Career Tip #10
Be honest. Whether it's with your boss or your fellow employees. It can be as simple as confessing a simple mistake or owning up to the mess in the microwave. There is no need to sugarcoat tough conversations. Be true to yourself, and your employer, and you'll find that trust goes both ways.
Four weeks later.
8:35 am
Joey eats cereal. A hip rests on the counter as she flicks the pages of Othello between chews.
"What time will you be home again?" Asks Bessie.
"Six thirty at the latest."
"Maybe this is a bad idea?" Bessie fiddles with the sterilizer, pulling out the bottles and resting them to dry on a tea towel.
"It's a great idea, Bess. I can handle Alexander tonight. It's only two hours."
"It seems selfish though, doesn't it? Taking time for yourself after a baby?"
"One evening out to enjoy dinner with your boyfriend isn't an offense. Go. Eat some overpriced seafood, worry about your son, talk about him some more, share a dessert, and then come home where I'll be waiting, Alexander asleep in my arms."
"You're optimistic," Bessie chuckles. "He's been so fussy at night."
"I'll survive," Joey puts her bowl in the sink, rinsing out the milk. "But right now, I'd better go get ready for work."
Joey glances out the window to find another day with sun. January had been unseasonably warm. There had been the occasional snow flurries, but the flakes melted before they hit the pavement.
She selects a light sweater, bootcut jeans, matching underwear. Then, before sliding boots on, Joey opens the photo album, taking her time to inspect every page. She leaves it open on her dresser, spine cracked to an image chosen for the day. Lilly on the beach, beneath the pier, holding toddler Joey's hand in the shallows.
Joey grabs her backpack, touches her mother's face, and closes her bedroom door.
8:40 am
Pacey pulls up outside the Potter house, he beeps the horn to the tune of Shave and a Haircut.
Emerging from the front door, backpack slung over her shoulder, Joey skips down the stairs and hauls open the Wagoneer passenger door.
"Can you believe it?" Pacey's excitement is exaggerated, eyes wide.
"Can I believe what?"
"The day is finally upon us. The day we have dreamed about. A day that will live in the minds of Capesideans forever."
Joey snaps in her seatbelt, unable to share his enthusiasm. "If you're referring to the birthday party, I'm sorry I cannot express the same unbridled joy that you're exhibiting."
He reaches over and ruffles her hair. "Ahh, Potter. You can't hide it from me. I know you've been counting down the days. And now, you get to be a part of it!"
Smoothing the strands he tousled, she says, "It's depressing that Screen Play's 10th birthday has more fanfare than both yours, and my 10th birthdays combined."
"'Tis true. But one cannot discount the greatness that is the town video store. The humble meeting place for all ages. The place where, for just three dollars, you can secure an evening's entertainment. Don't forget the best part; the opportunity to rent from Capeside's #1 and #2 clerks!"
"Your enthusiasm regarding today's events is mildly concerning," she motions for him to drive. "But just know that I am number one in that ranking."
"Come on' Jo. Nine hours of extra pay for the week. Lunch provided. Extra staff to help with the load. There are worse things we could do on a Sunday."
She groans. "I have yet to be convinced."
Pacey ignores the face Joey makes, and says, "Today is going to be great, Jo. Just you wait and see."
An exaggerated groan leaves her lips, but she looks out the window and smiles.
8:50 am
Screen Play Video has spilled onto the street. A giant painted banner announces the occasion. Balloons and streamers pour out on strings and bounce on the pavement.
"Come in, come in," Keith opens the door, ushering them inside like they're backstage at a concert.
"Morning, Keith," Pacey singsongs.
"Morning. Morning. Alright, you two. Out the back, you'll find some shirts for the day."
"Shirts?"
"Yes, yes, especially screen printed for the occasion," he escorts them to a box filled with plastic-covered garments. Ripping open a packet, he holds one up with pride. On the front, there is a collection of multicolored balloons wrapped around VHS tapes. On the back, there are candles and the words WE ARE 10!
