Lazy Saturday

From the Journals of Dipper Pines: Saturday, June 14—Wendy had to take off for home right after our run. I left the gold nugget balanced on the brim of the stone effigy's top hat and spoke to Bill just briefly in the Mindscape. He asked if we were OK, and I told him, "Not all of us."

He seemed touched because I'd remembered my promise. "I won't forget this, Pine Tree. When I come back to power, I'll destroy you last!" Then he laughed like a maniac. "Look at your face! Oh, you can't. It looks like this! He took on a popeyed expression of terror, which I don't think I had myself. "Just kidding, kid, kidder, that's me! Seriously, though, this will help me a lot. Of all the Earthly elements, gold is the closest to the basic atoms of my molecules. I'll keep my promise, for a change, and leave this dimension when I'm able. Uh—so somebody bought the old farm, huh?"

"Kid named Russ," I told him. "I don't think you knew him."

"Hmmm. Nope. I don't even think he was part of my Throne of No Agony, Probably. Friend of yours?"

"Of Mabel's. She took it hard."

"Oh." Bill blinked. "Listen, Dipper, I—I have a strange feeling inside me. I'm not sure what it is, actually, but I think I might be feeling sorry. Must be your molecules acting up again. Anyway—if it might help her—tell Shooting Star I regret bringing Xanthar to this dimension, OK? He turned out to be no help, anyway."

"Yeah," I said. "Gotta go."

"Yep, I noticed Red over there waiting. You're a lucky kid to have her in your life, Pine Tree. Too bad Red isn't. She could do better."

I got out of the Mindscape fast. Bill knows just where to plant the needle to cause the most pain.

Anyway, Wendy and I did our run, and then Stan drove her back home. She said she'd have a mountain of laundry to do, the house to clean up, and then—if she had time—she wanted to finish the work she'd started on her car. "Sucks bein' a ground-walker after havin' my license for a year," she told me.

So I saw her off, and then I joined Soos. He'd run an aerator over the damaged parts of the lawn, and I pushed a seeder around, scattering new grass seed—fescue, Soos said, and he spent some time explaining why it was the best, dawg.

Then he and I started to strew wheat straw to protect the seeds, and to my surprise, Mabel came out to join us, bringing Widdles. Waddles heard us and came galumphing from his little house, where he'd spent the night. Both pigs began to nose the straw around.

Mabel hardly spoke, but silently started to help us spread the straw. "How are you?" I asked her. She shrugged. "Not great, but not as bad as I was."

We'd just finished when T.K. O'Grady came riding up on his bike. He climbed off and said, "Figured you guys would be doing repairs. What can I do to help?"

Mabel smiled for the first time that morning and gave him a little hug. "Thanks for being there for us," she said.

"Well," Soos said, "I have to patch up the broken fence around the parking lot here. Can you, like, handle a hammer, dude?"

"I'm pretty sure I can. I understand the basic principles," T.K. said with a grin.

Soos fetched some redwood planks and we knocked out the two broken rails. Soos very carefully measured and marked the new boards, and Mabel asked to be allowed to saw them to length. She'd never done that before, and she sawed the same way she knits, with her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth. The cut ends clattered off, T.K. and I fitted the new rails, and we nailed them in place.

We all walked down to the foot of the drive and saw a huge pile of ashes—where Xanthar had knocked about eight or a dozen trees over and burned them to help himself regenerate. "Oh, man, dawgs," Soos said, "this is, like, way too much to shovel up. I'll get out the lawn tractor and we'll do our best just to spread them around, and then I guess more straw? To like cover them?"

Grunkle Stan got back about that time and saw what we were doing. He stood beside the Stanleymobile studying the scene and said, "Hm. Tell you what: I'll run in to the nursery and buy some shrubs to plant along here. That'll screen off some of the damage and give us an attractive welcome as people turn into the driveway."

"I'll get the post-hole digger," Soos said.

And that was how what should have been a lazy Saturday turned into a day of hard work.

Oddly, though, the three kids didn't mind the labor. Dipper noticed that after a while Mabel started to talk to T.K., who mostly listened. With his round glasses and owlish eyes, T.K. looked like such a geek that his willingness to work hard surprised Dipper.

At one point around midday the sun shone hot, and sweat poured down T.K.'s face. Dipper went up to the Shack and into the gift shop and came back with an olive-drab trucker hat sporting a black question mark. "Here ya go," he said, handing it to T.K. "Keep the sweat out of your eyes."

"Thanks," T.K. said, adjusting the head strap. He pulled it on. "How does it look?"

"Dawg!" Soos said. "It's like I'm lookin' into a mirror that has round specs and makes me lose height and weight, and changes my hair color and all. High five!"

