It's Friday, August 7th - a grand total of two weeks and six days since discovering Ford's maze - thatI find a solution.

It started when Mabel pinned the map of Scuttlebutt Island to the wall. Or, I should say, it took two weeks of us exhausting our brains on the same idea (that the line through the maze would spell out a message if arranged in a certain way), before I took a step back and really studied the maze alongside the map for the first time. Then, it was as obvious as the zit on my cheek. The maze is also a map. A minimalistic map, made up of only black lines, but a map nonetheless.

I went to the local library, which I hadn't done since the elementary school trip on which I had shut Riley Fielding's face in an encyclopedia and been imprisoned on the bus for an hour. The row of ten computers along the back window was almost full capacity - mostly old people struggling to check their email - but I found a seat and battled the low bandwidth to bring up a few maps of the town. Those were all illustrated, outdated, or devoid of detail, so I zoomed in on Gravity Falls on Google Maps and printed that out. I also printed a map of Piedmont - Mabel's hometown - just in case Ford thought his niece's wild goose chase wasn't quite insane enough.

Another couple hours back at home, spinning the map around on my kitchen counter, and I had it. There was a long, winding route from the Mystery Shack, through a footpath in the woods into town, around back alleys and back roads surrounding Main Street, to the abandoned convenience store just outside of town, quite near the diner, back towards the Interstate. And that route matched the solution to the maze almost perfectly - too closely to be a coincidence, surely.

I realized then that the map I had printed wasn't to scale with the line through the maze, so I jogged back to the library and printed out a few more maps, zooming in each time, until I was able to scribble over a copy of the maze and, through the paper, sketch a faint line on my printed map that perfectly traversed along the paths and streets. It didn't make sense, not one ounce of it, that the route zigzagged around so much, when you could easily get to the store in a third of the distance. But I knew that the abandoned store used to be a popular hangout spot among Wendy and Dipper and their delinquent friends, and it was possible that Mabel had her own memories of the place - not to mention that this answer fit in with the pattern of Ford's trespassing spree.

The satisfaction was so overwhelming that I almost screamed in the middle of the library. Instead, I keeled over the table and quietly pounded it with my fist, which drew some understandably questioning looks as I sauntered outside.

That brings us up to now. Mabel is already off work. She texted me to ask why I wasn't home and the copy of the maze was missing.

When I get home, she spins around, tosses her hair back, puts her hands on her hips and in her blue uniform she reminds me so much of Lindsay it's terrifying.

"Have you been playing detective without me?" she asks.

"Yes," I say, because I know she isn't actually mad.

And to prove it, her features relax. "You're sweet."

"If you think I'm sweet now, wait 'til you see this." I hustle my butt to the kitchen counter and spread out the stack of papers I cradled on my way back from the library.

I point to both the maze and the printout with the route traced through, and after a few seconds Mabel murmurs, "holy shit." Another moment passes. Her eyes dart back and forth between the pages. She tucks her hair behind her ear and her hand hovers there, concentration having seized her movement. "Oh my god, Pacifica. This is it."

"I think so, yeah. I was using the theater as a starting point, trying to draw a route from there that matched the line through the maze. But then I tried using the Shack as the starting point and I got that right away."

"This is the haunted convenience store I went to with Wendy, ages ago." She sets the papers down on the counter and laughs to herself. "We met an elderly couple there. Well, I say 'met', but they were ghosts. Dipper had to put on a lamb costume and do a little dance."

"...What?"

"I told Ford all about that once. He got me a box of this imported candy for my birthday, it was called Smile Dip. Ugh. That stuff used to make me crazy. The last time I'd had it was here, at this store. I bet that's where I'm supposed to go." She pulls me into a hug. "You found it. Thank you."

"Well, slow down. I don't know if that's definitely the answer. Look here - the route goes along Main Street, up to this house on a hill, then down the other side. It all lines up with the line through the maze, but it's so... random. Why would you have to walk all that way if the solution was to just go to the convenience store?"

She shakes her head and frowns down at the map. "Maybe it's like that to throw us off? If the route was just along the highway it'd be almost a straight line from here to the store. It would be too obvious."

