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First off, let me say that I love the TV show just the way it is, and
have tried to be as true as possible to it here, keeping the general
style and plotline in the direction the show's writers seem to have
their minds set on. You won't find the start of any outrageous story
arcs, new major characters or departures in style from the "Daria" we
all know and love. Please let me know how close I got. (And if you're
from MTV, I should mention I'd love to do this for a living.)

This time around I thought I'd try something a little more angst-ridden
than "Lotto Nonsense" and "To Helen Back", but don't worry, there's still
Daria sarcasm aplenty. Bit of a departure in storytelling style, but I
think it still rings true. For those of you who missed the Daria/Trent
thing in "To Helen Back", rest assured that it's back again in full force.
As always, comments are my lifeblood, so thanks to everyone who's written.
I'll keep cranking out these scripts as long as I continue to get feedback
from "Daria" fans.


(...la la LA la la...)

Daria in "All Washed Up"

Written by
C.E. Forman (ceforman@worldnet.att.net)


BEGIN ACT 1.

(Black screen with the words "LAWNDALE HIGH, THREE YEARS AGO" in white block
letters. Hold a few seconds, then:)

DISSOLVE TO:

BLACK SCREEN.

DEMARTINO'S VOICE: WAKEY-wakey, Mr Lane!!

BLURRY OPENING-EYELIDS EFFECT CLEARS THE BLACK SCREEN, REVEALS:

INT.: LAWNDALE HIGH, MR DEMARTINO'S CLASSROOM.

(Close-up of DeMartino's twitching face, the grey streaks in his hair a bit
less apparent.)

TRENT'S VOICE: (Sleepy.) Uh? I *am* old enough, officer, I just left my
ID at home...

(Shot of the entire class, different students than we normally see. Trent,
in the very back row, rubs his eyes sleepily. Beside him is Jesse. Other
recognizable faces include Tommy Sherman, Monique [from "Pierce Me"] and
Curtis Delano [toll-booth guy from "Road Worrier"], all a bit younger of
course. Trent is missing his goatee and tattoos, and has fewer earrings,
but has the same haircut and clothes we've seen him in before -- smaller
hole in the knee of his pants, though. Jesse looks pretty much the same --
long hair and leather vest with no shirt underneath.)

DEMARTINO: WELL, Mr Lane, now that your daily BEAUTY rest has reVITalized
you--

(Laughter at Trent from the rest of the class, except for Jesse and Monique.
Trent stares down DeMartino, oblivious.)

DEMARTINO: (Continuing.) --perhaps you can enLIGHTen us as to what
transPIRED in ENGland on AUGust 7th, 1588!

TRENT: (Blandly.) I dunno.

DEMARTINO: (Mocking.) You DON'T KNOW! (Beat.) Well if you'd BOTHERED to
read the CHAPTER I assigned, you WOULD know! You're JUST like
your brother and sisters, Trent! Another sickening FAILure from
the Lane SIMPLETON FACTORY!

(Trent shoots DeMartino a cold glare. Jesse gives Trent a sympathetic look.)

DEMARTINO: (Not finished yet.) I heard one of your SISter's kids all ran
away from HOME! That your OTHER sister can't even land a job in
a THIRD-WORLD country! Your MOTHER spends all day sitting on her
ASS in your BASEMENT! And no one knows WHERE the hell your
FATHER is! The simple fact is NOTHING good has EVER come out of
your family, so I guess I shouldn't be SURPRISED that you haven't
amounted to SQUAT either! (Mock sympathy.) I sincerely HOPE for
your sake you're not setting your SIGHTS on anything higher than
rock-bottom, Trent.

(Trent's smoldering glare intensifies as DeMartino talks. Some of the kids
around him are snickering. Trent holds his mouth shut, though, for some
reason.)

DEMARTINO: (Leaves Trent alone, turns to Jesse.) Well, class. Since Mr
Lane is not the vast rePOSitory of historical knowledge I had
initially dared HOPE, let us instead interrogate his PARTner in
crime, Mr Moron-o.

JESSE: (Easy-going as ever.) Uh, it's "Moreno", Sir.

(More scattered laughter from the class.)

DEMARTINO: (Low, icy.) Yes, son, I know. That was a little something I
like to call *SARCASM*!! (DeMartino stalks robotically up the
aisle, scanning for another victim, finds one, stops beside his
desk.) And Mr Football Champion Tommy SHERman, who has asTOUNDED
me by finally deCIDING to SHOW UP for CLASS today, for the FIRST
TIME THIS WEEK I DO BELIEVE!!

(No one laughs at Tommy. DeMartino squats down so he can look horizontally
into Tommy Sherman's eyes.)

DEMARTINO: (Voice dangerously calm.) Mr Sherman, can *you* divulge to the
class the identity of the historical event which took place on
August 7th, 1588?

TOMMY: (Unabashedly.) No.

DEMARTINO: (Stands back up again, psycho tone again.) MISter Sherman, do
you think it imPRESSES me that you took the Lawndale Lions to
VICtory at the STATE CHAMPIONSHIP?!

(Rousing applause from most of the class. Tommy smiles, basks in the glory.)

DEMARTINO: Do you THINK that, through that one little game, you've made some
kind of NAME for yourself? Do you SERIOUSLY believe three YEARS
from now anyone is even going to REMEMBER?!

TOMMY: (Cocky.) Why as a matter of fact, yes Mr DeMartino I do.

DEMARTINO: (Sighs.) Son, while I do indeed adMIRE your eternal OPtimism,
I regret to inform you that even your chaRISma and athLETIC
PROWESS will not get you far in this world if you INSIST on
remaining an ACADEMIC IGNORAMUS!!

TOMMY: (Frowns, stands, jabs his finger emphatically at DeMartino.) You
know what Tommy Sherman thinks? He thinks he doesn't have to sit
here takin' this kinda crap! Especially not from some old bastard
like you, who's all *bitter* cuz he still lives alone at 45 because
nobody else in the world can stand to *be* around him!

(Cheers go up from the class. DeMartino's face starts doing that tic.)

TOMMY: (Continuing.) Tommy Sherman's gonna live a long, enjoyable life and
everyone's gonna like him and admire him, whereas *you*, Mr D, *you*
are gonna have a heart attack in a few years and drop over and *die*
and no one's gonna *give* a rat's ass!

(Tommy gets up and stalks out amid thunderous applause.)

DEMARTINO: (Squeezes his eyes shut, murmurs softly to himself.) Fifteen
years until retirement... Fifteen years until retirement...
(To the entire class.) Either SOMEONE proves to me they at
least OPENED their textbook last night, or we're ALL taking a
pop-quiz RIGHT NOW and going home with a five-page paper DUE
TOMORROW!!

CURTIS: (Raises his hand.) It was the date Sir Francis Drake defeated the
Spanish Armada.

DEMARTINO: (Pleased, but maybe also a bit regretful since it means he can't
torment any more students.) Very GOOD, Mr Delano. At least
SOMEONE from this class won't be stuck working in a TOLL-BOOTH
after graduation, isn't that right MR LANE!

(No response. DeMartino turns and looks. Trent's back asleep again.)

DEMARTINO: Mr LA-AAANE!

(Now he's awake. More laughter from the students.)

TRENT: (Drowsily.) Wha...?

