Dawson smiles at her. "Nice entrance." Joey glances at the TV, where the documentary is still playing. "Dawson, isn't there a limit on the number of times a person can watch their own movie?" He shrugs. "I've gotta be prepared. We've got a Q & A session after the screening."
"Ooooh," Joey teases, wiggling out of her jacket. "The Screening. How Sundance." (a reference to the Sundance Independent Film Festival, just in case that went over anyone's head!) "Let's not blow this completely out of proportion, shall we?" Dawson suggests, looking more than a touch anxious.
Joey asks what's the matter, but he quickly dismisses it as nothing. "Could it be ...?" she suggests, waiting to see where he goes with it. "What?" Dawson replies, wholly consumed with packing a small travel bag. Joey grins at him. " Dawson Leery -- the gifted, young, self-motivated auteur, Capeside's own Spielberg wunderkind -- can be nervous?"
He sighs. "Yeah ... yeah, of course I am. I mean, it's ... you know, it's one thing to be a big fish in the small pond that is Capeside ..." "... But entirely another to swim in the talent pool with hundreds of your egocentric competitors," Joey finishes for him, nodding.
"Exactly," he agrees, then frowns a little. "And thank you for that gut-wrenching visual." Joey gives him an encouraging smile. "Now I may be a little biased here, because -- well, let's face it, I am one of the stars of the movie -- but it's really good. I mean, look at it this way -- for better or worse, this experience will only take you one step closer to realizing your dreams." Dawson gives her a doubtful look.
"Besides," she continues, trying to point out the bright side, "You don't have to spend an entire weekend with a complete stranger." "It is kind of cruel and unusual," he smiles. "Yeah, well, I signed up for the College tour, and they pair you off with one of the students. Those are the rules," Joey tells him.
Now it's Dawson's turn to ask about being nervous. Joey admits she is, but in a good way. "I mean, I know we're just visiting, but this trip kinda gives me hope. Maybe one day I will make it out of here." "Joey, it never once crossed my mind that you wouldn't make it outta here," Dawson reassures her. (spoken like a true friend -- for once!)
Joey's about as convinced of this notion as Dawson is of his competitive abilities at this point. "It's easy for you to say, Dawson," she replies sadly. He tries a different approach. "Come on, Jo. Look at the original impulse, look at this weekend as an adventure. All right? I mean this is ... this is our first foray into the real world. You know, this weekend could be a glimpse into the rest of our lives."
"Or," Joey counters with her usual cheery outlook, "It could be the weekend when all of our hopes and dreams just come crashing down around us, forcing us to withdraw from mainstream society and spend the rest of our days as these cynical embittered shadows of our former selves."
Dawson chuckles at her synopsis, and she gives him a sheepish smile. "It's just a thought."
Cut to the next morning (are we assuming Joey slept over at Dawson's, then? Hmmm. Interesting ...), where Joey, Dawson, Jack and Andie are walking around in awe on the campus of one of the greatest (though unnamed, for legal reasons) ivy-league colleges in the United States. (sidenote: Apparently, the producers wanted to shoot this episode at Harvard (seeing as Capeside is in Massachusetts, it makes sense) but Harvard said no. So they settled for a college in Virginia -- the University of Richmond -- to act as Harvard's stand-in, instead.)
"I feel like Richard Dreyfuss from Close Encounters of the Third Kind," our favourite cinema geek confesses. "You know, the director's cut, where he finally boards the mother ship and meets with the aliens?" "News flash, Dawson," Joey comments dryly. "We are the aliens." (No, you aren't! Max, Michael and Isabel are! ... Sorry ... subconscious, automatic Roswell moment there ... I'll behave now.)
Jack sidles up to Andie. "So ... what're you thinking, Sis?" He's expecting some sort of admission of fear or being overwhelming, but instead, Miss McPhee launches into an oral history of the college (which sounds suspiciously like the real Harvard's): "These students enjoy the distinction of attending America's finest college. Founded in 1626, it was named after a British colonist who ended up donating his entire collection of books. And the original faculty teaching here in the colonial wilderness could hardly have imagined that over the next three centuries, it would become known throughout the world as a premiere centre for teaching and research."
Dawson chuckles, and tells Andie she should write for the college's catalogue they send to prospective students. Jack looks at him seriously. "It is the catalogue, Dawson. I think she sent away for it when she was about nine." "Class of 2005, baby!" Andie confirms. "Early admissions. I'm gonna ace this interview."
The four reach a crossroads in the campus walkways where they come to a halt and look at each other, not knowing what to say or do next. After a moment or two of silence, Joey begins. "Well ... I better go meet my roommate." She glances down at a piece of paper in her hand. "A.J. Moller."
"Joey, you are gonna have a blast," Andie assures her. "I took the junior tour last year." Joey's face registers surprise. "As a sophomore?" Andie nods primly. "Early bird gets into college."
Joey and Dawson laugh good-naturedly, and Dawson asks Jack what he plans on doing while they're all loose in the big, bad city of Boston. "Uh ... just hang out, I guess ... do the tours thing," Jack replies evasively.
Dawson nods, looking at his watch. "Well, it is about that time." "Yep," Jack agrees. "I am so psyched," Andie chimes in. "Me too," Joey murmurs, glancing around anxiously. The four of them look at each other awkwardly for a long moment, exchange good-byes, and head out on four separate, different paths.
Later, Dawson has wound up where he's supposed to be, the Boston Junior Film Festival registration desk. Nikki, a pretty African-American girl, sits behind the desk, efficiently and seriously processing the applications. Dawson gives her his name, then she asks for his movie. He hands it over as if it's his first born. "Which category, comedy or drama?" she barks.
