Daria was at her locker, trading her Algebra II textbook for US History, when a wail ripped through the air and echoed down the halls of Lawndale High.
"Kevvie! How could you?!"
"Uh-oh," Jane said. "Trouble in paradise."
"The business of the Eloi does not concern us Morlocks," Daria deadpanned in response.
Brittany came barrelling past them, books clutched to her chest—that had to be painful, Daria figured—by all appearances stifling sobs, with Kevin in hot pursuit: "But babe, I swear, it wasn't like that—"
Jane and Daria watched them plow through the milling crowd and vanish around the corner.
Jane said, "All right, that might be a new intensity record for them both, actually."
By lunchtime, the news had reached them that Kevin had cheated on Brittany with an Oakdale cheerleader, had like all-the-way cheated, and that Brittany was saying they were through through this time.
"So, two weeks instead of three days," Jane predicted. She stuffed her cafeteria nuggets into a bread roll and began eating the combination as a sandwich.
Daria sighed. "All right, gun to my head, stretch me on the rack, sodium pentothal my veins... I feel a little bit bad for her."
"Good grief, why?"
"She's not... a bad person. Oh, she's a beneficiary of an absurd system that gives her all kinds of unearned advantages, but just as herself? She..." Daria paused and toyed idly with her fork. "She's been the only person here so far who has asked me for help."
"Whoa, Daria. You OK? You look a little... well, you're showing traces of emotion."
"The sick joke of this place," Daria said, "is that everyone treats me as a brain for the most superficial reasons. I've read books. I've seen nearly everything they cover here already, explained by people who were better at it than the stewpots of personality disorders we call our teachers. Why shouldn't I be doing great, when the most I have to do is fill in a few quizzable details? My classmates call me a brain, adults call me gifted, and it's all based on this uncontrolled experiment. Nobody wonders how well anyone else would do if they'd lucked into the same books I did five or ten years ago, or seen James Burke and Timothy Ferris and Carl Sagan on PBS when I did. Nobody gives a damn about the ways in which I'm different because I'm actually working for it—because of how I am me."
"Your writing?"
"Yeah."
"I take it earning Mr. O'Neill's praise would not be soothing to your tortured soul?"
"Hmpfh."
The Fashion Club chittered past their table, salads in hand, wondering amongst themselves what the drama meant for the party.
"Brittany invited me to that," Daria said. "I think she was even trying to be nice."
* * *
That afternoon, Daria rooted in a cardboard box in her closet while Jane sat on Daria's bed and flipped through the pages of a composition notebook.
"A murder mystery set on Mars?" Jane asked.
"Mmm. Not sure if that one is going anywhere... Aha." She pulled out a VHS tape. Jane stood and grasped it from her outstretched hand.
She read the handwritten label with an inquisitive tone. "Project Mathematics?"
"Got me through geometry class alive. We taped it off the NASA Channel."
"My cup of questions runneth over. There's a—"
"Yes, there's a NASA Channel. Some educational shows. A lot is just footage of Earth from the Space Shuttle. Not the worst thing," Daria admitted quietly, "if you just want to see a bigger world than Highland for a while." She stared up at Jane. "I'm ready for my brain-shaming, Miss Lane."
"I don't think I have it in me," Jane said.
"Dar-ee-a!" Quinn yelled through the door before knocking.
"Please complete your Form 27 B stroke 6 for entry," Daria said.
Quinn pushed the door open. "Joey and Jeffy and Jarod all invited me to go to Brittany's party, and then I thought the party was cancelled because Brittany refuses to be seen with Kevin and there's no way to have a cheerleader party without the QB, but then Kevin's dad is taking him for the weekend on a hunting trip or a fishing trip or a distillery trip or something to 'get his mind off chicks', so the party is on, but Mom won't let me go unless I have a chaperone, so I need you to leave the house with me and then vanish off to the public library or whatever it is you brains do instead of parties."
"Actually, Quinn," said Daria from her spot on the floor, "Brittany invited me."
Jane added, "And you know Daria—never one to turn down an invitation from a cheerleader."
"Ah—argh. Hmpfh." Quinn turned on her heel and stalked off.
Daria called after her. "Don't worry, I promise we won't show up in the same dress."
* * *
"Daria!" squeaked Brittany. "You made it! And... Jane?"
"She's an artist," Daria said.
"But I already have you to tutor me in art... What do you know about geometry?"
Jane shot Daria a look of indeterminate meaning. "The squares of the legs of a triangle add to the square of the other side, but only when the legs do this." She lifted her right leg and held it out perpendicular to her left, her hands clasped above her head as she leaned slightly to maintain balance.
"Gee! I never knew you were so flexible. Maybe you should try out for the squad!" Brittany stepped aside and ushered them into her home.