DEMARTINO: (Low, deadly voice.) Mr Lane, you have wasted a far greater
amount of my valuable time than you are worth. (Now growing in
force.) Perhaps you should pay Ms LI a visit, I'm sure SHE'D be
delighted to receive yet another of your unexPECTED social calls,
IF you think you can manage to stay AWAKE long enough to MAKE THE
JOURNEY TO HER OFFICE!!

TRENT: (Sullen.) Whatever.

(He gets up and heads up the aisle to the door, glares at DeMartino as he
passes him. Scattered hoots and comments from the rest of the class. When
Trent's out, the door slams with an echo that carries into the next scene.)

CUT TO:

(Black screen with the words "LAWNDALE HIGH, PRESENT DAY" in white block
letters. Hold a few seconds, then:)

DISSOLVE TO:

INT.: LAWNDALE HIGH, MR DEMARTINO'S CLASSROOM.

DEMARTINO: Will someone BESIDES DARIA MORGENDORFFER please name for me the
autonomous region of China ruled by the Dalai Lama?!

KEVIN: (Raises his hand.) Uh, Mr D? I thought Dolly was a sheep, not a
llama.

DEMARTINO: (Squeezes his eyes shut, murmurs softly to himself.) Twelve
years until retirement... Twelve years until retirement...

CUT TO:

INT.: LAWNDALE HIGH, HALLWAY.

(Daria, Jane and Kevin are at their open lockers when Mack and Jodie arrive
together.)

KEVIN: Yo, what's goin' down, Mack Daddy?

MACK: (Annoyed.) Didn't I tell you not to call me that?

KEVIN: Umm... (Thinks, looks guilty.) Probably. (Beat.) So what's
happenin', Bro?

MACK: Jodie's looking for volunteers for the Student Council charity carwash
this weekend. Care to join us?

(At the mention of "volunteers", Daria and Jane freeze, get panicked looks,
try to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible.)

JODIE: It benefits the Lawndale Disadvantaged Citizens Relief Service.

KEVIN: Sorry, but Brit and I already got plans.

JODIE: Well, bring her along. It's only for one day.

KEVIN: I dunno...

MACK: You could get her to wear that skimpy bikini you got her for your last
anniversary.

KEVIN: (Eyes light up, newfound incentive.) We'll be there! (Prepares to
go.) See ya, Mack!

(Mack instinctively raises his fist as if to pound Kevin.)

KEVIN: (Defensive.) What?! I just said "Mack"! I didn't say "Mack Daddy",
Mack Daddy! (Realizes he just blew it, ducks, covers his head.)
*Awwww*!

(Mack groans, shakes his head.)

MACK: (To Jodie.) See you there.

(Mack and Kevin head off in opposite directions. Daria motions to Jane to
stay still so Jodie won't spot them.)

JANE: I could probably squeeze you into a locker, if you wanted.

JODIE: (Approaches.) Daria, Jane? I was wondering--

DARIA: (Cuts her off.) Not a chance.

JANE: We already have plans.

DARIA: Big, important plans.

JODIE: Really? (Not sure she believes it.) Like what?

JANE: Big, important, *secret* plans.

DARIA: (When Jodie still looks at them expectantly.) All right, if you
must know, we're doing some hits for the Yakuza.

JANE: Of course, now that we've told you, you can no longer be trusted.

JODIE: C'monnn, please? I only have six volunteers, and I promised Ms Li
at least eight.

DARIA: Ms Li's the one who recruited us.

JANE: (To Daria, a bit hopeful.) You never know... It might be fun.

DARIA: That's what I'm afraid of.

JANE: (To Jodie.) We'll keep it in mind.

(Daria frowns at her.)

JANE: (Trying to appease Daria.) As a backup plan.

(Daria keeps up the frown's intensity.)

JANE: In case we need an escape route from something even stupider.

(Still Daria with the frown.)

JANE: (Giving in.) But no promises.

JODIE: Wow, that's better than I'd hoped for. You two're getting soft.

(Jodie heads of in search of more potential participants. Daria pulls a
tall stack of books and notes from her locker.)

DARIA: (Glares at Jane.) In the head.

JANE: Hey, I got rid of her, didn't I? (Looking down the hall.) Uh-oh,
now the Fashion Fascists are goose-stepping this way.

(The Fashion Club, sans Quinn, passes by. Sandi, with a swipe, sends
Daria's books tumbling out of her hands to the floor, papers scattering.
They continue on without stopping. Sandi and Tiffany laugh, while Stacy
pretends not to have seen it.)

JANE: (As Daria kneels down to reassemble what's left of her schoolwork.)
Need some help?

DARIA: No, I got it. (Shoots a disgusted look after the Fashion Club.)

(Student passers-by walk all over Daria's papers, oblivious.)

(Cut to the Fashion Club, down the hall toward one of the side exits.)

SANDI: (Evil smile.) I enjoyed that.

TIFFANY: She is *such* a loser.

SANDI: She *asks* for it, showing up here looking like *that*.

(The Fashion Club proceeds out the side door, emerges onto the sidewalk
by the spot where Daria and Jane occasionally sit when outside.)

STACY: Where's Quinn anyway?

TIFFANY: I dunno. She was with us earlier today.

SANDI: (Snide.) *Ohhhh*, I *thought* it seemed a lot *quieter* around here.

(Sandi and Tiffany laugh together. Stacy looks troubled at their unabashed
bashing of Quinn.)

QUINN'S VOICE: (From behind.) What's so funny, you guys?

(Pan left to reveal Quinn, outfitted in full rollerblading gear: 'blades,
helmet, pads on her elbows and knees. Her backpack is slung over one
shoulder, and she's got on her typical pink midriff smiley shirt, but
white shorts instead of jeans.)

STACY: (Disbelief.) Quinn?? Is that you?

SANDI: (Disgust.) What the *hell* are you *wearing*?!

TIFFANY: (No particular expression.) Yeah. You look like one of those soda
commercials.

QUINN: Arthur loaned 'em to me. Aren't they cool?

SANDI: Arthur? He only uses them to get around because he doesn't have a
car!

QUINN: I was thinking we could all get the latest equipment, you know, make
it like a thing we do. At least until winter sets in.

SANDI: Now is not the time, Quinn. Save it for new business at the next
Fashion Club meeting.

QUINN: But blading's really taking off with some of the popular cliques, so
shouldn't we--

SANDI: (Cutting her off.) The Fashion Club doesn't *follow* trends, it
*sets* them. Besides, we have policies specifically against wearing
clothes that prominently feature manufacturer's logos.

QUINN: They also sell decals you can use to cover them up, make your *own*
fashion statement. Besides, 'blades enhance your calves and these
big pads slenderize to boot.

SANDI: (Icy.) Well. *You* could certainly use *that*, Quinn.

QUINN: (Burned.) You just don't want to cuz you're uncoordinated and you
fell at the roller rink that time in junior high.

SANDI: (Glares at Stacy and Tiffany.) *Which* one of you told her about
*that*?

(Both try to look innocent, but neither quite pulls it off.)

SANDI: (Taking this as a challenge.) Very well. It's official. As of
today, all Fashion Club members are rollerbladers as well.

STACY: Should I make up flyers for the other members?

SANDI: (Snobbish.) We don't *have* any other members, Stacy.

STACY: Oh. Right.

SANDI: So. Later, Quinn. I take it you won't be needing a ride home.

QUINN: No thanks, Sandi.

(Sandi and Tiffany head back the way they came.)

STACY: I'm really glad Sandi agreed to this, Quinn, I think it'll be really
fun!

