“Aw, Pam, come on.”

“What?” Pam Beesly asked, looking up from inserting her mp3 player’s adapter into the stereo.

“Tigers game starts at one,” Roy Anderson pointed out.

“Then I’ll turn it off in twenty minutes.”

“I’ll miss all the pregame stuff - they talk to Leyland, a couple players. How’ll I know if there’s a different DH?”

“Can you even get the game out here?” she wondered. Roy laughed.

“Of course. What, you think they only broadcast White Caps games on this side of the state?”

Pam shrugged. “I wasn’t sure,” she said, not bothering to add that she didn’t know exactly who or what “White Caps” were. Was that a nickname for the White Sox? They were sort of close to Chicago… “I just figured I’d put some music on quietly and we could talk,” she explained. They’d left her apartment back in Wyandotte, Michigan, almost two hours ago, but hadn’t spoken much on the drive across the state.

“We can still talk with the Tigers on,” Roy assured her.

“Okay,” she agreed, but knew the odds of that happening were slim – with no visual to accompany the audio, her boyfriend’s focus would only be on the game. She carefully wrapped the adapter’s cord around her Prism Duro-Sport and put the bundle in her tote bag, then sat back to watch the unremarkable scenery along I-96 pass them by. “Thanks again for driving me out here,” she offered, giving him a grin.

Roy shrugged. “No big deal. Besides, how were you gonna get out here - your car? I don’t trust that thing for shit. I think you’ve got a bad fuel injector or something.”

“Well, I really appreciate it.”

He just nodded, keeping his eyes on the expressway. A Belle Tire commercial was the only sound in the truck, followed by one for a law firm, then an ad for the radio station. Finally Roy glanced at her. “So what is it that you’re doing at this place again? Teaching weaving or painting or something?”

Pam bristled just a little, but tried to stay positive – at least he was showing interest in something he was none too happy about. “Arts and crafts activity leader. I’ll be a counselor, too, helping out the campers,” she told him.

“The campers are…handicapped kids?”

“And adults, yeah.”

Roy’s eyes narrowed as he pondered that. “What exactly does that mean, ‘helping out campers?’”

“Um…I guess…just providing any help they might need? Getting dressed, eating, that sort of thing?”

“Are you gonna have to help them…” He waved his right hand some and his voice lowered. “Y’know, go to the bathroom or whatever?”

Pam nodded slowly. “I guess so, if they need help with that.”

Roy’s brows furrowed. “And how much are you gonna make working at this place?” he asked.

Pam knew the conversation was about to turn. “It’s about twenty-four hundred for the summer.”

“That’s it? For all that work?”

“Yeah.”

Roy shook his head. “I can’t believe you quit to do this, Pammy,” he sighed. “You would’ve been making, what, thirty two thou this year?”

“I don’t know,” Pam answered, looking down at her hands. “Something like that, I guess.”

“You can’t just give up a great job like that nowadays. Did you talk to Dr. Merchant? Ask him if he’ll hire you back in August?”

Now it was Pam’s turn to shake her head. “He said he’d like to, but he can’t afford to work with a temping agency so he has to hire someone new on his own. He can’t just fire them in two months,” she explained.

“Damn. Who knows if you’ll find anything when you get back.”

“Having this on my resume can’t hurt, though.”

“I know that, babe. And it is really nice of you, but there are no guarantees,” he stressed, then gave her a long look. “Why do you wanna do this so bad?”

“Roy, we’ve already gone through why,” she said quietly, moving her gaze out her window as she worked the small gold charm at her neck along its chain.

The truth was, Pam herself could hardly believe she’d done something so…oh, there were so many adjectives to describe it. Big? Surprising? Irresponsible? (That was a favorite.) She had been working as a receptionist at the small clinic since her third semester at Henry Ford Community College, where she’d spent a year dabbling in different areas, then (after panicking at her rapidly depleting finances) a year finishing the program in office administration. It had been a great job at 19, when most of the people she knew were still plowing through four year degrees and forced to take jobs in retail or restaurant work. Six years later, she was burned out and feeling more stagnant than seemed possible at such a young age. She wanted to try something different, get out there and have a new experience – take a chance on something.

The problem was, she wasn’t quite sure what else she wanted to do. She had always loved art – it was one of the areas in which she’d tried out a few courses - and harbored a secret hope that she was talented enough to do something that put that love to use. She had also considered the idea of working with people somehow, maybe as a teacher; for years she’d been surrounded by people making an actual difference while she simply scheduled appointments, filed and talked to insurance companies. Weeks of perusing Monster’s website had produced little that interested her, and the few positions that did look promising were jobs for which she was unqualified.

On a Saturday night in April, after one too many beers at the bowling alley with Roy, she’d randomly entered several words into a Google search – she remembered “different,” “job,” “art,” and “helping” being a few. The first returned result was a website for Camp Warrior Spirit. Immediately drawn to the photos of the smiling campers and happy staff on the main page, she’d quickly moved on to read the history of the place and their mission statement. Working there seemed like a perfect way for her to explore lots of the fields she was considering, all at once. Without thought as to just what getting a job there might require of her, she had filled out an application and submitted it.

Pam had completely forgotten about it when the camp’s director – a funny character named Michael - called to schedule an interview. He’d mistaken her confusion, then panic, for her holding out, and had instead conducted the interview right then over the phone. When she’d continued to stutter and stall, he had upped the ante and offered her a higher-paying job as the arts and crafts activity leader. Promising to call him back, she had managed to get off the phone before stumbling into accepting the offer.

Pam had agonized over the decision for a solid week. There were so many things to consider. She’d known taking the camp position would likely mean losing her job. She would have to find someone to sublet her tiny apartment. And what about Roy? He would hardly be thrilled about her being 200 miles away all summer, and she knew she would miss him too. In their nine years together they had never been that far apart for that long. The practical decision would be to pass.

And yet on the eighth day, with shaking hands and voice, she had called Michael and accepted the job.

“Pammy,” Roy finally said, ending their long conversational draught, “I’m not trying to be a jerk, okay?”

“I know you’re not.”

“I’m just…I worry about you, babe. You’re my girl.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “Plus you know I’m gonna miss you.”

Pam found a smile for him. “I know, she repeated, “and I’ll miss you too. But I get breaks most weekends, so we’ll get to see each other then.”

Roy shrugged. “It’s not the same. Plus, y’know, Kenny just got those jet skis…”

“You guys could bring them out here for a weekend, right? We’re really close to Lake Michigan – we could rent a cabin on the beach or something.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he said without much conviction.

Pam knew his reaction was a result of his disappointment and sadness, but it still stung. “We’ll figure it out, okay?”

“Yeah.” It got quiet again, and Roy turned up the game as the first inning began. Pam tipped her head back and focused out the window, reading the nearing road sign.

Grand Rapids 33 mi

****

Jim Halpert smiled as the next song on his playlist began, giving a nod of approval to his iPod. He put his arm out the window for no reason other than to feel the sunshine. As the chorus kicked in he whistled along. Just as it finished he came to the all-too-familiar sign welcoming him to his destination, and his smile widened as he turned his car onto the narrow gravel road.

Welcome to Camp Warrior Spirit!
Proudly providing an enriching camp experience for disabled individuals since 1974.

He cruised the quarter mile or so to the empty parking lot, then got out of his car and stretched as he took an appreciative look around. Camp never looked as good as it did on the first day - before any campers arrived or staff checked in, the old girl practically glowed in anticipation of the summer about to unfold under her watch. The giant oak and smaller beech and elm trees that populated the grounds were a particularly vivid green as they swayed in the gentle June breeze. The faded red clapboard office looked like it had just received a fresh coat of paint, as had the much bigger Ojibway Lodge behind it. The paved paths were swept free of all debris, every window sparkled, and the planter boxes were in full bloom in a rainbow of colors. Jim took a deep breath and sighed, smiling. Even though he’d left his actual apartment twenty minutes ago, he couldn’t help feeling like he’d just returned home.

Jim was jerked out of his reverie by a pair of arms crushing his sternum. “JIMBO!”

He shook his head slightly, trying to stop the nickname from reverberating in his left ear, gave the source of the address a quick pat on the back and attempted to step out of the ambush hug. “Michael! Hey there.”

“If it isn’t our fearless leader!”

“I thought you were our fearless leader,” Jim said, amused. Michael Scott’s smile faltered only a little.

“Yes, obviously…but you’re our fearless…activity leader! Our fearless recreation activity leader! The Eva Peron to my Cesar Chavez.”

Jim chuckled. “That’s me. How are you?”

“I’m great, buddy! I’m so excited you’re here! Back again!” Michael’s face was consumed by his toothy grin, and Jim couldn’t help but mirror his expression. The camp’s director may have been in his forties, but he had an enthusiasm that would put a five-year-old to shame.

“Back again,” Jim repeated, nodding.

“Man, I couldn’t believe it when I got your application…Jim Halpert, back for year five! I thought wow, that is loyalty right there. You’re our longest long-termer, Jimbo. Except me, of course.”

“Don’t forget Dwight,” Jim pointed out.

A flash of annoyance passed over Michael’s face before he nodded reluctantly. “Yeah. Dwight. But I meant…y’know, not…I was referring to the…cooler of us.”

Jim smirked. “Of course.”

Michael glanced at his watch. “You’re here early, too – check-in doesn’t start until two,” he noted.

“Oh, I just thought I’d take a walk around before I unpacked my-”

“Hey, yeah, good idea. I’ve got a few minutes free before I need to get back to work. Let’s walk it – into shape! Shape it up! Get it straight!” Michael tacked on a whip-like wh-psh for good measure, then laughed.

