Time-lapse. Audrey turns on a light in the fading dusk as Joey works on the email.
Another time-lapse. Audrey is passed out in front of the TV. Joey, now in a different shirt, continues to tap away. Cut to the computer screen and the text of the email -- it's mostly about how maybe she and Dawson need to "separate," and how she doesn't know if she'll still be there when he turns back around. I've used that line a couple of times in my life, and it sounds great in the movies, but in real life? Doesn't work. Take it from a practicing drama queen. Shot of Joey looking satisfied; another shot of the screen and the bushwa in the email about how she wishes Dawson well. Time to send. Long story short, Dawson's email address is in her address book right next to "Campus Wide," and while Joey's yawning and rubbing her eyes in exhaustion, her finger slips on the track pad and she sends the email to the whole campus. Oblivious, she gets up, turns off the TV, and slumps down on her bed.
Two Guys, A Girl, And A Nasty Protein Shake. Jack "Unambiguously Sentenced To The B-Plot" McPhee shuffles through the apartment and turns up his nose at Emma's liquid breakfast. Banter about British stereotypes. Pacey "Bud Fox" Witter appears, besuited and sipping coffee. Jack and Emma bust on him for his attire; he sniffs in response that "some of us have to work for a living." Jack moves on to teasing him about his hair. Pacey asks if it's "too much product," but I actually like the gel; it's the gratuitous chin pubes I could do without. The running "joke" about Pacey looking gay is unfortunately revived for another jog around the track, and then Emma nags him about doing the dishes, and then there's a bit of "humor" about Jack and Pacey blaming each other for leaving the door unlocked, and then I fall asleep because the scene is boring and has no discernible point.
Joey and I bolt upright at the same time. She creeps over to her laptop, takes a deep breath to steel herself, and opens her email to find dozens of messages from other students in response to "The Incident." Confused, she checks her sent mail folder, figures out what happened, and yelps, "Audrey?" Audrey comes to, and when Joey tells her that she sent the email to the entire campus, Audrey groggies, "Well honey, why would you do that?" Hee. Joey explains that she clicked on the wrong address by mistake, and Audrey half-yawns that she tried to tell Joey the email "wasn't a good idea." Joey glares at her: "That's all you have to say?" Well, Joey, you can't hit a girl with a problem like that pre-coffee and expect to get results. I might have managed an "it's all about witness protection, dude" before going back to sleep. Audrey's on my wavelength, shrugging a sleepy "I don't know -- 'sucks to be you'?" before flopping back on her pillows. Joey fixes her with a wide-eyed stare, unable to believe that Audrey isn't leaping out of bed to unsend the email, stroke her hair, or otherwise make Joey the center of her early-morning universe.
Boiler Room. Pacey arrives at 9 AM, but the office is already a hive of stage-business activity. Bobby Briggs busts on him for his tardiness and makes a snitty did-your-mommy-dress-you-today comment about how Pacey looks "like a pansy." "Pansy"? Ah, the hard-charging heterosexual world of high finance, where the wrong tie means you take it up the ass. Whatever. Shut up, Bobby Briggs. No such luck -- Bobby refers to Pacey's alleged lack of sack, and sticks the young Jedi with a stack of cold-call files on rich guys and the prediction that Pacey won't succeed in selling them anything. Let's just assume the writers' thoroughly misconceived idea of how cold calls actually work as facts in evidence, and move on to Bobby haranguing Pacey about how his good looks won't get him anywhere with the cold-callees, so he should "stop batting his eyes at [Bobby]" and get to it. As Bobby breezes off, Pacey asks grouchily if the cold-calling is a punishment for something. Bobby says he's just trying to get rid of Pacey: "I don't have enough desks!" Yeah, well, all the desks in the world won't prevent this "plot" from plunging me into a coma.