Pacifica left the dread question hanging, for now. She said she didn't know how long she'd be in Gravity Falls, hopefully just a couple of days, but maybe more. In the meantime, maybe she could leave her bags and her stuff at the Shack, and let's do something fun before our big ghost hunt.

Dipper numbly acquiesced. He wasn't super keen on having Pacifica move in with them, even for a short period of time, and wondered what he'd tell Mabel. What he'd tell Wendy! The best thing he could do was find something to keep them occupied that wouldn't lead to any awkwardness or rekindle any romantic feelings in either of them.

The first thought was the library. And so Dipper and Pacifica spent a couple hours browsing books at the Gravity Falls library. Dipper found a small book, written for teens or young adults, about spook lights and related folklore, and reviewed it with Pacifica. She seemed particularly intrigued, and maybe a little frightened, about a story from Indiana in the 1880s...a boy went out on Christmas Eve to get water from his parents' well and disappeared without a trace, apparently floating away into the sky. The parents heard his screams from overhead but couldn't locate him. She audibly shivered when he concluded that chapter.

"That story can't possibly be real, can it?" she asked Dipper.

"I remember talking about it with Ford, he said this particular case is probably a hoax or a tall tale. But similar stories happen, and a lot of them surround aliens or faeries or similar beings. You know, it sounds almost like an alien abduction story, only the victim never came back to Earth. And after what happened to Tom Burgoyne..."

"Yeah," Pacifica muttered, clearly rattled about the prospect of such a strange thing happening to her. Disappearing seemed a lot scarier than merely dying, a concept Pacifica could at least comprehend.

To get their mind off the weirdness ahead, she suggested going to a movie. There wasn't anything either of them particularly wanted to see, but they agreed to watch some goofy action movie with Vin Diesel and a lot of cars and explosions. The perfect movie to turn off one's brain and pass a slow summer afternoon.

Though Dipper didn't really pay attention to the movie, not with so many things on his mind. There was their mission, of course; with a partner it would be a lot more fun, and possibly a little less dangerous, than it might have been alone. But there was also the girl next to him, who clearly hadn't shed all of their previous baggage despite her protests otherwise. And sitting next to her in a dark theater seemed less comfortable than he'd hoped.

Throughout the movie he coached himself to behave properly, platonically. But he couldn't help stealing glances at Pacifica, as beautiful as ever, smiling vacantly at the one hundred million dollar spectacle unfolding before her. Clearly happy that, for the first time in ages, she could sit back and turn her brain off, worry about nothing beyond how many of the movie's heroes would make it out of the film alive.

And he wondered...How easy it would be to rekindle things, if either of us wanted to. How easy for him to slip an arm around her shoulder and pull her close, to brush her blonde hair, to clasp her hand and hold it tight like they used to. How easy for her to grab his arm during a thrilling scene, or to bury her head sleepily in his chest or lap. Or even to sneak a kiss.

Sometimes it was painfully difficult to be friends with a girl, especially one you found attractive. Especially one, like Pacifica, whom he had dated. He remembered how long he and Wendy had danced around their feelings for each other, and how that turned out. All the times he'd been forced to settle for being "just friends" with girls at school that he'd met. Sometimes those resulted in real friendships, other times just awkwardness and annoyance.

Being Dipper, his only way to reason his way out of this predicament was to emphasize the negative in his mind. Remembering the things he didn't like about Pacifica, and about the experience of daring Pacifica. Which wasn't fair to her, or to Wendy, or to him for that matter, but was the easiest way to resolve the issue in his mind.

There was always her obsession with clothes and fashion, things he couldn't even pretend to care about. There was her haughtiness, which never vanished despite her efforts at turning over a new leaf; it could be appealing in small doses, but annoying at length. Similarly, there was a residual classism, a snobbery that never entirely left her, that always cropped up at the least opportune moments. Especially when they had formal dates. Especially when they were with her parents.

Her parents.

Which reminded Dipper of the ugliest feeling of all.

Generally, Dipper didn't consider his religious background an important part of his life. Sure, the Pines celebrated the occasional High Holiday, they occasionally went to Temple from loyalty to their old faith. His dad, a software engineer who joked about being "the most Gentile Jew in California," nonetheless occasionally sprinkled Yiddish into conversation, especially when angry or upset (he had once called a lady friend of Dipper's a shiksa, to her confusion and his embarrassment), a tendency which rubbed off on Mabel more than Dipper. His mom, a legal aide, had been raised non-religiously in a Jewish household and carried that on to her children. And Grunkle Stan made little bones about his background, though he was an avowed atheist who hadn't been near a synagogue or temple in decades.

