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Joan walks into school with Adam, her arms wrapped around his. Grace is behind them. Joan wonders what's for lunch; Grace volunteers that it's creamed chicken. Joan complains, "Can't the cafeteria make anything else?" Adam: "Chah, it's Tuesday. Tuesday, the chicken gets creamed." Joan giggles. It's nice to see her so happy. Then they run into Iris, who says, "Hey," kind of stiffly. Joan drops Adam's arm as Iris walks alongside, telling them, "This bowl of fruit I drew totally blows. I'll be lucky to get an F." Adam: "Your shading is totally brutal, yo." I must be getting old, because at first I can't actually tell if he's using "brutal" as a negative or positive. I know "brutal" is usually bad, but it seems highly unlike Adam to be so blunt. But it's accompanied by a quick, dismissive nod, and he immediately turns his attention back to Joan. Iris agrees: "Total brutality!" Adam makes sure to include Joan in the conversation as soon as possible: "Your mom's teaching us so many techniques, like hatching and cross-hatching" Iris: "Stippling, scaling" Joan makes an effort to look politely interested; Grace can't be arsed. In unison, Adam and Iris say, "Stippling is so cool." Then there's a teensy little awkward pause while everyone briefly ponders the uncomfortable implications of the simultaneous declaration. Joan: "Sounds cool." Grace: "I fell asleep when she started talking about fruit." Ha! I love Grace. I think Grace needs her own entire show. Maybe they could call it Grace of Leave Me the Hell Alone.

Grace wanders off, as Iris looks slightly bummed but not surprised, and backs away slightly toward the classroom to give Adam a little space while he asks Joan to meet him on the roof after class: "I gotta do this life sketch and I was hoping I could use you." Iris permits herself a mild snipe: "Very Titanic." But her voice wavers just a bit, and it comes off more like brokenhearted envy than Grace-like sarcasm. Iris takes off as Adam watches her with slight dismay and Joan shakes her head to herself. Adam tells Joan, "She's really okay with us." Yeah, you think? Joan: "Happystippling." They part, and Joan moves to her locker, where Grace is waiting, bored and impatient. She informs Joan, "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." She tries to smile innocently and totally fails. Grace: "Yeah, it is. You're totally into that whole whisper-giggle thing." Joan doesn't know what Grace means, so Grace explains, "You know, you get some lame little secret, and you whisper it to each other, and then you push your heads together, and you do that moron giggle thing." Yeah, she pretty much nailed it. Joan giggles to herself, already fond of the whisper-giggle thing: "No, we don't." Grace: "Trust me, dude. Today, in chemistry! I mean, sitting behind Friedman is enough to make me want to hurl. I don't need the extra help." Joan denies this and offers to tell her what it was about, but Grace interjects: "No, no! God, no. I'm just saying, if it happens again, there'll be physical pain." Joan complains that it's hard for her to find things she has in common with Adam: "I should at least be able to enjoy them." Grace: "Tongue wrestling getting old already?" Joan says that's not it: "Adam's an artist, and Iris is, too. I'm, like, nothing. How can I compete?" I love the "Go Away" sticker on Grace's locker. Joan continues, "Hey, I can colour in Ronald McDonald and not go outside the lines. Which, by the way, is a lie."

As they walk off, Grace reminds Joan that Adam dumped Spunky Booster for her. Joan wonders why. Grace is thoroughly disgusted now: "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." Grace notices Joan's brother and Glynis yakking by the lockers, and she comments, "Luke and the Ostrich seem pretty happy, though." Ha! Ostrich! I call a shout-out. Joan: "That's because they can talk for days about Einstein's hair." Grace can't quite take her eyes off them as they pass, and she says, "I didn't think they would last this long." Joan: "Do you care?" Grace sneers, "Have I ever?" Kinda looks like you might. Joan: "Hey, we're talking about me here, remember?" Grace: "I got bored." She wanders off. Granola Bar God comes up behind Joan and breezes past her, saying, "You seem down, Joan." Joan snots about God's perceptiveness. Granola Bar God asks Joan why she's so upset. Joan: "I don't know, maybe because the All-Knowing One forgot to give me a life." Oy, this girl. First she was whining endlessly about wanting a boyfriend, and finally she woke up to the one God put in front of her in, like, what, the second episode? Now she has a boy with a place in the Lloyd Dobler Boyfriend Hall of Fame and she's still not happy. Granola Bar God: "Oh, I've supplied everything you need for a perfect life." Joan gripes, "Yeah, you just won't tell me where you hid it." Granola Bar God: "Maybe you're not looking." Joan insists she is, and whines that she has nothing to "bring to the party" compared to Iris: "I mean, I want to be good at something. You know, everyone around me has their thing. I want a thing." God tells her the yearbook is going to the printer in a week and they need help. Joan realizes that since her mother's the yearbook advisor, she'd have to be advised by her mother: "Unlessyearbook is where I'll find my 'thing.'" Granola Bar God says knowingly: "Work at the yearbook." She walks off as Joan gets all excited and says she will. She calls out, "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!" Just as long as you remember to pay tribute to your hair and makeup people first -- just like they do at the Grammys. Granola Bar God disappears around a corner with a Godwave. Joan laughs and gloats to herself: "My thing!" I realize that when Joan's giddy or gleeful, her expressions and especially her voice remind me of my yoga teacher.

