Predictably, Dawson the drama queen is outraged. "Fluff?! How can it be fluff?! I put my heart and soul into that script!!" Jen can see that, but she just thinks that his interpretation of the lives and loves of the small town scene seems like it comes from a "na•ve point of view." (which in my opinion, is a fair comment) Dawson defends his work, citing it as a characterization of "the age of innocence ... of sexual awakenings ... of the magic of first love ..." (in other words, na•ve) Jen soothes his bruised ego by telling him the script is good, in fact, it's funny, timely, smart and well-written ... it just lacks relevance for today's society. It lacks ... "oomph." (exactly the word I was searching for!! :) ) She thinks that for a commentary on teen life, it winds up saying very little about it.
Her effort to ease her harsh (albeit constructive) criticism with a balm of make-up praise is not well received. "If you move the knife a little to the left, you'll hit the jugular," Dawson chides her. Poor Jen attempts to justify her perspective, telling him the script lacks the raw, dark edge and anger that comes along with being young. Dawson insists he has those very qualities, but Jen doesn't buy it. "In theory, maybe ... but you lack the proof and facts to back that up." He wants to know how he can prove it to her - by taking a gun to school, perhaps? Or murdering his parents in their sleep? No, she wasn't thinking of such drastic actions, merely that he loosen up a little and move on. "Write from the gut, stop writing from an adult perspective."
Dawson wants to know how he is supposed to accomplish such a feat, and Jen's answer is simple: a crash course in Teenage 101 (about the only course I've ever gotten an A+ in in my life!), which will teach him to start acting like he really is 15. In fact, Jen continues, she could show him how to reclaim those missing years (hell, she's got her doctorate degree in this particular area of study). "Come on, Dawson ... what do you say?" Forget what to say, the look on his face shows he clearly doesn't even know what to think.
Cut to Joey and Andie outside school. Andie starts babbling about her lack of sleep the night before and how it brought on an epiphany which involved Joey. Joey notes it's too early in the morning for epiphanies, but Andie is relentless. She explains that student council elections are coming up, and that she thinks she could make some positive changes as sophomore class president ... but a great president needs a great running mate, and that's where Joey comes in.
Joey's response is as predictable as Dawson's earlier one to Jen: "Forget about it. I don't do student government." Typical Andie though is like a dog with a bone, and won't let it rest. She tells Joey she checked out Joey's G.P.A., and it's in the top 3 per cent of her class, which means Joey has a "responsibility" to let the academically less fortunate benefit from her knowledge. Joey isn't convinced, however. "I'm not exactly Miss Congeniality of Capeside, and adding my name to your ticket could only assure you of a loss," noting that everyone already knows her "sordid family history."
Andie thinks it's all water under the bridge -- in her idealistic, naive perspective (hmm ... maybe SHE should hook up with Dawson?), the chronological chart of high school means Joey's past is ancient history, because the average teenager has an attention span of about two seconds, which ensures Joey a clean slate. She asks her to think about it. Joey's flattered, but tells Andie she doesn't want to screw up her chances.
Inside the hallowed halls of Capeside High, Pacey walks up to his new main squeeze and whispers those soft words of love all teenage girls want to hear: "Hey! What's shakin' McPhee?" Before she can answer, Chris Wolfe (Jen's bed-buddy from the All-Nighter episode and potential menage a trois partner from the Reluctant Hero episode) thrusts a flier into Pacey's hands, telling Pacey to vote for him and Abby on election day. Abby is hot on Chris' heels, and snidely tells Pacey that wherever he goes, the slacker vote will follow him (ah yes ... the lost art of sucking up to your constituents, someone award Abby that Miss Congeniality crown right now). Pacey seems to agree with me, as he snarls at her, "Once again, Abby, your natural irrepressible charm naturally shines through."
After Capeside's own Bill Clinton (sorry, couldn't resist) and his running mate saunter off down the hall in search of new victims to spread their sleaze to, Pacey delivers the best line of the show: "Fabulous. James Bond and Pussy Galore are going to rule our class." Andie tells him that isn't necessarily true, so Pacey asks her who is going to beat them. "Me," she beams at him. "Yeah, right," he replies (gee ... nice supportive boyfriend there!). She tells him she's serious and he retorts, "What sane person would waste their time on school politics when they could spend oodles of time with me?" (sane being the operative word there, I guess)
Andie tells her man that it's all part of her master plan, and that student politics looks great on a college application. Pacey, realizing she's serious, asks if she has a running mate yet. No ... but she knows who's going to be her Campaign Manager -- one guess (note how she doesn't give him a choice in the matter?). "I am?" Pacey replies bemusedly. "Of course," she smiles. "I wouldn't want to miss out on those oodles of quality time." Hah! Score: Andie 1, Pacey zip.
Further down the hall, Jen spots Dawson and asks what's up. "Same old fluffy painless existence," he replies, still a tad sore from her comments the night before. She tells him to do something about it, then. He wants an idea of what she had in mind, and she suggests they ditch school, something normal people do at random. Dawson says it isn't a possibility, cause 1) he doesn't think a day of cutting class will unleash the answers of the teenage universe and 2) (the real reason) he has a history quiz. Jen tells him to take the quiz tomorrow, and that in order to write about being a teen, he actually has to experience being one. It's an experience Dawson asks if he can hold off on until the following week, he promises.
