Author's Chapter Notes:
Okay, so, I couldn't let the whole weekend pass without letting our protagonists meet! Thanks so much for your reviews thus far! I will be answering them as soon as possible - I didn't think anyone would mind me posting this first. ;)
By the way - interested in finding your way around camp? Oh good, because I brought a "map!" :D
Chapter title from the White Stripes' "We're Going To Be Friends."
By the way - interested in finding your way around camp? Oh good, because I brought a "map!" :D
Chapter title from the White Stripes' "We're Going To Be Friends."
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!