Jim had wanted to take a stroll alone, but he knew Michael had been waiting a long time for today and was no doubt desperate for new company, so he nodded and the two set out along the sidewalk.

“So you ready for another ca-razy summer?” Michael asked as they rounded the corner of the lodge.

“Absolutely.”

“Good, good. Hey,” Michael continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone, “you know Karen’s back this summer, right?”

“Yeah, she told me a while ago.”

“Are you two still…?” Michael waved his hands in a vague way.

“Oh, ah, no.”

“What? You’re not?” Michael asked, looking shocked. “I thought…”

“Nope. I mean, we never actually—” Jim paused, realizing he was about to repeat Michael’s gesture. He shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his cargo shorts instead. “We’re not…we’re just friends. We email. Talk on the phone. That’s it, really,” he told his boss.

“Oh.” Michael sounded disappointed, and Jim could have sworn he looked guilty for a moment, but he immediately brightened. “Well, hey, maybe you’ll meet someone new this year – summer lovin’, right?”

“Maybe.”

“A sweet little piece of—”

“Right,” Jim interrupted, starting to regret accepting company a little more with each step. As if the powers that be could read his mind, a set of footsteps approaching gave him reason to turn away from Michael.

“Michael?” Oscar Martinez, the camp’s accountant and business manager, was hustling over, looking frazzled. He and Jim exchanged a brief greeting before he eyed the director. “Michael, you need to get back to the office. There’s a parent on the phone who needs to speak with you, new staff keep calling with questions, and the MedCo rep is here with the delivery.”

Michael sighed in faux exasperation; if there was one thing Jim knew it was that Michael loved nothing more than being needed. “Duty calls,” he said, then clapped Jim on the shoulder. “I’ll see you later, all right?”

“Sounds good.”

“Oh, and you’re in Mohawk this summer – get the good bed first, amiright?” Michael called over his shoulder as he followed Oscar back to the office. Jim gave him a thumb’s up, then started down the path that led to the man-made lake at the bottom of the hill, affectionately named Lake Cola years ago by some long-forgotten campers thanks to its earthy brown color and frothy wake kicked up by canoes and the old pontoon boat.

Jim took a seat at one of the picnic tables under the pavilion that served as a chapel on Sundays, staring out over the water and into the woods beyond. It still amazed him how isolated he could feel here, considering the bustling metropolis of Grand Rapids was less than ten miles away. But that was why he returned summer after summer; for two months, Jim could step out of the real world, into this rustic hideaway and feel…important. Free. Like he wasn’t just drifting through life, waiting for something – anything – to come along and give him a sense of direction he desperately needed.

Jim had taken a job here as a counselor five years ago more or less on a whim – he was about to graduate from nearby Grand Valley State University with a bachelor of arts in liberal studies, never managing to settle on any other program he actually enjoyed. He’d known it was a useless degree and had put off any real job search for fear of all the rejection he was certain awaited him. He’d seen a posting on the student services job board for camp counselors just a week before he was due to cross the stage and receive said worthless diploma, and had applied online that night. It had seemed like a good fit – he liked the outdoors, he liked people, he was familiar with the camp (at least from the outside, having driven by it on his way into town for years) and deep down he’d hoped doing something as altruistic as working with disabled people for a summer would placate his unhappy parents just a little. Three days before graduation he had interviewed with Michael, and the congratulatory phone call that night had made him happy, but more than that relieved to have employment - for two months, anyway.

Jim had never expected to fall in love with the place.

At the end of that first summer Jim had known, without a doubt, that he wanted nothing more than to do it again the following summer; his only worry was that by then he would have a regular nine-to-five job where he could never get that sort of vacation time. His worrying was in vain - thanks to that old lib studies choice and an ever-slowing economy where employers could afford to be choosy, he’d never managed to find a regular, well-paying job. Stuck working in a myriad of less-than-glamorous professions over the last five years - delivery service, sales, office temping – he had never stayed with anything too long; either he’d get restless or had to quit so he could return to camp each June. At least this year he’d avoided quitting, having found regular work substitute teaching in the area.

Jim was sure many saw him as irresponsible, but he disagreed. He paid his bills. He usually had enough money at the end of the week to put some into savings and spend on incidentals and nights out with friends. Money was nice (and necessary), but it wasn’t everything, and no real, “grown up job” could provide him with the peace of mind Camp Warrior Spirit always did. This place was in his heart and soul. By April he would start thinking of the summer ahead, anticipating it the way he knew his favorite campers did each year. Jim knew it wasn’t arrogant to say that they counted on him being here – he got letters and emails all year from his buddies, all of which made him smile when he saw them waiting in his mail box and inbox - and he needed to be here as much as they wanted him here. That was a responsibility up to which he always lived.

With one last contented sigh Jim got up and headed back to the car for his luggage. He already knew he was in for a great summer, but Michael was right: claiming the “good bed” - a bottom bunk as close to the closet and as far from the bathroom as possible - never hurt to insure an even better one.

At five minutes to three the staff, surrounded by a summer’s worth of luggage, was standing around outside of the Tomahawk Theater – more commonly known as the screenhouse – waiting for Michael to arrive and start their welcome meeting. After greeting the few familiar faces in the crowd, Jim found himself a spot against the railing lining the walkway to the building and watched the new kids intently studying the sheaves of papers they’d received at check-in. Occasionally they would look up and eye each other, chancing a grin and a nervous hello. With the help of countless goofy icebreakers and activities over the next week Jim knew the tension would soon evaporate (Michael was fond of getting his staff to, as he put it, “BFF status” as soon as possible), but he enjoyed watching everyone before that transformation took place; it was always amusing to look back on this first day and compare it to where the staff stood with each other in August.

On first look at them it seemed impossible that anything noteworthy would ever happen; most were students in physical therapy, pre-med and the social sciences – bright, hard-working, a bit geeky – and all were dedicated to making sure the campers were not only well cared for but having a great time. Alcohol was strictly off limits on the grounds. Still, peeking just under the surface revealed an ever-bubbling cauldron of intrigue usually reserved for soap operas and reality television; Camp Warrior Spirit could rival The Hills for silly “he said/she said” drama, General Hospital for whirlwind romances and devastating breakups, and The Real World for plain ol’ hookups going on behind closed doors. Perhaps it was because they were all in such close quarters 24 hours a day, perhaps it was the seclusion afforded by being tucked away in the wilderness. Maybe it was just a natural by-product of Midwestern college kids living together in the summer time, seeing each other day in and day out without the many layers of clothing that were a staple nine months of the year. Whatever it was, it was hard to resist.

Even Jim had fallen prey to the randy call of the woods – his first summer he’d had a fling with Katy, a pretty red-headed elementary school teacher in the making. She’d been perky and bubbly – and someone that, under normal circumstances, he’d probably never ask out. But here it made perfect sense. When camp had ended they’d both promised that they’d make it work, but unlike Sandy and Danny (whom they’d played in the teen session’s production of Grease), they hadn’t lasted beyond those summer nights.

And then there was Karen.

It seemed Jim’s thoughts were tuned to a special frequency that day, because no sooner had he thought her name than a pair of hands circled from behind and covered his eyes, and a throaty “Guess who?” sounded in his ear. Jim feigned an exasperated sigh.

“Dwight, I told you: stop invading my personal space. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Don’t lie. You know you’d love it if it really was Dwight.” The hands disappeared and Karen Filippelli was jogging around the railing, smiling brightly. He stood to give her a warm hug.

If Jim was the poster child for a slacker (as his brothers always said, sort of lovingly), Karen was the textbook definition of a woman who not only had all her ducks in a row, but flying with perfect synchronized movements and quacking compositions by Gershwin. She was about to graduate from Northwestern’s doctoral physical therapy program with honors. She’d already had several papers published in academic journals and was currently on two separate student research committees at the school. This summer she was returning to camp to work as the aquatics activity director, letting the job serve as research for her in-depth study on the benefits of aquatic therapy with cerebral palsy patients…or something like that. Jim had a hard time keeping track of all she’d done and was doing currently, and he was in awe of how driven and focused Karen was without even breaking a sweat. Her emails and calls were always jam-packed with what she was up to; he was embarrassed that the most he ever found to report on was his dismal fantasy football standing or his joy at finding a new Chinese restaurant that delivered. But for whatever reason, Karen had diligently stayed in touch with him over this past year, and seemed really happy that they’d be working together again. Jim knew they were on the cusp of finally letting the friendly flirtation they’d been engaging in since last summer turn into something more serious. It was exciting, but it also made him vaguely uneasy – Jim was still unsure how he’d ever managed to get, let alone keep, the attention of someone like Karen.

“How are you, Halpert?” she asked as she stepped back some, smoothing her white capris and tipping her sunglasses on top of her head.

“Not too bad. On time, unlike certain people,” he teased as he tapped his bare wrist. Karen rolled her eyes.

“There were huge accidents on 94 and 196, which set me back at least 45 minutes, then I got held up checking in when I had to have a half-hour discussion with Angela, ensuring her that I’m responsible enough to keep my aspirin with me,” she said, throwing a hand in the direction of the patio where check-in had been conducted.

“Only the camp’s nurse is authorized to dispense medication, Filippelli,” Jim admonished her, using one of Angela Martin’s favorite catchphrases.

“Yeah, so I heard. About thirty times.”

“Don’t blame her if you end up in rehab.”

“You did just hear me say I talked to her for a half hour, right? Enough Angela.”

“E-nough Anger-ella, ella, ella, ay ay ay!”

Both turned to see Andy Bernard strutting over happily, dazzling in his pastel preppy gear. Karen flashed a quick, wide-eyed stare Jim’s way that clearly asked, you neglected to mention he was coming back?