Jen is as persistent as Andie in her quest to secure Joey as a running mate. "Life is composed of moments, just like your script," she tells him. "You have to take them as they come, and act on them impulsively." After a moment's thought, Dawson is all for it. "Then okay, let's do it. Let's be impulsive. Come on, you lead," he tells her, steering her towards the door. "Really? All right!" she answers, surprised and happy. But as Jen heads out the door, Dawson ducks into his nearby history classroom, leaving her standing outside the school, alone and bewildered. Heh-heh ... smooth! Score: Dawson 1, Jen zip.
Meanwhile, at Casa Leery, Gale is having trouble with a leaky dishwasher, and has asked Mitch to come over to help out, citing that she "didn't know who else to call." (How come that excuse works for her and it didn't work for ME, I'd like to know?!) Mitch instructs her to turn it to the rinse cycle, which she does, and water sprays everywhere. She bursts into hysterical laughter as they both get drenched. (Yes, folks, you know where this is heading) Needless to say, Mitch has to take off his shirt cause it's soaked, but there's enough heat between the two of them to dry up any excess water. Within seconds, they're lip-locked in the most passionate of ways. They make out and make out and make out (damn ... I can't believe I'm jealous of two fortysomethings!) to the point where it's almost kinda "enough, already!" And as the TV Guide write-up noted, they rekindle their, er, love of furniture, moving over to the kitchen table, when who should enter but Dawson. He just smiles and walks out as quietly as he walked in, while Mitch and Gale continue to go at it, oblivious. Sex with your ex ... never, ever a good idea, not that I would know or anything ...
A-hem! Moving right along to the Icehouse, Joey and Jack are working and the place is dead, as usual. The multi-talented Jack is constructing a little pyramid out of coffee- creamers (I thought nothing could top his origami masterpieces from a few episodes back, but apparently I was very wrong), which in typical Jack-fashion, he manages to screw up. Joey, meanwhile, is grilling him about his personality defects, er, traits: "Do you get your clumsiness from your mum or dad? Because Andie's not clumsy ... a little high-strung maybe, but not clumsy."
Jack ignores her, and his coffee-creamer tower topples. "Best two out of three," he tells her (except she isn't playing his little dairy product architecture game so I don't know why he said that in the first place) "Loser cleans the deep fryer." (Oh, well then, if it's the loser who has to clean up, then why even bother involving Joey in the first place? Jack, there's a deep fryer with your name on it.)
"I take after my mum," Joey announces. "Who do you take after, your mum or dad? I bet it's your mum ..." But instead of announcing which parent is responsible for his ineptitude, awkwardness and general dorkiness, his little skyscraper disintegrates again, and he tells Joey that she wins. "I'll stay and clean the deep fryer ... only you have to stay late too and help, cause I'm a little fuzzy on the process." (Gee, what a prize for her to "win").
"How do you do that?" she asks him, incredulously. "What?" he replies. "You ignore all my questions about personal things. I've asked you six and you've ignored them all." "You have to ask a seventh," he replies at yet another one of his pathetic attempts at humour, "It's the magic number." He asks if she thinks he "intentionally tanked the coffee creamer" sculpture. (No, that happened cause you're just a oafish klutz and damn fool ... nothing at all to do with avoiding the issue at hand) She isn't impressed. "There you go again! We talk all the time, and whenever it gets deep, you get weird and vague. Why are you making light of this?" "Because I'm introverted and unsociable," he responds, adding that that counts as answering one question. Score: Jack 1, Joey zip.
Before she can come up with a typically witty rejoinder, Chris and Abby enter and sit down, Abby instantly barking for a couple of menus. When Joey delivers them to the table, Abby disdainfully tells her, "Uh, preferably a couple without yesterday's special rotting on them?" Joey is pissed, but the customer is always right, so she gives her fresh menus, with a look that would freeze the sun. It doesn't go unnoticed by Miss Manners, who muses that the "service is even worse than the food." Chris pipes up, wanting to know why Abby brought him to this dive, to which she replies that they have to discuss strategy for the election in private, and "you can always count on this place to be deserted."
Joey continues her slow burn over at the counter, where Jack marvels at Abby's charisma and charm. "You're content on letting those two represent your class?" he asks. Joey replies that they aren't the only ones running. "Kenny Reiling?" Jack laughs, mentioning the other candidate (remember him? The whiny, fat kid who was Abby's hubby for the Economics project?) "He's got no chance. Where's your sense of civic duty?" Joey doesn't know, but she does know she isn't the type to get involved in school activities.
