It was Tuesday evening, and still no one had heard from Sandi. As usual, they'd gathered at Daria's to load the van, wondering if they still had a bassist. Quinn had called Sandi's cell twice, but gotten voicemail both times, so they simply started without her and acted as if she would show up.

As 7 o'clock, their usual departure time, drew near, Jane began to get nervous. With most of the loading done, she took to scanning the streets for the familiar trim, blue-clad figure. Be quite the irony if after what I went through to keep her in the band, she dropped out on her own. Daria'd love the irony. And Quinn..., I think Quinn would just love getting rid of Sandi.

Turning, she noticed Quinn emerging from the basement stairs carrying an unfamiliar case. She walked over to see what Quinn was carrying.

“Well,” Quinn looked down at what was clearly a bass guitar. She looked faintly apologetic. “I figured, you know, just in case....”

“Just in case what?” a familiar deep voice shot.

“Sandi!” In her shock, Quinn dropped the case she was carrying.

The relief that flooded Jane immediately gave way to misgivings. Sandi stood in the driveway, bass case in hand, surveying the scene with her usual disdain. She's got to know we weren't sure she would show. How's she going to react?

It was Daria who broke the silence with her usual aplomb. “Nice of you to join us, Sandi. Find a way to get out of the loading?”

A look of irritation crossed Sandi's face, and she raised a hand as if to wave it away. “I've been running errands, and I got held up.”

Daria quirked an eyebrow. “Since Saturday?”

“Look, I'm sorry I was late, but I've, like, been busy.” She gave a heavy sigh. “But I'm here and I'm ready to play.”

“That's all I wanted to hear,” Daria gave a Mona Lisa smile. “Put your stuff in the van, and we'll get going.”

As they got in behind Daria and Sandi, Jane exchanged a quizzical look with Quinn. She found the conversation between Daria and Sandi strange, and she was sure Quinn did too, especially Sandi's heavy sigh. Sandi's not one for sighs or introspection. I wonder what's going on in her head.

It was Daria's turn to drive, so Jane settled into the drivers' side rear set. At Jane's suggestion, and to her amusement, they'd gone the Mystik Spiral route with the van. It was black and large, and ate gas, and Quinn and Sandi were both mortified to have to drive it. They had opted for better quality than Max Tyler, though. The van had actual seats, enough for the whole band, and a roadie or two if they ever needed them. The locks even worked, and they'd chose not to go with an Early Trash and Rotting Food motif, with the result that the van also smelled much better than the Tank.

Actually, Jane had offered to decorate the van, but she'd been turned down, with Daria delivering the coup de grace in her most withering style, “It's not that you might decide to emulate Pollack's style, it's that you might go for the Electric Mayhem's.” As Muppet Movie references were widely held by all right-thinking people to be one of the ultimate argument enders, Jane had never raised the subject again.

Daria got them to Jefferson Square with a minimum of difficulty. The unloading and set up for the show were second nature, and the butterflies had almost died in Jane's stomach. The details around a gig that had so intimidated them six months ago were now routine, mundane even, but not the show itself. That was still magical.

They kicked off with the thrashing drum intro of “Charmed Circle.” Jane loved when the opening song started with the drums alone. It gave her an incredible sense of power, like this musical monster awoke at her command. The owner, Mike Tierney, had been letting them mix in a few originals over the last few weeks with the covers the crowd had come to hear, and the fact that it was their music that she heralded with the drums simply added to Jane's feelings of power.

Smooth segues into “Rock and Roll Machine” and a sped up “Blister in the Sun” kept the crowd moving. There were at least twice as many people in the crowd as there had been the first night they played, a tribute to the Girls' growing popularity. Thrashing away, Jane felt the connection between the band and the crowd, the way the music fed the crowd's energy and the crowd's energy pushed the music. Daria called it a feedback loop. Jane didn't bother the name it, she just loved it.

In a surprising place of honor at the beginning of the second set was the new “No Light Shines.” Quinn slid behind the keyboards for the third time that night, and Sandi's steady bass took center stage. Jane had been worried that the song wasn't ready yet, and she was right. Though she flailed away gamely, the song had a rough, unfinished feel that contrasted poorly with the precision of their more familiar material. The crowd's energy waned until the band kicked into “Helter Skelter,” which got everyone revved up again. Ah, well, Jane thought, as her sticks flashed. Not an auspicious debut, but we'll get it worked out.

Surging adrenaline carried Jane from song to song as they rolled through more covers in the second set, before finishing up with “Wherever You Can Find It” and the now-traditional “Roadrunner.” Jane still felt a thrill when they reached the end of the song and her name was called. She acknowledged the crowd with a nod as she kept pounding, playing around the beat rather than on it as Daria shouted, “What do you say, girls?” and Quinn and Sandi responded with calls of “RADIO ON!” until Jane wound the song, and the show, up with a quick roll.

Once again, they left the stage to cheers. Meeting them on the stairs, Mike congratulated them on another successful show, and handed Daria a wad of bills. Although he'd doubled their pay in line with he size of the crowds, two hundred bucks split between four of them didn't go a long way.

As they headed to the basement for a breather before breaking down, Sandi offered Jane the opening she needed. “Like, when are going to start making real money doing this?”

Jane couldn't believe her good fortune when it was Daria who responded. “When we start getting gigs at bigger clubs, so we can get them bidding against each other.”

Now I've got them both. “Which we're not going to get until we put together some posters and promotional stuff. Which we can't do until we decide on a look and design to pull everything together.”

“We talked about this, Jane.” There's that look again. Nonplussed. Except this time it's Daria. “Do what you think is best. I trust you.”

“Not good enough.” This from Quinn. “This stuff is important, and we all need to be on the same page.”

Jane nodded. “We're going to be using this stuff, or working from it, for years. We need to get it right, now.”

Hands on hips, Sandi raked Quinn and Jane with a glare. “And how do you expect to get it right without input from your most fashionable members.”

With great difficulty, Jane mastered her rising anger. For this, I kept her from getting kicked out? “We're not going for fashionable, Sandi. We're going for eye-catching.”

“And we asked for your input,” Quinn added, “but you wouldn't give it to us.”

“Fine,” said Daria. “But this isn't the time or the place.”

“When is?” Quinn shot back.

“Tomorrow.”

“Before practice,” Jane added, enjoying the cornered look on Daria's face.

“Before practice,” Daria conceded, after another moment.

Both Jane and Quinn gave Sandi a long, level look. After a moment, she caved, though in typical Sandi fashion, she threw a cat among the pigeons, muttering, “Well, if Daria will do it, so will I.” Both Morgendorffers shot her a look. “Before practice.” she added, unperturbed.

Just then, feet sounded the at the top of the stairs. “We may not get the chance,” Jane muttered, turning her attention away from Sandi to the clatter of what could only be Mike Tierney's descent. Sure enough, the thickset owner of October's burst into the small room.

“Good show,” he said, a little out of breath from the run down the stairs. “Look,” he added after a moment. “I just lost my Saturday night regulars. If you want it, the job's yours.”

Identical expressions of shock crossed the faces of all four Girls. As Jane recovered, her eyes shifted to Quinn, who'd blurted out their acceptance of Tierney's original offer to play here before the group had a chance to consider it. This time, Quinn met Jane's eyes resolutely before turning to Tierney, even as Daria and Sandi still stared. “We'd like a few minutes to talk about it.”

“Sure thing,” the big man said. “Oh, and if you've got any posters or anything, I'd like to start putting them up now. After all, you'll need to draw much bigger crowds.” With that, he disappeared up the stairs.

The four looked at each other again. It was Daria, Jane noted, who finally broke the silence. “It's a prime slot, but it's still not that big a place. Do we take it or wait for something better?” She might let Quinn play the public face, but when it comes to band business, she always takes the lead.

Surprisingly, Quinn and Sandi were both silent, Sandi looking thoughtful and Quinn looking back and forth between her sister and her roommate. Jane got the feeling Quinn and Sandi were both waiting for her—to agree with Daria or stand up to her, she wasn't sure. Taking a deep breath, she jumped in. “I say we go for it. If we take the Saturday slot here, we can get a weeknight at a bigger place and work our way up there.”

Quinn nodded slowly. “Some of the places over in Middletown Square have space for a thousand people.”

“If the money's right,” Sandi finally spoke up. “What Jane says makes sense, but I'm not doing Saturday nights for, like, fifty a gig minus gas money.”

“We haven't hit the big time yet, but I think we can talk him up to $500 a gig. I've seen him get four hundred people in this place on a Saturday night.” Daria gave her a Mona Lisa smile. “That's at least a hundred bucks a person, after gas.”

“Fine,” Sandi nodded. “But where are we going to get posters.”

My lucky day. Jane grinned a manic grin. “In the van, Sandi.”

Sandi whirled, another shocked expression on her face, only a split second ahead of Daria. Only Quinn was unperturbed, but then Quinn had known what Jane was up to.

“It's not like I was going to stop working on this stuff. I did some poster designs at home and printed up a dozen or so at the school's print shop.” The twin expressions of shock on Daria and Sandi's faces just made Jane's grin wider. “That is the point of having an art school student in the band, right?”

“Laugh it up, Lane,” Daria finally said. “But I'll have my revenge when you least expect it. Now let see those posters.”

“Right away, your Highness.” She gave Daria a mocking bow before meeting Quinn's eyes, which were laughing though her face was expressionless. “Five to one,” Jane said aloud as she ran up the stairs and turned right for the back door and the parking lot instead of left for the stage, “Daria grills Quinn while I'm gone for not telling her about the posters. Sandi might even help.”

Quickly, she popped open the van's back door, grabbed her bag, and extracted the rolled up posters. She headed back to the bar, and down the stairs in time for what sounded like one last, “You could have told us.” Right, as usual, she thought as she entered.

“Well?” Daria and Sandi chorused, before giving each other strange looks. Jane gave another mocking bow and unrolled the posters.

They were clearly based off the same color palate from Jane's original designs. Although various shades of purple seemed to be most common in the wash of color, giving an almost psychedelic feel, no one shade or color dominated. The font in which the band's name was printed didn't look particularly appropriate for psychedelia—the letters were much too sharp, for one thing—but neither did they sink unnoticed into the design. The whole thing was unconventional, hard to classify, and strangely arresting.

Before anyone could say a word, Mike Tierney clattered into the room. He considered the posters for a long moment. “I like 'em,” he said, nodding. “They'll draw the eye,” he added before looking at Quinn with an expression fairly screaming, “Well?”

This time Quinn looked to Daria. “Five hundred a night,” the elder Morgendorffer said baldly, “against ten percent of the door take.”

Watching Tierney, Jane had a feeling he was intimidated by the hard faced woman in front of him. Hell, she intimidated Jane sometimes too. Sandi, with her airs, was a poser. Daria was the real thing. Tierney seemed to think so too. At least he didn't try any posturing. “Three hundred against five percent.”