"Wow," says Joey.
"I know. They're great, aren't they? Pop into the storeroom to change and come out to the front counter. I've got everyone on different tasks today, so I'll run through the schedule at nine."
Keith departs, leaving Joey to flick through the shirt collection for her size.
The 10th Birthday Party shift had been offered in addition to their regular hours. A chance to make some extra cash while renting out videos at a half-price discount. There had been rumors of a petting zoo and face painting, Keith's excitement for the occasion overwhelming them all.
"So, is it a shirt and standard vest situation? Or just a shirt?" asks Pacey as he whips off his henley and drops it on the table.
Joey's search for the perfect size comes to an abrupt halt as her eyes drag up his exposed chest.
"He said get changed in the storeroom ," she points to the door.
Pacey grins, wide, enjoying the blush rolling across her cheeks and down her neck. "It's no different to how I am at the beach, and you've seen that a million times."
"It's indecent exposure," she grumbles, finding a shirt and stealing another glance.
He pulls the tag off, lingering with it in his hands, not on his body.
"You can get changed here too, you know. I can keep a lookout," he waggles his eyebrows.
"Dream on."
He catches his bottom lip between teeth. "You're always parading around in tiny bikinis all summer. What's the difference?"
She reaches into the box, collects a random shirt, and throws it at his head. He ducks, laughing.
Shirt finally on his body, he spins, displaying his celebratory clothing, then pretends to walk on a catwalk by the mini-fridge.
"It's hideous," says Joey.
"I know. I know. You prefer me with my shirt off, but we can't have everything we want, Miss. Potter."
She rolls her eyes and goes into the storeroom to change.
10:00 am
Pacey is assigned to the counter. Processing the half-price rentals and charming the customers with his easy smile and penchant for small talk.
Outside, Joey is tasked with face painting. A rare opportunity to explore her creative side at work. She's unsure how painting butterflies and tiger stripes on children's faces has anything to do with video store sales.
Finishing up the last leopard spot on a little girl, Joey wipes her fingers with a rag. The girl runs back to her parents.
"You're not bad at that, you know," says Gemma, beside her, manning the popcorn machine. The glass case is half full of buttery yellowed kernels.
"Thanks. I have never painted skin in my life, so it's a steep learning curve."
Gemma looks around at the absent line of children. Removing herself from the free popcorn stall, she sits in the director's chair.
"Can you make me into a pirate?" she asks.
Joey thinks about it. "An eye patch and a scar?"
"Perfect."
Joey puts her brush into the black paint before swooping it across her thinly plucked brows. Gemma has adapted the Sceen Play birthday shirt to suit her aesthetic. The waist has been tied into a knot, revealing a sliver of midriff and a studded belt over black leather pants.
"So, are you enjoying working here? Think you're going to stay?" Gemma asks.
"It's alright, I guess. For all the minimum wage jobs available in Capeside, it's not particularly taxing. But, come May, I'll be back at the Ice House."
"That's good to know. Maybe I'll ask Kieth for some of your shifts? School is finishing up, and I've gotta save more before college starts."
Joey fills in the eyepatch line with shading. Gemma's eyeshadow is heavy black with purple accents. It makes less surface area for Joey to cover with her brush.
"Where are you going to college?".
"BU."
"Congratulations."
"Thanks. It's all a bit daunting, to be honest. So I'm just kind of pretending it's not going to happen."
Joey dips the brush. "If I were you, I'd be bursting to get out of this place."
"Capeside isn't that bad. I'm going to miss this gossipy, incestuous little town. There's always someone complaining about progress, married couples having affairs, or people getting into strife with the law. And the benefit of a small town is that, when it happens, we actually know the people involved. It's like a soap opera without the need to be in front of a television at midday."
Joey sighs. "Honestly. The soap opera life is the reason I'm excited to leave for college one day."
