Save the Manatee!

11: The Game Is Afoot. Uh, Aflipper.

(Saturday, June 13, 2015)

From the Journals of Dipper Pines: Wendy woke me up for our run this morning the best way possible. I was lying there hugging my pillow and dreaming of kissing her and I woke up to find out I WAS kissing her. Well, vice-versa. She was already in T-shirt, sweatband, and running shorts, and she pulled away grinning. "Two minutes to dress out, dork! You overslept!"

I said something that sounded like "Wstfgl," and then reached for her, but she pulled back. "Uh-uh, dude! You haven't earned it! Up and at 'em!"

So, I dragged out of bed, blearily remembering that the night before we had pulled in at two A.M. after eating at the restaurant over in Morris—Starlite Bay, though there isn't a bay within, like, two hundred miles. I grabbed my shorts, socks running shoes, and T-shirt and changed in the bathroom. When I came out, Wendy was sitting on my bed. She tossed me a sweatband. "Made it with two seconds to spare. Let's go! We gotta hustle!"

I hadn't bothered to shower—no need before running—but usually I shave now first thing. I hadn't. When we got into the sun, before putting us into our stretching-out routine, Wendy cocked her head and grinned at me in a funny way. "What?" I asked.

She threw one arm over my shoulder and tickled my chin with the forefinger of her free hand. "Dude! Why have I never noticed this before?"

"What, that I have to shave now?" I asked. "You knew that!"

"No, no, this!" She poked the point of my chin.

"What is it?" I asked.

"You're getting a dimple, man! Your jaw's getting sort of square, and right in the middle there's the beginning of a dimple! Shows up with the bristles around it."

"Huh?" I hadn't noticed that myself. It embarrassed me—but then I thought of Ford, who has the same kind of dimple (more pronounced) and felt a little better.

It was still way early, before seven. We ran to town, around the water tower, and back to the Shack in about fifty minutes, a good three miles. Then we walked to cool down, out to the bonfire glade, where we rested just a little bit. By eight-fifteen, we were walking back to the Shack.

And there on the lawn stood Mabel, flanked by Widdles and Waddles. "Where have you BEEN?" she yelled. "Code Navy Blue! Ford will be here in a minute! Go, shower, get dressed. Pack!"

"Huh?" I asked for the second time in about an hour. Par for the Gravity Falls course.

"What's up, Mabel?" Wendy asked.

"The ship with Mermando's wife is heading north! And one of the guys on your suspect list is heading SOUTH! They must be planning to rendezvous, and we gotta cut 'em off at the pass!"

"Don't think that works at sea," I told her.

Wendy and I hurried inside, I hopped in and out of the shower but still didn't shave, Wendy showered downstairs and changed into her flannel shirt and jeans—it was a work day for her—as I threw a jacket, some jeans, socks, and T-shirts into my duffel. Ford was already down in the parlor, saying, "We can't waste a moment!"

Soos looked around. "Oh, hey, Dipper, dawg! Yeah, Wendy, that's fine. Tad can cover again. He does, like, nothing on a Saturday. Or most other days."

"I'm comin' with you," Wendy told me. "Called and fixed it with Dad. Ford says he and Stan are outnumbered, and you, me, and Mabel might even the odds!"

"You'll need clothes—"

Wendy waved her work-out bag. "Always keep a change in my locker, in case of tourist-kid barfage!"

"Let's go!" Ford barked, and we headed out to his car, running.

"Yech," Mabel said to Dipper as they hit the highway and turned east, bound for Portland and, beyond that, Astoria and the marina at Union Town, where Stan would meet them in the Stan O' War II. She scooched away from her brother, making a face. "Dipper! You're scruffy!"

"I didn't have time to shave!" he said.

"Leave him alone, Mabes," Wendy said, but she was grinning. "It's very manly! Good look for Dip!"

"You won't think that," Ford said abstractedly, "when he's twenty-one and has a five o'clock shadow at one PM. The Pines men have to work hard to look clean-shaven!"

Dipper and Wendy had claimed the back seat of the Lincoln, hoping for some hand-holding and silent communion, but Mabel had leaped in, too, on the passenger side, crowding Dipper into the middle seat. She said, "Well, right now, he just looks like his face is dirty!"

"I'm not dirty. I showered!" Dipper insisted.

"Check it out," Wendy told Mabel. "Dipper's getting' a dimple!"

"Where!"

"Right there!" Wendy tickled his chin again.

"Oh, yeah, I see it now! Well, that's no big deal. I've got two cute dimples!"

"You do not," Dipper said.

"Do too! Maybe I'll wear a thong bikini to the pool next time we go, and then you'll see!"

"Ew," Dipper said. "TMI!"

