"You're a lifesaver," Dawson smiles gratefully. "I have 48 hours to become an expert documentarian, but all my mom's old newsreels are in Beta." Pacey's face registers mild surprise. "What? Dawson Leery eschewing the ephemeral world of make-believe for the gritty realities of real life? Has the world spun off course? Was the Dalai Lama spotted at Black Angus?" (Black Angus is a very well known chain of steakhouses, and the Dalai Lama, being Buddhist, doesn't exactly eat meat, in case you didn't get that)
"More like, my mother's been dangling a big, fat carrot. The human-interest story she was working on for the network fell out at the last minute." "And?" Pacey prompts. "And, if I can get her some raw footage by Friday morning, there's a chance she could whip it into shape and be on the air that night."
"The chance of a lifetime," Pacey agrees. "That'll make a guy change his vision." "Well, it's a temporary change," Dawson corrects. "As soon as I get my foot in that proverbial door, I'll be right back to the magical land of make-believe." "I don't know, Dawson," Pacey counters. "You got an amazing opportunity here to change your whole genre. Real-life stories are always more compelling than anything you can possibly dream up." Dawson concedes that real life is interesting, but it'll never be as dramatic as a well-conceived narrative.
Sitting on the bed, Pacey picks up Dawson's videocamera and begins tinkering with it. "Look at everything that's been happening in your life lately. Are you honestly telling me that you could conceive of something more thrilling, more sexy, more far-fetched? Huh?" he prompts, but doesn't get the anticipated response. Dawson's too busy flipping through old video tapes to answer. "All right, fine. Who's your guinea pig?"
"Jack McPhee." "Gay kid joins losing high school football team, overcomes adversity, battles antiquated stereotypes and ends up becoming a star," Pacey nods. "If you were to mess with that story, you'd just be gilding the lily, Dawson."
Dawson agrees it's a great story, but explains to his friend as he pops a tape into the machine, that "you can't just turn the camera on and let it run." "Why not?" Pacey asks, watching the images on the tape. "That's exactly what's happening here, and it seems pretty interesting to me." On screen, a younger Mitch throws a football to a much-younger Dawson.
"My mom must have taped over her work," Dawson whispers, captivated by the old home movies, where a shy, pint-size brunette wearing jean overalls is presented to his 5-year-old self by her mother. "Honey, this is Dawson, can you say hi?" "Hi." Pacey marvels at the screen. "Is that who I think it is?" His suspicion is confirmed with home movie Mitch's next words. "This is Joey, Dawson. Can you say hi?" "Hi, Joey."
In a grand gesture of figurative foreshadowing typical of their future relationship, teeny-tiny Joey pushes teeny-tiny Dawson on the ground and runs away. "Once a heartbreaker, always a heartbreaker, huh Dawson?" Pacey muses, but Dawson can't hear him, lost in the images on the screen, where he chases after Joey all over his back garden (ah, yes, even back then he was pursuing her).
At the Ryans, Jen clomps (yes ... it's a word ... I say so!) into the kitchen, wearing her cheerleader-from-hell outfit, which doesn't impress her grandmother too much. "Why do you insist on degrading your team colours like that?" Grams sniffs. Jen grins. "The fishnets only come in black, and the matching leather whip? It's on back order."
Her grandmother gives her a we-are-not-amused expression, and Jen rolls her eyes. "Come on, Grams, the entire notion of cheerleading is just a sexist attempt to objectify the female body. I'm making a statement." "You're making a mockery," Mrs. Ryan insists, but Jen maintains the mockery has already been made, she's simply pointing it out. "Although, I gotta tell you," Jen confides, "I don't know how many more pep rallies and spirit cookies I can actually stomach."
Grams purses her lips. "Your school has an important game coming up, right now they need your leadership and verve. Back when I was on the pep squad, we relished the opportunity to show off our team spirit by wearing our uniforms to school." "Grams, I hate to break it to you, but you were showing off a bit more than team spirit," Jen smiles at her sweetly before leaving the room. Mrs. Ryan is chagrined. "Jennifer!" she exclaims, but her errant granddaughter is already down the hall and out the door.
Cut to the hallway at Capeside High, where a gaggle of giggling pom pom princesses carrying a large cluster of yellow and blue balloons sashay through a decidedly un-cheer-y Joey, who is on her way to class. She frowns after her too-close encounter with the spirit squad and rounds a corner, when a life-size cardboard cutout of the Minuteman moves a few feet towards her. Joey frowns to herself, thinking she's seeing things, and continues her journey. The cardboard Minuteman follows her a few more steps. She stops, squinting at the figure.
Suddenly, Pacey pops out from behind the cutout, mocking the cheerleaders. "Like, ohmigawd! Go team! Ahahahahahahaha!" he shrieks in a falsetto. Joey laughs. "For a minute there, I thought you had been possessed by these school-spirit creatures from the planet Overzealous." "Not quite yet," Pacey tells her. "But I am thinking about making a run for it before the pods hatch. What do you say, Scully?"
"Cut class with you?" Pacey smiles. "Sounds delectable." Pacey smiles and nods. "I'll pass." His smile disappears. "What if I told you that there was a mission to my madness?" Joey looks at him pointedly. "Are you serious?" "But, of course!" he replies, throwing in a bad French accent for good measure. "The monsieur in ze stylish shirt request the presence of ze madame for a very pressing appointment, yeah?"
Joey narrows her eyes. "What is it?" "Well, that would be the surprise part," Pacey chuckles. She sighs, exasperated. "Just tell me, Pacey." He puts a finger to his lips, in mock-ponder. "Let me think about that ... nope." "Fine," Joey tells him sourly. "You won't tell me, then I'm not going anywhere." She begins to walk away, but Pacey's in a mischevious mood. "Aww, little Joey! You're so cute!" He pinches her cheeks. "But friend-to-friend, honestly? You should check into some more of those feigning disinterest classes."
