March 1996

Jim Halpert had a problem. He had a crush, a desperate and unbearable crush, on a girl who only saw him as a friend.

The crush started about seven months ago, when he was in Literature and was seated one row over and one seat behind a girl with curly hair, green eyes and a pretty smile. Her name was Pamela Beesly, though she was quick to ask the teacher to just call her Pam. She was friends with the girl behind her and at the beginning of class or during pairs exercises Pam was often turned in her seat and Jim could hear and see her easily. Jim felt like he got to know her pretty well through the semester; he learned she was into drawing and painting, that she had an eclectic taste in movies, and her favorite music was Alternative Rock with some TLC and cheesy 80s mixed in. She had a sister in 8th grade, same as his little sister Larissa. And with the way she talked about her weekend plans, he was pretty sure she didn't have a boyfriend.

Jim did his best to act like he wasn't eavesdropping but he wanted to hear everything, and when he and Pam made eye contact once or twice every class he would smile, hoping maybe she'd include him in their conversation. She would smile back, a slight pink tint would reach her cheeks, but that was about as far as interactions went.

And sadly, thanks to basketball season, his schedule was moved around and he wasn't in Literature or any class with her the next semester. He figured between not having classes with her and being preoccupied by basketball, the crush would fade. But then he would see Pam in the cafeteria, smiling and laugh, and he'd get the same flutter in his chest that he got all last semester.

He rarely talked to his parents or siblings about things like this, crushes and girlfriends, but when his older brother Tom was home from college one weekend, Jim asked him how Tom would go about talking to a girl he liked but wasn't in class with and didn't have any friends in common with. Jim tried to bring it up casually, playing video games in the basement.

"Uh oh, does Jimmy have a crush?" Tom teased.

Jim rolled his eyes, "Just, what do I say that doesn't make me sound like a weirdo?"

"Who is it?" Tom had only graduated from Scranton High School the previous year, and Jim knew his older brother considered himself knowledgeable of all the pretty girls in the entire school.

"You don't know her," Jim mumbled.

"Freshman, huh?"

"She my year, and she's not a cheerleader or a booster so I doubt you know her," Jim snapped.

Tom's eyes widened a bit before he let out a laugh, "Wow, yeah, you got it bad!"

Jim tossed his video game controller on the floor and stood up, "Forget it."

"Aw, c'mon Jimmy!" Tom said.

"What's going on?" Their father had just come down the stairs, heading for the fridge full of sodas and beer.

"Jim's too scared to talk to a girl he likes," Tom said with a grin.

His dad arched an eyebrow at Jim and smiled slightly before turning to Tom, "Don't you have an essay due on Monday?"

"Yeah," Tom said, turning back to the TV and resuming his game.

"You think you wanna get working on that, or is my tuition money going towards yet another C?"

Tom looked back to their father's rather stern face, then switched off the game and grumbled as he stood and walked to the steps. Jim's dad gave Jim a smile and a shrug, then grabbed a beer and a soda and asked Jim to sit down with him.

"Asking your brother for girl advice, huh?" his dad said with a smirk, handing Jim the soda can.

Jim scratched the back of his neck and tilted his head down, knowing his cheeks were bright red. "Yeah, dumb idea."

Dad popped open his beer and took a sip, "So, wanna tell me about her?"

Not really, Jim thought, but he figured he needed to say something to get his family off his case, "She was in my lit class and I would overhear her talk to her friend, and she seems like she's really funny and really nice, but, I don't know, we don't really have anything in common and now we're not even in class together anymore."

His dad nodded and took another swig of beer. "Did I ever tell you about meeting your mom?" he asked after a moment.

"Yeah, you guys met at Penn State," Jim said, bracing himself for some pointless 'when I was your age' anecdote.

Dad chuckled, "Yes, we did. But did I tell you how?" Jim shook his head and Dad smiled, "Well, she worked in the library, I asked her to help me find a book for a research paper one day and she was so cute and sweet and immediately I got the biggest crush on her. But, I had no idea how to get something going beyond asking her for help at the library."

Jim finally looked up and sat a little straighter. "Why did you do?"

