May 2012
Hollywood, California

Dawson and Gretchen walked out of Grauman's Chinese Theatre together. Gretchen soon realized that Dawson wasn't by her side anymore. He was looking down at the various handprints, like a kid in a candy store.

"Every. Single. Time," Gretchen muttered to herself with a smile.

She looked at him in a way that a passerby might have thought they were on their third date, in the phase of a relationship where everything was new and exciting and the partners could do no wrong in each other's eyes. No one would have suspected that he had been in love with her for 18 years, well over half his life.

Dawson looked up and saw Gretchen smiling at him. He hurried to her side.

"Sorry, it's just, I love this place. The history of it, they hosted three Oscar ceremonies. Star Wars had its premiere here."

"I know, you tell me that every time we see a movie here." She seemed more amused than annoyed.

"Oh, right. So, what did you think?"

"Not bad as far as popcorn flicks go. I just don't understand the point of the shawarma scene."

"Well, it's called a stinger, just a little joke for people who stay for the credits, or a tease of a sequel. It was first done with -"

"-The Silencers," she cut him off with another bemused look. "In 1966. You told me after we saw the last one."

"Right, sorry. Anyway, popcorn flick?"

"Yeah, it's not real cinema. It's just a way to sell tickets and popcorn."

Dawson remembered fondly a similar conversation he had with Joey four years ago. He barely talked to her anymore since the wedding. The love was still there, but their lives continued to drift apart, the occasional text being their primary form of communication.

"C'mon. It had heart. You're telling me that it didn't get to you when they all thought Agent Coulson was dead and then they were going to fight for his memory, his trading cards. Or when Steve told Tony that he never had what it took to be a hero and then Tony was willing to sacrifice himself to make sure the nuke didn't explode in the city."

Gretchen was staring at Dawson enraptured as he rambled on about the movie.

"I love you," she said laughing.

"I love you, too," he replied returning the laughter confusedly, "but what does that have to do with the movie?"

"I just love how passionate you get about these things. To me, it's just a movie, but to you, it's so much more. You live for the cinema, the pictures, and when you go on like this, it makes me feel like you're talking about something really special that you want to share with me. There's nothing I feel that way about." She kissed him passionately. "Other than about you, of course."

"What did I do to deserve you?"

An Oscar, fast cars, three homes, and the ability to get any A-lister in Hollywood to eagerly return his calls, none of it mattered half as much to him as the woman standing in front of him did. Aunt Gwen was right. He never could have felt this way about Joey or Andie. He counted every day with Gretchen a blessing.

"Everything," she answered sincerely before resuming their banter. "But, seriously, calling superheroes by their first names? Don't you think it's a little on the chin?"

"It's how you know they're human. It makes them relatable."

"I just don't find superheroes relatable, but I'm glad you do." She meant it. He was all the superhero she needed. "I liked the part where Pepper told Tony she'd rather have her name on the lease than on the front of the tower."

Dawson seemed more interested in the stars on the sidewalk below him than what Gretchen had just said. Gretchen knew this boulevard was more his home than any property with either of their names on the lease. She held his hand as they walked down the street.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Yeah, for sure. What were you thinking? Shawarma?"

"Well, I don't know about that," Dawson said cautiously.

"I'm kidding!" she replied laughing.

"I could go for pasta," he offered hopefully.

"Okay, let's go to Musso and Frank, it's just a couple blocks down."

"On a Friday night? Without a reservation?" Dawson laughed nervously. "We'll never get a table."

"Okay, Mr. Blockbuster Director. You can get a table at any restaurant you want, and you know it."

He wasn't convinced. After the box office and critical success of Sea Creature from the Deep, he went from being a minor celebrity best known for giving a heartfelt speech at the Oscars to being the most in-demand director in town. He was still getting used to all this, and Gretchen knew it. At 29, he was still sometimes just that kid with a camcorder, who adorned his walls with Spielberg posters. The idea that some film-obsessed kid might one day adorn his wall with Leery posters was unfathomable to him. All of this just made Gretchen love him more, that he could be mature when he needed to and yet youthful when he wanted to.