"Maybe. This was hard enough already, though. It took us three frickin' weeks working on it together. You really think he'd make it harder for no real reason?"

"Only one way to find out, right?" She sweeps the paper into a stack and hugs them to her chest. "Let's go."

The clock on the microwave, however, reads 4:49 P.M. "My dinner reservation's at six-thirty. I'm not gonna have enough time."

Mabel stops on the way to her bedroom and turns around. "Oh. That's right. I forgot."

That is right - my date with Katie is tonight. And if you had any doubt over whether it's a real date or a friendly catch-up, all you'd have to is read any of our text messages from last Saturday. The girl has gotten a lot bolder since high school, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it. Her flirtatious non-sequiturs and winking emojis have had me blushing at work all week.

Still, Mabel's quest feels more important, if not simply for the fact that we've finally broken free from the circle we've been running in. I say, "I could cancel?"

"No, don't be silly. You've been looking forward to that all week. No, you have to go. I'll do this one by myself."

I hesitate. "You can't wait until tomorrow?"

She hesitates. A whole lot of hesitation in this room. "I mean, I don't know how much further there is to go. I only have about three weeks until I'm back home."

Three weeks. That's right. Time really is bleeding away. "Okay. I guess we can catch up in the morning, then?"

"Of course." She smiles. "I'm sure I'll need your brains for the next clue. If I find it." I nod and she steps into the guest room, shutting the door behind her.

I shower away the grime from running between the library and my apartment all day, then root through my closet for something first-date appropriate. Katie loved my blue floral shirt when we met in the club, unless she was just being polite, so tonight I dig out a green sleeveless dress with a similar floral pattern. I think I last wore it at my mom's friend's wedding about two years back. It fits tightly around my hips, so I'm trading comfort for seduction. I step over to the mirror. Scratch that - I'm trading the ability to walk for seduction. Whatever. I'll just leave earlier, give myself plenty of time to hobble to the restaurant.

When I've finished my make-up I open my bedroom door and Mabel's still here, lying back on the couch in a black hoodie. She looks up from her phone and makes a surprisingly fluent growling noise. "Hottie alert."

"Shut up," I say, hiding a grin. "What are you still doing here?"

"I'm gonna time it so I get to the convenience store after dark. Then I can glide through the shadows, like a panther." Another growl. "Seriously though, you look really nice."

"Thank you," I say, perching on a stool at the kitchen counter.

"Are you nervous?"

"A little. It's been a while since I went on a date with anyone."

"But you were dating this girl before, right? You can skip some of the awkward stuff."

"I guess so. We were never really dating, though. We made out and flirted a lot, never went further than that. Maybe that's all it will be this time too."

"Hm." Mabel sits up and silence shrouds the room. "Have you ever thought about curling your hair?"

I shake my head.

"I think it would look really pretty. I mean, your hair's fantastic already, but I think you should try it."

"I wouldn't know how to."

"I'll help you. I have my curling iron here. I was gonna use it when we went to Portland but I forgot."

I hadn't ever considered it - my mom used to straighten my hair when I was younger and nowadays it stays straight on its own. It's the only straight part of me left. I guess it's ingrained in my head that perfectly straight locks are an irreplaceable part of my spruce appearance. But when Mabel tells me to open my eyes, and I see in the bathroom mirror what a curling iron can do, my jaw drops.

"Oh god," I blurt out.

"What? You don't like it?"

"No, I do. It's... wow. I look like a totally different person. In a good way."

Mabel grins. "It's a little more subtle than I usually do it. More wavy than curly."

"It's great," I tell her, standing from the stool and admiring the full picture. A burst of confidence strikes me. "It even draws attention away from this awful fucking zit on my cheek."

"Yeah, do you want me to squeeze that?" she asks, raising her talon-like fingernails and pinching them together.

I gently push her hand away. "I'm good."

