She was as beautiful as he remembered. Mowing the front lawn of her dad's log cabin, black tank top, faded blue jeans, ripped at the knees, her hair loose, and red, and wild. He smiled to himself and carried on up the dirt road that acted as her driveway, until he was seeing her fully, not through the trees. She looked up, pausing her up-and-down pattern, and her mouth went wide and she grinned and left the mower running, strode over the grass she hadn't cut yet and shouted, "what the fuck, stranger?" She threw her arms around his neck, one of those bear hugs he always loved. When she let go she brushed a strand of hair out of her green eyes, scratched her cheek, messy with freckles. "The hell are you doing here?"

"I live here now," he said.

She punched his shoulder. "Get out. Since when?"

"Since yesterday."

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

"I'm telling you right now."

The door of the cabin swung open and out walked her dad, onto the porch. He was a stocky man, to say the least, a thick red beard down to his chest, owner of the lumbering company, responsible for deforestation across town. He set down a can on the wooden railing – Budweiser – and called out, "hey, Wen? How about you shut that damn thing off if you're gonna stand around and yabber with your friends, huh?"

Wendy stepped back and switched off the mower, the woods around them returning to its natural peace, birdsong, leaves rustling in the wind, not an engine or car horn to be heard. "Dad, you remember Dipper? He's just moved back to town." She stood at the foot of the porch steps and motioned for Dipper to come closer, but truthfully, he feared the man bending down and taking a bite out of his head.

Dan – that was his name, Dipper remembered – tilted his beer out toward him. "How you doin', son."

"Hello, sir. Good to see you."

"Sir? My crew don't even call me sir. You call me Dan or Manly Dan, those are the options."

Manly Dan. Dipper almost laughed. If they were on the set of a porno, maybe then he'd call him that. Wendy looked back at Dipper and pointed her thumb out to the driveway. "You wanna go get a drink or something?"

"Yeah, of course."

"I'll finish the lawn later, is that okay, Dad?"

He gulped his beer, crushed the can in his palm and tossed it into a metal bucket stationed by the door. "So long as it's done by dark," he said, retreated into the cabin without another word.

Wendy squeezed Dipper's arm for a second as they walked back along the driveway. "It's so good to see you, man. How long's it been? Two years?"

"Three years. Last time I was here, you were still in Denver."

"Right, right. Yeah, um, I'm guessing you heard about that."

"Yeah." She had studied at the University of Denver for a year and a half, but dropped out. Majored in Law. Dipper remembered reading the paragraph about it she had posted on her Facebook page, how he went to type out a reply and decided against it, because if they hadn't texted for a year that must have been for a reason. The same doubts bounced around his mind not five minutes ago, walking to her house, but they'd settled once she'd welcomed him with open arms. "College isn't for everyone," he said.

"Is that why you're here? For college?"

"Nah. The opposite, really. I do want to go, I just don't know where. Or what to study. I'm gonna work in the Mystery Shack while I figure it out."

"Smart. I wish I'd done it that way. Instead I'm twenty-thousand dollars in debt with nothing to show for it."

"You don't have to pay that back right away though, right?"

"No," she said. "If I did, I wouldn't be here. I'd be a skeleton on my bedroom floor. Starved to death."

They crossed the main road, stepped over a wide crack in the middle, and started along the woodland trail that led into town. It was the same route he had sometimes walked alone to Wendy's house in the summers, after coming out the bowling alley or the movie theater, his friends and his sister teasing him as they went their own way, him blushing, muttering under his breath that he wasn't in love with Wendy, that his friends were assholes. He would get butterflies walking up her driveway but she was always happy to see him, or at least acted like it. She would grab two root beers out the fridge and they'd go to her room and play her Xbox until the sun set and their eyes were sore.

"So you're working with your dad now?" Dipper asked.

"Yeah. Not working with him, so much, but with his crew sometimes."

"That'll explain the, uhh–" he reached out and squeezed her biceps.

