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Joey Potter was eight years old the first time she seriously considered strangling Pacey Witter.
“Joey ‘n’ Dawson sittin’ n a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”
It was Mrs. Leery’s annual Fourth of July picnic and Pacey was in a particularly bothersome mood. He’d already been tormenting her for nearly an hour when he saw Dawson offer Joey a lick of his ice-cream. His blue eyes had lit mischievously, identifying a fresh opportunity for harassment.
“First comes love. Then comes marriage. Then comes the baby sitting-“ He danced around her teasingly.
“Pacey,” Joey dragged the last syllable into an annoyed whine and began walking away. “Why are you so annoying?”
Much to her frustration, Pacey was not easily deterred. He followed closely and continued to taunt her.
“Aw, c’mon Jo. You tellin’ me you don’t wanna kiss Dawson? I know you dooo.”
Without looking, Joey could already picture the teasing grin on his face. Many adults dubbed the expression ‘adorable’. She had long since decided it was absolutely infuriating.
She shot a glance at Dawson, hoping for some assistance. Unfortunately, he remained watching the spectacle from afar, slurping his melting ice-cream. He was utterly useless whenever Pacey started goading her. Anytime Joey complained, Dawson told her it was simply Pacey’s way of being friends.
Joey disagreed. Pacey was annoying because he enjoyed getting a rise out of her. No other reason.
And he always succeeded, no matter how hard she tried to ignore him.
Darting into her field of vision, Pacey tilted his head and inspected her glower. She stormed on ahead, refusing to meet his eyes. Any ounce of acknowledgment would simply encourage him.
He laughed. “Oh, there’s only one reason you’d be this mad! You don’t just wanna kiss him. You’re in lurrrrv.”
Joey Potter was so not in love with Dawson Leery. He was a boy and boys were gross — only good for playing tag, swimming in the creek, and having mud fights.
Which is why it was so embarrassingly irritating when her face turned bright red.
His grin widened at the sight. “Your face is red! I’m right, you totally love Dawson!” The sing-song tone from earlier returned. “Joey and Dawson sittin’ in a tree-“
Joey picked up her pace into a run. “Go away, Pacey!”
Pacey did not go away; chasing after her. “K-I-S-S-I-N-G…”
They dashed through the Leery backyard, weaving through guests. Mrs. Ryan, the formidable older lady who lived next door, tutted as Pacey ducked under her arm.
Soon, realizing she wouldn’t shake him, Joey slowed once again.
“Aw, c’mon Jo!” Approaching from the side, he gave her left braid a tug. “You know I’m right.”
“Pacey!” Yelled Joey. She shoved him hard. “Don’t pull my hair!”
Falling to the ground, Pacey landed on his hands and knees. He looked winded and for a moment - just a split second - Joey worried she had hurt him. Then his smile returned, and he leaped back onto his feet, brushing the dirt from his shorts.
Joey rolled her eyes, stamping her foot angrily as Pacey reopened his mouth, a new quip at the ready.
“Now, what is going on here?” Dawson’s aunt Gwen appeared from the crowd, hand rested on a jutting hip, clad in paint-splattered jeans and a loose ponytail- the very picture of coolness.
Joey huffed in relief. Aunt Gwen loved Joey almost as much as she did Dawson. If anyone could get Pacey to quit, it was her.
“Pacey won’t stop teasing me,” she complained. “He pulled my hair.”
“I see.” Aunt Gwen quirked an eyebrow and turned to Pacey. “It’s not very nice to pull girls' pigtails, little man. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that?”
Wordlessly, Pacey sized Aunt Gwen up, evidently analyzing whether she was the type of adult who represented any true form of authority.
“Like I care.”
“Pacey!” Joey was horrified.
Unfazed by his attitude, Aunt Gwen said, “Why don’t you apologize to Joey? Then we can all play nicely together.”
Pacey jutted his chin out, bristling at being told what to do. He hated when people ordered him around. It was why he’d spent most of the first grade in the time-out corner.
“Hey lady,” he spat. “Step on my buzz, why doncha?”
Aunt Gwen gaped, hand flying to her mouth. Joey distinctly heard her smothering a laugh.
Fantastic. Yet another grown-up who found Pacey’s irritating nature charming. Joey had thought better of her.
“Well, aren’t you a fiery little thing-” Aunt Gwen hardly got half a sentence out before someone else interrupted, loud and angry.
Joey jumped at the sound. There was only one person whose voice could make her stomach drop like that.
“Pacey Witter,” Pacey’s dad had apparently overheard the entire exchange. He stormed over to grab his youngest son roughly by the arm. “What the hell did you just say to this nice lady?”
“I didn’t say nothin’.” Pacey glared at his feet stubbornly. Joey found herself doing the same. Anything to avoid eye contact with Mr. Witter. The man was, to put it lightly, absolutely terrifying.
