Dana had gotten a DVD of The Wizard of Oz from the library and watched half of it that evening. Dorothy’s part was huge! All those lines. All that singing and skipping! What was she getting herself into? Brushing her hair before going to bed, Dana tried putting it in pigtails. The DVD Dorothy had lovely, wavy, brown hair in pigtails that bounced on her shoulders. Dana’s stuck out from the sides of her head like a set of straw pom-poms. She sighed, dropping the brush back down on her dresser, and turned out the light. Sleep did not come easily. Thoughts whirled around in her head. She dreamed she was skipping down a yellow brick road and leaves were falling from the trees—hundreds of them, thousands. Only they weren’t leaves, they were frog-shaped sticky notes. And they were croaking, “Dana, Dana, is slipping down the lane-a.” And it was true. The notes were slippery, and Dana was having a hard time making her way through them. Every so often she’d fall and completely disappear under an enormous pile of them.
