The news van cruised down the long Texas highway, heading for Gravity Falls, Oregon. Suburban parks and developments rushed past their windows. Street signs pointed out the way to the University. Traffic wasn't too bad yet. Dipper was glad they had left the stadium before the big rush after the event. He settled back into his seat.
"I'll say one thing," his cameraman commented, breaking the silence. "The woman's got guts. The other night I was watching-"
Dipper bristled slightly. "Can we please stop talking about Wendy Corduroy for a while? Please?"
The cameraman glanced at the rear-view mirror. "That might be a little hard. .. ."
What's that supposed to mean? Peering back over his shoulder, Dipper was shocked to see Wendy Corduroy, zooming after them on her garish stunt cycle. She flashed her headlight to get his attention. Was the modified Harley even remotely street-legal? Wendy didn't seem to care. Switching lanes, she pulled along-side the van. She flipped up the visor on her crash helmet.
"I made it!" She shouted, grinning, her voice muffled by the window between them. The unmistakable roar of a V-Twin engine penetrated the van's front cabin. "I need to talk to you!"
Dipper did a double-take, caught off-guard by Wendy's unexpected appearance. He rolled down his window.
"I need to talk to you!" she repeated.
This is insane. Biting down his lip, he struggled to maintain his composure as his past caught up with him at sixty miles per hour. The cameraman helpfully slowed down.
"You want me to pull over?!" she asked.
Determined not to look at Wendy, he fixed his gaze on the road ahead, only to experience a sudden surge of panic as he saw a eighty-ton semitrailer barreling straight toward her. Intent on getting through to him, Wendy seemed oblivious to the oncoming vehicle.
"Wendy, lookout!"
She looked up in time to see the big rig rushing to ward her. The bike burned rubber as it surged ahead and veered sharply to the right, barely missing the semi's front fender.
"Jesus!" Dipper yelped as the motorcycle screeched to a halt directly in front of the van.
The startled cameraman slammed on the brakes, throwing both him and Dipper forward in their seats. A taut seat belt kept him from flying through the wind shield, but her was too scared for Wendy to even notice the restraint. He held his breath as the speeding news van skidded to a halt only inches away from the stationary bike and rider. Horns honked and brakes squealed behind the van as their sudden stop set off a chain reaction all along the freeway. How they man aged to avoid a multicar pileup he would never know. Beside him, Dipper's cameraman slumped forward over the steering wheel, gasping. His narrow face was white as a sheet.
The color gradually returned to Dipper's face as well. He took a second to thank every angel in heaven that Wendy had not been flattened beneath the van's wheels . .. then his temper got the better of him.
What the hell was she thinking, pulling a lunatic stunt like that? Has she lost her mind? He wouldn't be surprised to find out that every hair on his head had turned white.
He threw open the van door and clambered down onto the asphalt. A chorus of angry voices and blaring car horns assailed him, but Dipper was only interested in what one particular rider had to say. He marched toward Wendy, as she walked his bike to the side of the road. Waving apologetically back at the drivers behind her, the cameraman obligingly pulled the van onto the shoulder, too.
"Wendy, you almost got yourself killed!" he railed at Wendy. His poised, professional manner had gone bye-bye. "What were you thinking?"
Wendy sat meekly astride her bike. "I- I just wanted to talk." She took off her helmet and hung it on the handlebars in front of her. "I haven't seen you in so long and then, blam, here you are and . . ."
"This is crazy!" he interrupted her. "That stunt was crazy." He threw his hands up in the air. He didn't know whether to slap her or have her committed. "Look, it really is great to see you again, words can't describe how great it is, but I've got a piece to edit. I don't really have time for this, Wendy."
He spun around and walked back toward the van, leaving her behind for the second time this afternoon. Maybe this time it will take.
"You could have said 'no,' " she called after him. He paused and looked back at her. A skeptical eyebrow arched. "When they asked you to interview me. You could have said 'no.' "
Actually, the interview had been his idea, but he didn't feel like mentioning that now. He didn't want to do anything to encourage her.
Or did he?
Against his better judgment, he walked back over to where she was sitting. "What are you trying to say?"
"I'm trying to say that means something."
Dipper sighed and softened his voice, an uncertain expression upon his face. "Wendy, we're on the side of a freeway. You . .."
"Doesn't have to be here," she insisted. "How about dinner tonight? I know this great rib place."
He shook his head sadly. "It's not really such a good idea."
"I thought maybe you might want an explanation," she said, "about why I did what I did. The day I left."
Her guilt and regret were painfully obvious. Dipper guessed that she had been beating herself up over the events of that fateful day. He suddenly felt terrible about giving her such a hard time.
"Wendy," he said gently, "you were just fifteen. You witnessed a horrible tragedy and you ran. It made sense to me then, it makes sense to me now." After the initial shock of her leaving, he'd had plenty of time to think things over and reach some sort of under standing about what had happened that day. "I have no hard feelings. None. The reason they call it the past is that, well, it's past. Over and done with." The more he talked about it, the more she almost believed it. "We're completely different people now than we wer-"
Before he could finish, Wendy leaned forward and kissed him. Her lips found his and, for an endless moment, he was instantly transported back to a summer afternoon beneath a shady front porch. Dipper surrendered briefly to the kiss before he came to his senses (as much as he didn't want to) and realized that this was neither the time nor the place. He reluctantly pulled away from he and blushed. He hesitantly turned back toward the van, striding a little less decisively this time. His legs felt rubbery.
"It doesn't have to be ribs," she called out. "It could be Chinese, Italian ... you name it."
He stopped, sighed, and looked back at her. Familiar emerald green eyes entreated him. God, he could never resist those eyes. ...
Oh, man. . . This is gonna be awesome. "Alright. There's a restaurant at my hotel- the Plaza. Eight o'clock."
Her whole face lit up. "This is a sign, Dipper!" she shouted exuberantly as he climbed back into the van. His cameraman gave him a quizzical look, which he did his best to ignore, instead trying to hide his growing excitement. It's just a dinner, he rationalized, trying to convince himself that he hadn't just made a mistake. Maybe a chance to achieve a little closure after all these years. His shrink would approve. Who knows? Perhaps he'd even get a good story out of this. Dinner with the famously reclusive Wendy Corduroy.
. . . . . . Oh, who was he kidding?! He just got a kiss from the girl of his dreams! AND she asked him out! In the same day!
The taste of her kiss lingered on his lips as the van pulled back into traffic. Passing motorists, recognizing Wendy in her snazzy white suit, honked their horns in greeting. Wendy waved back at them, looking embarrassingly happy.
Dipper still wondered what exactly he was getting into.
Wendy wasn't the only one who took a big leap today.