"Oh, speaking of small-town gossip." Gemma's voice raises with excitement. "Did you hear what Leah and Jack got caught doing on shift?"
"No," Joey's hand drops to listen, mid-scar.
"Monday night. Keith came in late to collect the cash tin. He walked in on them in the storeroom, half-naked, mid-way through if you know what I mean. Apparently, there was a bra hanging from the mop handle and Jack's boxer briefs on the microwave."
"Gross," Joey grimaces. "And Keith didn't fire them?"
Gemma shakes her head. Joey puts a hand on her shoulder to steady her, beginning a large scar down the side of her face.
"I can't understand why someone would want to do that, at work, no less," says Joey. "Couldn't they just wait until the end of the shift?"
"Says a girl who clearly hasn't known the all-encompassing desire that overcomes you in the right moment."
Joey blushes, not looking Gemma in the eye. "But at work? No way. Never."
"Surely you and Pacey have enjoyed some romantic moments between rentals? Rumor is there's a good nook between comedy and new releases that can't be seen from the street."
Joey shakes her head vehemently. "No. We're not dating or anything. It's not like that between us."
"Oh, I thought I heard that from someone. You guys seemed pretty tight at the Christmas party."
"Well, it's incorrect."
"You two have never come close to crossing the bridge into less G-rated territory? All those late nights working alone. Lusty stares over the Science Fiction aisle? Accidental touches by the rewind machine?"
"Have you and Aaron done it yet?" Joey snaps, withdrawing the paintbrush. "You've been working together for a few years, right?"
Gemma laughs, unaffected by Joey's scowl. "Let's just say I'm missing a certain appendage that would make me appeal to Aaron, and besides, I have a boyfriend."
"Well, now, you can see that you shouldn't assume just because people are working together, that they automatically want to have sex with each other."
Gemma grins, unbothered. "But you do want to have sex with Pacey, right?"
Joey stares back, brow stern.
"You can't fool me," she snorts. "I get it. Pacey's easy on the eyes. A little quippy for my personal tastes, but I can appreciate the sentiment."
"You're reaching."
"I'm not. And it's pretty clear, at least from my perspective, that he wants you right back."
Dipping the brush roughly in black paint, Joey shakes her head.
"Let me guess? You've got all the flirting tells, the budding friendship, the moments that you think it's going to happen, that he's finally going to admit to his feelings for you. But it never quite eventuates?"
She tips Gemma's face back and begins a ragged set of stitches on the scar.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Joey keeps her voice level.
"Boys are dumb." Gemma barely moves her lips so her pirate features don't get ruined. "They claim all the testosterone-filled bravado, but panic when it comes to admitting real, genuine feelings for a girl. My estimation is that he's terrified of you."
Joey stares at Gemma, eyebrows raised.
"In a good way. He wants you, but is equally terrified of what it would do to your friendship and your work relationship."
Unprepared to admit to anything, Joey whispers. "So what does a girl do when a boy is terrified?"
"She takes matters into her own hands. I get it. Saying you like someone, asking them on a date is hard. There is that all-encompassing fear of rejection, of changing everything, the inability to go back. So a girl's got to do the one thing a boy can't help himself but respond to."
"And what is that?"
"Lure him out of his terror. Do something that he cannot resist. Guys think with their dicks first, and brains second. Appeal to his first thought…" She bobs her eyebrows up and down.
"Seems practical." Joey's heavy on the sarcasm. "Parade naked around Screen Play, shall I? Bend over the counter in a short skirt, eyes gazing back at him doe-eyed?"
Gemma laughs. "Hey, you do you. Just know that he's probably having the same thoughts as you, waiting for some sign, any sign, that you feel the same way."
A few drops of blood-red paint drip from the wound, completing the look. Joey holds up a hand mirror for Gemma to inspect the work.
"Oh, that's gross. Awesome. Thanks, Joey," Gemma goes back to her popcorn stand.
