High School Never Ends, Daria fanfic Options

[Acadian]

How nice to see Jane again! Her presence certainly perks up Daria. Too bad about Jane’s family’s house. The references you made to her neglectful parents in the Morrowind story are certainly reinforced here.

[SubRosa]

Yay, Jane is back in town!

Jane is a barrister? I did not know she had an interest in pursing a career in English law.

Oh no, it looks like the Spiral took its last turn? At least Trent is still in the music scene though.

Wow, the old Lane estate really has fallen on hard times, now that no one is there to live in it. Not surprised, given Jane's parents.

It was nice to catch up and commiserate with Jane once again.

[WellTemperedClavier]

Okay, so I wanted to preface this by saying I've really enjoyed by time at Chorrol. But unfortunately, things are getting really busy IRL, and I just don't think I'll have much time or energy going forward. Things aren't bad for me by any means, but I need to focus on what's in front of me, not what's online.

Thus, I'm going to post the rest of "High School Never Ends" here, and then bow out. I appreciate that you all took the time to read. I had a lot of fun reading your work, as well.

Chapter 11

Jane started the long trip north at noon on Sunday, leaving Daria with a week and a month left in Lawndale. Daria watched her friend drive away, and wondered if they'd ever both be back in the old town.

Eight different students demanded Daria's attention by that point, her once lackadaisical schedule suddenly quite busy. Though no one needed as much help as Kevin she still spent time making lesson plans specific to their needs. Tedious, it kept her mind working on something other than her own private anxieties.

She didn't know how well she really taught any of them. Some already basically understood the material and only needed a bit of guidance; they'd have likely earned decent grades without her help. Others struggled with the very concepts and she'd drive herself half-mad trying to explain.

The latter category didn't always benefit from her help. The one known as Sebastian (or more specifically, his parents) hired her to help him get a passing grade in physics. He fired her after he failed the test, relaying his displeasure through a clumsy and obscenity-laden message left on the Morgendorffer answering machine.

She did try. Just like she'd done when writing Patricia's papers, Daria fulfilled her end of the bargain. She tried to understand the more recalcitrant students, asking them questions about what they liked and framing the lesson to fit those interests. Most of them still stumbled when it came time for exams, making her wonder how much she'd really be able to help Kevin. She'd reduced her rates to $15 an hour in a state of such doubt.

Kevin called in to cancel his next lesson, citing "family stuff" and sounding despondent. She didn't press him for more information. He'd taken the history test on Tuesday, so she suspected she already knew the real reason.

Daria took advantage of the rare free afternoon to hide away in the library until closing, reading choice selections from The Portrait of a Lady, Henry James' prose as familiar as an old friend.

Saturday took her to the home of one Annie Lyndon, a smart and math-oriented student who only found difficulty in trying to understand Mr. O'Neill's muddied interpretation of Shakespeare's King Lear. Annie probably didn't need the help, but her money (rather, her parents' money) always felt earned.

A flash of bright yellow caught Daria's attention as she drove past the high school's football field on the way home. She took a quick side-glance and saw Kevin out on the field, facing the endzone with his right arm prepped for another winning throw, a bunch of footballs already scattered on the grass past the goal. His sheer focus and single-minded dedication at that moment made the entire scene picture perfect for some motivational poster.

Unless you knew the context.

Taking a left turn into the parking lot, Daria exited the car and walked across the field, not sure what to say. She came to a stop at the bleachers and sat down just as a spinning football soared over the goal line.

Kevin didn't take any notice, instead reaching into the all but empty yellow duffel bag at his feet and drawing out yet another football. He stepped back, judged the distance for a few long moments, and threw again. The ball spun high through the air, recalling his old glories for one golden moment before it hit the grass.

Kevin let his arms hang loose and walked towards the bleachers.

"Hey, Daria," he said, without looking at her.

"Hey."

He rested on the bottom bench and gazed out onto the road, looking almost thoughtful.

"I'm guessing the history test didn't go so well," she finally said.

"Mr. D gave me a D+. Which I thought was pretty good, but then he told me that I'd still need to ace the final in order to pass."

"What did you do on the test? I could take a look at it."

"Ah, I don't have it with me. It's just that, after what you taught me, I figured I'd explain my story. You know, the one with Coach Gibson, and how we partied even though he told us not to? It's funny. Mr. D actually said I did a good job explaining stuff in the beginning, but he didn't like me talking about the party after the Renson game for two pages."

