That night after dinner, Daria walked up the stairs toward Quinn’s room. Jane’s observation at school on Quinn and Trent had made her stop to wonder about her sister. Just what was Trent to Quinn? Was he another David… or another J? She hoped that it wasn’t the latter. While it was true that Daria had gotten over her crush on Trent, she still considered him a friend, and she wasn’t about to let Quinn take him for a civil servant just to satisfy her own ego. And if it was the former…

What if it is the former? thought Daria. If I encourage her to go after him, she’ll just be setting herself up for a fall all over again. But then, Jane said he seems to feel something for Quinn, at least.

Quinn’s door was open, and Daria was shocked to see Quinn not trying on outfits in front of her mirror, but rather reading lines aloud from a book. "…Just for a moment we’re happy. Let’s look at one another…" She looked up from the paperback to see Daria. "Yes? What do you want?" she asked scathingly.

Daria eyed the book, putting the entire question into two words. "Our Town?"

"Yeah," answered Quinn. "The Lawndale Stage-Play Association is holding auditions. I thought I’d try out as Emily. Trent thought it might be a good idea if I got back into acting."

"That’s what I came to ask you about. What’s going on with you two, anyway?" asked Daria.

"What kind of question is that?" asked Quinn defensively. "It’s not like I have a thing for him, or something."

"Oh. Well, in that case…"

"I mean granted he is really cute, but that doesn’t mean I should just go for him."

"But if you think he’s attractive…"

"All right!" wailed Quinn. "I have a crush on Trent! I’m sorry Daria, I didn’t mean for it to happen!"

"Uh, Quinn? I have a…"

"Wait a minute!" snapped Quinn. "What do you care? You already have a boyfriend! What, are you trying to get Trent anyway? Well, you can’t have him! Trent’s mine, and not you or…"

"Quinn," interjected Daria, "before you start reliving the latest episode of Dawson’s Creek, would you mind telling me why you’re interested in a slacker like Trent?"

"He isn’t a slacker!" retorted Quinn. "He’s…" Quinn’s look softened. "He’s really nice. It’s like I can talk to him about anything."

"So? You can talk to the Fashion Fiends too, but I don’t see you wanting to date any of them," said Daria.

Quinn’s eyes narrowed at her sister.

"Okay, that was a bad example," apologized Daria.

"You know what I mean. He honestly cares about what I have to say, and when I’m with him I just feel like I’m a better person. Like I can do anything, just because he cares. You know?"

Daria eyed the sincere expression on Quinn’s face. "Well, in that case, why haven’t you said anything?"

"Are you crazy?" cried Quinn. "What if he turns out to be another David? I mean, someone who I like but who doesn’t like me? What if he rejects me because he goes for girls with depth instead of some shallow little High School girl like… like me."

"And what if you just worry about it for the rest of your life, and neither of you know how the other one feels?" asked Daria. "Look, if there’s one thing I found out about Trent during the course of my own crush, it’s that he’s completely oblivious. If you ever want a shot at him, you’ll have to tell him how you feel about him. Otherwise you’ll just grow old and die waiting for him to say something."

"I know!" replied Quinn. "I just… I wish I could be more sure, that’s all."

"Well for what it’s worth, Jane thinks you’ve got a good shot," said Daria.

Quinn’s eyes lit up. "Really?" she asked.

"Yeah," said Daria. "Of course, this is taken from a younger sibling’s vantage point, and younger siblings are prone to have their heads up their butts. At least, that’s been my experience." She smirked.

"Gee, thanks," said Quinn, catching the hidden meaning of the remark.

Daria shrugged. "Don’t mention it. I owe you that much, seeing as how I did more good than harm here." Satisfied with both conversation and parting shot, she walked out.

As Daria came down the stairs, she heard a loud whoop. "All right!" cried Jake, looking out the window.

Daria went over to see what her father was staring at. Small white flakes were falling out of the sky, drifting slowly to the ground. "Um… Dad? It’s snowing. So what?"