SANDI'S VOICE: Stacy? Are you *coming*?

STACY: Bye, Quinn!

(She hurries after. Quinn adjusts the strap on her helmet and skates off
along the sidewalk. Cut to Sandi and Tiffany, not waiting for Stacy.)

TIFFANY: I can't believe you let her walk all over you like that. You're
*way* better with Fashion Club activities than she is.

SANDI: That's my whole plan. I'm *letting* her go through with this so
everyone *sees* what a bad idea it is. Then she'll think twice
about questioning *my* authority.

TIFFANY: Reverse psychology is *so* cool.

(Stacy catches up with them, but they don't acknowledge it. They pass
Daria and Jane again, just as Daria hefts the reconstructed homework pile
into her arms. This time she spots them and turns the books away from them,
but Sandi -- obviously upset over Quinn and needing someone to take it out
on -- shoves her roughly with both hands, into the lockers, and she drops
everything again. Daria sighs heavily, looks down at the mess as the
Fashion Club, giggling amongst themselves, press onward.)

JANE: (Raised eyebrow.) Think the Yakuza'd mind if we took them out too?

CUT TO:

EXT.: LAWNDALE, SIDEWALK.

(It's hot out, and the air shimmers with waves of heat. Daria is walking
home when Sandi pulls her car up beside her. She's got a Slush Cup she's
sipping from. Tiffany's riding shotgun, with Stacy in the back. Daria's
eyes narrow as she spots them.)

SANDI: (Calls.) Hey, Quinn's cousin!

(Daria continues walking, ignores them. Sandi, still apparently having
some Quinn-frustration to vent, brings the car to a slow crawl and keeps
pace with Daria.)

SANDI: Aren't you, like, hot in that jacket?

TIFFANY: No way. She couldn't look hot if she tried.

(Sandi thinks this is very amusing.)

TIFFANY: She probably doesn't want everyone to see how flat she is under
there.

SANDI: Is that true, Quinn's cousin? (To Tiffany, but so Daria can hear.)
She *does* look like she needs cooling down, or something.

(Sandi lobs her still-pretty-full Slush Cup at Daria, who notices in time,
steps back so it sloshes onto the sidewalk, missing, just getting a little
on her boots.)

SANDI: Damn, missed. (Gets another idea.)

(Sandi leans over Tiffany, makes a hocking sound and spits a big loogy in
Daria's direction. This time it gets her on her cheek. Daria winces in
disgust, wipes at it with her sleeve, shoots a hateful eye at the Fashion
Club. Sandi and Tiffany laugh as Sandi pulls the car away. From the
backseat, Stacy gives Daria a sorrowful backward glance.)

SANDI: I learned *that* from Leo in that "Titanic" movie.

TIFFANY: Edu-tainment is *so* cool.

CUT TO:

EXT.: MORGENDORFFER RESIDENCE, AFTERNOON.

CUT TO:

INT.: MORGENDORFFERS' LIVING ROOM.

(Jake has a window open and is hefting an air-conditioning unit into place.
He wears a polo shirt and shorts. Helen is on one of the couches working
on some legal briefs, also in casual clothes. Quinn, still in pink shirt
and shorts, is leafing through a rollerblading accessories catalog, her gear
piled on the couch beside her.)

JAKE: Man is it hot. I could sure use a drink.

(Daria enters with a handful of envelopes. It's evident -- albeit only
subtly so -- from the expression on her face she's unhappy from her day.)

DARIA: (Tosses envelopes beside Helen.) Mail.

HELEN: (Looks up.) Hi, sweetie, how was school?

DARIA: (As noncommitally as you can get.) Fine.

HELEN: (Knows something's bothering her, but also knows she won't find out
what with the direct approach, so probing.) How was pizza with Jane?

DARIA: Fine.

QUINN: (Looks up.) Aren't you a little warm in that jacket, Daria?

DARIA: Yeah, but it covers up the rows of needle punctures on my arms.

JAKE: (Alarmed.) Oh my *God*, Helen! Did you *hear* that?!

HELEN: (Interjects reassuringly.) Joke, honey.

JAKE: (Bursts out laughing.) I knew that!

(While he's laughing, he momentarily lets go of the air-conditioner, which
slips from the window sill and lands on his toe.)

JAKE: *AAAGH*!! (Hopping around, clutching his foot.) *OWW*! DAMMIT!!

HELEN: (Opens a flyer that came in the mail.) Hmm, this sounds interesting.
A family stress-relief seminar, over in Middlebury. Couldn't we all
benefit from something like this?

DARIA: Not if your family's the primary cause of your stress.

JAKE: (Still hopping, holding his toe, teeth clenched.) NO dammit I don't
*need* a damn stress-relief seminar I need a damn DOCTOR!!

HELEN: (Glances up momentarily.) Jake, honey, those veins in your forehead
are throbbing again.

DARIA: TV beckons. Gotta go. (She heads up the stairs.)

(Helen watches Daria go with parental concern in her eyes. Jake bumps into
the coffee table, knocking Helen's papers to the floor, scattering them.)

JAKE: Oh *GOD* it hurts!! Helen I think it's broken!

HELEN: (Snaps.) Jake, shut the hell up! I'm trying to concentrate here!

CUT TO:

INT.: DARIA'S ROOM.

(Daria sits Indian-style on her bed, her back up against the padded wall,
facing the TV. The "Sick, Sad World" music emanates from the set. Close-
up of the screen, showing several people waving placards and dressed in
various food costumes -- a carrot, a turnip, broccoli, etc., followed by
the "SSW" eye-logo.)

ANNOUNCER: It'll take more than a bout of scurvy to discourage these anti-
health-food crusaders! Vegetable-rights activists, on the next
"Sick, Sad World"!

(Knocking at her door.)

DARIA: (Switches TV off.) Who dares question the great Daria?

(The door opens. It's Jake.)

JAKE: Hiya, kiddo. (Looks around with some trepidation at her decor, but
enters, walking with a limp to her bed. Daria scooches over to give
him room to sit down.) Listen, your Mom was a bit concerned that...
something might be wrong... That is, she thought you seemed a bit...
I dunno, depressed.

DARIA: (Deadpan.) How could she tell?

JAKE: (Uncomfortable, not sure whether to laugh.) C'mon, seriously Daria,
share with ol' Dad a bit. It'll put me on good terms with Mom.
Please?

DARIA: (Sighs.) I suppose it'd be the fastest way to get left alone
again... (Thinks.) Dad? Say you've gone through life not really
caring what people think about you...

JAKE: Umm, is this the problem I'm supposed to try and help with?

DARIA: Just listen, okay? So then these same people suddenly stop just
saying things about you and start actually *doing* things to make
your life hell. (Adds.) More hell than usual... understand?

JAKE: Ohhhh, do I ever! I spent *years* in the misery of school
humiliation! My Dad told me to stand up for myself, kick a few
asses, only every time I tried the whole group'd gang up and beat the
crap out of me!

DARIA: Dad...

JAKE: Then my *Mom* told me to just ignore them and they'd stop having fun
doing it. Well I ignored them alright, but they never stopped, just
kept right on *taunting* me, day in, day out, for TEN YEARS of my
life! (Jake looks really bitter now.) But at least I took all the
fun out of it for them!

DARIA: What I meant was...

JAKE: And it opened the door to *years* of bitter resentment I *still* carry
around with me to this day! (Stops, looks genuinely pleased with
himself for getting this out.) Like that, you mean?

