The gymnasium looks just like it did in high school, which is to say plain, cheaply decorated and it still smells like gym socks. They remodeled the school a few years ago, but I don’t think it made any difference. Nothing much changes except the color of the lockers and the name of the kid sent to the principal’s office. Or should I say the name of the kid sleeping with his teacher? Or who knows what the torrid scandal is these days. Maybe all my crimes are passe.

I walk into the room and look around, wondering how many faces I’ll recognize. I’m sure that there are a few of my classmates who ended up staying in our humble little town, but I doubt that any of them know me as anything more than a troublemaker. If they even remember. After all, I was part of some strange, elite little clique that no one could breach without the express permission of our leader.

Speaking of Dawson, I think I see him over by the punch bowl. I’m actually a little surprised that he’s here. Not that I think that many people would know that he was actually the mastermind behind the porn classic “Schindler’s Bitch” or “Sugarland Sexpress”.

His hairline is receding and I’m amazed at how much he looks like his father. Only Mitch’s football fascination, not to mention his off field activities, kept him physically fit, whereas Dawson’s lack thereof has left him with slumped shoulders and a beer belly.

I look around for anyone else, wondering if he and I are the only two of our group with nothing else to do on a Friday night. Seeing no one, I wander in his direction. He hasn’t seen me, or he’s avoiding me, I don’t know which. And really, I don’t care. He’s part of the reason I’ve shown up at this ridiculous event, so I’m not running away from it now.

“Hey, Dawson.”

He looks up from his punch, which I saw him spike with something from a flask just a few minutes before, and manages a weary smile. “Pace.” He looks me over, frowning slightly at the fact that I’ve actually managed to stay in decent shape in the intervening years. Of course, that might come from the fact that, other than a few lovely ladies, I have very little to do in my off time and Doug left his workout equipment behind when he left town.

“I didn’t figure you’d come.”

“I’m putting the house on the market. I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone.” He takes another drink and I can really smell the liquor now. I wonder how many times he’d poured ‘just a sip’ into the pathetic plastic cup before I’d seen him. “Besides, what else is there to do in Capeside on a Friday night?”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Yet, you’re still living here.”

“I have a lot of boring weekends.” I turn so that we’re both facing out at the people sitting at the tables. “How’s the movie business?”

“Profitable.”

“You must just be dedicated to your soaps then, huh?” I don’t look at him as I say it, not wanting him to really know the perverse pleasure I’ve gotten out of his dreams failing him.

“Well, when your sister’s too tired to work, I’ve got to pay the bills somehow.”

It’s a fair shot and I can’t blame him for it. I mean hell, it’s not like my life is one big make it rich tale. “I’m surprised she’s not here with you.”

“She’s got other business to attend to.”

Ah. In other words, she’s branching out into someone else’s production. Wonder how much that stings? “You seen anyone else?”

“No.”

“I meant tonight.” I look around in the semi-darkness, wondering if I was going to be stuck with Dawson as my only company, when I see Jen. She’s standing at the door, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. “There’s Jen.”

Dawson perks up and we both walk in her direction, catching her eye. She hurries over to us, which is nice. At least until we see her close up. She’s thin. Thinner than I’ve ever seen her, and her nervous motions alert me to her problem faster than if she’d lifted the long sleeves of her shirt and shown me her tracks. “Hey, Lindley.”

“Pacey.” Her voice is hurried too as she stands on tiptoe to kiss my cheek. Her eyes are like bruises, dark and rimmed with black – not all of it make-up. I watch her as she moves to Dawson, giving him the same hello. I wonder if he’s used to seeing women like this, hollow and broken. “You guys look great.”

I ignore the slight, not wanting to insult Dawson any more than I have to, wrapping my arm around Jen’s shoulders. “Where are the other two lovebirds?”

“Oh.” Her face falls for a second and I want to kick myself for asking the question, but I figure there are only so many questions to ask. “Devon and Sarah…they were killed in a car accident. Hit by a drunk driver.”

She doesn’t say anything more, but it’s all in her voice. It’s pretty obvious who was driving the car that hit them. “You want some punch?” Dawson offers his cup to her and I want to smack him for his insensitivity, but then I remember what exactly Jen’s most likely been pumping into her veins on a daily basis.

“Sure.” She takes his cup and swallows what’s left in it quickly, closing her eyes at the rush of alcoholic heat. She smiles gratefully at him as she hands it back empty. Dawson takes it and shrugs.