Jack actually makes a semi-intelligent statement (for him, anyway), noting that she wasn't really into art until just recently, and that she should consider new things. Joey is insistent, however, it's a "huge leap" for her, and she doesn't want to put herself out there for public scrutiny. Seems like Jack has a touch of his sister's persistence, though. He notes that Joey should run, because Andie's new in town, she needs all the help she can get, and that Joey has this amazing "girl-next-door quality." (Classic -- another in-joke from the writers, Katie Holmes and "girl-next-door" have pretty much been mentioned side-by-side in practically every media piece on the show!) He isn't finished with the glowing praise and heavy-handed flattery though, he tells Joey that it's her chance to make a difference, and for her talents to rise to the occasion. "You're a born leader."
"More like a born loser," Abby interrupts. "You actually think you have any chance running against me? Get real. You throw the trash out, you don't vote it in." Joey's anger is rising, understandably, and she tells Abby to back off. Naturally, she won't, though. "Why, the truth hurts? If you want to embarrass yourself and your entire family even further than nature intended, then by all means, throw that amazing 'girl-next-door' quality into the ring. Hey, what's one more disappointment in an already meagre, depressing existence?"
That's it, Joey's reached the boiling point. Clenching a pitcher of water during Abby's whole bitchy little tirade, she dumps the whole thing over Abby's head. Spluttering and soaking, Abby musters an icy "You're dead" before storming out, Chris in tow -- but not before Joey turns to Jack with an equally icy, "Tell Andie I'm in." Score: Joey 1, Abby ... do I even have to say it?
Cut to Andie and Pacey, putting the finishing touches on "McPhee & Potter" election posters. Andie is directing her Campaign Manager to plaster the posters all over Capeside. Genuinely enthused about his new role, Pacey tells her that in this book he picked up on the Clinton campaign, it said that "this thing is gonna get ugly and --" But before he can finish, Andie interjects, beaming that he actually did some research, she's very impressed with that. "What can I say?" he smiles. "You're a bad, bad influence on me," and leans in for a kiss. But milliseconds into it, she pulls away, much to his chagrin. Apparently, it's reminded her of something she wants to stress in her run for public office: "Oh! I want this campaign to take the high road ... virtue and integrity should be normal, not a character perq or goal. I want to make government good and safe."
Now it's Pacey's turn to be impressed. "The way those soundbites flow out of your mouth, you might have a future in this." He notes that her "sincerity is so appealingly sexy." She gushes and responds that his sexiness is so appealingly sincere. Now it's his turn to gush, too: "You think I'm sexy? What's so sexy about me?" "You're smart," she replies honestly, and they lean in for another kiss.
But along comes Joey, her own personal little stormcloud hanging overhead, to break up the happy couple. (and by the way, what is the deal with the hat she's wearing? It looks ridiculous! It's something my friends and I have referred to in the past as a "condom cap." Use your imagination) "Did you get a glance at Chris and Abby's smear campaign? This is exactly what I was concerned about!" Pacey the Spin Doctor tells her not to worry and that they should bite back even harder: "My book has a whole chapter on mud slinging." (Hmm ... in that case, it probably wasn't written by Clinton's people, it was probably written by the likes of Linda Tripp or Ken Starr ...)
Andie doesn't want to go down that road, though and won't stoop and sink to their opponents' level. "This is about balance and order," she insists, adding that it would be wrong to let Chris and Abby see them respond in an emotional knee-jerk fashion. "It's not a good signal to send out." Joey doesn't want to fight, per se, but she does want to stand up for herself. But Andie rationally explains that although she knows Chris and Abby got the best of Joey, "let's not let them get the best of us. They're just words. They carry no weight. Let's look at our debate issues and figure out a game plan." She thinks winning will be the best revenge.
We-ll, it's a nice idea in theory, unfortunately, you just know she's gonna have to eat those words a little later on. Poor naive, ever-optimistic Andie ... she means well, but life seems to be consistently giving her the short end of the stick lately. (hmm ... must be related to me ...) Nonetheless, Pacey believes in her, cheekily telling Joey that Andie won his vote a few bumper stickers ago.
Back to Jen and Dawson. Jen has decided to take matters into her own hands, and tells Dawson he needs a "repression sponsor." Definition? Someone who can "walk you back through the steps of your lost teen years." Dawson is amused by her insight into his personal being, but notes that he already is a teenager, albeit one without a driver's licence. "Regardless of my adult perspective, I still have to face the traumas of being my age, so I will respectfully decline." Jen expected his resistance. In fact, she specifically brought him into the particular store they are in (the one where Abby wound up getting her face slapped outside in the days of Vincent), so that they can start with something simple.
Dawson's a bit curious. Jen proceeds to ask him to remember when he was 10 years old, when his mother wouldn't get him the candy bar he wanted? "Didn't you just swipe it?" she asks. "No," he replies, as if it's the most ridiculous question on the face of the earth. "Wait ... you want me to steal something?" Jen replies that she isn't talking grand theft auto, she's talking a Snickers bar. (hmm ... wonder how much that particular bit of product placement cost?)
She picks up a lipstick and subtly hands it to him, telling him to put it in his pocket, but naturally, he protests. "No, no way!" Jen tells him to consider it "a symbolic candy bar." Getting cynical for a moment, Dawson asks her, "Crimson Passion lipstick is my symbolic candy bar?" And in a line worthy of Abby, Jen replies, "Well, we both might as well benefit from your foray into adventure." Cute. Besides, she tells him, what it is isn't as important as experiencing the rush of walking out with it. He notes that he doesn't want an illegal rush. Jen chides him for over-analyzing, and tells him to place the said object in his pocket and walk out.