"Five minutes we'll be there. Worst case scenario, we finish down the Walk of Fame and find somewhere else."

Dawson was intrigued by that idea, and they kept walking.

"Might as well," he said casually.

They were at the restaurant in five minutes as Gretchen predicted, and Dawson held the door for her, the perfect gentleman as always. He followed her in and approached the host.

"Hi, we were hoping, wondering, how long of a wait for a table?"

"Mr. Leery, for you, no wait at all. Just let me see the next table that opens up, and we'll sit you right down."

"Thank you so much."

"No, thank you. Thank you for making Sea Creature from the Deep. So much better than all these new superhero movies."

"Well, I'm flattered, but you're too kind."

"I'm not the only one who thinks so. How many Oscars did your movie win?"

"Three." Dawson didn't need to count. Todd had won for Cinematography. They also won for Sound Mixing and Costume Design. If The Artist and Hugo hadn't swept the board, they might have taken home a few more, maybe even the top prize. What hurt most, though, was missing out on Makeup, but his sea creature was no match for Meryl Streep's transformation into Lady Thatcher.

"And these Marvel movies?"

"None, but that's not the point."

"You'll have to excuse my boyfriend," Gretchen interjected grabbing his arm, "he'll argue about anything, even a compliment."

"Well, Mr. Leery, I can see your taste in movies is exceeded only by your taste in women."

"I won't argue there."

Gretchen wasn't sure if she should be flattered or offended. She decided it was all part of the act here. Even the restaurant hosts were actors in this town.

"Why, thank you," she said with more than a touch of insincerity. She could act, too. "Dawson, honey, why don't you give the nice man an autograph."

"Oh, you don't have to," he said, entirely flustered as he fidgeted with a paper menu.

"It would be my pleasure," Dawson said, grabbing the menu and a pen to sign his name on it. "And your name?"

"It's Victor."

To Victor,
Keep out of the deep,
Dawson Leery

"Thank you so much!" At that moment, a couple walked out of the restaurant. "Look at that, I'll sit you right down. Follow me."


That night
Malibu, California

When they got home, Gretchen noticed the package on their front doorstep before Dawson did. It was addressed to Dawson, and it had a New York return address that read Donovan Publishing.

"Looks like Joey's book is here," she said casually as Dawson opened the door.

"Oh, great," he said taking it from her as they walked in.

"That's your whole reaction? Like you haven't been frantically checking the mail every day this week!"

"Haha, I suppose I have. Do you mind? I want to like at least read the first chapter."

"Not at all," she said putting down her bag. Gretchen looked on with pursed lips as Dawson tore open the package like a kid on Christmas morning. They sat down next to each other on the couch.

Ordinary Things in Extraordinary Ways
By Joey Potter

Dawson looked at the book jacket. There was a perfect headshot of Joey, but he was more interested in the words that followed.

From the Oscar-winning screenwriter of Peter and Wendy and bestselling author of The Princess Who Didn't Know What to Wish For comes her long-awaited childhood memoirs. In it, Potter peels back the fictional version of herself and gives the backstories to the many stories that have been told about her.

"I don't have to read it," Dawson said timidly.

"It's okay," she replied firmly. "I wouldn't be jealous of Joey, and you would always be straightforward with me. That was our deal."

"Okay."

INTRODUCTION

You may know me, or you may think you know me. Maybe you know the version you saw in a movie or a TV series or a magazine article. Maybe you remember me crying at the Oscars. Maybe you read about me in a book, or maybe you just read my last book and realized it was about me. That is not the real me. This book is about the real me.

There are only ever three types of stories. There are stories about extraordinary people. Most biographies are like that. There are stories about ordinary people who experience extraordinary things. Too many stories are about that. You may be tempted to think of me in one of those terms, and, yes, I have experienced extraordinary things in my life, but that is not who defines me as a person. What defines me as a person is the third category, stories about ordinary people who experience ordinary things in extraordinary ways.