DARIA: Umm... Thanks, Dad. That... really helps.

JAKE: Anytime, kiddo! Now what say we head downstairs, your mother has
something she wants to announce.

DARIA: The bank didn't foreclose on the mortgage, did it?

JAKE: (Sudden panicked look.) God, I hope not.

CUT TO:

INT.: MORGENDORFFERS' LIVING ROOM.

(Helen and Quinn are waiting, Quinn still with the catalog. Jake limps down
the last few stairs to join Helen. Daria sits as far from the other three
as she can.)

HELEN: (Shows them the flyer.) Girls, your father and I have agreed that
this family stress-management workshop would be a good thing for the
four of us to attend together this Saturday.

JAKE: (News to him.) We did?

QUINN: (Looks up from catalog.) Sorry, can't, Fashion Club meeting plus I
have two dates.

HELEN: Honey, I think this is more important. Refocusing your stress-energy
is a very worthwhile, healthy activity.

QUINN: Did I say Fashion Club meeting and two dates? I *meant* to say...
umm... I'm helping with the UNICEF canned food drive.

JAKE: (Buying it.) Oh, well that sounds like an acceptable excuse. You
go right ahead, sweetie.

(Daria looks sickened that they actually fell for that.)

HELEN: Well, I guess it's just the three of us, then. (Looks from Jake to
Daria.)

DARIA: Why do you always assume I never have any plans?

HELEN: (Surprised but pleased.) So you're saying you do this Saturday?

DARIA: I was just about to finalize them.

(She gets up, goes to the phone in the kitchen, dials.)

DARIA: (On phone.) Hi, Mr Landon. Is Jodie there? (The expression on her
face tells us she hates having to go through with this.)

(...la la LA la la...)

(COMMERCIAL LEAD-IN: Trent walking out of DeMartino's class.)

END ACT 1.

(COMMERCIAL: Ads for the seventeenth rebroadcasting of the 1998 MTV Video
Music Awards, the 1998 MTV Video Music Awards pre-show, the post-1998-MTV-
Video-Music-Awards party which has highlights from the 1998 MTV Video Music
Awards, the *post*-post-MTV-Video-Music-Awards party which has highlights
from the post-1998-MTV-Video-Music-Awards party, and, oh, I almost forgot,
ads for the eighteenth rebroadcasting of the 1998 MTV Video Music Awards.)

BEGIN ACT 2.

RETURN TO:

EXT.: MORGENDORFFER RESIDENCE, MORNING. SATURDAY.

CUT TO:

INT.: MORGENDORFFER RESIDENCE, UPSTAIRS BATHROOM.

(Apparently just out of the shower, Daria is in her bathrobe, her glasses
on the counter by the sink. She has a wadded-up towel in one hand and is
rubbing at her wet hair with it as she goes to the sink. Puts down the
towel, puts her glasses back on, looks in the mirror briefly.)

TIFFANY'S VOICE: (Echoing in Daria's mind.) She probably doesn't want
everyone to see how flat she is under there.

(Daria undoes her robe and looks at herself, holding the robe open. The
angle is such that she is visible from behind, her backside fully covered,
but only her face is visible in the mirror's reflection. We can't tell
much from Daria's expression...or lack thereof.)

SANDI'S VOICE: (Echoing in Daria's mind.) She *asks* for it, showing up
here looking like *that*.

DARIA: (Thought voice-over.) Why *am* I like that? Why do I steadfastly
refuse to obsess over everyone else's opinion of my appearance?

(Sound of the door opening. Daria quickly closes her bathrobe as Quinn, in
her bedclothes, bursts in, in a panic.)

QUINN: (Babbling.) Sorry, emergency, I found a split-end! Oh my God I
should have *known* all that wind from rollerblading would do this!
I *can't* let Sandi find out, *God* just *think* what the Fashion
Club would say! (Grabs Daria's shoulders.) C'mon, you can admire
your lack of figure later, right now I *need* the shower! (Pulls
Daria away from the mirror.) Out! *Out*!

(Quinn pushes Daria out and shuts the door. Cut to Daria in the hall.)

QUINN'S VOICE: (Through the door, sounds of things being thrown out of
cabinets onto the floor.) Where's my revitalizing
conditioner?! Oh my *God*, THERE'S ANOTHER ONE!!

DARIA: (Thought VO.) Right, I remember now.

CUT TO:

INT.: MORGENDORFFERS' LIVING ROOM.

(Helen, still in casual clothes, is pacing about.)

HELEN: (Calls up the stairs.) JAKE! We're going to be *late*! What's
*taking* you so damn long?!

(Daria comes down the stairs, in the good ol' green-jacket/black-skirt
ensemble, carrying a swim-gear bag.)

HELEN: Daria? You weren't planning to wash cars in that, were you?

DARIA: I've got my suit, I'll change when I get there. I don't really feel
like walking all over town in my bathing suit.

HELEN: There's no need to be self-conscious, Daria. You're a pretty girl.

DARIA: You're my Mom, it's your job to say that.

HELEN: Doesn't mean I don't mean it, sweetie.

DARIA: Doesn't make it convincing, either.

(Doorbell.)

DARIA: That's the Yakuza. (Heads toward the door.) Have fun at your
stress seminar.

JUMP-CUT TO:

EXT.: LAWNDALE, SIDEWALK.

(Daria and Jane are walking to the carwash.)

JANE: So, my little escape-route plan paid off, did it?

DARIA: If you're waiting for my eternal gratitude, it's not gonna happen.

JANE: (Hears the clatter of skates on cement, turns.) Uh-oh. Incoming.

(Quinn zooms by on her 'blades.)

QUINN: Hi Daria, bye Daria!

JANE: (Raised eyebrow.) Heels on wheels. What's *that* all about?

DARIA: Her latest obsession. God knows she has enough for the two of us
combined.

CUT TO:

EXT.: ROAD.

JAKE'S VOICE: (Sings.) "On the road again!... Jus' can't wait to get on
the road again!..."

(Front view of Jake and Helen in the car, Jake driving.)

JAKE: This was a *great* idea, Helen, I feel better already!

(Screeching tires as someone pulls around Jake at breakneck speed.)

JAKE: (Rolls down window, shouts.) *HEY*!! CRAZY KID! WHERE THE HELL'D
*YOU* LEARN TO DRIVE?!

HELEN: (Turns around, looks.) Jake, honey, I think we just missed the
turnoff.

JAKE: (Pounds the steering wheel.) *DAMN*!!

CUT TO:

EXT.: GAS STATION.

(Mack and Jodie are on opposite sides of the street, holding posterboard
signs announcing the charity carwash. Mack has on green swim trunks. Jodie
wears a pink bikini top and cutoffs. In the background we can make out the
rest of the team -- Kevin and Brittany, Jane, and a couple of other Lawndale
students we've seen before but who haven't been given names yet.)

CUT TO:

INT.: GAS STATION, WOMEN'S RESTROOM.

(Daria puts down her bag, unzips and removes the green jacket.)

CUT TO:

EXT.: GAS STATION.

(Jane is holding a length of hose with a spray-nozzle on the end. She's
in a tasteful green two-piecer, turns as she hears the door open. Close-up
of Daria's face as she emerges, understated embarrassment. Zoom out to
reveal her in a red one-piece suit. [*Really* long-time Daria followers
will recognize it as the one she wore in the "Beavis and Butt-Head" episode
where they took swimming lessons.] It reveals the figure which "Quinn the
Brain" told us she does indeed have.)