“Hey Andy,” Jim greeted him. Andy pulled him in for a manly hug.

“’Sup, Big Tuna!”

Jim cringed – apparently the nickname that had originated three years ago was destined to be dusted off and used for another summer. Jim wasn’t sure what was worse – that he’d been christened with such a stupid nickname, or that it had come from a mistake. Jim hadn’t caught a tuna that day by the lake.

Then again, maybe it was a blessing in disguise. “Big Walleye” just didn’t have the same ring to it.

“And Karen Filippelli! Didn’t know you were coming back, too!” Andy crowed, pulling the reluctant brunette in for a hug as well.

“Yep,” Karen said into his shoulder. After she managed to pull away Andy looked around, putting his hands on his hips and breathing deeply.

“Man…so good to be back, isn’t it?”

“Sure is,” Jim agreed.

“How’s the…scenery look?” Andy asked, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Despite being at least thirty, Andy Bernard had an appreciation for college-aged girls that rivaled men a decade his junior. He’d often described “the view” as a perk of his job as an (associate) professor of vocal techniques at Grand Rapids Community College, and he was fairly certain it was one of the main reasons Andy had returned for a third summer as the camp’s music and drama activity leader.

“Um” was Jim’s only response. Andy gave him a good-natured punch in the shoulder.

“C’mon Tuna! You’re my partner in crime! My main hombre!” He leaned in, whispering, “You’re supposed to have the joint scoped out for me already!”

“Sorry,” Jim said, shrugging.

Karen was looking around with a frown. “Where’s Michael? It’s after three.”

“I was just wondering the same thing,” Jim replied.

“Old friends, new lovers, and aides to the disabled! Welcome all!” a voice thundered from the sound system in the screenhouse, cut short by a deafening screech of feedback that set everyone outside cringing. “Dammit, Dwight, fix that!”

“I’m trying, Michael!” came a muffled response. Karen and Jim exchanged a look as the rest of the staff glanced around in confusion.

“Come in, everybody!” Michael invited them.

“Guess that’s our cue,” Jim said. He and Karen walked into the screenhouse and, passing up the folding chairs set out, took seats on the storage cupboards against the wall instead. Andy broke off and plunked down in a seat in the front row. The rest of the staff abandoned their suitcases and duffles and filed in quickly, grabbing chairs and sitting up attentively. Michael smiled grandly at them.

“Welkommen, bienvenue, and welcome to Camp Warrior Spirit!” he greeted them once everyone was seated. “As you all know, I am Michael Scott, and I’ve been the director here for ten years. Hard to believe, right? I mean, ten years ago most of you were in diapers!” A beat passed before a nervous chuckle issued from the assembly. “But seriously,” he continued, starting to pace the stage, “I want you to know that not only are you all doing something fantastic here, but you’re about to embark on the greatest gee-dee summer of your lives. Nothing will ever compare. This will be the best experience you’ll ever have – you’ll be in rocking chairs telling your great grandchildren about this one day,” he promised them.

“Ever wonder if he missed a calling in sales?” Jim whispered. Karen smirked.

“But you may be asking yourself, what is the illus…luster…illustrated history of Camp Warrior Spirit? When and how did the magic start?” Michael asked, stepping over to a stand containing a television and DVD player. “Let’s take a look back and learn more about how it all began, shall we?” He leaned over and pressed a button.

Nothing happened.

“What the…? C’mon,” Michael muttered, mashing the button a few more times. “Dwight!” he hissed.

Dwight Schrute, officially the camp’s groundskeeper and unofficially Michael’s biggest fan and personal assistant, stepped out from behind the curtain. “What is it?”

“I can’t…it’s not going!”

As the technical issue kept the two men on stage confounded, Jim took the opportunity to study the new members of the staff in more detail. Most were college kids, as usual, but one in the back looked to be closer to his age.

She was by herself, sitting with her hands tucked under her thighs while she balanced her papers on her knees. Jim could tell she was doing the same as him, attempting to surreptitiously check out her new coworkers. He continued watching her as she pulled her hands out and reached up to tighten her auburn ponytail; the movement caused the pages to slip off her lap. Even though the falling papers had hardly made a sound, she cringed as she quickly leaned down to gather them again. It was obvious that, despite being older than most of her fellow counselors, she almost looked more like a new camper – unsure, scared and intimidated. Jim could sympathize – he might have looked more collected on the outside, but he’d felt the exact same way his first summer here. The similarity made him feel strangely protective of her, without even knowing her name.

Suddenly her eyes shifted to him, as if she could sense him watching her. Jim rubbed the back of his neck gultily, and her gaze immediately shifted back to her lap. A moment later, though, she peeked his way again, her anxiety still plainly evident. Jim gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and a second later she hesitantly returned the gesture. He cocked an eyebrow and nodded subtly at the stage, where Dwight and Michael were still battling with the television. Another second passed, and Jim was worried he’d creeped her out, but then her smile lost its nervous edge and doubled in size. He was surprised by the transformation – before he’d seen that smile Jim would’ve simply called her cute. Grinning like that? She definitely earned an adjective upgrade.

“Hey,” Karen said, smacking his knee and snapping him from his daze, “did you hear me?”

“Oh. Sorry, no. I spaced out,” he replied, giving her an apologetic grin. Karen rolled her eyes good-naturedly and Jim took that second to see if the new girl was still looking his way.

She wasn’t. She was staring at her papers again, biting her lip. Jim was just a little disappointed, but attempted to focus on Karen.

“I just said-”

“Ah! Yes! Here we go. Finally.” Michael’s exclamation cut across Karen’s statement. He practically shoved Dwight back behind the curtain and cleared his throat. “But you may be asking yourself, what is the illustrated history of Camp Warrior Spirit?” he said again, as if no interruption had occurred.

“I said ten bucks says this is based on The Blair Witch Project or something,” Karen whispered as Michael finished repeating himself. Jim shook his head.

“He did a dramatic video last year. I’m predicting it’s an SNL sketch parody.”

“It’s a bet.”

****

Pam struggled with her bags as she followed the crowd around the corner of the main lodge, to the patio, and eventually down the sloping sidewalk to the circle of cabins. They had an hour and a half to move in to their assigned cabins before meeting back up for dinner. She watched the staff ahead of her chatting with each other, no doubt about the meeting they’d just left. Most of it had been general overview of the summer, but the highlight was the DVD - somehow Michael had managed to sum up the thirty-plus year history of camp into a three minute “rap” based on the “Lazy Sunday” sketch. The chorus had been solid (Camp War-ya Spirit!/So dope and pre-tay!/Camp War-ya Sprit!/Here’s the nitty-gritt-ay!), but the stanzas (Started in 7-4/by my man Ed Truck/til the homey got cancer/and said “oh f**k!/I need a new dude/to run my place!”/He called up M-Scott/’Cause that bro is ace!), had raised many an eyebrow in the theater.

Pam wished she had the guts to jump into one of the conversations, but she’d had never been one who could join in easily. During check-in, as she’d stood silently on the patio with Roy, she’d tried to predict which of her new co-workers she’d make friends with first. But thus far she hadn’t been able to make any sort of first move. Sure, she’d answered the hellos that had been sent her way, but jangling nerves had kept her from daring any further interaction. Great job, Pam - at this rate you might just be up to talking about the weather in, oh, three weeks or so, she silently berated herself. It was just plain cowardly; this was supposed to a great opportunity to learn and grow, but here she was acting exactly like the wallflower she had been back in high school. Feeling herself losing a bag, she stopped to rearrange her grip on the luggage, then looked at her forms yet again to verify her cabin assignment.

“Shawnee, Shawnee, Shawnee,” she repeated quietly, closing her eyes briefly as she started along the sidewalk again. “Shawnee, Shawnee, Shawnoof!”

Pam stumbled after the collision, but whomever she had just run into grabbed her by the shoulders before she actually fell over her giant suitcase. Mortified, she kept her eyes squeezed shut as a deep voice said, “Whoa…God, I’m sorry. Are you all right?”

“No. I mean yeah. Yes. I’m fine. It’s my fault; I’m really sorry,” she stammered, finally daring to open her eyes.

And of course there he was – the one person with whom she’d actually managed more than five seconds of eye contact. Pam felt like an even bigger idiot as she took in his concerned frown, one hand still on her shoulder. “I think it was a mutual thing. I was running. Wasn’t really paying attention.” He half-smiled apologetically.

“Well, I probably shouldn’t be walking around with my eyes closed, either.”

He nodded. “True. Not exactly safe. You can take full blame this time,” he replied, his smile shifting into a smirk. Pam couldn’t help but smile a little herself.

“Okay. But just this time.”

“I’m Jim, by the way,” he introduced, taking his hand from her shoulder and holding it out. She took it.

“I’m Pam,” she returned, holding up the nametag she’d made at the meeting, constructed from a thin rectangle of wood and a length of string tied to each corner.

“Oh yeah…I should probably wear mine too,” he noted, fishing his from his pocket and looping it over his head, “although it’s nowhere near as nice as yours.”

She glanced down at the tag; she’d sketched a summer scene around her name. “Oh. I just got carried away doodling,” she said, feeling a blush starting to color her cheeks. Jim’s eyebrows rose.

“You call that ‘doodling?’ Man, my doodles are just, like, crooked 3-D shapes and stick people.”

Pam shrugged. “Those are good, too. I’m sure you draw a mean cube.”

“Was that a pity compliment, Pam?” Jim asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

“…Yes?” she guessed.

“Wow. And so soon after meeting, too.”