Dawson thinks a moment. "Documentary. Well, actually more of --" "Date of birth?" Nikki interrupts. Dawson's momentarily taken aback. "Uh ... three-fourteen-eighty-three." (Oh my God, do I feel old!) She types in the informatin. "Favourite director?" (Why this would be a relevant question on a film festival application, I have no idea, so I'm assuming it's just being thrown in for plot development purposes)
"Spielberg." Nikki stares at him as if he's turned into E.T. himself. "You're kidding." Dawson frowns at her. "No." Nikki shakes her head with a sigh, and condescendingly tells him that while Spielberg is undoubtedly a gifted film maker, he has no "edge." (Yeah, like she's in a position to criticize Speilberg ... I hate her already for her arrogance)
Dawson raises a good point: "Edge is fleeting. Heart lasts forever." Nikki rolls her eyes as she directs him to stand in front of a camera in order to create an ID badge. "Say 'cheese,'" Nikki tells him sourly (the double-entendre of her words is lost on Dawson). A flashbulb explodes, then Nikki instructs Dawson to sign a couple of forms attached to a clipboard. She passes him a card, which she explains will get him into the screenings.
He passes her back the clipboard and she glances at the forms, noting he didn't fill out the synopsis section for his movie. "Not enough room," Dawson explains. "You see, my film started out as a documentary, chronicling the history of this so-called island which was thought to be haunted, but --" "Another Blair Witch Project," Nikki deadpans. "Gotcha. Good luck. Next!" Dawson sighs dejectedly and walks out of the room.
Cut to Joey, who is wandering up and down a dormitory hallway reading numbers on the doors. She finds 381 and knocks a couple of times. No answer. Timidly, she opens the unlocked door, revealing a mousy, typically collegiate-looking preppyish undergrad, pecking away on an iBook (gotta love all this Macintosh product placement -- all over DC and Roswell, I love it!)
"Excuse me --" Joey begins, but he quickly shushes her. "I'm sorry, I just --" Again, she gets shushed. Joey exhales, frustrated, and the guy looks up. "Yes? What is it?" Joey explains she's looking for A.J Moller, and wants to know if this is her room. "No," preppy guy replies with a touch of sarcasm. "This is not her room."
Joey looks around uncomfortably. "She's supposed to be my room mate for the weekend. Junior tour. Do you have any idea where I might find her?" "Nope," he replies smugly. "Okay," Joey replies, looking confused. "Well, the number on my information card says Room 381." He nods. "I'm certain it does." "And this is Room 381?" she asks, not comprehending. "You betcha," he nods again. Joey is starting to lose her patience. "And you can't tell me where to find A.J. Moller?" "I didn't say that," he replies smoothly. "What I said was I didn't know where you could find her. Him, I can point you directly to."
She looks confused, so the guy sums up his cryptic conversation with this simple explanation. "I'm A.J Moller." He peers at a card. "That must make you Potter-comma-Joseph. I guess our gender ambiguous names have fostered a precarious situation." (yeah, and that must make you a dick-comma-head)
"To say the least," Joey mutters. He smirks. "Before you start crying and calling home, I promise to give you one of the beds. And if -- if -- you're really nice, I'll even leave the light on for you." (Nah, turn it off ... makes it all the easier for her to sneak up on you and slit your throat in the dark ...)
"I'm not staying here," Joey tells him succinctly. "I mean, this is not what I signed up for, okay? I'm supposed to be spending the weekend with someone who's going to show me what college is like, tell me what to expect. Someone ..." She trails off, trying to find the right word, which A.J. finds for her: "With ovaries?"
Joey nods, embarrassed. A.J. sighs. "Listen, Jo ... Joseph?" "It's Josephine," she corrects. "Joey." "Joey," he repeats. "This is what college is like. Guys and girls living together, mostly in harmony. I mean at Columbia, they even have co-ed bathrooms. And if you're not up for that, maybe you should be visiting women's colleges instead." (I had co-ed bathrooms in my residence ... one word ... ewwww!)
His words give her food for thought, and she tosses her overnight bag down on the ground. "Look, maybe you're right," she says flatly. "There's really no reason two people of the opposite sex can't spend one night together in the same room." She's trying to be mature and intelligent about the whole mix-up, but leave it to the WonderNerd to ruin things. "That's my girl," A.J. tells her with so much condescention, it dribbles down his chin. He then changes his voice to that of a Native Indian, as if he were shooing away a pesky white man: "Now, if you don't mind, Bigum College Boy have important paper to write. Little High School Girl take long walk around the campus."
"You're kicking me out?" Joey stares at him in horror. "You're kicking yourself out, so I can have two more hours of unadulterated silence," he corrects her. She's outraged. "That's not --" "Careful, careful. Say 'fair' and you'll really be showing your age," A.J. says patronizingly. (Yeah, too bad you aren't exactly showing yours, buddy, by continuing to speak to her like that!) "Oh, and uh, Potter-comma-Joseph?" he asks sweetly. "Shut the door on your way out. Otherwise I'm gonna have those idiot Econ majors playing Nerf basketball down the hall." Disgusted, Joey exits stage right with a slam of the door to punctuate her silent fury.
Meanwhile, the siblings McPhee are conversing on a park bench. Andie notices her brother has his nose in a book, and asks what he's reading. "Uh ... just ... uh, you know ... a guidebook to Boston," Jack replies uncomfortably. Andie giggles. "Oh, okay, tell me you are not going off in search of Thoreau's buttprint at Walden Pond?" (as a non-Bostonian, non-Massachusettsian, non-American, all I have to say is ... huh?)
Jack laughs, and says he hadn't planned on doing that. Andie suggests he go check out one of the city's art museums, and he thinks it over. Pleased to have made a suggestion, Andie leaves. After she goes, Jack reveals the true cover of the book -- Boston's Pink Pages 1999.
