Mabel stared at the page. Her eye twitched. Silence. Her pencil let out a small creak.

Five days later...

"Mabel, get ready! We're going to Greasy's for lunch!" Dipper's voice shouts from outside our shared bedroom's door. I sigh.

"I will, Dip!" I call back. It's time to find the perfect sweater! I have been absolutely dying to wear my sweater with the burgers and french fries on it during a trip to Greasy's since I knitted it. I'm positive that Lazy Susan will love it almost as much as I do! "What do you think, Waddles?" I ask him, spinning so he can properly enjoy the glam of my outfit. I've chosen an orange skirt and headband to go along with my sweater, and personally, I think it's fab. Waddles snorts and I laugh, knowing what he means. I walk out of our room, runway style, avoiding the mirror as I do. I have my reasons.

Dipper sighs as I come out, rolling his eyes as I do. "Finally," he says, gesturing for me to follow and plodding down the stairs, not quite two at a time. We make out to the car where Stan and Ford are waiting, and Stan huffs.

"What took you two so long?"

"Lay off them, Stanley, they're just children."

"We didn't take that long."

"It wasn't me!" Dipper said, holding up his hands.

"I'm sorry I take pride in how I look, dorks!" I say, giggling a little. They're my dorks. Stan huffs again and starts the car, driving as fast as he can when Blubbs and Durland aren't in sight. Thus, we make it to Greasy's just in time for the lunch rush to be over.

When we walk in, there is one other patron. They sit in a booth a few away from our usual one, and they're wearing a crimson dress that practically glows. It's like something a movie star would wear, especially with the gold hoop earrings that they're also wearing. Something about them lights a match in me, and suddenly I am speechless. I hear Lazy Susan talking to Stan, and attempt to tear my eyes away from this glamours being. I snap out of my reverie at last when Dipper tugs me towards our table.

We eat quickly, in the Pines' tradition of shoving our faces full of food at Greasy's before Stan mistakenly tries to ask Lazy Susan out on a date and then chickens out of it at the last moment, deciding instead to order a beer. My mind dapples with the thought that maybe Grunkle Ford will somehow scoot this process along a little more. I doubt it, but why worry?!Grunkle Stan will surely find confidence when it becomes imperative.

"You know what we need, Dip Dop? A party! We'll get streamers and balloons and a fog machine!" I say, pumping my fists. I'm always a little perturbed when we're eating and we get real quiet.

Dipper nods, smiling. "Let's do it. What's our excuse?"

"Hmm..." I sigh, and see Grunkle Ford staring at us like we're aliens. I smile. "Obviously, Our long lost Grunkle Ford's arrival!" Dipper nods again.

"Stanley, do they always act like this?" Grunkle Stan nods.

"It's freakish. We never got along that well."

"We did when we were their age," Grunkle Ford says, then turns back to his food. Grunkle Stan huffs for the third time that day.

I finish my meal probably before anyone else at our table and begin to jitter excitedly. I want to start planning the party right now, so I steal a napkin from the dispenser and take out my trusty pen. It's a super nice pink Gelly Roll that I always have on me, in case of an emergency. Like this one. I write down every detail I can think of, from who wants to go and man the tickets to what we'll need in terms of balloons. Dipper helps, so we've also got all the logistics planned. And ethics. It's very important when planning a party, I'm sure you can understand. He 's better with the details than me, even though I usually have all our ideas. They say this is the left brain/right brain kind of thing, so I guess it means Dipper's way more logical than me, which I'm sure is super surprising to everyone ever who knows either of us at all what so ever. I grin at Dipper, the paper seeming to turn into a completed blueprint right before my eyes. It's beautiful, but I'm writing so fast the words are getting long and loopy and sort of indecipherable, so I slow down a little bit. Indecipherable should be a show we make about how to defeat Bill Cipher. I write the idea on my arm, so I don't lose it. It's the only way I can usually keep track of anything.

"Do you think we can pull of karaoke?" I ask, pronouncing it the correct way.

"Umm..." Dipper stumbles over his words. "I don't know the last time we did that it was to fight off a ton of zombies, remember? That wasn't exactly my idea of a party..."

