First things first. This story is going to be a Perks of Being a Wallflower esque story. No parody or anything, nor does it mirror the story of that book. (Though, that book is spectacular and the movie is even better)

But, yeah, it gets kind of serious and topical as it goes on. I mean, yeah.

Secondly, Pinescest is not in here because, well... gross.

Am I just airing unpopular opinions here?

Anyways, one last thing before we begin. I'm trying to limit OC's to a... almost far-off reach because I can't stand having OC's as story-changing characters where the plot revolves around some mysterious new stranger with magical powers or a crazy amazing personality. Each character has their faults, including characters we've already seen, so I'm going to try and show both sides to characters new and old.

-(-)-

In the seventh grade, after returning back from Gravity Falls, we remained mum on the topic of our summer. Saving the world was tough stuff.

Dipper and I would just say stuff like "Oh, we visited our great-uncle" or "It was just a back of the woods, ordinary town." Gravity Falls was anything but normal. However, coming back to Piedmont, it was overwhemingly normal. It was culture shock from coming back from Gravity Falls.

Of course, Mom and Dad asked the same questions as our friends and we gave the same responses our friends recieved. It was... a hard time. But we had each other!

Throughout the year, we gained some loose relations, but we still had contact with our friends in Gravity Falls.

Summer after that was still in Piedmont, and unfortunately flashes from the previous summer stuck in my head like bubblegum to hair. Which I assure, I've experienced a lot of times. Many, many times.

But, going to the pool reminded me of Mermando, going to a movie or play reminded me of my epic Sock Opera, even hanging out in the woods took me back to the frightening times during the early wake of August. It was a miserable summer. Except when Candy and Grenda visited. We had an amazing time together, plus, the carnival was in town and while Candy and I explored the fairgrounds down to the very smallest piece of dirt, Grenda took appeal to the test-your-strength games. She went home with a lot of stuffed whatchamacallits.

Eighth grade was almost a repeat, however, Dipper and I's circle expanded with two friends. Myra, whom we had already a somewhat close relationship in seventh grade after the toilet paper debacle (don't ask), and Jackson, a close friend of mine. Over-the-top, hilarious, and we got along just fine.

Myra and Dipper had a thing starting in that March, and they even went to the dance together. Of course, the epic scrapbook-er-tunity had me in a fuss especially when DIpper was trying to avoid a picture. But he looked so cute in his little blazer (Waddles had one just like it!) and Myra already upcycled a lot of her clothes, so her dress was killer. A cream colored floor-length gown with black-star decals on the top and a thick obsidian band around the waist.

Of course, Dipper was maturing at this age, so the picture was just a bit awkward. Still great, just... awkward.

But that led us to today.

"Bang! Bang! Splash, P'kow!"

"Alright, I'm hit, I'm down for the count!" Dipper exclaimed before he was flooded with a mouth full of water.

Water guns and summer were like peanut butter and jelly. If I liked peanut butter. Which I do, tricked ya!

"Are you two done?" Jackson came over, combing his black hair. "I was supposed to get my haircut like half an hour ago, and you KNOW my normal stylist fills up like that," he snapped to emphasize his point.

I smiled through my braces. "Oh, Jackson!" I exclaimed and pointed to my sweater, which showed a green cactus with sunglasses, "Don't get all... prickly!" Then I poked his gut with a hearty, "Wopwop!"

After a quick giggle, he put his finger up. "No, Mabel," he stuttered, "It's a day before high school. First impressions are key, and with Spruce Brook Middle School having it's students go into PIedmont high, that's a whole new group of kids to impress."

"Maybe Dopey Dipper will go away since all the new kids will, like," Dipper sputtered whilst squeezing his shirt to get some of the water out of it, "mellow that mess out."

"You still are a dope," I giggled then turned to Jackson, "Well, we're done with this! Do you want me to pop in with you, Jackson, I got nothing better to do."

Dipper objected, "What about packing your schoo-"

"Nothing better to do, lalalalaaaaa!"

Jackson crossed his arms. He said, "Alright, but don't give the barber any ideas on 'new, cool hairstyles.'"

