The Noise of Summer

Chapter 4: Bench Warming

From the Journals of Dipper Pines: Three games played now. In the first one, against the Velours, I struck out once and popped out once, and then Grunkle Stan put me on the bench and let Gorney go in. Grenda got one home run in the fourth inning, and Mabel got two base hits. In the end, we won 5-3. I suppose I should be happy about that.

Second game was against the Highland Sharks. They are all thirteen, about to be fourteen. In fact, one's birthday is the day after the championship game and the end of the season, and the rest are going to be fourteen by the end of September. And they are big guys. And they have a tough pitching staff—three pitchers altogether, really good at it, and they rotate. Anyway, I didn't get to play at all. We lost two to nothing.

Today's game, we played the Berford Possums—they actually have a live possum as a mascot, plus a guy I suspect of being a zombie. I thought that Mabel's first boyfriend was a zombie for a while, but I was wrong on that. Still, this guy doesn't run, he shuffles. Really fast, but still. And he's a light green. But if he is a zombie, he's at least a fresh one.

Anyway, Gorney opened in right field and even made a base hit, a single, in the sixth inning. I got to go in for the last inning. Grunt hit a single, and I did a sacrifice bunt that put him on second, though I got thrown out at first. Then Mabel got a single, and Grenda got a triple, scoring them both. We squeaked out a win, two to one.

This afternoon the Sequoyahs are playing the Sharks, over at the high school field, which has actual bleachers. They've both won two games and lost none. Stan wants me to show up and give him a report. I asked Wendy to go with me, but she said no, her brother would come over and hassle her for spying. Mabel didn't want to go. So I'll head over on my bike. Sitting in the bleachers won't be much different from sitting on our bench.

Oh, I notice that in previous entries I didn't mention the jerseys. Mabel actually did a good job. They look very professional. They're kind of a bright green with blue piping, with appliqués in Navy blue with gold edging: a big decorative M. On the back are our numbers and names. Mabel is

1

M PINES

And I am

10

D PINES

Last again.


Despite himself, Dipper found that he was rooting for the Sequoyahs. First, Wendy's brother was coaching, and that was sort of a link to Wendy, sad though it was. Second, Geetaur was on the team, and although they had ultimately rejected him, Dipper still had a few warm memories of the manotaurs.

In fact, one adult manotaur whom Dipper did not know was seated in the bleachers, all the way in the top, separated by two empty rows from the humans.

Dipper reflected that it was a little strange how the people of Gravity Falls had adapted to the supernatural creatures that now sometimes came right into town. Last year they had managed by denying the existence of eerie beings, aided by the efforts of the Blind Eye Society, which made them forget random encounters, but also made everyone in town a little crazy.

But Weirdmageddon had been a game changer. When Stan had pulled together anybody and anything he could find to resist Bill Cipher, including Gnomes, manotaurs, the Multibear, a disembodied but living wax head, and even—yechh—unicorns—he had also created a kind of bond. Now the citizens of Gravity Falls thought of such creatures as merely eccentric and differently-bodied people.

What the creatures thought of human beings wasn't very clear, but Gnomes would now and then come to a person's door and offer to do some exterminating—wood rats were a problem in the town—if the property owner would let them keep and eat the vermin. That was cheap enough to put a smile even on Grunkle Stan's face, and the little guys were good at the job, so they did some business.

Occasionally manotaurs would very shyly slip into a convenience store at slack times and buy jerky. They were addicted to the stuff. Such visits were rare, because usually they didn't have human money, but late at night they scavenged for dropped coins in places like the car wash and the vending areas of gas stations.

Dipper wondered if they had any idea at all of what jerky was made from. Probably not, he hoped.

He fleetingly thought it was sad that Krobaur, Geetaur's dad, seemed to feel uncomfortable sitting near humans, but he didn't want to seem pushy, so he didn't climb up to talk to the man-bull.

Dipper watched six innings of the game, making mental notes. The Sequoyahs played hard, but the Sharks had the edge on ability and style. They must have practiced extra-long and hard to get that good.

In the bottom of the sixth, the teams were tied at 3-3. The Sharks were up to bat, and one of them, the hulking catcher, pulled a high fly deep into right field, nearly a home run.

Geetaur trotted backwards, an awkward gait for a manotaur, and still had to make a desperate leap. He caught the ball with a loud smack! in his bare hand (manotaurs disdained gloves), but hit the fence. The chain link rattled chilly music, his left hoof got caught in the mesh about a foot off the ground, and he fell hard, though he kept his hand with the ball in it stretched up.

