Snaps to JS, xntryx, and Wing.
After a montage of scenes from episodes in which Jack "Ready Or Not, Here I Come" McPhee repeatedly avows his heterosexuality, we fade up on the Sanctum Dawsonorum. Jerry Maguire is on the TV. Tom Cruise -- living symbol of Hollywood's love affair with mediocrity, not to mention poster boy for the celebrity-outing frenzy of the last few years -- blathers on about the fish coming with him, as Dawson "Raisin Brat" Leery arrives home from school and Sars tries to resist the urge to make a whole passel of Top Gun jokes. Dawson, in his capacity as "personal homework courier," has brought Pacey "Too Good To Be True" Witter's homework with him. Dawson remarks snidely that he has come in "just in time for a personal screening of his home theater." From his slumped position on Dawson's bed, Pacey wearily informs Dawson that he'll go back to his own house when his suspension ends the day, "but until then, I'm willing to risk you getting sick of me for invading your personal domain, because hiding out here and alienating you beats the hell out of torture and death at the hands of my father back at home." Hmm -- seems like disappearing for a week might upset him a little bit, too, but okay. Dawson says, "I'm glad to help, I'm just saying that I will be -- happy once my room returns to its original owner. And odor." Don't run Pacey over in that welcome wagon or anything, Dawson. Anyway, Dawson comments, "Jerry Maguire again?" Pacey says he has the movie "on continuous loop -- it speaks to my current situation as a renegade moral crusader," and asks Dawson, "So -- what's new in the land of higher education?" Dawson: "Pretty much the same old, plus or minus a few sexual identity crisis [sic]." Pacey then asks after Jack, and Dawson responds that Jack "seems okay -- kind of keeping a low profile." Pacey: "And Joey?" Dawson: "She's fine." Pacey, just a little too casually: "And -- Andie?" Dawson says that, last he heard, Andie "DSM" McPhee had run off "to Bali with a Brazilian soap star named Diego," and something about Andie being happy and tan, and then he exhorts Pacey, "Would you just call her, you idiot? I can't believe you've let a week go by without even talking to her." Neither can I, now that I think about it. Pacey says that "it's not that easy," and that Andie blames him for precipitating the whole scandale du Jacques, while Pacey feels that Andie has behaved shortsightedly and insensitively, "so for right now, we're at an impasse." Dawson points out that the situation has progressed from an impasse to "avoidance," and advises Pacey to swallow his pride and apologize -- "get your girlfriend back." Pacey doesn't want to apologize because he stood up for something he believed in: "I was right! Look at my man Jerry here, his mission statement -- he took a stand!" Dawson adds, "And he lost everything. And he had to beg, grovel, and crawl to get it all back. And he was not sleeping on his best friend's floor." Pacey: "I thought you said I could have the bed tonight." Dawson: "I -- don't think so." Pacey, mock-sulky: "Joey gets the bed." Dawson: "Haaa -- don't go there."
Paula Cole doesn't want to wait for our lives to be over. No, seriously. You heard it here first. Oh, and you know what else? If you drink Mountain Dew with a song from Pulp Fiction in the background, that makes you cool. Oh, and guess what? Dingy clothes come from -- stains. Can you believe that?
Capeside High exterior. Jen "Sizzlean" Lindley and Tyson "Chapter And Verse" Hicks kiss with the aid of lip mics as Dawson comes up the front walk. Dawson laughs, "Love blooms in Capeside," as Jen runs her hand through her crack-smoking-dandelion hairdo and says, "God, I feel so silly -- it's like I've got this stupid junior-high crush." Well, she got the "stupid" part right. Dawson approves, calling Jen's and Tyson's stalker-stalkee deal "cool"; Jen agrees, and over the sound of Sars snorting, she invites Dawson to accompany them on a "little evening excursion" that evening. "Bible party?" Dawson asks. Heh. Jen says, "Not exactly." Whatever.
