At lunch, I made my way through a cloud of silence that followed me across the room and exploded into hissing whispers the moment I passed. I kept my head high and my back straight, pretending I was walking across Dorothy’s banquet hall. I found an empty table by the window at the far corner of the cafeteria and pulled my sandwich out of the paper lunch bag my mom had packed for me. A scrap of paper fluttered to the floor, and I recognized my mom’s loopy cursive when I bent down to pick it up. I love you, Amy. I’m so glad you’re home.
Notes in my bag lunch? She was working her way up to Oscar material for her new role as Concerned and Caring Mom. But even as I tried to shrug off her effort, some part of me was seriously touched. I remembered the mom who’d baked a cake for my ninth birthday party and poured me a bucketful of Sprite to drown my sorrows when no one showed up. But I couldn’t think like that, I reminded myself. I couldn’t. I tucked the note in my jeans pocket.
And then, to my total surprise, two figures sank down into chairs on either side of me. “Hi, Amy,” Dustin said shyly. “Hi, again,” Madison said. “Lrrbbble,” added Dustin Jr.
“Okay,” I said, putting down my sandwich. “Quit screwing with me, Madison. Maybe you’re having some kind of postpartum thing, only instead of getting really depressed you got all friendly. But I am not interested. What do you want?”
“I want to eat lunch with you,” she said calmly. Her own lunch—a roast beef sandwich on thick, expensive white bread—the kind you bought by the loaf at the grocery store and sliced yourself—was packed neatly into a Tupperware container that had room for carrot sticks and apple slices, too. She offered Dustin Jr. a carrot stick but he let loose with a lusty wail.
“Isn’t he too little for solid food?” I asked cautiously. Madison shrugged.
“I’m trying to get him to advance,” she said. “Breastfeeding totally sucks.” And then, without further ado, she pulled up her shirt as if daring me to say something. Dustin Jr. latched on to his lunch with gusto.
Dustin Sr. had opted for cafeteria pizza. The smell was something else. If there was anything that would seal my decision to bail on Kansas forever, it was cafeteria pizza. “Mmmmm,” he said unconvincingly.
“D, that stuff is major no way,” Madison said, rolling her eyes.
“No, seriously, rewind,” I said. “Why are you guys here? What is this about?” I waited for the other shoe to drop. For Madison to play whatever mean joke she had up her sleeve, or to say something horrible about my hair or my clothes, or drag the whole cafeteria over to laugh at me.
Dustin looked between us nervously. “It’s not like that, Sal—um, Amy,” he said. “I mean, not anymore. I know Madison was kind of uncool to you—”
“Kind of uncool?” For all the things I’d endured in Oz, I couldn’t keep the hurt out of my voice. Madison had made my life in Kansas a living hell. She was the one who’d made sure I didn’t have any friends. She was the one who made sure I got mocked every day for my secondhand clothes. She was the one who’d spread rumors about all the times my mom had come home too drunk to even walk straight, or with strange guys who didn’t even stay the night. I don’t even think she knew how close to the truth they were.
“All right, look,” Madison said. “Real talk, okay? I know I was a bitch. I know I am a bitch. At least I own it. But see where I’m coming from. I thought I was on top of the world—” Her voice dripped scorn as she waved a hand around the cafeteria. “Queen of this entire shithole—what a high-class job, am I right? And then I got knocked up, and it was too late to do anything about it by the time I realized I was pregnant—I mean, we’re in the middle of Kansas, it’s not like I could find somebody to drive me to New York to take care of it. Football-star’s-fiancée-prom-queen-preggo Madison Pendleton was everybody’s idea of a great mascot—but slutty-single-mom Madison Pendleton dragging her bastard kid all over Dwight D. Eisenhower Senior High after she ruined the football star’s life? Not so much. I was supposed to drop out when I popped the kid out so no one had to look at us, or adopt him out, or act sorry, and I didn’t do any of that stuff. I had to stand in Strachan’s office for twenty minutes, screaming, before he finally agreed to let me bring the kid to school so I can actually graduate on time. And so now, if you want to know the truth, Amy Gumm, I don’t have any friends either. It’s you and me, babe. Now we can be boss bitches together. Assuming you’ve got it in you.”