A pack of kids makes their way toward them, marveling at the pirate. A boy, no older than six, hops into the chair and ponders his choices.
"I can do a tiger, a leopard, a butterfly, a pirate-" Joey lists the options she's attempted so far today.
"Can you do an evil badger?"
"Um, sure. I'll give it a try."
Joey glances up at Gemma, who winks at her and shovels popcorn into cardboard boxes.
12:30 pm
Thanks to an abundance of staff, Joey and Pacey take their lunch break together.
"It's weird working with other people here."
"Agreed."
"I find myself having to do even more work. One of the many perils of the boss being here, I guess."
"Not delving into the peppermint stash with quite as much fervor under watchful eyes?"
"No," he bites the sandwich, "I'm starving, and feeling faint from the lack of sugar."
"Working with other people has its perks," Joey leans in conspiratorially. "You get to hear all the workplace gossip that we aren't usually privy to."
He puts down his sandwich and rubs his hands together in excitement. "Okay Potter, repeat everything you heard, word for word."
She laughs. "It'll have to wait until later," she glances through the doorway. "It's too risky to share with so many bodies in here."
"Fine. But you better remember. Every. Single. Thing."
"I will. Promise."
She takes another bite of the sandwich. Pacey brought lunch for them today. Over the last few weeks, he had begun testing out recipes, and Joey served as his guinea pig. Today's delicacy was a Waldorf chicken salad. Celery, walnuts, chicken, green apple, and homemade mayo.
"Rating?" he asks, watching her enjoy the bite.
Joey nods. "Solid nine."
It was better than last week's tuna on rye, but not as good as his turkey, cranberry, and brie. Every sandwich since has strived for such accolades.
"I'll take a nine," he says. "Next time, I think it needs a hint of mustard."
From his backpack, he collects a bag of potato chips, opens the packet, and lies it open for them to share.
1:15 pm
Doug drops a collection of half-price rentals on the counter. Beaches. Four Weddings and a Funeral. Robocop 3. Pacey scans the titles and bites his tongue.
"I forgot what you look like in civilian clothes. Taking off the pistol makes you seem at least ten pounds lighter," says Pacey.
"I've got a three-day weekend. Time in Lieu for all my overtime. I am heading directly into the relaxation zone. No pistol required."
"Well, be sure to have some free popcorn outside while you're in the zone. Joey can even paint your face. This is your opportunity to become a butterfly for a day if you so choose."
"Watch yourself, Pacey."
"Don't suppose you've got any space in that relaxation zone for your little brother to bunk in for a few nights? I hardly snore and I swear I won't drink directly from the milk carton. At least when you're watching."
"You have a house, Pacey, and a bedroom with an actual bed."
"That is true. But things have been a tad frosty at home of late, and I could do with some respite. A night? Two? A week? I'll take anything."
Doug considers his pleas. "I'm working night shift next week. Maybe, I repeat, maybe, I could consider you staying there for a night or two. But I'd have to think about it."
Pacey puts his hands together in prayer. "I will be your humble slave. I can clean bathrooms, sweep, alphabetize your CD collection?"
"Don't grovel, Pacey."
"Fine. Groveling ceased. But can I broach another item on our brotherly agenda? It's been weeks now. Have you got anything for me to help shed some light on the whole Dad and Mike Potter scenario?"
Doug nods, beckoning Pacey to follow him to a quiet corner of the store. They stand beside Romantic Comedies and Doug scratches his chin. "I've been marinating on the legalities of bestowing this knowledge. I'm not without concern over what you will do with it."
"Why would I do anything with it? I just asked for the basics. Was it Dad that arrested Mr. Potter? I don't need Mike's medical details or a list of his allergies," says Pacey.
"Yes."
"Yes? Yes, you'll tell me? Or yes, to the list of allergies?"
"Yes, it was Dad who arrested him."
