Dipper and Waddles had decided to eat breakfast in front of the TV, and Camo had decided to join them. She munched on her cereal happily, Colonel Forrest next to her (no, she had not forgotten him, that would be a bad owner move). Stan came in and asked, "Who wants Stan-cakes?" She noticed that he was wearing an oven mitt, but not on the hand he was holding the pan with. "They're like pancakes, but they probably have some of my hair in 'em."

She choked on her cereal, which wasn't a huge surprise since she ate it without milk. She coughed and spat it back in her bowl, her appetite fully ruined. Dipper merely said, "Pass."

The door flew open, and she heard Mabel yelling, "It's here! Ahh!" She ran past Stan, whose pancake landed on his stomach, and into the living room. "Oh, it's here! It's here! It's here! It's here! I've been waiting all morning and it's finally here!" She shoved her face in Dipper's, and Camo was glad she was sitting on the floor, by the pig. "The Gravity Falls Gossiper accepted my article about summer fashion tips for squirrels. My picture is gonna be in the newspaper! Check it!"

She proudly showed them the paper, and Camo instantly glared at it, though the younger girl didn't notice. "'Pacifica Northwest declares v-necks the look of the season'," Stan read. "What am I looking at here?"

"Wha-wha-what?!" Mabel shouted, looking at it herself.

Dipper, glaring over his sister's shoulder, said, "Looks like someone bought their way to the front page."

"Is it legal for a child to wear that much make-up?"

Camo, sitting on the floor and in no position to be reading the article, was trying to regain her appetite and utterly failing. Dumb Stan-cakes.

"Ugh. Pacifica," Mabel groaned. "She always ruins everything."

"Aww, cheer up, Mabel. I mean, no one even reads newspapers anymore." That was Dipper, in an attempt to cheer up his twin.

Soos came running in, obsessing over v-necks and cutting himself a w-neck. Camo rolled her eyes and amended, "No one worth your time reads newspapers anymore." Thankfully, they ignored her. Only later did she realize how mean that was to Soos.

Mabel moodily poured herself a glass of orange juice and downed it like someone would a shot of whiskey. "I need something to get my mind off this."

"Looking for a distraction from your horrible life?" A commercial started on TV, and Camo wrinkled her nose. Whose advertising campaign started like that?

"Why, yes!"

It continued, showing pictures for each word. "Victory. Honor. Destiny. Mutton. These old-timey sounding words are alive and well at the Gravity Falls Royal Discount Putt Hutt! No mutton available at snack shop."

"Hey!" Dipper exclaimed. "Mabel, you love mini-golf! She's been amazing at it since we were kids." (Camo, thinking back to the several times her ball had somehow gone into a river: . . .) "What do you say, Mabel? We've had a stressful couple of days. How about we take a break, huh?"

"Would kicking all our butts at mini-golf cheer you up?" Stan asked. Wait. Why did he always get the armchair?

Mabel admitted, "Maybe a little."

"Come on, Mabel! Victory!" Dipper said, climbing to his feet on the arm of the chair.

"Honor!" Mabel yelled.

"Destiny!" Stan and Camo said at the same time, jumping to their feet in sync.

"Mutton!" Soos joined in, his w-neck flopping down.

They chanted those four words as they left the house in a line. "Victory! Honor! Destiny! Mutton! Victory! Honor! Destiny! Mutton!"

Soos added, "And the pig and the dinosaur plushie can look after the house."

They walked into the Royal Discount Putt Hutt dressed for success. Imagine Camo's surprise when she found a donut-golfing t-shirt in her wardrobe. Naturally, she wore that, along with the red-black-grey-and-also-now-green-because-of-zombie-guts jacket. She wielded her green golf club like she was ready to smack her way to a total loss—er, win. She had to remain positive, right?

"Ah, mini-golf," Mabel sighed happily. "The sport of mini-champions."

"The grass is fake, but the fun is real," Dipper added.

"The place where you always need to bring a second pair of socks." The twins looked at her oddly, and she grinned impishly. "You know, in case you get a hole in one?"

Dipper shoved her, and she shrieked as she hit the plastic grass. "There's something here for everyone," he said.