“Hey, don’t forget me,” Dustin said, half wounded. Madison smiled at him, that same warm smile she’d given his kid, but her eyes were sad. “She didn’t ruin my life,” he added. “I blew out my knee in a game right before Dustin Jr. was born anyway.”
I stared at Madison, totally speechless. I’d never heard her talk so much at one time without letting an insult fly, let alone admit anything like vulnerability. I thought suddenly of all the times I’d pretended to be something I wasn’t in Oz—to protect myself, to get by. And I thought about what it must have been like for Madison, pregnant and barely seventeen, knowing she was probably going to be stuck in this dump for the rest of her life. I didn’t forgive her, exactly, but I thought I might understand her.
“What about . . .” I made a vague gesture, trying to remember the names of Madison’s Clone Wars besties.
“Amber?” Madison snorted and looked across the cafeteria. Amber—dressed in an outfit uncannily identical to the glitter-heavy blinged-out gear Madison was sporting—was holding court at the head of the popular table, surrounded by admiring jocks, acolytes in matching ensembles, and a couple of hangers-on. As if she could sense the force of Madison’s gaze, she glanced over at us and sneered. Madison raised a single, slow middle finger. Amber blanched and looked away. Queen bee or no queen bee, Madison was still pretty scary. “I got demoted,” she said almost cheerfully. “Whatever. Saves me a lot of time.”
“But you and Dustin could get married,” I said. “You could get a babysitter for the kid so you can finish school.”
“My parents threw me out of the house,” she said matter-of-factly. “So no free child care. And Dustin and I broke up.” She looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
Even though Madison seemed genuine, and had gotten a taste of her own medicine, I was definitely not ready to trust her. She had made a sport out of hurting me, like it was an extracurricular activity.
But there was an intimacy in the bully/bullied relationship. I knew Madison better than most other people. I’d needed to, to be able to avoid her, or to anticipate when the next insult was coming and get myself ready. And I’d never seen this side of Madison. She actually almost seemed contrite. But maybe motherhood had just given her a better poker face.
I realized Dustin had continued talking while I’d been trying to figure out Madison. “I mean, of course I help with the baby. My parents are pretty cool, they’re letting Madison stay with us until we figure out something better.” He sighed and put his head in his hands. “We just knew we weren’t right for each other, even though we still care about each other. It’s a lot,” he said. “But we’ll figure it out.” Madison put her head on his shoulder, and he gave her a squeeze. The thing was, they did love each other. It was obvious in the little glances they shot each other when they thought I wasn’t looking. Madison and Dustin had formed some kind of post-breakup peace. It was kind of weird. But there are lots of different kinds of love, I guess. And it was totally obvious, too, that they both loved Dustin Jr. As if she could read my thoughts, Madison handed the baby over to Dustin, who rocked him gently with an expression of total bliss while Madison looked at both of them with affection.
If I couldn’t have Nox in my life the way I wanted, could I have him in my life like this?
Madison cleared her throat. “Okay, Amy, spill,” she said. “Where the hell have you been? Obviously not in a hospital. You couldn’t even fool Strachan with that line of crap, although that’s the story he fed the school. Count your blessings, I guess.”
There was no way I could tell them. Absolutely none.
But in spite of myself, I was starting to like this weird, new Team Madison. And I was weirdly touched by how nice they were being to me. Could I trust them? Did it matter? What the hell, it wasn’t like I had anyone else.
“I have a better idea,” I said. “Why don’t you guys help me out with something.”
Dustin Jr. let out an excited burble and vomited. Madison, not missing a beat as she swabbed him off with a handful of napkins, raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “What kind of something?”
“Something secret,” I said.
Madison’s eyes lit up. “I love secrets,” she said as her baby giggled. “I knew there was a reason I missed you.”