Joey flatly tells him she couldn't care less, but he won't take no for an answer. "Well, okay. Whether or not you're actually interested, you have about 10 seconds to make up your mind after I round that corner, starting ... now!" He begins counting in an exaggerated fashion as he disappears out of view.
Joey makes a face, hesitating a few moments, then rolls her eyes and walks around the corner, where Pacey has been waiting, exptectantly. "Six seconds?" he hoots. "Six? I mean, come on! Have you no pride? You should have lasted at least eight!" He walks away, chuckling. "I loathe you," Joey growls, but grudgingly follows him.
On the football field, Dawson Leery, boy reporter at large, is grilling Jack for the documentary. "People have been shocked at how well you've taken to the game. Did you love football as a child?" he asks. "I've only played football for a few weeks. I think the only subject I know less about is being gay, actually," Jack shrugs. "I don't know ... some things are just instinct, maybe?"
Just then, Coach Mitch interrupts the little tete-a-tete. "Well, one thing Jack has learned is the importance of starting practice on time." He instructs Jack to go warm up, adding that "taking a tenth off yesterday doesn't mean you can coast." (Me, Mitch. Me big, bad football coach. Me boss young boys around to sound all testosterony and macho and knowledgeable when really, me don't have the first freakin' clue about training a team.)
After Jack leaves, Dawson suggests to his father that they can take care of the Coach Leery interview now, but Mitch brushes him off. "But, Dad, it's due tomorrow," his son explains, but Mitch won't budge. "Dawson, you can get an extension. Me, I've got a game on Saturday and I need these guys completely focused on football, okay?" After a jaunty slap on his son's back, Mitch jogs off towards his players on the field, hollering words of encouragement and motivation.
Said players are ignoring said words. Instead, they're huddled around Henry, who is proudly displaying what looks like a used, see-through mouth retainer. "He wore it in a BC-Miami game, spit it out right after doing a Hail Mary," Henry tells a captive audience. "Right when the whistle blew, my brother, he ran on to the field and grabbed it." (Okay, ewwww!)
The other players are suitably impressed, even Jack, who notes that the "dude's got some big molars." "They're crowns actually," Henry corrects. "Check out the number two bicuspids." He fishhooks his own mouth, revealing his teeth. "Remind you of anyone?" (Yes, because we all know the correlation between the likeness of one's bicuspids to a football hero's, to the amount of prowess one has with a pigskin ... rolling eyes)
Jen pokes her nose into the knot of football players. "Hey, what's everybody looking at?" Immediately, Henry goes mute as Jack explains that the object which has everyone so captivated is none other than Doug Flutie's old mouthpiece. (For those of you who don't know (and probably don't care), Doug Flutie is the current quarterback for the Buffalo Bills. The only reason I, a certified football hater, know that, is because before the Bills he played for none other than the Toronto Argonauts, which, as you know if you've been paying attention, is my hometown team. Now then! On with the story!)
"A mouthpiece? That was actually in his mouth?" Jen wrinkles her nose and grimaces. "Well, that's disgusting." Henry looks mortified. "Henry says it's his good-luck charm," Jack tells her, grinning. Henry looks doubly mortified. Jen regards him as if there's a football where his head should be. "Henry needs his head examined." Now, Henry looks triply (deal with it!) mortified.
As Jen walks away, Henry turns to his teammate, agonized. "What am I gonna do, Jack? I gotta do something!" he moans. "Jen Lindley ... her voice is the sweetest music. Her very name is fire in my loins!" Jack giggles. "Just a thought Henry, but you might want to start by saying hello." (And here's just another thought, Henry: stop it already with the Shakespearian epithets. Even Dawson at his most melodramatic doesn't sound this ridiculous. And by the way, I don't ever want to have a mental image of fire in your loins again. Ever.)
Inside the school, Jen is accosted in the halls by the dynamic cheerleading duo of Madison and Marcy. "Hey! We missed you this morning at the spirit table. Where were you? We were worried about you." Miss Lindley is not enthused about being the subject of an inquisition. "Look, guys, I stayed really late at that pep rally yesterday. I have limits."
"Is this a low iron day?" Madison asks. "Yeah," Marcy pipes up. "Try not to let anyone else see, cause it might hurt the auction." Jen blinks at them. "Auction?" Madison nods. "The silent auction." "Yeah," Marcy echoes. "You should be really proud. It's, like, the most successful one we've ever had. Like, half the senior guys have already put in their bids."
Jen's eyes narrow suspiciously. "What are you auctioning off?" she asks slowly. "Well, the winner gets to ride in on the Mintueman mule at the end of the game," Marcy begins, with her pom-pom twin chiming in, "and receive a kiss from the head cheerleader!" They show Jen a large jar where they are collecting money for the auction, which has a large photo of her on the front of it.
Jen is aghast. "Ohhhhh no, they don't!" She pushes past Spirt Barbie and Skipper over to a table where the other Cheer Crew members are gathering bids. M+M are dismayed. "Now, Jen-ny!" one clucks at her. Final straw.
"Jen, okay? It's Jen!" she shouts, drawing the attention of numerous onlookers. "You know, this thing just started as a bad joke. An excuse to get out of biology, but do you see what it's turned into?" She turns on Madison and Marcy, and continues to advance upon them as she speaks, literally backing them into a corner.
"I have pranced around in front of this entire school at pep rallies without even knowing what the hell pep is. I have listened to clack and prattle about car washes, dance-a-thons and dog-sitting until I think I'm gonna puke up my homemade spirit cookies, and despite the itch I am getting on my ass from this polyester molest-me skirt, I've done it all with a smile on my face. But you know what, ladies? The smile is gone. I'm sorry, but there is no way I'm going to be sold off like some harem girl to the highest bidder. Everyone has a limit and I've reached mine. I quit." And with that, Jen stalks off down the hall, leaving a horrifed Marcy, Madison and other random cheerleaders in her wake.
