More than any other time in history, mankind faces a crossroads. One path leads to despair and utter hopelessness. The other, to total extinction. Let us pray we have the wisdom to choose correctly. - Woody Allen.

~lalaLAlala~

When the Morgendorffer family were packing up their house in Texas, it was decided that they would also do a thorough clean-out – something they hadn't done the previous couple of times they'd moved, and almost didn't this time either. This meant that every dusty old cardboard box that hadn't been opened since before Daria had been born was dragged out, its contents were examined, and then it was determined if said contents would be kept.

It turned out to be a slightly embarrassing decision for Helen and Jake. Among the many relics of holidays not taken because both of them were now very serious sorts of people – Helen a lawyer, and Jake a marketing consultant – there were boxes that revealed to their daughters that the couple had, once upon a time, been much more relaxed. All of the proof of their hippie days were in those boxes. Among other things.

Daria quickly spotted a reinforced box among the beaded headbands and psychedelic paisley shirts, and grabbed it.

"What's this?" she asked as she opened it up.

"Hey! That's my old six-string!" Jake exclaimed, a bright smile on his face, and reached over to give one of the strings a pluck. A musical tone came out, before the string snapped. It hadn't had that sort of strain put on it for a long time.

Daria had been sentenced to music camp a couple of times, and been forced to play Pop Goes the Weasel on a dinky, squeaky flute. It had not been appreciated. However, she did enjoy writing, and sometimes she wrote poetry rather than prose, and it might be interesting to see if she could set some of that poetry to music using this thing.

In any event, a guitar had to be better than the flute if she was ever threatened with music camp again.

"Daria?" Helen asked, surprised by her eldest daughter's interest in the instrument.

"It might be interesting to see how some of my poetry would fit to music," Daria said, giving an alternate, viable reason to her wanting the instrument, rather than simply her hatred of the flute and music camp.

Helen smiled. "Well, I'm sure there are some beginners books in the boxes somewhere," she said.

"Yeah," Jake agreed. "And it's not like I've got the time to play it any more."

And that was that. Daria got the old guitar.

~lalaLAlala~

When they reached their new house in Lawndale, Daria was quick to claim the room that had been padded and semi-soundproofed for the sake of the previous schizophrenic shut-in occupant. It was grey all over, and apart from bringing in her own furniture and belongings, she didn't really want the room to be changed. There had once been steel bars on the windows, but they'd been mostly removed. She could, if needed, escape out the window.

Still, the TV attached to one high corner of the room didn't work, so she asked if she could get another one. The answer was yes, she could, and she stuck it on a small metal trolley that had been left behind by the previous owners. She was also permitted her own computer and printer as well, which was pretty cool of her folks. Occasionally, they could be. Quinn asked for a canopied bed, another full-length mirror, and a phone in her room. She got those too.

And then, for their first day at their new school, Jake drove them – which was completely unnecessary with how close they lived to the place. But there was a reason for it. Jake wanted to give them a pep-talk.

"Girls, I just want you to know, your mother and I realise that it's not easy moving to a whole new town," Jake started as he pulled the car out of the driveway. "Especially for you Daria, right?"

Daria was very tempted to answer 'did we move?', but knew her dad was being serious and – more than that – was genuinely trying to be a good parent.

"Dad, seriously, leaving Highland behind can only be a good thing," Daria answered frankly.

"I'm just concerned for you Daria," Jake continued. "You don't make friends as easily as-"

Quinn chose that moment to turn up the radio.

"Uh, some people..." Jake said, and coughed slightly.

"Quinn, for instance?" Daria suggested.

"That's not what I meant," Jake countered quickly, then added more quietly, "necessarily," and turned off the radio.

Daria sighed. "Look, Dad, seriously, don't worry about it. There's no uranium in the drinking water here, and the chances of me having classmates here like I had in Highland are mercifully low. Also, the school population here is larger. I'm sure I'll find at least one person worth talking to before I graduate, and you know I prefer quality over quantity."

Then they were at the school frontage and Jake stopped the car.

Quinn got out first and received a predictably warm reception.

"See ya Dad," Daria bid, and while Quinn had all the attention on her, Daria slipped quietly passed the shallow masses.

~lalaLAlala~

The Morgendorffer sisters weren't the only new students to enter Lawndale High that day, and they were given a tour by the principal, Ms Li.

"As you can see," the woman said as she concluded the tour in a hallway where each of them were assigned a locker – none of them next to each other, as they were getting whichever lockers didn't already belong to somebody. "Our Lawndale High students take great pride in their school. That's why you'll each be taking a small psychological exam, to spot any little clouds on the horizon, as you sail the student seas of Lawndale high."

Daria personally thought that was code for "if you are the sort to pull a gun on your classmates, we want to know now."

"Nobody told me about any tests," Quinn objected.

"Don't worry," Daria comforted dryly. "It's a psychological test. You're automatically exempt."

It was a little cruel, but it wasn't like Quinn even understood that she'd just been told she was essentially brainless.

