Yellow Brick War (Dorothy Must Die, #3)(22)

“Amy?” My mom came into the room from the kitchen. She was wearing her favorite (and shortest) skirt and a low-cut top that showed off her cleavage. Her hair was piled in a messy, flattering bun on top of her head, and her cheeks were bright with pink blush. But she had an apron on over her bar-hopping ensemble, and she was holding a long-handled wooden spoon in one hand. She gave me a one-armed hug. “How was school? You met Jake?”

“School was fine,” I said. “And yeah, we just met.”

“Jake lives down the hall,” my mom said, but from the look she gave him, I had the feeling he was a lot more than just her new neighbor. “He lost his place in the tornado, too.”

“You’re from Dusty Acres?” I asked, surprised. I was pretty sure I’d have remembered this guy if I’d seen him before.

“No, from Montrose,” he said, naming a town even smaller than ours a couple of miles away. “We were basically flattened in the tornado, but the nearest emergency housing was here. I lost everything—my farm, my whole house. Your mom’s been really kind to me since I moved in here. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

I bet, I thought sourly. They were looking at each other in a way that made me want to barf at the same time it made me think of Nox. I cleared my throat, and my mom jumped.

“Sorry, honey!” she chirped. “I should have told you Jake might be coming over for dinner. I’m making spaghetti!”

You should have told me Jake existed, I thought. But my mom looked so happy I didn’t want to say it out loud. Still, I was a little hurt. She hadn’t been too sad about my absence to start up a juicy romance with the hot neighbor. I walked past them into the kitchen and helped myself to a Coke. That, at least, was one good thing Kansas had that Oz didn’t.

Dinner was so normal it was kind of weird. I told my mom and Jake about my day at school while my mom passed around a big plate of spaghetti and a basket of rolls. Anyone watching us would have thought we were any old family sitting down for a meal together. Obviously, I left out the part about plotting a secret search with Madison and Dustin—and I also didn’t bring up my meeting with Assistant Principal Strachan. But after Jake went back to his place—giving my mom a big kiss on the lips that I totally ignored—I followed her into the living room and sat down next to her on the couch.

“You didn’t have to send him away,” I said. “I kind of liked him.”

My mom beamed at me. “Isn’t he great? He’s nothing like the other guys I’ve dated.” Like my dad? I wondered. “I don’t think I was ready for someone decent before, you know? I mean, I didn’t really have my act together.” She got quiet all of a sudden. “As you know,” she said softly.

“Listen, Mom,” I said, ignoring her overshare. I didn’t want to get into another conversation about our feelings where I’d just end up hurting hers. “I met with Assistant Principal Strachan today and he said you didn’t believe me about the hospital. Is that true?”

She looked down at her hands and sighed. “I wish he hadn’t told you that,” she said.

“So it is true.”

“Amy—” She turned to me, and I saw to my surprise that her eyes were welling up with tears. “Look, Amy, like I said, I know I’ve been a pretty crappy parent for the last few years.”

I couldn’t help it. The mom I’d left behind in Dusty Acres had done a lot of damage. “More than a few,” I said before I could stop myself.

She nodded. “Okay, more than a few. When the tornado hit—well, let’s just say I don’t blame you for using it as an excuse to leave. I’m just so grateful you gave me another chance and came back.” She paused. “Are you—were you—okay while you were gone? Were you safe?”

Not even close, I thought, but I knew what she was asking. She was thinking of real-world girls-on-milk-cartons stuff: scary strangers, dark vans, SVU episodes. She’d probably spent every minute since I’d gotten back wondering just what trauma I was repressing.

“Yeah,” I said. “I met some nice people and they, um, took care of me. It was nothing like—I mean, what you’re thinking.” Her face sagged in relief. I knew she wanted me to tell her more. But I’d already tried to come up with too many stories for one day. “I’m sorry, I just—I’m really tired. Being back, school and everything. I’ll tell you later, I promise.” As long as later never came, it was a promise I wouldn’t have to actually break.

“Of course, honey. But if you want to talk about what happened while you were gone, I’ll always listen. Okay?”

I wished I could tell my mom what had happened in Oz. I wanted to talk to someone human—and at least relatively sane. But I knew that even if I trusted her—which I didn’t—there was no way I could ever begin to explain everything that had happened to me, and no way she’d believe me if I tried. For the first time, I wished I’d never gone to Oz at all. My life in Kansas had sucked, but I hadn’t had to watch anyone I cared about die. I hadn’t turned into a monster, and I hadn’t had to kill. As bad as Kansas was, Oz might have been even worse. I’d been a hero in Oz, sure, but no one had really treated me like one. No one had looked at me the way my mom was looking at me now—as if I was the only person in the world, whose safety mattered more than anything else.