After leaving Jason in Beat's custody, Alan made his way to room 24, where Mr. Baker taught fifth grade. The teacher, a somewhat overweight hippo man, had just started the roll call. He smiled when Alan entered the classroom.

"Welcome, Alan," he said in an unexpectedly high-pitched voice. "Class, this is Alan Powers. He passed the advanced placement test, so he's transferring here from Mr. Wald's fourth grade class."

"Hi, Alan," said Marina, who sat at the front of the room with her cane lying next to her desk. Alan noticed with surprise that, despite the fact that she was blind, she was looking directly at him.

Alan seated himself at a desk next to Marina. "Where's Prunella?" he whispered to her.

"I've given Prunella a few days off from school," explained Mr. Baker, who had apparently overheard Alan's whisper.

"A few days off?" Alan repeated. "In exchange for what?"

At that moment, Prunella was belted into the passenger seat of a '93 Sonata, driven by her sister, Rubella. She held a script in front of her, and repeated the lines over and over again.

"So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, good night," she sang, "I hate to go and leave this pretty sight..."

Rubella made an annoyed grimace. "Don't you ever take a break, Prunie?"

Prunella lowered the script onto her lap. "I've got until Saturday to learn this part. That's only three more days. I can't afford to take breaks."

"Maybe Fern's mom will suddenly have a change of heart," Rubella said hopefully.

"If only Pickles had been more cooperative," Prunella lamented, "I'd be a millionaire now, and I could hire someone to play Marta."

She picked up the script again and began to recite. "Can we really keep the puppet show, Uncle Max?"

A road sign passed by with the message, ELWOOD CITY, 120 MILES. Rubella sighed with exasperation. Finally she tuned the radio to a rock station and turned it to full volume, drowning out Prunella's line reading.

"I'm Marta, and I'm going to be seven on...hey!"

Meanwhile, in Mr. Baker's class, Alan pushed the teacher for an explanation of his policy towards Prunella.

"I don't like your idea of giving a student time off from school just for doing you a favor," he said with an indignant air.

"I do things a little differently from other teachers," said Mr. Baker. "Besides, it was an emergency. Fern's mother grounded her, and the understudy dropped out."

"The show must go on," said the cat boy Floyd Walton, who sat two desks away from Alan.

"Indeed." Mr. Baker put on his reading glasses so that he could make out the list of students. "Maxwell Thomas Alwyn."

"Here," said a dog boy who was wearing a bicycle helmet.

"Bonnie Josephine Chandler."

"Here," said a blond elephant girl.

"Patricia Marianne Duff."

"Here," said a bespectacled aardvark girl with unruly brown hair.

"Harold Mowgli Farmer."

"Uh...here," said a shy-looking polar bear boy.

"Marina Belle Messersmith."

"Here," said the blind rabbit girl.

"Prunella Priscilla Prufrock, not here. Lucy de los Santos."

"Yo," said a Latina monkey girl who wore spiky hair and a heavy metal shirt.

"Floyd William Walton."

"Here," said the handsome-looking cat boy.

"Toru Watanabe."

"Here," said a Japanese monkey boy.

"And, written at the bottom of the list in letters so small I can hardly read them, Alan Powers."

"Here," said Alan.

Mr. Baker laid the sheet on the desk and picked up a piece of chalk, with which he wrote his name, Ralph Baker, on the board.

"Alan, I understand that your fourth-grade friends call you The Brain," said the teacher.

"They used to," Alan answered.

"That's good," Mr. Baker continued. "We can use a brain in our class. We're all struggling."

The kids chuckled. Alan smiled.

"Now let's get started." Mr. Baker wrote on the chalkboard, and his nose was so large that he had to stretch his writing arm to its full extent. "Who can tell me what this is?"

He backed away from the board, and Alan saw that he had drawn the Greek letter pi. The other kids were silent, so he raised his hand.

"That's pi," he stated. "The Greek letter pi. Also known as the circumference of a circle divided by its diameter."

Mr. Baker's mouth was so wide that several seconds passed before he managed to form a complete smile. "Very good, Alan. I don't know how we got along without you."

Alan smiled again. He was going to like fifth grade.

By the time the bell rang, all the other kids in Mr. Baker's class were in awe of Alan's intellect. They congratulated him while exiting the classroom.

"You truly are The Brain," Maxwell said to him humbly. "I bow to your superiority, dude."

"A common name like Alan doesn't suit you," said Floyd.

