Career Tip #7 Know Your Product.
It doesn't matter if you're selling insurance, clothes, or stocks - know your product.
The highest achievers in any business are the ones who test, who try, who experience the product for themselves.
You can't sell what you don't know!
The pink box sits on the passenger seat. He reaches inside, flipping the lid, grabbing a donut.
"Hey!" Doug yells. "They're for the station."
Pacey shovels it into his mouth, pillowy and sweet.
"Oh no," he speaks through the dough, wiping the glaze from his chin. "How will the guys down at the station cope without a mere three donuts a day? They'll be positively malnourished."
"What do you want, Pacey?"
"Me? I want for nothing but quality time spent with my big bro."
Doug hands him a stern, unbelieving stare. "Cut the BS Pacey. There must be a reason you have tracked me down this morning and I'm certain it isn't to only steal my breakfast."
"Well, now that you mention it, I do have a query."
"A query?"
Pacey finishes the last mouthful, reaches back into the passenger seat for a napkin, and wipes his sugared hands.
"Yeah. I want to know if dear old dad happened to be part of Mike Potter's arrest?"
Doug tilts his head. "Does this have something to do with your newest fellow employee at Screen Play Video?"
Pacey nods. "Dad has made it clear that even our working together is pushing his buttons, and I'm just trying to work out why the progeny of a felon is such a concerning factor in my coworkers."
"Can I speculate that maybe you want to move the relationship from that of a working one to a romantic one?"
Pacey holds up his hands. "Woah. I'm just trying to get to the bottom of this. Did Mike Potter do something to him? Does Dad know something we don't?"
Doug chuckles at Pacey's deflection. "I wasn't working on the force then."
"I know, but I thought maybe you could find out for me. Ask Dad, ask around? Questions that come from his number one son are received somewhat more favorably than that of the bane of his existence."
Doug crosses his arms, considering Pacey's pleading eyes.
"Are you asking me to access police records so that you can find a way to date a girl?"
"No, I'm asking you, as a brother, to find out why my father has such a strong moral objection to my friend."
"Why don't you ask him?"
"I have. Numerous times. But he gives no reason other than his arrest. I get the feeling it's personal, and it's making his reaction to the matter somewhat more explosive."
Doug nods. He knows well of his father's temperament, even if it's rarely, if ever, directed at him.
"I'll ask around," he says finally. "But you have to admit, Pace, that with your grades and questionable attitude, hanging around family like that probably isn't in your best interests."
"He's in jail!" Pacey huffs.
"For the moment, yeah, but come the new year and some good behavior and he'll most likely get out."
"What do you think I'm going to do? Have a study date at the Potter's and suddenly find myself overcome with the burning desire to deal a couple grams?"
Doug's face is blank, unimpressed. "You're scraping the barrel at the best of times, Pacey, barely passing school. Dad has a reputation to uphold if he wants to keep the respect, and the vote of this town you call home. So, as much as you hate it, who you hang out with and what you do affects him, it affects me."
"Joey is a straight-A student, she is the epitome of rule-following and order. A couple of study sessions with her and my grades are up, I got a B last week for God's sake."
"What is her surname?" Doug holds up his hands. "She can be the best student in school, but it doesn't change her last name, and the connotations that come with it."
Pacey sighs, frustrated.
Observing his little brother's distress, Doug softens. "I'll look into it for you. I'm not sure you're going to get the answers you want, but I'll see what I can do."
"Thanks, Dougie," Pacey pats his brother on the shoulder, reaches in and grabs another donut for the road.
"Pacey!" Doug yells, but Pacey is already gone, school backpack swinging as he runs.
Joey checks the time, chewing on the last shards of overcooked toast. She looks at the space that once housed their Christmas tree. The hole is filled with a changing table now, diapers and wipes stacked high. The first few years Bessie tried to make Christmas special, but holidays, even more than other days, are a reminder of what they once had.
This year, a few wrapped presents rest on the kitchen counter, between pacifiers and infant paraphernalia. She intentionally takes her eyes away from the space.
"Bess, what do you know about John Witter?"
Perched on the couch, Bessie has a pillow on her lap, blue-veined breast exposed. She's attempting to get Alexander to latch onto her nipple, holding his head just so.
"Sheriff Witter?" She answers, not looking up.
"Yeah. He told Pacey that he doesn't want us to be friends, on account of dad."
Alexander sucks, but continues fussing, little legs kicking.
Bessie blows an unwashed strand of hair from her face and finally looks up at her sister. "John is an asshole. Don't let him get under your skin."