“Don’t you lie to me, boy. I heard what you said. Apologize to her right this instant.”
“Why ask me if you already knew?”
“Don’t get smart. Apologize now.”
“No.”
Joey’s eyes snapped upward. Pacey talked back to authority figures, including his father, frequently. But he was usually clever enough not to push the line too far. Not when his dad was already mad.
“It’s alright.” Aunt Gwen rushed to interrupt, giving a lighthearted chuckle. “He’s a spunky one. I’ll give him that.”
“It’s not alright,” said Mr. Witter. “He’s being insolent on purpose. My apologies, Gwen. He’s been like this all day.”
Before Aunt Gwen could reiterate that it really was fine, Mr. Witter had hauled Pacey a few feet away. He leaned down to lock his furious gaze on his son’s face. “Mrs. Ryan told me you nearly knocked her over before. You remember what we talked about this morning? About there being consequences if you continued to act up like this at the picnic?”
Pacey inspected the grass sullenly. Joey counted thirty-two seconds before he spoke again, anxiety rolling over her in waves.
“No.” He gritted out. Lying to be contrary, a classic Pacey Witter move.
She wished she were close enough to nudge his ribs. Now was not the time for acting headstrong.
Mr. Witter’s face had turned an odd purplish color. Joey grimaced, heart beating fast. She didn’t understand why Pacey wouldn’t just say sorry, if only to appease his dad.
What was the point of rebelling? No grown-up had ever surrendered an argument because of their kid’s back talk. Except maybe Dawson’s mommy and daddy, who seemed to be the only parents in the world to find even their child’s impertinence endearing.
“That’s it.” Mr. Witter barked, jerking upright and dragging Pacey toward the Leery house. “You march your butt inside; you’re getting a spanking.”
“No!” Pacey objected, attempting to wriggle his arm out of his father’s iron grip.
Despite her remaining anger, Joey’s heart sunk sympathetically. She hadn’t meant for this to happen.
Mr. Witter lifted the bucking eight-year-old, wrapping an arm around Pacey’s stomach and striding toward the house. The crowd of Leery family and friends parted as they passed through.
“No,” Pacey yelled again, fighting harder. He pummeled his fists against his dad’s forearm.
Joey had seen Pacey’s father yank him away to be punished countless times. She was certain most of the town had witnessed such a spectacle at least once. The two clashed so often, it was inevitable. But while he always kicked up a fuss for pride’s sake, Pacey never usually resisted this much. He, Dawson, Joey and practically every kid in town knew it only made things worse.
“Pacey!” Mrs. Witter shouted from nearby. “Stop that nonsense at once.”
Pacey did not, in fact, stop the nonsense. Instead, he twisted sharply and elbowed his dad in the ribs. Mr. Witter stumbled. His grip slacked long enough for Pacey to escape with one last desperate wriggle. Before anyone could recapture him, the boy took off running.
Doubled over, one hand on his stomach, Mr. Witter bellowed. “Pacey John Witter, you get back here right now or so help me-“
Despite (or due to) the threatening tone, Pacey was not sticking around to hear details on what Mr. Witter would need help with. He darted through the many legs of grown-ups, teenagers, and other children, and narrowly avoided being nabbed by Mr. Leery before disappearing into a nearby patch of trees and bushes.
“You good, dad?” Pacey’s older brother, Doug, came racing over to place a concerned hand on their father’s shoulder. “He didn’t hurt you too bad, did he?”
“No, no.” Mr. Witter straightened. “Just knocked the breath outta me for a second, the little brat. I’m gonna go find him.”
Aunt Gwen bit her lip. “Listen, John. Maybe you should let him go. It really wasn’t a big deal; I’d hate to see him get in trouble on my behalf.”
“I appreciate that,” said Mr. Witter. “But I’ll make the decision on when to discipline my kid, thanks. Pacey knows better- and if that boy thought he was in trouble before, he’s in it twice as deep now.”
“I’ll help you hunt him down, Dad,” Doug said, buzzing at the chance to prove himself. “He can’t get away with acting like that.”
Joey refrained from the urge to gag. What a suck up, throwing his own brother under the bus.
“Too right, son,” Mr. Witter agreed firmly. “At least I can count on you. Wait until I get ahold of him…”
As the pair moved toward the bushes Pacey had vanished into, Aunt Gwen wiped her forehead guiltily. “Ah, now I feel bad for the kid. Didn’t mean to get him into strife with his old man.”
“Pacey’s always in trouble,” Joey said matter-of-factly, a weak attempt to ease Aunt Gwen’s conscience. Her own stomach was sloshing with guilt. If anyone was to blame for Pacey’s current predicament, it was her. She shouldn’t have drawn so much attention.
