We see Luke, asleep in bed, snoring lightly. His face looks like it's been covered in a thin layer of drool. Joan comes up the stairs asking, "Luke, are you alive?" As she reaches the door, she says quietly, "You didn't turn into a bug or anything, did you?" Luke mumbles, half-asleep: "Can't move head's too big...full of air possibly fluid." Oh, God. I know that feeling. Poor Luke.
Joan goes back downstairs and announces to her father, "Something's wrong with Luke. He's all shivery and gross." Will: "Oh, boy. Does he have a fever?" Joan: "I don't know. I'm not touching him. I have to go." Will: "But I'm making French toast." Joan: "Sorry!" She grabs her stuff and vamooses.
Adam, Joan, and Grace are walking down the stairs to their lockers. Joan's talking through a mouthful of food, saying, "Someone has got to explain this bug book to me. I mean, are we really supposed to believe that somebody would just turn into a roach? Reality check!" Grace snarls: "It's called 'literary symbolism,' and didn't anyone ever tell you not to talk with your mouth full?" She walks off, disgusted. Adam, who's putting up posters for his Café Ennui thing, watches her and tells Joan: "Something's going on at home. I didn't ask." Joan doesn't say much because she's sort of busy picking her teeth. Adam says, "So, uh, this art show thing, I was wondering maybe if you could help me load in my stuff tonight." Joan: "At your opening? Definitely." She seems excited to be asked. Adam keeps walking and postering as Joan says, "So, um Baby Voice is not available?" Adam says he told her not to come: "I said I'd be too nervous." Huh. That should wash really well when she finds out Joan was there. That would bother me if I cared. Joan says she's happy to be a roadie, and Adam tells her to be there at 7:00. Aren't art shows usually set up a little more than, say, an hour in advance of their opening? The bell rings, and he takes off.
Joan walks along, reading the poster. She walks right past Goth God -- who's wearing a kilt, by the way. I'm not all hot for Goth God like lots of you, but I like a man -- or deity --who can wear a skirt. He comments that she's not in much of a hurry. Joan points out that he knows she has study hall. He knows that's followed by lunch. Joan: "Is there something I can help you with? I got the milk." Goth God: "And you think that's enough?" Joan: "Some clarity would help here." He wonders who's taking care of Luke today. Joan: "I don't know his parents?" Goth God: "Right. You ever thought about maybe sharing some of their burden?" Joan: "Let's not forget that the last time you asked me to share the laundry burden and I ended up on crutches." Hey, I don't think it's his fault you're too dopey to use the brains he gave you. The bell rings. Goth God: "Second bell. It's too late to go to study hall. Look at all this free time." Joan complains, "I have two exams coming up! Do you want me to flunk?" It seems to me that there's some implicit quid pro quo thing here: if God asks you to do something that means ignoring some other obligation or responsibility, God should see to it that, you know, that other obligation or responsibility should be taken care of, if you know what I mean. Otherwise, what God's just here to throw a wrench into the works? Thanks, but I've got family, friends, neighbours, and the rest of humanity for that. I'm all set. He just gives her a sort of "it's up to you" look and walks away. Joan: "You know, for someone who's almighty, you're very passive-aggressive." Heh.