"Daria" is owned and copyrighted by MTV. All rights reserved.  This is *not* an
episode, but the best imitation of an episode that I could write.  Thanks to the
creators of "Daria" for providing so much rich material for fanfics....


This is the twenty-second and final episode of The Driven Wild Universe.  It
follows 1)"Rose-Colored Lenses," 2) "The Tie That Chokes," 3) "That Thing You
Say," 4) "'Shipped Out," 5) "Andrea Speaks!", 6) "Cheered Down," 7) "None in 
the Family, Part One," 8) "None in the Family, Part Two," 9) "Outvoted," 
10) "Of Absolute Value," 11) "Breaking the Mold," 12) "Surreal World," 13) 
"Erin the Head," 14) "Primarily Color," 15) "The Age of Cynicism," 16) "Charge 
of the Math Brigade,"17) "An Uneasy Marriage," 18) "In Her Own Words," 
19) "All But Forgotten," 20) "Memory Road," and 21) "Into the Fire."


For the final episode, I'll be scrapping my usual three Acts in favor of six.  
And it will be commercial-free!  Hey, they did it for the final "Daria" movie 
"Is It College Yet?".   
 

[intro theme music...................]

TOMORROW NEVER KNOWS -- by Kara Wild


ACT ONE

SCENE 1 (Lane residence, afternoon)

(Daria comes up to the front door, rings the bell and knocks urgently.)

(Inside, Jane walks down the stairs, toward the door.)

JANE:  All right, already.  You Jehovah's Witnesses sure don't take burning 
effigies in the front yard for an answer, do you?

(She opens the door, sees Daria's stricken expression.)

JANE:  Daria.  You did it?  You had it out with Phelps?

DARIA: (stiff)  Yes, but don't worry... the numbness and chills have worn off.
All that's left is the pain.
 
(Jane ushers Daria inside and closes the door.)
 
JANE:  I take it your tete-a-tete didn't go so well.
 
DARIA:  Let's just say I'm no Clarence Darrow.  When faced with someone who 
can mount an effective attack, I fall to pieces.
 
JANE:  Come on, I'm sure you didn't do *that* badly.
 
DARIA:  Well, I couldn't get him to transfer Quinn from his class.  I couldn't 
get him to admit to any wrongdoing.  I showed all my cards by admitting I 
knew about his past.  Oh yes, and I also confessed that I loved Big Brother.
 
JANE:  So it wasn't your most shining moment.  I told you Phelps isn't easy 
to intimidate.
 
DARIA:  More like *he* got to me.  I see now why Quinn finds it so hard to 
ignore him.  He has this way of looking at you like he *knows* you better 
than you know yourself.
 
JANE:  Oh yeah, the eye thing.  I should have warned you about that -- first 
they stare at you really hard, and then they narrow, like he's locked in on
a target and about to burn it to pieces with a wave of hypnotic energy.  He
makes those kids from "Village of the Damned" look like "The Bad News Bears."
 
(She distorts her eyes in demonstration.)
 
DARIA:  Thank you.  I was at the live event -- I don't need a replay.
 
JANE:  That look made me hit the math book harder than I ever thought 
possible.  And occasionally lose total bladder control. 
 
(Daria shoots her a look of disgust.) 
 
JANE:  Kidding!  Seriously, though, I'm sure you did the best you could.
 
DARIA:  Which wasn't enough.  I feel like I'm running out of options.
 
JANE:  Well, you could --
 
DARIA:  Except for *that* one.  (She sighs, then glances at the clock.)  
Do any of your clocks give accurate time?
 
JANE:  The one on the TV Guide Channel just told me it was four o'clock.
 
DARIA:  I hope she isn't in court today.  I want to talk to her without Quinn
overhearing.
 
JANE:  Daria, did something else happen?  You look so shaken, I was on the 
verge of asking you to lie down.
 
DARIA:  Phelps said that if I went public with my concerns, he would retaliate.  
He also said...
 
JANE:  What?
 
DARIA:  ... that I was just like him.  Or rather, that he used to be like me, 
until circumstances turned him into a bitter jerk with the uncanny mannerisms 
of Nosferatu.
 
JANE:  He was just trying to scare you.
 
DARIA:  Right.  (frowns)  Good thing *that* didn't work.

(cut to: )

SCENE 2 (The Settlement, later)

HELEN:  He *threatened* you?!

(Helen and Daria sit at one of the corner tables.  Daria has finished telling 
her mother her past suspicions of Phelps and their most recent run-in.)

HELEN:  I *knew* there was something I didn't like about that man!  The way 
he acted like he always knew *so* more than everyone else!  And now, 
threatening a defenseless teenager?!

(She reaches down into her briefcase and pulls out a notepad and pen.) 

HELEN:  Well he's not going to get away with this!  I want to know *everything*, 
Daria!  Tell me exactly what he said.

DARIA:  Just that he knew information that could make my year and even my future
very difficult.

HELEN:  What sort of information?

DARIA:  I told you: I worked on an underground newspaper.  My articles were 
frank and even a bit harsh, but I didn't do anything wrong.  Unless he meant 
my keeping an army of mutant squirrels in the backyard.    

HELEN:  Did he elaborate?

DARIA:  No.  His tone filled in the gaps well enough.

HELEN:  All right... (She jots this down.)  If you can recall something more
concrete, it would really help your case.  

DARIA:  They don't convict people in court on the basis of tone?

HELEN:  Unfortunately, no.

DARIA:  I was afraid you'd say that.

HELEN:  Getting back to the problem sets he had for Quinn: Did you keep a 
copy of one?  Something that could be cross-checked with an actual system 
of bank account numbers?

DARIA: (cheeks reddening)  No.  I might have, but Quinn caught me snooping 
and since then has kept her door firmly locked at all times.

HELEN:  This man you met, this Marshall, did he describe in detail how the 
account theft system worked?

DARIA:  You mean besides the fact that it siphoned money? 

(She shakes her head.  Helen smiles, but can't hide the fact that she was
expecting to hear more.)

DARIA:  Why don't you just say it?  I've got nothing on this guy.

HELEN:  That's *not* what I was... though I'm glad you came to me before 
your principal or the police.  If you had gotten Mr. Phelps into trouble, 
he could have sued us for defamation of character, and without evidence to 
back up your claims, we could have been forced to pay him hundreds of 
thousands of dollars.

DARIA:  Would you have rather I minded my own business and let Quinn continue 
with actions that were possibly illegal?   

HELEN:  Of course not.  It was very sweet of you to look out for your sister 
-- but there were better ways you could have done it.  How do you think Quinn
would react if you pulled her out of her favorite class without consulting her? 

DARIA:  Pretty upset.  

HELEN:  I just don't understand why you never came to us.

DARIA:  Maybe out of dread that my suspicions would be shot down.

HELEN:  Daria, I was just being realistic.

DARIA:  So am I.  Don't you remember when Quinn's teacher first got hyper-
involved in her studies?  I raised some concerns then, and you jumped on the
Phelps-is-God bandwagon.

HELEN:  But we had no reason to assume anything *bad* had happened.  If Quinn 
had told us her teacher wanted her to cheat, it would have been different.

DARIA:  She only told *me* because she knew I was suspicious.  If I'd revered 
him like you and Dad, I would still be in the dark.

HELEN:  We were trying to *help* her.

DARIA:  And you did it by making me look like a jealous brat, undermining my 
already shaky credibility with Quinn.  That's why I didn't come to you before.  
I almost didn't come to you today.

(Helen looks at her, her expression growing weary.)

HELEN:  I didn't realize we did that.  I'm sorry.   

DARIA:  And truth be told, over the past few months, neither you nor Dad were 
in any position to hear my vague conspiracy theories.  Before the separation, 
Dad was always out in the evenings and you were too busy tending to your 
personal crisis.

HELEN:  Daria, you and Quinn *are* my personal crisis.  I mean --

DARIA:  I get what you mean.  But there were times when you seemed so out of 
it, I wasn't sure if you remembered your own name.

(Helen closes her mouth and reflects upon her depression, knowing that 
Daria is closer to the truth than she realizes.)

HELEN:  I know I haven't been the greatest mom to either of you lately.  
I've made a lot of decisions that I wish I could take back. (catch in her 
voice.)  But believe me when I say that I love you both more than anything 
in the world.  I just want you girls to get everything you want out of life, 
to achieve what I know you could.  You know that, don't you?

(Daria sees her mother's eyes grow bright with tears.)

DARIA:  Yeah... I do.

HELEN:  Your father feels the same way.  I don't want you to ever think we'd 
place our problems ahead of yours.

DARIA:  So if I find you choking to death, I shouldn't let that stop me 
from talking about my "not so fresh" feeling?
 
(Helen lets out a little tension-easing laugh.)

DARIA:  Thanks, Mom.  That means a lot.  I just wish I had gotten real 
evidence before giving you a scare.

HELEN:  Maybe you don't have it now, but that doesn't mean it isn't there.  

DARIA:  So you believe me?

HELEN:  I believe *in* you.  You're too smart and too levelheaded to stick 
with paranoid conclusions, Daria.  If you really think Quinn's teacher is up 
to something, you'll find the evidence to prove it.  We'll get to the 
bottom of this, somehow.

DARIA:  "We"?

HELEN:  You're not in this alone... you never were.  All I ask is that you 
not make anymore rash decisions or go behind your sister's back, okay?

DARIA:  You mean like right now?

HELEN:  Er... anymore.

(She smiles wryly at Daria, and Daria smirks back, feeling the tension ease
from her shoulders.)

(cut to: )

SCENE 3 (Quinn's room, later)

QUINN:  Mom, I can't believe she would lie to me.

(Helen stands over Quinn, who sits on the bed, her hostility toward her 
mother temporarily overcome by hurt feelings toward her sister.) 

QUINN:  Daria said she would stop acting jealous and treat me like I was 
smart.  She sounded so sincere, I really believed her.

HELEN:  Quinn, think about it carefully for a moment.  Would your sister 
really go to so much trouble if she were only jealous?

(Quinn gazes down at the floor, her brow furrowing, trying to shut out her 
mother's words and the unwanted thoughts that come with them.)

QUINN:  Maybe she just doesn't *think* she's jealous.

HELEN:  I think she was concerned.  And hearing her details, so am I, a little.
Is there anything you could tell me to prove they aren't true?

(Quinn fixes her gaze on the floor.)

HELEN:  Quinn, look at me.  Please.  Is any of it true?  

QUINN:  Mom, you and Dad have seen me working on really hard math problems 
before.  There's no way it can all be stuff that Mr. Phelps made up to rob a 
bank, or whatever. 

HELEN:  Honey, no one's saying *everything* you've done is suspect.  Could I 
look at one of the problem sets she mentioned?  

QUINN:  I don't have them.  I gave all of that statistics stuff to Mr. Phelps.

HELEN:  And you're *sure* he never said anything to you that seemed ethically
challenged?  That you felt was wrong?

(Quinn bites her lip, her face clouding over in thought.)

QUINN:  No.

HELEN:  Not even when you were on the mathletics team?

QUINN:  I said *no*.

HELEN:  Quinn.

(Quinn meets her mother's eyes, and her startled expression gives way to 
one of pain.)  

QUINN:  She told you?  

HELEN:  About your teacher giving you problems that were going to be used 
in the tournaments?  Is it --

QUINN: (flustered)  He was just trying to prepare me.  After I messed up 
against Cumberland, he gave me some problems to build my confidence.

HELEN:  *Were* they actual --

QUINN:  He didn't -- I wouldn't -- I didn't cheat.  Did she tell you 
I cheated?!

HELEN:  She said nothing of the sort.  Just that that's what you told her, 
and she was worried.

QUINN:  I would never cheat, Mom!   

HELEN:  I believe you.  

(She strokes Quinn's hair, and Quinn exhales shakily, her shoulders 
relaxing.  Helen, however, cannot keep her growing concern at bay.)  

HELEN:  All the same, I think I'll give Mr. Phelps a call.

QUINN:  Why?!

HELEN:  Because I want to trust him the same way.  Besides, I'm long 
overdue for another talk with him, and what kind of mother would I be 
if I didn't keep tabs on your teachers?  

(Quinn's expression turns stony.  She leans back so that Helen can no 
longer touch her.)  

HELEN:  Honey, I don't blame you for feeling upset -- but I'm doing this 
to help you, not punish you.  And I'm pretty sure that if you asked Daria, 
she would tell you the same.

(Quinn leans all the way back, so her back is against the mattress and she 
faces the ceiling.)  

HELEN:  Just give it some thought, would you?

(She waits for a reply, and when she doesn't get one, sighs quietly and leaves 
the room.  Alone, Quinn stares at the ceiling with pained, searching eyes.)

(cut to: )

SCENE 4 (Phelps's house, evening)

(Shot of the outside reveals a two-story gray-stoned house surrounded by several 
trees, quiet enough to suggest that it is a bit removed from a typical
subdivision.)

PHELPS: (VO)  Mrs. Morgendorffer, I can assure you...

(Cut to shot of Phelps seated in an upholstered chair in his private office.  He
has papers spread out before him, but his attention is on the phone call.  He
presses his lips together, barely able to contain his impatience.)

PHELPS:  Mrs. Mor-- Mrs.... Yes, I understand.  *Yes*.

HELEN: (from the phone)  Then you'll understand that I take threats against my 
children *very* seriously!

PHELPS:  I was just surprised by her request and my temper got away with me.  
You know how that goes.  But I meant *nothing* by it --  

HELEN: (O.S.)  I expect a full apology *first* thing tomorrow.

PHELPS:  Yes, yes, and I'll say right now that I am deeply sorry my intentions
were so misunderstood.  I -- 

(Phelps finds himself cut off and taps a pencil against the arm of his chair.)

PHELPS:  Mathletics problems?  (Pause)  The ones I gave Quinn were just accurate
*examples*, not the problems themselves.  I couldn't possibly know -- 

(Cut off again, he beats his pencil against the chair harder.)  

PHELPS:  Practice problems or statistics sheets, I assure you that I would 
never give my students work that wasn't completely legitimate.

(Cut to shot of Helen in the Morgendorffers' kitchen, the phone to her ear.  
She stands over the stove, emptying a bag of peas into boiling water.)

HELEN:  Then, you wouldn't mind faxing a few statistic sheets to my office 
tomorrow so I can take a look at them.  My fax number is 555-3455 -- that's 
555-3455, *not* 555-3454.  I will *not* have another situation where that 
Lindsay Pearlman can read my private materials.  He turns every little thing 
into a *huge* disaster, and -- well I'm *sorry* your pencil broke, go find 
another one.

(Quinn walks down the stairs, overhearing this last bit.  She cringes -- this
isn't exactly the "talking" she had expected.) 

HELEN:  And *while* we're on the subject, Quinn has fallen behind in several
of her classes and my phone has been *ringing* off the hook with teachers 
calling to complain, so I *strongly* suggest you put a stop to these extra 
assignments until she's caught up -- you do know she has *six* other classes?

(Daria reads at the table.  Over the rim of her book, she sees Quinn walk 
slowly over to her chair.  Their eyes meet for a moment; then Quinn sits down, 
her expression subdued, but not unfriendly.)

(Cut to shot of Phelps in his study, beating a new pencil to ruin.)

PHELPS:  I'm of the old school, you see, Mrs. Morg-- (Cut off again, he tosses 
his pencil aside and takes a blank sheet of paper.)  Where I'm from, students
in their teens immerse themselves in a few select subjects for their A-level
exams.  I *still* think that is the best approach, but for Quinn's sake, I'll
allow her to catch up in her other classes.  All right?  (He listens and tears 
off a scrap of paper.)  Very good, then.  (Pause)  Yes, you, too.  (Pause)  And
*yes*, once again, I apologize for speaking so harshly to your older daughter.  
(Pause)  I certainly will from now on.  (Pause)  Have a pleasant evening.     

(He lays the phone down hard in its cradle and puts the paper aside.  He then 
runs his hands across what remains of his hair and, for a few moments, stares
stonily at the open door in front of him.)

PHELPS:  Marshall.  (louder)  *Marshall*.

(After a few beats of silence, a quiet pattering is heard in the hallway, and 
Marshall Winsett pops his head in the doorway.)

MARSHALL:  Did you want something, love?
 
PHELPS:  Could you come in here for a moment, please?
 
(Marshall walks in and moves to give him an affectionate embrace and kiss on 
the cheek, but notices that his partner isn't reciprocating.) 
 
MARSHALL:  You look a bit frightened, Alfie.  What's the matter?
 
PHELPS: (draws away)  I had a very interesting meeting with a student earlier
today.
 
MARSHALL:  Really?  What about?
 
PHELPS:  She told me that she knew about my past.  The parts I wouldn't want made
public.
 
(Marshall's expression remains unchanged, but he stands up straighter and moves 
to face his partner.)
 
PHELPS:  Assuming she was telling the truth, I tried to think of who might have
tipped her off, and knew of only one person still living in the area.  (expression
hardens.)  Marshall, did you speak to a Ms. Daria Morgendorffer recently?
 
(Marshall doesn't speak for a beat or two.  Then his shoulders sink.)
 
MARSHALL: (soft)  I just wanted to find out what she knew.  Very little, it 
turned out.
 
PHELPS:  So you decided to fill her in?
 
MARSHALL:  Please don't look at me that way, Alfred.  As far as she knows, 
they're only rumors.
 
PHELPS:  "Rumors"?  (He laughs softly, angrily.)  As if that made any difference
at all.  You don't know this girl, Marshall.  She's extremely self-righteous and
invested in her version of the truth.  Now that you've encouraged her, she'll keep
digging until she's found something incriminating.  Why in God's name did you tell
her anything?
 
MARSHALL:  I wasn't going to, but something about her struck a chord inside me.  
She sounded so concerned.
 
PHELPS:  If I didn't love you, I would be phoning my lawyer about now.
 
MARSHALL:  She's Quinn's sister, isn't she?
 
(Phelps's cheeks color at the sound of her name.)
 
PHELPS:  Yes, she is.
 
MARSHALL:  I thought so.  I couldn't remember Quinn's last name, but knew it was
similar.  When her sister mentioned that she didn't want someone close to her to
get hurt, I made the connection.  And I wondered... what exactly are you doing
with this girl, Alfred?
 
PHELPS:  Her sister -- concerned?  (Again, he chuckles with disgust.)  You have 
no idea what sort of family Quinn comes from.  A mother who, a few days every
month, remembers that she's supposed to be a parent.  A father so self-absorbed
and ignorant that he can barely keep track of his children's ages.  And a sister
so invested in being right, so sure of her own brilliance, that she regularly
insults Quinn's intelligence to keep her under control.  The only thing she was
*concerned* about was having her own prejudices confirmed.
 
MARSHALL:  She seemed sincere enough when I met with her.
 
PHELPS:  Yes, well, you always were a soft touch.  Believe me, the only thing
I'm doing is giving Quinn a sense of the possible that she never got at home.    
 
MARSHALL:  So you're not...?
   
(Phelps stares at him, hurt and anger clouding his expression.)
 
PHELPS:  You don't trust me.  You've never trusted me, not since...
 
MARSHALL:  Please, Alfred, I've *tried* to trust you.  It's just that for the
past several months, I've felt as though you're keeping things from me.  Your
attentiveness to that Quinn girl just reminded me...
 
PHELPS: (pained smile)  How can I convince you that things are different now, 
that I've changed?   
 
MARSHALL:  By telling me the truth.  Not that you aren't, just that if you found
yourself in any sort of trouble, you would tell me.
 
PHELPS:  I'm your partner, Marshall, not some stupid, wayward child to be kept
in line.  If we don't have basic trust between us, we don't have anything.
 
MARSHALL:  Please, Alfie, I didn't mean it that way.
 
PHELPS:  From the moment you asked me to, I stopped siphoning money.  I've
shown you the balance sheets -- all of my foreign accounts with their zero
amounts.  I got a fresh start at Lawndale and you still won't let it rest.  
I feel as though nothing I do is ever good enough for you, Marshall.
 
MARSHALL:  Oh darling, please.  

PHELPS:  I finally found some peace, a renewed sense of purpose, and you had 
to go dredge up the past.

MARSHALL:  Alfie, I love you!  I've been with you for fifteen years -- do you
really think one instance of theft is going to change that?
 
PHELPS:  I love you, too.  But your meeting with that Morgendorffer girl 
has really rattled my faith.  How do I know that you won't meet with her
again, or her mother, or whomever else she drags into the mix?
 
MARSHALL:  She doesn't know my relation to you, and no one was with her when we
met.  If she comes snooping about some more, I'll just deny I said anything.
 
PHELPS:  Marshall, I want to believe you...  (He looks at him probingly, then 
turns his face away.) ...but I know you.  You still want to turn me in to the 
Fielding board to satisfy your conscience. 
 
MARSHALL:  I would never... you said you had stopped it, so...
 
PHELPS:  Of course, if you did, they would want to know why you, a Fielding
administrator, have kept it under your hat for so long.  That could lead to 
quite a scandal.  The honorable Mr. Winsett, one of the Winsetts of Highbury,
standing by while the gay lover he never mentions stole money from Fielding 
parents.
 
(Marshall's face loses some expression.)
 
PHELPS:  Imagine your colleagues, all of the students with whom you've worked,
what they would say.  And your family -- aside from the stain on their
reputation, they would finally learn that you're "that way." (lips curl a
little.)  You would finally have to tell them. 
  
MARSHALL:  I told you I love you, Alfred.  I'll stand by you.

PHELPS:  Thank you, Marshall. 
 
(Marshall walks toward the door, then pauses and looks back at Phelps.)
 
MARSHALL:  You say that you love me, too.  Yet sometimes...
 
PHELPS:  What?
 
MARSHALL:  Never mind.
 
(He leaves.  Phelps watches after him, his mouth slightly ajar, as if preparing 
to ask a question.  He finally closes his mouth and looks at the open door with 
a mixture of wariness and sadness, then stands up and walks over to one of the 
shelves.)

PHELPS: (soft, musing)  If she won't stop... someone will have to stop her.

(He reaches above his head and pulls down one of several file folders, then 
fingers the newsprint inside.)

(cut to: )

SCENE 5 (Lawndale High, the next day)
 
(Daria and Jane walk down the hallway, between classes.)
 
JANE:  So Helen's sweet talking paid off, did it?
 
DARIA:  From the way she was ranting, it was hard to tell, but I think 
he's going to stop giving Quinn extra assignments.
 
JANE:  Then why the extra-thick air of gloom?
 
DARIA:  It just felt so easy.  Too easy.

(They turn a corner in the direction of O'Neill's room -- and run smack 
into Ms. Li.)

MS. LI:  Darierrr... just the person I wanted to see.

(Daria looks at Jane, then at their principal.)

DARIA:  Regarding?

MS. LI:  We'll discuss that in my office.  Come with me.

(She motions for Daria to follow, and Daria does so slowly, with more fear 
than she would have guessed possible.  Jane watches her with concern.)

(cut to: )

SCENE 6 (Ms. Li's office)

(Daria sits across from Ms. Li, who holds up an underground newspaper.)

MS. LI:  Does *this* look familiar to you?

DARIA:  They pass it around school twice a month.

MS. LI:  You *wrote* for this paper, didn't you?

DARIA:  Who told you that?

MS. LI:  I'm not at liberty to divulge my sources.

DARIA:  Just tell me if it was a student.

MS. LI:  *What* did I just say, Ms. Morgendorffer?!  The point is that you 
were fingered as one of the writers for a paper that has made some scandalous
charges against Lllllawndale High.

DARIA:  Were they true?

MS. LI:  No, they were not true!  What sort of banana republic do you think 
I *run* here?!  (As Daria opens her mouth.)  *Don't* answer.  I don't need 
to hear any of your smart-mouthed comments.  I just want the truth!

(Daria feels a chill.  She thinks about the fates of her former peers on the
underground and, after her encounter with Phelps, the way total truth could 
be used against her.  At the same time, she is convinced of her innocence 
and that she shouldn't have to act like she has something to hide.  She 
finally heaves a sigh.)

DARIA:  Yes, I wrote for the underground newspaper.  My articles were 
carefully researched, and I left before the paper started printing most 
of the inflammatory items you mentioned. 

MS. LI:  And you *never* knew of any wrongdoing?

DARIA:  Only one article, but I wasn't involved.

MS. LI:  Then whyyyy didn't you turn this delinquent in to the proper
authorities??

DARIA:  The writer wasn't a student here.

MS. LI:  Is that really an *excuse*?! 

DARIA:  I thought the article was clumsy, but I didn't know it was wrong.  
I wasn't in charge of editorial decisions.

MS. LI:  So you just *let* these callous and untrue comments cirrrculate 
the school without repercussion?!

DARIA:  Instead of firebombing the newspaper pile, like I should have?

MS. LI:  This is no joke!