Further down the hall, a klutzy Andie bumps into a tall, thin man all dressed in black. He looks like some sort of private investigator reject who had to settle for a less covert choice of careers, only someone neglected to tell him that. As Andie and Mystery Man bend down together to pick up what they've dropped, she sees three very frightening initials on the man's jacket. Not FBI ... not CIA ... but "ETS?" Andie whispers, horrified.
"Stop!" Secret Agent Man orders. "Drop that folder. Back away from the material." She's too frightened to disobey, or to note how overdramatic he is. "Yes, sir," Andie manages to stammer. James Bond's protege directs her to keep her hands in plain sight. Andie finally screws up enough courage to ask if he's with the Educational Testing Service. "That's confidential," he snaps.
"I just hope that no one at Capeside High has done anything wrong ... broken any rules ... compromised the integrity of the exam," Andie babbles, fishing for information. The Man in Black stares at her, steely-eyed. "Passing along that information would constitute a breach of security." "Of course," she nods, and is then grilled as to the whereabouts of Principal Green.
Andie has no idea, but wants to tell her new friend something before he departs. "Let me express my regret and recalcitrance at this incident." "Recalcitrance?" "Uh, I mean ... repentance! Repentence. As in ... contrition? Compunction? You know, contriteness." She smiles sunnily, trying to impress him with her dazzling knowledge of synonyms, but only gets a terse "Good-day ma'am. Watch yourself." for her troubles.
Far, far away from the halls of knowledge (well, just on the outskirts of town, really), Pacey and Joey are in the midst of what appears to be a nature walk as they stroll along a country lane, a parcel wrapped in brown paper under Pacey's arm. "This isn't a surprise, Pacey, it's a death march on a deserted road," Joey grumbles as the pair pass a Welcome to Capeside sign.
"We're almost there," Pacey reassures her, but she won't be placated. "Why didn't we just drive?" He exhales. "Because, Potter, on occasion my father actually likes to use his car." Joey snorts in disgust. "So, I risked my future to cut class so that I could stand in line at the post office and then traipse five miles through the wilderness carrying some stupid package?"
Pacey exhales again, a little deeper this time. "You know, did you ever stop to think about how much hormonally-charged energy you waste on these quick quips and the biting banter?" he asks sarcastically. "Your life would be considerably more productive if you would just take some, uh ... what is that ... some more uh ... action! If you took more action."
"Oh, like voluntary manslaughter?" Joey sneers at him. He laughs mockingly for a moment, then poses a suggestion to her. "Well, how 'bout like sticking out your thumb, huh?" Joey is suitably disgusted. "Oh yeah? And what else? Maybe hike up my skirt, pout my lips, strike some sexy pose for a horndog trucker? Stick out your own thumb, you sexist toad," she growls.
"I am not a sexist, I am a pragmatist, okay?" Pacey informs her. "You ever see The Sure Thing? That film elegantly portrays one of life's simple truths: that a female standing on the side of the road, even one with a perpetual scowl such as yourself, has a better chance of flagging down a car than a guy." Joey glares at him. "Since I'm the only one here with opposable thumbs, I guess it's up to me to use them."
A gold car approaches in the distance. "And here's your chance." Pacey sprints off the road and dives head first into a cluster of bushes and trees. At the side of the road, Joey gingerly holds out a thumb as the car nears. It slows, then comes to a stop beside her. Half-relieved, half-afraid, she walks up to the automobile and leans into the open passenger window with a hesitant smile which fades the second the word escapes her mouth. "Hi --"
"Today's your lucky day, Miss Potter. Need a ride back to school?" Joey's face falls as she greets the driver with a small "Thanks." Meanwhile, Pacey, who has heard the humming of an idle engine from his hiding spot in the bushes, runs over, branch in hand, ready to heap praise on their mystery driver. "Oh!" However, the minute the secret chauffeur's identity is revealed, he puts the verbal brakes on and changes his tune faster than a Porsche going from zero to 60 on the autobahn. "Principal Green! Whew! Thank God you're here! In preparing for our botany assignment it appears that Josephine and I, we wandered significantly farther away from school then we had anticipated. Frankly I was beginning to worry we wouldn't make it home by nightfall."
The principal chuckles. "That's a good one, Pacey." Encouraged, Pacey smiles at him, hoping to score a few points. "Well, let it never be said that I'm lacking in the creativity department." Principal Green eyes the branch his student is carrying. "Let's hope you aren't lacking in the Calamine lotion department, either. Put down the poison oak and get your butts in my car." Pacey drops the green leaves as if they're contaminated with Ebola, and holds the car door open. "After you, Josephine." Joey shoots daggers at him from her eyes before entering the vehicle.
In the football locker room, Coach Leery is wholly absorbed in writing plays on a chalkboard (although incidentally, to me, it looks a helluva lot like he's just playing tic-tac-toe, what with all those X's and O's scattered around). Dawson bursts in, breaking his concentration, and begging for 10 minutes of Mitch's time to shoot the interview. "Can't it just wait until after the game?" Mitch pleads. "I promise you I'll have plenty of time for you after Saturday."
Dawson is exasperated. "Dad, I have to FedEx this thing out." "FedEx?" Mitch repeats blankly. "Yeah," Dawson explains slowly, as if talking to a child. "To Mom, at the station." "Station?" Mitch is still confused. "What are you talking about?" "The story I'm doing on Jack," Dawson states calmly as he opens a tripod. Suddenly, the light goes on. "Your mother wants to do a story on Jack?" Mitch says incredulously. "I want to do a story on Jack," Dawson corrects, then corrects the correction. "I am doing a story on Jack."