“Remember your book report on Dorothy?” She nodded. “You’re going to help me find that bitch’s shoes.”
TEN
“Dorothy’s shoes?” Madison’s eyes were wide in disbelief. “You really did get hit on the head, right? News flash, babe. Dorothy isn’t a real person.”
“Well . . . ,” I said, hesitating. “I can explain—” But I was cut off by the bell for fifth period. Dustin and Madison were staring at me. Dustin Jr. burped and closed his eyes. “Meet me after school,” I said in a rush. “On the front steps. It will make sense. Sort of. I promise.” But they were gathering up their books and bags.
“Gotta hose this little dude off,” Madison said, not meeting my eyes. Okay, fine. Madison had been the worst thing in my life before I left for Oz, and Dustin had just been a dopey dreamer who I thought I had something in common with. Who was I kidding? We weren’t friends. And it didn’t matter, because I didn’t need them. I’d done everything else on my own. I could do this, too. Dustin gave me a little wave as they walked away from me. I waved back. At least he’d always been nice. Even if it was only because he wanted something from me.
I needed a plan, but I didn’t even know where to start. Gert, Mombi, and Glamora hadn’t given me much to go on. In between pre-calc and PE I ducked into the girls’ bathroom, locked myself in a stall, and did my best to send out a couple of tendrils of magic just to see if I suddenly could. But it was no use. I was going to have to do this the hard way, and I didn’t have a clue where to start.
To make my day even worse, I had a hot date with Assistant Principal Strachan. He’d told my mom I’d have to come in and meet with him on my first day back. The last thing I wanted was to make waves, so I made sure I was at his office ten minutes early. The receptionist, Mrs. Perkins, had probably been working at the high school when my grandmother was in diapers. She was a sweet older lady who always wore matching twinsets, no matter the weather, and kept a stash of lollipops in her desk drawer. Which I knew, because I’d spent a lot of time in Assistant Principal Strachan’s office. But Mrs. Perkins never judged me no matter how many times I got in trouble. I think secretly she was on my side.
“Amy!” she exclaimed as I walked into the school office. “It’s been a while since you visited!” She winked at me and dug a lollipop out of her drawer before I even asked. “The principal will be with you in just a moment. Have a seat.”
“Cherry! You remembered,” I said, sitting in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs. I didn’t really care that much about Mrs. Perkins’s lollipops, but she always seemed so happy when I took one that I pretended to be excited. A few minutes later, I could hear Assistant Principal Strachan yelling for me from behind his door. Mrs. Perkins winked at me again as I took a deep breath and walked into his office.
If I’d changed in the last month, Assistant Principal Strachan definitely hadn’t. His wire-rimmed glasses were slipping down his big, bulbous nose. His pitch-black toupee was slightly askew, revealing a thin tuft of graying hair underneath. His suit was the same one he wore every single day—and probably had been wearing every single day since around 1995. His beady brown eyes peered at me through his glasses. And, as usual, he didn’t look happy to see me.
“Miss Gumm,” he growled, pointing to a chair in the corner like I was a kid. I guess I did still have that lollipop. “Very nice of you to rejoin us after your little sojourn.”
“I was in the hospital,” I said.
“Your mother has already shared her concerns with me,” he said, ignoring me. “She felt we should accommodate you given your circumstances, but I’m not so sure I agree. You’ve started fights repeatedly—”
“I’ve never started them!” I protested, and he scowled.
He clucked his tongue. “Already arguing with me. I see you haven’t changed much. Look here, young lady. Your mother told me your story about being in the hospital. I think all three of us know that’s a lie. I don’t know where you’ve been the last month, Miss Gumm, but one whiff of trouble from you and you’ll be expelled. Permanently. Am I making myself clear?”
I opened my mouth to protest again and then shut it. If I got kicked out of school, I’d have no possible way to search for the shoes, which meant no way to get back to Oz—for me or for anyone else. “Yes sir,” I said meekly, swallowing my pride. “I’m sorry.”