"Oh," says Pacey, unsurprised.
"And I think I might have solved your mystery as to Dad's dislike."
"And that is?"
"It was Dad who pulled him over. It was Dad who found the drugs in the trunk of his car. Dad charged him. Dad took the stand at his sentencing hearing. Dad knows every inch of the case against Mike Potter because he built that case. It makes sense that he struggles with the idea of you and Joey. I'm guessing he knows things that weren't even admissible as evidence. Who knows what was shared between them during interrogations? The arrest and charge of a felon is the tip of the iceberg - a hundred tiny pieces need to fall into place for that to take place and Dad was involved in all of them."
Pacey leans into his brother. "I found photos. Photos of Mom and Dad with the Potter's from when we were kids. Do you think Dad knew? Or suspected that Mike Potter was doing something illegal, even then? Maybe that's why they hung out, a ploy to gather information?"
"I wouldn't put it past him. You know what he's like when he sets his mind on something."
"Of that, I am well aware."
"I'm sorry Pace, I know this isn't what you want to hear, but everything I saw in that file validates what Dad is saying about Mike Potter. He isn't a great guy. And when he's released, I've got no doubt that the whole force, me and Dad included, is going to be keeping a close eye on him."
Pacey's head tips back, considering the news, and sighs.
"Tell you what," says Doug. "I'll give you Thursday and Friday night at my place. You can tell Mom and Dad we're hanging out, watching movies. I'll be working. You'll have the place to yourself."
Pacey's shoulders rise. "Really?"
Pressing his finger into Pacey's chest, Doug says, "But no drinking from the milk carton, understood?"
Pacey holds up a hand, tucks his pinky finger into the scout's honor.
"I swear it."
2:00pm
It's the grand event. The moment everyone in Capeside has been waiting for.
"I can't believe he ordered a cake," Joey mumbles into Pacey's ear.
He snaps a photo, winds onto the next, tasked with preserving the party for eternity. Keith walks onto the street amongst the small crowd, a large rectangular sheet cake in his arms, decorated like a VCR tape.
"I can. Five bucks says he's going to make us sing Happy Birthday," he turns, taking a photo of Joey, blinding her with the flash.
"Get away," she swats him away. "I'll take that bet. A cake is one thing. Singing is another entirely."
Pacey chuckles. "You don't know Keith like I do."
Presenting the cake on a table, the crowd claps. Joey reluctantly joins in.
Keith clears his throat. "I want to thank everyone for being here today. Screen Play Video has served this community for 10 years, and we're excited to serve it for ten years more."
From his pocket, he retrieves candles and arranges them in the icing.
"No!" Joey whispers to Pacey.
He grins. "It's coming, Jo."
"No, it's not. Who is going to blow out the candles?"
Pacey leans down and takes a close-up photo of Keith, lighter at the ready, igniting the wicks.
When they're all lit, the tune begins from someone in the back. A deep baritone. The crowd joins in.
"Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you…"
Pacey sings at the top of his lungs, beaming at Joey.
3:15pm
The popcorn machine has broken. No matter how many kernels they feed into it, a whirring noise hums, the kernels spin, but never pop.
"It's not heating properly," Pacey says, arm reaching into its insides, feeling the cold mechanics.
"Can you fix it?" Keith asks.
"My skills in the art of popcorn machine repairs are untested. There is a distinct chance that if I pull it apart, I won't be able to put it back together."
"We can't have a party without popcorn," Keith shakes his head and disappears inside.
"When the popcorn machine breaks, the celebrations are officially over." Joey snaps shut the paint kit, wiping down the table.
Pacey yawns, hiding it in his crooked elbow. "There is a reason that parties only go on for a few hours. This is exhausting."
"How many pieces of cake have you had?" Joey asks.
He thinks about it. "Only two."
"It's called a sugar crash. Go sneak a peppermint."
"Are you all done with the face painting?" he asks.