“Well, it’s the first day. Don’t expect any compliments in, like, July,” she returned. Jim shook his head.

“Of course not. No one likes each other around here by July. It’s an unwritten rule,” he told her.

“Oh really?”

“Absolutely. By July? Total hatred. Everyone’s miserable.”

“Oh, great. That’s really something to look forward to,” Pam said, grinning. Jim shrugged.

“Just giving you fair warning.”

“I appreciate it.”

“No problem. Trying to get as much kindness in as I can.”

“Right. Before July,” Pam added.

“Exactly. Before the month of hatred.”

They shared a chuckle. It was a silly, pointless conversation, but it had lifted her spirits. She didn’t know how she’d suddenly come to feel so at ease, but talking to Jim was the easiest thing she’d done all day.

“Speaking of hatred,” Jim said, pointing, and Pam turned to see the strange guy who’d helped Michael with the television approaching.

“You hate him?”

Jim shook his head. “Nah. I can say with fair certainty he hates me, though.” Jim gave her a serious look and leaned in. “Enjoy this moment,” he murmured, “because you're never going to go back to this time before you met our groundskeeper Dwight.”

Pam raised her eyebrows, but before she could ask what exactly that meant Dwight was upon them. “Hello new employee,” he said shortly, giving her a once-over.

“Hi,” she replied warily.

“Hey Dwight,” Jim offered amiably. Dwight shot him a cold look as he put his hands on his hips.

“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged back in from the big city.”

“Is Standale even a city?” Jim wondered. “I’d say more of a town, really.”

“I just want to let you know the following. Fact,” Dwight spat as if Jim hadn’t said a word, “I am older. I am wiser. Do not mess with me.”

Jim nodded. “Okay. Sounds good.”

“What are you doing?” Dwight demanded. Pam glanced at Jim – his eyes seemed fixed on some invisible spot right above Dwight’s eyebrows.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Jim said, still staring.

“I have a smudge on my forehead?” Dwight asked, frowning.

“No,” Jim answered. “Looks good.”

“Why are you looking at my forehead?”

“I'm not.”

He was.

“Meet my eye line, Jim!” Dwight insisted.

“I am,” Jim said casually, rocking on his heels as he kept his gaze locked on Dwight’s forehead. Pam bit her lip to keep the grin threatening to break free at bay.

Dwight scowled. “Stop acting like an idiot!”

“Okay,” Jim agreed, shrugging. Dwight gave him a long, lethal glare, then stormed off in a huff. Once he was far enough away Pam let out the breath she was holding, giggling uncontrollably.

“Wow,” she managed through her laughter that Jim joined in on. He nodded knowingly.

“See what I mean?”

“Yeah. I take it you guys have a long history?”

“Yup. That’s been going on for five years. Hasn’t gotten old yet,” he told her. Jim gestured to her luggage as they calmed down. “Do you want some help with those?”

“Oh, ah…no thanks. I’ve got them,” Pam assured him. She certainly wouldn’t have minded the help, but she didn’t want to push her luck with her new-found confidence.

“Okay. I should probably go make sure my roommates haven’t stolen the good bed from me. I’ll see you at dinner?”

Pam nodded. “Sounds good.”

“Cool.” Jim flashed her one last smile. “See ya, Pam.”

“Bye Jim,” she returned, staring after him as he jogged down the hill. She hefted her luggage again and could’ve sworn it felt lighter. As she made her way slowly down the hill, she couldn’t keep from smiling to herself.

I did it! she kept thinking giddily, I made a new friend!

“Smells delish,” Andy said as he followed Karen, Jim and Josh Porter, Jim’s co-counselor and a second year staffer, through the automatic doors and into the main lodge’s dining hall.

“Michael’s famous ‘welcome to camp’ pancake dinner,” Josh chuckled. Karen laughed.

“I totally forgot the pancake dinner!”

“Filippelli. How could you forget such a momentous event?” Jim asked as they sat down at a table. Karen tapped a finger against her chin.

“Hmm. Not sure. It’s not like I’ve had anything else to think about since last year,” she mused.

Just as Jim was about to reply, his other co-counselor Ryan came in, staring down at the cell phone in his hand. “Hey man, you wanna join us?” Jim invited. Ryan looked up slowly, then shrugged.

“Sure. Thanks.” He slipped his phone in his pocket and fell into the last open seat, Andy having taken up another one with his feet.

“Ryan, this is Karen, and this is Andy,” Jim introduced, gesturing to each of them. “Karen and Andy, Ryan. He’s in Mohawk with Josh and me.”

“Nice to meet you, Ryan,” Karen said, extending a hand. Ryan took it, shaking quickly.

“Hey,” he said half-heartedly, then reached in his pocket again.

Karen shot Jim a discreet “what’s with this guy?” look, and Jim gave her back a smirk. He was glad to be sharing a cabin with Josh this summer; the guy was laid-back and cheerful, and the two of them had struck up a friendship the year before. However, Jim could already tell Ryan Howard would be quite another story. After his chat with Pam, Jim had entered his cabin to find Josh already unpacking and Ryan lounging on the bed Jim had chosen earlier, plugging away at his phone. After introducing himself, Jim tried to ask as unobtrusively as possible if Ryan hadn’t noticed Jim’s luggage placed there. Ryan gave him a look that dripped of his lack of interest and shook his head; Jim, not one to make waves, had agreed to take the bunk above that instead. He attempted conversation but Ryan hadn’t given him much to work with; all Jim had learned was that Ryan attended Michigan, was a business student, and that his father was on the camp’s board of directors and gotten him a job here after a few other opportunities “fell through” (no further explanation given).The only other sound from Ryan in the hour or so that passed had been a lot of clicking and a question about where he could get the best reception on the grounds.

“So, it’s one of our new guys,” Andy stated, giving Ryan a lordly smile. Ryan just looked at him. “Whatcha think of the digs, New Guy?”

“Um…they’re okay.”

“Just ‘okay?’” Andy pressed.

“Pretty much,” Ryan answered. Andy chuckled.

“Oh New Guy. So new. So much to learn.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ryan asked testily.

“What do you mean, ‘what’s that supposed to mean?’”

Jim looked away from the two and out the windows lining the dining room. He saw Pam nearing, and gave her a small wave once she walked through the door. She returned the wave shyly, then looked around the dining room for a seat. He was about to call her over to his table when he noticed Andy using their last chair.

“Andy, move your feet,” Jim said, watching Pam stand there with arms folded across her middle as she searched for a place to sit. Her eyes met with his again and Jim flashed her a “one minute” gesture.

“This place is outstanding,” Andy was telling Ryan through a forced chuckle. “I can’t believe you don’t already love it.”

“I just got here, like, two hours ago,” Ryan said flatly.

“Andy,” Jim tried again, a little anxiously.

“Um, yeah – two hours in which you should have already discovered how awesome it is here!” Andy told him, then turned to Jim with an expectant look. “Am I right or am I right, Tuna?”

“Yeah, I don’t care. Can you move…” But Jim trailed off as he saw Pam crossing the dining room, having been joined by a young woman with dishwater blonde hair and a serious expression. They took a seat with a few other newbies.

“What was that, Tuna?”

“Never mind,” Jim sighed, sitting back. Karen eyed him questioningly.

“Everything all right?”

He nodded slowly. “Yep.” Pam wasn’t sitting alone. That was all that mattered, really.

A minute later Michael – much to Oscar’s apparent chagrin – hopped up on the head table and clapped his hands. “Okay! Hey everybody! Before we start chowing down, it’s a camp tradition to stand and sing grace before every meal. So…” He mimed standing and the rest of the staff followed suit. “This is one of our standards – it’s really easy, and if you already know it, sing along! If you don’t, clap along!”

“Michael,” Oscar said in a warning tone. Michael tct’ed and rolled his eyes.

“Yes, thank you, Oscar,” Michael said as an aside, then turned back to the group. “Or if God isn’t your thing just…stand there.”

Now Angela tct’ed from her spot next to Oscar.

Jim smiled as Michael launched into the camp classic “God Is Great;” he could’ve sung this in his sleep.

“All right! Head on up to the counter and grab some grub!” Michael invited once they’d finished.

Jim and Karen volunteered to retrieve the platters of pancakes, bacon and sausage from the counter that separated kitchen from dining room. Jim smiled as he took food from Phyllis Lapin, the camp’s head cook and mother hen for years.

“Hey Jim!” she said warmly.

“Hi Phyllis. How are you?”

“Oh, fine. It’s so good to see you again!”

“You too.”

“I want to catch up later, at the mixer…save me a dance?” Phyllis asked coyly, then sent an afterthought of a smile Karen’s way. “Oh, hi Karen.”

“Hey,” Karen returned as Jim chuckled.

“Of course I will,” he promised Phyllis, who sent him on his way with a wink.

“She’s never liked me,” Karen said as they headed back to their table. Jim shrugged.

“I’m irresistible and you’re competition. What can I say?”

Karen rolled her eyes.

Dinner passed with lots of catching up between the four returning staff members. They each tried to encourage Ryan to join in the discussion, but he seemed content with one or two word answers and sullen looks at his pancakes. During a reminiscence that had Karen, Andy and Josh laughing, Jim took an opportunity to glance Pam’s way. She was next to the blonde, looking a little overwhelmed. When he realized who was across from her, he had to stifle a laugh – there sat Kelly Kapoor gesticulating wildly as she talked, no doubt about news she’d recently seen on Perez Hilton’s site or something similar. Kelly had been the camp’s program director last year as well, and no job could have suited her better – Kelly had a minimum amount of responsibility with the campers, spending her afternoons planning and her nights “hosting” each evening’s activities, something she did with the greatest of enthusiasm. Jim wondered if she was in Pam’s cabin. He didn’t know if that made him feel more or less worried about his new friend; Kelly’s exhuberance was enough to make anyone feel intimidated.

