4: Star-Crossed
(May 21, 2009)
It was a good seven miles out to the Corduroy house, and here they were without wheels. Just a couple of ground-walkers. Dipper thought he could make it, but Mabel confessed she was pooped. However . . . . "I saw the golf cart behind the Shack," Mabel offered. "It looks like it's in great shape!"
Well, yeah, considering that it would be three years older the next time they saw it, which would be the first time they saw it. The usual confusion of time-travel made the point a little difficult to grasp. "But we can't just steal it," Dipper objected.
Mabel walked out of the mall, with Dipper trailing a step behind. She said, "Come on. Love will find a way! And by love I mean—"
"Soos's affection for us?"
"No. Me, Mabel!"
They hitchhiked a ride as far as the long drive up the hill to the Shack with a farmer returning from having hauled a load of asparagus to the grocery store. He was talkative, asking them if they were going to come back for that year's Woodstick, judging that anybody who looked and dressed the way they did must be musicians.
Dipper said no, Mabel complained that the truck smelled like asparagus, and the farmer took them just to the foot of the drive before letting them out. The truck rumbled away. Dipper said, "The entrance looks so drab now, without the sign you painted and the mountain laurel that Stan planted. Come on, let's see what we can do about the golf cart."
They went up the hill, entered the gift shop—Grunkle Stan was there, busily encouraging tourists to buy—and to keep him pacified, Dipper spent most of one twenty-dollar bill on a map of Roadkill County that he really didn't need. When on the half-hour Stan next took a tram-load of tourists out, Mabel went into a huddle with Soos.
She came back grinning and twirling the key. "Let's go, Broseph, before Grunkle Stan gets back."
She insisted on driving. First, though, she said, "I really need an Oregon driver's license!" She reached into her pocket. "Aw, nuts."
"Let me try," Dipper said. "My Sis needs an Oregon driver's license in the name of Mary—uh, Mary—"
"Clobberjowl," Mabel put in helpfully.
Dipper scowled. "That's not right!"
"I can't remember the other one! And it'll do. Come on, I'm not gonna show it to Wendy!"
"Clobberedowl," Dipper said. "Uh, address, um, 1234 Easy Street, Ebbets, Oregon." He reached into his pocket, felt the laminated card, and handed it over. "I guess I'm the Bag of Holding," he said.
"Yuck, what a crummy photo," Mabel complained, but she tucked the license into her jeans pocket and they started forward.
"What did you tell Soos?" Dipper asked.
Mabel sounded smug: "Aw, I told him that our hog had broken down and we had the part we needed to get it running again, but we were awfully tired from walking to town and back, and if he'd lend us the golf cart, I promised to get it back by six o'clock." She paused and then said, "I told him we were trying to get home for our poor sick dad's birthday."
Dipper frowned. Soos and dads. "That was pretty low, Mabel."
"Yup," she agreed cheerfully. "Can I read Soos like a book or what?"
"He bought that we ride a Harley?" Dipper asked.
"No, I think he thinks we travel on the back of an actual hog. Oh, and I warned him that we thought the mailman is a werewolf."
"So that's where he got the idea."
"Shut up and let me concentrate. I'm not used to driving something as underpowered as this hunk of junk."
The cart wasn't fast—about twelve miles per hour was its top speed—but it hummed along reliably. They took shortcuts across country when possible and arrived at the crooked drive leading downhill to the Corduroy house at a few minutes before four. "Huh," Dipper said. "Looks like they're not back from town yet."
A Jeep stood there—not the one that Dipper remembered—but the pickup, Dan's usual vehicle of choice when transporting the family, was gone.
But when they parked, the front door of the cabin opened, and there stood Wendy, all freckles, braids, and metal-braced grin. "You came!" she said. "I've got the whatchamacallit. Come on inside."
They did. The TV was an older model, but the living room looked the same as always, big fireplace, bearskin rug, saggy sofa—any sofa that Manly Dan sat on became instantly saggy—the familiar things. Dipper remembered with a little pang all those evenings of sitting on the floor, on the rug, with a blanket around him and his Lumberjack Girl, snuggling and giggling over bad movies.
And now the twelve-year-old Wendy gazed at him with starry eyes. "Are you, like, tattooed all over?"
"Pretty much, yeah," Dipper said.
"My brother is such a rebel," Mabel said. "Aren't you, Casey?"
"Isn't your name Chris, dude?" Wendy asked.
"Yes—" Dipper started.
Mabel chuckled. "Oh, Casey is his road name!"
"What's that?" Wendy asked.
Mabel mimed gripping handlebars. "You know, riding that big Harlan all over the country, getting into trouble, outrunning the law, seeking adventures and new life and civilizations. The usual."
Wendy looked entranced. "You're a biker? For real?"