Credits and commercials. Promo for The O.C.. Man, it's comical to see Mischa Barton's face practically in the same frame as Amber Tamblyn's. Mischa Barton makes Tori Spelling look like Vanessa freaking Redgrave. But I'm shooting fish in a barrel. And here's this Post Banana Nut Crunch commercial with this quasi-Jamie Oliver asshole. Like Jamie Oliver isn't annoying enough. We need sorry imitators?

Okay. The police storyline in this episode felt entirely unnecessary and was mercifully minimal. We won't be spending much time on it. Roy gives Will and Toni and assignment to apprehend a cuckolded guy trying to arrange for the contract killing of his wife. There's a third guy, Carlyle, who will be acting as the hitman in the sting. Frink thinks he's very Gary Oldman-ish, but I don't really see it. Will makes a remark about their video getting on Cops, which causes everyone to stare at him. Will: "Love that show."

Yearbook office. Helen's advising the yearbook editor, Brian, who appears to be exactly what Daniel Radcliffe will be if he grows up to be an insufferable, anal-retentive, Type A nerd in a sweater vest. With curlier hair. He yatters on about the deadlines as he fusses nervously with a nonexistent piece of lint on his orange (yes, orange) sweater vest. Annoyed, Helen finally intercepts his hand and pats it, saying he can relax: "The lint is gone. You're gonna rip a hole in your sweater." Joan walks in, and Helen immediately wants to know if everything's all right. Joan: "Mom, please. I'm just here to volunteer for the yearbook." Helen has that "Now what?" expression on her face. Brian: "Mrs. G's offspring. Excellent, excellent." He introduces himself as Brian Beaumont, Editor-in-Chief. His enthusiasm causes Joan to say, "Gee, I'm doing well and I haven't even gotten to work yet." Joan indicates her mother should vamoose, so Helen complies. Brian wants to know how Joan intends to contribute; what her "thing" is. Joan rambles, saying that her thing is whatever he needs. He needs a photographer: "Can you take photographs?" Joan: "Oh, I must be able to." Brian looks slightly puzzled, and Joan says, "Yeah, yeah, sure." It's interesting how usually Joan's first reaction to anything God wants her to do consists of resistance and refusal, but this time, she seems to think that just because she whined for a thing and God pointed her to the yearbook, she's not going to have any problems. Brian suddenly calls Iris's name. She emerges from another room in a plastic apron, as Brian tells her to give the new recruit a camera. Iris looks dismayed to see she's going to have to deal with Joan, but attempts to be polite and professional about it. Brian: "So you two know each other? Iris is an excellent photographer." Joan repeats to herself quietly, "Excellent!" Brian says they need some candid shots and pictures of various clubs by the end of the day. He goes off to get a list. Iris hands Joan a camera and its manual, along with a baleful look. Joan asks, "Is this gonna be weird?" Iris: "No." Joan: "Cool." Iris says she didn't know Joan was into photography. Joan, as she fiddles cluelessly with the camera: "Me? Yeah." Iris tries to suppress a smirk as she offers, "If you need any help with the camera" Joan dismisses this: "This baby is a snapjust push this button here" Iris points out the right button. Joan says she was joking. Iris: "Yeah. Later." Joan continues struggling with the camera. Frink: "Take the cover off the lens." Yeah, that's sort of a hoary old error at this point.