JANE: Ooh-la-la!

DARIA: One more word and I ram that hose down your throat.

JANE: C'mon, it looks nice. It's you. Definitely.

(Jane is saved from Daria's reaction by the arrival of Mr DeMartino's car.
Kevin and Brittany come over to help with the wash. Kevin wears a yellow-
and-blue Speedo and still has on his football jersey with the pads. Brit's
got a yellow bikini, as skimpy as they come. Jane takes her hose and leads
Daria over to the car. DeMartino rolls down the window, and strains of
opera become audible as he leans out with a five-spot in hand. Kevin and
Brittany wince in disgust at his taste in music.)

DEMARTINO: Ahh, Kevin and Brittany. Engaging in some MENIAL labor, no doubt
in preparation for your FUTURE CAREERS should you actually manage
to one day GRADUATE?!

KEVIN: (Clueless, takes the five and tucks it into his jersey.) No, we're
washin' cars, Mr D!

DEMARTINO: Pay EXTRA attention to the windshield and front GRILLE, please,
and go easy with the paint job. While you are busying yourselves
scorching in 90-degree weather, *I* will be sitting in here
enjoying my AIR-conditioning and "Fidelio", with the WINdows up
and the doors securely LOCKED, lest one of you MISCREANTS be
tempted to douse me with the hose in some sort of PATHETIC
attempt at retaliation for being deSERVEDLY humiliated in my
class this week!

KEVIN: Uhh... what?

(DeMartino rolls up the window and the music diminishes. He tilts the
seat and leans back, hands behind his head, eyes closed, relaxed... or what
passes as relaxed for DeMartino. Jane and Brittany spray the car down with
hoses. The four each take one of those fuzzy wash-mitten things from
nearby soapy-water buckets, begin scrubbing DeMartino's car.)

KEVIN: (Works his way around to the front, notices Daria for the first
time.) Whoa! Hey Daria, I never knew you had any boobs!

(Kevin grunts as Brittany elbows him in the ribs.)

BRITTANY: You should take off those glasses, they might get wet.

DARIA: I can't see without my glasses. I have astigmatism.

KEVIN: (Eyes light up.) You mean you bleed from your hands and side? Cool!

CUT TO:

EXT.: VILLAGE GREEN.

(A circular path with four radii converging around a statue in the center.
Quinn sits on the base of the statue, adjusting her skates. The rest of
the Fashion Club coasts into view, first Tiffany and Stacy, then Sandi, who
flails about, unable to control herself. She slams into the statue, but
catches herself before falling. Oh, by the way, all of the FC members have
on shorts -- or possibly skorts -- and either short-sleeved shirts or
armless pull-overs.)

QUINN: (Genuine concern.) You okay, Sandi?

SANDI: (Coldly.) Yes, Quinn, I'm *fine*.

QUINN: (Defensive.) I was just *asking*, I thought--

SANDI: You *thought* that just because *you* happen to be better at this
rollerblading *thing* than I am, that it makes you, like, *better*
than me at *everything*, or something.

QUINN: (Innocently.) *No*, that's not what I meant at *all*, Sandi!
I just don't want you to fall and hurt yourself! (Hastily adding.)
I mean, not that you *would*, or anything, but just, if you *did*...

SANDI: Are we, like, *done* here, Quinn? Because it certainly doesn't seem
like the Fashion Club has *accomplished* anything from this little
outing.

QUINN: Hmmm... We need to find some other rollerbladers so we can show off
how much better *our* gear looks.

TIFFANY: How about at the mall?

STACY: We could go to Cashman's!

QUINN: Yeah, great idea, Stacy!

SANDI: (Has to do something to stop this.) Forget it, Quinn, it's way too
far. And I'm like, hot and thirsty.

STACY: Let's stop for something to drink, *then* hit the mall!

QUINN: C'mon!

(Quinn stands and takes off. Tiffany moves to help Sandi stay upright, but
Sandi shrugs her away.)

SANDI: (Frustrated, her plan to show Quinn up is backfiring.) I can do this
*myself*, thank you.

(Sandi wobbles off after Quinn.)

TIFFANY: (To Stacy.) Perseverence is *so* cool. (Beat.) Are you *sure*
this helmet doesn't make my head look too big?

CUT TO:

EXT.: GAS STATION.

(Kevin and Jane finish drying DeMartino's car, and he drives off. Another
car arrives: It's Mrs Johannsen -- the really fat lady from "Cafe Disaffecto"
and "That Was Then, This Is Dumb". She pants and wheezes as she hefts
herself out of the car, sweating profusely.)

DARIA: Ummm... Can we help you, ma'am?

JOHANNSEN: (Heavy breathing.) I'm awful damn hot, girls, could you just
douse me with that hose a bit?

DARIA: Uh, we're really just here to wash cars, ma'am.

JANE: (Helpful.) Only $5 to do yours.

JOHANNSEN: (Pays.) Here's the five dollars, now gimme that damn hose!

(She takes it and sprays her neck and the back of her head, hands it back
to Jane, who holds it between two fingers as if repulsed.)

JOHANNSEN: Ahhhh...! 'at's better, thanks, girls! Tell me, they got donuts
in there? (Points to the glass doors.)

JANE: I'd assume so.

JOHANNSEN: How 'bout smokes? They got smokes too?

JANE: ("Do you really need that?" look.) I guess...

(Mrs Johannsen waddles off to see for herself. Jane drops the hose and
turns the water valve off to wait for the next customer.)

JANE: (Punches Daria playfully on the arm.) Havin' fun yet?

DARIA: Scrubbing down total strangers' cars while practically naked. This
can't possibly get any more degrading.

(Honking of a horn as a red car pulls up, and a hatefully familiar head
pops out the window.)

UPCHUCK: Laaa-dies!

JANE: (To Daria.) Why do you willingly set yourself up like that?

DARIA: I'm not even going to dignify that with a response. (Beat.) Damn,
I just did.

UPCHUCK: (Steps out of the car, leers at the two girls in swimsuits.)
Ooooh-h-h-h, wet 'n' wiiiild! Rrrowwwrrrrrrr!

(Daria folds her arms, a bit self-consciously.)

JANE: Get away from us, you scrawny little pervert. (Moves to turn the
water valve back on.)

UPCHUCK: (Chivalrous.) Oh, allow me, my sweet! (He struggles with all his
might, but can't turn it.)

DARIA: (Sighs in disgust.) Here, I'll do it. (She turns it with ease.)

UPCHUCK: (Admiring Jane's swimwear.) Pardon me, Miss Lane, but is that
the Sunset Beach Sizzler? Stretch nylon, lightweight, adjustable
straps? Featured in last year's Bikini Island Summer Spectacular
catalog? Page twenty-seven, if I'm not mistaken?

(Daria and Jane exchange looks.)

CUT TO:

EXT.: ROAD.

(Jake and Helen in the car.)

HELEN: (Testily.) Admit it, Jake, you got us lost.

JAKE: I did *not*!

HELEN: Oh, just *give* me those directions! (Snatches the flyer out of his
hand.)

JAKE: (Sulks.) Stupid flyer, I bet there's a typo on it!

HELEN: I think we should just pull over, flag someone down and ask where the
hell we are!

JAKE: (More whiny than snappish.) I know where I'm going, Helen! Just let
me drive, okay!

HELEN: If you knew where you were going we'd *be* there by now!