"That’s just it, Daria!" cried Jake exuberantly. "It’s snowing! Do you know what that means?"

"Fifteen weather-related car crashes in as many seconds?" quipped Daria.

"No! It means more ammo!" He laughed maniacally. "Tomorrow, the score will be settled!"

Daria turned around and walked away. "You make ready the pitch and naphtha. I’ll go construct the siege engines," she deadpanned.

"Siege engines?" Jake mulled it over. Then he smiled. "Great idea, kiddo!"

Daria winced as she headed into the kitchen.

Meanwhile, one of the Morgendorffer’s neighbors quickly rushed out the door. "Oh my God! It’s… It’s… a snowflake!" Screaming, he ran to his car and started his motor.

A woman who also lived nearby also ran out the door. "Quick! Must get to supermarket before we all get snowed in!"

As everyone on Glen Oaks Lane simultaneously sprinted to their car and backed out in a mad dash to the grocery store, fifteen fender-benders happened in as many seconds.

As Daria had guessed from the time of the snowfall, the next day was a snow day, and she found herself driving to Jane’s. Normally one of the reasons she did this was to avoid her sister. However, this time was different, and she found herself chauffeuring Quinn to the Lane residence as well as a bag of food from the Good Times Chinese Restaurant.

"Could you go a little faster, please?" asked Quinn petulantly. Daria had been maintaining a constant speed of fifteen miles an hour. "We’re going to be late!"

Daria’s hands shook as she held the steering wheel with an iron grip. "Quinn, it just snowed. I don’t feel like skidding into a tree."

"They plowed the road this morning!" said Quinn peevishly. If she weren’t in such a hurry, she might have been slightly amused at Daria’s uncharacteristic lack of aplomb. Just like Stacy, only with glasses and no makeup, she thought.

"Gah!" cried Daria. "A sheet of ice!" She slowed down even more.

Quinn rolled her eyes upward. "That’s it! Pull over, Daria," she ordered.

Almost meekly, Daria did as she was told. Quinn got out of the car, went around the other side, and opened the door. "Scoot over," she said.

"What? Oh God, not again," said Daria, her eyes widening as she realized what Quinn had in mind. "No! Hell no! Quinn, we’re in the middle of town. What if a cop sees you?"

"Daria, it’s no big deal. I have my learner’s permit now, in case you forgot. If anyone gets suspicious, I’ll just say that you’re giving me lessons. And at this rate, by the time we get to Trent’s it’ll be time to go to my rehearsal!"

Reluctantly, Daria slid over to the passenger seat. "Just don’t drive too fast, okay?"

Quinn scowled as she began to pull out. "Don’t worry," she said. Then she smiled slightly. This might be her one chance to bait her sister. "Besides," she began, "even if we do skid, it’ll be good training. At least that’s what Miss Barch said. But she only told that to the guys. I wonder why that is, don’t you Daria?"

Daria swallowed and glanced at the speedometer. "You’re driving forty!"

"Yeah, so?" snapped Quinn.

"So, the speed limit’s twenty-five, speedy," replied Daria.

"Oh," said Quinn, slowing down. No point in taking unnecessary chances.

After a (fortunately) cop-free drive, Quinn and Daria pulled up to the Lane residence. After Jane informed her that they were in rehearsal ("It’s pretty quiet down there, so my guess is that it’s nap time," she’d said), Quinn headed toward the basement, food in tow.

"What’s in the bag?" asked Jane after Quinn had left.

"The usual," replied Daria. "Dimensional waste coupled with pet body parts."

"Ah, good old Chinese Food," said Jane. "That should score some points. And if not the MSG content should be adequate revenge."

As Quinn opened the door, she heard voices coming from the basement. "Aw man, what is this crap? Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on Monique!" It was Max. Quinn hung back. Eavesdropping may have been a bad habit, but it came as naturally to her as being popular did, and she might overhear something important.

"It’s just some song lyrics, Max," protested Trent.

