The next morning was Tuesday, a fact which one unfortunate girl didn't comprehend.
"Are you both crazy?" Prunella argued. "Today is Friday. Yesterday was Thursday. Friday comes after Thursday, not Tuesday."
"I know this is hard for you," said her mother comfortingly. "It's hard for us too. Remember when you were hit by that bus?"
"Mom, why don't we just make a tape recording?" Rubella complained.
And so, a grim daily ritual was initiated.
Prunella went to school that day, despite her family's fears that she would forget everything she learned overnight. Everyone looked at her with eyes full of sympathy. The Brain wouldn't look at her at all.
"Alan!" she inquired earnestly. "Is what they're saying true? Did that bus accident destroy my memory?"
"Yes," replied the boy, staring at his shoes. "Or no. It might have been the Opticron. I don't know."
Prunella glared at him as they walked to class, impatient with his refusal to face her directly. "I think there should be a rule," she remarked. "If you switch bodies with someone and get hurt, you should stay switched until you get better."
"I was thinking the same thing," Alan moaned.
"How would you like it if this had happened to your own body?" she chided him.
Prunella's bitterness only grew as the day went on, helped along by her inability to understand what was presented in most of her classes. Alan could do nothing to defend himself against her allegations of thoughtlessness. Finally she collapsed in tears during math class, and was sent to the nurses's office. Alan sank into despair, certain he would have to watch the same scene play out every day for the rest of his school career.
On his way to the cafeteria, Arthur made a side trip to Mr. Haney's office. The principal was at his desk, sucking on a lollipop and glancing over some academic records. "Mr. Haney," the boy declared, "I want to run for student body president."
The bear man drew out his lollipop and moved a notebook to cover up the papers he was viewing. "Excellent," he commended Arthur. "I was starting to worry we'd only get one candidate." He pulled a sheet from a drawer and handed it to the aardvark boy. "Here, fill this out."
"Who's the other candidate?" Arthur inquired.
"Michaela Chanel."
Mickie Chanel? She was smart, talented, and moderately popular due to her wealth, but was considered an insufferable snob by many. Arthur, on the other hand, saw himself as a champion of the little guy, the average kid. It would be an interesting contest.
After writing his name, grade, teacher's name, address, and phone number on the sheet, he held it up for the principal to take. As his arm moved forward, his elbow unintentionally struck an upright framed portrait, knocking it over the edge of the desk. Arthur winced as the sound of cracking glass reached his ears.
"Omigosh, I'm sorry," he said worriedly.
"That's perfectly all right," said Mr. Haney, who put down Arthur's form and started to collect up the broken glass fragments on the floor.
"Let me help," Arthur offered. He bent down and carefully turned over the frame and the portrait. It was a picture of a young aardvark woman with flowing red hair, wearing a pearl necklace. "Who's this?" he asked curiously.
"My wife," replied the principal.
"Gee, Mr. Haney," Arthur marveled. "I didn't know you were married."
"I'm not," said Haney, bowing his head in sadness. "She died four years ago."
"Died?" Arthur repeated, looking once again at the soft-light photo in his hand.
The principal nodded.
"I had no idea," said the stunned aardvark boy.
"That's because you're such a good boy," Haney joked. "I never have to call you in here, so you never learn anything about me."
"I'm sorry your wife died," said Arthur as he handed the portrait and frame to the principal.
"You don't need to be," said the bear man. "I've gotten over it and moved on. Good luck with your campaign."
As Arthur walked out of the office, Principal Haney tossed the frame and scratched photo into the garbage can. Opening a drawer, he reached into a stack of framed portraits, each bearing the image of his late wife, and pulled one out to take the place of the one that had broken.
Before he could stick the lollipop into his mouth again, a fifth-grade giraffe boy stepped into his office. "My name's Matt Blomdahl," the youngster announced, "and I want to run for student body president."
----
Trixie Tibble, a hamster woman who sported an ermine coat and a ruby necklace, dropped off her sons, Tommy and Timmy, at Arthur's house after school. It had become a routine with her. "Thanks for watching the boys, Jane," she said to Mrs. Read.
"Not a problem," the aardvark woman replied. She watched as Trixie drove away in her bright blue Porsche, another toy she had acquired with the help of her now almost exhausted divorce settlement.
The twins flew into the house, not stopping for breath until they reached the upper floor and D.W.'s bedroom. "Hey, D.W.!" Tommy blurted out. "Guess what!"
"Uh, I don't know," said the girl, who was working on her handwriting exercises.
"Somebody bought Grandma's house!" Timmy enthused.
"Awesome!" said D.W. excitedly. "Who?"
"Some lady," replied Tommy. "She has twins, like us."
"Except there are three," added Timmy. "And they're girls."
"Cool," said D.W., putting her homework aside and standing up. "Let's go meet them."
"No way," said Tommy nervously. "I'm not going back in that house."
"Me neither," Timmy agreed. "It's full of ghosts."
"I ain't afraid of no ghost," said the fearless D.W.
She marched down the stairs and to the side of her brother, who was dialing a number on the telephone. "Hey, Arthur," she requested. "Let's go to Grandma Tibble's house."