Katie wears a shoulder-less red top and skinny black pants, her chocolate hair held back by a barrette, and a gold crescent-shaped necklace that acts as a nice excuse to glance at her cleavage. She stands and waves at me when I enter the restaurant, an upmarket Italian place on Main Street that my mom has been obsessed with since it opened last year. (Thankfully she doesn't eat here on Fridays - "too much riffraff.")

We both order soup to start, a tomato-based red liquid riddled with some very crunchy green bits that are overwhelmingly bitter. It's a five-star establishment and Katie seems fine, so I don't question it.

Usually I'd order the spicy pizza that comes loaded with pepperoni and chillies and grease oozing out of the center, but tonight I go for the lighter ring-shaped pizza, on a thin base, with a truckload of salad piled up in the middle. Katie goes full-salad. And when the waiter asks if we'd like to see a dessert menu, we both shake our heads.

Soup, salad, no dessert. In my limited experience of dating, that's code for... let's get out of here with our appetites intact and get down to what really matters. I shiver in anticipation. Or because they sat us underneath the AC unit.

The conversation all night has been plain, but not awkward. In between bites we reminisced, gossiped about our old school friends and foes. Neither one of us have said anything remotely provocative toward the other, which doesn't follow the pattern of our texts at all. We're either less confident in person, or more civilized. There have only been polite compliments of our outfits. She loves what I've done with my hair, though I wasn't able to tell her it was Mabel's work. The words just didn't roll out. I don't know why.

But while we wait for the check, Katie is on her second glass of white wine and loosening up more than I'm able to with my water and complimentary lemon wedge. "It's early," she says, leaning forward slightly and resting her chin on her hands.

Nerves aflutter, I only manage to spew out, "the service was fast." Great. I should be home writing Yelp reviews, not out looking for love.

"Have you got any plans tonight?"

I think of Mabel. I think of her meandering through the nearby streets on her own. But I'm looking at Katie, and she's gorgeous and she smells nice and for whatever reason her attraction to me hasn't wavered an inch since high school. "No," I say.

"My parents are away for the weekend," she says. "If you wanted to come over."

I smile faintly. "I'd love to."

Katie and I split the check fifty-fifty, but by the time we've walked to her house, I'm thinking of asking for a reimbursement. She lives on the northern end of town, which is enough to know that somebody in her family has a whopping paycheck. Out in the woods is an arrangement of mansions, spaced apart and secluded by pine trees. I now know that one of these belongs to Katie. I stop in the gravel driveway, gaze up to the row of nine windows on the third story, grin, and shake my head. Memories of my former life whizz through my mind, similar to when I saw Northwest Manor with Mabel.

"Crazy," I say in the entryway, taking off my shoes. "I used to drive by this place all the time. Some of my parents' friends lived in the house at the end of the road."

"The Ambersons?"

"No, I don't think so. Began with 'J'. Maybe they moved."

I follow her into the kitchen, which might just be the size of my apartment. Through the door, there's a dining table on the left with ten chairs, some sort of reading corner on the right with two bookshelves, a leather couch, and a small chandelier dangling above. The back half is actually what you'd expect of a kitchen. Katie flicks on the row of spot lamps over the island counter and walks over to the refrigerator.

"Do you want something to drink?" she asks.

"I'm okay," I say, standing at the counter and glancing around the dimly lit room. "Thank you." Raindrops begin to patter on the tall window over the sink. Again I think of Mabel. It's only 8:15 P.M., the sun hasn't set - she may not have even left yet.

"What's wrong?"

I snap my head to my right and Katie is pouring water from a glass bottle. "Nothing," I say. "Your house is beautiful."

"My dad was an investment banker. Plus the golf club brings in a lot of money."

My lips part. "Was?"

"Yeah, as in, he's retired. He isn't dead or anything." Her eyes widen and a hand flies to her mouth. "Oh, god, I'm so sorry."

"It's fine." I smirk, her embarrassment fueling my courage. I place a hand on her shoulder and walk her back to the door. "Come on, give me the tour."