"Then it's settled! Karaoke!" I shout. I'm sure he'll come around.

"Well, don't you think people will be way too embarressed to sing?" He suggests, fidgeting with the hem of his vest nervously.

"We should just make it a costume party then! Full costumes so you never know who anyone is, no exceptions!" I shout again, writing it down on the napkin with some sense of unfinal finality. Dipper nods slowly.

"Okay, okay..." He still sounds unsure, but I guess that's just who he is. I love him.

The rest of my family finshes their meals soon enough for me and I sigh. It's a little boring sometimes being the fastest eater. At least I had a party to plan. Stan has already done his date-beer thing, and Ford just seemed mildly concerned, according to Dip, so I guess it's actually time for us to leave. My theory is re-affirmed by the fact that we are currently in the car, driving home. Ah, the Mystery Shack. I'm still writing out things on the blueprint, but I think I basically have everything down except for a guest list. Also, I need to make invitations!

Once we get back to the Mystery Shack I run up the steps, get inside and then run even faster up the stairs and to my room with Dipper.

I sit down at my desk and take out a sheet of plain orange paper, letting the inspiration flow. I'm hoping it comes this time. I design the invitations Bill Cipher themed, which might get on Ford's nerves a little bit, but they're really pretty. The have gold leaf trim with triangles and top hats on the back, with black cursive writing. I need to get these to the printers, stat!

I run down stairs to the gift shop, where Grunkle Stan is talking loudly to a group of tourists about his latest scam, the hawktopus. He wouldn't give me money if I interrupted, but maybe Ford would if I found him. I search for a few minutes, but I can't find Dipper or Grunkle Ford, so they're probably doing something stupid. I guess I have to interrupted Grunkle Stan!

I run over to him and tug on his suit sleeve, crossing my fingers. Grunkle Stan glances down at me, and all the tourists do, too. I smile and give them my best cute look. An old lady in the back faints when we make eye contact, so I think it worked!

"And here is my adorable great-niece, Mabel! It's a wonder how she's always happy, almost... like a freak!" Stan says, putting on his best this-is-on-purpose-smile. I feel a little twinge in my heart that my Grunkle Stan would say something like that, but I suppose he's just making money. I'm fine!

"Hey, Grunkie!" I say in my best this-was-on-purpose-baby-voice. "Can I pwease have a few dowars fow an awrt pwoject?"

"Of course, honey! Good people, will you help me fund my precious relative?" Stan says, winking at me. I wink back. The tourists hand me more than enough money to fund myself, and I guess Stan will want some too. Perfect.

"Thwank you!" I shout, smile again, and run out the front door.

The summer air is fresh and warm against my body, and I enjoy it. I love this place! I still don't see Dipper as I run to town, and then b-line towards the printers.

The printers shop is nice, and it always seemed kind of perfect for Gravity Falls, in my mind. The tile on the floor is white and boring and shiny. As soon as you walk in, you can tell it is run by Office Man, if you know him. It's a little run down, in the way that small town things often are, but it has sort of a clean feel to it, but also soft of homey. I love it here. Office Man, when he's at the desk, is always nice, but you never think of him that way. Then, when you look up, you see it. At least, I do. I'm not sure if it's just wishful thinking that an office place could be less boring, but I know that it has to bee something special. When you look up, there are murals and pictures and tales scrawled onto the tiles of the ceiling. They're the special, fire-retardant kind of tile, that you see in schools. But these pictures are so wonderful. I see something new everytime I'm in, but there's never a blank tile. I stand around here for hours sometimes, just waiting for my print job to be down, laying face up and gazing at these stories. I trot up to the counter.

"Oh, hello Mabel! You look happy today! Well, no more then normal, but I enjoy it." The printer says, and I want to frown. The word happy is really wearing on me. I think I should try and stop this cheerfulness, but it's my armor. I can't stop.

"Why thank you, Monseigneur! I have a print job for you! I need two hundred of these," I say, handing him the invitations with a flourish.

"Okay, give me a bit and I'll find you when I'm done!" He says happily, whistling as he walks to the back room. He says "find me" because he knows I'll be right here.

And I am. I would wait here forever. I lay down on the cool tile floor and stare up at the ceiling, telling myself stories.