"The test's about history, Kevin, not your personal life." She'd have once rolled her eyes at his explanation. This time, it simply added another layer of shared disappointment to the proceedings.

"Huh, he said the same thing."

"Sorry. I guess I misled you."

"It's better than the last grade I got. I'll probably have to do another year here. Practice makes perfect, you know? God, I'm gonna be like 20 when I graduate." He shook his head.

"College is pretty cool, huh?" he asked, brightening up. "Like I saw this documentary once about how college kids go to frat parties all the time, and it's like way bigger and better than what you see here! Maybe I can still see that. You must have been having fun, until your brain fever. Sorry about that, by the way."

"Actually, I hate college."

"Really? But isn't it like, where smart people can also party?" he asked.

"Do you really ever imagine me partying?"

"I guess not." Kevin's brow furrowed. "So what do you do? You can't study all the time."

"Studying is the only time I do anything. Outside of that, it's nothing," she admitted.

"That sucks."

"I never thought I'd say this, but I miss high school."

"Yeah, I miss it too. Well, I'm still in it, but I miss the old days. Back then everyone wanted to be my friend, even people like you! We had some pretty good times together, right?"

"Um, sure. We sure did," Daria said, not making any real attempt to sound convincing.

"I guess those days aren't coming back though."

"No. They aren't."

Daria thought back to the handful of football games she'd actually attended, when what seemed like the entire town flocked to the field bright under the floodlights. The memory of the noise and the packed bodies only gave her a headache—she missed high school, but she hadn't liked it either.

"Kevin, how did you learn how to play football?"

"Huh? Oh, my dad taught me. We played all the time when I was a kid."

"The rules are pretty complicated."

"No they aren't! Come on, you can't tell me you don't know the rules? Everyone knows them," he said, sounding almost insistent.

"I know the rules, but I wouldn't call them simple. How did you learn them?"

"A lot of practice. When you're out on the field like that, you learn pretty fast, I guess."

"If you know the rules to football, why not facts about history?" she asked.

"Yeah, but you have to read stuff and write them down. Believe me, Daria, when you see a two-hundred pound linebacker running towards you, you know what's going on pretty quick!"

"I can see how that would be the case," she said, the beginnings of an idea forming in her mind. "Do you still want me to tutor you? I understand if you don't."

"I guess I'll keep going. It's more practice."

"I won't charge you."

"Come on, Daria, it's my mom's money."

"She can pay me if you pass your classes. I'll teach for free until then. But don't tell anyone else about this arrangement."

"Sure! I still don't get why you want to teach for free."

"Maybe I just want to see someone learn," she said.

"Huh?"

"Don't worry about it. See you on Wednesday."

"Yeah, see you."


Chapter 12

Earlier…

Daria measured the month of February in cups of metallic instant coffee: one to rouse her from sleep, another to keep going through class until she got back to the dorm, and a third for when she threw together another meager essay or lab report. Time spooled out to create an eternally hazy present.

Going back home over Christmas break nurtured a faint hope that Patricia might find an apartment, or a different school, or perhaps even discover religion and join a Carmelite convent in the Andes. Patricia herself disabused Daria of this notion, and sent a chipper email in early January to wish her a pleasant vacation and enthuse about again sharing their dorm when the next semester began.

"PS Daria, I know we got off on the wrong foot. We are living with each other though, so we might as well make it pleasant, right?"

Solitude made it pleasant, or at least tolerable. By her count she'd never said more than a few words to Patricia since returning, the latter's busy schedule making this easier than anticipated. Refusing to write Patricia's assignments accomplished nothing. Plenty of others lined up to help where Daria had stopped, which at least served to keep Patricia partying and out of the dorm.

Jane's presence alleviated some of the boredom. Busy almost 24/7 with her own innumerable projects she still exuded a boundless energy during their weekly get-togethers at Espresso Express, a café located at a roughly equal distance between their two campuses. Her descriptions turned the studios and students of BFAC into a wealth of stories, even the minutest occurrence the beginnings of an adventure in the making.

I really should visit her place, Daria thought, lying in bed towards the end of another cold day.

Daria never added much to these conversations, snarky observations about life in Raft dying out in her throat. She sensed herself as a leaden weight, an unwanted remainder of the old days at Lawndale. Secure in her bare dorm room, she at least didn't have to worry about that.

