She clicked her heels three times. Nothing. The dog sneezed and gave her a dirty look, which was rude because Toto never behaved that way in the movie. She sighed dramatically, leaning against the wall, and whispered, “There’s no place like home,” just in case the problem was volume. When she opened her eyes, though, she was still stuck in the bedroom she shared with her mess-prone sister in Brooklyn. She was overcome with the feeling that her stuffed animals were judging her for trying to dream herself away to that land of wonder in the Berkshires — where other stuffed animals ruled the roost.  But then, something sparkled—just for a second. Magically, she was suddenly wearing her mom’s red Louboutin slippers! They were four-times too big. No sooner than the thought that they might, in fact, be Canal street knock-off’s, poof! She was transported back to the land of pillow fights, snow angels, sound journeys and costume parties That world of wonder where here parents acted like children. Where she could be herself. She was dressed like Dorothy, grooving to afrobeats alongside her parents — who donned perma-smiles that didn't appear to be coming off anytime soon.. She noticed that she was no longer standing on her bedroom carpet, but a golden path that shimmered like sunlight on butter. The walls? Gone, too—now towering trees stretched up to the sky, whispering secrets to one another in the wind. And there were lights—dancing lights that looked like fireflies but twinkled like stars. She turned in a slow circle, her mouth hanging open. “Okay,” she said to herself, “no time to freak out. It’s probably just a dream. Breathe deep in and out of the belly, just like Tiffany taught us in that music workshop.” But then she heard it: laughter. Loud, unfiltered, belly laughter. She followed the sound around a bend in the path and stopped cold. A group of adults—definitely grown-ups—were running through a cloud of feathers, their costumes flying every which way. One man was wearing a lion onesie, but the tail was on backwards. Another woman, in a very sparkly witch hat, was standing on a tree stump yelling, “Bring me another pillow!” like she was commanding an army. “What are they doing?” she asked, pointing back toward the chaos. Her friend shrugged. “They’re just being weird. Wanna paint?” But then the music started—big, booming beats that made the trees shake. She followed the sound again, this time to a clearing where a huge dance floor was glowing in the dark. The adults had gathered there now, dressed in glittering costumes, spinning in circles and yelling things like “I can’t believe it’s only 9:15pm!” Her dad was there, too, attempting some sort of robot dance while her mom waved a wand that shot out glitter. “We’re having fun!” they yelled to her. She squinted. “I think I’m supposed to be worried about them,” she said under her breath. “But I also think they’re having the best time ever.” Just then, she heart a loud bang! She was thrust back to reality, to her Brooklyn bedroom, with her dad standing in the doorway. He had just bursted through the door like Kramer on Seinfeld. Standing there, out of breath down the hallway of their 1,500 square foot apartment, he exclaimed: “Pack your bags, we’re headed back to Curiouser at The Thyme!” Somewhere over the rainbow, she thought, dreams do come true. There’s no place like home.