In the winter that I was sixteen, my parents got a divorce.

I've heard that most kids see that coming - a tangible shift in the atmosphere of the house, like an argument waking you up in the morning, or an extended silence at the dinner table. Your mom asking you to relay messages to your dad, and vice versa. But from a young age, I had always known that my parents weren't in love, and in fact, they had never acted like they had ever been in love. I always joked with Mabel that they were products of aliens, beamed down to Earth to study human behavior, and that was why they were so shit at parenting.

I suppose Mom stuck with Dad for so long because of his wealth, and I just expected that to last until they died. But when his wealth took a huge dent, so did her interest in him.

You can imagine that I didn't feel bad for either of them, really, and I wasn't upset that they were splitting up - I was upset that I couldn't get upset. I couldn't get upset about my family falling apart, because it never felt like a family to begin with.

Mabel couldn't tell the difference. She fussed over me for a week on our video calls, and I hate to admit that I played up my misery to keep her attention, even shedding a few crocodile tears here and there. One night, she went offline and texted me an hour later asking how I'd feel about spending the second week of my winter break with her, and her family, at her house, in California. Her parents had suggested it.

I nearly squealed with excitement. My mom and dad would gladly throw a hundred dollars in my direction to get rid of me for a week, the burden that I was, and while Christmas was gloomy, I grinned my way through it because in a matter of days I would be cruising down I-5 (on a bus) to an adventure outside of the suffocating confines of my town.

The day after Christmas, I packed a suitcase to the brim with things I obviously wouldn't need, like my winter coat, just because carrying a full suitcase made me feel more important. I didn't get a lot of sleep that night. Couldn't stop thinking about the beach, and Mabel in a bikini. Then the next morning, my dad drove me to the bus stop, where I boarded the Greyhound to San Francisco, and I sat patiently in my seat for five hours watching the landscape transition behind the window.

The speck of San Francisco that I saw from the bus station was overwhelming, and while I would have loved to come back and explore with Mabel, my first time alone in unfamiliar territory was making me a little anxious, so I jumped in the first taxi I could find and gave the driver Mabel's address. Half an hour later, the driver pulled up outside a bungalow way up in the hills, totally obscured by shrubbery except for the garage and the roof. I laughed in disbelief when I saw the skyscrapers of San Francisco through the windshield, standing tall between the ocean and the hills - the Pines had a view of the whole city from up here.

I hopped out and the driver passed me my suitcase. I tipped him twenty dollars of my parents' money.

Then I heard her voice, for once not filtered by the microphone on her laptop, then I saw her running barefoot down the driveway, in the flesh, chanting, "oh my god!"

I beamed at her. "Hey!"

"You're here," she squeaked, throwing her arms around me. "It's you and you're here and you're you!"

"I'm here," I laughed.

"Look at you. Have you gotten taller?"

"Nope. Have you gotten cuter?"

She grinned and curtsied. God, I loved her. She was a dork and I loved her. "I get cuter every day. It's my superpower. Come on, for god's sake, come inside. I have to show you everything."

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, so they say. In my case, absence enlarged my heart to inhuman proportions and forced me to forget everything else about life. Mabel showed me around her home, pointing out inconsequential things like lamps and cat trees, excitement trumping reason, and I had a hard time taking my eyes off her flushed cheeks. That night, we hung out in Dipper's room, eating pizza out of the box. Our talk naturally drifted to memories of Gravity Falls, because that was the one thing we all had in common, the one thing that would follow us everywhere, forever. I watched Mabel laugh at her own stories in between bites of pepperoni, I watched her tuck her hair behind her ear, I watched her wink at me. Every ounce of attention from her felt like a gift.

Contrary to my initial belief, California isn't immune to clouds - it was overcast for the rest of the week. I never did get that beach day and an opportunity to rub sun screen into her back, and slide my hand under the elastic of her bikini bottom and pretend it slipped. No, I wouldn't have done that. I don't think.

The weather didn't matter. What was important, was the freedom, and being together. Mabel had a beautiful cherry red Jeep that - with some effort - we could remove the top from, and drive around with the wind in our hair and an unhealthy level of petrol fumes invading our lungs. We took a day to drive into San Francisco and shop for clothes to wear at the New Years' Eve party the twins had been invited to, and stopped for lunch in a cafe nestled tightly in a row of shops and apartments, the street angled vertically at 45 degrees. The whole time we were in line, I kept glancing over at two women holding hands across their table. They caught me looking and broke apart; probably thought I was judging. Inside, I was elated. There, right before my eyes, was hope.