“We should probably get a table.” He heads over to one of the few unoccupied ones left and sits down, slumping in his chair. It’s almost comical to see him run his hand through the thinning hair; styled to look like there’s still something left. “How’s your grandmother?”

“I haven’t seen her.”

I wonder if Dawson even sees Jen sitting in front of him. I wonder if he’s completely blasé to the ravages that have taken over her beauty, or if he’s just so used to seeing them that he doesn’t even notice anymore. Jen would go see her grandmother only if she had an overwhelming urge to put the woman in her grave.

“There’s Jack.”

We don’t even have to wave at him. He makes a beeline for our table, refusing to talk to anyone else, especially the jocks that knew him as their football hero in our junior year. His injury sidelined his career and his early enjoyment of senior year, but I’ve heard rumors that he still had a little fun in the locker room. Maybe that’s what he’s avoiding.

“Jack,” I nod to him as he sits next to Jen, across from me. Dawson’s on her other side and he’s staring off into space. I’m beginning to wonder if it’s just the alcohol in his drink or if there’s some other chemical altering this experience for him.

“Hey, Pacey.” He shakes my hand, his wedding ring glinting in the crappy lighting they’ve used, trying to make the gym look like some romantic hideaway. He casts a concerned look at Jen then reaches over to shake Dawson’s extended hand. “Dawson.”

“Where’s the little woman?” Jen’s voice is bitter, and it dawns on me that Jack used to be Jen’s best friend. I’m getting a real vivid impression that that isn’t the case anymore. “I figured she’d have you in some sort of dog collar, leading you around like some sort of puppy dog.” She smirks and I watch Jack’s eyes as he saddens. “Of course, she’s probably figured out by now that you like the dog collar, hasn’t she?”

“Caitlin’s sick.”

I assume that’s his daughter, although I don’t ask. I know too much about their lives as it is. More than I should know, more than I should care. “It’s good to see you, man.”

“You should see him when he comes to the city,” Jen’s voice is sharp with venom, sharper than the needles that she’s been drilling into her skin. “Last time I saw him, he was walking around in a leather g-string and a harness, getting whipped by the little woman while all the boys in the audience were masturbating.”

My eyes widen. Okay, maybe I didn’t know everything about their lives, because I sure as hell didn’t know that one. “Oh.”

Dawson perks up a little. “They let you film in those clubs?”

“It wasn’t a club,” Jen sneered. “It was a private party. Wasn’t it, Jack?”

He looks away from her, disgusted, although I can’t tell if it’s with her or with himself. “You’re quite the bitch nowadays, aren’t you, Jen?”

“I’ve always been a bitch, Jack.” She shakes her head. “It just wasn’t the type of party I expected to be invited to. But what the hell,” she shrugs apathetically. “It was your birthday.”

Oooo-kay. And I thought tonight would be boring. Five hyper-verbal teenagers sitting around a table in a smelly gym, bemoaning the fate of their dreams and wishing that things had turned out differently. Wishing that everything we hoped we’d get would have turned out to be the real thing and not some half-remembered pipe dream.

Dawson would be the next Spielberg, not the next Larry Flynt. Jen would be the next Gloria Steinem, not the next Sylvia Plath. Jack would be the next Howie Long, not the next Marv Alpert. Joey would be the next Hillary Clinton, not the next Monica Lewinski.

I was always going to be this. They weren’t.

“Well, well, well.” Dawson’s voice surprises me. It’s soft and full of meaning, making my heart clench at the words. I know what he sees over my shoulder. I know what it means to him and I know what it shouldn’t mean to me. “The gang’s all here.”

In my mind, she’s successful. She’s decked out in some slinky dress, befitting a woman of her social station, looking dressed to kill and able to get any of the men she might desire. In my mind, she’s the woman she always wanted to be: self-assured, smart, savvy and sexy. In my mind, maybe she’s even still mine.

But as I turn around and watch as she walks over to our table, all those images, those illusions, shatter. She’s wearing a skirt that’s too short for her. The gorgeous body that used to keep me up at night is a lot worse for wear. She’s gained weight, no doubt thanks to the two illegitimate children she’s had. She looks haggard, most likely because of the two no-good bastards who left her penniless and pregnant. She looks like she’s been rode hard and put away wet.

Which is most likely true.

