ACT SIX


SCENE 1 (French class, morning, the next day)

(Quinn sits toward the back, watching her French teacher conjugate irregular 
verbs, when a student aide enters from the side door and gives her a note.)

TEACHER:  Quinn?  Ms. Li wants to see you.

(Surprised and a little embarrassed, Quinn stands up and heads out.)

(cut to: )

SCENE 2 (Li's office)

(Quinn enters to find her seated at her desk with a stern, no-nonsense expression.  
Seated in one of the chairs across from her is Mr. Phelps.)

MS. LI:  Take a seat, Ms. Morgendorffer.

(Quinn sits down and looks at her teacher for any clues about the intent of this 
meeting.  He gazes back emotionlessly.)

MS. LI:  It appears we have a very serious situation.  Your teacher, Mr. Phelps, 
has discovered that you've been *cheating* in his class.

QUINN:  I... *what*?

(Quinn's heart drops into her stomach.  She swerves to face Phelps, trying to find
some reason he would make such a charge against her.)

MS. LI:  He further states that this has been going on for *several* months,
even bleeding into your mathlehhhtics performance.

QUINN:  But... but I...

MS. LI:  Normally this would be handled on an in-class basis, but Mr. Phelps
believes that this problem is *chronic*. 

PHELPS:  It seems that over a period of several months, going back to last year, 
Ms. Morgendorffer has obtained my answer keys for homework and tests and has
memorized them ahead of time to achieve a high score.  I found one answer key 
with her handwriting on it and have been comparing her subsequent assignments
with the keys themselves.  The way she solves each problem is strikingly similar
to the way it is solved on the key.

QUINN:  But you *gave* me --!

PHELPS: (sorrowful)  I kept hoping I was wrong.  After all those hours I spent
giving her extra help, I thought she was making marked progress on her own.  
It's devastating to have learned the truth.

QUINN:  I didn't cheat!

(Phelps turns to gaze at her, the chill in his blue eyes so palpable, it almost 
hurts Quinn physically to look at him.) 

PHELPS:  Are you calling me a liar, Ms. Morgendorffer?!

(Quinn inhales sharply, recognizing none of the man whom she had admired.  Her 
throat starts to ache, and she feels tears welling in her own eyes.)

QUINN: (softer)  I didn't cheat. 

MS. LI:  You mean to tell me you don't recognize your *own* handwriting??

(She shows Quinn the answer key, and without a doubt, her "bouncy" penmanship is 
in plain sight.)

QUINN:  Yes, but --

MS. LI: (sarcastic)  Ohhh, but you have a *good* reason for your inexplicable 
academic rise.  

(She takes Quinn's transcript folder on her desk and opens it up.)

MS. LI:  The rise that had you going from a 63-percent average your freshman year
to an 82 average your first trimester, a 96 average your second trimester, and a
*105* percent average your third trimester of sophomore year and, thus far, your 
junior year.  Of course it's all because you (snickered) studied.

QUINN:  I didn't cheat.

(Her mind spinning, she clings to these words as an anchor.)

MS. LI:  Ms. Morgendorffer, what sort of *fool* do you take me for??  In the 
history of Llllllllawndale High, *no* one has experienced such a sharp turnaround.
Especially in light of the *rest* of your grades. 

PHELPS:  I still can't believe it... I really thought that she had a gift.  I
thought she was my special one, that she could really go places.  I see now that 
it was just wistful thinking. 

(Quinn lurches upright in her seat and gazes at Phelps with an expression of 
disbelief.  Tears spill out of her eyes, down her cheeks.)

QUINN: (choked)  Why are you doing this to me?

MS. LI:  I should ask *you* the same thing.  Are you and your sister trying to 
single-handedly bring my school down?!  

(Quinn is too choked-up to respond.  She wipes her eyes, but the tears flow 
unabated.  Once, she fancies that an expression of remorse flickers across her 
teacher's face, but it is gone as quickly as it appeared.)

MS. LI:  This is a verrrry serious matter requiring appropriate punishment.
First, I'll need to call your parents.

(She reaches for her phone, starts to dial.)

(Cut to shot of Helen in her office, where, predictably, she is storming around 
while Marianne works frantically in the background.)

HELEN:  Whose *idiotic* idea was it to put that slogan on our letterhead?!  Now 
everyone looking for a firm specializing in our area of expertise will think 
that we cater to criminals!  Just *wait* until the meeting with the partners--!

MARIANNE: (holding the phone)  Helen, it's your daughters' principal.

(Helen's already angry face gets a brighter shade of red.)

HELEN:  What the *hell* does she want now?!

(She storms over to her desk and picks up her phone.)

HELEN:  *Hello*??

(Intercut with Ms. Li in her office, wearing a faint smirk of satisfaction.)

MS. LI:  Mrs. Morgendorffer.  It's just not your month, is it?

HELEN:  What is that supposed to mean?? 

MS. LI:  It's not every parent who can have *both* their children facing grave
disciplinary measures at this school.

HELEN:  You mean... Quinn??

MS. LI:  Your younger daughter was found serially cheating in her math class.  

HELEN:  What?!  Someone caught her in the act?

MS. LI:  Noooo, but her teacher has found evidence of her guilt.

HELEN:  That evidence could be circumstantial.  Quinn loves math -- *why* would 
she cheat?

MS. LI: (snort)  You may be right, but who should I believe?  One of Lllllawndale 
High's most distinguished teachers, or a mother who lives in denial about one of
her daughters being *seriously* disturbed.

HELEN:  Put Quinn on the phone.  I want to hear this from her myself.

(Ms. Li motions for Quinn to take the phone.  She stands up stiffly and lifts it 
to her ear, her hand trembling slightly.)

HELEN:  Quinn?  Your principal said something about you cheating in your math 
class.  Is this true??

(Quinn's throat is tight.  Helen hears her shaky breathing on the other end.)

HELEN:  Quinn??

(Quinn swallows hard and forces herself to speak with as much energy as possible.)

QUINN: (hoarse)  No.

HELEN:  You promise?  (When it's clear that Quinn is incapable of saying more, 
she speaks in a gentle tone.)  Honey, I'll be right over.  Give the phone back
to your principal and don't say anything more until I get there.

(Quinn does so, then sinks back into her seat.)

HELEN:  If my daughter says she didn't cheat, that's good enough for me.

MS. LI:  Of *course*.  And no one but a neglectful, phoning-it-in parent would
believe her.

HELEN:  Until I see this "evidence" for myself and am sure of its validity, I'm 
going to treat any attempt to discipline my child as a violation of her rights.

MS. LI:  Go ahead -- throw another lawsuit at us.  See how much *good* it does.

(From her chair, Quinn squeezes her eyes shut.) 

(cut to: )
  
SCENE 3 (Morgendorffer house, late afternoon)

(Daria opens the front door and sees Helen sitting alone in the living room, 
going over files, a bleak look on her face.)

DARIA:  What's wrong?

HELEN:  Your sister got in trouble at school.  That horrible teacher of hers 
accused her of cheating in math class.  For now, just promise you'll be extra 
nice to her, okay?

DARIA:  Okay.

(Bewildered, she heads up the stairs.)

(cut to: )

SCENE 4 (Quinn's room)

(Daria opens the door gently and finds Quinn lying on her back on the bed, 
staring at the ceiling.)

DARIA:  Hey.  (No response.)  Quinn?

(She waits several moments, until Quinn breaks out of her trance and turns her 
head toward Daria, who can see that her face is red and tear-stained.)

DARIA:  How are you feeling?

(Quinn mumbles something in such a soft, weak tone that Daria cannot hear her.  
She steps forward into the room.)

DARIA:  I heard what happened.  I'm sorry you had to find out that way.

(Quinn looks at her for a moment, then closes her eyes.  Tears seep out from 
beneath her lids.)

DARIA:  I told you, your teacher's a scumbag.  He has a history of getting 
students to steal for him.  I met with someone who knows all about his history 
and is looking for evidence of his guilt.

QUINN: (toneless)  He offered me money from some island.

DARIA:  What?

QUINN:  Yesterday.  Said he used my statistics to get some account in the 
Cayman Islands.  Said I should have it... because I was good...

(Her face scrunches up, as she tries to fight off a sob.)

DARIA:  Did you take it?

(After several moments, Quinn shakes her head.)

DARIA:  Do you think that's why he accused you of cheating?

QUINN:  Maybe.

(Daria feels herself growing hot with rage.)

DARIA:  So the jerk was punishing you because you wouldn't do what he wanted.

QUINN:  He's right.  

DARIA:  That you should have taken it?

QUINN:  That I cheated.

(Daria's eyes widen, as Quinn sits up and swings her legs over the side of the 
bed, looking even worse in a full-on view.)

QUINN: (tired)  When I first started getting help from him, he would give me 
answer keys for how to do problems.  Not just for the mathletic events --
*all* the time.  He said it was to help me build confidence, until I could do 
it on my own.  

(She stares down at the floor, tears dripping onto the carpet.)

QUINN:  I used one the first time... for one of his quizzes.  After that, I 
realized I didn't need them -- I knew what I was doing without them.

DARIA:  You cheated once last year, and he chooses to punish you now?

QUINN:  For all he knows, I used them all the time.

DARIA:  This doesn't add up.  Why would he go to the charade of pretending 
you're special if he knew you were cheating?  

QUINN: (soft)  Maybe he just wanted me for his plan.

DARIA:  Plenty of people have seen you do math problems.  Jodie, the other
mathletes, Dad... *they* know you haven't been cheating.    

QUINN:  But *I* don't know.

DARIA: (stunned)  You just said --

QUINN:  *Mr. Phelps* was my answer key, Daria.  He was the one who first got 
me interested in math, and he's the reason I was ever any good at it.

DARIA:  You're kidding, right?

QUINN:  What am I going to do without him?!

(She lets out a loud sob that causes her whole body to shake, and curls up 
on the bed.  Daria stands awkwardly nearby, her expression one of sympathy.)

DARIA:  Come on.  You need a change of scenery.

(Quinn shakes her red face frantically, her breath coming out in short gasps.)

DARIA:  At least come into my room.  There are lots of nice, heavy bones you 
can hit against the wall, and the padding makes for nice shock absorption...