From the park bench, Andie walks to the Admissions building, where she enters the Dean's executive assistant's office. Andie walks straight up to her and introduces herself brighly. The woman, who bears a strong resemblance to Marla Gibbs, who played the maid on The Jeffersons -- wait, it is Marla Gibbs! Heh. Guess she moved on up from George and Wheezy de-lux apartment in the sk-y-y-y ... um, yes, back to the summary ...
"Fran," as she's being monikered here, glances at a sheet of paper, non-plussed, and asks Andie to spell her surname. She obliges, and Fran checks her computer. "It says here that your appointment isn't until March. Either there's something wrong with my calendar, or you've got a very long wait."
Andie frowns, then goes into the hyperdrive we all know and hate so much. "Well, uh, Mrs. ..." she glances at Fran's nameplate ... "Boyd." "Call me Fran," sez Fran, which surprised me, because I was expecting her to say "Call me Florence," but anyway ...
"Great!" Andie bubbles enthusiastically, thinking she has an 'in.' "Okay, well ... my dad -- Joseph McPhee -- is an alumnus. Class of '72. And he always said, if you want something badly enough, make sure you're first in line." "A daddy's girl, huh?" Fran smiles. "Me too, God rest his soul." Again, Andie is thrilled to be making such headway. "So ... you think maybe you could squeeze me in?" Still smiling, Fran tells her, "Not a chance."
The enthusiasm fades from Andie's voice and an all-together too familiar whine sets in instead. "But I just want five minutes with the Dean, that's all." Fran shakes her head gently. "The thing is, everyone else here has an appointment. Today." "Uh-huh," Andie nods, still perservering. "Well, do you think something might open up?" Fran gives her her best Florence Johnston staredown. "Would you cancel your university interview at the last minute?" Andie looks at her uncomfortably, proving Flo's -- I mean, Fran's -- point. "You see my point?" Deflated, Andie leaves the office.
Speaking of deflated, Dawson's finishing up his screening of Witch Island to less than rave reviews. When the lights in the auditorium come up, the room is almost empty and only a smattering of the assembled bodies bother to clap. "Been there, seen that," one girl tells her friend. "Where do you want to go eat?"
A co-ordinator comes to the front of the auditorium and tells the viewers if they have any questions or comments, the filmmaker will be glad to answer them, but the room's emptying fast. Dawson scrunches down in his seat, hoping to be ignored. "Mr. Leery?" calls the co-ordinator. Dawson scrunches down some more. "Dawson Leery? Can you step up here, please?"
The few heads that remain cran the room, looking for the elusive "filmmaker," who has suddenly found his testicles and nervously walks up to the podium beside the co-ordinator. Dawson greets the crowd with a timid "Hi," but it's drowned in a wave of feedback. Some people giggle as the co-ordinator whispers something in his ear. "Sorry," Dawson mutters, then speaks a little louder. "Uh ... I'm Dawson Leery. Um ... d-d-does anyone ... um ... have any questions, or ...?"
The silence is deafening. Eventually, a female voice pipes up. "Yeah." Extremely relieved, Dawson asks what the question is. The girl and her girlfriend grin. "Where's the Joey chick? Is she here? She is hot!"
A few minutes later, Dawson is leaving the auditorium by himself when Nikki catches up to him and asks if he's all right. He barks at her that he's fine, which, clearly, he isn't. "These screenings, they can get pretty brutal when the lights come up," Nikki says almost apologetically (I still hate her, though).
"I can handle that," Dawson lies. "I mean, so what if my movie's not hip enough to rouse the interest of these pseudo-intellectual art-house snobs?" Nikki smiles grimly. "On the bright side, at least no one threw things." Dawson throws her an evil glare. "Thank God for small mercies."
He walks away, but Nikki tags after him. "You are upset." He stops in his tracks and stares her down. "Wouldn't you be?" She looks at him thoughtfully. "I'm sorry about what happened in there, I really am. But in light of The Blair Witch Project, I don't know what you were thinking." (Translation: If you were looking for sympathy, you ain't gonna get it here)
"What?" Dawson is dumbfounded. Nikki shrugs. "Riding the coattails of some absurdly successful cultural phenomenon is simply not gonna cut it. I mean --" "Before you eviscerate my work any further, why don't you at least tell me your name?" Dawson interrupts.
She introduces herself as Nikki Green, then launches into a Siskel & Ebertesque critique of Dawson's documentary: "Take this Joey character for example. I mean, who is she? And what does she mean to you? Are you friends? Lovers? What? Nothing was clear. More troubling was that you didn't seem to understand that that was the most interesting part of your story."
"Well, aren't you perceptive?" Dawson replies bitterly. "Don't patronize me," Nikki scowls at him. "I'm trying to give you an honest assessment here." "Well, excuse me," Dawson continues in the same sarcastic tone, "but it's not every day that I'm subjected to an unsolicited note session from --"
"A volunteer? Paper-pusher? My position and altruism is to validate my opinion," Nikki snaps back, indicating she is just as stubborn, verbose and irritating as Dawson. Great. A match made in hell.
Meanwhile, Jack is waiting around for a bus, which eventually pulls up to the stop he's at. He stands there dawdling, wondering what to do, because boarding the bus will mean starting the first day of the rest of his life. "Well, are you in or out?" the bus driver calls down to him, rather symbolically. Jack hesitates, then gets on the bus, sitting down near a pair of guys of questionable sexual orientation.
Back on campus, Joey finds a disconsolate Dawson sitting alone on a park bench and approaches him, enquiring about the screening. He looks down and sighs dejectedly. "Come on." Joey tries to be encouraging. "It couldn't have been that bad, could it?"