“Oh well,” Aunt Gwen shrugged. “What can you do? Hopefully, he’ll manage to stay hidden until John calms down.”
Pacey’s father didn’t exactly do calm. Ever. Joey chewed a fingernail anxiously.
Noting her concern, Aunt Gwen gave Joey a pat atop the head. “Don’t fret about it, kiddo. Go play with Dawson or something, huh? Have fun.”
And with that she was gone, returned to the mass of grown-ups and whatever their idea of fun was.
Joey sighed deeply and went to locate Dawson. He was standing at the end of the dock while he crunched on the last of his ice-cream cone.
“Where’s Pacey?” He asked. Somehow, he’d missed the melodrama.
“Hiding from his daddy,” said Joey. “He’s in trouble.”
Dawson laughed. “Pacey’s always in trouble.”
“That’s what I said,” she pressed her lips together. “Should we try to find him?”
“Nah, he’s probably halfway up a tree somewhere. Wanna play tag?”
Joey shifted from foot to foot. She didn’t want to play tag, really. This whole thing had put a damper on her mood.
Still, there was nothing she could do about it and she didn’t want to hurt Dawson’s feelings by saying no.
“Sure.”
Three games of tag and a scraped knee later, Joey went to go fetch some lemonade while Mrs. Leery patched up Dawson’s leg with a bandaid.
The table was laden with food and drink, piled atop a red and white checked tablecloth. Cakes, sandwiches, hot dogs, grapes, even mangoes. All the best food. In Joey’s opinion, nothing ever looked so delicious as a picnic lunch.
“Yummy,” she stole a grape and plopped it into her mouth. Then she went to reach for one of the colorful plastic cups Mr. Leery had bought for the kids. As she did, her arm knocked on a beautifully frosted cake and sent it tumbling .
Joey gasped. “Oh, no!”
Dropping to the ground, she scrambled to lump the crumbled mess onto the plate from which it had fallen. Then she leaned back on her knees to observe the damage, tummy aching with anxiety.
It wasn’t possible to return it amongst the other food. Joey had spent hours helping her parents in the Icehouse. She knew from personal experience how disappointing it was to have carefully prepared food ruined. Not desiring to see any such sadness on the face of the cake-maker, Joey peeped around for another place to stash it.
Under the table could work. The cake wouldn’t be found until everything was being packed away. Chances were its baker would’ve left by then. No one would be any the wiser.
Having decided this was her best option, Joey gave one last furtive glance over her shoulder and shifted toward the table. Nobody was watching, so she lifted the tablecloth…and came face to face with Pacey, who jumped a half a foot in the air at her sudden appearance. He had been sitting crisscross under the covering, doodling pictures in the dirt with a twig.
“Pacey!” Joey exclaimed. “There you are!”
“Shhhh,” Pacey’s eyes widened and he grabbed onto her arm. “Pops’ll get me good if he finds out where I am.”
Driven by remaining indignation, Joey pulled a face. “Serves you right for pullin’ my hair and being rude to Aunt Gwen.”
She didn’t mean it, not fully. But, unable to resist a last jab of revenge, Joey made like she was going to stand, knowing full well he would stop her.
“Mr. Witter-!” She called. The man was in deep discussion with Mrs. Ryan, paying no attention to Joey’s shout.
Sure enough, Pacey yanked her back down. She almost dropped the cake a second time.
“Please, Joey. I’ll do anything.”
Joey raised her brows. Let the trade off begin. “Like what?”
“Like I’ll let you be leader the next time we play soldiers.”
“Not good enough.” Joey shook her head. Dawson had already promised two days ago to let her be leader next.
“And I won’t tease you for an entire week!” Pacey bargained, unwilling to surrender.
Now that sounded like a deal she could get onboard with.
“Swear it?”
“Swear.” Pacey rushed, pulling her forward. “Now get under here before someone sees you.”
“I’m moving quick as I can,” complained Joey, balancing the cake and nudging him over a few inches.
Once she’d gotten herself settled and placed the cake safely in a corner, Joey set her eyes upon the boy next to her. He was more tense than she’d ever seen him. He clenched his fists tightly in his lap, his brown hair mussed from the earlier battle.
“Your daddy’s lookin’ for you.” She said.
“I know. I could hear him tellin’ Mrs. Ryan what he’s gonna do when he catches me,” said Pacey with a sigh. “I’m dead meat.”
“Why didn’t you just say sorry to Dawson’s aunt?” Joey asked. “Maybe he wouldn’t have gotten so mad.”
Pacey scowled. “He was already mad.”
“Yeah, but he wouldn’t be about to spank you if-“
“He already gave me a spankin’.”
Confused, Joey blinked. “I thought you said he hadn’t found you yet.”
Pacey sniffed in exasperation. “Not now, dummy. This morning.”