(cut to: )

SCENE 4 (Daria's room, a short time later)

(Daria sits on the bed, while Quinn stands with her back to her, facing the 
wall, her hysteria reduced to a dullness in her expression and manner.)

QUINN: (quiet)  I thought he lov-- I thought he really liked me.  How could 
I be so stupid?  

DARIA:  You weren't stupid.  

QUINN:  How could I believe all that stuff he said about me being a prodigy?? 

DARIA:  If some teacher had paid me that kind of attention, I probably would 
have dropped everything to spend time with him, too.

(Quinn gazes vacantly around her, her eyes lingering on one of the many book
piles Daria still has out from her search for the journal.  She then turns
to face her sister.)

QUINN:  Ms. Li said that if I can't prove I didn't cheat, I'll fail this 
trimester and have to retake sophomore *and* junior math.  And even if I got 
A's, I'd still have some big ugly mark on my record that says I cheated the 
first time.  What college would want me then?

DARIA:  We'll make sure that doesn't happen.  

QUINN:  What am I gonna be if I can't be a math brain anymore?

DARIA:  Don't you remember what I said last time?  You can do lots of things. 

QUINN:  Right.  Put everything into fashion again?  (Some anger breaks through 
her dullness.)  After months of hearing that caring about clothes is just a 
waste of my life, I'm supposed to go back to that and be happy?!

DARIA:  I never said that.  I just meant why limit yourself?

QUINN:  It's easy for you to say that, Daria.  No one told *you* that your 
Number One passion was a big lie.

DARIA:  Excuse me?  I'm in the hot seat right now *because* my passion made 
me tell a lie.

QUINN:  Yeah, but no one ever told you that you weren't a writer, did they?  
No one ever said that you don't know how to read long books, like... (She picks 
one up off the top of a pile.) ... _The Complete Works of Shakespeare_.

(She drops it with a heavy thud on the floor.  Daria winces, but understanding 
Quinn's mood, refrains from snapping at her.)

QUINN:  Or... (picks up another book.) ..._Middlemarch_.  (She tosses it farther, 
then picks up another book.)  Or _East of Eden_.  (She tosses this one so far 
that it bounces off the bottom of the wall.)

DARIA:  Quinn, don't hurt the books.  They never did anything to you.

QUINN: (not hearing her)  Or _The Federalist Papers_  (This time she throws 
overhand, so the book smacks against the wall before collapsing to the floor.)  
Or _War and Peace_!  (She holds it over her head and throws it against the 
wall.)  Or _The Plague_!  (She hurls it against the wall.)

(Daria shoots upright.)

DARIA:  Quinn, stop it!

QUINN:  This is all your fault!  

(She starts tossing books, two or three at a time, at random.)

QUINN:  If you hadn't told me you thought Phelps was stealing, I wouldn't have 
freaked out when he tried to offer me that money and he wouldn't have gotten 
mad at me!

DARIA:  Quit acting like a brat and let's talk.

QUINN:  About what?!  How you ruined me life?!  

(She takes a book and throws it toward Daria, so it narrowly misses her head.  
Her expression hardening with anger, Daria steps forward.)

QUINN:  No one's ever gonna tell you that you don't know how to write any of 
your stupid stories!  Like... (She opens up a notebook.) ...Melody Powers.    

(Daria's eyes widen.)

DARIA: (whisper)  Put that down.

(For a few moments, she and Quinn stand motionless.  Finally Daria makes a 
quick movement to retrieve the notebook.  Quinn tears off a page.)

DARIA:  You...

(Something inside her snaps, and she lunges at Quinn, who jumps out of the way, 
tearing out an entire section of the notebook and then ripping it into smaller
pieces.  Daria hurries after her and grabs her by the wrist, then tries to 
take her other one, but Quinn squirms and rakes her nails across her forearm 
and manages to get away.  She finds another one of Daria's notebooks and rips 
out the insides without even reading them.  Daria stumbles after her and shoves 
her against the wall.)

DARIA:  You spoiled little bitch.

(The padding cannot entirely conceal the hard wall behind it, and Quinn feels 
a jolt as she hits it at full force.  It's enough to make her drop the torn 
pages, before she falls to the floor beside them.  Daria crouches down beside 
her and again tries to take her wrists, but Quinn bats her hand away and 
threatens to bite it, all the while tearing up the pages that she's found on 
the floor.  Finally Daria smacks her across the face -- hard.)

DARIA:  I ruined *your* life?!

(While Quinn is stunned, Daria grabs her wrists and pins her down.  Tears
streaming out of her eyes, Quinn struggles against her, but every time she 
tries to sit up, Daria shoves her back down.  Quinn at last manages to wrench 
an arm loose and, with one sweep, smacks off Daria's glasses.  Daria blinks,
trying to adjust to the blurrier world around her, which Quinn takes as an
opportunity to shove her off.  With a wild air, she locates more torn pages 
and reduces them to shreds, until Daria has regained her bearings, grabbed her 
by the legs, and forced her back down to the floor.  She shoves herself on top 
of Quinn, then smacks her in the ear and grabs a fistful of her hair.  As she
feels it being yanked, Quinn can barely suppress a scream.  She tries to keep 
her arms free, pushing one hand against Daria's face, her nails sometimes 
meeting skin.  Daria's hands find Quinn's neck...)

HELEN: (O.S.)  GIRLS!  

(They continue to struggle against each other, oblivious, until they see 
Helen's angry face hovering over them.)

HELEN:  Daria!  Quinn!  Get up!  NOW!

(For a moment, they both lie on the floor in a daze.  Then, as they regain their 
senses, both slowly roll into crouching positions and rise to their feet.  As 
Quinn stands, shreds of paper flutter to the floor.)

HELEN:  What in the *hell* has gotten into you two?!  Quinn?!

(Quinn gazes down at the shreds, some of which are still stuck to her jeans.  A 
feeling of horror washes over her.)

HELEN:  What *are* those?!

(With a strangled gasp, Quinn pushes past Helen.  As she flees toward the door, 
she grabs the car keys off of Daria's desk.)

HELEN:  Quinn!  Get back here!

(She chases after her, but Quinn's stumble has turned into a full-on sprint.  She
races down the stairs and out the front door.  By the time Helen reaches the
bottom, she is just in time to hear the squealing of tires.  She opens the front 
door to see Quinn peeling off in the Focus.)

HELEN:  QUINN!

(She knows that calling after her is useless -- Quinn can't hear her.  Helen 
watches the car disappear into the distance with a worried expression.)

(A few minutes later, she reappears in Daria's room to find her eldest daughter, 
glasses back on, numbly trying to piece together some of the pages Quinn had 
torn.)

DARIA: (faded voice)  It's all right... just some dumb old stories.  Not like I was 
ever going to publish them.

(Helen gasps softly, gazes at her with a sorrowful expression.)

(cut to: )

SCENE 5 (driving, evening)

(Quinn hurtles down a woodsy back road in the Focus.  Her hair is disheveled, her
eyes red and puffy, and some bruising evident on her cheeks and neck.  Her manner 
is crazed indifference mixed with self-loathing.)

(cut to: )

SCENE 6 (Morgendorffer house, 7 p.m.)

(Helen sits on the center couch of the living room, the phone to her ear.)

HELEN:  Have you seen her?  Have you checked your messages?  (Pause)  Well why 
*not*?  (Pause)  No, Jake, you don't have to come over.  (Pause)  No we *don't* 
have to call the police!  It's only been a couple of hours -- Quinn's probably 
run over to a friend's house to cool off.  I bet she'll turn up in an hour or so...

(Dissolve to show the clock, which now reads 9:05 p.m.  Helen is pacing around 
the living room, the phone to her ear.)

HELEN:  Sandi hasn't seen her? (Pause)  You're sure?  (She sighs.)  Well tell 
Sandi that if she *does* see Quinn, let her know that we're not angry with her.  
We just want her to check in.  (Pause)  No, nothing's wrong.  (Pause, angrier.)
No, she didn't run away because my husband and I were fighting!  She *hasn't* 
run away!  (Pause)  No, I *don't* need the name of a good divorce attorney!
*Good-bye*!

(She hangs up the phone and flings it against the couch cushion, then immediately 
picks it back up.  Meanwhile, Daria creeps down the stairs, her expression still 
hardened with anger from her earlier encounter with Quinn.)

HELEN: (sees her)  Does Quinn have any friends whose parents *aren't* malicious 
back-stabbing harpies?!

(Dissolve to show the clock, which now reads 10:25 p.m.  Helen is still pacing, 
looking even more frantic.)

HELEN:  Amy, are you sure?  She hasn't called in?  (Helen's cheeks color as she 
listens.)  No, no... there's no reason for me to think she'd be headed your way.  
I just thought maybe she took after her mother.  (She laughs weakly.)  Oh *no*,
there's no reason for you to worry -- teenagers like to stay out at all hours.  
I'm probably just being overprotective. 

(Daria walks down stairs, pauses at the landing to observe.)

HELEN: (into the phone)  Well *thank* you... I appreciate that.  You rest up, and 
say hi to Joel for me. (Pause)  Bye.

(She hangs up the phone, then immediately dials voice mail to see if Quinn might 
have called while she was talking to Amy.)

HELEN:  Honest to God!  I don't know *how* many messages I've left on her cell 
phone!  The *least* she could do is answer *one* of them --!

DARIA:  *Mom*.

(Helen turns to look.  Daria holds up Quinn's cell phone.  Helen gasps, realizing 
that Quinn never would have had time to take it during her flight down the stairs.  
Her shoulders slumping, she sinks down onto the couch.)

DARIA:  I don't see what you're so worked up about.  She always stays out this
late on her dates.

HELEN:  When she's on a date, we know where she is.

DARIA: (frowns)  She's probably just hiding out just until she's scared you and 
Dad into promising that you won't ground her until she's forty.

HELEN:  You could at least *try* to show some concern, Daria.

DARIA:  Why??  You saw what she did.
 
HELEN:  Yes, I saw what she did.  I also saw what *you* did.  (She stands up.)
When did your father or I *ever* give you the idea that hitting your sister was
acceptable behavior?!