Friedman's walking through the hall, followed by Luke and Glynis. Luke tells him, "Glynis and I are going to a Chekhov-Sulu Star Trek spectacular Saturday night." Frink, the big geek, perks up at this mention: "Cool." Me: "It's so not." Glynis says, "George Takei in the house!" She asks Friedman if he wants to join them. Friedman does not. Luke: "What's up, Aulander?" Or possibly "Owlander," as the closed captioning has it. Some viewers thought they heard "Outlander," but I don't hear a T in there anywhere. Maybe Friedman is the guy's first name, after all. And maybe his last name is Aulander, or Owlander, or whatever. Luke complains that Friedman never wants to do anything anymore: "You have a new friend base?" Opening his locker, Friedman says, "One: Brittany." Luke: "A girlfriend?" Glynis: "Deets. Give us the deets." "Deets"? No. Justno. Friedman claims to have 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." Shut it, Friedman. Glynis looks slightly anxious. Friedman: "The whole manger." The whole what? Manger? I have to say, I've never heard that expression. Luke's mouth is hanging open slightly, and Glynis nudges him sharply. Please, Glynis. Surely you're smart enough to recognize an imaginary girlfriend when a doofus makes one up. Luke tells him to bring her along on Saturday. Friedman says he'll ask her, as he flexes his right hand sort of uncomfortably. Luke asks what's wrong with his hand. Friedman glances at Glynis and says quietly to Luke, "When we're not in mixed company, dude." Oh, good Lord. If I'm going to have to hear about that sort of carpal tunnel injury from Friedman, I want a raise. Luke's expression is a mixture of curiosity and disbelief and Glynis nudges him sharply again. Yeah, don't marry that one, Luke.

Joan's up on the roof of the school, fiddling with the camera. Adam arrives and steals up behind her, and says, "Hey." I would have exited my skin, but Joan only jumps a bit, and greets him happily. She explains she's figuring out the fine points of the camera. Adam says he didn't know she took pictures. Joan: "Sure. It's my thing. Did you know I'm one of the photographers for the yearbook?" Adam mentions Iris is doing that, too. Joan: "Yeah, I know. But for me, it's more like a calling." Adam smiles and says he didn't know. Joan, flirtatiously: "There's a lot you don't know about me, Mr. Rove." She kisses him. They talk about the pictures she's supposed to shoot. Adam: "Its really cool, you know, what you can do with a camera. Like catching passing moments in timeand freezing life." Joan looks at him, smiling, and says she likes this: "Talking like this." She has to take off. Adam guesses he'll sketch her later on. Frink and I, in dopey voices in unison: "Sketch you later!" "Jinx!" As she takes off Adam says, "Careful. Have a good shoot."

Cut to Joan taking various candid and club shots. The first one, of the French club, she attempts with the lens cap on. One little dork in a red beret snots, "Le lens cap." If there's something doofier than a man in a beret, I don't know what it is. Joan removes it. Then she shoots the astronomy club. Luke comments, "This seems to be an unnecessarily adventurous angle" Joan, from her perch up in a tree, tells her brother that "artists take risks." She wants them gazing up at the sky in wonder: "Give me some wonder." She struts through the halls, snapping shots randomly. One is of a couple making out (not Makeout Couple, though). But she takes the picture by just brandishing the camera in their general direction and not even looking through the viewfinder. She hides in some guy's locker and makes a weird face as he opens it, snapping his picture as he freaks. She buttonholes some other kid in the hall with instructions to "look mean."

Joan's at the dining room table that evening, looking at all her prints. That was fast. Helen comes home and notices them. Joan complains that they all suck, and proceeds to point out the flaws in them. Kevin comes in and says he's off to physio. Helen: "At night?" Is that really so odd? I just started seeing a physiotherapist, and she and her associate both have office hours in the early evening. Kevin says it's the only time the new guy can see him: "Every crip in town wants the electrical stim. See your legs move -- keeps the dream alive." He picks up a picture and says, "Hey, freaky ear!" Joan snatches it: "It was supposed to be a whole person." Well, dear, that's what the viewfinder's for. Kevin smarms, "Well, that didn't happen, did it?" He really is an excellent choice for older brother. He takes off. Helen reassures her, saying she's just begun and there's a lot to learn. Joan whines that she studied: "I mean, I really thought I was taking some great shots." Helen doesn't say anything. Joan: "A little encouragement, Mom?" Helen picks one out: "This one looking up at the tree is very interesting." Joan: "This is me, falling!" Heh. "But it's good, though, right? I mean, I do have real talent, don't I?" Helen, unconvincingly: "Sure!" She takes the groceries into the kitchen. Joan: "That was the same 'sure' you gave me when I was six years old and told you I wanted to be a ballerina. That's a -- that's a bad 'sure.'" Helen denies this. Joan presses on: "Yes, it is. You think me being the photographer is the same a pudgy six-year-old busting out of a little pink tutu?" Helen insists she believes Joan can do anything she puts her mind to. Joan: "Iris is better, though, right?" Her mother wonders what Iris has to do with anything. Joan: "Mom, just answer the question! Iris is a better photographer, isn't she?" Helen says Iris has been doing it a lot longer, but she's sure Joan will be fantastic if she keeps at it and learns the technical aspects. Joan agrees: "You're right. You're right. I will. I will rockbecausethis is my thing."