“Five hundred, no door,” Daria said.

“Deal.” the big man sounded almost relieved. “You start two weeks from Saturday. You can play the Tuesday, too, or not. Just let me know next week if you don't want it.” With that he disappeared up the stairs.

Jane ignored Quinn and Sandi, laughing and hugging in celebration of their new status, and watched Daria shift uncomfortably. She knew she didn't have to say anything, so she didn't. “Fine,” Daria broke down. “Tomorrow. Before practice.” The three words were admission, complement, apology, surrender, and thank you rolled into one.

“That's our Daria,” Jane said and smiled, no longer mocking.



In the end, they played the Tuesday. As Daria said, “We can always use the practice. And that's what they did. The entire first set was their own stuff, the dozen or so songs they'd worked up, including “Fuck Off and Die,” as the raucous set closer. As a reward for those who stayed through the whole first set, and the six months before, the second set was the most popular covers, closing with “Roadrunner” again. But everyone, including the Girls, knew that Saturday was the big show.

They'd pulled together the new look without too much difficulty. Once Sandi had understood what Quinn and Jane were going for, she'd been a big help, softening the colors and making the outfits more accessible, while still unusual and attractive.

Not that the sailing was totally smooth. Daria had shocked the others by rejecting a pants and long coat ensemble as, “Too conservative.” With some asperity, she'd added, “For fuck's sake, Jane, I won't even be able to play in that.” Eventually, they'd gotten everything squared away, and managed to scrounge the actual clothes.

Even Sandi agreed they couldn't get brand names. She'd been able to get most of the stuff they had to buy new at tag sales and outlets, while Jane tracked down other things at thrift shops and other secondhand stores. Quinn, a little miffed at being left out of the shopping, worked with Daria on arrangements for “No Light Shines” and some of the other new songs.

And now, here they were on Saturday night. From behind the drum kit, Jane estimated there were at least three hundred people in the crowd in front of them, many who'd never heard GTS before. It was a critical gig for them; if they couldn't hook people's interest, Saturdays would be gone, and they'd be right back where they started or worse.

Looking at her bandmates, she knew they'd managed the visual part. All the outfits were deceptively simple, a few simple tones that worked well with each other.

An off-the-shoulder pink shirt covered most of Quinn's white tank top. It was a definite nod to the '80s, but instead of hot pants and high hair, Quinn's long locks were mostly unstyled, relying on natural bounce, and her pants, while flattering, had an elegant cut that prevented the whole look from collapsing into trashy ZZ Top video chickness.

Elegance was also Sandi's watchword. One-piece dresses weren't usually considered good stagewear, but Sandi had argued, rightly, that she was in the John Entwistle style of bassist—she didn't really move at all, preferring to let the action (and the music) swirl around her. Thus, when Sandi came back from one of her expeditions with several short, stylish dress that blended shades of blue in interesting ways, Jane knew that she wound not be shifted. And Jane wouldn't have wanted to—after all, one doesn't get to be President of the Fashion Club without knowing how to dress.

Daria, of course, refused to surrender her glasses—though she had opted for more stylish frames since the band began—so they built her look out from there. Daria insisted she didn't mind the high collar on the brown mock turtleneck she wore, as long as the fabric was light, which it was. Over that she wore a blouse open at the neck, the soft green contrasting both with the brown and her forest green skirt. Although the skirt was below knee length, it hugged her hips quite nicely, keeping her look from skidding into dowdiness.

Jane herself had opted for what looked like a simple black leotard (shades of the 80s again) as the base for her outfit. It was only with a closer look, or the help of stage lights, that the subtle pattern of reds and browns became noticeable. The pattern played very nicely off the short red skirt and open top she wore.

Quinn had bought into the contrast and Sandi the subtlety (and the wardrobe autonomy she'd wangled for herself), while Daria loved the symbolism. The four elements—Quinn as Air, Daria as Earth, Jane as Fire, and Sandi as Water—were there, but so were Quinn the tease, Jane the wild child, Sandi the lady, and Daria the woman. And underneath it all, they were who they were. Mercurial Sandi in blues that seemed to shift and blend in fighting for dominance, breezy Quinn in her bright colors, solid Daria not drawing attention, but finding it nonetheless. And Jane herself, deceptively calm at times, but a whirlwind of subtle changes when moving. They each had their role, Jane knew, and hers was to bring the fire, the thunder that gave the band its energy.

And now it was time. Their time. When Daria raised her arm, Jane kicked the bass drums to open “Blitzkrieg Bop” and felt, along with the rush of power, a sudden surge of rightness. They had the look and they had the sounds. And soon, they'd have this audience eating out of their hands.

Quinn and Sandi arrived together, and the four Girls headed downstairs to rehearse. The guitar, bass, and drums set-up had be joined by a Hammond keyboard, Quinn's addition. Jane had been surprised by Quinn's initiative. She knew Quinn had hated playing bass and singing, but Quinn was slowly but gamely mastering the keyboard, allowing the Girls to try some more complex arrangements.

One of these was “No Light Shines,” a minor key song with a grinding, dirge-like guitar. When the band played it for the first time, five months ago, it had a slow, plodding feel, like a cut-rate Nirvana song (something Mystik Spiral might play). Daria had confided her disappointment to Jane after the rehearsal.

“They're some of my best lyrics, but some of my worst music,” Daria had sighed.

Jane had tried to cheer her friend, but to no avail. “We're never going to be able to play it in front of people,” was Daria's last word on the subject.

The addition of a keyboard had resurrected the song. In the new arrangement, the keyboard had freed both guitar and drums to be more expressive. Quinn played simple repetitive chords as a rhythm line in tandem with Sandi's bass, allowing Daria's guitar to slash through the song rather than carry it. Jane, in turn, could concentrate on picking spots for fills to drive the song, rather than laying down a simple 4/4 beat.

They played “No Light Shines” straight through, and then walked through it again more slowly, stopping every so often to fix problems, like where the instruments were out of balance or where the transition from verse to chorus was flat. Although Daria wrote the songs, the arrangement process was often very democratic. One of them would raise an arm, and everyone would stop playing to listen to the complaint and, if necessary, talk about how to address it. It was a simple system, but very rarely had any breakdown. Musically, the Girls were usually on the same page—or at least in the same book.

After working their way through the song, they played it once more straight though. Jane noted that during the verses, Quinn had very little trouble staying in time on the keyboards as she sang. Even now, some slight changes crept in. Daria took a stronger solo, while Quinn keyboards dropped out, allowing more focus on the guitar. At the end, they were all smiling, even Sandi.

“Well, I think we're in good shape with that one,” Daria said after catching her breath.

Jane smiled from behind the kit. “Yeah. That one's going to be fun to play. The bass and keyboards do all the work, so I have room to have fun.” Drumming was always a blast, but she loved when she got to play around the beat, instead of on it. It gave her room to improvise, freeing her artistic side.

Sandi gave Jane a thin smile, “Glad I could help, Jane.” Turning to Daria, she added, “It does sound good, though. I really like the stronger solo. The guitar isn't, like, disappearing anymore.”

“Thanks, Sandi,” Daria said, “but don't forget it was Quinn's idea to not play the keyboards over the solo. I think that helped a lot.”

Quinn, still getting a drink for her throat, only smiled and nodded.

After a short break, they did a few covers and then ran through some of the other originals: “Charmed Circle,” “Wherever You Can Find It,” “Hard World,” “Through My Eyes,” and a raucous instrumental with no name that Daria insisted on calling “Fuck Off and Die.” To Jane's ear, their playing was crisp and professional sounding. Now all we need is a look to match the sound.

After they finished, Jane grabbed a towel from her perch on the drum kit to wipe away the sweat, and waited for the rest of the band. She wanted Daria to stay for the conversation, but she'd settle for getting Sandi on board. And sure enough, Quinn was guiding Sandi back to the rehearsal space. Jane turned to look for Daria, but she'd slipped out.

“Where's Daria,” Quinn asked, a little nervously.

“Upstairs,” Jane said. “I think she ducked out.”

“So she still doesn't want to talk about our look?” Sandi's voice held a measure of contempt.

Contempt is definitely something she's mastered, Jane thought, before shrugging. “She says she'll wear what we tell her as long as she doesn't have to participate. I'd like to get her more involved in the process—“

“So she won't shoot us down as soon as we have something finished,” Quinn muttered. Sandi gave a thin smile.

Jane ignored them. “But for now I think we can move ahead. We can work out how to sell her on it later.”

Sandi nodded. “Okay. So Quinn and I can, like, get to work on this stuff, and let you know what we come up with.”

Jane drew a sharp breath, but before she could speak, Quinn said, in the diffident voice she'd perfected over long years of dealing with Sandi, “Actually, Jane's already designed a color palate for us to work from, and she and I have done some preliminary sketches. Of course, we didn't want to go further without your input, Sandi, so we'd like you to take a look and tell us what you think.”

Jane didn't think she'd ever seen an expression before like the one on Sandi's face, combining shock, irritation, confusion, and maybe a little disappointment. And to think, I've been after Daria to explain 'nonplussed' to me for years. I think I've just seen it. “How does that sound, Sandi?” she asked.

“Sure. Whatever.” Sandi's voice was flat.

Jane had reduced the colors from her painting to a circular design almost like a pinwheel. At each of the four cardinal points of the compass was a color—red at north, pink at south, green at east, blue at west—and each color dissolved into a swirl of shades and hues, conflicting and contrasting, but never quite clashing. It was an eye-catching design, if she did say so herself.

“Like, what's this supposed to be?” Sandi snapped.

Jane bristled at Sandi's tone, but tried not to let it show. “Like, it's just what Quinn said, Sandi.” And failed. “it's a color palate. We can use the shades for whatever we want—outfits, posters, lighting—as long as we use shades that don't clash.”

Sandi waved an arm dismissively. “They all clash.”

"No,” Jane said, biting off each word. “They don't. They draw the eye. Which is what they're supposed to do.”

“It's avant-garde,” Quinn supplied, in her perkiest voice.

“It's ugly,” Sandi said. “I'm not surrendering wardrobe autonomy to,” she tossed her head and poured on the sneer, “an amateur.”

Blood suffused Jane's normally pale face and a red haze fell across her eyes. “I am not,” she snarled, “a fucking amateur.” At that moment she wanted nothing more than the wipe that expression off Sandi's face, preferably with the edge of an X-acto knife. It looked like she'd have to settle for fists, though.

As Sandi backed away, Jane lunged, but was impeded by pressure on her arm. She whirled and heard, as if from a great distance, Quinn's urgent, “Oh shit! Sandi, you'd better go.” Fist ready to strike, Jane saw that Quinn, not Sandi, was now her target, and with an intense effort got herself under control. “Bad move, Quinn,” she grated as she lowered her hand. “I nearly knocked you on your ass.”

“I know,” Quinn whispered, eyes wide. “But I couldn't let you hit Sandi.”