Daria ignored the unexpected knock at her door. Patricia's friends could go find their idol elsewhere. The visitor knocked again with more urgency.

"I have something for Patricia! It's super-important that she gets this!"

"Oh, well if it's super-important." Getting out of bed she opened the door just a bit and studied the visitor, a reedy boy whose greasy yellow hair hung in ragged curtains on either side of his sharp face.

"Patricia isn't here, and I'm trying to sleep."

"Uh, okay. Just make sure that she gets this!" His words tumbled over each other in the race to escape his mouth. He pushed open the door and shoved a stapled packet into Daria's hands.

"What is—"

"That's the essay I wrote for her. Er, I mean, I didn't like write it you know, but I, uh, proofread it."

She glanced down at the text without reading it. "Yes, I can see that this paper has the distinct stream-of-consciousness style that marks it as a work of Patricia's."

"Hey, can I give you my email? Can you let me know what she thinks of it?"

Daria shut the door on him. He rapped on the surface again before giving up, his footsteps dull thuds on the hallway's dirty wooden floor. She just about put the paper on Patricia's desk before deciding to take a closer look.

"… and thats why Dimmesdale represents original sin."

The typo prompted her to read more. One minute and a dozen errors later found Daria glowing with a feverish smile, her shoulders shaking with joyless mirth.

"… because Dimmesdale and Hester had had sexual relations and the Puritans disapprove it shows the hypocrisy of the town. This was Hawthorne's point when it came to Puritans. Because they made a big deal about original sin and punished people for it but also believed in forgiveness and didn't practice forgiveness the punishment of Dimesdale and Hester made them hypocrites. The Puritans should have forgiven them."

Confused syntax, run-on sentences, and a shaky understanding of the text combined to create a perfect train wreck of an essay.

"Patricia, I'd say you should rely on your own work but I'm pretty sure that this dross is still better than anything you could write," she said as she tossed the essay on the desk and went back to sleep.

Daria relished the anticipation of Patricia's disastrous grade. Desperation might even lead her to hire Daria a second time, an offer that she could turn down with a resounding and very satisfying "No". Maybe Patricia thought she could easily find someone else, but the sheer cluelessness found in Raft's student body might well put Lawndale High to shame.

I've written better essays in middle school.

A curious energy carried her through the next few days, her eyes flashing open each time she heard someone at the door. Daria waited to see Patricia in a panic over her grades. She even rifled through Patricia's backpack, hunting for an essay that bled red ink.

Patricia returned to the dorm early on Friday evening, as cheerful as ever and ready for all the night's parties. Her eyes met Daria's for one discomfiting movement as she entered.

"Hi!" Patricia said, sugar-coating her voice with false cheer.

Daria mumbled a greeting from her bed, blankets up to her chin and waiting for some sign of distress.

Considering how damned lazy the professors here are, I'll be lucky to find out before the end of the semester.

"I'm going out with some friends. Had another good day at school. You should try having a good day sometime."

"Unlike you, I can have the time of my life without depending on bunch of inebriated morons."

Patricia just shook her head. "I don't know what the hell is wrong with you. I don't even want to know, at this rate."

"What did you get on your Scarlet Letter essay?" Daria asked.

"Huh?"

"That greasy-looking fan of yours seemed really keen on making sure he did a good job. How much are you paying him? Or are you promising something else?"

"Are you spying on me?"

"I didn't need to. How do you think it got on your desk? He came right up here, eager as a puppy, and shoved the essay in my hands. Three pages, hundreds of typos, and a few malapropisms for good measure."

"What are you saying? Did you try to make the essay bad, or something?" Shock crept into Patricia's voice.

"Any effort on my part would be redundant. What grade did you get?" Daria demanded.

"The essay got a B."

"Trying to brighten up your ho-hum life with a little illusion, huh? I don't think any teacher would give that a B."

"See for yourself."

Patricia tore open her backpack and tore out the essay. She stepped forward as if to hand the paper over and suddenly threw it. Daria watched it land next to her bed, her heart hammering in her chest as she reached down, already imagining the professor's dismissive and hopefully disappointed comments scrawled all over the text.

"B, a solid effort but watch out for technical errors," it read, the ink green instead of red.

Daria froze, reading it over and over again.

"Did you try to change my essay?"

"No," Daria whispered.