JAKE: Uh, Helen...?

HELEN: Okay, *look*. (Points at the flyer.) *That* was 23 back there.
You were *supposed* to turn left onto 68! [*]

[*] Don't bother digging out a road atlas to find where I think Lawndale is;
I just made the road numbers up.

JAKE: (Slightly panicked look.) Helen...?

HELEN: That's twenty *miles* back, Jake!

JAKE: Helen!

HELEN: What *is* it, Jake?!

(The car sputters. Jake steers it onto to the shoulder, where it stops.)

JAKE: (Guilty.) I think we're out of gas.

HELEN: *DAMN*!!

CUT TO:

EXT.: GAS STATION.

UPCHUCK: Now then. How much for you sun-soaked sirens to give the ol'
Chuckmobile a good scrubbing?

JANE: (Holds out her hand.) Five, in advance.

(Upchuck extracts a bill from his wallet, ignores Jane's open hand, reaches
out as if to stick it in her top.)

JANE: Don't even think about it, Upchuck. (Grabs his wrist with one hand,
twists it. He struggles to get loose as she plucks the bill out with
her other, then lets go.)

UPCHUCK: (Rubs wrist.) Your feistiness only serves to further titillate me!

JANE: (To Daria.) Shall we?

DARIA: By all means.

(Jane squeezes the nozzle with a certain panache, spraying Upchuck directly
in the face. He splutters, taken completely by surprise. Jane trains the
hose on his car, specifically the open window, soaking the seats. Upchuck
wipes the excess water from his face and realizes what she's doing.)

UPCHUCK: Hey! Watch the leather upholstery, toots!

(Jane squirts Upchuck once more for good measure, releases the nozzle.)

JANE: (To Daria.) Easiest five bucks I ever made.

UPCHUCK: (Undaunted, perhaps even perversely delighted.) *My* but you
two're feisty today! (Opens his door.) Feisty, feisty, *feisty*!
(Climbs in.) But it'll take far more than that to dissuade Charles
Ruttheimer the Third, Esquire! (Dramatically.) I shall... return!
(Pulls away.)

DARIA: Hopefully not for a long, long time.

JANE: I'd say he needed a cold shower. (Points hose in Daria's face.)
How 'bout you, Daria?

DARIA: Don't point that at me. (Checks her shoulders.) I think I'm getting
a sunburn.

JANE: And where there's sunburn, can skin cancer and permanent scarring be
far behind?

DARIA: Will you please stop trying to turn this into a good time?

(Another car pulls up, and Daria's mouth goes slack in horror. It's Trent.
Jane smirks, as if expecting this. Daria re-crosses her arms.)

TRENT: Hey, Janey. (Notices Daria, but doesn't react to the swimsuit at
all.) Hey, Daria. Janey didn't tell me you were working here too.

JANE: (Impish grin.) Need a cold shower *now*?

(...la la LA la la...)

(COMMERCIAL LEAD-IN: Daria opening her robe and inspecting herself in the
mirror at home.)

END ACT 2.

(COMMERCIAL: I can tell you really want to get to the Trent part, so rather
than waste your time with a typically amusing but essentially pointless slam
of infantile commercials, we'll just get right back to the script, 'kay?)

BEGIN ACT 3.

RETURN TO:

EXT.: MIDDLEBURY COMMUNITY CENTER.

CUT TO:

INT.: MIDDLEBURY COMMUNITY CENTER, HALLWAY.

(Jake and Helen are wandering around, looking lost. Jake's still got a bit
of a limp.)

HELEN: (Reading flyer.) It says room 103, but I don't see--

(Opens a darkened room with "103" on the door, feels for a light switch.)

HELEN: (Continued.) --anyone here.

JAKE: It *does* say it's today, right?

HELEN: Saturday, the 6th, yes.

(The two enter. There's a message on the chalkboard: "STRESS-MANAGEMENT
SEMINAR: MOVED TO METHODIST PARISH HALL, 604 E MAIN ST."

JAKE & HELEN: (Together.) *DAMN*!!

CUT TO:

EXT.: LAWNDALE, SIDEWALK.

(The Fashion Club skates along. Sandi lurches clumsily ahead, leaning on
Tiffany for support when Quinn isn't looking.)

QUINN: (Points.) Here's a place, Sandi.

PAN TO:

EXT.: GAS STATION.

DARIA: (To no one in particular, examining her shoulders.) I'm *definitely*
getting a sunburn.

TRENT: (Hands $5 bill to Jane.) Jesse says to tell you he might be bringing
the Tank by, later.

JANE: Cool. (Taking $5 bill from Trent.) Hey, where'd *you* find five
bucks?

TRENT: Underwear drawer.

(Daria blushes at this, but no one else notices.)

TRENT: Wake me up when you're finished, Janey. (Leans back in his seat,
closes his eyes.)

JANE: C'mon, stay awake, keep us company here. (Beat.) You could talk to
Daria.

(Wide-eyed look from Daria.)

TRENT: Umm, sure. (Rolls up window, climbs out of the car.)

(Cut to the Fashion Club, gathered outside the sliding glass door.)

STACY: Hey, Quinn, is that your cousin over there?

QUINN: (Freaks at the thought of being in public with Daria.) I'm just
gonna get sodas for us, I'll be right back. (Ducks inside.)

(The rest of the Fashion Club looks over at Daria, who's in the background
talking with Trent, who stands watching as she scrubs the hood of his car.)

TIFFANY: What's *she* doing here?

SANDI: Look at her in that suit. I guess she *does* have like, an actual
chest after all!

STACY: She looks sunburned. I bet she's gonna peel.

ALL F.C.: *Iiick*!!

TIFFANY: As if she wasn't unattractive enough *already*.

SANDI: Really. (Snorts.) Like, my grandma's prettier!

CUT TO:

INT.: MIDDLEBURY METHODIST PARISH HALL.

(Rows of occupied seats with the speaker at a table in the front. Jake and
Helen enter and join the seminar already in progress, trying to look as
inconspicuous as possible.)

SPEAKER: (Soothing voice.) Simple, time-proven relaxation techniques are
the most effective way to refocus stress-energy. Taking deep
breaths and counting to 5, for instance. A few minutes of quiet
meditation under some light music works very well. Let's all
try it.

(He/she -- you make the call -- turns on a CD player, New Age music fills
the room. [I was thinking "Gentle; The Night" by Jonn Serrie specifically,
if anyone's into this like I am.])

SPEAKER: (Slow, delibarate.) Close your eyes... Take deep breaths...
Think... *calm*...

(Sound of cellular phone ringing. Cringing at the sound from several
stressed-out professionals. Helen realizes it's her.)

HELEN: (Digs out phone, answers.) Hello? Eric, you wouldn't *believe*
the day I've had... *WHAT*? Our lead witness just *DISAPPEARED*?!

(Everyone turns and glares. Jake looks around awkwardly for a paper to
hide behind, but there isn't one to be seen.)

CUT TO:

EXT.: GAS STATION.

(The Fashion Club commenting on Daria, as before. Quinn's still not back.)

TIFFANY: And just look at that *guy* she's with.

STACY: Uuck! If *I* had clothes in *that* shape I'd burn 'em!

TIFFANY: Check out his tattoos. Looks like he copied them out of a
magazine or something.

SANDI: And his *hair*, it looks like he cut it himself when he was like,
drunk or something!

TIFFANY: And get a load of his *car*.

