Blind Lane's Bluff
Daria and Jane stood among the throng gathered outside of the art room. Theoretically, they were still on holidays, as their senior year didn’t start until the following Monday. But here they were, on a lovely Thursday afternoon that would otherwise have been utilised by watching Sick Sad world, waiting outside the classroom as though they were still in grade school.
Jane looked at Daria speculatively.
‘I don’t get it. Why are you so interested in senior art?’
‘I like the concept, the idea of legitimately using a side of my brain that is normally quashed by politically correct bigots. What more can I say?’ Daria allowed herself a crooked smile. She didn’t understand Jane’s sentiments on the issue, but from the bemused look Jane was giving her she deduced that Jane was skeptical of her artistic dexterity. Daria also guessed that Jane was just happy to have her along for the ride.
She was right on both counts.
Jane was staring down the corridor, watching Andrea’s sedate approach. She turned, addressing Daria. ‘She’s certainly changed a lot since her little incident with Sandi.’
Andrea, having overheard Jane’s last remark, addressed them acerbically. ‘Since they’ve forced me to partake of a daily dose of lithium, I’m not me any more.’ She smiled slowly, not for effect, but because she had trouble remembering how to do it. ‘And the sad thing is – I’ve lost the urge to kill Sandi.’
Daria smirked. ‘You do still feel the urge to totally and irrevocably humiliate the fashion fiends at any cost, right?’
‘Hey! The dosage isn’t that high!’
The three stood silently watching Ms Li and her diminutive, scarlet tressed companion as they walked towards the students. The caucasian woman was talking to the principal.
‘Well, thanks again for showing me the way, Angie. But I don’t need you here any longer. Just give me the keys and I’ll return them to you in three hours…’
Ms Li glared at her.
‘…Or you can just pop by and pick them up yourself, if you wish.’ The vertically challenged woman veritably chirped. ‘Your choice, of course. I just don’t want their creativity stifled by frazzled nerves. You know what I mean, don’t you dear?’