D.W. gazed, stupefied, at the bald girl in the plaid skirt. "Are you serious?" she marveled. "Arthur's gonna die?"

"I'm afraid so," replied Kendra, nodding slightly.

"I get his room!" D.W. exclaimed triumphantly.

"You have a room," Arthur reminded her.

"But I want a room with a southern exposure," said D.W.

"Then who gets your room?" asked Arthur.

"Wilbur, when he's old enough," said D.W. "Until then I'll sublet it."

Kendra stood stiffly, a bit of a smile on her lips as she watched the exchange between the siblings. "Why don't you come in?" Arthur invited her.

"No harm in that, I suppose," said Kendra, stepping over the threshold. "I mean, since you're going to die, I can't make things worse for you, can I?"

She curiously examined the various kitchen gadgets and the bowl of rising bread dough. Arthur followed her, asking, "What are you, a psychic or something?"

"Yes," she said flatly. "I usually see things that won't happen for a long time. And they're always bad things—wars, disasters, accidents, celebrity fashion gaffes, stuff like that."

"Does it ever come true?" inquired Arthur.

"I don't know," replied Kendra. "Like I said, most of what I see won't happen for years. This time it's different, though. You don't have long at all. He's coming."

"Who's coming?" Arthur pressed her. "The hooded guy? Who is he?"

"I couldn't get a good look at his face," Kendra related. "It was all blurry."

Arthur folded his arms and peered at her. "I'm not sure if I believe you," he said slowly. "I've seen it all—telepathy, telekinesis, mind control—so I guess seeing the future isn't much of a stretch. But the things you predict are so far away, none of us will live long enough to know if you're right or not."

"It's like the stuff in the Bible," D.W. chimed in.

"We believe in the Bible, D.W.," said Arthur sternly.

He looked back at Kendra, whose eyes seemed to be reddening with tears. "What's the matter?" he asked gently.

"Nothing," said the girl, her lower lip trembling. "I'm used to not being believed. I'll deal with it." She hurriedly made her way to the front door, adding, "So long, and watch out for the hooded man."

Arthur closed the door as she left, but not before hearing a series of loud, anguished sobs from her direction.

"Aren't you forgetting something, Frankie?"

Francine, her body covered by one her sister's pre-maternity outfits, her face covered by a silly grin, turned around in response to her mother's call. "What?"

"Now that you're an adult," said Mrs. Frensky, her hands clutching the straps of a lace brassiere, "you'll need to wear this."

Francine cast a bemused, but unworried, glance at her. "Why? I'm wearing a blouse. Nobody can see them."

"Just put it on," said her mother as she advanced. "Here, I'll help you."

"Why bother?" said Francine. "It's just a trip to the doctor's office."

"Trust me," said Mrs. Frensky.

"C'mon, let's go," said Francine, shoving open the door to her apartment. "I'm not getting any younger."

"Frankie, wait!" cried her mother. Francine, however, anxious to test her new legs, began to heedlessly skip down the stairway towards the lower floors.

After about a dozen steps, she stopped and grimaced with displeasure.

"Oh," she muttered to herself. "That's why I need it."

Deciding to accept her mother's offer of assistance, she lifted up her blouse in front of the bathroom mirror while Mrs. Frensky fastened the undergarment. "Ow!" the girl-turned-woman complained. "Mom, it's digging into my skin!"

"Don't worry," said her mother calmly. "In a few months you'll develop calluses, and then you'll feel like you're not wearing it at all."

Once the procedure was done, Francine made a quarter turn and gazed lovingly at her side-view reflection. "Omigosh, I totally look like a supermodel," she said, wiggling her hips with glee. "Wait till Muffy sees me! She'll just die!"

"Do you want to look like that forever?" Mrs. Frensky asked her.

"Oh, yeah," replied Francine.

"Do you want to have babies?"

"Yeah."

"More bad news."

To be continued