Taken aback, Joey's brows knot. "What makes you say that?"
"He lives on a perpetual power trip. His treatment of Pacey, you, me, is unwarranted."
"How does he treat you?"
"Remember those speeding tickets I got last year? Both were from Sheriff Witter. I was only going five over. He's pulled Bodie over multiple times for traffic checks, and you know Bodie, he drives like a grandparent. He's on the limit or under."
"Was he part of the team that investigated dad? Or there when they arrested him?"
Bessie adjusts her position without moving Alexander. She screws up her nose, trying to remember. "There were a lot of cops there that day. I don't remember seeing him, but it would make sense that the town Sheriff would be there to watch it all go down."
Joey takes a breath, fists her hands that tremor at the memory of that day. She reaches into her backpack, pulling out the folded letter.
"I wrote the letter that dad asked for." It floats down onto the coffee table, Department of Corrections written on the front in cursive. "Did you write one?"
Bessie looks up from watching Alexander's perfectly timed swallows. "Not yet, but I will."
Joey nods.
There is a knock at the door. Bessie gives a panicked look, her breast spilling out over her robe.
"Relax, it's just Pacey. I'll protect your modesty."
Bessie sighs with relief. Joey throws her backpack over her shoulder.
"I didn't realize you were on going-to-school-together terms?" There is a smirk beneath the bags under her eyes.
Rolling her eyes, Joey drops her voice low. "It's not a big deal."
"If you say so."
"Besides, it's not like anything could happen, anyway. Mr. Witter wouldn't allow it, what with us being the lowly offspring of a drug offender."
Bessie opens her mouth as if she is going to say something, but Alexander pulls his head back screaming and Pacey knocks again.
"See you." Joey squeezes her body through a cracked front door, protecting Pacey from a lifetime of breastfeeding nightmares.
"Morning Potter, ready for the trig quiz?"
She nods, looks at him, and smiles. "What did you have for breakfast?"
Patting his belly, Pacey says, "I stole some donuts from Dougie."
"Well, you now have a glazed cheek," she points to his face.
He catches the sugar with his finger and pops it into his mouth. "I was saving it for later."
A pile of Santa hats sits beside the cash register. Joey refuses to wear one. Pacey's hat is skewed to the side, the pompom dangling over his ear. A red bauble sways from his My Name is Pacey button.
They decorate the store. Tinsel lines each aisle, carols sound over speakers.
Screen Play Video adapts to accommodate the moods of its employees. When Joey is sluggish from another night of infant screams, the hours pass in a sleepy daze. When Pacey's quiz results are higher than a C, he walks on air, often dancing, taking a reluctant Joey along to ride his high.
Today Joey is melancholy. Christmas holds no joy for her. Memories of a mother, a father, a stable home are just that, memories, and the older she gets the harder they are to access. Pacey's mood is buoyant, as if his own cheer might uplift Joey Potter. But she abandons hanging decorations and opts for window cleaning instead.
"How have things been at home?" She asks, like she does every day since she climbed in his window.
"Fine and dandy," he replies, draping a string of lights over Tommy Lee Jones and a Men in Black cardboard cutout.
"You don't have to talk about anything, especially not here, but I'm doing my due diligence, checking in on you."
"Consider me checked." He flashes a broad smile, but his eyes miss the memo.
She raises a peaked eyebrow in his direction.
"Relax, Joey. I'm just going to repress my trauma like everyone else does during the festive season. Sometimes, I'm just happy to hang with you, decorate action stars, and listen to a ditty about seven swans a-swimming."
"Crappiest Christmas present ever. Who wants a Partridge in a pear tree?"
Pacey puts an arm over her shoulder, the Santa hat tickles her cheek. "I'm fine, okay? Promise."
She nods.
"And what about you?" He asks. "Christmas has got to be hard."
"The hardest."
He holds her gaze, waiting for her to continue.
The door opens, making the bell chime. A family enters, kids run down the aisles, the parents pull off their jackets.
She waves him away. "I'm fine, okay? Promise." And goes back to her window cleaning, working a stubborn smudge.
Friday is their night off, but Pacey and Joey are standing in Screen Play Video. No vests, no buttons, just a boy and a girl standing in the comedy aisle, arguing.
"Dead Poets Society or Uncle Buck?" Pacey holds up the two videos for selection.
"Dead Poets Society."
Pacey makes a face, collecting two more. "Death Becomes Her or a League of Their Own."