"It was an unmitigated disaster," Dawson replies sourly. Joey shakes her head. "What do those hipper-than-thou film brats know anyway?" "Maybe they're right,' he sighs. Joey sits down beside him. "Come on ... you don't mean that." Dawson shrugs miserably. "You know, maybe the problem with having such a big dream is ... you never stop to question whether or not you have the talent to back it up." He sighs, then continues. "What if I ... I just simply don't have what it takes to be a great filmmaker?" (newsflash! You don't ... sorry, it begged to be said ...)
Joey gives him a sympathetic look. "Dawson, I've been there from the beginning. To most people, movies are just a way of passing time, but I was there that day that they became something more to you. The day you decided to pick up your parents camcorder and make a movie of your own. The day that you said for the first time out loud that you were going to be a filmmaker. I've had the privilege of watching you take this dream and make it a reality. And you know what? I'm really proud of you." She wraps an arm around his shoulder and gives him a sideways sort of hug.
Fran/Flo/Marla enters her office to find Andie perched in a chair, stalking ... I mean, waiting. "You." Andie waves at her. Fran sighs. "How'd you get in here?" "Janitor," Andie smiles. "Don't worry, I didn't touch anything. But, I brought you dessert." She presents the older lady with a slice of cake. Fran is amazed at her tenacity (read: the depths Andie will sink to in order to suck up). "And I thought I'd seen it all," she mutters to herself.
"Well, I thought I'd be here, you know, in the off-chance that Dean Hargrove got back early ... and then I could ... well, you know ..." Andie trails off, letting Fran fill in the blanks. Fran clucks at her admiringly. "You've got chutzpah, I'll say that much for you."
"So," Andie probes, "Is he back yet?" Now that she's been placated with dessert, Fran's suddenly become a sister. "He's a notoriously late luncher," she confides. Andie shrinks down in her chair like a deflated balloon. Fran frowns. "What's the matter?" "Nothing."
Fran sits beside her. "Do you know how many kids I have? Seven. You know how many went to this university? Zero. Didn't seem to bother them much." Andie interprets that in the worst way possible. "So you don't think I'm gonna get in?" "Oh," Fran smiles, "I gave up a long time ago trying to figure out who they're gonna accept."
"So, you had seven kids?" Andie asks incredulously. Fran nods. "Two are doctors ... one's an investment banker, whatever that is ... the three girls are married ... and one didn't go to college. Plays horn in a jazz band downtown. Which do you think is happiest?"
Andie interprets the moral of the story: "Okay, so what you're telling me is avoid medical school and Wall Street, don't get married, and... skip college." "What I'm saying is, whether or not you attend this distinguished university will have little or nothing to do with what kind of person you turn out to be, or whether you find fulfilment in your life."
Speaking of attending the university, Joey has decided to sit in on a lecture to get a proper taste of post-secondary academic life. No sooner has she sat down, when Arrogant Jerk sidles up to her. "Freshman English, huh?" He nods his approva. "A good one to visit." Joey rolls her eyes. "Don't tell me you're in this class?" "Kinda," he answers non-commitally.
Grudgingly, Joey asks if he wants to sit down. "Uh, no ... I can't," A.J. replies. She comments that the professor must be really late, and A.J. smirks that he isn't coming. "They do that a lot," he replies, "And then some poor schmuck undergraduate teaching assistant has to come in and try to rally the troops for what's called ... DISCUSSION SECTION!" He triumphantly strides down the aisle towards the podium at the front of the lecture hall.
Okay, I'm confused. Maybe it's different at "Harvard," but when I went to university, so-called 'discussion sections' (a.k.a. tutorials at my school) were led by undergraduates going for their Masters' degrees, not Bachelors' undergraduates. Moreover, if A.J. is the ripe old age of 19, that puts him at what, a sophomore, at best? Since when would a professor entrust a lecture to a lowly second-year student? What the fug?
Nevertheless, there he is, at the front of the class, smirking and primping for the rest of his classmates. "Professor Taylor is at some semiotics conference in Seattle, so you're stuck with me, again. Now, we have a lot of visiting high schoolers in our midst today, so I thought we'd take a break from our ongoing Great Books discussion, and ask some of them what books they consider great." Guess who his first target is? "How about you ... in the cheap seats? Brown haired girl."
"What's my favourite book?" Joey repeats incredulously, clearly caught off-guard. "You read, don't you?" Arrogant Jerk needles. Joey thinks a moment. "Little Women."
A.J. nods smugly. "Louisa May Alcott ... interesting. I haven't read that since I was ... 10, or so. As far as I remember, it's sort of a less-successful version of Jane Eyre. Something about a girl with a boy's name?"
"The girl's name is Jo," sez Jo. (ohhh, sometimes I kill myself, I'm so funny!) "She has three sisters, a mother, a father who's usually not around, and when he is, he's very impractical, and he's not the greatest at providing the material things in life."
Another smirk from Arrogant Jerk. "That's right," he agrees, as if indulging her. "They're poor, but they have each other. And there's something to do with a boy-next-door. Yeah, it's all coming back to me." Dismissing Joey, he turns to the rest of the class. "Okay, so ... Little Women. Perennial American classic, yes, but great book? Worthy of inclusion in the literary canon? What do we think, people?"
Typically-self-indulgent-and-arrogant-coed-#1 voices her opinion. "No way. This book is completely anti-feminist in spirit." (Dontcha just love people who read into things too much?) Typically-self-indulgent-and-arrogant-coed-#2 pipes up. "I concur. (I concur? Who even talks like that?) I mean, the heroine supposedly burns with this artistic genius, but ultimately she gives up all of her dreams, gets married and starts popping out babies." Typically-self-indulgent-and-arrogant-coed-#3 jumps on the bandwagon. "Alcott's a minor writer. Most of what she wrote, she wrote purely for money."