Joey "Goatee" Potter empties out her locker, handing things to Jack while looking for her Econ book. Right after Jack takes her handbag, a clot of meatheads walks past, and one of them sneers, "Oooh, nice purse, McPhee, ha," to which Jack responds, "Ha -- let me know if you want to borrow it sometime, Morgan." Joey looks disturbed as Jack mutters, "Whatever." Joey says she could do without the "running commentary," and Jack tries to keep it light by saying, "Oh, and give up my role as Capeside's most talked-about non-homosexual?" Joey, her hair up in some sort of fountain-freeze-frame bun, says, "You know what I mean. I mean, you're not gay, and what is the joy [sic] in talking about something that has already been refuted?" As they walk down the hall, Jack suggests "fight[ing] fire with fire" by having sex right on the student green, or "even better -- we can 'in' me. We can have a going-into-the-closet party and then everybody can come dressed up as their favorite straight person." Heh. Joey has to smile, and she tells Jack to "get to class, straight boy," and Jack says in a deep voice, "Oh, no, that's Bubba to you," and gives her a kiss. As Jack takes off, Joey's face falls, and by the time Dawson comes up behind her, she has that patented Joey Potter "oh, come on" look. Dawson says softly that he "know[s] that look," which Joey refers to as "the universal look for 'don't ask,' okay?" Actually, that seemed more like the universal look for "don't ask, don't tell," but let's not split hairs. Dawson invites her to come along with him to "this club that Ty likes," also known as The Only Blues Club On Cape Cod That Encourages Under-age Drinking, but Joey declines politely because she and Jack have "plans to study." Dawson, neutrally: "Sounds like fun." Joey: "I guess we haven't been focusing too much on fun recently." Dawson suggests inviting Jack along, "or, you could -- I can't believe I'm suggesting this -- um, just find something for the two of you alone. Maybe even something romantic." Joey says sort of suspiciously, "Dawson Leery, I cannot believe that you're giving me relationship advice." Um, Joey? Get in line. Dawson admits that "there are easier things in the world." The bell rings, and Dawson takes off; Joey stops him, but then says, "Nothing."
In creative writing class, Mr. Peterson calls the roll, winding up with "and of course, Mr. Witter." Pacey mumbles, "Here." Mr. Peterson makes a snide comment about "what a delight it is to have [Pacey] return." Pacey turns in the assignments due during his absence; Mr. Peterson returns Pacey's poetry assignment, on which he has -- shock of shocks -- given Pacey an F. Pacey objects, and Mr. Peterson says that "it stunk." Pacey very sarcastically asks if, as his teacher, Mr. Peterson doesn't have any counsel on how Pacey might improve his poem, and Mr. Peterson drawls, "Yes -- write better." Heh. Then Mr. Peterson has a little monologue in which he basically says that people with talent will get good grades in his class, and everyone else -- read: Pacey -- should "come to terms with [their] inevitable failure." Whatever.
Cafeteria. Pacey, complaining to Dawson about Mr. Peterson setting him up to fail and glowering across the room at Andie sitting alone. Andie, looking wounded. Dawson, telling Pacey to go talk to her. Pacey, saying that Andie could come talk to him. Dawson, drinking product-placed Dannon water and saying, "Go." Pacey, refusing. Sars, not caring because she knows Pacey and Andie will make up, because they always do. Elsewhere in the cafeteria: Joey, presenting Jack with a menu for a romantic dinner for two. Jack, acting pleased but probably wondering if he can bring The Flash as his date. Joey, hinting at the possibility of post-prandial sex. Jack, thanking her for her support. Joey, kissing Jack on the cheek. Back at Dawson and Pacey's table: Pacey and Andie, staring at each other. Andie, drinking product-placed Dannon water; Pacey, walking over to Andie's table and sitting down. Pacey and Andie exchange "Hi"s. Andie notes that Pacey hasn't called. Pacey observes that his phone has "an incoming line" -- not strictly true, since he'd bunkered down at Dawson's for the week, but whatever. Andie reminds him that he ditched her on the pier after calling her "weak and insensitive"; Pacey in turn points out that Andie "judged and abandoned" him when he needed her. Long story short, each expects the other to apologize, and neither does, so Andie slams her book closed and leaves the caf.
Jack follows Andie out, wanting to know what happened; Andie doesn't want to talk about it, and she has to go meet with Mr. Milo. Apparently, Mr. Milo called the house and wanted to talk to Mrs. McPhee, and Andie tried "covering" but finally he asked her to come in; as it turns out, he called Jack in as well, but Jack thought Mr. Milo wanted to give him more of his "good-guy counselor b.s." or some more "So You're Gay" pamphlets or whatever. Cut to Mr. Milo's office and a shot of fingers drumming on a desk. As Andie and Jack walk in, Andie exclaims, "Daddy!" and runs into the arms of The Great And Terrible McPhee. Mr. McPhee hugs Andie and glares over her shoulder at Jack, who stands in the doorway and glares back at Mr. McPhee.
Dear Surge Marketing Department, Dennis Miller, LL Cool J, and the lady with the older-than-35-looking hands: All of you, GET A JOB. Love, the rest of the world.