"The Waddles cut is the best idea in the history of all haircuts."

"Unless you on them good shrooms, having your hair shaped like an actual, mud-diving, loud-squealing, soon-to-be-bacon, piggly-wiggly is a bad idea."

Me and Jackson might've been close, but he didn't like pigs. Waddles was an exception, since I trained Waddles. Initially for the circus, but Mom and Dad wouldn't let me bring in a circus cannon into the house.

Dipper frowned and tapped his foot, but we still decided to leave. It was clear he didn't want me to leave since it was our last day before school, but we were best friends, but I had to make room for someone besides himself. He'd have to either be a grump in the backyard or get over it in the house.

-(-)-

I'd never been to Jackson's barber. I was getting my haircut once, when I suggested the Waddles cut, but Jackson was there with me and stopped it. I still wanted the most majestic of all pigs placed upon my cranium, but it was for another time.

His barbershop... was more of a hairstylist's salon. Called "A Couple Snips Off the Top," it was pink, white, and red. Which were my favorite colors! Along with practically every other color. Except beige. Ugh... beige.

Mostly... women were at the shop, which was a little strange but I took nothing from it. Or, wait, is there something important that I missed?

The waiting room was open windows, several oddly shaped seats (I was sitting in a giant red, plastic, high heel), with "Rumor Lady" playing on the television set handing from the wall. Rumor Lady was Jackson's favorite show.

"Tadaaaaa!" He came strutting out from the back room, his bangs up above his forehead and the back parts of his hair just barely noticeably shorter.

"Oooooh, I love it!" I laughed and bushed the hair with my fingers. "Also, your hair salon is really... bright." We walked outside, as I noted it, looking back at my shoe-chair.

Jackson's skin paled for a second, chuckled and said, "Oh, uh, yeah..."

"And there are mostly women here."

"Yeah," he licked his lips, "Uh, well it's Sunday, 50% off a women's cut today!"

"Plus your favorite show was little on the entire forty five minutes I was, well, here."

"FINE!" Jackson lifted his hands in the air in exasperation, "I'm gay!"

I was taken aback for a second. I was just noting how strange the place was, but I got the feeling Jackson thought I was hinting around to... well, his now-known-secret.

I blinked, "Oh. Okay, I mean, I wasn't beating around the Barbara-Bush, but okay."

He blushed, stammered something about dinner, then I picked up a nickel. Coming up from said nickel, which was really shiny so it must've been of new print, Jackson was gone. Of course, I didn't too much care about Jackson's choice of romance, since like love is the best thing ever! But, as I walked home with the sun setting, I was growing more nervous to how he was feeling about the situation.

Despite my several attempts at calling and texting him on my tPhone, he woudln't answer.

Our house, a quaint little establishment colored blue and pale yellow, was on Red Ruby Lane. All the streets in the town of Piedmont were references to old stories. There was Looking Glass Way, Horton Who Avenue, etc. but our little home was on Red Ruby Lane.

At this point, I was running to the house. I wasn't breaking much of a sweat since the northwest was hardly ever lukewarm even in late Summer and because I was accustomed to my sweaters after running in them for the past four years.

"DIPPERRRRR!" I kicked open the door and shouted. Well, not kicked, I unlocked it and dramatically swung it open but I hoped it had the same effect.

"What, what, what?" My twin brother rushed down the steps, almost tripping on our mothers polar bear slippers on the way down.

I held his hands and then whispered, "I got a secret but I can't say it here. Wanna meet in about five minutes?"

He nodded, adjusted his custom new blue-and-white pine hat (a gift from Grunkle Stan for our birthday this past month, and yes, I did get a new grappling hook), and rushed back up the steps.

"Sweetheart, what was the yelling for?" my dad came in, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. Our father, while usually out with his friends, was a stay-at-home father. All four of us knew that we could handle ourselves, so his absence was hardly a problem, but when he was home, our secrets had to be held closely.

I replied quickly with, "Oh, I was showing him my new puffy stickers I got from the gas station down by the intersection." I pulled out puffy stickers, picturing a variety of different penguins. Which, wasn't entirely a lie. I was planning on showing him them, since I got them on the way back from A Couple Snips Off the Top.