Looking back at my childhood, at all the love and loss, it all seems so ordinary, yet everything about it was extraordinary. From being kissed on a beach to losing my virginity at a ski lodge, from the death of my mother to the death of my childhood, from opening my heart to old friends to opening my home to strangers, everything I experienced was something countless other teenage girls also experienced. Why, then, did everything seem so extraordinary at the time?

Because it was.

Dawson closed the book and put it on the table, but Gretchen wasn't having any of it. She opened it back up and flipped the page.

To the great loves of my life,

Dawson, Pacey, and Eddie.

"She listed me first," Dawson said triumphantly.

Gretchen didn't have the heart to tell him that she probably just did it chronologically, but she played at the issue.

"And whose name would you list first if you wrote your memoirs?"

Dawson knew the easy way out of this conversation was to tell Gretchen she'd be first. She also knew she was looking for an honest answer, not reassurances.

"I don't even know. You, Joey, and Jen, all of you have had such deep impacts on my life, in such different ways. I'd probably just do it chronologically. Oh." It hit him that Joey had done the same thing, and he smiled sheepishly.

"So, Joey, Jen, me?"

"No, actually, it would be you, Jen, Joey."

"You were 11, does that even count?"

"Of course it does. Gretch, do you know why I had such a big crush on you back then?"

"Yeah, because you were 11, and I looked good in a bikini."

"Well, no, I mean, yes, you did, but that's only why I noticed you in the first place. It's not why I wrote you letters and left gifts on your porch."

"So, why did you do all that?"

Dawson put the book down.

"Because you made me feel alive. You were just, so…full of life, and you gave off this warm and inviting energy. Just being around you made me feel completely invigorated."

"That's how I feel about you, too, Dawson. I'm not passionate about the same things you are, and that's okay, but your passion gives me energy. It makes me feel like I'm part of something bigger, something that really matters."

"Yes. I know I'm not that 11-year-old with a crush anymore, but I loved you then, and I love you now. Everything I felt about you when I was 11, I still feel about you at 29, plus so much more. I want to keep feeling these things for the rest of my life, but, most of all, I want to see what else you can make me feel."

Dawson kneeled in front of the couch and started fidgeting in his pockets.

"Dawson…"

"Sorry, I was waiting for the perfect moment for this. I thought maybe tonight, outside the theater, but we just got caught up, and, I don't know, does it really matter?"

"Dawson!"

He took out a jewelry box and opened it, revealing a diamond ring that looked like it might need its own zip code.

"Gretchen, will you marry me? Will you keep making me feel alive for the rest of my life?"

She examined the ring.

"We've come a long way from chocolates and tulips."

"Maybe, but I'm still just an 11-year-old boy with a crush, one that's never going to go away."

"Good. I don't want it to ever go away."

"So, is that a yes?"

"Yes, Dawson."

"Oh, phew."

She put on the ring and pulled Dawson onto the couch next to her. She started kissing him and pushed him on his back. Dawson's leg kicked out, knocking Joey's book onto the floor as Gretchen got on top of him.


The next morning
Capeside, Massachusetts

Lilly came down to breakfast, as always without an appetite. She sat down at the table with her parents and slowly drank her glass of milk. She then noticed a book on the edge of the table.

"Is that Aunt Joey's new book?" she asked her mother excitedly.

"Yes, sweetie," Gale answered. She was so proud of Joey, but she just couldn't bring herself to read it. There were some aspects of her son's life that she didn't want to read in such detail. Lilly worshipped Joey, and The Princess Who Didn't Know What to Wish For was her favorite fairy tale. She kept a worn copy on her nightstand, and Gale would often read it to her before bed.

"Can I read it?" she asked hopefully.