Friedman walks through the hall, massaging his wrist. Luke ambushes him, asking, "Hey! So, now that we're not in mixed companywhat's up with your hand?" Man, Luke is just dying to know. Me, not so much. Friedman says it's "early stages carpal tunnel." Luke: "From what?" Friedman: "Dude, let's just say, the bra strap doesn't unhook itself." Luke -- along with the rest of humankind -- is incredulous: "You got carpal tunnel from unhooking a bra?" Oy. And this girlfriend, she didn't die of complete and utter boredom while you struggled to the point of a repetitive strain injury? Luke's scientific mind naturally resists this nonsense: "You'd have to do it, like, 10,000 times!" Friedman claims it's more to do with the degree of strain than the number of repetitions. Luke: "Well, how much strain could there be?" Friedman assumes that "you mental midget" tone as he says, "We're talking about the one-handed bra strap release. The triple hook's the heavyweight division of bra straps." Luke still doesn't seem to grasp the physics Friedman's driving at, so Friedman elaborates: "Once the first two hooks are undone, the pressure exerted on the final hook could crush a bird's neck. It's physics: force, gravitymass" Frink: "Bozons" Friedman: "And it's all concentrated on the tip of the index finger. So if the price is a little carpal tunnelI say bring it." As Friedman takes off, Luke kind of lists toward the wall, thrown off-balance by this astonishing revelation.

Toni and Will are staking out the motel where the sting's going down. They're in a van outside watching everything on camera, along with a guy who I guess is the A/V technician. I think he might be a H!ITG!. Toni bets five bucks the guy will back out before sealing the deal. She clearly wants to believe that. They argue about whether this guy will go through with it. A/V Tech contributes, "Now, nailing hookers: that's fun." I presume he means "running successful sting operations on prostitutes," but I suppose you can take it any way you like. Will thinks any rational function this guy has left has been destroyed by his jealousy (the guy's wife cheated on him). A/V Tech: "Course, we always bust the hookers just when the video starts getting interesting." Who is this guy -- Friedman's uncle? Toni: "You're a pig, Jerry." Jerry couldn't care less. They watch Carlyle and the perp agree to exchange funds tomorrow. Will holds his hand out to Toni: "I'll take singles."

Joan's at the yearbook office, where Brian's working up to ripping her a new one: "I thought you said you were a photographer!" Joan: "I am! Those are photographs! I took them!" Brian is wearing a shirt and tie, which would get him beaten up pretty regularly if he ever left the yearbook office. Joan is wearing a very cute outfit: a sort of soft chartreuse cardigan over a dark coral T-shirt, and a full, gathered skirt in a light beige colour with some kind of vintage-looking print on it. It doesn't sound as good on paper as it looks. I love the way she dresses, particularly in skirts and dresses. Brian, standing to Iris at a light table, says the photos aren't useable. Joan offers to redo them. Brian: "It's crunch time! I need someone who can deliver -- now!" She says she will. Brian: "Look at Iris's work. Now look at yours. I have a responsibility to my readers." Joan: "Brian, you're not publishing Rolling Stone here." No? You'd almost think. I was on the yearbook all five years in high school, and I was editor in the third year. Actually, I was co-editor, because the normal policy was that only people in Grade 13 could be editors, so I talked them into letting me do it in Grade 11 by offering to have a co-editor (yo, Libby!). Anyway, I know that was back in the Mesozoic, but we had nothing on the order of the Arcadia High yearbook office, which is huge, with lots of its own equipment (copiers, light tables, computers, etc.). We did all our layout by drawing and pasting things up on specially designed grid paper provided by the yearbook printing company, and all of the class and club photos were done professionally. Only candid shots were done by students. And I definitely did not go around berating people and blathering about my responsibility to my readers. In fact, if I recall properly, it was more like twisting people's arms and cajoling them to get them to do much of anything. The typing teacher was our advisor (yo, Mrs. K!) and I don't remember actually having an office -- I think we just had some space in the typing room where we kept our stuff and we worked in there after school and during spares (and quite a few weekends, in order to get things done on time). ["We had to use the library." -- Sars] Despite our best efforts, it was all very quaint and amateurish. But I suppose things have come a long, long way now. I would have killed to have a tenth of the operation this guy's got.

