“Who. Put. My. Stapler. In. Jello.” Dwight whined.

Jim snickered, unable to suppress the urge. Pam perked up, pressing her lips together, but laughter danced in her eyes. 

“Jim! I knew it!” Dwight wailed. He marched to their desk, red with anger. Others were starting to turn towards them. As Dwight neared, Jim stood up to remove their attentive eyes from Pam. She sat quietly, but her bright cheeks and smiling eyes showed her amusement. Once Pam was more of a spectator, Jim pulled out some jello. 

“How did you know it was me?”

“Your eating jello.”

“So?”

Dwight scuffed. Mr. Scott walked in. The children raced to their seats like squirrels to their trees. 

He started to rant and the children peeled their eyes from the extravagant prank and towards Micheal, who was demanding attention, wanting the children to focus on every word. 

“You can’t handle me fully listening, Mr. Scott,” Dwight interrupted matter-of-factly. 

Micheal only sighed and then began sharing about his date with a girl who was already married, begging for each child’s input. 

Pam carefully zipped open her backpack as quietly as possible and pulled out a notebook. It was a deep blue sketchbook that Penny had found her after the night when Pam showed her mom the stapler drawing. It had thin pages of cheap paper, but standard enough quality for being bought at a grocery store. Penny had insisted they go buy Pam a sketchbook, as little sisters do. Penny had always been put in a hard situation, her sister always stunted in communication and growth alike because of her disorder. The younger child always found a way to fill up an empty room and was eager to please, but she lacked an older sister figure to look up to, a role model to lean on. She wanted to fill that role for her nervous sister, but she longed to have someone show her the pre-paved path of life. Although at age five Penny wasn’t fully conscious of this, her behaviors and support of her sister filled the gap that was missing, and she loved when her sister found something to show her. 

Jim watched as Pam sketched on the paper, trying to see what she was drawing. Her lines formed a careful drawing of a simple, cartoonish Micheal next to a dumbfounded woman sitting in a restaurant. The caricature was unmistakably Micheal, and Jim beamed at her fascination in the pencil and paper contact and her expression softening. Jim cover his mouth with his hand to cover and hold in any escaping giggles as he watched the drawing come together. Pam looked at him with her eyebrows up and eyes searching for approval from Jim. The red in his cheeks and his inability to keep that laughter down reassured her as she bite on her upper lip and smiled, her green eyes gleaming. 

“That’s frame-worthy, Beesly,” Jim whispered encouragingly. 

Pam shrugged and flashed a mischievous smile. 

••

The two swings swayed in the wind next to each other on the playground. They were the two to the far right, Pam’s favorite. If looked at from a certain angle, the sun reflected from the metal of the chains and stung your eyes. The comfort of the warmth seeping from the black, rubber seats. The two seats were empty, but patiently waiting. They were no longer occupied with isolating silence but occupied with a mutual understanding that required words to be unspoken.