And in homogenized, progressive Piedmont, it didn't seem to matter. Dipper barely gave it any thought, any more than he did the color of his hair or eyes or which hand he wrote with or his favorite food. It was a part of him, sure, but something he took for granted and ascribed no particular importance. And he had very little cause to; after all, in 21st Century, suburban California, who cared about such things?

Yet Dipper didn't reckon with one simple fact: that high school kids, however affluent or well-educated, like labels, if only because they help them mark others as different. Dipper already had several strikes against him, as the nerd who loved science and math and obsessed over paranormal stuff and conspiracy theories. And while being Jewish marked a less obvious difference than certain other faiths, than racial differences or sexual orientation, it made outsider kids like Dipper and Mabel no less of a target.

There were the occasional sniggers and whispers that he easily ignored; other, more direct slights were harder to overlook. In particular, there was Derek Svenson, an athlete loud and proud about his evangelical Christianity, who enjoyed giving impromptu homilies on Christian righteousness that enlightened some and annoyed most. Being the football team's star quarterback, he attracted a broad circle of fans and friends who otherwise might not have cared for his proselytizing. He was shielded less by his faith than simple popularity.

Ordinarily, Dipper and Derek wouldn't have ever interacted, except during Dipper's sophomore year when they shared a science class. After learning (God knows how) about Dipper's faith, Derek asked him why he didn't believe in Jesus. "I dunno man, that's just how I was raised," Dipper said. He was quite happy to let the topic drop.

While Derek never engaged in overt bullying, he found other means of pressuring Dipper. On more than one occasion, he slipped Dipper a note in class saying that "Jesus died for your sins, why don't you love Him?" Dipper looked down the row of desks and saw Derek and two of his flunkies watching him expectantly, broad, welcoming smiles on their face. He usually tried to ignore them, but on one occasion he pointedly stared them down and crumpled the note into a ball, throwing it beneath his desk.

After that confrontation, it took several days to return to normal. Derek's friends, even other kids who didn't really hang out with him, shot Dipper dirty looks in the halls and the cafeteria. Several acquaintances refused to sit with him at lunch (fortunately, Mabel always made room at her table). In gym class that week, both teams refused to pick him until last for their kickball game. Then, when it was his turn to kick, the other team's pitcher deliberately bounced the ball hard enough to hit him in the head.

But he could ignore that, or brush it off, or pretend it was nothing even when it hurt, made him feel like an outsider more than he already was. He consoled himself that this dingbat probably treated Catholics, Muslims and other faiths similarly; that while Derek was awful, Dipper wasn't receiving special treatment. And such overt harassment, at least, was a short-term affair when it happened.

But his breaking point came, unsurprisingly, with his sister.

Mabel had never been the most normal girl, but at fifteen she was especially different. Puberty hit her hard; she developed extreme acne, she became much heavier than she'd been in her adolescence, and her hormones made her even more boy crazy than she'd been as an adolescent. She struggled to maintain her outward pleasantness amidst these changes; while her classmates saw the same cheerful, eccentrically goofy girl that they'd always known, Dipper knew that she was much more fragile and insecure than she'd ever been, that she spent hours at home worrying over every little thing that happened at school, that every crush seemed like a torment or a curse.

And so it was with Mitch Chandler, one of Derek's friends from football. Dipper noticed that as Mabel grew older, she had two distinct stands of crush behavior. If she thought there was some chance of actually dating someone, she would smother them with notes and attention like she always had. If it was someone out of her league, like Mitch was, she would look on nervously, peering around corners and doorways and then scattering in fear if they noticed her. More than once Dipper saw Mabel at a pep rally or assembly spotting Mitch, or some other boy, and burying her face in her sweater, giggling softly as she hid from her latest crush.

Yet Mitch seemed to like Mabel, and the two had lunch together, hung out between classes - not real dates, even by fifteen year old standards, but enough to show mutual affection. Dipper recalled hearing talk of an actual date-date from Mabel, who dizzily balanced excitement and disbelief when she told her brother. Then one day, Mabel came up to Dipper crowing that she'd actually talked to Mitch.