We turned another day into a mini golf tournament, driving between a total of five courses surrounding her town. She won three games, I won two, but I scored a point on the bonus hole and got a free ice cream, which I gave to her, because I was such a romantic. In the evening, we drove around her neighborhood, going nowhere in particular, with Hollywood Nights playing on the radio. It was simple, but liberating. I forgot I had a home back in Oregon, and a family, and people I loosely considered friends.

It was the day after that - New Years' Eve Eve - that things got weird. Her mom cooked dinner - beef casserole - and we all sat around their dining table. It was traditional for the family to play a board game after dinner, one night a week, so I played Clue for the first time. We went back to her room and wound down by watching a movie in bed, her laptop in between our legs. I had been sleeping in her queen bed every night - with her entire wardrobe scattered about the floor in colorful piles, there wasn't much of an alternative. Not that I would have taken an alternative, anyway.

Long after the movie had finished, as Mabel danced around getting ready for bed, I stayed glued to her sheets, hugging my knees to my chest, lost in thought. I was morose; half of my trip was over. I had one full day left. Then New Years' Day would roll around, and I'd be shipped back up to the monotony of my daily life.

Only when Mabel slipped into the sheets in her pajamas did she notice I was lifeless. "You okay?"

I nodded, my chin bumping against my knees.

"What's wrong?"

"Being around your family... I guess it's been a glaring reminder how shitty my parents are. I mean, I know I've always been spoiled, and I shouldn't complain, but, god, I envy how close you are with your mom and dad. And Dipper."

"I'm just really lucky," she said.

"Yeah. So am I, in different ways. I don't know, maybe I'm being stupid."

"You're not," she said, taking one of my hands and squeezing it. "It's okay to want more from your parents. I would too."

I smiled. "Thanks."

"And you know, you're always welcome here. Mom and Dad love you, you're basically one of the family already. And I like keeping my favorite person in arms' reach."

"I'm your favorite person?"

She frowned, like that should have been obvious. "Well yeah. I feel like you should know that by now. You remember I literally used to chase you around Gravity Falls trying to get your attention?"

I supposed that was true. These days, I couldn't imagine us not being friends right away. But I used to be a different person, one who would turn her away, and walk all over her. Her persistence had turned out to be a miracle for me.

She laughs to herself. "I was obsessed with you way before you were aware of it."

The strange thing was, in that moment, it wasn't about Mabel - I really was just depressed that I had missed out on sixteen years of an affectionate family. But the way she looked at me with her undivided attention, her pupils wide, it sent my heart spiraling, and my mind took off on an entirely different route.

I leaned over and kissed her. Pressed her soft bottom lip between mine. Our noses rubbed. Feeling every fiber of my being surge with life, I went for a second kiss, with more pressure, and cupped her cheek with my palm.

But she wasn't doing anything. I drew back, and her eyes were still open. Her mouth was shut. She didn't look happy, or angry, or scared, or anything.

"I'm sorry," I breathed.

"It's okay," she said, her face softening. "I just... I like boys."

Right. Of course she liked boys - I knew that. I knew that, didn't I? All along. So why the fuck had I just kissed her? I jumped out of the bed and murmured that I should leave, just to reestablish control of the situation, to exorcise whatever had just taken over my body for a minute and tried to ruin as much of my life as possible in one action.

"You can't leave," she said from behind me, as I frantically searched the floor for my scattered belongings, hurling stuff into my suitcase in no sensible order. "Pacifica." Mabel grabbed my arm and spun me around. "It's okay, really, I'm not mad at you, or anything. We can talk about this," she pleaded, eyes glazing over with tears. "We can talk about this."

I didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to be there, now, with her, because I needed time to process that she had become the best friend I once fell in love with and kissed and received a humiliating lack of reciprocation from. And the last thing I wanted to do was break down crying, but I did. I cried into her shoulder, into her neck, her hair. She whispered for me to hush, that it would be okay, we would be okay. She stroked the back of my head.

Eventually, the tears stopped. I pulled back from her and she wiped my eyes.

"Let's get some sleep," she said calmly. "We'll talk in the morning."

We never did.

I lay awake for hours that night, in her bed, my eyelids fluttering closed, carrying me off to sleep, and then I'd jolt to life again. I'd look over at the window, the moonlight spilling in, and mentally run through how easy it would be to slip outside and get a taxi back to the bus station in the city. If there were no late-night buses I would wait until sunrise.