DARIA:  She was throwing books at me and ripping up my stories!  What was I 
supposed to do?

HELEN:  Not that.  (Her face registers anger and disappointment.)  That isn't 
*you*, Daria -- letting rage control you, like some... some crazed bully.

DARIA: (angry)  And throwing a three-year-old temper tantrum is Quinn?!

(Helen dials another number.)

HELEN: (mutters)  I just hope to God in her emotional state, she hasn't... (She 
pauses, as someone answers.)  Hello, Stacy?  This is Quinn's mother again.

(Daria's eyes widen, as she ponders for the first time whether Quinn's anguish 
could have led her to do something drastic.  She walks over to the left-hand 
couch and sits down.)

HELEN: (into the phone)  It's okay, Stacy... no, it's okay... it's *okay*... please 
don't cry.  Just let me know if you hear anything. (Pause)  It's *okay*. (Pause)
Good-bye.

(No sooner has she hung up the phone when the front door swings open, revealing 
Jake.  He heads into the living room.)

HELEN:  Jake!  (She stands up to give him a hug.)  Have you heard anything??

JAKE:  No, but I left a note on my door telling her where I went in case she 
stopped by.  I drove past all those teenage hangouts on my way over here, but 
didn't see her car.

(Helen gets a nervous look on her face.  Jake puts an arm around her.)

JAKE:  It's okay, Helen.  I'll drive around again.  I didn't go past any of the 
fancy French restaurants... maybe Quinn's in one of those.

DARIA:  I'll go with you.

(Jake looks at Daria with gratitude.)

JAKE:  Thanks, kiddo.  If you're the lookout, it'll be easier for me to avoid 
an accident...

(Dissolve to show the clock, which now reads 2:10 a.m.  Now, both Helen *and* 
Jake pace around the living room, while Daria sits slumped over on the left-hand 
couch.  Helen has the phone to her ear.)

HELEN:  No I will NOT wait twenty-four hours to file a police report!  My younger
daughter is MISSING!  She's been gone for nine hours -- my husband and older 
daughter have driven across half the state looking for her!  If that's not 
missing, I don't know what IS!

(She lets out an angry cry, as the police officer on the other end tells her 
something she doesn't want to hear.)

JAKE:  Here, Helen, let me try.  (She gives him the phone.)  HEY, you stupid 
police officer guy!  You listen to us, dammit!  We pay your salary!  (Pause)  
No I will NOT go on hold-- hello?  HELLO??  Dammit!

(He almost throws the phone in anger.  Helen puts a hand on his arm, and they 
exchange a silent look that promises they will try to hold it together.)

(Dissolve to show the clock reading 6:56 a.m.  The sun peaks through the 
windows.  Daria has gone upstairs, while Jake lies in a fetal position on 
the right-hand couch, snoring lightly.  Helen sits in an upright position on 
the center couch, her eyes closed and head tilted to the side.  Her eyes are 
puffy and hollowed out from tears and lack of sleep.)

(At the faint sound of a car engine outside, she springs back to consciousness.
Helen races over to the window to check, but quickly grows disappointed as she
sees a neighboring car rumble past on its way to work.  She gazes around the
living room and kitchen, notes the lack of Quinn, and, taking the phone, slowly 
walks up the stairs.)

(Helen enters Quinn's room and looks around.  She and Jake have already swept 
through it for signs of Quinn's whereabouts, and she doesn't really expect to 
find her there now.  Still, seeing the empty room causes a heavy feeling in 
Helen's chest.  She sinks down on Quinn's bed, gazes blankly at the posters, 
pom-poms, and the mirrors.  Then she looks at the phone, dials a number.  After 
a few rings lead to an answering machine message...)

HELEN: (drained, emotionless)  Mr. Phelps?  This is Helen Morgendorffer, Quinn's 
mother.  I'm sorry to be phoning you so early.  It's just that my daughter is 
missing.  (Her voice cracks a little.)  She was so upset after what happened 
yesterday that she took off in her car and hasn't been home all night.  No one 
else has seen her.  I'm *not* blaming you... I just... I just thought maybe she was 
with you or you might know where she is.  I just want her to be safe... that's all 
I care about.  I just want to know that she's safe...

(A few moments of silence pass, as Helen can't think of anything more to say.  
She thumbs off the phone and stares at the floor.)

(cut to: )

SCENE 7 (Phelps's house, soon after)

(Marshall stands just outside Phelps's office door.  Helen's voice on the message
recording rumbles on, obscured by thickness of the door frame.  Marshall opens the
door gently just as the last part of the message is being played.  He finds Phelps
seated at his desk, his forefinger on the Replay button of his answering machine.
Phelps's face is expressionless, but his eyes stare off into space, and there is a
crease across his brow.  When Marshall appears in his sightline, he blinks and 
his eyes grow focused.)

PHELPS: (matter-of-fact)  You were listening.

MARSHALL:  It was loud enough to hear through the door.

(Phelps makes a motion as if about to replay the message, then stops himself.)

MARSHALL:  Quinn is missing, is she?

PHELPS:  Apparently so.

MARSHALL:  *Do* you have any idea where she went?

PHELPS:  No.  (He stands, straightens his tie.)  And even if I did, I don't have 
time to go looking for her.  I have classes to teach.

MARSHALL: (quiet)  For God's sake, Alfred, you do still care about the girl?

PHELPS:  She cheated in my class, Marshall.

(Marshall gives him a look that cannot entirely disguise his skepticism.)

MARSHALL:  Even so, after all of the time you spent together, does that mean 
she's now worthless to you?

(Phelps pauses.  He continues to fiddle with his tie until it is completely
smooth, then takes off his glasses and shines them until they gleam.  When he 
puts them back on, his brow creases in thought.)

PHELPS:  There is *one* place where she could be.

(He gazes at Marshall.)

PHELPS:  I'll phone the police station and leave an anonymous tip.  That way, 
my involvement won't go any further.      
     
(cut to: )

SCENE 8 (The Grove, at that same time)

(Shot of the outside, which looks serene amongst all the trees.  In the side 
lot, parked across two spaces, is the Focus.)

(Cut to a shot of Quinn, seated Indian-style on top of the upper deck railing,
which is thick enough to support the weight of an individual.  Behind her, the 
deck tables are covered by thin canopies, and the windows of the tea house are 
dark.  Sunlight plays across Quinn's hair, which is still disheveled from her 
fight with Daria.  She has pulled on a thin sweatshirt left in the car in case 
of an emergency, which barely protects her from the cold.  Her eyes are red-
rimmed and shadowed from lack of sleep.)

(She gazes down at the quiet stream below, recalling how not long ago, the 
sight of it filled her with a sense of calm.  She now finds it upsetting that 
it would still be calm, while her emotions were churning.) 

(Quinn stands up on the railing and looks out.  From her point of view, she 
can see that the stream stretches all the way off into the horizon, surrounded 
by woods that stretch as far as the eye can see, only breaking to circle the
borders of a small town.  Three stories straight down, the elegant fountain of 
the Grove, surrounded by a stone walkway, lies still and serene, waiting to be
turned on.  Quinn can practically see the coins glistening in the water...)  

SANDI: (O.S.)  Quinn?

(Quinn freezes and, for one or two seconds, comes dangerously close to falling
over the edge, until she regains her balance and moves into a crouching position.
She turns her head.)

QUINN:  Sandi??

SANDI: (vague concern)  Quinn, what are you doing?

(Quinn glances from Sandi, who has just come up the side stairs, to her position
on the railing, and realizes Sandi's implications.  She quickly jumps down onto 
the deck.)

QUINN:  You thought I was...?  Oh *no*, I wasn't.  (Relief washes over her.)  I
would never try to kill myself.

SANDI:  *That's* good, but what are you doing here?  
    
QUINN:  It was the only place I knew of where I could be alone to think.

SANDI:  Your parents are looking for you.  They, like, called my house twice.  

(Quinn's face puckers with remorse.  She leans against the railing and looks out.)

QUINN:  I want to go home... but I can't.  My life is such a mess.

SANDI:  What happened??

QUINN:  I ripped up my sister's work.  She hates me.

SANDI:  Your sister?

QUINN: (sighs)  You knew that Daria's my sister, didn't you?

SANDI:  You mean *before* you stopped pretending?

(She nods abruptly, then joins Quinn at the railing.)

QUINN:  Mr. Phelps accused me of cheating a bunch of times.  Daria tried to help 
me -- she tried to *warn* me -- but I got mad at her and we had a huge fight.

(Sandi notes the bruises on Quinn's face.)

QUINN:  Now I don't have Mr. Phelps and I don't have Daria.  (Her eyes brighten 
with tears.)  And as bad as it was to lose Mr. Phelps, it's way worse to not 
have my sister.  I don't know what to do.

SANDI: (briskly)  Well *I* know what you can do.  First you need to apply a 
conditioning spray to smooth out the *tangles* in your hair.  Then you need to 
apply a Vitamin-K-based foundation to cover over those bruises -- ugh.

(She produces a small "emergency" make-up bag.  Quinn smiles in spite of herself.)

QUINN:  Sandi, that's not really what I meant.

(Nonetheless, she quickly takes the offered bag and removes the conditioner and 
a hairbrush.  She squirts conditioner onto her hair and combs it out gently.)

QUINN:  Thanks for coming to look for me.

SANDI:  Um, actually... (She gets an uncomfortable look.) ... it's you who are at 
the place *I* go in the mornings.  

QUINN:  You work at the Grove?

SANDI:  Um, no...

(cut to: )

SCENE 9 (lecture room, soon after)

(Sandi and a cleaned-up Quinn enter.  Behind the lectern, Quinn notices an 
embossed sign that reads "Unitarian Universalist Youth."  A man in his forties 
sets a chalice on a nearby table, while some other teenagers and young adults 
set up folding chairs.)

MINISTER:  Sandi, it's your turn to light the chalice, isn't it?

SANDI:  Actually, Reverend, I'm supposed to lead the singing from the hymnal.

MINISTER:  Ah, yes.  (sees Quinn, smiles.)  Who's your friend?

SANDI: (blushes)  Oh, this is Quinn.  She isn't staying.

