JOEY: Imagine that, Pacey. We actually have something in common. Providing gossip for the small-minded townsfolk. And unfortunately for you, you’re tonight’s top story.
PACEY: Great. So, what do I do now?
JOEY: Same thing I did… you pray like hell for a better story to come along.
JOEY: Hey jailbait.
PACEY: Feel free to keep on walking, I won’t think you’re rude.
JOEY: Look, despite first impressions I’m not here to bust on you. Look I don’t know if the rumours are true or exaggerated, or if this is one of your bizarre attempts to appear more attractive to the senior girls, but I just wanted to say I know what you must be going through -
PACEY: [laughing] No, I - I really doubt you know what I’m going through.
JOEY: Well let me see, people stare at you when you walk down the hall, we’ve seen that. They whisper behind your back. You suddenly overhear your name in conversations with strangers and pretty soon a justifiable paranoia sets in and whether that they are or not you’re convinced that everyone’s talking about you. What if you had done something even worse?
PACEY: Like what?
JOEY: Like sharing a house with your pregnant, un-wed sister and her black boyfriend while your father serves time in prison on a drug conviction? Imagine that, Pacey. We actually have something in common. Providing gossip for the small-minded townsfolk. And unfortunately for you, you’re tonight’s top story.
PACEY: Right… So what do I do now?
JOEY: Same thing I did. You pray like hell for a better story to come along.
