Elsewhere on the Worthington campus, Pacey and Audrey pull up in front of the dorms and sit in the car in silence for a moment. Audrey's cut her hair -- it's just above her shoulders, a little choppy. It's really cute. And I'm certainly not saying that because I have a rather similar 'do. "We should probably wake him up," Audrey says, looking into the backseat. "Do we have to?" Pacey asks. He's got a new look, too -- the hair is curly and sort of mushroom-shaped, but not unattractive. And I like the goatee, although I generally don't go for the facial hair thing. Hey, it's been a long, dry summer. Pacey looks pretty good. They climb out of the car, Audrey expositing that she "grew up next to the kid" and that he's not so bad, and his parents really want him to go to Worthington and I have two hours of this to do, so I'll spare you the setup because we all know that the sleeping kid in the backseat whose parents wanted him to go to Worthington is Jack "Stunt Casting Already?" Osbourne. There's some business about how Jack told Pacey that he saw Audrey "nekkid." Audrey looks skeptical. "He's never seen me naked," she says. "Really?" asks the goateeed one. "He knew about the tattoo." At this, Audrey bangs angrily on the roof of the car. "Wake up, you little perv!" she screeches. Jack shoots bolt upright. "Bleep," he says. Blah, blah, blah, he was spying on her with his telescope. Audrey screams that she's going to tell his father. Jack explains that Ozzy took a peek, too. Oh, ew. "Don't worry, he said really good things," Jack adds. Ew, part deux "Okay, then I'm telling your mother and she's going to kick your ass!" Audrey decides. Jack rolls his eyes and gets out of the car. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever," he says, swears a few more times and then leaves. Jack Osbourne: the Olivier of our generation.
Audrey watches him go, then turns and kisses Pacey. "The end is nigh, my dear," she says. "What are you talking about, woman?" he asks. Audrey flails around, whining that "none of the great couples ever make it in the real world! Sid and Nancy, Bonnie and Clyde, Dawson and Joey! How do you ever expect us to have a fighting chance?" Oh, shut up, Audrey. Why don't you just take Daddy's credit card to Cranes, have engraved invitations drawn up and send one to Trouble? It'll be easier than this routine. Pacey rolls his eyes. "Okay, Stella Adler," he says, "what's wrong with you?" Audrey makes some pathetic noises about "the return to dull normalcy" and how watching everyone go through the banal motions of buying books and going to class is enough to make her want to "blow chunks." Pacey wisely ignores her histrionics and merely wonders why she's not heading back to class with the rest of them. Audrey pouts that nothing important ever happens on the first day of class anyway. Except for getting your syllabus and reading assignment so you're prepared for the next session. I mean, I'm no stranger to ditching class, but I think it's generally a good idea to attend the first one if you can. Stupid Audrey. She reaches out and plays with Pacey's belt buckle. "Did you have a good summer, Pacey?" she babytalks. He hugs her and reassures her that he had a fantastic summer. He thanks her for introducing him to "[her] LA" and to her father, without whom, he exposits, he "wouldn't have a single job prospect." Apparently he impressed Mr. Liddel. Which bothers Audrey. Because she's rebellious and immature. "I don't want you to turn into some lame nine-to-fiver on me, Pacey," Audrey whines. And suddenly, I want to stab her. People need jobs, kid, and it's the height of rudeness to inform your partner that you don't want him to make a living and pay his bills because you think it's "lame" to be a responsible adult. Pacey seems to agree, as he makes a little face, which he quickly covers up. "Well, I'll try, Miss Liddel," he says, "but I do need a job. And it would be nice to have a little bit of disposable cash for a change." Thank you! Audrey refutes this fact, however, by pointing out that Boston has tons of free stuff to do! And it's especially fun if your Daddy pays your credit card bills! Pacey makes some noise about needing to stand on his own two feet for once. "Because the party can't last forever, baby," he tells her. Audrey pouts. "Blah blah, blah blah blah blah," she says. No, really. Those were the lines. "Will you bring my bags in?" she asks. Pacey agrees. Audrey runs off to do I know not what. Pacey makes a put upon face. Since when is he her valet?