Joan's up on the roof by herself, reading the poem. Adam arrives and says he's been looking everywhere for her. Joan: "Oh, I wasI was on a search. I smell. And everyone's yelling at me" Adam takes a sniff, and even at a distance, he agrees, "You're kind of ripe." Joan: "Sorry." Adam: "So, umare you gonna tell me?" Joan: "Ohsome moron accidentally threw out the poetry submissions, so I had to go dumpster diving." He's actually wondering about why she ran out yesterday. Joan: "I just got in this really stupid fight with Brian, so I, um, pulled my photographs, you know. Yeah. Yeah. He just didn't get me. You know how that is." Adam's sweet, but he's not dumb: "Yeah. You know, if something's wrong, Jane, you know, whatever it is, you know you can talk to me." She says she does. Adam: "So that's the poem?" Joan laughs softly: "Yeahwith extra sauce." She adds, "I'm sort of the literary editor now." Adam's face lights up a bit: "Cool." But you can tell it's only because he's happy for her, not because it matters one way or another to him. She explains that someone submitted the poem without a name, and Brian won't print it unless she can discover the author. "It's called 'Sewer Walking.' It's a crazy title, I know, but it's justreally beautiful." She starts reading it to him: "'You and me, we used to talk / Like a river underground, the sewer / where we used to walk / The hole at the end empties out to the pier / Where paper boats disappear." Second stanza: "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 glances at Adam, whose expression looks distant, and thoughtful, and vaguely troubled. Of course, Frink and I both think Iris must have written it. Joan asks if he's okay. He finally sighs and says he knows who wrote it: "Sewer walking and paper boats. Grace. Grace wrote that." Wow. Joan smiles as that sinks in. Wouldn't she have recognized Grace's writing? She's been sitting to Grace in AP Chem all year; they study together. Whatever. I suppose Grace really misses Adam.

After the commercials, Grace is leading Joan into her kitchen, complaining, "What is it with you and coming over unannounced? You're like a sitcom character." I'm surprised she's got nothing to say about the stink on Joan. I'm also all excited that we finally get to see inside Grace's house. Big place, nice stuff. They've got some money. Joan replies, "I come with -- ooh!" She spies a tray of rugelach and grabs it. Help yourself, girlie. She continues, "essential info." While Joan's back is turned, Grace notices a picture on the stainless steel side-by-side fridge and quickly snatches it and stuffs it beside the fridge. What was that, do you suppose? It kind of looked like a picture of a baby or toddler. Would they really still have a picture of Grace up there from fifteen years ago? If it's not Grace, why would she be so embarrassed? I enjoy these little mysteries.

Luke says he's been trying to come to the arcade for days, and Glynis just wants to hang out at the park: "You know, I'm a fan of photosynthesis as much as the guy, but if God merely wanted us to smell the flowers, he wouldn't have invented a three-gigahertz microprocessor and a 3D graphics board, you know?" Frink's all over that. The Friedman: "Trouble in paradise?" Luke denies it, but admits to feeling a bit pressured: "Like [when] someone puts a pillow over your face and you can't breathe. But, I mean, just sometimes." The Friedman: "Brittany was cool. She let The Friedmanbe the Friedman." Yeah, imaginary girls are great that way. ["I sort of liked The Friedman here. He had a certain lan. Whatever else you can say about him, The Friedman is not afraid to be The Friedman." -- Sars] He offers to spot Luke fifty million points. They happily slaughter zombies side-by-side. Man, why'd Friedman have to go and be all vulnerable and humanoid? Makes it harder to hate him. Actually, I rag on the character a lot, but I really should give Aaron Himelstein props: he does a really good job playing Friedman.