DARIA:  Neither's the sight of two hundred students running for their life 
from a raging inferno.  

MS. LI:  Ms. Morgendorffer, these articles over the past year have been the
greatest threat to Llllllllllawndale High ever.  Forget random lawsuits for
discrimination or a possible murderer running for class president -- *this*
is a concentrated effort to undermine the school and all who hold it dear.

DARIA:  In order to do what?  Establish a go-go bar in its place?  

MS. LI:  I should think *you* would know that answer.  I'll have you know that 
I won't sit idly by while miscreants try to drive me out!  Drastic situations 
call for drastic measures, which I am more than prepared to take.

DARIA:  You're acting as though I ran the paper myself.  I didn't even decide
which articles went beneath the masthead.  Why should *I* be responsible for 
an article that I had no part of, which wasn't even written by a student here?

MS. LI:  And how am I supposed to *know* that?  

DARIA: (eyes narrow)  Ask Damien Crawley.  He could tell you.

MS. LI:  Yes, well, that may be.  But how do I know you had nothing to do 
with any of the other *libelous* articles printed here?

DARIA:  My pen name is Erasmus.  Look it up for yourself.

MS. LI:  I'll just do that.  And until we get to the bottom of this, Ms. 
Morgendorffer, I have no choice but to suspend you.

DARIA:  What??  

MS. LI:  You may be innocent of all charges, but your association with 
this sordid rag says *deeply* disturbing things about your character.  I
therefore can't trust you to be around other students.

DARIA: (growing angry)  Why not?  They just ignore me, anyway.

MS. LI:  And might I say I'm *surprised* at you, Darierrr.  I had you pegged 
as a disgruntled misfit, but not a bomb thrower.  Clearly my psychological
evaluations need to be revamped.

DARIA:  I told you, I didn't do anything wrong.

MS. LI:  So for *one* week, starting tomorrow, you are not to come anywhere 
near the premises.

(Daria feels another shiver, remembering Andrea.)

DARIA:  And then what?

MS. LI:  And then maybe you'll think *twice* about your rehhhckless behavior.  
(groans with disgust.)  Stay right there while I phone your parents.

(Daria remains still, assessing her punishment.)

DARIA:  Just one week?  

MS. LI:  Keep talking, and it will be more.  

(Daria watches her dial the phone, feeling both anger and relief.)


END OF ACT ONE



ACT TWO

SCENE 1 (Lawndale High, same day)
 
(Quinn walks up to Phelps's classroom and stands outside, looking in.  She 
watches him fill the blackboard with equations, as he does before every
class.  Her face grows pensive and nervous.)
 
SANDI: (O.S.)  WATCH it, you *creep*!
 
(Quinn jumps, then swerves to look.  Nearby, Sandi stands with her back to 
the lockers, glaring at Skylar Feldman, who stands over her.)
 
SKYLAR:  Come *on*, Sandi, I'd think you'd be used to that by now.
 
(He leans in toward her, and Sandi pushes him away.)
 
SANDI:  Try that again, you *pervert*, and I'll have every girl in school 
spitting on you.
 
SKYLAR: (laughs)  Oh really?  Just how many friends do you think you have?
(Sandi's glare darkens.)  Because from what I've seen, most girls seem to
think you're a lying backstabber.  I've probably given you more attention in
one minute than they've given you in a week.
 
QUINN:  Which is one minute too long.
 
(Skylar spins around and looks at Quinn, now standing just behind him.  Sandi 
gets a look of faint relief.)
 
SKYLAR:  Whoa.  Didn't mean to get your tampon in a twist, Quinn.
 
QUINN:  Oh grow up, you jerk.  Sandi doesn't fall for you, so you treat her 
like a rip in your leather interior?  She's got a lot more friends than she 
knows. (crosses her arms.)  And some of them could tell the school about 
that little problem you have with your *nose* running whenever you make out.
 
(Skylar goes pale.)
 
SKYLAR:  You wouldn't --
 
QUINN:  Try me.
 
(Skylar stares at her, before his bravado re-emerges.)
 
SKYLAR:  Threatened by Phelps's "special friend"?  I'm really scared.
 
QUINN:  What?!  He is *so* gay.  He told me.
 
SKYLAR:  Not what we see.  (smiles)  Ciao, ladies. 
 
(Sandi and Quinn stare after him murderously.)
 
SANDI & QUINN:  *Loser*.

QUINN:  Sandi, what's going on?  You're not really letting guys... do stuff 
to you, are you?
 
SANDI:  *Great*, not you, too. 
  
QUINN:  So it's not true?
 
SANDI:  What do you think, you idiot?  
 
(Quinn's eyes narrow at her insult, but she persists.)
 
QUINN:  Then why don't you *tell* people?  Sandi, you disappear every day and 
you don't say where you went, and people have seen you walking around town with
strange guys.  So some rumors spread that you're... you *know*, and you could 
get rid of them if you just told the truth.  So why don't you?
 
SANDI: (sneer)  *Sure* I will.  When you stop *doing* it with Mr. Phelps.
 
(Quinn's mouth drops open and her face reddens.)
 
QUINN:  You *know* I haven't --!
 
SANDI:  *Relax*, Quinn.  I was just making a point.       
 
(Quinn realizes that she jumped to conclusions unfairly.)
 
SANDI:  We both know people will believe what they *want* to believe.
 
QUINN:  But your friends will believe you.  Look, Stacy, Tiffany, and I have 
been kind of worried.  It's not the rumors, it's that you've been so distant.  
We just want to know what's happening with you.
 
(Sandi looks at her, debates whether to tell, then rolls her eyes with disgust.)
 
SANDI:  You wouldn't believe me if I told you.
 
(She walks away in a huff, as Quinn stares at her, dumbfounded.)
 
QUINN:  I would, too!
 
(Knowing Sandi is beyond earshot, she turns and walks slowly to Phelps's room.)
 
(cut to: )
 
SCENE 2 (Phelps's classroom)
 
(Quinn enters and stands at the back of the room.  Unable to shake the
conversation with Helen or Skylar's sneering insinuations, she remains 
silent, until Phelps feels her presence and turns around.)
 
PHELPS:  Ms. Morgendorffer, you're two periods early.  What's the occasion?
 
QUINN:  Oh, I... um...

(She walks toward him, trying to gather her thoughts.)

QUINN:  I just wanted to say sorry for the way my mother yelled at you 
yesterday.  She's always so into her job, she never knows what she's 
talking about.
 
PHELPS: (smiles)  Now, now, she wouldn't be a mother if she weren't
overprotective.  

QUINN: (forced laugh)  I can't believe she thought you were making me do 
bad things.  That's just stupid... right?

PHELPS:  I'd prefer "a misunderstanding."  The intensity with which I've 
been training you can be very unsettling to someone on the outside.  Be 
gentle with her: She couldn't have known that you've finished my last 
project and I was going to set you free anyway.
 
QUINN:  Yeah.  (She feels herself relaxing, then frowns as the meaning 
of his words sinks in.)  It's gonna be weird not coming to your classroom 
after school. 
 
PHELPS:  For me as well.  When we started, I never dreamt I would get so 
much reward from our time.
 
QUINN:  Mr. Phelps?  Does this mean you and I won't be...
 
PHELPS:  Won't be...?
 
QUINN:  That, um, we won't talk to each other and stuff outside of class?
 
PHELPS: (understands)  We'll always be friends, Ms. Morgendorffer.
 
QUINN:  Oh.  Good.  (She exhales, surprised by her relief.)  I know some 
students think I'm dumb for spending so much time with you, but I like 
being friends with a teacher.
 
PHELPS:  And I've grown rather fond of you.  I'll admit, when I first set eyes 
on you, I dismissed you as one of the "lost causes" -- a student who cared
so much about the superficial that no amount of pushing would bring her grade
above a C.  But you surprised me with your vibrancy and focus.  I'm very proud 
of you for the progress you've made over the past year.

QUINN: (sheepish)  Mr. Phelps, what... made you *know* that I was worth looking 
out for?  Compared to the really good students?
 
(Phelps leans against the edge of his desk, wearing a thoughtful expression.)
 
PHELPS:  I can't recall the specific test, but I remember that I had added a 
bonus question with more twists and turns than the average problem, plus one
unexpected step.  Everyone got it wrong, including my A students.  It wasn't 
in the textbook, so they couldn't study it.  Only *one* person guessed 
correctly.

QUINN: (remembers)  *Oh*. 

PHELPS:  I asked you to come see me after class and explain how you had solved 
the problem.  I thought that if you'd cheated, I would find out then.  But you
explained your steps from start to finish.  I asked, "How did you know how to 
do this?"  And you said...

QUINN:  How else could it be done?       

PHELPS:  That's exactly right.  It was so instinctive, you just *knew* -- never 
dreaming that other students wouldn't have done the same thing.  Many students 
are smart enough to learn the right steps and apply them quickly.  Fewer have 
the innate ability to think outside the box.  That's when I realized that you 
were special and decided to keep an eye on you.  

(Quinn smiles, her face flushing at his praise.)

PHELPS:  My only concern was whether you had the drive to achieve.  But you did
it.  Before long, you didn't even need my help anymore.  You did it on your own. 

(Quinn's eyes meet those of Mr. Phelps.  For once, she doesn't feel a sense 
of intimidation or awe, but rather that she is with an equal, and that he feels
the same way about her.)

QUINN: (shy)  I'd better go to my next class.
 
PHELPS:  Yes, you wouldn't want to be late. 

(Quinn turns and starts to head out.  Then she turns back.)

QUINN:  Mr. Phelps, why wouldn't you let me take the Advanced Placement exam?

(Phelps stares at her.  He was unprepared for this shift in subject matter.)

PHELPS:  Oh yes, that.  You see, more seniors had passed into the A.P.-level
classes than I had anticipated, which left no room for junior transfers such 
as yourself.  It had nothing to do with my confidence in your ability.  

QUINN:  That's the only reason?

PHELPS:  Yes.  When the next exam period comes along, you'll be signed up.

(The worry that briefly imprinted itself on Quinn's face eases slowly.)

PHELPS:  As I told your sister --

QUINN:  You talked to Daria?

(Phelps notes the surprise in her tone, and his expression relaxes.)

PHELPS:  We spoke yesterday.  

QUINN:  What did she want?

PHELPS:  Well... (He pauses to look about the classroom, which is still 
empty of students.)  She was trying to transfer you out of my class.

(The color drains from Quinn's cheeks.)

QUINN:  What?

PHELPS:  She was very insistent, no matter how often I told her that it 
was *your* decision, not hers.

QUINN:  Why would she do that?

PHELPS:  That's a very good question, Ms. Morgendorffer.  

QUINN:  She was acting weird, saying you were trying to get me to do things.  
But I never thought she would go *that* far.  

PHELPS:  Does your sister have an active imagination?

QUINN:  Sure, she's a writer.

PHELPS:  Is it possible that she got caught up in one of her fantasies and 
let it distort her perception of reality?

QUINN:  Maybe.  Once when she was really sick, she dreamt that holidays were 
living at our house.  But she hasn't been sick lately.

PHELPS:  I'll confess that her brazenness *did* take me by surprise.   

(Quinn's face takes on a stricken expression.)

QUINN:  I can't believe... you mean she just came here and *ordered* you 
to transfer me?!

PHELPS:  Oh now, don't be too upset with Daria -- I'm sure she has a good 
explanation.  She's your sister, after all.

(Barely hearing him, Quinn turns to leave.  Although Phelps watches her go 
with genuine sympathy, his lips turn upward imperceptibly.)

(cut to: )

SCENE 3 (Jake's apartment, Friday)

(Outside shot of the apartment complex.)

JAKE: (V.O.)  You got *suspended*, kiddo?!

(Cut to shot of Daria and Quinn seated on Jake's couch, watching the large-screen 
television.  The screen is divided in two, with one half showing Fashion Vision 
and the other Sick Sad World.  Jake appears before them with a cooking spoon, 
which he waves angrily.)

JAKE:  Why didn't Helen *tell* me?!  It's just *like* her to keep all the
important stuff from old Jakey because she thinks I can't handle it!  

DARIA:  There, there.  It'll be all right.

JAKE:  I *knew* it.  You're acting out without the presence of a father figure.  
I need to bond with you some more!

QUINN:  Dad, could you move?  You're blocking my side of the T.V.

JAKE:  Oh.

(He steps away quickly, his expression still worried.)

DARIA:  Relax Dad.  She probably didn't tell you because it's only been a couple 
of days and she's been trying to get it revoked.

JAKE:  This could go on your permanent record!  They send people to military 
school for stuff like this!

DARIA:  Where my acting out would be encouraged as long as none of my targets
could sue. 

JAKE:  That's not...  (He pauses and tilts his head upward to sniff.)  Wait a 
minute, what's that -- GAH!  My risotto!  

(He races toward the kitchen, leaving Daria and Quinn alone.  Quinn glances 
at Daria, her shock after talking with Phelps overshadowed by new shock at 
her sister's predicament.  Daria sighs heavily, betraying the frustration 
she has felt since Ms. Li suspended her.)

QUINN: (quiet)  When did you write for the underground paper?  I don't 
remember that.

DARIA:  Nor would you.  I started last spring and didn't tell anyone.

QUINN:  Not even Jane?

DARIA:  *Except* for Jane.

(Quinn turns away to reflect.  Daria grows annoyed at her awkward behavior.)

DARIA:  Would you stop treating me like an animal you've been assigned to 
study?  Yes, I wrote for a non-school-sanctioned newspaper and I've lived 
to tell about it.

QUINN:  But you were with those guys...

DARIA:  *What* guys?

QUINN:  Those freaks.  I knew about some of the students who got in trouble,
Daria.  Guys like that Danny (shudders) were in my classes, and he would 
always talk about "shooting up" or driving drunk across rich people's lawns 
at night.

DARIA: (grim)  I never witnessed such acts firsthand.

QUINN:  Why would you hang out with people like him instead of...

DARIA:  Jane?  (Quinn gazes at her a moment, then looks away.)  Let's just 
say that I was in a bad place emotionally, with the problems in our family 
really getting to me.  I met a group of pretty nice kids from less than 
stellar backgrounds, and we united in the common goal of putting out a 
quality newspaper.  It was a noble idea while it lasted, and I still think 
that a lot of the staffers have gotten a bad rap.

QUINN: (uneasy)  Oh.  Okay.

DARIA:  *What*?

QUINN:  That paper was weird.  I once looked at some of the articles and 
the tone seemed really nasty.

DARIA:  You actually read something an unpopular person wrote?  What, did 
you forget your glasses and think it was the latest copy of Waif?

QUINN:  I just didn't think you were like that.

DARIA:  Yes, well, you'd be surprised at the range and depth of my emotions.

(Quinn's expression darkens.  Just then Jake pops his head in.)

JAKE:  Say girls, who needs slaving over a hot stove?  What do you say we 
order a pizza?

DARIA:  Fine.

QUINN:  Whatever.

JAKE:  Great!

(He disappears inside the kitchen to make the call.)  

DARIA:  You won't tell anyone what happened, will you?  I don't want to deal 
with any annoying questions.  *Have* you told anyone?

QUINN:  Like I would do that.  I'm embarrassed enough just knowing it myself.

DARIA:  Aw *thanks*.  You should coordinate with Jane, then, to come up with 
an excuse for my absence.  One that *doesn't* have me stranded in the middle 
of the ocean with just my copy of _The Old Man and the Sea_.

(Quinn nods, looks as if she wants to say something more, then falls silent.  
She and Daria watch their shows until Jake reappears and shuts off the 
television.  He sits down in a chair beside them.)

JAKE:  Okay girls, pizza's gonna be here in thirty minutes, so what do you 
say we pass the time with a little Dad-and-daughter bonding?  No need to 
bring up the S-word -- we can talk about sports.  The, um, other S-word.

(His daughters give him a look.)

JAKE:  Okay, no sports.  How about music!  ("cool" voice.)  So... what's hip 
with the scene?

(Daria and Quinn exchange looks.  Jake reaches under the coffee table and 
produces a board game.)

JAKE:  Scrabble for your thoughts?  

DARIA:  Um, Dad?  

JAKE:  Yeah, kiddo?!

DARIA:  We're very flattered by all the attention you give us... 

QUINN:  ...but it's kind of hard to feel like we're at home with you hovering 
around all the time.

DARIA:  Like having a helper monkey that's suffered a major blow to the head.

JAKE:  It's just that I have such a short time with you girls.  I want you to 
get the most out of it, so you don't resent me the way I resent my father. 

DARIA:  I'm sure that won't --

JAKE:  God knows *my* father couldn't even bother to spend five lousy minutes
caring about what *I* wanted.  No shooting the breeze with little Jakey.

QUINN:  Dad, that's --

JAKE:  "Real men don't talk about their problems, son."  Real men don't *have* 
problems, he meant!  You shove them *way* down where no one can see them, until
they fester and boil, only to *explode* when you least expect it, wreaking 
untold havoc on your life and loved ones FOREVER!

QUINN:  Dad!  Forget your dad.  He's not here.    

DARIA:  While the minutes you have to spend with *us* are ticking away. 

JAKE:  Oh!  Of course.  (He sobers up.)  I just meant, if only I had you for more
than one night.

DARIA:  How many nights were you thinking?

JAKE:  Two... three, maybe?

QUINN:  If I have to stay here more often, I want my own bed.  Sharing one with
your sister is *creepy* when you're our age, Dad.  We're not little kids.

DARIA:  For Dad, it would be creepy at any age.  

QUINN:  And there's no *privacy* here.  Nothing feels like it's mine.

JAKE:  But honey... we could fix that.

DARIA:  What about your teaching?

JAKE:  Oh, that's almost over.

QUINN:  What about *her*?

(Daria winces a little, then looks at Jake, who tries his best to stay cool.)

JAKE:  Well, of course we'd have to, um, discuss how she'll fit in.  But once 
you meet her, I think you two will love Sarah... she's a real neat woman.
 
DARIA:  So she *does* have a name.
 
QUINN:  She's not spending the night here, is she??
 
JAKE:  Of *course* not, not while you're here.
 
DARIA:  But she *does*... spend the night.
 
(Jake goes ashen, realizing what he's given away.)
 
JAKE:  Some... times.
 
(His daughters fall silent, their faces growing pale and angry.  After a few 
moments, Quinn stands up.)
 
QUINN:  I'm going for a walk.
 
JAKE:  Honey, the food will be here soon.
 
QUINN:  I'm not hungry.
 
(She strides over to the door.)
 
JAKE:  Just don't... (The door closes hard behind her.) ... go too far.
 
(Morose, he looks at Daria, who averts her gaze, until slowly she lifts her 
head to look him in the eye.)
 
DARIA: (quiet)  Are you and Mom getting a divorce? 

(Jake's shoulders sag.)

JAKE:  I don't know.  We haven't talked about it since... (winces) ...you know.

DARIA:  Does it feel like you're going to?

JAKE:  Sometimes it does.  Other times, no.

(Daria exhales softly, with frustration.)

DARIA:  When will you be introducing us to your mystery woman?

JAKE:  I wanted to wait until we were all a little more settled, so you and 
Quinn wouldn't blame her for anything that's happened.

DARIA:  Then I guess we'll never meet her.

(cut to: )

SCENE 4 (Daria's room, the next day)

(Jane enters with a list of assignments in hand, and finds Daria on her knees 
on the floor, digging under her bed.)

JANE:  What kind of twisted juvie cleans out her room during her time off?  
(lays the list on Daria's desk, gazes about.)  Or are you competing in the 
World Packrat Extreme Challenge?

(Across the floor, on Daria's bed, her bedside table, and her desk, sit large
piles of books and notebooks, as well as odds and ends like bones, wrinkled 
clothing, and scribbles on lined paper.)

DARIA:  I'm looking for the secret vortex beneath my bed, which would explain 
how I hid so much crap without the floor boards giving way. 

JANE:  "Crap"?  These are some of your classics.  (She picks up one notebook 
from the top of the pile and flips through.)  Melody Powers goes back in time 
and tries to stop Hitler from being conceived.  Heh, love how she slipped 
estrogen into the guy's coffee...

DARIA: (cheeks reddening)  You *know* it's crap when reciting the plot points 
just makes it sound stupider.  Anyway, I'm not running inventory on past work.  
I'm looking for one of my journals.

JANE:  I could help you there.  What does it look like?

DARIA:  That's the problem.  My journals don't have a distinct look.  I just
write on what's around and hope the historians will piece it together.

JANE:  Why do you need it?

DARIA:  My mom thought that if I had evidence, we could strengthen our case
against the suspension.  

JANE:  What happened to confronting that Damien guy?  

DARIA:  Once he regained consciousness, to his credit, he called the school right
away to say I was innocent.  Yet somehow Ms. Li had trouble accepting the word
of an irresponsible egomaniac who looked the other way as his staffers trashed
her school.  

JANE:  Is *he* gonna suffer any punishment?

DARIA:  Who knows?  But his staffers are gone and his underground media empire 
destroyed.  For someone like Damien, that's worse than if he were put in jail.

JANE:  And you're stuck looking for credibility amongst the dust balls.

DARIA:  I remembered that I'd written down almost everything about the underground
in a journal, and have thus spent the better part of the afternoon looking for it. 

JANE:  Journal with vindicating evidence?  Got it.  

(She starts sifting through the pile of books, giving each a closer inspection.)

DARIA:  So how are things on the school side of life?

JANE:  Absolutely riveting.  Yesterday Kevin entranced the entire lunchroom with 
his ability to eat corn dogs at lightening speed, while Brittany shocked and 
amazed with her talent for being adoring and vacant at the same time.

DARIA:  Let's see them do that while walking over hot coals. 

JANE:  Some students have been asking about you.  I told them you were taking a 
college tour with your parents.  

DARIA:  That excuse sounds a little dull for Jane Lane.

JANE:  Where they would conduct experiments on your brain.  (Daria gives her 
a look.)  Kidding!  

DARIA:  I never thought I would miss school.  Some day, I'm sure I will. 

JANE:  The teachers have been counting the minutes until you return.  Imagine 
them having to prop up an entire class with their skill.

DARIA:  I hope the Lawndale Suicide Hotline hasn't overloaded.

JANE:  Mr. DeMartino even asked about you.

(Daria gets a sour look.)

DARIA:  Great.

JANE:  Hey, at least it wasn't you-know-who.  Have you thought about whether
he's...?

DARIA: (sighing)  Yes, my mom and I discussed whether Phelps blew my cover.  And 
while it's possible, given his recent threats, the evidence is far from
conclusive.  Ms. Li was conducting her witch hunt long before I even spoke to
Phelps.  For now, all I can do is tuck my suspicions away in an ever-growing file.

JANE:  Other than that, how are things on the home front?

DARIA:  Not too bad.  Mom stopped threatening to bring me to her office to file 
depositions once she realized I've spent my time off actually *doing* school 
work.  And with the house to myself, let's just say that my Tom Cruise
impression has gotten a lot sharper.

JANE:  Should I be worried?

DARIA:  I know my penalty is a week at most, but this whole thing sucks.  
I got suspended.  It'll be on my record, and I wasn't even guilty. 

JANE:  Yeah, at least if you *had* been guilty, you could take some twisted
pleasure from the whole thing.

DARIA:  It's almost enough to make me wish I were.

JANE:  Hey, be glad you're not headed for the gulag like you thought.  No
shoveling coal in Phys Ed class.

DARIA:  True.  (Something occurs to her.)  Did Andrea ask where I was?

JANE:  No.  Come to think of it... I haven't seen her. 

(She and Daria exchange troubled looks.)

DARIA:  So, anything new outside of school?         

JANE:  Speaking of college tours, I'll soon be taking one with Tom and 
his mother. 

DARIA: (brightening)  You *are* going to college?

JANE:  Not so fast, Morgendorffer, I haven't made up my mind yet.  And even 
if I had, I sure as hell wouldn't be going Bromwell, Princeton, or any of 
those snob schools.

DARIA:  Then why the trip?

JANE:  To support Tom, who would otherwise be stuck discussing charity 
fundraisers every minute he and his mother were alone.  Plus, Kay Sloane 
hates me.

DARIA:  And trapping yourself in a car with her is *good* because...?

JANE:  Half the reason she suggested this trip is because she thought I'd 
refuse, and then she could spend quality car time convincing Tom that 
I was all wrong for him. (smiles wickedly.)  Instead, I get to watch her 
strain to hide her disgust under a thin veil of upper-crust civility.  

DARIA:  Sounds like quite a trip.

JANE:  Care to wager on who will return with their sanity intact?

DARIA:  Too unpredictable.  (She looks at one of her books reflectively.)  
I hope you and Tom manage to stay on good terms until then, because I may 
need him.  Possibly this week.

JANE:  For what?

DARIA:  I've been trying to get back in touch with that Fielding Prep 
administrator.  The e-mail I sent him bounced back, and he hasn't responded 
to my phone messages.  

