Shot to the Heart

(August 1-3, 2014)

Chapter 1: "Brand New Day"

It really began, again, late Thursday afternoon: After his shift in the Mystery Shack Snack Bar ended, T.K. O'Grady had asked Mabel if she'd like to go to the mall with him.

Of course she did, so she rode Wendy's old bike and T.K. rode his own and they had a fine time window-shopping, buying a few little odds and ends, and spoiling their dinners with puffy, soft, salty pretzels and icy Sluppies—the latter a Gravity Falls special, slushy frozen drinks that tasted nothing at all like the advertised flavors (in a blindfolded taste test, nine out of ten people would say "sugar water" even if sipping a Mango-Pineapple-Coconut Giganto with habanero syrup) and were also guaranteed to cause acute-onset brain freeze.

Then in the late afternoon, after they left the mall, the two teens rode downtown and roamed around for a while, wasted a little time in the arcade, saw Pacifica as she was leaving a department store and greeted her. She was in a hurry, though, because she was getting ready for a dinner date with her boyfriend Adam at the fancy Fruits de Mer Somptueux restaurant. Mabel and Teek just chatted with her for a minute, and then they started for home.

And that was when they had to stop for heavy traffic passing along the cross street. A bus cruised by, decorated like something out of a clown's nightmare, with the sounds of guitar chords and tambourine jangles spilling from it. Another, smaller bus followed, painted completely black, though with colorful stencils of frowny faces, and by the time they saw the third one, painted to look like a junked, rusty school busy with shattered windows barely clinging in the frames—though if you looked close, that was the effect of transparent decals—Mabel knew.

Oh, she knew. "We gotta get to the Shack, and fast!" she yelled, and they tore off, zipping across the street during a temporary lull in traffic, pedaling hard as they left town on the two-mile long uphill grade to the new Mystery Shack sign and the turnoff to the parking lot, Mabel in the lead by ten lengths.

Mabel didn't bother to park the bike but leaped off, leaving it to wheel along across the lawn on its own for ten yards before its momentum ran out and it wobbled and clattered to the ground. She left Teek behind and burst through the gift-shop door, grabbed an airhorn from a shelf, and blew an ear-shattering blast on it (causing the three remaining customers to jump like Mexican jumping beans on uppers) and yelled, "Code psychedelic, people! This is not a drill!"

"Wowsers!" Wendy said, wincing at a second WHONNK! from the horn. "Mabel, what's up?"

Dipper, at the cash register, shook his head. "And . . . I think I'm deaf now."

"It's back! It's back!" Mabel shouted, leaping onto the counter like Teddy Roosevelt charging up San Juan Hill. "People! Musicians are pouring into town!"

"Oh, dude, it's Woodstick!" Wendy said to Dipper. "I'd totally forgotten that was coming up this weekend!"

"Huh?" Dipper tapped on his right ear. "Something's totally rotten and weak?"

Mabel ran down the counter as far as the register. Up there, she even towered over Wendy, but she bent over to press a finger against the redhead's lips. "Shhh! Sh-sh! Must not let Grunkle Stan know!"

"Know what?" rumbled a rusty-sounding voice as Stanley Pines himself came in from the Staff Only doorway. "What's shakin', Pumpkin?"

"Nothing!" Mabel said, spreading jazz hands and smiling in a strained way to show her innocence. "Nothing at all, Grunkle Stan!" She giggled nervously. "There's certainly not a music festival for indie bands in Gravity Falls this weekend, if that's what you're implying!"

"Yeah, there is," Stan said. He paused and snatched a T-shirt from a startled tourist's hands. "Gimme that! Uh-uh, you don't want this tee. It'll shrink if you even get it near water. Buy the sweatshirt instead! Same design, colorfast, won't shrink, makes you look hip, and only five bucks more! It's a steal, I'm tellin' ya! A steal!" He thrust the sweatshirt into the man's hands, grabbed his shoulders and shook him until his head bobbed. "Buy! The! Sweatshirt!"

"Uhbudauhbudaubada—Uh." The guy's eyes still rattled a little even after Stan let go of his shoulders. "Oh, yeah. Uh. Thanks!" the guy said vaguely, and still looking stunned, he took the sweatshirt to Dipper at the register.

