Jack turned the corner into his street. There was no sign of his mum’s car in the driveway. There were no lights on in the house. The side passage that led to the bungalow was cloaked in darkness.

Jack stepped on something squishy and brittle as he passed the window to his old room. He stopped, squinted, and saw that he’d trodden on a bunch of red roses wrapped in paper.

A phone lay next to the roses, its cheap plastic casing split down the side, its screen shattered. Like the flowers, it looked like it had been dropped.

Something weird was going on.

He hurried the rest of the way down the side passage, bounded up the bungalow steps, and threw the lights on as he burst inside.

The first thing he saw was Oliver Sampson standing in the middle of the bungalow, one finger pressed to his lips, the other pointing at Jack’s bed.

Lying on the bed, in a baby-blue blazer and pressed slacks, his silver hair in disarray, was Upland’s mayor, Neville Perry-Moore.

For a moment Jack wondered if this was part of the Mayor for a Week deal that nobody had seen fit to tell him about. Nobody had said anything about the mayor and Jack literally swapping places.

Then Jack noticed the terrible black bruise around the mayor’s eye.

‘I think he’s unconscious,’ whispered Sampson.

Jack closed the door and moved closer. His first thought was that his gran had attacked the mayor. First a taxi driver, then the mayor – was nobody safe from her testosterone-powered rage?

But even if that were true, it didn’t go anywhere near explaining what Neville Perry-Moore was doing in Jack’s bed.

‘What the – ? Was he like this when you got here?’

Sampson grimaced. ‘Not exactly.’

‘Wait. You did this? You attacked the mayor?’

‘He was creeping around your house!’

‘So were you!’

Sampson put his hand to his brow. ‘I … I thought he was a burglar or something. I didn’t know it was the mayor. Although, technically, he’s not really the mayor at the moment. Right? You are. So it’s actually not as bad as it looks. Right, Sprigley?’

‘What do you mean? Of course he’s still the freaking mayor!’ Jack realised Sampson was getting desperate. Not even Darylyn would have argued that technicality. He lowered his voice to a hiss. ‘I can’t believe you punched the mayor in the face!’ Jack’s outrage couldn’t completely eclipse the question of what the mayor had been doing at his house in the first place, but he ignored it for now.

‘Don’t be an idiot, Sprigley. I didn’t punch him. He hit his head on the wall after I tackled him.’

‘Oh. Well. That’s probably fine, then. I’m sure the courts won’t consider it assault if it was just a tackle.’

The mention of assault turned Sampson even paler. ‘But it wasn’t my fault! It was an accident! I didn’t think, I just …’ He looked distressed. ‘I don’t know my own strength.’

You’ve had two years of living in that fully-equipped man-body, thought Jack. Plenty of time to get to know your strength.

‘What was he doing here, anyway?’ said Sampson. ‘And why did he have flowers with him?’

Jack gasped. Suddenly the penny dropped. The roses. The smashed phone. ‘Oh my god,’ he said. He turned to Sampson, not quite believing that the words he was about to utter could be true. But it all made sense.

The texting. The secrecy.

‘This is going to sound crazy,’ he said slowly, ‘but I think the mayor came here to see my gran. I think …’ He groaned with distaste. ‘Oh my god, I think this was … a booty call.’

Sampson screwed his face up. ‘Come off it, Sprigley.’

Jack wondered how long it had been going on for. Was this their first date? Or had they arranged other secret hook-ups – here, under the very roof that Jack’s Bigwigs winnings had helped pay for? Jack felt sick at the thought.

Fortunately Jack was spared the trauma of imagining their covert, under-the-covers activities in more detail. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door and the sound of voices outside.

Sampson looked panicked. ‘It’s the cops!’

‘Jack?’ came Vivi’s voice through the door.

Jack did his best to stay calm. The fewer witnesses to the fact that Sampson had accidentally assaulted the mayor, the better. But then again, having Vivi standing outside calling his name was only going to attract attention.