"This is gonna go on television?" Alarm creeps into Mitch's voice. "When?" "Hopefully tomorrow," Dawson answers, struggling to remain patient. "Dad, we talked about this." "I thought this was just one of your school projects!" Mitch fumes. Dawson grows increasingly frustrated with his father. "It is a project. Remember last night, in your kitchen? The blond-haired kid who was moving his lips? That was actually me, telling you this." (Tee hee hee, I gotta file that one away for future reference)
Mitch slams his binder down on a bench. "Dawson, this is the last thing that I want right now!" Dawson asks why. "Because football is a head game. And I can't risk my best player, or any player for that matter, losing focus. I've worked too damn hard!" Dawson stares at his father, outraged. "Forgive me if my entire future conflicts with your precious football team," he tells his father bitterly, but Mitch dismisses the comment. "Don't be so theatrical. I'm the one with the football-loving principal breathing down my neck. I am trying to build something here."
Again, Dawson is furious. "What do you think I'm doing, dabbling in a hobby? Dad, this is the kind of opportunity I've waited for my entire life!" "All 16 years of it?" Mitch is quick to point out. Dawson jumps on the statement. "Oh, so the importance of a person's dreams is measured by their age?" Mitch ignores the question, merely telling his son there will be plenty of other opportunties in his life, and goes back to writing on the chalkboard calmly. Dawson watches him, not believing his ears. "Are you telling me not to do this?" "I don't have to," Mitch repiles, "because I know you'll make the right choice."
The next day, Joey is hard at work at the marina, carrying a milk crate full of odds and ends out to the docks, when she sees a familiar face standing on the dock looking a little bewildered. She grins at him. "You must be lost. Bimbo Cove is up the Creek right past Braydon's Bay." Dawson sighs. "You can save your ammunition, Joey. Eve and I are not on speaking terms." Never one to pass up a zinger, Joey smiles cheekily. "You mean you guys actually talk?"
"Among other things, yes." Dawson doesn't want to discuss this particular subject anymore, particularly with Joey, so he shifts gears. "I need some advice." She smiles brilliantly at him. "What else are dumped ex-girlfriends for?"
"This is about my father," he announces. "Your father," Joey repeats, confused. "What about him?" Dawson explains Mitch told him not to the story on Jack and the football team. (Which, if you think about it, is pretty funny given that during the first season, Dawson was forced, much to his disgust, to work on Helmets of Glory which was a documentary about none other than Capeside High's football team. Now he's all excited about the very same subject) Joey is surprised at Mitch's hesitance. "He did?" she says, wide-eyed. Dawson admits those weren't the exact words, but that Mitch thinks the story might jeopardize his career and his chances against the opposing team.
Joey scoffs at Mitch's concerns. "No offense, Dawson, but doesn't a nationally-televised broadcast kind of overshadow a high school football rivalry?" "I would have thought," Dawson nods unhappily. "I don't know, look at it from his point of view. Over the last couple of years, his cup hasn't exactly runneth over. I mean, he had to give up his dream of a restaurant idea, his wife stepped out on him with the Capeside equivalent of Ted Knight ... he's not exactly shining as a substitute teacher."
Joey nods thoughtfully. "So, if you go ahead with this story, he could lose more than the game, he could lose his self-respect." Dawson asks for her perspective on the situation. She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. "Well, I think that the swords that are the father and son are finally crossed in conflict. Face it, Dawson, this is the stuff of Greek drama." "Yeah," he mutters, "But is it tragedy or comedy?"
Paternal conflict is not something Joey Potter is entirely unfamiliar with. She takes a moment to mull the situation over, then gives it her best shot. "Sometimes we fight our fathers and they respect us. And sometimes we fight them and ... we lose them forever," she begins. "You have to decide how you want to live your life ... what you can tolerate, and what you're willing to lose."
"This is so important to me, but if I do it, it's going to kill him," Dawson says glumly. Joey manages a small smile. "I hate to break it to you, Dawson, but according to Freud, that's exactly what sons are supposed to do." He nods, a small, tight smile on his face, then remembers something. He presents Joey with a videotape. "I dubbed this for you." Her nose wrinkles up. "What's this?" "Something I found." His small smile breaks into a large grin. "It might make you smile. I guess now you could call it a thank you."
Cut to Jen's bedroom, where our beloved ex-head cheerleader is deep in slumber. It's a short-lived rest, though, because the rest of the pom-pom squad and Grams are gathered around Sleeping Beauty, analyzing her every toss and turn. "Must be dried saliva," one cheerleader observes. "No, it's a zipper mark from the pillow," another corrects.
The murmuring wakes Jen, who sleepily blinks a few times at Grams in confusion. "Yes, that bright sensation in your eyes is indeed sunlight," Grams tells her granddaughter happily. "Rise and shine, dear girl, these lovely young ladies have an urgent matter to discuss with you."
Jen is far from impressed at being woken up this way. "I thought I told you that I was finished with cheerleading?" she tells the crowd, "And unless one of you is hiding a very large cup of black coffee under her pom-poms, I suggest you leave." With that, she turns her back to them and attempts to catch some more z's.
"No, we respect your decision to resign from the squad," Marcy replies calmly, as another one explains that "Madison has accepted the leadership challenge." Jen sarcastically gives them a thumbs-up from the bed. "But please," Marcy continues, "You must reconsider the kiss." Grams can't hold back any longer. "Someone has bid five hundred dollars!" "But they've specifically stipulated that the kiss must come from you," another cheerleader pipes up.
"I don't care if they bid the kingdom of Brunei, I'm not for sale," Jen sniffs, pulling the blankets around her. "What are we going to tell the children of the CCHPC?" Marcy asks the others. Jen pokes her head out from under the covers. "The what?" "The Capeside County Home for Parentless Children," Grams explains. "Orphans?" Jen asks. "That's what the auction is for? Orphans?" She groans and buries herself under the pillows again.
Andie is person another who is not having the best of mornings. In the school's office, she bumps into Principal Green, who has been looking for her. "A critical problem has been brought to my attention and I need to talk to you about it," he tells her. Andie is almost mute with fear, but eventually blurts out, "What sort of problem, sir?"