JANE:  That doesn't sound promising.

DARIA:  Still, he's the only one to give me clues that Phelps is up to
something bad.  I need to press him to be specific -- *did* Phelps really 
steal a bunch of money and *could* he be doing it at Lawndale?  Quinn won't 
believe me otherwise.

JANE:  So what do you need Tom for? 

DARIA:  I may have to visit the guy in person, and I'll need a student to 
get me past the security gate.

JANE:  I'm sure Tom would be glad to help.  

DARIA:  If that jerk Phelps thought that threatening me would curb my desire 
to learn the truth, he should have known better.

JANE:  I hope some day Quinn appreciates what you're doing.

(cut to: )

SCENE 5 (Fielding Preparatory Academy, Tuesday)

(Daria walks with Tom past a wide green lawn, toward an impressive series of
Gothic-looking buildings.  Tom wears Fielding's uniform of a dark suit coat 
and tie, which Daria smirks at with quiet amusement.)

DARIA:  I almost didn't recognize you in your Prince of Wales get-up.

TOM:  This coat is great for hiding murder weapons.

(They enter one of the buildings, and Daria finds herself surrounded by 
students in dark suits on their way to various classes.  She suddenly feels 
self-conscious, and focuses her eyes on the high ceiling and stained glass 
windows.)

DARIA:  Will Quasimodo be ringing the dinner bell?

TOM:  It's his week off.  Come on -- the administrators' offices are 
down this hallway. 

(Daria follows Tom, who leads her past a row of doors, each with a gold 
plaque bearing the administrator's name beside it.  At last, they come 
upon a partially open door with the plaque "Marshall Winsett IV, Esq."  
Tom starts to enter, but Daria pulls him back.)

DARIA:  Wait, Tom.   

TOM:  You'll need a witness.

DARIA:  I don't want to get you into trouble.  You can listen from out here.

TOM: (doubtful)  Okay.

(Daria enters, and finds herself in a spacious office, where the walls are lined 
with bookcases.  At the far end are a large mahogany desk and two ornate chairs.  
Marshall Winsett sits behind the desk in a leather swivel chair, partially 
turned away, his attention directed toward a phone call.  Daria walks toward 
his desk just as he's about to end it.)

MARSHALL: (into the phone)  Yes, I agree, those *are* the areas in greatest 
need of funding... (Pause)  I'll definitely present it to the board... (He turns, 
sees Daria, and his eyes widen.)  Yes... you, too.  Thank you for calling.  
Good day.

(He lays down the phone gently, his eyes locked with Daria's.  As when they 
met the first time, neither speaks for a moment.)

DARIA:  Mr. Winsett?  You remember me, don't you?

MARSHALL:  Yes, Daria, I remember you.

DARIA:  Um, I've been trying to get a hold of you.  I didn't want to bother you 
in person, but I couldn't reach you any other way.

MARSHALL:  We've had a few bugs in our system lately.  The repairmen are still
trying to get it in working order.

(He says this in a pleasant, detached manner.  Daria feels as though his manner
is different, but can't quite figure out how.)

DARIA:  That's all right.  I just wanted to ask... um, about the conversation 
we had a couple of weeks ago about Mr. Phelps.  

MARSHALL:  About his time at Fielding, yes.

DARIA: (blushes)  And certain rumors that were going around school.

MARSHALL:  Daria, there are so many rumors about teachers flying around, it's
difficult to keep track of them all.

DARIA:  These rumors involved the possible siphoning of money, an activity that 
could still be going on at his current school.

MARSHALL:  I don't recall what you're talking about.

(A beat, as Daria frowns with confusion.  She glances behind her, wondering if 
Marshall is concerned about being overheard.)

DARIA:  If you'd like a refresher, we could meet again at a cafe.

MARSHALL:  That would be very nice, but I'm afraid my schedule is booked up for 
the next several weeks.      

(Daria's eyes narrow a little as she probes his demeanor.)

DARIA:  You don't have *any* spare time?

MARSHALL:  Unfortunately, no.  Now I'm sorry, Daria, but I'm going to have to 
ask you to leave so I can prepare for a meeting this afternoon.  I wish you 
good luck in finding your answers.

(Daria pauses, looks at him a moment longer, then turns slowly to go.)

(cut to: )

SCENE 6 (Morgendorffer house, that evening)

(Helen has just gotten home and is sorting through the daily mail on the 
kitchen table.  Her face is marred by a scowl.)

HELEN:  *Honest* to God, don't First Amendment rights mean *anything* these 
days?!  After the debacle with the Zero Tolerance policy, one would *think* 
the school would be a little more--!

(She sees Daria enter the kitchen and immediately tones down her manner.)

DARIA:  No success, huh?

HELEN:  I'm afraid not.  Ever since the outbreak of school shootings, the laws
and the courts have given schools *so* much authority, they can do just about
whatever they want.  And good students like yourself pay the price.  

(Daria cocks a weary eyelid and opens the refrigerator.)

HELEN:  Did you find your journal?

DARIA:  Yes.

HELEN:  You did??  Why didn't you tell me?  

DARIA:  Because it cuts off.  I'd forgotten about how much I wrote about my 
time on the underground.  The journal I found describes how I joined, but not 
how I left.  I can't find the journal that tells the rest.  

HELEN:  I'm sorry, sweetie.  At least your suspension lasts one more day -- 
then everything will go back to normal.

(Daria finds a soda and opens it, unsure if this is true.  She is about to leave, 
when Helen waves her back.)

HELEN:  Daria, there's something else I wanted to talk to you about.  (She opens 
her briefcase on the table and pulls out several sheets of paper.)  Are these 
the problem sets you found on Quinn's desk?

(Daria comes over, and her eyes widen.  The rows of numbers are all there,
beneath which is Quinn's -- what can only be described as -- bouncy writing.)

DARIA:  Yes, that's them.

HELEN:  And this is your sister's writing, correct?

DARIA:  Yes.

HELEN:  After Mr. Phelps faxed these over last week, I asked a junior associate 
to investigate them, since his younger brother is an econ major in college.  

DARIA:  And??

HELEN:  He told me... they're statistics.  The type normally found in a college-
level class. 

(Daria's face falls.)

DARIA:  That's all?

HELEN:  He said he was very impressed that Quinn was doing such challenging 
work at her age.  

DARIA:  And there was nothing about them that seemed... off the mark?

HELEN:  Not that either of us could see.  He even showed me a textbook section 
that was similar.  (She notes Daria's expression.)  I want to get a confirmation
from Quinn, but if this is true...

DARIA:  It means my suspicions of Phelps are unfounded.

HELEN:  I wouldn't go that far.  However, I will suggest that for now, you let
them rest.  There's no use fretting when, as far as we know, Quinn's not doing
anything illegal and Mr. Phelps has promised to not give her extra work.  Let's
just see what else we learn, all right?         

(Daria nods, her expression gloomy.)

(cut to: )

SCENE 7 (Daria's room, a short time later)

(Daria sits on the bed, talking to Jane on the phone, her journal lying in
 her lap.)

JANE: (O.S.)  Maybe that Winsett guy was worried that talking would set off 
fireworks that would hurt his precious school.

DARIA:  I hope so, because I didn't just dream it.  It happened.  I *know* 
Marshall Winsett told me about Phelps stealing.  I know it was more than just 
a rumor.

JANE: (O.S.)  And even if he's not stealing, he might be cheating.

DARIA:  Precisely.  Why would Quinn even tell me about it unless some part of her
thought it was wrong? (frowns)  Of course, since then she's fiercely denied it.

(She flips open her journal and sees one of her old entries: "By imagining the 
guy really *is* using Quinn for his own sordid purposes, I create a ready
adversary for myself against whom I can exercise control that I haven't been 
able to find at home or elsewhere.")

(Daria reads this, then exhales quietly and gazes at the ceiling.)


END OF ACT TWO


ACT THREE


SCENE 1 (Lane residence, Wednesday late afternoon)

(Jane opens the door for Daria, looking troubled.) 

DARIA:  All right, what's so urgent that you had to tear me away from my 
final free evening of counting cracks in the walls?

JANE:  Check out the latest issue of the Lowdown.

(She hands Daria a copy and shuts the door behind her.  Daria's eyes widen -- 
the banner headline reads "Underground Fraudsters Brought to Justice.")

JANE:  I thought you might want to do your screaming now, rather than wait
until you're back amongst our peers.  I'll go tape down the windows.

(Daria's face tightens, and for several moments she doesn't speak as she 
forces herself to read every line of the article.  Once finished, she tosses 
the paper to the ground.)

DARIA:  This is *crap*.  The only things they got right were that there was 
an underground newspaper and its staffers got punished.  They didn't even 
get the *reasons* we got punished right.  No one took acid during meetings, 
or stole cars, or robbed people so they'd have an interesting story.  

JANE:  Since when have silly things like accuracy mattered to the Lowdown?

DARIA:  Ms. Li punishes the underground staffers but lets this tripe pass?  All
because the Lowdown gives the school great P.R. with its feel-good articles?

JANE:  At least no one mentioned any names.  Imagine how much worse it would 
be if people knew you were on staff.

(cut to: )

SCENE 2 (Lawndale High, Thursday)

(Daria and Jane walk to O'Neill's class.  Here and there, students glance in 
Daria's direction, then quickly look away.)

DARIA:  Good thing no one knows.

JANE:  Maybe they're just thrilled to see an unpopular person back in her 
natural habitat.  You worry too much.

(They enter the classroom.  The few students present and O'Neill glance at 
Daria, then look away.)

DARIA:  Come again?

(She and Jane take their seats.  Daria slouches forward self-consciously.)

JANE:  Hey look, everyone.  Daria's back!  Yay!

(Daria glares at Jane, but her outburst seems to break the ice.  O'Neill 
turns away from the blackboard timidly.)

O'NEILL:  It's... wonderful to see you again, Daria.

(Kevin and Brittany edge closer.)

BRITTANY:  Wow, so you were out *there*, were you?

DARIA:  Yes, Brittany, there is a world outside of school.  It's full of 
outlet stores... and malls.

BRITTANY:  That's really *great*, Daria!  Isn't it *great*, Kevin?

KEVIN:  Um, yeah.  Whatever you said, babe.

(They shy back into their seats, as Daria and Jane look at each other.)

JANE: (frowns)  Okay... make that you worry just enough.

(Jodie enters the classroom, heads over to Daria and Jane.)

JODIE:  Hey Daria, I'm glad to see you back.

DARIA:  Well, that would make one person.

JODIE: (lowers her voice)  You read the article?

DARIA:  It seems quite a few of us did.  I'd just like to know how they 
linked it to me.

JODIE:  Your suspension *did* coincide with the suspensions of a lot of 
the staffers.

DARIA:  How did you know I was suspended?

JODIE:  I didn't at first, but I figured it out.  I always sort of knew that 
you wrote for the underground paper -- the way you would react when someone 
talked about what was written.

DARIA:  Okay, but you're at the top of the food chain.  How did the average 
Lawndale High invertebrate figure it out?

JANE:  You remember how info spread about your parents' separation.  All it 
takes is for one person who knows to --

DARIA:  *Quinn*.

(Her cheeks color with relief... then outrage.)

JANE:  Even so, they don't have proof.  Just play it cool, and hopefully by 
next week, it'll be forgotten.

JODIE:  She's right -- just ignore them.  I'll use my influence as school 
president to get the Lowdown to print a correction. 

KEVIN:  Hey Daria?  Is it true what that article said about you hijacking a 
car full of old chicks at gunpoint?

BRITTANY:  *Kevin*!

KEVIN:  Was that the thing I wasn't supposed to ask her, babe?

DARIA:  Kevin, you've learned to read.  I'm so proud.

KEVIN:  Cool, huh?

O'NEILL:  Daria, *I* for one don't believe you would do anything unlawful.
(uneasy expression.)  But if you ever have any more *really* bad feelings, I 
just want you to know that I'm here to listen.

DARIA:  Look, the Lowdown editors never print anything accurate except by 
accident.  The only reason they even printed the article was to get revenge
on their rivals.  It's nothing but lies!

(Her voice rises almost to a shout, causing everyone in the classroom to 
wince, even Jane.)

O'NEILL:  Of *course* it is.  

(His forced reassurance just increases Daria's concern.  She slumps down 
further in her seat.)

(cut to: )

SCENE 2 (Phelps's classroom, Monday)

(Quinn sits in much the same manner, her elbows on the desktop.)

QUINN:  I can't *believe* people are still talking about this!

(She looks accusingly at the Three J's and several other classmates.)

QUINN:  That underground paper story was *so* yesterday.  Get over it!

JOEY: (timid)  But Quinn, is it true that that girl at your house spent 
a weekend in jail?

QUINN:  No, you *creep*! 

JOEY: (cowers)  I'm sorry!  I'm sorry!

JEFFY:  *I* would never say your relative went to jail.

JAMIE:  Yeah, I wouldn't even say she was in a drug rehab center.  (He 
catches Quinn's glare.)  *What*?

QUINN:  She didn't *do* those things!  Daria would *never* do those things!
(crestfallen)  She isn't like that.  

(The bell rings, and all students but Quinn stand to leave.  The Three J's 
attempt to console her, but her rigid posture discourages it.  They leave.)

PHELPS: (from his desk)  Ms. Morgendorffer, would you come here for a moment?

(Slowly Quinn stands and walks over.)

PHELPS:  Were those lads bothering you?

QUINN:  Not really.  I'm just so angry -- everyone thinks Daria did what that
article said.  It's all over school.

PHELPS:  Do you think she's guilty?

QUINN:  No!  Mr. Phelps, Daria isn't like that.  She's a little weird, but 
she's not a criminal!

PHELPS:  It's certainly doubtful that she did everything mentioned.

QUINN: (eyes narrow)  You don't know Daria like I do.  The only buzz she gets 
is from reading some boring old book.   

PHELPS:  Yet she has kept parts of her life from you.  She still hasn't 
mentioned that she tried to take you out of my class, has she? 

QUINN:  So what?!

PHELPS:  Just as she never told you that she wrote for the underground 
newspaper until after the fact.

QUINN:  What are you trying to tell me, Mr. Phelps?

(Her teacher removes his glasses momentarily to rub his eyes.)

PHELPS:  I'm sorry to sound so negative, Quinn.  I'm just trying to prepare 
you for any unpleasant surprises.

QUINN:  What "unpleasant surprises"?

PHELPS:  Anything that could cause you pain.  I know that in spite of your
differences, you hold your sister in very high regard.  However, she's
still human, and therefore capable of great errors in judgment.     

QUINN:  Not Daria.

PHELPS:  Didn't you think the same thing about your parents?

(Quinn's face puckers, remembering Jake's revelation.)

PHELPS:  You never thought they would separate, and now your father is seeing 
someone else. 

(Quinn's eyes fill with tears.)

QUINN:  Why did you have to say that?

PHELPS:  My dear, I'm just trying to level with you.  It's pained me to watch 
you get hurt time and again by your parents' decisions, and I don't want you to 
be blind-sided again. 

QUINN:  Just stop, okay?  Daria's different.  She's *not* like them.

MS. LI: (V.O.)  Would *Daria* Morgendorffer report to my office immediately?

(Quinn cringes at the sound of the intercom and lays her face in her hands.)

(cut to: )

SCENE 4 (Ms. Li's office)

(Daria sits across from Ms. Li's desk.)

MS. LI:  I *assume* you've read the article in the Lowdown.

DARIA: (eyes narrow)  Funny how you were so quick to punish the underground
staffers for threatening the school's reputation, yet have done nothing about 
an article whose phony statements have made our lives a living hell.

MS. LI:  Now *you* know what it's like to be on the otherrr side.

DARIA:  Then I expect you'll be marching the Lowdown editors in for their 
sentencing.

MS. LI:  Ms. Morgendorffer, I didn't call you in to talk about meaningless
notions like consistency and fair play.

DARIA:  Of course not.

MS. LI:  A member of our *business* community has read the article and is 
verrrrry upset.

DARIA:  At least someone recognized a lynching.

MS. LI:  Upset with *you*.

DARIA:  Because?

MS. LI:  The proprietor of *Lowman's* Sporting Goods has told me that 
he is the victim of *Erasmus's* liiibelous comments.

DARIA:  If by "libelous," he means harsh and true, he's probably right.
  
MS. LI:  So you *are* familiar with Lowman's.

DARIA:  I wrote a lot of articles about Lawndale businesses.  I never 
mentioned anything but what I saw.  (recalls)  The only thing I misstated
about Lowman's was that they still used sweatshop labor, but I corrected 
it in the next issue.

MS. LI:  Mr. Estrada mentioned no such correction.

DARIA:  Then he didn't see it.  I can show you.

(Ms. Li hands Daria a stack of underground newspapers, and Daria combs 
through them to the issue containing her Lowman's article.  She then lays 
it aside and looks through the following issue.  Her brow furrows.  She 
looks through it again, then the next issue, then the next one, while 
Ms. Li grows more and more impatient.)

DARIA:  It has to be...  

MS. LI:  Sometime *today*, Ms. Morgendorffer.

(Finally Daria lays down the papers.)

DARIA: (stunned)  He didn't do it.  Damien never printed the correction.

MS. LI:  So you *admit* that you printed a false, damaging statement against
a reputable business?

(Daria has no words.  A look of anger, mixed with dread, grows on her face.) 

MS. LI:  You *do* realize that Lowman's is the discount supplier of equipment 
to Llllllawndale High's glorious athletic department?

(Daria nods.)

MS. LI: (eyes narrow)  Well not anymore.  Mr. Estrada is so upset that a 
student here cost him money and prestige, he has *nullified* our contract.  
The football players now have to pay full price for their supplies along with 
the academics!

DARIA: (quiet)  Look, I'll tell him I'm sorry.  I can write a letter to the 
Lawndale Sun-Herald explaining I was wrong.

MS. LI:  I'm afraid it's far too late for that.

(She whisks the papers away and stands up angrily.)

MS. LI:  After your suspension, I was going to let your association with 
those underground hooligans slide.  "Erasmus" wasn't listed on any of the 
harmful articles, and your teachers were practically chewing off their 
arms with desperation to get you back.  But *this* time, Darierrr, you've 
threatened our sports teams.  *This* time... it's personal.

(cut to: )

SCENE 5 (Lawndale High, late afternoon)

(Daria is on her hands and knees beneath a desk, scraping off gum and surplus 
gunk into a bucket, trying to hold in her revulsion.  Jane helps out beside 
her, soaping down the top of a different desk.)

JANE:  She sure doesn't waste time, does she?  How many afternoons do you 
have to do this again?

DARIA:  Just until the arthritis makes it too difficult to kneel down.

(She scoots away from the desk and moves on to the one in front of it.)

DARIA:  What concerns me more is the psychological exam she wants me to take.  
I doubt they would go over well with the college admissions boards.

JANE:  You threaten her precious sports teams, so that means you're crazy??  
(She tosses down her sponge angrily.)  That is so messed up -- you're no 
crazier than I was when Sandi Griffin smeared me in the presidential race.

(She stands and walks over to the desk in front of her so she's facing Daria.)

JANE:  Okay, you screwed up your article.  It could happen to anybody.  You
*still* didn't deserve that suspension, and you didn't deserve all that hateful 
stuff they wrote about you and the other staffers.  You've got to fight this,
Daria.  Forget waiting for it to blow over, 'cause it obviously won't.

DARIA:  Right.  (She sits up stiffly.)  Because I've been an unqualified 
success in the "standing up" department.  Each time I've felt sure of 
something, I've been proven wrong. 

JANE:  Come on, don't let Ms. Li shake your confidence.  The Daria *I* know 
would think of a creative and mildly anarchic solution to her problem.

DARIA: (fiercely)  The Daria *you* know wouldn't forget to check up on her 
work.  The Daria *you* know wouldn't have been stupid enough to take Damien at 
his word when he said he would print my correction.  The Daria *you* know 
wouldn't be plotting to bury him alive in a shallow grave as we speak.

JANE:  Need to borrow my pick-axe?    

(Her quip fails to bring a smirk to Daria's face.)

JANE:  If there's any consolation, it looks as though people *did* read your 
writing for the underground.  And took it seriously. 

DARIA:  Oh joy. (Bt)  The question is, how did the owner of Lowman's know that
*I* was Erasmus?  The Lowdown article never said, and I doubt Ms. Li would tell
him.

JANE:  Maybe he didn't have to.  He could have just complained and she took
it from there.

(Daria cocks an eyelid and keeps scraping.)

JANE:  So when will they officially unchain you?

DARIA:  After a teacher comes by to inspect.

(She finishes her desk and sits up in the chair, just as Mr. Phelps sweeps 
into the room.  When Daria sees him, her face darkens.)

DARIA:  Of course.

PHELPS:  Good afternoon, Ms. Morgendorffer.  (He glances at Jane's sponge, cocks 
a brow with disapproval.)  Since when is detention a shared experience, Ms. Lane?

JANE:  You thought I was cleaning?  (laughs)  I was just keeping the sponge 
company until Daria finished with the undersides.  

PHELPS:  You may go home now, Ms. Lane.  Ms. Morgendorffer, since you don't appear 
too worn out from cleaning the desks, you may clean the blackboards as well.

(Daria regards him with limp anger.  Jane stands up slowly.)

JANE:  I'd rather stay until my friend is finished.  I can wait in the back.

PHELPS:  The longer you wait, the more blackboards she'll have to clean.

(Jane frowns at him.  After a moment's pause, she sends Daria a sympathetic look 
and walks quietly out the door.  Phelps closes it behind her.)

DARIA:  How did *you* get detention duty?

PHELPS:  I'm usually here late, and since I no longer tutor your sister, I had 
to find some use for all that free time.

(At the mention of Quinn, Daria feels her body tense.) 

DARIA:  Shall I wash with the water filled with dirt, or the water filled with
spit gobs?

(Phelps reaches into his coat and pulls out a small packet of moist towelettes.
Daria cannot suppress an "Are you kidding me?" look, but quickly sees that 
Phelps isn't joking.  She takes the packet and walks up to the board.)

PHELPS:  There's plenty more where that came from.

(Daria's eyes narrow and she positions herself so that she faces Phelps as she
cleans.  Remembering Helen's reveal, she feels slightly less hostile toward him, 
but memories of his threats keep her on edge.  Phelps wipes a desktop surface 
with his finger, then frowns at what it picks up.)

PHELPS:  If I didn't know better, I would swear you've never had detention before.

DARIA:  Imagine that.

PHELPS:  What did an honors student like yourself do to merit punishment?

DARIA:  I rewired the school security system so that an alarm would go off
whenever a teacher said "be quiet."  It's already sent a dozen library 
patrons to the Cedars of Lawndale Mental Ward. 

PHELPS:  That's just the sort of response I would expect from you... Erasmus.

(Daria pauses for a beat, then keeps cleaning.)

DARIA:  Ms. Li told you.

PHELPS:  Yes, but I already knew.  I'm surprised more people never made the 
connection.

(Daria stares at him.)

PHELPS:  Don't look so shocked.  I can do more than teach maths, you know.
I've read every issue of the student newspapers since I arrived.  Teenage 
writing has always intrigued me -- the thoughts that fill your minds.  
Although most of it is so dreadful, I keep it around just for a good laugh.

(Daria turns to face the board, biting back a smirk.)

PHELPS:  Some students, though, gave the craft the respect it deserved.  You 
were one of them.  Your fluff pieces for the Lowdown were among the few that
didn't make me gag, because you seemed to know they were fluff, and thus were
always winking at your audience.

DARIA:  I just had a hair in my eye.

PHELPS:  The paper was less enjoyable after you left.  Then one day, Erasmus's 
articles began appearing in the underground paper.  I saw the same sharp phrases 
and pointed observations and, somehow, I knew they came from you.  

(Daria's cheeks flush, as she is unsure of whether to be flattered or wary.  
She quickly runs through her towelette package, and receives another one.)

PHELPS:  I always felt that more people should read you.  Dozens throughout 
the community were affected by what you wrote, yet they didn't know your paper
existed.  Mr. Estrada certainly didn't.

(Daria pauses.)

PHELPS:  When the Sun-Herald quoted him in a business article two weeks ago, he
said that he was "mystified" by the drop in Lowman's sales.  One could claim it 
was due to poor management... but why blame yourself when you could blame a 
young writer recently mentioned in the school paper?  It *does* seem rather
strange that Lowman's sales didn't go into steady decline until after your 
article appeared. 

(Daria lowers her arm slowly, her cheeks flaming.)

PHELPS:  You were undeniably harsh, particularly in the paragraph about 
sweatshops.  I'm sure it twinged the conscience of a few yuppie parents.  When
someone pointed him to the article, Mr. Estrada must have felt very relieved to
discover the lie.  He could pin his misfortunes on that, rather than on all of 
the statements that were true.  Or so I would imagine. 