Mabel was sound asleep within minutes of us lying down. I tried to tell myself that that wasn't because she had so quickly come to the conclusion that I would never be a potential match for her. But, really, if she had any interest in me at all, that kiss would have kept her awake just as it did for me.

We didn't talk over breakfast, or even look at each other. I went back to bed for a few hours. I wasn't sure what she did all day. None of it involved me. I hung out with Dipper for a while on their back porch, watching over the city's skyline, both of us buzzing with nervous energy; him because of the party that evening, me because I could turn any corner in the house and come face to face with the love of my life and our fractured relationship. All of my energy was wasted on avoiding her. I wasn't thinking ahead to the upcoming months I would undoubtedly spend crying in my room if we didn't return to normal by the end of my stay. If normal, as we knew it, was even a possibility.

Sunset came, and it was time to change into the zebra-print top I'd bought in the city a few days back. I paired it with dark skinny jeans that were likely cutting off all circulation to my legs. Didn't matter; I would die looking slim. I was applying mascara in the Pines' bathroom, focusing on my lashes in the mirror, and when I shifted an inch to the side I spotted Mabel hovering in the doorway. She had already changed - a red cardigan over a plain white tee and a dainty black skirt. She didn't avert her gaze and I wondered how long she had been standing there.

"What?"

"You look great," she said, matter-of-factly.

"Thanks. So do you."

When she turned away I let out the breath I had been holding. One brick knocked from the wall we had built between us. But she was confusing me, because when had I ever caught her watching me like that, in dead silence? She's testing the waters, my mind suggested. She was looking at you just the way you've been looking at boys for the last two years, trying to feel something.

Shut up, brain.

No, you shut up.

I was losing it.

The signals from Mabel got a whole lot less clear as the night went on. She drove us in the Jeep, up and down dimly lit hilly streets, until we pulled up in a cul-de-sac and walked to the large house at the end. For the whole journey Mabel teased her brother about a girl he had grown acquainted with and was worried about bumping into - an eccentric redhead. Figured. The house itself was difficult to see behind the thick oak trees planted out front, and we didn't even go inside at first. We were directed around the side of the house to the back yard by a kid who was far too enthusiastic for what he had been assigned to do.

One moment we were walking as a three, the next, we were swarmed by a horde of girls. Literally over the course of a few seconds, they emerged from the buzzing crowd and bounded towards Mabel like dogs at feeding time. There were hugs and squeals and other ghastly noises, the whole thing unraveling before me as a blur of colorful dresses, and when they finally stood still, I counted four of them.

And then they all turned on me, eight eyes, all on the outsider. Mabel put an arm around my neck and said, "girls, I don't even need to tell you who this is," and then, "Pacifica, this is Jessica, Sara, Elise, and Naomi."

Each of them waved or nodded as if this had all been rehearsed. I said, "hey," and apparently that was all the permission they needed to step up in my face and natter over each other, complimenting my hair, calling me pretty, asking me what life was like up north. I felt like the new exhibit at the zoo.

They were all so sweet - like four little clones of Mabel - but my god, they gave me a headache. I loved Mabel's endless supply of enthusiasm and glee, really, but in doses of five, it was a bit much. When Naomi had finished telling me her life story, from birth to breast-piercing, I took the opportunity to slip away and breathe in the unpolluted air in a quiet corner of the wooden decking surrounding the house. Even then, my eyes kept drifting back to Mabel and her friends, laughing in synchrony and touching forearms. It was strange. I had heard all of their names come up before, I knew of their existence, but playing out in front of me was a scene from a massive part of Mabel's life I had never witnessed firsthand. There must have been so much history between the five of them that I was outside of. My jealous tendencies seeped back into my veins. With them around, how could I possibly have been Mabel's best friend?

I'm not sure why I kept staring when her eyes found me. I could have easily pretended I was looking elsewhere - the yard was wide and she was at least twenty feet away. We were locked in place, a seemingly unbreakable connection formed across the grass and the sea of faces between us. She smiled; I didn't.

Eventually I turned and ducked inside for a drink. It was the absolute worst time to be out partying - my head was a mess and I craved nothing more than to lie down for a few days, away from Mabel, and figure out where to go from here. Or, ask myself why I had put my feelings out there for her to play with in the first place.