QUINN:  Hi.

MINISTER: (to Quinn)  If you're ever interested in joining us, we hold services
four times a week from seven to eight and ten to eleven.

QUINN:  Okay.  Thanks.

(Sandi leads Quinn outside, in the direction of Quinn's car.  Quinn looks at her 
with wide eyes and a smile.)

QUINN:  *That's* your big secret??  You've been going to *church*??
 
SANDI: (annoyed)  *Yes*.  Mystery solved.

QUINN:  I just never thought *you*, of all people...

SANDI:  Why not??  It's not one of those *annoying* churches with the sin.  People 
are actually *nice* to you here.

QUINN:  So all this time, those people you were going out with, they were from 
your church, too??

SANDI:  Yes, yes, *yes*.  Can we *please* just drop it??

QUINN:  I don't get it -- it's not that big a deal.  Why haven't you told anyone?

(Sandi turns to look at her, scowls.)

SANDI:  Maybe because they wouldn't *believe* it.

(Realizing that Sandi was hurt by her response, Quinn stifles her amusement.)

QUINN:  I was surprised.  But now that it's sunk in, I think it's kind of cool.

SANDI:  Yes, well you're a friend.  Can you imagine what all the *backstabbers* 
at our school would say?  "She's just being all fake and pious to cover over
all the bad things she's done."  I don't want them *tainting* it like that.

QUINN:  Why did you decide to join?

(They reach Quinn's car, and Sandi leans against it wearily.)

SANDI:  Not long after my Zero Tolerance suspension, I was just feeling real 
*miserable*, like I couldn't do anything right and *no* one trusted me.  One 
day I gave *make-up* advice to some woman standing in line with me at Cashman's, 
and she told me about this church she belonged to.  I found a chapter suited
for young people, went to a meeting, and the rest is history.

QUINN:  So you like it?

SANDI:  Of *course* I like it.  No one here judges you for what you've done.  They 
just make you feel as though you can be better, like you're not just some *split* 
end in their perfect hair-do.  I think it's even made me care a little less about 
the way people look.

QUINN:  Then who *cares* what the kids at school say??  If they can't just accept 
you for who you are, they're not worth it.

(Sandi smiles, but then her face grows troubled.)

SANDI:  No one else knows.  Not even my mother.

QUINN:  What would *she* have against it??

SANDI: (scowls)  Oh, she might just treat it as a sign of *weakness* in a cut-
throat dog-eating world, or whatever.  Or she might treat it like some sort of 
*networking* opportunity, like the friends I've made are just people I can use 
to get ahead.

QUINN:  You'll never know unless you tell her.

SANDI:  I can't.  Maybe if she were like *your* parents, it'd be different.

(Hearing the word "parents" catapults Quinn back into her own reality.  Her 
expression grows anxious.)

QUINN:  So this church teaches you that things will work out, and stuff?

(Sandi gets her meaning.)

SANDI:  That we've all been blessed and that we're all capable of making our
own outcomes.  You'll be all right, Quinn.

QUINN:  I don't know.  (She gazes at the ground.)  I wish I could believe in 
that stuff like you do, Sandi, but lately, it feels as though everything I 
believe in has turned out to be a lie.

SANDI:  For God's sake, Quinn, it's not like you've turned into a *vegetable* 
or something.  You're still that person who maneuvered her way into the 
Fashion Club presidency, who says one word and has guys wrapped around her
finger.  You've got enough going for you -- you don't *need* to believe in 
anyone else. 

QUINN: (smiles)  I've never heard you talk like that, Sandi.

SANDI: (cocks a brow)  Don't expect me to make a *habit* of it.

QUINN:  I promise I won't say anything about your church until you do.

SANDI:  Thanks.  And I promise not tell anyone that I saw you in public with
*bedroom* hair.

(She and Quinn exchange smirks that show their rivalry isn't entirely dead, 
but at least it is far removed from what it once was.  Just then, red lights 
flash over them, and Sandi and Quinn turn to see a police car approaching.  
The car pulls up alongside them and a policeman rolls down his window.)  

POLICEMAN:  Quinn Morgendorffer?

(Quinn's face takes on a look of quiet expectation.)

QUINN:  Yes.  That's me. 

(cut to: )

SCENE 10 (Morgendorffer house, late morning)

(The Focus is in the driveway, and the police car parked along the curb.  
Inside, the policeman stands with Quinn, Helen, and Jake.  Daria watches 
them from the couch.)

POLICEMAN:  Well, she seems no worse for wear.  (to Quinn)  Next time you 
want to spend the night "thinking," I'd suggest you stop by a payphone.  

(He waves good-bye and closes the door behind him.  Jake then grabs Quinn and 
hugs her tightly to his chest for several moments.  When she pulls back --)

JAKE:  THAT'S IT, YOUNG LADY!  YOU ARE NEVER LEAVING THIS HOUSE *AGAIN*!

(Quinn's relief at being home quickly vanishes.)

JAKE:  YOU'RE STAYING UP IN YOUR ROOM!  YOU'LL GET YOUR FOOD THROUGH A CRACK 
IN THE DOOR!  WE'LL PICK OUT YOUR HUSBAND AND YOUR KIDS CAN SLEEP IN YOUR 
SOCK DRAWER!

HELEN:  WHAT YOUR FATHER MEANS QUINN IS THAT WE WERE SCARED HALF TO DEATH!  
WE HAD *NO* IDEA WHERE YOU WERE -- DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW THAT FEELS?!

QUINN:  Okay.  I --        

JAKE:  SHE'LL *NEVER* KNOW BECAUSE HER KIDS WILL GO TO SCHOOL IN HER CLOSET! 

HELEN: NEVER *EVER* STAY OUT ALL NIGHT WITHOUT TELLING SOMEONE WHERE YOU ARE!

QUINN: (toneless)  Why not?  It's what you did.

(Helen looks at her with a stricken expression, the events of "All But Forgotten" 
flooding back to her.  Tired, Quinn brushes past her and heads for the stairs.  
Helen's face puckers and tears fill her eyes.)

HELEN:  I know.

(Quinn turns to face her, just as she's let out a loud sob and put her face in 
her hands.  Another sob follows, then another.) 

HELEN:  I shouldn't have done it.  I'm *so* sorry.

(She begins weeping openly.  Jake lays an arm around her and tries to comfort 
her.  From the couch, Daria looks at her, stunned -- as does Quinn.  The
combination of seeing her mother cry with anguish, and the first admission 
since the separation that one of her parents is actually fallible, causes an
emotional barrier inside Quinn to crumble.)  

(She walks over to Helen and buries herself in her arms.  Helen holds Quinn to 
her chest, stroking her hair and sobbing into her shoulder.  Quinn's own grief 
rises to the surface once again.)

QUINN:  Mom, I'm scared.  I don't know what to do.

(Helen kisses her temple and hugs her tighter.  Her sobs eventually give way 
to sniffles and husky breathing.  She shushes Quinn, rocks her gently back 
and forth, feeling her own tension, caused by weeks of having to be positive 
and in control, slowly ease away.)     

(cut to: )

SCENE 11 (Morgendorffer living room, a short time later)

(Quinn sits on the center couch, with Helen on one side of her and Jake on 
the other.  Helen strokes her forehead.)  

HELEN:  We still have to set up a meeting with your principal and Mr. Phelps.  
Probably for tomorrow or the next day.

QUINN:  I don't think I can go.  I don't want to see him.

JAKE:  Honey, your mom and me will be there the whole time.

HELEN:  That's right -- we won't let him hurt you.  And Daria, you'll have a 
chance to speak up about those instances where he threatened you.

DARIA:  I've seen as much of him as I can stand for one lifetime.

HELEN:  Well all right.  

(Her brow creases, indicating her disagreement with Daria's decision, but she 
doesn't press.)

HELEN:  As for you, Quinn: You haven't escaped punishment, but we'll deal with 
it later.  Right now, you must be hungry, or at least tired.

(Quinn sits up straighter.)

QUINN:  No, I'm not tired.  For once.

(She looks over at Daria, who gazes back with a cold, hard expression.  Now 
that her sister has been safely returned, Daria's feelings of anger have
reemerged.  Quinn realizes that she hasn't said one word to her since she came 
home.  Her heart sinks.)

(cut to: )

SCENE 12 (Phelps's home office, the next evening)

(Phelps is on the phone with an attorney friend when Marshall comes in, his 
face grim.  He waits for Phelps to finish his phone call.)

MARSHALL:  Was that Mark?

PHELPS:  Yes, he'll be with me tomorrow when I meet with Ms. Li and the
Morgendorffers, recording our interactions for the purposes of a trial if it 
should go that far.  

MARSHALL:  Isn't that a bit excessive?

PHELPS:  The mother's a lawyer... I know she'll be doing the same.  (He eyes
Marshall with faint regret.)  I would have asked *you* to come... if you hadn't
talked with the elder Morgendorffer girl.  

(Marshall looks at him with pleading eyes.)

MARSHALL:  Alfred, say you'll do the right thing.

PHELPS:  What do you mean?

MARSHALL: (lower voice)  You know that little girl didn't cheat -- at least not 
on her own.  You were with her so much, she couldn't have cheated consistently
without your approval. 

(Phelps's face grows tense.)

MARSHALL:  Tell her you made a mistake, then let her go.  Close your new 
accounts in the Cayman Islands.

PHELPS:  What "new" accounts in the --

MARSHALL:  Don't lie to me, Alfred.  I know.  

(Phelps gives him a pointed look.  "How?")

MARSHALL:  You may be the brilliant mathematician in this household, but I can 
work a few puzzles on my own.  The kind that come from piecing shredded bits of
paper together, to form phone records... bank records.

(Phelps smiles tightly, half enraged, half impressed.)

PHELPS:  And you have these "puzzles" secreted somewhere on your person?

MARSHALL:  They're in a safe place.  You won't find them anywhere in the house.  
And I'm not the only one who knows about them.

(Phelps stands, his expression growing angrier and pained.)

PHELPS:  You tell me not to lie, yet you show me such utter contempt.

