SOS by Glory, Girl Writer.pdf - Dawson's Creek Fandom Wiki

Jack and Jen both turned around to see where the voice had come from. A tall, thin guy
with light brown hair was turning red and laughing. "I'm sorry. I wasn't meaning to
eavesdrop, but it really was a very good reproduction."
"I keep telling her to practice her noises in the house, but she just doesn't listen." Jack
couldn't help noticing, purely in passing, what a high-quality blush it was, and gave a
little grin himself. "You shouldn't encourage her."
"I'm sorry. I think I'm a little punchy. My aunt sent me out to do the ceremonial grocery
run of total panic, in which she suddenly realizes that she doesn't have all the things she
needs to make all the things nobody wants to eat anyway, and sends some poor soul --
this year it happens to be me -- out at the last minute to remedy the situation. My father
told me he'd give me twenty bucks if I promised not to find the olives."
"Ah, a moral dilemma," Jack offered as Jen pretended to be examining the canned
green beans. "Please the father or please the grandmother?"
"Well, I get so few opportunities to please my father these days." He seemed to pause
for a minute, and then he forged ahead. "Last Thanksgiving was a little tense, you
know? 'Dad, this is Mike, Mike, this is Dad.' It was disappointment way beyond olives."
"Ah." Jack went for the cranberry sauce and didn't make eye contact. "Dad handling
Mike a little better this year?"
"Well, fortunately for Dad's blood pressure, Mike's not really in the picture this year, so . .
. you know, it's a little easier for him." Tall-and-brown-haired was blushing again. "I'm . .
. uh . . . I'm Pete, by the way." He held out his hand.
"I'm Jack. This is Jen." It was a good handshake. Not quite a shake, really. More like a
nice grasp. "We're gearing up for a dinner that's probably going to be even more tense
than yours." He turned to Jen, hoping she'd jump in, but she was intently reading the
ingredients on a can of spaghetti sauce. "It's a nightmare," he went on, "Old friends,
everybody hates each other now . . . it's going to be one big seventh-grade slumber
party."
"Well." Pete squinted and pushed his round glasses a little farther up on his nose. "I
actually have a sort of a . . . you know, a winding-down thing . . . planned for after dinner
. . . " The words continued to ease out like toothpaste from a hesitant tube. "I'm having
some . . . some friends over . . . for . . . " He went for the glasses again. It was officially
adorable. "For . . . winding down . . . purposes . . . and if you want to come over, that
would be great. I'll be . . . home from my aunt's by about . . . ten o'clock or so, so . . .
you'd be welcome if the slumber party gets a little intense. Bring your . . . bring your
friends, you know, or whatever." Suddenly, he reached in his pocket and pulled out
some crumpled papers. Picking one, he flattened it out and scribbled on it. "Address.
In case you decide you want to show up. Anyway, I'll . . . I'll see you, Jack. Nice
meeting you. Nice meeting you, Jen."
Finally, Jen seemed to emerge from her canned-vegetable reverie. Once Pete had
ambled off, she smacked Jack on the arm. "You are so going."