Joan and Luke walk to school together, sniping at each other as they go. Joan wonders if he doesn't have any friends he could walk to school with. Luke: "Don't worry...they'll think I'm cool, styling with my big sister." He goes on to accuse her of worrying what her friends will think, and then disses her as not having any friends. Joan stops and grabs his arm, saying, "And ironically, you're still cramping my style." Do people still say that -- "cramping my style"? She hauls him around to face her, and tells him to hold up her compact. I guess she's planning to apply some more of the makeup her Dad won't let her out of the house wearing. As she looks in the mirror, behind her she sees some kid in grungewear with a large red messenger bag, on his knees behind a street-sweeping truck, looking around underneath it. Joan asks Luke, "Who's the reject?" Luke: "Adam Rove. Huge stoner. Hey, maybe he'll be your friend." Joan wonders what he's doing. Luke: "Looking for lost brain cells?" The bell rings, and Joan watches Adam run for the school. She asks, "What kind of loser runs just because the bell rings?" She turns around to see that Luke has taken off already. Behind her, a guy in an orange jumpsuit gets out of the truck and says, "Hey kid...it's me." Joan turns, looking puzzled. Orange Jumpsuit calls out, "You need proof? Fine. Sometimes you like to practice French-kissing yourself on the mirror!" Joan looks shocked and stomps over to him, asking, "Why do you have to be so mean? Orange Jumpsuit God smiles and shrugs. Joan tells him that it was her father that turned him off last night, so if there's a penalty, he's the one who should be penalized. Orange Jumpsuit God says, in a fake-authoritative voice, "Fine. He shall spend all of eternity burning in hell." Heh. Joan back-pedals furiously, saying what a really great guy her dad is. Orange Jumpsuit God says he's just kidding: "Just because I speak doesn't mean anyone has to listen." Joan: "Really?" Orange Jumpsuit God says, "Yeah. Free will is one of my better innovations. I give suggestions, not assignments." Joan feels a suggestion coming on. Orange Jumpsuit God cuts right to the chase: "Stop squandering the potential I gave you. Stop underachieving. Have some pride." He climbs back into the truck. Joan's confused: "In what? Like in school?" God tells her school's a start. Joan asks, "Pride? What happened to humility?" Orange Jumpsuit God explains: "Yoomility isn't actually yoomility unless you're actually good enough at something to be humble." He waves and takes off. Joan turns, hand on her hip, and asks herself, "What?"
Cut to someone being loaded into a black body bag. Boy, that was abrupt. Lieutenant Daghlian is in a burned-out building arguing with someone that if someone's burnt to a crisp, that's murder. The other guy says, "Only if it's arson, and it ain't arson until I say it's arson." Will asks if it's arson. The other guy says he's investigating that, and until he decides, the cops have no jurisdiction. Daghlian gripes, "Nozzleheads. Got no respect for a crime scene." The investigator replies, "Nozzleheads? Girl Scouts solve more murders than you people do." Man, if I'd known there was a forensics badge, I wouldn't have quit after Brownies. I knew the Scout leader was a real nightmare, so I got roped into being a Pioneer Girl at church instead. More religion, but less ugly uniform. Man, now I'm having some strange flashbacks. I might need to go lie down. Will says, "That may have been true in the past, but not anymore. So you want to rethink your tone?" Some other guy wanders in and says, "Come on, now, let's get fraternal." Will greets him as "Chief Wyatt." Wyatt tells Will not to get all stiff and official just because "the kids are fighting." Will explains they're having crime scene issues. Wyatt tells his investigator, whose name is Roy, that he's going to inform Daghlian as soon as he decides whether it's arson. Thanks for the micromanagement there. I think that's what he was already planning to do. Wyatt turns to Daghlian and asks him if he's name is Armenian -- which Daghlian confirms -- and says you don't see a lot of Armenian cops. Daghlian, understandably, doesn't know what to say to that. Maybe he should point out there'd be a lot more Armenians around if the Turks hadn't slaughtered about one and a half million of them in 1915. Then it would be Wyatt's turn to not know what to say.