“Sticking up for your friend?” Jane asked, dripping bitterness.

Quinn nodded, hurt in her eyes. “Sandi probably wanted you to hit her. I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction.”

The residual anger drained from Jane, replaced by shock. Quinn had never said anything like that before. “I'm your friend?”

“Duh, Jane,” Quinn sounded almost disgusted. “Right now, I'd say you're my closest friend.”

“What about Sandi?” Jane was deeply confused. Quinn was a means to an end and a sometimes ally. She wasn't someone Jane willingly spent time with, much less wanted as a friend. Yeah, that's why you live together and talk to her more than you talk to Daria. That's why she's the one who understands your artwork. She almost missed Quinn's response.

“In case you missed the last eight hundred times I told you, I don't trust Sandi.”

“And Daria?”

Quinn gave a sad little smile. “Sister's not the same as friend, Jane.”

Her own words thrown back in her face made Jane smile. “Touché, Quinn.” She started to laugh, dispelling the rest of the tension. “Damn perceptive Morgendorffers. Come on, friend. I see Sandi took a minute to grab her bass. Let's see if she got while the getting was good. If not, I think I can look at her without punching her face in.”

Quinn didn't look reassured, but she smiled at Jane and led the way up the stairs anyway.

They found not Sandi, but Daria in the living room, calmly sitting and enjoying a soda. “Gotta work tonight, but you're welcome to grab a beer if you want.” She gestured toward the fridge. “So things didn't go well.” It wasn't a question.

“How'd you guess?” Jane found Daria's flippancy annoying.

“Sandi stomping out was my first clue.”

“Well,” Jane snapped, “maybe if you hadn't ducked out like a hobo dodging a bar bill, we could have kept her there.”

She could see real irritation creeping into Daria's face. “I told you that's not my thing. I had nothing to add, so I had no reason to stick around.”

Before Jane could respond, Quinn raised a hand. “Daria, what did Sandi look like when she left? Was she just mad?”

A puzzled frown crossed Daria's face. “I don't know. Why do you ask?”

“Just try to remember. Trust me.”

Silence spread as Daria thought. Jane, despite her annoyance, found herself very interested. “Well, she was definitely angry,” Daria began. “It's easy to tell when Sandi's angry,” she added.

Jane smiled slightly as Quinn motioned for Daria to continue.

“I'd say she was a little frightened; I've seen that look on her face before.” She gave Jane a Mona Lisa smile. “Remember when Quinn dressed up as me?”

Jane grinned at Quinn's nettled look. “Yeah. And Sandi tried to talk to you, and couldn't say a word.”

Daria paused again, looking thoughtful. “I think that's about it, Quinn,” she finally started, before stopping again, surprise lighting her features. “Now that you mention it, underneath the fear and anger, she looked almost... satisfied, like she'd just put down Stacy or managed to put one over on you.”

“I knew it!” Quinn said, jumping up. “I thought there was something off about that conversation.”

“Wait a second!” Shock broke through Jane's mind like a wave. “Are you telling me that was a put-on? That Sandi did that on purpose?!” Her voice rose in anger on the last word.

“Yes,” Quinn said triumphantly, before confusion painted her doll face. “Well, sort of.”

Daria gave her sister a sardonic look. “Care to give us some idea what you mean, Quinn?”

Uh-oh, Jane thought. Here comes the verbal flood. She wasn't disappointed.

“Well, it's not that she did it on purpose. I think she really was mad, like the time we got stuck in the Payday, and she was mad at me for bringing us there and at Stacy for talking about her pants, but even when she's mad, she's still pretty careful about what she says, so she probably decided that since she was so mad, she may as well see how mad she could get you, Jane, and it worked, and now she knows she can push you, and she'll probably do it again, because that's what Sandi does.” Quinn finally wound down.

“So let me get this straight,” Jane said. “Sandi's messing with me to see how I react.” At Quinn's nod, Jane added, “Why?”

“That's what she does,” Jane,” Quinn said, sadly. “She plays with people like they're toys. And she breaks a lot of toys.”

“No. I mean, why me?” Jane sounded puzzled and annoyed. “Why not you or Daria.”

“Uh, Jane,” Daria said. “I think she already had a go or two at me. Remember Roadrunner? And what she said to me earlier this week?”

Quinn nodded, “And she's had years to mess with me. I guess it's your turn now.”

“Lucky me,” Jane twirled a finger in the air in a mocking gesture. “So what do I do about it?”

“Don't you mean what do we do about it?” Daria asked, voice sardonic. “We're supposed to be a band, aren't we?”

Jane shot her friend a look of mixed gratitude and irritation. “If we're supposed to be a band, why weren't you downstairs before?”

For a moment, it looked to Jane like Daria was preparing a crushing retort, but after a moment and a deep breath, she calmly said, “Point taken, Jane. So what do we do about Sandi?”

The silence that fell grew and stretched. Jane could imagine it spreading, filling the entire room. As she met Daria's eyes, she felt, rather than saw, Quinn shift uncomfortably. Daria met her gaze calmly, the lenses of her glasses like twin mirrors, unreadable. She seemed to be waiting, as if something needed saying, but Daria didn't want to be the one to say it.

It was Quinn, finally, that leaped into the breach. “You mean, should we kick her out?”

Jane whirled at the words, to see a deadly serious, if somewhat scared, expression on Quinn's doll face. Turning back to Daria, she read the confirmation. That was exactly what they were talking about. Despite wanting to kill Sandi less than fifteen minutes ago, Jane was uncomfortable with the sudden turn. “Don't you think this is a little...,” she trailed off.

Expressionless, Daria said, “This is what Sandi is like, Jane. Quinn tried to warn us, and we went ahead anyway. Now we have to decide if we can live with it.”

Quinn nodded. “I can take bass again until we find another. I know I'm no good, but it won't take as long as the first time. We've got a reputation now.”

“One slip, and you're seriously considering kicking her out?” Jane's voice was painted with shock. “Have I slipped through the rabbit hole? Because this all seems as mad as any hatter.”

“You asked what we could do about her, Jane,” Daria voice bored remorselessly. “This is what we can do.”

“She's not going to change, Jane,” Quinn added, with her own chill. “Sandi doesn't do change.”

Looking between the Morgendorffer sisters, Jane felt trapped, as if between dangerous spirits. A sudden image of Daria as many-headed Scylla and Quinn as once-beautiful Charybdis rose in Jane's mind, but she squashed it. Throwing her arms in the air, she half-screamed, “Doesn't the music mean anything?”

“Of course it does,” Daria said, and dwindled until she was once again Daria, with her flat expression and her wise eyes hiding behind the glasses. “But you've said it yourself. She's so in turn with us musically, and so out of tune with us in every other way.”

Quinn, once again merely the pretty princess with her hidden depths, nodded. “If the music is worth the conflict, we'll keep her.”

“But this time, you'll have to decide, Jane,” Daria added. “Quinn and I both think you're the one who'll bear the brunt.”

For Jane, it wasn't even a question. She had no love for Sandi, but she was more than a little unnerved at the speed with which Daria and Quinn had turned as one on her. Besides that, as a drummer, Jane had never felt so in tune with another bassist as she did with Sandi. Musically, they could do anything. As far as the other stuff, they would manage. “Of course it is,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “Like her or not, Sandi is the perfect bassist for the group.”

“Okay then,” Daria said, as Quinn let out a breath, whether in relief or irritation, Jane couldn't tell. “Now all we have to do is make sure Sandi still wants to be in the band.”

Jane chuckled weakly, relief coursing through her after that strange confrontation. “Yeah. Sandi's exit was pretty dramatic. You may have to pick up bass anyway, Quinn.”

“I doubt it,” Quinn said. “You'll know when Sandi's ready to leave.”

Jane and Daria gave Quinn matching quizzical looks.

“When Sandi's ready to leave, there won't be anything left.” With an enigmatic smile worthy of Daria, Quinn let herself out.

Confusion settled over them like a blanket. For a moment, neither moved. Jane looked at Daria. Daria looked at Jane. Simultaneously, they shrugged and smiled. That's life, Jane thought. “We've got time for Sick, Sad World before you have to go to work, right?”

“Sure,” Daria said, grabbing the remote. The familiar logo popped into view as the announcer declaimed, with his usual urgency, “Fine dining for massive mammals! But will they need a crate of wine with that? Hungry, hungry hippos, next on Sick, Sad World!”

“Look, I really don't want to discuss this,” Daria Morgendorffer said as she reached for her guitar. “Let's just play. We're getting really close with 'No Light Shines.'”

“No dice, Daria,” said Jane Lane behind her drum kit. “We need to talk about this. Before we play.” Daria had avoided this conversation for several weeks, and Jane was damned if she was going to let Daria slip by again.

“Yeah,” Quinn Morgendorffer said, “We need to talk about this, and we need to talk about it now. We've let it slide for way too long.”

“I don't see why it's so important,” Daria grumbled. Jane could see the subtle changes in Daria's face that indicated extreme irritation.

“Daria,” Jane said, “Like it or not, performing music live is a visual medium, too. If we're going to catch people's eyes, as well as their ears, we're going to need a look.”

“We look fine now,” Daria said.

“Shyeah. Whatever, Daria,” Quinn snorted. “Right now we look like four teenagers playing in someone's garage. There's no harmony. Our outfits should complement each other, like our voices.”

“Well, most of our voices,” Jane laughed. She was no singer, and she knew it, but she did love to beat the skins.

“So we're back to outfits now, Quinn?” Daria snapped. “We going to turn the band into a little makeover party?” Ignoring Quinn's hurt look, she whirled on Jane, “And why are you going along with this? I thought you took this seriously.”

“She does,” Sandi said. “So does Quinn. They know that if we want to get anywhere, we have to be visually appealing.” Her eyes bored into Daria's, and a cold sneer suddenly crossed her lips. “I'd like it if we could each maintain wardrobe autonomy, but some of us,” the emphasis on some told Jane exactly who Sandi was talking about, “can't be trusted, so we need a unified look.”

For just a second, Jane saw the irritation in Daria's face cross into raw rage, but with great effort, she mastered herself. Somewhat. “Fine. If we're not going to play, I have better things to do than stand here and be insulted for not playing dress up.” She whirled and headed for the stairs. “Feel free to let yourselves out.”

With a snarl, Jane whirled on Sandi, while Quinn started in shock at the open door to the stairs. “What the fuck was that about?”

Totally unperturbed, Sandi smiled. “Do you think we could work on the rhythm for the new stuff? Even without a guitar, we can get something done.”

With great effort, Jane managed not to kick over the bass drum or toss her sticks at Sandi's head. “No. We're going to discuss why you thought you could get away with setting Daria off like that.”

“Actually,” Sandi said, voice icy. “we're not. I told Daria something she needed to hear. How she took it is not my problem. Now, we can play, or Quinn and I can talk about our outfits. Or I can leave, because Daria's not the only one with better things to do than be cross-examined.”