They spent the day struggling. Dipper was having as hard a time as she was, though he was ext-roar-dinary and she was roar-some. So, they became the Dino Duo: the ones who sucked while Mabel blew them away. When Mabel hit the first ball, Stan shouted, "Holy smokes! Someone in our family actually has talent!"

"Grunkle Stan, you ain't seen nothin' yet!"

It was really hard to feel good about her own mini-golf skills when Mabel kept blowing her out of the water—or rather, blowing her ball into the water. Once, the sheer force of her swinging her club blew on her ball that it rolled into a pond, leaving Camo gaping. Most of the holes she either got a hole in one or two (she couldn't remember the official name for a hole in two). Finally, they reached the last hole.

"Guys, this is amazing," Dipper whispered reverently. "If Mabel gets a hole in one here, she'll beat her all time high score!"

Mabel merely stood there, prepping. Camo prepped for nearly as long all the time, but she always failed miserably. The girl smacked it, and they waited anxiously for it to come out . . . but it went out the wrong hole and stopped in a puddle.

"Aw, nuts!" Mabel screamed, throwing down her golf club. The crowd that had started to grow dispersed sadly. Everyone started comforting her on the loss, at least until a small purple ball fell in the hole. They looked up to find its owner and . . . of course.

"Oh, would you look at that?" Pacifica said condescendingly. "I didn't know it was 'Hobos Golf Free Day'."

"Pacifica!" Mabel hissed.

Camo debated throwing her club, too—at a certain heavily mascara-d face.

"Well, if it isn't the Pines family. Fat, old, lame, weird, braces."

She really wanted to hurt this kid, much like Stan ("Soos, would it be wrong to punch a child?"), but she had a better plan. She smiled and said, "Thanks for the compliment."

Pacifica spluttered. "Wha—I called you weird. That's not a compliment."

She hummed. "I don't think it is. We're in Gravity Falls, of all places, so if that is considered normal"—she pointed to where the Corduroys minus Wendy were screaming and breaking golf clubs—"then I'm glad to be weird. So, thanks."

The rich girl huffed. "Whatever. I heard you're living with these hobos, though? What, don't have any family?" Camo was surprised at her own wince. She hadn't realized that she missed her family that much. "Ha. Or maybe the weirdo tailors realized you were crazy and didn't want to take you in?"

Camo growled and retreated to where the Pines were, trying to figure out a way to get revenge that wouldn't get her in trouble with the Northwest parents.

"I've got this," Dipper said. "Hey, Pacifica, how's that whole your-family-being-frauds thing working out for you?"

"Great, actually. That's the thing about money. It makes problems go away."

Mabel retorted, "Well, it can't buy you skill." Why was her eye closed? Who—had Stan ever said that or was that just a Mabel-ish thing to do? "You walked into the game of the mini-golf champion."

"Ha!" Pacifica laughed. She snapped her fingers. "Sergei!" A man with a moustache walked up. "This is Sergei, my trainer."

"The Sportlympics had mini-golf once. I took gold!" Sportlympics? Was that a knock-off Olympics?

Pacifica smugly said, "So if you don't mind moving out of the way of the professionals . . ." She walked over to the bonus hole (why did she have a tee in the ground? Wasn't that against the rules or whatever?) and easily smacked it in, causing an explosion. She casually pulled off her weird little glove and said, "Enjoy second place. Give her a hand, folks!"

The crowd did, and with one I win look back, she sauntered.

"Oh, yeah?" Mabel screamed. "Well, I want a rematch, you . . . you . . . walking one-dimensional bleached blond Valley Girl stereotype!" Camo inhaled sharply at that. Scuff, that was a good insult. The entire crowd gasped, as they should, and Pacifica spun around furiously.

She angrily said, "Like, let's do this." Ominous storm clouds formed overhead, and the two girls got right up in each other's faces. However, the conflict was ruined by—

"Hear ye! Hear ye! Honk! Honk! Ow!" The kingly-dressed teenager ran the golf cart into the lamp post several times before he realized he needed to actually turn to avoid it. "Stop at once! The park is now closed due to weather. The king of mini-golf has spoken." He backed up into the lamp post again, knocking the cart over. "Oh, the king is down!"

