1 Thanks wild in the streets for betaing and bugging
2 Dreaming Chapter Four
Part One
Journal
I believe in girl power. Not of the 'Spice girl marketing ploy and skimpy clothing' kind but the type that liberates women and lets us achieve our intellectual potential. Having declared one of my deep beliefs in the fear that the 'future me' will think I'm as spunky as a mills and boon heroine, I shall now go on to despair over boys skimming quickly over the self-aware irony.
The intellectual side of me should find this business all so simple. I have a perfect life partner (if he would only realise it). Dawson offers creative stimulus, in the dreary consumer faux-culture driven Capeside (those tourist shops make some money). He dreams. I've had to grow up quickly, the death of my mother, the shunning of my peers, they all force me to realise the real world… the world beyond the beauty and imagination, and I want those qualities so badly. He makes me think, we argue, and I dream. I dream about him, and the sheer enthusiasm he has for life. Only the real undreamy part of me is such a cynic, I find it silly that I should be enraptured by his awe.
Pacey…. Ok, I admit it; he's gorgeous, in an annoying type of way; he's clever, in a biting and ass holey type of way. He's part of the real world, put upon him by his family, and he has real pain, pain like mine that I'm afraid to touch. Afraid to, but some part of me wants to badly.
I'm scared, and I want things to be like they were. Not some strange and scary Pacey hormonal take-over, just Dawson and I, dancing through my unrequited yearning in exasperation, but safe.
"Joey!" Joey snaps shut her journal at the sound of Bessie's booming voice, ramming it in the drawer of her beside table, and running down the stairs, pulling her long hair into a clip as she goes.
"Remember you have to work tonight."
"Thanks Bessie." Joey replies sarcastically.
"Dinner money's on the counter,"
"Yes Bessie."
"Jeez what got up your ass?" sounds a male voice.
Joey's eyes flash in the direction of the door. "You Pacey." Not thinking literally of course.
"What's he doing here?" She demands, swinging round to face Bessie.
"Said he's taking you to school," Bessie replies evenly, unsurprised by Joey's mood. "You should be grateful," she adds, in a flash of amusement at her sister's annoyance.
Pacey grins, "Yes Joey, did'ya hear that?" He addresses Bessie, "but she's never grateful, not for anything I do for her. The ice queen would never stoop to utter a word of appreciation to her humblest slave."
"Pacey, you are here. Why?"
"I, Ms high and hard-of hearing, am here to take you to school in your luxury vehicle."
Damn him, Joey frowns extra hard at him to tell him this is not a good idea.
"Anyone would think you didn't like me visiting," he proclaims, his tone injured but his face knowing and smirking.
Knowing. God damn him, he knows. He knows I find him attractive, he knows. And he's making fun of me; referring to the last time he came here (but didn't come here) and his dirty thoughts are infecting me.
Pacey watches the redness creep through her features curiously, and she is uncomfortably aware of that gaze as she slams the fridge door and pours juice into a glass.
He sighs and enters the kitchen to sit down and wait. She always has to be so awkward.
Ignoring him completely seems the best option to take, and Joey swigs back her juice in record speed and storms out of the door.
"See ya later Bess," gasps Pacey, laughing and racing out to catch up to her.
I don't fancy you Pacey. I don't find you at all physically compelling, in fact today you look even more dishevelled than usual, and your smile is not cute so don't stand there grinning like a Pacey in a sex shop.
"Jo, we need to talk." He sounds quite earnest.
"No, Pacey, you need to shut up and cease sounding like a bad soap on WB."
"You watch soaps?" The twinkle is back in his eyes.
"Yes, and I'm longing to bear all on Jerry Springer."
He raises one eyebrow. "You could do that in my room. No censored signs."
"Pig." Joey picks up her speed, and yanks open the door to her "luxury" stolen cop car.
"Prude" Pacey gets in the driver's seat.
"Morning Joey," Dawson interjects brightly.
"Hey Dawson," catching Pacey's eye in the mirror and ignoring the little jolt it brings, she smiles warmly in Dawsons direction. Well in the direction of his back.
Glad his presence seems to have averted an argument, Dawson starts to talk excitedly about the film project. "Joey, I'd love you to study the footage I've uncovered, you busy tonight?"
"She'll be over," says Pacey not leaving Joey the chance to answer for herself.
"Bite me."
"Later," Pacey's answers, turning the car round dangerously fast, and screeching his way towards the school.