As Joey prepares for a romantic outdoor repast by packing up flatware and candles, her cordless phone rings. On the other end, Jack bails on their date, telling her that his dad showed up and wants to take him and Andie to dinner. Joey looks concerned: "Well, that's good, right?" Jack: "Yeah, hardly. Milo called him, told him everything that's been going on at school." Nobody thought to pick up a phone when Mrs. McPhee started wandering through grocery stores in a fugue state? Jack apologizes for having to "take a rain check," and Joey is obviously disappointed, but she downplays it and tells Jack not to worry about her, she'll find something to do. They hang up, and Joey sits down in front of the mirror, and she starts to take her hair down but then a thought occurs to her and she picks up the phone again.
Cut to the Crudd Club. Dawson sarcastically comments, "Okay, this place couldn't be seedier." Um, compared to some of the East Village pubs I've crawled through, Ty's little hangout looks like the lobby of the Hilton, but anyway, Joey tells him, "Dawson, it's not that bad. It sure beats sitting home feeling dumped." Dawson doesn't really respond to that, and he and Joey sit down at a table with Jen and Ty, The Amazing Inert Couple; the four of them look at the stage where Ty's plump singer friend is abusing a vibrato. Dawson says to Ty that Jen says he comes there a lot, and Ty says "it's practically home." The bartender approaches and Ty orders "four usuals." When Joey inquires as to the exact nature of "a usual," Ty responds, "It's a surprise -- a rather stiff surprise." Um, Ty? Could you maybe not go around using the phrase "stiff surprise," particularly in the presence of Joey? Thanks. Anyway, Jen arches her eyebrows in amusement at this -- why, I don't know -- and Joey, bless her heart, rolls her eyes and orders a Coke instead. So does Dawson. The plump diva finishes her song and says, "Ty, honey, it's your turn." As Sars reaches for her usual -- Maalox, neat, with a dry-toast chaser -- Dawson asks Jen what Ty is doing. Jen doesn't know. Ty sits down at the piano and launches into a Joey-Lawrence-meets-The-Band so-called blues riff that any grade-school child could have mastered after six months on the Suzuki method. The plump diva resumes singing as Joey pretends to be impressed: "Where did he learn to play like that?" Jen doesn't know. Dawson asks what the deal is with Ty -- "I mean, doesn't his religion frown on all this?" Okay, memo to the other kids: Ty is not Amish. Most Christians can dance and play music and drink martinis. Anyway. Jen says that Ty has "issues," and Joey comes back with, "He's perfect for you," to which Jen sort of laughs, "Thank you so much," and the two girls have a cute moment of rapport, which Dawson of course has to ruin by analyzing it: "Can we just stop and comment on the irony of the three of us sitting here?" Jen says something about "the proverbial proverbial [sic] triangle," and Dawson continues, "Here I am, single, sandwiched in between two women who both dumped me. I am pathetic." I must object to the use of the word "sandwiched," but for once Big D seems to have a sense of humor about his romantic unsuitability. Oh, and also, "word" on the whole pathetic thing. Jen offers, "Hey, look at me -- I'm dating a Bible-thumping hypocrite, okay?" Joey cuts in with, "Hey, my boyfriend may be gay." They all start giggling and pretend to call for a round of "usuals."
Pacey. Library. Code of conduct by-laws for every public position in the county. Research for anti-Peterson crusade. Fishcakes.