Outside the store, Jen's amazed and impressed that he actually did it, she didn't think he was capable. "That makes two of us," he notes dryly, adding in equal tones that he's on an "amazing natural high." She wants him to hand the lipstick over, but Dawson declines, telling her that seeing as he risked incarceration for it, he wants to keep it.
Suddenly, all the pieces fall into place for Jen. Dismayed, she asks, "Oh my God, you put it back, didn't you?" (Score: Dawson 2, Jen still zip) Dawson replies that while he appreciates her offer, he likes his perspective on life, "no matter how middle aged it might be." "Yes, but how are you going to reach your audience with that perspective," Jen asks. "I've read your script ... your hyper-awareness is disarming. Start acting like an adolescent, and stop hiding behind a psychology degree you don't have." Fair comment.
"What is wrong with being mature for my age?" Dawson wants to know. "It'll trap you," Jen replies. "One day you'll wake up and realize that you're not growing because you've never allowed for the process. There's a reason we go from infancy to old age -- think about that." He does ... a little.
It's election candidate debate time at Capside High, and the mudslinging makes Clinton, Starr, Lewinsky, Tripp and Co. look like a bunch of kindergarteners arguing over who gets the red crayon. Starting off, we have Kenny "the dork" Reiling and his nameless running mate (wearing matching blazers, ties and trousers, no less ... ugh) nattering on about how students whose G.P.A. is above 3.5 should be excused from Friday afternoon classes. He also supports the notion of walkmans in study hall. Nice ideas, but he's a loser and well, in high school it never was (and I'm willing to bet, still isn't) what you know but who you know. Kenny and his identical twin twit are dead in the water before they even open their mouths.
The real action is between the Chris / Abby camp and the Joey / Andie camp. Chris, in his own sad little mind, notes that he's a "man of the people" and that he's probably "partied with everyone here at least once." Um ... o-kay ... Ironically, Abby's address to her peers notes that the whole election process is about "trust." Again: Um ... o-kay ...
Joey states that unlike their opponents, she and Andie haven't lost sight of the issues to concentrate on vicious character attacks. But that opens up a can of worms, and Abby is only just beginning to sharpen her claws. "Who do you want to run your class?" she snaps at her audience. "Us, the geeks, or Little Miss Perky and the convict's daughter?"
Andie interjects that it isn't a relevant issue, but Abby's ready with a particularly venomous comeback. "You would say that, no one here knows your background. Just to bring everyone up to speed on an issue that is relevant, Andie McPhee, your 'prospective president' has a mother that's about one shock treatment away from permanent residence in a loony bin."
The audience is stunned into silence, Andie included. Jumping into action, possibly because she's used to Abby's vitriol, Joey barks at her opponent. "For once, Abby, let's stick to the issues. Andie's personal life has no bearing on her ability!" But no one can silence the Bitch Queen of Capeside High. "Whatever," she dismisses Joey. "We have hard evidence that Andie's mother was responsible for Andie's brother's death less than a year ago. In fact, Mommy McPhee is a wacked-out nut, and ... well, we all know that mental illness runs in families ..."
It's a cruel, despicable, and even sadistic attack, which finally prompts an "Abby, that's quite enough!" from the faculty advisor. (Gee, thanks ... where was he two minutes ago? Typical teacher) But it's too little, too late ... the damage has already been done, and it's pretty extensive. Andie is frozen to the spot, mute, tears slowly streaming down her cheeks. In the audience, Dawson, Jen and Pacey are horrified, while on the dias, Joey, Kenny and his doppelganger are equally sickened. Even Chris looks a little uncomfortable. Sensing she may have gone a tad too far (there's the understatement of the century), Ken Starr's daughter concludes weakly with, "Hey, I was just trying to ascertain the truth for the safety of my fellow students ... (Oh yeah, that's our Abby, ever on the lookout for the well-being of others) ... Andie?" she asks gingerly, waiting for a response. Score: Sadly, Abby 1, Andie zip.
But there is no response. Crying openly, Andie approaches the podium. She swallows. Everyone is waiting tensely for her to speak, to say something -- anything -- to counteract Abby's character assassination. "I ... um ... I ..." She can't do it. She walks off the stage, then runs out of the auditorium. Pacey looks after her worriedly. He and Joey exchange a glance, then he follows Andie out.
Outside school, Joey spots Jack, who asks if she's seen his sister. "I take it you heard about the assembly?" she asks. "Yeah," he mutters distractedly. "I feel really stupid," Joey apologizes. "There I was, grilling you about your family ... I'm really sorry --" Jack doesn't want to hear it, though. "I'm looking for my sister, not your sympathy," he snaps. Joey says she hasn't seen Andie since the debate and asks if there's anything she can do to help. "My family situation is complicated," Jack replies curtly. "I'm not comfortable talking about it." Joey commiserates that she's been through something similar to this with her own family, but Jack interrupts again. "Don't you get it?! I didn't want to talk to you before, and I don't want to talk to you now! God!" He stalks off, leaving Joey flustered and confused.
