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Author's Chapter Notes:

The whole subplot of The Convict had me on the edge of my seat, laughing hysterically and nearly crying, so that's where this came from. I don't know much about hunting or cigars, or Frisbee golf for that matter, but I do share Pam's dislike of the Beach Boys.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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It’s September in the sixth grade, and Jenny Farmer, Lindsay Stenkowski, Courtney Jacobs and Ruth Ann Morris start an exclusive club. Pam is not invited to join, even though she shares a table in the classroom with Lindsay and Jenny and used to be best friends with Lindsay in third grade.  Every week, Jenny shows up to school and says in a sickly sweet voice, “Did you watch 90210 last night, Pam?”  and Pam is forced to say no, because she doesn’t watch 90210, she likes watching Full House or Step By Step instead. Of course, she doesn’t say this, but Lindsay knows. She watches Pam, and then after Pam has opened a book or started her work, Lindsay says to Jenny, “An-cay ou-yay elieve-bay er-hay?” Jenny always snickers and replies something like, “e-shay is-hay o-say orky-day.”  Linsday laughs and whispers, “e-shay obably-pray aped-tay Ull-fay Ouse-hay!” and though it stings her every time, she can’t be so very upset.  Pam thinks how stupid they must be to think she doesn’t understand them, and above all, how stupid they sound when they say stuff like “Orky-day” and she vows never to speak Pig Latin in her whole life.

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 It’s her first day in college and she’s sitting in her new history class. She’s vowed to talk to people; she wants to glean every experience out of her college time, so she’s ready to break out of her shell. Two cute boys next to her are talking about the World Cup, held that summer in France, and somehow, conversation turns to Ricky Martin, the pop star whose World Cup song has been ridiculously overplayed. She decides to be bold and jump in on the conversation, and bursts out with, “Ricky Martin? Didn’t he used to be in that boy band, Macanudo? They were the worst!” The boys stop talking and look at her like she’s crazy. “A Macanudo is a cigar, not a band.” A girl behind him laughs, a little unkindly. “I think you mean Menudo, the band,” she smirks, and Pam smiles weakly. She turns back to her notebook and scratches the date into the top of the paper. If these were different people, they might all have a good laugh about it, but they don’t seem very friendly, and laugh at her, rather than with her. She’s not sorry when her first class ends, and she makes sure she doesn’t sit near them anymore. She’ll find different people to laugh over this with.

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It’s the week before her eighteenth birthday, and she and Roy are having an argument. “It’s my eighteenth birthday, and I’m sorry if I want my boyfriend there!” she says, petulantly, she knows, but still.   

“I know, babe, but my dad and brother are letting me come hunting with them this year!  Saturday’s the first day of deer season,” Roy retorts, looking anxious.

“You would rather shoot Bambi than come to my birthday party?” she asks incredulously.

“Well, I’ve always wanted to go on this trip, so maybe I do,” he says defiantly, “You’ll be eighteen for a whole year, and we can do something nice the weekend after.”
Pam glares at him. He doesn’t get it. Besides, hunting is a ridiculous pastime. “You really want to go kill innocent animals?” 

Roy looks at her like she’s crazy. “Yeah, we eat the meat, we’re not wasting it, what’s wrong with that?” Pam sighs. Hunting sucks, and right now, so does her boyfriend.

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It’s just before the camera crews are scheduled to arrive at Dunder-Mifflin to film some documentary, and Pam is taking a Friday off to go see a friend from high school who lives near New York City. She can’t stop talking about how much fun they’re going to have, going all out in the city to have a good time. Phyllis and Meredith are so excited for her, Dwight reminds her to carry money in a waist pack underneath her clothes, because pickpockets can breach a purse like that, and just before she leaves, Jim gives her a lazy grin and a “Send me a postcard,” which makes her stomach feel a little funny. It’s only when she arrives at Rachel’s that she thinks she might have made a slight mistake in coming, for Rachel tells her enthusiastically about this new league she just joined and how she can’t wait for Pam to try out Frisbee golf! Pam gamely agrees to try it, and Rachel runs with the idea. By the second day of “golfing”, Pam is ready to throw a Frisbee at Rachel and her friends, who seem to have one-track minds and act as though they invented the “sport”. Pam can’t fathom how dorky she looks, jogging after a rubber disc, and trying to get it into a goofy basket, all the while practically tasting the city but not even getting close. She makes excuses to leave a day early, and on her way, stops at a drugstore to buy a postcard.

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It’s Michael’s birthday, and she and Jim have escaped to go on their cheering-Kevin-up mission. She’s acutely aware that she’s in his car for the first time, and she doesn’t know why she feels this way. She’s relieved when Jim flips on the radio and tunes it to the oldies station. Oldies always seems so summery to her, but they seem perfect for an exhilarating escape from work. The Shirelles’ song ends, and “Good Vibrations” comes on next. Pam groans aloud, she can’t stop herself. Jim gives her a quick sideling glance. “What was that for?” he asks, smiling.

“I just really hate the Beach Boys,” she laughs, and he feigns shock. “You don’t like the Beach Boys? Pam, they’re an American institution. That’s like hating SUVs and subdivisions,” he says, looking straight ahead as he drives, but still smiling.

“I just can’t STAND the falsetto voices,” she explains, laughing. “Come on, you don’t think that’s sexy?” he asks, and she almost blushes. “Absolutely the opposite of sexy,” she says fervently, grinning out the window. He entertains her the rest of the way to Rite-Aid by singing along to every song, even the commercials, in his own brand of falsetto. She laughs herself silly, and knows that even though she will always hate the Beach Boys, she’ll always smile when she hears one of their songs.



McGigi is the author of 22 other stories.
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