At a fancy restaurant, Andie struggles to keep the conversation alive by telling Mr. McPhee about Mrs. McPhee's new medication, which apparently not only "sedates her a lot" but also makes her invisible, since we haven't seen her in weeks, and saying that her mom will be "so happy to see" Mr. McPhee. Andie offers to make a big breakfast the morning and surprise her, which I guess means that Mr. McPhee has elected to stay at a hotel. How family-oriented of him. Not. Andie says she made honor roll, to which Mr. McPhee says flatly, "You always make honor roll." How encouraging and supportive of him. Not. Andie, oblivious, chirps, "Yeah, well, I made it again," and continues babbling, pestering Jack to tell Mr. McPhee about his job at the Icehouse. Jack says nothing. Mr. McPhee, coldly: "You're especially quiet tonight." Jack: "Well, there's nothing to say. Everything's all right, I guess." Mr. McPhee: "That's hardly the case, Jack. If everything were all right with the world, Mr. Milo would not have called me, insisted that I leave work, drive to Capeside, disrupt my life." Gee, you know, you've got a point, Mr. McPhee -- if everything were all right with the world, you wouldn't have ditched your wife and surviving children after a family tragedy, you selfish turd. Jack, so dryly he could smoke in the shower: "Well, I'm sorry to have bothered you, Dad." Andie looks apprehensive, probably because that barrette won't do a damn thing to actually hold her hair back, but her apprehension is justified -- Mr. McPhee folds his hands and asks, "Are you gay, Jack?" Andie blinks as Jack asks, "Would you care?" Mr. McPhee: "That is not an answer. And yes, I would. I think this family has enough problems. We don't need to add to them." Jack shakes his head and asks anxiously, "And it would be a problem?" Mr. McPhee responds, "You're the only son I have now, Jack. You don't have Tim to hide behind anymore. People notice you now." Andie interrupts, saying that she thinks Mr. McPhee has made his point, but her father tells her that it doesn't concern her and that he will have made his point when Jack "gives an appropriate response to the question." I don't imagine "go back to Providence, you heartless bigoted fuckwit" would constitute an appropriate response, but in any case, Mr. McPhee keeps carping on the family and all it has "done for" Jack and how they have enough problems "we can't help" and how problems that they can help should be resolved immediately. Oh -- like absentee parents, for example? Mr. McPhee reaches for his wine and says, "Do I make myself clear?" After a long pause, Jack answers, "Yes." He looks at Andie; Andie looks back and forth from him to her father, stricken. Jack looks down at his plate.
Okay. Everyone reading this right now place your left hand on your mouse or touch-pad and raise your right hand. Now, repeat after me: "I, a reader of Dawson's Wrap, do solemnly swear to give any gay or lesbian or other-alternative-lifestyle-living children I have, or may have in the future, my unconditional love and support, even if I personally do not agree with their lifestyle choices. I swear furthermore never to 'pull a Mr. McPhee' by leaving my children and emotionally ill spouse, and then returning and expecting them to abide by my imperious, homophobic, insensitive wishes. In closing, I aver that Mr. McPhee sucks rocks and would need to climb the side of one of the great pyramids in order to get over himself." I know most of you totally didn't need to make that vow, but I figured it couldn't hurt.
Bring me the head of Cuba Gooding, Jr.
Back at the club, the portly chanteuse sings "Sunday Kind Of Love," thereby ruining one of my favorite songs, as Joey and Dawson dance. Dawson asks, "So are you having a good time?" Joey nods, "Actually, yeah. Thanks." Dawson tells her, "I'm sorry your plans didn't work out, but I'm really glad you're here. Jack is missing out." This seemed, believe it or not, sincere and well-meaning on Dawson's part, but Joey interprets it as a dig at Jack: "You think he's gay, don't you?" Dawson says he never said that, but Joey makes her patented "ucchh" sound, and Dawson admits that the thought has crossed his mind once or twice, but that Joey would know better than he does. Joey defensively agrees, "Yeah, I do." Dawson asks if Joey knows Jack as well as she knows Dawson, to which she says, "No, of course not, not yet. I -- I can't read his eyes the way I can yours." Dawson, who has thus far acted fairly un-self-centered, ruins it by asking, "So what are my eyes saying right now?" They look into each other's eyes, and Joey looks away and casts about for something to say, coming up with some tommyrot about how they say how comfortable the two of them feel there together "as friends." Dawson smiles and lets her off the hook by saying, "You're good." Joey rests her head on his shoulder.
Back at the table, Jen and Ty watch them dancing, and Ty says, "You know, I don't get it. They make such a great couple -- why would Joey want to be with a fruit fly?" Um, Ty? If you must use the term "fruit fly," at least use it correctly; it would refer to Joey, not to Jack, you dolt. Jen says, "Jack's no fruit fly," and Ty stirs his drink and answers, "Oh, come on, Jen, he's playing for the other team." Um, Ty? The expression goes "playing for his own team." Jen says he doesn't know that, and Ty informs her in a superior tone, "Look, if it looks like a duck, talks [sic] like a duck, quacks like a duck, it's a duck." Jen more or less says "who cares," and Ty shrugs and says, "Well, it's his choice. I mean, if he wants to quack, more power to him." Jen softly says, "See, I don't think that it's necessarily a choice that you make," and at this point Ty clues her in on The Big Gay Conspiracy as she shakes her head in disbelief: "See, that's what they want you to believe, that it's not a choice, but everything in life is a decision, and all ducks choose to quack, and Jack's definitely a quacker." Jen and Sars say in unison, "Are you kidding me, or are you serious?" Ty says firmly that he's completely serious and that "nobody has to quack if they don't want to." Jen and Sars fix him with a look of naked disgust.