"I think my lighthearted jape went slightly too far," Jane muttered to Daria.
"Methinks the flexy lady doth protest too much," Daria muttered back.
"That boy used to be popular, but then his parents divorced and his dad took the cool car, so he's less popular. Those three boys are on the football team but only JV, so they're medium popular. She is new and cute, so she's going to be popular fast. Those two, ugh, I don't know why they're here, Brittany must be volunteering to provide social skills for the less fortunate..."
"And on this table," Brittany said, "we have the perfect combination of salty snacks and sweet snacks! Through here is the kitchen, where we have soda and diet soda in the refrigerator..."
Daria said, "I always keep the diet soda in the dishwasher, myself."
"That boy is only here because he dissected Brittany's frog for her..."
"Downstairs is the rec room," Brittany chippered on, "with the air-hockey table."
"My favorite contact sport," Jane said.
"Hmmm?" Brittany hummed inquisitively.
"When you play it right," Jane clarified.
Daria was watching her sister hide behind a ceramic tiger—the decor of the Taylor house was something other than good taste—and so she did not know to whom Jane referred when she asked, "And where are those two kids going?"
"Who? Oh! Tee hee. I bet they're heading for the make-out room."
"Ah, do tell us about that. Daria and I are dying to learn about the make-out room."
"Oh? Ohhhh."
Daria pulled her attention back. "What 'ohhhh'?" she asked.
"It's really just the laundry room," Brittany confided. "And since it's occupied... you want to see the extra-special make-out room?" She bubbled up and beckoned with her whole arm.
Daria said, "I am beginning to think I have lost the thread of the evening. I'm supposed to keep Quinn out of trouble, and—"
Jane was following Brittany. "Ah, let her have five minutes of trouble. She's your cousin, she's earned it."
Brittany weaved them through the less-than-rhythmic dancing in the living room and started hop-skipping her way up the stairs.
"So, the extra-special make-out room is the... guest bedroom?" asked Daria, just before Brittany opened a door leading off the upstairs hall. "Oh, it's your room."
Jane was already inside. "Hey, Wolfenstein!" She gestured to the game that was paused on the computer that an indulgent parent must have bought. "Wanna ditch the party and shoot a bunch of Nazis?" She turned to Brittany. "Can we?"
Brittany tilted her head and twirled her hair around a finger. "You're leaving the party... not to make out?"
"I didn't mean with..." Jane began.
"What do you..." Daria began.
"Eep!" went Brittany. "I think I misread a social clue board."
"Now, um..." Jane tried again.
"Let's not..." Daria tried again.
"Be hasty?" Jane suggested.
Daria was finding it difficult to arrange words into a shape that resembled a sentence. "Don't look at me. I'm not the one here tonight who was... praising your flexibility."
"Weren't you?" asked Jane. "Ohhhh." She brought her blue eyes to bear upon Brittany. "And if this was where your first thought went..." She let the suggestion trail off.
All three were silent for a moment. The danceable beat and insipid lyrics of Boys R Guys rose up from the party below.
"Mind if I hear myself think?" Daria stepped past Brittany and pushed the door closed. Resting her hand on the doorknob, she turned to face the other two. "Are we past the point where closing the door merits an eep, then?"
"You're both... pretty," Jane managed to say.
"Thank you," Brittany said, softly.
"I never imagined I would hear that," Daria admitted, just as quietly. She tried to gather breath for more words. "And you both are..." The sentence died in her throat. She tried again. "And you... You know, the Nazis would have hated it. We'd be committing antifascist action."
"We'd basically be killing Hitler extra dead," Jane agreed.
Daria felt a hand on hers. Brittany's.
"This is only ever something I've seen other girls on the squad do because guys think it's hot."
"This is something I never believed I would do with anyone," Daria said, gently. "But I bet Jane would think it's hot, too."
Jane let out a desperate little half-gasp.
Brittany stared into Daria's bespectacled eyes. "Lock the door," she purred.
"On it!" Jane exclaimed.
* * *
"So, let's review," Daria suggested. "The party got the cops called for a noise complaint."
"Yes," Jane said.
"And before the cops arrived, the house flooded because the washing machine was horribly mistreated."
"Concur," Jane said.
"And the hostess failed to notice these impending disasters because she was—"
"Yes," Brittany admitted.
They all moved about the house, throwing party remains into a contractor-sized garbage bag.
"With us," Jane added.
"The brain and the weird art chick," Daria noted.
"Half of whose clothes are still in your room," Jane noted, "where we hid under your bed when the police arrived."
"And my sister is waiting on the front porch in a fury because her suede shoes got soaked and we have to count on your brother to pick us up."
"Next time," Brittany suggested, "we try it without the party?"