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Dusk was creeping up on Gravity Falls. Frogs and crickets sang a symphony for all who were able to hear them. The moon was in that weird in-between phase, the one where it wasn't quite full, but it wasn't quite a crescent, either.
If anything supernatural was out and about, it wasn't making itself known today. Perhaps it didn't want to disturb the peace any more than Dipper and Pacifica did.
The two of them were lounging on the roof of the Mystery Shack, enjoying the easy atmosphere and easy company. The others were inside, cracking open cans of Pitt Cola and watching TV after a hectic round of Capitalism: The Game. Nobody had won, because Stan kept stealing money from the bank when Ford wasn't looking, Soos kept inventing house rules, and Waddles ended up eating all of his own title deeds (Mabel insisted on letting him play, too, assigning him his own token and rolling the dice for him).
After everyone had given up on reaching any sort of conclusion, Pacifica slipped her player token, a little silver shoe, into her pocket. She didn't know why. Maybe she would put it back later. Maybe she would take it home and place it on her desk, leaving the Pines family with a new mystery to solve.
Home…
Her hand dropped to her side and her thumb pressed on the token from the outside of the pajama pants. The fabric on the pair she was borrowing from Mabel was a little thin, and an unfinished edge of metal poked through the thread. Beside her, Dipper was faintly humming something under his breath that she didn't recognize. A BABBA song, no doubt.
His arm was wrapped around her shoulders, and she was nestled against his chest. It still felt weird calling him her boyfriend, but it was a good kind of weird. It was a weird that she could get used to.
Fireflies blinked in and out of sight as Pacifica tried to push down the uneasy feeling that was growing in the pit of her stomach. Reminding herself of home tended to do that, but this was worse than normal.
“Everything okay?” His voice, familiar and comforting, would have startled her if she wasn't curled up next to him. The vibrations from his vocal chords hummed in his chest where her hand rested.
She wasn't convinced that he didn't have some sort of mind-reading powers. He always seemed to know when something was actually wrong.
Pacifica sighed. “Everything’s fabulous .”
She felt his lips brush against the top of her head, and she buried her face into his t-shirt. Maybe if she didn't move a muscle, if she stayed just like this, time would stop, too. She'd be stuck in this moment forever, feeling Dipper breathe and listening to the muffled sounds of his family's laughter below them.
“You wanna talk about it?”
“No, but I probably should.”
“I mean, you don't have to.” His nonchalance and understanding make her heart hurt.
Since that morning in the kitchen, she hadn't brought up her home life at all, and he hadn't pushed the topic. Neither had anyone else; they must have followed his instructions. And she was happy for the peace, because it allowed her to decompress and just exist for a little while.
Her phone had been buzzing with text notifications every single day since she'd run off, and she left every single one of them on read. Her mother sent her passive aggressive comments about her behaving like a child, while her father was more direct and to-the-point with his displeasure. There were even a few missed calls from the Manor’s landline, no doubt left by Preston.
While Pacifica hadn't acknowledged her family's efforts to reach her, they were becoming harder and harder to brush off, and she was starting to feel more and more guilty about her aloofness – and it wasn't because she thought her parents missed her.
Pacifica stared at Dipper's truck where it sat in the driveway. “I think I'm kind of overstaying my welcome.”
“What?” His voice raised a little in surprise and indignation. “Did someone say something to you?”
“No, no,” she clarified. “Of course not. Everyone's been really cool. It's just… it's been a week now, Dipper.”
“So?”
“I should probably think about going back home.”
He sighed deeply, inhaling and exhaling, stalling for time, like he was trying to think of how to respond. “The Manor doesn't have to be your home. Not if you don't want it to be.”
There was the heartache again. “Trust me, Dipper, if I could make this last forever, I would.”
“Who says it can't?” And there was Hopeless Romantic Dipper. She'd gotten to know Hopeless Romantic Dipper more closely during the past few days, and she was very fond of him, but he wasn't very practical.
“My family's lawyers,” she replied with a touch of misplaced hostility. She felt herself physically deflate as she continued. “I won't be eighteen for another few months, and my parents are rich and crazy enough to make up some case about child endangerment, or kidnapping, or something else. Whatever gets me back in that house.”
She can't say it out loud in so many words, but she can't do that to the Pines. Not after everything they've done for her. She can't allow herself to be so proud and stubborn that Stan and Ford get sued as a result.
And she expects Dipper to immediately accept her reasoning, but he doesn't.
“We'd fight for you,” he argued. “Get CPS involved. Put together a defense. We'd fight.”
Which was not what she was expecting to hear.
“Dipper…”
“You know we would.”
Tears started to blur her vision, but she tried to repress them. “I know you would. But it wouldn't matter. Not many people can afford to win against the Northwests in court.”
She heard him exhale through his nose, a short, sharp hiss, and he shifted slightly so he could hold her with both arms. “They really piss me off.”
She snuggled further into the embrace. They were a single unit, an amalgamation of cotton hoodie sleeves, bittersweet emotions, warm skin, and beating hearts. “Me, too.”
Somewhere downstairs, something crashed to the floor, and several people started hooting and hollering.
Pacifica tilted her head up to look at her boyfriend. “I’m only doing it cause I don't think my dad's going to try anything else. I think I'd be safe. The lumberjacks like me, remember? He can't lay a finger on me without risking his own sorry ass.”
“Still, I don't like the idea of you going back there.” His thumb rubbed at her shoulder. “Even if you were technically safe, other stuff could go wrong, and you wouldn't be happy.”
She sat with his observation for a few, long moments. “You're right. It sucks, and I'd rather be anywhere but the Manor. But… it’s the plan that makes the most sense. I go back home, I stick it out until I'm a legal adult, and your family doesn't get sued.”
“Why are you phrasing that like it's a win-win?”
“It’s the closest thing we've got for now.” She shrugged. “Besides, I have some things I need to take care of before I can move out.”
He seemed to perk up a little. “What kind of things? Maybe I can help.”
“Um… just some family-related nonsense. Loose ends.” The heiress thought about one particular ghost in the Manor's small cemetery that still needed her help. She couldn't abandon Abigale just yet. “I've gotta do that stuff on my own.”
“Well… if you say so.”
“Plus, I should probably graduate first, right?” She continued, now trying to convince herself more than Dipper. Her phone buzzed on a roof tile to her right. “My parents have a say in the admissions for Northwest Private School. They also have a say in who gets expelled.”
“You really think they would kick you out of school ?” He paused. “Wait, what am I saying? Of course they’d do that. They're the literal worst.”
“I thought I was the worst,” she mumbled. Her response was an attempt at banter, but she didn't really feel up for banter at the moment, so it didn't pack its usual punch.
Luckily, he picked up the slack. “No, you've got it all wrong. You're the worst. They're the literal worst. There's a big difference.”
She smiled into his shirt. “So my awfulness is purely hypothetical?”
He laughed. “Something like that.”
