Other than some new furniture and plants, and a slight amount of remodeling, Arthur's house had changed very little. They still watched the same old TV set. Arthur now had three younger siblings--eleven-year-old D.W., seven-year-old Kate, and four-year-old Richard.

"Dad's still running his catering service," Arthur related. "Mom got a job with a tax firm."

He and Francine were seated together, holding hands. D.W., Kate, and Richard were also in the living room. All were pleased at the news that Prunella had recovered from her debilitating memory disorder, and had gathered to inform her of the happenings of the past five years.

"I'm in sixth grade," D.W. boasted. "That's the grade you were in when the bus hit you. When you go back to school, maybe you'll be in my class."

"I remember your family was planning to move once," said Prunella.

"We were," said Arthur. "After Richard was born, there was hardly enough room in the house to turn your head. But Dad got some new customers, and made enough money to put Grandpa Dave in a retirement home."

"How is the old man?" Prunella inquired.

Arthur solemnly lowered his eyes. "He died last year."

"I'm sorry," said Prunella sympathetically.

"We were all very sad," D.W. recalled. "But at least his suffering's over. He was totally helpless. He didn't recognize any of us."

"But we still have Grandma Thora," Richard exulted. "Grandma Thora! Grandma Thora!"

The boy's shouting attracted two little yellow dogs into the room. They strolled up to Prunella's legs and started to sniff.

"I know this person," said the male dog. "I can't quite place the scent."

"I've never smelled her before in my life," said the female dog. "She'll have to earn my trust by feeding me."

"Oh, how cute," gushed Prunella, reaching down to pet the two dogs. "Is one of them Pal?"

"One's Pal," D.W. told her, "and the other's Amazon Puppy. She came to live with us after Buster disappeared."

"He was abducted by aliens," Kate chimed in.

A while later Kate and Richard left the room, and the conversation took a more serious turn.

"I asked you during lunch why you blamed Alan for your accident," said Francine, "and you said it was a long story. We've got time. Would you like to tell it?"

Prunella only scowled bitterly.

"He's so sad and lonely all the time," D.W. remarked. "Ever since your accident, it's like a dark cloud has been following him around."

"You have your life back now," Arthur urged the rat girl. "Can't you forgive him?"

"I guess I should," Prunella acknowledged. "He's had five years to feel sorry for what he did."

"What exactly did he do?" Francine inquired.

Prunella took a deep, sad breath. "Just before the Dark Augusta incident, Alan and I got our hands on a body-switching device. He thought the world was about to end, so he wanted to switch bodies with me just for the heck of it. I was curious too, so I went along with it. While I was walking around in his body, he ran into the street in my body, and got hit by a bus."

"Weird," Francine mused. "So the accident happened to him, not you."

"But you were stuck with the consequences," Arthur added.

"That wasn't the end of it," Prunella continued. "Alan was in the hospital with amnesia. He forgot he was really Alan, and thought he was me, because he was in my body. As soon as he remembered who he was, he switched us back, even though Beat warned us that the device might be harmful if used on someone with a brain injury."

"You think that's what damaged your memory?" said Francine.

"I don't know." Prunella looked at her feet. "But he should have waited. I didn't mind being in his body. I guess he was afraid he'd be stuck as a girl with brain damage."

"He shouldn't have switched with you in the first place," said Arthur. "But I can understand why he did. With power like that comes great temptation."

"You're right," Prunella agreed. "We were little kids. We didn't know what we were getting into."

"I think you should go to him," said D.W. "You don't have to forgive him, but at least let him know you're cured. Maybe that will make him happy."

After a moment of deep consideration, Prunella declared, "I will."

----

Mrs. Krantz' class had shrunk considerably over the weekend. Buster and the Belnap triplets were nowhere to be found. The kids found it difficult to think about their missing friends and the imminent student election at the same time.

"Maybe Buster was carried off by a fifth gunman," Arthur theorized.

"There were only four," Muffy insisted. "Buster left the scene with Amy. We followed them to the Tibble house, and then they were gone."

Van noticed that Zeke appeared distracted and gloomy. "Cheer up, pal," he encouraged the pom boy. "Nobody blames you for what your father did."

"Now I'll never go home," Zeke mumbled hopelessly.

"As long as you're with us, you're home," Van assured him. "And here's some good news that should make you happy. My parents aren't getting divorced after all."

"That's good," said Zeke with a weak smile.

Mrs. Krantz stood up and began to speak. "I'm glad you could all make it today. Sadly, a few of us have gone missing, but I have confidence they'll be found. Let's have a moment of silence for our absent friends Amy, Becky, Cally, and Buster."

The class fell silent, and the kids mused fondly upon their memories of Buster. George thought about how much he missed Becky's kisses.

"Thank you," Mrs. Krantz resumed. "Don't forget to vote in the student election today. Remember, the polls close at lunchtime."

A row of voting booths had been set up in the gymnasium, and the students flocked to the spot immediately after first period. Long lines formed as the kids made their choice between Arthur Read and Mickie Chanel.

Arthur, confident of success, lounged about in the center court during morning recess. The area was unusually empty, due to the high voting activity. Mickie Chanel walked up to him, looking a bit harried.

"So you decided to reject my offer," she said with a mixture of sternness and uncertainty. "You realize your family will move away because of this."

"Whether my family moves away isn't up to you, Mickie," said the aardvark boy indifferently. "Now go crawl back in your hole."

Reaching into the purse she was carrying, Mickie drew out a clump of bills. "One hundred dollars, Arthur," she offered. "All you have to do is concede."

"You and your one hundred dollars can go to..."

"Three hundred!" Mickie pleaded. "You could buy an iPod with that much."

"One thousand," said Arthur flatly.

It seemed to him that a battle was raging within Mickie's heart, between her fear of failure and her stinginess.

"All right," she finally spoke, her voice quivering. "One thousand dollars is yours if you concede the race."

"No," said Arthur.

"I'm not going any higher, you greedy swine!" Mickie snapped.

Arthur merely looked away and snickered. Mickie slowly came to realize that several students had gathered nearby, and were listening to their exchange.

"I've got a better idea," one of them said to her. "Give each of us one thousand dollars, and we won't tell the principal about your bribery."

Utterly defeated, Mickie let loose with an angry growl, and stormed away.

----

At the end of the school day, the results of the voting were reported over the speaker system by Principal Haney.

"Lakewood Elementary's first student body president is...Arthur Read!"

All the kids in Arthur's class cheered, except for Muffy, who shrugged and sighed with resignation.

"The final results: Arthur Read 61, Mickie Chanel 39," the principal continued. "Class dismissed."

The air was filled with jubilation as Arthur's friends raised him above the ground with their hands, and ported him all the way to the Sugar Bowl for a victory party.

Mickie, her scowl black as night, returned to the Chanel mansion and trudged up the spiral stairway to her room. It didn't take her mother long to know what had happened.

"Sorry about the election, dear," said Mrs. Chanel, resting a hand on her daughter's back.

"Curse that Arthur," grumbled Mickie, who lay on her stomach. "He wouldn't take a hundred. He wouldn't take a thousand. What did he expect me to do, cut off my hand and gift-wrap it for him?"

"There, there," her mother tried to comfort her. "There's always next year."

"Next year I'll be in middle school," Mickie pointed out.

Mrs. Chanel could come up with no salve for her daughter's bitterness, other than sitting down next to her and stroking her back. Then a thought struck her.

"Is it true that Arthur's father is a caterer?"

Mickie groaned.

----

to be continued