The bus ride passed quickly enough, and soon we were walking in the front door. I let my mom pick out the clothes she wanted to buy me; I didn’t care what I wore. As she flipped through a rack of pastel sweatshirts with rhinestone slogans like CUTE and FLIRT, I said casually, “I guess I should start back to school tomorrow.”

She stopped short. “School?” she asked.

I shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like I can get out of going forever.”

“Honey,” my mom said, “you just got home. I think you can take a week or two to settle in.” She paused. “I don’t know if you remember,” she said delicately, “but before you disappeared—I mean, before the tornado picked you up—you got suspended. We’ll probably have to deal with that, too.”

Suspended? I had no idea for a moment what she was talking about, and then it all came rushing back. Madison. The fight she’d picked with me the day the tornado hit—how she’d pretended it was my fault and told the assistant principal, Mr. Strachan, that I’d assaulted her. After battling Dorothy, Madison Pendleton seemed like a pretty pathetic enemy. It was hard to believe I’d once lived in terror of her. Poor little Salvation Amy had gone to ninja camp. Now that I thought about it, I was kind of looking forward to seeing Madison again.

“Right,” I said. “I forgot about that.”

“I can go talk to Mr. Strachan tomorrow before I go to work,” my mom offered. “I’m sure we can figure something out if you’re sure you’re well enough to go back. I know you missed a lot of school, but I’ll ask if you can make up the work you were absent for and still graduate on time.” Graduate? Right. That, too, was something from a life that seemed so far away I could barely even think about it. In every way that really mattered, I had already graduated.

“Sure, thanks,” I said. My mom gave me a thoughtful look, but she turned back to the rack of clothes.

She ended up buying me a couple of T-shirts and sweatshirts, and one pair of jeans. She didn’t say it out loud, but I knew that was all she could afford—and she couldn’t really afford even that. She didn’t say anything about money later that night either, when we ordered an extra-large pizza with extra pepperoni from the chain store a couple of blocks over—what constituted fine dining in Flat Hill. My mom flipped through channels on the beat-up old TV she told me she’d gotten from the Salvation Army.

So maybe it was true. Maybe I always was going to be Salvation Amy.

So what? I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything here anymore, except finding those stupid shoes and going back to Oz. Somehow, without really thinking about it, I’d decided already: I didn’t belong in Kansas anymore, no matter how happy my mom was to see me. I couldn’t just go back to being the same person I’d been before. Not after everything I’d seen and done. I couldn’t go back to a place where no one would believe anything that had happened to me was real. I’d watched people I cared about die. I’d risked my life. I’d used magic. I’d fallen—okay, fine, I’d fallen in love. And there was no one in Kansas I could share any of that with. It was as if Oz had made the decision for me. Or maybe I just didn’t have much of a choice.

“Oh, look!” my mom said happily. “The Wizard of Oz is on. Remember how we used to love that movie?”

I almost dropped my slice of pizza on the sad shag rug. There she was, in all her glory—Judy Garland singing her heart out as the Lion, the Tin Man, and the Scarecrow skipped along behind her. Everyone looked so happy, and not scary at all. Dorothy was a young, innocent girl with a cute little dog. The Tin Man was an actor in silver makeup, with a silly funnel on top of his head. The Scarecrow was a dopey guy in burlap, and the Lion was just a man in a plush suit with a bow in his fake mane. I remembered the real Lion, swallowing Star in one gulp, and shuddered. “It’s all wrong,” I muttered under my breath.

“You’re telling me,” my mom said. “You know Judy Garland was already on pills when they were shooting this? The things they did to that poor girl. If you think I was a bad mother, you should have seen hers.”

That was a point I wasn’t about to argue. “I’m kind of sick of this movie. Do you mind if we watch something else?”

“Fine by me,” my mom said. “It’s not quite the same when you know the truth, is it?”

I wished I could explain myself to her. My mom was finally being honest with me, for the first time ever, and it sort of sucked that the shoe was on the other foot now. But if I told my mom the Cowardly Lion was real—and I knew because I’d killed him myself, after he ate her beloved pet rat—she’d do a lot more than go talk to Assistant Principal Strachan tomorrow. She’d go straight to a psychiatrist instead, and I’d be going to the mental hospital, not back to high school. <