A few moments of peace washed over them. The crickets were starting to sing, and they were joined by the frogs who lived at nearby ponds. They couldn't fully see the sunset through the pine trees, but the sky was pretty nonetheless. It reminded Pacifica of orange sherbet.
“When are you leaving?” Dipper asked quietly.
“Tomorrow morning, I guess.”
“Okay.”
“Will you guys drop me off? I don't want them to come here .”
“Whatever you think is best.” He sighed and laid his cheek where her hair parted. “So what do you wanna do tonight?”
She didn't really know. The Shack was never a dull place, so she'd probably be happy with almost any low-brow, bizarre pastime they could come up with. Just two days ago, Stan had organized a possum racing ring that lasted all of six hours before it fell apart. The day before that, Mabel decided her mission for the day was to see how much of her skin she could cover in stickers. And the day before that , Pacifica and the twins went on an excursion into the woods for a picnic, packing mass-produced, frozen PB&J sandwiches and ziploc bags of store brand potato chips. They hadn't run into anything supernatural or weird, but Pacifica had never been on an actual picnic before, so it was still a novelty to her.
As the years went by, Pacifica came closer and closer to finding things like that charming, and further and further away from turning her nose up at said things. She liked it. She liked the change. It made her feel both more and less like herself.
As she pondered this, she stared at some random plant in the distance. “I don't know. I kinda like doing this. Sitting here with you.”
That was the kind of flirting that would have made both of their cheeks turn pink, but they weren't in a position to see each other's faces, so she just had to hope for the best.
It was a couple more seconds before he responded. “Yeah, me too.”
He sounded lovesick and sappy. Perfect. She could use that to orchestrate a shift in the conversation to something more in her favor than discussing her home life. (Never mind the fact that she felt the exact same way as he did. Why couldn't she scheme and enjoy the warm fuzzies at the same time?)
She hugged her boyfriend tighter and sighed, wrapping her arms around him completely. “I also like doing this.”
His heartbeat quickened under her ear. “Yeah, that's cool,” he replied without an ounce of coolness.
Pacifica smiled to herself. “I'm glad you think so.”
A few beats passed, and then he leaned back slightly. It was almost enough to make her complain, but then they finally met each other's eyes. He was just as red as she felt.
One of his hands slowly made its way to her cheek, his thumb resting on her cheekbone and his pinky on her jaw. His fingertips were brushing a ticklish area under her ear. She found herself not wanting to speak, lest she interrupted him before he gathered his thoughts.
“Um… what about this?” He sounded nervous, but his eyes were locked in place, like he was afraid they would drift to her lips if he let them. And why not let them? she thought.
Pacifica curled her mouth into a sweet, closed-lip smile that she knew looked good in selfies. “That’s good, too.”
Dipper smiled back at her, and his muscles relaxed a bit. Her affirmation had put him a little more at ease. “Hey, Paz?”
“Yes?” she replied in a sugary affectation.
“You're so…” He paused, his expression suddenly changing to slightly awestruck. “You're awesome. I just think you're awesome, okay?”
Her partially-rehearsed smirk morphed into a full, unabashed grin as she melted inside. “Flattery will get you many places.”
“I mean it.” The tone of his voice softened even more. “I really like you.”
The heiress didn't even try to hide her blush. “If you want, you can keep talking about how great I am until it's time for bed. I think that would be fun.”
Finally, his pupils darted a bit lower on her face. “Actually… I had something else in mind.”
Her breath hitched and her heart skipped a beat.
Over the past seven days, the two of them had been creeping closer and closer to an important threshold; despite being ‘official’ now, the two of them hadn't yet kissed. They'd cuddled, held hands, kissed each other’s foreheads and cheeks, but they hadn't properly had their first kiss .
It wasn't for lack of wanting to, believe it or not – it was simply a difficult task to secure any alone time as a couple while in a house full of nosy people. And Pacifica didn't really want to kiss her boyfriend for the first time in front of his family (a sentiment she was confident that he shared). Tonight was the first time they'd been alone since that morning, when they shared a bowl of dry cereal and bared their souls to each other.
And now, Dipper Pines was caressing her cheek and looking at her like she was worth something, not worth something like money or status, but worthy , and it was making her feel safe and happy and loved . She really wanted to kiss him, and he was giving her bright, blinking, neon signs that he wanted to do the same.
So she looked back at him with a coy blink of her eyes and hoped that her signs were just as obvious. “Oh, yeah? Like what?”
His smile faded a little, but not in a bad way. He just looked more focused. Like he was analyzing a new discovery. His face began to inch closer to hers, and his brow furrowed.
A silent request. He was asking permission.
She granted it by closing the gap.
A peck, and another peck, then a third one, lingering a bit longer this time, and then one of them parts their mouth, just slightly, just enough for their lips to fit together just so…
It took them a few moments to settle in, and there were a couple instances of bumped noses, but once they fell into a soft, steady rhythm, it came a bit easier to them. The kiss wasn't perfect by a long shot – they were both clumsy and inexperienced and afraid of being interrupted – but, because she was with Dipper, it was the closest thing to a fairy tale Pacifica had ever experienced.
She liked the way his hands felt in her hair. She liked the way his arms felt as they enveloped her in an indestructible barrier. She liked the way a little bit of his voice rumbled in his throat as he exhaled through his nose. She even liked the way his three-in-one shampoo smelled, though she would never admit it out loud. The entire situation was almost too saccharine. She wanted more of it. However much time they had left before this moment ended, it wasn't nearly enough.
They paused to breathe (damned lungs) and his forehead lightly bumped hers, resting there for a second. A dreamlike haze settled over the roof, and they smiled at each other like idiots.
She saw something in her peripheral vision, and leaned back a little to get a clearer look.
Half of her bubblegum pink lip gloss, which she completely forgot she'd applied a few hours ago, was now smeared on Dipper's mouth. It wasn't a completely bad look for him. Maybe she could convince him to let her do his makeup one day.
Pacifica giggled, and Dipper quickly frowned. Of course he would assume the worst. “What? What is it?”
She shook her head, reached up, and wiped the corner of his lips with her thumb. “You've got a little…”
He swiped at the gloss and inspected the pink left behind on his pointer finger. “Oh, yeah. I guess I do.”
He dragged his wrist across his mouth to wipe it away, but she grabbed his arm and pushed it down. “What do you think you're doing?”
“Do you really want them to see?” He shook his head. “We'll never hear the end of it. They're gonna start calling the roof ‘makeout point’ or something.”
“Yeah, but…” She got closer again. “Who said I wanted to stop just yet?”
He got that cute, flustered look on his face. “...You're right. More practical to wait until we're through.”
And in an instant, their lips were locked again.
They'd have to go back inside soon. Someone was probably cooking dinner by now, and if they stayed outside for too long, one of the grunkles would climb up himself to play the role of anti-Cupid. Stan Pines in his typical loungewear yelling some nonsense about ‘canoodling’ was one of the biggest mood-killers on Earth.
