Pacey anxiously looked at his watch, and redoubled his running speed. It
was 5:45. He'd tried to get a taxi across town to the bus station, but the
traffic was so dense he had asked the driver to stop a few blocks back – he
would have a better chance of making it on foot. His mind freed from
activity by the automatic pounding of his legs, he thought how appropriate
it was that he was running after this girl again. It was all he had ever
done, really. Even when it was just to pull her braids she had still had a
curious fascination for him. He considered how much they had all grown up
since then, and realised how much more at ease he was with himself since he
had had the Civilisation job. It wasn't ever really Dawson that got in the
way, he thought, it was me, or at the most Joey's idealisation of him.
They're like brother and sister – I can't replace that, but I don't need
to. I can give her something more, and we both know that now.
The thought made him run even faster.
* * *
The bus was early. By a quarter to the hour it was already waiting in position between the stiff yellow lines. Joey stared round at the station, which was almost deserted. There was no point in waiting; she had told Dawson not to come and see her off. She caught herself thinking that maybe Pacey would show… but pulled herself up sharply. The complexity of those thoughts could wait until she got home. Dawson's earnest counsel had lit a taper in her mind. It was burning still, slow and imperceptible, but sparking new ideas, things she hadn't even considered but which now seemed strangely possible. Sighing deeply with frustration – after all, it was her own fault that things were the way they were – she clambered onto the bus, her blue bag slung over her shoulder.
Staring out of the window at the Boston skyline, she realised that at least on one count Dawson had been entirely right. This was not about talking to Bessie, this was about trying to rediscover something she felt she had lost. The magical innocence she felt in Capeside, the dream world she had left behind, ironically, for the dream she was now pursuing. It was all a lot more complex than it had seemed three years ago. She was still trying to work out whether she had lost something or merely gained another, more exciting and substantial layer to herself, when there was a tap on the window.
It was Pacey. He banged again, not grinning and waving goodbye as he once had, but serious now, and concerned. She looked down at him, perplexed and upset – it was too much to deal with now, she had to go home, he had no right to pursue her, she turned away – but couldn't resist looking back at him. He was mouthing something at her through the glass. She couldn't understand. 'What?' she mouthed back. 'What?' She felt her body grow strangely tense, as if on the verge of a great discovery.
Outside the bus Pacey was panting, partly from exertion, partly from relief at having got to the bus on time. The extravagant gestures he was making had drawn the attention of a couple of other passengers, but he didn't care. He had to make her understand. She looked down at him, confused. Suddenly he had a brainwave. 'Hang on' he mouthed, and began rooting through his bag.
Joey looked at her watch. Only five minutes before the bus had to leave. If he was making some grand gesture of apology (and to her credit this concept gave her a pang of guilt) he had better get a move on, or else she would have to make the awful decision whether to get off the bus and talk to him. She shifted anxiously in her seat. Her heart was pounding. What's going on, she whispered to herself. I almost want him to stop me leaving. There was a thump against the window. She turned.
There, scribbled in black marker on a piece of tattered paper, were the words: 'I think I'm in love with you.' And she remembered. Like a blazing light searing through her heart, it all, suddenly, made sense.
But she couldn't let him get away with it that easily. She forced her blushing face into a neutral expression, and looked out, to see Pacey standing there clutching his sign and staring questioningly up. She held his gaze, fumbling in her bag. She found a pen and a receipt. It would have to do. She wrote hastily and then, permitting herself a small grin, she held it up to the window. 'You think? Or you know?'
And then she saw him smile. He turned his piece of paper around. There were only two words written on the back. 'I know'.
Neither of them remembered the next few seconds. The next conscious thought registered by either of them was that kissing had probably never felt as good as it did then. Dawson, watching from underneath the shelter, smiled broadly.
Breaking away from her but unable to stop himself from grinning with a maniacal intensity, Pacey took Joey's hands. 'Miss Potter,' he said teasingly. 'I think you may have something to say to me.'
'Do you mean other than I love you?'
'Well, actually, that's what I was hoping for, but if there's more…' he said in mock surprise.
'Last night was fantastic. Can we do it again?' She said brazenly.
She thought she'd never seen him smile so broadly.
The thought made him run even faster.
* * *
The bus was early. By a quarter to the hour it was already waiting in position between the stiff yellow lines. Joey stared round at the station, which was almost deserted. There was no point in waiting; she had told Dawson not to come and see her off. She caught herself thinking that maybe Pacey would show… but pulled herself up sharply. The complexity of those thoughts could wait until she got home. Dawson's earnest counsel had lit a taper in her mind. It was burning still, slow and imperceptible, but sparking new ideas, things she hadn't even considered but which now seemed strangely possible. Sighing deeply with frustration – after all, it was her own fault that things were the way they were – she clambered onto the bus, her blue bag slung over her shoulder.
Staring out of the window at the Boston skyline, she realised that at least on one count Dawson had been entirely right. This was not about talking to Bessie, this was about trying to rediscover something she felt she had lost. The magical innocence she felt in Capeside, the dream world she had left behind, ironically, for the dream she was now pursuing. It was all a lot more complex than it had seemed three years ago. She was still trying to work out whether she had lost something or merely gained another, more exciting and substantial layer to herself, when there was a tap on the window.
It was Pacey. He banged again, not grinning and waving goodbye as he once had, but serious now, and concerned. She looked down at him, perplexed and upset – it was too much to deal with now, she had to go home, he had no right to pursue her, she turned away – but couldn't resist looking back at him. He was mouthing something at her through the glass. She couldn't understand. 'What?' she mouthed back. 'What?' She felt her body grow strangely tense, as if on the verge of a great discovery.
Outside the bus Pacey was panting, partly from exertion, partly from relief at having got to the bus on time. The extravagant gestures he was making had drawn the attention of a couple of other passengers, but he didn't care. He had to make her understand. She looked down at him, confused. Suddenly he had a brainwave. 'Hang on' he mouthed, and began rooting through his bag.
Joey looked at her watch. Only five minutes before the bus had to leave. If he was making some grand gesture of apology (and to her credit this concept gave her a pang of guilt) he had better get a move on, or else she would have to make the awful decision whether to get off the bus and talk to him. She shifted anxiously in her seat. Her heart was pounding. What's going on, she whispered to herself. I almost want him to stop me leaving. There was a thump against the window. She turned.
There, scribbled in black marker on a piece of tattered paper, were the words: 'I think I'm in love with you.' And she remembered. Like a blazing light searing through her heart, it all, suddenly, made sense.
But she couldn't let him get away with it that easily. She forced her blushing face into a neutral expression, and looked out, to see Pacey standing there clutching his sign and staring questioningly up. She held his gaze, fumbling in her bag. She found a pen and a receipt. It would have to do. She wrote hastily and then, permitting herself a small grin, she held it up to the window. 'You think? Or you know?'
And then she saw him smile. He turned his piece of paper around. There were only two words written on the back. 'I know'.
Neither of them remembered the next few seconds. The next conscious thought registered by either of them was that kissing had probably never felt as good as it did then. Dawson, watching from underneath the shelter, smiled broadly.
Breaking away from her but unable to stop himself from grinning with a maniacal intensity, Pacey took Joey's hands. 'Miss Potter,' he said teasingly. 'I think you may have something to say to me.'
'Do you mean other than I love you?'
'Well, actually, that's what I was hoping for, but if there's more…' he said in mock surprise.
'Last night was fantastic. Can we do it again?' She said brazenly.
She thought she'd never seen him smile so broadly.