The out retired the side, but Geetaur didn't seem able to get up. Without thinking, Dipper went running out onto the field, along with Junior Corduroy and the umpire.

Dipper got there first. He knelt and asked, "Are you OK, man?"

"Hurt my leg." Geetaur grimaced. He was sweating profusely. "Did I do good?"

"Yeah, dude, you got the last out. OK if I feel your leg?"

"Don't' squeeze."

Dipper gripped the ankle lightly, not really knowing how a broken leg would feel. Nothing grated, though.

Junior Corduroy pushed him aside. "Leave my player alone."

"Hey, OK," Dipper said. "He needs to have that leg looked at."

Corduroy, who shared his dad's impressive strength, pulled Geetaur up to his feet. "Nah, he'll walk it off."

The umpire asked, "Is he OK to play?"

"Yeah," Junior said.

The audience gave some scattered applause as Junior helped Geetaur limp off the field. A couple of the Sharks booed him as he hobbled past them.

Dipper went back to the bleachers, hesitated, and then climbed up to the top. He sat near the manotaur. "Uh, hi. I'm Dipper Pines."

"Krobaur," the manotaur said. "Is my son lamed?"

"I don't think anything's broken. It's a sprain, probably. But he needs to see a doctor."

"Manotaurs don't see doctors," Krobaur said. "They get well. Or they die."

"He made a good catch," Dipper said.

"Manotaurs don't make bad catches."

"OK, then. I hope he gets well quick," Dipper told the manotaur, and then he went back down to the first row of bleachers. Man, I even screw up when I just try to help people.

The first two Sequoyahs were put out rapidly, the first batter fanning three extraordinarily fast balls for strikes, one fouling to just outside the left line, a pop-up easily caught by the third baseman.

Then Geetaur limped haltingly to the plate. He was obviously in pain, but Junior sent him in to bat. The Shark pitcher sized him up and tried on another fast ball.

And Geetaur swung and swatted it right over the fence. He'd learned to control himself a little—it didn't vanish somewhere downtown.

Geetaur took two faltering steps along the base line and collapsed.

And somehow Dipper ran over to him again. Junior Corduroy was bending over him yelling, "Get up and run your bases! Walk them if you have to, but you gotta touch the bases!"

Geetaur tried to push himself up but couldn't take the weight on his ankle. Junior's face turned red.

"Hang on," Dipper said. The umpire had come up again. To him, Dipper said, "Dipper Pines is running for this injured man." He reached over and took Geetaur's huge cap, put it on his head, adjusted it backward so he could see where he was going, and took off before Junior could object.

The umpire yelled a repetition of what Dipper had told him, and to his surprise, the first baseman high-fived him.

The second baseman scowled, though, and the third baseman turned his back. Dipper crossed home plate. Junior and another two teammates had helped Geetaur over to their dugout, and Dipper returned the cap.

Junior grumbled, "You didn't have to do that. He's all right."

"I wanted to do it, OK?" Dipper snapped. He wanted to add, Haven't you learned anything from your sister? but decided it was wiser to say nothing.

As he went back to the bleachers, a kindly-looking older man, bushy white hair and brushy white mustache, stopped him. "Is the player badly hurt?"

"I don't know," Dipper told him. "Bad sprain, I think. Maybe something's broken."

"I'll X-ray it for him," the man said, "if he doesn't mind seeing me. I'll give him a ride to the clinic in my van."

"Clinic? Are you a doctor?"

"Large-animal veterinarian," the man said. "Dr. Setter. I hope he won't be offended."

"I'll check with his dad."

Dipper made the climb to the top row. Krobaur hadn't even moved. Dipper explained the vet's offer.

"Is my boy in much pain?" Krobaur asked.

"Yeah. He is," Dipper said. "He's not showing it, but I can tell. He's hurting, man."

"Mmh. May I follow to this clinic?"

"Sure. You can probably ride along."

"Manotaurs do not ride in human vehicles." Krobaur paused. "Unless they have hurt their leg."

"Whatever, I'm sure it'll be fine."

"What did it mean when you put on his head cover and went around the field?"

"Uh, that was to make his home run official. I was a pinch-runner. That happens when a guy is hurt or for some reason can't run. Another guy runs for him."

"My son achieved something good?"

"Yeah, man! He hit a home run! He scored for his team."

"Then you acted honorably," Krobaur said. "I am satisfied."

What do you know. Somebody who knows less about baseball than I do!


The Sequoyahs won the game by that single run, the final score 4-3. Afterward, Krobaur came down and helped Geetaur to the parking lot, where Dr. Setter had parked his white van. Geetaur was a little too large for the passenger seat, but he fit into the back. Dipper offered to ride along, and Geetaur said that would be good.