But Pacifica wanted to kiss her boyfriend some more. Just for a little bit longer. So she did. And he kissed her back.
And for the next few minutes, her life was, at last, completely and utterly perfect.
Pacifica was driven to Northwest Manor by both sets of Pines twins the next day after lunch. Ford was at the wheel, Stan was staring out the window of the passenger’s side, and the heiress was sitting between Dipper and Mabel in the back. Just like old times. (The only thing missing was a stale, leftover taco, and Soos. But there were no leftovers in the car today, and Soos was back home, taking care of his new baby girl.)
Before they headed out, Stan had discreetly slipped one of the Mystery Shack's business cards into Pacifica's palm. “Hey, kid. Give us a call if things get hairy again,” he'd said in a serious, hushed whisper. “I'll put on my brass knuckles and pay your pops a visit.”
And she'd replied with nothing more than a nod and a tight-lipped smile. She didn't doubt the man’s sincerity. He really would drive over and beat the shit out of Preston if she asked him to. He'd probably done a lot more for a lot less.
But she couldn't resort to that. Not yet, anyway. She’d tucked the business card into her wallet, hiding it behind one of her lesser-used credit cards. Maybe it would come in handy between now and her birthday.
The ride to the Manor was mostly silent. Nobody felt much like talking.
Dipper just held Pacifica's hand, and Mabel laid her head on her shoulder. She still didn't really know how to react to such unconditional kindness and unwavering support on this scale, so she sat as still as she could without being completely stiff.
She locked eyes with Ford in the rear view mirror a couple times when he was checking on the teenagers. Her past experiences told her that if she called Stan, Ford wouldn't be far behind, and he would be wielding something even more deadly than brass knuckles. Some kind of laser beam, or maybe an inter-dimensional gun with quantum bullets. Or something.
Of course, that would further complicate the hypothetical lawsuit. Best not to risk it.
When they arrived at the Manor, the gates opened without ceremony or fanfare. As they inched down the driveway, the exhaust pipe on Stan’s car coughed out a cloud of black smoke, and Pacifica saw her mother sneer. The frown was nearly imperceptible to most, since the woman’s face was pumped full of Botox, but Pacifica knew her mother’s microexpressions all too well. She'd had to memorize them to survive.
Preston was standing next to Priscilla on the steps, his hands folded behind his back and a stoic look on his face. Calm. Collected.
This was the same man who sent her a text message yesterday morning calling her an embarrassment to their family name. This was the same man who left her four voice mails, his voice shaking in thinly-veiled rage each time. He was able to mask all of that anger and violence and pretend like it never existed when the situation called for it. And his wife would always be glued to his side, smiling without any joy. Perpetuating their shiny image. It made Pacifica nauseous.
Once the car was parked, Mabel hopped out first, just so she could lean against the vehicle, cross her arms, and shoot a death glare at Pacifica's parents. Pacifica herself followed Dipper out on the side facing away from the Manor’s doors. Stan and Ford exited the car last.
Both sides stared at each other in silence for a moment. The disgust in the air was palpable.
Stan moved towards the trunk, likely intending to get Pacifica's bags, but before he could manage to do so, Preston brought his hands forward and briskly clapped them together. “Mortimer! Retrieve Pacifica’s belongings.”
The family's butler materialized and popped the trunk before any of the Pines could react. Stan jumped and clutched at his chest. “Jeez! Give a guy a heart attack.”
“My apologies, sir,” said the butler.
“Don't be polite to the common rabble, Mortimer,” Preston chastised. “That's not what we pay you for.”
“Of course, master.” He turned without another word and went inside.
Ford narrowed his eyes. “Is that how you treat everyone in your employ?”
The Northwest patriarch ignored him. “Come, come, Pacifica. French lessons begin at the top of the hour.”
“Mustn't be late!” Priscilla grinned so wide that all her teeth were bared. “You've missed so many of your extracurriculars already. Lots to catch up on, darling.”
Pacifica looked at the ground, focusing on her shoes. Panic sunk its claws into her limbs. If she lingered too long, he would use the bell. She couldn't let that happen. She had to move.
She circled around to the front of the car. Dipper followed close behind her. His eyes never left her parents, but his hand never left her shoulder.
Mabel hugged her goodbye first. It was obvious that she was trying not to cry, so Pacifica hugged her back in equal measure. “I'll see you guys later, okay?” she muttered. “We can try and grab some lunch later this week. I'm not going away forever.”
“I know, but I really liked having you over. Maybe we can do it again before we go back to California.”
Pacifica wasn't counting on it, but she gave her friend an encouraging smile anyway.
When it was time to bid farewell to Dipper for the day, she didn't even try to hide her affection for him from her family. She pulled him into a deep hug and squeezed him as tightly as she could. If she was going to be his girlfriend, she was going to endure the verbal thorns that would come as soon as those doors were shut. She lied to her parents about some things, but Dipper wasn't going to be one of them.
His hand cupped the back of her head. “Be safe, okay? Lay low if you have to.”
“That's the plan.”
Pacifica kissed his cheek as she pulled away. Her father said her name as a warning from the steps, and she finally began to approach them.
She glanced at Stan and Ford, and they each gave her a friendly nod, almost in unison. Stan tilted his head forward and made pointed eye contact. Remember what I told you this morning, okay?
She nodded in confirmation.
Finally, she lifted her chin and met her parents' eyes. They looked the same as they always did, but she felt marginally less intimidated by the two of them knowing that she had a contingency plan.
Once she was in front of them, they swiftly turned around and each placed a hand on her shoulders to escort her inside. Their grip wasn't warm or cozy like Dipper’s was. Her mother's fingernails were digging into her shirt.
Pacifica tried to look behind her, but was swiftly corrected by Priscilla's hand. “Don't look back, darling. Focus.”
So she stared straight ahead and kept her posture upright as they stepped into the foyer and the wooden doors echoed shut behind her.
She'd never thought twice about this particular room before, but it felt oppressively vast and empty today. Maybe she'd become too accustomed to the clutter and tight hallways of the Shack.
As soon as the Northwests were alone, Preston immediately got down to business as they walked across the polished wooden floor. “Pacifica, that revolting display will be the end of this nonsense. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, father,” she replied robotically.
“I don't know what's gotten into you lately, but this little rebellious streak of yours will not be tolerated.” He let go of her and straightened his tie with a dismissive sniff. “You're to return to your previous schedule as soon as you unpack.”
“Of course.”
Priscilla pulled Pacifica into a hug that neither of them wanted. “And you really don't have to settle for such a filthy, low-class boy like that. I've been speaking with the Knightlys – you know the Knightlys – and I think their son Aston would be a perfect match for you, Ciffy.”
Pacifica suppressed a groan upon hearing her mother's nickname for her. The prospect of being paired off with another rich kid for convenience didn't do much to settle her nerves, either. She'd prepared herself for Dipper slander, but she hadn't quite steeled herself for that .