DARIA:  And did he happen to "discover" the lie all on his own?

PHELPS:  He may have had some help from one with a sharper eye.

DARIA: (low, seething)  You told him about the article.

PHELPS:  The truth came out.

DARIA:  So why bother to let me know?

PHELPS:  Because otherwise you might think you were the victim of random events, 
rather than someone being taught a lesson.  

(He regards Daria with a calm expression as she stands rigidly.)

PHELPS:  You care about the truth, don't you?  Is your truth less worth knowing
than someone else's? 

DARIA:  I didn't mean to lie.  I made a mistake.

PHELPS:  Spoken like someone with a bright future in politics.

DARIA:  Except that I plan to correct it.  (veers to face him.)  Look, if this 
was your way of keeping me from going to the authorities, you don't have to 
worry.  My suspicions of you were unfounded.  And since they were unfounded, I 
no longer care what you do, past or present.

PHELPS:  How noble of you -- but it's too late for backpedaling, Ms.
Morgendorffer.  You can't just poke around in people's lives, gleefully hold 
up damaging evidence, and expect to not pay a price.  I'm afraid you're about 
to find out what it's like to *be* one of the people you've exposed.    

DARIA: (flat)  So as payback, you get to watch my crucifixion.  I questioned
the mighty Mr. Phelps, and you have to grind me to a powder, so I'll never even
think to do it again.

PHELPS: (dark)  If you knew what I were *really* capable of, you wouldn't take 
such a flippant tone.    

DARIA:  What *are* you capable of?

PHELPS:  Press hard enough and you'll find out.

(Daria's lips curl with disgust.)

DARIA:  What the hell does Quinn see in you?

PHELPS:  Simple -- she knows that I'm on her side, which is more than she could
say for you.  

DARIA:  Not "on her side"?  I wouldn't even be here right now if not for her.

PHELPS:  You say that, but what do your suspicions say about your ability to 
trust her?  You couldn't even leave her alone with her opinions.

DARIA:  At least I *let* her have her own opinions.  Do *you* let her think
anything without prior approval? 

PHELPS:  She knows that *I* trust her -- it's with you that she doesn't feel
secure.  She seeks your approval and never receives it, asks to be treated like 
an equal and gets denied.  When that happens, she comes to me.  She respects my
judgment as much as she does yours, only I'm not afraid to tell her that she's
worth something, that she's special.

DARIA:  Which puts you in the company of every other male at Lawndale.
 
PHELPS:  Maybe some part of her realizes that even if you *do* care about her, 
you're a person of self-preservation first and foremost.   At the most critical
times, you'll choose your well-being over hers.   

DARIA:  Is that why you said I reminded you of yourself?

(cut to: )

SCENE 6 (Morgendorffer residence, evening)

(Quinn stands at the kitchen counter, laying carrot sticks in a bowl, trying to 
be as inconspicuous as possible.  At the table, Helen sits across from Daria, 
whose general demeanor is somewhere between self-blame and rage.  Helen looks 
none too happy herself, having just hung up the phone.)

HELEN:  Mr. Estrada won't negotiate.  He's too caught up in his own martyrdom 
and refuses to see that a teenage girl couldn't *possibly* have done all of the
damage to his business that he described. 
 
DARIA:  So what happens now?
 
HELEN:  He... wait. 
 
(She groans and speed-dials the phone, then taps her finger impatiently until 
the line picks up.)
 
HELEN:  Jake, this is Helen.  You said you wanted to be included in more family
discussions?  Well, here's your chance. (glares)  And if certain *other* people
happen to be listening in, they'd better have the decency to leave now, since 
this is absolutely *none* of their business and any claim otherwise would just 
be an abuse of their non-existent role in this family! 
 
(She hits the button for speakerphone and lays the phone back on its base, which
has been moved to the center of the table.)
 
JAKE: (O.S.)  I-it's just me, Helen... and Monday Night Football.
 
HELEN:  Jake, turn *off* the T.V. and focus.  I've put you on speakerphone, 
so you should be able to hear us.
 
JAKE: (O.S.)  You sound like you're a million miles away.
 
(Helen groans and turns up the volume on the base.)
 
HELEN:  We have --

JAKE: (O.S.)  *OW*!

(Teeth clenched, Helen turns down the volume a notch.)

HELEN:  We have a situation with Daria.  It seems that several months ago, she
wrote an article criticizing one of the town's businesses, which included an 
inaccurate statement that the owner claims is libel.  He says that Daria has 
done untold damage to his reputation and that he intends to sue.
 
JAKE: (O.S.)  That really stinks, kiddo!  Why would you do something like that?!
(Pause)  Erm... where are you?

DARIA:  To your left.

JAKE: (O.S.)  *Oh*.

HELEN:  Jake, let's not fly off the handle -- I'm sure we can work this out.

DARIA: (subdued)  I'll go apologize to Mr. Estrada tomorrow.

HELEN:  That would be a good start.  If we could at least get him to reinstate 
your school's discount, your principal might agree to forgo your detention
and *God* knows whatever the hell else she has planned. 

DARIA:  If he sued us, would he win?  

HELEN:  Well, I seriously doubt he could prove that your one article was 
responsible for a steady decline in profits, given its low profile.

DARIA:  That's a relief.

HELEN:  *But*... (Her eyes narrow.)  ... he still has a case.  You *did* lie 
about his business, and if he can make a convincing argument that you caused
some of his losses, we might still have to pay him a dollar amount.

DARIA:  Great.

JAKE: (O.S.)  *Dammit*, you couldn't throw if your arm were a catapult!

HELEN:  Jake??  

JAKE: (O.S.)  Huh?

HELEN: (realizes)  You're watching football, aren't you?

JAKE: (O.S.)  Wha-- I... no!  That was just --

HELEN:  Dammit Jake, I told you to turn that T.V. *off*, not mute it!  

JAKE: (O.S.)  It's off now!  See?  *Off*!  And I *was* listening, Helen!  

HELEN:  Then you heard the part where I said we might have to pay money?

JAKE: (O.S.)  We... *hey*!

DARIA:  Boy, this really does feel like a typical family discussion.      

HELEN:  I wouldn't be so flippant, if I were you, Daria.  How could you be 
so careless as to write an article criticizing someone's business without 
checking your work??

(Remembering Phelps's use of the word "flippant," Daria feels herself tense.) 

DARIA:  I *did* check my work.

HELEN:  Well obviously not well enough.  Daria, being a reporter isn't like
writing one of your essays -- you can't just say whatever you want!

DARIA:  How would *you* know what my essays are like?  When's the last time
you've read one??

HELEN:  I just meant that in the real world, what you say and *how* you say 
it matters a great deal.  You and your underground friends might have thought 
you were having fun, but putting out a real publication, even a small one, 
is serious business!

DARIA:  When I was on the paper, it *was* serious business.  

HELEN:  I know *you* wouldn't intentionally harm anyone, but the students 
you hung out with, the things they've done --

DARIA: (stiffens)  So you believe the Lowdown article, too.

HELEN:  I don't have to.  Article or no, it's clear that many of those kids 
had troubled backgrounds, which led *some* of them to write the articles 
that led to your suspensions.  I thought that *you* were completely innocent 
of these charges, but the error in your Lowman's article --

DARIA:  Showed that maybe, just maybe, I was sliding down a slippery slope 
greased by their depravity.

HELEN: (glares)  It makes you look bad, Daria.  It makes it easier for 
people to claim that you're a reckless writer with little regard for
others, who was deserving of her suspension and therefore of stricter
punishment.  

DARIA:  We'll just prove it isn't true.

HELEN:  We'll *try*, Daria.  That doesn't mean they'll believe us.  (slaps 
the table angrily.)  I just don't understand *why* you had to hang around 
students like that!  Drug addiction, juvenile hall -- you know better than 
to expose yourself to those kinds of influences!

DARIA:  Maybe because my parents were so wrapped up in their self-absorbed 
misery, I didn't want to be at home!

(She stands abruptly, nearly causing her chair to tip backward.)

DARIA:  What happened to being on my side??  To believing in me even when 
factual evidence stated otherwise?

HELEN:  Daria, I'm not saying --

DARIA:  That's right, you're not saying *or* doing anything to help me.  
Each time, it's been:  "I can't, Daria... There's no evidence, Daria... 
It won't work, Daria... You shouldn't have done that, Daria."    

HELEN:  Calm *down*, Daria.

DARIA:  What's the point of having you on my side if it's like being alone?! 

HELEN:  I know you're angry and looking for someone to blame, but whether you 
like it or not, you've brought *some* of this on yourse--

DARIA:  Everything you told me in that restaurant was crap.  You don't care 
what I'm going through!

HELEN:  That's not --

DARIA:  Just forget "helping" me anymore.  You're *useless*! 

(Daria turns and storms out of the room, while a wide-eyed Quinn looks on.)

JAKE: (O.S.)  Dammit, Daria, don't talk to your mother that way!  Dammit, come 
back here!  Where *are* you...?!

(Quinn watches her sister thunder up the stairs, then abandons her bowl of 
carrot sticks and runs after her.  Meanwhile Helen sits as before, her eyes 
locked in front of her, not seeing anything.)

JAKE: (O.S.)  Helen, we can't let her get away with that!  (Pause)  Helen?
(Pause)  Are you okay?

(cut to: )

SCENE 7 (Daria's room)

(Quinn reaches Daria's door just as it is being flung shut.  Without
thinking, Quinn holds up one of her arms to prevent the door from hitting 
her face.)

QUINN:  Owww...

(The door falls open, and Quinn rubs her forearm, dreading the bruise that 
will appear.  Daria turns to face her, surprised that she was followed, 
before rage reasserts itself.)

DARIA:  Get out.

QUINN:  Daria, wait.  Please?  

(Daria sinks down on her bed, takes off her glasses, and lays her head in 
hand.  Quinn takes her silence as a sign that it's all right to come in.)

QUINN: (hesitant)  I haven't seen you this mad since you and Mom had that 
I-love-you fight, which I didn't mind then because it distracted her from 
my earrings, but -- (Daria looks up at her with a dark "Hurry *up*" frown.) 
-- what happened downstairs was kind of scary.

DARIA:  Well then, I'm just a scary juvenile delinquent freak, aren't I?

QUINN:  Daria, I know you didn't do anything bad.

DARIA:  How *do* you know?  I messed up that article, didn't I?  I hung out 
with a bad crowd.

QUINN:  I... (Her brow furrows at Daria's words.)  I don't care what Mom says.  
I think it's really mean of that guy to hold your article against you.  You 
wrote it so long ago -- how does *he* know you hurt his store?

DARIA:  Yes, how would he know?  Unless someone told him... like your teacher.

QUINN:  You mean Mr. Phelps?

DARIA:  Who else??

QUINN:  Why are you so hung up on him?  Mom proved he wasn't making me steal
things -- why do you have to blame him for *everything*?

DARIA:  Because he told me so.   

QUINN:  When??

DARIA:  This afternoon, during detention.  

QUINN:  He said that he turned you in to that Lowman's guy?

DARIA:  No, actually, he didn't *say* it.  He just sneered it and insinuated it 
and threatened it, and basically said it without saying it.

QUINN:  If he didn't say it, how do you know that's what he meant?

DARIA:  Because I know!

(She puts on her glasses and gazes at her sister, feeling a sudden need to make
her see her point of view.)

DARIA:  He's getting his revenge on me for trying to take you out of his class.

QUINN:  So that did happen.

DARIA:  I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner.  I just wanted you to be in a class
that would benefit you, and I felt like I had to act quickly.  Maybe Phelps 
isn't making you steal, but he's still not a good person.   

(The sympathy fades from Quinn's expression.)
   
QUINN:  Daria, I don't know what kind of dummy you take me for.

DARIA:  I don't think you're dumb --

QUINN:  Why *else* would you try to take me out of a class without telling me??
Unless you thought I couldn't make that decision on my own.    

DARIA:  You would have transferred out of his class?

QUINN:  Of course not!  

(She winds her way around one of the book piles left over from Daria's earlier 
search and stands across from her.)

QUINN:  Mr. Phelps is my *friend*, Daria!  He thinks I'm really worth something,
and he wants to guide me to my potential before I graduate.    

DARIA:  God, you sound just like him.

QUINN:  Whether you like it or not, he's gonna be in my life for a long time.  
We've got some really big plans we're working on.

DARIA:  What do you mean "really big plans"?

(Quinn bites her lip, realizing she said too much.)

DARIA:  You're not supposed to be working on *anything* with him.  You're 
supposed to be catching up in your other classes.  You know, where you spend 
the other five hours of your day.

QUINN:  Don't be silly.  I am... catching up in my other classes.

DARIA:  What is he making you do?

QUINN:  Don't look at me like that.

DARIA:  *Tell* me!

(She regrets the anger in her voice almost instantly, and sees a shadow 
fall over her sister's face.)

QUINN:  He isn't "making" me... God, he was right.  I shouldn't have just assumed 
you would always do the right thing.  You *are* jealous.  Why else would you be
acting this way?  You're just gonna keep pretending that he's trying to hurt 
me until you can force us apart, aren't you?

(Her face becomes pinched as she fights back tears.)

QUINN:  I thought you were finally ready to see me as a smart person, but I
guess I was wrong.  You don't respect me at all.  Maybe you never will.

DARIA:  I don't respect *you*?  Quinn, did you ever seriously think that maybe 
*I* could be right and that Mr. Phelps could be lying?? 

QUINN:  He's not the one who lied in some article.

(Daria's expression becomes pained.)

DARIA:  Of course.  Why *should* you believe me?  He's your teacher -- I'm 
just your sister.  Sixteen years of sibling support can't compete.   

QUINN:  Daria, I'm not saying you're a bad sister.  Just that there's a *way* 
he sees me that you can't, and maybe I just have to accept it.

DARIA:  In other words, if I'm not kissing your butt and calling you "special,"
I'm not supportive.

QUINN:  You're not listening --

DARIA:  No, I heard it pretty clearly.  I refuse to feed into the Princess 
Quinn mindset.  My support doesn't always come with a shiny gold star. 

QUINN:  No, it comes with resentment and sneaking around and refusing to talk 
to me like I'm mature.  

DARIA:  Because you've done much to make me believe it.

QUINN:  You see?!  *This* is what I'm talking about!

DARIA:  You know what your problem is, Quinn?  The reason why you don't see my 
actions with Phelps as supportive?  It's because *you* would never do the same.

QUINN:  You're right, *I* respect a little thing called "privacy," which I 
would think you, of all people, would value.

DARIA:  No, I mean you would never go out of your way like that for me.  (She 
turns her face away.)  If you thought I was in trouble, you would never try to
investigate.    

QUINN:  I'm here *now*, aren't I??  And last spring when you were on the
underground paper, I remember you were really angry all the time.  I tried 
talking with you, but you shut me out.

DARIA:  And how did you respond?  Did you keep pressing?  Did you ask Mom or 
Dad what was the matter?  Did you talk to Jane or my teachers?

(Quinn's face takes on a vaguely embarrassed expression.)

DARIA:  No, you didn't.  It didn't even occur to you, did it?  You'll go the 
extra mile when our family is threatened, but if the problem doesn't affect 
you directly, you won't bother.  Not when the problem is mine. 

QUINN:  I *told* you I just didn't want to pry.

DARIA:  Which is a polite way of saying you didn't give a crap.

(Quinn's face falls.)

QUINN:  I...

(Her expression becomes distressed as she ponders if this could be true.  
Her lower lip trembles a little, then her eyes narrow.)

QUINN:  Like *you* thought I was even worth paying attention to before I
got glasses and looked a brain!

DARIA:  Quinn --

QUINN:  Just stay out of my life, Daria!

(She turns and marches toward the door, knocking over one of Daria's book 
piles in the process.  For a moment Quinn gazes down at the scattered books 
with remorse, then continues onward.  Daria stands up and strides toward 
the door, watches her as she retreats to her room.) 

DARIA:  *Fine*.  Why should I bother to help you, when you won't listen to
anything I say?!  Next time you're in trouble, you're on your own!  

(She closes her door hard.)


END OF ACT THREE


ACT FOUR


SCENE 1 (Lawndale High classroom, Tuesday afternoon)

(Quinn approaches the desk of her History teacher, Mr. Nelson, with a pensive
expression.  She knows what he is going to say even before he faces her.)

QUINN:  You wanted to see me?

NELSON:  Yes, Quinn...

(He opens his assignment book and lays it before her.  Quinn stares at the grid,
each row with a student's name beside it.)

NELSON:  I've blocked some of these out because you joined the class a few weeks 
in.  Currently, you've been present through ten assignments.  How many boxes do
you see marked?

QUINN:  Um... three.  But I can explain --

NELSON:  From what I've seen in class, you don't seem to have trouble following
along.  The assignments you *have* turned in were fine, so am I right in assuming
that you understand the material?

(Quinn nods rapidly.)

QUINN:  Oh yeah, your lectures are *great*.  They're never confusing.

NELSON:  I'm glad to hear it.  So then there's something outside of school that's
kept you from completing your work.

QUINN:  Yeah, my parents separated a couple months ago.  Things have been really
rough at home, and I haven't been able to concentrate too well.  

NELSON: (nods)  I remember speaking to your mother about that.  I really do 
sympathize with what you're going through, which is why I've been lenient over 
the past several weeks.  But with four weeks left of the trimester, I'm afraid 
your grace period has come to an end.  I need you to complete the unfinished 
assignments and turn in future ones on time.

QUINN: (reddens)  Okay...

NELSON:  If you feel that home doesn't give you a comfortable environment, 
some of the other teachers and I hold study sessions a few times a week in the
library after school.  If nothing else, it'll get you in the homework spirit.

QUINN: (nods)  That sounds great.  I'll be there.  

NELSON:  You seem like a good student.  I don't want to have to fail you.

(Quinn stops nodding and her face turns ashen, as the word "fail" hits her 
full-on with its harsh ugliness.) 

(cut to: )

SCENE 2 (The Grove, Tuesday, late afternoon)

(Quinn sits in a chair on the outdoor balcony level, gazing over the railing at 
a gentle stream that runs through the nearby woods.)

PHELPS:  Penny for your thoughts, Ms. Morgendorffer.

QUINN:  *Oh*.

(She turns to face him across the table, where he is pouring the last of the tea
into his cup.  He looks at her with benign inquisitiveness.)
 
QUINN:  Sorry.  I'm just thinking of how screwed up my stupid life is right now.
 
PHELPS:  Is this about your sister?
 
(Quinn feels her eyes moisten, and wipes the edges quickly before tears can spill
over.) 
  
QUINN:  I still can't believe the way she acted.  She was so angry, almost like
she wasn't herself.  Daria's been really mad before, but she's never *freaked* out
like that.
 
PHELPS:  I'm so sorry you had such a shock, my dear.  I'd feared it might occur,
but had hoped I would be wrong.
 
QUINN:  Now, it's like, I wonder what else she hasn't told me?  I still don't
think she did drugs, but it makes me wonder if she really *is* as sure about
everything as she seemed to be.

PHELPS:  As I told you, she is human.  Predictably, regrettably human.  You may
love her and she may, in fact, love you, but she still puts her selfish and
paranoid fantasies ahead of your well-being.  I know about it all too well.
 
QUINN:  Did someone do that to you?
 
(Phelps smiles sadly.)
 
PHELPS:  My partner.  He and I had a misunderstanding not too long ago.  He let
some incidents in the past color his behavior toward me in the present.  I still
haven't quite got over it.
 
QUINN:  I'm sorry.
 
PHELPS:  I'm afraid all you can do is love her as your sister, but always remember
that she'll never see you for the person you are.
 
(Quinn exhales softly, the stream below blurring before her eyes.)
 
PHELPS:  Turning to other matters:  I think you'll be very pleased with what I've 
done with your last project.

QUINN:  You showed it to that professor guy you know??

PHELPS:  I just sent it to him.  I've already told him all about you, and if he
likes what he sees, he'll agree to look at all your work.

QUINN:  He'd really be willing to wait two years to get me into Cambridge??

PHELPS:  If he thinks you're worth it, as I do.  In today's competitive
environment, a student can use all of the ins that he or she can get. 

QUINN:  Oh my God, in England I'd get to be with all those cute European men 
with really cool accents.  I need to start shopping for a more sophisticated 
wardrobe.  

PHELPS: (amused)  Now, now, don't get ahead of yourself.  Cambridge is a very 
tough maths and science university, and if you get in, you might find yourself 
alone in a library for days on end.  That's if you even want to attend.

QUINN:  Of *course* I'd want to attend!  Mr. Phelps, the idea that I have a 
chance to get into an actual college, an *important* college is... I can't 
believe it.  I'm so glad you never told me what that last assignment was 
for, or else I would have messed it up.

PHELPS:  Trust me: It was hard keeping it a secret from you.

QUINN:  This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me.  Thank you.

PHELPS:  You've more than earned it, Ms. Morgendorffer.  

QUINN:  Can I tell my parents?

PHELPS:  I would wait until we're more certain -- wouldn't want them to accuse 
me of filling you with false hope.  Also... (He takes a sip of tea.) you might 
want to produce few more samples, to *really* round out your portfolio. 

QUINN:  Okay.  (wrinkles her nose.)  I'm sure I can find time to do them in
between work for my other classes.

PHELPS:  Yes, your other classes -- wouldn't want to forget those and anger 
your mother. (arches a brow.)  You know, Ms. Morgendorffer, we don't need to
meet up regularly in order for you to do the extra samples.  If you need this
time to focus on your other course work, please feel free.

(Quinn looks at him intently, her mouth curving into a smile.)

QUINN:  I *want* to be here, Mr. Phelps.

(Phelps smiles his small smile in return.)

PHELPS:  All right, then.

(cut to: )
 
SCENE 3 (Lawndale High, Wednesday)

(Daria and Jane walk down the hall toward Mrs. Manson's office, Daria rigid 
and visibly angry.)

JANE:  You should start wearing one of those sombreros with a hidden camera.

DARIA:  That wouldn't be obvious.

JANE:  A tape recorder then.  Something.  Next time you're alone with that creep, 
you need *some* kind of evidence so he can't get away with the things he says.

DARIA:  He never *says* anything -- he just insinuates.  Even if I made a
recording, he could get off scott-free.

JANE:  You don't know that.  Come on, you can't afford to be defeatist now.  

DARIA:  Jane, he said that he turned me in to the Lowman's owner.  Any objective 
person would view that as an act of good citizenship, not intimidation.  What 
could I plead in my defense -- that I didn't want to be caught?

JANE:  He also said a bunch of other stuff you didn't like, or you wouldn't 
be having this reaction to him.  

DARIA:  Let's just say that I don't exactly trust my judgment these days.

(Jane gets a worried look on her face.  Just then, a male student coming from 
the opposite direction runs into Daria -- hard.  She nearly falls backwards,
dropping the book she was carrying to the ground.  The student and his friends
continue on without pausing.)

JANE: (glaring after them)  Watch it, you jerkoff!

(She kneels down to pick up Daria's book, while Daria shakes herself off, her 
face showing a lack of surprise.  Jane hands her the book.)

JANE:  Some idiots need to pay attention to the world around them.

DARIA:  There seem to be a lot of those today.  And always around me.

JANE:  It's only happened a few times.  You don't know --

DARIA:  Jane, I appreciate your glass-half-full mentality, but if there's one 
thing I *do* know, it's that they're doing it on purpose.  Either because they 
think I'm a nutty freak from the Lowdown article, or because they know what
happened with Lowman's.

JANE:  Jodie said she got the Lowdown to print a correction.  By the next issue --

DARIA:  It will already be too late.

(A group of football players marches toward Daria.  Robert knocks the book out 
of Daria's hand.)

ROBERT:  We want a word with you... ma'am.

PLAYERS:  Yeah!

DARIA:  About?

ROBERT:  Coach told us that Lowman's dropped our sponsorship because of you.

DARIA: (flat)  And who told your coach?

ROBERT:  Now we don't have money to rent buses for away games.

JANE: (flat)  Just like all those starving children in Ethiopia.  
   
ROBERT:  Believe me when I say this, ma'am, but we'll make you regret the day 
you ever *heard* of sports!

DARIA:  More so?

JANE:  Lay one hand on her and I'll tell everyone in school that you were at
Cashman's trying the spring line of designer dresses.  (Robert stares at her.)  
Sitting next to your ex-girlfriend in science has its perks. 

ROBERT:  I... urg.

(Spooked, he turns to flee, while the other players following after him with
curious expressions.  Again, Jane leans down and picks up Daria's book.)

JANE:  Okay, there was nothing shifty about *their* threat.  Let's round up
a trusty authority figure and report what just happened.

DARIA: (shrugs)  Go ahead.

