Jim isn’t sure how he got through the rest of that awkward, awkward Wegman’s run. He does remember sitting at home later, blindly watching whatever Mark had on and responding in monosyllables until his roommate looked over at him in concern. He blew it off, but he knew Mark was worried when he offered to go shoot hoops over at the Y the next morning. Mark never wanted to get up on Saturday mornings; if he was offering to, that meant he was seriously concerned. Jim tried to assuage the concern, but he didn’t think Mark was wrong—physical exercise would probably help.

So that Saturday morning they found themselves at the Scranton Y in shorts and t-shirts, scrimmaging two-on-two and three-on-three with the other guys whose Saturday morning priorities included sweat and stink instead of cartoons, food, or even sleep. Jim was actually feeling pretty good. The best game was when he had backed down a guy about his height but twice the volume, finishing him with a baby hook shot a couple times and defending successfully on the other end until he and Mark won 11-2 (make it take it, ones and twos). The guy kinda reminded him of Roy—just enough to hone the competitive edge, not enough to throw him off his game. Now he was shooting free throws to cool down, though, so his adrenalin was down, and the guy was sitting over there on a bench chatting with his friends. That was all it took to send his mind down the same paths it always traced. He thought repetitive routines were supposed to be calming, but this was anything but.

Bounce bounce swish

What was she doing right now?

Bounce bounce swish

She was probably in bed with Roy, maybe snuggling in on a warm Saturday, cuddling up and refusing to leave the bed.

Bounce bounce swish

Her hair was probably frizzing around like it did in any kind of humidity whatever, and she looked like—well, even more like—an angel.

Bounce bounce swish

What was that last night? “I don’t really see you going for” an office romance?

Bounce bounce swish

Like he was someone a sexless, romance-less being, with no needs or urges.

Bounce bounce clank

He looked up to see Mark (who had been feeding him the ball after every made free throw) chasing down a long rebound. Guess it was time to get out of there.

As he hit the showers he tried to think of better things. Of a better side of what she’d said. After all, she’d said he wouldn’t go for an awkward office romance. That meant she thought he was better than Michael and Jan, right? I mean, low bar, he thought to himself, but not completely pathetic? OK, it was completely pathetic. But he needed something.

And he was her friend. He sighed as he pulled on jeans and a (new, not-sweat-soaked) t-shirt in the locker room. He really was, even if he also wanted so badly to be more. So it wasn’t fair to her to punish her, even in his mind, for what was probably an innocent remark. It’s not like it was written on his face or anything—“I’m in love with you” (he winced as he thought the words)—he’d been working on being more discreet recently anyway. So she probably didn’t mean anything by it.

By the time they got home, he was feeling like he owed Pam some kind of restitution for the way he’d been feeling about her—even if she never knew it in the first place. Maybe he could figure out something about that “jam” thing she’d shown him and present her the news as a peace offering. Hell, maybe it really would be about Dwight’s beet jam and they could use it in a prank of some kind. He flopped onto the couch and glanced over at Mark’s new laptop on the coffee table and it hit him.

Mark’s new laptop.

Mark’s old laptop had the NBC Universal software installed on it when the camera men came over to shoot some establishing shots and realized Jim had pretty much unfettered access to Mark’s stuff as well as his own. But Mark had busted that one by dropping it on the stairs, and now a shiny new laptop was sitting right there in front of Jim with no embargo software on it at all. Everything after that realization was remarkably fast, though it would remain stuck in his mind forever.

“Hey man, mind if I borrow your computer?”

“Sure. Same password as the old one! Just don’t go downloading anything I wouldn’t download!”

He typed in Mark’s password and pulled up Google. A short search and a longer scroll later and he was looking at what was undeniably an Office-oriented site on the topic of “jam.” But while his eyes could acknowledge that fact, his brain was screaming in denial—and a totally different part of him was screaming in triumph. There it was right in front of him, clear as day: he wasn’t the only one who saw it. It was written on his face. And all these people were almost as invested in it as him.

And then he thought: “Pam’s looking for this too.”

And he started to panic.

It was literally all over his face. In all these stills, videos, supercuts even of every time he looked at her at work. And she was going to see.

Panic wasn’t enough of a word.