From her seat, Joey hurls machetes at A.J. with her eyes. Fully aware of her hatred, A.J. continues in his patronizing tone. "And what's the lesson here? That we can't say a book is great simply because we identify with the hero or heroine."
At the end of the class, Joey is among the first to leave when A.J. catches up to her and asks her to wait. "Why?" she snaps. "So you can sic one of your little over-educated minions on me? Try again." He tries a semi-apologetic smile. "Admittedly, we were a little harsh ..."
"I concur," Joey says sarcastically. (tee hee) A.J. shrugs. "You said you wanted the college experience." "Don't be so glib," Joey replies coldly. "What you did in there was insensitive. You hardly know me, A.J. Maybe I am just some naive little high school girl, but I was actually looking forward to getting a taste of the fun part of the college experience, not just the mean, bitter part. Do you spend so much time staring that i-Book that you've forgotten that part even existed?"
Her words get to him a little, because he gives her a sincere-sounding apology and asks if they can start over. "Give me chance to show you what college is really all about. What do you say?" (Gee, so what's he gonna do, then? Teach her how to plagerize essays, exist solely on coffee and day-old pizza, and sleep her way through her lectures without missing a beat thanks to a mini tape-recorder?)
Cut to the Film Festival, where Dawson is a member of an audience who are completely mesmerized by the movie they are watching. The guy sitting next to Dawson nudges him. "Have you got any idea who shot this? It's on another level!" Just then, the film ends and the audience erupts into spontaneous applause. The co-ordinator calls for the filmmaker to step up to the podium and lo and behold ... it's Nikki.
After the Q & A session, Dawson approaches Nikki at a vending machine where she explains she needs her mandatory sugar fix after dealing with all 'stressul experiences.' "Stressful?" Dawson repeats, clearly jealous and feeling sorry for himself. "Come on, that was a love-fest."
"Don't sound so overjoyed," she sneers. "Don't be so falsely modest," he counters. (touche!) Nikki gives him a cold stare. "If it had been the other way around, I would have enjoyed your success." "So, you're not only a better film maker than I am, you're a better person?" he says pointedly. It's an appropriate observation, but perhaps a smidge cruel.
Nikki sighs. "Look, can we start over again?" He agrees, and they walk over to a nearby table and sit. "So," she begins. "What did you think of my film? Really? Constructive criticism only, please." He struggles for the right words. "I ... uh ... I thought your film was ... was technically accomplished."
For once, I agree with Nikki. If that's his idea of a compliment, he just shouldn't bother. "Technically accomplished," she repeats, nodding. "That sounds like a nice dismount off the balance beam." He glares at her. "Well, it's better than derivative ... or unclear ... or not understanding your own material." (um, what was that about starting over?)
"Okay," Nikki sighs. "Maybe I was a little insensitive in my comments ... I'm sorry." Dawson nods primly. "Duly noted. Now, you never mentioned before that you were entered in this film festival. Why not?" She shrugs. "I don't lead with my chin, Dawson. You can get hurt that way." Ouch. "That you can," Dawson mutters soberly. "Well ... um ... you seem to have really knocked them dead. Congratulations." With that, he gets up and leaves, and with that, I have never wanted to shake a person more in his life. Granted, I'm not a fan of Nikki's, but he should just grow up and be a gracious loser. That's one thing about Speilberg Boy, he can't handle even an ounce of criticism. If he's gonna be a big shot director, he's gotta learn to roll with the punches.
Andie, meanwhile, has joined Fran/Flo/Marla for a cuppa tea somewhere outdoors on campus. "I think I'm gonna write about her," Andie announces. "For your application essay?" Fran clarifies. Andie recites the question. "Who's the one person who influenced you most, and why?" Fran agrees it's a good idea, and that it might help Andie influence her thoughts about 'her' ('her' being Andie's mother).
"I remember one day, it was about six months after the accident, I found her by a creek," Andie reminisces sadly. "She was just sitting in the water, her blouse was soaking wet and her hair was flustered in strands across her face. It was like she didn't know where to go or what to do ... I don't think I'll forget that image as long as I live."
Fran holds Andie's hand in a motherly sort of gesture. "Do you mind if I lay a dose of truth on you?" "Sure," Andie nods, with a small smile. "After I spoke my deepest, darkest secrets, why not?" Fran returns the smile. "One ... always wear sensible shoes. If your feet are killing you, you can't think straight."
"Okay," Andie agrees, "And two?" "Let yourself off the hook for things over which you have no control," Fran tells her. "Just because your mother couldn't get past your brother's death, doesn't mean you have to beat yourself up for making peace with it."
Andie doesn't quite know what to say to that, so Fran mistakes her silence for being offended and apologizes. Andie cuts her off. "No, no, I was just thinking of something ... maybe when your mom starts to lose her mind, you sort of do too. You know? As a way of trying to understand what she's going through." She stops and shakes her head in disbelief at the whole situation. "This is so weird, I mean incredible even, that I'm sitting here, in Cambridge with ..."
"A 60-year-old career secretary?" Fran chuckles. Andie nods sheepishly. "Well," Fran smiles, continuing, "One thing I learnt a long time ago ... life can surprise you in a thousand different ways." (yeah ... none of them are ever good, though ...)
Cut to A.J. and Joey creeping down a corridor in one of the campus's buildings. Joey asks where they're going, and gets a cryptic "You'll see" for her efforts. A.J. produces a key and opens up a door leading to a small, distinguished-looking library. Joey's eyes narrow suspiciously. "Okay, what is this place?"