With every room that we walk into, I long more and more for a drop of alcohol to cloud my feelings. I can't even pinpoint what's wrong with me, but I think it's a paradoxical longing for the wealthy lifestyle that I always hated, mixed in with pity for Mabel, out in the rain. But there's something else too, I realize, when the tour ends in Katie's childhood bedroom and I walk in circles, gazing over her books, her trinkets, the posters on the walls of bands I don't recognize. A guitar in the corner. Sewing machine on a desk. Three games consoles stacked on top of each other.

"Pacifica." Katie steps to the center of her room and touches my forearm. "Are you sure you're okay?"

I clear my throat. "It's just a little... sad? We used to know each other, but we didn't... know each other. I didn't know you played guitar, I didn't know you lived here, I didn't know you had a little brother, and triplet baby cousins, I didn't know you liked... Broken Social Scene, whatever that is. Didn't we ever ask each other about our lives?"

Her face shifts to a weak smirk. "I think we were usually too busy with other things."

I look into her eyes. "I just feel like we didn't know each other."

"Well," she says slowly. "We could change that."

It's a tender kiss. Very slow. But it gives way to another, and another, and within what feels like five minutes our hands are struggling to find a comfortable place to land, our clothes no longer serving any purpose other than an obstruction. Her tongue dances on my lips and her fingers tease my body.

And yet... I feel nothing. Miles away from aroused. My body isn't responding.

So, I try to force it. When we maneuver to her bed and I sprawl out on my back, I arch my hips to meet hers. I let her pin back my hands. I let her rub my breasts through the fabric of my dress. And I feel nothing.

How unfair is that?

"Katie", I say, breathing into her neck.

She was about to unzip my dress. She pulls back and looks down at me, tucks her bangs behind her ear. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry. I don't think I can do this."

"Oh." She pushes herself up with her hands and hovers above me, like she's mid-press-up. Then she clambers off me and sits upright. "I knew there was something wrong. Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

I sit up and she presses her palm to my forehead.

"Do you want me to get you some water?"

"I'm fine, seriously." Her reaction is so endearing that I chuckle. "I'm really sorry. I thought I wanted this, but..."

"But you don't."

"It's not you. I know that sounds like the most cliché thing I could have possibly said, but really, it isn't you."

She nods slowly, with indecipherable eyes. "Is there somebody else?"

The really honest answer is yes, and I've been daydreaming of her face all evening. "I think so."

"Can I ask who it is?"

"It's, um, a friend. I don't know, Katie. It's somebody I really shouldn't be having feelings for."

"Your mom?"

"Okay, now I feel sick."

She giggles and leans back against her pillow.

I shake my head. "How are you so cool about this?"

She shrugs. "You were cool when I told you I was going to date Allison. It wouldn't be fair if I got all jealous now that it's the other way round."

I draw circles in the sheets with my fingertip. "The thing is, I don't know if it would work out with me and this girl. It's not very practical. And we have a bit of a history, and I don't think either of us are particularly... mentally stable. Like, if I stayed here tonight, with you, in the long run that could be amazing. It would be amazing."

Katie's eyebrows drop. "So I'm the safe option in this situation."

"That's not- I didn't mean it like that."

"It's okay," she says, smiling and taking my hand. "It's like I said. We've been through this before. Listen, Pacifica, I really like you, and I think what you said tonight is true, that we never really knew each other. And I want to get to know you more, even if it's just as friends. I think you should follow your gut, tell this girl how you feel. If things don't work out, then... maybe we can have a little talk. If things do work out, I'll be really happy for you."

I wipe away the single tear that falls from my eye. "God, you are way too understanding. Is it weird that I'm almost hoping things won't work out?"

She smiles. "I can be mad at you instead, if you want."

"Yeah, that might help."

Katie leans forward and I don't hesitate to kiss her, for what might be the last time. When we part, she whispers onto my lips, "then get the fuck out of my house."

My face drops.

"Kidding. I'm just kidding."

So, here I am again. Crossing the border from ridiculous to batshit insane, all in the name of my undying love for Mabel Pines. Masochism at its finest. I've traveled interstate to reach her, I've chased her car until I collapsed, and now I'm walking around in the dark, the rain annihilating my hair and plastering the dress to my body.