MARSHALL:  You *did* lie to me, Alfred!  Nearly two years ago, I asked you to
return the stolen money to the Fielding parents.  You said you did, but you 
simply moved it to another location where they don't ask questions. It's
because I trusted you, Alfred, that for so long, I didn't ask any, either.  

(Phelps looks as though he wishes to make a retort, but knows that he has been
cornered.  Through his anger, his feelings of admiration grow at the sight of his
long-docile partner's display of fire.)

MARSHALL:  I also found that you hid some of your growing accounts under the 
names of your students... like Quinn's.  Maybe your students in the past were 
willing accomplices, but this one... she turned you down, didn't she?  So you 
decided to ruin her... in case she decided to talk?

(Phelps's expression grows pained, revealing the truth without him having to 
say it.  His body sags with the regret of having to make a decision that he 
never wanted to make.)

PHELPS:  She'd left me.  She was going to betray me, I was sure of it.  I still 
am.  (He looks at Marshall quietly.)  I suppose you're going to leave me, too?

MARSHALL:  I will one way or another, Alfred.  I'll be confessing to my own 
part in your crimes.  However, I'll give you a choice -- you can continue with
your plan, pretend like nothing happened, while I turn you in.  Or you could 
close your accounts, call this off, and tell the girl's parents that you made a
mistake.  We can then go to the police together, and no matter what happens,
you'll still have one person in this world who loves you.
 
(Phelps takes a deep breath, weighing these choices.  Then his face hardens into 
a mask of indifference.  He takes a deep breath and stands tall -- what's done 
is done.  There's no going back now.)

PHELPS: (sneers)  You show a remarkable amount of balls, my love.  It's rather
charming to see after all this time, but do you really think that you could 
hold on to them??  When you're constantly pressured to deny who you are, *what*
you are, so that even your own closet doesn't seem dark enough??

MARSHALL:  I don't know, Alfred, but I'll do my best.

PHELPS: (slightly strained)  You don't think I'd let you go so easily.  You 
don't think I anticipated this, too, that you might try to betray me?  That 
there aren't skeletons in your closet that I could reveal that would make 
your homosexuality seem like a blessing?

(Marshall gazes at him with sadness.  He makes a movement toward his partner 
to give him a light kiss on the cheek, then thinks better of it.)

MARSHALL:  Go ahead.  Over fifteen years, I've lost a lot of myself already.
Much of the reason why I stayed with you was because I believed what you told 
me -- that if I gave you up, I was denying what I was.  Now I realize that it's
not what I am that I'm ashamed of, but what I've been with you.

(He leaves Phelps alone in his office... and before long, the house.)

(cut to: )

SCENE 13 (Li's office, early the next morning)

(Quinn, Helen, and Jake have three chairs across from Ms. Li's desk, though 
Helen is doing more standing than sitting.  Next to the desk sits Phelps in 
a chair -- alone.)

HELEN:  The solution is obvious.  We'll have an agreed-upon third-party 
administer a test to Quinn.  If she does well, she *obviously* wasn't cheating.

PHELPS:  Mrs. Morgendorffer, whether or not Quinn can do the work at this point 
is irrelevant.  She cheated consistently over a period of several months.

HELEN:  I would like to see those answer keys again.

(Phelps hands her a file folder.  Helen has to restrain herself from doing
something with it that would leave Phelps unconscious and bleeding from the head.
She looks at the papers in the folder, then shoots him and Ms. Li a glare.)

HELEN:  These doesn't give *any* indication as to when or *why* Quinn might have
used them.  She could have written on this one *after* the tests in question in
order to see where she went wrong.

PHELPS:  Except that she got everything right.

HELEN:  For *review*, then.  And isn't it funny that you must have the shoddiest 
filing cabinet in the school, if my daughter could take your answer keys with 
such regularity??

PHELPS:  I often prepare several tests in advance -- it's not unusual for the keys
to be together in a stack.

HELEN: (to Ms. Li)  You used to keep cameras in the classrooms for surveillance.  

MS. LI: (embarrassed)  Yes, well, that was before the... um... bribing incident six 
months ago.

HELEN:  Which means you would have *some* video footage of Quinn taking the 
answer keys if she were, in fact, doing so.

PHELPS:  I covered the cameras because I felt them intrusive.  Besides, she 
wouldn't have had to be *in* the classroom to take them.  Any time my back was 
turned, at a mathletic event, on an outing, *any* time.

(Quinn opens her mouth to speak at this point.  However, her general fatigue 
and nervousness render her unable to form coherent thoughts, so instead she 
sits rigidly in her seat beside Jake, letting Helen do the talking for her.)

HELEN:  If she's so incredibly clever, how did you manage to get *all* of those 
keys back from her, even the ones dating from last year?? 
  
PHELPS:  I took them out of her locker.  We *are* authorized to do random locker 
searches when we feel they're warranted.

HELEN:  In the case of drug or weapon possession, *not* stolen materials.  (As 
Ms. Li is about to speak --)  And *yes*, I read that part of the legal code 
very carefully.

MS. LI:  Mrs. Morgendorffer, it'll do you no good to hide behind some *loophole* 
in the random locker searches statute.  If Mr. Phelps says --

PHELPS:  That statute could easily be interpreted to include stolen property --

HELEN:  And what does the inside of Quinn's locker look like, Mr. Phelps?

PHELPS:  It... like your ordinary locker, I suppose.

HELEN:  With photographs, books, a mirror or two?

PHELPS:  Yes, you could say.

HELEN:  And what if I told you that Quinn doesn't like to keep books or clutter 
in her locker because it would block the mirrors on the back wall?

PHELPS: (reddens slightly)  Then I would... I didn't quite remember...

HELEN:  So therefore *why* would she keep stolen answer keys inside her locker
-- especially if they could be taken from her at any moment, as you've
established?

MS. LI:  Oh for crying out loud.

HELEN:  And the fact that you don't remember her locker after a recent search 
tells me that you either lied about how you obtained the answer keys or you 
lied about her ever taking them.  I would say the second one -- not that I 
believed you to begin with.

PHELPS:  Mrs. Morgendorffer, parents always want to believe the best of --

HELEN:  Oh *save* it.  The only reason we've even listened this long is because
we wanted to know what sort of weak, preposterous arguments you would try to 
put forward so we could be prepared.

(Quinn leans forward unconsciously, her shoulders rigid.  The nearness of her
mentor has filled her with more grief and rage, so much so that she can't feel
relieved that her mother has poked holes in his lie.  Suddenly she lets out a 
gasp, feeling a hand brushing her arm.  She looks down to see Jake curling his
hand around hers.  Grateful, she slips her hand into his, and he gives it a
squeeze.)

PHELPS: (cool)  So you won't accept the proof laid before you?  It's too bad -- 
I might have been willing to consider an arrangement that wasn't quite so 
damaging to your child.

HELEN:  We'll go as far as we have to -- that's what happens when a trusted 
authority figure uses his status to threaten and intimidate the teenagers 
he's entrusted with.  (She glares at Ms. Li to emphasize her own crimes of this 
nature.)  It's what we should have done a long time ago.

(Phelps glances past Helen's too-close and angry face to look at Quinn, whose 
eyes he has been avoiding the entire meeting.  Right now, her focus appears to 
be on her mother's waist, but Phelps notices her hand tightly clasped in her 
father's.  A strange feeling fills the pit of his stomach.)

HELEN:  Yes, that's right, we *trusted* you, Mr. Phelps.  In spite of my 
reservations about your domineering personality and troubling signs that Quinn's 
enthusiasm for math wasn't transferring to her other schoolwork, I saw how 
attentive you were toward her and imagined you wanted to help her achieve.  Yes, 
as you so fondly note, that was a failure on *my* part.  But that was also a 
failure on yours.     

(She looks at Phelps a moment longer, and her lawyerly composure breaks down a 
little.)

HELEN:  You threatened my girls, you *bastard*.  Honest to God, if there weren't
laws against murder --!

JAKE:  YEAH!  (He springs up from his chair and dashes toward Phelps.  Helen 
restrains him with some difficulty.)  I OUGHT TO --!

MS. LI:  People, *please*, this is out of order! (glares at Helen and Jake.)  I 
think it's very clear *whooo* is doing the threatening, here.

HELEN: (to Ms. Li)  And you -- does substance mean *anything* to you?!  You're 
so caught up in your misguided sense of glory that you use a few wrong words
as an excuse to ruin the record of a student who's done *nothing* to harm your
school, while coddling someone who actually *could*.

JAKE: (to Phelps)  Did you *ever* care about our kid?!  Or was that just a bunch
of crap?!

PHELPS:  Mr. --

HELEN:  Do you care about *anyone* but yourself?  Because it seems to me that if 
you've threatened two students, there's more where that came from.  It may be 
worth an investigation to find out just how many.  And not *every* one could be 
written off as a bad child with worthless parents!

MS. LI:  This discussion is officially *over*.  In all my years as an educator, 
I have never heard such a ridiculous load of *hoo-haw* as you have been dishing 
out.  Let me be clear that when we *do* appeal to a higher authority, this will
*not* be forgotten.

(She exchanges venomous glares with Helen and Jake, while Quinn stands up just
behind her parents, her eyes cast downward.  Meanwhile, Phelps has been regarding
these outbursts with a touch of fatigue and even vague sympathy.)

PHELPS:  In answer to your questions -- yes, I did care about your daughter, and 
still do.  I care about *all* my students.  Unfortunately, it is her lot in life
to have a teacher who *doesn't* always put the students' cares above my own.  I've
gone through too much in my own life to switch my way of thinking now.  I am a
fighter, and I will fight to the end if I feel I'm right, no matter how single-
minded or misguided I might seem.  (He lightly brushes Quinn's arm.)  I hope 
someday she'll --   

QUINN:  DON'T TOUCH ME!  

(Phelps draws back in shock at her raw outburst.  He looks into her wide blue
eyes, crystallized in an expression of rage, sadness, confusion, and betrayal... 
all of the emotions that have been tearing about inside.  Phelps steps back a 
little further, unable to look away.  Quinn's eyes fill with tears and her 
face contorts with the attempt to hold back a sob.  Helen takes her into her 
arms, while Jake leans over to soothe her.  Ms. Li watches with embarrassment.)