“You should be suspended,” he grumbled, but my apology seemed to mollify him. “Get back to class. Don’t let me see you in my office again.” I nodded obediently. As I left, Mrs. Perkins snuck me another lollipop.
On my way back to class, I stopped in front of the tired old glass-cased diorama by the school’s front doors. It was a display dedicated to Kansas’s most famous export, The Wizard of Oz: a dollhouse-sized farm with a backdrop of a painted tornado and, in the distance, a faint, glittering image of Oz. There were even little cows grazing in the fake grass that surrounded the farm, and a plastic Dorothy in a tiny checked dress shading her eyes as she looked toward the descending tornado. A tiny plastic Toto capered at her feet. When it was new, the diorama must have been nice, but that had been a long time ago. Over the years, dust had crept in and thickly furred the figurines, hiding their features under a layer of gray. The grass was patchy and balding, and several of the cows had fallen over.
I’d never thought much about the diorama before, but it had a whole new significance now—especially since I’d found the scrap of article. Even though I knew Dorothy was real—she’d almost killed me enough times—it was still sinking in that Dorothy was real. She’d been a farm girl on this very patch of land. Her enchanted shoes were probably—hopefully—still here. But if the witches were right, how was it that no one knew? I’d found the article without much trouble by doing a basic internet search. Everyone knew about Dorothy’s story. So how was it possible that in a hundred years no one had figured out it was true? Had someone tried to cover it up? It was the only explanation I could come up with, but I couldn’t imagine who—or why.
There was no point in worrying about that now; I had way bigger problems. If the shoes were really here, I’d have to figure out a way to search for them without getting caught, stay out of trouble, keep Assistant Principal Strachan happy, and convince my mom that everything was okay. And I couldn’t help but think about what he’d said in his office about all three of us knowing that I’d lied about being in the hospital. Was that why my mom had accepted my totally implausible story—because she’d known all along I was making it up? Did she think I had just run away? Had she pretended to believe me because she thought the truth might hurt too much for her to hear? I filed that under “things to figure out later” and ran back to chemistry. I had a lot of work to make up, and I needed everyone to believe I was happy to be home until I had another chance to escape.
ELEVEN
After they’d ditched me in the cafeteria, I wasn’t expecting to see Madison and Dustin waiting for me on the front steps after school, just like I’d asked them to. I did a comical double take, and Madison grinned. “I don’t know what your deal is,” she said, “but you’re the most interesting thing that’s happened in Flat Hill since some dumbass thought a hill could be flat.”
The feeling of relief that overwhelmed me took me by surprise. I wasn’t totally alone—at least, not for the moment. If you’d told the old Amy G
umm that she’d be hanging out after school with Madison, Dustin, and their drooling newborn, I’d have said you were completely nuts. But then again, a lot had happened to that Amy Gumm. I could take this in stride, too.
“It’s kind of a long story,” I said, thinking fast. I had to come up with something to convince them Dorothy was real, but I couldn’t tell them anything close to the whole truth.
“So let’s go get ice cream downtown and talk it over,” Madison said. She laughed at the expression on my face. Madison? Eating food with calories? It really was a whole new world. “What? So maybe I never got over my pregnancy cravings. That thing about pickles is totally true, too.”
“She eats, like, a pint of rocky road a day,” Dustin said.
“Shut up,” Madison said, hitting him.
“Lead the way,” I said.
Flat Hill’s downtown drugstore was like something straight out of the 1950s. It probably was straight out of the 1950s—and no one had bothered to clean since then either. The long old-fashioned lunch counter was always sticky, the bar-stool upholstery was cracked and peeling, revealing the gross yellow foam padding underneath, and they only served three flavors of ice cream—vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry. But there was nowhere else to go. Kids from school were already piling into the booths by the window, giving me and Madison dirty looks, but Madison held her head high and ignored them, settling regally onto a bar stool with Dustin Jr. in his baby wrap and Dustin Sr. on her other side.