_The Look-Alike Series_
Daria fan fiction by Canadibrit
Season 3, episode 6: "Teachers' Pests"
prose adaptation by Austin Loomis


"Sodium.  Won't you?"
	-- Michael J. Nelson, final host segment to "The Horror of Party 
Beach" (_Mystery Science Theatre 3000_, experiment 817)

ACT I: DON'T PICK IT UP

"Don't pick it up, pick it up, pick it up
 Quick, pass it on, pass it on, pass it on
 You don't want to get caught, get caught, get caught
 Drop it on someone.  Who?  Who?  Anybody!"
	-- Pugilism and the Third Autistic Cuckoo, "Hot Potato" (lyrics 
	   by Colin "Pain" Paignton, Philip Mulville and the late Geoff 
	   Anstey)

Principal Nathan Caldwell, a tall red-haired man of middling years, 
walked into the Lawndale High teacher's lounge and surveyed his faculty.  
At his desk, Timothy O'Neill was looking over some documents, looking 
quite depressed.  At her own desk, Janet Barch was grading a paper and 
wincing every time she marked something.  Anthony DeMartino, from his 
desk, was throwing darts at the picture of Kevin Thompson that had 
replaced one of Andrew Philip McIntyre.  (Actually, Caldwell was given 
to understand that, before his time, the McIntyre picture had itself 
replaced the photo of the Lions' quarterback *and* the picture of the 
now-late Angela Li it had covered.  He hoped that he wasn't doing 
anything to put his own picture under Kevin's.)  Claire Defoe, at her 
desk, was listlessly creating another of the macrame flower-pot holders 
she was going to start selling Real Soon Now.  Diane Bennett, on the 
sofa, was reading _Fuzzy Wuzzy Wee-Bits Monthly_.
	Caldwell decided to get the ball rolling.  "I wanted to meet 
with all of you concerning some of the students' grades."  Barch looked 
up, relief plain on her face.  "It's kind of amazing -- some of the 
students don't look like they ought to be passing at all!"
	"Is there a *point* to this?" DeMartino barked, popping his eye 
for emphasis as usual.  "Or are you planning to *continue* this rather 
*unnecessary* statement of facts *we've* known for a *lot longer than 
YOU have?*"
	Caldwell was rather taken aback; even for DeMartino, that was 
unusually vehement.  "Well, yes, there *is* a point.  I can see that 
this is causing the faculty undue stress and it's my duty as principal 
to secure your welfare and give the students the best shot they're 
capable of taking to secure a decent education for themselves."
	Everyone stared at him for a moment.
	O'Neill broke the silence.  "That...is *the* most inspiring thing 
I've ever heard *said* in this room!"  Barch cleared her throat, and 
O'Neill blushed.  "Uh...well...from a professional point of view."
	Caldwell decided not to press the issue.  As long as they weren't 
giving the students impromptu Family Living demonstrations, what they 
did on their own time wasn't his concern.  "Now...I thought I'd institute 
a sort of `buddy' system.  Have some of the brighter students -- and 
there are a few -- tutor some of the...well, less academic ones.  It 
could be a benefit to both parties and--"
	He got no further; Defoe broke in then.  "Mr. Caldwell, I'm sorry 
to interrupt, but the problem is that we've tried that.  No one 
volunteers for it -- there's a sort of a hierarchy to a high school."
	"Like in wolf packs," Barch muttered.
	"Oh, nonsense!" Caldwell waved dismissively.  "I'm sure that 
a student faced with a failing grade would put aside his or her 
misconceptions about social position to--"  This time, he was drowned 
out by disbelieving laughter from all sides.
	When it died down, DeMartino stated the teachers' position quite 
succinctly.  "Even if that *were* the case, Mr. Caldwell...the fact is 
that the *few* students of my acquaintance who *do* achieve some 
*semblance* of academic development in my class would rather *rip* their 
arms *out of the sockets* than spend *ten minutes* with their less 
*gifted* fellows!"
	"I see."  He decided it was time to deploy his secret weapon.  
"Well, I'm fairly sure they could be persuaded.  Had my predecessor ever 
instituted a grading curve?"
	Dead silence greeted this question.
	"In a school where a grading curve is in place," Caldwell 
explained, "an intelligent individual is seen as even more of a pariah 
than in normal circumstances.  The higher the grades of the 
intelligentsia, the lower marks the average student gets.  And the more 
those average students resent the `brains.'  If I offered an ultimatum..."
	By now, the faculty of Lawndale High was looking at this man 
as if he were a god.  He was offering to manipulate the students to ease 
their workload, and they were loving it...but it *did* make them a little 
nervous as well.  Ms. Li, of little-lamented memory, had started her 
program of "high security for high performance" with just a few minor 
suggestions; by the time she went to prison, she'd been pricing guard 
towers and razor wire.
	"Now...maybe we should collect nominations for the test run.  
When looking through Angela Li's papers, I discovered a list of those 
who excel academically in certain subjects -- something about an IQ 
Showcase?"  The reminder elicited a collective wince from the gathered 
faculty.  "And that gives us a starting point -- the top students in 
a given field of study.  Daria Morgendorffer for History, Lynn Cullen 
for English, A.P. McIntyre for Science, Jodie Landon for Economics and 
Jane Lane for Art.  Five tutors should be enough for a trial run.  Now...
who in your classes seems most...resistant to learning?"
	"Kevin Thompson," five voices replied as one.
	Caldwell blinked at the immediacy and unanimity of that.  "Uh.  
I see.  Well, perhaps I should rephrase.  Which of you is having the 
*most* trouble with Kevin?"  Again in unison, the rest of the teachers 
looked pointedly at...DeMartino, who almost sheepishly raised his hand.  
"Fine; Morgendorffer can tutor Thompson."  He turned to O'Neill.  
"Timothy.  After Kevin, who's your most problematic student?"
	"Oh dear," O'Neill almost simpered, "I *hate* to judge any of 
my students so harshly..."  He sighed.  "I seem to have some problems 
getting Tiffany Blum-Deckler to read...well, *anything.*"
	"So pair Blum-Deckler with Cullen.  Janet?"
	"Stacy Rowe is a dear girl but..." Barch shuddered.  "Put her 
in a chemistry lab and..."
	"Right -- the McIntyre boy can tutor her.  Diane?"
	"Well," Bennett allowed as, "Quinn Morgendorffer is awfully 
slapdash when it comes to figures..."
	"Right -- we pair Landon with the younger Morgendorffer girl.  
Claire?"
	"But Art is only an elective and I don't want to..."  Caldwell 
gave Defoe a look.  "Brittany Taylor."
	"Good.  That should be enough takers for a test run, anyway.  
I'll notify the tutors..."