“Don't worry, my pet,” Preston said to Priscilla. “I've made arrangements for Pacifica's instructors to teach in-house until school begins, as per what we discussed.”
The heiress stayed frozen. What the hell did he mean by that ?
He turned to his daughter with an air of authority. “Pacifica, you're grounded for the rest of the summer.”
The words knocked the air out of her lungs.
She felt her façade weaken as a million thoughts swept through her mind.
How was she going to see her friends again? Dipper and Mabel's eighteenth birthday party was in a couple weeks. She couldn't miss that. She couldn't. And then they'd be gone again, and…
Miraculously, she replied with one of the smartest things she could have possibly said. “So… I don't have to go to work?”
Her parents were the reason she was a waitress to begin with – it was their idea of a punishment for befriending Dipper and Mabel. But they still believed that she hated the job, and she had to keep up the ruse. Because if she was still able to go to her shifts at Greasy's, there was no way her parents could cut her off completely from the Pines family (or the rest of the town, for that matter).
Priscilla tutted and shook her head. “You can't get out of your responsibilities that easily, darling.”
“A chauffeur will escort you to and from the diner.” Her father shuddered at the mere mention of the restaurant. “And it will not be Mortimer, because I suspect you have been bribing him to look the other way when you disobey me.”
Pacifica didn't say a word as she tried to maintain a slightly disappointed, bratty expression. She couldn't let her relief show.
Who cared if it wasn't Mortimer? None of the servants her family hired ever gave a damn about what she did. This would be no different. And if she still had Greasy's, she would survive.
She neatly folded her hands in front of her and tried to look subtly indignant. “I'm going to my room now. I should hang up my blouses before they crease.”
“Good girl,” said Preston.
Fuck you, thought Pacifica.
Pacifica woke up the next morning around five o’clock. She didn't need to get up that early, because she didn't have anything on her schedule until after breakfast, but she wanted to enjoy an hour or two of solitude before she was summoned to the dining room.
For about ten minutes, she indulged in staring out her window while laying in bed and not moving a muscle. At first, her mind was empty and aimless, and that was nice in its own way, but then it drifted to Dipper (as it often tended to do). That was more than enough to occupy another ten minutes. Maybe more.
She would miss eating breakfast with him today. Now that she was home , she wouldn't see his adorable bedhead after he emerged from his and Mabel's room, nor would she be greeted with a kiss to her cheek. It hadn't taken her very long to get used to mornings with him and his family. How could she not want to wake up like that every single day?
He always had this sleepy look in his eye until Ford made coffee for the two of them. Sleepy, but cute. It made her want to snuggle up with him on the couch and fall right back asleep.
She was in the middle of pondering Dipper’s arms and absentmindedly twirling a lock of her hair when an idea popped into her head.
Pacifica immediately sat up and swung her legs over the side of her mattress, sliding her feet into a pair of slippers. Would he be awake already? Probably not. He was never up this early. But that didn't matter; he didn't need to be awake for her to text him.
She walked to her bathroom and began grooming herself for the day. Her hair was combed and put up into a messy-on-purpose bun – and then, after considerable effort, taken down again when she couldn't achieve the effortless look she wanted. She had to look like she woke up pretty without even trying. Nobody needed to know how much work went into her natural beauty.
She then applied some basic makeup in nude shades, adding just a hint of mascara. Not enough to be detectable to the layman, but enough to make her feel comfortable going out in public.
Then a little bit of blush… a subtle lip tint… and she was pretty darn close to looking like a model in a sleepwear ad. Plus, her powder pink pajama set went really well with the no-makeup makeup. This selfie was going to be killer.
Pacifica combed her hair once more for good measure and practically floated back to bed. A week ago, she might have felt sheepish about acting like such an infatuated moron, but knowing that Dipper returned her feelings was emboldening.
She kicked her slippers off and nestled herself back under the comforter. As she opened her camera app, she reached behind her and arranged her hair so it was radiating from her scalp like a platinum halo.
Her hand curled into a loose fist, and she brought it to her face so it would look like she was rubbing her eye. Of course, she wouldn't dare to actually rub at her eyelid, because then her makeup would smudge and the illusion would be ruined. She'd picked the perfect eyeshadow, one that almost matched her skin tone, but had a slight shimmer to it. It made her look like she came out of the womb sparkling like a diamond.
She tested a few different poses, trying to get a feel for which angle worked best with the sunrise that was beginning to shine through her window. For a moment, she forgot that she had a reason for looking this good, and just admired her hard work. For better or worse, she really knew how to stage a picture.
Eventually, Pacifica settled on a three-quarter angle, looking at the camera with a photogenic pout. One brown eye looked at the camera with a fake ‘just woke up’ expression. It looked unplanned, yet ethereal, which was exactly what she was going for.
As soon as she got the perfect shot, her other hand quickly dropped to grip her phone, and she opened her messages. The last thing she'd texted Dipper was a simple ‘goodnight’ message in response to a similar one he'd sent her. They hadn't talked for very long, since she’d been so tired from the day's ordeal, but she was itching to chat with him again.
She attached the selfie to a text that said nothing more than the words ‘good morning’ and hit send. Now, all she could do was wait.
As soon as the message went through, the heiress began picking apart the picture. She could have put on her silky robe. That would have added an aura of luxury. Maybe a sleep mask, too –
Three dots began flashing in the corner of her screen. Dipper was already typing.
A flash of insecurity swept over her. Why was he up this early? Did this make her look desperate? She hadn't even had time to sit with the portrait she'd taken before her boyfriend saw it. Maybe she'd acted too soon on a dumb idea.
>Good morning
‘Good morning’? That was it? Maybe she should have put on the robe–
The dots reappeared. He wasn’t done yet. Of course he wasn’t. She needed to calm down.
Pacifica bit her lip as she waited for his next message to pop up.
>Wow. Pretty 💙
She took a moment to bury her face in her pillow and kick her feet in glee before replying.
>i know right
>Took me a second to think of a reply that didn’t make me sound like that weirdo Tex Avery wolf.
The heiress switched to the browser and quickly googled ‘tex avery wolf’, because she had no clue what he was talking about. She was met with a GIF of a cartoon canine with hearts for eyes hitting himself in the head with a hammer.
She snorted to herself and tried to ignore how dorkishly sweet that was.
>i’ll take that as a good sign
>why are you up so early btw
>Couldn’t sleep. Decided to watch a documentary on my phone instead.
>I guess time got away from me.
>you should have texted me
>Didn’t want to interrupt your beauty sleep. But based on that photo you just sent, you don’t really need it.
That was corny, and it shouldn’t have worked on her. But it did.
>i should send you selfies more often
>loving this attention
>It’s well-deserved.
>I’d send one myself, but I don’t think you’d appreciate it very much.
>so you expect me to just slave away in the rich kid mines all day without any new pictures of my very attractive boyfriend
>I haven’t even brushed my hair yet.