MS. LI:  Oh... well... did I mention we validate parking?

(The Morgendorffers file out quickly.  Phelps watches them go, his face numb.)

(cut to: )

SCENE 14 (Morgendorffer basement, the next evening)

(Helen sits on a stool, a pottery wheel before her, her hands covered in wet 
clay as they work a conical shape.)

QUINN: (O.S.)  Mom?

HELEN:  Down here.

(Quinn comes down the stairs and stands across from her.)

QUINN:  What's that?

HELEN:  I don't know yet.  This is my first attempt to use a pottery wheel -- 
I borrowed it from Amanda Lane a while back and this is the first time I've 
really felt any inspiration.

(Quinn wrinkles her nose a bit, but sees that the sculpting has given her 
mother a mellower air.  She comes closer to watch.)

HELEN:  You're wearing your glasses.

QUINN:  Yeah.  The contacts were sort of hurting my eyes, so I thought I'd give
them a rest.  (She touches them, smiles a little.)  It's funny: I thought once 
I got contacts, my life would be perfect.  But things have changed so much since 
I first started wearing glasses.  Sometimes I even kind of miss them.

HELEN:  Do you think you'll go back to wearing them?

QUINN:  Are you *kidding*?!  (She gets a look of horror on her face, then breaks 
into a little laugh.)  Maybe... sometimes.

(Helen cocks a knowing eyebrow at her as her sculpture rapidly loses shape.)

QUINN:  Mom, I just came down here to say, you know, thanks for everything you 
did in Ms. Li's office.  You said all the stuff I *wish* I could have said.  I
can't believe I just sat there like a wimp.

HELEN:  Though when you finally *did* speak, your meaning was perfectly clear.

QUINN:  I guess.  (Her face darkens.)  Except I can't stop thinking about Mr.
Phelps.  I even dreamt about him last night.  The thought of having to see him
every day --

HELEN:  Believe me, honey, we'll get you transferred.

QUINN:  Even in the hallway... knowing things will never be the same between us.  
(She squeezes her eyes shut.)  I let him know everything about me.  I told him 
stuff I never told anyone else.  I was so stupid, Mom.  I can't believe I 
trusted him that much.

HELEN:  You cared about him, honey, and you thought he cared about you.  While 
I don't approve of everything you did under his guidance, I would never fault 
you for accepting his friendship.  Besides, if nothing else, he did get you
interested in school again.

QUINN: (looks down)  He was the first person who believed I was smart.

HELEN:  No, sweetheart.  Not the first person.

(Quinn looks up.)

QUINN:  You?

HELEN: (tender exasperation)  Quinn, *everyone* in this family believes that 
you're smart.  

QUINN:  Sometimes *I* still wonder.

HELEN:  Don't you remember what I told you when we first talked about you 
getting glasses?  

QUINN:  Some stuff about not getting caught under a glass ceiling?

HELEN:  That they could *expand* your choices in life and help you achieve your
academic potential.  I've always believed, while maybe not in exactly the same
ways, that you were every bit as smart as Daria.      

(Quinn smiles a little with gratitude.)

QUINN:  Really?

HELEN:  I'd even swear on it under oath.

(Quinn's smile becomes mixed with a little sadness.)

QUINN:  Daria said that stuff, too.  And now she hates me.

HELEN:  I'm sure she doesn't hate you.  Though I can understand why she'd be 
very upset with you right now.

QUINN:  No, Mom, she *hates* me.  Every time I look into her eyes, she gives 
me this *look* that I can't describe.  It's like I don't exist to her anymore.
(Tears fill her eyes.)  I told her I was sorry for ripping up her stories, but 
she still looks at me that way. 

HELEN:  Did you really expect her to forgive you that quickly?

QUINN:  No... but I don't know what I can do to make her like me again.  I can't 
bring back her stories because some of the paper got lost when I ran away after
our fight.  Mom, I swear, I'd do anything!  I'm the reason she's in so much
trouble at school, just because she wanted to get me out of Mr. Phelps's class.  

HELEN:  She really went out on a limb for you, didn't she?

QUINN:  She tried to help me and I just ignored her, and then she got in trouble 
and I went and ripped up her stuff.  I've been such a jerk to her this whole time.  
She doesn't deserve to have me for a sister, but maybe... if I could just get her 
to like me again...

(The tears spill out of her eyes, and Quinn wipes them away.)

HELEN:  Sweetie, the only thing I can advise is for you do things to show that 
you care about her.  Really pay attention to what's happening in her life and 
be ready to give her support when she needs it.  Then maybe, over time, her 
anger toward you won't be as strong.

(Quinn nods, wishing that her mother had more concrete solutions, but knowing 
that the pathway back to Daria's heart won't be easy.  She gazes at her mother's 
sculpture, now half-collapsed, resembling a warped flower.)

HELEN:  Oh dear.  I knew I should have gotten instructions first.

QUINN:  It's not that bad.  It's kind of...

HELEN:  My usual style?

(Quinn smiles, while Helen sighs in a resigned, yet noticeably more peaceful
manner than she's had over the past several weeks.  Quinn watches her, still
feeling troubled, but soothed by the motion of the wheel.) 

(cut to: )

SCENE 15 (Ms. Li's office, early the next day)

(She sits alone in her office, listening to her phone messages.  Suddenly her 
face contorts with rage.)

MS. LI:  What the HELL?!

(cut to: )

SCENE 16 (Lawndale High, later that day)

(Quinn is walking down the hallway, on her way to second period, when Stacy and
Tiffany meet her.)

STACY:  Hey Quinn?  Did you know about Mr. Phelps?

QUINN: (stiffens)  What about him?

TIFFANY:  He left... the school.

QUINN:  What?!  (She stops.)  He *ran* off?!

STACY:  He's resigned.  The kids in his first period class think it was a nervous 
breakdown.  He won't be teaching at Lawndale High any more.

(Quinn thinks about this, feeling stunned and relieved.  Could it be that her 
outburst got through to him?  Maybe he really *did* care about her, after all?  
At the same time, she feels a renewed sense of grief because now she will never 
know one way or the other.)

STACY:  I thought maybe you knew, since you spent so much time with him.

QUINN:  Oh... no.  I didn't.

STACY:  Wow, so you didn't know *anything* about this?

QUINN: (irritated)  *Stacy*, if I'd known about it, I'd have said so.

STACY:  I'm *sorry*, Quinn!  That was *so* insensitive.  Are you gonna be okay?

(At this moment, Quinn sees Sandi at the far end of the hall.  They share a look.)

QUINN:  I'll be fine.

(Cut to shot of Daria and Jane, passing various shell-shocked students of Phelps.)

JODIE:  I didn't like him, but he was one of the best teachers I've ever had.  How 
could he just leave without telling us??  

MACK:  He could have at least waited until the end of the trimester.

JODIE:  He was *supposed* to write me a letter of recommendation.

(Daria and Jane pause by their lockers, as Barry, Clarence, and Squiggley pass.)

BARRY:  The mathletics team can't be *cancelled*!  

CLARENCE:  I-I heard it-it was just until they got s-someone else.

SQUIGGLEY:  Gosh, I hope this new teacher knows what to do.

BARRY:  I feel so *abandoned*!

JANE:  Well, that's Phelps for you.  Dramatic and opaque to the end.

DARIA:  And unaccountable.

JANE:  I wouldn't say that.  News from Sloanetown is that Phelps's honey resigned
as a Fielding Administrator, a whole day before Phelps.  It hasn't registered with
the students yet, but wait until the stolen money charges hit the fan.  (She
smiles wickedly.)  Methinks I'll have something interesting to talk to Mrs. Sloane
about when we go on that college tour.

(cut to: )

SCENE 17 (Daria's room, a few days later)

(From the hallway, Daria turns the knob and finds, to her surprise, that it turns 
easily.  As she has kept the door locked at all times, she greets this development
with alarm.  She pushes the door open and finds Quinn seated in the middle of 
the floor, surrounded by piles of books.  Absorbed in reading a notebook, she 
doesn't notice Daria's presence until her shadow darkens the pages.)

QUINN:  Daria...

DARIA:  Get out.

QUINN:  Daria, I'm sorry I came in, but I wanted to help you --

DARIA:  Get *out*!

(She grabs the notebook out of Quinn's lap with one hand and her wrist with the
other, squeezing it tightly.)

QUINN:  You know that journal you were looking for, that one you kept when you 
were on that underground paper --?!

DARIA:  You'll never respect anything that isn't yours, not even my door!

(She yanks Quinn's wrist in the direction of the door.  Quinn grabs at Daria's 
arm and tries to stop her.)

QUINN:  Ow, I found it, it talks about Lowman's, OW!

DARIA:  GET THE HELL OUT!

QUINN:  Daria, look, please look, it could help you with that Mr. Estr-- owOW*OW*
-- that's admissive evidence, ISN'T IT?!

(Daria stops, looks at her questioningly.  She lets go of Quinn's wrist and 
looks at the pages she had been viewing.  Shock washes over her as she sees 
writing about her last encounter with Damien, his promise to print the correction 
of her Lowman's article.  She looks at the back cover.)

DARIA:  Where did you find this?

QUINN:  It was in one of your stacks.  

DARIA:  I must have searched through every book in each stack three times.

QUINN:  Yeah, but in this one, your journal stuff is stuck between two other 
things -- some essays on the meaning of life and weird drawings of the teachers.  
I almost didn't look far enough.

(Daria reads further, almost trembling with relief.  She then looks at Quinn, 
who is trying to shake the feeling back into her wrist.  With a stab of fear, 
she remembers Helen's disappointed comment about her being a "bully.")

DARIA:  Quinn... um, thanks for finding this.  I'd already given up.

QUINN:  I remembered how you said that if I really cared, I would go the extra 
mile and sneak into your private life.  So that's why I picked your lock -- I 
wouldn't have done it otherwise.

(Daria gazes down at the book, a small, sheepish smile on her face.)

DARIA:  I may have to reconsider your "right to privacy" argument.

QUINN:  If you show this to Mr. Estrada, he'll *know* you never meant to lie 
about his store, right??  And he'll drop his lawsuit and give the school back 
its contract??

