Grace, Adam and Joan walking in the halls at school. Adam and Joan are holding hands.
Joan: So, what's for lunch?
Grace: Creamed chicken.
Joan: Oh, again?! Can't the cafeteria make anything else?
Adam: Cha, it's Tuesday. Tuesday the chicken gets creamed.
Joan: (Giggles)
Iris: (Walking by) Hey.
(Joan lets go of Adams hand)
Adam: Hi.
Iris: This bowl of fruit I drew totally blows. I'll be lucky to get an "F." (Iris shows Adam her homework)
Adam: Your shading is brutal, yo.
Iris: Total brutality.
Adam: You're mom's teaching us so many new techniques. You know, like hatching and cross-hatching...
Iris: (finishing his sentence) stippling, scaling.
Adam: Yeah, stippling is so cool.
Iris: So cool.
Joan: Sounds cool.
Grace: I fell asleep when she started talking about fruit. (she walks away)
Adam: (to Joan) Hey, will you meet me on the roof after class? I've gotta do this life sketch, and I was hoping I could use you.
Iris: Very titanic. (She walks away)
Adam: She's really ok with us.
Joan: Happy...stippling.
Joan and Adam split up and Joan goes to her locker. Grace is standing there.
Grace: Look, now that you and Rove are tickling molars, we need to lay down some new ground rules.
Joan: What do you mean? Nothing's different.
Grace: Yeah, it is. You're totally into that whole whisper, giggle thing.
Joan: What?!
Grace: You know... you get some lame little secret, and you whisper it to each other, and then push your heads together and do that moron giggle thing.
Joan: (Giggles) No, we don't.
Grace: Trust me, dude. Today, in chemistry! I mean, sitting behind Friedman is enough to make me wanna hurl. I don't need the extra help.
Joan: No, no, no. Do you want to know what that was?
Grace: No, no. God, no. I'm just saying if it happens again, there'll be physical pain.
Joan: It's hard enough to find things we have in common. I should at least be able to enjoy them.
Grace: Tongue wrestling getting old already?
Joan: No. No, it's just... Adam's an artist... and iris is, too. I'm, like, nothing. How can I compete? Hey, I can colour in Ronald McDonald and not go outside the lines! Which, by the way, is a lie.
Iris: He dumped her for you.
Joan: Yeah. Why?
Grace: Oh, see, this is why I'm not getting sucked into the whole dating ritual. You got what you wanted, and you're more of a mess than you were before. Luke and the ostrich seem pretty happy, though.
Joan: That's 'cause they can talk for days about Einstein's hair.
Grace: I didn't think they would last this long.
Joan: Do you care?
Grace: (Scoffs) Have I ever?
Joan: Hey, we're talking about me here, remember?
Grace: I got bored.
Heavy Girl God: (Walks by) You seem down, Joan.
Joan: (Yelling down the hall to her) Gee, that's perceptive. What are you gonna do next, huh?
God: (Joan catches up) Why are you so upset?
Joan: I don't know. Maybe because the all-knowing one forgot to give me a life.
God: Oh, I've supplied everything you need for a perfect life.
Joan: Yeah, you just won't tell me where you hid it.
God: Maybe you're not looking.
Joan: Oh, oh, I am looking, ok? Iris has all this stuff in common with Adam, and I have nothing to bring to the party. I mean, I want to be good at something. You know, everyone around me has their thing. I--I want a thing.
God: Yearbook goes to the printer in a week. They need help.
Joan: Yearbook? My mom's the yearbook advisor. That means I'd have to be, like, advised by her. Unless... yearbook is where I'll find my thing.
God: Work at the yearbook.
Joan: Wow! Ok. I will. Yes. (God leaves, and Joan does that thing where she yells down the hall and everyone stairs) And if I win a prize or an award one day, I'll thank you in front of everyone, just like they do at the Grammys. Ha ha. My thing.
We cut out to opening credits.
When we return, we join Will and Toni at the station. They are going over a case with Roebuck.
Roebuck: Robert Higgins. 39. No priors. His wife's having an affair. He asked a friend if he knew anyone he could contact to have her killed.
Will: Charming guy.
Roebuck: The friend came to us.
Toni: Says Higgins has 2 kids. Just keeps getting more and more charming.