>I LOVE YOUR BEDHEAD THO
>gives me cuteness aggression
>Alright, fine. You win. Give me a second.
>You better not post this.
>you really think i wanna share?? get real. i don’t share my things
Pacifica rolled over on her side and waited patiently for his response. She liked flirting with Dipper. She liked it a lot . The only thing that would make this conversation better would be having it in person so she could smother him in kisses until he begged for mercy.
About a minute later, she received an image from him, and she’d never opened a text faster in her entire life.
He was at his desk, looking like he got out of bed just for the purpose of taking this picture. His sleep shirt was wrinkled, and his hair was, indeed, messy. Half of it was smushed from laying down on it for too long. Pacifica wanted to ruffle it so bad.
And he was doing this endearing sort of half-smile at the camera; he was definitely trying to play it as cool as possible. He also had one hand up in a frozen wave.
She didn’t know why him waving at her was the final straw, but that was what made her heart melt in her chest. She quickly began typing as he sent her another text.
>There you go, your highness. Happy now?
>ohhhhh my heart 🥰🥰🥰
>yes this will sustain me for at least another 24 hours
>Are you able to get away for a bit? I know this really good spot in the woods where we could finish watching the sun rise.
>I also know a good spot to watch the sun set, if you can’t meet me til later.
And there was cold, hard reality again. He was so sweet to her, it made her teeth ache, and it hurt just as much to turn him down.
>no i cant im booked and busy with a bunch of bullshit i dont care about
>but keep texting me, ok?
>Yes, ma’am.
And he did.
Pacifica was at the table now, dining on scrambled quail eggs and French toast. She wasn't dressed yet, but neither were her parents; Preston was wearing a burgundy, fur-lined robe, and Priscilla was in her white dressing gown. Pacifica wouldn't be expected to change into daywear until after breakfast was done, which was a small mercy, she supposed.
She ate her meal with enthusiasm she had to restrain. Besides Abigale, the only thing she'd missed about the Manor was the food. She couldn't help that she was raised with expensive taste. The Shack was great for things like pizza and takeout, but she couldn't get things like caviar and foie gras there. And she loved caviar.
So she savored the quail eggs while she still could, taking a sizable bite as she checked her messages. Her mother chided her for the amount of food on her fork as a new text from Dipper made her phone vibrate.
>Do you like your birthstone? Asking for a friend.
She set down the utensil to pick up her phone in both hands.
>idk theres like a zillion of them for december. my go-to has always been blue zircon though. goes well with a lot of my wardrobe
>if youre already birthday shopping, first of all, knock it off because yours is way closer than mine is rn
>So what?
>second of all, your other options are tanzanite, which i also look good in, and turquoise. but it's hard to make turquoise work for me outside of. like. pioneer day
>You've really done your research, huh?
>im a northwest i have to know which gemstones best suit my complexion
>But which one do you LIKE the best?
Of course he would ask her that.
She took another bite as she contemplated what her answer to his question would be. Blue zircon was pretty, but it wasn't her favorite by a long shot. Opals had always mesmerized her, but she didn't own many pieces of opal jewelry…
Her phone buzzed again, and she was about to check the notification when her father sat up. Her eyes reflexively darted up to monitor him.
“Ah! That incessant buzzing reminds me, Pacifica…”
She swallowed and dabbed at her mouth with a cloth napkin out of habit. “Yes?”
“Give me your phone.”
Her mood shifted in a matter of milliseconds. “What?”
“I said, give me your phone,” he repeated, his voice dropping an octave.
Everything inside her was screaming to ignore him, but she obeyed.
He held the device at arm's length and squinted at the screen. “What's your passcode, dearest?”
“Uh…”
“Now."
She recited it out loud to him, and he keyed it in.
He then began to silently… do something. She tried to finish her breakfast, but the more antsy she became, the more tasteless her food seemed.
It wasn't unusual for her parents to snoop on her phone, so she tried to keep sensitive information out of her text messages, and her friends knew to do the same. But this time, something felt different. More… significant.
Her father's meddling lasted for several silent minutes. During that stretch of time, the only sounds in the dining room were utensils on porcelain and the muffled tune of some classical song playing in the foyer.
She was halfway through her slice of French toast when Preston placed the phone on the table and locked it without a word.
Pacifica eyed it warily. “...What's wrong?”
Preston cut off a piece of egg and speared it with his fork. “You're grounded, remember? We can't have you conversing with those peasants you call friends. You'd learn nothing.”
“Discipline is useless without consequences,” Priscilla chimed in.
Pacifica felt her mouth go dry. “Are you taking my phone away?”
“Don't be so dramatic. Of course not.” He sucked the egg off of the fork, and a small piece of it was left behind on his mustache. “How will you maintain your presence on social media without a phone?”
She glanced at it again. It hadn't buzzed since he started fiddling with it. “Then what did you do?”
“I simply blocked the numbers of everyone associated with that squalid tourist trap on the outskirts of town.” With a swipe of a napkin, the egg was gone. “I also disabled direct messaging on Instagram, Twitter… all of those little apps.”
Her mother pointed in emphasis and smiled. “With a parental lock! We know you and those Pines heathens are sneaky.”
Pacifica gripped her fork so hard that the designs in the silver began to imprint themselves into her palm. “Dad, they're my friends –”
“Not if you want to keep your good name, they're not.”
“But what are they gonna think when I stop responding to them out of the blue?”
In one fluid motion, he reached into his robe and procured The Bell from an interior pocket in his robe. He then rang it three times, a familiar and practiced pattern.
Instantly, Pacifica's spine straightened, her hands folded in her lap, and her mouth snapped shut against her will. Her eyes locked onto the wall opposite of where she was sitting as every muscle in her body told her that she would be punished if she continued to protest.
She hated that she still had this reaction. Other bells triggered her, and she avoided them whenever possible. But only that Bell, the one with a capital B, was able to make her go completely passive, especially when wielded by her father. It was like sneezing.
But she'd broken through its curse when she was twelve. So why couldn't she do it now? Was she really that weak-willed? It was shameful.
Thoughts of Dipper and Mabel, worried sick and breaking into Northwest Manor, began to appear in her mind. They'd done crazier things before. Who knows what they would think if she couldn't get in touch with them within a few hours, especially after an unfinished conversation?
Anxiety roiled in her stomach as she stared at the remainder of her eggs and toast. Her phone was slid back towards her unceremoniously, and Preston and Priscilla began discussing the crumbling marriage of another couple they often socialized with.
Pacifica only heard static.
The rest of the day felt like much of the same. The heiress disassociated her way through etiquette lessons and pageant practice without checking her phone a single time.
(Pacifica didn't need etiquette lessons. Every rule, guideline, and custom that existed in polite society had been hammered into her skull before her tenth birthday. She was positive her mother only signed her up for these particular courses out of passive aggressive spite.)
