Deep under your bed, where the dust bunnies throw wild parties, there’s a place called the Underground World of Lost Objects. And that’s where Grace lived—though she wasn’t lost, just a little forgetful, like when she left her favorite spoon in the fridge again.

Grace had one big problem: waiting for her turn made her toes wiggle, her fingers tap, and her heart go boing boing boing like a trampoline. Today was the Great Lost Object Race, and the prize? A golden shoelace—shiny enough to blind a dragon!

The starting line smelled like buttered popcorn, and the air was thick with the squelch squelch of sneakers on sticky marshmallow ground. Old Mr. Teapot, the referee, cleared his throat with a clink-clank that echoed like wind chimes in a storm. "On your marks... get set..." Bzzzt! A fly buzzed past Grace’s nose, tickling it like a feather duster.

"GO!" shouted Mr. Teapot.

Grace shot forward like a rocket—VROOOM!—but the tunnel twisted like a pretzel, and SPLAT! She face-planted into a mountain of lost socks. They smelled like laundry day (a mix of rain and sunshine) and felt as fluffy as a cloud. "Oof," she groaned, spitting out a sock shaped like a banana. "I hate waiting!"

Just then, a tiny voice squeaked, "Psst! Over here!" It was Pip, a lost button with one eye missing. He was stuck in a puddle of glue (the kind that smells like burnt toast) and his threads were tangled like spaghetti. "Help meee," he whimpered, waving a thread like a tiny flag.

Grace sighed. "But the race..." Her shoulders slumped like a deflated balloon. Then she noticed something: the golden shoelace wasn’t moving. It was just... sitting there, waiting. Like a patient cat.

"Fine," she muttered, rolling up her sleeves. She pulled Pip free with a plop, and his tiny button body wobbled like jelly. "Thanks!" he cheered. "Now hurry!"

Grace dashed—pitter-patter—but the tunnel was now a maze of lost toys, each one making a sound: a yo-yo whizzing, a kazoo honking, a teddy bear growling like a grumpy bear. She skidded to a stop at the finish line... just as Old Mr. Teapot was about to hand the shoelace to someone else.

"WAIT!" Grace panted, her hair sticking to her forehead like wet spaghetti. "I’m here!"

Mr. Teapot raised an eyebrow. "Took you long enough." He handed her the shoelace, and it shimmered like a tiny sun. Grace grinned. "Worth the wait."

And as she tied it around her wrist, it tickled like a feather and smelled like victory (a mix of bubblegum and fresh-cut grass). Pip cheered, and even the lost socks clapped, making a sound like squishy applause.

From that day on, Grace still wiggled her toes when she waited, but she remembered: good things come to those who... well, who don’t trip over their own feet first.