"Yeah, well these lyrics suck!" retorted Max. "I can’t believe that you’re still pining away for the bitch that broke your heart, man!"

Quinn heard murmurs of agreement coming from the other band members.

"Okay," said Trent. "Then I guess we won’t use the song, after all."

"Screw the song!" said Max. "She doesn’t give a damn about you, man! You have to know that. I mean, she treats you like crap, and you take it. She’s got you whipped like a puppy, man. The only time she wants a piece is when you’ve got some money."

"I guess you’ve got someone else in mind, huh?" retorted Trent.

There was a short silence.

"Daria’s sister," said Jesse.

"Hey, yeah," said Max brightly. "Why not Daria’s sister? She’s already your muse or something."

"No way. It’s not that I don’t like her…"

"So you do like her!" said Max. "I don’t blame you man. That is a piece of ass! I’d like to get…"

"Hey Max?" said Trent. "Uh… weren’t you going to tell me to go out with her?"

"Was I?"

"Uh… yeah. But there’s this statutory rape thing. I don’t really feel like going to jail."

"So? Who enforces that, anyway? And I bet she’s one of those ‘I won’t do anything with a guy until we’re married’ chicks. Not like that walking sperm bank you’re interested in now. Face it, the only thing you like about Monique is that she’s part of the routine!"

"Routine?" repeated Trent incredulously.

"Yeah man," said Max. "You wake up, you go to rehearsal or wherever you’re going, and on the way back you go to grovel before Monique. You’re trapped, man, and what you need is chaos and anarchy to set you free!"

"Well… how do you know Quinn’s even straight?"

"Cool," said Jesse.

"Yeah," agreed Nick. "One time I caught my wife cheating on me with another woman, and I asked her if she’d bring her friend to bed with us next time."

"What happened?" asked Jesse.

"She slapped me," answered Nick.

As the conversation turned from the discussion of Trent’s choice of potential girlfriends to the pros and cons of female alternative lifestyles as it applied to male intercourse, Quinn exulted. Yes! He really does like me! She’d heard enough. More than enough, judging from the conversation taking place.

She went down the stairs. "EEEEEWWWWWWW! God, what are you guys talking about?"

"Uh… you, I think," said Nick.

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!" cried Quinn.

Trent changed the subject. "Hey, Quinn. What’s in the bag?"

Quinn perked up immediately. "Well, I thought you’d be hungry, so I brought you guys some Chinese Food!"

"Chinese Food?" repeated Max. "Hey man, we’re artists! We’re brilliant, talented, starving artists! We thrive on our hunger. It’s our motivation in life! We don’t need food!" He sniffed at the bag. "Is that lo mein?"

It was nap time for Jesse, Nick, and Max; and the sounds of their snores echoed throughout the basement. Quinn sat next to Trent, who was (amazingly enough) still awake, despite looking as though he too was ready to nod off. "Thanks for bringing us the food, Quinn," he said. "Too bad we didn’t get much work done, though."

Quinn shrugged. "I guess they got demotivated, once their hunger got satisfied."

Trent laughed, trailing off into a cough. "Is ‘demotivated’ even a word?" he asked.

"I don’t know," replied Quinn. "Sometimes I sort of make up my vocabulary as I go along."

"Whoa!" said Trent, his eyes widening. "That’s kind of creative."

The twosome laughed, and with that laughter Quinn felt the tension ease within herself. Maybe I do this without coming off like a total moron this time. Mentally, she took a deep breath.

"Trent… I like you."

Trent looked at her, uncomprehending. "I like you, too," he said.

Quinn swallowed. Oh God, just like David! She quickly tried another approach. (I will not say "like" two times in a row, she began a mantra in her brain.) "Um… Trent? You know that girl you’re interested in? Well, what if she’s the wrong one? I mean, not that I’d know anything about it, but what if there was another girl that you liked that you hadn’t tried before. Someone who probably liked you, but you wouldn’t know about it, and she turned out to be right for you? And then since you’ve found the right girl, the other girl must be, by definition, the wrong one, right?"