"You using them for your scrapbook?"

I actually didn't know.

"I don't know," I confirmed.

He nodded, rubbed his thin and scruffy beard, and left to his room without another word. He was a good dad.

Quietly, I snuck past the door to his room, which was just behind the staircase. There was a closet by the kitchen, that was normally used for coats. Which, you generally didn't need to go digging in a coat closet. But that's what I did.

Dipper and I had a few entrances into our hiding spot, one in our room, one from outside (which was gross, since I had to go behind the walls of our house and it smelled like mildew and regret), and the one in the coat closet.

This entrance involved fashioning the boxes into a makeshift staircase. There was only a single, thing row of jackets blocking them, but our parents knew of the boxes, they just didn't know about the entrance above them.

Once I made it to the top of the rather precarious peak of cardboard, I pushed up, and ceiling popped up like a panel in a tiled roof. We didn't have tile ceilings, but I think the analogy worked.

After the tile was pushed to the side, between the floor of the room above and the ceiling of the closet, I once again pushed up, popping up a wooden trap door. Once I heaved myself up, I'd place the tile back, close the door, and it looked like nothing ever happened.

The secret room was pitch-black without our lights. Dipper and I believe that the room was originally a sublet of somesort for the attic, since it was below the actual attic we have. It was made of wood still, but we never questioned it.

I also never questioned how Dipper made the entrances to the rooms. Since, according to him, one involves spiders, another dangerous mold, and the last a hideous amount of baby pictures.

However, by each entrance was by an LCD lamp. In the darkness, I buzzed on the lamp, the room becoming a lot more comfortable, especially after all three lights were turned on. The room wasn't too... roomy, but there was a high enough ceiling where we could sit in a hypothetical chair and our hair would just graze the ceiling.

The room itself was almost like our own little bunker. We did have emergency Winky's and Pitt Cola, plus a flare gun, four radios, water, and toilet paper. Along with batteries. But, most of the room was taken up by a box of books, a box of knitting supplies, two bean-bags, and a camera. Which was for the bunker, but there were obviously several videos and pictures of me on the SD card.

The entrance I popped up from was between the bean bags. After turning on the lights, the wall to my left partially opened like a door, and Dipper crawled inside. He was coming from our room. The entrance from outside would have us climb up the thin space behind the emergency stuff from the inside of the walls. Once again, hardly used.

"Alright, Mabel," he sighed, fiddling with a loose piece of string, "What's the secret?"

Dipper and I always confessed secrets or plotted in our secret room. I liked the room.

"Jackson's like, uber gay."

Dipper frowned, "And?"

"What do you mean 'And'?"

His eyes widened, and he dropped the string.

"Dip Stick! You knew?!"

I shoved him slightly, as if it were in just plain "fun" but it wasn't. He stuttered, "I-I thought it was obvious!"

Frowning, I replied, "A. It's really rude to assume something like that, and B. how did I miss this? I've always wanted a G.B.F.!"

"Excuse me?"

"A gay best friend! You know, we could go shopping, look after cute boys, ha-"

"Mabel!" my brother interrupted, stopping my fantasy of Jackson and I skipping through the mall with bags of clothes from Gatteromba in one hand and a vanilla-caramel mocha-latte-chino with sprinkles in the other. "I understand that it was pretty rude to assume but it's also just as rude to think of him as some... item!"

I crossed my arms, my smiling cactus's own little smile smushed down. "Fine!"

"And he clearly isn't... well, out, so respect his boundaries."

"Do you think Myra knows?"

Dipper dejected the idea. "I doubt it," he frowned, "Then again, I hardly know what's inside her head ever since we broke up."

"For the third time."

"SECOND!"

"Whatever Cheif Dippin' Sauce," I teased and stretched my arms. I popped open the small door to our room (which had a painting I made in art class in seventh grade of a giraffe dancing in a tutu on top of it to conceal it from the naked eye) and called back, "You coming out of there? We should probably get our things ready."

"Yeah, yeah," sighed Dipper, "Let's get ready for high school."