A.J. tells her it's a rare book and manuscript library. "Are we supposed to be in here?" she asks, mildly concerned. He smiles. "What's the matter? You afraid the library police are gonna come snatch us up? I wanted to show you something." He climbs up a ladder and takes a box from the very top shelf of one of the bookcases, then brings it over to a table in the middle of the room. "Look at this."
He opens the box, revealing a very weathered-looking, leather-covered book. Joey peers at the title. "Little Women?" "Not quite," A.J. replies. "The book we know today as Little Women was originally published in two separate volumes. This is just the first. It's Louisa May Alcott's very own copy. Go ahead, look at it ... carefully. Let's see what this favourite book of yours has to offer."
Delicately, Joey picks up the book and leafs through it, stopping on a page of interest to her. "This is the part where Jo and Meg go to Mrs. Gardiner's party." She reads to A.J.: "Jo saw a big red-headed youth approach her corner, and fearing he meant to engage her, she slipped into a curtained recess. She found herself face-to-face with the Lawrence boy."
A.J. reads from the page with her. "Don't mind me, stay if you like." Joey continues reading the part of Jo. "Shan't I disturb you?" "Not a bit. I only came here because I don't know many people and felt rather strange at first, you know?" "So did I. Don't go away please, sir. Unless you'd rather?" "The boy sat down again and looked at his boots. 'How's your cat, Miss March?'" "'Nicely, thank you, Mr. Lawrence. But I ain't Miss March, I'm only Jo."
It's a telling passage if you apply it to their real-life situation, which A.J. and Joey probably do, because they stop reading and look at each other for a moment. Finally, Joey breaks the silence. "My Mom used to read it to me. That's why she named me Josephine ... it was her favourite book." "Was?" A.J. asks gently. Joey brushes it aside. "She passed away."
He offers his condolences, and she shrugs. "I guess that's why I read it. And re-read it. Because when I do, it's ... it's like she's with me." (Oh, Joey ... honey, I know exactly how you feel. :( ) A.J. nods slowly. "So ... it's like a friend, the book?" "Yeah," Joey nods back. "Exactly."
A.J. gives her a big smile. "Well, you can never have too many friends, Potter, Joseph." She returns the grin. "So, Miss A.J. Moller ... what is your favourite book? Some ponderous tone by Herodotus?" He looks bashful. "Are you ready for this? ... The Lion, The Witch, And The Wardrobe." (good book!) Joey's grinning from ear-to-ear now. "Well, that sounds rather infantile," she teases. "Entirely," A.J. laughs, but then grows serious. "But, like all the best things in life, simple, sweet ... magical."
Speaking of simple and sweet things, poor little Jack decides to dive headfirst into the big, bad swirling waters of meat markets without first donning his water wings. He timidly walks into a very happening gay bar, where he is thoroughly checked out from head-to-toe by one and all. Flustered, he goes over to the bar, where the bartender asks what he wants to drink.
"Uh ... I ... I, um ... I guess I --" "My guess is he can't handle much more than a beer," a guy chimes in from a few feet away. "Make that two." Instantly, Jack's defenses go up. "Oh ... oh no, you ... you don't have to do that." "It's okay, I wanted to," the guy smiles at him. Jack thanks him, and the guy grins back. "You're adorable."
Jack smiles uneasily, which The Pick-Up Guy picks up on straight away. "You're shy, right? Well, let's just start all over, okay? You're not adorable, and I am not attracted to you. Would you like to go somewhere else? I mean, this really probably isn't your scene. We could just talk, okay? Maybe, I don't know ... get to know each other a little better." The Pick-Up Guy turns his back to Jack to collect the beers from the bartender, and when he turns back, Jack has vanished right out the door.
It's awards time at the Film Festival. "Our second-place finalist is ... Windscape, David Steiner!" announces the co-ordinator. The filmmaker comes up to the podium and accepts his award. In the audience, Nikki sits confidently, waiting to hear her name next. "And now," the co-ordinator continues, "In first place, the award goes to ... Tommy and Moe, Carl and Michael Biggins!"
The room erupts into wild cheering and clapping. Nikki is visibly crushed and storms out in a huff (now who's a bad loser?) with Dawson in hot pursuit. "Nikki!" he calls after her in the hallway. She turns around, glaring at him. "What now? Time to rub salt in the wound?" (oh-ho-ho! Look at the pot calling the kettle black!)
"You were robbed," Dawson tells her flatly. "I saw every single film at the festival and yours was the best, hands down." "Let's dispense with the mock compassion, shall we?" Nikki tells him bitterly. (okay, can I just say it for the record? I hate her. She's a rude, arrogant, selfish cow.)
For whatever reason, Dawson chooses not to take the bait. "There's nothing mock about it, Nikki," he replies calmly. "It's a simple fact." Instead of thanking him for his support, Nikki bluntly tells him she wants to be alone. Dawson doesn't quite understand why she's letting her loss get to her so much. "How can you be so upset about this?"
"Like your failure didn't affect you?" Nikki says in a nasty tone. "Point taken," Dawson nods thoughtfully. "But there's a huge difference between what happened to me and what happened to you." "And what's that?" she sneers. (Oh! I know! I know! The difference is, that Dawson has an ounce of maturity and, when all is said and done, knows how to handle losing graciously, and you don't!) "Well," Dawson replies, "I learned that I have to dig deeper and reveal more of myself in my work if I'm going to make a film that's worth anything. You learned that film festivals don't necessarily award the meritorious." (oh ... yeah, well, that too, I guess)
"I wanted to win, Dawson," Nikki tells him pointedly, in a manner which suggests she is always used to getting what she wants. Dawson sighs and tells her her film wasn't just technically brilliant, but that it was inspired, that it inspired him. "It made me remember why I got into film in the first place. Not to win festivals, not for glory ... but to reach people. And you did. You made them laugh ... you moved them. No matter what happens to me, I'm not gonna give up until I reach that goal." Nikki looks at him through the broken shards of her fragile (yet surprisingly large) ego. "You really liked my movie?" "Yeah," he smiles. "I really liked your movie."