It was after lunch, and she didn't have another activity scheduled until dinner. They were hosting dinner for a small party of guests. She wasn't sure who it would be, and it didn't matter. It was probably some other rich, influential people that her parents wanted to rub elbows with. And the Northwest daughter would be expected to dress to the nines and play along, only speaking when spoken to. She was too old now to be shooed away to her playroom while the grownups played billiards.
Preston had instructed her to spend the next few hours studying for the SAT. She wouldn't be taking it until next year, but her grades were a large source of pride for both herself and her family. It was one of the things they agreed on. Therefore, she figured there were worse ways to kill an afternoon.
She could have made a trip to the cemetery, but she wanted to collect her thoughts before speaking to Abigale again. Time worked differently for her great-great-grandmother, and she would hardly notice that over a week had passed since their last chat, so Pacifica wanted to figure out how to tell her all that had happened without prompting a full-blown haunting. And she hadn't done that yet.
She'd already gone through a couple reading passages and answered their associated questions, but her concentration was fading. Analyzing excerpts from old novels and poems wasn't enough to distract her from her predicament anymore.
Frustration began blocking her focus even moreso after she selected the wrong answer on a few too many questions. This made her snap the lead on her pencil after filling in a bubble too aggressively, and she finally pushed herself away from her desk with a sharp growl.
This wasn't working. She couldn't get her mind off of her worries. She had to do something productive.
But what?
Pacifica stood up and began pacing around her room. Maybe Dipper's habit would help her think – if nothing else, she could burn off some of this restless energy she was harboring.
She couldn't message them directly, and she couldn't call them on the landline. A record of prior calls was kept on that phone, and if her parents found out she was using it to circumvent their punishment, things would only get worse. So that wasn't an option.
She did have a morning shift at Greasy's tomorrow, so they might try to find her there, but that wasn't for another twelve hours or so. A full day of no contact would send the twins and their family into crisis mode, and that had to be avoided, too. The last thing she needed was for them to organize a rescue mission, because that would lead to Preston and Priscilla beefing up security, and then she'd never be able to sneak out her window again.
A meadowlark zipped by her window as she took stock of the tools she had at her disposal.
Maybe she could text Susan? Her number wasn't blocked, since she was her boss. But Pacifica was pretty sure the only Pines contact Susan had was Stan, and Stan might not pick up if Susan called, because they'd apparently had an awkward date a few years back that he did not remember fondly.
She had access to her social medias, but comments and replies were moderated on her posts. Besides, it's not as if she could give out details on the situation on a public platform. Sending a message like that would be even worse than using the landline.
Unless…
Pacifica stopped in her tracks as she had an epiphany.
Unless it was in code.
Her heart began to race as her brain went into overdrive. Maybe she could make an Instagram post, and put something in the caption. What if she capitalized certain letters to spell something out?
No, that was no good. Her parents were airheads , but they weren't stupid. They'd notice something fishy if they saw a bunch of seemingly random capital letters in something she wrote.
She sat back down at her desk and flipped to an empty page in her notebook. Could she hide something in the background of a selfie? Possibly. But what?
She racked her brain trying to remember one of the ciphers Dipper liked to use in his journals. He was a massive nerd and enjoyed encoding his thoughts using the most complicated systems he could teach himself, but he'd also explained a few simpler ones to her a while back. The trouble was, she'd been distracted, and zoned out at several points, since the topic wasn't of much interest to her at the time.
But she knew there was one that just shifted the alphabet down a few spaces, though she couldn't remember what it was called. Surely, even without knowing its exact name, she could manage a simple code like that.
As she began writing each letter in order, she wondered if this would be enough. A bunch of jumbled letters would also arouse suspicion. Was there some sort of context that she could hide the message in? A fake reading passage on her desk behind her, maybe?
She finished making the key for the code. She'd shifted every letter three spaces to the right. Hopefully, if she used this, it wouldn't be too hard to figure out.
As she looked over her work and saw the letters arranged in neat little columns, she was reminded of the A1Z26 cipher, as well. She remembered that one vividly for two reasons: it was the easiest cipher to solve on the planet, and its name explained how it worked.
She pressed the end of her pen to her chin and clicked it a few times. Could she use that one instead? Hide it in some math equations?
This idea also had its pitfalls. It might be less obvious than the first cipher, but if Preston and Priscilla caught on, they could solve it with no difficulty.
…But what if she used both?
She could use the letter-based cipher first, and then encode the encoded message again using A1Z26. On the off chance that her parents caught on to the number code, they'd just get something that looked like gibberish, and there was no way they'd go any further than that. They would just dismiss it as their own paranoia making them pick apart a harmless picture their daughter posted.
But her friends? They'd spend all evening trying to figure out what she was telling them, if they had to (but she didn't think it would take them that long).
The corners of Pacifica's mouth crept upwards as she quickly began making a second key with numbers next to the first.
Caesar . That's what it was called.
About fifteen minutes later, her plan was progressing perfectly.
First, she came up with a message that was short and to-the-point:
IM FINE JUST GROUNDED WE CAN TALK AT THE DINER
Then put it through the three-shift Caesar cipher:
LP ILQH MXVW JURXQGHG ZH FDQ WDON DW WKH GLQHU
And finally, converted those letters to numbers that corresponded with their place in the alphabet:
12 16 9 12 17 8 13 24 22 23 10 21 18 24 17 7 8 7 26 8 6 4 17 23 4 15 14 4 23 23 11 8 7 12 17 8 21
There, this'll give Dipper something to do, she thought to herself as she tore that page out and grabbed a notebook that had some aesthetically pleasing dot grid paper.
She began to write down fake equations to place the encoded numbers under. 156 divided by 13. 112 divided by 7. The square root of 81.
Each one was written in her favorite blue glitter gel pen. Once all the numbers were done, she took a metallic blue marker and wrote “Math Drills” in large, cursive lettering at the top of the page. Then, she pulled out a roll of washi tape and placed it around the edges of the paper as a border. A nice finishing touch.
(In order for this to work, she had to make these notes look like they were written exclusively for likes on Studygram. She had to be convincingly vain and shallow.)
Pacifica tapped the marker on the table as she tried to think of anything else she should add. It looked pretty damn good. If someone else had posted it, she would have given it a like.
She settled for doodling a cluster of three hearts in an empty corner towards the top. Three-shift. A clue for those smart enough to notice it.
Two pictures were taken – one was a selfie of her at her desk, where she gave a playful wink and her most dazzling fake grin as she demurely rested the eraser end of a pencil on her lower lip. The other was a clear shot of the equations. She'd laid the marker and the gel pen next to the notebook to further enforce the guise.
The hard part was over. All she had to do now was put it out into the world.
She leaned back in her chair and opened Instagram, ignoring the red dot that signaled she had unread notifications. As the daughter of two people whose names were blue on Wikipedia, she had a decent little following online. Mostly other teenagers who were into the ‘old money’ aesthetic and wanted her life. They can have it, she mused.