"Not now," said Arthur curtly. "I'm busy."
At the local Save Away grocery store, Beat was accompanying her mother on a quick shopping trip. Mrs. Simon had purchased several pounds of ground beef and a few other items in preparation for a barbecue, while Beat had selected a bottled soda to quench her thirst. As the clerk bagged her mother's merchandise, Beat idly picked up the soda bottle and moved it to the other end of the belt. This caused the belt to automatically engage, carrying the soda back to its original location. She tried again, but the soda once again moved back to where it had started.
Hmm, she thought. There's an existential allegory in here somewhere.
She was about to take another shot at it, when her cell phone rang. "Hello?"
"Hi, Beat. It's Arthur."
Beat smiled. "Hello, Arthur. What can I do for you?"
"I'm running for student body president," came Arthur's voice. "Would you like to be my campaign manager?"
"Campaign...manager?"
"Yes," said Arthur. "I know you're interested in politics."
"I'm interested in British politics," Beat pointed out. "Why don't you ask Muffy? She likes to manage things."
"I don't think so," was Arthur's response. "I'm running against Mickie Chanel, and Muffy's always out shopping with her."
"I see," said Beat pensively. "Conflict of interest, as they say in the legal world."
"I could really use your brains, Beat."
The rabbit-aardvark girl sighed. "Well, all right."
She closed the cell phone and reached for her change purse to pay for the soda. The clerk, a middle-aged horse woman, smiled patiently at her.
"There you are, ma'am," said Beat, dropping a pile of coins into the clerk's hands.
"Thank you," said the clerk. "You're such a polite young woman."
As Beat pried open the soda bottle, the clerk's words echoed in her rabbit ears.
She gazed up at her mother. "She called me a young woman, Mum. I don't think the hormones are working."
Back at Arthur's house, D.W. was tugging at her brother's shirt. "Will you take me to Grandma Tibble's house now?" she nagged.
"Not now," said the boy. Picking up the receiver again, he dialed another number. "Hi, Binky. I'm running for student body president. Would you like to help me draw some posters?"
----
The FOR SALE sign standing in the yard of the Tibble house had been covered with a banner declaring, SOLD.
On the curb sat a small moving truck. A cat woman and her three identical daughters, dressed in similarly-fashioned working clothes, were moving boxes from the truck's cargo bay into the house. No furniture or bulky items were present, not even a TV or a bed.
Half a block away, Buster, George, and the anthro-Pomeranian boy Zeke England were curiously watching the progress of the move.
"My mom says they bought the house with cash," Buster remarked. "No mortgage, nothing."
"They must be drug dealers," said Zeke fearfully. "Or terrorists. Or...or witches."
"Or clones," George added.
"Let's not jump to any conclusions," Buster advised. "At least not until we find out what kind of music they like."
"Maybe they're aliens," George suggested. "This is the planet where Dark Augusta was destroyed. All the aliens will want to come here to visit...or live."
"Shut up, George," Buster snapped. "You'll give away the ending."
The three boys walked forward, although Buster had to prod the recalcitrant Zeke a few times. They met with the strange family in the yard, as the triplets and their mother were going back to the truck for more boxes.
"Hi," Buster greeted them boldly. "I'm Buster Baxter, this is George Nordgren, and this is Zeke England." The pom boy, too bashful to look a girl in the face, stared down at the grass.
"We come in peace," said George.
One of the girls, Amy (with the A on her forehead), turned to her sisters, Becky (with the B) and Cally (with the C), and they started to giggle profusely.
"Three boys," Amy observed. "Three of us."
"It's like they knew we were coming," quipped Becky.
"They're so cute," Cally gushed. "Especially the boy with the fuzzy head." She shot an affectionate glance at Zeke.
"Girls," scolded the mother, Zoe Belnap. "What did I tell you about flirting?"
"Never say one boy is cuter than another," the girls recited in unison.
"Very good," said Zoe.
Zeke, who had been quiet, spoke up. "Are you Christians?"
The girls exchanged uncertain glances. Even the mother appeared a bit confused.
"Uh, yes," Zoe finally replied. "We are Christians. Aren't we, girls?"
"Uh...Ave Maria, gratia plena," said Amy.
"Pie Jesu domine, dona eis requiem," said Becky.
"If you like to talk to tomatoes..." Cally sang.
Zeke smiled slightly, apparently satisfied.
"Those boxes look heavy," Buster remarked.
"Yeah," George added. "You could use something to help you move them. Like boys."
"How kind of you," said Zoe.
With the assistance of the three boys, the Belnaps unloaded the truck in almost no time.
----
"Rise and shine, Prunie."
The rat girl's eyes fluttered open. She immediately moved her hands to her chest, and discovered that she was still a teenager. The room was still mostly dark, and Rubella's outline was murkily visible near the door.
"I...I remember," Prunella mumbled. "I remember what happened yesterday. Augusta's stone worked." Her voice grew bolder. "It worked again. Now I can remember two days."