Roebuck: You'll be handling the sting. Carlyle is the hit man. Will and Toni, you're in the van.
Toni: Simple. We'll have some sandwiches, and get a nice video of the guy paying Carlyle for the hit. Arrest made.
Will: Video goes into syndication on cops, we all retire to Hawaii. Love that show.
We cut off to the high school. The year book editor is meeting with Helen.
Editor: The progress of the different departments is in the colour-coded files.
Helen: That's very efficient. You do realize that all the layouts have to be in by next Thursday, Brian?
Brian: Yeah, on top of it. And on top of the advertisers, as well as the poetry submissions for the dedication.
Helen: Great. Then you can relax. Please. The lint is gone. You're gonna rip a hole in your sweater. Joan, is everything ok?
Joan: Mom, please. I'm just here to join the yearbook.
Brian: Mrs. G's offspring. Excellent. Excellent. Brian Beaumont, (Shakes Joans hand) editor in chief.
Joan: Joan.
Brian: Excellent.
Joan: Gee, I'm doing well, and I haven't even gotten to work yet. (Nervous laugh) Mom (she motions for her mother to leave)
Brian: Well, we can certainly use the help. It's crunch time. So, what do you do? What's your thing?
Joan: My thing. My thing is... uh...since you need me, I guess whatever it is you need will be my thing.
Brian: Excellent. We need a photographer. Can you take photographs?
Joan: I must be able to. Uh...yeah. Yeah, sure.
Brian: Iris, we have a new recruit. Give her a camera. (Iris comes out of the dark room)
Iris: Joan...hey.
Brian: So you two know each other? Iris is an excellent photographer. (Quietly) Excellent! We need a series of candid shots, and some shots of various clubs by the end of the day. I'll get you a list.
Brian leaves and Iris and Joan stand at a table looking awkward.
Joan: Is this gonna be weird?
Iris: No.
Joan: Cool.
Iris: I didn't know you were into photography.
Joan: Me? Yeah.
Iris: If you need any help with the camera--
Joan: oh, no, no, no. No, no. This baby is a snap. (Chuckles) Just push this button here... (She is looking at the camera and does not know what to do)
Iris: actually, it's this one.
Joan: Joking. That was a-- it was a joke.
Iris: Yeah. Later.
Joan: This is... the other thing.
Cut away to the hall way at school. Friedman is walking in front of Glynis and Luke, who are holding hands.
Luke: Glynis and I are going to a chekov/sulu star trek spectacular Saturday night.
Glynis: George Takei in the house. Care to join?
Friedman: No, thanks.
Luke: What's up, Owlander? You never hang out anymore. You have a new friend base?
Friedman: One--Brittany?
Luke: A girlfriend?
Glynis: Deets. Give us the deets.
Friedman: Well, I walked into the wrong changing room at old navy. She's a junior at Stratton academy. It's all girls. Catholic. Pleated skirts. Knee-highs. Lots of plaid. The whole manger.
Luke: Uh, bring her Saturday night.
Friedman: I'll ask her. (he is rotating his wrist like its sore)
Luke: What's, uh--what's wrong with your hand?
Friedman: When we're not in mixed company, dude.
Friedman gets an Awed look from Luke. Luke gets a shove from Glynis.
Up on the Roof, Joan is waiting for Adam. She is fussing over her camera and doesnt see him come in. He sneaks up behind her.
Adam: Hey.
Joan: (Gasps) Hey! Hi.
Adam: Hi. What are you doing?
Joan: I was just, um... just figuring out a few of the fine points of this camera. Like(she moves a latch and the camera opens) ooh! That's the-- that's the latch release.
Adam: I--I didn't know you took pictures.
Joan: Sure. It's my thing. Did you know I'm one of the photographers for the yearbook?
Adam: Iris is doing that.
Joan: Yeah, I know. But for me, it's more like a calling.
Adam: Huh. I didn't know.
Joan: There's a lot you don't know about me, Mr. Rove. (She kisses him)
Adam: So, uh, what are you shooting?
Joan: Um...let's see. A few clubs, individual kids-- candid shots.
Adam: Hmm. It's really cool, you know, what you can do with a camera. Like catching passing moments in time... and freezing life.
Joan: (Chuckles)
Adam: What?
Joan: I like this. Talking like this. Oh, I wish I didn't have to run.