JANE:  Daria, I'm getting worried about you.  You may not be the most proactive,
but you know how to stick up for yourself when it counts.  If you just give up 
and let people beat on you, your life will suck in ways that you never dreamed
possible, and you'd be letting that Phelps jerk win. 

(Daria frowns at the thought.)

DARIA:  Even if I did try to fight it, and I *were* right about Phelps...

(She pauses in front of Mrs. Manson's door, her shoulders slumping.)

DARIA:  ...who would believe me now? 

(cut to: )

SCENE 4 (Mrs. Manson's office, after school)

(Daria sits across from Mrs. Manson at the round table first seen in
"Esteemsters."  Mrs. Manson holds up an inkblot drawing.)

MANSON:  How does this make you feel?

DARIA:  What is it supposed to be?

MANSON:  It can be anything you want it to be.

DARIA:  Ah, one of *those* tests.  

MANSON:  That's right -- you've had several psychological exams in the past.

DARIA:  I wouldn't call two "several," especially since one was required of all 
new students. 

MANSON:  I'm just trying to get a fuller sense of your background.  (She leans 
down to jot notes on a clipboard.)  Now again, what does this image make you feel?

DARIA:  Eyestrain.

MANSON:  *Emotionally*.

DARIA:  Irritation at getting eyestrain from a pointless inkblot test.

(Mrs. Manson sighs palpably.)

MANSON:  On a scale of one to ten, with one being zero and ten being high, where 
would you place your irritation level?

DARIA:  Twenty-five.

(Mrs. Manson writes this down, then holds up a second inkblot drawing.)

MANSON:  Would you say this drawing makes you feel (peers down at her notes.) 
depressed, angry, or frightened?

DARIA:  Isn't that a leading question?

MANSON:  Not all of these questions are open-ended, Dara.

DARIA:  Then I'd say... bored out of my mind.

MANSON: (tense)  You're not being very helpful.

DARIA:  Only because I don't understand why I'm being put through this.  I messed 
up an article that cost the school a discount and a few sponsorships.  What does 
that have to do with my mental health?

MANSON:  Ms. Li merely wishes to establish whether you have a pattern of vengeance
toward the school.

DARIA:  Then she should check the scribbles inside my locker that read "All work 
and no play gives Daria a lust for the kill."

MANSON:  Do you...?

DARIA: (angry)  That was a joke.

MANSON:  I see.  (She jots down some notes.)

DARIA:  You've already made up your mind about me, haven't you?  

MANSON:  Yes... well... Dara, your behavior at school *has* followed some 
disturbing patterns.  Inattentiveness, sudden anger, lack of compassion for
others.  Some people have noticed lately that you're even more antisocial than
usual.  

DARIA:  "Some people"?  *Which* people?

MANSON:  It doesn't matter --

DARIA:  I deserve to know the characters of those who would pass judgment 
against me.

MANSON:  Oh... well... some respectable teachers.

DARIA:  *Some*?  Or just one?

MANSON:  I don't recall the actual number...

DARIA:  A math teacher?

MANSON:  I think that might have been one of them...

(Daria inhales sharply, with both disbelief and lack of surprise.)    

MANSON:  They worried about it being a prelude for things to come. 

DARIA:  Then it's a good thing my name is Dar-ee-a, or I might have cause
for concern.

MANSON:  Your parents' separation no doubt put strain on an already at-risk
personality.  Your time on that newspaper could be seen as a final tipping
point.

DARIA:  You mean the paper I wrote for *before* my parents separated?

(Mrs. Manson jots down notes.)

DARIA:  This is ridiculous.  I would *not* commit violence against the school. 

MANSON:  Few students would formally claim that they want to commit violence, 
especially to a school psychologist.  Nonetheless, we have a new treatment 
plan for those that seem more likely than others.  

DARIA: (eyes widen)  What *kind* of treatment plan?

MANSON:  One that gives them the intensive supervision that they need.  Don't 
worry, dear... I'm sure you'll like it.

(cut to: )

SCENE 5 (cafe on Degas Street, late afternoon)

(Meanwhile, unaware of Daria's current dilemma, Jake and Helen share a booth.)

JAKE:  She shouldn't have called you useless, Helen!

HELEN: (quiet)  Why not, Jake?  It's the truth, isn't it?  After everything 
I've done, I can't think of a single thing that's helped Daria or Quinn.  The 
one time Daria really needed my support, I just... piled on.  I've let her down.

JAKE:  Don't say that!

HELEN:  Jake, whether you realize it or not, I haven't brought my A game for a 
very long time.  I should be nailing that Stalinist Ms. Li to the wall for what 
she did.  Instead, I keep making one misstep after another.  I thought after
our separation, all of my uncertainty was supposed to dissolve and I'd regain 
focus on my life and my career, but it hasn't happened.  Maybe it never will.

JAKE:  I've never heard you talk like this.

HELEN:  Daria deserves a better advocate.   

JAKE:  No, no, you can't lose confidence like that.  You're a strong woman and a 
great mother!  You're just trying to make do with a lousy situation.  I bet lots 
of women would do much worse than you.

(Helen cocks a brow.)

JAKE:  You're not like me -- *I'm* the useless one.

HELEN:  Oh Jake, don't say that.

JAKE:  I'm good for a gift, but I don't see them every night.  When I do see 
them, I never know what to say.  I thought I was getting better with talking 
to them about stuff, but I still never know what they're thinking.  If only I
hadn't wasted so much time...

(His face grows melancholy, and Helen finds herself smiling with sympathy.  She
reaches across the table and pats his hand.)

HELEN:  Listen to me: Daria and Quinn love you.  You will *always* be a part of
their lives.  I'll make sure of it.

(Jake's expression grows faintly hopeful.) 

HELEN:  Thank you for checking up on me.  It was very sweet.

JAKE:  I just hate hearing you depressed.  

HELEN:  What are we going to do with those girls of ours?  Family therapy is 
obviously out of the question.  So what, short of us reconciling, would ease
their resentment?  

(Jake shakes his head and sighs.)

HELEN:  Sometimes I wonder if they could have been spared a lot of grief had 
the events leading to our separation gone differently.

JAKE:  You do?

HELEN:  We've said it before, Jake -- it happened so fast.  Too fast.  While the 
decision felt right to both of us, we gave the girls absolutely no time to
prepare, ask questions, and accept our reasoning.  

(She bites her lip, her expression pained.)

HELEN:  For God's sake, I just ran off and left you three for most of the weekend!
How could they *not* think the decision to separate just popped into my head
during a nervous breakdown?!

JAKE:  You really think they believe that??

HELEN:  Maybe not... but I sometimes do.  *Not* that the idea was sudden or the 
result of my breakdown, but that we could have done more.  Don't you feel that
way?

JAKE: (quiet)  Yeah.

(Helen cocks a wry, rueful brow.)

HELEN:  Well it's too late now.  You can't change the past.

JAKE:  I think they're more worried about the future. 

HELEN:  Join the club. 

JAKE:  You don't know, either?

HELEN:  Why would I know what lies ahead any more than you?  I'm trying to adjust
to life as a single person, too, you know.

JAKE:  But what about all that sculpting stuff you wanted to do??

HELEN:  It's not going the way I anticipated.  Sometimes I wonder if I even 
have the artist's bug anymore.  All of my best work was in Greg's classroom, 
and since I never brought it home, it probably found a nice resting spot in 
the incinerator. 

(Jake winces a little at her mention of Greg, before noting her sad expression.)

JAKE:  Yeah, well, I know what you think of me -- that I'm living the life of a 
bachelor stud, with my big-screen T.V. and my toilet lids up.  But --

HELEN:  I never thought you were a "stud."  (quiet)  Studs don't usually settle
for just one other woman.

JAKE:  What I'm trying to say is that it's not easy for me, either, Helen.  
Living away from you doesn't feel like a big release.  I mean it's good, but... 
a lot scarier than I thought it would be.

HELEN:  Do you ever think about moving back home?

(Jake looks at her with surprise.)

HELEN:  I'm -- I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have just thrown that out at you.

JAKE:  *No*, I mean... I thought you wanted a divorce.

HELEN:  I was angry when I said that.  I don't really... I don't know.

JAKE:  Yeah...

(They gaze at each other solemnly for a moment.)

JAKE:  I think about coming home a lot.  But...

HELEN:  Yes?

JAKE:  It -- I don't know, it doesn't feel like the right time.  I feel like 
I'm just getting started, like there are *things* I need to learn before I'm 
ready to come back.  Don't you feel that way?

HELEN:  Of course.  (frowns)  Although I don't have someone warming the bed for 
me when I get home.

JAKE:  Dammit, Helen.  That's not what I was talking about at all!

HELEN:  Well why not, Jake??  Is your new relationship so shallow that you'd be 
willing to chuck it aside in order to come home, or do you have deeper feelings 
for that sweet, caring, opportunistic hussy?

JAKE:  See, *this* is why the girls don't want to meet her.  They hear *you* talk 
and they get the idea that she's just some cheap tramp!

HELEN:  Can I help it if the girls don't like seeing their parents with people 
who *aren't* their parents??  And I certainly wasn't the one who started seeing 
her without the family's knowledge, leading everyone to --

JAKE:  Don't try to pin the separation on me!  I admit it, okay?  I screwed up.
*I* *screwed* *up*!  But it wasn't just me, and you know it.  If you hadn't 
kissed that Greg, you never would have avoided me, and I wouldn't have thought
you'd stopped caring!

HELEN:  *Oh*, so the separation's all *my* fault, is it?!

JAKE:  You're the one who came up with that idea about us needing to grow!

HELEN:  If I recall, you *agreed* with that idea.  Jake, you can't just claim
something is good, then pretend you never felt that way when it goes sour!

JAKE:  Oh yeah?!  Well there were lots of reasons we split up, but it wasn't all
my fault, and don't you dare say it was!

(He lapses into silence, and he and Helen gaze at each other tensely.  They
suddenly become aware that the cafe is very quiet, and turn to see several 
patrons staring in their direction.  After gazing back with sheepish, apologetic 
expressions, they turn to look at one another again, this time reflective.)

HELEN:  Let's be honest, Jake:  We're not living apart just because of my kiss 
or your girlfriend, or to achieve a vague definition of personal growth, are we?  

(Jake exhales softly, then shakes his head.)

(cut to: )

SCENE 6 (parking lot, shortly after)

(Jake and Helen walk each other to their cars.)

JAKE:  You'll keep me up-to-date on what's happening with Daria?

HELEN:  Of course.  (Her brow creases.)  Although as strange as this sounds, 
in some ways I'm more worried about Quinn.

JAKE:  Quinn??  What's wrong with her??

HELEN:  Well, she's not in any trouble yet, but she's still far behind in most 
of her classes, and I'm not convinced that she's doing what she needs to in 
order to catch up.  I made her write out a To Do list, and she shows me what 
she's completed every night, but earlier today I got a call from one of her
teachers saying that she's only received *one* make-up assignment.  I need to 
have a serious talk with Quinn, but this mess with Daria --

JAKE:  Don't worry: Between the two of us, we'll get her whipped back into shape.  
When she comes over on Friday, I'll have her eating, sleeping, and *peeing*
homework.

HELEN: (smiles)  Thank you, Jake... I think.  She says she's been focusing on 
*all* of her classes, but...

JAKE:  You think she's lying?

(Helen pauses, then nods.)

HELEN:  I wonder about her relationship with that Mr. Phelps, her math teacher.  
While it's true there's no concrete evidence to suggest any wrongdoing, I have 
to confess that I'm starting to share Daria's concerns about him.  There's
*something* that makes me uncomfortable that I can't put my finger on.

JAKE:  Oh, he's gay.

HELEN: (glares)  Not *that*.  I mean it seems like he has trouble showing basic
empathy for other people.

JAKE:  He *scares* me!

HELEN:  I worry about what someone like that could do to Quinn.  Daria may be 
more socially awkward, but I think Quinn is more fragile...

(cut to: )  

SCENE 6 (Phelps's kitchen, evening)

(Phelps comes in, looking through a couple of colored fliers.  Marshall dries 
his hands at the sink and leans over for a look.)

MARSHALL:  What are those?

PHELPS:  Just adverts for an event that a student of mine would like.

MARSHALL:  Quinn?

(Phelps flinches a little, as he always does when her name is said aloud, as 
if Marshall were unveiling an important secret.)

PHELPS:  Yes.

MARSHALL:  You've been spending a lot of time with this girl.

PHELPS:  Jealous, are we?

MARSHALL:  Not at all.  Assuming this doesn't mean you've switched sides.

(For a moment, Phelps's expression becomes vividly angry.)

PHELPS:  Don't even joke about such things, Marshall.  My relationship with 
Quinn has *never* been based on sex.  It is much, much deeper than that.

MARSHALL:  In what way?

PHELPS:  I wouldn't call her my "daughter," per se, but I do feel as though
she's a part of me.  I can feel her loneliness.  

(His face grows reflective.)

PHELPS:  All her life, she's tried to fit into a world where she doesn't quite
belong.  She's managed to fool enough people into believing she's happy, but 
has never been satisfied.  

MARSHALL:  She told you this?

PHELPS: (nods)  Now that she knows she can trust me, she's completely open 
about her feelings.  We think so much alike, we're so in tune with each other's
thoughts, our relationship is deeper than blood. 

(Marshall tries to fight back his concern, but does not quite succeed.)    

PHELPS:  You should have seen her face when we started working in higher
mathematics -- as if someone had given her a cure for a fatal disease.  I was 
the first person to know what she was really looking for.  (He sees Marshall's 
expression.)  You think I'm exaggerating, don't you? 

MARSHALL:  You've felt this sort of affection for students before.

PHELPS:  This is different.  I've never felt so... fulfilled with another student,
so excited about his or her prospects.  I see a very bright future ahead of her.
One where she'll be a renowned mathematician who still meets with her old teacher
now and then to discuss her latest discoveries.

MARSHALL:  Is that the future she wants?

PHELPS:  Not specifically, but I think it would suit her.

MARSHALL:  All well and good, Alfred, but be careful not to assume too much about
this girl.  How well do you really know her?

PHELPS:  Well enough that I feel closer to her than to anyone else.

MARSHALL:  Including me?

(There is a beat of silence, before Phelps places the fliers in his pocket and
looks at his partner with a piercing, rueful expression.)

PHELPS:  When was the last time *we* were close, Marshall?  

(Marshall's mouth opens with surprise, his eyes growing pained and somewhat 
indignant.  Even so, he cannot deny the truth behind his partner's words, one 
that he has resisted until now.)

(cut to: )
              
SCENE 7 (sidewalk, Friday, late afternoon/early evening)

(Jane walks home with Daria, who looks as though she has trouble walking on her 
own.  She clutches a large envelope.)  

DARIA:  She wants me to transfer out of my classes into a special "day group" 
for disturbed students.

JANE:  It's a wonder she didn't just expel you.

DARIA:  That's probably her next step.  (She feels sick to her stomach.)  This
can't be happening, can it?  I fell asleep after eating the Good Time Chinese kung
pao "surprise" and am having a nightmare.

JANE:  Any minute now, lime jello Gumbies will rain down from the sky.  At
least if this is my dream and not yours.

(Daria's shoulders slump under the weight of her reality.  Jane looks at her with sympathy.)

DARIA:  Maybe Ms. Li just wants me to leave on my own, to avoid the legal trouble 
of kicking me out.  Right now, that doesn't sound too bad.

ANDREA: (O.S.)  It won't solve anything.

(Daria and Jane freeze at the sound of her voice and glance around for the 
source.  Andrea appears as if out of thin air, dressed in her usual Gothic
attire.)

JANE:  Donnie and Marie's love child is back!

DARIA:  Tracking us from the shadows in her true Gothic identity.

ANDREA:  My *only* identity.  I'm never wearing that crap again.

DARIA:  Where have you been??

ANDREA:  It doesn't matter.  I'm leaving.

DARIA:  Lawndale High?

ANDREA:  This town.  I dropped out of school last week.

DARIA:  What??  (Her stomach tightens.)  Because of the new program?

(Andrea nods.)

JANE:  Was it that bad?

ANDREA:  It was worse.

DARIA:  How?

(Andrea remains silent for a long moment, so long that Daria and Jane aren't 
sure if she'll ever speak.)

ANDREA:  The teachers we had weren't the usual teachers.  Li hired them from
some "tough love" boot camp school.  They're not interested if you learn.  They 
don't even think you'll get past high school.  All they want is to turn you 
into a quivering pile of pus.

(Daria cringes at her choice of words.)

DARIA:  You're not exaggerating, are you?

ANDREA:  All day, I felt like I was being dissected.  Every move I made was a 
sign that I was about to do something worse.  There were fifteen of us from the
four grades and no curriculum that covered us all.  Not that they taught anything,
anyway -- they preferred to humiliate.  You remember Danny?

DARIA:  The Danny whose articles put the underground staffers in hot water?    

ANDREA:  By the time I started, he'd already cracked.  He would sit at his desk 
shaking, and he'd only been there a week.  It turned out that the teachers liked
to call him to the front and make him piss in a cup for random urine checks, call
him "stupid" and "ugly," give him strength tests they knew Danny would fail.  I
heard that Danny first tried to smartass his way out of it, but they just kept 
him up there, piling it on, 'til it was too much.

JANE:  No one did anything to stop it?

ANDREA:  It was like we were cut off.  We had our own wing, which none of the
usual teachers or Li ever came to visit.  It's a wonder Li even knows what's
going on... or cares.  (Andrea shrugs a shoulder.)  By the time they tried that 
on me, I knew I'd had enough.

DARIA:  Couldn't you transfer to another high school?

ANDREA:  If you transfer, your record comes with you.  I'd have just wound up in 
a program that was just as bad in a different way.  (A rare scowl mars her face.)
I know I'm not a teacher's pet.  I have big problems -- but the worst thing I ever
did to that school was leave it alone.  I wanted to give the new program a chance,
play by the school's rules, but once I knew for sure that I was saner than *they*
were, it was time to bail.

JANE:  So what now?

ANDREA:  I'm getting my GED and moving to Baltimore.  A cousin of mine has an 
apartment there, and he can get me a job.  Not like I have much choice -- my 
parents kicked me out.

(She says this in a matter-of-fact tone, as if she's already made peace with 
the situation, while Daria tries to swallow down her dread.)

DARIA:  I guess this is good-bye, then.

(Andrea shrugs a shoulder in agreement.)

ANDREA:  Never thought I would get to know someone who was accepted by the 
mainstream crowd.  (She glances down at Daria's envelope with a vague look of 
regret.)  Or that this would happen to you.

(Daria looks her in the eye, with as much courage as she can muster.)

DARIA:  I'll fight this.  For both of us.

(Andrea looks back with appreciation and skepticism, then characteristically 
departs without another word.  Daria watches after her, feeling the loss of
someone in her life who wasn't a friend, yet was more than an acquaintance.  
Her courage starts to slip away.)

(cut to: )

SCENE 8 (Morgendorffer residence, soon after)

(Daria enters and is met immediately by a red-faced, angry Helen.  She holds 
out the envelope limply for her mother to take.)

HELEN:  *Don't* bother showing me, Daria, I already know.  The school phoned me.

(Daria heads toward the couches, bracing herself for the inevitable torrent 
of her mother's disappointment.)
 
HELEN:  I've never been so outraged in my life!  They want to move you to a
classroom filled with emotionally troubled students?!  Compress your seven 
class periods into four and give you round-the-clock surveillance?!  And they 
want permission to *medicate* you if you act out?!

(Daria sinks down on the center couch and stares at the floor.)  

HELEN:  The very idea that you require special scrutiny is *ridiculous*!

DARIA:  What?

HELEN:  They're not going to get away with this.  You won't spend a single 
minute in this "intensive" program even if I have to rip you out of school 
and educate you myself!

(Daria looks at Helen, her expression filled with hope.)

DARIA:  You don't agree with them?

HELEN:  Oh Daria, you may be many things -- stubborn, outspoken, and sometimes 
narrow-minded.  But you *aren't* mentally or emotionally unstable.  Did you
actually think I would take their side??

DARIA:  I didn't know what to think.  You seemed so angry about the Lowman's 
article, I thought you might have lost faith in me.

HELEN:  Honey, that could never happen.  (renewed outrage.)  Court-established 
precedent, my hide.  I don't care if the laws *have* given schools huge amounts 
of authority -- if your principal tries to put you in that program, I'll slap a
lawsuit on her so fast, her heart will explode!

DARIA:  Or something she'd actually miss.

(She feels the corners of her mouth turning upward as Helen opens her briefcase 
on the kitchen counter and takes out a day planner filled with contacts.  
Remembering their heated exchange over the Lowman's article, Daria stands up 
and walks over to the counter.)

DARIA:  Mom?  I was wrong about what I said a few days ago.  You *have* been
supportive.  I was just so angry that you weren't doing things the way I wanted
*when* I wanted, I ignored all of the work you *were* doing.

(Helen turns to face her daughter, surprised.)

HELEN:  Daria, all I've wanted is the best possible outcome for you.  Sometimes 
that meant only taking the most solid evidence you had, because I've seen too
many cases where the plaintiff winds up with nothing but shattered credibility.
I love you too much to let that happen.  I know I can't be everything you need,
but believe me, I *am* trying.  

DARIA:  And you didn't deserve to have me blow up at you.  I'm sorry.

HELEN:  Oh honey, you don't... (Her eyes soften.)  Thank you.

(They gaze at each other silently for a moment.  Helen then returns to her
briefcase.)

HELEN:  Still, it's time to step it up a notch or two.  Let's see how much we 
can do before your sister comes home and you leave for your father's.

DARIA:  Quinn isn't home yet?

HELEN:  No.  I left a message on her cell phone telling her to get back from
wherever the hell she's been before your dad starts to wonder where you are.  
All I can say is that she'd *better* be at the library...

(cut to: )

SCENE 9 (Morgendorffer residence, night)

(At almost nine o' clock, Quinn slips in the door and, like Daria, comes 
instantly face to face with her mother.)

HELEN:  Where were you?!

QUINN:  The library.

HELEN:  The library closes at six on Fridays, Quinn.  Try again.

QUINN:  *Okay*, I was shopping with Stacy at the mall and I lost track of time!  

HELEN:  Then it must have been a different Stacy who phoned an hour ago, asking
for your father's number so she could reach you.

QUINN:  If this is about me missing a night at Dad's, I totally intend to 
call him and arrange to sleep over a different... Dad?

(Over Helen's shoulder, Quinn sees Jake sitting on the center couch, next 
to Daria, his expression sober.)

QUINN:  What are you... doing here?

HELEN:  Quinn, honey, sit down.  

(Quinn winces slightly at her mother's quiet, serious tone.  A cold feeling 
creeps over her, as she looks from her mother to her father, then at Daria, 
who seems bleaker than usual.  Slowly, she makes her way over to the 
left-hand couch and sits.)

QUINN: (quiet)  What's going on?

HELEN:  We have something very important to discuss.

(Quinn swallows and feels her heart hammering in her chest.)
   
QUINN:  Okay.

(Helen looks at Jake, who looks back.  He then clears his throat.)

JAKE:  Quinn, your mother and I want you to know that we love you very much.

HELEN:  Yes, honey, always remember that first and foremost.

JAKE:  But there's gotta be some *changes* in the way we do things as a family.

HELEN:  We can't continue to function this way.

(Quinn puts her face in her hands.  Helen lays a hand on her shoulder, which 
causes her to flinch.)

HELEN:  Quinn, we've been giving you far too much freedom.

QUINN:  Huh?

HELEN:  I got another call from one of your teachers today, saying that you're 
not turning in your assignments.  Your father was going to have a talk with you 
on his own, but when it became clear that you weren't coming over, we decided to
discuss it together.

JAKE:  Tell her about what you found --

HELEN:  I was *getting* to that, Jake.  Quinn, when I went into your room to 
see if you'd left a note, I found some more sheets of statistics homework on 
your desk.

QUINN:  You went through my things??

HELEN:  We've talked about this -- no more extra math assignments until you're
caught up in your other classes!  I thought I could trust you to take the 
proper initiative, but obviously I was wrong.  From now on, we'll *both* be 
supervising your study time.

JAKE:  That means lockdown, young lady.  No dates, no trips to the mall --

HELEN:  You'll come straight home after school and only leave to go back again 
the next day or to your father's.

JAKE:  We're keeping your nose to the grindstone until you're all caught up.
That's why they call it "tough" love... not "cute fluffy bunny" love!

QUINN:  That's it?!

HELEN:  What else did you think we would say??

QUINN:  That you were getting a *divorce*!

(She springs up off of the couch and looks at both of her parents, shaking.)

QUINN:  The way you were both waiting here and the looks on your faces and 
Daria sitting there and "changes in the way we function"...?!

(Helen and Jake look at each other, their expressions growing remorseful.)

QUINN:  This is just some stupid intermission on my behalf?!