The thing was, I had kissed her with such confidence. Behind the make-up, beneath my immaculate hair, and beyond the habitual entitled strut, I wasn't a confident human being. Even with my emotions running haywire, I would not have kissed her if I didn't believe that, deep down, there was a chance she would have welcomed it. I had never had many friends, but I knew just from years of observation that the two of us sometimes pushed the boundaries of best-friend status. Even in the last few days I could recall her head on my shoulder, our fingers weaving together under a blanket. The twinkle in her eye as she ran a hand through my ponytail and told me how beautiful my hair was.

And we had never talked about girls - dating girls, kissing girls. I had never brought it up, because I was afraid I'd stumble over my words and give away that I was madly in love with her and her alone. Was it possible that she had never brought it up for the very same reason? I thought about her warm, motionless lips, and her hands welded to her lap. Nope, that, last night, had made it abundantly clear that it was not possible. I shivered.

Then somebody tapped me on the shoulder and I spun around.

Mabel said, "hey."

I said, "hey."

"Sorry about my friends. I know they can be a bit much."

"It's cool," I said, and felt myself smirk.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just... I don't know, you've all known each other for years, so, even though I was out there talking to them, it still felt like I wasn't really... there."

She leaned on the kitchen counter and rocked around on the balls of her feet. "Don't you like them?"

"No, I do. They're all really nice. But I'm just not a part of that group. It's hard to keep up."

She nodded, but I could tell she didn't understand. One of the perks of being Mabel was that you could walk into any group of people and become one of them; they would all love you within seconds. Oh, you guys are cannibals? That's cool. I mean, I don't think I'd ever eat human meat, but it's important to be proud of yourself and all of your quirks. You do you. Hey, does anyone want some Skittles?

I continued, "I guess it makes me realize how much we still don't know about each other. You know, we live in totally separate worlds for nine months every year."

"I don't think there's that much we don't know about each other."

"You didn't know I had a thing for you," slipped out of my mouth, and I glanced down at the beer bottle in my hand, tried to recall how many I had drunk tonight.

A familiar scruffy kid walked into the kitchen, and I don't think I had ever been so happy to see him. I nudged Dipper in the chest with my beer, spilling a drop on his shirt. "Hey, how's it going with Aubrey?"

"Um, Amber," he said. "And good, I think. She just went off to the bathroom. I think I'm gonna try finding her just before the countdown. Only... an hour and twenty minutes to go."

"Cool, cool." I glanced to my side and saw that Mabel had disappeared elsewhere. My shoulders relaxed. "So you got any New Years' resolutions?"

We talked for about half an hour. He didn't question why his sister wasn't chaperoning me, like she had promised, which was good. A couple more beers and who knew what I would have started spewing. When Dipper went off to stalk that girl again, I started wandering around the house by myself, wishing I wasn't there. I couldn't exactly leave - Mabel was my ride home and I had no idea what direction home was. When the twins had told me about the party, before I even left Gravity Falls, I was picturing us lounging on the beach after dark, campfires lighting up the shore, and fireworks reflecting off the water. In that fantasy, I supposed I hadn't factored in being stupid enough to kiss my best friend the night before. I had brought this on myself, really.

I found myself upstairs, fixated on this ridiculously high-tech bathroom lock. There was a screen, on the wall, telling me whether the bathroom was in use or not. And I thought, if technology had come this far, it wouldn't be long before somebody came up with a device that could erase the last twenty-four hours from someone's memory, and then I could make all the stupid decisions I wanted to. Come on, science. Let's forget about bathroom locks and start focusing on useful inventions, please.

The screen lit up green and the door swung open. A girl walked out and smiled. I scurried inside and locked myself in, then realized I didn't even need to pee, so I set my beer down beside the sink and went through the instinctual motions that followed seeing my reflection; I straightened my hair, reapplied chapstick. Thirty minutes to go. Maybe I'd be lucky and find someone to kiss at midnight - maybe even a girl. I was hundreds of miles from home, nobody knew me here. Nobody would remember.

But I ended up standing alone, in a stranger's living room, in the final minute of the year. Somewhere at the front, there was a TV broadcasting the countdown at Times Square, and the seconds until 2016 were being relayed across the room, with varying degrees of accuracy. By thirty seconds in, things had stabilized, and everybody was calling out the same number. I glanced around at linked arms, entangled bodies, and thought, this is it. It's only downhill from here. Get ready for the loneliest year of your life.

Fifteen, I think - it was at fifteen seconds that somebody grabbed my hand. My heart started racing, and when I saw the back of her head, those wavy brown tresses, and the red cardigan, luring me out of the dense huddle of teenagers, I nearly collapsed. My whole body surged with heat. Nameless faces became a blur in my peripheral vision.