Her hair is still long and silky, and I imagine it’s her best selling trait as she wraps herself around the pole she dances with for the amusement of the men where she lives. But the rest of her is as old and tired as she is as she approaches us. The outfit she’s wearing is most likely one that she’s worn stripping or in the bar, passing out drinks along with her phone number.

“Hey there, Potter.”

My greeting is lost as Dawson gets up and hugs her, holding her close for a very long minute. As far as I know, there hasn’t been anything between them since the end of our sophomore year, but like I’ve said before, I don’t know anything. Maybe the fact that there hasn’t been, makes it easier for him to stand there and hold her. Maybe he’s forgotten her enough that the sight of her like that doesn’t hurt him.

Because it’s killing me.

Hell, seeing them all like this is killing me. I mean, my world used to be defined by some very clear concepts. Dawson was going to be a filmmaker. Joey was going to get the hell out of Capeside and make something of herself. Everyone else had a future except for the town loser.

I wasn’t supposed to have so much company.

A few people venture over and violate our inner sanctum, giving us something to do beside sit in silence and wonder how everyone else got so fucked up. All of us so afraid to say the wrong thing, that we don’t say anything at all.

“Where are you guys staying?”

Jen looks startled at my words, and I feel bad for a moment, knowing that I’m going to force her to admit for sure that her grandmother doesn’t know she’s in town. “A hotel just outside of town.”

Jack nods. “Me too. Clarice wanted me to come back tonight, but I managed to get the whole weekend off.”

“How’d you do that?” Joey lights a cigarette, even though there are several ‘no smoking’ signs posted everywhere. “I thought she accounted for your every waking moment.”

“Her brother’s staying with me. Keeping me out of trouble.”

Something in his voice breaks and I realize the real reason Jack’s in town. It has nothing to do with our reunion and everything to do with spending the weekend alone with his brother-in-law. “Well,” I drawl out the word, even though I know I have no right to pass judgement on anyone. “If you can’t trust family, who can you trust?”

Jack flinches and tries to smile, but fails miserably. Dawson gives a little laugh and shakes his head. “I’m back at the old homestead. Full of all the delightful memories it holds. Mom and Dad all over each other, going at it like dogs in heat. And, of course, Dad going at it with Mr. Davidson while Mom was supposed to be away at a restaurant conference. Then there’s also the questionable state of Mom’s mattress after that particular revelation.”

“Better than being surrounded by your previously poor and now nouveau riche sister, who looks down on you even though you’re in the exact same position she was ten years ago,” Joey reminded him. “Especially since you were supposed to do so much *better*.” She laced the last word with sarcasm thick enough to cut through her smoke. “This party sucks.”

“Yeah.” I have to agree with her. Bitterness and regret are two of the hardest things to swallow. And the air around here is getting pretty tough to breathe. “I think I’ve had enough celebrating for now. Maybe for a lifetime. Anyone need a ride?”

Dawson shakes his head, as do Jen and Jack. Joey looks around the table at them and shrugs. “What the hell, Witter. I could use a chauffeur.”

I grab my jacket off the back of the chair and nod toward the door. “Let’s go then. I guess I’ll see the rest of you around.”

“Not around Capeside,” Dawson mumbles, grabbing his punch glass and pouring whatever is in his flask into it. “Not ever again.”

I shut the door behind Joey and walk around the truck to get in the driver’s side. I’ve barely got the door closed when she moves, climbing on my lap and reaching down past my leg to recline the seat. I don’t say anything as she practically slithers down my body, unfastening my jeans on the way down.

My cock isn’t even hard as she takes it in her hand, guiding it to her mouth and wrapping hot suction all around it. I can feel myself hardening as she sucks on me, barely letting her teeth graze the far too sensitive skin. She’s gained a lot of skill in the field since the last time she gave me a blowjob.

Her mouth is wet and warm as she wraps her tongue over the tip, tasting me. Her hands are spreading my legs, pushing my jeans down further so that she can slide off my cock and tease my balls with her mouth, sucking on them as well. I can feel everything swelling and I wish I didn’t want her so damn much. I wish I had the strength to remember that she was barely more than a whore these days and I didn’t need this.

Not these days. These days I do just fine.