T.K. slapped and completely missed Soos's big hand.

And for the first time in a long time, Mabel laughed.

She said, "It's official, T.K. You're one of us!"

Soos joined Dipper and her in chanting, "One of us! One of us!"

Stan returned with a dozen eighteen-inch tall mountain laurel seedlings and a bag of fertilizer. "These are a dwarf version," he said, lifting pots out of the trunk of the El Diablo. "Grow to be three, three and a half feet tall. Very pretty pink and lavender blossoms in the summer, an' the leaves are evergreen the year around."

T.K. and Dipper took turns with the digger. Soos dragged the long hose all the way down the driveway and phoned Melody, up in the Shack, to turn on the water. It took nearly two minutes for the flow to begin. When the holes had been seasoned with fertilizer and then filled with water, the seedlings set in place, and the earth re-packed around them, Mabel took up the hose and squirted Dipper.

And that began a water fight. T.K. was on the receiving end—he didn't even try to squirt the twins. Too shy, Dipper thought. Too bad.

Soos had another idea: "Dudes, what do you think of this? I got some, like, redwood posts left and lots of planks. We could make a curving low fence here, like the one up in the parking lot, in front of the bushes, and then behind the bushes I could build, like, a welcoming sign or some junk? Mabel, could you design a sign to go up here?"

"I'm on it!" she said, breaking into a drippy run up to the Shack.

"Thanks, Soos," Dipper said.

Soos blinked. "Dawg, you're helpin' me!"

"Then thanks for the opportunity," Dipper said.

Soos set the posts, and T.K. and Dipper put in the rails. Stepping back across the highway, Dipper had to admit that the approach to the Shack would be a lot more welcoming now. Not this year, but next, the mountain laurels would be in showy bloom. People coming this way from town—and because the highway sort of dead-ended a few miles away, almost all the traffic would be from that direction—would be able to spot the driveway a lot better.

T.K. and Dipper took down the "Temporarily Closed" signs, while Soos dug three postholes for the new sign. He was a fast worker, and he loved carpentry. Within an hour, he'd constructed a four-foot tall, six-foot wide redwood sign, still blank, to be mounted on the three six-foot-tall posts.

Mabel returned, hauling a wagon. She'd loaded it with paints and brushes. "Perfect," she said when she saw the blank sign. She took out a preliminary sketch she'd made to go by, then knelt on the grass and set to work right away.

Grunkle Stan had driven away again, taking Sheila Remley back home. Dipper noticed the two were sitting very close together, and that Stan drove with only one hand on the wheel. And I didn't think it would last, he mused.

Mabel had only roughed out the sign when Soos's phone rang. Abuelita had prepared lunch. They all trekked up the driveway, and Soos and the kids went inside to wash up. Dipper changed to dry clothes and lent T.K. a T-shirt and pair of cut-off jeans. Neither was T.K.'s size, but they'd do.

Abuelita had made both chicken and beef enchiladas, along with lightly-charred elote, the Mexican version of corn on the cob, and her homemade mole sauce, with sweet cherry and peach empanadas for dessert. Dipper watched Mabel. At first she just picked at the food, but as T.K. dug in, she started to eat, too. And when she tasted the first fruit empanada and told Abuelita, "Mucho delicioso!" she seemed to be coming back to her old self.

They spent the rest of the afternoon on the sign. Mabel did a great job. When she finished, the redwood bore a realistic picture of the Shack as seen from the front. Big black question marks outlined in yellow flanked it on either side, and above it in drop-shadowed yellow letters arranged in an arc was WHAT IS THE MYSTERY SHACK? Below the picture, in the same kind of letters, was TURN HERE! and a directional arrow.

"Oh, dawg!" Soos said as he looked at the finished sign. "This ought to be hung in, like, a museum or some junk, dude! This is like a Masterpiece Theater or whatever!"

The paint was quick-drying, but they let it set until nearly sundown, and then Mabel gave it three coats of a clear spray-on waterproof varnish. Soos, T.K., and Dipper set the sign up in the holes Soos had dug—it was heavy—and Mabel went to drive the golf cart down, with a couple of bags of quick-drying concrete loaded in it.

The concrete was really simple to use: First, use ropes and stakes to level the sign. Second, shovel some of the gravel-strewn gray dry concrete in, pour water on top of it, add more concrete and water, and repeat until all the holes were filled. "This'll be all dry and cured by tomorrow morning," Soos said. "I'll take down the ropes then."

They all crossed the highway this time to admire their handiwork. "Really classy, Mabel!" Dipper said.

"You're a real artist," T.K. told her. "I mean, you've got talent!"

"Yeah, in some things," Mabel said, grinning. But then her grin faded. "Not so much in picking out boyfriends, though."

