Pam woke up at three in the morning. Not because of the loud beeps of the alarm clock or the gentle rising of the sun, but because of her apprehension. The type of excitement mixed with nerves for the upcoming day that ignited the built-in alarm in her mind. She woke up, put on her favorite pink jacket to avoid the crisp Autumn air approaching them, and pulled on her white sneakers. She gently pulled open the drawer on her nightstand and shook her mom until she groaned sleepily. 

“Hun, why are you up so early?” Helene mumbled groggily. 

“It’s field trip day!” Pam cheered loudly but quietly enough to not disturb her sleeping father. 

It took a moment for it to register in Helene’s mind which was still off in dreamland. Pam had a class trip today. Usually, trips gave Pam intense anxiety, to the point of feeling unwell. She would feel a shiver at the visual image of a yellow bus with the children smashed in and the notion that she should talk when in the presence of adult figures who may not be aware of her condition. Most of the time, she stayed at home and kept herself busy with small chores and aligning her plushies to avoid any fear of missing out. 

Helene was tentative to send Pam, but Ms. Flax was going to be a chaperone. 

Although, it was only a trip to the art gallery of Scranton. 

••

When Mr. Flenderson announced that there would be a field trip, Pam was already frantically planning excuses to have her mom tell her teacher so she could avoid the event in its entirety. 

“We are going to um… a… oh! An art gallery!” Toby announced. 

Jim and Pam simultaneously looked at one another, their green eyes in accordance with satisfaction with the location. After seeing him so preoccupied with Karen, she hadn’t gotten to look into those eyes and see an open door into the thoughts of Jim Halpert. Her door was guarded, yet somehow Jim had fumbled enough with the lock and began to find a golden key, it was now only a matter of twisting and turning it for it to work. 

Jim shook with excitement, his mouth moving with speed and his hands making motions to go with every word. Pam had her notebook in from of her, gently sketching her visions of the art galleries. 

The way Jim was so thrilled to see something so close to Pam be brought to life made her stomach flutter. It wasn’t the usual moths in her tummy that flew around, agitating her tummy and making her wince at the discomfort it gave her. It wasn’t the moths that flew in an erratic and panicked pattern, but rather it was gentle butterflies. They were winged with fragile, pastel-colored wings and flew in a soothing, flown pattern. It made her tummy feel funny, but it was the good kind. 

••

The children gathered onto the bus, one by one. Karen was attached to Jim at the hip, ensuring her seat next to him. Pam wanted to sit with him and the thought of sitting with someone else who didn’t know her made her fingers go numb. To her, everyone in her class felt as if they were a stranger. Submissively, she watched as the two made their way to the bus, giggling the way there. She situated herself in the back corner. That was the only time having a number of children that was not even came in use for the young girl. 

As the bus rumbled along to the destination, Pam kept her eyes on all the trees through the windows, her mind processing it all in terms of sketches and drawings. 

••

Once off the bus, the children got into groups of four with their chaperones. 

“I need Pam, Karen, Jim, and Dwight,” she heard Ms. Flax's voice request. 

Pam made her way to the blond, her rain coming back to a drizzle at the sound of a familiar voice. 

••

All Pam knew was that if she wasn’t already speechless, the art would have left her speechless. The expressions and emotions created by the simple strokes of paints using warm and cool colors piqued her interest. Her mind invested itself in each of the marks of color on the canvases, analyzing what the artist was trying to convey. 

Her eyes swelled in awe at the techniques used for each of the pieces. 

Jim loved watching her eyes trace over each line created by the artist, her tongue showing a tiny bit between her lips, revealing her focus. She was so quiet, yet her actions conveyed her admiration for the pieces on the white walls. 

Pam stopped at a watercolor of a small office building.