She tapped on the new post button and attached both images. Now she just had to think of a caption.
studying hard ✨
No, that was too simple. She pressed down on the backspace button until it was gone.
never too early for SAT prep
Decent, but she could do better. Perhaps she could use this as an opportunity to leave another clue for the twins.
She added some more.
never too early for SAT prep! doing some drills without a calculator this afternoon to keep my brain sharp. i’ve always loved math… it's kinda like solving secret codes. makes me feel smart 🤓
Nice. If that didn't tip its target audience off, nothing would.
(There was a metaphor to be made about all this, involving red and green flags, bulls, and colorblindness, but both Pacifica and the author were too mentally spent to make it work.)
Pacifica took a deep breath and tapped ‘post’.
She continued to slowly inhale and exhale as the likes poured in. All she could do now was wait. Wait and hope that Mabel was checking her feeds, and that Dipper’s dorkiness would pull through.
The next day, she was forced to wake up at four thirty in the morning, because Greasy's Diner opened at six.
She never spent very long on her makeup on days that she went to work, because if she went full glam, it would be ruined two hours in. Sometimes, she was adventurous – she'd put on some baby blue eyeshadow for a kitschy, vintage look that matched the diner itself. Aside from that, she normally kept it simple.
But today was going to be a kitschy, vintage day. She needed the morale boost.
On the way over, she pulled her hair into a ponytail with a matching blue scrunchie while balancing a compact mirror on her knee. She was accustomed to getting ready while riding in a car, but her nerves were making her feel a bit more unsteady than normal. She'd already dropped her mirror twice .
Some random woman was her driver today. Pacifica suspected her father had hired her for the sole task of taking her to work and back, because she'd never seen her around the mansion before. The Northwests had always been in the habit of hiring people for hyper-specific reasons.
At least this woman was minding her own business. Pacifica hated it when they tried to make small talk with her.
The closer they got to the diner, the more her nerves acted up. She started bouncing her leg once her hair was done. She never bounced her leg. It wasn't proper.
Her eyes stayed fixed on the point where she knew the restaurant would come into view. It was probably too much to hope that her friends would be there so soon. It was pretty early, after all. Even if the diner was open, the only customers they ever got before eight o’clock were truckers and the elderly.
So she tried to manage her expectations. She'd distract herself by waiting on her usual patrons, because several of them were headaches to manipulate into tipping well, and then she'd–
Dipper and Mabel were sitting on the steps.
Pacifica almost pressed her face against the tinted glass as the luxury vehicle approached the glorified trailer. They came! They actually came!
She quickly leaned forward, stretching the seatbelt so far that it clicked. “I'll give you all my tips today if you don't tell my parents about those kids being here,” she told the driver.
The woman seemed taken aback by Pacifica speaking to her, but she nodded in confused agreement.
The twins stayed put, but kept their eyes trained on the Rolls-Royce as it parked close to the door. They didn't know who was inside yet; the windows were too dark. For all they knew, Preston and Priscilla were about to exit the vehicle.
Pacifica didn't make them wait very long to find out. She flung the door open after she unbuckled herself. “We don't open til six. Get lost.”
Their faces lit up as they called “Paz!” in unison.
She practically leaped out of her seat, and they jumped up and met her halfway, catching her in a much-needed hug.
“You guys came!” Pacifica wrapped her arms around each of their necks.
“Of course we did, dummy!” Mabel started bouncing on her toes. “We love you!”
Dipper planted a kiss on the top of his girlfriend's head. “You're a genius, Pacifica.”
She grinned. “Yeah, well, I learned from the best.”
“I'm just glad you're okay,” the other girl said as she released her hold and took a step back. “Dipper and I got really worried when you stopped replying to him, and then my texts wouldn't go through…”
He kept his arm wrapped around Pacifica as he continued his sister’s thought. “And I was about to go full Rambo, but Mabel was the one who had the idea to check your profile first.”
“Guilty as charged,” she confirmed with a toothy grin. “And I thought it was weird that you were posting about math at a time like this, until Dipper read your caption.”
“Brilliant,” he reiterated as he kissed her head again with fervor.
Pacifica started to blush at their praise. She didn’t think it was that impressive, but she couldn’t act self-depreciating. It went against her brand. “Any village idiot could have used those ciphers. It was just a matter of knowing how my parents tick.”
Her boyfriend rubbed his knuckles into her arm in a play-punch. “And you’re the only one who could have pulled that part off.”
“Come inside,” she replied, deflecting him as she remembered where they were. “We don’t have much longer to talk about this before I start getting interrupted.”
The three of them took a booth at the far end of the restaurant, next to the Test Your Strength machine. Susan had caught Pacifica’s eye as she walked in, and gave her a nod and a wink (it was more of a blink, really) when she saw Dipper and Mabel on her tail. The gesture was her giving her employee permission to clock in a little bit late.
The couple took the seat facing away from the machine, sitting as close to each other as possible without being in each other’s lap. Mabel, across from them, was navigating her notes app as Dipper interrogated the heiress on her punishment.
“Are they really gonna go through every comment that tries to come through on your Instagram?” He started picking at his face in stress. “That’s gotta be, like, thousands of things to sift through.”
“It’s worth it if they can keep me away from you guys.”
“Nothing can do that,” Mabel mused as she found the entry was looking for. “Here we go! Dipper and I did a bunch of brainstorming before we went to bed. We’ve got options for you, sister.”
“Mabel made a whole laundry list of ways we can communicate,” Dipper explained. “Some of them more realistic than others.”
Pacifica shrugged. “I’m willing to hear her out.”
The brunette held up a finger. “Number one: the landline in California.”
“Your parents have a landline, too? I thought ours was just part of my folks running the house like a business.”
He shook his head. “Yeah, I think they were gonna get rid of it soon, but we can convince them not to.”
Mabel nodded her head. “Plus, your dumb parents don’t know that number!”
“They don’t…” Pacifica paused and closed her eyes. “But they’d wise up. It would only work a few times.”
“No problemo.” She looked back at her phone. “Like I said, we have options.”
“We also found this app where we can text in secret,” Dipper said. “It looks like a calculator, and works like one when you open it, but doing a specific equation unlocks a messaging feature.”
“Now that idea has legs.” The heiress pulled out her phone and opened the app store. “What’s it called?”
He told her, and she initiated a download once she found it. Better get that set up as soon as possible.
“Your next option is carrier pigeon.” With a smirk, Dipper kicked his sister under the table. “Guess whose idea that was.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Like we can’t find a radioactive, superpowered pigeon within a hundred foot radius of Greasy’s.”
The antics on display were wrapping Pacifica’s heart in a warm, fuzzy blanket. She wasn’t going to lose her people. They weren’t gonna let that happen.
Her sentimentality was briefly interrupted when she was reminded of something. “Bloodcraft: Overdeath is an option, too. I don’t think they know that Dipper and I play together.”
