One More Spring

(May-June 2017)

6. Finish Lines

May flashed by in what seemed like a couple of days. It was longer, but it felt too fast. And the short time was crammed with events. At the State Track and Field Finals, Dipper was sure at the 150-meter mark that he'd come in second. He was too far behind the Corvalis runner to catch up, though ahead of the pack.

And then he heard—or imagined he heard—Wendy's voice: Go, Dipper! I believe in you! That probably wasn't possible, because she was a long way off in the stands, but she was there and cheering him on. He leaned into the sprint, picking up his pace more than he believed he could.

He even thought You in there, Bill? Little help?

You got it, Pine Tree. Go for it, I'll take care of your heart!

Wendy and Bill urged him on, their voices probably all in his imagination. But somehow he closed the distance and in the last couple of meters he moved just far enough ahead—

When he slowed and stopped, the Corvalis guy, taller and lankier than he was, dripping with sweat, grinned and gasped, "Damn, man! Way to run. Congratulations."

And the guy on the loudspeaker said, "The two-hundred-meter results: Third place, Lewis, Junior, from Creighton High. Second place, Mathessen, Junior from Corvalis. First place, Pines, Senior from Piedmont High!"

"Good luck next year," Dipper puffed.

It was a good meet for Piedmont. They came in second in the State, and Dipper, Macavoy, Janet Thowley, and Diana Crown wound up as state varsity champions. Coach Dinson actually hugged Dipper when he came in from the track. And gave him permission to go watch the rest of the meet with Wendy and his family.

He went up to the stands to random congratulations, and then a laughing Wendy jumped up. "Don't hug me, I'm sweaty!" he warned.

"Like I care!" she said. Then she demonstrated that, in fact, she did not. They not only hugged, but kissed.

Mabel was grinning. "Way to go, Broman! Way to go!"

Mabel got a special-delivery letter from Olmsted: She had been granted the Louise Vickery Scholarship in Visual Arts, a financial windfall that wouldn't pay for her whole college experience but would definitely come in useful. By then Wendy had gone back to Gravity Falls, but Dipper face-timed her in the middle of work with the news. She flashed a huge smile and told Mabel, "I always knew you were talented, Mabes!"

Also, the prints of Mabel's painting, "Where the Dreams Are Real," came in from the printer. Mabel was super-critical of them—the colors were a tad muted, she said—but they looked great, Dipper thought, printed on a thick canvas-textured paper. Mabel immediately sat down at the dining-room table and autographed a hundred of them down in the right-hand margin: Mabel Pines, 1/100, Mabel Pines, 2/100, and so on. And they had to make a special trip to the copier store to find a box just the right size for the reproductions. "These," Mabel said, "are going straight onto the Mystery Shack shelves."

Then two weeks before graduation, she and Dipper learned something that Mr. and Mrs. Pines already knew. "What does 'salutatorian' mean?" Mabel asked Dipper when the letter came from the school.

"It means you and I tied for second-place in our GPAs," Dipper said. "Maida Bromfeld is going to be the Valedictorian—I always knew she would, she has like a perfect 100 average. But you and I are close behind her, and so we're co-Salutatorians. We get to give the welcoming speech at graduation."

"I'll sing a song from My Fair Lady!" Mabel said.

"Not enough time for that," Dipper said. "We're asked to limit our speech to 12-15 minutes. And it's not a performance, it's just a 'Parents, fellow students, faculty and staff members, welcome to the 2017 Piedmont High graduation.' Maida will give the long valedictory address."

"OK," Mabel said. "I like Maida and all, but what the heck does 'valedictorian' mean?"

"Comes from Latin and it means 'the person who says farewell.' See, we greet everybody and Maida says goodbye at the end, just before we walk across the stage for our diplomas."

"I get to go first!"

"Of course you do," Dipper said.

"Yeah, ladies first."

"Not exactly. Alphabetically, Mabel Pines comes right before Mason Pines."

"As it should," Mabel said with a smirk.

They could have exempted almost all their finals that year—what did they matter? Their final averages had already been computed. In fact, Mabel took all of her art finals, and Dipper—well, he took every one of his. Because he was that dedicated, he said. Mabel asked, "Oh, is that how you spell 'anal retentive?'"

"Not at the breakfast table!" Wanda Pines said sternly.