Jane could feel the tension between her and Sandi almost like a line of force connecting them, and she wasn't sure what to do. It came as a relief when Quinn said, in a small voice. “Uh, guys, I think we should just go. We're not going to get anything done.”

Without a word, Sandi packed up and headed out. After a second, Quinn followed, leaving a puzzled Jane perched behind her kit. What just happened here? After a long moment, she gave up and followed her bandmates.



Jane was still thinking about their disastrous rehearsal three hours later. Sketchbook on her lap, she sat in Boston Common watching the crowds pass in the twilight. Normally, at this time on a Friday she would have been there anyway, or if not on the Common, on the Esplanade by the river or someplace else where the peace of nature contrasted with the hustle of the city, giving her artist's eye a chance to catch an unusual combination that might light the spark that filled another canvas.

This semester, both Quinn nor Daria had early classes on Fridays and then worked in the evening, which made it an ideal day for early rehearsals and evenings of art. Today, though, Jane was too preoccupied with the disaster at rehearsal to even think about artwork. She knew Daria would be difficult about buying into a group look for the Girls, but she hadn't counted on her tearing into Quinn, or Sandi throwing fat on the fire. Damn Daria anyway. Why does she have to be so... Daria?

Jane knew she was being unfair. The band was originally her idea, true, but even then, she knew that Daria would end up the de facto leader. While it was true that Daria was a wallflower and had to be pushed to do things, once she took them up, she had the will and the skills to make them happen. Hell, if it wasn't for Daria, Jane wouldn't be in college, much less in a band. But the same tenacity that made her able to get things done could also make her a tremendous pain in the ass when things didn't go her way. Quinn and Jane between them had usually managed to offset Daria in the beginning, but the addition of Sandi Griffin ten months ago had totally thrown the band's equilibrium out of whack.

It's funny, Jane thought. She's exactly what we need, musically. We're so in sync when we play, but so far out of it the rest of the time. Sandi had her own agenda and her own point of view, and it didn't mesh with any of the other Girls, not even Quinn. Far from falling into the old friendship, Quinn watched Sandi like a hawk, fearing she'd sow chaos just for the fun of it. And I always thought I was the nihilist.

Today was a perfect example. Between them, Quinn and Jane might have pinned Daria down about the clothes. In the six months they'd been playing at October's, they'd built up quite a following, but to take the next step, they had to get more professional, which might mean a manager, and would certainly mean a new look. Daria wasn't stupid and would see it, with a little prodding, but now that Sandi had dropped the nukes, it would take Jane and Quinn weeks to talk Daria around.

Jane sighed. Whatever she was going to do about Sandi and Daria, she wasn't going to get it done sitting in the Common. And if she wasn't going to be drawing, she'd rather be inside. With March around the corner, it was starting to warm up, but that just meant that sometimes the temperature broke freezing. She decided to head to a gallery she knew in the South End and ambled off toward the T.



Painting away, Jane didn't notice it was after midnight. She'd been in the throes of creativity for over four hours. The gallery had cleared her head, and by the time she got off the T at Crestmore Square, a painting had begun to take shape in her mind. The ten-minute walk home had gave the image time to solidify so that when she walked in the door, she headed right to her easel. Without interruption, she could likely finish in another hour.

Three quick knocks on her door broke her concentration. “Dammit, Quinn! What is it?”

“Bad time?” Quinn asked, as she opened the door and poked her head around.

“What the hell are you doing home so early?” Jane did not take interruptions well.

Quinn looked confused. “Jane, it's almost one.”

“Oh.” Jane spied the clock radio out of the corner of her eye. '12:47' shone back at her. “Sorry, Quinn. I got on a roll and lost track of time. I didn't think you'd be home for another hour or so.”

“Whatever,” Quinn shrugged. “Sorry I interrupted you, but I think we should talk about the designs tonight. We've got another rehearsal tomorrow, and I wanna have something more convincing than, 'Well, Daria, I still think we should do this, so calm down and maybe Sandi will stop being such a bitch about it.'”

Jane chuckled, “No, no. Let's just go in cold. I'd love to hear that conversation play out.” She let her voice fall into a monotone. “I'm not going to listen to this. I don't wanna play dress up, and that's final.” Miming tossing her hair, she continued in a bad faux valley girl voice. “Like, what do you mean by that Ku-winn? Maybe you think you could be a better bassist and all around pain in the ass that me.”

It was all too much for Quinn, who started laughing. Waving her hand for Jane to stop as she tried to get control of herself, Quinn finally gasped out, “Are you going to do me and you, too?”

“I don't think so,” Jane sighed. “Right now, we're the sane ones.” Her mouth quirked upward in a characteristic half-smile. “Strange as that may seem.”

That sobered Quinn immediately. Turning away, she said, “I like the painting Jane. Even though it's, what's the word..., abstract?, it pulls you in. The colors are compelling, and they balance each other. It's hard to tell right away, but the longer you look, the more sense they make.”

“Thanks, Quinn,” Jane said, surprised and touched. She thought about the first time Quinn saw her art, when Daria and Jodie had gone to Grove Hills, and Quinn had shown up on her doorstep. Quinn's reaction to her art had been less than supportive, and her own to Quinn had involved fantasies of a guillotine party with Quinn the guest of honor. “I guess we've all come a long way,” she murmured.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Jane said quickly. “I'm glad you like it. Not everyone gets the way I use color. I've had problems with it at school.”

“Well, I think it's cool. Do you think we could base some designs off it?”

“Maybe posters,” Jane said. “I don't think Daria's ready for something this off-the-wall.”

“You're probably right,” Quinn added. “And Sandi loves haute couture, but to her, avant-garde is something you get on the menu at a good French restaurant. Maybe something a little less... daring.”

“Well, I can come up with some simpler schemes fairly quickly,” Jane said, amused at how well she and Quinn could work together when they needed to. Heck, even as roommates. She'd had her misgivings when Daria asked her to live with Quinn, but everything had worked out well. She wasn't around often enough for them to get on each other's nerves, and Quinn didn't keep her old dating schedule, which reduced the likelihood of Jane walking in on an embarrassing situation. Jane herself preferred to go to a guy's place if she were interested in him, though such liaisons were few and far between.

“And I can coordinate them to outfits,” Quinn said, enthusiasm rising. “Then we can run them by Sandi after rehearsal tomorrow, and maybe we can he something by early next week.”

Jane was fairly sure Quinn was being optimistic, but she didn't want to ruin the moment. Wordlessly, she begin roughing out a color scheme, while Quinn made approving noises. They worked far into the night.



Rehearsal the next day was at 2, but Jane had told Quinn she wanted to get there early and talk to Daria. Quinn had offered to come, but Jane had declined, figuring that conversation would go better without any Fashion Fiend presence. Thus, shortly after noon, coffee in hand and much the worse for lack of sleep, she stood on Daria's doorstep. She rung the bell and took a long slug of the coffee as she gathered her thoughts.

Talking Daria around wasn't going to be easy, Jane knew, but she also knew that she had the best chance of doing it. Daria respected Jane's knowledge of visual media—mostly her art, but it was usually Jane who picked the movies for both good movie nights and bad movie nights. Fashion design was a visual medium too, although one Daria didn't respect. Just think, she thought, if only I didn't hate Fellini so much, Tom and I might be married now. But just because I prefer Bergman, he ended up kissing my best friend. C'est la vie.

After a moment, the doors opened, showing Daria. “Fancy seeing you here,” she said. “Still not a morning person, I see.”

"Lay off, Daria,” Jane glared. “I was up late last night.”

Daria's eyebrow arched behind her glasses. “Find another stray?

“Painting and talking to Quinn.”

“Oh.” Daria turned, and Jane followed her upstairs into the apartment. Taking another swig of her coffee, she grimaced. “Hey,” she asked. “You got any coffee on?”

Daria shrugged as she walked through the door. “No, but I can have it ready in five minutes.”

“Good,” Jane said, as she took a seat on the couch. “Your coffee's drinkable.” I gotta find a better coffee place, she thought, as Daria busied herself in the kitchen.

A few minutes later, she returned with two mugs in hand. “I know you like it black,” she said, as she handed a mug to Jane and sat down. The aroma hitting Jane's nose was a wind from heaven. Divine wind, she thought, as she grabbed the cup and took a sip. Well, this could end up a kamikaze mission.

Jane was grateful that Daria allowed her a few minutes to commune with the coffee, enough time to drain the cup and help herself to another one, before breaking the silence. “So, what brings you here? Rehearsal's not until two.”

“Can't a girl come over to spend some time with her primera amiga?” Jane asked.

“She can,” Daria replied, “but not when it requires her to be up and moving before noon.”

“You know me too well.”

“Yes, I do. And given your more-than-semiconscious state and Quinn's absence, I'd say you're here to beard the Misery Chick in her den about matters sartorial.”

“This is only my third cup of coffee, Daria,” Jane smirked. “Save the verbal gymnastics for the next time you tell off Sandi.”

Daria gave Jane a black look. “You're here to talk about the band's look.”

Jane nodded and sipped her coffee.

“Well, don't expect me to make it easy on you,” Daria said.

“Of course not,” Jane said, and drank some more coffee. She finished the cup and got herself another, letting Daria stew all the while. It wasn't until Jane was halfway through that cup before Daria finally burst out. “What I don't get is why you're involved in this. I can see Quinn and Sandi wanting to dress us up, but you're above all that nonsense.”

Gotcha, Jane thought. “It's not nonsense. It's about drawing people's eyes. We present a unified concept in a visually exciting manner to develop associations and help people remember us.”

“Isn't that what the music is for?” Daria's voice dripped with sarcasm.

“You're so cute when you're naive, Daria,” Jane laughed, knowing it would annoy Daria, but also push her off balance. “Look, our music is good, and it's going to get better, right?”

Daria just glared.

“But that's true of dozens of bands in the Boston area alone. If all we want to do is stay in Boston, then we can just rely on the music. We might even make a living, but I'll bet we have to get day jobs and just play nights and weekends. If we want to make things work, we have to offer something in addition to the music.”

“Like our bodies?” Daria sneered.

“Like strong visual imagery, Daria.” Jane sighed. “Look, this isn't about letting Quinn and Sandi put us in clothes they think are fashionable, or about slutting ourselves up. It's about finding a way to draw attention in a crowded field, so that more people will want to hear us.”

“Look, Jane,” Daria said after a moment, “I'm not trying to be a jerk about it, but I just don't get it. They're not there to see us; they're there to hear us. I mean, if we were actresses, maybe, but this all sounds so stupid.”

Jane sighed heavily. For someone so intelligent, Daria could be incredibly thickheaded sometimes. “It doesn't have to be stupid. It can be as smart as you want it to be. There's all sorts of visual symbolism that can be applied, as subtly or as overtly as you want. Our images can represent the four seasons or the four elements. Or they can just be four colors that fit well together. But we're not going to get anywhere without an image. No one has.”

