Chapter 7: A Little Romance

(November 6, 2015)


To love, and to be loved, that is all, that is enough. A wise man will ask nothing further of life. Love is the one gem that shines in the dark folds of a dreary world.

Or that was what the novel the juniors were reading in English class proclaimed. It was a point that Dipper had to mull over, and he pondered it that week. It helped him get through some bad moments.

Because it made him think of Wendy.

With that and with the ordinary busy-ness of school, by Friday Dipper started to think the whole uproar over the book was blowing over. Miss Geer apparently had kept her word, and no one knew that he was the mysterious Stan Mason. The book jacket gave nothing away—in fact, it hinted that the author lived in Oregon, not California, and it gave no hint of his age other than he was "a fresh new voice with funny and thrilling tales to tell."

Other than that, the bio was sketchy—Stan, like Alexis Palms in the book, had a sister and enjoyed science fiction, fantasy, and bad movies. He loved long walks or runs in the great outdoors, and he was already working on a new book. No author photo—instead, the publisher had the cute idea of a dark silhouette of (Dipper supposed) some tousle-headed twenty-something male model with a white question mark superimposed on the face.

It made him feel strange, though, when he saw two freshmen girls coming out of the school library, both carrying copies of the book. OK, it supposedly was recommended for ten- to thirteen-year-olds, but whatever. One of the girls had the book open and was chuckling at it, a good sign.

No track practice on Fridays, so he rode the school bus to the corner of their street. Mabel, driving the fluorescent green Helen Wheels, was right behind the bus, and as the bus drove on, she braked, rolled down the passenger window, and called, "Hey, young man, want a lift to the house?"

He remembered her old hamster-ball fantasy and said, "Sorry, sis. You can look but you can't pick me up."

"Bleaahhh!" She stuck her tongue out at him, stepped on the accelerator, and, of course, beat him home. He came in, said hi to his mom, and went upstairs to dump his backpack. The clock said it was only 3:40, too early to call Wendy, who would be on duty in the Shack until six—she was doing a split shift, nine to nearly eleven, then school, then two-fifteen to six every day. Socking away that salary for college.

Feeling antsy, he changed into his running shoes and told his mom he was going to jog to the park and would be back in an hour. "As long as you're back for dinner," she said, smiling. "Oh, Dipper—I think your book is really funny. I'm sorry it took so long for me to read it."

To his surprise, she hugged him. The Pines family wasn't big on hugs, except for Mabel, who would hug anything from a fireplug to a startled aardvark (one of many reasons why she was banned for life from the petting zoo). "Thanks, Mom," he said.

She kept her hands on his shoulders, looking into his face. "You're so much like your father was in college," she murmured. "I don't say it enough, I guess, but I love you."

"Love you too, Mom," Dipper said. "I'll be back by five!"

The afternoon had turned sunny and warm for November—about 67 degrees, Dipper guessed—with low humidity and a fresh breeze. He had to be careful crossing the streets because the local drivers had a habit of remembering something vital just as they left their driveways and whipping out their cell phones. Using handheld phones and driving was illegal in California, but somehow the locals seemed to believe that didn't count when you're in your own neighborhood.

In the park he saw more phone-aholics, lots of them walking around talking and gesticulating, and until you glimpsed the Bluetooth earpieces you couldn't be sure whether they were socially connected or just crazy. Sometimes, Dipper suspected, they were both at once. He ran at an easy pace, not as intense as he would have had Wendy been there to coach him, but a tension-relieving stride that let him wind down from an uncomfortable week of worry and undeserved feelings of guilt.

By the time he headed back out of the park, he felt better than he had all week. Sunday would bring a new edition of the National Times Book Review, and Dipper felt sure that Bride of the Zombie would topple from the number one spot. He hoped it wouldn't vanish completely—maybe go down to second or third on the list, preferably no lower—but, as he had told Mabel, he still believed that Halloween had spiked the sales.

He waved at Billy and his two sisters as he jogged past the Pineses' old house—they were getting in the car with their folks, maybe off to dinner and a movie or something, which was a kind of family Friday-evening ritual with them. Dipper got home, stopped at the front door to take off his running shoes (sometimes he tracked in grass clippings if he didn't), and went inside.

His dad was home, sitting in the living room, watching a news show on TV. "Hi, Mason," he said. "How—"

Dipper, shoes in hand, plopped down on the sofa next to him. "School was fine, Dad. Hey—I know you must've talked Mom into reading Bride of the Zombie. Thanks, man."

"I just suggested it," Alex said with a smile. "She enjoyed reading it. She kept laughing out loud and reading parts to me."

"Well—I'm glad she liked it," Dipper said.