(She starts to leave, but Helen lays an arm in front of her path.)

HELEN:  This isn't an *intervention*, Quinn.  It's a discussion, and it isn't 
over.  You *still* haven't told us where you were.

QUINN:  On a date.

HELEN:  Since when do your dates end so early and since when do neither of us 
meet the boy ahead of time??

QUINN:  *Fine*, I hitched a ride with a total stranger to Las Vegas where I got 
drunk and had sex and wore *really* cheap support hose until it was time to go 
home!  Now if you'll *excuse* me, it's past my bedtime --

HELEN:  You have one more chance before you lose your car privileges.

(Quinn closes her mouth and looks at her mother with disbelief.  Then, in a 
fit of rage, she pushes past her and heads toward the stairs.  Jake stands up,
strides after her, and takes her by the arm.)

QUINN:  Hey!

JAKE:  Your mother asked you a question.

QUINN:  I was with Mr. Phelps, all right?!  He took me to a lecture on that Adam
Smith and his theory about markets where you can get stuff for free, bought me
dinner, and took me home.  

JAKE:  You didn't even think to ask us ahead of time??

QUINN:  Because I knew you'd say no! 

HELEN:  And you lied about it after we caught you.  Quinn, were there any other 
students with you on this after-school fieldtrip?

QUINN:  I was by myself.  I was *fine*.

JAKE:  Is this the first time you've gone off with him?

QUINN:  We've just gone out to a cafe a few of times.  It was no big deal.

HELEN:  The "big deal" is that we don't like you spending time alone with an
adult without our knowledge.  Especially --

QUINN:  You just don't like Mr. Phelps!  (She looks accusingly at Daria.)  Because
*someone* told you he was making me cheat and steal, when you know that wasn't 
true!

HELEN:  *No*, because he knew full well that you needed to get caught up with your 
other work and *still* chose to monopolize your time!  I think it's high time we
had another talk with him.

QUINN:  But --!  

HELEN:  In the meantime, I'll leave your sister in charge of the car keys.  If I 
find out you've taken them or made a copy, you'll lose your phone privileges, too.

QUINN:  *Daria*??  But she's the one who got our family sued -- why does *she* 
get the car?!

HELEN:  Because *she* isn't driving off to God-knows-where after school!

JAKE:  Helen, hold on a minute.  I think we need to take it down a notch and see
things from Quinn's point of view.

HELEN:  "See things from"... *oh*, fine...  (Annoyed, she crosses her arms.)

JAKE:  Quinn, I was like you once.  I remember the thrill of freshly sharpened
pencil and an arithmetic problem before lunch.  Then it was fractions... long
division... rounding to the nearest decimal.  (face darkens.)  But soon that
wasn't good enough.  I had to have more.  

HELEN:  Jake?

JAKE:  I was doing word problems, then geometric theorems, sometimes forty a day!
My slide rule became my crutch... and sometimes my imaginary best friend when the 
other cadets made fun of me, but that's another story.  The point is that even
though I told myself I could handle it, my obsession continued to grow.  I had to
have more problems, *bigger* problems, *harder* problems, until one day the
commandant found me doing push-ups to the base-two system!

QUINN:  What does that --?

JAKE:  You have to *stop* this madness now, while you can, Quinn!  

(He grabs her by the shoulders and starts to shake her.)

JAKE:  Before you turn into a bitter middle-aged man with no coping skills, who
never took the time to smell the roses on his way to the big corporate
straightjacket in the sky!

QUINN:  Da-AAAAD!!!

HELEN:  Jake, let her go!     

(Jake does so, sobering up.)

QUINN:  I can't *believe* you guys!

(She runs away from Jake and heads for the stairs.)

QUINN:  All this time, I wanted you to pay attention to me and Daria, and when 
you do, it's to take away the *one* person who's always been there for me!

HELEN:  Oh *please*, Quinn, "the one person"??  You can't honestly tell us that
your Mr. Phelps cares more about you than your dad and I!

QUINN:  I know he cares about me more than he does about his stupid dead father.

(She glares at Jake, who reddens, then at Helen.)  

QUINN:  Or his stupid job! 

HELEN:  Well I'm sorry, honey, if you really think that's true.  That we would 
put *ourselves* --  

QUINN:  If you really "cared" so much, you wouldn't have lied about why you went
up to Aunt Amy's that weekend!  You would have *told* us that you were thinking 
of leaving Dad!

(Her eyes fill with tears.)

QUINN:  If Dad really cared, he would have told that awful woman he's seeing to
go away, because we're more important!

(Helen's own eyes grow bright and Jake's face becomes solemn.  Quinn lets out 
a sob and stumbles up a few stairs.)

QUINN:  I'm sick of it!  I'm sick of being told that I have to accept that you
guys are selfish *jerks* and that's why my life is so terrible!  I'm sick of you
lying to us!

HELEN: (quiet)  Quinn, please...

QUINN:  Just stop pretending like you care what I'm feeling, because you don't!
Stop acting like you're a freaking *team*, like everything's back to how it was
before, and JUST GET A DIVORCE!!!

(She lets out another sob, then runs the rest of the way up the stairs.  Jake 
and Helen stare after her for a few silent moments.  Jake then starts after
her, but Helen restrains him gently by the arm.)

HELEN:  Not now, when she's all worked up.  

JAKE:  Why do our kids always run up stairs when we try to talk to them??

DARIA:  Because the bricks outside are too slippery to scale.

(Jake and Helen swerve to face her, having forgotten her presence.  Her expression 
tells them that she knows all too well what Quinn is feeling.) 

HELEN:  Let's *all* of us settle down.  I have Mr. Phelps's number -- hopefully 
he'll be home soon...

(cut to: )

SCENE 9 (Morgendorffer kitchen, later)

(Helen and Jake sit at the table, holding the phone between them.)

PHELPS: (O.S.)  I don't understand the fuss.  Your daughter spent the evening
learning.  Would you have rather she'd spent it in the company of some hormonal
teenaged boy?

JAKE:  He's got a point, Hel--

(Helen nudges him to be quiet.)

HELEN:  The "fuss", Mr. Phelps, is that you broke your word not to have Quinn do
*any* more extracurricular math assignments!    

PHELPS: (O.S.)  This wasn't an assignment, this was entertain--

HELEN:  Whatever it was, she wasn't supposed to go without the permission of 
at least *one* of her parents!

PHELPS: (O.S.)  I assure you, I thought --

HELEN:  Well you were mistaken.  Quinn has far too much to do, and while we
appreciate the interest you've taken in her education, we're going to have to 
ask that from now on, you step aside and let *us* take over.

PHELPS: (O.S.)  Are you sure you're capable --

HELEN:  Actually, we *demand* that you step aside, since it's clear that asking
you politely has no effect at all.

PHELPS: (O.S.)  "Politely"?!  How would you even *know* --

HELEN:  If we find out that Quinn is still doing extra work for you, we'll --

PHELPS: (O.S.)  You'll what?

(Helen frowns at the way his words slice a neat pathway through her own.)

HELEN:  We'll... we'll have to take action.  If that means transferring her into a 
different math class, so be it.

PHELPS: (O.S.)  Do you really think that would stop her from seeing me?

(There is a quiet chill in his voice, one that seeps through the phone and settles 
over the room, cooling Helen's internal rage and causing her to struggle to find 
the right words.)

HELEN:  It would stop *you* from seeing her.

PHELPS: (O.S.)  Do you think I drag her off kicking and screaming to spend time
with me?  We both know better than that, Mrs. Morgendorffer.  I might have done 
so in the beginning, but in the long run, your daughter does what she wants.

HELEN:  Then, as the adult, you should have the presence of mind to establish
boundaries between you two.
 
PHELPS: (O.S.)  I can't be her teacher, but you expect me to be her parent?  Why
should I be the one to instill discipline that she should have received long ago?
 
HELEN:  I just meant stop giving her assignments that you wouldn't give the other
students.
 
PHELPS: (O.S.)  I have stopped.  Anything she does now is by her own accord. 

HELEN:  You're obviously doing *something* to make her think this would benefit 
her, or she would never --

PHELPS: (O.S.)  Never do work for a subject that she loves?  You give Quinn such
little credit -- no wonder she drank in my teachings like someone dying of thirst
in the desert.  How could I possibly abandon her now?

(Helen's cheeks redden, and Jake twists his hands uncomfortably.  On the other 
end, Phelps sits in his office chair, a smile lurking beneath his still
expression.)     

HELEN:  If you can't respect our wishes, we'll just have to report you to a 
higher authority.

PHELPS:  With what argument?  "My daughter has a teacher who is interested in 
her learning"?  "He takes her to economic lectures and does all of the things I 
would do myself if not for those dreaded business dinners and ball games on the
telly."  How would you convince anyone of the downside?   

HELEN:  *Don't* underestimate me, Mr. Phelps.  If I have to, I can hold you and 
the school accountable for negligence.

PHELPS:  That's right, you're a lawyer.  Well if you must, so be it.  I know a 
few lawyers from notable firms.

JAKE:  So do *we*, pal!  (looks at Helen.)  Um, I mean, I'm married to one!

PHELPS:  Mr. Morgendorffer, is that you?  I never expected to hear your voice -- 
I thought you and your wife had separated.

HELEN:  That's none of your business.

PHELPS:  Except that according to Quinn, it was your separation and *not* my extra
assignments that spurred her academic decline.  Wasn't it?

(Helen and Jake glance at each other with guilty expressions.)

PHELPS:  With all of your marital stress, I can understand the temptation to lash 
out at the blameless.  Still, it *is* frustrating when people expect everyone else
to solve the problems they created. 

HELEN:  Are you this belligerent in person??

PHELPS:  Why don't I schedule a parent-teacher conference so you can find out?
That is, if I can expect you and not your secretary.
  
HELEN:  You can expect to lose.

JAKE:  You tell 'im!

(Phelps lets out a dry, amused chuckle.)

PHELPS:  Not a bad rejoinder, Mrs. Morgendorffer.  Though really, the person 
you need to talk to is your daughter.  If you asked Quinn to stop, would she
think enough of you to obey?    

(After a beat, he hangs up the phone, then lays it on its cradle with a quiet, 
triumphant air.  Outside his closed office door, Marshall stands nearby, having 
overheard parts of the conversation.  A look of concern grips his face.)

(In the Morgendorffer kitchen, Helen lays the phone on the table and she and 
Jake sit silently for one moment, drained.  Daria walks over to them.) 
  
DARIA:  So.  You've heard the tone.

HELEN:  You mean his insufferable arrogance?  How dare he act like we don't 
have any relevance in our daughter's life!

JAKE:  Yeah!  Just because she ran upstairs calling us selfish liars doesn't 
mean she wouldn't listen to us when it mattered!

DARIA:  He's trying to get to you.  He used that same tone when he threatened me
on Monday.

(Helen and Jake look at her, their eyes growing wide.)

JAKE:  He threatened you?!

HELEN:  What did he say?

DARIA:  He was the one who tipped off Mr. Estrada about the Lowman's article, to
teach me a lesson about snooping in his life.  He said that if I kept pressing,
I would find out what *else* he was capable of.  

HELEN:  Oh Daria, *why* didn't you say something before??

DARIA:  I thought that since he mostly insinuated, you would tell me we didn't
have a case against him.  Plus, I wasn't exactly in a state of mind to trust that
I wasn't imagining the whole thing.

(Jake leaps up.)

JAKE:  That smug BASTARD!  (He grabs the phone.)  He likes *threats*, does he?!
Well I'll call him and threaten to put his face through a window! 

HELEN:  Jake, *no*!  Don't give him anything he could use against us.  We need 
to plot a course of action.

JAKE:  First we'll march down to the school and make him apologize to Daria!  
Then we'll take Quinn out of his class!  

HELEN:  Absolutely -- we'll arrange for a transfer right away.

JANE:  Then we'll pay someone to follow Quinn to each of her classes and report
back to us if it looks like she's been talking to him.  Kiddo, you don't do much
between periods, don't you?

(Daria gives him a dubious look.)

JAKE:  Then we'll arrange it so that one of us is always there to pick up Quinn 
right after school!  (He looks at Helen, his expression growing doubtful.)  I'm,
um, sure one of us will always have some free time at three o' clock.

HELEN:  I think we need to take it a step further: hire a private detective.

JAKE: (taken off guard)  A detective??  You mean someone to look his garbage 
and takes pictures of him showering??

HELEN:  My firm is in touch with a couple of detective agencies -- they have
resources we lack.  If there's anything that man is hiding, they'd find it.

JAKE:  Okay.  Let's do it!

HELEN:  Who *knows* what else that Mr. Phelps has planned for Daria or Quinn --
or if it even stops with *our* girls??  

(She turns to Daria.)

HELEN:  Daria, at some point you'll be asked to go on record stating exactly 
what he told you.

DARIA:  Okay.

HELEN:  And if we could contact that man you spoke to --

DARIA:  I tried.  He denies he said anything.

HELEN:  Oh.  (A worried look flickers across her face.)  Well, if there's anyone
you know, anyone at all, who might have witnessed more unprofessional behavior --

JAKE:  Tony DeMartino doesn't like him.

(Helen freezes momentarily, as does Daria, at the sound of his name.) 

HELEN:  Yes.  Ask him.  Maybe he has documentation of Mr. Phelps's conduct.

JAKE:  Quinn will forgive us in the long run, right?  She'll know it's just 
because we love her?

(Helen gives him a slightly strained smile, hoping that will be true.)


END OF ACT FOUR



ACT FIVE


SCENE 1 (Lane residence, Sunday afternoon)

(Jane sits at her computer desk, with Daria looking over her shoulder.)

JANE:  Voila!  Check this out.

(She types a URL into her browser and presses Enter.  A black and white surreal 
image of a woman being strangled appears.)

DARIA:  You're finally giving me a peek into your kinky sex life?

JANE:  This image is just a placeholder until I can get the real page set up.  
And it's all *yours*.

DARIA:  I see.  To remind me not to leave home without my broad sword.  

JANE:  She's being silenced.  One could say you two have a lot in common.  When 
this is done, you'll have your first line of counter-attack against the scumbags 
at school who are trying to bring you down.

DARIA:  You're making a web journal?

JANE:  You've written for newspapers -- why not finally have one of your own?
I know it doesn't have the reach of a regular paper and won't automatically 
clear you of any charges, but --

DARIA:  Jane?  Thank you.

(Jane freezes at her genuinely grateful tone, then reddens with embarrassment.)

JANE:  Hell, you did the same for me when I was in trouble.

DARIA:  Seriously, you've done nothing but stick by me since the weekend my 
parents split up, even when "colossal jerk" would have flatteringly described
my behavior.  Without you, I'd have given up a long time ago.

JANE:  *Stop* -- you're making it really hard for me to demand some painful favor
from you in the future.

DARIA:  Then I've achieved my goal.

JANE: (smirks)  Keep it up, and I might not help you find contributors. 

(Daria gazes at the space thoughtfully, imagining what she will write to fill it.)

DARIA:  I am *not* going to drop out of school.  I've worked too hard for too long
and suffered through far too much stupidity to just cave in during my final year.
I'll make Ms. Li and Mrs. Manson wish they'd never even thought of "intensive
supervision" -- for *any* of us.

JANE: (smiles)  Now *that's* the Daria I know and love. (Bt)  In a purely 
platonic sense.    

DARIA:  Did I mention I've already talked to the police about Phelps?

JANE:  And soon he'll be doing ten to twenty in a rock island prison??

DARIA:  No.  As my mother suspected, his threats were too vague to merit a 
restraining order or even a police report... but at least I got some more 
information on what was needed.  Now my mother's looking up private
detectives.   

JANE:  What did Quinn say?

DARIA:  She doesn't know.  My parents were afraid that if she heard about the 
private detective, she would tip off Phelps.  

JANE: (soft)  She's *that* devoted to him, huh?

DARIA:  Which is why I've also started looking for more info on him.  Anyone so
hell-bent on keeping me quiet has more than his past to worry about.  

(Her brow furrows with discomfort.)

DARIA:  Quinn may not want my help, and I might not feel she deserves it, but I'm
giving it anyway.  Hopefully before it's too late.

(cut to: )  

SCENE 2 (Lawndale High, several days later)

(Jane stands beside Quinn as she examines her complexion in her locker mirror.)

QUINN:  I never said I "hated" Daria.

JANE:  Then why won't you help?  It would be fun *and* something you could list
on your college applications.  Hell, even your friend Sandi's helping out.

(Quinn looks up at Jane with shock.)

QUINN:  Sandi's working with *you*?

JANE:  You'd be amazed at what guilt can do. (smirks with satisfaction.)  Plus,
she seemed genuinely interested.  She'll be writing an article about the 
step-by-step process of a smear campaign and how it fools people.

(Quinn lowers her eyes again.)

QUINN:  Good for her.

(Jane waits for her to say more, then gets a look of frustration.)

JANE: (quiet)  Come on, Quinn.  You don't really think Daria is crazy, do you?

QUINN: (eyes widen)  No.  Of course not.

JANE:  I realize you've got a lot of catching up to do, but couldn't you make 
a little time for your sister?

QUINN:  It's not that I don't have time, it's... my feelings toward her are kind 
of complicated right now.

JANE:  Complicated, how?

QUINN: (scowls)  Like you won't just take her side.

JANE:  How can I take sides if I don't know??

QUINN:  I don't know *what* Daria's thinking these days.  I keep telling myself
she doesn't want to hurt me and wants me to be happy, but it's getting harder and
harder to believe that's true.

(Jane gives her a long look.)

JANE:  Say it's not true.  Say she *does* want to hurt you.  Does that give you 
a blank check to stop caring about her?

QUINN:  I... no.

JANE:  So how 'bout it?

QUINN:  I'm not gonna work for your stupid web thing just to prove that I care!

JANE:  Okay, fine.  I'll leave it to your wisdom to figure out how to support 
her.  Just remember that she's done a lot of nice things for you.

(Jane leaves.  Although Quinn gazes after her with resentment, it is clear that 
Jane's words have left an impression.)

(cut to: )

SCENE 3 (Jake's apartment, Monday evening)

(Daria sits on the couch, staring at several photocopied articles from newspaper
archives, including some that she has already had in her possession.  They are all
laid out on the coffee table before her and she is trying to see how they all fit
together.  She concentrates so hard that when the doorbell rings, she practically 
falls off the couch.)

(Daria gathers up the articles and lays them in a folder, then heads over to the 
door.  She opens it to reveal Mr. DeMartino, straining under the weight of two
large boxes.  He staggers in and plops them down heavily on the dining room table.
When he sees Daria, he gives a visible start.) 

DEMARTINO:  DARIA.  Didn't think YOU would be here.

DARIA:  Normally I'm not, but I knew you'd be coming.  

DEMARTINO:  Where's your FATHER?

DARIA:  Out buying toilet paper rolls.  He ran out of ten-year old magazines to
use for back up.

(Sweat dots DeMartino's brow.)

DARIA:  What did you bring?

(DeMartino's discomfort gives way to gleeful satisfaction.)

DEMARTINO:  When your FATHER told me about your problem with PHELPS, I went
through my closets looking for every BIT of information I had on the school and 
the TEACHERS.

(Daria opens one box and sees yearbooks, newspapers, photos, school function
leaflets, receipts, award ceremony programs, and more scrambled together inside.)

DARIA:  Is any of this potentially incriminating?

DEMARTINO:  Like all HISTORY, Daria, it's a matter of being able to READ the clues 
in the proper CONTEXT.

DARIA:  Then I suspect we have a long night ahead.

(She reaches in to remove a yearbook, thumbs through it.)

DEMARTINO:  THAT one has a picture of him looking SHIFTY-EYED toward some of the 
students.

DARIA:  You mean this one where he's choking on a cup of coffee at the
multicultural fair?

DEMARTINO:  Erm... yeah.  (His eye bulges.)  Did I mention he pushed in front of
me in the FACULTY photo? 

(Daria sighs quietly.  DeMartino shrugs and takes out several books and photos, 
which he spreads out and arranges to show the areas of evidence.)

DEMARTINO:  Daria, while we're HERE, I thought I should say --

DARIA:  Forget it.

DEMARTINO:  But --

DARIA:  We have an objective to reach, and I'd like it to be before my fiftieth
birthday.

(DeMartino's eye bulges, and frowning, he removes more objects from the box.)

DEMARTINO: (blurts)  I knew your father was SEEING someone and that it could get 
serious and I WARNED him to be careful but I didn't think it was my place to TELL
you or your sister.

(Daria gazes up at him with a vacant expression.)

DARIA:  Okay, then.

DEMARTINO:  Just had to get that off my CHEST.  Feel free to keep HATING me if 
you're so inclined.  It's what I'D probably do.

DARIA:  I don't hate you -- I just feel betrayed.  You were one of the teachers 
I almost trusted, and every day I was in class, you knew what happening, but
didn't act as if anything was amiss.  You just went about your business and
continued to have testosterone-fueled fun with my father.  Even now, you're still
buddies, like nothing ever happened, like it wasn't *your* suggestion that he
start teaching in the first place.
 
DEMARTINO:  Actually, I don't pal AROUND with your father much anymore.  Things
have been too AWKWARD since he moved out of your house.  This is the first time
I've been BY here.

DARIA: (surprised)  Really?

DEMARTINO:  Believe ME, Daria, I would never treat what happened with
INDIFFERENCE.  Best student or NOT, I think too HIGHLY of you for that.  I wish
I could go back and do things DIFFERENTLY.

(Daria looks down at the evidence he has gathered, her cheeks coloring.  The idea 
that DeMartino has been quietly ruing his minor role in the separation gives her 
a sense of comfort.  She feels her animosity toward him start to fade, and raises 
her head to look at him directly.)

DARIA:  Mr. Nelson is a good history teacher, but his class doesn't have nearly 
as many entertaining diversions.

(DeMartino grunts with resigned amusement as he lifts a zipped bag holding a tape
recorder, last seen in "An Uneasy Marriage," out of the box.)

DEMARTINO:  Without your daily infusion of INTELLIGENCE to keep me sane, I am THAT
much closer to destroying a certain FOOTBALL player.

DARIA:  It's good to feel needed.  (She notices the bag.)  What's that?

DEMARTINO:  Oh.  (His expression grows disappointed.)  It's what COULD have been 
my finest hour.  I almost caught Phelps on TAPE trying to get Ms. Li to fund math
at the EXPENSE of the humanities.

DARIA:  So what happened?

DEMARTINO:  The SOUND is too distorted.  I can hear PHELPS, but his words are 
muffled.

DARIA:  Could I listen?

(DeMartino gives the bag to Daria, who removes the tape recorder and presses Play.
The small tape plays, and Daria hears two muffled voices.  She frowns.)

DEMARTINO:  I don't see the POINT, frankly.  If only --

DARIA:  Wait.  (She rewinds the tape, listens again.)  I *know* this voice.

DEMARTINO:  It's PHELPS.

DARIA:  No... I mean the person he's talking to.

(She listens again.  One muffled voice on the tape belongs to Marshall Winsett.)

DEMARTINO:  Oh yeah, I think that's his BOYFRIEND.  (shudders)  At least I HOPE
so.  God FORBID it was his brother.

DARIA:  His *boyfriend*?!

(cut to: )

SCENE 4 (Fielding Prep, Tuesday afternoon)
   
(Marshall sits at his desk, reading a proposal.  When he looks up, he finds Daria
standing across from him, her arms folded.)

DARIA:  Why didn't you tell me you were Mr. Phelps's boyfriend?

MARSHALL: (pales)  I don't... know what you...

DARIA:  Don't try to deny it.  It's obvious you have a relationship with him that 
is more than professional.

MARSHALL:  I don't --

(Daria holds up Mr. DeMartino's tape recorder with the tape.  She hands it to 
Marshall, who plays the conversation between himself and Phelps.  He slumps
back in his seat.)

DARIA:  If you should "happen" to break it, I've made plenty of copies.

(Marshall turns off the tape recorder and lays it on the desk.  He stands up.)

MARSHALL:  Very well, you've learned the truth.  What do you plan to do?  
Blackmail me?

DARIA:  That's "Alfie"'s style, not mine.  I just want answers.  You learned 
about his money-taking through a source other than rumors, didn't you?

MARSHALL:  I don't know what you're talking about.

(He ushers Daria toward the door.  Just as they've reached it, Tom appears to 
block the way out.  He folds his arms.)

TOM:  She's talking about keeping criminal behavior a secret from the parents 
and students at Fielding -- even though it could affect them directly.

MARSHALL:  Mr. Sloane?

TOM:  Do you care so much about your boyfriend that you would ignore your
responsibility to every person at this school?  

MARSHALL:  I don't... this is... (He desperately tries to control the flow of events.)
I think this silly conversation needs to end.  

TOM:  "Silly"?!