He threw open the door and saw Vivi, Reese, Darylyn and Philo on the doorstep. They looked as relieved to see Jack as Jack was to see them.

‘We’ve been texting you and calling you for the last half hour!’ said Vivi.

Jack hadn’t checked his phone since Sampson’s distress call. He looked now and saw a bunch of messages and missed calls on the screen.

He looked out again at the four faces on the doorstep of the bungalow and took a deep breath. ‘You guys better come inside,’ he said.

Vivi and the others piled through the door and stood in the middle of Jack’s bachelor pad, staring slack-jawed at the unconscious form of Mayor Neville Perry-Moore.

‘Dude,’ said Reese, after many seconds had passed. ‘Why have you kidnapped the mayor?’

Jack glanced at Sampson, who was frantically chewing his nails.

‘I guess this explains why nobody could contact him after you bailed on the festival, Jack,’ said Darylyn, wide-eyed.

‘Vivi stood in as mayor for the whole thing!’ said Philo.

‘What the hell happened here?’ said Vivi.

Jack had a sudden realisation. ‘Holy crap. Delilah. She didn’t follow you here, did she?’ The last thing he needed was for any evidence of Sampson’s accidental assault of the mayor to end up on camera.

Vivi glanced at Darylyn, Reese and Philo. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, grinning. ‘We took care of Delilah. It was kind of like a Bigwigs team challenge, wasn’t it, guys?’

‘Oh, great,’ said Sampson, hands tucked under his arms to keep from chewing off his fingers entirely. ‘Everyone’s a Bigwig now except me. Meanwhile, what are we going to do about this?’

‘You still haven’t explained what “this” is!’ said Vivi. ‘And by the way, Sampson, we’re on to you. Philo told us the things you’ve been saying to Jack.’

Sampson and Jack swapped glances.

‘In the changing rooms,’ said Vivi.

Jack shrugged. He really wanted to avoid a situation where anyone might be tempted to use the words ‘baldy-balls’. ‘Yeah, I’m not sure we really need to –’

‘So what?’ said Sampson. ‘He is a baldy-balls.’

There it is, thought Jack.

Reese glared at Sampson. ‘Dude. Watch it.’

Jack held his hands out diplomatically. ‘Guys. Calm down. It’s just one of those nicknames like when you call a person with red hair “Bluey”. Or when you call a really tall person “Shorty”. When Sampson says “baldy-balls”, what he really means is “Jack has a much higher than average quantity of pubi–”’

‘Marleeeeeeeeeeeeeeene … ?’

Everyone spun around. The mayor was stirring into consciousness.

‘Let’s get out of here!’ hissed Sampson.

Vivi frowned. ‘Did he say “Marlene”?’ She turned to Jack. ‘As in your gran Marlene?’

‘Where – where am I?’ groaned Mayor Perry-Moore. He squinted at Jack and the others in turn, gathering energy like an Egyptian mummy being slowly revived by dark sorcery. ‘Am I going crazy, or did somebody attack me?’

Jack’s mind raced. There was a chance the mayor would recognise Sampson. He might press charges. Anything could happen. They could all end up as accomplices. He had to think quick.

The mayor’s gaze drew ever closer to Sampson.

Suddenly Jack realised. There was a chance he could save the situation. He lunged for the open drawer in his dresser, hoping the thing he was looking for was there.

It was. It was always there. It always turned up, somehow.

Jack whisked the merkin from the drawer and slapped it onto Sampson’s chin.

Sampson staggered back, clawing at his face. ‘What the – ?’

‘It’s a disguise!’ Jack hissed. ‘Go with it!’

Philo frowned, and went to raise his hand. ‘Um –’

‘Not now!’ said Jack.

Mayor Perry-Moore squinted at Sampson. ‘You. You with the beard.’

Jack grabbed Sampson by the wrists.

‘It’s okay, he’s just a burglar. A big old beardy burglar. We caught him in the act, didn’t we, guys? Citizens’ arrest. We just have to get this hairy, bad guy down to the police station. We saw everything, we can give a statement, no need for you to get involved, Mr Mayor, sir.’