At McPhee Manor, Jack, still in a tie, lies on his bed and bounces a rubber ball off the wall. Andie knocks and comes in, and apologizes for Mr. McPhee's behavior, but Jack says he doesn't "expect any less." Andie says that their father "hasn't had it easy," a point that Jack rightly scoffs at, and Andie then says that things won't get better for them unless their father comes back to live with them. Jack sits up, saying, "Andie, come on," but Andie reminds him that they can't keep looking after their mother and dealing with everything else by themselves: "We're too young for this kind of responsibility." Jack tells her to get used to it because Mr. McPhee isn't going to stay, "and you're a fool if you think he is." Andie thinks that if they can just make him see that they need to stick together, he'll stay, but Jack asks, "Why? Why do we need to?" Andie: "Because he's our father." Jack, irritated: "Andie, we lost him when Tim died, and then Mom got sick and he bailed. So what makes you think things are gonna be any different now?" Andie doesn't understand Jack's attitude: "How do you expect him to accept you if that's the way you feel about him? If you continue to resist loving him, how's he ever going to love you back?" Jack doesn't know, and frankly he doesn't care. He tells Andie that she can spend her life begging for "the few meager scraps of approval" their father will give her, but Jack himself can't do that. Andie takes this as a slight, and says through gritted teeth, "I don't think that there is anything wrong with wanting my father to be proud of me." Jack says, "No, no, there isn't. But did you ever stop to wonder if you're proud of him?" Andie doesn't have an answer to that. Well-acted scene by both.
Snaps to JS, xntryx, and Wing.
After a montage of scenes from episodes in which Jack "Ready Or Not, Here I Come" McPhee repeatedly avows his heterosexuality, we fade up on the Sanctum Dawsonorum. Jerry Maguire is on the TV. Tom Cruise -- living symbol of Hollywood's love affair with mediocrity, not to mention poster boy for the celebrity-outing frenzy of the last few years -- blathers on about the fish coming with him, as Dawson "Raisin Brat" Leery arrives home from school and Sars tries to resist the urge to make a whole passel of Top Gun jokes. Dawson, in his capacity as "personal homework courier," has brought Pacey "Too Good To Be True" Witter's homework with him. Dawson remarks snidely that he has come in "just in time for a personal screening of his home theater." From his slumped position on Dawson's bed, Pacey wearily informs Dawson that he'll go back to his own house when his suspension ends the day, "but until then, I'm willing to risk you getting sick of me for invading your personal domain, because hiding out here and alienating you beats the hell out of torture and death at the hands of my father back at home." Hmm -- seems like disappearing for a week might upset him a little bit, too, but okay. Dawson says, "I'm glad to help, I'm just saying that I will be -- happy once my room returns to its original owner. And odor." Don't run Pacey over in that welcome wagon or anything, Dawson. Anyway, Dawson comments, "Jerry Maguire again?" Pacey says he has the movie "on continuous loop -- it speaks to my current situation as a renegade moral crusader," and asks Dawson, "So -- what's new in the land of higher education?" Dawson: "Pretty much the same old, plus or minus a few sexual identity crisis [sic]." Pacey then asks after Jack, and Dawson responds that Jack "seems okay -- kind of keeping a low profile." Pacey: "And Joey?" Dawson: "She's fine." Pacey, just a little too casually: "And -- Andie?" Dawson says that, last he heard, Andie "DSM" McPhee had run off "to Bali with a Brazilian soap star named Diego," and something about Andie being happy and tan, and then he exhorts Pacey, "Would you just call her, you idiot? I can't believe you've let a week go by without even talking to her." Neither can I, now that I think about it. Pacey says that "it's not that easy," and that Andie blames him for precipitating the whole scandale du Jacques, while Pacey feels that Andie has behaved shortsightedly and insensitively, "so for right now, we're at an impasse." Dawson points out that the situation has progressed from an impasse to "avoidance," and advises Pacey to swallow his pride and apologize -- "get your girlfriend back." Pacey doesn't want to apologize because he stood up for something he believed in: "I was right! Look at my man Jerry here, his mission statement -- he took a stand!" Dawson adds, "And he lost everything. And he had to beg, grovel, and crawl to get it all back. And he was not sleeping on his best friend's floor." Pacey: "I thought you said I could have the bed tonight." Dawson: "I -- don't think so." Pacey, mock-sulky: "Joey gets the bed." Dawson: "Haaa -- don't go there."