The newscaster on TV said, "And in Colorado, school officials are concerned about a massive outbreak of sexting among high-school-aged students."

Dipper jumped up from the sofa. "Gonna go shower."

He stopped at the kitchen door. "I'm home, Mom. I'm going to take a shower and then I'll come down and help if you want."

She was at the stove, but she smiled and shook her head. "Nothing for you to do, Dipper. Pot roast, salad, mashed potatoes, and that bean casserole you don't like. Apple pie for dessert."

"I like the casserole," Dipper said. "Just not as much as Mabel does!"

He heard water running in the bathroom upstairs. He grabbed a towel from the linen closet and mopped his sweaty face. He hung the trapper's hat in his closet—it would have been a lot cooler to run without it, but since the school didn't permit him to wear it, he donned it anytime he was out on his own.

Then he waited in the hall, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, until the door opened and Mabel, swathed in two towels—one for the hair and one for the bod—came out humming, bringing with her a fragrance of coconut-lime sugar scrub. "Broseph!" she said. "Was I hogging the bathroom?"

"No biggie," he said, getting up. "I just went for a run, that's all. Why are you—"

"This girl's got a date tonight!" she announced cheerfully. "Mark Kemper's taking me to the movies!"

"You're kidding." Mark Kemper was a senior, a football player, and a guy who had no volume control. "What about, you know, Teek?"

"We're not exclusive," Mabel said. "Besides, it's The Last Witch Hunter. The kind of movie Teek wouldn't take me to."

"Well," Dipper said, "watch yourself, that's all. I hear Mark gets sort of aggressive."

"Nothing I can't handle," Mabel said. "Anyway, this is our first date, so things wouldn't get too hot, anyhow. Gotta go dry my hair before it sets in this shape. Bathroom's all yours, Brobro!"

Dipper showered—the stall still smelled strongly of coconut and lime—and then dried himself and dressed. By the time he came downstairs, Mabel was there already, dressed for the date—and he wished she had dressed more. Not that her outfit was outrageously daring or anything, but she was wearing a soft-looking short-sleeved sweater, pale pink, with roses embroidered on it, plus a culotte skirt, black, and instead of her usual flats, platform shoes. At least she had a light jacket hung over the back of her chair—so her arms would be covered.

She caught him looking at her shoes. "Hey," she said, "Mark's nearly six feet tall! I don't want him to feel like he's dating a Lilliputtian!"

"The movie ends at nine-thirty," Mom said. "You will be back by ten."

"Yes, Mom!" Mabel said, rolling her eyes. "Sheesh, it's just a movie!"

"Keep it that way," Dad suggested with a smile.

They ate, and as Dipper helped his mom clear the table and stack the dishwasher, Mark showed up. Dipper, loading the silverware at the sink, heard his booming voice: "Hi, Mabel! You look pretty!"

"Thanks!" Mabel said, not as loud. "Let's go! I wanna see the coming attractions!"

"He's got all the charm of a Gremloblin," Dipper muttered.

"A what?" Mrs. Pines asked.

"Nothing. Imaginary monster I'm thinking of putting in a book," Dipper said.

With the dishes done, he went up to his room. Fifteen past seven. It was his turn to call Wendy, so he decided he'd wait another fifteen minutes. Manly Dan got unhappy if she hadn't finished clearing the dinner things before getting on the phone, but fortunately the Corduroys ate early. Seven-thirty was always safe.

And sharp at seven-thirty, she answered the phone, and he saw her smiling at him from his phone screen. "Hi, Magic Girl," he said. "Can you talk?"

"Sure thing, Big Dipper. Dad and the boys just drove off to the bowling alley in Mott."

"That's a new one, isn't it?" Dipper asked.

"Yeah, just opened, they're gonna check it out. Man, I wish you were here tonight! Just checked the TV schedule, and Nearly Almost Dead but Not Quite IV: The Return of the Return of the Strangelings is on. S'posed to be the absolute worst of the series. When it first came out, those two guys on TV gave it eight thumbs down. They had to use their big toes!"

"I'm sorry to miss that!" Dipper said, chuckling.

"Hey, man, you feeling better?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Dipper said. When Wendy raised a skeptical eyebrow, he added, "Except I'm kind of worried about Mabel."

Shaking her head and smiling, Wendy said, "Tell me about it, then. Go ahead and dump."

"Uh—I'll unload instead," Dipper said. "If that's OK."

"That's my writer," Wendy teased. "Always going for le mot juste."

"Are you taking French?" Dipper asked, surprised.

"College French, introductory. When you get here for Thanksgiving, we'll have a conversation in le langage de l'amour."

"Magnifique," Dipper said, and from there the conversation just got better.