And I don't have a clue what I'll say to her. Above everything I'm angry, angry that I've let her creep back into my mind whenever my mind should be elsewhere entirely. Angry that I've had so many chances to explore healthy relationships with other girls, and they've all been shattered because the girl isn't Mabel. And I'm angry that after the kissing and the touching and the pulling away and the distance and the sex and the abandoning, the slap in the face, I'm right back at the beginning. Ready to ride the world's most nauseating rollercoaster all over again.

The convenience store stands on its own along the opposite side of the road to the street lights. Until a few years ago the sign out front was illuminated, but now at night it's engulfed in darkness. Several panels of the chain-link fence have been flattened into the ground, giving easy access to the parking lot, and it turns out that's as far as I need to go.

She's sitting on a salt bin along the side of the building. I don't see her until I'm ten feet away. The rain has stopped now, I notice, but she looks as drenched as I am, and even through the darkness I can see the deep brown of her eyes gazing up at me.

She says, "how did you find me?" From her voice I can tell she has been crying.

"You said you'd be here after dark."

"What happened to your date?"

I shrug. "It ended." She shuffles aside and lets me sit down next to her. "Did you find anything?"

"Yeah." Mabel leans over and picks up a backpack, rifles through it and pulls out a sheet of paper. She hands it to me. "It's the last clue."

I take the damp page and breathe in. The last clue is a handwritten letter.

Mabel,

You will find attached an envelope. Please do not open this until instructed!

We've reached a point of your expedition in which I owe you an apology. Firstly, for the circuitous route you took to get here, and secondly, for the overall seemingly disjointed nature of the treasure trail you've been following. And, I suppose I should offer a third apology, because it has had to come to a premature end.

My doctor informed me this morning that my heart does not have as many beats left in it as he had originally hoped. Admittedly I had been fearing this - I won't go into detail regarding my ailments in the past week, but know that old age isn't always easy!

My aim was to walk you along memory lane. We didn't know each other for as long as I would have liked, my dear, but I clearly failed to recognize how many memories you shared with me in the time that we did have. Countless mornings you were awake before the rest of the town, and you joined me downstairs in the lab to regale me while I worked. Today I happened to recall your visit to this particular spot with Wendy and your brother. I remember you told me that the owners were friendly yet intimidating, and that was exactly how I remembered them, but on the way here I took a detour through town to see what else would jog my memory.

How about the bowling alley where your fingers got stuck in the ball and you hurled yourself down the lane? Or the bar where you beat Dipper at the test-your-strength carnival game? I believe I even found the spot around the back of the old taffy factory where you found the injured sparrow - has he come back to visit recently?

You should know that I devised Stan's instructions first, followed by Dipper's. I left you until last, Mabel, simply because I couldn't think of anything to leave behind that would do your delightful eccentricity any justice. But I have it, now. I'll spare you the abstruse instructions:

There is a clearing in the woods to the north of Gravity Falls, beyond the waterfall, beyond the railway bridge. The coordinates are 42.51394 degrees north, 123.07681 degrees west. Ask your brother if you need help interpreting coordinates, but I'm told that entering them onto the internet can help you pinpoint the location. Go to the clearing on the 15th day of any month, after the sun has fully set. Only then should you open the attached envelope.

Until then,

Ford

I look up and fold the paper.

Mabel says, "he wanted us to come back up and see him. But I was so busy at the school and Dipper was so busy with college, we kept putting it off. Now it's too late." Her eyes well up with fresh tears. "He wanted to see us so he could say goodbye. We couldn't even make the effort to leave for a weekend. It wasn't even that far."

I wrap an arm around her and she hugs my chest. "Shh," I say, over the top of her head. "You didn't know."

The things I thought I wanted or needed to say on the way here feel so insignificant, now. Because Mabel's still here, still alive; there's more time to talk. I think back to my dad and how many things we left unsaid, the weight of carrying those words around with you until finally you explode and your only choice is to confess them to a grave. I hug Mabel a little tighter. Wrapped up in each other's arms, the rain begins to fall on us again.