DARIA:  Mr. Winsett, I told you that the real danger wasn't what he did in the 
past, but what he could be doing in the present.  Right now, he's using my sister.  
I'm just praying it's not for something illegal, but I have no proof.  I do,
however, have an article about a new security system employed by banks that 
forces hackers to be more clever.  They have to solve word puzzles, or *number*
puzzles to get access.

MARSHALL:  That doesn't mean --

DARIA:  I also found an article from 1988 on Mr. Phelps's old firm, Carlton and
Associates.  The executives were found guilty of insider trading and the CEO was
sent to prison for ten years.  Did Phelps have anything to do with that?

(Marshall gazes down at the floor, his brow creasing with thought.)

DARIA: (softer)  Would you have told me about Mr. Phelps, even under the guise of 
rumors, if you weren't at all concerned about him?

(Marshall doesn't respond for a moment.  He then looks from Daria to Tom.)

MARSHALL:  Are you either of you wearing a recording device?

TOM & DARIA:  No.

MARSHALL:  Promise?

(They nod.  Marshall dabs his forehead and gazes out into the hall to see if
anyone is nearby.)

MARSHALL:  Let's go someplace where we won't be overheard.

(cut to: )

SCENE 5 (Fielding, bleachers overlooking the lake)

(Marshall, Tom, and Daria sit at the top, watching the rowing crew fan the 
water with their ores below.  All around them is a wide expanse of green, with
the Gothic school buildings lurking in the background.)

MARSHALL: (rueful)  My relationship with Alfred Phelps isn't a total secret.  
Anyone who knew where to look would see that we shared the same address.  It's 
just that no one, beyond my secretary and maybe one or two other staffers, 
thought to make the connection.

TOM:  I don't understand why you had to hide it.  We already knew Mr. Phelps 
was gay, and students thought all of the teachers were paired up anyway.

MARSHALL:  Harmless student gossip about teachers' secret rendez-vous is one
thing, Mr. Sloane.  A real-live homosexual relationship between a teacher and 
an administrator is something else.

(Tom frowns, realizing he has a point.)

MARSHALL: (sarcastic)  Fielding Prep is perfectly willing to accept gay 
teachers and administrators... as long as they don't do anything to show or 
suggest that they're gay.

DARIA:  Much like the modern Republican Party.

MARSHALL:  I should have objected, but I've always felt a loyalty to Fielding,
which has educated generations of Winsetts, and duty to my family.  The Winsetts
have a proud history in this country dating back to the Mayflower, and a strong
Calvinist strain runs through us to this day.  I grew up learning to never speak
out of turn.  It's turned me into something of a coward.    

(His expression grows wistful.)

MARSHALL:  Not Alfr-- I mean, Mr. Phelps.  I know from your perspective that he
can seem insufferable, but you have to understand that his iron-headedness is a
product of his upbringing.  He had no family support growing up and was always
stigmatized for being a "dandy".  During his years at Cambridge, he became
addicted to alcohol, like his father.  All those forces combined could have 
sent him into the gutter, but fortunately Mr. Phelps had the presence of mind 
to see what was happening.  He sobered up and learned to deal with the world by
shutting it out.  

DARIA:  Is this the part where I'm supposed to feel sorry for him because he's 
had such a miserable life?

MARSHALL:  No, I'm just trying to give you context.  I'm sorry for what he did 
to you, threatening you like that.  Unfortunately, that is the dark side of his 
formative years.  I didn't know that, however, when we met several years later, 
at what could be loosely referred to as a "gay economists" club.  Mr. Phelps had 
come to the U.S. to pursue his business career, believing that England pre-
Thatcher was not a place for his ambitions.  I found him to be the most oddly
charming man I'd ever met.  He made me feel very wanted, at a time when the AIDS
virus was first making headlines and I was resentful of my homosexual
inclinations.

(Daria thinks about Quinn's description of Phelps's attention toward her and 
feels a shiver down her back.)

MARSHALL:  Soon he and I settled down together.  I headed my family's amalgam 
of charities while Mr. Phelps worked for Carlton and Associates.  He seemed very 
content there and was well respected.

DARIA:  Until he got caught doing insider training.

(Marshall pauses.)

MARSHALL:  Actually, no.

(Daria and Tom look at him with expectation.)

MARSHALL:  Mr. Phelps knew what was happening but wanted no part of it.  He felt 
it was a stain on a good company and a slap in the face of free-market values.
When investigators came poking around, he agreed to be a whistle-blower.

DARIA:  He helped them??

TOM:  Was it really a selfless act, or was he just trying to get off scott-free 
for his own part in the crime?

(Marshall's face clouds with thought.)

MARSHALL:  He'd always said it was because he couldn't stand seeing such blatant
disregard for the law.  I had no reason to disbelieve him.  His testimony was one
of the keys to putting Carlton's CEO behind bars.  

(Daria reflects upon this, considering whether Phelps's act of bravery could have 
been completely selfless.) 

MARSHALL:  Unfortunately, I don't think Mr. Phelps realized the full implications 
of his actions.  Although his name wasn't used in the published accounts, word 
of what he'd done somehow got around to the other investment firms, and he 
found himself frozen out, unable to obtain another executive position.

TOM:  What happened then?

MARSHALL:  He started his own firm, which stayed afloat for a couple of years
before the recession hit and he found himself out of business.  By then, I'd 
given up my position in the family network of charities to accept one with 
Fielding.  It was a nice bit of independence, or so I thought.

(He takes out a handkerchief and dabbles his forehead wearily.)

MARSHALL:  Meanwhile, Mr. Phelps remained unable to find employment in finance, at 
least not at the level he had once enjoyed.  He was sinking quickly into despair, 
when I suggested that he obtain a teaching credential to keep himself active 
until the economy improved.  I recall that he sort of sneered at the idea, but 
went ahead with it anyway, for lack of better options.  Shortly after he'd
finished, one of our math teachers retired, opening up a position.  I persuaded 
the Fielding board to give Mr. Phelps a chance.

DARIA:  And the rest is history.

MARSHALL: (frowns)  No, not quite.  I don't want Alfred Phelps to be typecast as 
some sort of villain when he's not.  When he first started teaching, he was
shocked at how quickly he took to it.  He grew to enjoy the day-to-day challenges
of pressing knowledge into the heads of students who don't necessarily want to
receive it.  A career move that was supposed to be temporary stretched across 
several years.

DARIA:  I'm sorry, but I can't reconcile the Phelps I know with the selfless, 
honorable person that you describe.  How did he get from being a happy teacher 
to a possible crook?

MARSHALL: (weary)  As pleased as Mr. Phelps was with his new calling, he has
always had a side that was proud, angry, and resentful.  From childhood to
adulthood, he'd grown up with people who had more than he did.  Only during his
time as an executive did he prosper, and that was taken from him forever, all
because he'd done the right thing.

TOM:  I don't understand -- people *loved* Mr. Phelps.  I'm sure if he'd asked, 
half a dozen firms, including Grace, Sloane, and Page, would have offered him a 
position on the spot.

MARSHALL:  Alfred was aware of that... however, I think he felt as though his 
time in investment had passed.  He could no longer play the role of a rising 
young executive, and he believed that any position offered to him by a Fielding 
parent would have been little more than charity.  (His brow creases.)  Still, as 
the economy improved, I'm quite sure he watched with envy as all of those wealthy
firms grew wealthier from dot-com money.  What dues had *those* executives paid?  
They could double their earnings overnight.

DARIA:  And finally he couldn't take it anymore.

(Marshall looks at her carefully.)

MARSHALL:  Yes.  At least, so I gathered.  He became more secretive and spent 
long nights in his private office or at the school.  Whenever there was a funding 
discrepancy at Fielding, he always seemed to be involved somehow, though no one 
could ever prove he was responsible or even thought it likely.

DARIA:  If he was so mysterious, I can't imagine someone didn't get suspicious.  
The way he came down on me was so instantaneous, it's as if he'd had someone 
sifting around in his affairs before and this time wanted to be prepared.

MARSHALL: (nods)  Yes, someone had.  Me.

DARIA:  What was the first to tip you off?

MARSHALL:  Everything that I mentioned above.  Since I deal quite a bit with 
budgets, I was in a position to know more about them than most people.  Maybe
someone else was suspicious, too, but I was in a greater position to note what 
was going on.  I would see him with certain students in his classroom, and
sometimes those students would come over for dinner and later head into his 
office.  At first I thought that Mr. Phelps was just very dedicated, since 
several of these students were classified as "problem students" -- many quite
gifted, but very difficult to teach.  Soon it became apparent that something 
else was happening.

(He pauses.  Daria and Tom wait for him to go on, but Marshall is reluctant.)

DARIA:  What?

MARSHALL:  I feel as though I'm betraying him.

DARIA:  That's because you are.

(Marshall looks at her with wide eyes.  Then he cocks a resigned brow.)

MARSHALL:  I overheard conversations between him and his students in his office
late into the night, about "cracking this" and a "fraction" of that.  After
several of these snippets, I got the sense that they were talking about bank
accounts and, when Alfred wasn't present, I did some snooping around his office.
There, I found balance sheets hidden away for accounts I'd never known about, in
Switzerland.  I gathered the evidence I could, and when I had the chance,
confronted Alfred.  He denied any wrongdoing at first, but after I refused to let
him off the hook, he finally broke down and confessed:  Some of his students had
created a program for him that took small bits of money from people who had too
much and moved it to several Swiss accounts.   
  
TOM:  What happened to these students?

MARSHALL:  As far as I know, they graduated and moved on to good universities.

DARIA:  You never followed up with them?

MARSHALL:  I... no, I didn't. 

DARIA:  What makes you so sure, then?

(Marshall grows noticeably paler.)

TOM:  So one was punished?

MARSHALL:  As I've told you, I was likely the only one who knew.  After Alfred 
confessed, I told him to stop immediately, or I would report him to the Fielding 
board of trustees and leave him forever.  It was the first time I'd ever seen 
him look truly frightened.  He promised to stop, said that he'd never felt right 
about it in the first place, and promised to get help.  Later he showed me some 
balance sheets that revealed his accounts had been cleared, the money returned to 
its rightful owners, and that settled it.  I felt no need to go to the board.

TOM: (terse)  How can you be so sure that money really *was* returned?

(Marshall flinches, and looks sorrowful.)

MARSHALL: (soft)  I trusted him.

DARIA:  And I'm sure he was all too willing to go to the Fielding board and 
confess on his own.

MARSHALL:  He had a very fatalistic air about the whole thing, but yes... he never
did offer to turn himself in.  I think his days of sacrifice are long past.
  
DARIA:  That's when he came to Lawndale High?

MARSHALL:  It wasn't quite that soon.  He stayed on at Fielding for the rest of 
the year, before deciding that he was tired of trying to educate "apathetic 
trust-fund children bound for the Ivy Leagues on board their family legacy."  
Or maybe he just didn't want to be reminded of what he'd done... and what had
compelled him in that direction.

DARIA:  Except now he might be starting it again.

MARSHALL:  I don't know for a fact.  If I did, I certainly wouldn't keep it 
from anyone... not this time.  For a while, Alfred seemed content enough, in spite
of his occasional grousing about the limitations of the public school system.  He 
would mention the names of students that he liked, and one name seemed to pop up 
more often than the others.

DARIA: (quiet)  Quinn.

(Marshall gazes at her for a moment, then nods.)

MARSHALL:  I'll admit, from the way he described her, she's not his usual type.  
Alfred doesn't normally take an interest in the popular, well-liked students.  He 
prides himself on being able to spot the diamond in the rough, nurturing the 
social outcast's talents and revealing them to the world.  I think he identified 
with their tendency toward isolation.

TOM:  Then you'd think he'd have preferred Daria. 

DARIA: (glares)  Except I was never *in* his class.

MARSHALL:  Yes... rather interesting, given that teachers can request to have
students that they like.  It could be, Daria, from how you described your actions,
that he might identify with you *too* well.  You might remind him of the cynical,
yet hopeful and ambitious, man he used to be before Carlton's collapse, which 
could have been too much for him to handle on a day-to-day basis.

DARIA:  Am I the only student he's tried to ruin?

MARSHALL:  That I know of.  But... (His face darkens.) ... there were others...
coworkers of his who took credit for his work at the firm... a shop worker who was 
always rude to him... the building manager who said he had no use for "our" kind.
Mr. Phelps got even with all of them in the same cold, ruthless way.  At the time, 
I thought it harsh, but his anger seemed justified, so I... 
   
DARIA:  You dismissed it.

(Marshall smiles sadly.) 

MARSHALL:  As for your sister, something about her attracted him.  Her talent
alone wouldn't have been enough -- I've learned from personal experience that
Alfred is drawn to need.  For several months I viewed his interest as that of
an attentive teacher.  Having told him that I trusted him, I wasn't going to jump
to rash conclusions.  (His expression darkens.)  But then the secrecy began again,
the unexplained disappearances, the attempts to conceal calls on his office phone.
I told myself it was nothing... at least I tried.  Then I received your e-mail.

(Silence hovers over them as they watch the rowers tether their boats.)

DARIA:  Knowing what you know, are you really just going to sit back and wait for
him to do it all over again??

MARSHALL:  I told him that I would give him the benefit of the doubt.

DARIA:  You're not serious.

TOM:  If you choose to do nothing, I'll tell my parents what happened and they 
can go to the board themselves.  Even if you aren't found guilty, it can still 
cause you quite a bit of trouble.  Are you willing to take that risk?

MARSHALL:  I am, Mr. Sloane.  But... (sighs quietly.) that won't be necessary.  
Don't you think I've already taken that into account?  I've been distressed by 
these patterns of Alfred's for some time, and I need to act before he *really*
does something he regrets.  

(He turns to Daria, looks her in the eye.)

MARSHALL:  I will get to the bottom of this.  I'll see whether he's committing 
illegal acts, and if any of them involve a teenage accomplice.

DARIA:  Good.

(Marshall appears weighed down by his decision.)

MARSHALL: (whisper)  Such a shame.  In many ways, he's such a wonderful man.  His
affection for his students isn't false and it isn't forced.  He really *does* care
about them.  It's just, as with most things he allows into his heart, he takes
it one step too far, convinced that he is the only one who knows what they need,
and that the rest of the world is working against them... and him.

DARIA:  Then do me a favor.  Give me whatever information you can on Phelps's 
accomplices so I can find out their motives myself.  You owe it to me *and* to
them.

MARSHALL:  Yes.  All right.

(He stands abruptly and begins to make his way down the bleachers.  Daria and Tom
follow.  Marshall looks at Daria, his expression growing stern.)

MARSHALL:  But be discreet.  Alfred traced our first conversation back to me -- 
I can't afford to have him do it again.  Until I've given you the word, don't tell
anyone what I've told you.  

DARIA:  Not even my sister?

(Beat)

MARSHALL:  Tell her to be careful.

(cut to: )

SCENE 6 (Li's office, next day)

(Daria stands before Ms. Li, who has summoned her.)

MS. LI:  Ms. Morgendorferrrr, yesterday's unexplained absence from school did 
nothing to redeem your credibility.  Why should I believe *you* when the 
psychological exam clearly states that you need intensive supervision?

DARIA:  Because you know I'm not crazy.  

MS. LI:  Don't I??  How many young women wear combat boots *without* trousers?

DARIA:  The kind that intend to use them.  Oops -- there goes my Tourette's
Syndrome again.

MS. LI:  Your special program may be temporarily postponed due to the threatened 
lawsuit by your mother, but let me assure you that it *will* move forward.

DARIA:  Do you even *know* what goes on in those classes?

MS. LI:  Students receive the correction they so *desperately* need before going 
on to be productive citizens.  Even someone who shuns allll social activity should 
find no fault with *that*.

DARIA:  Then you really don't know what goes on there.  Whereas I do -- and as
soon as the students' testimonials get onto my website, so will a lot of other
people.  

MS. LI:  As if anyone would trust a word you print. 

DARIA:  You know there's nothing wrong with me.  Why have you been so bent on
getting me out of the way?  

MS. LI:  *Cut* the martyr crap.  It's *you* who obviously have it in for me!

DARIA:  Excuse me?

MS. LI:  We had an understanding, Darierrr.  I brushed aside your misanthropy 
and weak attempts at rebellion, while your excellent grades brought up the 
school's G.P.A.  But after you admitted your role on the underground newspaper
and confessed to harming poooor Mr. Estrada, I realized that you're not the
student I thought you were.  And in my mind, your under-the-radar persona
has made you more of a threat than students who act out openly.     

DARIA:  I'm not a different person because I made a mistake.

Ms. LI:  I take pride in my school, Ms. Morgendorffer.  It's the *only* thing I 
take pride in.  *No* one sneaks around for months at a time, chipping away at my 
-- I mean *its* -- reputation and gets away with it.  

DARIA:  So are you upset that some students lied, or are you *more* upset that 
some reported the unvarnished truth?

Ms. LI:  Anyone who could get *pleasure* from such character assassination can
only have a sadistic temperament.

DARIA:  As opposed to wanting to make it a better place?  

(Ms. Li's eyes narrow.)

DARIA:  I'm sorry that some students wrote nasty, false articles.  I'm sorry 
about my screw-up.  I'll agree that they merit punishment -- but not a taxpayer-
subsidized torture chamber on school grounds.  

MS. LI: (snorts)  Here come the hyperbolics.

DARIA:  I'm *not* sorry for all those times I told the truth.  Maybe if you opened
your eyes for once, you'd see that the enemies to your school aren't the people
you think.    

MS. LI:  Go ahead and *try* to fight your way out of this one, but I think you 
*and* your mother will find that my actions are legally sound.

(Daria looks at her and sees a cold hardness that she's never seen before.  She 
realizes that this will be much harder than she'd hoped.)

(cut to: )

SCENE 7 (hallway, shortly after)

(Daria walks down the hall, which has just filled with students on their way 
to class.  Her pace is slow and she remains focused on what's ahead.)

QUINN: (O.S.)  Daria?

(Daria turns to find her sister just emerging from around the corner, a vaguely
pleased, but also anxious, look on her face.  Quinn sprints out to meet her.)

QUINN:  What's wrong?

DARIA:  I just had a run-in with Ms. Li, who affirmed beyond a doubt that she'll 
fight any lawsuit we bring against her.  Not that I expected anything different.

(Quinn gets a distressed look on her face.)

DARIA:  You're actually walking with me in a public hallway?  No scornful
comments?  No excuses to keep a healthy distance between you and your "cousin"?

QUINN:  Daria, look... I know I haven't been real nice to you lately.  I don't
want you to think I'm some selfish jerk who doesn't care what happens to you.

DARIA:  That's good to know.  I was afraid you'd been infected with the same 
virus that's plaguing the rest of the school.  

QUINN:  I told you before, I don't want us fight.  I want to help you with
whatever you're going through.

DARIA:  Maybe we should talk somewhere.  I don't mean now -- we can wait
until we're home.  There are some things I need to get off my chest.

QUINN:  Why don't you just tell me now?  You look like it's really important.   

DARIA:  Okay... I'll try and say them in a way that won't freak you out.  But
first let's go...

(Her voice trails off as she sees the person she dreads most slip out of his 
classroom, briefcase in hand, a short distance away.  When Quinn sees him, to 
Daria's horror, she smiles and motions at him to come join them.)

PHELPS: (to Quinn)  You needed me, Ms. Morgendorffer?

DARIA:  Quinn??

QUINN:  It's okay, Daria.  I know you and Mr. Phelps haven't always gotten along, 
but he's really good at this mental crisis stuff.

PHELPS:  You don't need to puff up my reputation.  I'll just try to do the best I
can with what you've told me.

(Daria feels a chill shoot up her spine.)

DARIA: (to Quinn)  You told him stuff about me?  *Again*?!

(Quinn bites her lower lip.)

QUINN:  I was worried.

DARIA:  You're not even supposed to be talking to him.

PHELPS:  Now Daria, I understand the desire to keep troubled feelings to yourself.  
But from counseling students like you through similar experiences, I've learned
that it's best to face them straight on.

DARIA:  Very good.  For a moment there, I was almost convinced.    

QUINN:  Daria!

PHELPS:  We don't have to talk here.  Why don't you, your sister, and I make 
time to meet someplace more private?  Or if you're embarrassed to have your 
sister present --

DARIA:  Good idea -- get me alone so you can make *more* threats against me.

QUINN:  Daria, *stop* it.  Come on!

DARIA:  Ask him whether he told the Lowman's owner that I wrote the article. 
Let *him* tell you that he didn't.

(Quinn looks at Phelps half-questioningly, half-apologetically.)
  
PHELPS:  Actually, she's telling the truth.  I *did* tell Mr. Estrada about 
the Lowman's article, that it seemed to rely upon questionable facts.  However, 
at the time, I had no idea your sister was the writer -- it was Mr. Estrada 
who made the connection.

DARIA: (to Quinn)  He's lying.

PHELPS:  I'm sorry about all the pain this has caused, but perhaps you will 
come away better for it.  Now you can finally come to terms with the anger 
that caused you to write such a piece.

DARIA:  You really think you could counsel *me* on coming to terms with anger?

(She freezes up inwardly, remembering Marshall's request, and hopes Phelps 
doesn't make any connections from her comment.  She watches him raise a 
suspicious eyebrow at her, then turn to Quinn with a concerned expression.)

PHELPS:  It looks like this isn't going to be easy.

QUINN:  Thanks for helping out.

(Daria feels the blood rising in her cheeks.)

DARIA:  Quinn, he's lying.  He told me himself, during my detention, that it 
was punishment for when I tried to take you out of his class.  

PHELPS: (tired)  Good heavens...

DARIA:  If you're such a friend to the students, what happened to all of the 
other students you reached out to?  Where are they now?

PHELPS:  I presume that most of them are at university.

DARIA:  Why not let Quinn meet them?  Let her see the end result of all her 
hard work.  

(Quinn looks at Phelps.)

PHELPS:  It's a stressful time of year for them.  They wouldn't want to be
bothered.

DARIA:  Why not, if they value you so much?  Contact them and arrange for a get
together... unless there's some reason you can't.

(Phelps's eyes harden as he looks at Daria, knowing that her comments are in
reference to their first conversation and trying to discern if she knows something
more.  Daria's heart pounds, as his look tells her that he has reason to be afraid
of getting in touch with his former accomplices.)

PHELPS:  You could be in on one as well.  It could help you see what hard road
you'd be headed down if you don't change your ways. 

(Now Daria's eyes harden.  Quinn glances from Phelps to Daria with an unhappy,
confused expression.)

DARIA:  Quinn, look at me, not at him.  When it comes to the important things,
have I *ever* lied to you?

(Quinn tilts her face, gazes at Daria with a searching, reluctant expression.)

QUINN:  You've kept stuff from me.

DARIA:  Okay, I haven't always been forthcoming.  But have I ever told an 
honest-to-goodness lie about our family or how I feel about you?  Ever??

QUINN:  I don't... remember...

DARIA:  Think harder.

PHELPS:  Daria, stop harassing the poor girl just because she's not telling you 
what you want to hear.

(Quinn's shoulders sag.)

QUINN:  I don't... I... I *want* to believe you, Daria.

(Daria's expression grows more hopeful.)  

QUINN:  But...

DARIA:  But what??

PHELPS: (gentle)  She's your sister and she loves you.  Of *course* she wants 
to believe you.  But should she listen to her emotions or to what her eyes and 
ears tell her?

DARIA: (to Quinn)  If you won't believe me, how about Mom and Dad??  We can't
*all* be filled with misguided rage.

QUINN:  Yeah, but... (She looks at Daria straight on, her brow furrowing.) ...they 
only feel that way because of what you told them.

DARIA:  Quinn, what will it take for you to get that something's really wrong, and
it isn't me??

QUINN:  I told you, Daria, whatever you're feeling, I want to talk about it.  

DARIA:  Yes.  (With faint desperation, she touches Quinn's arm.)  Let's go 
somewhere and talk.  Just you and me, without distractions.  

(Quinn pulls away gently.)

QUINN:  (quiet)  First, I need you to tell Mr. Phelps that you're sorry.

DARIA:  Forget it.

QUINN:  Come on, you've been really unfair to him and he's just trying to help.

DARIA:  I said no.

QUINN:  Daria, how am I supposed to believe that you're not seriously angry and 
stuff if you can't handle *one* apology?!

(Daria looks at her.  Quinn gazes back, her cheeks red, eyes glittering with 
anger, sadness, and need.  Daria knows that one "I'm sorry" to Phelps would 
send her back into Quinn's good graces... but the fact that she would even need 
to apologize to prove herself to Quinn means that their relationship is already 
too damaged.) 

DARIA:  Then I guess you can't believe it.  (She lowers her eyes.)  I'm sorry, 
Quinn.  I can't apologize to him... not when I didn't do anything wrong.  

QUINN:  Daria...