With a sigh, Camo went over and shoved the cart back into its proper place, ignoring the ogling look she was receiving from the "king". She had closed herself off until high school, and she wasn't breaking that for some far-too-pimply teen with a squeaky voice.

Later that night, they sat in the Hermandos Brothers cafe. Mabel moodily laid with her chin on the table, forlornly staring out at the rain. Dipper was dutifully putting chips in her mouth as she asked for them. Overall, it was a rather pathetic scene.

She reached across the table to grab a couple chips for herself—she was hungry and bored, and Mabel's protectiveness wasn't going to stop her—and munched on them absently, her mind elsewhere. However, she was brought back to reality as Mabel sighed, "Time to scratch mini-golf off my talents list."

"Aw, don't give up, Mabel," Soos said, sliding in next to her. She frowned in horror as she realized she was now squeezed between Stan and Soos, who was wearing a trash bag like a rain poncho.

"Yeah, if you beat her at this, she could never rag on you again," Dipper pointed out. "Imagine it."

Mabel very clearly was imagining it and was loving imagining it.

With a determined look on her face, Mabel climbed on the table and said, "You're right, guys. I just need to practice a little more before midnight."

Stan, munching on his taco, said, "Go to the golf course after dark, you say? I don't know. We'd have to break in and . . . just kidding! Let's break in!" He had a wild, not quite sane expression on his face that Camo was sure was on hers as well.

"Yeah!" she cheered. "Crime!"

Why did crime always have to involve Stan driving at high speeds?

She laid on the ground, holding clumps of grass tight with her fists, hoping she never had to go through that again. It was a foolish hope—it was the only way to get anywhere fast—but she hated it with every fiber of her being when Stan drove.

Meanwhile, he was pulling away at a board in the fence to let the twins through. She heard him say, "Oh, and, hey, Mabel!" She watched him stick a golden trophy sticker on her sweater. "Knock her dead, kid." Stan turned to her and asked, "Aren't you gonna, I don't know, join them?"

"Nah," she said. "It's just mini-golf. I'd rather wait in the car with you and Soos . . . as long as it doesn't get driven with you at the wheel. Got it?" He nodded, so the three of them went back to the car to wait.

After a while of thinking more theories on who the Author could be, she heard Soos say, "Dude, I'm cutting Ws into all my shirts. Got to give the public what they want."

"Eh, I prefer to give them what they don't realize they want."

"Well, the kids are taking their time," Stan said. "Looks like it's gonna be a while." He tuned the station into romantic music and leaned his chair back. (Camo had to scoot to avoid getting her legs squished.) Soos put his chair down too, and his shirt was off from his w-neck cutting. She looked between the two of them, unsure whether to gag or to laugh.

She ended up doing both, causing both men to look at her oddly as she coughed chaotically.

Once she'd stopped, Soos said, "Sure are a lot of stars out tonight."

"Well, this is gettin' weird," Stan said, sitting his chair back up with a disturbed expression. He walked out, and Camo trailed him, because she was bored and where Stan went, things tended to be interesting. Another car pulled up, probably Pacifica. Sure enough, her dumb blond head (Camo was blond too, but Pacifica was clearly dyed blond, and was thus an insult to all real blondes out there) waltzed into the course.

"What're you doing?" Stan asked as soon as he noticed Camo following him.

"Following you."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because you tend to be interesting."

He thought about that for a moment, then shrugged. "Fair enough. I'm not going anywhere in particular though."

She shrugged too. "Doesn't matter. It's still better than spending who knows how long stuck in a car with Soos."

The two of them walked around the perimeter of the golf course, because it was kind of far from anything else and they didn't want to get lost in the woods. It was mostly uneventful for a while, at least until she finally worked up the courage to ask something.

"Stan . . . is your name really Stanford?"

He froze, which she took to mean no. "Wh-what makes you say that?"