"Hmm," said Trent. "I think I see what you’re saying."

"You do?" said Quinn buoyantly.

"Yeah," replied Trent. "So, I guess that Sandi chick really was your soul mate, after all."

Quinn started to say something when Daria’s words popped into her head. "Look, if there’s one thing I found out about Trent during the course of my own crush, it’s that he’s completely oblivious."

But Daria had been wrong. Trent wasn’t completely oblivious. He was deliberately avoiding the true context of what Quinn was trying to say. He was denying both his and Quinn’s feelings for each other, so as not to lose Monique. He was pretending to be stupid just like he’d always done with everyone else.

Quinn’s eyes flickered with hurt for one second. But only for a second. But then her emotions changed from sadness to anger. How dare he play with her feelings this way! She was the most popular girl in Lawndale High. She didn’t have to take crap from a grungy, stoned, wannabe musician. She could have guys lined up around the block just waiting to date her!

But even as she got up with a frustrated grunt, she couldn’t say all of these things to him. All she got out was, "Never mind! God, I’m such an idiot!" She stormed up the stairs and slammed the door on her way out.

Trent stared at the closed door for what seemed like an eternity. Then, he drew his knees up to his chest. "Well, maybe you’re not the right one," he said to himself.

P.J. Falcone was a short, rotund man in his mid-twenties who sported a short, dark goatee and even shorter and darker hair. His intent in founding the Lawndale Stage-Play Association had been twofold: To bring a bit more culture into the otherwise dull Lawndale, and to create a job market for local actors and actresses of all ages who weren’t ready to move to New York or Los Angeles quite yet. So it was with no small enthusiasm that he had held auditions for the LSPA’s first play, Our Town. And, pleased with the results, he had selected what he’d thought to be the finest actors and actresses in the state. Among these people was Quinn Morgendorffer.

For their first rehearsal, P.J. had formed a circle out of the chairs backstage, and had instructed the players to take a seat. "When we’re acting out our roles for the audience," he began, "we’re going to have to make it seem as though our interactions are natural, as if the characters have known each other all their lives-which they have. Unfortunately none of us have that advantage, so I think it would be a good idea for us all to introduce ourselves-tell about who you are, what you do in your spare time, and why you’re here-as a way to begin developing that on-stage chemistry. Quinn, why don’t you start?"

"Okay," said Quinn cheerfully. "My name is Quinn Morgendorffer. I’m a student at Lawndale High, and I’m really hoping to be an actress or work in performing arts someday, and I thought that this would be a good place to start."

"Really?" said P.J. "Wow! A girl after my own heart," he said with a small chuckle. He then turned his attention to the woman next to her.

Quinn’s eyes narrowed in half-recognition. She’d seen her someplace before, but the memory was vague. She was clearly a Goth-but a tall, thin, and stoned Goth. (As opposed to the Goth girl at her school, who was a short, fat, and drunk Goth.) She might have been considered attractive, if you went for that type, since the dyed black hair contrasted well with her nearly ghostly-white skin. But her makeup and clothes… Ick.

"Hi, My name is Monique Foster…" said the woman.

Then, it all clicked into place. It had been last year, when Trent and Jane had been staying at their house after the Lane clan had returned for an impromptu reunion. Monique had shown up for a date with Trent, and Quinn had just seen them from Daria’s bedroom window as they left.

Which meant that this was probably the girl that Trent was hoping for.

Monique was talking. "…and I hope that acting will counterpoint the creativity of my career in music. I am hoping to be put on the road to oneness within my inner self."

"Road to oneness within my inner self?" thought Quinn incredulously. Is she trying to sound deep or something?

The introductions continued at length.