As Soos and the kids stood on the shoulder of the highway, a car came rumbling along—a forest-green 1973 Dodge Dart, Wendy at the wheel. "Hiya, dudes," she said as she slowed to a crawl and leaned out the window. "Man, you guys have been busy! This looks great!"

"You got your car fixed!" Dipper said.

Wendy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I just barely had time after washing, like, everything Dad and the boys own. They were wearin' their last pairs of clean underwear, man! I don't know how they do it. You guys wanna go for a spin in the car? Make sure I didn't do something wrong to make it, like, blow up?"

Soos went back to the Shack to reel in the long hose and said he'd take care of tidying up. Wendy offered to drop T.K. off. "I rode my bike over," he said.

"No prob, dude. I'll run by and pick you up Monday morning. It's right on my way," Wendy said cheerfully.

"Uh—Well, if it's OK."

"Come on, T.K.!" Mabel urged. So with a grin, he hurried to gather up his still-damp clothes. He and Mabel got into the back seat, allowing Dipper to ride beside Wendy.

"How you doin', Mabes?" Wendy asked as she drove up the driveway and turned around in the parking lot.

"You know," Mabel said from the backseat. "Up and down."

"It's hard," Wendy said quietly.

"Yeah."

They drove T.K. to his house—he said, "Monday when I come in to work, I'll bring your clothes back, Dipper. Mom will wash and dry them."

"No sweat, dude," Dipper said.

The O'Gradys lived in one of the houses along Lake Street, a tidy little two-story Old Portland-style structure with gray siding. His mom came out and said she hoped T.K. hadn't been a bother.

"No!" Mabel said as she and T.K. got out of the car. "We've been refurbishing the Shack, and he was a big help."

Wendy said, "Oh, Mrs. O'Grady, I'll come pick T.K. up for work on Monday morning, 'round eight-thirty. He worked all day and was tired, so I offered him a ride home and he left his bike. He can ride it back that afternoon. By the way, T.K., I'll see that you get overtime in your next paycheck for today."

Mrs. O'Grady was staring at T.K.'s red shirt and blue shorts. And at the damp bundle he clutched. She said absently, "That's nice. What happened to your clothes?"

T.K. turned red, and Dipper chuckled. "We were doing hard work, building fences and putting in plants and a sign, and it was hot, so we sort of cooled off with a water fight. He borrowed some dry things from me. Sorry!"

"Boys will be boys," Mrs. O'Grady said, ruffling her son's hair. He grimaced, an expression that said Mom, I'm fourteen, but he didn't speak a word.

Leaning out the driver's window, Wendy said to T.K.'s mom, "Hey, have you ever been to the Mystery Shack?"

"No," Mrs. O'Grady said apologetically. "We've lived here for nearly two years, but just never seemed to have the time."

Wendy held out two yellow cards. "Here you go. Two free passes. Come an' see where your son works. He's a real good short-order cook, by the way! Oh, I'm Wendy Corduroy, Assistant Manager. Come and see us. You'll have a great time!"

Mrs. O'Grady's freckled face broke into a smile. "We'll do it! One day next week for sure. Dear, I have to ask—are you Irish?"

Wendy laughed. "I don't know what I am, but I'm redheaded and freckled! So maybe."

Dipper scooted over, and Mabel squeezed in beside him in the front seat. "T.K.'s kind of a nice guy," she said as Wendy started the engine again.

"Mabes, he's a real nice guy!" Wendy corrected. As they drove back through town, she added, "So, I was thinkin': You guys up for some camping maybe tomorrow night? Dad and the boys'll be off bowling as usual. First time out, I thought we'd just pitch a tent out on the Shack lawn. See how you like it. It goes OK, I'll take you out to one of the high meadows one weekend. I know some beautiful spots. Not next weekend, though, 'cause Summerween's comin' up."

"Oh, yeah!" Mabel said. "It's a week from tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah, technically, but the celebration's gonna be a week from tonight. Saturday's a better night for cuttin' loose, you know."

Mabel sighed. "Guess we're really too old for trick-or-treating."

Wendy asked slyly, "Too old for an off-the-chain costume party?"

"No . . ."

"You better not be. 'Cause we're gonna have a great one! Prizes for the best get-up, dudes!"

All innocence, Dipper said, "Mabel, I got no ideas at all for costumes. Can you figure something clever out for us?"

"I—yeah, I guess so. What am I saying? Of course I can! I'm Mabel Pines!"

"Welcome back," Wendy said.

Dipper sighed. Bill was right. I'm a lucky guy.

The lucky guy sat next to his girl and really for the first time in days felt happy as they drove past the water tower and down the winding highway that led back to the Mystery Shack.

Back home.

The End