"Duh. A League of Their Own."
He shakes his head. "Considering your formative education with one Dawson Leery, I feel like your taste in films is wanting."
"This from the man who considers anything with Arnold Schwarzenegger the purest of art."
"I don't know, you just overlooked a John Candy classic."
"I cannot believe we have been tasked with this selection," Joey huffs, thumbing through the titles.
"Tell me about it. In all our years we have never been permitted movie night pick, and sleepover movie night no less."
"All that third base action must be rotting his brain.".
Pacey gives her the side eye. "No. Third base action has cleared his mind. Sexual gratification was all he needed to relinquish his impulsive need for cinematic control."
"Gross. I still don't understand why he invited us. I mean, we've barely been a blip on his radar for weeks, now we're back on the sleepover call list. It doesn't make sense."
"Think about it, Jo. Dawson wants a sleepover with Jen, right? Gale isn't going to agree to that, Grams sure as hell won't entertain the idea. But if he invites us, another male and female to add to the mix, suddenly it's just a bunch of friends hanging out."
"So you're telling me we're going as some weird foursome so that Dawson can have a late-night gropefest with Jen under the guise of a sleepover?"
"Yes. No. Of course, this is all speculation. He may just want to hang out."
Joey isn't convinced.
"So, what are you going to pick?" She glances at the clock. "And I beg you, no Arnie."
A wisp of a smile crosses Pacey's lips and he goes to the foreign films, eyes scanning the titles.
"You wouldn't!" Joey glares at him.
"Oh, but Miss Potter, I would ."
Gale Leery anxiously clasps her hands before Jen and Joey.
"I wouldn't normally mind. I mean, you'd all be in there together. How much can happen?" She laughs, strangely high-pitched. "But Mrs. Ryan insisted, and I really think it's for the best."
Opening the door to the study, Gale has set out a double mattress and bedding on the floor.
"It's fine Gale, really," Jen reassures her.
Joey looks at the foreign room, blankets abutting the walnut desk, a computer perched above the pillows. The Leery house used to feel like her home. She knew and loved every corner, every hiding place for hide and seek, every ornament she had an intimate knowledge of. But now, those same objects seemed cluttered, the hiding places too obvious.
When Gale, has left, Jen drops her bag on the floor, flopping onto the mattress. Joey follows.
"I have never slept in any room other than Dawson's," Joey lies on her back, stares at the ceiling. A tiny cobweb nests in the corner, she can't see the spider.
Head perched on her hand, Jen replies. "Sorry, everyone seems to assume that we're going to have sex everywhere we go. Grams is employing a strict open-door policy and even Mr. Goodman wouldn't let us take a bathroom break at the same time."
"It's fine. My days of bed sharing with Dawson are well and truly over."
Jen smiles. "On account of you wanting to bed share with other members of this sleepover that will not be named?"
"I liked it better when we weren't friends," Joey pulls the pillow out from under her head and hits Jen with it.
Jen laughs, "No you didn't."
Pacey pulls the VHS tape from his bag, a triumphant grin across his face.
"I want to go on record that the movie selection was a solo exercise. I claim no responsibility." Joey holds up her hands.
"Tut-tut Josephine, you were there with me, therefore you are equally culpable," he cracks open the case.
Joey flashes him a cutting glare and collects a handful of popcorn.
"Jesus, Pacey, do we really want to sit here and watch porn together?" Dawson asks.
"It is not porn! Porn is porn. This is an enchanting tale of a repressed Dutch woman who meets a handsome stranger on a train. They spend a weekend in a luxury hotel and he facilitates her sexual awakening."
Joey puts the pillow over her face. "I tried to stop him."
Pulling it off, Pacey nudges her knee. "Come on, Jo. It's just a bit of fun. Naked fun."
"Naked fun is exactly what I am worried about."
He presses the video into the player, locates the remote. The opening credits begin, a wide angle of Amsterdam, zooming down on its canals, locals riding bikes.
"Look at that cinematography!" Pacey points, Dawson shakes his head.
In the dim bedroom, all four of them are silent, watching the screen. Jen lounges in Dawson's lap. Pacey is on his stomach, chin propped against his palms. Opting for the floor, Joey is rigid, sitting with her back straight against the foot of the bed.
Pacey is close enough to Joey to watch her lashes fall against her face. When the scenes are conversational, the lashes are like a steady heartbeat.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
But when the characters kiss, when the actress is covered in gooseflesh, fingers trailing against her naked skin, the blinks increase in pace.