"Oh," she said, and then smiled. "Alright," she agreed. She understood 'exempt' even if she didn't understand 'psychological'.

Daria knew that her sister wasn't completely stupid. She'd inherited more than just her looks from Helen after all. It was just that... Quinn didn't care to expand her mind at the moment, and the education at Highland had been less than outstanding. Daria had made up for this personally by isolating herself in the library, away from the idiots who, despite having somehow made it to high school, barely understood the most basic of math problems.

~lalaLAlala~

"Now Quinn, what do you see here?" the school's counsellor, one Mrs Manson asked when it was the turn of the two sisters to have their test.

Quietly, Daria reached across and claimed the rubix cube.

"It's a picture of two people talking," Quinn answered.

"That's right!" the woman answered happily. "Can you make up a little story about what it is they're discussing?"

"I'm not even supposed to be taking this test," Quinn objected. "I'm exempt."

"You won't be graded," Manson assured her.

"Oh. Okay then. Let's see..." Quinn began, and tapped her chin as she tried to come up with something. Ultimately, she drew upon what she knew best – social interactions between boys and girls her age. "They've been going out for a while and he's upset 'cause other people keep asking her out, and she's saying she can't help it if she's attractive and popular, and besides! Nobody ever said they were going steady, and if he does want to go steady then he's going to have to do a lot better than movie-burger-backseat, movie-burger-backseat, because there are plenty of guys with bigger back seats waiting to take her some place nice," Quinn recited, with body-language and gesticulations to help emphasise the important points of her story.

"Very good, Quinn," Manson praised. "Now Dara," she said, and shifted the picture across so that it was on her other side, and more in front of Daria than Quinn. "Let's see if you can make up a story as vivid as your sister's."

"I do not appreciate sibling comparisons," Daria stated, "or people getting my name wrong," she added firmly. "My name is Daria. Not Dara."

"I'm sorry, Daria," the woman corrected, though she clearly wasn't sorry. "What do you see in the picture, Dara?" No. She wasn't sorry at all. In fact, she could care less.

"Um..." Daria said, and squinted visibly behind her glasses while she mentally slotted the woman into the 'enemy' column. "A herd of beautiful wild ponies running free across the plains."

"There aren't any ponies," the counsellor said, and double-checked the picture for herself, just to make sure. "It's two people."

"Last time I took one of these tests, they told me they were clouds, and they could be anything I wanted," Daria answered with a calm shrug.

"That's a different test," Manson assured her firmly. "In this test, they're people, and you tell me what they're discussing."

"Oh, I see," she allowed, though she had known that, and rather than being completely facetious, she gave the woman a semi-reasonable answer. "Alright then. It's a pair of brothers, and they're arguing about how one is bringing shame on their family for having joined the hippie movement and growing out his hair out like some sissy, while the other is an idiot for having joined the army. The bonds between the two brothers are strained as one goes to join the peace movement, and the other goes to war."

Her little tale complete, delivered without the slightest emotive inflection, Daria set the solved cube down in front of her.

The woman who was the school's counsellor frowned at her, but didn't say anything as she slowly lowered the flash card.

~lalaLAlala~

After the tour of the school, and meeting the counsellor, there was only time for one more class before school let out, and for Daria, that was History with a man called Mr DeMartino. The man had issues, but as the class progressed, Daria ultimately decided that she didn't really blame the guy, after all, he had to teach the idiots that were in her class. She only had to peripherally put up with them.

Then, when the day was over and the Morgendorffer family was enjoying their store-bought lasagne, they got a call from the school.

"You girls had a psychological test at school today?" Helen asked when she hung up the phone.

"They said we wouldn't be graded!" Quinn objected.

"Let me guess," Daria said as her mother returned to the table. "The woman didn't appreciate me solving her rubix cube and speaking in a monotone after I disdained sibling comparisons and corrected her when she got my name wrong."

"That's what happened?" Helen asked. Then shook her head with a sigh. "Well, they're saying you have low self-esteem, and want you to take an extra class after school for a few weeks."

"That really stinks, Daria," Jake said.

"Jake, focus," Helen said gently. "Daria?"

"I don't have low self-esteem," she answered. "I have low esteem for everybody else."

"All the same, the school insists you attend these classes, and then they'll test you again at the end," Helen explained.

"Wait," Quinn said, a thoughtful frown marring her pretty little face. "Does that mean Daria flunked the test?"

"No Dear," Helen corrected. "It means the school doesn't appreciate your sister's outlook and wants to do something to change it. Hopefully for the better?" she added, her tone hopeful and enquiring as she turned to the daughter in question.

"I honestly believe that spending time putting my poetry to music has already improved my outlook," Daria answered flatly. "I wasn't nearly as facetious, cynical or sarcastic as I could have been."

Helen sighed again. "Really Daria, I don't know what to do with you sometimes," she admitted.