"Hasta la vista, baby," said Lucy in a sultry voice.

As Harold walked by, he lacked the courage to even look up at Alan.

"Hey...uh...Harold," Alan greeted him.

"Hi," said Harold weakly.

"What's your middle name again?" Alan asked him.

"Mowgli." The boy slowly raised his eyes. "Kipling is my mom's favorite writer."

"I like it," said Alan with a friendly grin. "Can I call you Mowgli?"

"It's a free country," Harold muttered.

As he walked away, Marina came up to Alan and looked directly into his eyes.

"Hey, Marina," he said. I wonder how she does that? he thought.

"You've lost weight, Alan," Marina told him.

Alan watched her curiously as she walked toward the center court, tapping with her cane. He wondered if the girl had a mysterious sixth sense that allowed her to perceive things that sighted people could not.

As he meandered down the hallway, he saw a group of his friends gathered in the court. Beat was holding her cell phone to her ear (or, more accurately, to the side of her head), while the rest of the kids in Mr. Wald's class were gathered around her, following her conversation.

"How was your first day at Uppity Downs, Muffy?" Beat spoke into the cell phone.

At the private school, Muffy stood in front of a well-polished water fountain, talking to Beat on her cell phone. "Oh, it was a nightmare!" she complained. "I didn't understand a thing. It was all Greek to me."

Beat lowered her phone slightly and addressed the surrounding kids, which now included Alan. "She said it's a nightmare," she recounted.

The kids giggled. "Wake up, Muffy!" Francine cried out. "It's all a bad dream. You're still at Lakewood."

"Did you hear that?" Beat spoke into her phone.

"Very funny, Francine," Muffy spoke into hers. "But things are bound to get better. The next period is music class, and I'm ready to charm them all with the beautiful sounds of my Stradivarius."

Beat addressed the other kids again. "She said she's going to charm them with her Stradivarius."

The kids clutched their ears and grimaced in mock agony.

"Oh, the pain, the pain!" cried Binky.

Buster pulled his ears down and pretended to nibble on one of them. "Must...chew off...ears..." he mumbled frantically.

"Stop making fun of Muffy," said Van, glaring indignantly at his friends.

"Did you catch all of that?" Beat asked Muffy.

"Every word," Muffy replied. "Thanks for sticking up for me, Van."

"Ask her about the party," Sue Ellen said to Beat.

Muffy heard this and slapped her forehead. "Oh, right, the party! I've had so much else on my mind. Well, I know this much. It's not gonna be at my house. Not as long as Van isn't welcome."

Beat lowered her phone. "The party will not be at Muffy's house."

The kids groaned. "But Muffy has the coolest house and the biggest TV," George observed.

"Then what'll we do?" asked Buster. "We can't have it at my place. All the furniture will be gone."

"My apartment's too small," said Francine.

"Mine too," Beat added.

"And I'm still grounded," said Fern.

"And my house is too crowded already," Van contributed.

"And we're putting in new carpet," said Arthur.

"And my house doesn't have a ramp for Van to get in," Sue Ellen noted.

"Neither does mine," said George.

"And we're about to spray for fleas," said Alan.

"And my house is..." Binky began.

The other kids turned and stared at him.

"...perfect in every way," he finished, looking a bit downcast.

"We've never had a party at Binky's before, have we?" said Francine.

"It must be because of that big sign that says, DANGER, CLOBBERING ZONE, KEEP OUT," said Arthur.

"Gosh, is that thing still up there?" said Binky with mock surprise. "I could've sworn I took it down."

"Then it's settled," said Beat, lifting her cell phone to her mouth again. "The farewell party will be at Binky's."

"I hope you all have a good time," Muffy said to her over the cellular link. "I'm afraid I won't be there. My parents won't like it if Van and I go to a party together."

Beat talked to the other kids. "She said she won't be at the party, because she can't be seen with Van."

"If Muffy won't be there," said Van firmly, "then I won't either."

"Oh, come on, Van!" Buster exclaimed.

Binky had a thought. "Wait. If Van doesn't come, we don't need a ramp. We can go to Sue Ellen's place."

"Don't try to weasel your way out of this, Binky," Sue Ellen retorted.

Buster raised his hands. "Hold on, guys. The party's not really that important to me. I've had so many good times with you already. If Muffy and Van can't come because of their stupid family feud, then I say we call off the party, as a form of silent protest."

"I missed that last part," said Muffy into her phone.