"A disciplinary matter," the principal states, inferring nothing by the tone of his voice. "Disciplinary?" Andie echoes, her face suddenly as white as chalk. He nods solemly. "I'm unable to discuss it at length with you now, but you come to my office Monday, we'll sit down and go over all our options in detail." Andie pastes a weak smile on her face. "Options ... yes, sir." "Monday morning," Principal Green repeats. "Be there."
Principal Green walks from the outer office into his personal office, where a cheerful Pacey and an irritated Joey are waiting for him. "So," he begins, closing the door firmly behind him. "Since Mr. Witter's attempt at lying to me was so creative, I've come up with a little creative response in kind."
Pacey seizes the opportunity for a little brown-nosing. "Well, coming from a just-minded soul such as yourself, I'm sure your punishment will be nothing but fair, sir," he gushes. "Well, thank you, Eddie Haskell," Joey comments dryly. Pacey pretends to be shocked. "Where is your school spirit, Josephine?" "I think I left it cowering in the bushes," she snaps bitterly, intimating that he left her to face the music when they got caught. "Now that is a gross misconception," Pacey corrects. "I hurled myself upon the flames of responsibility!" Joey rolls her eyes. "I hope a deer tick crawled in your ear and laid eggs!"
The principal puts an end to their bickering by dropping a large box on the floor behind them, where it lands with a loud thud. "Enough!" he barks. "Honestly, I'm not sure how to get through to the two of you, but since you obviously have an affinity for one another, here's what I had in mind." He opens the box, revealing something which is met with abject objection from the pair of them. "No way," Joey states plaintively. "Ohh, that's not going to happen," Pacey insists. Principal Green smiles amusedly at them. "I'm glad to see we're all in agreement here."
In another area of the school, Andie sits silently on the stairs between floors, watching the between-classes crowds rush by. Jack comes into view with a fellow football player and notices his sister's isolated presence. Bidding a brief farewell to his teammate, Jack crouches down to Andie. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asks gently.
"Nothing's wrong, why should anything be wrong?" Andie replies a little too quickly. "Cause you're sitting in the stairwell of a public high school. Unless you're smoking or making out, it's a cause for concern," Jack tells her, then pulls her to her feet. "Come on, I'm going to meet Dawson and check out the footage for my interview."
Andie's face registers alarm. "You went through with it?" "Yeah, it was cool, it went great," her brother nods. "Well, it may seem that way today, but anything could happen tomorrow to rock your safe little world," she says. Jack doesn't understand, so Andie goes into hyper-babble mode to explain. "Jack, maybe you overlooked something. Maybe ... maybe you didn't see every angle -- maybe you had a terrible moment of weakness, maybe without even realizing it, you totally and irreversably screwed up!"
Jack blinks at his sister uncomprehendingly (it's a word, I said so!). "Andie, it's not that big a deal, why are you being so paranoid?" She sighs, then launches into one of her trademarked diatribes: "Look Jack, you could live your entire live on the straight and narrow, driving towards something you believe in. Then what? One tiny little mistake, one little error in judgement, and the next thing you know your car's on the side of the road flipped over, wheels still spinning and the radio on."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Jack asks her, echoing my sentiments precisely. "I'm talking about being publicly shamed, exposed for what you really are! I'm talking about a life being ruined, cut short, nipped in the bud! I'm talking about breaking Dad's heart!" Andie concludes dramatically. Jack doesn't understand what his father has to do with it, so Andie covers up the BS with more BS: "Think about how he's going to feel, Jack -- his disappointment, his humiliation. I mean, we are his pride and joy, Jack! Think about how hard he's worked for us over the years, how much he's sacrificed, and now this, out in the open, for everyone to see."
Okay, right now, if I were her brother, I'd be rightly pissed -- I mean, Andie knows first-hand how little her father truly cares for the both of them, and yet here she is, defending him? Granted, she's just trying to worm her way out of the hole she's dug herself into and is getting in deeper in the process, but Jack doesn't know that. From his perspective, he should be royally peeved. But, of course, he isn't. "Just calm down, all right?" he tells her. "I mean, it's not like I'm still in the closet. Dad's already knows I'm gay."
Andie nods quickly. "Yeah, I know. I know. I just want you to be careful, Jack. Every action has a consequence. Be sure you think this thing through." And with that, Hurricane Andie whirls off down the hall, as a very confused-looking Jack stands in her wake.
Cut to a much less confused-looking Jack speaking from Dawson's video segment, which Dawson and his father are watching in the Leery living room. "No one seems to care what I may or may not do off the field," Jack says calmly, then the video segment cuts to the opposing team's coach, who is being asked by Dawson Leery, cub reporter at large, if his team has any problem playing against someone who is openly gay. In the living room, Mitch shoots daggers at Dawson with his eyes. "If a kid wants to come out wearing lipstick and rouge, we're gonna infringe on him the way we infringe on anybody else, it's no different," the coach states very matter-of-factly.
Dawson turns off the television and turns to his father, eagerly. "Well?" "I just lost the first game of my coaching career," Mitch says flatly. Dawson is exasperated. "If you say so," he mutters. Mitch shakes his head in disbelief. "Dawson, that just went out to three million people. Not to mention, you just interviewed the opposing coach," he explains patiently. "So?" Dawson retorts, staring at him brazenly. "So!" Mitch repeats. "Three days ago, no one knew how good Jack was or who he is. Now the whole world knows! You might as well have gone out and painted a bullseye on his back!"
Conversation over, as far as Mitch is concerned. He get up and starts to walk out of the room, but Dawson isn't quite finished yet. "You never explained that to me, Dad," he shouts after him. Mitch turns around, glaring. "I didn't think I had to, it's pretty damn obvious." "Not to me, it isn't!" Dawson replies, angrily. "Instead of celebrating my first professional success in the world, you're sitting here worrying about a football game!"