She flexed both her arms. "Cool, right? This is from chopping firewood out behind the cabin, though. We sell it out of our backyard now, which is great in winter, but in the summer I do more shifts at the bowling alley. I work there, too. We used to deliver firewood door to door, actually. We made a lot of money off people who lived out in the woods, especially old people. But Dad had to sell his car to pay Kevin's hospital bills."

"What happened to Kevin?"

"Broke his leg playing soccer. And then the other leg six months later."

"Ouch."

"Yeah."

"What about your van? Couldn't you use that?"

"Oh, I sold the van right before I went to college. I couldn't afford rent in the city otherwise."

"You sold the van? Oh, man. You loved that thing." It was a Volkswagen painted in the pattern of a red and black flannel, and when she drove it, she always wore her matching shirt, while half of her personal belongings rattled around in the back. She used to park it up at Lookout Point and sleep in it, sometimes in a sleeping bag, sometimes on the floor, using a shoebox as a pillow.

"I did love it," she sighed. "But, you know. Whatever. Life goes on."

They came out of the woods and onto Main Street, and Dipper peered into the windows of the local stores and businesses, the floors clean and the shelves tidy and the owners as tired as he remembered. It was boring to look at, depressing if you thought about it too much, but at least Main Street was pleasant. The same could not be said for Skull Fracture, the biker bar around the corner, just out of sight of the church.

Wendy pointed a thumb at the door, asked, "you wanna get a drink in here?" as if there were other options further up the street. No, if you wanted a drink, you went to Skull Fracture, and you asked for something strong, not something fruity, and you sat down and you shut up and you tried real hard not to look anyone in the eye for more than a second, lest they take it the wrong way and assume either that you wanted to fight them or fuck them, and both of those ended in pain. But it was 2 P.M. on a weekday, so only the rock-bottom alcoholics were inside, and they weren't drunk enough yet to be friendly but they weren't drunk enough yet to be mean, either, and Dipper ordered a Diet Coke despite the bartender openly reminding him that we don't ID here, kid, and the only questioning glance came from Wendy.

"You don't want a beer?" she said, popping the cap off her Budweiser on the edge of the bar, worn away from years of people doing the same thing.

"Nah," he said. "I'm trying not to drink anymore."

He was grateful that she didn't ask why. She took a swig, half the bottle, and they sat down in a booth on the empty side of the bar, the clack of billiard balls distant, heavy metal playing over the speakers. "Fuck that," Wendy said. "When you're as unambitious as I am, drinking gets you through the day."

"What do you mean?"

She hunched her shoulders, white bra strap peeking out from under her tank top. "I'm twenty-one and I live with my dad, working two jobs that won't ever take me anywhere."

"I think that's more common than you think."

"Maybe. How's Mabel?"

"She's good. She's studying Drama in Irvine starting next week."

"Yeah, she told me about that. We still talk on Facebook sometimes. She sounded really excited about it."

"Yeah, she is. I mean, it's Mabel. She gets excited when the mailman comes up the driveway."

Wendy laughed but Dipper couldn't, because now he was thinking about his sister clearing out her bedroom, sweeping their childhood away, driving to her dormitory with their parents in the car behind, her suitcase propped up in the passenger seat.

Wendy reached across the table and put her hand on his, laced their fingers together. "It's gonna be hard being apart from her, huh?"

The sun was in his eyes, now, and Dipper's gaze drifted away from the water, down at the baseball field, the grass between bases erased from years of prisoners running around the diamond, some because they wanted to, some because there was nothing better to do. "I knew right then that I was still in love with her," Dipper said.

"Shit," Mitch said, and flicked his cigarette, landing somewhere among the bottom benches. "This ain't gonna have a happy ending, is it?"

"You thought the story of how I ended up in prison was going to have a happy ending?"

"I don't know if I'm gonna be able to handle this. You're gon' tell me this chick was an angel and you killed her."

"I didn't kill her, Jesus Christ."

"But you hurt her."

"I didn't hurt her, not like that. I never laid a finger on her. I wouldn't."

"So what did you do?"

"Mitch, come on, man. Shut up and stop interrupting and we'll get there faster."