2 Dreaming Chapter Four
Part One
Journal
I believe in girl power. Not of the 'Spice girl marketing ploy and skimpy clothing' kind but the type that liberates women and lets us achieve our intellectual potential. Having declared one of my deep beliefs in the fear that the 'future me' will think I'm as spunky as a mills and boon heroine, I shall now go on to despair over boys skimming quickly over the self-aware irony.
The intellectual side of me should find this business all so simple. I have a perfect life partner (if he would only realise it). Dawson offers creative stimulus, in the dreary consumer faux-culture driven Capeside (those tourist shops make some money). He dreams. I've had to grow up quickly, the death of my mother, the shunning of my peers, they all force me to realise the real world… the world beyond the beauty and imagination, and I want those qualities so badly. He makes me think, we argue, and I dream. I dream about him, and the sheer enthusiasm he has for life. Only the real undreamy part of me is such a cynic, I find it silly that I should be enraptured by his awe.
Pacey…. Ok, I admit it; he's gorgeous, in an annoying type of way; he's clever, in a biting and ass holey type of way. He's part of the real world, put upon him by his family, and he has real pain, pain like mine that I'm afraid to touch. Afraid to, but some part of me wants to badly.
I'm scared, and I want things to be like they were. Not some strange and scary Pacey hormonal take-over, just Dawson and I, dancing through my unrequited yearning in exasperation, but safe.
"Joey!" Joey snaps shut her journal at the sound of Bessie's booming voice, ramming it in the drawer of her beside table, and running down the stairs, pulling her long hair into a clip as she goes.
"Remember you have to work tonight."
"Thanks Bessie." Joey replies sarcastically.
"Dinner money's on the counter,"
"Yes Bessie."
"Jeez what got up your ass?" sounds a male voice.
Joey's eyes flash in the direction of the door. "You Pacey." Not thinking literally of course.
"What's he doing here?" She demands, swinging round to face Bessie.
"Said he's taking you to school," Bessie replies evenly, unsurprised by Joey's mood. "You should be grateful," she adds, in a flash of amusement at her sister's annoyance.
Pacey grins, "Yes Joey, did'ya hear that?" He addresses Bessie, "but she's never grateful, not for anything I do for her. The ice queen would never stoop to utter a word of appreciation to her humblest slave."
"Pacey, you are here. Why?"
"I, Ms high and hard-of hearing, am here to take you to school in your luxury vehicle."
Damn him, Joey frowns extra hard at him to tell him this is not a good idea.
"Anyone would think you didn't like me visiting," he proclaims, his tone injured but his face knowing and smirking.
Knowing. God damn him, he knows. He knows I find him attractive, he knows. And he's making fun of me; referring to the last time he came here (but didn't come here) and his dirty thoughts are infecting me.
Pacey watches the redness creep through her features curiously, and she is uncomfortably aware of that gaze as she slams the fridge door and pours juice into a glass.
He sighs and enters the kitchen to sit down and wait. She always has to be so awkward.
Ignoring him completely seems the best option to take, and Joey swigs back her juice in record speed and storms out of the door.
"See ya later Bess," gasps Pacey, laughing and racing out to catch up to her.
I don't fancy you Pacey. I don't find you at all physically compelling, in fact today you look even more dishevelled than usual, and your smile is not cute so don't stand there grinning like a Pacey in a sex shop.
"Jo, we need to talk." He sounds quite earnest.
"No, Pacey, you need to shut up and cease sounding like a bad soap on WB."
"You watch soaps?" The twinkle is back in his eyes.
"Yes, and I'm longing to bear all on Jerry Springer."
He raises one eyebrow. "You could do that in my room. No censored signs."
"Pig." Joey picks up her speed, and yanks open the door to her "luxury" stolen cop car.
"Prude" Pacey gets in the driver's seat.
"Morning Joey," Dawson interjects brightly.
"Hey Dawson," catching Pacey's eye in the mirror and ignoring the little jolt it brings, she smiles warmly in Dawsons direction. Well in the direction of his back.
Glad his presence seems to have averted an argument, Dawson starts to talk excitedly about the film project. "Joey, I'd love you to study the footage I've uncovered, you busy tonight?"
"She'll be over," says Pacey not leaving Joey the chance to answer for herself.
"Bite me."
"Later," Pacey's answers, turning the car round dangerously fast, and screeching his way towards the school.