Adam: Well, I guess I will sketch you later on, then?
Joan: Ok.
Adam: Careful. Have a good shoot.
Joan is taking the picture for the French Club. She sets up the shot.
Joan: Ok, now everybody gather around the tower. [Mutters inaudibly]
Student: Le lens cap.
Then she takes the picture for astronomy club. She is up in a tree and everyone is looking up at her.
Luke: This seems to be an unnecessarily adventurous angle.
Joan: Artists take risks, Luke. Ok? You're the astronomy club. You're supposed to be gazing up in wonder at the heavens. Ok. Give me wonder.
A little montage of Joan taking pictures.
Joan: Freezing life. (picture of some students kissing, then she hides in someones locker and scares them half to death when they open it. Next she stands in the hall and just shoots people walking) Very nice. Very nice. (She grabs someone walking by and adjusts their shirt) Oh, hold on one second. Ok, now look mean. Yes! Very nice. Here it is.
Later, after the pictures are developed, Joan is looking over them at the kitchen table.
Helen: Oh, you got your pictures back.
Joan: Yeah. They all suck. Look, that one's got too much glare, this one's out of focus.
Kevin: I'll be back later. I'm going to physio.
Helen: At night?
Kevin: Only time the new guy can see me. Every crip in town wants the electrical stim. See your legs move-- keeps the dream alive. (looks at the pictures) Hey, freaky ear.
Joan: (Snatching the picture out of his hand) It was supposed to be a whole person!
Kevin: Well, that didn't happen, did it? Later.
Helen: (to Joan) You just got started. There's a lot to learn.
Joan: But I studied-- aperture, shutter speed... I mean, I really thought I was taking some great shots. (Helen looks at her) A little encouragement, mom?
Helen: This one looking up at the tree is very interesting.
Joan: This is me falling.
Helen: Oh.
Joan: But it's good, though, right? I mean, I do have real talent, don't I?
Helen: Sure.
Joan: (Sighs)
Helen: What?
Joan: That was the same "sure" you gave me when I was 6 years old and told you I wanted to be a ballerina. That's a-- that's a bad "sure."
Helen: No, it isn't.
Joan: Yes, it is. You think me being the photographer is the same as a pudgy 6-year-old busting out of a little pink tutu?
Helen: No. I think that you can do anything you put your mind to, honey. I really do.
Joan: Iris is better, though, right?
Helen: Iris? What does she have to do with anything?
Joan: Mom, just answer the question! Iris is a better photographer, isn't she?
Helen: She has been taking photographs a lot longer, but once you finish those books, and you get the technical things down, I'm sure you'll be fantastic.
Joan: You're right. You're right. I will. I will rock... because... this is my thing.
Commercial break here. We continue with Luke who is running in the hall to catch up with Friedman.
Luke: Hey. So, now that we're not in mixed company, what's up with your hand?
Friedman: Early stages carpal tunnel.
Luke: From what?
Friedman: Dude, let's just say the bra strap doesn't unhook itself.
Luke: You got carpal tunnel from unhooking a bra?! You'd have to do it, like, 10,000 times.
Friedman: It's more of a strain kind of thing.
Luke: Well, how much strain could there be?
Friedman: We're talking about the one-handed bra strap release. The triple hook is the heavyweight division of bra straps? Once the first 2 hooks are undone, the pressure exerted on the final hook could crush a bird's neck. It's physics. Force, gravity... mass... and it's all concentrated on the tip of the index finger. So if the price is a little carpal tunnel, I say bring it.
Luke was hanging on his every word, and when Friedman stops talking, Luke almost falls over.
To the police stake out where Toni is walking past a van in a motel parking lot.
She gets in the van and we cut to inside. There is a camera set up in the suspects room and Will and other police are recording.
Suspect (On video): And I knew she was doing something that she shouldn't have, but--but--but when my business went under, she left me for that bastard
Carlyle: Mm-hmm. So what?
Suspect: So I want to hire you.
Will: Not often we get to catch the bad guy before he's bad.
Toni: No priors, 2 kids. 5 bucks says he backs out.
Will: You feeling sorry for him? He's meeting with a hit man about killing his wife!
Toni: I'm just not sure he goes there.
Will: There he is. He's there.
Other Police: Now, nailing hookers-- that's fun.