“Oh…” The explanation did nothing to alleviate Joey’s confusion. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything!” Pacey slapped his palms against his knees. “It was Doug.”
“Doug?”
“Yeah! He broke Dad’s favorite fancy fishing rod. We aren’t supposed to use it, ‘cause Dad won it in a contest. But I saw Doug come home with it yesterday, near snapped in two. Then when the old man found it this morning, he told him I’d broken it. So I got the whoopin’ while Dougie sat there like the cat who’d swallowed the canary or somethin’.”
“That’s not fair,” Joey frowned, appalled. “Did you tell your daddy it wasn’t you?”
“No, I took the blame for fun,” Pacey snapped as sarcastically as any eight-year-old could. “‘Course I told him, Jo. He didn’t believe me, never does.“
“Why not?” Once more, Joey felt utterly puzzled. Her mommy and daddy always believed her when she told them she didn’t do something. And they’d certainly never punish her for it without proof.
Pacey took his eyes off the ground for the first time since Joey had crawled under the table beside him. His eyes were red and rimmed with angry tears.
“‘Cause my daddy doesn’t like me, Jo.”
“That’s not true,” Joey said, her own tears instantly welling- though she didn’t fully understand why. “Everybody’s daddy loves them.”
“Some don’t,” said Pacey, certain. “Mine doesn’t. He already has Dougie. He doesn’t need me.”
“How do you know?” Joey was confident it wasn’t true. How could Pacey’s dad not love him? It was a parent’s job to love their baby, Joey’s mom had told her as much a hundred times.
“I heard him say so. Ages ago.”
“Oh,” Joey wasn’t sure what to say. A mix of horrible feelings swirled in her stomach. “Is that why you were behavin’ so awful today?”
Pacey shrugged. “Figure if I’m gonna get punished for stuff I didn’t do, might as well do somethin’ to deserve it.”
Joey’s lower lip trembled involuntarily. This wasn’t a conversation she’d been prepared for. It felt wrong to see goofy, vexing Pacey so dejected. Her brain raced as she tried to think of a way to make him feel better.
“You didn’t deserve it,” she blurted. “Don’t deserve it now, either.”
Disbelieving, Pacey wrinkled his nose. “You said it served me right.”
“That’s ‘cause I was mad at you, doofus. But it’s your job to make me mad, like it’s Dawson’s job to be nice to everyone, even when I don’t want him to be. That’s why us three are friends. Punishing you for doing your job isn’t fair.”
Now it was Pacey’s turn to look confused. “It’s my job to…annoy you?”
Joey wanted to stamp her foot. Her heart knew what she wanted to say, but she couldn’t figure out how to verbalize it. She wished the words would flow the way they always seemed to for grown-ups.
“Yes, your job.” She struggled. “Like…like…Dawson never annoys me the way you do. No one does. If you weren’t there to do it, then my life would be different. Something would be gone. And if something was gone, then that would be bad because I like my life how it is already.”
Pacey still seemed unsure. To her surprise, Joey found the sight bothered her. Slowly, awkwardly, she slipped one of her hands into his. To her even greater surprise, Pacey didn’t immediately jerk back and yell “cooties”.
“Just ‘cause your daddy doesn’t need you.” Joey said carefully. “Doesn’t mean no one does. Me and Dawson do. You’re our friend.”
There was a beat of contemplative silence, neither one moving a single muscle. Joey thought it might be the stillest she’d ever seen Pacey. Minutes passed before he slowly nodded.
“I think I understand. Kinda.” He smiled. “Thanks, Jo.”
“You’re welcome.” She said. Then another thought jolted her heart, forcing its way out of her mouth. Something she had to make sure he knew. “You know I wasn’t actually gonna tell your dad where you were, right? When I made you swear not to annoy me for a week?”
Pacey grinned. “Yeah, I know. I figured I owed you for pulling your hair, though. Sorry ‘bout that, by the way. My bad.”
“It’s okay.” Joey rolled her eyes affectionately. She hesitated a second time, tapping her knee with her free hand. “Pacey?”
“Yeah?”
“You know your dad’s still gonna give you a spankin’, right? We can’t hide here forever and…he was really angry.”
“I know,” Pacey deflated. He rested his head against Joey’s shoulder. “I just wanna hide a bit longer, alright?”
“Alright.” Joey bit her lip, then inhaled a deep breath. Exhaled. Pushed past every fiber in her being that screamed about boy germs and cooties and how this time, Dawson would definitely be the one making fun of them. “I could hold your hand if you like. When we go find him.”
More silence. Stretching for so long this time, Joey thought it was possible Pacey had fallen asleep.
“Okay.” He said finally.
“Okay.” Joey repeated.
They stayed like that, hidden under the table, for another twenty minutes before climbing out to face the music.
Hand in hand.