"Bro-bro, you'll never believe it!" she cheered. "A friend of mine, Ava Chesney, is also a friend of Mitch's! And she was able to get us alone together! And we talked, and he said, I like football, and I said, *I* like football! Which I don't, not really, but he doesn't need to know that! And then...and then...he asked me out!" And she squealed and crushed him in a hug.

"Wow, Mabel, that's...great." Dipper wanted to feel happy for his sister, was glad that at least one of her crushes reciprocated her interest. But he also knew that Mabel's crushes were flash-in-the-pan things, destined to burn out almost as soon as they began, once Mabel met someone even cuter.

On this occasion, however, Dipper noticed Mitch, smiling nervously at him and Mabel from across the hallway. Then Derek grabbed him gently by the arm, shooting Dipper a superior jock smirk, and pulled him away. A few minutes later, once Mabel had left, Dipper saw Mitch and Derek in deep, intense conversation.

Then Dipper found that Mitch had decided not to date Mabel after all, claiming it was a misunderstanding. Mabel was crushed, and spent two evenings crying her eyes out at home, telling her brother and her parents that she'd never love anyone again. A few days later, she had moved on to Jimmy Sanchez, a boy she met in her art class, and who was probably a better fit than Mitch Chandler anyway.

A week later, Dipper found a note taped to Mabel's locker. Dipper didn't know what compelled him to violate his sister's confidence: surely it was common enough for one of Mabel's friends to stick a note about a party or a crush on her locker. Maybe he remembered the confrontation with Derek, or maybe. Either way, he grabbed the note himself, and read the words in anger and disbelief:

MABEL - LEAVE MITCH ALONE.

HE WON'T DATE A JEWESS.

ACCEPT JESUS OR GO TO HELL.

Dipper couldn't believe it. Someone had called his sister, Mabel Pines, a slur that he'd only read in books and seen on television. A word basically reduced his sister to a monstrous, subhuman Thing, rather than a person.

Dipper's Brother instincts kicked in. He knew already that he couldn't ever let Mabel see this note, and prayed that it was the only one that existed. He also felt - damn the consequences, be it a beating or expulsion or both - that he couldn't let this insult stand. He couldn't let some dickhead think it was okay to talk and think like a fucking Nazi in 2015.

He instantly knew who was responsible; he recognized both the sentiment and handwriting, remembered the conversation he'd witnessed and gave into his fury. He sought out Derek, who stood by his locker surrounded by two other football players, several adoring cheerleaders, another kid Dipper didn't know.

Derek spotted Dipper and greeted him with a smile and a friendly wave, oblivious to his anger. Like many popular people, he masked smugness and contempt in outward shows of friendliness, acting like Dipper was his oldest pal rather than someone he regarded as a Christ killer, a Shylock, a Heathen with alien beliefs and weird hobbies and an even weirder sister.

Until, that is, Dipper rushed forward and broke his fist over Derek's jaw, smashing two of his teeth and tearing his lip. To Dipper's own astonishment, the jock fell to the ground in a bloody heap, looking more shocked than hurt, showing the pitiful, pleading glare of a bully cut down to size.

Maybe if Dipper were a tough guy he would have continued attacking him. But his hand hurt like hell (in fact, he had broken one of his knuckles), and the exhilaration and shock of the whole thing was too much for him. Instead he just stood over the bully, glowering hatefully until a teacher came and separated the two boys.

Principal Sloan was furious. Initially, he was inclined to expel Dipper...until Dipper showed him in the note. The Principal mouthed the words as he read it, jaw dropping in shock as he read the slur, re-read it again to make it sure it was really there. Trembling with shock and rage, he told Dipper that he was sorry he'd encountered this, but that he was still required to discipline him and call his parents.

"Please," he pleaded in response. "I don't care what you tell my parents or my sister, just...don't let them know about this. I don't want Mabel...she has enough problems without feeling bad about her background."

Principal Sloan nodded sympathetically. He was very much the progressive sort of educator; one thing he hated more than violence was bigotry, and he wouldn't tolerate either in his school. Ultimately, he gave Dipper a few days' detention, a mark on his permanent record, and told his parents that it was a personal argument rather than a religious one. His parents yelled at Dipper when he got home, but he gave little hint of the real cause for the disturbance. Still, Mr. and Mrs. Pines figured that it must be something extreme to provoke such a response, and didn't press him too hard about it. Thank God.