Toni: He still has a chance to think about his kids, that fact that she's their mother.
Will: He's been devoured by the green-eyed monster. The guy doesn't have a logical brain cell left. A hug from dr. Phil ain't gonna cure this one.
Police: Of course, we always bust the hookers just when the video starts getting interesting.
Ton 0 You're a pig, jerry.
Suspect: Just like that?
Carlyle: Yeah. You know, once this happens... there's no refunds.
Suspect: Yeah. I'll get the money, and I'll call you tomorrow.
Will: I'll take singles.
At the school, Joan is being lectured by Brian the Year book editor about her Pictures.
Brian: I thought you said you were a photographer.
Joan: I am. Those are photographs. I took them.
Brian: They're not usable.
Joan: I--I agree. There are a few problems, but I can redo them, you know? I've been studying.
Brian: It's crunch time! I need someone who can deliver now.
Joan: I will!
Brian: Look at iris' work. Now look at yours. I have a responsibility to my readers.
Joan: Brian, you're not publishing rolling stone here.
Brian: Return your equipment to Iris.
Joan: No, please! I'll work harder.
Brian: No. No! I've already told Justin in layout he can take over.
Joan: You can't do this. I'm supposed to be here. You can't take this away from me! Mom, you want to jump in here? Advise Brian not to fire me?
Helen: I think you can risk a little more time, Brian.
Brian: The yearbook is my responsibility, Mrs. Girardi, and I am not gonna play favourites just because she's your daughter.
Joan: We won't tell anyone.
Brian: Substandard performance as yearbook editor will affect the extracurricular portion of my college application.
Joan: (Whispers) Mom?
Helen: The school policy is clear, honey. I--I'm not supposed to affect decisions.
Joan: This isn't star trek! You're not gonna disrupt the space-time continuum or something! Or you know what? Maybe you will because maybe I guess I was only supposed to feel good about myself for like a minute!
Joan runs out of the class room. Adam is standing against the locker.
Adam: Hey!
Joan: (Sobbing) Please, don't follow me. I'll see you later.
Adam: But--
Joan: please!
Joan left school and is walking down the street. A man with a walker has dropped his bag of food.
Man: Excuse me, sweetheart. Can you help? (She stops to help) Thanks, Joan.
Joan: How could you do that to me? I just wanted something that was mine! Something that made me special.
God: Yes, yes, I know. Everyone wants to feel special.
Joan: Adam thought I was so cool.
God: Well, he's a very sweet boy.
Joan: Why would you take that away from me?
God: I didn't tell you to be a photographer.
Joan: You sent me there! They gave me a camera!
God: Well, I wanted you to work on the yearbook, and I'd still like you to do it. Just go back to the yearbook and work with the obnoxious kid.
Joan: You are so mean! And what's with this stupid walker? (She rips it out of his hands) You don't even need it, anyway!
She starts to walk away with it but there are some adults looking at her like shes from mars so she gives the walker back to the old man.
Later that night, Helen and Will are getting ready for bed and Helen is still upset about Brian.
Helen: Oh! And then he just fired her right there in front of everyone. And there I was, the advisor who couldn't do anything and the mother who wanted to throttle the little twit.
Will: My guess, you were objective and fair.
Helen: Yeah, and now I'm riddled with guilt and remorse.
Will: The permanent condition of parenthood.
Helen: What was I supposed to do?
Will: Nothing.
Helen: She's my little girl, Will. I see her like that, I just-- I want to take away all her sadness and pain.
Will: I know, but all we can really do is provide a safe and loving environment where our children can fail and be miserable.
Helen: How Mr. Rogers of you.
Will: Well, we all have drama in our lives. They have to learn that. It's a matter of degree. Us? We're lucky.
Helen: What is it?
Will: Oh, it's just a case. A guy with no priors, a couple of kids, meets with a hit man to kill his cheating wife. What is that?
Helen: Criminal behaviour.
Will: But how do you get there? Killing the mother of your children. How do you connect those dots?
Helen: After all these years as a cop, that still surprises you? You are a gentle, loving man, Will Girardi. Will - mph! And a little jealous every now and then, too.
Helen: Please!
Will: What? Look at you! Those eyes, the way you move.
Helen: Are you gonna start singing?
Will: I'm just saying.