				      * * *

"...and when I have, you can start getting the `buddies' together for 
some one-on-one work."
	In her room, Lynn looked down at the small tape recorder with 
an unreadable look on her face.  "Crap."  She picked up the phone and 
started dialing.

				      * * *

Later, Daria and Jane were on one side of a booth in Pizza King; A.P. 
and Jodie were on the other.  All four were confused and looked it.
	"No explanation?" Daria boggled.
	"None," A.P. reiterated.  "Just `We've got problems.  We need 
to meet up.'"
	"Do you get her at *all* lately?" Jane wondered.
	"Well, maybe she's still a little freaked out about the thing
with Ms. Li?" Jodie suggested.
	"Well..." Daria began.
	She got no further; the door bashed open and Lynn came barging 
through.  She looked relatively calm, but there was obvious tension in 
her every move.  They all looked at her expectantly.
	"We are *royally* screwed," she said without preamble as she 
pulled up a chair and sat.
	"Lynn?" Jodie asked.
	"Excuse me?" added Daria.
	"Do we have to *beat* an explanation out of you?" Jane wondered.
	"Purple Peril," A.P. jittered, "you're freaking me out *big* 
time here."
	Lynn took a deep, calming breath.  "Sorry.  I'll start again.  
You know I planted bugs all over school?"  Everyone nodded.  "Well, 
they're still there."  She noticed the looks on their faces.  "So I never 
bothered to take them down!  I've been a little busy lately!  Anyway...
I monitor the tapes when I'm in the mood..."
	"Ah, the delights of voyeurism," Daria mused.
	"I bet you watch _The Real World_, too," Jane smirked.
	"Don't," A.P. interjected.  "Them's fightin' words."
	"Okay," Lynn shrugged, "so you *don't* want to hear this."  That 
shut Daria, Jane and A.P. up.  "Caldwell's finally gone through our 
grades and figured out the common thread."
	"What," Daria reflected, "you mean Kevin's a moron?"
	"Something like that.  Now there's going to be a `buddy system' 
as per tutoring."  She gestured at Daria.  "History -- Kevin."  Jane.  
"Art -- Brittany."  Jodie.  "Economics and general math -- Quinn."  A.P.  
"Chemistry -- Stacy."  Finally, she sighed.  "I get to teach Tiffany 
English."
	A long, thoughtful silence followed this rundown.
	"And we're supposed to want to do this *why?*" asked A.P. in 
a just-checking kind of way.
	"Selfless concern for our fellow students -- why do you ask?" 
Jodie snarked.
	"More like if we don't," Lynn informed them, "Caldwell starts 
telling teachers to grade on a curve."
	This silence was shorter, sharped, and shocked.
	"Crap!" Daria presently observed.
	"And that's going to affect you how, exactly?" Jane asked her, 
bemused.  "You're straight A across the board."
	"And therein lies the problem.  While being unpopular because 
I'm a brain doesn't bother me, being lynched because I'm wrecking the
curve by *being* brainy does."
	"Caldwell actually seems to have a clue as to how students' minds 
work," Lynn confessed.  With grudging admiration, she added, "Gotta hand 
it to him, the devious little snot."
	"I just don't believe *I'm* being dragged into this," Jane 
muttered.  "I mean, art's just an elective!  Does Brittany really need 
expert tuition to pass?"
	Daria just shrugged at her.
	"What are our options?" Jodie wondered.
	"Well...we're all working on the play," Lynn pointed out.  "What 
with that and our regular homework, are we really going to have time 
to tutor the hopeless?"
	Daria thought a moment.  "Hmm...the problem with that is that 
it leaves us open to the argument, `going over your work to help someone 
else only proves -- and improves -- your own understanding of it.'"
	"Blackmail?" Jane suggested.
	Lynn had already thought of that.  "Nothing to get him on.  The 
man's clean."
	"Can't we just...make him an offer he can't refuse, or 
something?" A.P. wondered.  Lynn glared at him, and he looked confused.  
_What'd I *say?*_ he was clearly thinking.
	Daria intervened in her ex-boyfriend's behalf.  "I think that's 
what he plans to do to *us,* A.P."
	And a morose silence fell over the table.