Joey nods. "My hand is cramping into a claw. It's time to call it a day."
"Shame," says Pacey. "I really wanted to be a dragon."
Opening the kit, Joey picks up the brush. "If you really want to, I could."
At the sight of the lime green paint swatch, he shakes his head. "No. Considering our prior experience with lipstick application, I think we should withhold from similar activities."
Joey laughs. "Good call."
4:40 pm
Dawson brings a duffel bag. The kind with wheels for easy airport access. Jen walks a step or two behind him to avoid any association. He is here to make the most of half-price weeklys. The perfect excuse to avail himself of the bulk of Screen Play's as yet unwatched items.
Joey's face painting station is all packed away. The kids of Capeside resemble zoo animals. A frog and a pig still lurk in the aisles with their parents.
"I read an article that said VHS tapes would be replaced by computers. That everyone would watch the newest releases on a computer screen, you wouldn't even need a player," says Jen, as Dawson deposits Ed Wood in his bag. Jen looks at the title and cringes.
"I guess it's kind of like those DVDs everyone's talking about." Dawson shakes his head at Jen. "It's the latest fad. I hardly think everyone is going to replace their entire tape collection every time some fancy new system comes out."
Pacey pauses his aisle re-stocking and holds an index finger up at Dawson. "Hate to burst your bubble, Dawson, but this week's New Release catalog had two whole pages of DVD releases."
"It'll never take off. Who can afford a DVD player? They're like 700 bucks. They want this to be the moment that the analog world succumbs to the digital onslaught, where the beauty of traditional filmmaking is overcome by computer-generated special effects and surround sound. It's a sad day."
"Just you wait. Soon the entire video store will be DVDs," Pacey nudges Dawson, awaiting a reaction.
"Oh, go easy on him Pace," Jen interjects. "He has an extensive video collection. The mere thought of replacing it would be enough to bankrupt the Leery family."
Dawson continues his rant on the inevitable end of the film industry. Jen takes Joey's hand, pulling her to the farthest corner of the store.
"Sorry. I needed to get away. I cannot hear this rant again," says Jen.
"Understood," Joey pretends to tidy shelves while Keith is at the register.
"So…" Jen begins. "Something happened last night."
"And what was that?"
Jen leans closer, "We almost had sex."
Raising a single brow, Joey looks at her friend. "How is this new information? I've been witness to multiple occasions between you two where it seemed penetration was imminent."
"This time he had a condom on. It was going to happen."
Joey's mouth falls open in shock. "And?"
"And it didn't."
"Why?"
"Because I realized that I don't want to have sex with him."
"Okay."
Biting her lip, Jen forces out the next words. "I want to break up with him."
"Oh."
"It's been in the back of my mind for some time now. Ever since the whole Christmas gift incident."
"Incident, what incident?"
"The one where he got me a copy of The English Patient."
"It's not that bad, is it? Is a great film."
"Pacey made you a photo album, Joey. He collated photos of your mother from family and friends. Dawson got me Ralph Fiennes."
Joey sighs. "So, are you going to do it?"
"Break up with my boyfriend because he doesn't feel for me the way your friend feels for you?" Jen nods. "Yes."
"When?"
Jen looks at Dawson, scanning titles and putting more covers into his duffel bag. "Soon."
6:05 pm
When 6pm rolls around, Pacey eats his third slice of cake in the break room. There are barely any available videos on the shelves. Keith has gone home. Gemma is staying to close the store with Aaron. Limp balloons and sagging streamers hover over them.
Joey finds Pacey, frosting on his lip.
"Good to see you're committing to a perpetual sugar high." She motions to his mouth. "You ready to go?"
He wipes it with a napkin. "I thought you'd never ask."
In the small storeroom, they grab their backpacks.
"Going to keep that shirt for the home collection, are you?" Pacey says as he rifles through his bag, collects his henley, and pulls the Screen Play shirt off his body in the same confronting manner as before.
