On the tippy-top of Flavor Island, where the trees smelled like warm cinnamon and the air hummed with the bzzz-bzzz of tiny sugar bees, lived a girl named Ava. Her hair was as wild as a bowl of spaghetti, and her pockets were always stuffed with treasures—smooth pebbles, crinkly leaves, and once, a very confused snail named Shelly.

One morning, as the sun stretched its golden fingers over the island, Ava found a big, squishy puddle of rainbow glue near the Sparkle Stream. It shimmered like melted lollipops and smelled like bubblegum mixed with a hint of burnt toast. Plop! A drop landed on her nose. "Ooooh," she gasped, licking her lips. It tasted like... glue. Not delicious. Ptooey!

Ava had a brilliant idea. She would make the most magnificent craft Flavor Island had ever seen! She gathered twigs that snapped like pretzel sticks, feathers softer than her favorite blanket, and a handful of glittery sand that tickled her palms like tiny giggles. With a squelch-squelch, she mixed everything into the glue and plopped it onto a big, flat leaf. "Ta-da!" she announced. "The most beautiful... uh... thingy!"

But there was a problem. A big, sticky problem. The glue was still wet. Glossy. Wobbly. It jiggled like jelly when she poked it. "It needs to dry," said a voice from above. Ava looked up to see a parrot named Pip, perched on a branch that smelled like lemonade. His feathers were as bright as a box of crayons, and he was nibbling on a cracker that sounded like crunch-crunch-crunch with every bite.

"Dry?" Ava frowned. "But that takes FOREVER!" She tapped her foot, sending a puff of glitter into the air. Poof! Pip flapped his wings, sending crumbs flying. "Patience, little chef," he said. "Good things come to those who wait. Like... like..." He paused, thinking hard. "Like cookies!"

Ava groaned. "I don’t wanna wait for cookies. I wanna play NOW!" She reached out to touch her craft. Squelch. Her finger stuck. She tugged. Plop! The whole craft wobbled, then—SPLAT!—landed right on her shoe. Glue dripped down like melted cheese, and her craft looked more like a sad, squished pancake than a masterpiece.

Pip let out a squawk. "Oh dear. Maybe we should try again?" Ava’s shoulders slumped. A tiny sigh escaped her lips, like a deflating balloon. Pfffft. She peeled the glue off her shoe, which made a sound like schloop-schloop, and plopped it back onto the leaf. "Fine," she muttered. "But what do we do while we wait?"

Pip grinned. "How about a game?" He flew down and landed next to her. "Let’s play ‘Don’t Touch the Glue’!" Ava giggled. "That’s not a real game!" Pip wiggled his tail feathers. "It is now!"

So they played. Ava hopped on one foot, her shoelaces slapping like wet noodles. Pip balanced on a twig, flapping his wings to keep steady. Wobble-wobble! They sang silly songs about glue and glitter, and Ava even made up a dance called "The Sticky Shuffle." The sun climbed higher, and the air smelled like toasted marshmallows. The glue began to dry, its edges turning from glossy to matte, like magic.

Finally, Pip tapped the craft with his beak. Tink! It sounded like a tiny bell. "It’s ready!" Ava gasped. She touched it gently. No squelch. No stick. Just a smooth, perfect craft—her masterpiece! It was a crown of feathers, twigs, and glitter, fit for the Queen of Flavor Island. She placed it on her head, and it felt as light as a cloud.

"See?" Pip said, ruffling his feathers. "Waiting wasn’t so bad, was it?" Ava grinned. "Nope! And now I have a crown AND a new game!" She skipped down the path, her craft wobbling slightly, the scent of cinnamon and bubblegum trailing behind her. Squish-squish went her shoes in the sand, and somewhere in the distance, a sugar bee hummed a happy tune. Bzzz-bzzz.