"Alright, alright. Go on."

"I was in love with her but I didn't tell her. We were just friends, and I think I was okay with that. A lot of her high school friends had moved away and I barely knew anyone in town, so we hung out a lot. When days were slow at the Mystery Shack I drove over to the bowling alley, and then she spent a lot of evenings in my uncle's house. She'd worked at the Shack before, actually, so it was kind of like a second home for her already. Then, everything changed on New Years' Eve. Her dad was friends with Stan, from like, way back when. We had their whole family over at the Shack – Wendy, her dad, and her three brothers, Marcus, Kevin, and Gus."

There was an open field adjacent to the Mystery Shack that Stan had, in years past, used to host an annual carnival, which had never quite complied with health and safety regulations but was always a highlight of any teenager's year in Gravity Falls. It brought every kid in town together for a day, which was a recipe for melodrama – for instance, you would see your ex walking around hand in hand with the asshole from the bottom of your street so you'd wait until they headed for the ferris wheel and you'd slip into the queue ahead of them, hop on the car in front of them, wait until they were kissing, and then you would spill your drink over the railing and soak their hair in orange soda. Dipper had his first kiss up on that ferris wheel, and the following year he almost lost his virginity when Kara Herring led him by the hand into the surrounding woods and they lay down on a bed of dirt and leaves, but Dipper kept hearing twigs snap and raising his head like a meerkat to check that nobody was watching, and Kara got tired of that and told him to get off her and stormed back to the carnival, buttoning her shirt up.

Stan threw another bundle of kindling on the bonfire, and for a moment the flames were taller than any of them. Marcus was talking to Dipper about college and Dipper nodded along, but his eyes wouldn't stop drifting to Wendy. The hair hanging down to her chest was glowing orange in the firelight and the embers twirled in her eyes. Her dad had one gigantic arm draped around her neck, his palm tapping her shoulder to the beat of the song on the radio. They were talking at a low volume, smiling. It was ten minutes to twelve; soon the local DJ would say a few words about how little had happened this year in his own life and indeed the life of Gravity Falls, and then he would launch into an unenthusiastic countdown to midnight.

Wendy looked over at Dipper and broke into a warm smile, the freckles on her cheeks reshuffling. She slipped away from her dad's grip and came around the fire, took Dipper's arm and rubbed his biceps through his sweater. "Come inside with me for a minute?" she whispered, and Dipper's heart didn't jump because Wendy had always been touchy-feely, and flirtatious without meaning to be. He had no reason to consider that tonight might be different.

As they walked away from the warmth of the fire and toward the light of the porch, her dad called out, "Wen, where you going?"

"We're just getting a drink," she called back.

"We're lighting the fireworks at twelve. Don't be late."

"Okay," and then, under her breath, "your highness."

In the kitchen she grabbed a beer from the fridge and pointed along the row of sodas, until Dipper nodded at the root beer. She passed him the can and said, "I don't know about you, but I'm watching the fireworks from the roof. I'm not going back out there tonight. When my dad gets drunk he's either aggressive or mushy, and tonight he's gone with mushy."

"Oh. I thought you were having a good time."

"I am. I'd just rather not be around when he starts weeping about how much he misses my mom." She took a swig of her drink and winced. "That was mean. Of course he misses her. It's been so long, though. He says he sees so much of Mom in me, but he needs to find somebody else to do his laundry and cook his dinner."

"That," Dipper said, "is misogynistic."

"How's that misogynistic?"

"You're suggesting that basic responsibilities like cooking and cleaning fall to a woman."

"I'm not suggesting that. My dad is suggesting it, when he tells me to do his laundry and cook his dinner."

"Oh."

"Yeah." She stepped forward and prodded Dipper's chest. "Smart-ass."

He took her hand, cold from holding the beer. "Come on," he said, and led her up the stairs and the ladder to the roof.