~lalaLAlala~

The teacher who led the course was definitely a feel-good sort of guy. Someone who hadn't left the days of peace and love behind quite as efficiently as her parents had. Someone who didn't understand that people were allowed – and indeed should – feel negative emotions at times. And he wore a salmon-coloured shirt. Now, fashion was Quinn's "thing", but even Daria knew that a guy in a pink shirt, nine times out of ten, had some sort of identity issues.

"Excuse me," Daria requested as she raised her hand. "I have a question."

"Oh, I'm sorry, question and answer time is later," Mr O'Neill apologised.

"I want to know what 'realising your actuality' means," Daria said.

"It means... look, just let me get through this part okay? Then there'll be a video," the man answered, a slightly desperate look on his face for a moment before he re-launched into his talk.

"He doesn't know what it means," a voice said from behind Daria, and she turned to find a girl who somehow had both black hair and blue eyes. "He's got the speech memorised," the girl continued with a red-painted smirk. "Just enjoy the nice man's soothing voice," she recommended.

"How am I supposed to follow him if I don't know what he's talking about?" Daria asked.

"I can fill you in later," she offered. "I've taken this course six times."

And in the most unlikely of places, a friendship was seeded. But then again, if Daria had gotten in for annoying the counsellor, then who knew what the other kids were in for.

~lalaLAlala~

Daria was surprised when, upon having parted ways with Jane Lane and returned home, her mother was there waiting for her in the living room.

"Mom? Are you feeling okay? It's not even five yet," she noted as she closed the door behind her.

"I know, Honey," Helen answered. "And I know that you don't really have low self-esteem, but I thought... well, maybe a little mother-daughter bonding wouldn't be a bad idea?" she suggested.

Daria knew she wasn't going to get out of this. Helen had even ditched her suit and had on a pair of beige slacks with a blue top. "What did you have in mind?" she asked.

"I bought you a new guitar," Helen answered with a gentle smile, and picked up a case that had been hidden on one of the sofas. "Since I know Jake's old one has... more than a bit of art on it that isn't exactly your style."

That... was actually genuinely a good move by her mother. "Thanks," Daria said gratefully, and accepted the new instrument.

"If you want to grab Jake's old one, and bring it down, I thought we could... try our hands at a bit of music?" Helen offered.

Daria shrugged and smiled, just slightly. "Couldn't hurt," she agreed. And it was miles better than going shopping with the woman, which she probably would have done if she didn't have the music idea to latch on to.

Daria brought down the old, brightly-painted acoustic, and the pair of them took seats – cross-legged on the floor.

"Oof, I don't remember this being so difficult," Helen remarked as she used both hands to tug her legs into the right places.

"You're used to well-padded swivel chairs now, that's all," Daria said judiciously, rather than commenting on her mother's age. After all, Helen had just given her a brand new twelve-string acoustic that, if she wanted, she could plug into an amplifier. That is, if she'd had an amplifier.

~lalaLAlala~

"Now guys, I've got a little challenge for you," O'Neill said, and he said it like he was their best friend who was excited to give them a surprise he knew they'd like. The man was an idiot. "Today we talked about turning your daydreams into reality. Tonight, I want each of you to go home and do just that," he explained, and then looked around the faces in the room. "Whadda ya say? Um... you!"

At random, he had picked on Daria. That was probably a mistake. Daria had little tolerance for the foolish man.

"What's a daydream that you'd like to see come true?" he asked.

"Well," Daria started, thoughtfully, "I guess I'd like my whole family to do something together," she allowed.

"Excellent!" O'Neill praised.

"Something that will really make them suffer," Daria finished.

"Um... well, uh... it's healthy to air these feelings," he said. "I think," he added, clearly uncertain of that proclamation. Then the bell sounded out, letting all after-school clubs and classes know that it was time to clear out. "We'll talk more about this tomorrow," the man said, the smile returning to his face. "Class dismissed!"

"Nice one," Jane complimented as they headed for the door.

"Thanks," Daria answered. "So," she said once they were in the hallways. "What daydream are you going to make a reality?"

"Not sure," Jane admitted. "I've done this course six times already after all. I'm running out of the simple daydreams that can be performed in the space of one evening. Well, that don't involve killing one or two of my classmates anyway. Maybe I'll dump a bucket of cold water over my brother, wake him up. He hasn't yet this week, though, granted, it is only Tuesday."

"Are you sure he's alive?" Daria asked, incredulous.

"Oh yes," Jane assured her friend. "I check on him before I leave the house in the mornings. He was still breathing when I left."

Daria endured the full self-esteem course with Jane, if for no other reason than, as Jane pointed out, it was something to do with their afternoons. She did, however, persuade her friend to actually pass the release test this time around. Also, if they'd tried to test out early, they'd have given O'Neill potential cause to remember who they were.

Jane had taken the course six times, as already noted, but O'Neill still didn't remember her. No, he was a teacher it was quite easy to fly under the radar of – until and unless you did something particularly noteworthy, like graduate from his self-esteem class early.