Rubella flicked on the light, causing her sister's eyes to recoil. "Sorry to wake you up so early. I figured you would want a full day to enjoy your new life."
"I do," said Prunella, sitting up. "I want to do everything today." As she rose, Rubella reached out and pulled her into a long, warm embrace.
The first order of the day was breakfast. The entire Prufrock family was gathered around the table, including little Graham.
"Where do you want to go today?" Prunella's father asked her.
"High school," the girl replied without hesitation.
"I don't think you're ready for high school," said her mother. "We'll have to see about putting you in a remedial class."
"That's not what I mean," said Prunella. "All my friends are in high school. I haven't seen them for...three days."
"It must seem like years to them," Mr. Prufrock joked.
"They like to hang out at the restaurant after school," said Rubella. "That would be a good opportunity."
Prunella recalled what the family had told her two days earlier--they had purchased the Sugar Bowl from Mr. Menino, and Rubella had turned it into a family restaurant called You Will Eat Here, with a hypnotic spiral for a logo. (They had considered calling it simply Rubella's, but worried that the patrons might stay away for fear of catching a disease.)
"Yes," she acknowledged, "but it wouldn't hurt to sit in on some high school classes, if only to see how far behind I am."
----
Words, or even thoughts, couldn't express how odd she felt. Down the sidewalk she shuffled in a tall, lanky body, wearing a blouse and miniskirt many sizes larger than what she was accustomed to, as well as an unfamiliar and awkward set of undergarments. Rubella walked beside her, lending encouragement; the girls were now almost exactly the same height. The neighborhood had changed little in five years, other than a few differently painted houses, and more traffic. Dandelions were starting to bloom, an indication of early spring. They passed by a grocery store parking lot, and Prunella noticed that about half the cars were marked with the word HYBRID.
They soon arrived at the entrance to Albertson High School, where dozens of handsome lads and shapely girls were milling about. No obvious changes in fashion or hairstyles had taken place. As Prunella looked at the faces of the boys, strange but pleasant sensations coursed through her body.
"Think you can take it from here?" Rubella asked her.
"I, uh, think so," she replied anxiously.
"Remember," her sister counseled, "if you run into trouble or want to go home, just..." She snatched the cell phone from Prunella's belt and spoke into it, "Call Rubella."
It immediately lit up, and the phone in Rubella's pocket started to ring.
"Wow," marveled Prunella as she hooked her phone onto her belt. "All the kids have cell phones now?"
"Naturally," said Rubella. "They only cost a buck a month."
In a moment Prunella was left to her own devices. She wandered through the crowd and into the school, praying she would encounter an older version of a familiar face.
It didn't take long. "Binky, look!" a girl's voice sounded.
A hulking youth was striding toward her, easily a foot taller than any other boy in the hallway. He wore a varsity shirt and shorts, his arms were tanned and muscular, and his bulldog-like face seemed to have been carved out of granite. Beside him walked a much shorter cat girl with a face like a cherub, a strapless dress, and curly orange hair tied into a large, drooping puff behind her head.
Prunella rubbed her eyes in disbelief as the pair approached her. "Omigosh! Binky! Sue Ellen!"
"Duh, what are you doing here?" boomed the bulldog boy.
"Shouldn't you be home in bed?" said the cat girl harshly.
"You don't understand," said Prunella, still recovering from the sight of the mountain-sized Binky. "Augusta Win...Augusta Bailey made a stone that gave me my memory back. I can remember the last two days. I'm cured."
The two high-schoolers only gaped stupidly.
"If you don't believe me, call my mother," Prunella insisted.
After a moment's hesitation, the cat girl picked up a cell phone from her slender hip and commanded it to "Call Mrs. Prufrock."
She heard the woman's greeting an instant later. "Hi, Mrs. Prufrock," she uttered in a whiny voice. "Prunella's at school, and she says she's cured. I say she's full of... Oh, really? Get out! Okay, but you better be right."
"Duh, what'd she say?" asked the bulldog boy.
The cat girl lowered her phone and motioned with her head for Prunella to follow them.
"First of all," she related as the trio strolled down the hallway, "I'm not Sue Ellen anymore. I'm just Sue. Sue Krantz. I'm the head of the cheerleading squad."
"And I'm Binky," said the bulldog boy. "I like to wrestle."
"I'm a sophomore," Sue continued. "Binky's a freshman. He was held back in seventh grade. We're girlfriend and boyfriend, and stuff."
To demonstrate, Binky bent his knees and gave Sue a peck on the lips. The gesture made Prunella quite uncomfortable.
"There'll be a quiz tomorrow," Sue warned her. "If you forget what I told you, I'll give you another mouth where your nose is."
"I like to wrestle," said Binky.
Although they were unpleasant to her, they were the only reference points Prunella had. No other familiar faces appeared out of the multitude as she walked alongside them toward one of the classrooms. Binky gave Sue a farewell kiss, then wandered off, presumably in the direction of a freshman-level class.
There were about twenty pupils in the room, and a few were rough and fearsome in appearance. Butterflies swarmed in Prunella's heart as she sat down at a desk, and she started to wish she had never left her house.
----
to be continued