"Hey, don't make me out to be the bad guy here, Dawson! Yes, I'm angry! Just like you wanted me to be!" Mitch has skewered Dawson's words, so his son tries to put it in perspective for him. "Dad, we're talking about a team that hasn't put a notch in the win column in three years." Again, he blows it out of proportion. "Now what are you saying, that I'm wasting my time?" Exasperated -- and rightly so -- Dawson wearily says no and once again tries to make his father understand an alternate viewpoint.
But, of course, father doesn't know best. "I can't even discuss this with you right now!" Mitch dismisses his son. "You have no idea what you're talking about!" Apparently, stubbornness is a trait that runs in Leery males. "Thanks to you, I don't! Ever since you took this job, you haven't spoken to me!" Dawson fumes.
"I talk to you!" Mitch shouts. "Not the way you talk to the guys on your team!" Dawson shouts louder. "Well, you know what, they respect me," Papa Bear answers back moodily. (Oh, that's mature) Dawson goes straight for the jugular. "I respect you, Dad. It's just that they're more the kind of son you wish you had."
Mitch insists that isn't true. "Dawson, I hum the Close Encounters theme in my sleep! I reach out to you. And when we can't find common ground I give you your space." "And when I take it, you get pissed off at me," Dawson laments. "No," Mitch corrects. "I'm just trying to break you out of your self-centered, self-righteous, fantasy world long enough to look out for other people!"
"Since when is it my responsibility to look after you?" Dawson scoffs. Mitch doesn't understand, so Dawson lays it on the line for him. "I'm saying, I parent you dad. I walk in on you having sex, I give you advice -- I'm the kid around here and sometimes I might even act like it!" Father and son glare at each other menacingly until Dawson wins the Great Stare-Off and noisily clumps out of the room.
It's almost half-time at the Big Game and everyone watches the field closely, where Jack is getting pummelled play after play after play. As he picks himself up and dusts himself off for the umpteenth time, an opponent sneers at him to "go back to tetherball, ya limp-wristed homo."
In the stands, Dawson and Jen exchange an uneasy glance. "This is getting ugly," Jen mutters. "He's getting killed out there." On the sidelines, Mitch paces back and forth muttering to himself like a zombified Mike Ditka. "Goddamn it ... Wipe our boys down ... take out the end ... you're kidding ... Jack, he's getting killed out there ... now run a game, DOA ... Walk it off, McPhee ... you're a good man ... walk it off!" On the field, Jack hears Mitch's ranting and sighs to himself, frustrated. "Walk it off ... I am walking it off. You walk it off."
Dawson looks at Jen, upset. "Tell me the truth, is this all my fault?" "In a word ... yes," Jen nods, then smiles. "Look on the bright side, Dawson. At least when this is over, win or lose, you won't be on the 50-yard line puckering your lips for some spoiled brat with furry teeth and halitosis.
"Just think of it as method acting," Pacey tells a horrified Joey as they unpack the Minutemen Mule costume a little ways away from the field. As they stare down at the ass-end (literally) of the costume, Joey hisses, "Think of it as out of the question." "I'll flip you for it?" he suggests hopefully, but she shakes his head and tells him there's no chance of that. She won't budge. "Fine, I'll just cut to the chase and beg you," Pacey sighs, then falls to his knees and grabs her around the waist. "Please, Joey? Please, please, please don't make me go out there!"
Joey stares him down, her eyes narrowed into little slits. "Look. I am supposed to be at work right now earning much needed money, but instead, because of you, I'm standing on a football field fighting over the rear end of a mule." Pacey gives her a smug smile and speaks in a sing-song tone. "Fine. Fine. I'm just giving you fair warning ..." "What?" she snaps. "Well," he replies smoothly, "I tend to get a little ... car sick ... in back seats." Joey's expression changes from annoyance to discomfiture to disbelief as she plops the Mule's head over Pacey.
Far away from the football field, Andie finds the courage to finally empty her soul. "Principal Green?" she begins gingerly. "I made a mistake. Well, a terrible error in judgement really. I know that there is no excuse for what I did, so I won't waste your time. But there is an explanation -- one I can only pray that you might find it in your heart to understand. See there's this guy ... and ... when I met him, it was like a shade going up in a dark room ... the light suddenly pouring in. He understood things about me, things no one else ever did, ever could."
As she speaks about Pacey, her eyes are bright, but as she continues the sparkle dulls and fades. "And then... just as suddenly, the room went dark again. In my mind, I mean. Over the summer, I was treated at a psychiatric hospital." Andie's voice falters, her eyes moist. "I didn't have to stay long because I got better. But when I came back, I lost the guy. He was my soulmate. It was like having an organ ... my heart ... literally ripped from my body. All I could feel was cold and empty ... my future slipping away."
She sighs, and the tears begin to fall. "You see, I lost my love -- but I was determined not to lose my life, and that is why I stole the test, and that's why I cheated. I wanted to try to keep it from all getting away from me, and ...I know that I only made things worse. So now all I can ask for is your compassion." Her composure regained, Andie smiles to herself, pleased at her own eloquency. But as the camera pans out, we see she has merely been practising in the mirror.
Back at the game, the half-time buzzer goes and the loudspeaker announces the Minutemen are down 21 to nothing. Dawson Leery, SuperHero, leaps into action. "Let's go," he declares, pulling Jen to her feet. "Where are we going?" she asks in confusion as he drags her away from their seats. Dawson sets his jaw in that way that only he can. "To even the score."
Inside the locker room, Coach Mitch is giving the dejected Minutemen a pep talk which manages to incorporate practically every known sports cliche in the book: "C'mon, guys, you can't let 'em get to you!" "They are psyching you out!" "Putting us out of our game plan" "Truth is, we're not moving the ball!" "We're not firing out on defence!" "Suck in that gut!" "Go harder!" Switching gears, Mitch decides to wax poetic about historical figures for inspiration (in a line which I personally found truly laughable): "A long time ago, there was a Chinese warrior philosopher --"
"-- General Sun Tzu," Dawson finishes from the doorway. "A brilliant military strategist who lived about 2,000 years ago. My dad's been telling me about him ever since I was a kid." He walks in, a bucket of black paint in hand. Mitch enquires after it, and Dawson explains the team is going to turn their weakness into a strength, just like the good General said. "We're gonna start by obscuring everyone's numbers so the other team can't find Jack." Mitch nods thoughtfully. "That might work for a couple of plays." Dawson nods back. "That's why it's only phase one."