Setter didn't drive too fast, and Krobaur paced them, running just behind the van for about two miles. Setter's clinic—Dipper had never noticed it before—was a good way off the road on five or six acres, with a small barn and paddock and several outbuildings. He apologized but had Krobaur take his son to one of these, which had extra-large doors and an X-ray setup suitable for horses.

As he prepped for the imaging, Setter chatted to Dipper. He was surprised to learn that he was Stan's great-nephew. "Your uncle's a little bit of a character," Setter said. "No offense."

"That's OK," Dipper said. "In fact, that's about the nicest thing you could call him."

"Weren't you in the paper last year? Something about a giant bat?"

"Uh, yeah," Dipper said as the machines warmed up. "I sort of helped the sheriff on that one. And then I kinda banished a ghost from the Northwest mansion."

"Oh, you know the Northwests," Setter said in a flat tone. "I used to take care of their ponies. They've just got one now."

"Pacifica's Desperado," Dipper said. "I know."

"Well, they pay their vet bills, I'll say that for Mr. Northwest. Shame he had to sell the other five. I know the girl loved the one named Molly, but I guess Desperado was her favorite. There, we're ready."

Setter positioned Geetaur and took several X-rays. They didn't have to be developed, but showed up on a monitor screen. The vet studied them closely. "No breaks," he said. "That's a relief."

He examined the ankle and told Krobaur that Dipper was right—it was a bad sprain. "I'll put an elastic bandage on it," he said. "He should keep it elevated. If all goes well, he probably can play again on Monday."

"Uh—manotaurs don't have human money," Dipper said quietly to the vet. "And I don't have any with me. I'm sure my uncle will—"

"No charge," the vet said cheerfully. "The experience is its own reward. I've never treated a manotaur before. Now, where is this boy's home?"

When Krobaur explained just how far away the man-cave was, Setter shook his head. "That won't do. Too much of a strain, and too far. Tell you what, if you don't mind, I have empty stalls in the barn. Clean straw in there, and you can stay over the weekend with your son."

"I can bring you some food," Dipper said.

"Your offer—" Krobaur began in a cold voice.

"Daddy," Geetaur said, which really surprised Dipper.

Krobaur hesitated. "Your—kind—offer is acceptable. My family is in your debt."

"Nonsense," the vet said. "I love baseball. Your son is a wonder to watch."


"You did what?" Stan bellowed.

"I ran the bases for him and I helped him get to the doctor's. Uh, vet's," Dipper said.

Stan rolled his eyes. "Kid! He's on the team we gotta beat!"

"His dad was in the stands! I wasn't gonna let Junior maybe make him injure himself worse! And I wasn't gonna let him be humiliated!"

Stan sighed and settled down in his old TV chair. "Yeah, yeah, good enough—but think of the team next time, huh? Think of the game!"

Dipper didn't reply, but walked out of the Shack and out to the bonfire clearing. He took off his cap and threw it to the ground. Then he collapsed onto the log and sat with his head in his hands. It was twilight, usually a time of day he enjoyed.

Not today, though.

"Hey, Dip."

He looked up and gave Wendy a weak smile. She settled onto the log next to him. He muttered, "Grunkle Stan just makes me so—augggh!" he balled his fists and shook his head.

"You did the right thing, man. I'm proud of you." Wendy put her arm around him and pulled him close. "Straight up, man—did I pressure you too much into doin' this? I know you hate baseball."

Dipper shook his head. "No, it's OK. I sort of wanted to try it, so don't worry about pressuring me. I don't hate baseball, not really. I hate myself for being such a terrible player."

Wendy tightened her hug. "You're gettin' better. An' I think you're learnin' some good things about yourself, too. You, like, stood up to Junior. That's something special, man."

"Well—he shouldn't have leaned on Geetaur like that. Geetaur's actually a good kid, even though he's not a human kid."

Wendy leaned against him and sighed. "See, that's what I mean. Parents and uncles and like that take this so serious. But it's a game, Dip. It's s'posed to be fun, win or lose, and it's s'posed to show you that playin' is the thing, not winnin'. But you shouldn't ever feel bad about it, or about yourself. Hey, if it bothers you so much that you wanna drop out, I won't yell."

Dipper thought about it. "No. I started it. I owe something to the team and to you and even to Grunkle Stan. I'm gonna see it through."

Wendy leaned over and picked up his cap. "You're a good kid yourself, Dipper Pines," she said as she put it on his head, tilted way back. She kissed him on the lips. Then she whispered, "And you're gonna be a good man."