Francine awoke with an unusual pain in her head. It wasn't a headache...she had endured headaches before. She couldn't compare it to anything she had ever experienced. It felt as if her brain were exerting pressure on her skull from all directions.

She opened her eyes. Her vision was blurry, and she found it difficult to focus. She could tell, however, that she wasn't in her bedroom. Over the previous few days she had started to think of Sue Ellen's bedroom as "her" bedroom, as that was where she slept; but it didn't matter, because she was clearly not in a bedroom at all.

She was in a hospital room--she could tell from the antiseptic smell and the beeping of a nearby electrocardiograph. She hadn't set foot in a hospital since having her arm cast removed. Why was she in one now? Had she been injured again? Did she have a terminal illness?

It wasn't long before she heard a familiar voice call out. "Francine?"

It hurt to move her eyes, but she looked toward where the sound came from. Through the fog she barely perceived the presence of two figures, who resembled her mother and older sister. She wasn't sure which of them had spoken, but the significant thing was, she had been called by her real name. Was she cured?

She slowly pushed herself to a sitting position. The pain in her head intensified, but not to unbearable levels. She found that her vision had become a bit more clear. A man standing next to Mrs. Frensky and Catherine, wearing a white doctor's jacket, passed her a hand-held mirror. She took it, her hand trembling, and gasped with surprise when she saw her reflection.

It was her own face, although somewhat pale and with slightly sunken cheeks. A thick strip of gauze was wrapped tightly around her forehead, and held in place with tape. She tried to speak. "Wh-what h-happened?" she stammered weakly, relieved to hear her own voice coming from her mouth.

"What's the last thing you remember?" the doctor asked her.

"Uh...going to bed on Tuesday night," Francine replied. Anxiety welled up in her stomach. "Am I hurt? Did I have an accident?"

"We were afraid you wouldn't make it," said the still rather vague figure of her mother.

"I had the weirdest dream," said Francine, shaking her head to try to ease the pressure. "I was in Sue Ellen's body."

"That wasn't a dream," the doctor told her. "You and your friend were victims of a rare disorder that causes people to switch personalities. The only cure is a full brain transplant."

Francine gaped at the doctor in disbelief. "You mean...you took Sue Ellen's brain out of her head and put it in mine?"

"And vice versa," said the doctor.

"But you can't just cut somebody's brain out of their head," marveled Francine. "Can you?"

"It's a very risky operation," the doctor explained, "but you wanted to return to your own body so badly that you were willing to chance it."

Francine slowly turned her head one way, then another. "Where's Sue Ellen?"

Mrs. Frensky and Catherine lowered their heads somberly.

"What?" Dread siezed Francine's heart. "You don't mean..."

"She didn't survive the procedure," the doctor informed her in a sterile voice.

"NOOOOO!" shrieked Francine in horror. Then it occurred to her that she was screaming in Sue Ellen's voice.

The pain in her head had vanished, and she was lying on her back amidst the dim light of morning. She looked around. On one side of the room stood the credenza on which many of Sue Ellen's African knickknacks were placed, as well as the bookshelf, which contained various travel and school books plus the off-limits diary. On the other side, posters of Egypt and India graced the wall.

She sighed pathetically. It had been a dream. Nothing had changed.

----

"You haven't touched your scrambled eggs," said Valerie Cooper to her young son Dallin, who was sitting at the dining table, staring glumly at the yellow mass lying on his plate.

He reached out indifferently with his left hand and lightly placed a finger on top of the eggs. "Happy?" he asked his mother.

Mrs. Cooper, who was feeding strained peas to baby Megan, looked at Dallin sternly. "You're not going to kindergarten until you eat your breakfast," she warned.

"I don't want to go to kindergarten," Dallin moaned. Behind him, Odette grabbed a strip of bacon from the rack where it had been placed to drain, and stuffed it into her beak.

"Dude, I'll go in your place," offered Logan, who was pouring a glass of orange juice. "Emily sounds like a totally cool chick."

"You wouldn't like her," Dallin told him. "She hasn't grasped the concept that boys do boy things and girls do girl things."

Odette sat down next to him, clutching another bacon strip. "I don't see why boys and girls can't like the same things," she remarked.

Logan took a sip of his juice. "Hey, I like chick flicks. As long as the chicks have fast cars and guns."

At that moment Quinn entered the kitchen, clad in her usual green vest. In one hand she held a stiff hairbrush, with which she was attempting to smooth the spikes in her hair.