Inside the school, Pacey softly knocks on the girls' bathroom door. "Andie? You in there?" No response. "I'm coming in there." Still no response. "Just so there's no confusion, I am a man, so if there's objections, speak now." Again no response. He enters and looks around, checking under each stall. At the last one, he pauses. "There's a whole chapter in my book on what to do if scandal breaks. It's not such a big deal. We can get through this. Whaddya say?" Gently, he opens the door, to find Andie perched on top of the toilet, hugging her knees to her chest.
But instead of responding with something logical, she states a (cool, in my opinion, but I love baseball) baseball fact: "Did you know it's 60 feet, six inches from the pitching mound to home plate?" Pacey makes a confused face and asks quietly, "You okay, McPhee?" Ignoring him, she continues. "Tim taught me that. He tried to teach me how to throw a curveball, but it turns out, I throw like a girl." She laughs softly at her own joke, to which Pacey gently urges, "Let's get you out of here, Andie."
She steps down and comes out of the stall, but won't leave the bathroom. He hugs her from behind as they both stare into the mirror. "Oh God, Pacey, I don't know ... everyone knows about my mum and Tim ... how am I supposed to go out in the hall? Everone will be laughing at me ..." Pacey notes that it's the '90s, and all families are dysfunctional, and that the only happy families are in TV syndication. (another cute jab at ghosts of sitcoms and dramas past by the writers?) "It's all ruined," Andie remarks sadly. "Politics used to mean something ... now we've become such a lessened society." (cough, cough ... Clinton ... Starr ...)
Pacey replies truthfully, to some degree, that this is high school, and that it will all blow over tomorrow and everything will be back to normal. Apparently, "normal" is a word that causes Andie much pain. "Normal ... it's all I ever wanted ... a normal life and a normal family ... balance and order ... order and balance ... but you know, it doesn't exist and it never will ... it's false hope," she finishes, grief-stricken and still looking sadly but calmly in the mirror.
"You're being too hard on yourself," Pacey tries to soothe her. (an ironic statement, considering who it's coming from) "Normal never existed. It never did." In his own way, he's trying to tell her that none of us is normal, and that each of us has our own quirks and ghosts and skeletons, that the effective yardstick to measure what used to constitute "normalcy" (stay at home mom, working dad, white picket house in the 'burbs with 2.4 perfect children and a dog and cat) has been broken and used for kindling in the funereal pyre of the '90s nuclear family unit. (sorry ... that was a bit heavy-handed on the sociology / english metaphors ... it's the lost student in me coming out ... how sick!)
"Look at me," Andie says, while staring dazedly at her reflection. "I'm a complete mess. A total and complete mess." She unentangles herself from Pacey's embrace and paces the bathroom floor, creating an almost palpable air of antsy tension. It's the calm before the storm. "I hate this," she mutters. "I really hate this!" Suddenly, and without warning, Hurricane Andie explodes, hurling a textbook at the mirror and breaking it. Pacey stares at her, shocked, but not more so than Andie herself, who runs out of the bathroom frantically.
Over at Mitch Leery's new bachelor pad, Dawson enters with his father's mail. Mitch is busy fixing up a chair that he claims is an antique, and can't believe that someone actually threw out. (looks like a classic garage sale item to me, but what do I know about fine old furniture? I don't have a single wooden item in my apartment) Dawson wants to know what's new, what's up, if there's anything Mitch wants to talk about ... Instantly, father clues-in to what son is intimating. (ohhh, he's a sharp one, that Mitch! Makes you wonder where Dawson's cluelessness comes from) "Mom told you?" Mitch asks. But Dawson replies, no, he saw it with his own two eyes, and asks what's up with the situation.
"It's ... um ... complicated," Mitch replies. (sigh ... aren't they all?) He adds that he isn't exactly comfortable talking to Dawson about the specific details. "No problem!" Dawson quickly interjects. (I don't think any of us would be particularly comfortable hearing about said specific details, to tell the truth!) But Dawson does tell his father that it's fine with him if he wants to stay over every once in a while. "It won't mess with my head, if you're worried about that. I know reconcilations have strange and varied paths."
Mitch stares at him blankly. "There's no reconciliation. It was a slip. A sex slip and a mistake. It won't happen again." (yikes ... does Gale know that yet?) "Now I don't understand ..." Dawson states in utter confusion. It's simple, really. To coin a phrase from the ever-knowledgeable campaign candidate Chris Wolfe a few episodes back, this isn't "make up sex." It's just sex. Period. A result of spending an extended amount of time with the same person, having that person taken away from you, and then feeling lonely. It's an opportunity that presented itself and was just too tempting to resist, end of story. For Gale, it fulfils an emotional need, for Mitch, a physical one.