Paula Cole doesn't want to wait for our lives to be over. No, seriously. You heard it here first. Oh, and you know what else? If you drink Mountain Dew with a song from Pulp Fiction in the background, that makes you cool. Oh, and guess what? Dingy clothes come from -- stains. Can you believe that?
Dawson walks Joey home, which she says he didn't have to do; he says maybe he wanted to. Dawson: "How you doing?" Joey, quietly: "Okay, I guess." Dawson: "Blues club make you more blue?" Joey, even more quietly: "Yeah." Dawson asks if she wants to talk about it. I can't decide if he really wants to help or if, typically, he has an angle here, but either way, they head inside. Joey says something about "stupid" and Dawson remarks that he has a world of experience with stupidity. Um, well, word. Joey wants to ask Dawson something, "straightforward and honest," and when he tells her, "You know you can," she asks, "Um -- am I sexual?" Dawson, flabbergasted: "What?" Joey, sadly: "The thing is, um, I know that Jack's not gay, but he's obviously confused about something, and it's always kept him at a distance, and -- I was just wondering if he chose me because I, I'm safe." Bemused, Dawson repeats, "You're safe?" Joey says, "Look at me -- Joey Potter, virgin at large. I don't have any really experience with men or relationships or sex." Dawson says with great intensity, "Joey, you are extremely sexual," but Joey, on the point of tears, reminds him, "You didn't see it. You fell for Jen, sex machine, and I was something else to you." Dawson looks taken aback, and as Joey plays with her hair in distress, Dawson explains, "Joey, I was just stupid. It took me time to see what was there." Joey, expecting to hear something depressing: "So what was there?" Dawson says gently as he walks over to Joey, "There was an amazingly sexy girl. Joey, your sexuality is in everything you do -- your wit, your intelligence, your anger, your feistiness," and as Joey looks down awkwardly, he goes on, "I see it more and more every day. You're blossoming. That is amazingly sexy." Joey says, in a sort of it-would-mean-more-coming-from-someone-else tone, "Thanks, Dawson." Dawson doesn't think the real question is why Jack chose Joey, but rather why Joey chose Jack. Interesting point, but not one that I think Dawson has the right to make, really. Joey doesn't answer, and Dawson leaves Joey cringing in pain in the kitchen, probably from the seriously pukey dialogue. Good performances from the actors, though, especially in light of the icky-pants lines they had to deliver.
Capeside High. The principal. Pacey. The principal makes a snide comment about Pacey's tardy record; Pacey hands her a report he compiled declaring Mr. Peterson unfit to teach, based on the state by-laws for professional ethics for teachers. Pacey reads part of it. The principal seems skeptical. Pacey says that it contains testimony from other students, and that he sent copies to the school board, and that he wants Mr. Peterson "publicly reprimanded." The principal hopes Pacey knows what he's doing, and given Pacey's appearances before the school board, so do I. Pacey apologizes for going around her but he did what he had to do. Pacey takes off, and the principal purses her lips and goes inside. Whatever.
Andie sits at the breakfast table as Mr. McPhee clatters down the steps with his bags. He slept there? When Andie asks, he says he has to "get back," and hands her a list of nurse companies for Mrs. McPhee: "We'll get some help in here for you." Andie asks if he can't stay longer, and he says no, "it's not possible," and Andie reminds him that they said they'd discuss it but they haven't yet, and her father dismisses her with, "Andie, don't get emotional. I'll be back in a few weeks," and over Andie's continuing objections, Mr. McPhee begins to gather his things for Abandonment 2: Electric Bugaloo. Enter Jack, who snaps, "Don't bother." Mr. McPhee: "Excuse me?" Andie tries to intercede, but Jack repeats, "Don't bother coming back." Mr. McPhee tries to pull rank: "Would you like to explain your comment?" Jack won't hear it: "You don't want to be here, so don't come back. We have everything under control, save yourself the gas mileage." Mr. McPhee gets up in Jack's face and thunders, "I will not suffer that tone from you, I work too hard," but Jack cuts him off and says that he always uses that excuse, and why does he work so hard to support a family he doesn't even care about? Realizing full well that Jack has just busted him, and hard, Mr. McPhee makes I-don't-have-to-listen-to-this-I'm-leaving noises, but Jack leaps in front of him and slams the door shut, and when Mr. McPhee tells him to move, Jack yells, "No! This is one conversation that you can't run away from!" Mr. McPhee gapes as Jack keeps shouting, "You don't want to talk about Tim's death, about Mom being sick, or even why she's sick, you don't want to address the reality of why your daughter's been on and off prescriptive drugs for the last two years, that's fine too [?], but we are gonna talk about me!" Andie huddles in the doorway as Mr. McPhee recovers with, "You calm yourself down!" and Jack screams, "No, I will not calm down and I will not be quiet!" As Mr. McPhee blinks in surprise, Jack half-sobs, "You want to resolve this, then you ask me again!" Mr. McPhee, blustering over his shock: "Ask you what?" Jack, determined to get this out: "The question! Ask me the question again! Ask me if I'm gay."