ACT 2: DUMB

"Once -- upon a time, I could control myself"
	-- Pearl Jam, "Once"

In the reception area of Caldwell's office, Quinn, Kevin, Brittany, Stacy 
(in her cheerleading uniform) and Tiffany were sitting in the chairs 
below a set of pigeonholes (for faculty mail) nailed to the wall in front 
of the secretary's alcove.  They all looked confused and nervous -- even 
a casual observer (let alone your not-so-humble narrator) could have 
deduced at once that no one had told them why they were there.
	In Caldwell's inner sanctum, Daria, Jane, Jodie, Lynn and A.P. 
were all standing in front of Caldwell's desk, looking defensive.  
	Caldwell looked at them with a seemingly pleasant expression.  
"I expect you're wondering why I called you here."  The five of them 
just *looked* at him; they weren't wondering a thing, but he wasn't to 
know that.  "I am pleased to be able to offer you an unparalleled 
opportunity to get to know your other classmates better -- to expand 
your social horizons -- and maybe even to make your class assignments 
a bit more fun!"  They continued to regard him as if he were some 
interesting form of single-celled life.  "I refer, of course, to one-
on-one tutoring."  He understandably misunderstood the glares elicited 
by that statement.  "Not for *you!*  I am well aware of your academic 
prowess, all five of you!  I meant for you to offer your aid to those 
less..."  Lynn opened her mouth to say something, and Daria stepped ever 
so gently on her half-sister's foot.  Lynn glared at her, but grudgingly 
bit back her comment, allowing Caldwell to finish.  "...academically 
inclined."
	"Excuse me," Daria spoke up.  "May I point out that trying to 
walk other people through assignments would probably consume a lot more 
time, effort and patience than we can afford to be without?  We're not 
far from the SATs, most of us are involved with the school production 
of _Romeo and Juliet_ and this might really hinder our own efforts."
	"I see the point you're making, Ms. Morgendorffer, but you might 
find that explaining the lessons to others will help you prove -- maybe 
even improve -- your *own* understanding of the material.  And I think 
you underestimate yourself if you think you can't handle just a few 
hours' one-on-one tutoring on top of your current duties."
	The look on Daria's face telepathically broadcast her thoughts 
to her friends: _I told you so -- why couldn't I have been wrong?_ 
	Jane, Lynn and AP looked less than impressed; Jodie, however, 
looked actively miserable.  _The first step on the road back to
martyrdom._  
	Then, Lynn had a brainwave.  "Excuse me -- could I make a 
suggestion?"
	"By all means," Caldwell shrugged.
	"Well...because there aren't all that many of us being...`asked 
to volunteer'...I would assume this is a trial run for a tutoring
program?"
	Caldwell was obviously impressed by her deductive reasoning.  
"Why, yes, Ms. Cullen."
	"Well, in that case, a compromise.  We volunteer our services 
for two weeks, then give a report on our progress.  If anyone is remotely 
unsatisfied with the results of the experiment, we resign from tutoring 
until such time as a way of making the `buddy system' concept work can 
be found."
	"And if all parties are satisfied with progress?"
	Lynn stifled a sigh.  "Then we carry on with your tutoring 
program as indicated."
	Caldwell grinned.  "Well, that sounds like a mature and sensible 
compromise.  Accepted!"  He leaned across his desk and extended a hand.  
Lynn looked shocked, but after a second, she took it.  Daria, Jane, Jodie 
and A.P. couldn't believe their eyes, and it showed.  "Now, if you'd 
like to follow me into reception, I'll introduce you to the students 
you'll be tutoring."  He got up and stepped outside.
	The gang exchanged a look and followed, closing the door behind 
them.
	There was a moment of silence.
	Quinn was the one to break it.  "*Tutoring?*  Oh, *no!*"
	Stacy started sobbing.  "But I didn't think my grades were *that* 
bad!"
	"This is *so* wrong..." Tiffany rasped.