Once dishes were cleared, Michael got everyone’s attention again. “All right, my minions, it’s time for some introductions. Y’know, your name, what you do, where you’re from – the 911.” Michael grinned. “Let’s start up here at the head table.”

Oscar stood first, giving a small nod to the staff. “Um, hello. I’m Oscar Martinez. I’m the camp’s business manager. I live just down the road, in Wyoming.” He took a seat.

“Gracias, Oscar,” Michael said, then pointed at Angela. She cleared her throat.

“I am Angela Martin. I’ve been the head nurse for the past six summers. During the year I reside in Kentwood, Michigan.” She sat back down abruptly.

“See why she’s our little tight ass?” Michael laughed. Angela made a disgusted face, and Jim was surprised to see Dwight made a face as well, although his looked to be one of…was it pride? Michael gestured to Dwight next, so before Jim could decipher the expression it was replaced by one that was unmistakably stern.

“Dwight Schrute. Camp groundskeeper and safety-slash-nature expert-”

“That isn’t part of your title,” Michael stated.

“Nevertheless. I live here, in the small cabin near the lake. My residence is. Off. Limits.” Dwight fired a glare Jim’s way. He gave Dwight a salute. “My cousin Mose also lives there. He has no official title, but he is of great help to me, and you’ll find he is unusually fast-”

“Okay, right. Enough.” Michael waved him off. “All right, so, next I’d like to have all our activity leaders come on up and introduce themselves,” he continued.

The three at Jim’s table stood and walked to the front, forming a line next to Michael.

“’Sup, CWS!” Andy, first in line, started immediately.

“Wait,” Michael interrupted, his brow furrowed, “we’re missing someone.”

Everyone looked around silently, and suddenly Jim heard a soft “oh!” issue from a few tables away. His head jerked in the direction of the sound, and he felt his own eyebrows raise immediately as Pam hurried to stand next to him. She gave him a rattled look as her cheeks rapidly turned pink.

“Hey,” he managed to whisper, more than surprised. This shy, nervous girl was going to be an activity leader?

“I, um, I forgot…I’m the arts and crafts leader,” she whispered back as Andy began singing his introduction.

“Well. Your nametag doodles make a lot more sense now,” he replied, for lack of anything else.

“Yeah.” Pam smiled just a little, as did Jim. His cheeks started to heat just a little as he realized he was smiling not at her slip-up, but at the idea of how much time they’d be getting to hang out this summer.

They heated a little more when he turned his head away from Pam and caught Karen looking at them curiously.

****

“So? What do you think?”

Pam was broken out of her daze by Kelly’s excited question. She glanced around the screenhouse and nodded.

“It looks great,” Pam told her. Her roommate for the summer nodded knowingly.

“I know, right? I only had, like, two hours to get it all set up after Michael’s meeting, but I think it looks pretty awesome,” Kelly replied.

Pam nodded again. A giant pink banner reading CWS Get 2 Know U Mixer in sparkly purple paint hung on the far wall. Most of the chairs had been cleared away from earlier, with only a few against the walls. Bunches of balloons had been placed strategically around the perimeter of the space, and streamers crisscrossed the ceiling. Across the room a huge decorated dessert table was set up, covered in treats and anchored by a giant punch bowl.

What was almost more impressive was in addition to setting all this up, Kelly had found time to change into a stylish new outfit and redo her hair and makeup since dinner. Pam had thought she’d made an effort changing from shorts to a skirt, and taking her frizzy hair out of its ponytail.

“So are you guys having fun?” Kelly asked, taking a sip of punch.

“Uh huh,” Pam answered as cheerfully as possible. Kelly looked to the young woman at Pam’s side.

“Yes,” Brenda answered in a businesslike tone.

Most of the staff was in the middle of the room dancing or chatting, but Pam had been sitting with her other co-counselor since they’d arrived. Pam couldn’t have cast two bigger opposites as her roommates had she tried. Where Kelly was chipper, talkative and a little flighty, Brenda Matlow was serious, quiet and more than driven. She was studying for a master’s in special education at Grand Valley State, in addition to a second bachelor’s in physical therapy. She’d stuck close to Pam since they’d met a few hours ago, but didn’t really seem interested in talking much. Kelly, on the other hand, had only met Pam at dinner, having been busy planning tonight’s event earlier, but had already offered Pam a crack at her closet whenever she liked and suggested they hang out over their weekends off. Pam wasn’t sure how to interact with either of them yet. She’d been doing a lot of nodding.

“So who all have you met?” Kelly asked.

“Um, a few people. Well, you guys. No one else, really,” Pam told her. That doesn’t sound pathetic, she thought.

“Ooo, okay. Let’s go get something to drink – you can see everyone better from over there. I’ll point out the people I know and give you the scoop,” Kelly invited.

“You already have a drink,” Brenda pointed out. Kelly set her cup on an empty chair.

“Not anymore. C’mon.” She grabbed Pam’s hand and pulled her across the theater to the refreshment table. Brenda seemed uninterested but tagged along, taking a seat next to the table. As Kelly ladled out punch and gossip, Pam employed the ever-useful nodding as she tuned out. Her eyes drifted from Kelly to the rest of the room, stopping when she found Jim. He was laughing with another guy and the brunette…Karen, her memory supplied. Pam watched as she shoved Jim playfully and he gave her a mock-reproachful look.

“How about them?” Pam blurted before she could check herself.

“What? Who?” Kelly asked, appearing only slightly irritated that Pam had cut her off mid-explanation.

“Oh,” Pam said, putting on a confused look, “um, them. I mean…I think her name’s Karen? And um…”

“Karen and Jim?” Kelly clarified.

“Right,” Pam said, hoping she didn’t sound too interested, because she wasn’t. Interested, that is. It was just that he was only other person Pam actually knew.

“Oh, okay, yeah. I can totally tell you about them.” Kelly took a step closer, looking as if she were about to spill national secrets. “So Jim’s been here for, like, a million years, and Karen for two, I think? Whatever, that’s the boring part. Anyway, they kind of, had a thing last summer? Like, they didn’t hook up-hook up, but you could totally tell they were about to. I mean, they flirted with each other all the time, and were always cutesy and stuff. I’m sure you can tell. I mean, look at them.”

Pam did. They just seemed friendly. Then again, she’d never been a good judge about that sort of thing.

“Omigod, Pam, you’ll see them together, like, every morning. You’ll tell me if there’s sexual tension and stuff, right?” Kelly pleaded. Pam narrowed her eyes.

“Why will I see them every morning?” she wondered.

“Oh that’s right, Michael hasn’t explained that yet. All of you activity leaders? You do a little skit or something every morning at breakfast to tell everyone what you’ll be doing in each of your activities that day. I do them too, for my activities, but at dinner. So yeah, you guys get together to plan those out. It’ll just be you four, so you can, like, keep an eye on Karen and Jim and fill me in on what’s up with them. Oh hey, we should totally give them a nickname!” Kelly suggested, clapping eagerly.

“…What?” Pam was distracted, not just by the history of Karen and Jim and the reconnaissance request, but the rather daunting fact that she’d apparently be performing every single morning.

“A nickname? Like Brangelina? They could be…Jaren? Kim?”

“Oh…yeah, maybe,” was Pam’s only response, because Jim was coming their way. He gave them both a smile.

“Hi Kel. Fellow activity leader,” he greeted, stressing the last two words in a teasing tone. Pam grinned, rolling her eyes.

“Hi.”

“Hey Jim,” Kelly chirped. “What’s up?”

“Not much. Thought I’d check out your spread here.”

“Grabbing something for Karen, too?” Kelly asked innocently, while giving Pam a meaningfully arched eyebrow.

“Um, wasn’t planning on it.”

“Thanks, Halpert.” Karen appeared at Jim’s side. As she reached out for a cup, “Mambo No. 5” began playing. “God, could this music get any cheesier?” she asked, laughing.

“Omigod, I know! Michael insisted on using his iPod for the music,” Kelly lamented, then took Karen’s arm. “Will you come with me and see if we can sneak up there and change it?”

“Sounds good,” Karen agreed, and the two left for the sound system behind the stage. Jim glanced at Pam after they’d left.

“I like cheesy,” he admitted, shrugging.

“Me too,” Pam seconded.

“A little bit of Ji-im, sipping punch; a little bit of Pa-am, standing there,” Michael sang as he danced by, pointing at each of them, “a little bit of…that girl, on a chair…”

Jim and Pam exchanged a look.

“Maybe not that cheesy,” he amended and Pam laughed. “So how’s your first day been?” he asked as he snagged a chocolate chip cookie.

“Good. It’s been good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You like the cabin?”

“I do - it’s a lot bigger than I thought it would be!”

“I know. I thought that too, on my first day. But that’s good when you have a few wheelchairs that need to move around. You’re in…Shawnee, right?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“I thought I saw you leaving. I’m next door, in Mohawk.”

“Oh, awesome.” Pam cringed, thinking she sounded a little overly excited. If Jim thought so his reaction didn’t give it away. “Who are you living with?”

“Um, one of my co-counselors is Josh. That guy in the blue shirt, next to those balloons? And the other one is Ryan – he’s…” Jim looked around, but shook his head after a moment. “I don’t see him. Shocking.” His mouth twisted some. “Are you with Kelly?”

“I am,” Pam confirmed. Jim grinned, as did she.

“Kelly is…something.”

“That’s a great word to describe her.”