"Hey, I forgot!" Mabel bounced in the seat, as much as her seat-belt would allow. "Soos says you got a carton delivered by OOPS late yesterday. It's pretty big and it's from Brangwen Books in New York!"

OOPS Dipper recognized at once—the Oregon Overland Parcel Service, well-known for late and damaged deliveries and five-time winner of Business Month's Most Appropriate Acronym Award. But it took him a second to click on the name Brangwen, and Wendy got there first: "Oh, snap, Dipper! It's copies of your book!"

"Oh, yeah!" Dipper said, blinking. His first novel, Bride of the Zombie, a comic mystery for young adults, was set for publication in a few more weeks, and he was supposed to receive two dozen advance copies. "Great." But he couldn't quite manage to put the utmost enthusiasm in his voice. He had seen the dust-jacket illustration, and he hated it. The brother-and-sister twins who were the main characters were there, and the shadowy figure of the "zombie" loomed behind them, but the two twelve-year-old kids looked way too cartoony.

But, as his editors had explained, only best-selling writers ever got a chance to critique their covers before publication. Maybe next time . . ..

They had nearly reached Portland when Mabel's phone went off, playing a moldy oldie tune, Mungo Jerry's "In the Summertime."

"That's Teek," Wendy said.

Mabel answered the phone: "Hey, Teek! I'm on my way to rescue a manatee!"

Dipper felt her tense up beside him. She listened for a few seconds.

"No, I forgot! But this is more important. . .. No, I don't mean that! . . . No! Not at all! But we couldn't wait for you! . . . OK, OK, let's just stop now. We'll talk when I get back."

With her face red, she turned off the phone.

"Guy trouble?" Wendy asked quietly.

"Hmpf!" Mabel crossed her arms and turned to stare out the window.

Dipper took Wendy's hand and silently told her, —I think they just had their first fight.

Bet I know what the trouble is, Dip. Teek and Mabel had plans for today, and she forgot about them in the excitement.

—Should I say something?

No. She's processing it. Hang on.

Wendy surreptitiously took her own phone out and using her thumbs only, sent off a quick text. Less than a minute later, she thought to Dipper: Got an answer from Teek. I was on the money. Teek had a special date planned for after work, and he's upset that Mabel ran off with Ford and us.

—Well, they can do it after we get back.

Nope. Teek scored two expensive concert tickets for Downfall Boy. They're just doing one show in Eugene.

—Mabel loves that group!

Yeah, and Teek's not crazy about them. This was a big deal for him.

—I hope they can patch it up. This is a dumb thing to break up over.

Give 'em time, Dip.

Mabel recovered her cool to some extent. By the time Ford paid the parking fee and pulled into a space at the marina, she could have fooled most people, but Dipper could read her well. She was really upset.

"There he is!" Ford said as he got bags out of the trunk.

Dipper looked toward the water. Off to the left was a motel, two stories, red-and-yellow brick, and upriver to the right a steel cantilever bridge, but dead ahead lay a forest of white sailboat masts. Stan Pines, looking odd in a blue pea jacket and a red toboggan cap—Mabel had knitted the cap—stood waving at the foot of one of the piers.

They hurried over. Stan hugged Mabel—"Hiya, Pumpkin!"—and then said, "Jeeze, I didn't think you'd ever get here! It's past noon!"

"We came as quickly as we could, Stanley," Ford said with dignity.

Stan grabbed Mabel's overnight bag and said, "This way." As he led them out onto the pier, he glanced over his shoulder. "Wendy! You decided to tag along?"

"Yeah, Stan, dude. Ford made it sound like you needed everybody you could get!"

"Well, welcome aboard—but we only got three cots on the boat, so we're gonna have to juggle sleeping arrangements!"

"Grunkle Stan," Dipper said, "how long until—"

"Can't say, Dip. Sometime tomorrow, though. And looks like there'll be two boats to deal with. There's the freighter that's got the manatee on it now, and there's the yacht comin' to meet it."

Ford began, "Was it—"

"Yeah, yeah, Voillelli," Stan said. "Your hunch was right. Here we are."

They boarded the Stan O' War II. Ford told Stan, "You cast off—you filed all the—"

"We're clear to leave, Poindexter! Sheesh! You think nobody can think but you, but I think you got another think comin'!"

"Sorry, Stanley. You cast off, and I've got some calls to make while we've still got coverage."

"Can't you radio?" Stan asked.

"Not for the calls I'm making." Ford disappeared below deck, and Stan said, "Dip, you remember how to cast off?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"I'll help," Wendy said. Mabel remained silent.

