The drive to school was a talkative one for Alan, Tegan, and their mother. "Mom," requested Alan, "after school Tegan and I would like to visit Mr. Mansch at the hospital."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" said Mrs. Powers. "From the way you described him, he sounds like a dangerous fellow."

"We're just curious," said Tegan. "We want to know how he was cured of his brain wipe."

"Brain wipe?" said her mother, who was adjusting the heater knob for comfort. "That sounds like something out of a science fiction story."

"So does subdural hematoma," said Tegan, "which is the theory the doctors are currently basing their studies on."

Afraid that the conversation would rise above the level of her head, Mrs. Powers changed the subject to something lighter. "Are you looking forward to your second day of high school?" she asked her teenage daughter.

Tegan moaned slightly. "High school's a good way to make friends my own age," she remarked, "but the homework I was assigned to do is so…so stupid."

"It may seem that way," said Mrs. Powers helpfully, "but remember, you're the only student there with a genius IQ."

"I'm serious, Mom," said Tegan, pulling a thin, glossy magazine from her coat pocket. "They gave me this workbook full of multiple-choice questions. Listen to this one: Have you ever lied about your age to get a drink? (a) Yes (b) No (c) Who wants to know?"

"Let me see that," said Alan, grabbing a corner of the magazine between his fingers. To his astonishment, the page to which Tegan was referring had the following banner at the top:

Are you Lindsay Lohan? Take our quiz and find out!

"This isn't homework, Tegan," said Alan, shaking his head. "This is some silly teen magazine." He glanced at the opposing page, on which was printed a letter to an advice columnist: Dear Ashley: I just found out that my new boyfriend is a science geek. Should I break up with him now, or pretend to be busy until he loses interest?

"Are you sure, Alan?" said Tegan, a bit confused. "Because my new friend Melinda told me that I totally had to read this."

"I can't believe you challenged Mr. Polk to a fistfight," said Mrs. Frensky for the seventeenth time. Since waking up.

Francine, who was busily organizing her school bag (which now contained a Bible in an easy-to-reach location), paused to look up at her father. "You are so gonna get your butt kicked, Dad," she said playfully.

"Ahem," said Mr. Frensky with his usual gruffness. "Shouldn't you be cheering for your father, and not for some stranger?"

"Pokey isn't a stranger anymore," said Francine, tossing the bag over her shoulder. "Besides, Jesus said that a stranger's just a friend you haven't met."

"If you love Jesus so much, why don't you marry him?" said her father.

"Is he single?" said Francine eagerly.

Arthur gazed thoughtfully at the glowing orb lying in D.W.'s palm. "Are you sure it's not a meteor or something?" he wondered aloud.

"It's too small to be a meteor," said D.W. sagely. "Maybe it's a comet." Pal whimpered at her feet, as if pleading for another chance to chew the sphere to pieces.

"Can I hold it for a second?" asked Arthur, extending his hand.

"Finders keepers, losers weepers," said D.W. petulantly.

To her surprise, Arthur's eyes filled up to the brim with tears. An instant later he began to sob uncontrollably.

"Oh, all right," said D.W., placing the orb in her brother's hand. "Yeesh! There's nothing worse than seeing a boy cry."

"Thanks," blubbered Arthur, using his free fingers to wipe the tears from his cheeks.

"Second's up," said D.W. "Can I have it back now?"

With the strange sphere stowed in her pocket, she followed her older brother to the elementary school, where they found George and Sal arriving from the other direction. "Hi, George," said Arthur. "What's up?"

"Oh, this and that," replied the moose boy. "Jenny came back, and we found an injured dog."

"Jenny's back?" said Arthur, amazed. "Where did she go?"

"What kind of dog?" asked D.W.

"I don't know," said George to Arthur. "A greyhound," he said to D.W.

"Not a greyhound named Jean, I hope," said Arthur as he yanked open one of the metal doors.

George stopped in his tracks as he was entering the school. "How did you know?" he blurted out.

"Huh?" said Arthur. "Know what?"

"That was the name on her collar—Jean Greyhound," George informed him.

Arthur and D.W. looked at each other with concern.

"Do you know this dog?" asked George earnestly. "Do you know the people who own her?"

Both brother and sister nodded tentatively.

"Then you'd better get in touch with her owners," George advised them. "The veterinarian says she's gonna need major surgery, or she won't make it."

To be continued