"I guess it didn't matter even if you did. Like I said, no one really cares about grades, except you, apparently. You did change it didn't you!" Patricia shouted.

"No."

"I can't live here anymore. Don't worry, after this weekend you'll never have your precious beauty sleep or whatever interrupted by the real world!"

Patricia stormed out while Daria read the essay again and again. Unchanged from the draft given to her, the professor had glossed over the mistakes and the awkward sentences. Was Patricia bribing him, too?

She got to her feet, the dorm room's bare walls distant.

All at once the anger hit her, pouring through every vein and artery, a red-hot wall around her mind. Tossing the essay to the side she grabbed Patricia's cutesy alarm clock and hurled it at the still-open door. The clock flew right through, slamming into the wall with enough force to pop open the battery case. Plastic fragments tumbling to the ground.

"Whoa!" came a cry from the hallway.

Daria barely noticed the exclamation, but she did see the RA's shocked face looking into her room a moment later.

"Ms. Morgendorffer, what the hell was that? Are you okay?" she demanded, eyes wide.

Daria didn't answer. She marched out into the hall, past other shocked students and right out of the building. The cold late winter air seemed to freeze around her, socked feet instantly soaked in the gray slush covering campus. Not yet noticing the cold she threw herself down on the nearest bench, taking in deep breaths, waiting for the world to settle and for campus security to arrive.

Chapter 13

Kevin's explanation of how he learned football stayed with Daria and she spent the weekend turning it over in her mind. Assuming he did learn better through action, how to set up such action? Combining it with football carried the real risk of him again confusing the two.

His remedial history class devoted its final exam to an overview of the American Revolution: everything studied up to that point in addition to the revolution itself and the Constitutional Convention. Math presented an even bigger problem. How exactly did one make long division "real"?

The days heated up, a promise of the miserable summer that inched ever closer. The lack of time served to embolden Daria. Clearly, the old methods never worked, so she might as well try something new.

With math she tried using objects (paperclips) to make the process less abstract. The whole effort felt like something out of elementary school—part of her wanted to reward Kevin with a juice break and a Raffi song.

Even this fell short. After practicing with the clips he'd still flounder when actually confronted with a question on paper, his eyes always turning back to his favored learning aids. Daria explained the 10% rule a dozen times over, but it never stuck. She simplified the language, made the problems easier.

He improved in tiny, halting increments. Daria insisted that he spend time practicing at home every day. So far as she could tell, he lived up to his word. He attacked the problems with a sort of dogged weariness, stumbling through to get maybe half right in any set of questions. A solid F, in other words.

History offered more opportunities. While math existed in the realm of the abstract, history consisted of actual, physical events. Events that, if he had the opportunity to participate in them, might stay even in his mind.

Guided by desperation as much as inspiration she adapted and simplified a dozen online lesson plans, rewriting texts and adding pictures. When not at the computer she rummaged through the basement to pick and sort through dusty clothes and old ornaments, and at one point made an embarrassing trip to the local thrift shop. She never paused to let herself examine the situation in too much detail lest the sheer absurdity overwhelm her.

She saw Kevin's car pull up to the curb on a muggy Friday afternoon, the thick air pressing down on the world. Daria closed her eyes, her energy devoted to not fainting from sheer embarrassment.

Yet she almost did just that upon opening the door. Kevin jumped back in surprise when he saw her. Still able to maintain composure, she stood there slowly broiling in one of Helen's old red coats, a white ponytailed wig and toy crown perched on her scalp and threatening to slip off. A dubious picture of royal might.

"Uh, Daria? Are you okay?" He looked ready to bolt.

"As a colonial subject, you will refer to us as King George III." Dammit, I forgot the British accent. Daria hoped she didn't blush too brightly as she spoke.

"Okay. King George III, are you okay?" Kevin began to really look panicked.

"Kevin, you said that you learned football by actually playing it. That seeing a linebacker charging in your direction made it real. Today, we're going to make the American Revolution real."


Chapter 14

A bemused Kevin looked back and forth between Daria and the pile of cinderblocks stacked up on one side of the yard. From her seat, she closed her eyes for a moment and tried not to think of how absurd it all looked.

"Kevin, you understand what's going on here, right?"

"I think so. You're, uh, trying to make it real for me."

"Correct."

"But if it's real, really real, you know, shouldn't you have to be like a British king or something? Like in real life?" he asked.

"Do you know where we can find a time machine to go back to the Colonial Era?"

