Velma

My name is Velma Dinkley.

And this is my origin story.

Sure, normally, origin stories are about tall, handsome guys

struggling with the burden

of being handed even more power.

And if they are about girls,

it's usually like,

"Hey, what made this hot chick go crazy?"

So, to remedy this,

I've decided to finally share...

...the bone-chilling events

that drove me to assemble

the greatest team of spooky mystery solvers ever.

Yeah, it was me.

Not Fred and his weird sex van.

This is my story, told my way.

And it starts with a murder, bitch.

Brenda?

Ugh.

This school sucks.

Oh, hey.

Team shower discussion topic of the day.

Have you ever noticed how pilot episodes of TV shows

always have more gratuitous sex and nudity

than the rest of the series?

- Oh, my God, I have. - So true.

That's how we learned what Rachel Brosnahan's boobs look like.

And Don Cheadle's butt.

Well, I, for one, think it's lame.

- Agreed. - So lame.

The lamest.

Oh, I actually kind of love it.

Sex sells.

And in today's overcrowded market,

you need a hook.

Um, the only hook a good show ever needs

is good storytelling.

Then why was your favorite part of the Riverdale pilot

when Betty and Veronica kissed?

Well, because it was instantly called out

as tired in the scene.

No. It's because it was hot.

You can have it both ways.

No, you can't.

Just admit we are all secretly perverts.

Never!

And how do you feel about race-blind casting, Daphne?

Well, as an Asian woman,

I, um, think it's cool.

I mean, not to oversimplify a thorny issue,

but everyone loves it when white people play Jesus or a professional boxer.

Why can't it ever go the other way, right?

Uh, yes.

I wasn't expecting such an enlightened answer

from such a bitch.

Velma?

What the hell? You almost killed me.

Guess I didn't try hard enough.

See? Now, if this was a show,

it'd be super hot if you two kissed.

Krista, if this was a show,

you'd be killed off for being horny.

Brenda?

Wait, did you climb in my locker to prove how skinny you are again?

Ugh. We get it.

She has no brain!

I am not dissing her. She has no brain.

Hello?

Anybody? I know my rights.

I get a phone call and a handsome detective

I infuriate with my indifference.

Who killed Brenda, Velma?

You're not real, you're not real.

Who isn't real, sweetie?

Uh, God's not real if you two morons are running this investigation.

Oh, how we've missed that sense of humor, girl.

Seriously. How long has it been since Daphne had you over to our house?

Uh, since my mom went missing.

Two years ago.

Oh, right. That.

Oh, my God. You totally forgot.

No, we didn't.

Every day, we're closer to finding Doodad.

Diya. Her name is Diya.

You know what? We're done here. Peace.

Unfortunately, we're not done here, Velma.

You're a suspect in Brenda's murder. Now sit.

I'm a suspect?

I thought lesbians were good at solving crimes.

It's like the one positive stereotype perpetuated by cop shows.

Velma, she was found in your locker

and you were lurking around the showers

like a gym teacher who isn't a gym teacher anymore.

Clearly, someone's trying to frame me.

And I wasn't lurking.

I was waiting to shower alone.

Because of your weight?

What? No.

Because of your handsome face?

My face is fine.

Because of your hairy gorilla arm?

No, because I hate your stupid adopted daughter and her fake-ass friends.

And yet you and Daphne used to be best friends. Isn't that right?

Yeah, until Daphne got hot and ditched me

to hang out with Brenda and the other popular girls

at Spooner's Malt Shop.

I could kill them all.

Okay, I see how this looks bad.

Look, we know you couldn't kill Brenda, sweetie,

but we also know we're not, like, the best detectives.

So the only way we're going to convince the sheriff you're innocent

is if you help us find Brenda's actual murderer.

Help you find Brenda's murderer?

But that's a mystery.

And I don't solve mysteries.

Not anymore.

Then you're screwed.

You've got 24 hours and then we arrest you.

But still, so good seeing you.

We miss you.

Say hi to your father and Doodad.

Diya!

Hey! Watch where you're going, jerk.

Oh. Hey, Fred.

- Do I know you? - It's Velma, from school.

You cheat off me in Spanish because you think I'm Mexican.

Maybe.

I have a disease where I can't recognize people who aren't hot.

My doctor says it's basically sickle cell for rich guys.

Is it called rudeness?

It is. You're like, smart.

Oh, wow. Thank you.

Yeah, not a compliment.

Anyway, have you seen Daphne?

- She texted... - Oh, Fred.

Thank God you're here.

- Whoa! - Brenda's...

Into me. No, I know.

I'm caliente, as this one's people would say.

No. Brenda's dead.

What? No!

She was my plan B if you ever got too clingy.

What happened?

- Ask Velma. - Who?

Me, Fred. We were just...

Forget it.

Mm.

Not now, Daph. Geez.

Then when, Fred? When?

And just FYI, I didn't kill Brenda.

And how are you going to prove that, Velma?

You don't solve mysteries anymore.

You're not real. You're not real.

Seriously, who is this weirdo?

Did your moms, like, adopt another kid?

Dad! You can't just eat soggy fries from the takeout container.

You have to crisp them in the oven first.

I saw you eat a fry out of the vacuum cleaner last week, so spare me.

- I've had a long day. - You've had a long day?

I was accused of a murder I didn't commit.

And whose fault is that?

Excuse me?

Don't you raise your eyebrows at me, Steve Harvey.

You know exactly what I'm talking about.

Fine.

Velma, I love you.

But I'm a lawyer, so trust me when I say this.

People only think you murdered Brenda because you...

Were voted "Most Revenge-y" in the school yearbook. I know.

Oh, those yearbook guys have no idea what's coming to them.

No, because you're a weirdo.

Ever since your mother disappeared,

you haven't even tried to hang out with the normal kids

at Spooner's Malt Shop.

Maybe I'd hang out there more

if you hadn't knocked up a Spooner's waitress

while your actual wife is still missing.

Velma, that's not fair!

I'm not just a waitress. I'm also...

A basic bitch who doesn't even know how to use hashtags?

No, I'm also, hashtag, the owner of Spooner's.

Oh! The baby's kicking hashtag.

Hashtag, get my new camera out of my bag, Aman.

You got an actual camera?

With what money?

Dad says we can't even afford to buy me a second sweater.

Oh, God!

I know, but it's about priorities.

You need a real camera

to capture real, unmanufactured moments.

Well, I have to go prepare myself for prison.

Not that you care.

Velma, real talk, shero to shero.

People only think you're a murderer

because you're a creepy loser.

But that will change tonight,

when you become a glamorous waitress at Spooner's Malt Shop.

That was Brenda's favorite song.

And yeah, normally in pop culture, when a slutty girl is murdered,

we're all a little like, "Well, maybe she deserved it."