FOLLOW FRANKIE’S ADVENTURES IN THE NEXT BOOK:

Frankie led the way, closing his eyes as he passed through the wall. When he opened them, the farm was gone. He found himself standing at the end of a dusty street lined with ramshackle wooden buildings. One had a “General Store” sign above the door. Another looked like a saloon, with a wooden porch and swing doors. Shutters covered most of the windows. Beyond the street stretched miles of sandy desert dotted with cacti, and in the distance mountains rose in a haze of heat. What looked like a single line of railroad track vanished into the distance. The magic soccer ball was resting alongside a water trough outside a blacksmith’s stall.

Frankie sniffed — the air smelled strangely sweet, like caramel.

“Where are we?” asked Charlie. Instead of his school uniform, he was now wearing faded jeans and shirt with a neckerchief and a wide-brimmed hat.

“When are we?” asked Louise, who was tugging at the hem of a frilly red dress. “This is not my style at all!”

Frankie glanced down at his own clothes. He saw boots with spurs, pants with leather chaps and a brown shirt. Stitched onto the shirt was his FFC logo.

We must be here to play a game!

Max scampered along, sniffing the ground. “Looks like the Wild West to me!” he barked.