"Huh?"

"What I mean to say is, this is as real as I can make it. You also need to remember that you can't spend your essay talking about football, what we did here, or anything other than history. Focus," she ordered.

"Uh, sure."

"As a subject of the British Crown in the New World, you are hereby expected to begin earning your keep. There is much work to be done, and very little time with which to do it. You are required to move those cinderblocks over to the side gate." She enunciated every word in a voice she hoped sounded convincingly British. Fear of the neighbors overhearing moved her to keep a quiet tone.

"All of them?"

"Yes."

"Okay, if that's what you want."

Kevin shrugged and grabbed two cinderblocks. He marched them over to their destination and whistled a cheerful tune.

Let's see how cheerful you are at the end of this.

Minutes dragged by. Daria's scalp poured sweat as it suffocated under the weight of the wig and phony crown. Kevin continued his labor, not flagging under the strain.

Did I underestimate him? she wondered. While working, he still looked more energetic than she felt. If nothing else, this matches up nicely with the narrative of rugged colonials and effete Englanders.

He'd just barely broken a sweat after transporting all fifteen of the cinderblocks. Turning to her, he grinned and pointed a thumb at the pile.

"Ta da!"

"Adequate. You must now pay your taxes for the services that your government provides. It is we who own this land, after all."

"Um, taxes?"

"One dollar."

"I thought you said you teaching me for free." Kevin frowned.

"Focus!"

"Oh, yeah." He handed her a dollar, which she placed in a tin cup resting on an arm of the chair.

"Very well. Now, move those cinderblocks to the center of the yard."

"Huh? Didn't I just move them?"

"Do your work."

He labored with less alacrity that time. Though not visibly straining he no longer seemed so casual about it. He wiped his brow when finished.

"Adequate. You must now pay another dollar."

"Shouldn't you be, uh, paying me? I mean, no offense, it's just that I'm doing all the work here." An edge crept into Kevin's voice.

"You are subject to the laws of Parliament. Pay your taxes."

"Aw, man," he grumbled, reaching into his pocket and putting another bill into the cup. "Could I get some water or something? I'm really thirsty."

She handed him a water bottle and he greedily drank it.

"Once you are done using our resources, you may proceed moving the cinderblocks to a third location."

"What? Come on, I just did that!"

"You are a subject of Great Britain. You are expected to follow orders."

He stalked over and again proceeded to move them, his irritation visible. She'd hardly ever seen him angry before.

Be honest, Daria. Are you doing this just to mess with him?

She inwardly flinched at the thought. How would she really know, after all?

You're putting a lot of effort into this. Then again, so is he.

She'd wanted Kevin to come to the conclusion on his own, but she resolved not to make him carry blocks a fourth time. He probably learned by doing; though he'd sort of understood why the colonists rebelled, it still remained unreal to him. Daria hoped this exercise changed that.

Seeing his face set in frustration, she wondered if it'd be wise to reenact the Battle of Yorktown with him.

Finishing for the third time, he automatically reached into his pocket and took out a dollar, marching over to her makeshift throne.

"You know, I don't think this is cool. If I'm doing all the work, you should pay me!"

"The tax has gone up to two dollars." Daria hoped she wasn't pushing her luck too far.

"What? After all that?"

"Again, this is our land, not yours. You have also consumed our drink."

"No way! I'm not doing this anymore."

"And neither would the colonists," she said, hurriedly returning to her normal voice and praying he'd pick up on the difference.

"Yeah! It's not fair for us to work all the time and have to pay our bosses! That's now how it works!"

"Kevin, calm down! You learned the lesson."

"I did?"

"You experienced it. You saw firsthand why the colonists got so frustrated."

"Oh. Hey, I did!"

"Come on, let's go inside and out of this heat." She returned his money and took off the crown and the wig.

Daria stood up and nearly fell down again, her coat soaked through with sweat. After getting her bearings, she led Kevin back to the dining room table, on which lay a document outlining the fundamental tenets of Thomas Paine's Common Sense, right next to some donuts reserved for her hard-working colonial subject.


Chapter 15

They continued in this vein for the rest of the month. Kevin lived the American Revolution as best as one could within the bounds of suburbia. He read excerpts from key documents, applied his football tactics to the fields of Bunker Hill and Saratoga, and experienced the limitations of the Articles of Confederation.