Before Dipper could say anything Mabel said, "Sure he is, sister! You should see him when he gets up to speed, that big hot machine between his legs—"
"It's not all that exciting," Dipper said. "Really."
"Anyhow, his bike's broken down and we have to go fix it up. Soos—you know Soos?"
"Uh-huh, he helps Mr. Pines in the Mystery Shack. Nice guy."
"Right. He lent us the golf cart. Soon's we collect Cody's thing he lost but you found, we gotta get rolling."
"Cody?"
Mabel whispered, "It's a new alias. We came through Wyoming last week. Now the Wyoming Rangers are after him. We thought Texas Rangers were tough, but man!"
"Wow."
"OK, Mary, that's enough," Dipper said firmly. "Look, if you'll give me the device you found—"
"It's a fuzz detector," Mary confided.
"—I'll pay you the twenty dollars and we'll be on our way. And it is not a fuzz detector."
Wendy started back through the short hall. "OK, you come with me. It's in my room."
"I'll wait here," Mabel said. "I like to look at an empty fireplace. You two hurry."
Like the living room, Wendy's bedroom was much the same—different posters on the wall, some watercolors and sketches she had done, not as good as Mabel's art these days, but showing her interest in the birds and animals of the forest. "It's in a box under the bed," Wendy said. "Kinda in the middle. Could you pull it out for me?"
"Sure." Dipper had to kneel and bend over and reach way back to snag the corner of the cardboard box. He dragged it out—
And Wendy threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. Right on the lips. It wasn't exactly an exciting kiss, close-lipped and ending with an embarrassing smack. It was the kiss of a girl who hadn't practiced. Then she said, "Take me with you?"
Dipper glimpsed the aluminum device and picked it up out of the box. "Where'd you find this?"
"It was out in the road the other morning. I saw it when I went to get the paper and picked it up. Can I go with you, please? Please, Chris?"
He sat on the edge of the bed, and she hopped up beside him. Odd how short she was—half a head shorter than he was, but he knew she'd more than make up for that in the next three years. "Can't do that, Wendy," he said softly. "Where are your dad and your brothers?"
"They've got a tree removal job way across the valley." Wendy frowned. "How'd you know I've got brothers?"
"Saw the shoes in the living room," Dipper improvised.
"Yeah, I always have to pick up after them. You're pretty sharp. Come on. Let me go with you, Chris."
"I'm sorry, no. And, uh, don't go kissing every guy you see, OK?"
Wendy blushed a glowing pink. "That was my first kiss," she whispered.
"You'll make some guy really happy one day," Dipper said. "You're a beautiful girl."
She shook her head, her expression crumpling into unhappiness. "No, I'm not. I'm a freak. I'm like taller than Robbie already, and look at these freckles. And I hate my braces, and, and I hate my life."
"You wouldn't like mine, either. Mary was exaggerating," Dipper said. "I'm not really a biker outlaw. I'm just, you know, a kid. And I'm four years older than you are. I'm too old for you. I mean, you know that, right?"
She hung her head. "I'm so sick of this place. I just wish I could go. Wish I could live in Portland or, like, anywhere but here!"
"One day you will. You'll spread your wings like a beautiful bird and fly away. But—from what I saw of your dad—he loves you a lot."
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "He doesn't show it. Making me his maid. Making me work like a dog."
"He's a guy," Dipper said. "Guys can be pretty dumb about stuff like that. But down deep I know he must love you. You stay here. You know, if you wait, good things will happen. But tempting though it is—I can't see you on my bike, driving through a pouring rain. Scrounging in dumpsters for a meal. Sleeping in a culvert during a snowstorm. Never getting an education."
She shook her head. "I'm no good in school."
Dipper took her hand. "You're a smart girl. I can tell. I'll bet you know all about the woods."
That earned him a heart-melting crooked smile. "Well, yeah, that. I'm a whiz at lumberjack games."
"You can be a whiz at anything."
She raised his hand and kissed it. "But I think I'm in love with you, Chris."
Dang. It wasn't working. Dipper put his arm around the girl and said, "OK, I can't take it. You'd be a pretty good girl to have around, I guess. You're right. Let's run away!"
"You mean it?" Her grin spread right across her face.
"Let's go, right now. We'll have to run about a thousand miles before we even rest, though, 'cause your old man will be after us—"
The grin faded. "He . . . yeah, he . . . he will, won't he?"
"We don't care! He may be big, but we can wait for him with baseball bats and jump him from behind—"
"Jump my dad?"
"You know if we don't, he won't stop until he kills me and drags you back home. I may not live through the next week, but who cares? It's worth it! Let's make out right here!"
Looking alarmed, she scooted away. "I—I don't think—"
Dipper put on a wounded expression. "Wendy! You're breaking up with me?"
"I—yeah, I guess I am," she said. "I didn't think it through. I was so stupid. I'm sorry, Chris."