“Anyone else?”

“No. Oh!” Pam bit her lip. “Brenda, too,” she quickly corrected herself, pointing behind Jim. He turned some and waved at Brenda. She gave him back a terse smile. Jim turned back around and flashed Pam a wide-eyed smirk as he leaned in for a second.

“She is the life of this party,” he noted in her ear, making her laugh again. She was happy they were getting another chance to chat. Having a conversation with Kelly was much like being swept up in a tidal wave, and trying to get Brenda to talk was as easy as pulling teeth. Just like earlier, and with no effort at all, she had an immediate rapport with Jim. It was nice. “Overall you’re liking it?” he affirmed.

Pam nodded. “It seems like a lot of fun here.”

“It is. Not every day is great, but overall it’s a blast.” His smile was warm and wide as he spoke of camp like this, and it was easy to see he absolutely loved this place. In that moment his adoration made her more certain she’d made the right choice coming here.

“Cool.” Pam looked down for a minute, now unsure of what to say next. Kelly’s tale of his almost-romance kept playing in her head, but she’d hardly known him long enough to mention that.

“You look nice, by the way,” Jim told her, interrupting her thoughts.

“Really?” Her hand instinctively went to her wild hair, and she was immediately embarrassed – she wasn’t fishing for compliments, just surprised by his kind words.

“What? Yeah, you look really nice,” Jim repeated, a bit emphatically, and Pam could have sworn he suddenly looked a little shy.

“Thanks,” she replied softly, secretly pleased. Her eyes flitted down to her skirt again, and she silently apologized for dismissing it earlier.

“You’re welcome.” Jim smiled, looking down for a moment too.

“So…” Now why was she feeling bashful all of a sudden? “Um, Kelly said something about us doing skits or something…?”

Jim nodded as he chewed a bite of cookie. “Yeah. They’re not, like, big productions or anything.” He cocked his head a little. “Lemme rephrase that – Andy attempts to make them into big productions, but we usually overrule him.”

“So what you’re saying is he didn’t pick his activity randomly?”

“Hardly. I think he considers his life one giant American Idol audition.”

“Yet another thing to look forward to.”

Jim smirked. “Definitely.”

“I’ll be voting no on productions. I can’t sing or dance.”

“Well, Pam, you may have to rethink working here. We sing and dance. A lot,” Jim warned.

“In a group?”

“Usually.”

Pam half-shrugged. “That’s not as bad, then. I can disappear in the crowd.”

“C’mon. I bet you’re not as bad as you think you are.”

She raised one eyebrow. “Um, yes. Yes I am.”

“Then I’m making it my personal mission to see you do both this summer,” Jim said.

“No way,” Pam said, shaking her head. “Never happen. I can barely carry a tune and I look like a total dork when I dance.”

“All right, then, it’s official,” he said, nodding slowly.

“What?”

“Now it’s not just a mission,” Jim told her with a mischievous grin, “it’s my highest priority.”

Monday.

It was hot and muggy in the screenhouse as Michael swung a chair around and took a seat on it backwards. Jim tried to hide his smirk at the incredibly earnest look on the director’s face, knowing exactly what was coming – after five years, these orientation activities were ingrained in his memory like some fever dream. The morning had started off with some icebreakers, then moved into a general overview of what counselors could expect of their daily routines. They’d taken a break for lunch, and now were back for a small group sharing session.

“Now,” Michael began, “by now you all know that this camp has some very special campers. Special ed campers.” He nodded sagely, totally unaware that he’d just used a common insult among 13-year-olds. “And it’s okay if that makes you uncomfortable at first, but what you need to realize is that these people are just like you and me. So, here’s what I want us to do. I am going to throw you this ball,” Michael said, holding up what Jim secretly called the “sharing sphere” – some weird expanding thing that looked like it was made from the K’Nex Jim used to have as a boy. “When you catch the ball, I want you to say the name of a handicapped person you’ve known, somebody really special who you spent some time with. Maybe something you learned from them. You may cry if you like, that is encouraged. Let me just start. Let me show you how this works.” Michael tossed the ball up, then caught it and began pulling it apart. “I’ve worked here for seventeen years. I’ve known just about every handicapped person ever.”

“Ever?” Jim clarified. Across the small circle, he saw Pam purse her lips.

“At least in Michigan,” Michael said, shrugging. “They were all awesome. Some walked. Some didn’t. Some drooled. Couldn’t help it. I was fine with it. I’ve loved every one and they…” Michael’s voice cracked and he pinched the bridge of his noise, taking a deep breath. “And they love me too,” he said on exhale.

The group was silent.

Michael took another deep breath, then shared a shaky smile with them. “See? Easy as that. So, I just want to see you get started.” He tossed the ball across the circle at an unsuspecting brunette, a new counselor named Erin. She fumbled the ball, finally steadying it and holding it tightly in her lap. “Go ahead,” Michael said, nodding.

“Um, all right,” Erin said softly. “Well, when I was in high school I was on student council, and this boy named Evan, he was our treasurer? He was in a wheelchair.”

“Good. Good.”

Erin smiled a little. “Um, he was really nice, and…he was a really good treasurer. He got reelected twice.” She paused. “Is that what you want, or…?”

“That’s a good start, yes. See, Evan was just like you, right?”

Erin nodded.

“Maybe even smarter because he was treasurer. What were you?”

“Um, just a representative,” she answered, biting her lip. Michael pointed.

“There you go! Disabled? Yes, but smart. Okay, pass the ball.”

“I’ll take it,” Jim volunteered, reaching over and taking the ball from Erin. “Well, my first experience with someone disabled was my cousin. He wasn’t as a kid – he used to be a wrestler in high school,” Jim said, keeping his eyes on the ball in his hand, bouncing against his jiggling leg. “But he served two tours of duty in Vietnam and got shot, which paralyzed him.”

“Wow,” Michael breathed.

“Yeah. His birthday was Independence Day, so it was sort of…ironic, that that happened. Anyway, when he got home he had a hard time getting along with people. He was really jaded. But he sort of channeled all that frustration into becoming an anti-war activist, going to rallies and speaking. He even got to speak at a national convention.”

“What an amazing story!”

Jim nodded. “He wrote a book about his experiences. It was pretty cool.” He chanced surveying the group, knowing that if anyone was on to him they’d still be too nervous to say so. They just stared back, most in interest but a few looking a bit confused. Erin was nodding slowly, her eyes wide. Pam’s expression was the only one that was totally unreadable.

“All right. Wow. Okay, who’d like to follow that?” Michael asked.

No one volunteered, then Pam’s hand slowly went up. “I’ll go,” she offered. Jim tossed her the ball. She gave him a fleeting glance, then looked at Michael. “The first person I ever knew that was handicapped was my uncle,” Pam said. “He has cerebral palsy and can only move…one certain part of his body.”

“Which one?” Michael asked.

“Um…a foot,” Pam answered slowly as she picked at one of the joints in the ball.

It took all Jim had not to lose it. He rubbed at his face in a desperate attempt to stifle his laughter.

“He grew up really poor, but he started drawing and writing with that foot. Eventually he got really famous in Ireland – that’s where he lives.”

“Did he write a book too?” Jim managed to ask, his hand still covering his mouth. Pam looked at him with sparkling eyes.

“Actually he did.”

“What a coincidence,” Jim mused.

“I know.”

“That is really something,” Michael said, awed.

“It really is,” Jim seconded. Pam threw the ball back to Michael, then gave Jim a wide smile he gladly returned.

****

Tuesday.

Brenda had been standing over her for a solid two minutes without saying anything. In fact, most of that afternoon – which had been set aside for the staff to decorate their cabins – Brenda had been watching her, as if Pam needed constant monitoring. Never once had she let on what she thought, and it was starting to wear on Pam’s nerves. Finally she looked up at her from her seat on the floor. “Does it look okay?” she asked, trying not to sound impatient.

“Yes.”

Pam waited, but Brenda offered nothing further. “Okay. Thanks.”

Pam returned to work on her banner for Shawnee’s front door. Despite Brenda’s lack of enthusiasm, Pam thought it looked pretty nice. She picked up a brown marker to add shade to the sunflower she’d just drawn, but looked up when she heard the porch door open. A moment later Jim entered.

“Hey,” he greeted her, then smiled at her cabinmate. “Hi Brenda.”

“Hello,” Brenda returned shortly.

Jim gave Pam the look she suspected was his trademark. “I was just wondering if you guys had an extra black marker we could borrow.”

“Oh, sure,” Pam said, handing one up to him.

“Thanks. Saves me a trip to the art room or the office.”

“No problem.” She noticed Jim studying her banner.

“Wow. That’s…awesome,” he admired.

“Thank you,” she said, unable to keep from looking to Brenda triumphantly. She ignored her, or more likely didn’t pick up on what the look meant.

“I’m going to go run copies of these,” Brenda said, holding up a sheet of paper with a giant sunflower blossom sketched on it that, once cut out, would serve as nametags above campers’ beds. “How many do you think we need?”

“Seven sessions, five campers each session…maybe forty, just in case we make a mistake?” Pam guessed. Brenda made a face.

“What kind of mistake?”

“Um…spell a name wrong or something?”

Brenda’s expression tightened more. “I’ll make thirty five and save the master copy,” she decided.

“Okay. That sounds good,” Pam said to Brenda’s back as she left.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” Brenda called.

“All right.” Pam looked up at Jim again and rolled her eyes. He pointed out the door.

“Well, now that the fun one left I’m gonna go,” he told her. Pam laughed, feeling her stress start to melt away. She wasn’t finished, but Jim was a much-needed distraction.

