Deep beneath the park where swings creak like old doors and the slide hums a sleepy tune, there’s a secret place called the Underground World of Lost Objects. It’s where mismatched socks go to dance, where lonely mittens find new friends, and where crayons with broken tips tell the saddest stories—until Grace found it by accident.

One rainy afternoon, Grace was drawing a picture of her cat, Mr. Fluffernutter, when her favorite purple crayon rolled right off the table. Plop! It tumbled into a drainpipe that gurgled like a hungry belly. Grace gasped, her fingers wiggling in the air as if she could catch it. "Wait for me!" she called, and—whoosh!—she squeezed herself into the pipe, landing with a soft squish in a puddle of something squidgy and warm, like melted marshmallows.

The air smelled of buttery popcorn and old library books. Around her, lost objects glowed faintly, like fireflies trapped in jars. A single sock hopped past on one toe, and a hairbrush with missing teeth sang a wobbly song. Grace giggled, her cheeks puffing out like chipmunk cheeks. Then she saw it: her purple crayon, stuck in a crack in the wall, trembling like a leaf in the wind.

"There you are!" Grace reached out, but the crayon jerked away. Zzzip! It darted behind a tower of teacups that clinked like wind chimes. Grace tiptoed after it, her shoes making squelch-squelch sounds on the damp ground. She peeked behind the teacups and—gasp!—there sat a little boy with a mop of hair as wild as a bird’s nest. He clutched a crumpled drawing in his hands, his bottom lip wobbling like jelly.

"Are you okay?" Grace asked, her voice soft as a kitten’s paw. The boy sniffled. "I drew a picture of my dog, Biscuit, but it’s all wrong. His ears are too big, and his tail looks like a noodle!" He held up the drawing, and sure enough, Biscuit’s tail curled like a question mark. Grace’s heart did a little flip. She knew just how he felt—like her own drawing of Mr. Fluffernutter had looked more like a potato with whiskers.

The boy’s name was Milo, and his crayon—the one Grace had been chasing—was the only one he had left. "It’s magic," Milo whispered. "It can draw anything, but only if someone says something nice about what it draws." Grace’s eyes widened. She looked at Milo’s wobbly drawing, then at the purple crayon, which was now wiggling in her hand like a sleepy worm. She took a deep breath. The air smelled of cinnamon and fresh paper, and the ground beneath her feet felt bumpy, like a cobblestone path.

"Well," Grace said, tapping her chin, "I think Biscuit’s ears are perfect for listening to secrets. And his tail? That’s not a noodle—that’s a built-in jump rope!" Milo blinked. Then, slowly, his face lit up like a lantern. Scribble-scribble! The purple crayon leaped from Grace’s hand and zoomed across the paper. Biscuit’s ears grew even bigger, flopping like ribbons in the wind, and his tail turned into a bright yellow jump rope, bouncing with tiny boing-boing sounds.

Milo laughed, a sound like bubbles popping. "It worked!" The crayon glowed, then floated gently into his palm. Grace grinned, her teeth sparkling like little pearls. But then—oh no!—her foot slipped on a banana peel (who puts a banana peel in a lost object world?!), and she tumbled into a pile of pillows that smelled like lavender and sunshine. Poof! A cloud of glitter exploded around her, sticking to her hair like tiny stars.

Milo giggled so hard he snorted. "You look like a sparkly monster!" Grace stuck out her tongue, but she was laughing too. The crayon, now happy and still, rolled onto the ground with a quiet clink. The lost objects around them cheered—socks clapped, teacups chimed, and even the lonely mittens gave a little wave.

As Grace and Milo climbed back up the drainpipe (which now smelled like fresh-baked cookies), Grace realized something important. Saying something nice wasn’t hard at all—it was like giving a little gift, wrapped in giggles and tied with a bow of kindness. And as for the Underground World of Lost Objects? Well, it wasn’t so lost anymore. Not when you had a friend to share it with.

The next day, Grace drew a picture of Milo and Biscuit, their tails wagging in the wind. And when her little brother pointed at it and said, "That looks like a blob with legs," Grace just smiled. "I think it’s perfect," she said. And it was.