				      * * *

Later, the five Jacketeers (okay, four Jacketeers and a GPA Girl) were 
walking down the hall when the Psycho-Maverick spoke up.  "Can I ask 
what you were doing in there?"
	"What," Lynn shrugged, "the plea bargaining?"
	"Well," A.P. reflected, "I was more surprised at the fact that 
you never even came *close* to making a threat...but basically, yeah."
	"I do *not* want to tutor Brittany in Art," Jane muttered.  "I 
don't want to tutor *anyone* in Art.  It's not something you can teach."
	"Like twirling your hair around your little finger and looking 
vacant," Erudite Emerald replied.
	That elicited a groan from Art-Smart Scarlet.  "And if I'm 
quoting her *now,* imagine what I'm going to sound like after two weeks 
of trying to teach her about form and line."
	"Thank you," said the Peril.  "I think you're already 
illustrating the point I hope to make to Caldwell."
	*Now* Daria got it.  "Oh.  That could work."
	"What?" A.P. boggled.  "*What* could work?"
	"Do you think you'll be able to teach Stacy *anything?*" Jodie 
rhetorically wondered.
	"Not a snowflake's chance in hell."  Finally, he got it too.  
"If we try for two weeks and blow it..."
	"We've followed through on our deal," Daria took up the train 
of thought, "only lost two weeks..."
	"And will have effectively killed any further attempt to 
institute this asinine 'buddy system' at Lawndale High," Lynn finished.
	A moment of silent consideration followed.
	Jane broke it with a faux-dramatic declamation.  "We will martyr 
ourselves for the brainy outcasts of the future."
	"We will strike a blow for Misery Chicks well into the next 
millennium," Daria deadpanned.
	Lynn smirked.  "We will be causing our new principal to take 
the first metaphorical pratfall of his career."
	A.P. got an evil grin.  "Let's do it!  How bad can it be?"
	The girls all looked at him.  "Don't jinx it, A.P.," muttered 
Jodie.
	"sorry."

				      * * *

In the history classroom, Daria was sitting next to Kevin, who was busily 
tossing a football.
	Daria gamely ignored this.  "Okay, Kevin.  Let's try to figure 
out what we'll need to focus hardest on in these tutoring sessions.  
How are you on Washington?"
	"The dollar bill guy!  Right?"
	Daria stifled a sigh at the (inadvertent, she devoutly hoped) 
_Bill and Ted_ quote.  "Yes, Kevin."
	"All *right!*  I'm the QB!"
	Daria waited for elaboration.
	Lobotomy Ken continued to grin smugly.
	"Is that *it?*"
	"Nah!"  Kevin thought, a process involving much grinding of 
metaphorical gears and a smell of smoke.  "Um...Well, when we went to 
Disneyland a few summers ago, we went into the Hall of Presidents and 
he was there..."
	He really *was* channeling Bill S. Preston, Esq., and/or Ted 
"Theodore" Logan.  _Don't say it; don't say it..._
	Oblivious to her psychic plea, Kevin struggled to remember.  
"He said...um...`Welcome to the Hall of Presidents'!  Yeah!"
	Daria looked at him, sighed loud and long, and dropped her head 
on the desk.  It didn't make a *hollow* thump.  Yet.

				      * * *

In the English room, Lynn, fighting hard to keep her face deadpan, sat 
next to Tiffany, who was pretty much oblivious as usual.  "So you're 
working on _The Catcher in the Rye_ now."
	"Um...I guess so..."
	Lynn choked back a sigh.  "Okay, how far into it are you?"
	"Um...I don't know.  I mean, I haven't even got to the baseball 
part of it yet."
	Now she choked back a whimper.  "Tiffany, that doesn't help.  
It's not about baseball."
	Tiffany was confused, but what else is new?  "Buuuut..."
	Trying not to yell, Lynn insisted, "Trust me, Tiffany.  It is 
*not* about baseball."
	"But then why is it called...?"
	"Have you even *opened* the book?"
	"Um...yeeeaaahhh...Once."  She "thought" a moment.  "Calvin used 
the blank page at the front to write my phone number on last Tuesday."  
Another pause.  "At least, I *think* it was Tuesday..."
	Lynn bit down on her lower lip, not *quite* hard enough to draw 
blood, trying desperately to keep her temper.  She realized that giving 
Tiffany the code-name "Igor" had been too superficial, focusing on the 
most immediately obvious aspect of the girl's so-called personality -- 
the way she fawned on Janus or Narcissa, whichever was nearer.
	_If I'd known about this, I'd have called her something better.  
The Poky Little Puppy, for choice._  Once again, Lynn caught herself 
wondering if Tiffany had ever had an original thought in her life, and 
what meds she was on to prevent a recurrence.