Gale looked over at her husband, who shrugged. He was a great father to Lilly, but this was an issue a man couldn't understand. No, it was a decision only a mother could make for her daughter.

"I don't know, Lilly, don't you think it's going to be a little mature for you?"

"What, is there kissing in it?" Lilly made kissing noises.

The kissing was the least of Gale's worries. Her focus was on the emotional intensity of it. After some thought, Gale decided that the book would probably contain some worthwhile lessons for her.

"So?" Lilly pressed.

"Okay, but only after you finish breakfast."

Lilly's eyes widened, and she suddenly found her appetite. After she ate a hearty breakfast, she grabbed the book and started to run up to her room.

"Wait, sweetie, is Alex coming over tonight?"

"Always," she responded casually as she continued to her room.

Gale looked over at her husband, who had a look of concern on her face.

"When are we going to put a stop to these sleepovers?" he asked concernedly. "Alex is 13, he's starting to go through changes."

Gale sighed but didn't say anything.

"She's my daughter, too."

"I know, it's just, God, everything that Dawson and Joey went through. I don't know. I don't want to make the same mistakes all over again. Mitch was the one who put up the ladder for God's sake, but it's different when you have a daughter. It shouldn't be, but it is."

Lilly wasted no time in starting the book.

Chapter 1
It Begins at the Very Moment It Should Have Ended

The first piece of writing critique my mentor ever gave me was to tell me that a story ended at the very moment it should have begun. Well, my friends, this story is going to begin at the very moment it should have ended. You've all seen the scene. Whether I'm called Sam or Sammy or just Joey, it always begins the same way, with me telling Colby or Wade or Dawson that we're getting too old to sleep in the same bed. He then asks me mockingly if I'm starting to develop a thing for him. I respond just as snidely that I'm not.

It was in that moment that I betrayed myself. I was a scared little girl who was afraid of losing her best friend, of losing the one thing that had ever made sense in her confusing life, but those feelings were real, and I denied them. Friends, never deny feelings that are real, no matter how confusing they are. Anything worth having is worth being afraid to lose.

If I could have done it all over again, I would have told him exactly how I felt at that moment. No, I would have told him years earlier. If he couldn't handle those feelings, to hell with him. If he reciprocated them, we would have worked through our childish notions of romance and we never would have spent five years trying to recapture what could have been. We would have always remembered our childhood romance fondly, as just one phase of our eternal friendship.

By waiting until we were fifteen to start dating, we were both too old and too young. We were old enough that it felt real and young enough that it wasn't. Whenever we tried it again, we remembered how adult it felt at the time, but we would just act like children again because that's all we were. Children.

Lilly closed the book with a triumphant smile. She knew what she needed to do tonight.


The same morning
Malibu, California

Gretchen was sitting on the couch when Dawson came downstairs. He brewed a pot of coffee, reflecting on the fact that he hadn't actually bought coffee in years. He never understood why every gift basket he got seemed to come with a pound of coffee. It was always a gourmet blend, too. He never had a taste for coffee. It was just a caffeine delivery system to him.

He went to sit down by Gretchen while the coffee brewed and saw that she was engrossed in Joey's book.

"Looking for all the juicy scenes between me and Joey?" he asked sarcastically.

"Something like that," she replied dryly.

"Lemme see," he said playfully reaching for the book.

"No!" she shouted, slamming the book shut.

"What's the big deal? You know my whole history with Joey. I never held anything back. Don't tell me it's the Pacey scenes you're reading."

"It's not. I lived with him, with them, for the better part of a year. Nothing about that fazes me."

"Then what is it?"

"Get the coffee."

Confused, he walked back to the kitchen and waited for the coffee to finish brewing. He made her cup exactly the way she liked it. He had learned to take his own coffee black. After spending countless hours over the years in writers' rooms and in meetings with studio and network executives, he stopped having the time or energy to make his coffee a big production, nor did he ever feel comfortable asking an assistant to bring him anything other than a simple cup of black coffee. He brought the two cups over to the couch and set them down before sitting next to Gretchen.