Quinn spent the rest of the rehearsal scrutinizing Monique. And she found her to be exactly as she’d expected: A pseudo-intellectual poseur with accessories from the street f… Dega Street. When she wasn’t mouthing pretenses for every guy in earshot, she was just flat asking them out on dates. You’d think if I have enough restraint to keep from asking the cuter guys out, she shouldn’t have a problem. Ugh! Doesn’t she have any standards? She always asks them to the cheapest places, too! At least I expect them to take me to Chez Pierre.

Abruptly, the door to the auditorium opened. Quinn turned to see Trent Lane come into the theater. Quinn smiled winsomely at him. Trent smiled back at her handsomely.

And then he made a beeline for Monique.

Monique looked over to see him coming toward her. "Oh, Geez!" she cried. "Go back to Jane, Trent!"

Quinn walked up to the twosome. "Jane’s his sister," she said. Her voice was deadpan, as if the stupidity of the whole situation had sapped her emotions. The guy who cared about her more than anyone on Earth, and this was how much she knew about him?

Trent’s eyes flicked to Quinn and then back to Monique. "Monique, I’d really like to take you out tonight."

"Sorry, Trent," said Monique, "but I’ve already made plans."

"Boy did she ever," said Quinn. She turned to Monique. "How many guys did you ask out today?" If Daria could hear me now, thought Quinn.

Monique’s eyes narrowed at Quinn. Quinn scowled right back at her.

Trent’s eyes flicked back and forth from Monique, to Quinn, and back to Monique again. "Well, if you’re busy maybe we could try some other time. Later." He turned around and walked out.

Monique turned to Quinn. "Thanks for the moral support," she said sourly. "But you didn’t have to embarrass me in front of the guy."

"Why?" asked Quinn. "Were you planning for him to be suitor number twelve?"

Monique laughed. "Are you kidding? He’s perpetually broke! The only time he ever has any money on him is after a gig."

"He is cute, though," said Quinn.

"Yeah, but so what? Cute guys are a dime a dozen."

"What about guys that like you?" asked Quinn, faux-naïve.

"Those are a dime a dozen, too. Of course, they are good if you want a nice new piece of clothing or a free meal every now and then." She smirked. "Of course, eventually you blow them off. That’s the fun part."

"So, what you’re saying that men are only here to provide for us and satisfy our egos?"

Monique shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I am."

Quinn returned her nonchalant tone. "Oh, I understand. Don’t worry, you’ll grow out of that."

Monique’s eyes widened at her.

"I know I did last year." With that last remark, she walked out the auditorium door to find Trent.

She caught up to Trent at his car. "Hey, Quinn," he greeted her.

"Hey Trent," Quinn returned his greeting. "I’m sorry about messing with you and Monique."

Trent shrugged. "Don’t worry about it. You know, it’s weird. One part of me knew that Janey was right-that Monique and I just weren’t meant to be. But the other part of me is only just now realizing that. Kind of freaky, huh?"

Quinn nodded. "Trent…" What could she say? Anything that she said, he wouldn’t have the foggiest idea as to what she was talking about. At least, he’d pretend to. Quinn knew better.

And then it hit her. The best thing-the only thing-to say was… nothing. Absolutely nothing. And everything at the same time. In terms that he couldn’t duck out of, no matter how dumb he pretended to be.

Abruptly, Quinn wrapped both of her arms around Trent’s neck and pulled him down to her height. Then, she forcefully pressed her lips to his, almost as if to force the kiss through his skull. Gradually, she let up, gently breathing her love into him. Then, she broke it, separated himself from him, and trudged away.

Trent stared after her as she walked away, wondering what to say or do. He finally settled on getting into his car and driving away, his mind full.

Helen quickly answered the phone, expecting a client. "Helloooooo," she crooned into the speaker.

"Helen, exactly what type of person is your husband?" It was Linda Griffin, who wasn’t even pretending to be polite this time around.

"I beg your pardon?" replied Helen. If she wanted to play hardball, Helen had no problem with that.

"My boys have been missing school this entire week. Do you know why? It’s because your husband has been accosting them on the way to school! Is this just because they’re my sons, or does he enjoy bullying and abusing children in general?"