Grunkle Ford, Grunkle Stan, their wives, and Wendy all came down for the ceremony. The school gymnasium was traditionally the site of graduation, but renovations were beginning, so it was moved to a nearby arena that more usually featured music acts. In their caps and gowns, Mabel and Dipper waited until they were introduced, then went together up to the microphone.

Dipper had told Mabel to go first. She smiled and said, "It's taken a long time to get here! But here we are. We'd like to welcome everyone—parents and relatives, special others, faculty and staff, and especially our fellow students. And we have just a few words to say."

Dipper leaned forward. "High school has its ups and downs, as all of us know now. But they tell me we'll look back on our high school years fondly. Congratulations on making it this far, and we wish you the best of luck in your coming years. Mabel and I talked this over, and here's what we'd advise. Think of this place as a huge room. Every wall has many doors."

"Infinite doors!" Mabel said. "And no two are alike. Some doors open up to the path to college. Others lead to serving in the armed forces. Some lead to heartache, and some lead to joy. You never know."

Dipper again: "But as our great-uncle Stanley Pines once told us, 'When you come to a door, open it!'"

Mabel: "Or if it's locked, find a convenient adjoining wall and bash it in!"

From the crowd, a gravelly voice: "You tell 'em, Sweetie!"

Dipper: "But once you're through a door, you can't go back. You just look for more doors to explore. Our other great-uncle, Stanford Pines, told us, 'The joy is in exploring. Never be afraid to open a door.'"

Mabel: "So we wish for you, the Class of 2017, a lifetime of many doors and many, oh so many, pleasant arrivals."

Together: "Congratulations to each and every one of you."

Applause.

After graduation, when they got home, a boxy, shiny black SUV stood in the driveway. Dad turned around and handed Dipper a set of keys. "Son, go move your car so I can pull into our garage."

"My car?" Dipper asked.

"It's two years old, but in top shape," Alex Pines said.

"A Land Runner?" Dipper asked.

"Wendy recommended it," Alex said. "Mabel—Helen Wheels is all yours if you want it. But if you want to trade up—"

"Never!" Mabel said. "We were meant for each other! Woohoo! Hey, Dip, I get the first drive in your new car!"

"We'll see about that," Dipper said.

And so on June 2, Wendy and Dipper climbed into his new compact off-road vehicle, Mabel and Grunkle Stan into Helen Wheels. Sheila, Lorena, and Stanford Pines were flying back—Alex would drive them to the airport in a few minutes, and they'd get home way before the kids could drive up.

The twins had said their goodbyes. They had looked ahead to the things they had to do in August to be ready for beginning college right after Labor Day. Wendy and Dipper had invited Mom and Dad to the twins' eighteenth birthday party—and to the quiet civil wedding they planned. Mom wept a good deal, but she said, "Well—you're awfully young, but I hope you're very happy."

They would return to Gravity Falls later for a church ceremony and renewal of vows. They had wanted to do that in September, but college was complicating things—Olmsted and Western Alliance were on different schedules—so they were shooting for a date when Christmas break started instead.

"When are you going to fit in a honeymoon?" Dad asked.

Wendy said, "Honeymoon's gonna be college orientation, looks like! But we'll get away maybe between Christmas and New Year's."

"My children are so grown-up," Wanda said.

That morning they hugged, said their goodbyes, and started the cars. Just three doors down the street, little Billy Sheaffer stood waving. Dipper stopped the car and rolled down the window. "Hey, Billy," he said, "you gonna come up and visit again?"

"Can I?" he asked eagerly.

"Sure," Dipper said. "There's still lots of things to see in Gravity Falls. Mabel and I will show you all of them. Lots of things to learn."

"Yeah, thanks!" Billy said. "Oof!"

Mabel had stopped Helen Wheels right behind Dipper's car and had climbed out to rush over and hug Billy. "Hey, Billy," she said, "Do us a big favor. Drop in on Mom and Dad. Kinda keep an eye on them. They're feeling lonely. Will you promise me that?"

"S-sure," he said, grinning. "Yeah. Every day!"

"You're the best," Mabel told him.

"Well—I'll try to be," Billy replied.

He and Dipper exchanged a fist-bump.

And then the two cars rolled away into a bright Friday morning, heading for I-5 and north, back to Oregon, and back to Gravity Falls and whatever lay ahead.

The End