"Jesus, Pacey. Next time, give me some warning before you get nude while we're in confined spaces."
She scolds him, but her argument is weak. Against her will she finds her eyes exploring his pectorals and arms, following the line of dark chair that dips into his jeans.
He stills himself, watching her, watch him.
And before he can come up with a suitable witticism, Joey reaches down and pulls her own Screen Play shirt off. In a lilac bra, she stares at him, a challenge.
"What are you doing?" He stumbles.
"Same as you. Getting changed," she shrugs, feigning indifference.
"But…"
She stands there, shirtless, waiting, letting him investigate her as she did him. Blue eyes run across her stomach, the swell of her breasts. Each place he travels, heat falls over her. The room is small, stacked up with boxes and surplus videos on the walls. So close they could reach out and touch.
Pacey takes a step forward.
Goosebumps appear all over her bare skin. She doesn't back away.
In the backpack at her feet, Joey's sweater rests inside, folded, easy to reach down and pick up. Five seconds and it would be on. But she doesn't. She just stares, eyes straying from his bare chest to his eyes, bare. The darkest blue.
He takes another step forward. Flush with her body, but not touching. Yet.
They stand face to face. This feeling, a familiar one, tingles inside her. Every nerve ending stretches out to touch him.
Pacey reaches out a hand and lets his fingertips tickle a trail down the side of her stomach, from the base of her bra to the denim of her jeans.
She swallows, or tries to.
"Joey," he begins, voice distant, trance-like.
Placing her hand on his chest, Joey spreads her fingers wide open. The skin is smooth, leftovers of summer spent jumping off the pier linger in his tan.
He leans toward her, a finger tracing her jaw, bringing her closer.
Gemma clears her throat, head peeking in through the door, a hefty smile on her face.
"Apologies for the interruption, but I'm looking for a new receipt roll for the register."
Stepping back, Joey pulls on her sweater and pushes her way out of the tiny space. Pacey reaches his hand into the box and throws a roll in her direction.
"We were just getting changed," he says.
"Sure," Gemma winks and disappears.
Pacey pulls his henley on, running hands down his face. He takes a few minutes to compose himself before he can be seen in public.
By the passenger door of the Wagoneer, Joey waits for him, watching the sun dip behind the Rialto.
He unlocks the doors.
"Maybe I'll walk home," says Joey, considering the amount of light remaining in the day.
"Aren't you babysitting Alexander tonight?"
She screws up her face. "I forgot about that."
"Get in the car, Potter," he flicks a thumb at the door.
She does, facing towards the window, hiding her intense blush from his scrutiny. Her face is hot. Her body is hot. She glances at the AC button on the dashboard in winter.
"About before," he begins.
Joey shakes her head. "Don't"
He faces forward, turns the key. It starts with the familiar rumble. He presses in the tape. The new R.E.M album, on sale for $14.99 at the gas station. They're only up to track two.
She looks out the window. Pacey keeps his hands at ten and two.
"You know, work is going to be especially quiet for the next week," he says.
"How do you figure?" She answers.
"Did you see the shelves? Dawson and the town have ransacked every weekly. For seven whole days, there won't be anything to rent. We can probably get our entire biology project finished while on shift."
"Our peace will be short-lived come next week. Everything will be due back, all at once. We'll spend hours rewinding, restocking shelves, and then the entire week after making phone calls about late fees."
"Don't kill my vibe with realities, Jo. Let me live in joy for seven days."
"So you're opting for blissful ignorance?"
"I am."
"Noted."
"What's the juicy gossip you found out? You never told me," he asks, turning west off Main Street. Sunset beams on the horizon blind them. Pacey pulls down his visor.
"It's nothing," she says.
"You promised!"
"Seriously, Pace, let it go."
"You can't dangle a carrot like that and then leave me hanging."
"Fine. Jack and Leah were caught in the act during work hours by Keith."