"Probably for the best." He took the twenty out of his pocket and tucked it under her pillow. "Happy birthday, kid. Hope to see you again sometime."
"I'll sleep with the toy on my pillow," she said. Oh, that teary-eyed smile reached inside him and squeezed his heart.
He patted her shoulder. "You do that. And look for a guy who won't treat you bad. Not ever. You'll find one, I promise."
He hugged her and then he and Mabel said their goodbyes and hurried away.
Halfway back to the Shack, Mabel asked, "Dipper? You crying?"
"I guess. A little."
"What happened in there?"
"She wanted to run away with me. On the motorcycle I don't have. But then she thought about her dad and how he'd be hurt, and how he'd probably kill us both, so she broke up with me." He gave a sad little chuckle. "Guess what? I was her first kiss. Only she'll never know that."
"'That guy with the tattoos,'" Mabel said thoughtfully. "If it's any consolation, Brobro, when she's fifteen, she'll still remember you."
They returned the cart, gave Soos the five bucks—leaving Dipper with about a dollar and a quarter in his pocket, but he figured he could conjure up more at any time—and then Mabel said, "OK, what we got here?"
"Let's walk down the trail a ways," Dipper said. "See if we can figure it out."
They went to the bonfire clearing—it looked as though Stan had just recently had the trees cut down and the ground leveled, and Manly Dan, Dipper thought, had probably done the work for him—and sat on a freshly-made bench, really a log braced with stones.
Dipper took the device from his pocket. "Looks like a cell phone, but there aren't any controls."
"Gimme."
"Mabel, don't be grabby!"
"C'mon, Broman, a teenage girl knows phones!"
"Here. But don't break it."
Mabel fiddled with it but could find no way of turning it on. Tapping, swiping, and shaking did not work. "Give me your secrets!" she commanded.
"Maybe there's a password," Dipper said.
And the screen lit up blue. "Speak personal password now for Blendin Blenjamin Blandin," an AI voice said pleasantly.
"Password!" Mabel said triumphantly.
The screen turned briefly red. "That is incorrect. You have five attempts remaining."
"Time Baby!"
Red again, and four attempts remaining.
"Mabel—" Dipper said.
Red again. Three.
Dipper signaled for silence. He put the device on the log and hauled Mabel a good many steps away. Then he whispered, "We have to think about this! It'll be a word that means something to Blendin. We can't just guess, we have to figure it out."
Mabel made two more guesses: "Blendin" and "Blandin."
And they were down to one attempt.
They left the device on the log and paced, thinking furiously. "This is our last chance," Dipper said. "If we fail, this is it—we fail the whole mission!"
"What would Blendin say?" Mabel murmured.
And Dipper laughed. He beckoned her over to the log, picked up the device, and said, "I—I—I—I—I—"
"Password accepted."
The screen lit up with—"Another code?" Mabel said, groaning. "Oh, man!"
Dipper took out the pen and pad and handed the device to Mabel. "Read the numbers and dashes out," he said. "Clearly. This is important. Mabel—be serious!"
"As a Congressperson!" she said. She put a properly serious frown on her disguised face, and as Dipper's pen flew, she read out the cipher:
-8-4-3-20-/-8-12-2-2-4-20-/-3-17-8-/-16-3-6-4-15-:
-22-4-20-25-/-10-18-18-8-.
-1-11-4-/-8-4-22-12-7-4-/-25-18-21-/-17-18-23-/-11-3-22-4-/-8-4-1-4-7-1-5-/-3-17-3-7-11-20-18-17-12-5-16-5-/-12-17-/-1-12-16-4-/-15-12-17-4-5-.
-25-18-21-/-23-12-15-15-/-17-4-4-8-/-12-1-/-9-18-20-/-25-18-21-20-/-17-4-24-1-/-1-12-16-4-/-15-4-3-2-.
-8-18-17-'-1-/-15-4-1-/-3-17-25-/-1-2-3-4-5-/-3-10-4-17-1-5-/-9-18-15-15-18-23-/-25-18-21-.
-23-4-/-17-4-4-8-/-3-/2-15-3-17-/-1-18-/-20-4-5-7-21-4-/-1-11-4-/-16-4-17-/-7-12-2-11-4-20-/-8-4-5-1-20-18-25-4-8-/-3-17-8-/-1-12-16-4-/6-3-6-25-/1-18-18-.
-12-/-11-18-2-4-/-25-18-21-/-11-3-22-4-/-3-/-2-15-3-17-.
-17-4-24-1-/-7-15-21-4-/-12-5-/-23-11-4-20-4-/-3-17-8-/-23-11-4-17-/-25-18-21-/-1-23-18-/-23-4-20-4-/-6-18-20-17-.
-10-18-18-8-/-15-21-7-14-.
-6-15-4-17-8-12-17-
Dipper began to scan through as soon as he had finished. Then he frowned. "Something," he said, "is way off."