SANDI: I don't think washing *that* thing would help it much!

(The Fashion Club giggles amongst themselves. Sandi spots an unattended
hose left on the ground, leans over precariously, picks it up.)

SANDI: Check this out. (Calls.) Hey! Quinn's cousin!

(Daria turns, has just enough reaction-time to get a horrified oh-God-NO
expression. Slow-motion effect as Sandi's hand squeezes the nozzle,
spraying Daria square in the face, soaking her hair and knocking her glasses
to the pavement.)

(Slow-mo montage: Sandi laughing. Jane running up to wrench the hose away
from her, knocking her off her skates onto her ass. Trent managing to dodge
the last burst of spray kicked off, turning and glaring.)

(Blurry, astigmatic shot from Daria's POV, her gaze sweeping about,
unfocused. Cut to normal perspective. Daria, waving her hands in front
of her, stumbles about, barrels into Trent, her hands on his chest. She
realizes this, embarrassed, backs away, slips and is about to fall when
Trent grabs her by the forearms and hauls her back up.)

TRENT: 's'okay, Daria, I gotcha.

(Daria wipes at her face to get the excess water away, forgets she's still
wearing the scrub-mitt, ends up with soap in her eyes, wipes at it with her
other hand. Trent, angry, glares and flips off the Fashion Club.)

DARIA: (Squinting, blinking.) Where're my glasses?

(Cut to Sandi and Tiffany, doubled over, laughing uproariously. Stacy
stands alone, looking elsewhere. Quinn finally emerges with the sodas,
looks around.)

QUINN: What's going on?

(Sandi and Tiffany, not yet able to speak through their laughter, simply
point at Daria.)

QUINN: (Doesn't recognize her at all.) Who's *that*?

(Back to Trent's car. Trent bends over, carefully picks up Daria's glasses,
inspects them, dries them off on his shirt, hands them back to her.)

TRENT: It's okay, doesn't look like they're broken.

(Daria's-eye view of her sliding the glasses on, everything coming back into
focus. Cut to Daria and Trent by the car, Jane in the background.)

DARIA: (Angry and humiliated, looks down at the ground.) Thanks.

JANE: (Coming over.) You okay, Daria?

DARIA: (Miserably.) I'm going home. (Picks up her clothes-bag.)

TRENT: I'll give you a ride, Daria.

DARIA: (Doesn't want to, but can't refuse Trent's offer.) Whatever.

TRENT: (Opens the passenger door for her.) Coming, Janey?

JANE: Umm, actually I think I feel like going running. I'll see you later.

(For once, Daria doesn't shoot Jane one of her death-looks; she's too
miserable to care. Daria wraps the towel around herself and climbs into
Trent's passenger seat.)

JODIE: (Spots Daria leaving, comes running up with her sign.) Daria?
Hey, where you going? We're not done 'til 4!

DARIA: I'm leaving now.

JODIE: But you *promised*! You made a commitment to help with this, now
you have to--

DARIA: (Interrupts, doesn't feel like listening.) Go to hell, Landon.

(Jodie is troubled by this, but sees something's really wrong, understands
not to argue further. Trent pulls away. Jane picks up her own clothes-bag.)

JODIE: (To Jane, looks after Trent's car.) Who *is* that guy?

JANE: Yakuza.

CUT TO:

EXT.: ROAD.

(Front view of Jake and Helen in the car, Jake driving.)

HELEN: Well, in spite of all our setbacks, I still think this was a *very*
worthwhile idea.

JAKE: (Defensive.) I never said it wasn't!

(Helen gives him a look. Screeching tires, someone pulls around Jake.)

JAKE: (Rolls down window, shouts.) *HEY*!! CRAZY KID! WHERE THE HELL'D
*YOU* LEARN TO DRIVE?!

HELEN: (Hand on Jake's shoulder.) God you're tense. C'mon, honey, try what
we learned in class, put on some relaxing music.

(Jake fiddles with the radio and brings up -- interrupted by bursts of
loud static -- a heavy metal song, a thumping techno number, inane chatter
between two deejays, and a really loud annoying commercial for a car
dealership. Fuming, he punches the radio off.)

HELEN: (Still trying to be calm, but clearly losing it.) Okay... well...
try taking a deep breath and counting.

(Jake takes a deep breath, closes his eyes--)

HELEN: JESUS JAKE WATCH THE ROAD!!

JAKE: Oh! Sorry! (Another deep breath, eyes open this time, counts.)
One... two... three... four--

(He's just starting to look more relaxed when another car zooms around him.)

JAKE: (Leans out window, shouts.) *HEY*!! CRAZY KID! WHERE THE HELL'D
*YOU* LEARN TO DRIVE?!

HELEN: (Frustrated.) Jake you missed the turnoff *again*!

JAKE: (Pounds the steering wheel.) *DAMN*!!

CUT TO:

EXT.: HIGH HILLS PARK.

(The Fashion Club, using a shortcut on their way to the mall. Sandi takes
careful baby-steps, arms out for balance, following behind everyone else.
As they arrive at a downward-sloping path, Sandi breaks the silence:)

SANDI: All *right*, Quinn, this has gone far enough!

(She coasts to a lamp post, holds onto it to stay upright.)

QUINN: (Turns.) What do you mean, Sandi?

SANDI: I mean this whole *thing* about you trying to take control of the
Fashion Club! *I'm* still president, if you recall!

QUINN: (Innocent.) What are you *talking* about, Sandi, I'm not trying to
control the Club!

SANDI: (Caught up in the moment, she lets go of the post.) Oh *no*? Then
please explain to me why we're out here on *your* whim doing
something not even fashion-related!

STACY: We *are*, I thought we were going to Cashman's.

SANDI: (Points finger.) *You* stay out of this, Stacy! This is between me
and Quinn!

QUINN: (Getting angry.) Are you just *jealous*, Sandi, is that what this is
all about?

SANDI: That is *completely* untrue, and you *know* it! (Suddenly realizes
she's standing without support, starts, looks like she's ready to
slip and fall.) Whoaaa!

(Quinn holds out a hand to steady her but she slaps it away.)

SANDI: Now you listen to me, Quinn! I am *not*-- (Stomps foot for
emphasis.) --going to just stand here and let you--

(Stomping her skated foot has made Sandi lose her balance and she slips
backward, dangerously close to the brink of the hill.)

SANDI: Uhh! Somebody help me!

(Quinn grabs hold of her, but it's too late. Both of them begin rolling
down the hill together, screaming as they pitch out of control. At the
bottom of the slope, Quinn veers off the path into a thorn bush. Sandi
manages to stay upright on the path somehow.)

SANDI: (Wide-eyed.) I'm doing it! I can do it!

(But she's spoken too soon, and hits the edge of the walk, landing face-
down on a patch of rocks.)

SANDI: (In pain.) Owwww...

(On top, Stacy and Tiffany exchange wide-eyed looks.)

STACY: Oh my *God*!

TIFFANY: Yeah. Poetic justice is *so* cool.

CUT TO:

EXT.: ROAD.

(Trent drives Daria home in his car.)

CUT TO:

INT.: TRENT'S CAR.

(Radio music. Windshield-view of Daria and Trent. Daria has the towel
wrapped around herself and is staring ruefully out the passenger window,
not wanting to look at Trent after what happened, not wanting him to see
how badly it got to her. Trent gives her a sideways glance, hesitating,
then switches off the radio.)

TRENT: Uh... Daria?