Helen's alone in her classroom when Joan arrives. Her mother asks, "How's Mr. Turnbull? His combover stylish as always?" Joan says hesitantly, "I wanted to leave with you" Helen: "You don't have to explain yourself to me." Has any mother ever said that and actually meant it? Please. Joan says she does: "You were so on my side, and it was like I just dissed you after we'd been through this thing together." Helen agrees. Joan says she 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: "I wish I could explainbut I don't -- I don't get it myself" Helen: "I know the teenage thing is hard, butboy, 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 says in a small voice that she's sorry. They're both kind of teary. Helen: "You just have to understand: whatever it is, if we don't go through it togetherI don't want to lose you." Joan takes her mother's hand as Helen cries, and tells her, "You have to trustthat what I'm doingthere are reasons." Helen's look is utter disbelief. Joan: "And it's all gonna be okay." Helen: "Promise?" Joan nods. They hug. Dumpster God suddenly apologizes for interrupting and says he's there to collect the recycling. He sort of beams meaningfully at Joan. Joan says to her mother that she should help him carry things out.

Out in the hall, she asks, "You're not going to make me go through all this stuff, are you?" He isn't. He just wanted to tell her "nice job." Joan: "Nice job on what?" Dumpster God: "Yearbook! You're finished." Joan: "How can I be finished? I don't even know what my thing is yet. Isn't that what this is supposed to be about?" His reply: "Maybe for you. I just wanted you to find that poem." Joan: "Why? Nobody's ever going to know who wrote it. What good does that do?" He asks if she knows who carved the faade of Notre Dame, or the sculptures at the Parthenon. Joan sighs and says she hasn't gotten to that chapter yet. Dumpster 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'd really love to feel like I've been working on Notre Dame, butsomehow" He assures her, "Who you are is enough, Joan. You already have your thing. You're a searcher, and you try, and you fail, and you try again." Joan's in tears: "So my thing isfailing? Thanks. That makes me feel a lot better." I think it's more like this quotation from yogi Sri Aurobindo, Joan: "By your stumbling, the world is perfected." Dumpster God tells Joan: "Stop hiding who you are." He nods and raises his eyebrow slightly. That could mean a lot of things, including: stop hiding your relationship with God. He shuffles off down the hall.

Adam's on the roof, drawing in a large sketchbook, when Joan arrives with a box of stuff and sits down to him, asking what he's drawing. He shows her his sketch: "Umyou." It's a nice image of Joan, holding a piece of paper -- probably the poem. She smiles shyly and says, "I never got a chance to sit for you." Adam: "Well, I didn't need you to." Boy has an eidetic memory, remember? The song playing is called "Love and Hope" by 4 Way Street. He draws intently while Joan looks at him, her expression a mixture of fondness and anxiety. She finally says, "Adamyou know how you said I could talk to you about anything, and I said I knew that?" Adam: "Yeah." Joan: "I -- I lied. I think I've been afraid to talk to you about almosteverything." Adam asks why. She replies, "I didn't want to mess up what we have." Adam's dismayed: "Janeyou" She confesses she didn't take back her pictures: "I got fired. I'm not a photographer or an artist like Iris, I'm not a literary editor ora science geek or anything. I mean, I tried to be, but I'm not. I'm really justdigging around in the garbage, trying tofind something that matters." Adam puts his sketchbook aside and turns to her: "That's what I love about you, Jane." Joan: "Yeah?" Adam: "Yeah." They kiss gently and smile at each other. Joan remembers why she came up there, and pulls the box closer. Grabbing a few pages out of the box, she says, "Grace can still be anonymous -- but everyone's going to see her poem. Like Notre Dame. Come on!"

They go to the edge of the roof, where it overlooks a courtyard, and we see brilliant leaves of neon-coloured paper -- pink, green, orange, yellow, blue, and purple -- float to the ground, surprising students. Students grab them and start reading. A skateboard rolls to a stop, and Grace bends down to see what's on the page. She reads it and looks around cautiously to see people's reactions. Everyone's reading it; no one's reacting badly. No one's magically figured out that she wrote it. She looks up to see where it's coming from, and spies Joan and Adam standing there. Joan is gleefully throwing more pages down. Grace smiles; Joan and Adam wave. Grace picks up her skateboard and walks off smiling. Man, this show does endings like nobody's business. The final shot is the courtyard, swirled with the colourful confetti, as more papers sink to earth.