Mr. McPhee blinks some more; Jack whimpers, "Ask me." Mr. McPhee informs him firmly, "You are not gay," and Jack cries, "Yes, I am!" Andie bites her lip. Mr. McPhee turns away as Jack bawls at the back of his head, "You know it! I see how you look at me, and I know you know! Think about the way that you treated me and the way that you treated Tim." Mr. McPhee turns around as Jack continues, still sobbing, "Because he was the real son, and I was different, and as hard as you've tried to stamp it out, and to ignore it, I have tried harder! I have tried harder than you to be quiet, and to forget it, and not bother my family with my problems." Andie looks close to tears herself; Mr. McPhee, completely nonplused, just stands there as Jack walks around him and sits on the stairs, crying: "But I can't try anymore, because it hurts. I'm sorry, Dad." Still Mr. McPhee says nothing. Jack apologizes to Andie also. Andie shakes her head that he doesn't have to as he sobs, "I don't want to be going through this but I am," and then she goes and sits by him on the stairs. Mr. McPhee doesn't know what else to say, so he heads for terra firma: "Stop crying. Both of you." Andie stares at him as Jack keeps sobbing; he repeats, "I said, stop crying," and Andie stares at him with plain loathing and snarls, "Leave." When their father tries to tell her again that it doesn't concern her, that "this is between Jack and me," she gets up and growls, "Not anymore it's not. Just leave -- get outta here!" Mr. McPhee grabs his stuff and looks back at his sobbing children, and then he leaves, and Andie sits back down to Jack and rests her head on his shaking shoulder. Wow -- a harrowing scene, overall, and although Kerr Smith's crying technique probably won't win him an Emmy, I still teared up during this part and felt relieved that a commercial finally arrived. Oh, and Mr. McPhee? Shut up.
At school the day, Jack trudges up to the building as an alterna-sad band strums away in the background. He stops and collects himself before approaching Joey, who asks if he "survived" his dinner, and he says, "Barely," and asks if they can "make a plan to see each other" that night. Joey is all looking forward to Jack calling in his rain check, poor thing, and they kiss goodbye and she goes inside as Jack broods.
On the door of Mr. Peterson's room, a notice announces that he won't hold class. Pacey walks up behind Jack at the door and asks, "What's going on?" Jack says, "No Peterson today," and the class has study hall in the library instead. As extras mill around them, Pacey and Jack exchange a significant look and Pacey heads off down the hall, shaking his head; Jack follows him: "Uh, Pacey. I've been meaning to tell you something, uh, for a while, um -- thank you." Pacey, seeming frankly relieved that Jack doesn't hold him responsible for the poem debacle, says, "You're welcome, man," and they smile and shake hands.
Pacey goes on his merry way, but he pauses at a door farther down, presumably another door leading into Mr. Peterson's classroom, and peers in to see Mr. Peterson sitting at his desk. He goes in and finds Mr. Peterson packing his things. He asks why; Mr. Peterson sarcastically informs him that "your favorite teacher is leaving this godforsaken institution." Pacey reminds him that he hasn't even met with the board yet; Mr. Peterson says he doesn't need "some collection of idiot parents" to tell him what he's done wrong, so he'll just take early retirement. Pacey apologizes. Mr. Peterson tells him not to ruin "one of the few admirable moments" of his life with an apology, and of course Pacey has no sense of humor about it and flies off the handle, asking what inside Mr. Peterson makes him "so damn mean," and they have a bit of back-and-forth about learning from people and respect and fear and compassion and a bunch of other high-minded balderdash, and Mr. Peterson takes his leave with his box as Pacey hangs his head and sighs, which puts the current score at Pacey: 2, English Teachers: 0.