" The act? The act-act during work hours?"
Joey nods.
"That's dedication to the cause. Where were they caught? Just so I can be sure to sterilize the area thoroughly next time we're on shift. You know Jack, I can't say I want to put my hand where his ass has been."
She hesitates, fiddling with the zip on her backpack. "It was in the storeroom."
He's ready to fire off a comment, but her answer startles him. "Oh."
"Yeah."
He pulls up Joey's driveway, turns off the key.
"It feels weird getting home so early," says Joey.
He nods.
"Thanks for lunch."
They both know it's coming.
"Joey…" he starts.
"Can I tell you a memory?" Joey interrupts.
Pacey's relieved. "I'd love a memory."
Joey takes a breath and keeps her eyes on the porch. "It was last year. Summer. We were all at the beach. It was just before the big storm rolled in and we had to run to the payphone to call Mitch to pick us up in the rain."
"I remember that day," he nods.
"Before the rain. We swam, racing each other back and forth to the pier. I won, and you put your hands around my waist and lifted me. You took me on your shoulders in a winner's procession. You had your board shorts on, and I was in my bikini. And when you touched me - when your skin pressed against mine…" Joey swallows.
Pacey watches her, silent, waiting.
"I felt something. Something I couldn't explain then, and I'm finding it even harder to explain now. But I felt it again in that storeroom today, and when you put lipstick on me, and that night in Dawson's study. And every time I feel it, it's stronger than before."
Bessie opens the front door, stomping onto the porch, arms flailing. She points to the watch on her arm. They glance at the digital display in the Wagoneer. It's 6:28.
Joey nods to Bessie and puts her hand on the door latch.
"You can't leave now, Joey," he says.
"I have to."
"Can I come in? We can talk. I can help you with Alexander."
Joey shakes her head. "Bessie won't allow it. Not alone."
"Why?"
"Because she sees the exact thing between us that I can't explain. She won't want us alone together."
Joey opens the door then, takes her backpack and leaves. Pacey jumps out, running around the hood.
"I can explain it!" he calls out.
Joey stops walking and turns. The trees, void of leaves, clack and moan in the wind behind them.
"The first time I felt it was at school. Walking down the hallway. Maybe we were going to Bio, maybe it was Math? I can't remember. It's not important. But Chris Jones was running down the halls, full speed and he bumped you. Your books went flying, boy you were mad. We picked them up together, and then you gave me a thank you nudge. A one-second nudge, arm against arm. And that was it."
"What was it?" Joey asks.
"You made me feel alive, Jo. You make me feel alive."
Bessie comes out, in a dress and black jacket, her hair blow-dried. Bundled in blankets, Alexander is in her arms. Pacey scuffs the toes of his shoes on the ground.
"Hey Pacey," she gives him a half-hearted wave. "Are you coming in, Joey? Alexander needs his bottle and we need to leave to make the reservation on time."
Joey looks at Pacey, then back to Bessie. "Sure, I'm coming in now."
Bessie reaches in for her handbag. Bodie comes through the door in slacks and a sports jacket. With open arms, Joey receives both Alexander and a warning glare from Bessie. She squishes his warm baby cheeks into hers.
"The list is on the counter. Call me if you need anything," says Bessie before raising her brows at Pacey. "I'm not sure what has just transpired between you two, but it's nothing you can't recommence tomorrow. Joey needs to focus on keeping my child alive, not engaging in deep and meaningful conversations with her 'friend.'" Her air quotes are heavy.
"We'll follow you out of the drive, Pacey," says Bodie.
They climb into the truck, Pacey into the Wagoneer. Alexander's head rests on Joey's shoulder as the two cars start. Headlights dazzle the yard.
Pacey's eyes make contact with hers from the driver's seat. He waves, flashing a smile.
He gave the feeling a word. Now it's all she feels, even without his touch. Everything in her tingles and sings.
Alive.