Yellow Brick War (6 page)

The next morning, dressed in my new jeans and one of the shirts my mom had picked out for me, I was once again a senior at Dwight D. Eisenhower Senior High. The halls were the same dull linoleum, smelling of mop bucket and ancient cafeteria tater tots. The lockers were the same dull gray metal that even a fresh coat of paint couldn't make look new. The lights overhead flickered like mood lighting in a prison camp. But this time, everything was different. Before, I'd been nobody. Salvation Amy, trailer-trash nobody. If people bothered to look at me, it was only with scorn in their eyes. This time around, I was a celebrity. And I definitely didn't like it.

Everywhere I walked, whispers followed me, and people turned to stare as I passed. More than a few of them said hi in sickly sweet tones that made me want to roll my eyes. They'd never talked to me before in their lives; they just wanted to be close to the drama. My disappearance and miraculous return
was the most interesting thing that had happened at Dwight D. Eisenhower Senior High since Dustin knocked up Madison Pendleton. I wasn't dumb enough to fall for the fake warmth. I knew who my real friends were in Flat Hill: nobody.

Go ahead and look
, I thought. They
should
look. Because whatever they thought happened to me while I had been gone, the truth was so much crazier. And anyway, I wasn't here to run for prom queen. I was here to save the Whole. Damn. World. The only annoying thing was that these people would never even know it.

It took me a minute to find my own locker—because I didn't recognize it. It had practically been turned into a shrine. Ribbons looped around the bare metal. Dried flowers were stuck through the vents. Cards and notes were taped to every inch of its surface—“Missing You,” “Come Home Soon,” a heart cut out of construction paper with MISS U AMIE written on it in loopy cursive that looked like a kindergartener's. Someone had even taped a picture of me with sequins glued in the shape of a heart around my face. Where the photo had come from, I had no idea. Pre-Oz Amy glared balefully out at me in her dirty thrift-store jeans, ready for a fight.

The whole thing made me sick. I wanted to pull the cards and flowers off my locker and throw them to the ground, trample them into scraps. None of these people had given a shit about me until they thought I was dead. Until I'd given them an excuse to feel sad, important, useful. Until I'd finally done something interesting by getting myself killed. My stomach turned over
and I flipped my lock through its old combination, the numbers coming to me effortlessly.
The more things change, the more they stay the same
, I thought bitterly.

“Do you like it? I'm the one who organized the decorating committee.”

No matter how much time I spent in Oz, I'd never forget that voice. I turned slowly. “Hi, Madison,” I said. I mean, what else was I supposed to say?

My mouth dropped open when I saw her. Pregnant Madison was now new-mom Madison, and she beamed with pride at me over the wrinkly faced infant strapped to her chest in one of those weird baby slings that always look like they're designed to suffocate the kid. Baby or no baby, she was still Madison. She was wearing a hot-pink sequin-covered crop top that bared a surprisingly toned postbaby belly, pink velour track pants with a huge, glittery pink heart over her ass, and pink platform sneakers. She also smelled intensely of strawberry body spray and her lips were slicked with a thick coat of pink gloss.

“If it isn't Amy Gumm, back from the dead,” she said. “We all thought you were a goner, you know.” She giggled. “Of course, once you weren't around for a while—you know, I almost missed you.
Almost.
This is Dustin Jr., by the way.” She patted the baby, who made a burbling noise. Madison's baby was downright ugly. Then again, I guess most new babies are. He looked like a little old man who couldn't find his dentures. His cheeks were too fat and his face was squashed-looking, as if someone had stepped on his head. Plus, he was bald as an egg. But I felt bad for him. It
wasn't his fault that his mom was the biggest bitch in Kansas—well, second biggest, now that I was back.

Anyway, I'd long since learned I could tackle bitches way bigger than Madison Pendleton of Flat Hill. Although come to think of it, Madison was as fond of sparkly pink crap as Glinda. Maybe when you signed up for Super Evil Archenemy status somebody sent you a gallon of glitter body spray. Or maybe everybody evil just had the same tacky taste. Either way, I was apparently going to be cursed with a glittery pink nemesis everywhere I went.

“He's, uh, really cute,” I said. This lying thing was getting easier and easier, wasn't it? I'd slayed monsters in Oz—she'd just given birth to one.

She smiled, and weirdly, it wasn't her usual cat-about-to-chomp-down-on-the-canary grin. It was a real smile—almost tender. She looked down at Dustin Jr. and stroked the top of his bald head gently with one finger. “I know,” she said blissfully. “It's kind of crazy how much stuff can change in a month.”

“Tell me about it,” I muttered. I looked back at my locker. “Thanks for, uh, all this,” I said. For some reason, Madison was not moving.

She shrugged. “I mean, it was the least I could do, you know? I know we didn't always get along, but I didn't want for you to, like,
die
. Honestly . . .” She trailed off, chewing at one pink-manicured nail. I raised an eyebrow. “Honestly, I guess I
was
kind of a bitch to you sometimes,” she said in a rush. “I mean, you made it easy, you know? You were pretty shitty to me, too. And you kept going after my boyfriend.”

“I did not!” I protested.

She rolled her eyes.
“Please,”
she said. Her voice took on a high-pitched note. “‘Oh, Dustin, of course I'll do your algebra. Oh, Dustin, let me
tutor
you.' You weren't even
trying
to be subtle.”

“He kept asking,” I said.

“Dustin's not very smart,” Madison said. “But he knows a sucker when he sees one.”

I stared at her, not sure whether to laugh or hit her. Was Madison—in her own weird, mean, Madison way—trying to be
friends
with me? By making fun of her jock boyfriend? I'd always had a soft spot for Dustin—she was right about that. But she was also right that he wasn't exactly the brightest bulb in the chandelier.

“Look,” she said, shrugging again. “When you disappeared like that I realized that you're, like, one of the only interesting people around here. It was boring without you, Sal—Amy.” She popped her finger back in her mouth again, chewing away at her nail and grinning at me. “Gonna be late for homeroom. See you around,” she said, and sauntered away as Dustin Jr. trailed spit down her shoulder.

So that was pretty weird. But it was nowhere close to the weirdest thing that would happen to me that day.

Mr. Strachan had given my mom my old schedule, and in each classroom, the story was the same. A loud buzz of chatter would die down immediately as soon as I walked in the door. Everyone—and I mean
everyone
—would turn to look at me as I slunk toward my seat, doing my best to pretend I was invisible. A few seconds later, the talk would start again—this time, low whispers I wasn't meant to hear, although I couldn't help catching some of it.
“Went crazy and . . .” “Totally ran away with some guy, just like her mom . . .” “Was blackout drunk for, like, the entire
month
and then lied about being in a hospital . . .”
Okay, so nobody bought the hospital story. Too damn bad. I sat with my back straight and my eyes fixed on the front of the room, I wrote down my homework assignments, and I spoke when I was spoken to—which was never, conveniently leaving me plenty of time to think about how I was going to start my search for the shoes. Even my teachers wouldn't meet my eyes.
Whatever
,
I thought.
It's not like I had friends before either.
At least this time no one was throwing food at me, or yelling “Get those shoes at Kmart, Salvation Amy?” as I tried to slink by. Being a total pariah had its definite advantages.

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.”