Coach Leery blinks at his son. "So what's phase two?" On cue, the pom pom squad, led by none other than head cheerleader Jenny Lindley, enters the dressing roojm to a raucous round of wolf whistles and catcalls from the team.
"All right, let's get up there!" hollers the opposing coach back on the field as play resumes. "Let's get up there and hit somebody now! Hit somebody!" (nice attitude) Mitch exhales deeply on the sidelines. "Here we go ... cross your fingers." The camera pans along the starting lineup. All the faces of the Minutemen have been made up like a cross between Tammy Faye Bakker and a Rocky Horror Picture Show reject. "Try to find the homo now!" Henry crows.
Fast forward to the end of the fourth quarter. The score is 24-21 for the visitors, with seven seconds left in play. The Minutemen are in a huddle, debating what to do. "Can we get a step on them Jack?" Henry asks with great enthusiasm. "One more time, whaddya think?" "I think my mascara's running," Jack mumbles, then tells Henry to just throw him the ball, and he'll catch it.
"Consider it done," Henry nods, then addresses the rest of the team in something that sounded as indecipherable as Mandarin Chinese to my football virgin ears. "All right! Cradle out, draw nine shiver, broadside option, low and go on two, ready?" The team responds with a hearty "Break!" (What-ever.)
The ball sails into Jack's arms. A cluster of opposing players tackle him, but he worms his way out of it, does a spectacular sommersault into the end zone, and scores the winning touchdown, natch. The loudspeaker triumphantly announces Capeside's victory, 27-24.
Principal Green is overjoyed. "That was one of the most irreverent and imaginative game plans I've ever seen!" he cries. "Congratulations, Coach!" Mitch beams, almost glowing as a result of the praise, but his enthusiasm soon subsides as the team good-naturedly dumps a keg of Gatorade all over him.
In the bleachers, Jen sighs, dreading what's about to come next. "One good deed down, one to go," she mutters. Dawson smiles at her empathetically. "Jen Lindley, once again the victim of a lonely heart," he teases. She growls at him, albeit with a smile on her face. "Don't push it, buddy."
It's showtime for Andie, who runs up to Principal Green as if he's a football she's about to punt. "I need to talk to you," she insists, but he doesn't have time for her at present. "No, sir, it's important, and it can't wait for me to clear this up." He sighs, knowing her tenacity will outlive his patience. "Okay, what is it?" the principal humours her.
"I made a mistake ... a terrible error in judgement," she begins, launching into her memorized speech. Principal Green's eyes narrow. "What kind of mistake?" Andie's so wrapped up in her little monologue she can't hear him. "I know there's no excuse for what I've done, so --" "What are you talking about, Andie?" the principal interrupts.
Andie is perplexed. "Didn't you want to talk to me?" she asks him, wide-eyed. He frowns at her slightly. "I was going to discuss it with you on Monday, but if you must know now, I'm forming a new student disciplinary committee, and I want you to be in charge of it."
Her whole demeanour changes. "Oh!" she exclaims. "I could do that. I mean, I would be honoured to do that." Principal Green smiles, pleased. "Now, what was this mistake you were talking about?" Andie scrambles for a suitable answer but comes up with about the lamest thing she could possibly think of. "I shouldn't have interrupted you. It's, uh, a mistake to be so ... impatient, but I'm working on it, Sir."
Principal Green looks at the head of Capeside High's new student disciplinary committee as if she had just advocated an all-nude dress code for students. "O-kaaay," he says slowly. "I'll talk to you later." He walks off leaving a positively beaming Andie behind, who is doubly pleased at both getting off the hook and being appointed to such a prestigious position of authority (even though she doesn't deserve it!).
A large assembly of players, spectators, coaches, cheerleaders, faculty and students have gathered around the 50-yard line. In the middle is Principal Green, with a very unhappy-looking Jen Lindley by his side. He loudly proclaims to one and all that the moment they've all been waiting for has finally arrived. With a flourish, he gestures towards the other end of the field: "The winner of the silent auction, who is entitled to one ride on the Minuteman Mule and one heart-stopping kiss from our head cheerleader!" "Ex-head cheerleader," Jen hisses through clenched teeth.
From the other end of the field, the Minuteman Mule slowly wobbles towards the procession carrying a helmeted Capeside football player. The mule gets about halfway, then topples over. The football player stumbles to his feet and takes off his helmet, walking over to where Jen is waiting.
"Henry?" she asks incredulously. "How the hell did you get $500?" Henry manages to mumble "mouthpiece." Jen frowns. "Mouth -- wait a minute, you sold your good luck Doug Flutie memorial mouthpiece just to kiss me? I don't know whether to gag or be incredibly touched."
The crowd starts to chant "Kiss! Kiss!" as Henry looks at Jen uncomfortably. "You don't have to ... if you don't want to ..." Jen grins at him. "C'mere, freshman." Henry looks like a deer caught in headlights. Jen holds him close to her, then plants a nice little smacker on his lips which lasts a moment or two longer than it probably should have. Henry comes up for air looking thrilled and dazed and terrified and overwhelmed all rolled into one.
Jen smiles brightly at the onlookers. "Okay, okay ... everybody go home, the show's over, folks." "No, no, no," Principal Green interjects. "Not quite yet. We have a little unfinished business here." Jen looks confused as he continues. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, your choice for Capeside's 1999 homecoming queen ... Miss Jennifer Lindley!" Jen's confusion turns to horror, as she looks around, then up at Principal Green, chagrined. "This isn't happening."