Daria looked thoughtful for a minute, and then shook her head. “Why don't you and Quinn talk to Sandi about this? It's much more her speed than mine.”

“What makes you think we haven't?” Jane asked. She knew the answer, but decided to let Daria off the defensive.

“If you had, you wouldn't be here,” Daria said. “No point in getting up early when Sandi would just insist on having the same conversation again with all four of us there.”

Jane let Daria enjoy her moment of being right, then responded. “We will talk to Sandi. We're going to want her input.” At Daria's raised eyebrow, Jane added, “And yours. All four of us should be in on this.”

Daria looked troubled. “Why? You know I have no aptitude for this. I like green; I wear green. That's about the depth of my fashion experience.”

“It's not fashion, Daria. It's visual design,” Jane sighed again.

“I'm not a visual person,” Daria said.

“You don't have to be. Trust me.”

Daria gave Jane a long look. Jane waited, knowing either a concession or an angry outburst was coming. “I do trust you,” Daria finally said. Concession. Good. That'll make things easier.

“Look,” Daria continued, “talk to Quinn and Sandi, and I'll do what you want. Just don't expect me to help. It's not my thing.” With a Mona Lisa smile, she added, “And make sure I'm not naked up there.”

Well, it's a start. Jane settled in to wait for the others to show up. “Is there any more coffee?” At Daria's black look, she just laughed.

October's in Jefferson Square wasn't the nicest place Quinn had ever been in, but it wasn't a total dive either. The long bar extended back towards a raised bandstand, but there was space in between for a decent-sized dance floor. At least a hundred, maybe two hundred people could fill the space when a band was playing. Compared to the last place they'd auditioned at, it was a palace—a palace looking for a steady band for Tuesday nights. And Tuesday nights didn't conflict with either Daria or Quinn's work schedule.

Daria, standing in the doorway behind Quinn, said, “Well, it's not bad. It's not like our first gig was going to be at the Paradise.”

Jane, to Daria's side, laughed. “It's no McGrundy's, but I could see us playing here.”

Sandi, bringing up the rear, said nothing.

The heavyset man who had let them in looked them over. “So, you're here to audition for the Tuesday night slot?” Quinn nodded slowly, and pale blue eyes under beetle brows flicked over her. “Well, at least you put a looker in front.” Before anyone could register what he'd said, he turned and walked into the bar. “Well, come on in.”

They followed him back to the stage. Sudden nerves gripped Quinn, and a quick look at her bandmates told her they weren't doing much better.

“Get yourselves set up,” the owner said. “We can do all the introductions and chit chat after I hear you play. After all,” he added with less than friendly chuckle, “we might not need to bother.”

“Uh, sure,” Quinn said. “We'll just get our stuff out of the van.” She hurried out, to hide her nervous confusion. The other Girls followed quickly.

Despite their nerves, they set up quickly. All four of them understood that wasting the owner's time was a good way to blow the audition without getting to play a note, so over the last few weeks, they'd practiced setting up and breaking down almost as much as they practiced music. Quinn had thought it dull, but had to admit it paid off when the bar's owner give a little nod at their speed.

They finished setting up, and the owner stood, arms folded. Seeing no indication that he was going to ask them to play, Quinn looked to Daria and then to Jane, who shrugged and began counting the time. They tore into “Charmed Circle,” then rolled right into “Wherever You Can Find It.” Quinn knew they were playing well, could feel the music moving her, but wasn't sure they were getting across. The owner didn't change position at all; the music just rolled over him. As Jane's last roll died, he grunted, “Originals, fine. Now, let's hear the covers.”

The owner's disinterest hit Quinn like a lead weight, and she almost missed her cue in “Basket Case.” She could feel the first verse fall flat, earning her a quick glare from Daria that she hoped no one else noticed. As the song roared on, she found her footing again. The power of the rhythm section filled her, and she fell into the song, her voice gaining confidence and power. They steamed through “Rock and Roll Machine” and “Helter Skelter,” with Jane in a frenzy on the drums and Daria uncharacteristically bouncing around the stage wildly on guitar. “I've got blisters on my my fingers!” Jane shouted, and the music stopped. All three other Girls shot her a look.

“Sorry,” Jane shrugged, an impish smile on her face. “Couldn't resist.” Not for the first time, Quinn thought to herself that Jane's body was well-suited for shrugging. Her long arms caused her shoulders to roll just so, and the effect was very, very cute. If Quinn had Jane's look, she'd be sure to wear tank tops and shrug as often as she could. Quinn knew there was no way Jane would take this advice, but after her years in the Fashion Club, there was no way she could stop thinking it.

The owner was obviously unmoved by Jane's Ringo impression or her rolling shoulders. “You got anything else? Something that stands out a little, maybe?”

“We've got one more,” Daria said, sounding a little annoyed. “Ready?” Quinn nodded back. So did Jane and Sandi. Daria counted out the time for “Roadrunner,” and they were off.

Since Quinn didn't play an instrument and the song had very little harmony, at least until the end, she didn't have much to do except look good. So she danced along with the song, noticing that despite the weird lyrics and minimalist sound, it really did make her want to move. And Daria's voice did the song justice in a way hers didn't. As they hit the climax, Quinn began to get a good feeling, a feeling reinforced by the owner's tapping foot, the first movement he'd made since they started playing. By the end of the song, Quinn could see the man smiling, but he quickly hid it as the music stopped.

“Okay. Tuesday's yours. I'll give you a month at $500 a night. We can talk about the door if you stay past that.” All the Girls stared in shock, but it was Quinn he fixed with his glare. “Take it or leave it. I'm not negotiating.”

Quinn, oddly flustered at being singled out, blurted, “We'll take it,” just as Daria started saying, “We'd like to talk it over for minute.” Daria fixed her sister with a glare. Quinn wilted. “I mean, my sister's right. We'd like to talk for a minute.”

“I'll be back in five minutes. You can give me your answer then.” He headed towards the other end of the bar, but not before adding, over his shoulder, “The name's Tierney, by the way, Mike Tierney.”

Almost before he was gone, Jane rounded on Quinn. “What the hell was that, Quinn?” she said, voice low but angry. “You think maybe the three of us might want a say before you open your mouth?”

The anger in Jane's voice wiped away Quinn's embarrassment and replaced it with annoyance. “Were you planning on turning him down, Jane? He's giving us a steady gig.”

“I'd like a minute to think about what we're getting into,” Jane retorted.

“We're getting into a gig, Jane. That's what we're getting into.” Quinn could feel her skin going red with anger, as she snarled. “What's your problem? Is it because I said something first?”

“I think that's a different Morgendorffer's line, right Jane?” Sandi's voice was quiet, but even as angry as Quinn was, she couldn't miss the smirk on Sandi's lips.

Before Quinn could say anything, though, and before Jane could round on Sandi, a whip-crack voice barked, “Stop! All three of you, just stop.” Quinn almost didn't realize her sister had spoken, as Daria hadn't used her 'I will get my way, no matter what' voice in a very long time.

“We have four minutes to decide if we take this gig,” Daria continued. “I don't care who said what. I want to know what you think we should do. What all of you think we should do,” she added, sparing a cold glare for Sandi.

“Well,” Sandi replied, unfazed by the glare. “What do you think, Daria?”

“I think we should take it,” Daria said. “I want the experience, even if it's a disaster.”

“What if he cheats us?” Jane asked. “I don't like being pressured, and that's what this Tierney guy is doing. If he's pushing us that hard, who's to say he's on the up-and-up?”

“Who's to say any of them are,” Quinn countered. “I'm with Daria. I say we take the gig and get the experience. If he screws with us, we know not to work for him again. And if it works out, we have a steady night to build up a following.”

“That's two for, one against,” Daria said. “Sandi?”

Sandi nodded. “Whatever you guys want. After all, it's a paying gig.”

Jane sighed. “I never said I was against it. I just said I wanted time to think.”

“I know,” Daria said, “and I'm sorry, but we don't have time, and it's three to one, so it looks like we're taking it.”

“Looks like we are,” Jane agreed, as Tierney came back. The rest of the discussion went quickly, and mostly without surprise, although Daria did get him to agree to paying them half before the show.

As they headed back to the van, which would take them to Daria's, Quinn realized she had a lot to think about.

 

She didn't have much time to think over the next couple of days, though. Between work and school, they went by in a blur, until before Quinn knew it, she found herself on Monday night sitting in a small café in Jefferson Square sipping a mocha latte and waiting for Sandi, who was already fifteen minutes late.

I really don't have time for this, Quinn thought as she waited. She'd just decided to give Sandi another five minutes before finishing her latte and leaving, when through the store window, she saw Sandi hurrying up the street, several bags in hand.

As Quinn's frown deepened, Sandi made her way to the table, swinging bags just missing some of the other customers. “Sorry I'm late, Quinn, but I stopped to pick up a dress and three of the stores in the Galleria were having sales. You know how that goes.”

“Sure, Sandi. I know how that goes.” Quinn buried her irritation and took a sip of her latte. “So, what's up?”

“Well, I just wanted to, you know, catch up.” She sat and hailed a passing waitress. “Double cappuccino, extra cinnamon.”

Quinn gave Sandi a curious look, which Sandi mat with a sheepish smile. “I know we see each other all the time, Quinn, but we never sit and talk. It's always play this, tune that, how do you want to arrange the other. When's the last time we had a real conversation about something other than the band?”

“The last week of High School, Sandi. We didn't see a lot of each other over the summer.” Quinn tactfully didn't mention the reason they hadn't spoken much.

“Well, don't you think it's time we did again?” Sandi looked up as the waitress brought her cappuccino. “Seriously, I feel like I don't even know what you've done for the last two years. Well, besides sing, of course.”

“Like that's not enough,” Quinn gave Sandi an arch look. “I also tried to play the bass, which probably wasn't such a good idea.”

Sandi smiled thinly at the reference to her own position. “So how did you end up in a band with Daria, anyway?”

Quinn found the slight emphasis on Daria's name unpleasant. “She's my sister, Sandi.”

“Not your cousin?”

“High School's over.” Quinn gave Sandi a flat stare.

“Sorry,” Sandi's expression didn't change. “It's just that you two never got along, and now you're spending all your time with her and Jane. I'll bet you don't even keep up your old dating schedule.”

“Do you?” Quinn asked. “Look, it was fun when we were in high school, but you grow out of things. Or into them,” she added. “I've learned a lot these past couple of years. I know that I have to work hard to get the life I want.”

“Just because of school?” The waitress placed a cappuccino in front of Sandi, who began to stir it absently, intent on Quinn.”

“School's part of it. But there's my job, the apartment, the band. I still go out every couple of weeks, you know, to make sure I haven't lost my touch, but my priorities are different.”

“So waiting tables is a priority?” Sandi's face was all artless innocence, but her tone was cutting. “Couldn't your parents pay for your apartment?”

