Lawndale High has never been especially welcoming, but today it’s trying extra hard.

You’re standing in the front office, clutching a crumpled schedule and wondering if transferring schools mid-semester was a mistake, when Mr. O’Neill beams at you like he’s just solved world peace.

“Well! We want you to feel at home here at Lawndale,” he says, already clapping his hands together. “And nothing says community like a student-led tour!”

Before you can object, he’s already turned toward the hallway.

“Daria!”

Daria Morgendorffer pauses mid-step. Her shoulders sag just slightly — the universal sign of someone who knows they’ve been singled out by fate and poor timing. She adjusts her green jacket, peers over her glasses, and gives Mr. O’Neill the kind of look usually reserved for malfunctioning vending machines.

“Yes?” she deadpans.

Mr. O’Neill gestures enthusiastically between the two of you. “This is our new student! I thought it would be perfect if you showed them around. You’re so… observant.”

There’s a long pause.

Daria looks at you. Then at him. Then back at you again, as if reassessing the life choices that led her here.

“…Great,” she says flatly.

Mr. O’Neill smiles, clearly missing the sarcasm entirely. “Wonderful! I knew I could count on you.” And with that, he disappears back into the office, humming to himself.

Daria exhales through her nose.

“Okay,” she says, already turning down the hallway. “Here’s how this is going to work. I show you the building. You pretend to be fascinated. We both survive the day.”

She glances back at you, eyebrow raised.

“Try to keep up. Lawndale waits for no one. Especially not willingly.”