Cut to the star of the game, siting on a bench, alone. Andie sits next to her brother, looking very pleased with herself. "See? I told you everything would work out fine," she says very matter-of-factly. Jack looks at her in pure disbelief. "You did?" "Yeah," she nods. "Everything usually works out for the best as long as you keep a positive attitude."
"Positive attitude?" Jack echoes. "Okay, is this before or after I disgraced the family's good name and forever humiliated our father?" Andie shrugs it off. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about dad. I'm sure he's over it. He's probably off sailing or golf or wherever he is. I wouldn't give it another thought." Jack stares at her, utterly baffled. "Andie, you're making my head spin."
Her brother's comments roll off her back and Andie rabbits on, obliviously, in her typical OD'ed on Prozac manner. "Look Jack, I'm just glad it's all over. I can't tell you how relieved I am. Hey, so who won the game, anyway?" Jack looks at her, bewildered.
Close-up on the Minuteman Mule, which is still overturned on the ground and whose occupants are making muffled noises from within. "Someone was so sweaty I couldn't even breathe!" a female voice laments. "Well, somebody wouldn't let me take my shirt off!" a male voice retorts. "Well, somebody forgot to open the air vents!" the female voice counters. The Mule manages to right itself and break apart, the occupants tumbling out. Surprise, surprise (not), they aren't Pacey and Joey. "Well, somebody forgot to mention there were air vents in the first place!" the male fumes. The girl scowls at him. "I told you we never should have listened to those two slackers!"
Cut to "those two slackers" who have pulled up at the marina. "This is it?" Joey asks as she gets out of their car. "This is the surprise?" "This" is a dilapidated old boat, which is evidently Pacey's pride and joy. "Isn't she beautiful?" Pacey beams. "Yeah," Joey makes a face. "In a Titanic, post-iceberg sort of way. Where did you get this?"
"A friend of my brother's works down at the marina. He rescued her after the last hurricane. The guy who owned it didn't want her any more, so I convinced him to sell it to me for, like, $200," Pacey explains. "When I finish with this boat, it is going to be sheer perfection. Look at that."
Joey's doubtful. "Pacey, do you know how much money and time it will take to even get this boat to float?" "Yeah," he replies good-naturedly as he climbs aboard. "Not a minute more or less than as long as it takes me. You watch, Potter. In a couple of months, I'll be sailing this baby around the world."
"I hate to break it to you, Captain Stubing, but you can't sail around the world in a 20-foot boat," Joey teases. "Sure I can!" Pacey insists. She laughs. "Where are you going to put the supplies?" He grins. "Hey, the USS Minnow was no bigger than this, and they found room in it for all of Mr. Howell's money, all of the Professor's tools, all of Ginger's clothes --" Joey makes a motion to move, which throws Pacey off his Gilligan's Island recourse for a moment. "Where do you think you're going?"
Joey extends a hand to the "Skipper." "Permission to come aboard?" Pacey helps her up, smiling all the while. "Permission granted." When she is comfortably ensconced in the vessel, Pacey picks up the small package he was carrying when Principal Green caught them skipping school. "And now, the purpose for our little forray into truancy ..." He unwraps the package and presents Joey with the name plaque for the boat. "... Whaddya say?"
"True love?" she reads. Pacey grins sheepishly. "Kinda high on the schmaltz factor?" "Acutely," Joey smiles. "But sweet." Thinking he's made some headway with her, Pacey moves in for the kill. "Now remember I told you I needed your help with something?" "With what?" Joey asks suspiciously. He hands her a piece of sandpaper by way of explanation. "Start sanding." She snatches it out of his hand and begins to sand the boat. "You are so overboard."
Back at the football field, Coach Mitch approaches his son who is sitting on a bench in the dark by himself. The two sit side-by-side for a moment, until Mitch musters up an appropriate sentiment: "The night you were born, I bawled like a baby."
Dawson is taken aback. "Did you really? I didn't know that." Mitch nods. "I think I cried for 24 hours straight. Holding you, so small, in my arms ... I never knew I could love anything so much, so fast, so ... utterly. A part of me was terrifed. Raisng a son is more a matter of faith than most people know."
"So's being one," Dawson says simply. "You're right." Mitch nods again after a long pause. "I think I realized somethng today ... That my job as a father isn't to give you the whole picture because the truth is, I can't see it myself. My job is to try and help. And every now and then, fit a piece of the puzzle."
"You have helped me, Dad," Dawson smiles at him. "I hope so," Mitch looks at his son tenderly. "But your future, your expectations ... they belong to you. Don't let anybody stand in the way. Not even me." "You always pushed me to be my own person, to think for myself," Dawson notes. "I just did what you taught me."
The peace made, Mitch decides to seal the newfound treaty with a little father-son bonding. "So what do you say we go home ... pop in a little Close Encounters or something?" Dawson ventures to meet him halfway. "Actually, I was thinking, how about a game of catch?"
He tosses a football over to Mitch, who catches it easily. "Gimme that. We'll leave the football out here on the field ... where it belongs." Mitch hurls the pigskin into the air ...
... and when it lands, it's been magically transformed into the football on the home movie of Mitch and Dawson as a kid, playing catch. The scene on tape shifts to baby Dawson and baby Joey chasing each other around and around the Leery back garden.
The scene shifts from the home movie on television, to Joey in her room, watching the home movie on her television. She smiles nostalgically at the images, of a happier, less complicated time. Cutting back to the home movie, baby Dawson throws a football to his father (who doesn't look any younger than he does now) then runs over to a swingset, where Joey is. Next, the children blow bubbles, then swim in the creek, splashing each other with water. After that, they chase each other around the garden in a game of tag.
Back in her room, Joey looks achingly at the images on the screen, a mixture of happiness and sadness on her face, as we hear a younger version of herself speak on the tape. "Bye, Dawson." "Bye, Joey."
Fade to black ...