"Well . . ." She rubbed the back of her neck. "First of all, your license plate is STLYMBL, or Stanley Mobile, and it wouldn't make sense for you of all people to pay extra money for that if it wasn't your name. You kind of tensed up whenever Gideon, or anyone else, really, called you Stanford instead of just Stan. And . . . ImayhavehadalittletripintooneofyourmemorieswhenyouthoughtIwaslikesomeonenamedFordsoIthinkStanfordisthenameofsomeoneyouknoworknewandyournameisreallyStanley."

It all kind of fell out of her mouth, and she realized she was a little red. "Did you . . . catch any of that?" she asked, somewhat sheepishly.

"Um . . . when did you visit my memory?" Stan asked after blinking a couple times in shock. So, he'd heard all of it.

"Before Gideon stole the Shack," she admitted. "We fought a triangle demon in your head, and we had to look for a certain memory, and . . . I 'stumbled' into your memory of the lake, and your thoughts told me that I reminded you of someone named Ford."

He stared at her. "You figured all that out," he said bewilderedly, "from a name and a license plate?"

She went bright red, but she couldn't help but ask, ". . . am I right?"

He sighed. "Yes, you are, but you gotta promise me something." He got down on one knee so they were eye to eye. "Please don't go looking for answers, okay? I know how close you are with the twins, and you're going to end up spilling a secret. I'm keeping secrets because I have to—you think I want any of this? No.

"My secrets are dangerous, and I don't want any of you dumb kids to get hurt. So, if it was just a general 'huh, that makes sense' . . . okay. Just please . . . don't go looking anymore, okay? I gotta hear you say it."

She sighed heavily and looked away. "Okay. I won't go looking . . . for any more evidence. But, if I stumble upon any or if it just clicks in my head, I can't be to blame, got it?"

"Deal."

They shook on it, and then went back to the car. They couldn't leave Soos waiting for too long, after all.

After a little bit, the twins finished up, so they climbed in the backseat. Pacifica stood out there, waiting for a ride that wasn't there, until Mabel called, "Hey! Your parents aren't here. You want a ride home?"

Dipper glared at the ceiling, and Camo did too—partially because the rich girl was an insult to blondes at party because they'd really have to squish to fit in the backseat.

"Puh-leaze, as if I'd ride in your . . ." A crash of thunder rolled across the sky, much to Camo's delight (storms were awesome and if you didn't think so then you were wrong), so she squeezed in between Camo and Mabel, because Dipper wanted nothing to do with her.

Stan was singing, "Singing the driving song, headlights are out, can't really see where I'm goin'." Camo frowned in thinly veiled terror. Not only was she sitting on a bit of old gum, she was likely going to die on a bit of old gum? That was depressing.

"Hey, I found two tacos!" Mabel said happily, pulling them out from behind the seat. She happily munched on one.

"You're allowed to eat in the car?" Pacifica asked, shocked.

Mabel sprayed a couple crumbs when she spoke. "Yeah, the car is where secret surprise snacks happen. Want one?"

Camo looked longingly at the taco, although Mabel didn't seem to notice. "Oh, I'm not supposed to take handouts," Pacifica said, and both of the other girls looked at her oddly.

"Handouts? It's called sharing! You do know what sharing is, right?" There was a moment in which Pacifica had some difficulty saying the word. Camo was guessing . . . no, she didn't. "Just take it."

Camo pouted as she watched the rich girl take a big bite (still effortlessly clean though) of the taco that should've been hers.

They arrived at the Northwest Mansion, and Pacifica hopped out, saying, "Thanks for the ride, or whatever. Oh, and Mabel . . . I can't believe I'm saying this, but I had fun. And tell your servant I like his w-neck!" She walked away, and Soos did a fist pump as his W fell down again.

"So, are you guys, like, cool now?" Dipper asked.

"Yeah, did I miss something?" While I was grilling Stan on the authenticity of his name?

Mabel said, "I think we made some progress. The important thing to remember is that at the end of the day, she's just an ordinary kid like us."

Pacifica opened the gate to reveal peacocks, fountains, a custom sign, and fireworks.

"Should've charged her for that taco."

"Agreed."

"Definitely."

They drove the car away, and Soos asked, "Hey, you got any more of those surprise tacos?"

Everyone laughed, but Camo said in a threatening voice, "If you do, I get it." Which was only kind of a joke, but everyone laughed at that, too.