But enough of my Dr. Ruth analysis, I have no idea what I'm talking about anyway ... although Mitch seems to agree with me a little. "We fell back into what was comfortable and easy, and used it to cover our problems." "It helped your problems?" Dawson asks, hopefully. "No, it worsened them," Mitch replies, continuing, "I realized it's insane to keep taking the same action and expecting different results. The action must change. Change is nothing, it's the action that counts." (Very true, but very hard to do, I would think)
Over in Jen's bedroom, Dawson glumly admits defeat. (hold on a sec ... for the fiftieth time this season, WHERE'S GRAMS, for crying out loud?! A male in Jen's room? How'd the old bat let that one slip by?) "You were right," he tells her. "I'm geared to respond to life in certain ways. You say I don't respond like a teenager, but I'm very much my age emotionally, even younger. My feelings are in constant battle with my over-acting brain, and it's driving me carzy ... am I making sense?"
"Completely," Jen nods in agreement. "I'm waiting for my feelings to catch up," Dawson continues. "I can grow up, get over Joey or accept my parents' situation ... I think I have it backwards. In order to change my feelings, I first have to change my actions, only then maybe I can change how I feel." (ai-yi-yi ... Mitch, you've created a monster ...) Jen comments that Dawson is too smart for his own good, but he replies that he feels incredibly stupid at the moment. She asks if there's anything she can help with.
"I need a sponsor," Dawson suggests. (I still don't like this idea, I mean, it's like some deviant version of AA or something) "I need to go out and engage in appropriate teen behaviour." Jen notes that it's right up her alley, and asks if he has something specific in mind. He doesn't really, just something nonsensical and spontaneous -- "you are the expert, I will follow your lead," he tells her. "Well, by all means then, let the revelry begin," Jen smiles. (Hoo-boy ...)
Over at the McPhee house, Andie is perched in a rocking chair, staring out the window in a daze. Jack enters and mentions that he finally got their mother to bed. Andie ignores him. "It really scares her to see you so upset," he says. Andie ignores him again. "Look, Andie," he sighs. "It hasn't been an easy year for any of us. You do what you have to do to get through and hold it together, to cope." Still she ignores him, so he continues. "Your highs and lows are becoming intense lately."
Finally, a response from Andie: "I'm fine." "No, you're not," Jack notes. "One minute you're laughing, the next you're in tears." "I'm fine," she reiterates. "Please, leave me alone, okay?" Using that famous McPhee determination, Jack persists: "I think it's maybe time you went back on your medication. It'll make it easier for you, and everyone." Andie is as stubborn as Jack is persistant, though. "I'm okay, I had a rough day. I don't need medication. I'm fine." Finally, Jack gives up and leaves. Andie continues to look out the window, knees up to her chest, silent tears on her cheeks, wearing a sad, confused, surreal and achingly painful look on her face.
Dawson and Jen, meanwhile, are as elated as Andie is depressed. They run, giggling, through the woods, having freshly toilet-papered a teacher's house. (hey, it's a little more pre-pubescent than teen angst, but I suppose he has to start somewhere, right?) "I've always wanted to do that!" Dawson shouts, enthused and invigorated. Jen admiringly tells him he did it very well, indeed, but that he should drop the evidence, as he's still carrying the ubiquitious roll of toilet paper. He hurls it into the distance and asks what's next, as he's "ready for anything."
Perhaps, but I'm willing to bet he isn't at all ready to hear the three little words that Jen says next: "Drop your pants." Flustered, he asks why, and Jen replies that he can't very well go skinny-dipping with his clothes on, now, can he? "Skinny-dipping?" he asks incredulously. "Oh, well, if you're too embarrassed ..." Jen counters. (clever girl, attacking the frail male ego to get the desired result ... can't say it ever worked for me, but hey, more power to her!)
Dawson falls right into her trap: "You think I won't do it, don't you?" She's silent by way of reply. "Well, I'm not going in alone," he meekly offers. Jen smiles wickedly. "I never intended for you to do it alone." He's blown away: "What ... you're serious?" She's begun to strip, guess you can't get much more serious than that. "Uh-huh ... completely," she giggles happily. He turns away from her, flushed, embarrassed and probably a little bit tickled, too. But he wonders what to do if someone walks by, and asks if they should think about this. In the background, Jen splashes into the water, and when Dawson turns around, he can only stammer, "Jen ... you're ..." "Naked?" she laughs, "And all wet." (Um ... I'm not even going to touch that one) She tells him to come on in, that the water's great.
He's dumbfounded and just stands there at first, but slowly begins to take his clothes off. (Score: Jen definitely wins this one, hands down) "Dawson!" Jen muses happily. With a nod to Mae West, she asks, "Is that a tree branch or are you just happy to see me?" He asks her to turn around, then he splashes into the water. So there they are, frolicking back and forth in their birthday suits, when Dawson pronounces that "two days ago, this would be my worst nightmare." (Gee ... I'm sure that's what Jen really wanted to hear right at that point -- on her behalf, thanks Dawson.)
Perplexed, Jen asks, "Swimming naked with me would have been your worst nightmare?" (What is he, on drugs? I can think of half a million red-blooded males for whom that would be their best fantasy, not their worst nightmare, but anyway ...) He shyly mutters, "You know what I mean," and flicks a little water at her. Soon, it's developed into a full- fledged, no-holds-barred water fight, until Jen eventually calls a truce.