Helen: Ha ha!
Will: Why are you laughing?
Helen: It's nice that you still get jealous. I thought it was just me.
Will: You? With this gut?
Helen: I've seen women checking you out.
Will: Oh, yeah? Yeah. That's my gut.
She kisses him and we go downstairs to Joan. She is sitting on the couch with a gallon of ice cream. Kevin comes home.
Kevin: (Exasperated sigh) What are you still doing up?
Joan: Gorging. Where'd you come from?
Kevin: Paper. I'm working on the big summer fun issue, which, um, isn't really that fun and not too summery in April.
Joan: How'd you know writing would be your thing?
Kevin: I didn't. I still don't. I--I just tried it. So far, it's working out.
Joan: You're lucky.
Kevin: Wow. That sounded genuine. You must be depressed. What happened with the pictures?
Joan: The usual. Failure. Humiliation. Hmph. [Smacks lips]
Kevin: You can walk.
Joan: Heh! (she smiles) Good night, Kevin.
Kevin: Good night.
And we are off into another commercial. I have to apologise for this next bit. I forgot to hit the record button again after the commercial break. The captions copied ok, but I dont have tape to make sure Ive got the right person saying the right things.
I believe we start back the next day at the year book.
Joan: Brian, I need to talk to you.
Brian: I thought I was clear. You cannot take any more photographs!
Student: Hey, don't let her have a camera!
Joan: No, no, no, I don't want a camera, ok? I just want to help out with the yearbook.
Brian: Why? Your failure is so fresh. I'd be hiding.
Joan: Morale boosting is not your thing, is it?
Brian: Not at crunch time.
Joan: I know. That's why you need my help. Ok? I'll do anything.
Brian: You must really love yearbook.
Joan: Yeah. I mean, it's always been my dream to-- to be...a part of a book that's about the year.
Brian: We need someone to run errands, keep the paper stocked, take out the trash.
Joan: Heh! That's all you have?
Brian: That's it. Do you know how to work the copy machine?
Joan: Press the little button that says "copy?" Yeah.
Brian: Excellent. Why don't you start by taking out all the garbage? You know where to put it?
Joan: Yeah, I know exactly where to put it. (She grabs a box of paper and a bag and takes it out to the trash. On her way back in she bumps into Iris) Unh!
Iris: Oh!
Joan: I hope you enjoyed telling Adam about my nosedive from yearbook grace.
Iris: I didn't say anything.
Joan: Look, you and he were-- and now I am his-- so that makes me, like, fair game, right?
Iris: I miss him. But it looked like things were hard enough for you. Making it worse, how would that help me?
Joan: Thanks, Iris
Iris: I didn't do it for you.
Joan: Adam said you were ok with us.
Iris: You said the same thing when I was dating him.
Brian comes rushing in.
Brian: Ok, this is a code red, people! We are missing the poetry submissions! Amy left them in a box by her desk, so if anyone sees them--
Joan: (to Helen) I thought they were trash. They were in an old ratty box.
Helen: Oh! Ok. So we won't have poetry this year. Ok. It was the little creep's idea anyway. (she is whispering to Joan so Brian wont hear) Just be cool and I will cover for you.
Joan: Ok.
Brian: You'll cover for her? You would compromise the integrity of this publication by engaging in blatant favouritism and lying?
Helen: I was just speaking with my daughter.
Brian: The one who can't even take out the garbage?
Helen: Hey! You watch your mouth, you arrogant little weasel!
Joan: Mom, it's gonna be ok, really. I'll find the poems.
Brian: Mrs. Girardi, if improprieties such as these arise, I don't know how we can continue to work together.
Helen: Oh, really? Oh, well, that's not gonna be a problem, Brian, because for your own safety I'm gonna be suggesting to Mr. Turnbull that he take over my position. Oh, and could you let me know which colleges you're gonna be applying to? Because I might want to right them a little note. Come on, Joan. (Joan doesnt move) Joan?
Joan: I--I can't leave.
Helen: Oh!
Joan: M-- (Helen leaves) ohh.
Joan goes outside to try and find the poetry. A garbage man comes over.
God: Hey, Joan, where you off to?
Joan: Ugh. Where do you think I'm off to? Back to get humiliated by a dork with a sweater vest.
God: What? You're not even gonna look?