(If Mabel ever found out, she never let him know, and it certainly wasn't because of him. Though she may well have done; Dipper heard whispers about the fight and its cause for months afterwards, and Mabel must have at least wondered...)

The only person he confided in about it was Grunkle Stan, whom he figured would understand. Stan seemed more angry about what had happened than proud of what Dipper did. Nonetheless, he reassured Dipper that he'd done the right thing.

"Don't let anyone to talk you kids like that," Stan rasped into the phone. "Don't care how popular or how cool or how goody-good they are. If they talk and act like a goddamn fascist, they deserve to be punched in the fucking mouth. More important though...you stood up for your sister. Doesn't matter if he insulted her religion or her looks or clothes or whatever. Nobody should ever talk to Mabel that way.

"I really would have thought this country would have moved past this horse shit by now," Stan complained. "Ford and me and your grandpa dealt with it occasionally growing up. It hurt then, and it still hurts to think about it. But I would've expected better from your generation...woulda thought you kids wouldn't have to deal with it."

And his anger gave way to frustration and sadness, as the two commiserated over their realizing that the world would never be perfect, and often struggled to be good.

Meanwhile, Derek escaped with a slap on the wrist - he was suspended for one football game, missing no school due to complaints from his parents and the coach. If anything the incident made him bolder, more assured in his religion than before. Later that fall, he held a group prayer during lunch before a football game, using his pals to badger other kids into joining. This ritual lasted only two weeks until the teachers stepped in and stopped them. Eventually, Derek's parents transferred him to a private school in Orange County, where his prejudices could be nurtured and reinforced rather than challenged.

But he, and others, left Dipper and Mabel alone after that. Throughout the rest of high school, they didn't have to worry about any slurs about their faith. And that was enough.

Until Dipper started dating Pacifica. And he had to interact with Preston, who offered the same prejudices in more genteel, acceptable coating. And almost every time they met, however outwardly polite and welcoming he was, those memories and feelings from Piedmont came rushing back to the surface.

Priscilla sat in the drawing room doing a crossword puzzle when Preston entered. She could tell from his expression that she was in for something.

"I just received a very interesting phone call," he began, his voice menacingly even and unemotive. "Someone from the Gravity Falls Continental Hotel gave me a ring saying that my daughter tried to buy a room there. Told me in no uncertain terms that Northwests, period, aren't welcome in that hotel any more. I told him to where to shove his condescension and insults...But the fact remains that our daughter's apparently in Gravity Falls."

"Hmm," Priscilla muttered, hiding her face behind the crossword.

"She didn't tell me that she was leaving," Preston continued, an accusatory tone creeping into her voice. "But I noticed that she had about $2,000 transferred to her account last night, and that it had been withdrawn early this morning."

"Must want to catch up with some old friends," Priscilla murmured, trying to puzzle out a seven letter word for "jerk."

"We don't have any more friends in Gravity Falls," Preston insisted. "Not a one. That's abundantly clear to me, and it should be clear to you."

"We don't, because you destroyed us," Priscilla corrected him. "Pacifica still has friends there. And thank God for that! She needs some people who won't judge her for her father's sins."

Pacifica snatched the puzzle away from Priscilla with sudden violence, shooting her a death glare at close range.

"We are all Northwests," he snarled. "Don't you forget it. And I won't let my daughter forget it either. If this family goes down, we all go down together."

Preston snapped his fingers and a servant came into the room. "Pierre, send a car to Gravity Falls and retrieve our daughter."

"Sir, the valets were let go a week ago," Pierre said apologetically.

"No excuses, man," Preston snapped. "If you can't find anyone else, go yourself. Bring her back to here to me at once."

"Very good, sir," Pierre said, bowing his head and exiting.

"You're going to ruin our daughter's life," Priscilla muttered, no longer able to face her husband. "She's only 18 and she won't have anything to live for."

Preston glowered for a long, hard moment, puzzling how to respond to that.

"No, I'm going to save my daughter's life," he said finally, before exiting the room, leaving Priscilla alone. After he left, she snatched the puzzle back off the floor and filled in the word which had previously stumped her:

PRESTON