His observations are rudely interrupted by Dawson's voice.
"That position doesn't even make sense. Surely sex in a bathtub would be near impossible. There is no room. Wouldn't it splash more water than that?" His arms are crossed over his chest. To him, the cinematography is passable, but the acting is unconvincing.
"Bathtub sex is entirely plausible. They're only going slow. There isn't enough force to push the water out," Pacey answers.
"Look at the way she's sitting on him. Wouldn't it be so slippery she wouldn't be able to grip with her knees like that," says Dawson.
Joey blinks faster.
Pacey continues, "She has excellent core strength. Plus, she's grinding down on him. People have bath sex all the time."
"And how many times have you had bath sex, Pacey?" Joey asks, eyebrows raised.
He throws a single piece of popcorn at her. "I've heard things."
"Sure you have."
"I can confirm that it is physically possible," Jen confesses, voice low.
Pacey's head whips around. "You've had sex in a tub?"
She nods. Dawson cringes.
"Nice," says Pacey.
The scene continues, and the splashing increases.
"See, that's what I'm talking about," points Dawson to the naked bodies on his television screen. The moans are getting louder. The actor's hands are holding the bouncing actress's breasts. Water cascades from the tub with each thrust.
"Well, aren't you a regular Archimedes, debating the buoyant force rather than appreciating the tantalizing on-screen action," Pacey smirks at his friend.
"It's hardly tantalizing," Joey finally speaks.
Pacey's head swivels, eyes luminous. "Do you not find the sex scene sufficiently alluring, Potter? Are you, like Dawson, going to question its scientific realism?"
Joey reaches out, hitting the pause button on the VCR. The actors are frozen in ecstasy while she points at the television.
"Is this a male or female director?" Joey asks.
Pacey scans the VHS cover. "Male."
"Exactly. The problem with this is not the sex, it's the lead-up to the sex. There is no passion, no moments spent together to justify this act in the bathtub. Men write sex scenes for the sake of a sex scene, throwing in a few token tidbits to give us a semblance of lackluster character development."
Joey looks to Jen for confirmation. She nods emphatically and adds. "The scene is hot, don't get me wrong, but we haven't been given the delicious warm up. The moments before sex, to women, are just as important as the sex itself. Guys are more visual than girls, lump some breasts in close up and they're singing for an Oscar nomination."
"This explains the prevalence of romantic comedies," muses Pacey. "All the lead-up, and no sex."
"Can we please quit the commentary and get this movie over with?" Dawson whines.
A hand falls over Pacey's shocked mouth. "Did Dawson Leery just ask for less commentary on a film?"
"Congratulations." Reaching up, Joey slaps Pacey's arm. "You've broken him."
She presses play.
The moans continue, along with the thrusts. Finally, the couple orgasm, breathy and at the same time. Joey's blinks are a flutter.
Pacey reaches over Joey's shoulder for the bowl of popcorn in her lap, his hand emerges with a fistful of kernels showering her shirt.
It's not much longer until the credits roll, and everyone, Pacey included, breathes a sigh of relief.
"I should have just agreed to Uncle Buck," Joey stretches, glaring at Pacey.
He raises his brows. "Shoulda, coulda, woulda."
After a game of Monopoly in which Joey found herself, the thimble, bankrupt after only twenty minutes of play, Jen attempted to instigate a round of two truths and a lie. There were no takers. The foursome chatted instead, until yawns became more common than words.
"I'm done," says Joey. "Time for bed."
Everyone nods but doesn't move.
Jen groans. "I forgot to pack my toothbrush."
"You can borrow mine," offers Dawson.
Jen makes a face. "I believe, strongly in fact, that toothbrushes are a private item, not to be shared."
Joey and Pacey nod in agreement.
She lifts herself from the bed. "I'll sneak home, try not to wake Grams."
Jen departs out the window, leaving Pacey, Joey, and Dawson in their traditional positions, watching an outsider climb Joey's ladder.
"I honestly thought no one else would ever use that ladder," Dawson says. "Mom said she was sick of looking at it and was going to put it back in the garage."
"I'm happy to pass the proverbial ladder to someone else now. I think you'll find I'm quite capable with a door handle." Joey's tone is dry. Her fingers work at an errant thread that hangs from Dawson's comforter, a string of blue falling into her palm. The fabric is more threadbare than she remembers.
Dawson chuckles. "Ask me six months ago and I couldn't imagine a day you didn't climb through my window. Now the trees are getting overgrown."
