math prowess, and even then she still felt a little ambivalent. Quinn, herself, is still very insecure with her new identity as a smart person and is too quick to believe that anything less than total validation is a put down; thus her view of Daria's attempt to fix things with Phelps as sabotage. Quinn is drawn to Daria's steadfast qualities and wants to feel secure in their relationship, that she is valued and seen as an equal. Yet even as Daria admits that she needs Quinn as much as Quinn needs her, it is not clear that she trusts Quinn to think on her level, as Phelps is able to surmise. Meanwhile, Phelps offers Quinn the Daria-like qualities of steadfastness and intelligence, but with the added bonus of seeming to genuinely believe in her. Throughout much of "Into the Fire," Quinn remains loyal to Phelps and Daria equally, but Phelps is seductive, and his subtle put downs of Daria may be effective yet. I chose the title "Into the Fire" for DWU #21 because I felt that this is the installment where all of the build up and guessing that occurred in the previous installments pays off. We'll see... Points of Interest ** Those bastards: Three of the four previous DWUs ("An Uneasy Marriage," "All But Forgotten," and "Memory Road") have chronicled Helen and Jake's declining marriage largely from their point of view. This is the first fic to show the fallout from Daria and Quinn's point of view, and it is ugly. Helen and Jake pretty much up and separated without, their daughters believe, attempting to work it out one last time or give them advanced warning. In some respects, nothing Helen and Jake could have done, short of staying together, would have appeased them; however, there were several ways Helen and Jake could have gone about separating and they chose one guaranteed to traumatize their children, only belatedly realizing their mistake. They are loving, well-meaning parents, but that was a nasty thing to do. ** "She's *everywhere*.": Some people wondered why, in the scene where Daria and Quinn first encounter Jake's furnished apartment, I didn't just come out and say whether the items Quinn mentioned (bathrobe, toothbrush) belonged to Jake's new girlfriend. As it turns out, in the Cut Scenes for "Tomorrow Never Knows," I do give their origin; however, I purposely left it out in "Into the Fire" in order to let the reader experience the confusion and anxiety that Daria and Quinn were feeling. I addressed those fears in "Tomorrow Never Knows" (in Daria's conversation with Jake, Act Two), but avoided getting too specific because I felt it would bog down the scene. The most important question to address was how close Jake and his new girlfriend really were, and how Daria and Quinn would react. ** Jake more together?: There was some temptation to portray freshly separated Jake in full midlife crisis mode -- leopard-print underwear, flashy new sports car, "cat on the prowl," the type of behavior The Angst Guy mocked in "The Thong Remains the Same." It struck me, though, that however much Jake longed to celebrate his newfound "freedom," he would also know that it was a scary, lonely situation to be in, one fraught with emotional pain for the whole family, especially Daria and Quinn. He would be on his own for the first time in thirty years, away from his daughters for all but two days a week, yet more aware than ever of what they were feeling. Thus, I figured that Jake's reaction to his separation from Helen would be more subdued... except for buying the fifty-inch television, of course. That's not to say that my low opinion of Jake has risen over the past few years; I just don't think he's a complete and utter asshole. Plus, it makes Helen and Jake's dilemma more complex: If Jake were to instead behave like an unfeeling jerk, why should we care if he comes home or not? Why shouldn't we secretly hope that Jake falls off the edge of the earth, out of his wife and daughters' lives forever? ** The issue of dating other people while separated: A couple of my beta readers took issue with Jake dating while still legally married to Helen, viewing it as adultery. I can understand where they're coming from, although from what I've observed of American culture over the years, it is common for separated partners to date other people. Obviously if it appeared as though one of the partners was serious with his/her new boyfriend or girlfriend, both partners then would file for divorce. My personal feeling is that Jake and Helen's marriage is in poor shape whether or not either of them dates; Jake dating the "other woman" is just an overt acknowledgement of reality. In fact, at the end of "Memory Road," it was Helen who urged Jake to be really honest with himself and go after what he wanted. Nonetheless, it does present some complications for them. It leaves Helen confused as to whether Jake still loves her and ultimately intends to move back home; it affects Jake's relationship with his daughters. If neither parent were dating, the anger and confusion would undoubtedly still exist, but Jake dating is like pouring salt into an open wound. ** What's up with Sandi?: Sandi has been a peripheral presence since "Primarily Color." Her absence and softer demeanor *will* be explained in "Tomorrow Never Knows." ** Stacy... karate?!: What? You can't see it? ** "I Don't Believe in Jesus": A line from John Lennon's song "God," which begins "God is a concept by which we measure our pain," then goes on to name all of the things John doesn't believe in, including Jesus, the Bible, I-ching, Hitler, Kennedy, Elvis, and the Beatles. It strikes me as the sort of avant-garde song that Jane would like. ** Marshall Winsett: I got the name from Marshall Whitmann, a conservative Democrat and member of the Democratic Leadership Council. One has nothing to do with the other... I just liked the name Marshall and didn't want to get sued for using the name Whitmann. ** Daria/Phelps showdown: One reader felt that Daria caved in to Phelps far too easily and that she should have been able to corner him with the accusation that he helped Quinn cheat. My thoughts on that are that Daria knows there is the possibility that Quinn cheated with help from Phelps, but she has only Quinn herself to verify, and Quinn is far from willing to admit outright that she cheated. In fact, as Daria tells Jane, Quinn backpedaled immediately after admitting what happened, saying that she never used the answer keys and that Phelps probably wasn't really helping her cheat. Without a reliable witness, Daria would not have much solid ground to stand on had she pushed that accusation. Now, she could have tried to trick Phelps into verifying it himself. At that point, however, Daria is far more concerned that Phelps could be using Quinn to commit a crime and focuses on the issue accordingly. Moreover, she doesn't even come to Phelps's classroom planning to argue or to trap him, but to give an iron- clad argument as to why Quinn should be transferred out of his class. Daria does not relish the possibility of having a verbal sparring match with this man, who could turn her arguments to dust. In "Partners Complaint" (a variation of which would have happened in the Driven Wild Universe), Daria couldn't give Jodie the smack down, and Jodie is far more benign and has less authority than Phelps. Daria hopes that Phelps will prove to be a decent enough man that he will see her side of things and admit that Quinn would be better off in another setting. What she learns instead is what she already suspected: Phelps only cares about Phelps. Daria is overwhelmed by the cool, unapologetic way in which he flaunts his narcissism. Realizing that she cannot reach him as a compassionate human being, she goes for the clincher: the details about his past. Granted, the accusation of thievery lies on shaky footing, but Daria goes with it because not only is it more disturbing than the charge of stealing, but because the details were presented to her by someone with authority (Marshall Winsett). ** Whither "Commercial Hell"?: There are many new commercials I could snark on, but truth be told, I'm just not in the mood. After all, there is something to be said about commercials breaking the tone of story. I've therefore decided to use the space to promote "good" causes (or, in the case of the HTML version, to put nothing at all). I'll have more thoughts and more end notes in DWU #22, "Tomorrow Never Knows." Until then, I'd like to thank my beta readers: Brandon League, Dennis, The Angst Guy, Steven Galloway, Gregor Samsa, RLobinske, and E.A. Smith As well as give thanks for necessary info (Martin Sylvester, Cincgreen) and offers of help (gearhead and nmorgendorffer). This fanfic is the property of Kara Wild, copyright May 2005. All rights reserved.