The boy beside her froze for a moment in bewildered sheepishness. “God. I forgot about Bloodcraft yesterday.”
“Would have saved us a lot of trouble, huh?” She laid her head on his shoulder. She suspected they were both feeling a bit stupid about forgetting the game.
“I don’t think either of us felt up to gaming.”
“It doesn’t matter. We’re all here now,” Mabel asserted in a way the other two could tell was serious. “We did everything we thought to do. If we didn’t meet today, you two would have remembered the game later, and we’d talk that way.”
“You’re right. You’re right.” Dipper exhaled. “Okay, what’s next?”
“Snail mail!” His sister didn’t miss a beat as she turned her phone so they could see it and pointed to the bullet point on her screen. “We could be pen pals!”
Pacifica initially dismissed the idea, because she wasn’t old enough for a post office box quite yet, and they couldn’t send mail to her house. But the idea of sending letters to Dipper did appeal to her in a romantic way, even if it wasn’t practical.
Mabel pulled her phone back and began scrolling again. “Wouldn’t it be so romantic for you guys?”
There was that psychic twin bullshit again.
“Paz can’t get a P.O. box until she turns eighteen, Mabel.”
And there it was again!
She was about to make a comment accusing them of witchcraft when Mabel replied to her brother.
“We wouldn’t send it to the mansion , doy. ” Her friend pressed her pointer finger to her own temple and gestured behind her. “We’d send it to Susan!”
Dipper cocked an eyebrow. “Like, to her house?”
“Or here. Either one.”
Pacifica considered it for a moment. It would technically work, but… “It’d be super slow.”
Mabel rolled her eyes. “The letters would just be for fun, Paz. I wanna send you sticker sheets and other cute stuff like that. We would be texting, too.”
“Oh.”
With that perspective, having a couple of pen pals seemed kind of interesting, if a bit archaic. Several different movie scenes involving love letters surfaced in her mind, and she felt a bit of a rush at the idea of using some of those moves on Dipper.
“Yeah, that could be fun.”
“Great!” The other girl adjusted her glasses, which had transparent, rainbow frames to contrast her twin's black ones, and studied the list again. “Next up: bottle buddies.”
Pacifica paused. “Bottle buddies?”
“That one’s not viable,” Dipper said with a ‘I already told you this’ tone.
“It works for me and Mermando!”
“Pacifica’s not a mermaid!”
The heiress smiled. “Isn’t he the same merman you guys shared your first kiss with?”
“Yes!”
“No.”
“Kidding,” she said, directed at Dipper. He scoffed, signaling that he knew she was just teasing. She continued, “Besides, if that means what I think it means, I couldn’t make it to the ocean or the lake often enough for that to be any faster than snail mail.”
“Alright, we’ll cross it off,” Mabel conceded. “But those are all the main ways we thought of. The other ones I have left probably work better on paper.”
“Let’s hear them anyway.” Dipper propped his head up on his hand. “The rest is all you, Mabel.”
She winked. “If you insist.”
She then proceeded to rattle off a list of a few dozen impractical, very Mabel-esque ideas: morse code, smoke signals, enlisting Ford to invent holograms they could speak through. At least half of them were just other varied ways, besides by carrier pigeon, that an animal could transport letters.
As she pitched her ideas, Pacifica took the chance to just enjoy being so close to Dipper. She was still listening to her friend, of course, but when would be the next time that she and her boyfriend could share affection like this? There was no way to be sure.
He noticed her left hand move closer, and he took it in his own, rubbing the top side of her hand with his thumb. She loved it when he did that. It sent butterflies up her arm and deep into her chest, which then bloomed through where her lungs would be.
“...and finally, we could learn whale song, and send a specific whale up and down the coast to relay our messages.” Mabel clapped her hands together and brought them under her chin. “So which one of those is your favorite, Paz?”
“I liked the one where we buy a donkey and teach it the path from Gravity Falls to Piedmont.”
“I watched a bunch of cute animal videos to help me go to sleep last night.”
“I can tell.”
“Well, I think we’ve got our plan laid out for us,” said Dipper. “We all get that calculator app, and we send letters on the side. Sound good to you guys?”
“Sounds perfect.”
Pacifica’s phone buzzed, and she checked the notification. It was a reminder she’d set for herself a while ago, scheduled to go off annually on the same time and date.
It read: twins bday soon
It was meant to remind her to go gift shopping if she hadn’t done so already, but today, it brought forth a more pressing matter.
She sat up straighter. “Your eighteenth birthday party.”
Dipper blinked, and after a few moments, said, “Yeah?”
“What about it?” asked Mabel.
“You’re holding it at the Shack, right?”
“Oh, shit.” Dipper rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You can’t come to the Mystery Shack, can you?”
“Not anymore, I can’t.” She slumped. “Not until you guys are out of town, at the bare minimum.”
“Well, we’ll just hold it here!” Mabel shrugged peppily. “The diner hosts parties, right?”
Pacifica looked at her with incredulity. “But… you two always host your birthday at the Shack. You must have been in the planning stages already, right? Isn’t that gonna be annoying to move around?”
“Who cares? I’m flexible.” She reached over and poked her in the nose. “Besides, we want you to be there!”
“Yeah, Paz. Moving locations isn’t a big deal.” He bumped her shoulder. “If you can’t come, I don’t even wanna celebrate. So you’re gonna come.”
“Even if we have to drag you kicking and screaming,” Mabel said with a cheerful thumbs up.
“Jesus, you guys…” Pacifica shut her eyes and concentrated. She was not going to cry about this. She’d cried enough in the past twenty-four hours.
She waved her hand dismissively. “Well, I guess it’s your birthday. Pick whatever shitty venue you want.”
“Then it’s settled.” Mabel slid out of her seat and scanned her eyes behind the bar. “I’m gonna go let Susan know we need to book this place on the 31st. I’ll let her know we’re requesting a certain waitress to serve us, too.”
The girl left the couple alone with a knowing wink, knowing that if she stuck around, Pacifica would fake-argue with her about the ‘serving’ part.
Now left to their own devices, Dipper wrapped a protective arm around his girlfriend and started doing the thumb thing again. “Are you okay to work? I’m sure Susan would let you off.”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” She watched their hands with soft eyes. “I feel a lot better now.”
He nodded. “We’ll always figure something out. Trust us.”
“I do trust you. That’s why I sent that message.”
“Trust yourself, too. Okay?” Dipper took a deep breath, in and out. “You’re just as capable as we are. I’ve seen you prove that over and over again in the past.”
“...I’ll try.”
They spent the next five minutes in silence, waiting for the clock to strike six, for the customers to begin walking in, and for Pacifica to be forced by responsibility to leave Dipper. Once she stood up, she’d have to give her attention to them instead of him.
But it wasn’t six yet, and she didn’t have to stand up until then, so they sat together, hearts and lungs in sync. In. Out. In. Out.
And in that moment, that brief, sweet moment in time, that’s all there was.