"Maybe Joey is visiting other boys' windows in the night now?" Pacey says, throwing Joey the briefest of glances.
She pulls the thread until it snaps.
Dawson shakes his head, dismissing the suggestion. "We're getting older. I've got a girlfriend now. But that's why I wanted to have this movie night, to remind you two that you're important to me."
"Well, it's nice to know you still think of us… occasionally," Pacey smiles.
"Although I'm sure we'll be stricken from the invite list permanently thanks to our terrible film selection," says Joey.
"Next time, don't let Pacey choose." Dawson reclines on the bed, watching his window, waiting, like always, for a girl to appear through the sheer curtains.
Opening her fist, Joey lets the thread fall to the floor.
Pacey lies on the mattress in the study, Joey by his side.
"The nostalgia is lost here. Our sleepovers used to be existential questions and movie trivia, not using a sleepover as an excuse for fondling. I feel used," Joey says into the darkness.
"Dawson's best intentions were there, but they evaporated with unfettered access to a beautiful girl." Pacey's head turns on Jen's pillow. "How long do you think this fondling will take in real-time? Am I going to be spending the night here or is it a five-minute quickie?"
Joey groans. All it took was Pacey and Joey exiting to brush their teeth, returning to a sight involving more grinding than they'd bargained for. They closed the door silently and retreated.
"I'm blaming you." She adjusts the pillow behind her head.
"Me?"
"It's hardly surprising that we're hiding out in the study when you rent an erotic film for teenagers. You got them all riled up."
Pacey laughs. "I don't know if I should be proud that I turned on Dawson Leery, or ashamed."
"Ashamed, because now you're stuck here with me. Banished to the study in sexual purgatory."
"It's not so bad. The alternative is sharing Dawson's bed, and I wasn't particularly excited by that prospect."
Joey chuckles. "Times have changed. It used to always be me in Dawson's bed, you on the floor."
"Don't remind me."
From down the hallway, they can hear lip-smacking from the couple, soft moans.
"The question is, do I put a pillow over my head in an attempt to drown out the sounds, or use it as some kind of twisted lullaby to get me to sleep?" Joey asks.
"My vote is sleep. It's gotta be around 2 am, and I hate to remind you, but we have a date with Screen Play tomorrow. We should probably be at least partially awake for our shift."
"You've forgotten my screaming nephew. Sleep is but a fable for me now."
After turning off the light, Pacey pulls the cover over himself, over Joey. "All the more reason for you to rest. I'm going to try to get to sleep quickly, to avoid having my ears witness their inevitable finale."
Joey makes a retching noise.
"Go to sleep, Potter," Pacey warns.
"Do we need to make some kind of wall between us? Rolled up towels or blankets or something?" She asks.
"A barrier to protect me from your inevitable advances?"
She scoffs. "The only advances you'll get from me are murderous ones."
"I'm going to sleep. I'll stay on my side, you stay on yours."
He doesn't close his eyes, instead listening to the wind whip ribbons around the trees outside, the branches reaching out their fingers and touching the walls.
"I think for the first time, I'm seeing this house as it really is," says Joey after a pause.
"How so?"
"When mom died, and dad went to jail, I all but moved in. Sure, my clothes were at home with Bessie, but my heart was here. And I tried to let Dawson, Mitch, and Gale fill the hole left by my own family. And they were wonderful, they really were. But now I feel a disconnect. The time away has made me realize I relied on them too much, that by being here, I was leaving Bessie at a time when she too needed her family around.
"I loved everything about this house, about the people inside it. And don't get me wrong, I still love it, but maybe I don't need it the way I used to. It's been months without them, and I'm okay."
Pacey nods in the dark. "Sometimes we get so caught up in our world, that a little space grants perspective."
She mumbles in the affirmative. "Night, Pace."
"Night, Jo."
There is an ample gap between them, Joey in pajamas, Pacey still in jeans. He considers the silence, tries to sleep. It's hard, she's right there beside him.
Joey's breath eventually slows. A steady rhythm, deep exhales. Pacey observes her sleeping form in the darkness, head propped on his arm.
He waits a minute, then another, until he convinces himself she couldn't possibly be awake. Moving in complete silence, an outstretched hand gently takes a piece of Joey's hair from her pillow, feeling the silken strands between his fingertips.
Her breathing changes, the pace increases.
Pacey drops her hair.
She shifts, turning from her back to her side. The move lands her closer to him; her arm an inch away from his, their hands in line.
He's frozen, heart in his throat.