				      * * *

In the Art room, Jane had set up a still life -- a simple bowl of fruit, 
which she was painting realistically.  She put the finishing touches 
on an orange, then went to see how Brittany was doing at the next easel 
over.  Ponytail Barbie's canvas looked like she'd taken it over to Jim's 
Paintballing Jungle and just left it on the firing range, and Brittany 
herself looked frustrated.  She peered over at Jane's painting.  "Ooh, 
how *pretty!*  How did you *do* that?"
	"Well..."  Jane was struck by a realization.  "I have no idea.  
I just...paint."
	Brittany twirled her hair.  "Well...um...maybe if I sit and watch 
you for awhile, I'll be able to see how you're *doing* so well!"
	"Oh.  Okay..." Jane said reluctantly, picking up a new brush 
and beginning to add a bunch of green grapes.  Brittany hovered, leaning 
closer and *closer* and CLOSER until she was quite literally looking 
over Jane's shoulder.  Jane tensed up, frustrated.  "Could you watch 
from somewhere a little farther away?"  Under her breath, she suggested, 
"Like Tijuana?"
	Brittany went into a mild pout.  "But I can't see *what* you're 
doing from all the way over *there!*"  Jane sighed and started mixing 
some white paint into a blob of green on her palette.  "Oh, why are you 
doing *that?*"
	Jane knew she was going to regret this, but what else *could* 
she do but try?  "They're for shading on the grapes.  Nothing natural 
is monochrome."  Brittany's face was all wide-eyed confusion.  "It means 
all one color."
	"Oh..."  She went over to the fruit bowl and picked up the grapes.
	"Hey!  I was *painting* that!"
	Oblivious to Jane's protest, Brittany studied the grapes.  "That's 
weird.  They look all one color to *me!*"  She held them out to Jane 
with an innocent smile.  "See?  Green!"
	She knew Brittany wasn't doing this on purpose, but Jane still 
couldn't help making a kicked-dog noise under her breath.

				      * * *

In the science class, a few jars and a beaker of water were standing 
on the table in front of A.P. and Stacy.  He was going through a textbook 
and talking in the Shrinking Violet's general direction while looking 
at it.  "Okay, we'll start you simple -- group 1.  Now, you know about 
hydrogen?"
	"Um...like hair bleach?" she wondered.
	"Um..." he ummed right back.  "Well, that's more the peroxide 
bit.  But sort of.  More like why the Hindenburg blew up.  Though 
they're saying it wasn't because of the hydrogen now..."
	"Oh!  How *horrible!*  And I didn't even hear the news reports 
about *that!*"  She thought a moment, then asked, "What *is* the
Hindenburg?"
	A.P. looked at her.  Her expression was all wide-eyed innocence.  
"Um...never mind, you don't need to know.  Anyway, then there's the 
alkali metal series -- lithium, sodium, potassium, rubidium, cesium and 
francium."  He reached for a jar.  Stacy did the same with the jar next 
to it.  "Alkali metals are reactive, which means that you don't find 
them in nature a lot."  Stacy removed a lump of silvery metal from her 
jar and looked at it strangely.  She grabbed a towel and started rubbing 
at it.  "What I've got here is lithium.  It'll react with water, but 
not as badly as..."  He turned to Stacy.  "*What are you...?!*"  She 
had thrown her chunk of metal into the water, and it had reacted.  More 
specific, the metal had just ignited.  Stacy screamed and, at a loss 
for anything else to do, reached for the beaker.  A.P. grabbed her by 
the arm.  "Do *not...touch...ANYTHING!*"  He grabbed a pair of tongs, 
carefully removed the burning metal from the water, dumped it into an 
.mpty petri dish and put a lid on it.  Then he turned to Stacy, who was 
clearly on the verge of tears.
	"I...I'm *sorry,* A.P.!" she quavered, then the floodgates burst.
	A.P. looked at her, sighed, grabbed a paper towel from the 
counter next to a nearby sink and handed it to her.  "*That* was sodium 
metal.  At its most reactive, I guess."
	"It was just that it looked so *pretty,*" Stacy sobbed, "except 
it was covered in *oil* and I wanted it to look all *shiny* like it was 
supposed to and..."  She broke down into incomprehensible blubbering, 
covering her face with the paper towel.
	"Hoboy..." A.P. observed under his breath.

				      * * *

Up in Lynn's dark and mysterious room, Jane was sprawled out across 
Lynn's bed in the "something eating at my soul" pose.  Daria was sitting 
cross-legged on the floor, flipping through a history textbook.  Lynn 
was standing across from her dartboard, knife at the ready.
	"She's a useless artist," Jane snapped.  There was a *thunk* 
as Lynn's knife hit the dartboard.  "*I'm* a useless *teacher.*  I mean, 
I don't know how I do what I do as well as I do it!  What's *wrong* with 
me?"
	Lynn pulled the knife out of the dartboard.  "You're an artist.  
For an artist, there is no `why.'"
	"Anyway," Daria observed, "I don't think it's just you."  *Thunk.*
"We're trying to teach the unteachable."
	"There's just no challenge to this," Lynn muttered as she looked 
at the knife in the dartboard, then turned to answer her sister.  "You're 
not kidding.  It took nearly an hour for Tiffany to *read* the first 
chapter of _The Catcher in the Rye_, never mind understand what it was 
about."
	"I think I know what you mean.  Everything Kevin knows about 
history, he learned from Saturday morning cartoons and slacker-movies."  
She considered that.  "But there should be much rejoicing."
	"Eh?" Jane boggled, sounding as tired as she felt.
	"Remember, we *want* to fail to teach them anything.  The only 
reason we're *trying* is so no one will think we're deliberately 
sabotaging Caldwell's `buddy system.'"
	"Yeah," Lynn confirmed.  "In this case, we only succeed if we 
fail.  Or rather, if *they* do."
	"Hmm.  Succeeding at failing.  What a concept."  It gave Daria 
and Jane another of those flashes of deja vu like they'd had during the 
conversation with Lynn's cousin Jan.
	After a moment, they shrugged.  Jane went back to soul-eating, 
and Daria to her book.  Lynn sighed, pulled her knife out of the dartboard
and went back to throwing position.

