Pacey stumbled down the street, groaning inwardly at the mere prospect of returning home. His and Dawson's parents had been alerted of their behaviour as of half one that lunch time afternoon, but seeing as his were reliably unreliable there was no one available to escort him home. Instead he was detained in an empty classroom and given an 80 leaf notebook to fill with 'I must not create a ruckus in the lunch hall and am extremely sorry for selling myself short by instigating the fight.'
Apart from the fact that his resolute handwriting deteriorated into a childish scrawl by the end of the two hours and his hand cramped with exhaustion, he was angered further that his punishment was to admit repeatedly how he had instigated said fight when it was Dawson that gibed him and stood back smugly.
He sighed and turned over his schoolbag from his shoulder. Glancing around at the near-empty street, he hung back between two shops in a tight little walkway and unzipped it. Rooting around for a while he grabbed at his goal and dropped the bag in mild satisfaction. He sighed as some of his books spilled out onto the footpath, "Why me?" He glared up at the sky. "Seriously God. Why?"
Pacey made to bend for his books and scooped them in with little care. He kicked his schoolbag away from him and leant against a wall with a bottle he had retrieved from it. Taking a generous swig, he smacked his lips. If Joey was pissed at him, Dawson didn't give a crap anymore and he had one hell of a lecture from his folks to look forward to, why not provide himself with a little release in the meantime?
Mitch wrapped his fingers tight around the steering wheel of his car as he relayed the lecture Dawson's home room teacher had given himself and Gale on parenting skills. He was a good parent, he knew he was a good parent because he knew Dawson was a good kid. It was Pacey he was most concerned with. Hence the drive to the Witter household now.
He didn't blame the boy for the current falling-out with his own son, nor did Gale, they were after all teenagers and a girl was involved. He just hoped that after what happened today did not render the boys' friendship irreconcilable. It would be a great injustice because Dawson could be hanging out with worse kids than the cocky yet insecure little personality he and Gale watched develop since the age of two onwards.
Mitch glanced at the time on his car radio and prayed John had not returned home from work just yet. He figured a parental intervention would be key here if neither boys were very willing to make the first move. He also figured that John would concentrate less on the reason of the falling-out and more on the fact that his son was pummelling another, regardless of who it was, in full frontal view of pupils and staff during school hours.
Mitch slammed on his break as the boy that wandered into his thoughts, wandered just as carefree across the road in front of the car. "Pacey!" He yelled uselessly and tried to swerve. Pacey barely had time to register before being clipped by the bonnet and tumbling to the ground wastefully; his head connecting hard with the tarmac beneath him.
Mitch gulped back a cry and his cheeks paled to a death-white. He pulled at his seatbelt and freed himself from the eerily quiet confines of his car. The radio rock did not penetrate his mind. He passed down on his knees before the teenager and pulled him up against his lap.
By now random townsfolk had drilled out from the shops as the beeping of Mitch's car horn and the squealing of tyres snatched them from their coffee and conversations and queues. Amongst the throng, someone had the decency to call for an ambulance, but admittedly it didn't look necessary; the pool of red seeping around the scene told the crowd that an ambulance would probably be a futile comfort by the time it arrived.