Only part of the roof was flat, but it was big enough for the two of them. It was unlit save for the moon and it overlooked the woods, dead quiet. The field and the bonfire were behind Wendy and Dipper, hidden by the peak of the roof. Later they would turn around and look up to watch the fireworks. They sat side by side, not touching, but their feet sometimes bumping when Wendy swung her legs.

"You got any New Year's resolutions?" she asked him.

"I have two," he said. "I want to write more. At least two hours a day."

"Awesome. I love reading your stories."

"You mean you love it when I read them to you."

"That's the same thing."

"It isn't, but okay."

"What's the second resolution?"

"I need to find a girlfriend," he said. "You know, someone to do the laundry and cook dinner."

She went to hit his arm but he dodged it and laughed. "Be serious," she said.

"I am serious. Not about the cooking and the laundry, obviously. I do want a girlfriend, though. I guess you could say I have a hole in my heart that only romance can fill."

She scoffed. "If romance is involved, I think you're screwed."

"Excuse me? I'm extremely romantic."

"Yeah?"

"Of course."

"Where do you take a girl on a first date?"

"The sewers."

Wendy laughed and shook her head. "The sewers."

"Yeah, think about it. A walk in the sewers by candlelight. If you can woo someone in a sewer, you've wooed them for life."

"You're disgusting."

He took a sip of his soda and set it down on a level tile, leaned back on his hands. "What about you? What's your resolution?"

She shrugged. "I didn't have one, but I guess I should get a boyfriend too. It's been a while. Maybe we can matchmake for each other." She gazed out into the dark, and Dipper was quiet, his eyes on the back of her head. She turned around, tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled.

"I mean, there's an easier way we could solve that problem," Dipper said.

"What problem?"

"That we're both single."

The smile vanished from her face and reappeared, as if deciding he was joking. She turned her attention back to the black mass of trees and said, "you don't want me."

"Why not?" He sat forward again, tried to meet her eyes. "You don't know what I want."

"I know that I'm too old for you, for one thing."

"I'm eighteen. We're three years apart. That difference doesn't mean shit anymore."

Again she looked back at him, her face softer, almost nervous. Dipper couldn't remember the last time he had seen her confidence shaken, if ever. Her eyes flitted to his lips and back up. "I'm not into sewers," she said.

"I know." He ran his fingers along the rough tiles until they grazed her hand, and then he picked it up and held it. "You're into long walks around the lake and lying by the fire. You're into heavy metal concerts and horror movies. You like going back to bed in the afternoon and pulling the covers up over your head. I could join you for any of those things."

She was close enough now to whisper. "I lie around in bed in the afternoon because I'm lazy."

"So am I."

"I'm also moody and difficult."

"I know. It's weird how that makes you more attractive."

She kissed him, one hand weaving its way into the curls of his hair and the other gripping his shirt, pulling him closer, a surge of warm breath released from her nose. While he massaged her back and she explored his hair, their lips didn't part once for a full minute, the kiss deeper with each passing second, until their tongues met and Wendy thrusted forward. She shifted one leg to climb onto Dipper's lap but she slipped on a tile, and Dipper opened his eyes and held her still until they were sure they wouldn't fall off the roof. She glanced at the black void below them and laughed through her nose, then their eyes met again, and they both stood, their arms still entangled. Wendy backed up to the slanted roof, leading Dipper by the hand, and she leaned against it and he leaned against her and they continued where they left off, Dipper eventually moving to her neck, indulging in the subtle scents of her body – vanilla on her skin and apple in her hair – the things that were impossible to pick up on when they were more than a few millimeters apart.

He heard the whistle of a firework bound skyward, and then the crackles and bangs overhead were loud enough to startle them every time, but they remained intertwined, lost in one another's touches and tastes. Dipper knew that hundreds, maybe thousands of moments just like this one were happening right now along the West Coast, but none of the people wrapped up in them were as ecstatic as he was, none of them were more deeply in love with the person they were kissing than he was. He was sure of it.

Wendy tilted her head down and their lips were separated. She pressed her forehead to his and as another firework went off, a flash of purple struck her cheek, then green, then red. "Come to bed with me?" she breathed.

