Pacey and Audrey. He's sorry about the kissing; he doesn't know what came over him. Her, either! "It was kind of Method," Audrey explains. "I've been watching a lot of James Lipton lately." They stand very close to each other and do that whole "You're not my type," "You're not my type" thing, and then they start with the kissing. "You're not my type," Audrey repeats into Pacey's face. "You already said that," Pacey reminds her. "I know. I'm just convincing myself," she murmurs. More kissing. "How's that going for you?" Pacey asks. "Not so good," Audrey replies. More kissing. More kissing. She has to go home. He'll give her a ride. Yeah, I'll just bet. "How do you do that thing?" Pacey asks her, looking down at her face. "What thing?" Audrey asks. "You smile, and the whole world lights up." I thought that was Mary Richards. And I know that only twenty percent of people reading this got that joke. What can I say? My mother loved Mary Tyler Moore. I saw a lot of hair-tossing and twirling when I was a little girl. Audrey grins. "Acting!" she says. "Beats the hell out of work," Pacey says. They kiss some more. I was all against the whole Pacey/Audrey romance thing, but I'm over that. Hey, at least they're having a good time and they're not hurting anyone. Who am I to criticize? Oh, right. Well. Shit. Hmmm. I still got nothing. Can I get back to you on this next week?
Joey's walking home in the snow. The streets of Boston are deserted. Or are they? She suddenly bends over and picks up an already-packed snowball. "2 and 3 is the count," she begins, settling into a pitcher's stance. Joey, Joey, Joey. If you're at a 2 and 3 count, then you're sitting in the dugout, because strikes are second in the count, and everyone knows that when you have three strikes, you're out. Anyway. I guess I can't expect Joey to know that. "Bottom of the ninth. Sammy Somebody is at bat." Sosa? Just a guess. "The wind-up…the pitch!" She hurls the snowball at a sign, hitting the bulls-eye. "And the crowd goes wild," Joey crows, flinging her arms over her head. Aw, that was sort of cute. Who hasn't those moments, all alone, when they find themselves providing the play-by-play for their own lives? Well, I have, anyway. So Joey struts off, planning her new career as a fast-pitch softball whiz who leads a rag-tag team of fellow orphans to Olympic gold. "To be continued," the screen promises. "Continued" from what? I mean, what the hell kind of cliffhanger is that?
Next week: The continuing canonization of Saint Joey Potter. And a vampire arrives in Boston.