				      * * *

Back in the art room, Jane was looking over Brittany's shoulder at a 
canvas she was working on.  Jane squinted at it -- a blue blotch with 
green sticks sticking out of it.  On top of each green stick, there was 
a pink asterisk-shaped blotch.  Jane looked over to the blue vase full 
of pink roses and sighed in despair.
	A.P. was standing with Stacy behind a lab table.  A beaker was 
simmering merrily away over a Bunsen burner on the table.  He handed 
her a test tube full of clear liquid, then turned to a textbook lying 
open on the table.  She looked at the test tube for a moment, then 
emptied its contents into the beaker.  He turned back to her and looked 
at the empty test tube in her hand.  Then at the beaker.  Then back at 
the test tube.  Then his eyes widened and he ducked under the table.  
A moment later, he grabbed the front of her shirt and pulled her down 
as the glassware on the table blew up.
	In the library, Daria was pointing out something in a book.  
She realized Kevin wasn't paying attention to her, looked up and saw 
that he was building a house out of the textbooks they'd amassed.  She 
glared at him.  Oblivious to her look, he tried to balance one more book 
and the whole thing caved in.  The librarian shot them a dirty look.  
Kevin gave his sheepish "sorry" grin.  Daria glared harder.
	Tiffany was reading aloud -- in her painfully slow manner -- 
from _The Catcher in the Rye_.  Lynn was sitting on O'Neill's desk, 
gripping the edge hard enough for her fingernails to carve marks in the 
wood.


ACT 3: SWEATING BULLETS

The gang had gathered again in their favorite booth at Pizza King.  A.P. 
was pale and shaky -- the phrase "shell-shocked" sprang somehow to mind.  
Lynn was far too quiet and the look in her eyes was extremely worrying, 
a likely prelude to that really weird shade of maroon.  Jane was pressing 
her fingers to her temples, looking like she was in physical pain.  Daria 
was the only one who looked remotely normal, and even she was visibly 
more downbeat than usual -- which should tell you something.  (If it 
doesn't, you probably don't know enough about Daria to have followed 
the story this far anyway.)
	"I am *not* g-going back in there," A.P. stammered.  "Th-That...
that...that..." 
	"Incompetent," Lynn muttered much too calmly, "bubble-headed, 
self-absorbed little b..."
	Daria attempted to soothe her sister.  "Lynn..."
	"She's going to k-kill us *both,*" A.P. half-whimpered.  "She 
makes stuff I thought was *inert* b-blow up."  He struggled a moment 
with his old enemy, the language.  "Did I t-tell you what she thought 
was a good idea to do with s-sodium metal?"
	"Yes," Daria wearily reminded him.
	"Several times," a pained Jane added.
	Lynn was still in a very unpleasant world of her own.  "Do you 
have any idea how satisfying it would be to yank one of Tiffany's finger-
nails out every time her recitation speed drops below ten words a minute?"
	"You'd run out eventually," Daria pointed out.
	"I could move on to toes.  I wouldn't even have to fumble with 
laces.  She wears slip-ons."
	"You are *not* going to torture her into doing better, Lynn."
	"Well, nothing *else* works," Jane added weakly.
	"I take it the art classes aren't going very well?"
	The reply came out in a despairing wail.  "My muse is *dead!*  
Every time I try to do anything artistic, I keep hearing Brittany 
squeaking at me.  Asking me how I did that.  Asking me why *her* painting 
doesn't look like that.  Asking me why I can't paint her a nice picture 
of her Kevvy.  Then whatever pinpoint of inspiration I had just 
*vanishes* and I'm stuck with nothing but a dripping paintbrush and a 
canvas that's laughing maniacally at me!"  She dropped her head onto 
the table.
	There was a short silence.  One could almost hear Lynn's teeth 
grinding.
	Daria spoke up.  "Um...I think you guys might be taking this 
a bit too seriously.  Remember, this means that everything's going 
according to plan."
	"I d-don't think you understand," A.P. shrilled.  "Let me try 
to explain."  He struggled with the words some more, then got them lined 
up.  "I...don't...*want* to die!"
	"I," Lynn gritted, "am watching a much-loved piece of modern 
literature being mangled beyond recognition by someone who considers 
_Waif_ to be a challenging read."  She fought with her next comment 
before deciding she was among friends and could let it out safely.  "It 
makes me want to *claw* things."
	"I want my *muse* back, dammit!" Jane wailed muffledly through 
the table.
	Daria looked from Jane, still facedown, to A.P., jittering ever 
so slightly, to Lynn, fists clenched to the white-knuckle point, with 
growing concern.