‘Jack Sprigley? Is that you?’ As he said it, Mayor Perry-Moore seemed to remember where he was. His cheeks reddened slightly, and a guilty, worried look crept onto his face.

Sampson, meanwhile, struggled free of Jack’s not-exactly-iron grip. His nose twitched and he screwed up his face. ‘What the hell is this made from?’

‘Um –’

‘Shut up, Philo!’

Sampson sneezed. The merkin unglued itself from his face and fell onto the floor.

The mayor’s eyes grew huge. ‘That’s no burglar! I remember now!’ He winced in pain. ‘One of you, help me up!’

Reese and Darylyn rushed forward and grabbed the mayor under his arms, helping him swivel out of bed.

‘I’m going straight to the police,’ he said. ‘I’m old college buddies with the superintendent. We play golf every week. Sweet lord, my head hurts.’

Vivi glanced at Jack, then they both glanced at Sampson.

‘Assault and battery,’ said Mayor Perry-Moore, clutching the side of his head. ‘Assault and battery against a city official! What’s your name?’

Sampson stuck his chin out stubbornly. ‘Like I have to answer your questions. What were you doing sneaking around the Sprigleys’ house?’

‘His name’s Oliver Sampson,’ said Philo, helpfully.

Reese glared at him. ‘Dude!’

‘Oliver Sampson,’ said the mayor. ‘Your parents, are they the Sampsons with the vineyard at Doubleknee Bend?’

‘M-maybe,’ said Sampson.

‘They are,’ Philo cheerfully confirmed.

‘Dude!’

‘Well,’ said the mayor, ‘you won’t be picking grapes this summer, that’s for damn sure. Picking up rubbish, maybe. That’s if you get away with a community service order. More likely you’re looking at a summer in juvenile detention!’

Everyone gasped.

Juvenile detention? thought Jack. In a way, it seemed a good fit for Sampson. He’d probably be top dog in the jailhouse before too long, just like he was king of the change rooms at school.

Sampson went ashen-faced. But a second later the chin was back out again, and he’d puffed his chest out along with it. ‘Y-yeah? W-well, I’d like to see you try.’

‘I won’t need to try,’ said Mayor Perry-Moore. ‘I’m the biggest man in town! I can do anything!’

‘Including creeping around ratepayers’ houses at eight p.m. on a Friday night?’ said Vivi.

Mayor Perry-Moore opened and closed his mouth. ‘It’s … it’s a new part of the Mayor for a Week program. A surprise one-on-one meet-and-greet from the real mayor while the junior mayor takes over.’

Sampson snorted. ‘As if. Tell everyone what you figured out, Sprigley.’

Jack glanced at the others. The mayor looked flustered. ‘The only thing you ought to be figuring out is how long you want to spend in detention! Because you’re all involved in this. Every one of you. He might be the ringleader –’ he glared at Sampson, ‘– but you’re all culpable.’

They were back to outbigging each other, Jack realised. Sampson and the mayor, both frightened and embarrassed. Both trying to hide it by being the bigger man.

‘What about you?’ said Sampson. ‘Sprigley here could have you arrested for trespassing if he wanted to. Couldn’t you, Sprigley?’

‘Trespassing? I’m not a trespasser! I’m the blooming mayor! I can do what I like. And that includes locking thugs like you away for the rest of your high school years, if you’re not careful!’

The situation was getting out of hand. Jack needed to think of something to defuse it, fast. And then the solution came to him in a flash of brilliance.

‘You’ve got it wrong,’ said Jack loudly.

Everyone turned to look at him. Jack looked at Sampson and then at Vivi. He took a deep breath and stepped forward, eyes locked with Upland’s five-time mayor, Councillor Neville Perry-Moore.

‘Sampson wasn’t the one who attacked you.’

He stuck out his chin and his chest.

‘It was me.’