They descended the ladder, and crossed the landing to Dipper's bedroom, the moonlight through the single window sufficient to guide them across the wooden floorboards to his single bed in the corner. Wendy sat down and Dipper jumped onto the mattress and then she was hovering above him, crawling on her hands and knees like a lion creeping up on its prey. She clawed at the buttons on his shirt and he lay still, not knowing what to do with his hands. When his shirt was open, she placed a cold palm on his chest and ran her fingernails down to his belly, scratching it slightly, and that was all the invitation he needed to lurch forward, meet her lips again, and be as rough with his hands as he craved to be. Eventually they changed places, Wendy on her back and Dipper pressed against her, and he cupped her breast through her shirt and she stiffened below him.

Dipper pulled his hand away and pushed himself up to look at her. "Sorry," he said. "I thought–"

"No, it's okay. You can."

It hadn't occurred to Dipper until now that Wendy might want him to be gentle, because, well, it was Wendy; she had a punching bag in her bedroom and she chopped wooden planks with her forehead. "Can I take off your shirt?" he said, and she nodded, raising her arms as he lifted it over her head. Underneath, a red bra and an expanse of skin that he'd seen before at the pool, but now it was right in front of him, in his reach, and she didn't mind that he was trailing a finger up to her chest. He dipped his head and kissed the fleshy skin at the top of her breast, used a finger to lower the cup of her bra, and for a moment Wendy panted, hot, heavy breaths that told him he was pushing all the right buttons, but then he felt it again, her muscles tensing under his touch.

She scooted backwards, up against Dipper's pillow, and groaned.

"Sorry," he said again, and swallowed. "Am I doing it wrong?"

"No, no, it isn't you. It's me. I'm sorry. I thought I was ready, but I... can we take this slow?"

"Of course. Of course we can."

"Sorry." She glanced down at his bare torso. "I know I led you on."

"No, you didn't. If you're not ready, I mean, Jesus, I'm happy with anything, Wendy. I'm happy just being near you. You have no idea how long I've wanted to– to– um."

There was no way of saying it without sounding perverse, but she bailed him out. "Me too," she said, and smiled and held out her hand. "Do you want to lie down for a little bit?"

He took her hand and they lay down, facing one another, the bedding bundled up beneath them. For a while they said nothing, just stared into each other's eyes like lovesick teenagers. Dipper tucked strands of her hair behind her ear and ran a thumb across her freckled cheek.

"Happy New Year," Wendy said.

"Happy New Year," he said, but the very mention of it made his stomach sink. The year ahead was now paved with uncertainty. "This isn't one of those... one-night things, is it?"

Her smile faltered. "So you think I'm a slut."

"What? No, I–"

"I'm kidding." She stroked the stubble on his chin with her fingertips. "I don't think it's a one-night thing. Do you?"

"I hope it isn't."

"Why don't you meet me at the diner tomorrow for breakfast? Then it won't be a one-night thing. In fact, why don't you bring your car, and then afterwards we'll go park up at the lake and make out for a few hours? Then it definitely won't be a one-night thing."

"That sounds sublime."

Some time around twelve-thirty Wendy said they should go back downstairs, so they put on their shirts and kissed a few times in the doorway, reluctant to pause what they had started tonight. When they stepped outside, they could see that the bonfire had been extinguished, and Stan and the Corduroys were just entering the light cast from the porch. Stan had a devilish look about him. "What have you two been up to?" he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, and only then did Dipper realize how awkward it was to come face to face with Wendy's family moments after she had been in his bed.

Wendy's boots clacked against the porch steps as she joined them. "We were just talking," she said.

Stan came up on the porch and bumped Dipper's shoulder, and Wendy walked toward the parking lot. Her brothers followed, taking no notice of Stan's comment or of Dipper's glowing red cheeks – they had never been a perceptive bunch – but her dad stood still, silent, and Dipper couldn't look the man in the eye so he said, "goodnight, Dan," and swiveled on his feet and stepped back inside.

As the door swung closed, "'night, son," Dipper heard him say.