Suddenly uncomfortable with Sandi's questions, Quinn took a sip of her latte to gather her thoughts. She knew Sandi wanted something, but in typical Sandi fashion, she was being deliberately confusing, asking one question to get the answer to another. If I know when she wanted to know, Quinn thought, I'd know how to answer her. I'll bet she doesn't think I'll be honest, though, so maybe that's my best bet. Hiding one step behind where she thinks I'll be may throw her off. “Well, it's kinda hard to explain.”

“Oh?” Sandi raised an eyebrow and sipped her cappuccino.

“Well, I probably could guilt them into covering for me, but I don't think it's the right thing to do. I want to be in control of my life. As it is, they still pay for college, but I have my own place, that I pay for with money I earned. It makes me feel independent, and I feel more ready for the real world. Otherwise, I'd be dependent on them even after I got out of school. I might even end up back in Lawndale. Brr...” Quinn shuddered at the thought.

“What about the band? You're not in control of that.”

“But I'm not dependent either, Sandi. The band needs all of us to make it work.” Quinn let a little irritation touch her voice.

“Oh, I think I understand. Jane and I and you and your sister are equals.” Sandi sipped her cappuccino, but Quinn thought she saw the hint of a smug Sandi smile, the same one she'd worn when she was about to maneuver Tiffany and Stacy into blabbing about Quinn's neck zit back in high school.

Shit, Quinn thought. Whatever Sandi wanted, I just gave her. I just wish I knew what it was. She decided to turn the tables on Sandi. “So,” she said, “you still haven't told me why you're in Boston. Last I knew you were going to Lawndale State to major in marketing. Right before you blew me off because I got into a real design school, she didn't add.

“Oh, you know,” Sandi's voice was cool. “Plans change. I decided school wasn't for me.”

You flunked out, you mean. “I'm surprised you didn't stay in Lawndale for a while, or head to New York to look for your big break.”

“My aunt lives up here,” Sandi said. “Boston's not as fashion forward as New York, but it's better than Lawndale, or even Baltimore. My aunt's cool, so I thought I'd see what life was like in someplace less lame than Lawndale before I decide what to be.”

Quinn was sure there was more to it, but she knew better than to push Sandi. “So,” she changed the subject, “have you heard from anyone back in Lawndale? I know Stacy's still going to Lawndale Community, and she's been dating the same guy for over two years. Not someone from Lawndale High; I think he went to Oakwood, or maybe Fielding.”

Sandi shook her head. “I haven't heard from Stacy since college started. I'm not surprised, though. She was never cutthroat enough for the popularity game, so finding a nice guy was only a matter of tine.” A wicked smile suddenly lit her face. “I know what happened to Tiffany, though. She's married. To a much older man. Regular little trophy wife.”

“No!” Quinn gasped. “Anyone we know?”

Sandi's smile grew even more evil, if that was possible. “How about Charles Ruttheimer, Jr.”

“You mean, she's” Quinn's voice rose with every syllable, “Upchuck's stepmother?! You're kidding me.'
“I swear on my old official Fashion Club scrunchie,” Sandi manged before having a fit of giggles. Quinn soon joined her. For the next half hour, they chatted about old places and familiar faces, as if they'd always been the best of friends. Later, Quinn reflected on the weirdness of her relationship with Sandi—one minute competing in a game that made one of those games like Risk that Daria used to play look like tic-tac-toe, the next laughing like the best of friends. She knew Sandi had won tonight, so she would be extra-careful until she'd evened the score.

 

The next day, three o'clock found Quinn standing in front of her sister's door, wondering whether to knock. The Girls had agreed to meet at 5 for a quick run through the set before loading up the van and heading for the bar, and Quinn wasn't sure how, or even whether, Daria would welcome her two hours early.

The decision was taken out of her hand when the door swung open. Daria, being Daria, didn't even react, besides a, “Well, you're early, Quinn. Do you need something?”

“Just to talk, I guess,” Quinn said, after a confused moment. How does she do it? I show up unannounced and I'm the one who gets confused and flustered. And she just stands there like she expected me.

“Well, I was just heading out to the supermarket, but it can wait until tomorrow,” Daria said. “Come on in, Quinn.”

Quinn followed her sister up the steps and into the apartment. While Daria headed into the kitchen, Quinn threw herself on the couch grabbed the tv remote.

“So,” Daria said, as returned with two drinks and handed one to Quinn, “shouldn't you still be in class?”

“Well, you know.” Quinn said, in her best vacuous Quinn voice. Now that she was here, she suddenly wasn't sure she wanted to talk. “My last class for the day is over.”

Daria, of course, was having none of it. “If memory serves, it ends at 3. It's now 3:15, and your campus is 45 minutes from here by T.”

Quinn sipped her drink. “It's nice of you to keep diet cola for me, Daria. I know you don't drink it, and Jane doesn't either.”

Daria fixed her with a hard glare. “Spill, Quinn.”

“I did cut my one o'clock,” Quinn said with a sigh. “I just couldn't concentrate. It was like there was a voice in my head saying, 'Tonight's our first gig,' every minute. My first two classes were disasters, so I got an early lunch and walked around for a while. That didn't help, so I came here.”

“But why'd you come here? Not that I mind...” Daria trailed off.

“Well, I figured you'd know what to say to calm me down. After all, nothing gets to you.”

“That's not quite true, Quinn.”

“Oh?” Quinn smiled slightly, “I'll bet you're not nervous about tonight.”

“Well, no,” Daria said.

“See?

“Actually, I'm scared shitless.”

“Daria!” Quinn wasn't sure if she was more shocked at the admission or the language.

“Well, why wouldn't I be?” Daria sounded a little impatient. “The last time I played music in front of an audience was 'Pop Goes the Weasel' the summer after fifth grade. You remember how well that went.”

“I enjoyed it,” Quinn said.

“Because you were laughing at me. Mom and Dad and all the other parents had to polite.” Quinn had the grace to look sorry—a little bit.

Daria sighed. “Look, Quinn, I know it's not the same. For one thing, I can actually play. For another thing, it's not just me. There's four of us, and I know we sound good, so there shouldn't be anything to worry about. But every time I think that, in the back of my head I hear, 'hum hum HUM-HUM hum.'”

“I guess I can see that.” After a moment, she added, “but I know you. You're not going to let it stop you.”

“Of course not.” Daria said, “I may throw up before we get on stage, but I'm still playing tonight.”

“Ewww.... Daria.” Quinn saw her sister's Mona Lisa smile and knew she'd been gotten. She stuck her tongue out at Daria, who chuckled.

“And, Quinn,” Daria added, all smiles gone, “I know you're not going to let it stop you either.”

Her sister's bald statement gave Quinn a warm feeling inside. She knew Daria wasn't one to sugarcoat things or lie to make anyone feel better, so for Daria to simply say that Quinn wouldn't fail meant more to Quinn than a hundred pep talks. “Uh, thanks, Sis.”

They talked quietly for a while longer. Quinn enjoyed the sense of intimacy she felt around Daria, something she had worried they would never feel, and, to be honest with herself, still didn't always feel. Her relationship with her sister wasn't exactly like her relationship with Sandi, but it was still complicated and they still didn't entirely understand each other. The whole “Roadrunner” blowup proved that. But still, they'd gotten past that, and they were getting along.

Quinn gave her sister a fond smile as the tv started playing the Sick Sad World theme. “Okay. But I get FashionVision after this is over.”

“Deal,” said Daria, as they settled in to wait for Jane and Sandi.

 

At five to eight, Quinn let herself indulge in one more fit of panic. The amps and drums were already on stage, but the band was downstairs. Waiting to be told they could go on. Jane was sketching away, while Sandi thumbed through a Waif magazine she'd brought, and Daria sat quietly, lost in thought. Quinn sipped at a diet soda and looked from face to face. And silently screamed. I can't do this. I can't. I can't. What the hell was I thinking? There's no way. I wonder if I could make it to the back door. Would Daria kill me if I ran out now.

A voice interrupted her terror. “Five minutes, girls,” Mike Tierney said from the top of the stairs. Five minutes. What do I do?

“Is everyone ready?” Daria asked.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. “Yes.” Look at me. I'm Quinn, the little liar.

“Whatever,” Sandi said with a shrug. Quinn knew Sandi wouldn't show any weakness.

“If by ready, you mean terrified,” Jane said, “then, I'm ready, amiga.” Quinn found Jane's remark, and Daria's answering Mona Lisa smile, comforting.

“Okay, then,” Daria said, after a moment. “Let's grab our gear, head upstairs, and blow their socks off.”

“Whatever,” Sandi shrugged again.

“Better watch out Sandi,” Jane said. “All that enthusiasm might tire you out, and then you won't be able to play.”

Sandi bared her teeth. “I'll manage.”

Quinn looked over to Daria, wondering if they should interrupt. Daria didn't seem too concerned, though, so Quinn decided to take her sister's lead. I seem to be doing that a lot lately. But she's got us this far.

Jane and Sandi lapsed into silence and the next few minutes crawled by. “It's time,” Mike said from the top of the stairs. Daria and Sandi grabbed their instruments, and the four girls filed up the stairs. Too late to run now, Quinn thought, and seconds later found herself on the stage staring out at a small sea of faces, some curious or even intrigued, others bored or actively hostile to the noise that was going to ruin their conversations. Her stomach gave a sickening lurch, and all the fear and worry... was suddenly gone. We're going to do this! And we're gonna be good, dammit!

As Daria and Sandi finished plugging in, Quinn stepped up to the mike. “We're Girls Together Sarcastically. And we're gonna knock your socks off!” The crash of guitar chord and bass drum signaled the beginning of “Charmed Circle,” and off they went.

 

As Jane let the cymbal wash die, the hundred or so people in the bar gave a happy cheer. Quinn smiled down, enjoying the sound. Sure, most of them were pretty drunk, and they weren’t tearing the roof off, but they weren’t booing or throwing bottles, which was a good sign for their first paying gig. She addressed the mike, “Before we go, we’d like to do a local favorite for you.” She turned to Daria, “Ready, sis?” Daria nodded in return, “Ready, sis.” Quinn turned back to the crowd, “You’ve been great. We’re GTS, and this is Roadrunner.”

Daria counted off the time, “One, two, three four, five, six," and banged out three chords-BAM! BAM! BAM!-as Jane hit the drums in perfect sync. The crowd greeted the sound with their loudest roar of the night-after all, this was Boston. The music, simple but powerful, surged as Daria half-spoke, half-sung Jonathan Richman’s paean to Massachusetts, modern music, and the joys of cruising to the Stop and Shop with the radio on.

“Me in love with modern rock & roll/Modern guys and modern rock & roll/Don't feel so alone, got the radio on/Like the roadrunner,” she said, and raised her arms, letting Sandi and Jane carry the music for a couple of bars.