“Thanks a lot.”

“Of course.” Instead he leaned against the long counter behind him that held twin sinks, crossing his long legs in front of him. With the other he pointed the marker at her banner. “So lemme take a wild guess…you’re the Shawnee Sunflowers?”

Pam nodded. “Was it the ‘Welcome Shawnee Sunflowers!’ that gave it away?”

“It’s possible, yes.”

“We thought it was a cute idea.” Pam cocked her head. “Well, I did. Kelly wanted ‘Sexy Shawnee and the City,’ which I finally convinced her made no sense and was sort of inappropriate, and Brenda…didn’t really have an opinion.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me at all,” Jim said. “So ‘Sunflowers’ was all you, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Brilliant.” He shook his head. “That banner is really good, Pam.”

“Thanks.”

“Is that your job outside of this – graphic design or something?”

“Oh. No.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Art teacher?”

Pam laughed nervously. “Former receptionist,” she admitted, stretching her legs out.

“Ah.” Jim seemed unfazed by that answer, and it eased her embarrassment. For a moment the only sound was Jim tapping the marker against the edge of the counter. She rubbed at her knees where they’d turned red from the rough, commercial-grade carpeting she’d been kneeling on for the last hour. “How about you?” she finally asked.

“What do I do?”

She didn’t want to feel more ashamed. “No, what’s your cabin using, as a mascot?”

Jim grinned. “We’re the Mohawk Monster Machines.”

“Ooo,” Pam said, then frowned. “What’s a ‘monster machine?’” Jim chuckled and shrugged, looking caught.

“Not sure. But it sounded good, and lets us cheat on decorations.”

“How so?”

“We just Xeroxed a bunch of pictures from the new Transformers movie.”

Pam tsk’ed. “Cheater.”

Jim cocked an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, some of us aren’t so skilled in that department,” he pointed out. Pam shrugged good-naturedly.

“Sucks to be you.”

Jim looked at his watch. “It’s about five twenty. Want to head up to the lodge?”

“Sure.” Pam started to get up, and was a little surprised when Jim’s hand appeared in front of her. “Thanks,” she said again, taking it and getting up as gracefully as possible.

They walked out and started up the path to the main lodge. “So tell me more about CWS’ resident artist. What other talents do you possess?”

“Other talents?”

“Yeah, are you, like, a super athlete too?”

“No. Not at all. Well, I’m okay at volleyball, but that’s about it. I don’t even like sports that much, to be honest.” She’d watched enough of them to know that.

“Okay, then…tell me something about you.”

Pam laughed. “There’s not much to tell. Plus isn’t the purpose of these icebreakers to learn all the important stuff?”

“I think they’re more to amuse Michael,” Jim corrected.

“I’m not that interesting.”

“I disagree.” He looked at her, grinning. “Anyone that would dare to use the story to My Left Foot as her first experience with a handicapped person? Seems like they’d be pretty interesting.”

She laughed again. “From the guy that pulled out Born on the Fourth of July first? I think you’re the more interesting one. Why don’t you tell me something?”

“Okay,” he agreed easily. “What do you want to know?”

Pam’s hand subconsciously traveled to her charm. She’d only been teasing. Then again, it might be a good time to ask something about Karen. On behalf of Kelly, that is. “Um…okay. Well…are you…single or…married?” she questioned, trying her best to sound nonchalant.

“Easy one.” Jim held up his bare left hand in answer, then pushed it back in his pocket and looked at her expectantly. She met his eyes for a moment.

“How about…girlfriends?”

Jim laughed. “As in many? No, I don’t have plural girlfriends.”

Pam felt heat spreading to her cheeks. “You know what I meant. Do you have one--”

“Hey!”

They turned to see Karen approaching, looking fresh in her white peasant blouse and crisp black capris. “Hey,” Jim said in response, giving her a smile.

“Hi,” Pam added.

“Headed to dinner?” Karen asked.

“Sure are,” Jim answered. Pam just smiled and nodded. As they started walking, Karen telling them about a disastrous run-in with the office copier, Pam snuck a peek at Jim before lowering her eyes to her hands, covered in marker smudges.

His smile was still warm and wide as he listened to Karen’s story, and Pam was pretty sure her question had been answered.

****

Wednesday.

“Brother-sister cabins,” Michael began, pacing the stage in the screenhouse, “are an important part of camp tradition. What are they? I’ll tell you. For the summer, one cabin full of dudes and one cabin full of chicks pair up, in everything. They go to their activities together, they sit together at meals, all that jazz. There are some camps that keep all this separate, but that’s not the way we do it here. We want our campers to have a quality camp experience. But what is more important than quality? Equality. Now studies show that today's woman, the Ally McBeal woman, as I call her, is at a crossroads...”

“Michael,” Oscar said quietly, shaking his head. Michael shot him a look, then continued.

“I mean, I love guys being together and doing guy stuff, but to run a camp you need men and women. You know why?” He looked out at his staff.

“Because…that’s only fair?” Karen guessed. Jim smiled from his spot next to her.

“No, because you need to have that crazy sexual tension to keep things interesting,” Michael corrected her.

“Good try, though,” Jim whispered.

“So, here are the pairings for the summer. Once I’m done, get together. Talk it up. Form connections – start love connections. Wink Martindale. Two and two.” Michael giggled. “‘There will be a second date—’”

“Just list the groups,” Oscar sighed.

“All right, all right. So first up, we have the men of Iroquois with the ladies in Kickapoo,” Michael read from the sheet in his hand. “Next up, the lovely women of Shawnee-”

“Holla!” Kelly called, earning a few laughs.

“-with the studs from Seneca,” Michael said. Jim let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Hey-oh,” Andy added, grinning widely.

“So that leaves the bros in Mohawk with the chicks from Cherokee,” Michael finished. Karen smiled at Jim and held her hand up.

“Holla,” she repeated with an arched eyebrow as Jim gave her a high five. “I guess I can deal with you all summer. Better you than Andy, right?” She grinned.

“I appreciate that,” Jim said. He looked to Michael, who seemed to be watching nervously for Jim’s reaction to this “random” pairing, and Jim suddenly knew why Michael had looked guilty on Sunday when he’d asked about Karen. He shook his head a little.

“What?” Karen asked.

“Nothing,” Jim dismissed, leaning back against the wall. “You’re with Erin and…?”

“Jessica,” Karen said, nodding at the two as they came across the room and greeted Josh and Ryan. “So, got any big plans for the weekend?”

“Not really. Why?”

“Well, I have a meeting with one of my advisors Friday, so I’m leaving early for that, then dinner with some friends Friday night, but I was thinking…maybe I’d come back Saturday and we could hang out for the day?” She put a hand through her hair as she gauged his reaction.

“Um, yeah, that sounds like fun.”

“Saturday night I could stay at Kelly’s, if you want,” Karen added, her gaze still steady on him. He cut his eyes to Kelly, talking animatedly. Pam stood at her side, smiling softly. He looked back to Karen and smiled too.

“Sure. Whatever. We’ll figure that out.”

“Okay. Good,” Karen replied, nodding and matching his smile.

****

Thursday.

“So,” Kelly said, falling onto her bed, “who do you guys think is cute so far?”

It had been a long day – a meeting with the other activity leaders to discuss possible plans for the summer, individual cabin meetings with Oscar, Angela and Michael to discuss their first session’s campers, distribution of linens, supplies and camp t-shirts, a neverending safety seminar with Dwight and more – but Pam swore that Kelly looked as fresh-faced as she had at ten o’clock that morning.

“What do you mean?” Brenda asked, making up the last camper’s bed.

Kelly rolled her eyes. “On the staff? It’s been a week. You guys must have someone to crush on by now, right?” She looked expectantly between Pam and Brenda, who shrugged.

“Not really.”

“What?” Kelly exclaimed. “Not a single guy?”

“No.”

“Come on,” Kelly sighed, then her eyes went wide. “Oh. Oh. Are you…”

Pam cringed and lowered her gaze to her cell phone in her hand, knowing at what Kelly was hinting. Brenda turned some to stare at Kelly. “Am I…what?”

“Y’know…I mean, I’m totally cool with it – I love Ellen and Portia.”

Brenda’s jaw dropped. “You think I’m a lesbian just because I don’t like someone?”

“No! No, of course not. I just thought…”

“We’ve all been really busy, plus…we don’t really know everyone well yet, being new,” Pam threw in to break the tension. Surprisingly Brenda shot her a grateful look. Kelly was now looking at her too.

“Well, how about you, Pam?”

“Oh. Um, I have a boyfriend back home,” Pam answered quickly. Kelly rolled her eyes.

“Okay.”

“I do!” Pam said, offended.

“Oh, no. I’m sure you do…now,” Kelly said, propping her head on a pillow.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Pam, it’s, like, an unwritten rule – camp is like The Real World. Lots of people start with boyfriends and girlfriends back home. By the end of the summer?” Kelly laughed. “Like, no one does.”

Pam smirked. “Roy and I have been together for nine years,” she said, running her thumb along the edge of the phone. “I don’t think we’re breaking up because I have a crush on some counselor or something. Which I don’t either, by the way.”

“That’s what you say now,” Kelly sing-songed. Pam sighed and glanced at the alarm clock at her bedside.

“Okay. I’m going to go try calling Roy now, actually. I’ll see you later.”

“Have fun!” Kelly teased as Pam went out the door. “What kind of name is ‘Roy?’” Pam heard her ask as the door shut. Pam rolled her eyes.

She wasn’t one of the kids around here, carefree and ready to drop a boyfriend for some sort of summer fling. That was ridiculous. She doesn’t know anything about me, Pam assured herself as she headed up the path. If she and Roy had made it nine years already, eight weeks wouldn’t make any difference at all.