"She missed the last part," Beat said to Buster.

"SILENT PROTEST!" shouted Buster.

"Why not have two parties?" Francine suggested. "Muffy goes to one, and Van goes to the other."

"Yeah," said Binky. "Muffy can go to the party at Sue Ellen's house."

"D'oh!" Sue Ellen grunted.

"I have an even better idea," said Mr. Wald, who had suddenly appeared in front of the group of kids. "Let's all go to class and figure this out later."

"Oh, heavens, we're late!" Beat lamented. "Muffy, we'll have to decide this another time."

"Okay, Beat. Bye." Muffy hung up the cell phone, hurried to her locker, used the remote control on her keychain to deactivate the alarm, and pulled out the case containing her Stradivarius violin.

Moments later she arrived in the classroom, toting her violin and smiling hopefully. Her smile faded as Mr. Pryce-Jones walked toward her and looked down at her sternly.

"You're late."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Pryce-Jones, sir."

"Being sorry is no excuse. It will not happen again. Now, please be seated.

Carrying her violin case, Muffy slowly and dejectedly returned to her desk in the back of the room.

As Mr. Pryce-Jones removed a vinyl album from its cover and started to place it on a turntable, he glanced at Muffy. "Why have you brought a violin, Muffy?" he asked her.

Muffy didn't raise her eyes to meet the teacher's. "Uh...I was hoping I could play it for you, Mr. Pryce-Jones, sir."

"And indeed you shall..." the teacher began.

Muffy started to smile again.

"...during recess."

Muffy started to frown again.

"Please prepare your pencils and notebooks," Mr. Pryce-Jones announced. "For our music lesson today, we will listen to the final movement of Mahler's Ninth Symphony in its entirety. As you listen, I want you to write down any observations you have about the music. Observations about the compositional methods, the interpretation, the meaning behind the music, and most importantly, how the music affects you. Begin now."

He set down the needle, and the slow-moving, slightly scratchy music started to play. And play. And play.

The kids in front of Muffy wrote furiously. She couldn't imagine what they were seeing in what appeared to her as an unending dirge.

Five minutes into the piece, she wrote down on the blank sheet of paper, IT'S REALLY SLOW.

Ten minutes into it, she wrote, IT'S REALLY LONG.

After fifteen minutes, she wrote, HOW DID HE STAY AWAKE TO WRITE THIS?

Twenty minutes passed. It seemed to her like the music kept going back to where it started. She wrote, I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM.

To distract herself from her drooping eyelids and full bladder, she started to draw a sketch of Arthur with a long aardvark tongue coming out of his mouth. She paid no more attention to the music, which had become almost inaudible anyway.

Suddenly she was snapped back to alertness by the grinding sound of a phonograph needle being lifted from an album.

"Very good," said the teacher in a voice that seemed jarring after the quiet ending of the music. "Now write your names at the top, turn in your notes to me, and enjoy your recess."

Muffy watched as the other kids dropped their papers on the desk in front of Mr. Pryce-Jones, then left the classroom without evidencing any joy over the prospect of a little recreation on the playground.

As she approached the desk, Mr. Pryce-Jones reached over and snatched the paper from her hand. He looked over it for a second.

"Hmm...really slow and really long," he muttered to himself. "Well, I can't argue with that," he said to Muffy, "but you're only looking at the surface of the music. As a homework assignment, I'd like you to purchase a CD of this symphony, then listen to it at home. Listen to it again and again until it starts to mean something to you."

"Yes, Mr. Pryce-Jones, sir." Muffy felt as though she had just been sentenced to spend eternity in an awful dungeon.

"Now, then." The teacher's expression suddenly became gleeful. "I know how much you want to demonstrate your skill on the violin, so by all means, proceed. Unless you'd like to go to the bathroom first."

Without answering, Muffy pulled open the violin case and raised the instrument to her shoulder. Taking the bow in her other hand, she began to play a rather dissonant, off-key melody.

Mr. Pryce-Jones' expression became less and less gleeful. By the time Muffy was finished playing, he had covered his face with his hands.

"Well? What do you think...er, Mr. Pryce-Jones, sir?" she asked, smiling obliviously.

The teacher lowered his hands. "Put your instrument away, Muffy."

Muffy complied, placing the violin and bow in the case and snapping it shut.

Mr. Pryce-Jones took a few deep breaths. Then he said, "Muffy, have you ever been tested for tone-deafness?"

(To be continued...)