"Well, one day, after really jazzing myself up for it, I walked up to her desk and said that I was looking for a novel to read for fun and if she had any suggestions. She kinda smiled and told me a few of her favorite books to read, so I went and checked a couple out. I read through them and when I returned them, I made sure she was at the check-in desk and talked about how much I enjoyed her suggestions, just went on-and-on about it. I slipped in there that we should grab a coffee and talk more about the books. She smiled and said okay, and well, we've been together since."

Jim looked down to the soda can in his hands, "Were you afraid she was going to say no?"

"Of course I was, but I figured, worst thing would be she says no and I'm too embarrassed to set foot in the library for a week, and that I could get over that. But I wouldn't get over not trying and potentially losing out on something great." His dad leaned forward and looked Jim in the eyes, "Jim, in my experience, most good things are pretty scary at first. But you can't get the good things if you don't try."

The words stuck with Jim, that he can't get the good things if he doesn't try. He had to at least try and talk to Pam, but when could he do it? Smiling at her when they were near each other in the cafeteria line wasn't getting it, nor was trying to encourage his basketball teammates to sit a little closer to the windows where she always sat with her dark-haired friend.

Then came the day Jim noticed his yogurt was expired. Instinctively, he looked over to Pam only to see the same pink cup on her tray and a ridiculous plan formed in his head: this was his chance. His brain tried to talk him out of it, listing the reasons it was dumb to go over there and tell her her yogurt was probably expired, and that she would think he was a creep. But she turned and smiled at him and immediately the rest of his body signed onto the dumb plan and he stood and made his way to her table.

So far the dumb plan was working, kind of. Jim was having lunch with Pam and her friend Liz nearly every day, talking and laughing with them and then walking with Pam to painting class afterwards. And he really liked that, having a new friend, especially someone as funny and sweet and talented as Pam was. But once in a while their hands would bump together in the hallway, and he would remember, great as this friendship was, how much he wanted to be more than that.

It sometimes was worst than just not talking to her, being her friend but also having such a hopeless crush. He had no idea how to tell her without it making it weird, or without jeopardizing the friendship they were forming. She would have to make the first move in that direction, he reckoned, although he was doing his best to give her the opportunities to hopefully make that first move.

One big opportunity came up in early March: her art show. Pam found him at last week at his locker, handing him a flyer and shyly asking if he could come. She had earned a featured spot and would have a whole display dedicated to her work. He said he would of course come to the show and the smile she gave him made his heart beat twice as fast.

But now there was a problem: The Scranton Boys Varsity Basketball Team was on a roll, going to the conference championship game for the first time in a decade. The game was scheduled for Friday - at the same time as the opening reception for the school art show. Jim was finished with the junior varsity season, but the pressure was high for the JV players to attend, to the point that his coach said any JV player that skips the game better have a doctor's note to excuse them. The coach laughed, but every player knew he was only half-kidding.

Jim reluctantly mention Pam the game while walking to her painting class, and that it was kind of important for him to go. "I'm so sorry, I would much rather go to your art show."

"That's fine, I understand why your coach wants you to go. Besides, the show will be up for a month." If Pam was upset she hid it well, her smiled seemed sincere.

"Can a request a personal tour at a later date then?" Jim asked with a smirk.

Her cheeks reddened a little, "We'll see if I have time."

"Because you're going to be just too famous after Friday?" Jim teased.

"That's right," Pam replied. They said their goodbyes in the hallway and he watched her go into class. Usually she would look back at him and smile before walking into the classroom but today she kept her head tilted down and never looked to him.

Friday came and at lunch Jim, on his way to sit down with Pam, was intercepted by his teammates, insisting he eat lunch with them today. He looked to over Pam, who smiled weakly and gave a shrug, and Jim smiled back before sitting with his team. The cafeteria all but broke out into a pep rally when the principal came over the loud speaker to wish the team luck; everyone at Jim's table stood and started hooting and hollering. "Oh, and there is also the opening reception of the art show in the library from five to seven pm." The principal added at the end. Jim couldn't bring himself to look at Pam.