DARIA: (Ashamed to look at him, keeps staring out the window.) Hmm?

TRENT: It's... Don't worry about... you know... what happened back there.
It's okay.

(Daria doesn't reply.)

TRENT: ("Deep" look.) ...You know, they made fun of me a lot, too, when I
was in high school... Kids, even... some of my teachers.

DARIA: (Turns away from window, faces front.) They did?... What for?

TRENT: Said I was a loser, I'd still live with my parents at 21, I'd never
amount to anything.

DARIA: (Looks down at herself.) Guess you showed them, huh? (Covers her
mouth with her hand, squeezes her eyes shut, immediately kicks
herself mentally for letting that slip out.)

TRENT: (Laugh-coughs, not offended.) Good one, Daria. (Beat.) But they
did sort of have a point. (Bitter.) I mean, *look* at me. I'm an
untalented musician, playing for a band nobody wants to hear, stuck
doing pubs and coffeehouse gigs, playing lame tunes nobody gives a
damn about.

(Daria looks like she desperately wants to open up to him, tell him all
about the feelings she has for him, but just can't.)

TRENT: (Self-disgust.) I *am* at rock-bottom, going exactly nowhere.
Mr D was right.

DARIA: (Shakes her head.) Trent...

TRENT: (Brightens a bit.) But not you, Daria. You're smart. You're
talented. You're going places, I can tell... Someday.

DARIA: Trent, you can't... (Sighs.) You can't judge your own success or
failure in life using everyone else's definition.

TRENT: (Pause.) I suppose not.

DARIA: You have to do what works for *you*, and if it doesn't work right
away you have to give it time to. And in the meantime you have to
stop caring so much about what other people think. Because that
really doesn't matter.

TRENT: I care what *you* think, Daria.

(Daria shifts uncomfortably. The towel slips down from her bare shoulders,
but she doesn't move to pull it back up.)

TRENT: You're one of the coolest people I've ever known.

DARIA: Really?

TRENT: Sure. You always know what to say. And you're never afraid to
say it.

(Trent smiles, puts a friendly hand on her shoulder. Daria winces.)

TRENT: (Jerks the hand away abruptly.) Sorry. (Looks at her concerned,
questioningly.)

DARIA: (Explanatory.) Sunburn.

TRENT: Mmm. (Nods, hint of a smile.)

(Tiny one from Daria, too. She looks at him momentarily, perhaps hoping
he'll put the hand back, but he doesn't.)

CUT TO:

EXT.: MORGENDORFFER RESIDENCE.

(Trent pulls up and lets Daria out.)

DARIA: (Quietly.) Thanks for the ride.

TRENT: No problem.

(Daria turns to leave.)

TRENT: Oh, and Daria?

DARIA: (Turns back around.) Hmm?

TRENT: I really like your suit.

DARIA: (Shyly.) Thanks.

TRENT: Well. Sleep beckons. Gotta go.

DARIA: See ya.

(Trent pulls away. Daria wraps the towel back around herself, heads up
the sidewalk.)

CUT TO:

INT.: MORGENDORFFERS' LIVING ROOM.

(Jake and Helen are on a couch, eyes closed, New Age music playing, trying
to get relaxed. Jake's soaking his sore foot in a basin with Epsom salt.
Daria startles them as she enters.)

JAKE: Oh, hi kiddo!

HELEN: How was the carwash, sweetheart?

DARIA: (As noncommitally as you can get.) Fine.

HELEN: (Thinks something's wrong, probing to find what.) And... how's Jane?

DARIA: Fine.

(She heads upstairs. Jake and Helen look at each other, unsure whether to
be concerned or not.)

CUT TO:

INT.: LANE RESIDENCE.

(Trent comes through the door, sees Jane on the steps untying her running
shoes.)

JANE: (Concerned.) Is Daria okay?

TRENT: Yeah.

(Trent heads up past Jane, who looks up at him as if expecting him to say
more. Shrugs when he doesn't.)

CUT TO:

INT.: MORGENDORFFER RESIDENCE, UPSTAIRS HALLWAY.

(Daria passes the bathroom on the way to her room. Quinn's in there,
applying some sort of skin product. She's back in her jeans and has on the
long-sleeved jacket she wore in "Teachings of Don Jake". She notices Daria,
looks up. We see cuts and scratches on the side of her face she hasn't
gotten to yet, plus her hands.)

QUINN: Oh, hi Daria.

DARIA: (Showing no emotion.) Hey, Quinn. Aren't you a little warm in that
jacket?

QUINN: Yeah, but it covers up the cuts from those thorns.

DARIA: Had a little rollerblading accident, did you?

QUINN: Yeah, but I'm still better off than Sandi. She landed on some rocks
and has these big purple bruises all over, I doubt any amount of
blemish cover-up would work on those. She'll have to wear long-
sleeve shirts and pants for *days*! Can you *imagine* that, in this
heat?

DARIA: (Betrays no feeling of satisfaction.) So you're giving up the
skates?

QUINN: I'll give 'em back to Arthur tomorrow. I figure there are plenty of
other ways to make people jealous without putting my own good looks
in jeopardy.

DARIA: (Sardonic.) You're all heart, Quinn.

QUINN: I *know*, isn't it great! (Beat.) So did you and your weird friend
have fun washing cars?

DARIA: (Blandly.) Yeah, we had a real time.

QUINN: Any cute guys there?

DARIA: (Deadpan.) Just one. (She walks off.)

QUINN: Really? Who? (When she doesn't reply.) Daria?

CUT TO:

INT.: LANE RESIDENCE, TRENT'S ROOM.

(Trent enters, closes the door.)

CUT TO:

INT.: MORGENDORFFER RESIDENCE, DARIA'S ROOM.

(Daria's back in the green jacket and skirt again.)

(Split-screen showing Daria and Trent in their separate rooms, both alone
now. At the same moment, they each finally let it out: Trent punches his
fist in the air with a big grin, like *YESSS!* Daria flops onto her bed,
folds her hands behind her head, smiles, closes her eyes.)

(...la la LA la la...)

(CREDITS AND CUTE LITTLE RENDERINGS OF THE CHARACTERS.)

Okay, I'm gonna give this a whirl: I think a good closing-credits song for
this ep would be "Shine" by Monaco. Pick up at the first refrain:

Just as I thought
I found someone that needs me
Someone that needs me
So much
And just as before
It's that someone who needs me
Someone I needed
So much

But it's you
Spinning me out of control
Hurting me deep in my soul
So I'm turnin'
I just wanna stop
Cuz nothing's as bad as it seems
I can't be bothered so
Stay awhile and tell me what it all means

(Repeat refrain, as much as time allows.)

THE END


[Disclaimer: "Daria" and all related characters are trademarks of MTV
Networks, a division of Viacom International Inc., and are used here
without permission for the purpose of fan fiction. I suppose if you
represent MTV's legal department you could sue, but think about it,
what's it really going to get you? I mean, *I* sure don't have any
money, and there's like fifty other people writing these fan stories,
so you might as well just live with it and maybe learn to appreciate
the fact that your show has such a loyal, dedicated legion of fans who
care enough to write things like this. Of course, you *could* just
hire us and that'd solve your problem nicely too.]

[This "Daria" fanfic story is copyright 1998 by C.E. Forman but may be
distributed freely in unaltered form to fans of "Daria" everywhere,
provided the author's name and e-mail address remain intact. Thank
you, and good night.]