Joan: Like I'm actually gonna find a bunch of poems in this heap of trash. Forget it!
God: But the search is the whole point.
Joan: Digging through the garbage is the point. Are you running a fever?
God: Do you know the 12 labours of Hercules? A bunch of seemingly pointless tasks that won back his honour. And how about psyche? When she needed to find her way back to her love, Aphrodite put her to work sorting beans until they were reunited.
Joan: Well, I saw Hercules, but my parents wouldn't let me see psycho.
God: Come on, Joan.
Joan: (makes a face and a squrmy jumpy dance) Oh! It's disgusting in there.
God: Searching for something of value is never easy.
Joan: You mean one of those poems is actually worth something? (She gets into the dumpster) Ew! (God gets out) Oh! Hey, you're not even gonna help? (God does the God Wave and Leaves) Oh! Oh, god, I'm standing in creamed chicken!
To the school hall way where Luke and Glynis are waking.
Luke: You know what? Um, let's skip the park today. You know, I was thinking maybe we could go to Sal's arcade, play a little house of the dead.
Glynis: But the park will be so beautiful. The angiosperms will be alive with burgeoning anthers.
Luke: I know. It's just-- I'm kind of in the mood to play house of the dead. I mean, I don't know why you don't just give it a chance. You know, the graphics are only 64-bit but--
Glynis: ok. Fine.
Luke: Look...I'm sorry. It's just Friedman and I used to always go to the arcade.
Glynis: Do I keep you from spending time with him?
Luke: No, no, no, not at all, but... heh! You know what? I'm being a prodigious dunce right now. We'll get a chance to see sepals flare on the hydrangeas.
Glynis: But if you want to play house of the dead--
Luke: No. On to the park.
After Joan has finished going through the garbage she rushes back to the year book room.
Joan: So, I read all the poems, and this one--
Brian: it stinks.
Joan: Well, I thought it was fantastic.
Brian: I was being literal.
Joan: Oh, right. Well, you leave tuna out in the sun for an hour and it turns into a weapon of mass destruction.
Brian: This poem is excellent. Most excellent. Who wrote it?
Joan: I don't know. So I guess it's by anonymous, who, of course, wrote some of the best stuff ever.
Brian: Can't publish it. If it's plagiarized, we could get sued and I wind up going to junior college. Not gonna happen. I'll pick another poem.
Joan: You can't!
Brian: Editor-in-chief, girl from the garbage. I think we know who's gonna make the call on this one.
Joan: But the others stink! Worse than tuna. This one, this is the one! It's got real value, like finding love in the beans.
Brian: Forget it. Those pages go to the printer tomorrow.
Joan: Then I still have time. I'll find out who wrote it before then.
To Will, Toni and Jerry at the stake out van.
Suspect: (on camera) And when I lost the business, she said it was because I was spineless. You know, she told me I was nothing. And then she started hunting around for somebody else like--like I didn't exist anymore.
Jerry: She was pulling his strings, now we are.
Will: Feeling like god now, jerry?
Jerry: Nah. Coppola. Not the daughter, the big guy.
Suspect: (On tape) Well, she's gonna know I exist now.
Carlyle: Did you bring the pictures? Because I'm gonna need pictures of her.
Suspect: Yeah, yeah. And her schedule.
Jerry: I wish I had a second camera. I could cut to a nice arty shot of the hand-off.
Carlyle: What about the cash?
Suspect: Yeah.
Will: Here we go.
Toni: Come on, don't do it.
Jerry: I'd put music under this shot. Not strings. Maybe solo piano.
Suspect: All right.
Jerry: Music swells and...
Suspect: (hands Carlyle a bank envelope) ok, there it is.
Jerry: Ka-ching.
Outside in the parking lot, the suspect is being arrested.
Suspect: She was trying to break up my family.
Will: So, you were doing it for the kids, killing their mother?
Suspect: I would've taken good care of them. I'm a good father.
Will: Yeah. You're a real special guy.
Later, On the roof. Joan is sitting alone reading the poem. Adam comes in.
Adam: Hey.
Joan: Hey.
Adam: Um, I've been looking everywhere for you.
Joan: Oh, I was-- I was on a search. I smell. Everyone's yelling at me.
Adam: (Sniffs) You're kind of ripe.
