Who Wants to Get Badgered?
(April-May 2012)
3-Meanwhile in California
Mabel, who was too young to watch such movies on her own, had once asked her brother, "Hey, Dipper? When people are at the beach, and you know, out in the ocean, hear chords on a cello, why don't they just get out of the water?"
"Huh?" asked Dipper, who had not snuck a look at their parents' DVD on the evening of Mabel's twelfth-birthday-party after-sleepover. "What?"
"You know," Mabel said, "Duh-dah, duh-dah, duh-dah. And you know the shark's there. Only a dummy wouldn't run up on the beach and into the mountains."
"I . . . don't know what you're even talking about," Dipper said.
"Shark music," Mabel explained. "It's like a theme song. In the movie, you know."
"Oh," he said. "The movie that we're not supposed to watch until we're, what, fifteen?"
"I forgot you didn't see it," Mabel said. "Anyway, I keep hearing shark music now."
"Then," Dipper said sensibly, "don't go in the water."
She nudged him. They had missed the bus, something that happened two or three times a week, but they didn't mind the walk. It gave them time to talk. "Brobro! Where's your head? It's a meta-whatchacallit. From English class. I'm talking the signs that something's up with Mom and Dad."
Dipper hitched his backpack a little higher. "You—you think they're getting divorced?" he asked, the thought jerking his face into a mask of terror.
"What? Divorced? Phbbblt! No!" Then Mabel started to look a little worried. "At least I don't think so. No, definitely not. I think. Maybe."
"What is it, then?" Dipper asked.
"Well, you know those calls that keep coming in from the 541 area code? Why do Mom and Dad always shoo us out into the yard when one of those shows up, huh? Answer me that!"
"I don't know," Dipper said. "Maybe something about Dad's work?"
"Wrongo bongo, Brobro! Do you know—" she glanced around furtively, though they were passing by Piedmont Park and no one was anywhere close enough to hear them—"do you know which area has that area code? Huh? Do you, hmm?"
"No," Dipper admitted.
"What if I told you—it's Transylvania? Bwah-hah-hah, blood, blood!"
Dipper gave her an incredulous look. "Transylvania's not in the United States," he said flatly. "I think it's close to Germany or something. In Europe, anyway. Europeans don't have American area codes."
"Oh. Well, there goes my hot vampire theory," Mabel said, looking a little downcast.
That had happened early in April. To say it triggered Dipper would be inaccurate, but over the next few days he was a little anxious.
Of course, he was always a little anxious. Siphon out the anxiety, and the person you had left wouldn't be Dipper. However, he did pay attention the following Saturday when the phone rang. The base showed that the area code was 541, and he grabbed it. "Hello?"
A gravelly voice asked, "Pines residence? Hey, let me speak to Mr. or Mrs. Pines, OK?"
"Uh—" Dipper said.
His mother said, "I've got it. Why don't you go out and play?"
"Um, it's raining?"
"Then go up to your room and do your homework."
"I did it already?"
"Then go practice your Sousaphone. I'd better hear it!"
"Yes, Mom."
As he was heading up the stairs, he overheard his mom say, "Hi. Oh, yes, Alex is here. I'll get him on the extension, just a minute."
Dipper went up to his bedroom, sat on the edge of his bed, and began to practice: "Poom! Poom! Poom! Poom!" So far, the Sousaphone was not a terribly challenging instrument.
He didn't know where Mabel was. Probably out riding her bike, or over in the park with some of her friends. Dipper didn't like getting wet, but Mabel didn't mind a light, showery rain. Rain or shine, though, he often got left out of her activities, and most of the time he didn't much regret that, but now and then . . . he felt a little lonely.
He did remember on Monday to look up the area code from the call and discovered it was in Oregon. About all he knew regarding that state was that it was up north of California and south of Washington State. It was part of the Pacific Northwest and it had a volcano in it, and Bigfoot had been reported from there more than once. Bigfoot was one of the many mysteries that fascinated Dipper. However his books on cryptology and weird creatures, though they recounted a few tales of sasquatch and UFO sightings from Oregon, didn't tell him much about the state. He was left wondering.
The moment of truth arrived in May. Later, when Mabel talked of it, it was as if it happened at the last possible second—Mom and Dad fastening backpacks on them, slathering their noses with sunscreen, and shoving them out the door. It didn't happen quite that way.
On yet another Saturday morning, Alex stopped Mabel from dashing away the moment she'd had breakfast and had them both sit on the sofa in the living room. "Kids," he said, "summer is coming up!"
"Yay!" Mabel yelled, punching the air. "Loud sing cuckoo!"
Dad and Dipper stared at her in astonishment. But then Dad cleared his throat. "Your mother and I have been talking it over. You know, you two have never even gone to summer camp before—"
"At last!" Mabel said. "I've got a lifetime of keychains and lanyards and friendship bracelets to make! We have to go buy me lots of extra yarn!"
Mom, who could usually damp down Mabel's small explosions, cut in: "Would you like to go to a camp for summer?"
"My time has come!" Mabel said. "Yes, one thousand!"
"Not . . . really," Dipper muttered.
"Then you're both in luck," Dad said. "You're not going to summer camp."
"You're going somewhere better!" Mom added.
Smiling, Dad said, "And not for just two weeks—for the whole summer."
"An epic summer vacation!" Mabel said. "Can we leave today?"
"You do have a couple more weeks of school," Mom reminded her.
"But my brain's already full!" Mabel said. "Two more weeks would just be a waste!"
"We'll send you off so you'll arrive on the first of June," Dad said.
"Send us?" Dipper asked.
"You're going by bus," Mom said.
Dipper felt a little sick. It was bad enough riding the school bus, where bigger kids, heck, even smaller ones, would deny him a seat and then laugh at him. On a bus with, what, fifty rowdy aggressive strangers—"Do we have to?" he asked.
"It won't be that bad," Dad assured him. "It's a long trip, but you'll be fine."
"Long?" Dipper asked. This was sounding worse and worse.
"Where?" Mabel asked. "Where where where? Disneyland? Woohoo! I got a bone to pick with Goofy!"
Dipper asked, "What is it with you and Goofy, Sis?"
"He tasks me," Mabel said darkly, like Gregory Peck at his most somber. "He tasks me."
"It's not Disneyland," Mom said firmly.
"Aw." Mabel made a fist. "One day, you big human dog. One day . . ."
"Kids," Dad said patiently, "do you remember your great uncle Stanford?"
"Oh, yeah," Dipper said. He did remember very faintly a big, laughing guy who had visited once or twice when he and Mabel were toddlers. But he hadn't come to see them in years.
"What makes him so great?" Mabel asked suspiciously.
Dad said, "Stanford is my uncle, and you're my children. So you're his grand-niece and grand-nephew, and he's your great-uncle."
"How come he gets great and we just get grand?" Mabel asked. "Discrimination!"
"OK, great-niece, it means the same thing," Dad said. "Anyway, he owns a museum and tourist attraction, and he's invited you both to visit him for the whole summer. It'll be a break for you two, and your mom and I can have a getaway of our own. Your great-uncle is a distinguished scientist, and the summer will be educational as—"
"Boo!" Mabel put in.
This time Dad ignored her: "—as well as fun. Fun, Mabel!"
Dipper had perked up at the word "educational." He asked, "Where does he live?"
Mom and Dad exchanged a glance.
Then Dad asked with a smile, "Have you ever heard of a place called Gravity Falls?"