She poses an interesting question to him: "Nightmares aside, have you ever dreamt about me?" If she's fishing, though, she's not quite coming up with the prize she's searching for: "Yeah," he replies. "Everyone I know creeps into my dreams at one point or another." She tries a different tactic -- basic bluntness. "Well, have you ever woken up sweating? Blanket in a little pup tent?" (How'd they get that one past the network censors?) Typical Dawson, he answers an awkward question with an equally awkward question: "Have you ever dreamed about me that way?" He's surprised at the result, although he really shouldn't be. "Possibly," Jen says quietly.
Taking that (and the fact that they're both completely alone, without any clothes, in a body of water) as a cue, Dawson leans over and kisses her. Again, he's surprised at the result -- after a very brief moment, she backs away. "Crossing the line," she says softly. He's confused. "I thought you wanted this? (okay, there's problem number one -- he spends too much time asking the females in his life what THEY want, romantically-speaking, as opposed to figuring out what HE wants) You hinted, implied, offered ... I was taking your advice: 'don't think, do'" he finishes, with a twinge of embarrassment.
Jen tells him that while she's glad he's embracing her philosophy, they're finally friends now, and she doesn't want to mess that up. (very honourable of her, but she can't blame him for what he tried to do, it was an honest reaction to a tempting situation) "I'm taking your lead," she tells him. "Different actions create different results." "So the different action is taking no action?" he asks. "No," she replies. "The different action is being your friend, and there are lots of ways to be someone's friend. We'll have to figure it out." Yes, but here's a more pressing concept to ponder: After all is said and done, and Dawson and Joey are all smiles again, will he tell her about this little intimate interlude?
The next morning at school, the electorial candidates are addressing the student body over the P.A. system. Chris is doing his best to sound earnest and sincere, telling his (captive) audience, "There's only one true choice here --" But before he can finish, Abby (looking like a hooker version of Shirley Temple) grabs the mike out of his hand and takes over. "People, do you really want these other losers running the school? I think not. Get off your butts and vote Chris and Abby. You'll enjoy the ride."
Abby switches off the P.A. system and gives up the mike, announcing that the vote is "as locked up as Joey's father." She also adds that, according to the schedule, the "koo-koo bird and the convict's daughter are up next." (Personally, I think she's begging for it, I mean, she's really pushing her luck by saying that with Joey and Andie in the room, and if I were either one of them, I'd say screw the election and haul off and slug her a few times ... but that's just me)
Andie shakily approaches the mike, but not before Joey gives her a final "out" -- she tells Andie that there is still dignity in resigning. "No, I can do this," Andie replies, but her actions betray her words. The P.A. is switched on, Andie takes the mike and ... "I can't do this ... sorry ... I just ... can't," she sobs and rushes out.
"Gosh, I hope it wasn't something I said?" Abby purrs. "It was all in the name of good old-fashioned politics." Chris has had enough, the whole situation is a little too deep for him. "I'm outta here," he announces. "I gotta go kiss some babes." "It's babies, you idiot," Abby sneers. "Whatever ... my way is a lot more fun," Chris tells her and leaves.
Campaign Manager Witter decides to take matters into his own plans. You can almost see the wheels turning in his mind. Apparently, his reading is about to pay off, big time. "You know Abby," he begins. "What's the deal here? Why are you slumming as vice president, when you are so obviously the brains behind this campaign?" Subtly, he turns the P.A. system back on so the whole school can listen in on her reply.
Never one to miss an opportuntity to wax eloquent about her favourite subject (herself), Abby decides to slum it some more by answering Pacey's questions. "I'll let you in on a little secret there, sport. I'm just using that walking penis for his popularity. Ultimately, I'll destroy him, just like I did to your little girlfriend. It's so easy. And victory is so much sweeter when you walk on top of other people to get it. I'm gonna rule this school, and you and the other half-wits are too stupid to stop me."
To her surprise, Pacey seems to agree with her. "Yeah, you're probably right," he tells her. "I'm so stupid that I didn't know that when I pressed this button on this little thing (the P.A. system), your annoying nasal whine would be broadcast all over the school ... Oh no, God ... wait a minute ... that's exactly what I meant to do! My bad."
He walks out of the radio broadcasting booth, leaving an astounded Abby, mouth agape, and an elated Kenny Reiling (and clone geek) behind. "School's yours, pal," he breezily tells President Reiling as he walks past. CLASSIC!! :) Score: Pacey, Andie, Joey, Kenny et al., grand slam, Abby -- you are outta there! steeeeeeerike out! (um, sorry ... got carried away with the baseball there for a sec ... heh heh)
At Dawson's house, Gale is cooking and cleaning up a storm, nattering away about dust bunnies the size of small children on her windowsill. I imagine this is the writers' interpretation of what females do when grief or tragedy hits, they nest and throw their energies into something else to take their minds off the problem at hand. I think this is a load of bollocks, cause I can name about a dozen females off the top of my head who do the exact opposite ... they wallow in filth cause they're too damn depressed to bother cleaning. (need proof? I haven't vacuumed my apartment since August, although that also has something to do with the vacuum cleaner kind of not working, but anyway ...) I just thought Gale was a bit of a stereotype here and it kinda ticked me a bit.