Daria still wondered how well he truly understood the facts. She took pains to ensure that he didn't confuse the tutoring sessions with the actual historical events, never quite sure if she succeeded.

No such solution appeared for Kevin's difficulties with math. He usually struggled through the problems she gave him, though it took him more time than even the most forgiving exam would allow. He claimed to practice and she believed him.

Daria almost forgot about college, and was caught off guard when the calendar turned to the month of June. Her mom, true to her nature, kept a closer watch on time. Helen approached her daughter as she ate a late breakfast, holding a scone while sketching out a lesson plan with her free hand.

"Daria, it's almost time for you to go back to Raft. Do you feel ready for it?"

She didn't say anything at first, thinking back on her experiences at the college. Only Jane (and, in a weird way, Patricia) knew the full story behind her breakdown. She'd given her family about half of the truth, and she knew that they detected an omission.

"I guess. It's not like I have an option."

"We were all very worried about you when Raft called us," Helen said.

"A mental breakdown is practically a rite of passage these days." Daria didn't really feel like discussing it again. True to form, Helen brushed off the joke and kept at it.

"I'm serious."

"I'll be fine."

"Do you want to go back?" Helen asked.

"No. That doesn't really matter though, does it? The world is what it is, and at a certain point you just have to adapt."

"I wish that weren't the case, but it often is. That doesn't mean you can't change it though. Make it work for you in some way. I think you've been doing a wonderful job of that with Kevin and all the other students you're helping."

"You should save your praise for when they actually graduate. If they graduate," Daria said.

"It still shows a lot of effort and investment on your part. I can't imagine you doing this even last year. You've grown up a lot."

Daria blushed at the compliment. "Right. Thanks."

Raft's summer session began before the end of Lawndale's school year. Daria had no choice but to leave Kevin with two weeks on his own before finals. He took the news in stride, expressing a vague optimism.

"I think I really got it this time, Daria. I'll be able get through these remedial classes. You're a pretty good coach!"

On her last night she again wandered around town on her own, trying to fix each sight in memory. The past opened up, the details vivid and reaching out to touch the present as she walked the familiar streets. An eternity in three short years.

Daria's parents drove her back up to Raft on a day flushed with summer's heat. Jane waited on the other end to help her move into a university-owned apartment a mile away from campus, simple but spacious compared to her old dorm.

She eased herself back into the rhythms of school life, classes accelerated for the summer but still just as dull. The tiresome lectures and assignments hurt a bit less. Daria didn't mind her new roommate, a heavyset blonde girl named Cheryl who majored in business. Cheerful and focused, Cheryl usually kept to her own life, encounters between the two best described as civil bordering on friendly.

Lawndale and the fates of her students occupied her mind, Kevin in particular. All the past months sped by in her mind like some clichéd montage, yet she remembered every ounce of effort put into those lessons. She'd given Kevin her number, telling him to call her if he needed any help. Daria's phone stayed silent, and she hoped that presented a good sign.

Daria at last readied herself to visit Jane's place on the Friday of her second week back in Boston. The entire city boiled under the sun. Daria's phone rang, and she pressed the talk button without looking at the screen.

"Hello?"

"Hey." Kevin spoke, his tone neutral.

"Oh! Did you finish your finals? How did you do?" The world froze around her, her heart still in expectation.

"Um, well." She heard a heavy sigh. "Didn't turn out so good. I failed math, English, and some other classes."

"What? I thought you said you had English under control? It was Mr. O'Neill, wasn't it?" She wanted to smack her old English teacher.

"Mr. O kept telling me I was doing a good job, but I guess he wanted me to do better or something? I dunno. But I got a B in the history final!"

"You needed an A," she said.

"Yeah. You know what, though? Mr. D said I'd done better than he'd ever seen me do before! I mean, you know how he likes to give people a hard time, but he really meant it. I think."

"Maybe you can appeal the grades? You did a lot better than normal, maybe that's enough—"

"It's okay, Daria. Mr. D said he'd find some kind of special program for me. What did he call it? Jee-dee?"

"GED?"

"Yeah, that's it! He's working on something. Maybe I haven't really graduated yet, but I won't have to spend a sixth year at Lawndale," Kevin said, sounding for all the world like he'd won the Heisman trophy.

"God. I'm sorry, Kevin. I really thought that I—"

Am I tearing up?