"Will you tell me now?"

She took a sip of coffee.

"Give me a minute."

They drank about a quarter of their coffee in silence before Gretchen opened the book and handed it to Dawson.

Chapter 24
Underneath the Mistletoe

It had been a few years since I had gone to a Leery Christmas Party, even though they had been such an essential part of my childhood. Everything was perfect between me and Pacey, and we just wanted to have a little holiday fun. No sooner had we walked in than had my world ended.

The first thing I saw was my soulmate kissing my boyfriend's sister underneath the mistletoe. The world had stopped spinning. The sun was now rising in the west and setting in the east. The oceans were dry, and the deserts were wet.

What right did I have to feel this way? I wasn't even jealous. I was happy with Pacey. I was the one who got on the boat. When Dawson told me to go, I ran away and didn't look back. He had moved on. I still can't fully put those feelings into words, but I know they were real.

I didn't want him back, and I didn't want him to be happy with someone else? Does it make sense to you, friend? Well, it didn't make sense to me either. That didn't stop my world from falling apart. I bombed my midterm a few days later.

Dawson put the book down and saw that Gretchen had been watching him intently, trying to read his emotions as he read it.

"Did you know?"

"No. I mean, I knew it bothered her, but she told me she couldn't study because things were too hectic with Alexander and the customers at the B&B. I guess I just took her at face value."

"She was trying to protect you."

"From what? From herself?" Dawson didn't get it.

"Keep reading."

I didn't want to admit how much it bothered me, not to Dawson, not to Pacey, not even to myself. Unfortunately, or fortunately, Pacey saw through the tough fa?ade I tried to put up. He knew exactly what was bothering me and why. He knew I needed to talk to Dawson about it. He didn't know what I needed to say, and neither did I, but he was right, I needed to talk to Dawson.

I waited in his room under a concocted pretext, which we immediately abandoned. I told him about the test and made up some excuses about why I couldn't study, still afraid to tell him the real reason. It all changed when he handed me the framed photograph he had taken. It was of me and Pacey kissing. I still have it to this day, hung in our bedroom.

I cried when I looked at it. I cried because I knew he was finally happy for us. I cried because I knew he was ready to move on. I cried because I didn't want him to move on. I cried because I knew that I needed to be happy for him.

I couldn't be happy for him, as hard as I tried. I just wanted him to want me again. I wanted him to tell me how much he missed me. I didn't want us to have to grow past our feelings for each other. I just wanted to be that girl who slept in his bed and pretended that she didn't care he didn't notice her as a girl. It was scary growing up with Pacey, and this bedroom was the one safe place I knew.

Through the tears, I said the words I needed to say, but I didn't mean any of them, except the last ones, when I told him that Gretchen would be lucky to have someone like him. Any girl would have been. I just wanted it to be me.

No. That's not true. I told him to follow his heart, but I wanted his heart to lead him back to me. My heart belonged to Pacey, then as it does now. I saw all the signs. He was falling in love with Gretchen, slowly, but surely, and it hurt.

Dawson threw the book across the room in anger.

"This isn't fair!" he screamed, tears running down his cheeks. "It's not fair!"

"Dawson…"

"What!"

"Would you have picked her over me if she gave you the chance back then?"

"You already know the answer to that. Just ask the real question."

"If she told you she was divorcing Pacey and wanted to be with you, what would you do?"

"I don't know." He didn't stop to think before answering. It was the truth.

Now it was Gretchen who was crying.

"You don't know?"

"No. Do you want me to lie? Do you want me to give you a hasty answer? You're asking about some bizarre hypothetical that will never happen, so why do I need to think about it?"

"Because you do." She took her ring off and laid it on the table. "Take as much time as you need to think about it."

She got up and started walking to the door. Dawson made no effort to stop her.

"Where are you going?" he asked only mildly interested.

"Out." She left without another word.