DARIA:  I don't know.  I hope so.  (A feeling of relief washes over her.)  The 
most important thing is that I wrote it...

(cut to: )

SCENE 18 (Sunday afternoon, the following week)

(Daria sits in her room, reading for the thousandth time an article that has 
appeared on the inside pages of the Lawndale Sun-Herald: "Local Prep School 
Investigates Money Theft Claims."  There are no pictures to accompany the 
article, but it talks about an "unnamed Fielding administrator" who knew that 
the theft was taking place. [If Marshall spilled everything, how soon could 
they get together an arrest warrant for Phelps?])

(After long last, with a sense that, at long last, justice is being done, 
Daria closes the newspaper and heads out of her room.)

(cut to: )

SCENE 19 (kitchen)

(She enters to find Quinn with Helen and Jake at the kitchen table, in the 
midst of a brainstorming session.)

HELEN:  Mr. Phelps may have instilled your love of math, but that doesn't mean 
he can take it away.  It's a part of you now.

QUINN:  I just don't know if I can keep it up on my own.

JAKE:  Hell, honey: Your old dad can give you help if you need it.

(Quinn looks at him, recalls the help he gave her when she first started tackling 
math.  Her eyes soften.)

QUINN:  Thanks, Dad.

HELEN:  And while we want you to put more focus on all of your classes, math 
*is* the shining star on your academic record.  Many excellent colleges are
looking to admit young women into their math and science programs.

QUINN: (soft)  Not Cambridge.

HELEN:  What?

QUINN:  Mom, I still haven't been cleared of cheating.  And even if I am, who's 
gonna believe my grades if my math teacher turns out to be a thief??  

HELEN: (firm)  We'll just think of ways for you to *broaden* your math experience.  
Maybe you could take a class or two at the local college.

JAKE:  Or how 'bout an internship, at some hotshot accounting or engineering firm?

HELEN:  That's a great idea.  Now who would we know...?

DARIA:  Aunt Amy's boyfriend is an engineer, isn't he?

HELEN:  You're right, Daria.  I'll give her a call -- maybe his firm has a summer
outreach program for high school students.

QUINN:  But she'll have a baby by then.  Would she really want to help me?

HELEN:  It never hurts to find out.

(Quinn suddenly gets the happiest smile she's had for days.)

QUINN:  I can't believe *she's* having a baby.

DARIA: (quieter)  Yeah.

QUINN:  Why didn't you tell us, Mom??

HELEN:  I felt bad about it, but she swore me to secrecy until she'd reached her
first trimester.  For women her age, it's very easy to miscarry in the first 
couple of months, so she didn't want a lot of fuss until she felt sure that she 
could carry to term.  I only found out by accident.

QUINN:  Daria, we're gonna have a cousin!  I mean, another one.   

DARIA: (dry)  I would think you'd be used to having two cousins by now.

QUINN:  Does that mean Aunt Amy and Joel are gonna get married?  Finally?

HELEN:  The way your aunt's mind works, who knows...

JAKE:  Oh *man*, poor Joel's gonna have a hard time --

HELEN: (glares)  *Jake*.

JAKE:  Um, picking out the ring... of course!  (He gives a weak thumbs up.)

DARIA:  Speaking of unclear marital futures... what's happening with yours?

(Helen, Jake, and Quinn stare at her.  Daria feels her own cheeks grow hot, as 
she blurted out the question without thinking, and in another moment, wouldn't
have said anything at all.  Still, she feels relieved to have the question out 
in the open.)

HELEN:  Well...

(She looks at Daria, then at Quinn, noting their direct gazes, the look in their 
eyes that states they're mentally preparing themselves for the worst possible 
answer.  Helen then looks at Jake, and he nods a little, telling her to let their 
daughters in on what they've discussed.)

HELEN:  I'll be honest, girls: We don't have plans to get back together anytime 
soon.  While it's true that we've learned how to communicate in spite of the
separation, we still have a lot of things we need to work out.  (She heaves 
a sigh.)  There's our mutual need to grow, as we've mentioned, but also... your 
father and I tend to hurt each other a lot.  Emotionally, if not physically.
We've always had that dynamic, but it's gotten more pronounced over time, to the
point where it's worse for us to be together than apart.  Until we can 
figure out how to change that, we'll remain separated.

(Daria and Quinn look at Jake, who nods in agreement.)

QUINN: (quiet)  Does that mean you're getting a divorce?

HELEN:  We don't have plans for that, either.  For now, things are just going to 
remain as they are.

(Daria and Quinn nod, and an awkward silence descends, lasting for a few moments.)

HELEN:  I know that's not what you wanted to hear.  I know you wanted something 
definitive... but that's honestly how it is.  What *is* certain is that no matter 
what happens, we love you both very much and we'll do everything we can to be 
there for you.

JAKE:  Are you okay with that?

(Their daughters glance at each other, a little weary.  Helen was correct -- this 
wasn't what they'd hoped to hear.  At the same time, they realize that the gnawing
pain that has been with them through the separation is no longer as strong.)  

DARIA:  Yes.

(Quinn nods, her face accepting.  Helen strokes her cheek, while Daria turns 
her head at the sound of the doorbell.)

DARIA:  That's probably Jane and Tom. 

(She heads for the front door.)

(cut to: )

SCENE 20 (Daria's room, soon after)

(Daria and Jane sit on the bed, while Tom sits in a computer chair opposite.)

TOM: (incredulous)  Your sister isn't interested in the gory details?

DARIA:  The subject of Phelps is still too painful for her.  She just wants to 
move on.

TOM:  But she'll have to face it, won't she?  He used her the way he's used his 
other students.  Now that they're investigating, they might want her for 
questioning.  Not to mention you and me.

DARIA:  Great.

TOM:  You should have heard my mother during our trip up to Bromwell.  She's got 
friends on the board of trustees, so she knows what's happening before everyone 
else.  She kept talking about Fielding being "shaken at its core" and its 
reputation going downhill. 

JANE:  But enough about that for now -- first tell me what happened with that 
Lowman's guy.  I couldn't tell from what you said over the phone.

DARIA:  He still hasn't given up the lawsuit or reinstated the school's contract, 
but now that he's seen that my intentions weren't malicious, I think he's more
open to working something out.  Truth be told, I don't care so much if I serve 
some punishment for the lie -- even if I meant to correct it, I still should 
have followed through.  It's getting pigeon-holed as some vicious juvenile 
delinquent that I couldn't stand.

JANE:  What about Ms. Li?  You showed her the journal, didn't you?

DARIA:  She hasn't lifted my detention, but let's just say that my written doubts 
about the underground staffers getting revenge on the teachers showed that I
wasn't the danger to the school that she thought.  The important thing is to get 
that messed-up psychological exam nullified.  That could go on my record.

JANE:  I guess I was hoping she'd have the sense to wipe the whole thing away.
  
DARIA:  Jane, if there's one thing I've learned about this whole experience, it's 
that nothing is ever neat, easy, or fast.  I've just got to keep plowing ahead 
until I get the results I'm looking for.  At least now I have some momentum.

TOM:  And in the coming weeks, we'll see what happens with the Fielding
investigation.

DARIA:  Tension, parental anguish... I take it all wasn't spiffy on your college 
tour?

JANE: (grumbles)  That's putting it mildly...

TOM: (annoyed)  Jane.

DARIA:  Come on, spill.  We could all use the diversion.

JANE:  Well let's see: Between rubbing elbows with all of the snooty professors 
nicknamed "Bootsy," "Pingo," and "D.D.," who somehow all managed to be on the 
lawn tennis team with Tom's father --

TOM:  *Jane*.

JANE:  -- and practically choking to death on the ever-present haze of
entitlement, I managed to get my fill of the Ivy League lifestyle, oh... before
I arrived.

TOM:  And of course, she couldn't resist taking out a few casualties with her.

JANE:  So I told that Professor Woods the school could use some shaking up!

TOM:  You told him to set one of the buildings on fire.

JANE:  *Suggested*, as a controlled, dramatic art piece.  Like the Freshman
Sobriety Center gets a whole lot of use anyway.

TOM:  And who can forget the way you told the admissions officer at Dartmouth 
that you had to consult with your other personalities to decide which would 
do the interview??

JANE:  Come on, you thought it was funny.  You laughed.

TOM:  Okay, I did.  Once.

JANE:  Besides, it never would have happened if your mother hadn't trapped me 
into that suck-up fest in the first place.  I made it very clear that I was on 
this trip to observe, which she took as an invitation to shoehorn me into the 
middle of every conversation, telling people I was a high-achiever who wanted to 
know *every* mundane detail about the school. (to Daria.)  Told you she hates me.

TOM: (amiably)  She really, really does.

DARIA:  Well, I can see you two took this quality time to work on your
relationship issues. 

JANE:  Yeah.  We worked on our relationship so hard, it broke.

DARIA:  What??

TOM:  We broke up.

JANE:  You are now looking at Jane the swingin' single.

DARIA:  And yet you're in each other's presence without strangling one another.

TOM:  Without the drama of having to be together all the time, fit our competing 
interests together, we discovered we get along better as friends.

JANE:  Imagine that, huh?

DARIA: (thinks)  Actually... I can.

JANE:  So Tom's officially on the market now.

DARIA:  Meaning?

JANE:  It's been a long time since you played the field, Daria.

DARIA:  Are you setting me up?!

TOM:  I *told* you, I'm not ready to date someone new yet, Jane!  Besides, Daria
and I hardly know one another.

JANE:  You worked together pretty well on exposing the Phelps mystery.

TOM:  Maybe so, but --

JANE:  Listen Tom, I am not gonna be one of those ex-girlfriends whom you like 
on the surface, but secretly harbor bitter feelings towards.  I want to help 
you transition smoothly to the next phase.

TOM:  And putting me in a relationship without my permission works *how*?

JANE:  Okay, fine, it was just an offer.  You and Daria can make the ultimate 
decision yourselves.

TOM:  *Thank* you.

JANE:  But I think you two would really work.

TOM: (rolls his eyes)  Jane...

DARIA:  This is going to be Trent all over again, isn't it?

(Suddenly, an idea hits her.)