"Aw, it's okay. I always land on my feet. Besides, Mr. D said I'd learned a lot. That's 'cause of you."

"I wanted you to pass." She wiped the tears from her eyes.

This is embarrassing, she fumed to herself, trying to keep her voice from breaking. "It's not your fault, Kevin."

"I know. I'm still a great quarterback. I'll be okay. You liking college more this time?" he asked.

"I guess. Seems like more of the same."

"Yeah, school always is. Anyway, things are gonna get better for me. For you, too. Talk to you later!"

"Bye."

She hung up. Her suddenly nerveless body collapsed on the couch. The disaster made sense in retrospect. Of course he'd never really get math in time. Of course Mr. O'Neill would just confuse Kevin with a lot of upbeat hot air. Of course her efforts would be too little, too late.

For all that, he'd learned something. She'd seen it in their last lessons. God only knew if he'd remember it by the end of the month, but for a little while, Kevin knew. He'd go out into the world without a college degree, without any real job prospects, and always with a smile on his face.

Forcing herself up off the couch, Daria walked to nearest window and looked out at the city, the smoggy air all sticky in the summer heat. The sight didn't inspire much optimism. Neither did the thought of more dreary classes.

Daria shouldered her backpack and started on the trip to Jane's loft.

The End

Thank you all!

This post has been edited by WellTemperedClavier: Mar 31 2024, 08:21 PM

[Acadian]

Sorry to see you moving on to other things - you've been a wonderful addition to our small pool of skilled and devoted fanfic writers. I hope that when things change for you, that you'll be able to rejoin us.

Regarding the rest of your story, I think I shall read each of the final five chapters in five separate sittings and take notes for a cumulative post when all done. May be a week or two.

[SubRosa]

Yeah, same here. Sorry to see that life is getting too busy. I hope you can check in later when things settle down. I have not had time to read yet, but will probably do so in several chunks as Acadian suggested.

[Renee]

[Acadian]

Ch 11. Wow, Daria’s in demand as a tutor even though she seems to be getting mixed results. And Kevin’s not among her successes so far. Aww, offering to teach him for free until he passes was sweet of her. She did gain some more insight into what makes him tick during their chat on the football field though so I’m looking forward to seeing how she implements that into her lesson plan for him.

Ch 12. Another flashback to college. Daria’s disappointment that Patricia was not done in by poor quality of the essay that fellow wrote for her is palpable. Her overreaction to Patricia’s B grade certainly telegraphs that something is up with Daria. Normally, I’d expect her to simply not care, but it seems like she’s starting to melt down.

Ch 13. Daria’s like a dog with a bone in her determination to teach Kevin the American revolution. Perhaps if King George III points a musket at him?

Ch 14. Ah ha! So Daria does succeed in making the lesson real for Kevin in a way it seems he can grasp. Pay the Crown to move cinderblocks for them. It’ll be interesting to see what he does with that newfound understanding. And donuts for her struggling student!

Ch 15. Well, the history part turned out okay for Kevin – too bad about the rest of Kevin’s subjects. Helen’s right – Daria really has invested a lot of herself into her tutoring. Kevin not making it really hit her hard. At least she has a little more space and a more compatible roommate than last time at Raft. Good that Jane will be there for her.


Overall. Another engaging Daria tale that, despite its somber ending, finishes with the tantalizing hint of a brighter future. Who knows? Perhaps some of Kevin’s infectious optimism will be the lesson he has taught her. Well done! I hope you and Daria will be able to rejoin us when your life allows for it.

[Renee]

Was gonna post the next Laprima but maybe I should let it simmer overnight. I'll read a chapter or two of High School instead. No idea if you're truly gone, WTC. Kinda weird sharing insights & laughs while unsure if you'll ever return, but in a way, you're still here. Always will be an honorary Chorrolite.

Nice, good to see she's actually making a springtime career of tutoring. Wow, she even got fired.

Ah, there she is in the library on her time off. That's the Daria we all know.

His sheer focus and single-minded dedication at that moment made the entire scene picture perfect for some motivational poster.

That's a nice line. The Kevster, in his home element, doing just the thing he knows how.

WHOA he got a D+ !!! I predicted a D! Nice to be slightly wrong, in this case! ... Ha he also put some party references into the essay. Ya don't DO that, Kevin.

He saw a 'documentary' about frat boys!

Alright, up to Chapter 12. Not gonna read 'em all at once, I want to savor the story.