Joan: Hmph. Sorry.
Adam: So, um... are you gonna tell me?
Joan: Oh! Some moron accidentally threw out the poetry submissions so I had to go dumpster diving.
Adam: Oh, no, no, I meant, um, I meant are you gonna tell me why you ran out yesterday?
Joan: I just got in this really... stupid fight with Brian. So I, um, I pulled my photographs, you know. Yeah, yeah. He just didn't get me. You know how that is.
Adam: Yeah. You know, if something's wrong, Jane, you know, whatever it is, you know you can talk to me.
Joan: Of course, yeah.
Adam: So, that's the poem?
Joan: Uh, yeah. Heh heh heh! Yep, with extra sauce. Heh! I'm sort of the literary editor now.
Adam: Cool.
Joan: Yeah. Someone submitted it without a name, and Brian won't print it unless I can find out who wrote it. It's called sewer walking. It's a crazy title, I know, but it's just... really beautiful. (She reads) You and me, we used to talk like a river underground. The sewer where we used to walk, the hole at the end empties to out to the pier where paper boats disappear. Me, I try to send this note, float it like a paper boat, but paper sinks and words are weak. I try, but I don't speak.
Joan looks up at Adam. Hes stunned.
Joan: Are--are you ok?
Adam: (Exhales) I know who wrote that. Sewer walking and paper boats. Grace. Grace wrote that.
Joan: Oh!
Joan sits stunned. Then she smiles and we go to commercial break.
When we return, Joan is at Graces house.
Grace: was is it with you and coming over unannounced? You're like a sitcom character.
Joan: I come with--ooh! Essential info. Because of my keen literary eye and crazy detective skills, your poem will be featured in the yearbook.
Grace: Excuse me?
Joan: Which almost didn't happen, by the way, because you forgot to put your name on it, silly.
Grace: Heh! You're a bent pipe, Girardi. I have absolutely no idea what you're babbling about.
Joan: Mm! Look familiar?
Grace: You picked through my garbage at school? Are you sick?
Joan: Ahem. No. I mean, yeah, I picked-- because you submitted it to the yearbook.
Grace: No, I didn't. I had lunch, then scribbled some crap, and then used it to wipe the creamed chicken off my pants before I tossed it.
Joan: So you don't want it in the yearbook?
Grace: Heh heh heh! Remember me, Girardi? Do I participate?
Joan: Wow! This is awesome!
Grace: No, it isn't. It's creepy, and you're losing it.
Joan: Look, it might seem strange how I found it, but I did find it, and now they want to publish it in the yearbook.
Grace: Tough luck.
Joan: Grace, do you know how that touched me? Huh? You have this whole Emily Dickinson crazy talent that no one ever knew about and now they will.
Grace: No, they won't! I'm not having some pimply dorkwads pointing me out as "sensitive poetry girl."
Joan: Come on! At first, I didn't know why I was at the yearbook, but now I do. I'm supposed to find something of value and print it. If I don't, I'll be, like, this total loser.
Grace: Fine. Whatever. Put it in the yearbook. Just don't put my name on it.
Joan: I don't understand! If I could write like that, I'd put my name on it, like, 50 times! Ugh!
To the arcade. Friedman is playing a game.
Luke: Heh. Friedman. Hey. Where's Brittany?
Friedman: Day off. Glynis?
Luke: Same. Oh, this is great. Nice. Nice! God, man, you are amazing. Dude, Friedman, you're famous.
Friedman: I've been playing a lot.
Luke: Brittany likes house of the dead?
Friedman: Yeah, yeah. She's a-- she's a big fan.
Luke: Cool.
Friedman: (Sighs) Let's not keep this up, dude. I made up the whole Brittany thing. We both know that.
Luke: Why?
Friedman: (Sighs) You and Glynis, man. You're always locking lips and smiling. I was like this extra atom of hydrogen watching a water molecule form... so I created my own compound.
Luke: What about the bra strap thing?
Friedman: I do have a natural gift. My mom has a sewing mannequin in the basement, so...I practice on it with her bras. The internet only goes so far.
Luke: You--you used your...mom's bras?
Friedman: I'm Jewish, dude. Neurotic really is a part of the deal. Look, I'm really sorry I lied. I mean... I just kind of missed hanging out, you know? Battling zombies by yourself can be pathetic.
