The organist was playing a closing number as Francine, surrounded by Arthur's family and the exiting parishioners, came face to face with Reverend Fulsome. "Hello, young lady," said the frocked rabbit man. "I haven't seen you before."

"My name's Francine," replied the girl, shaking hands and smiling warmly. "I just loved your sermon, and the singing, but especially your sermon. I agreed with everything you said. Can I get baptized now?"

Arthur and D.W. gaped at her. The reverend only smirked. "That is one of the services we provide," he stated. "Are your parents here?"

"Well, no," Francine answered. "They don't come here. They're not Christians."

"I see," said Fulsome. "Before I can arrange for you to be baptized, I'll have to get their permission."

"Oh, they'll never give you that," said the monkey girl. "But if it's a permission slip from a grownup you need, I have a friend named Pokey who'd be glad to give you one."

Mr. Read cleared his throat. "It doesn't work that way," he informed her.

Undeterred, Francine turned her pleading eyes toward him. "Or you could give me a permission slip," she suggested.

"No, Francine," said the aardvark man sternly. "It has to be from your own parents."

The girl shook her head insistently. "But…but the reverend just said, unless a man leave his father and mother, and follows Jesus, he can't be saved."

Reverend Fulsome gave her a patronizing pat on the head. "But Jesus also said, 'Suffer the little children, for of such are the kingdom of heaven.' If I were a pretty little thing like you, I wouldn't be in a rush to get baptized."

"Mr. Reverend, sir," D.W. chimed in, "why does Jesus want little children to suffer?"

"No, D.W.," said her older brother. "In the Bible, to suffer means to put up with something, like I put up with you."

"Bible," Francine blurted out suddenly. "I'd better get myself a Bible. I've heard it's, like, fifty pages long, so I want to start reading right away, so I can finish before I die."

Bailey's hybrid car rolled along a grooved street with rows of dilapidated houses on either side. Muffy, having never seen a sight like the poor neighborhoods of Crown City, timidly peeked through the window, her nose and lower body concealed behind the door. "Bailey, are you sure we're still in America?" she asked the driver.

"Yes, Miss Muffy," he replied. "These are the tired, the poor, the huddled masses. I, myself, was little better off when I first came to the States."

"It can't be real," said Muffy as a worn, faded townhouse with cracked windows passed before her eyes. "It's like we're in a theme park, and this is Poverty Land."

When they finally parked in front of the place the Coopers called home, she stepped out of the vehicle with trepidation. The lawn was well kept and free of weeds, and the wooden slats composing the walls had a fresh veneer of paint, but nonetheless, she felt a sword dangling over her as she tiptoed to the front entrance. She knocked three times, and a well-known face appeared.

"Hi, Van," said Muffy. "May I come in?"

"Sure," said the duck boy, rotating his chair about. "Sorry about the wallpaper paste and junk—we're remodeling."

Vomitrocious, she thought, looking up and down at the drab, flaking walls. "Geez, Van, this house is even cruddier than your old house…which, er, ah, wasn't the least bit cruddy."

"We're not staying her permanently," Van told her. "It's only until we sell the other house. After that, we'll buy a nice brownstone in the center of town."

"Oh, that would be so cool," said Muffy, collapsing onto the leather couch she knew so well. "To live in a big city, with shopping and culture and fun things to do…"

"I hear you almost got to live on a planet," said Van, his wheelchair whirling to face her.

"Yeah, almost," Muffy recalled. "Didn't work out, but it was great while it lasted. You'd love Elci Kahaf, Van. Four hundred million people, skyscrapers the size of mountains—it makes New York look like Old York. Not to mention the aliens everywhere. Once I learned a few phrases, I had a swell time asking them what their extra body parts were for. They always told me; they're very friendly."

"Cool," said Van. "Is that where you got the dress?"

Muffy nodded. "It's an optical fiber dress. Isn't it the greatest?"

"It is," said her friend. "It really is. I almost wish I was still a girl, so I could try it on."

Muffy's eyes narrowed as her smile widened. "I totally missed you being a girl," she said playfully. "What was it like?"

"What? Being a girl, or being able to walk?"

"Being a girl, duh."

Van's eyeballs rolled up as he considered his answer. "It was…it was…normal."

Muffy sputtered and turned slightly red. "Normal? Normal? Is that all you have to say about the greatest blessing that can possibly be bestowed upon a boy?"

"Normal for a girl," said Van. "I didn't try to be a boy in a girl's body—I wore dresses, and played with dolls, and stuff. It was like a normal girl's life."

"Hmph," said Muffy, folding her arms. "I guess you have to be born into it to appreciate it."

"Except for one thing," Van went on. "When I was with the other girls, and they all said, 'Look at that cute boy,' and I looked at the boy, I didn't really feel like he was cute."

"Hmm," said Muffy.

"The other girls had something I was missing," said the duck boy. "I started to worry, because I knew that if a girl didn't think boys were cute, she'd never get married."

"I think you're cute, Van," said Muffy wistfully.

"And I think you're cute, too," said Van matter-of-factly. "And that's normal. But what happens to a girl who doesn't think boys are cute, or a boy who doesn't think girls are cute? Do they grow up to be computer programmers, or comic book collectors?"

"Shush up, Van," said Muffy with marked impatience. "A girl just told you that you're cute. How do you respond?"

Van stared blankly at her.

"Now you can see why I took up with George," said the monkey girl. "He knows how to treat a girl. He knows how to kiss a girl. But, Van…" Her voice swelled with emotion. "It's you I liked all along. But whenever I bring it up, all you do is talk. 'What if I grow up and decide I like somebody else?' 'What if we kiss and it feels really gross?' 'What if cooties are real?' 'What if' this? 'What if' that? You can talk the talk all right, Van, but the problem is, you can't walk the walk." She paused. "Uh…sorry, poor choice of words."

Her duck friend spoke up nervously. "I…I know how much you like me, Muffy. But what if I grow up and decide I like somebody else? What if we kiss and…"

"What if you just shut up and kiss me?" Muffy interrupted him.

Are you happy now, Van/Muffy shippers? To be continued…