(She almost chokes out the name, as her eyes grow bright.)

DARIA:  I was hoping you'd come to realize that on your own.  

(Phelps stands just behind Quinn, his expression still, but Daria detects a 
smile in his eyes.  For once, she doesn't feel rage.  She feels burnt-out, 
past the point of feeling.)

DARIA:  I hope you really do care about her.    

(She turns and walks away slowly.  Quinn is too choked up to call out after 
her, and Phelps puts a comforting, possessive hand on her shoulder.) 

(cut to: )

SCENE 8 (Daria's bedroom, late afternoon)

(Daria walks slowly into her room and sits down at her desk.  She reaches into 
her top drawer and pulls out a folder, which contains Marshall Winsett's list 
of student names and phone numbers, retrieved at his office after their
discussion.  Daria's notes are already scrawled beside some of them, pointing 
out whether one person was at an alternate number, had moved away, or was 
unreachable.)

(Daria pulls out another page, containing a script she made to wile her way 
into a conversation with one of Phelps's former students without revealing 
who she was.  She now takes both pages and walks over to her phone on the bed.  
She sits down and dials the next available number, but it is with a heavy heart.  
Regardless of what happens now, she has already lost her sister.)

(cut to: )

SCENE 9 (The Grove, afternoon, several days later)

(Quinn and Mr. Phelps sit out on the deck.  Quinn puts jam on half a scone, which 
she still finds too heavy for her taste, but it's the only item on the menu that
she really knows.  Phelps sips his tea, looking unusually buoyant, as though he 
is eager to say something exciting and can scarcely hold back.)

QUINN:  It's so cool to be here during lunch.  All the other kids are stuck 
in the boring old cafeteria.

PHELPS: If it weren't for that damned church service next door hogging spaces
in the car park, this would be ideal.

(A shadow falls over Quinn's face.)

QUINN:  I just wish we didn't have to sneak around.  I keep trying to tell my
parents what you're really like, but they won't listen!

PHELPS:  How *are* things in Mr. Hunter's class?

QUINN:  Terrible.  He's like three or four lessons behind you, and he's got 
this stupid droning voice that makes math sound like a chore, like eating your 
vegetables or shopping at a discount clothing outlet.  He isn't you.

(Phelps's lips, which turned upward momentarily at Quinn's comparisons, now 
smooth out with sympathy.) 

QUINN:  I hate my parents for yanking me out of your class.  If they make me 
transfer to a different school, I swear I'm moving out.

PHELPS:  Still, you do seem in good spirits.

QUINN:  Yeah.  It's weird, but I feel really good.

PHELPS:  How come?

QUINN:  Just... I've just decided to let go of the stuff I was worried about.  It 
was hurting me too much, and I realized I couldn't change it, so why let it take
up so much space in my head?

PHELPS:  Yes, good.  (He picks up on her underlying meaning.)  We can't let 
ourselves be weighed down by naysayers and doubt.  We have to keep our eyes 
focused straight ahead if we want to achieve our goals in life.

QUINN:  *Yeah*.

(She smiles and takes a bite of scone.  Phelps reaches down and picks up his 
briefcase, which he lays on the table.)

PHELPS:  Ms. Morgendorffer, I have a bit of good news for you.

(Quinn's eyes widen.)

QUINN:  Oh my God!  Your professor friend at Cambridge liked my work?!

PHELPS:  He... no.  (His buoyancy fades a little.)  He hasn't got back to me yet.  
I'm sure he will soon.

QUINN:  Okay.  What is it, then?

PHELPS:  I have an opportunity for you, one that I share only with my most 
promising students.  An opportunity to invest money.

QUINN:  Oh.  (Her enthusiasm fades a little.)  Cool.

PHELPS: (knowing)  I wouldn't act so jaded quite yet.  Students who invest with 
me are guaranteed to see their money grow... at an impressive rate.  By the time 
you graduate, you could use it as a scholarship of sorts.    (He winks.)  *Or*, 
if you get into Cambridge, it could pay for your many trips to London and Paris.

(Quinn's cheeks color with longing.)

QUINN:  *Oh*.  That *does* sound cool!

(Phelps pulls a paper out of his briefcase, which he then lays in front of her.)

PHELPS:  Take your time and look it over.  Then, when you're satisfied, just 
sign your name on the dotted line at the bottom.

QUINN:  Mr. Phelps... (She laughs a little with pleasure and embarrassment.)  This 
is really nice of you, but I can't take your money.

PHELPS:  It isn't *my* money, Quinn.  It's your money.  You've already earned it.

QUINN:  Okay...

(For reasons she can't explain, this doesn't sit right.  However, she stifles her
uneasiness as she looks over the form.)

QUINN:  "Cayman Islands"?  Isn't that in the Caribbean somewhere?

PHELPS:  Yes it is.

QUINN:  Why would my bank be all the way out there?  Wouldn't I want it close 
so I can take the money out if I need it?

PHELPS: (slightly impatient)  It's not for that sort of use.  Besides, your money
wouldn't grow quickly in just any bank.  

QUINN:  How quickly?

PHELPS:  In a good year, you can make as much as, oh, five thousand dollars, with 
no risk.

QUINN:  Wow!  (She reaches into her backpack to retrieve a pen.)  How come more 
people don't know about this?!

PHELPS:  Because most people are too set in their ways to do proper research.  

(He reaches into his coat and pulls out a fountain pen.)

PHELPS:  Here you go.  This ought to give you nice, clear penmanship.

(Quinn takes the pen and holds it near the signature line.  She relaxes her arm.)

QUINN:  I don't know... I think you have to be eighteen to sign legal stuff.

PHELPS:  Nonsense -- for a bank account, you can sign at any age, provided you 
have an adult witness.  

(He smiles at Quinn, but she notices strain behind the smile.)

QUINN:  Maybe I should think it over a little.
 
(Phelps takes the form back in a sweeping gesture and lays it back in his
briefcase.)

PHELPS:  Yes, why not mull it over for a night or two, then get back to me with
your answer?

QUINN:  Okay.  

PHELPS:  It's such a golden opportunity, though, I'd hate to see it squandered.

QUINN:  Yeah...

(cut to: )

SCENE 10 (Lawndale High parking lot, a short time later)

(Phelps eases his Bentley into the teachers' parking lot, with Quinn in the
passenger seat, looking quiet and thoughtful.  The strange feeling she felt 
at The Grove has been turning over and over in her head, until at last she 
realizes the cause.)

QUINN:  Mr. Phelps?  

PHELPS:  Yes?

QUINN:  What did you mean when you said I'd already earned the money?

PHELPS:  Well, I meant...  (He turns off the ignition, gazes ahead.) ... that
final statistics project you did was for a sort of "grand prize," which, by
proving you could do it, you fully earned.

QUINN:  I thought that project was for your friend at Cambridge.

PHELPS:  It is... as well.  (He removes his glasses and begins cleaning them with 
a handkerchief.)  It's possible to have both, isn't it?

QUINN:  Sure.

(She unbuckles her belt and tries to shove her bad feelings aside.)

QUINN:  Did... did you use the statistics stuff to get the money?

PHELPS: (gentle)  Now Quinn, what is this?  I can't recall you being this on edge
before.

QUINN:  I'm sorry.  (Her cheeks color with mortification.)  Mr. Phelps, you 
would never lie to me, right?

PHELPS:  When have I ever?

QUINN:  Never.  (She bites her lip, gazes ahead.)  I mean, I'm sure you didn't 
use the statistics stuff to get the money, right?

PHELPS:  I did, as a matter of fact.

(Quinn stares at him, wide-eyed.)

PHELPS:  I plugged in your equations, found a good combination, and will now 
give you an agreeable return.  

QUINN:  But... you're taking other people's money?

PHELPS:  Quinn, don't be so naive.  Where do you think money comes from?  When 
you buy a lottery ticket, you hope to win money that came from millions of people.  
When you own stock, you're profiting from other people's earnings.  Money doesn't 
just fall out of the sky.

QUINN:  Okay.  (She tries to smile.)  When you put it that way...

(Phelps's shoulders relax, but something in Quinn's demeanor tells him that she's
still not convinced.)
   
PHELPS:  What's wrong, Quinn?  You can tell me.

QUINN:  You've never called me "Quinn" this much before.

PHELPS:  Yes, well, I figured it was time to drop the formalities outside of
class.  You and I are good enough friends that we don't need to hide behind them
anymore.

QUINN:  Okay...

PHELPS:  Or so I thought.  (An edge enters his voice.)  You *do* trust me 
enough to tell me what you're feeling right now?

QUINN:  Of course.  It's just... first you told me that the statistics were for 
the Advanced Placement test, then that they were for your friend at Cambridge.  
Now you're saying they're for some bank account overseas.

PHELPS: (impatient)  They can't be for all three?  Really, Quinn, I'm surprised 
at you.  You're beginning to sound like your sister.

QUINN:  I am??  Oh, no... I didn't mean to.

PHELPS:  Would you really choose to believe someone who has lied to you repeatedly 
and can barely contain her jealousy?

QUINN: (flushing)  No, no, I'm sure it's all fine.  

PHELPS:  Quinn, I'm a little upset.  Here I present to you this wonderful gift,
and you act as though I'm trying to hurt you.  Have I ever been anything but 
completely kind and supportive?

QUINN:  No.

PHELPS:  Many students could have basked in the light of my guidance, but I
chose you.  I saw something special in *you*.  Not just as a promising student,
but because as a promising *person*.  You have a joyful willingness to embrace
life that I think will take you far.  I started off with promise, but never got
the nudge I needed.  It's too late for me now -- I can only use the money to go
out on a high note.  You can use it to fulfill your destiny.

QUINN:  Oh... okay.  (Her shoulders slump.)  I'm sorry I acted so ungrateful.

(She opens the door and climbs out of the car.  Phelps does likewise.  He walks 
over to Quinn's side of the car, his usual warmth possessing an alien, unseemly
quality.  Quinn finds herself aware of the fact that there are no people around.)

PHELPS:  So you'll give me your answer?  Tomorrow?

(Quinn nods rapidly.)

QUINN:  Yeah.  Um, thanks for lunch -- I'd better get to my next class.

(She starts to go, but feels Phelps's hand on her shoulder.  His gesture isn't 
rough, but firm, and enough to cause Quinn to spin around.  Phelps looks deeply 
into her eyes.)

PHELPS:  Something *is* different.  You are afraid.

QUINN:  I... (She swallows and tries to keep her voice steady.) ... I just don't 
think I need that kind of money.  My parents can pay --

PHELPS: (hard)  So you *do* believe your sister.

QUINN:  I don't... I just don't think I need *that* money.  Why don't you give it 
to some kid who can't afford to pay for college?

PHELPS:  Your answer is no, then.

QUINN:  I, um, I just have to think about it.  Let me think about it tonight.

(But to Phelps, her answer is already clear.  He feels a distinct, invisible 
barrier raise up between them at the sight of Quinn's panicked expression.)

PHELPS:  Of course.

(Quinn smiles and turns to leave, rapidly moving beyond Phelps's reach.)

PHELPS:  Quinn??

(She stops and turns around to face him.)

PHELPS:  You won't tell anyone about our little discussion, will you?  I don't 
want news of my opportunity getting out to everyone.  It's only for my friends.

QUINN:  No... of course I won't tell anyone.

(A shudder enters her voice, one which she regrets instantly, because rather 
than soothe her math teacher, it seems to make him more nervous.)

QUINN:  I won't tell anyone.

(She heads off, her heart hammering in her chest, wondering what has come over 
her.  Why did the presence of her math teacher suddenly fill her with fear?)

(Phelps watches her go, his shoulders tense with hope and anxiety.  Gradually, 
his anxiety gets replaced by desolation, which fills his face and eyes.  For
several moments he stands there, trying to collect himself, like someone who 
has just lost a loved one.)

PHELPS:  I wish I could believe you.



END OF ACT FIVE



ACT SIX


SCENE 1 (Phelps's office, that evening)

(Phelps strides into his office and closes the door behind him.  He goes over 
to a bookcase and pulls down one of his file folders, this one with a lock.  
He works the combination, opens the top, and thumbs through the papers inside.  
His determined expression gives way to one of sadness and uncertainty as he 
pulls out a sheet of paper and studies it.  Then, just as quickly, his gaze 
grows steely, and he pulls out several more sheets of paper.)

(cut to: )
  
SCENE 2 (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 3 (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 (snicker) 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.  She storms over to her
desk and picks up her phone.)

HELEN:  What the hell do you want?!

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

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

MS. LI:  It appears you now have *both* of your children facing grave disciplinary
measures at this school.

HELEN:  So *Quinn*'s in trouble, now?!  What in God's name are you trying to do 
to my family?!    

MS. LI:  Excuse me, *I'm* not the one who caught her serially cheating in math.  

HELEN:  Someone caught her in the act??

MS. LI:  Noooo, but --  

HELEN:  Then your charge is bogus.  Quinn loves math too much, and besides --
with the recent bad blood between us and Mr. Phelps, it wouldn't be beyond him
to punish her in the spirit of petty revenge. 

MS. LI: (snort)  You could be right, but who should I believe?  One of
Lllllawndale High's most distinguished teachers, or a mother who lives in denial
about her older daughter's emotional *stability*.

(These last words cause Helen's face to harden into a cold, murderous shape.)

HELEN:  The only reasons both of my daughters aren't already out of your school
and as far away from *you* as possible are bureaucratic red tape and a daughter 
with a will stronger than any I could have imagined.  Now put Quinn on the phone
right this *damned* minute so I can hear what really happened.

(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:  My daughter has verified that she didn't cheat.  So until I see this
"evidence" for myself and am sure of its validity, I'm going to treat any attempt
to discipline her as a violation of her rights.

MS. LI:  Oh goody -- another lawsuit.  Just as useless as the others.

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

(cut to: )
  
SCENE 4 (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 5 (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 close to him who is compiling 
evidence of his guilt, and I've been calling his former students.  Did you 
know that of the six he was closest to, two have suffered nervous breakdowns 
and four of the six have dropped out of college?  Their relationship with 
Phelps might have nothing to do with their current situations, but it shows
he wasn't exactly a beacon of light.

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, and I 
gave them back to him.

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:  How could he, if you gave them back before the tests?  

QUINN:  Maybe he thought I'd already memorized them.

DARIA:  Why would he go to the charade of pretending you're special if he 
really thought you were cheating consistently?  

QUINN: (soft)  Maybe he just wanted to butter me up so I would do what he wanted.

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 6 (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.)

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 Jetta.)

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 7 (driving, evening)

(Quinn hurtles down a woodsy back road in the Jetta.  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 8 (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 9 (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.)

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 10 (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 Jetta.)

(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 11 (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 the same 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 12 (Morgendorffer house, late morning)

(The Jetta 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.

(Her emotions over the past several hours collide with her lingering guilt, and 
she can't hold up a brave front any longer.  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.  Seeing her
mother cry with anguish and hearing her admit, for the first time, that not
everything about the separation was noble or pre-ordained, Quinn feels an
emotional barrier inside her 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?  Is that 
why you've chosen to accuse her now?  Ruin her reputation in case she decided 
to talk?

****************Marshall also ought to state or imply that Phelps has used these 
tactics on him******************

(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 after you accused me the first time, that you 
might try to betray me?  You think 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.  I kept hoping that if 
I loved you enough, you would change... but I never *could* love you to your 
satisfaction.  I don't even recognize you anymore.  I finally realized 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:  Quinn admits to cheating on a quiz with your permission, but has denied 
doing it since.  As to whether she's sincere, there's an obvious solution: We'll
have an agreed-upon third-party administer a series of tests for her.  If she does
well, she *clearly* learned the material on her own.

PHELPS:  Mrs. Morgendorffer, whether or not Quinn can do the work by now 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, and 
the student needs to be present.  (As Ms. Li is about to speak --)  *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 --

HELEN:  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...

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 heaven's sake.

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, wouldn't you?  
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
relief 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.  Her focus right now 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 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*.  Believe me, you are going to 
pay dearly for this!

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.  Believe me 
when I say we'll find out just how many.  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 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 churning 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:  I just wanted 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
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.

***********She should also be upset that Phelps steered her away from her other 
courses, including ones she *wanted* to do better in, because she thought he 
was leading her toward something big.************

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 that, while maybe not in exactly the
same ways, 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 angry and hurt right now.  God knows *I'm* still upset with you for what 
you did.

QUINN:  No, Mom, she *hates* me.  Every time I see her, 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:  Quinn, 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?  That 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:  Not necessarily.  Didn't Tom say that Phelps's honey resigned as a Fielding
Administrator a whole day before Phelps?  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.  Having 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!  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 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.)

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

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

(She looks down at her sister, who is trying to shake the feeling back into her
wrist.  With a stab of fear, Daria remembers Helen's disappointed comment about
her being a "bully.")

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.  (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:  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 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 criminal??  

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

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

HELEN:  That's an excellent 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?  

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 looks from Daria to Quinn, noting their direct gazes, the cloud over their 
eyes showing that they're mentally preparing for the worst possible answer.  Helen
then glances 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.

JAKE:  We've always been that way, but it's gotten worse over time.

HELEN:  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 hovers 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 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.  

JANE:  I knew it!

DARIA:  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 Jetta 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:  As an alternative to the Advanced Placement exam?

QUINN:  Kind of.

DARIA:  Since the Advanced Placement exam is several months away, she wants
a test that would show off her skills sooner.

JAMESON:  You're not going to find an obvious substitute for something as
comprehensive as an Advanced Placement exam.

QUINN:  I know, but your tests sounded just right, like they were hard, but I
could do them, and I just wanted to prove that I could.

JAMESON:  I wouldn't be so sure.  My tests are very difficult.

QUINN:  I... I just want to try. 

(Jameson looks dubiously at her tense, earnest face.) 

JAMESON:  Do you have a Number Two pencil?

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

JAMESON:  You won't need a calculator for this test.

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 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 with 
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 words 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.  The questions kept asking 
me to explain the theories behind each problem.  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.)

(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.  

QUINN:  It's still a C.  (She grows nauseous as the score sinks in.)  People who 
are college material don't get C's.  *You* don't get C's.    

DARIA:  I also didn't just take a test for an unfamiliar class at one of the best 
schools in the country.  You took a big risk coming here, and it paid off.

QUINN:  You're just saying that to make me feel better. 

DARIA:  Lots of students here probably *dream* of scoring that high.

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 stands 
up and gazes at Daria with a look of joy and silent gratitude, before leaning
forward to give her a tentative hug.  When Daria does not push her away, Quinn's
hug grows stronger, as love for her sister rushes to the surface.  Daria stands
still, feeling Quinn's arms encircling her, before 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: (nods)  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:  You really came through for her.  If it had been me, and Quinn did what 
she did, I don't think I could have forgiven her so easily.  In fact, I think
she'd still be skimming shaved locks of hair out of the toilet.

DARIA:  Who says I forgive her?

JANE:  You don't?

DARIA:  Not for ripping up my stories.  I'll never forgive her for that -- 
and she knows it.  However, this experience has taught me what letting my
resentment simmer inside can lead to -- a life of bitterness and isolation.  
Sure, I want to be alone, but not to the point where I'm truly incapable of 
trusting anyone else unless I have complete control over them.  

(She glances at the newspaper article, her brow creasing.)

DARIA:  Quinn's spurred my hatred before, and she will again.  She's also done
things to make me proud of her.  Each time I think I've figured her out, she
exceeds my expectations.  I'd rather deal with her wrongs by themselves -- and
what made her commit them -- than simply freeze her out.  I want to give her
the chance to redeem herself, for her sake and mine.  

JANE:  That's quite a mature perspective, Ms. Morgendorffer. 

DARIA:  It must be my new denture cream.

(She then feels herself flush unexpectedly.)

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 enters to find Daria standing at the sink, her contacts case on the 
counter.  Daria removes her glasses for one moment, looks at herself without 
them, then puts them on again.)

QUINN:  Daria?

(Daria turns abruptly to face her, her cheeks coloring as though she were 
committing a serious crime.)

DARIA:  I just had something in my eye.

(Quinn puts a bag on the counter, her movements growing more hesitant.)

QUINN:  I bought something for you.  I was gonna give it to you in your room.

DARIA:  Why not just show me here?

(Quinn reaches in and pulls out a rather handsome, leather-bound notebook, 
which she offers to her sister.  Daria eyes it with a lack of surprise and 
some discomfort, then reaches over slowly to take it.)

DARIA:  Does it have my initials engraved on the cover?

(Quinn breaks a nervous smile and shakes her head.)

DARIA:  Quinn, you didn't have to--

QUINN:  Daria, I know it doesn't -- I don't mean for this to make up for what 
I did to your work.  I just figured this was one journal that wouldn't ever get
lost in your room.

DARIA:  Unless my room were on the showroom floor at Harrods.

(She lays the journal on the counter and Quinn smiles another awkward smile, 
disappointed that Daria did not seem more pleased with the gift, but not wanting 
to show it.  She then notices Daria's contact lens case.)

QUINN:  Are you going to wear your contacts?

DARIA:  Depends on how much I want that acid feeling on my eyeballs.

QUINN:  Are you changing your look??

DARIA:  No, just experimenting a little.  (Her cheeks flush brighter.)  Forget it.

QUINN:  Oh come on, you'd look great without your glasses.  You've got real nice
eyes and it would open up your face.

DARIA:  Now I *know* you're just trying to win me over.

QUINN:  Don't you think so??

(Daria turns toward the mirror and removes her glasses, squints at what she sees.)

DARIA:  I guess.  It's just that I'm more concerned about what would happen if I
started wearing contacts more regularly. 

QUINN:  Daria, it's not like you'd become a different person, or anything.

DARIA:  That reminds me -- aren't you late for mathletics practice?

QUINN: (concedes)  Okay, looking different might make you act a little different, 
but it would probably be for the better.

DARIA:  I don't know if I'm ready for that.

(Quinn impulsively reaches over to fluff up Daria's bangs.)

DARIA:  Hey!

QUINN:  Seriously, when we were rolling around and stuff on the floor, your bangs 
were off your forehead and without your glasses, you looked really good. 
   
DARIA:  There should be a reduced penalty for sibling homicide.

QUINN:  No one's saying that if you change your look, you have to change it *now*.
By this time next year, you'll be at college and you won't have to answer anyone's
questions.  You can do what you want.      

DARIA:  That's right... I can, can't I?  (Embarrassed, she looks down at the
counter.)  But what if I wanted to try my contacts out sooner?  Really break the
things in?

(Quinn guesses by her blush the reason for Daria's question, but knows better than
to state it outright.)

QUINN:  Then you could wear them on weekends, or something, when our classmates 
would be less likely to see you.  I know changing your appearance can be scary, 
Daria, but even though I've had some bad experiences, I wouldn't take back having 
to get glasses for anything.  I like where I'm going. 

(Daria looks at her sincere, warmly interested expression, and suddenly finds
herself relaxing.  She glances down at her contact lens case.) 

DARIA:  You want to help me put them in?   

 


**********************
THE END
[roll the credits.........................

Naturally, the end song will be "Tomorrow Never Knows" by the Beatles. Then,
because "Is It College Yet?" got two songs, I'll use "Breathe Me" by Sia.]


Special thanks to:

Los Angeles Police Department (North Hollywood Branch) conversations October 
14 and 15, 2005

Brother Grimace, The Angst Guy, Steven Galloway, RLobinske, E.A. Smith, 
Scissors MacGillicutty, Dennis

Michelle Klein-Haas for her journalistic insights, and Chad Page and Deref 
for their suggestions on how the press would learn about 


To me, the Driven Wild Universe represents scenarios that could happen in the 
real "Daria" universe if the characters were more honest with themselves.


Clarence Darrow:

"I loved Big Brother": Orwell's 1984

"Village of the Damned":

"Bad News Bears":

Nosferatu:

Marshall Winsett:  The name originated with Marshall Wittmann, the Bull Moose, a 
former Republican and current member of the Democratic Leadership Council.  I
don't have any particular attachment to him, but I like the name. 

"[That] Adam Smith guy":  Adam Smith (1723-1790) was a Scottish philosopher who 
wrote _The Wealth of Nations_ (1776), an extremely influential book on economics 
that argued, amongst other things, that free movement of labor (or free trade) 
was more essential to economic success than large reserves of land or bullion.


Turn off your mind, relax
and float down stream
It is not dying
It is not dying

Lay down all thought
Surrender to the void
It is shining
It is shining

That you may see 
the meaning of within
It is being
It is being

That love is all 
and love is everyone
It is knowing
It is knowing

That ignorance and hate
may mourn the dead
It is believing
It is believing

But listen to the 
color of your dreams
It is not living
It is not living

Or play the game 
existence to the end
Of the beginning
Of the beginning
Of the beginning
Of the beginning
Of the beginning
Of the beginning