And then, we were alone, in the hallway, tucked into a corner just by the foot of the stairs. Everybody had either flocked to the living room or were still outside. She took my other hand, looked at our feet, stepped closer. Our noses were an inch apart. I don't know why, but I started counting her freckles.

The chant continued in the other room, three, two, one, and then our lips were locked together. My hands jetted to her waist and rubbed at the fabric of her cardigan as I pulled her into me, my back straight against the wall. I felt her fingers knot my hair and tickle the back of my neck. My mouth tried to keep up with her voracious movement while my brain tried to comprehend how my wildest dream had become reality, literally overnight. After all that time I had spent sprawled out on my bed imagining it, all the sleepless nights, all the longing gazes across the room or through her webcam, I thought I knew what it would feel like when we kissed, when we both kissed one another. But I wasn't even close. This was like floating, the two of us floating in our own little bubble, the insignificance of the world fading away below us. And it was also realizing how much time I had wasted kissing boys all of my life.

It was about two minutes later that we parted, hearing voices head towards the hallway. They walked right by us. We were wrapped up in each other's arms, our breaths heavy. Her face was pink, her hair messy.

In a perfect world, we would have laughed, and carried on, and those two minutes would have been the start of something real, something huge for the two of us.

And I don't remember exactly how much it hurt when she said, "Pacifica, I'm not sure how I feel." Her eyes danced up and down my whole body. She took both of my hands again. "I mean, I don't know if I like girls. Or if I just like you. Or maybe I'm confused, I don't..."

I waited for her to say more. Something I wanted to hear. When it didn't come, I could have gotten angry at her, or walked away. But I reached unprecedented levels of empathy that night, and I told her it was okay. I had been confused, too, for a long time.

"Think about it," I told her, and kissed her one last time on the lips. I tried to pour every ounce of my being into that kiss, tried to force it into her memory, like saying here's everything I have to offer. Do with it what you will.

I slipped out of her grip, and walked away. The ball was in her court, now.

The drive home was quiet. As was the morning after, while I packed my suitcase. The only time we spoke was when I was drinking a glass of water over the sink. I spotted an ornate rock about a foot high jutting out of the ground in the back yard, and pointed to it. "What's that?"

"Pig grave."

"Huh."

Mabel drove me back to the bus station in San Francisco, and that was pretty quiet too. Everything that had transpired between us lingered heavy in the air, boxed in by four doors and windows. It was suffocating. I sat dead still in the passenger seat, like if I moved or made a noise Mabel would panic and swerve off the road. There was no music, no conversation, nothing to focus on but the silence.

She pulled up in the bus station's parking lot and I unbuckled my seatbelt. Mabel shut off the engine, sighed, and said, "you got everything you need?"

No, because you're not coming back with me. "I think so."

She nodded. I made no move to exit the car. I couldn't, not when things were like this. We ended up saying each other's names at the same time.

"You go first," she said.

I shook my head. "I was just going to, um... thank you. For letting me stay, and everything."

"Of course." Mabel swiveled to face me and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Listen," she said. "I never thought about... us, before. You and me. Not before the other night. But since then, it's all I can think about."

My stomach danced.

"I need time to think, but... maybe when I'm up there for the summer, we could try it. Like a date, I mean."

I nodded, trying to hide how much that meant. "Yeah. If you want to."

There was another long silence before we fell into each other's arms and kissed. Her fingers dug into my hair and massaged my scalp, which was just about the greatest feeling ever. After a minute she pushed me away and waved her hands, saying, "go, just go. It's too hard." She lay her head on the steering wheel and smiled sadly.

I breathed in deep, tried to save the image of her in my mind. "Alright," I said, and stepped out into the humid air. I opened the back door and retrieved my suitcase. It was lighter than when I brought it; Mabel was constantly leaving random articles of clothing at my house in Gravity Falls, which I would often claim as my own and start wearing, so I had sprinkled a t-shirt and a sweater in amongst her things before I had left that morning.

"Miss you already," Mabel called out, and I smiled at her, and then she was gone. I watched the red Jeep as it pulled back into the street, and then disappeared behind a red brick building. I didn't know whether to laugh or to cry; on the bus, I did both.

I was still buzzing with energy by the time I returned home. My friend Layla drove me back to my house, and spent more time recounting the minor events I had missed in Gravity Falls than asking me how my trip had been. When I got inside, my parents were arguing loudly in the front room. They didn't hear me come in, so I tiptoed up the stairs and collapsed onto my bed.

One hundred and forty-seven days until summer, I counted.