Stan started the engine and nestled the boat close to the old tires that served as fenders for the dock. Dipper went to cast off the fore line, Wendy to the aft one. He nodded, they took the loops off the stanchions at the same moment, and then both hustled back aboard. "Coil the lines," Stan said, and Dipper did, Wendy watching. The Stan O'War II backed, turned, and glided slowly past the sterns of other moored boats.

Mabel sat on the seat at the transom, her heels drawn up, all but in Sweater Town.

At the wheel, Stan asked, "You get seasick, Wendy?"

She shrugged. "Dunno, dude. Never tried."

"Mabel does. Dip, there's some Dramamine in the medicine locker. Get one and some water for your sister. Wendy, you start gettin' queasy, you take one, too."

Dipper went below. He overheard Ford on the phone: ". . . and we probably can't succeed without backup. Pi one. Repeat, Pi one. Thanks for that."

Staggering a little as the boat's roll increased, Dipper returned to the deck with a round orange tablet on his left palm and an eight-ounce bottle of water in his right hand. He sat beside Mabel. "Here you go, Sis."

She looked down. "They're usually yellow."

"This is the extended-release version."

She shrugged, popped the pill, and chugged some water. "Thanks."

"It's OK. Mabel, Teek will get over it."

"Yeah, right."

"Come on," he said. "He loves you."

Mabel rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "It's me. I was dumb. I should have told him this might happen."

"Look, don't beat yourself up. It doesn't help. I know."

"Yeah." She took a long, deep breath. "Well, I'll call him when we get back. Maybe we can settle this. He wasn't—you know, he wasn't real mad. Or he was, but he held it in. I could kinda tell. Thanks, Dipper."

"Hey, awkward sibling hug?"

She gave him a sad smile, and they hugged.

It was their first awkward sibling hug during which Dipper felt his sister sob.

Predictably, once they were out of the harbor and Stan opened up the engine, Mabel barfed. "It's OK," she told Wendy, who was holding back her hair. "I'll get over it in a couple of hours."

"How about you, Wendy?" Stan asked. "You holding up OK?"

"Yeah, fine," Wendy said. "This is no worse than bein' up in the top of a tall pine when there's a wind up." She shivered a little. "Cold, though!"

"Dipper, see what you can find."

Dipper took Wendy below—"Cramped, man!"—and looked in the clothes locker. "OK," he said. "Not much that'll fit you. Here's a sweater Mabel made for me. Oh, and here's a windbreaker—probably Grunkle Ford's. See how they work for you."

The sweater was a deep gray, with MT appliquéd on the chest. Wendy could wear it. The dark-blue windbreaker was wide in the shoulders and long in the sleeves, but she zipped it up and rolled up the sleeves. "This'll do," she said.

Dipper had shoved his medium jacket in his duffel—he remembered how cold it could get—and he took Mabel an extra sweater.

Ford and Stan were both on deck now, talking about the prospects. Not long afterward, the boat breasted into the Pacific swell and set a southern heading. Ford turned to Mabel and handed her a white-and-red loud hailer. "Stanley tells me you can alert the sea creatures," he said.

"I'll try."

Mabel stood, one hand on the rail, and turned on the megaphone. "Testing!" she said, and her amplified voice boomed over the waves.

She said, "Attention, all dolphins and merpeople and whatever! This is Mabel Pines, friend of Mermando, Prince of Merpeople and King of the Manatees! I'm calling on you for help! Is anybody there?"

"Oh, wow!" Wendy exclaimed as, not fifty yards from the boat, three sleek creatures with triangular fins, dark-gray backs, and nearly white faces, broke the water and leaped in a graceful arc. "Whales!"

"Dolphins," Ford quietly corrected. "Risso's dolphins. Though they are closely related to orcas, which are commonly called killer whales. They used to be called grampuses—"

Mabel drowned him out: "Attention, denizens of the deep! Let the merpeople know! Mermando said he could meet us if you can let him know our location! Follow us and spread the word! Go, my deep-sea beauties, go!"

"Whoa!" Stan yelled. "Ahead, off the port bow!"

Dipper turned just in time to see two tall plumes of spray, and then two enormously long bodies arching up—though what he could see of the creature's sides just beneath the water appeared as a nearly fluorescent turquoise.

"Blue whales!" Ford shouted.

Wendy put her arm around Dipper. "Dude," she said, "I think the odds just evened out!"

He reached to take her hand—very cold in the ocean breeze—and thought, —I hope so. Except whales and dolphins—well, they don't have guns. These guys probably do.

At least one thing was a little brighter. Mabel, manically running from one side of the deck to the other, clutching the bullhorn, was bellowing encouragement to the sea creatures. For the moment, it looked as though she had forgotten her troubles with boys.

For the moment.