DARIA:  Actually, Tom, I *do* need you for something.  A favor.

TOM:  Like what?

DARIA:  Does your family know any "snooty" professors who teach math?

(cut to: )

SCENE 21 (New Town, next Saturday, early morning)

(Daria drives the Focus through the small college town, with Quinn in the
passenger seat, looking nervously out her window at the colonial-style 
buildings.)

DARIA:  Judging from the swarm of official-looking students, I'd say we're 
almost there.

QUINN:  Great.

DARIA: (detects her nervousness)  You feeling okay?

QUINN: (sighs)  Daria, I don't know... maybe we should have gone to Lawndale 
State.  I mean, Bromwell's like *Harvard*.

DARIA:  Tom didn't know any professors willing to help us at State.  Besides, 
just think: If you do well here, that means you've *really* done well.  Then 
you won't have any more doubts about your math abilities.

(Quinn smiles at her faintly, hoping this is true.)

(cut to: )

SCENE 22 (Bromwell University lecture hall, later)

(A distinguished-looking man, Professor Jameson, enters from the bottom side 
door, followed by Daria and Quinn.)

JAMESON:  I don't have much time -- I'm scheduled for a luncheon at 11:30.  Take 
your seats anywhere in the room except next to each other.  Which one of you is 
taking the test again?

QUINN:  Me.

JAMESON:  Do you have a Number Two pencil?

QUINN:  Yeah, I brought, like, five.  And a calculator.

JAMESON:  I don't allow calculators in my class.

QUINN:  Oh... okay.

(She takes a seat a few rows up from the bottom.  Daria sits on the other side 
of the lecture hall, feeling butterflies in her own stomach.  Professor Jameson 
opens up a satchel bag, removes some items.  He then walks over to Quinn and 
hands her a bluebook and some scratch paper.)

JAMESON:  You can only use these.  You can't use your own.

QUINN:  Oh.  Can I...?

JAMESON:  If you use them up, tell me and I'll give you more. (lays a test on 
her desk.)  Here's my latest mid-term.  You have ninety minutes to complete it 
starting... (checks his watch.) *now*.

(Quinn looks at him, startled.)

QUINN:  Um, could I go to the bathroom first?

JAMESON:  You could, but then you'd have less than ninety minutes.

QUINN:  But...

JAMESON:  This is a college mid-term.  My mid-terms last ninety minutes.  The 
clock is ticking.

QUINN:  Oh.  Okay.

(She opens her blue book and stares at the first page of the test for several 
moments, her heart pounding.  From where she sits across the room, Daria can 
tell that her sister is having a hard time grasping the problems.  She gets 
a sick feeling in her stomach, and suddenly has no urge to read the book she
she brought with her.)

(Dissolve to show the passage of time.  Quinn is now several pages into the 
test and on her second blue book.  Filled-up pages of scrap paper cover her 
desk, and some are scattered on the floor below.  Quinn's brow is knit in 
concentration and complete obliviousness to everything around her.  Several 
rows away, Professor Jameson reads a newspaper.  Daria glances up at Quinn 
from her book for the umpteenth time, then checks her watch.)

JAMESON: (remote)  Ten minutes...

(Dissolve to show more time passage.  Quinn is scribbling furiously, her face 
red, on the last page of the test and of her second blue book.)

JAMESON:  Ten... nine... eight... seven...

(Quinn takes a deep breath, jerks out the last digits of her answer.)

JAMESON:  ... three... two... one.  Okay, pencils down.

(Quinn collapses her pencil flat on the desk and shuts the cover of her second 
book.  She gasps, trying to catch her breath.  Jameson stands up and walks over 
to her, takes both of her blue books.)

JAMESON:  I'll give you a few moments to collect yourself before I grade this... 
(He checks his watch.)  Oh good: I should just make it.

(He walks back to his spot and removes the answer key from his satchel.  Daria 
stands up and walks over to Quinn, who sits slumped over, absolutely drained.)

DARIA:  How are you feeling?

QUINN:  Like I've never worked so hard in my life.  I barely finished in time.

DARIA:  Any sense of how you did?

(Quinn shrugs.)

QUINN:  I don't know.  It was all a blur... I just wanted to get through it.

(From his spot, Jameson compares Quinn's answers to the ones on his answer key.  
He makes markings with his red pen on her blue book.  Many markings.  This doesn't 
escape Quinn.  She looks at Daria with a tired, resigned expression.  Daria pats 
her shoulder with sympathy and pride.)

(After ten long minutes, Jameson stands and hands Quinn back her blue books.  She 
opens the first page and sees her score in a red circle at the top: 74/100.  Quinn 
looks at it for several moments, then closes her eyes.)

DARIA:  Not bad.

QUINN:  "Not bad"?  How can you say that?  I got a C.

DARIA:  Yeah... but it's a C at Bromwell.  Lots of students here probably just
*dream* of scoring that high.

(Quinn smiles faintly, trying to find solace in her words.)

JAMESON:  I know mine do.

(Daria and Quinn stare at him.  He has closed his satchel bag and is walking
toward the door, headed for his luncheon.) 

DARIA:  What do you mean?

JAMESON:  Of my sixty-five students, only eleven got a score above passing.

(Quinn's eyes grow large.)

QUINN:  *What*?

DARIA:  Quinn performed in the top twenty percent of your class??

JAMESON:  The top seventeen percent, if you don't round up.  Not bad, not bad 
at all.  (He looks at Quinn.)  How old did you say you were, again?

QUINN:  Sixteen.  And a half.

JAMESON:  You're a junior in high school?  (Quinn nods quickly.)  My class is
for college sophomores who have committed to math as their major.  It's designed 
to let them know in a hurry if they really belong.  (faintly impressed.)  You'd
have to be fairly skilled, and fairly well taught, to do so well at your age.

DARIA:  Would you be willing to state that in writing?

JAMESON:  Sure, sure.  (He looks at his watch again.)  Now I'm running late.  
Here's my card.  (pulls one out of his satchel and hands it to Quinn.)  Give me 
a call or an e-mail, and I'd be happy to dash you off a letter, if need be.  
(rushes toward the door.)  Nice meeting with you, ladies.

DARIA & QUINN:  Bye.

(When he's gone, the sisters remain still for a moment.  Quinn gazes down at 
Professor Jameson's card, and a big smile spreads across her face.  She jumps 
up out of her chair and gives Daria a hug.  Daria reacts with surprise, then 
vague discomfort, before finally giving in and hugging her back.)

(cut to: )  

SCENE 23 (Pizza King, several days later)

(Daria sits with Jane, the newspaper spread out between them.  Jane holds up 
her drink.)

JANE:  To freedom!  How does it feel?

DARIA:  Very much like indigestion.

(She lets out a noiseless burp, then clicks her soda against Jane's.)

JANE:  So how did Ms. Li look?  Embarrassed?  Prostrate?

DARIA:  Like she was trying not to be those things.  She just hurriedly told 
me that Mr. Estrada had reinstated the contract, so she had no more problem 
with me.  All I need to do now is write an apology letter to the Sun-Herald, 
write him some press releases, and stock his shelves for six months.

JANE:  O-kay, maybe I spoke too soon about the freedom bit.

DARIA:  Hey, it beats scraping gum off of desks.  And I'm officially sane.

JANE:  True, true.

DARIA:  With my mother's interest in targeting some of the more controversial
new laws, I have a feeling Ms. Li's not gonna be able to get away with quite 
so much in the future.

JANE:  So your crusading spirit is catching on.

DARIA:  Not a moment too soon.

(Jane looks at the paper.)

JANE:  This investigation is moving like wildfire.  One former student of 
Phelps's has already come forward?  How long before more follow?

DARIA:  I still have the feeling they'll want to interview Quinn.  At least 
now she'll be more of a footnote.

JANE:  Is she having an easier time talking about Mr. Phelps?

DARIA:  She's still a little shaky, but after outscoring over eighty percent 
of the students in a Bromwell math class, I think she'll have an easier time 
forgiving him, now that she knows Phelps really *did* mean it when he said 
she was talented and that he really *was* preparing her for higher education.

JANE:  Has that professor guy gotten back to you?

DARIA:  Yeah, and it looks as though he'll write the recommend for Quinn to 
transfer into a college-level class in January, when Lawndale State's second 
semester starts.

JANE:  An actual college class.  Impressive.

DARIA:  Yeah.

JANE: (cocks a brow)  Jealous?

DARIA:  Surprisingly... no.  (Her cheeks flush.)  I was really proud of her.  
That was a difficult situation, and she pulled it off.

JANE:  Daria Morgendorffer *admits* she's proud of someone?

DARIA:  Just tell me I'm going soft.

JANE:  You're growing up.

(Daria shoots her an annoyed expression, then flushes harder.)

DARIA:  By the way, do you think I could I have Tom's number?

JANE:  Ah-*ha*.  I *knew* you'd come around!

DARIA:  To *thank* him for his help.  And if we should happen to wander onto a 
completely different subject matter...

JANE:  I'll help you pick out your dress for the senior formal.

(Daria rolls her eyes.)

DARIA:  Only after I've picked out a new boyfriend for you.

JANE:  Who'd you have in mind?

(Just then, Upchuck walks past.)

UPCHUCK:  Good *afternoon*, luscious ladies!  

JANE:  *No* way.

(cut to: )

SCENE 24 (Morgendorffer bathroom, later)

(Quinn sticks a contact lens gently on Daria's eye.)

DARIA:  Ow.  OW!

QUINN:  Calm *down*, I'm done.

(Daria blinks hard to bring the lenses into place.)

QUINN:  You should really get back in the habit of doing this yourself.

DARIA:  How can you wear these??  It's like having acid on my eyeballs.

QUINN:  These ones are probably too sensitive... but you look really good.  (She 
stands back to look at Daria with genuine admiration.)  I mean, you're not too 
bad with the glasses, but now you actually look... *cute*.

DARIA:  That's it.  I'm taking these off.

(She faces the mirror, then realizes with dread that she will have to touch her 
eyelids.  Quinn rolls her eyes.)

QUINN:  You've gotta try experimenting with your image *sometime*, Daria.   

[The final scene, between Daria and Quinn, wraps up the series.]