"You can brush and brush all you want," Logan mocked her, "but your hair's still gonna look like something that crawls around on the bottom of the ocean."

"You'll be crawling around on the bottom of the ocean if you don't shut up," said Quinn menacingly.

"Try to get along, kids," Mrs. Cooper admonished the two.

"All Emily can talk about is her stupid ponies and her stupid earrings and the stupid stuff she brings back from stupid France," Dallin whined. "I wanted D.W. to be my valentine, but she's afraid of me."

"Probably because of me," said Quinn, who was preparing a bowl of Nuttin' But Bran breakfast cereal. "She and I didn't hit it off very well when I was her babysitter."

"I wonder why," mused Logan. "Oh, wait, I know." He began to imitate Quinn's voice. "Come on, kids, turn off the TV and let's do some fun logic problems."

"People have been killed by flying spoons before," muttered Quinn as she took a bite of cereal.

"I have an idea," said Mrs. Cooper to Dallin. "Why don't you invite D.W. to dinner with us? That way she'll see that we're all nice people."

"Mom, I wish you wouldn't call her D.W.," Quinn complained. "Her name's Dora Winifred. What kind of message does it send to a child when you call her by her initials all the time?"

Dallin became thoughtful. "Yeah," he said, starting to smile. "I'll do that."

----

Morning recess was intended as a time for schoolchildren to enjoy themselves, but Francine didn't enjoy being in Sue Ellen's body one bit. She sat on a bench near the playground, her chin resting on her hands, her mouth curved downward in a miserable scowl. Over her curly hair she now wore a bandanna with a zigzag pattern that she had borrowed from her mother...or rather, Mrs. Armstrong. Occasionally a child passed by her and stopped to watch her frown, but nobody asked her what was wrong--she had already told everyone who would listen.

From the corner of her eye she saw Sue Ellen walking up to her in Francine's body. The girl's expression was even darker than her own, as if she had just received news that her favorite aunt and uncle had died within the past hour.

"Can I sulk with you?" Fransue asked her with a tone devoid of happiness. Suefran patted the bench to the right of her, and a moment later, the winter sun was shining down on two depressed girls sitting next to each other.

"What are we gonna do, Francine?" Fransue asked hopelessly. "It's been five days, and we're still stuck being each other."

Suefran didn't answer. She didn't look at Fransue. In front of them, two laughing boys chased each other around on the jungle gym.

Then Suefran sighed. "It's time to face reality. We may never get switched back. We should accept what's happened and go on with our lives. I mean, with each other's lives."

Fransue's voice started to break. "But I don't want to be you."

"Tough," said Suefran callously. "You're me." She straightened her bandanna and went on. "My dad has a saying: 'When life gives you lemons, the tough get going.'"

"But I want to be with my mom and dad," Fransue moaned.

"At least you've got the sister you always wanted," Suefran noted. "I'm an only child now."

The two girls gazed wordlessly into the air. In the playground, Binky and Rattles argued loudly about who would win an upcoming televized wrestling match.

"You're right," said Fransue with a tone of resignation. "Unless a miracle happens, I'll just have to get used to being Francine Frensky."

"And I'll have to get used to being HIV-positive and having Shirley Temple hair," Suefran added.

The kids in the playground started to walk towards the school building. Neither of the two unhappy girls moved.

"If I'm going to be you," said Suefran, "then I should learn everything I can about you. I think I should be allowed to read your diary."

She expected an angry retort, but Fransue only continued to look straight forward, her expression unchanged. After a while, tears formed in her eyes and streamed down her cheeks.

"Go ahead," she said quietly.

She felt as if she was cutting the last thread connecting her to her previous life. More tears coursed from her eyes, and she began to sob.

Suefran put her arms around the sorrowing girl. "It's all right," she said comfortingly. "We still have each other."

In stark contrast to the poignant scene on the playground bench, a tableau of exquisite bliss was playing out in one of the outside corners of the school building. Adil and Jenna were sharing a passionate kiss, humming pleasurably and pawing each other's backs. When their lips separated, Adil smiled warmly and spoke sweet romantic words in imperfect English.

"I love you very much, Jenna," he told her. "You are so beautiful."

"Thank you, Adil," said Jenna breathlessly. "And I love you."

Their lips met again. They felt nothing of the winter cold.

"I...must ask you a question," said Adil hesitantly when he had finished kissing Jenna.

Crazed with affection, the girl eagerly awaited his query.

"Jenna Morgan, will you...will you marry me?"

Jenna's eyes suddenly widened by two sizes.

(To be continued...)