Luke: Yeah. I've been trying to get down here for days. I mean, Glynis just wants to walk through the park, you know? I--you know, I'm a fan of photosynthesis as much as the next guy, but if god merely wanted us to smell the flowers, he wouldn't have invented a 3-gigahertz microprocessor and a 3-d graphics board, you know?
Friedman: Trouble in paradise?
Luke: No, no. It's just sometimes I feel a little... pressure, you know, like...someone puts a pillow over our face and you can't breathe. But, I mean, just sometimes.
Friedman: Brittany was cool. She let the Friedman be the Friedman. 2 player? I'll spot you 50 million.
(Game starting)
They play for a while and we go to the high school. Helen is in her class.
Joan: Hi, mom.
Helen: How's Mr. Turnbull? His comb-over stylish as always?
Joan: I wanted to leave with you, but...
Helen: you don't have to explain yourself to me.
Joan: Yes I do. You were so on my side, and it was like I just dissed you after we'd been through this thing together.
Helen: Actually, that's quite an accurate description of what happened.
Joan: It's just... I had to stay. There was a poem I had to find.
Helen: A poem. I'm trying, Joan. I want to be there for you. But when I am, you want me to back off. And when I back off, you say that I'm not supporting you.
Joan: Oh, I wish I could explain. But I don't-- I don't get it myself.
Helen: I know the teenage thing is hard, but... boy, it is not easy being a mother, either. I think I have it down with one kid, and then something springs up and I'm clueless... all over again.
Joan: (Whispering) I'm sorry.
Helen: You just have to understand. Whatever it is... if we don't go through it together... I don't want to lose you.
Joan: You have to trust... that what I'm doing... there are reasons. And it's all gonna be ok.
Helen: Promise.
Joan: Yes.
They hug. its a sweet mother daughter moment.
God: Whoops. Sorry there, ladies. Just need to get your recycling. Save the old planet.
Helen: Of course. It's, um... it's right over here.
Joan: I, uh, I should help him, uh, carry some stuff down.
God: Oh, thanks. Thanks, kid.
Joan: You're not gonna make me go through all this stuff, are you?
God: No. You're all set. I just wanted to say nice job.
Joan: Nice job on what?
God: Yearbook. You're finished.
Joan: How can I be finished? I don't even know what my thing is yet. I mean, isn't that what this was supposed to be about?
God: Maybe for you. I just wanted you to find that poem.
Joan: Why? Nobody's ever gonna know who wrote it. What good does that do?
God: Do you know who carved the facade of Notre dame cathedral or the sculptures at the Parthenon?
Joan: (Sighs) I haven't gotten to that chapter yet.
God: No one knows. Their names are lost to everyone but me. But does that make their creations any less beautiful?
Joan: You know, I-- I'd really love to feel like I've been working on Notre dame, but somehow...
God: who you are is enough, Joan. You already have your thing. You're a searcher. You try and you fail... and you try again.
Joan: So my thing is failing? Thanks. That makes me feel a lot better.
God: Stop hiding who you are.
He looks at her in the eyes and then leaves.
Joan goes up to the roof and sees Adam.
Joan: Hey, what are you drawing?
Adam: Um...you.
Joan: But I never got a chance to sit for you.
Adam: Well, I didn't need you to.
Joan: Adam... you know how you said I could talk to you about anything, and I said I knew that?
Adam: Yeah.
Joan: I lied. I think I've been afraid to talk to you about almost... everything.
Adam: Why?
Joan: I didn't want to mess up what we have.
Adam: Jane... you--
Joan: I didn't take back my photos from the yearbook. I got fired. I'm not a photographer or an artist like Iris. I'm not a literary editor or... [Sighs] A science geek or anything. I'm-- I mean, I tried to be, but I'm not. I'm really just... digging around in the garbage trying to... find something that matters.
Adam: That's what I love about you, Jane. (He kisses her)
Joan: Yeah?
Adam: (Whispering) Yeah.
Joan: Grace can still be anonymous. But everyone's gonna see her poem. Like Notre dame. Come on.
Joan opens a box. They start throwing very colourful sheets of paper off the roof. Graces poem is written on them. Grace is going by on her skateboard. She picks one up. Reads it and looks up. She smiles at Joan who smiles back.
The end.
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