Okay, I'll climb down off my soap box now ... where was I? Ah yes. Dawson come in, sees that Betty Crocker, Martha Stewart and Mr. Clean are cohabiting in his mother's body and naturally wonders what's up. He picks up some papers on a table, scans them and asks what they are. "Divorce papers," Gale replies. "Your father had me served this morning." That's it ... the last faint ray of hope seems to have been extinguished on the Leerys' marriage. "Are you okay?" Dawson asks sadly. "Ah yeah ... I'll be all right ... I'm moving on," she announces. Indeed she is. She moves on into the living room with the vacuum cleaner, leaving a dazed and confused Dawson behind.
At the Icehouse, Joey is locking up to leave, when Jack asks if he can walk her home. She agrees, and he apologizes for his earlier behaviour. "It's been a tough couple of days, but that's no excuse for being an ass," he tells her. (okay ... I suppose I can find it in me to overlook his freak out session before, but what's his excuse for the other 16 sorry years of his existance?) "I wanted to be there for you, but you shut me out," Joey tells him.
Jack explains that when things get rough, he goes on autopilot. (frightening thought, cause there ain't anyone actually FLYING that aircraft ...) Joey understands, but wishes he would have let her help him. He replies that he can't allow himself the "luxury of opening up." With his brother gone and his father "missing in action," Jack feels it's up to him to be the man of the house (I had to type that three times before I stopped giggling). "My mother and sister depend on me to be a rock. Sometimes I feel like I don't know .. I can't even explain it. My whole life is one big secret." (heh-heh ... wait until February Sweeps ... won't be a secret much longer ... heh-heh-heh)
Joey tells him that when her mother was dying, she had this friend who was amazing. (three guesses who she's talking about ... anyone?) "A lot of times, I didn't feel like talking. We'd sit for hours and never say a word. It helped ... it really did. Being in the same place, I knew that everything was going to be okay. And when it got really bad, towards the end, he'd just reach out and hold my hand." Without a further word, Joey reaches out and does just that for Jack. He's a bit startled, not actually sure if it's a gesture of friendship or a gesture of romance, but he accepts. For a split second, they move towards each other slightly, as if they are about to kiss, but then he nods, she nods, and they just walk away, hand-in-hand, silently.
At the McPhee's, Andie is in the bathroom splashing cold water on her face. As she's patting herself dry with a towel, the portable phone rings. It's Pacey. Andie lies and tells him she's feeling "a lot better now." While saying this, she opens the medicine cabinet and eyes a lone bottle of medication amid the moisturizers, toothpaste and hair gel. " ... no, um ... tonight? ... I, um, don't think do ..." Picking up the bottle, she shakes out two pills, still crying silently through her calm voice. "... it's not a good time ... yeah ... I'll be back to my old self tomorrow ... I promise ... okay ... bye."
After hanging up, she takes out two pills. Slowly, hesitantly and shaking all the while, she takes them. You can sense how defeated she feels doing this, and when she looks at herself in the mirror, she's ashamed of what she sees. It's a powerful image, and would have made one hell of a closing scene for the episode.
In my arrogant opinion :), this scene and the one that follows should have been edited in reverse order. The scene with Dawson and Jen which closes the show is reminiscent of the end of the Full Moon Rising episode, where Joey cradles Dawson as he cries on the roof. In other words, it's something that's already been done, and the storyline with his parents is not a new thing. But as for Andie, we get a first glimpse into a deeper, darker aspect of her personality. It's the potential start of a breakdown for her, and the scene with her in the bathroom is chock-full of emotions: poignancy, heartbreak, despair and fear, and Meredith Monroe portrays them all brilliantly.
Anyway. Over at Jen's place, she's sitting on the kitchen floor, apparently doing her homework. (What's wrong with the kitchen table, or does it still hold too many memories of Vincent?) Dawson walks in (what, no knocking? And once again, where is Grams?) and announces that his parents are getting divorced. "I needed to talk to my sponsor because I'm in a quandry," he tells Jen. "All that perception and psychobabble has left me in quite a dilemma." Jen looks miserable for him as he continues speaking. "What do I do with this news? I mean ... I knew it was over, all the signs were pointing to it. I guess I just kept hoping they wouldn't go there. Now they have. So do I have a self-aware, adult reaction, or do I allow myself to feel the hurt and shock that a kid in my situation would feel?" He asks Jen what should win the war raging within him -- heart or head? Emotions or brain?
"What always wins out, Dawson?" Jen asks softly. The answer is obvious. "Come here," she whispers as he breaks down and cries. She hugs him close to her, comforting him in his anguish. (sigh ... wish all ex's were as supportive as that during times of trouble ...) "Thanks for being here," he says quietly through his sniffles. "Thanks for letting me," she replies even more quietly, and looks away into the distance, sadly. Score: everyone loses this one.
Fade to black...