She’s back to my dick, sucking hard now, her hand cupping my balls and squeezing them with just enough pressure to make me squirm. I’m fully hard now, beyond thinking. She pulls off so that just the head is between her lips and I feel like I’m going to explode as she presses her tongue to the underside of my cock and practically forces the come out of me. My hips jerk off the seat, thrusting down her throat as she swallows me eagerly. Once the hot stream pours across her tongue, she laps at the sensitive skin until I’m whimpering and begging her for mercy.

She moves back up my body, a satisfied smile on her face. She doesn’t look excited or aroused at all, merely happy that she has some measure of control in her life. I wonder if that’s the way she looks at her boss when she’s done fucking him. “Back to the B&B?” I manage to ask.

“Back to your place, Pacey. We’re not finished.”

I wish I could say that I ignore her and head the car toward the creek, but I don’t. I fix my seat and head to my house, reaching over to rest my hand on her knee. She spreads her legs slightly and I slide my hand up to the edge of her skirt, just below the heat of her crotch.

The last time I made love to Joey, it was tight and slick and like heaven. She smelled like wine and candlelight and some perfume she used to wear just to drive me insane. Tonight I imagine it’s going to be different. Worse. And it’s going to ruin that last memory of her.

As I shut off the car outside the house I lived in my senior year and every year since I came home with my tail between my legs, I also know that I don’t care. I climb out of the car, shoving my cock back in my boxers, but not bothering to do up the fly of my jeans. Joey follows me closely, her hands resting on my ass.

Inside the house, I shut the door and don’t bother to turn on any lights as I make my way into the kitchen. In the light of the refrigerator, I can pretend we’re anybody. Not who we really are. Who she really is. “You want a drink?”

“No.” Her voice is matter of face and in my ear. “I want you to fuck me.” She hops up on the counter and spreads her legs for me again. Squatting in front of the fridge, I’m at just the right height to realize that she’s got nothing on under that pseudo-leather skirt. Letting the door swing shut, I drop down to my knees and move over to her.

Her body doesn’t look the same, but she still smells good. It’s a different perfume, obviously cheaper, but the heady scent of her arousal still has the same aroma. Her skin is flushed with heat and need, shaved bare. I reach for her upper thighs and pull her to the very edge of the counter before curving my hands under her ass and moving between her legs.

My tongue ravages her. There’s nothing tender or gentle about me as I dive between the swollen lips and find her clit, sucking as hard on it as she sucked on me. The tight button is distended, longer and looser than I remember, well used. I push the thought out of my mind, remembering instead the time I walked in on her masturbating and how I had to beat off in the shower just so that she wouldn’t know.

With one hand, I slide two fingers inside her, moving my tongue away so I have some leverage. I pump her fast and hard, slipping a third finger in and stretching her body. My face and my hand are slick with her juices and I lick my lips as I finger-fuck her until she grips the counter hard and jerks into my hand. I hear the soft snap of her nails breaking as she digs them into the tile countertop as I keep thrusting my fingers into her, keep pushing deeper until she’s panting my name and coming all over my hand.

Sliding my hand from her willing flesh, I stand up and shove my jeans and boxers toward the floor. Grabbing my cock, eager for her again, I ease it inside her wetness, grabbing her ass and pulling her against me. She wraps her legs around my waist and I carry her over to the table, laying her on top of it so that I can angle every thrust into her, rubbing her clit with the base of my cock.

She’s groaning beneath me, digging her high heels into the exposed skin of my ass as I brace my arms to the sides of her and straighten, pulling her hips down toward me as I force myself as deep as I can get inside her. The next orgasm courses around me, her muscles clenching at my cock like vices, holding me then releasing me just enough to prolong the pleasure. I speed up to my pace, pumping inside her like a piston now, not caring if I hurt her, if I hurt myself, needing to get off just one more time.

This time, it feels like fire shooting through me as I bury myself in her, losing myself for just a second. When I pull away, pull out of her, I help ease her to the floor. “You spending the night?”

“Bessie’s watching the kids. I should probably get home.”

I tug up my boxers, content to kick off the jeans with my shoes. “You know the way.” It sounds cold and callous, but she only lives about two blocks from here. Well within walking distance, as we both discovered our senior year. Maybe I should feel guilty, but I’m pretty sure fucking me was just a reflex for Joey. Pretty sure it had nothing to do with me at all.

“Nice seeing you, Pacey.” She tugs her skirt down enough to cover herself, which is really as far as it goes, and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek before she heads to the door. When it shuts behind her, I tug off the rest of my clothes and head for the shower.