"Where were we?" Stan asked, standing next to Wendy and leaning his elbow on the counter. "Oh, yeah. I lured Woodstick back into town this year! You guys must not've been out on the highway lately—you'd have noticed the billboards."

"Wait, what?" Mabel asked, jumping down from the counter. "You lured them back? You hate Woodstick!"

"Pft! Nah, I used to hate that they pulled tourists away from the Shack," Stan told her. "But now that I'm gettin' to be a music promoter, it's a business opportunity! Somebody's gotta sell these yutzes their food, drinks, and tchotchkes, overcharge 'em for parking, and rent 'em time in the portable potties! And that someone might's well be me!"

Dipper rang up the sweatshirt and the tourist asked meekly, "Should our family hang around for this? We have teen girls."

"Yeah, dude!" Wendy said. "They'll be totally stoked, and you'll be, like, Dad of the Year!"

"I'll do it!" the tourist said. He headed out the door yelling, "Hey, hon, guess what?"

Stan patted Wendy's shoulder. "You're learnin', girl! You're learnin! I'm so proud of you right now—but get to work! Soos ain't payin' you to stand around! Go sell somebody something!"

However, since the other tourists had also left, Wendy had no one to sell to, except Stan, Mabel, and Dipper, so instead, she asked Stan, "Hey, the Tombstones are playing on Saturday, right?"

"Yeah, Sunday afternoon, too—two forty-five minute sets." Stan held both hands up, like Mabel protesting false innocence. "An' just like the out-of-town groups, they get a fixed percentage of the gross, based on the time they play, not on how many are in the group! And Robbie Valentino signed a contract already, so don't bug me about it!"

"Good for Robbie," Wendy said. She hopped up and sat on the counter, unintentionally giving Dipper a distracting view of her derriere. "Hey, old dude, I know what's been up. You got him a couple of gigs out and about recently, I hear. He got the van fixed finally, so now they can make a little money on weekends, if they get known enough."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm doin' my part," Stan grumbled. "Let 'em learn to play music people wanna hear, and from then on, it's up to them!"

"Where's it gonna be?" Mabel asked. "Is it gonna be way out in the same field as before? Are we gonna have it here at the Shack? Oh, my gosh! What bands are coming? Don't make another balloon! Hey, Grunkle Stan, if you'd like a Sev'ral Timez reunion, I think I can arrange it for ten per cent of their take!"

"Huh? What? Who's them?" Stan asked.

"Boy group," Dipper, whose hearing was returning, said, tearing his gaze away from Wendy's tidy round butt. "Mabel stole them from their crooked manager and set them free two years ago. You don't want to know about it. Hi, Teek!"

T.K. had just come inside. He waved at Dipper with a grease-smeared hand, then said to Mabel, "I straightened out that front wheel and tightened the handlebars. Everything got knocked sort of crooked when the bike fell. What's going on?"

Mabel grabbed him by the shirt and yelled right in his face: "It's Woodstick 2014!"

Teek blinked behind his suddenly fogged-up round glasses. "Oh! And, uh, what is that?"

"Wait a minute and I'll explain it all!" Mabel pointed her finger at Stan. "Sev'ral Timez reunion gig, yes or no? And it better be yes!"

Wendy said, "Might be a big draw, Stan. They were real popular three-four years ago. Big nostalgia thing now—they haven't had a song out since the summer of 2012."

"Might be a draw, you say?" Stan mused, stroking his chin and grinning. "Fine! OK, I'll schedule a nostalgia block Saturday afternoon, say three o'clock to six! We got some other has-beens I can shoehorn in there. They can have a forty-five minute set! Mabel! I'll need posters! And get that group in to sign a binding contract with nine pages of fine print! And you can have ten per cent of their take, but they get a standard two per cent of the gross for that block of time, and that's flat!"

Mabel stepped up to him, glaring. She was still shorter than Stan, but she raised up on tiptoe, her hands on her hips, her chin out. "Three!"

Stan crossed his arms and glared. "Two!"

Mabel leaned closer, her eyes narrowing. "Three and a half!"

Stan leaned closer, his nose now six inches from hers. "I said two!"

Mabel stretched. Two inches, nose to nose. "Four!"

Stan lowered his head. Nose touching. "What are you, deaf?"

Mabel grabbed both his cheeks. "One and a half!"

"No!" Stan roared, jerking back. "Three per cent, and that's my final offer!"