“Jane Lane on drums,” Daria shouted, and the crowd roared. Jane smiled as her sticks moved in time, almost too fast to see.

“Sandi Griffin with the bass.” Sandi didn’t even acknowledge the words, standing stock still as she had all night, though her fingers flew.

“Quinn Morgendorffer singing lead.” The crowd roared again as Quinn shook her long red hair and the beat kept going. With an arch smile, Quinn grabbed the mike and pointed to Daria, “And Big Sister Daria Morgendorffer wailing lead guitar.”

Daria dropped her arms and banged out the song’s signature chords. “And I’m in love with modern music,” she sang, “with the radio on.” The music once again roared to fever pitch. “What do you say, Girls?”

“RADIO ON!” Quinn and Sandi sang in harmony, heads bobbing in time to the chords, as Daria continued, “I got the FM…”

“RADIO ON!” The crowd was really getting into it, as Daria improvised lyrics about the “rockin’ neon streaming sound,” to go with the original “modern Massachusetts sound.”

“RADIO ON!” One last repetition as Jane went nuts on the drums and Daria spoke the song’s famous and appropriate coda. “Right! Bye, bye.” Quinn found the crowd’s full-throated roar to be quite satisfying. We're on our way. Now, let's see how far we get.

“One, two, three-“ Daria Morgendorffer began to count out the time again, when her sister Quinn interrupted. “I hate this stupid song. Why do we have to do it?”

“We’ve gone over this before, Quinn.” Daria’s eyes behind her glasses were narrowing, which Quinn knew never a good sign. “It’s a good song to close with. We'll mostly be doing the same covers everyone else does, and this will help us stand out, even if our own stuff doesn't.”

“Why would they want to hear it?” Quinn demanded. She knew she was being petty, but she didn’t care. “It’s a stupid song.”

“’Roadrunner’ is a Boston classic, Quinn,” Jane Lane jumped in from behind the drum kit. “Lots of people know it, but not too many bands play it any more.”

Quinn was beginning to feel ganged up on again and didn’t like it. She knew better than to look to Sandi Griffin-standing mutely, bass in hand-for support. Sandi rarely involved herself in the squabbling unless it was really important to her, and she’d made it clear that she didn’t really care what was in the set list.

Daria cleared her throat. “If we’re done?” Without waiting, she started counting time again.

Quinn knew it would make Daria mad as anything, but couldn’t help herself. “We’re not done. Isn’t there another song we could close with?” When Daria rounded on her, Quinn swore she could see steam coming out of her sister’s ears.

“Look, Quinn,” Daria said, “we’re definitely closing with a one of the covers, right?”

Quinn nodded, her annoyance shrinking in the face of her sister’s rage.

“And we decided it would be cool to close with something related to Boston, since that’s where most of our gigs are going to be for now. And we all voted and decided we were going to do this one.”

You and Jane decided, she started to say, before deciding it was a bad idea. Daria was clearly angry, and getting right back in her face would only make it worse. Quinn didn’t want this to turn into a screaming fight. “But it’s so geeky,” she said, retreating for now.

Jane laughed. “If you didn’t want geeky, Quinn, you picked the wrong bandmates.”

“Look, this all very productive, but could we, like, get on with it?” Sandi didn’t bother to hide her irritation. “If we’re not playing, I have better things to do.”

Daria grimaced. “Sandi’s right. We’ve got auditions in ten days, and I’d like to get through this damn song once without screwing up. So, if you don’t mind,” she shot Quinn a glare before counting off again. “One, two, three, four, five, six...”

 

Quinn slid the key into the lock. No light under the door. Good. She unlocked and opened the door as quietly as she could, and slipped in, letting as little of the hall light as possible into the living room. Jane would sometimes crash on the couch, when she’d been sketching or just watching tv. Waking her would probably be Bad.

Quinn wasn’t really sneaking-at least she told herself that-it was just that she didn’t want to talk. Work had sucked. She’d made mistake after mistake, and her “But I’m cute, redheaded, and really, really trying” defense hadn’t worked with anyone-not even the guys. As usual, some of the other waiters were going out after work, but with less than half her usual take for a Saturday night in her pocket, Quinn didn’t feel like paying Crestmore Square prices for even one or two drinks.

Shedding her light jacket—Septembers could be cold in the Boston area, especially at night-Quinn was about to congratulate herself on her escape when Jane’s bedroom door opened suddenly. Frozen, Quinn swore lightly under her breath as the living room light came on.

“Hi Quinn,” Jane wore her usual bedclothes, black shorts and a red t-shirt, but didn’t look out of it at all, which told Quinn that she hadn’t been asleep. Quinn knew from experience that her roommate took as long as half an hour to wake up sometimes, and never less than ten minutes. “I thought you might like to talk.”

“Uh… thanks, Jane.” Quinn said, “but I think I’d rather just go to sleep. It’s been a rough day.”

“Let me put that another way.” Jane gave her a Look; one that said Quinn would not get off the hook that easily. “I thought you might need to talk.”

"What's to talk about?" Quinn said. "I had a rotten night at work and I'm ready for bed."

"Not so good during the day either," Jane quipped. "How long did Daria lay into your after Sandi and I left?"

"Twenty minutes," Quinn sighed.

"Only twenty?" Jane grinned. "Daria must be getting soft."

"That's how long it took me to get past her and out the door. For all I know, she's still there yelling at my picture or something." Quinn looked down. "Jane, the nicest thing she called me were childish and unprofessional. At least I think. I'm not sure what some of the other words meant."

"She can really do damage when she gets going. I've never seen someone wield a tongue quite like that." Jane's face twisted into a leer. "Other ways are more more fun anyway."

"Ewwww. I don't want to know."

Jane laughed. "Have a seat. You've had a tough day. I'll grab a couple of beers from the fridge, and we can talk."

"Uh sure." Quinn took a seat on the sofa. They'd gotten it secondhand and she felt the red was a little strong for furniture, but she had to admit it did balance the rest of the room nicely. Unlike Daria's place, which was plain and functional, her and Jane's apartment had a touch of class. Drapes hung in the windows, and the coffee table was elegant rather than boxy. Prints of some of the old masters, courtesy of Jane, decorated the two of the three walls-the fourth was a kitchenette.

Quinn had to admit, living with an artist had its good points. Jane had unerring color sense when she chose to use it, and she knew how to get good stuff cheaply, something Quinn had never even thought about until now. Even the paintings fit the room's design. Of course, Jane's room was different, but that had been part of their agreement on living here. Jane got the bigger bedroom for her artwork, but Quinn got the closets, and the living space had to be kept inspiration-free.

After a long moment, Jane returned with the beers. "So, what's up? I assume this isn't just part of a complex plot to put Daria in the loony bin.” With a smirk she added, “If for no other reason than that she'd probably be sent up for killing you."

Quinn opened the beer and took a sip. “I don't know, Jane. It's not like I'm trying to piss Daria off.” Unhappiness painted her face. “I'm just good at it, I guess.”

Jane gave Quinn a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, well. It's pretty easy to do, and you've had more practice than anyone.”

“I know,” Quinn said, “And it worries me. Remember what that girl said at the first audition.” She felt the fear closing over her again—the fear that she and Daria were doomed to repeat the sibling battles of their mother and Aunt Rita. A total stranger could tell.

“Not really,” Jane smiled. “She was kinda out there.”

“I don't know,” Quinn said. “She seemed pretty sharp to me. She said that Daria and I would never get along; that we'd eventually mess up everything with our fighting. She compared us to the guys from Oasis. You know, the brothers who are always beating each other up, and saying mean stuff about each other in magazines.”

“Quinn,” Jane's expression grew serious. “It's no big deal. Cinder spent an hour with us. What makes you think she knows us better than we do?”

“Jane.” Quinn gave her a Look, “If it was no big deal, why do you remember her name?”

Jane shrugged. Quinn waited, eyes locked on Jane's. Finally, Jane gave in. “Alright. She got to me too. But that doesn't change what I said. Sometimes, you have to ignore what other people say. You know, be like Daria. She didn't have any problem ignoring Cinder.”

"Yeah, well, Daria's good at ignoring people," Quinn said, flatly.

"Usually you, right?" Jane gave her an impish smile.

“You're not helping, Jane.” Quinn's voice came out as a whine.

She knew Jane wasn't trying to push her buttons, but the angry words Daria'd hit her with this afternoon were still stuck in her head.

“I'm sorry, Quinn. Look, I'll just shut up for a minute.” Jane grinned again. “I got a beer to finish, anyway.” She took a long drink. “So do you.” Comparative silence reigned until Jane finished and stood. “I'm getting another. You want?”

Quinn shook her head. “I'm okay. I still have half of this one left.” As she watched Jane walk into the kitchen, Quinn shook her head. If only my high-school self could see me now. It's Saturday night and am I out on a date, drinking wine at a French restaurant? No, I'm drinking beer with Jane Lane and wondering if I should save everyone some time and let Daria kill me now.

The offer to room with Jane had come as something of a surprise for Quinn. It had taken Daria all of three weeks as a freshman to decide that dorm life wasn't for her, but Raft rules required her to finish out the year. When Jane moved up to Boston in January, she lucked into an apartment. Her mother's friend's niece or something had needed a roommate for the rest of the school year—the last roommate had finished school in December and left for a gallery job in Austin, Texas. When Jane's roommate finished school, she left too, to backpack across Europe, an idea that Quinn found disgusting. I'd love to go to Europe, but not with one change of clothes.

Quinn had naturally figured that Daria would move in with Jane, leaving her to find a place for herself, unless she wanted to deal with what Daria described as, “mutant mystery meat that will make you long for Dad's kitchen sink stew.” But Daria had found the one-bedroom in the next town and Jane had invited Quinn to move in. Jane had never said why she hadn't roomed with Daria, and Quinn hadn't asked. After all, the price was right, the place was convenient to the T, and Jane wasn't a bad roommate, when she was around, which wasn't all that often. Quinn wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Fresh beer in hand, Jane rejoined Quinn on the couch. “So why do you put up with Daria?” she asked without preamble.

“How can you say that?” Quinn, shocked, narrowly missed knocking over her own. “You're her friend.”

“Yes. That's my answer. But sister's not the same as friend, Quinn.”

“Don't I know it.” Quinn sighed deeply and downed the rest of her beer.

Jane said nothing, just waited as the silence stretched out. It started to feel like it was alive, alive and pushing down on Quinn. When the weight of it became unbearable, she blurted, “I want to understand her.”

Like a light coming on, sudden knowledge filled Quinn and the words came out. “We pretty much grew up apart. Even living in the same house, even sharing a room, we never talked, never showed any interest in each other. It's only in the past couple of years I've even tried to get to know her, and now I feel like she's this really weird movie with no plot, but maybe if I watch it over and over again I might figure out the littlest part of what happened. Being in the band gives me a chance to watch the movie again.”

“So?” Jane gave a half-smile. “I don't understand my sisters, and it doesn't bother me.”