I haven’t felt this dirty in a long time.

Well the reunion is over and life is back to normal in Capeside. Which is why, on this lovely Saturday evening, I’m doing something I haven’t done in over ten years.

I’m walking up to Dawson’s house.

I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the acrid scent of nostalgia in the air; maybe it’s just an old habit that seeing everyone resurrected from the dead. Maybe I’m just as weak and pathetic as I always thought I was.

Whatever the reason, I’m headed up the back stairs and opening the screen door. I don’t actually expect anyone to be home or the door to be unlocked. I imagine that I’m just going to turn the knob to satisfy my own curiosity and then go the hell home.

Which is why I’m so fucking surprised when the door opens. Even more surprised when I see Dawson coming out of the kitchen, carrying a bowl of popcorn.

“Hey, D.”

“Pace. I was just about to watch a movie. Wanna come up?”

It’s ridiculous that two grown men are about to traipse up the stairs to some bedroom that used to belong to an idealistic teenager and watch some even more idealistic movie, but I’m following him up the stairs nonetheless. “It’s not something starring my sister, is it?”

“Nah, I left my personal oeuvre at home.”

He pushes open the door of his old bedroom and sets the popcorn on the desk. It’s almost surreal to see this grown man acting like the guy who used to be my best friend. “Spielberg?”

“I was thinking something a little less meaningful.”

I’m about to respond when there’s a sound right outside the door. I pull it open a bit further, somehow not surprised to find Jen there. “Hey, Lindley. Come on in. We’re about to watch a movie.”

“Is there popcorn?”

“And raisinets,” I assure her. “Possibly a soda or two.”

“Well then, count me in.” She settles on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. I hold out the bucket of popcorn and she takes it, placing it on the covers next to her. The sweater’s a bit much for the sunny weather outside, but I guess it’s understandable. “What are we watching?”

“You’ll never guess.”

“E.T.?”

“Nope. Dawson has forsaken the all-mighty and promised us something else this time around.”

“Stranger things have not happened,” Jen announced, smiling.

“Is this a private party?” Jack poked his head into the room, giving everyone a sheepish grin. “The front door was open and so I thought I’d just…” He gave up and shrugged. “Can I come in?”

“Make yourself at home,” Dawson told him, kneeling down in front of his video cabinet. “I’m just looking for a movie. Jen’s in charge of the snacks and Pacey’s in charge of the bullshit. It’s sort of just like old times.”

“Hey!” I act all indignant, as if it’s any kind of insult. “Must I remind you that my bullshitting skills kept us out of quite a bit of trouble in our day.”

“Yeah. And then I’ll remind you of all the trouble your bullshitting skills happen to get us into.” Dawson gives me a quick smirk before turning back to his task. I ignore him and go to answer the soft knock at the window.

Times have changed. Years ago, that window would have been the first thing Dawson opened.

“Hey. Hey…everyone’s here.” Joey smiles and climbs the rest of the way in. “It must be movie night.”

“Saturday,” Dawson reminds her and glances at his watch. “Seven o’clock. You’re right on time.”

Jack has settled on the bed next to Jen, Dawson takes the desk chair and Joey and I make ourselves comfortable at the foot of the bed, not far from the TV. I glance around the room as the first strains of music come up, trying not to laugh at Dawson’s choice.

But as the five teenagers from all walks of life show up for their life-altering detention, I look around the room and, for that brief instant in the light of the television, none of us is who we are. We’re all the kids we were back in high school, poised at the edge of finding our dreams. The real ones, not these bastardized versions we’ve been living for the last ten years.

Dawson’s an academy award winning director, Jen’s a famous writer, Jack’s a football star, Andie’s running someone’s political campaign, Joey’s a famous artist and I’m living the rich and easy life, drifting happily on my boat in the ocean.

We’re all happy, we’re all friends.

Then the dialogue starts and everything’s back to normal and we are who we are, as fucked up as that may be. Nothing’s changed really, from ten years ago. We’re still five lonely people with nothing better to do on a Saturday night than lose ourselves in some fantasy.

Maybe, I realize as I glance once more at my…friends? Maybe nothing ever changes, we’re set to be who we are because of what we’ve already done. Maybe we’re doomed to live this life, watch this movie, be these people from the get-go.

You never turn out the way you expect after high school. But maybe, just maybe, you don’t turn out all that different either.

10/28/00