“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 Gumm 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.” <