TOLERANCE
Part One
1. "Bragging Rights"
I never thought she'd take me seriously. I mean, this is just me: Pacey Witter. I have bragging rights to absolutely nothing. Zilch. Nada. I made a play without thinking. It was just a game, at first. I didn't…
But she took me seriously—me, Pacey Witter. Her need was as great as my own. Hey, it's a big deal to lose your virginity before you're 16. That's the bragging rights to something. Except that I couldn't say anything, I couldn't tell anyone about it. Because she's my teacher.
That's serious. And now people are trying to make a big deal about it, as if I had had no say in the matter. As if I didn't know what I was doing—which I didn't, but it doesn't matter because I still feel responsible. I seduced her. She tried to push me away and I wouldn't let her. I didn't consider the consequences. She did, but lost sight of them until after we'd already embarked down this treacherous path.
A treacherous path for her, but a fascinating journey for me. She's taught me so much—and not just about sex (though I cannot disregard that one). I've learned an awful lot about things that matter. Need, desire, heart. No one will believe this but we actually had these great talks. Okay, not about world events but we did discuss favorite books and movies. More important, she told me a lot about women: what they think about, the wondrous differences between Venus and Mars…why girls go ballistic when a guy attributes a mood or feeling to their period coming on…why it creeps them out when you don't put the toilet seat down…the importance of little, seemingly meaningless gestures—or rather that little things do mean a lot…the importance of listening, really listening, and being sensitive to what was being said.
Let's face it, what other girl was going to let me get inside her head like that? Not my sisters, certainly not my mother, not Joey Potter—she saves those intimate asides for our mutual best friend. I will always be indebted to Tamara for her candor and bravery in sharing her fears and desires with me. For letting me know what women really want.
When the rumors about our relationship began circulating around school, this high I had been riding on for weeks evaporated into nothingness, and the feeling I'd been enjoying that I could actually be someone important in someone else's life was replaced by a familiar moniker: Pacey Witter, town screw-up. I could live with that, I'd actually learned to live with that, but for Tamara's sake I couldn't accept it. For once, I made that declassification from human to ape status work in someone's favor.
The gossip had compelled Superintendent Stevens into convening an emergency school board meeting, with attendance by Ms. Tamara Jacobs and Mr. Pacey Witter mandatory. I couldn't let her be blamed for my fuck-up. I let the class clown take the fall.
I barged into the meeting before I was invited in, refusing to let Tamara or anyone else speak. I told them about the pathetically inept student who sat in the back of the class daydreaming about "what it would be like to be a little bit better looking, a little more sophisticated and about fifteen years older." I was deliberate in my speech, looking each and every board member in the eye as I spoke. Shouldn't they have questioned the preposterous idea that a woman like that would even consider a schlump like me?
I was glad I had decided not to dress better and look more like the Pacey Witter I had imagined myself to be the last couple of months. "Because then—and only then—could Ms. Jacobs possibly look at me as anything other than just another one of her students," I told them unequivocally. And with my braggart/goofball rep, they believed me; they bought it all. A bit too easily, if you ask me.
"Don't get me wrong," I continued, moving towards the wrap-up. That C+ student certainly had their attention now! "I am flattered with the seriousness that you took these allegations, but you know, personally, I'd just chalked them up to adolescent fantasy…I kind of expected you guys to do the same. Ms. Jacobs," I reiterated, "is my English teacher and, to my great disappointment, absolutely nothing else." Case closed. Town Lothario rep takes a nosedive; screw-up rep safely intact.
Throughout it all, there was only one person who seemed to support me without passing judgment—and I have to admit that I was a bit surprised. Maybe not surprised, when you think about it, because despite the crackling banter, she's been a loyal friend. She actually came looking for me after the story first detonated at school.
"Hey, jailbait," Joey taunted me as she approached. I was in no mood to spar, preferring to dwell on my present unhappiness. "Look…I'm not here to bust on you," she reassured me. "I don't know if the rumors are true or exaggerated or if this is one of your bizarre attempts to appear more attractive to the senior girls, but I just wanted to say I know what you must be going through and…"
"I really doubt you know what I'm going through," I told her with cocky indifference.
She didn't let me get away with that one. "Well, let me see. People stare at you when you walk down the hall, you hear your name in the conversations of strangers and pretty soon a justifiable paranoia sets in." She looked at me and knew that she was connecting. "And whether they are or not, you are convinced that everyone is talking about you. Imagine if you had done something even worse," she said.
"Like what?" That was stupid. As if I had to ask!
"Like sharing a house with your pregnant unwed sister and her black boyfriend while your father serves time on a drug conviction."
I was so concerned about my recent misfortune, I hadn't considered that; Joey actually had more experience in this arena than I did. In addition to our deep-rooted insecurities, Joey Potter and I now had something else in common: providing gossip for our small-minded brethren.
"And, unfortunately for you, you're tonight's top story," she nudged me. She gave me a look that contained so much knowingness and understanding that I couldn't help but cave in.
"Great. So what do I do now?" I asked.
"Same thing I did," she said. "You pray like hell for a better story to come along."
Guess what—WE were the better story, only we didn't know it then. We were too busy learning tolerance.
She kissed me on the cheek. It was a light peck, but I still was surprised. "What was that for?"
"Think of it as a group hug," she said, smiling. "What? Do you expect me to tackle you on this dock and have my way with you? Slacker."
"Ice queen."
"Doofus."
"G.I. Jane."
Suddenly, she took my hand and pulled me up from the bench. "What do you say we go bowling? Take out some aggression on ten goofy pins."
"Bowling," I whined. "Bowling's so uncool. How about mini-golf?"
"Too many traps," she said. "Foosball?"
Foosball, the game of champions. Now there's something I could play and win, especially since Joey wasn't very good at it. "Okay," I agreed. "I'll give you a few points."
"No shooting the balls at me," she insisted. "The balls stay on the table."
"I think I can manage that."
But I wasn't promising anything. I picked up her book bag and followed Joey down the street, letting her walk a bit ahead. Bringing my hand to my cheek I could still feel it tingling, and I smiled. I knew then that everything was going to be okay.
You know what? Don't tell Joey, but I didn't wash that cheek for days.
It was all about tolerance.