Again he waits for her familiar relaxed breaths. Only when it comes does he brave his own movement. A gentle roll forward, bridging the gap between their skin. Parallel bodies, under the guise of sleep. Her warmth seeps through cotton pajamas, making hairs rise on his arms.
He could stay here forever, equal parts terrified and alive, living on oxygen and covert contact.
They lie still. The room a black cloak, where time is no longer punctuated by a ticking clock, but by soft falls of breath.
Bravery engulfs him. He moves closer again, so close now that his exhalations collide with hers, the sweet richness of butter popcorn and toothpaste. In a sleepy movement, his hand rises, hungry for contact, and his pinky finger rests on hers.
Pacey's eyes drift closed.
A creak sounds. Jen opens the door, streaming in light that forces Pacey's eyes open, and his body to retreat.
She whispers. "Sorry to wake you, Witter, but I'm going to have to claim that very spot."
He sits up, carefully lifting the blankets, extracting himself. Joey stirs, rolling over. In the hallway, Jen and Pacey speak in hushed tones.
"Thanks for warming it up for me." She grins. "It looks cozy."
Pacey fidgets. "Do I need to string caution tape around Dawson's bed? I'm presuming it's now a black light horror scene?"
Jen shakes her head. "We were just kissing. I wouldn't do anything with you guys in the room next door."
Strolling to the linen closet, Pacey pulls out a spare blanket and pillow. "I'm not going to risk it."
He bids her goodnight, taking a glimpse of the study before he enters the bedroom. Dawson is perched in bed sheepishly. Pacey lays the blanket on the rug.
"Sorry about that, we got a little distracted," Dawson flicks off the lamp.
"Whatever man, let's just sleep," Pacey melts into the cool floor beneath him.
Jen fumbles through her bag for pajamas in the dark. On her back Joey tries to settle her racing heartbeat, it thrums so loud she can hear it vibrate through the pillow.
He was asleep. She tells herself. Just rolling over in his sleep.
But she wasn't asleep, she was wide awake.
"Thanks for ditching me for Dawson," Joey says, bitterness masking the shock of losing his warmth.
"Oh, so you are awake?" Jen takes off her jeans, leaves them in a pile on the floor.
Joey mumbles in the affirmative, then asks, "Are you in love with Dawson?"
Jen shakes her head. "So far, I'm only in the like category. He's not like anyone from New York, so that is the basis for much of my attraction. He treats me with respect and I haven't had a lot of that in the past."
"Do you think he loves you?"
She climbs beneath the covers, turns to face Joey. "We're young, Joey. I know Dawson has a lot of ideas from his favorite movies about what love is, and isn't, but I think he can differentiate between love and lust."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that."
Jen considers Joey in the dark. "How did things go in here? Did you make any progress differentiating your own feelings as love or lust?"
"Progress?"
"Why do you think I was in there with Dawson? Sure, I was blowing off some steam after the movie, but I was trying to give you and Pacey some time alone to address your own feelings after watching it."
"Nothing happened," says Joey, an octave higher than normal.
He was asleep.
"You sure looked close when I opened the door."
"Nothing happened." She reiterates, stretching out her fingers, the pinky still hot. "Nothing can happen."
"Why?"
Joey presses her face into the pillow, pulls it out, and exhales. "Because Pacey's dad has clarified that I'm not someone that he should fraternize with."
"Who gives a shit about what his dad thinks?"
"You don't understand."
"Well, help me understand."
Joey isn't about to share specifics on John Witter's temperament without Pacey's approval, so she says, "Trust me, it's better for both of us if we just stay friends."
Jen reaches out and holds the hand that Pacey couldn't. "Romeo and Juliet's parents forbade their love."
Voice dry, Joey shakes her head. "And look how well it turned out for them."
"Sure, you both have a flair for the dramatic, but I suspect you're hardly at the poison drinking phase."
"It's nothing, anyway. We're just friends."
"Only a few weeks ago you would have used the word enemies, so that's growth right there."
"Sometimes I think he feels the same way, sometimes I think it's all in my head."
He was asleep.
"It's not in your head." Jen squeezes Joey's hand. "We just watched a movie with gratuitous sex scenes, ample nudity, and loud female orgasms."
"Yeah?"
"But Pacey wasn't watching the porn, Joey, he was watching you."
"He wasn't," Joey protests.
The girls look at each other in the darkness. Joey knows Jen is smiling, even if she can't see it.
"He was."
Joey blinks rapidly.
He was awake.