The conference champion game was definitely a thriller. With five minutes to go, Scranton High was maintaining a consistent lead, though Dunmore was only ever behind by one or two scores. Jim looked to his watch: 6:40. If the game finished in exactly five minutes, he could maybe slip out, and make it to the library with a few minutes to spare. But between a lengthy time out and some arguing between the coaches and refs, the game clock was hardly budging.

Jim looked again, 6:45pm, still three-and-a-half minutes on the game clock, and another delay due to another time out. Jim looked to the gym door; he was at the end of the bench and could possibly slip out unnoticed.

"Halpert!" Jim had gotten only about five feet from the bench before his coach shouted at him. "You got somewhere better to be?"

At least six pairs of eyeballs were on him and Jim started shuffling back. Then he paused: sure, he wanted to see his high school get the conference title. But he also has made a promise to his friend (that he just happened to have a hopeless crush on) to be there for her first art show.

"Halpert!" Jim ignored his coach before the gym door slammed behind him. He was in full sprint down the hall to the main staircase, then up and to the left for the library.

The reception table was being cleaned up and it appeared the only people there were the art teachers and a handful of students. Jim looked quickly around the maze of temporary displays and then got the attention of one of the teachers.

"Excuse me, is, um, is Pam Beesly still here?" he asked.

The teacher nodded and pointed towards the back of the library, gently reminding Jim he had about ten minutes. Jim thanked her and made his way through the art maze, nervous when he saw a ponytail of golden brown curls. She was facing away from him, playing with the long sleeves of her purple turtleneck.

"Hey," he called to her softly.

Pam turned quickly, her eyes widening when she saw him. "Jim, hi. Is - is the game over?"

Jim tiled his head from side-to-side, "More or less."

"Okay" Pam said, suspicious. "Who won?"

"I think they are both winners for the hard fought game," Jim said. He took a step closer to the display and started to study her paintings. "Wow, these are all amazing. I bet everyone was crowding around your display."

"Um, sure, I mean, my parents and little sister came, a few friends."

"Well, I'm going to make sure all my friends come by and see these also," Jim said.

"Jim," Pam said softly after a moment. "Did you… leave the game early to come here?"

Jim looked to her out of the side of his eye, and gave a small smile with a shrug.

"Isn't your coach going to be mad?"

"I think he's already mad, he kind of yelled at me as I left the gym." He looked to Pam, her eyes even wider than before and her fingers nervously lacing together. "Hey, my only regret is that I didn't ditch the game sooner. Because judging by the crumbs on the reception table, I missed a pretty mean snack plate."

Pam giggled, the worried expression mostly leaving her face.

"And besides, the most important thing is to be there for my friend," Jim said quietly. He looked at her nervously, and her slightly red and shiny eyes studied his face.

"Okay, everyone, we'll be closing the doors in five minutes," a teacher shouted across the room.

Jim turned to Pam, "I hope the offer of a personal art show tour at a later date still stands."

"Like I said before, we'll see," Pam said with a smirk.

Jim shuffled his feet, trying to jazz himself up for his next question. "Hey, um, are you hungry?" Pam nodded and it gave Jim the little bit of extra courage he needed. "I was thinking we could get some burgers."

"Okay, yeah, um, I have my car here, what about you?"

"Nah, I was going to catch a ride, so, this works out well." He nodded towards the door, "Ready?"

Pam smiled and they walked side-by-side out of the library, down the stairs and out the door. As they walked towards the parking lots, they heard cheering and car horns coming from the gymnasium side of the school.

"Sounds like we won," Jim said.

"Yeah, sounds like," Pam replied. She was silent for a moment before shyly saying, "I'm sorry you missed it."

"I'm not," Jim said, tossing her a smile then looking back ahead. After a few paces he felt a brush against his knuckles, and then something curled around his fingers. He tried not to react, worried if he looked at her with the slightly dumbfound look he knew he had on his face that she may pull her hand away. Instead he gave her fingers a squeeze and started asking her what her favorite burger toppings and milkshake flavors were. Her hand stayed in his until they reached her car.

There was definitely going to be hell to pay the next time he saw his teammates or his coach, but Jim wasn't sorry. Not one bit.