				      * * *

GPA Girl was at her locker when Daria approached.  "Hey, Jodie.  How 
goes the tutoring?"
	Jodie turned to face her, looking a little surprised.  "Oh, hey, 
Daria.  Actually, I'm not doing that anymore."  Daria's eyebrow must 
have gone up.  "Quinn and Ted went to Mr. Caldwell proposing that Ted 
be Quinn's tutor instead of me.  They presented a good case and he agreed 
to it.  So I'm free."
	"So the relationship with Ted *is* good for something."
	"From my point of view, anyway."  She thought a moment.  "How 
are you coping with Kevin?"
	"Not as badly as the others," came the grim reply.
	"That bad, huh?"
	"Well, the problem is that Jane, Lynn and A.P. actually *care* 
about what they're teaching.  Jane's lost her muse by trying to dissect 
her work and she's rabidly depressed.  Lynn is trying to turn literature 
into a `I Can Read' book and it's making her...violent.  And A.P. is 
dealing with someone who will throw together any chemicals she can get 
her hands on just to see what happens.  You can't make a loud noise 
within three feet of him without him going fetal."
	Jodie's eyes went wide.  "Ouch."  She needed a moment to realize 
where this was going.  "They won't last out two weeks?"
	"No.  If this doesn't stop soon, a body count will be involved."  
Daria considered some more, then decided she might as well cut to the 
chase.  "Any ideas?"
	Jodie thought a moment.  "Well..."  Inspiration visibly struck 
her.  "Meet me in the library after your tutoring session."
	Daria looked at her slightly suspiciously.
	Jodie just smirked.

				      * * *

From the library, the two went to Caldwell's office, where we join them 
already in progress, sitting side-by-side in front of his desk as he 
sifted through some papers.  Presently, he looked up at them.  "I take 
it Kevin Thompson isn't taking well to the tutoring?"
	"Kevin Thompson..."  Through sheer willpower, Daria forced 
herself to be kind.  "...is the sort of student who would respond better 
to a professional tutor."
	"Well, judging from the work he's done," Caldwell waved the 
papers, "I'm forced to agree with you."  He looked over Kevin's work 
another moment, then went on, "Now how about the others?"
	"That's what we wanted to talk to you about," said Jodie.
	"Not only is the `buddy system' tutoring not showing any strong 
benefit to the students being tutored," Daria chimed in, "but it's having 
a detrimental effect on the tutors themselves."
	Caldwell seemed surprised.  "Indeed?"
	"If you have a moment," Jodie offered, "we can show you what 
we mean."  They stood up.  Caldwell, looking a bit confused, followed 
suit.  They left the office.

				      * * *

In the science lab, A.P., in lab coat and goggles, was nervously watching 
Stacy as she worked at a complicated glassware set-up.  "Okay, that's 
fine, seems to be distilling away nicely."  He considered a moment, then 
asked, sounding suspicious, "Um...where's the thermometer?"
	"What thermometer?" Stacy wondered.  "Oh, *that* thermometer!" 
she added after a moment.  "I didn't think it was very important..."
	A.P. grabbed her by the back of her lab coat and dragged her 
to a safe distance.  And as if on cue, the glassware went *boom.*
	There was a dangerous pause.
	"I...*told*...you," A.P. quivered, "...to...monitor...the...
temperature..."  He was obviously having to make an effort to breathe 
normally.  "You heat that stuff too much, it goes bang."  He considered 
that, then added, "A *lot* of organic chemistry goes bang."  He began 
to whimper.
	Stacy looked at him and started a crying jag of her own.
	From the doorway, Daria, Jodie and Caldwell had seen the whole 
thing.  "Oh my..." said the principal.

				      * * *

In the English classroom, Lynn was standing by the blackboard, a piece 
of chalk in her hands, her temper obviously straining its leash.  "Okay, 
Tiffany.  Now have you figured out anything about Holden Caulfield yet?  
Anything that defines him as a character?"
	"Yyyeeeaaahhh..." Tiffany rasped.  "He hung around with total 
*losers.*"
	Lynn stood very still and closed her eyes for a moment.  When 
she could trust herself to speak, she added, "*Besides* that."
	"Um...not really."  Tiffany was clearly struggling with the 
whole thing.  "I mean, I don't *get* this book.  I mean, the people don't 
know how to dress or anything.  It's *so* outdated..."
	Lynn half-stifled a frustrated sigh.  "Remember what I said about 
period pieces, Tiffany?"
	"Um...I think I was doing my nails when you said that..."
	The chalk snapped between Lynn's fingers.  Fighting to keep a 
level tone, she said, "I think we've done enough for today.  Could you 
read the next chapter before tomorrow's session?  I think you'll 
understand better once we get to where Holden leaves school."
	"Um...sure," Tiffany replied, obviously lying.  After a beat, 
she added, "Later," and headed for the door.  Daria, Jodie and Mr. 
Caldwell all ducked out of the way, but Tiffany didn't even notice them.  
When Lynn thought she was alone, she stood very still for a long moment...
then let out an inarticulate scream of total frustration and collapsed 
into O'Neill's chair, dropping her head onto the desk.
	Caldwell, Daria and Jodie left the doorway and started walking 
down the corridor.  "Is Ms. Lane faring this badly as well?" he asked.
	"She's less angry than she is utterly depressed," Daria answered.
	"She's an intuitive artist, Mr. Caldwell," Jodie pointed out.  
"Trying to *teach* it interferes with her *doing* it."
	"Well...thank you for keeping me apprised of the situation."  
Caldwell started musing to himself.  "I think I may have to rethink this 
`buddy system' if this is the effect it has..."  He walked away, still 
looking thoughtful.  Daria and Jodie shared a smirk.

