One

Theo opens her root beer-colored eyes, blinking up at the gray sky as raindrops softly peck her cheeks. Lying on her back in the mud, she remembers the twister and raises her head just enough to feel the tender bump on the back of it. It seems like only moments ago that she was hiding beneath the kitchen table with her cat, Oto, while every window in her aunt and uncle’s little house shattered, spraying glass all over the furniture and floor. Then the roof tore away, and the house lifted up into the air.

Theo clung to the leg of the kitchen table with one hand and Oto with the other, but the pull of the cyclone was too strong. She was ripped away. Thrashing helplessly through the air before being dropped into a cornfield, her fall cushioned by thirteen consecutive hours of gentle but persistent rain.

Theo sits up and surveys her surroundings before slowly getting to her feet.

Oto is nowhere in sight.

Panic sets in.

Theo’s heavy eyes fill with tears, and she begins to sob uncontrollably. Her head throbs. Suddenly, she bends over and throws up in the dirt.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve, Theo looks around the cornfield again, searching for shelter from the rain. But there is nothing around her except rows and rows of short corn stalks and a lanky scarecrow nailed to a tall wooden pole.

Theo can’t be sure, what with her aching head and blurred vision, but she could swear the scarecrow is staring at her. She trudges toward the lonesome creature. A crow appears in a puff of black smoke and perches on one of the scarecrow’s shoulders, cawing loudly.

“Oh, shush! I’ve had quite enough of you today,” the scarecrow says, speaking to the winged creature pooping on its jacket.

Theo Freezes.

The scarecrow has black buttons for eyes, a devious, albeit welcoming grin, and a hat that complements its patchwork overalls. Theo gasps and points.

“Hi, scaw-cow!”

The scarecrow barks out a laugh.

“Well, hi yourself, tiny human. That was quite a tumble you took,” she says, touching her hat. Theo mirrors the motion, reaching up to touch the tender knot on her head.

“Owie,” she says, and the scarecrow’s burlap brow furrows with concern.

“Someone should probably have a look at your head, little one. A bump like that can’t be good for your brain.”

They peer down at the child they witnessed only moments ago falling out of the sky and hitting the earth with a sickening thud.

Theo throws up again.

Her vision flashes white.

Then everything goes dark.

She collapses into the mud.

The crow hops down and begins pecking at the small puddle of vomit.

“Stop that!” the scarecrow cries. “Get me down from here!”

The bird obliges, fluttering up to unhook the scarecrow from the pole and allowing them to tumble to the ground.

After several tortured attempts, the scarecrow manages to get to their feet and lurches unsteadily toward Theo.

Then they notice the crow has resumed pecking at the puddle of puke.

“I SAID STOP THAT!” the scarecrow cries, disgusted. “You must find Zoriella and bring her to me right away! Do you understand?”

The crow caws once more in acknowledgment before disappearing in a puff of black smoke, leaving tiny coal-colored feathers floating gently on the breeze.

When the crow reappears, it’s accompanied by a woman, who commands them both to “stand clear” before taking her wand and tapping the heels of the unconscious Theo’s seemingly ordinary brown boots, revealing them to be ruby- and emerald-encrusted works of art.

Theo once more finds herself lying flat on her back in the mud, blinking cool droplets of rain from her lashes.

A strange lady has joined her and the scarecrow in the cornfield.

A pretty lady.

Copper hair cascades over her shoulders in soft, loose waves. Her green eyes are framed by long, dark lashes, and her pointy, cream-colored nails clutch a crystal wand.

When the woman speaks, her voice sounds like a sunny afternoon in June.

Theo takes her first deep breath in what feels like days and swears she can smell fresh-cut grass.

“Try and sit up now, dear,” the lady says.

Theo rolls onto her side and pushes herself upright. She can still taste vomit in her uncomfortably dry mouth and sticks out her tongue to catch a raindrop.

“Thirsty?” the lady asks, a tiny smile on her lips.

Theo nods weakly.

“Alright. Hold out your hand.”

Theo does.

“Good, now close your eyes and imagine you’re holding a nice cool cup of water. Can you do that?”

Theo shuts her eyes and pictures her favorite cup at home. It has black-and-white cows on it, and sometimes her Auntie Em squirts a slice of lemon into the water to make it taste special.

“Alright. Now click your heels together three times. Like this.”

The woman demonstrates.

Theo looks down at her feet to copy the motion but stops.

Her boots are sparkling.

Not just sparkling. They are so brilliant that they make a blanket of stars on a clear winter night look like flecks of white paint dried on a black screen door.

Theo has never seen boots like these before.

All her other shoes have been second-hand or hand-made by her Auntie Em. She’s never worn anything so perfect in her life.

“Go on,” the woman says gently. Close your eyes. Imagine the cool cup of water in your hand. When you can see it, click your heels together three times.”

Theo squeezes her eyes shut and scrunches her face in concentration.

She pictures her cow cup.

Then she clicks her heels.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Something heavy appears in her hand.

Theo opens her eyes.

Her cup.

She takes a careful sip, then another, and another, until she drains it dry.

Once Theo has had a moment to drink and catch her breath, the woman kneels beside her.

“What’s your name?”

“Theo,” she replies.

“How old are you, Theo?”

Theo holds up three fingers.

The woman smiles.

“It’s nice to meet you. My name is Zoriella, the Witch of the North, and this – she says, fanning her wand toward the world around them – is the land of Ozma.”

Then she places her other hand on the scarecrow’s shoulder.

“And you’ve already met my very best friend in the whole world, Scarecrow.”

Scarecrow tips their hat.

Theo giggles.

“Good,” Zoriella continues. Now that we’re all acquainted, Scarecrow and I are going to take you into the village. We’ll get you cleaned up, and then we’ll have the doctor take a look at you.”

Theo noticeably winces at the word doctor.

Zoriella pauses.

“This doctor,” she says more gently, “is another good friend of mine. I only want them to look at the bump on your head and make sure you aren’t hurt too badly.

Theo touches her head.

“Scarecrow and I will be right there with you, and it will only take a minute. Is that okay?”

“Okay,” Theo agrees.

“Good. Once we’ve gotten you cleaned up and checked out, Scarecrow and I will figure out what to do next.

Zoriella looks at Scarecrow.

For just a moment, something passes between the pair that Theo doesn’t understand.

“Take my hand,” Zoriella says.

Theo obeys without question.

“Good. Now you too, Scarecrow.

Scarecrow takes Zoriella’s other hand before looking back toward the wooden pole.

“See you later, she calls to the crow.

The bird watches them from its perch before squawking loudly in reply.