Professor Flip-Flops's office. He pages through a file of some sort and chuckles as Joey takes a seat across from him and looks generally stricken. I sure hope he's laughing at her grades. And can I just say that she's had more troublesome professors in barely over a year of college than I had in four? Thank you. "What?" Joey finally asks petulantly. "I can't believe that you said 'fudge,'" Prof. Flip-Flops chuckles. He's a real jackass. I adore him. Joey sputters that it "just came out." Prof. Flip-Flops snorts that "it's just so silly. Even Doris, [his] secretary, has a harder core version of [his] favorite curse word." Silly Prof. Flip-Flops! Joey would never say a naughty curse word. "Doris is clearly a tough broad," Joey simpers, in a sad attempt to reestablish her It. Flip-Flops -- and that is clearly too benign a nickname for him. I'll have to find a new one. Be patient -- notices that the next day is Ms. Potter's Natal Day. She whines that, yes, it is. "Big plans?" Flip-Flops asks. "No," she bitches. What? No parade through the heart of Boston in celebration of Joey Potter's birthday? No celebratory barge trip down the Charles River? How can this be? Surely, this is one of the first signs of an impending Apocalypse. Flip-Flops agrees that Joey doesn't have much to celebrate, seeing as her scholarship barely covers her tuition. But what about the wad of cash Dawson gave her? Was that just for her first -- oh, whatever. I totally don't even care. "Do you have a job? Are you looking for one?" Flip-Flops asks, telling her that they have an opening for a research assistant in the English department. "Are you interested?" he asks. "Sure, maybe," Joey offers weakly. Stupid Joey. Those jobs are practically impossible to get. Flip-Flops reiterates this, telling her that other students would murder each other for the gig. "Think about it," he says. She nods unenthusiastically. Paging through her files, Flip-Flops finds yet another problem: she's enrolled in his class. "It's a little advanced for a sophomore," he says. Joey smiles. "Obviously, you don't know me, Professor [Flip-Flops], because if you did, you'd know that my sophomore status is a total non-issue," she preens. Joey's arrogance: it's what's for dinner. Also, I've just noticed that her hair and her skin are the exact same orange color, one that never occurs in nature. I don't know what Katie Holmes did to the hair and make-up people, but it must have been on a par with killing their mothers and burning down their homes because Joey really doesn't look anywhere near as pretty as I think Katie Holmes actually is. Anyway, she tells Flip-Flops that she's already read most of the books on the reading list. "How about Last Exit to Brooklyn?" Flip-Flops asks. Whoops. Except that one. Flip-Flops cuts a deal: she reads it before the first class meeting and he'll try to forget that she's "just a lowly sophomore." Joey agrees cheerfully…then realizes that the class meets at 3 PM that very day. Flip-Flops raises a brow. "Yeah, what's your point?" he asks. Joey looks at her lap. "Nothing. Forget it," she says. Amateur. Last Exit to Brooklyn is barely 300 pages. It's clearly first thing in the morning (what with the alarm clock reference and because, in the next scene, people are eating breakfast), which gives Joey at least 5 hours to read the book. She can get at least half of it, and then read and skim enough of the rest to fake it. It's called "cramming," Princess. Look into it.
Chung-chung over to Casa Grams, where La Grams is packing a lunch and La Lindley is wandering into the kitchen for breakfast, which, judging from how skinny Michelle Williams looks, is probably the first meal Jen's had in weeks. Michelle, Michelle, Michelle. You are so cute. Please, back away from the lollipop thing and have a sandwich. Because the super skinny look is so 2000, even if the Dawson's Creek set hasn't yet received that memo. "Grams, have I ever told you you're my hero? That you're everything I've ever wanted to be?" Jen asks. Is she stoned? Grams, not realizing that her grandchild's clock radio woke her up with a selection from Bette Midler's Greatest Hits, thinks this is a very nice sentiment. Jen blathers on and on about how happy she is with her life for like the first time ever. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm generally a dour sort," she says, pouring a cup of coffee. Grams wraps a sandwich in tinfoil and mutters that she wasn't aware of this. Jen continues to blather and yammer about her newfound happiness and I really do think she might be stoned, except for the fact that she hasn't yet called Grams "dude." Speaking of Grams, the poor woman is clearly trying to get a word in edgewise, but it's a no go. Jen is still flapping her maw. "You know what I think it is?" she asks. "I think that the dissolution of the Lindley marriage has actually restored my faith in humanity." Grams rolls her eyes, bless her. "If those two loons can take steps to improve the quality of their lives and the lives of those around them, then anything is possible," Jen finally finishes. Grams just stares at her. "What?" Jen asks. "What's happened to my granddaughter?" Grams asks. "If you've eaten her, I want you to spit her out this instant." Oh, sweet Grams. Clearly this young lady hasn't eaten anything in weeks. Jen just smiles, as the phone rings. Grams answers it, and begins cooing to Clifton