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"Oh, there is no way!" This vehement, specific piece of information flew out of his sister's mouth and probably hit the unsuspecting caller in the ear, because it managed to smash into his brain, and he was on the floor above. Fortunately, he'd had twelve years to develop an immunity to her acoustics. Sonic vocals...they were like a super power sleeping in the veins of most pre-teen girls. Was there any such ability inherent in the pre-teen male? He'd have to look into that. It would be so much simpler if he had someone to ask...sometimes, he envied Mabel.
Her girlfriends, while unique, all had a similar, more or less happy-go-lucky sort of pluck. It was like they shared brain waves. If one of them decided to take Waddles for a walk, the others would pounce on the idea and probably end up constructing a gazebo for him in case it started raining or something. As her twin, he was occasionally reassured that they too were often of a like mind, but she didn't get excited about knowledge the way he did. Mabel had an outlet for her separate interests in Candy and Grenda, but he didn't have any friends to bounce his smarts off of.
Sure, Wendy listened when he prattled about Bigfoot and derivatives and level ten ghosts, but the input there was all from him. She wasn't personally into the stuff. They had plenty of common interests, like cheesy horror flicks, but he worried about consuming most of her time with his interests when he should be listening to hers. After all, friendship was a two way street. He tried to listen more.
So, they listened to her indie records and admittedly, he fell in love with Bleacher, but he wasn't crazy about Lawnchair Crisis or Dawn of the Dreads. When she talked about actors, he felt awkward, having little knowledge in that regard, aside from what he'd memorized back in his feverish crush period, which only made it more awkward. Which made him wonder if he was constantly going to project 'awkward' like some kind of unwanted, silent but deadly thing.
Perhaps that was what pre-teen males did. Turn themselves into farts.
The thought actually made him feel a little better. Perhaps in that regard, he wasn't alone. Tossing Used Pen Number 47 into an errant shoe (the cardboard box was finally full), he pondered this as he went downstairs to get some cola. Mabel was still on the phone, because there were miles of cord draped over everything, and she's one of those people who walks absolutely everywhere regardless of other sentient life and sharp lethal objects when said person happens to be talking.
Suddenly, the receiver is two inches from his face and there is a Mabel still attached. She is grinning a full apple-cheek my-songs-know-what-you-did-in-the-dark smile, and her eyes are 2300 times too bright. This is a level 22 Twin Confrontation. 23 if the Grappling Hook is involved.
He really wishes he had an intellectual friend, because he's actually damn hilarious.
"So I heard from Grenda who heard from Tambry's periodical tweet-aloud who heard a Butler say that Pacifica-Pacifica, THE WORST, Northwest, asked him to clean something up. For you. And! She said...." Mabel sidles right up to his ear for dramatic effect, which might've worked if he hadn't seen the same episode of Spongebob that spawned said move with her twenty times. "Please!"
He ruffles his hair in that stalling way. Sighs. Mabel pokes his cheek with the phone, and he catches Grenda's tenorish giggle on the other end. "I knew it! I knew you'd see she wasn't actually the worst! That title definitely goes to the family rival...I wish they'd quit bringing us Gideon's letters." She shudders.
He smiles tentatively. "She's truly very compassionate and earnest, when she tries. You'd know that, " he raises an eyebrow at her, "if you hadn't squandered time at the party fighting over a boy." She punches his shoulder and quickly tells Grenda that she has to go. Then she pauses for twenty minutes to describe the circumstances under which she will call her back. "Anyway," she redirects her attention to Dipper, "that's why you've been moping like a vampire lately! According to the Theory of Relative Rebound Crushes, it should be impossible! Candy was at the top of list. Compared to Paz, Robbie Stacey Valentino was at the top of the list! I'm not doubting her new-found dimensional depth 'cause you're serious about it, and you only back stuff you find legit, but what changed? You were so stubborn about her before, in a negative way."
"Three things. A, your Theory has no legitimate variables. We're twelve and our ideals, sexualities, and to some extent even, our personalities, are fluid. B, I wasn't moping. Also C, that's not WHY I was moping."
"Stubborn," Mabel grumbles. "Okay, Mr. Smart Guy. Don't debunk my theories 'til you try 'em. And I'm still 85 percent sure you like her until I see otherwise, because you DID spend oodles of time with her, and Grenda's a solid shipper. If you wanna prove me wrong, invite her over to hang out! And why were you moping-not-moping?!"
He tries to find a handle for all of the words, to explain the longing for his own version of Candy or Grenda, but he doesn't want her to misunderstand or feel like she isn't enough. He decides to roll with her somewhat valid assumption. "Fine. I like her. Happy?"
Mabel squeals. "Oh my patron goddess of nerd! You're blushing! Say her name, I wanna see if it spreads to your armpits!"
Shit. Maybe he shouldn't have yielded when she opened that can of worms.