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

and blue plaid boxers, and her hair was in a ponytail. She did not, however, in spite of
what his memory would have told him, actually have fangs or talons or a forked tongue.
"Oh, my God." She blinked. "You're -- you're Dawson. We met at the party at Bailey
House, right?" He nodded. She squinted at him. "What are you doing here?"
"What am I doing here?" He looked around him, sighed, and sank back into a chair. "I
am apparently being punished for a multitude of sins, is what I'm doing here. What are
you doing here? You're not Pete's sister. You can't be Pete's sister. I specifically
checked, I specifically verified that you, specifically, are not Pete's sister."
"No," she shook her head and walked slowly toward him, "I'm not. Pete's sister's name
is Rebecca."
He glared up at her. "Yes. I know. My careful research suggested as much."
Megan sat down across from him. "I'm a friend of hers. We're roommates, actually."
Dawson rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You're telling me that when I sat down at that
party, I was approached entirely at random by the roommate of my friend's boyfriend's
sister? As a matter of chance?"
She nodded. "So it would appear." A long silence passed. "How've you been since the
party?"
This was what did it. Something about the look of her, about the subtle hint of humor in
her eyes -- a nice, deep, brown, he suddenly noticed -- and about the absurdity of the
question, made him laugh. It started out as a small laugh, tinged with frustration, but by
the time he looked up and saw her, giggling, with her knees pulled up to her chest, it was
a full one. "I've been sucking bus exhaust since the party, to be perfectly honest." She
threw her head back and laughed. "I've pretty much been throwing lawn darts into my
head to break the monotony."
She regained her composure first. "What ever happened with your friends, anyway?
Your girlfriend, your buddy, your whole 50-megaton bomb of betrayal?"
"Ah, that." Dawson ran his hands over his hair. "They're pretty much not talking to me."
"They're not talking to you?" She considered this for a minute, examining her
fingernails. "That seems to be an attitude adjustment."
"Yeah, well, I had this horrible experience," he groaned, staring at her hard, "in which I
was cross-examined within an inch of my life by this treacherous lawyer-in-training, and
ever since then, I've pretty much been keeping my tales of woe to myself."
"Well, I know an attorney who says, 'In a good cross-examination, you do not set the
witness on fire. In a good cross-examination, you hand the witness the match.'" She
raised one eyebrow. "You had no case, was your problem."