				      * * *

Later, Daria was at her locker when A.P. and Lynn approached.  "You 
talked him into giving up the `buddy system,'" A.P. began.  Daria just 
nodded.  "You are a *goddess!*"
	"I should have known you had something to do with this," Lynn 
added.  After consideration, she went on, "Thank you, Daria.  I wasn't 
in any frame of mind to come up with something on my own."
	"Well," Daria allowed as, "I've been on the receiving end of 
Tiffany's grip of the language.  After a few days of it, *anyone's* brain 
would be tapioca."
	Jane ran up, smiling broadly, nearly bouncing.  "The muse is 
*back!*  I filled three notepads with sketches of Brittany's encounters 
with torture implements!"  After a moment's thought, she turned to Lynn.  
"Thanks for lending me that book, by the way."
	"No problem," replied the Peril.  "The mood I've been in the 
last week, it wouldn't have been safe in *my* hands."
	Jodie joined them, looking smug.  "It worked?"
	"*Oh* yeah," Daria smugged right back.  (Is that a verb?  It 
is now.)
	"We are now officially even," Jodie told Lynn, then turned to 
Jane and A.P.  "But *you* two...you owe me."
	"Pizza-fest after school?" Jane offered.  "We're buying."
	A grin.  "Sounds great.  Is Mack invited?"
	"Why not?" A.P. wondered.
	"Guys?"  Lynn sounded regretful.  "I can't.  I have somewhere 
to be after school.  Jodie -- Daria -- I'll take a rain check, okay?"
	All four of them just looked at her.  The bell rang, and she 
took off.  The others looked at each other -- Daria suspicious; A.P. 
worried; Jane and Jodie, utterly confused -- then headed to their classes.
	_This isn't over, sis,_ Daria thought.

ADAPTOR'S NOTES
	Um, Jan, the faculty lounge details (the dartboard and macrame) 
are actually from the Database, not the Diaries.  Hope this helps.
	Obligatory legal blap: Daria Morgendorffer was created (as were 
the rest of the Lawndale characters) by Glenn Eichler and Susie Lewis 
Lynn, and she and her neighbors are copyright 1993, 1997, 2000 MTV 
Networks, a Viacom company.  (As Michelle Klein-Haess has pointed out, 
work-for-hire sucks the yolks from ostrich eggs.)  Monty Python quotes 
and characters are copright 1970, 2000 Python (Monty) Pictures Ltd.  
The lyrics to "Hot Potato" are excerpted from _The Long Dark Tea-Time 
of the Soul_, copyright 1988 by Serious Productions aka Douglas Adams.  
They are here used, without the permission of their creators or owners, 
in the not-for-profit context of fan-fiction.  The characters of Lynn 
Cullen and A.P. McIntyre are copyright 1999, 2000 Janet "Canadibrit" 
Neilson, as is the present storyline, which was adapted by Austin Loomis 
(to whom the prose format version is copyright 2000) with permission.
	All other characters, locations and incidents (of which I don't 
think there are any, actually) are either imaginary or used fictitiously. 
Any coincidence of names is regretted, and any resemblance to persons 
living, dead, undead, or wandering the night in ghostly torment is either 
purely satirical or not my fault.
	As a "substantially transformative" derivative work, this story 
is protected by the Supreme Court's decision in re Campbell v. Acuff 
Rose Music.  It may be freely redistributed as long as this copyright 
notice is maintained intact, but may not be in any way redistributed 
for profit without the permission of the legal owners of all concepts 
involved.  The present author hereby gives permission for any and all 
keepers of Daria fanfic pages to archive this work (as if I could stop 
them).  Any publication of this story for profit without the express 
written permission of Austin Loomis, Janet Neilson, Douglas Adams and 
MTV Networks (like any of that'll happen, especially the last) is 
strictly prohibited, and violators, if I ever decide to track them down, 
will be strung up by the thumbs, beaten about the head and shoulders 
with a free-range carrot, and then handed over to corporate lawyers who 
will do terrible things to them.  On purpose.

Austin, and good day.
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