Helen rolled her eyes. She knew that the matter in question had been a totally innocent (well, mostly innocent) week-long snowball fight, but apparently Jake had started to win. Helen gave a mental smirk to that particular thought: A member of her family out-doing the Griffin’s at anything often seemed to be a novelty in and of itself. But nonetheless, Linda had managed to make a major incident out of it. "I see," she said crisply. "If you’ll allow me to straighten out the matter, I’ll see to it that it doesn’t happen again."

"I’m sure that it won’t, since from now on I’ll be driving the boys to school. Of course, since we are such good friends, I won’t press charges this time."

"Why thank you, Linda. I appreciate that." Of course, any case you’d make wouldn’t be able to stick, since those little delinquents were the ones that started it. "Oh my, I have another call," she lied. "I’ll have to let you go."

"Good-bye, Helen."

"Good-bye." She hung up. "Jake Morgendorffer, get your butt down here this instant!"

Jane looked at her brother from the entrance to the kitchen. Trent’s head rested on his arms as he stared blankly into space. She smirked. What he needed right now was a younger sister to bug him. And she fit that role just fine. She entered the kitchen. "Well, I’ll be damned!" she said. "You’ve finally figured out how to sleep with your eyes open! That’s quite an accomplishment, considering it’s your second job in life."

When she didn’t get a response, she changed the subject. "I take it Monique blew you off again?"

"Actually, it was sort of a mutual thing," said Trent.

"So then why the hell are you so damn broken up over it?" asked Jane bluntly.

"I kissed Quinn."

Jane’s eyes widened.

"I kissed Quinn," he repeated.

"Well, now I’m broken up," said Jane jokingly to cover her shock. "And here I thought we were dating."

"Janey’s my…" He stopped himself and gave her a dirty look.

Jane smirked. "So you kissed Quinn, huh?" she said.

"Well… actually… it was more like she kissed me."

"And?" asked Jane.

"And it was really hard," replied Trent.

"No!" said Jane, forcing all of the dirty jokes she was tempted to make as a retort to Trent’s statement out of her head. "I meant, ‘And what happened after that?’"

"She walked away." He sighed. "I treated her really bad this afternoon."

"And now you want to think of a way to both make it up to her and express your true feelings for her, right?"

"Yeah. Any suggestions?"

Jane shrugged. "Take her to Chez Pierre."

Trent laughed a hacking laugh. "You’re funny, Janey."

"It’s what I’m here for," retorted Jane. "She’s your muse. You figure it out." She walked out of the room.

Suddenly, Trent’s eyes lit up. "Hey. You’re right," he murmured.

It was just before bedtime, and Quinn lay on her bed, examining at the ceiling. She contemplated its flawless coat of paint and sighed. First, I realize that I’m smarter than I thought. Next, I develop a crush on Trent. Then, I begin making snide remarks. And now, here I am staring at the ceiling.

God. I really am becoming my sister. She contemplated the thought. Well if my eyesight ever goes, I’m getting contacts. Period.

Suddenly, she heard a sound that she never thought she’d hear within three blocks of her house. It was a loud, disruptive sound, one that should not have been present in the dead of night. And yet there it was.

It was the sound of an electric guitar.

Directly after the initial riff, Trent’s voice came through the walls of the house. "I’ll be true to you, yes I will. I’ll be true to you, yes I will!"

Quinn almost laughed out loud. This was so corny! It was almost like something out of a bad teen romance. And yet it was happening to her. He was making a complete fool of himself just for her.

"My heart has shown you’re the girl I’m looking for…"

Quinn got up from her bed and went to the window.

"I never promised this to anyone before, and I’ll be true to you, yes I will!"

She opened the window just as Trent was finishing his song. He looked up at her, his eyes brimming with adoration.

Quinn smiled.

Ending Theme: I’ll Be True to You as covered by The Queers-and wasn’t that a surprise. (Lyrics transcripted by ear and following afterword.)