"We'll take it! Come on, Teek—we gotta go to the Multibear's cave and round up my boys! To the woods!"

Stan scratched his head as the two teens thundered out, slamming the door behind them. "What . . . just happened?"

Wendy laughed, hopping off the counter. She patted Stan's shoulder. "Mabel just scammed you, dude!"

"She did?" Stan scowled for a moment, but then immediately broke into a wide grin. "First you, then her! I'm so proud right now! Atta girl, Mabel! Atta girl!"

Because the billboards that Stan had erected prominently mentioned the Mystery Shack as a sponsor of Woodstick and a must-see, tourist traffic hit an unusual and very unexpected high very late that afternoon. At six, when the Shack closed—they had to shoo out half a dozen tourists—Wendy all but collapsed on the front porch. "Whoosh, man! Crazy time in there! My feet ache from workin' the floor!"

"Yeah, it was nuts," Dipper said, sitting next to her. "Soos is going to have to restock next week instead of at the end of the month!" He cleared his throat. "So, uh, Wendy, if we, you know, have time—we may not, don't know if Soos is going to close the shop on Saturday and Sunday afternoon or not, but he might—uh, if he does—I don't suppose you would want to hang out at Woodstick with me?"

"Yeah, I would, dude!" Wendy said. "If you don't mind hangin' with Nate and Lee and Robbie and Tambry, too!"

"Not at all," Dipper told her, grinning in relief. "Long as you're there, too."

"Oh, I'll get there somehow," Wendy said. "Dress up for it an' everything! Can't miss Woodstick, man! Not when it's in town. Last year it was way the heck over in Ashland, too far to go. Normally Gravity Falls gets it only about once every four or five years. Stan must've pulled some strings to lure it back here!"

"Yeah, he's good at that," Dipper said. "Oh, my gosh! Look at that!"

Mabel and Teek were herding five blond young men out of the woods. They all had long, tangled hair and beards down to their chests—and they wore rags of white shirts and faded gray jeans, and though at first Dipper thought they wore scuffed brown shoes, as they came closer he could tell they were barefoot—with seriously muddy feet.

"Oh, man!" Wendy said. "They look like they've been rode hard and put up wet!"

"Uh—what?" Dipper asked.

She laughed and shoved his shoulder. "Never seen many Westerns, have you, Dip?" She stood up. "Hey, look at you!" she said as the rag-tag group shuffled within earshot. "I recognize you guys! My dad's absolute favorite group! Sev'ral Timez! How's it hangin', boys?"

"Yo, girl, it hangs righteously good!" one of them called back. He might have been smiling. With the birds' nests and cobwebs in his beard, it was hard to tell for sure.

Another, his voice nearly identical to the first, said, "Right on, yo? Our most industrious and quite illustrous manager here, Mabel girl, done got us a gig, check it!"

"Gonna be a stone come-back, yo!" another shouted.

"Could you please stop saying 'yo' so much?" Dipper asked.

"Yo! No, yo!" they all sang, harmonizing.

"All right!" Mabel said, clapping her hands. "Listen up, talent! Form up, guys!" She jumped on the porch. The five hairy members of Sev'ral Timez struck a sort of disco pose, a little spoiled because they looked like clones of a ragged Tom Hanks after he'd been on that island for five or six years with only a soccer ball for a friend.

Mabel paced back and forth on the porch. "We got just one day to get you in shape, barbered, dressed in respectable nineties-style clothes, and rehearsed!" She snapped her fingers. "Teek! You and Wendy and my Brobro go to Discount Threadz, stat, and buy what Dipper's gonna write down! Dipper! Write this down!"

Dipper took out his pocket notebook and a ballpoint. "Ready!"

Mabel snapped her fingers. "Jeans, pale lavender, slim fit, all size 32 waist, 32 inseam! Five pairs!"

"Pale lavender, 32W, 32L," Dipper muttered.

"Five shirts, white, neck size 15, sleeves 32 inches, trim fit! Five matching white sweaters! Five pairs of socks, baby blue, size 6-8! Five pairs of white loafer-style sneakers, size 8!"

"Girl, you know everything about us!" Leggy P. exclaimed.

"Yo, how you do that girl?" asked Greggy C.

"I read Keen Teen Scene Beat Magazine!" Mabel snapped. "I have all the back issues! You got all that down, Dip?"