“You can get away with it. The Lanes don't have any family expectations.”

“Well, except for the Lane family reunion.” Jane shuddered in memory. “Did Daria ever tell you about that? It was the same weekend you guys went camping and got whacked out of your skulls on psychotropic berries.”

“Yeah, she did or you did. I don't remember.” Quinn waved a hand dismissively. She didn't really remember the camping weekend at all. “You're never going to go back to the Lane reunion, though. The Barksdale women don't have that option. We'll get pulled into stupid family stuff, no matter what. Have you ever seen my mom and Aunt Rita together?”

“Daria's told me stories. Your cousin Erin's wedding, for one.”

“I don't want that to be me and Daria in twenty years.” Something new came into Quinn's voice, maybe equal parts sadness and resignation. “My mom says she loves Aunt Rita, but they fight like cats and dogs whenever they see each other. I want to be able to say I love my sister and know that it's true, and that we love each other because we understand and respect each other, not because we have to. And the band is the best way to spend time with her. When she isn't ready to kill me, anyway.”

“There are easier ways, Quinn.”

“You've been Daria's best friend for five years, Jane. Do you really think 'easier' is the right way to go with her?”

“Point.” Jane laughed.

Quinn finished her beer and rose. “Look, it's been a long day, so I'm going to sleep. Thanks for listening.”

“Any time, Quinn. Sleep well.”

Much to her surprise, Quinn did.

 

Over the next couple of days, Quinn's mood lightened considerably. Getting back into the swing of classes helped—it always took her a couple of weeks to settle in at the start of a semester. So did her Friday night at work. She made more than enough to make up for her disastrous Wednesday, and got asked for her phone number by three guys. She hadn't given the digits to any of them—there was far too much going on in her life to keep anything like her old dating schedule—but it was nice to be noticed.

Daria would appreciate the irony, if she ever thought about my dating habits, Quinn thought as she counted her take on Saturday morning. She sighed, and gloom settled over her like a blanket. Today was the first GTS practice since their blowup on Wednesday, and Quinn wasn't sure what to expect. Daria ignoring or resenting her was easy to deal with, but Daria actually mad at her was totally unpredictable. Well, it was a nice couple of days while it lasted. She pulled on a pair of jeans and a tan full length t-shirt—she didn't want to look bad, but looking a little less like herself might keep Daria calm—and headed out the door to catch the T, and headed over to Daria's.

Jane greeted her at Daria's door. “Sandi's not here yet, and Daria's already downstairs.”

Quinn wasn't sure what to make of that. Daria, Quinn know, often wanted to be alone when she was mad, but she also liked to be alone when she was happy, and most other times, for that matter. Wordlessly, she followed Jane, wondering what to expect.

They found Daria with the acoustic guitar over her knee, a look of deep concentration on her face as she fingered the strings. After a moment, she looked up, expression unreadable, at least to Quinn.

“Jane,” Daria said quietly, “can you excuse us for a moment? I need to talk to Quinn.”

Jane shrugged. “Sure. I'll come back down when the screaming stops.”

Quinn gave Jane an unfriendly look, and noticed that Daria did the same. Jane grinned and headed up the stairs.

“Have a seat, Quinn,” Daria said, her voice still quiet.

A little worried, Quinn grabbed a chair. For once, she truly had no idea what Daria would say. Her jaw dropped when Daria's next words were, “Look, I'm really sorry.”

At Quinn's stunned silence, Daria continued. “About Wednesday. I had no right to lay into you like that.”

“No,” Quinn finally managed, “you didn't.”

Daria digested that for a moment. “Touché, Quinn,” she said, with her little smile, and Quinn started to calm down. It's funny. Even though she's the most sarcastic person in the world, Daria's smiles are all genuine. She does it so rarely that she only has one.

“I thought about it and I realized I was out of line. It's not like you were making trouble just to make trouble. I should have listened,” Daria added.

“Look, Daria,” Quinn said, “I know you think I'm, what's the word..., frivolous, but I do have reasons for the things I do.”

“I know you do,” Daria returned. “I don't know why I decided you didn't.”

“Maybe because old habits are hard to break,” Quinn smiled, but knew there was an edge to it. Unlike Daria, she did have more than one smile. It would have been easier to just take the peace offering, but her words to Jane last night came back to her. Easier is not the way to go.

“For both of us, I think,” Daria said, all smiles gone. “You can take or leave the apology, Quinn. I don't care. I needed to say it, and it's done. But I also wanted to talk about what happened Wednesday.”

“Why?” Now, Quinn was suddenly uncomfortable. “It's over. I accept your apology, and let's get back to work.”

“Sure, Quinn. But on what? We still have auditions in a week and we still don't have Roadrunner down.” Quinn started to object, but Daria raised a hand, and Quinn stayed silent. “I know you don't like the song, but I've good a good feeling about it. I know it's pretty old, but like Jane said, it's a Boston tune. Not that many people play it, but lots of people still like it. And it's pretty catchy, so even if people don't recognize it, they'll probably dance along anyway. We get credit for being fun, without being predictable.” Daria finished, and sat as if expecting something.

What seemed like years, or about a minute, passed. Quinn started to get nettled. “What do you want me to say, Daria?”

“I want you to tell me why you object to the song. Believe it or not, Quinn, I respect your opinion, so if you have good reasons for not wanting to do the song, we can talk to Jane and Sandi and come up with something else. But I need to know what they are.”

Shocked, Quinn thought. The problem was, now that she was on the spot, she didn't really have a good argument. Not liking the song wasn't going to be enough. She knew she was beaten. “All right, Daria, but if people don't react, we're pulling it right away.”

“Whatever you say, Quinn,” Daria deadpanned, and Quinn was amazed that she'd been outmaneuvered so badly. She liked hearing that Daria respected her opinion, but she also recognized the leverage that it gave her sister. Before she could consider the problem any more, Jane and Sandi came down the stairs.

“Check it out, Sandi,” Jane said. “No blood.”

Sandi gave her a thin smile, one that Quinn recognized from the Fashion Club. Now there's someone whose smiles are never real. I don't think I've ever seen Sandi smile just because she's happy. She's always sending a message. Quinn wasn't sure what the message was this time, which made her uncomfortable.

Practice began and they rolled through the dozen or so GTS originals first. Since Sandi joined four months ago, their playing had become really tight. Her steady bass kept Jane, who liked to play fast, from falling out of time, but left room to add rolls and fills, which made the sound denser. Daria's economical playing was easy to hear but never got in the way, and Quinn could feel the strong rhythm section forcing her to find more power in her voice. To her ear, they sounded good. Like pros. She thought “Charmed Circle” sounded especially great, and “Wherever You Can Find It,” was only a little behind.

Most of the covers sounded good too. It was just that one damn song. As soon as Daria began to count the time, Quinn began to tense. Her singing, which had been so effortless for most of the day, began to sound constricted. Halfway through, Daria called a halt.

“Aww...,” Jane said, “We still haven't gotten to the good part, yet.”

“Quinn, what happened?” Daria asked. “That was awful.”

Quinn gave Daria a glare. “Thanks so much, sis.”

Daria ignored it. “You sounded great on all the other songs. We started Roadrunner, and you suddenly sound like a bullfrog. What gives?”

Quinn didn't like the sudden look on her sister's face. If Daria accuses me of sabotage, after what she said before... “I don't know, dammit! I try to sing the stupid song, and it just comes out wrong.”

Before Daria could retort, Sandi spoke up, "This is ridiculous. Daria, just sing the song yourself."

A shocked silence fell. Sandi didn't involve herself in petty details, especially not the set list. As she recovered, Quinn's eyes narrowed. What's Sandi up to? “I'm the lead singer,” she started to say, but was distracted by Daria's simultaneous, “Quinn's the singer.” The sisters shared a quick look before turning back to Sandi.

Indifferent to their glares, Sandi addressed Daria. “Look, Quinn's having a hard time with the song anyway, because it's too low for her voice. Maybe if she liked the song, she'd find a way to sing it, but she doesn't. We've established that.”

To Quinn's eyes, Sandi's smirk was unpleasant. A quick peek at her bandmates told Quinn that, for whatever reason, neither Daria nor Jane had noticed. Well, they didn't have Quinn's experience with Sandi. It's weird, though, Quinn thought. She could have just let things play out. She did stop us, when we might have had another fight. But she didn't look like she was doing us a favor. As she thought, Daria made an “uh-huh” sound.

“So, if you're, like, intent on having us do the song, you're just gonna have to sing it yourself.”

“Sandi,” Daria said, trying to sound patient. “If Quinn's voice is too high for the song, what makes you think mine will be better? In case you've forgotten, I do high harmonies. You're the one with the deep voice.”

“The song's spoken, not sung, Daria.” Jane, forgotten for the moment behind her kit, jumped in. “And your speaking voice is right.”

“So's Sandi's,” Daria said, sounding annoyed.

If Quinn was any judge, Daria was starting to feel ganged up on. Sometimes that worked, like when she and Jane had convinced Daria that a fourth Girl was needed. If it didn't, though, Daria would eventually lose it again, and Quinn didn't want to deal with that for the second time in a week. She threw her sister a little support. “Yeah, Sandi. Your voice is better for the song than Daria's. Why won't you sing it?”

“I don't like it either.” Sandi's smirk grew more obvious, leaving Quinn feeling like she'd been outmaneuvered again. And this time, she didn't even know how.

“And you didn't point this out before, why?” Daria sounded like someone trying hard to keep her temper.

“I care about playing, not about what we play.” Sandi shrugged. “And your reasons make sense. If you think doing the song is a good idea, we should do the song.” A faint accent on the you told Quinn that Sandi was referring only to Daria. “After all, it's your band.”

“That's a rotten thing to say, Sandi.” Quinn said, recovering from her shock.

Sandi, focused on Daria, ignored Quinn

“Look, Sandi,” Daria said, teeth clenching. “We all offer something, and we all need each other to make this work.”

“Sure. Whatever,” Sandi's eyes met Daria's. Her look was direct, challenging. “Are you going to sing the song?”

The question hung there, as Daria met Sandi's gaze with a cold expression. Quinn recognized that face on her sister. Daria was on a knife edge, wanting very badly to lose it and cut into Sandi but knowing it was important not to. With an effort—visible to Quinn, and almost certainly to Jane—Daria got control of herself. “Yes,” she finally said. “I'm going to sing the song.”

Quinn wondered if Sandi realized how close she'd come. Probably. I bet she wants to see how far Daria can be pushed. The grim predictions she'd made four months ago about Sandi wrecking the band for the sheer pleasure of it floated into her mind. She's like her brothers. But Chris and Sam break things. Sandi breaks people. Of course, Daria's not very breakable. Quinn knew her sister also didn't let things go, even if she had apologized today.

Daria's voice counting off the time called Quinn back to herself. “One, two, three, four, five, six...”