Time go to home. Dawson and Andie meet up at the train station and catch up on their experiences in Boston. "So, did you get your interview?" he asks. Andie nods. "Yeah, I did. Not the one I expected, but maybe the one I needed." Dawson's curiosity is piqued. "Pray, tell?" Andie brushes it off. "Oh ... long story short, I had this chance encounter that yielded a little clarity. How about you? Did you get what you came here for?"
Dawson smiles at her. "Yeah. I did. Also in a most unexpected way." (I seriously hope that doesn't mean he's gonna hook-up with Nikki in the future. I forbid it.) Andie nods sympathetically. "I think that's what screws us up the most." "What?" he asks, not quite following. She explains that when a person gets a picture in her head of the way things should be, she ends up closing herself off to some of the wonder and serendipity of the actual experience. "Who was this chance encounter with, Deepak Chopra?" Dawson ribs her. "Yeah," she smiles mysteriously. "Something like that."
Jack has also boarded the train. He's sitting with his bags on the seats opposite and beside him, when a semi-cute guy wanders up and down the aisle looking for a place to sit. The guy asks if Jack the seats with the bags on them are taken. Jack replies he's saving them for some friends, covertly checking the guy out the whole time.
The guy nods and walks down the aisle, but Jack calls after him. "Actually, you know what? Um, it's cool. I don't even know if they're coming." He moves the bags, indicating the guy should sit down. "You sure?" the guy asks. "Yeah," Jack nods, "Positive." The guy stuffs his duffel bag in the overhead compartment, then sits opposite Jack. "Do me a favour?" the guy asks him. "Wake me up when we get to Capeside?" Jack blinks. "You're going to Capeside?" "Yep," the guy replies, wadding up his jacket and using it as a pillow. He leans back against it and closes his eyes. Jack smiles to himself. "Me too."
In another compartment, Dawson carries a cardboard tray of beverages and walks the aisles, looking for Joey, Andie and Jack. Instead, he finds Nikki. "Hey, porter!" she calls after him, "Is that decaf or caf?" Dawson stops and smiles and asks her what she's doing in the train.
"I'm doing the Divorced Kid Shuffle," Nikki explains. "Mom's a techie, she's been transferred to Chicago, so I'm going to co-habitate with my Dad." Dawson nods sympathetically. "I know that drill. My parents just got divorced." "Sucks, doesn't it?" Nikki commiserates. He shrugs. "I guess, you know, it's for the best and everything ... you know, it was just a really long, drawn out long battle, that ..."
"If it's for the best, then why do I still fell so lousy?" she finishes for him. "Yeah," he smiles sadly. After a moment or two of silence (remember, kids, they're bonding right now), Dawson asks where Nikki's father lives. She replies he's a high school principal in a place called Capeside.
Dawson's eyes grow wide. "What? Wait a minute ... your father's Principal Green?" Nikki looks surprised. "Do not tell me that you go to school there?" The pair of them laugh and speculate on the chances of such a situation actually occuring. (Contrived plotline? Nah, never!)
"Wow," Dawson marvels. "Um ... so, Mr. Jordan -- he's the film teacher -- his film lab is actually really full. I had to beg, lie and steal just to get in. But you know, I think I have some pull with him." "I'm already in," Nikki announces smugly. (as I go right back to hating her again) "What?" Dawson blinks. Nikki replies in a very nonchalant tone that she and Mr. Jordan have been e-mailing each other. "He's been giving me this sort of, uh ... private tutorial."
Dawson replies he wasn't aware Mr. Jordan did that sort of thing (better question -- is Mrs. Jordan aware he does that sort of thing?). "You can handle a little friendly competition, can't you?" Nikki purrs in a tone reminiscent of Dawson's last guest-starring love interest, Eve.
Speaking of guest stars, Jack is chatting away with his future love interest, whose name is Ethan, though he hasn't introduced himself as such yet. "Bingham, Breally, and Buckingham?" Jack asks him. "It's a prep school," Ethan explains. Jack tells him it sounds more like a law firm. Ethan grins sardonically. "Sometimes it feels like one. But mostly, I'm just happy to be out of claustrophobic Capeside."
Jack takes a sip of his coffee. "So, what brings you back?" "Heartbreak," Ethan replies succinctly. "I need a little parental TLC, some chicken soup, and the comfort of my childhood bed." "Long relationship?" Jack asks, trying not to sound too interested. "Two years," he says sadly. "It feels like a divorce, I swear. Not to mention that I see him every day at school."
Mr. McPhee almost chokes on his beverage and gapes at his new friend. "It's like we've broken up but still living together," Ethan continues. (ooooh, been there, done that. Not a pretty situation ...) He notices Jack staring at him, slack-jawed. "What's the matter, I got past the gaydar? That's what everyone says, I'm the straightest gay guy they know. What about you?"
"What about me?" Instantly, Jack's defense mechanisms kick in. Ethan shrugs matter-of-factly. "Can people tell right away?" Jack is blown away that Ethan could tell right away, never mind anyone else. "How can you tell?" he asks, puzzled. "I mean ... is it ... is it that obvious?"
Ethan laughs in one of those I'm-so-much-more-experienced sort of ways, and I'm already beginning to not like him the way I don't like Nikki. "Actually, yeah," he tells a shocked Jack. "I mean, not in a raging queen way, but more in a ..." His voice trails off, looking for the right words.