Dipper looked up from the scribbling. "So far, yeah. Uh—how about underwear?"

"Underwear! Yeah!" Chubby Z. yelled. "Music to my ears and my derriere too, yo! Yo, we been going commando since—"

They leaned together and all harmonized as they sang, "Two thousand and thir-TEEN!"

Then they exchanged high fives, and the one who seemed to be the leader crossed his arms and with a cocky grin said, "We still got it, yeah!" Then he said, "Mabel, girl, I hate to be that guy, but a moose done ate my hat, yo. Could I please—"

Mabel giggled. "Of course you can, Deep Chris! Dipper! OK, Dip, put down the underwear—boxers or briefs?"

The group sang out their replies:

"Briefs!"

"Briefs!"

"Briefs!"

"Boxers, yo!"

"Briefs!"

"Tighty whities?" Dipper asked.

"White!"

"Pink!"

"Black!"

"Plaid!"

"Surprise me, yo!"

"OK, OK," Mabel said, waving her hands for silence. "For Deep Chris here, add a white linen fedora, size seven, pink band or if you can't find one that has a pink one, get me any old white fedora and also some pink ribbon of whatever width the band that's already on it is! And for the other guys, we're gonna need, let's see, one white linen vest, pink stretchy gloves—cut the fingers off—a white tank top, get the good heavy-weight kind, not the cheap kind, a pink belt with a gold buckle, let me see, let me see, and a short white Eton jacket, satin if you can find one in that material—also pick up some extra-wide satin ribbon, pink, so I can make lapels—and, um, a white quilted ski jacket! And buy a pink zipper. I'll need the pull for the ski jacket! Did I forget anything guys?"

Deep Chris hummed, and again they harmonized to an improvised tune: "Mabel, you nailed it, you know us so good / We're gonna be lookin' sharp on stage like we should!"

Mabel rubbed her hands together. "Cool beans. Wendy, make sure to charge that all to the Shack!"

"Whoa," Wendy said. "Can I do that, girl?"

"You can do anything. You're the Assistant Manager!" Mabel said with complete assurance. She beckoned to the group. "Come on inside, guys—we gotta get you showered and shampooed, and then we're going to Yvonne's Salon to get your beards shaved and your hair styled!"

Sev'ral Timez briefly huddled, then lined up.

"Manicures too, yo?" asked Creggy G. in a coaxing tone.

"For you guys, anything you want!" Mabel said.

"Just like the old days!" Chubby Z yelled.

"Even better that that, Chubby Z!" Mabel said. "Inside now and hit the showers! I'm gonna raid Dipper's bathroom shelf—body wash and a gallon of Acces spray for everybody!"

"Yo, we're gonna smell like a person again! You seriously rock, girl!"

The five guys and Mabel trooped inside.

"Dude, I really hate the smell of that stuff," Wendy confided to Dipper.

"Yeah, that's why I still have a whole bottle. I never use it any more," Dipper said, tucking the pad back into his pocket.

In a semi-dazed kind of way, Teek looked at Dipper. "What's going on?" he asked in a plaintive voice.

"Oh, yeah," Wendy said. "Your folks moved to Gravity Falls after the last time Woodstick was here. It's a big music festival, dude! Cool indie bands from all over Oregon! Tons of fun!"

"Why is Mabel so worked up? What's Sev'ral Timez?"

"Some things you don't want to know about," Dipper told him with a shrug. "Some things you really just don't want to know about. Yo."

Wendy laughed at that. "Come on, dudes. Let's hit the discount clothing store, yo! Man, I wish I'd known about being able to charge things to the Shack before now!"

"Don't let the power go to your head, yo. You'll get in trouble," Dipper warned her, reaching for her hand.

"Me? No way, man!" Wendy said, giving his hand a squeeze. "Come on! We've got to help Mabel make those bums look like a group again, yo!"

"Yo!" Dipper said.

"What's a yo?" Teek asked forlornly.

"If you have to ask," Dipper told him in a mock-serious voice, "You ain't never gonna know."

"Man," Wendy said as she jangled her car keys on the way to the parking lot, "my dad is totally gonna go freakin' nuts!"

Along with everybody else in Gravity Falls, Dipper thought. But as he got into the passenger seat beside Wendy and Teek got into the back seat alone, he didn't say that out loud.