Far, far away—so far that the stars tickled your nose if you reached too high—there was a galaxy made of cotton candy clouds and rivers that giggled when you dipped your toes in. This was the home of Amelia, a girl with hair like a dandelion gone to seed and shoes that always squeaked when she walked, squeak-squeak, like a mouse with new sneakers.

One morning, Amelia woke up to the smell of burnt toast (which, in her galaxy, was a sign that the sun had sneezed). She stretched her arms, and her fingers brushed against something prickly—her blanket, which had turned into a field of tiny cacti overnight. Ouch! she yelped, rubbing her thumb. The blanket gave a grumpy little huff, like a dragon with a stuffy nose.

"That’s it," Amelia muttered. "I’m going to find the Fix-It Star. They can turn my blanket back to normal!" She packed her backpack with three things: a jar of stardust (for emergencies), a banana (for snacking), and her lucky pebble, which was actually just a gumdrop she’d forgotten to eat. Crunch. Oops.

The path to the Fix-It Star was a winding road of jellybeans that squished under her feet, squelch-squelch, leaving behind the smell of bubblegum and wet socks. Amelia hummed as she walked, but then—BOOM!—she tripped over a rock that wasn’t there yesterday. Her backpack flew open, and the stardust exploded into a glittery cloud. Poof! A tiny, grumpy voice groaned from the dust: "Ugh. Not again."

Out popped a small, round creature with fur like a mop and eyes like two raisins. "I’m the Grumble Cloud," it said, crossing its arms. "And you just woke me up from my nap. Now I’m cranky." It stuck out its tongue, which was covered in sprinkles. Amelia’s stomach rumbled. She loved sprinkles.

"I’m sorry," Amelia said, but the Grumble Cloud just huffed. "Sorry isn’t enough. You have to say it with a smile. And not one of those fake ones. A real one. Like this!" The Cloud stretched its mouth into a grin so wide it looked like a banana peel. Amelia giggled. "That’s the ugliest smile I’ve ever seen!"

The Grumble Cloud gasped. "Well! I never!" But then it started to laugh, hehehe, like a squeaky toy. "Okay, fine. Maybe it was a little silly." It sat down on a jellybean, which made a sad little plop. "But you still owe me a smile. A real one."

Amelia thought hard. She remembered her blanket, all prickly and grumpy, and how much she missed its softness. She remembered the Fix-It Star, waiting somewhere ahead. And then—she smiled. Not a big, banana-peel smile, but a small, warm one, like the first sip of hot chocolate. The Grumble Cloud’s fur puffed up, whoosh, like a dandelion in the wind. "There! That’s the one!" it cheered.

Suddenly, the Grumble Cloud’s fur turned from gray to a soft, fluffy pink. "Ooooh," it said, petting itself. "I feel all tingly!" It floated up into the air, giggling, and before Amelia could say squeak, it zoomed off, leaving behind a trail of glitter and the smell of fresh-baked cookies. "Thank you!" it called over its shoulder. "And good luck with that blanket!"

Amelia’s shoes squeak-squeaked all the way to the Fix-It Star, which turned out to be a giant, glowing lollipop with arms. "Ah! A blanket emergency!" it said, licking its lips. "One de-cactus-ifying spell, coming right up!" It waved its stick, and Amelia’s blanket floated down from the sky, softer than ever, like a cloud you could hug. It even smelled like laundry dried in the sun.

As Amelia snuggled into her blanket that night, she heard a faint hehehe from outside her window. The Grumble Cloud was floating by, now pink and happy, sharing its sprinkle-covered tongue with a group of giggling space bunnies. Amelia smiled, her cheeks warm. She whispered, "Thank you," even though no one was there to hear it. And somewhere, a jellybean squished under a tiny paw, squelch, and the galaxy felt just a little bit kinder.