Ty sidles up to Jen where she sits in her porch-swing sulking corner, telling her that he comes in peace, "nursing [his] wounded ego, hoping for redemption." O, canst thou not shut up? Jen negs him and says it "isn't going to work out" (uh duh), because of "too many differences" between them (like, say, the fact that Ty sucks and Jen doesn't) and because she can't seem to "get beyond some of [Ty's] inherent views." Ty tries to make it her problem: "So we can't disagree? I thought a relationship was about growing together. Look, if you think that my beliefs are wrong, then teach me. Show me another way." Instead of saying, "Okay -- hand me that roll of duct tape, will you?" or mentioning that they as a couple have all the explosive chemistry of toe jam, Jen just says, "Ty, it's not that easy," but Ty won't give up: "What relationships are easy? All I'm saying is, is that I'm open-minded. [Um -- whaaaaaaat?] My narrow-minded ways are open for discussion. How about your liberal views? Are they as open?" Jen stares at him incredulously as he tries to take it to the hoop: "You are a wonderful, beautiful girl. Can't we just see what happens ?" Jen actually smiles and says, "You certainly have a charm [sic], don't you?" As Jen's spine collapses under its own weight and all Grams's work goes for naught, Sars claws frantically at the shrink-wrap on a package of Pepcid AC. Final score on this scene -- Future Leader Of Fundamentalist Splinter Cult: 1, Jen: 0.
After school, Pacey comes down the steps towards Andie sitting at a picnic table. They approach each other, and they step all over each other's apologies, Andie saying she failed him, Pacey admitting he got obsessed, blah blah blah fishcakes -- long story short, they forgive each other after realizing that they love each other as people and not as ideals, or something. And they kiss. Aw.
Outside Bessie's Bastard Barn (tm Wing), Joey has lit every tiki torch in the state of Massachusetts (where she has set up dinner outside. In late fall. On Cape Cod. Whatever). Jack walks up behind her as she lights the candles, and she remarks that he came early (my words, not hers) before she could finish getting everything ready. Jack comments, "Wow -- Joey, this is magnificent," and she tells him, "Yeah, I'd be pretty impressed if I were you." Jack says she shouldn't have done this; Joey, who looks very pretty with some makeup on and her hair down, says that she wanted to, and Jack says brusquely, "I know. But you shouldn't have." Joey catches the first scent of something wrong in the air, and as she sits down, she says slowly, "This is the part where I say 'uh-oh,' right?" Jack plunges in with, "Joey, uh, I don't, I don't know what to say, really, or even where," and he stops, and Joey tells him, "Just be honest with me, I mean, this time, just be honest," and she looks terribly sad and also like she knows exactly what's coming. Jack seats himself at the table. Biting his lip to keep from crying, he doesn't say anything for a minute, and then he rushes through it: "This morning I told my father that I was gay." Joey looks down, doing this weird bewildered nodding thing with her head, and says, "So, you are -- you're gay," and Jack sort of cringes and says, "Well, I mean, not," and Joey breaks in hopefully, "You're not gay?" and Jack says testily, "No," and Joey loses patience and asks, "Part gay?" and Jack sort of laughs. Joey says, "No, please don't laugh at me, Jack, 'cause I don't know what you're trying to say, okay, um -- are you gay?" Jack folds his lips together again to keep the tears in and nods slowly, and Joey mirrors his nod as he tries brokenly to explain: "When I wrote that poem...it clicked something inside of me that has been quiet for so long...and it made me realize that whatever it is I'm going through is not going to go away, maybe ever." Joey still does that stunned nodding, and I must give Katie Holmes credit for conveying a mixture of Joey's own pain and Joey's deep sympathy for Jack's pain. Jack hasn't finished yet, assuring Joey that he cares so much about her and that she's been such a good friend to him, and he can't stand the thought of losing her but he doesn't want to hurt her either. Joey tersely says, "I know. I know the rest." After a minute, she thanks him for his honesty, and he reaches across the table and holds her...finger, and says, "Thank you for being you." She smiles thinly. Not to mar this heartbreaking scene with snide commentary, but I have to say it -- OUCH! THAT'S GONNA LEAVE A MARK!
Andie eats dinner at the dining-room table; she gets up when Jack comes in the front door. They smile at each other, and they hug. Aw.
Meanwhile, over at the Sanctum Dawsonorum, Dawson kicks back on his bed and watches TV. Joey climbs in the window without preamble. Dawson looks at her expectantly, and Joey's face crumbles. She starts crying as a woman sings about "the winter of my discontent," and she curls up to Dawson, and Dawson -- without a trace of "my fiendish plan has succeeded" in his demeanor -- holds her as she cries.
Well, as my grandmother used to say, I lived every minute of that. On the whole, good acting and better-than-average writing. Long may it last.