Suddenly the door to Mohawk was thrown open and Jim snuck out. He looked surprised at seeing Pam there, then grinned quickly. “Hey!”

“Hi.”

“Whatcha doin’?”

She held up her phone. “Making a call.” She took in the bucket he was carrying. “What’s that for?”

Jim glanced down for a moment. “I’m, um…about to do some late-night cleaning?”

Pam laughed. “Really?”

“No. I’m…about to pull my first prank of the summer on Dwight,” he admitted sheepishly. Pam giggled and took a step closer, peering in the bucket.

“Latex gloves, a paintbrush, an old leather glove and stage blood…?” She looked back up at him, feeling her smile spread. “This looks good. Or terrible.” His grin widened too, then he nudged her shoulder with his own.

“Hey, you wanna help me? I could use a partner in crime.”

What about Karen? “Oh…ah…”

Jim shook his head. “Oh, right. That call. No, it’s cool.”

Pam glanced at the phone’s display. Roy had mentioned a poker game at his friend Lonny’s – he might not even be home yet. “No…it’s not that late. I can try later,” she told him. Pam could have sworn Jim’s smile grew even more.

“Awesome. Ready?”

“Shouldn’t you tell me what we’re doing?” she asked.

“I’ll explain along the way,” he assured her. She just nodded, slipping her phone back in her pocket.

****

Friday.

By noon the camp had cleared out for the weekend; everyone had seemed excited to enjoy their last few days off before the work actually started. Jim had stuck around, pinning up a few more posters in Mohawk and making sure they were set on supplies. Before heading out himself he made a stop at the office – he wanted to check his email and his internet connection at his apartment had been spotty lately (he suspected his downstairs neighbor of pirating his signal).

He was surprised to find Pam seated at one of the three computers against the back wall, and even moreso when he realized she was aimlessly clicking Wikipedia links. “Hey,” he greeted her. She didn’t respond. His brows furrowed and tapped her shoulder. She jumped as she turned, pulling her earbuds out. “Sorry,” he chuckled. “What are you still doing here?”

“My ride’s going to be late,” she told him, shrugging.

“That sucks.” He took a seat next to hers. “Whatcha listening to?”

“Oh. Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Pam made a face at him. “Music,” she corrected, “obviously. Just…you know. Whatever. It’s on shuffle.” Before she could react Jim took her mp3 player from the table. “Don’t!” she cried, laughing.

“Christina Aguilera?” he asked, incredulous.

“So?”

He clicked the selector wheel to the right. “The Jackson 5…Britney Spears…Journey…oh my God, Pam, Backstreet Boys? Really?”

“Stop,” she moaned, blushing.

“More Christina…okay, wait, some Weezer – there’s hope for you.”

“Thanks a lot. What do you listen to, cool guy?”

“Oh Pam. I don’t know that I can even tell you.”

“Why’s that?” she asked

“It’s just way too cool for you,” he told her seriously. She rolled her eyes as he handed back the player. When he’d first seen her, it was her smile that had made her even more attractive. In that moment, though, he couldn’t help thinking she looked just as cute exasperated. “What time is your ride getting here?” he asked suddenly.

“Not til two,” she replied, a note of irritation creeping into her tone.

“Do you want to go get some lunch, maybe? There’s a really good place just down Lake Michigan – Marinades? We’ll be back by two, no problem.” Well, it’d be close, but still…everyone needed to eat, right?

She hesitated just a moment, then smiled some. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

*

“So?” Jim asked as Pam took a bite of her second slice of Marinades’ signature wood-fired pizza.

“Good choice,” she said around a mouthful of pepperoni and mushroom. He laughed. After she swallowed she shook her head. “This place is so tiny, I never would’ve noticed it.”

“That’s what you get living in the same place for your whole life.”

“True. If you ever come to Wyandotte, I’ll take you to Sports Brew Pub in return for today,” she said, smiling.

“See? I don’t even know where Wyandotte is, let alone Sports Brew Pub,” Jim told her.

“Oh!” Pam quickly wiped her hands on her napkin, then – as any good Michigander would – held up her right hand. “Ah, yes, get out the map,” Jim laughed.

“Of course. Wyandotte is…about here?” she said, pointing to a spot near the outside edge of the meatier section of her palm. “Right on the Detroit River.”

She has nice hands. Wait, what? “Oh, okay. Sort of near Detroit?”

“South, but yeah, not far. Have you been out there much?”

Small, but nice. Petite. And…graceful? Artist’s hands, I guess? He shook his head just a bit, as if that would remove the thought. “Not much. Some. I used to go see concerts out there. A few years ago. In Detroit, that is.” Great, now I sound like an idiot. Get over the hands already!

“Oh, cool. I don’t get to the city much. Well, we go to the casino every once in awhile,” she said, her mouth twisting some.

“We?” Jim repeated. Pam nodded.

“My boyfriend Roy and I. I don’t really like the casino, but he does, so we go together sometimes.”

“Oh. Right.” And Jim found he was no longer thinking about her hands. Or much of anything, really. In his mind he heard only the echoing of the word boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend. . He noticed Pam waiting on him to say…anything else, really, and he searched his brain for something not pertaining to this newest development. “Yeah, I’m not much for casinos either.”

Pam nodded again, smiling. “Although I am a roulette expert.”

Jim found a smile somewhere too, although he was sure it didn’t look genuine. “Mind control?”

“Yeah. Ever since I was a little kid, like, eight or nine, I could sort of control things with my mind,” she said in earnest, then squinted and waved her hand over her napkin. It remained still. “Y’know, when I want to,” she added airily.

“Obviously. Why waste it now?”

The two finished their lunches, although Jim felt vaguely disconnected from the conversation. He wasn’t sure why; so Pam had a boyfriend. She was pretty, she was smart, she was funny, she was sweet, she was…well, it shouldn’t be a surprise. Besides, he practically had a girlfriend. Or he was at least sort of dating someone. Or…whatever it was that was happening with Karen. It didn’t matter.

A lone pickup sat waiting in the parking lot when they got back. “Is that your ride?” Jim asked, pointing as he guided his car into a spot.

“Roy? Yeah.”

They got out of his car, and Pam jogged over to the man climbing out of the truck. Jim felt his eyebrows raise. Although he’d only known of this Roy for a few minutes, he couldn’t believe that this was him. Jim had been picturing a guy who complimented Pam, who looked somehow “artsy” – slim, kind of dorky, maybe with some sort of messy haircut…Jim pushed his hand through his hair and let that thought trail away. It wasn’t important what he was picturing, really.

Because here stood a man who was no artist, if looks could clue one in on such a thing. Roy had clearly been some sort of athlete – probably a football star - in high school, now gone a bit thicker in the waist from his glory days, but still big and burly. He wrapped his arms around Pam, picking her up as if she only weighed a few pounds, then setting her down again. He had a short, no-nonsense haircut, a day or two’s worth of stubble on his chin – and, now that he’d greeted his girlfriend, a distinctly suspicious look he was sharing with Jim.

“Babe, this is Jim Halpert,” Pam introduced, taking Roy’s hand and pulling him toward Jim. “He’s an activity leader with me. He does recreation.”

“What’s up,” Roy offered, still sounding guarded.

“Nice to meet you,” Jim returned, as genially as possible.

Roy looked down at Pam. “We gotta get going,” he told her. Pam’s happy expression melted a little.

“Oh…I wanted to give you a tour.”

“Maybe next time, honey.”

“Okay. Um, lemme just get my bag – I left it in the office,” Pam said, hurrying off. Roy gave a good natured sigh.

“Women, right?”

“Yeah,” Jim agreed through a forced chuckle. The two were quiet until Pam returned a minute later.

“All right, ready now?”

“Sure.”

“Good. Lonny got us Tigers tickets for tonight’s game,” he said, gesturing to his Miguel Cabrera jersey.

But she doesn’t like sports. Right? “Should be a good matchup,” Jim said. Roy looked over at him.

“Yeah…you a baseball fan?”

“Big time.” Jim was, but he knew he put a little extra emphasis on the answer. What am I trying to prove? He glanced at Pam, who still hadn’t regained all her former cheerfulness, then back at Roy. “Do you know where you two are sitting, or…?”

“Oh, no, Pammy’s not going,” Roy laughed, squeezing Pam’s shoulder some. “I’m goin’ with some buddies. Just the cheap seats, but hey, a game’s a game.”

‘Pammy?’ “Right. Well, you guys have a good weekend,” Jim said.

“Thanks, man. See ya,” Roy said, getting back in the driver’s seat. Pam gave Jim a genuine smile as she opened the passenger door.

“Thanks for lunch,” she told him. Jim nodded.

“Thanks for the company,” he said. Pam started to step up into the truck, but stepped back down and came over to Jim.

“Here,” she said, holding out her mp3 player, raising her eyebrows. “’Cool’ me up some this weekend, okay? Stuff you think even uncool me might like.”

Jim knew he should say no – he had plans, she could very well be teasing him, plus this felt weirdly like making a mix tape for another guy’s girlfriend.

“Sure,” he promised instead, taking the device.

Dammit.

“Thanks,” she repeated, running back to the truck and hopping in. “See you Sunday!”

Jim gave a wave as they pulled out. With song suggestions already flooding over him, he felt pathetic wishing the weekend would pass quickly.

But you’re spending this weekend with Karen. You should be excited for it, stupid. Despite that mental reminder, he didn’t feel particularly excited. Just pathetic. And now sort of guilty, too.

He clenched the player and shook his head.

Dammit. This is not good.