"More in a what way?" Jack urges. "A babe in the woods, newbie way," Ethan replies eventually. "Newbie?" Jack repeats. Ethan explains it's a term for "any sweet, inexperienced young gay man destined for broken hearts." "You make it sound so inviting," Jack mutters. Ethan shrugs. "Well, let's face it, most guys are clueless." (Well, at least we agree on that much) Jack asks what he means by that, but all Ethan will tell him is a mysterious "You'll see." The two then officially introduce themselves, while we're left wondering just how much of that ominous "you'll see" is going to eventually be related to Ethan himself.
The last Capeside resident to board the train is Joey, who is being walked to the platform by none other than A.J. "I hope I didn't keep you up all night," he apologizes. (Say whaaat?) Joey smiles. "You talked for eight hours about Ulysses." (Oh ... my bad. Dirty mind. What is it with these WB writers and that book? First Michael on Roswell and now this? What's next, Noel reenacting Portrait of the Artist As A Young Man on Felicity?)
"Yeah, I know," A.J. smiles sheepishly. "Sometimes it's hard to get that teaching assistant stuff out of your head. Especially when you're really passionate about something, you know? Beause then your inner geek just runs wild. So ... what about you, Joey Potter? What are you passionate about? What do you ache for?" (Huh, let's see ... a storyline which doesn't have her bitch like a harpy while wavering between dating her two best male friends?)
"I don't know," she shrugs. "I mean, I wish I did ..." "But?" "Well, for the past couple of years my life has kind of revolved around this boy. How pathetic is that?" (Very. But I would hardly argue it's been the past couple of years. Not lately, at any rate.)
A.J. tries to clarify. "But, you guys aren't together?" "No," she confirms. He moves in for the kill as they walk towards the train car's entrance with undeniably the WORST, most confusing pick up line ever uttered to womankind. "Do you know what a manifold is?"
Joey, and the other three billion females on this planet, shake their head, not as much in a "No, I don't" manner as much as in a "You call that a line?" manner. A.J. feels compelled to educate her: "It's a math thing. It's hard to explain. But ... imagine yourself shrunk to the size of a pinpoint sitting on the surface of a doughnut. Look around you and it looks like you're sitting on a flat disk, right? (whatever ...) But go down one dimension and sit on a curve, and suddenly it looks like ... a straight line."
"You kinda lost me somewhere around the doughnut," Joey mutters. He tries to clairfy. "In other words, the way something appears from afar might be quite different from the way it appears to your near-sighted eye." (ohhh. Right ... whatever ...) "So, in order for me to figure things out, I should give myself some distance?" Joey asks.
"Take your face out of the i-Book," he smiles. She smiles back. They settle into a smiley kind of silence, then A.J. asks if it would be okay for him to, you know, phone her sometime? "Well, it wouldn't suck," Joey grins. They rummage around for some paper and a pen, but she winds up writing her number on his hand instead. More smiling ensues. A.J. goes to shake her hand, but of course, the phone number is written on it, so they shake with left hands instead and say good bye.
She gets on the train and runs straight into Nikki and Dawson, who are apparently in the process of changing seats. Dawson makes the introduction between ex-girlfriend and future- one, and explains Nikki is going to Capeside High with them. Joey, who at this point, could seem to care less about Nikki, waves out the window to A.J. Dawson, who at this point, could also seem to care less about Nikki, follows her eyes out the window and suspiciously asks, "Who's that?"
"My roommate," Joey replies matter-of-factly, then pushes past the two of them so she won't have to answer any questions from Mr. Jealousy. Nikki and Dawson follow her, but not before Dawson gives A.J. a nasty glare out the train window.
Later that night back in Capeside, Joey and Dawson are dissecting their trip while lying on his bed. "Is it just me," Dawson begins, "Or does the prospect of going to college seem a lot larger?" "I know what you mean," Joey nods. "Is it the light at the end of the tunnel, or is it an oncoming semi?"
"Or is it both?" he counters with a smile. "Well," she sighs, "It's definitely going to take some getting used to." A comfortable silence settles in. Eventually, Dawson asks, "Do you ever have one those moments when you kind of just realize that the world has snuck up and completely blindsided you?" (Please. Welcome to my world ...) "I've been thinking about a career in fast food."
Joey sighs. Dawson continues his pity party. "Welcome to Taco Bell. Can I take your order? It kind of just rolls off the tongue." (a nasty jab at the very probable part-time career path of most of DC's viewers, dontcha think? Hey Dawson, don't bite the eyes and ears which drive your ratings!)
"Dawson, everything in life is not just about winning," Joey chides. "I mean, you have to find joy in the process, you have to love what it is that you do." "Good point," he nods and clumsily segues into what's really on his mind. "Which begs the question ... what, uh ... life lesson did you stumble upon this weekend?"
Joey thinks a minute. "Well, college to me has always been about getting the hell out of Capeside, right? Well, now I'm thinking that it could be more than that. I mean, it's scary, sure ... but it's a world full of these deeply passionate people. People who get excited about books and ideas and theories and ... it kind of excited me."
His face grows serious. "My suspicions have been confirmed." Joey doesn't get it, and asks what he means. "You are a really ... big geek," he finishes with a grin. She laughs. "So, is it just me, or does this room seem a lot smaller all of a sudden?" "Really?" Dawson marvels. Joey nods. "I was kinda thinking it seemed ... safe," he comments.
They sit silently for a moment, each reflecting on the implications of what they've just said. For Joey, she's had a taste of life outside Capeside and it was better than she thought; she's growing more eager to spread her wings. For Dawson, he's had a taste of life outside Capeside and it was worse than he expected; he's reconsidering the security of what he already has. Finally, Joey gets up to leave. "I'll see ya, Dawson." She gives him a small smile, which he returns as he watches her leave through the window. "See ya, Jo."
Fade to black ...