Far, far away—so far that the stars tickled your nose with the smell of cotton candy—there was a tiny blue planet called Zog-7. On Zog-7, in a spaceship shaped like a wobbly jellybean, lived Sebastian, a boy with hair as wild as a comet’s tail and a heart as warm as a freshly baked asteroid cookie.

Sebastian’s room was not just a room. It was a Cosmic Sock Nebula. Socks of every color—striped like zebras, sparkly like supernovas, even one that glowed in the dark like a tiny moon—floated lazily above his bed. Toys zoomed around like rockets, and crumbs from his last snack (a meteorite muffin, of course) crunched underfoot like tiny space pebbles. The air smelled like bubblegum and old sneakers, and the walls hummed with a quiet bzzzt, as if the room itself was whispering, "Help me, Sebastian."

One morning, Sebastian woke up to a BOING! A rogue yo-yo had bounced off his nose. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, but then—GASP!—his favorite stuffed alien, Glorb, was buried under a mountain of clothes. Glorb’s three eyes peeked out, looking as grumpy as a black hole. "Sebastian," Glorb groaned, "I can’t breathe! It’s like being stuck in a space vacuum!"

Sebastian’s tummy did a little flip. He had to tidy up. But where to start? The socks were tangled like a galaxy of spaghetti, the books were stacked taller than a rocket, and—OH NO!—his pet space-snail, Slimey, was sliding down a pile of dirty plates, leaving a trail of glittery goo behind him. Squelch. Squelch. The goo felt sticky, like melted marshmallows, and smelled like strawberry milkshake gone wrong.

Sebastian took a deep breath (the air tasted like fizzy space soda) and grabbed a sock. "One at a time," he muttered. But then—WHOOPS!—he tripped over a rogue action figure. CLATTER! The toy flew across the room and landed in Slimey’s water bowl with a PLOP! Slimey blinked his tiny antennae and let out a sad blorp. "Now I’m all wet," he sighed, shaking off water like a tiny, grumpy raincloud.

Sebastian’s shoulders slumped. Maybe tidying up was too hard. Maybe he should just live in the Sock Nebula forever. But then he spotted his reflection in the spaceship window. His hair was sticking up in every direction, and there was a smudge of muffin crumbs on his cheek. "I look like a space pirate who lost his treasure," he thought. And then—ding!—an idea popped into his head like a supernova.

He grabbed a laundry basket and turned it into a Sock Rocket. "3… 2… 1… BLAST OFF!" he shouted. With a WHOOSH!, he tossed socks into the basket. They flew through the air like colorful comets. Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! The basket filled up faster than a black hole swallowing light. Next, he turned a toy bin into a Galactic Vacuum. VROOM! The toys zoomed in like they were being sucked into a wormhole. "Wheee!" cheered his toy robot, beeping happily as it flew inside.

Slimey, now dry, slithered over to help. He used his sticky goo to pick up crumbs, leaving little glittery trails behind. Squelch. Squelch. The room started to smell like lemon cleaner and victory. Sebastian’s heart pounded like a drum in a space parade. He wasn’t giving up. Not today.

Finally, after what felt like a million light-years, Sebastian stood in the middle of his room. The floor was clean enough to see his toes (which were wiggling happily). The walls no longer hummed "Help me." Instead, they glowed softly, like a cozy nightlight. Glorb was perched on the bed, looking as proud as a space captain. "You did it, Sebastian!" he cheered. Slimey let out a happy blorp and curled up in his clean bowl, his shell shining like a tiny planet.

Sebastian flopped onto his bed, his whole body buzzing like a rocket ready for takeoff. Tidying up hadn’t been easy. His arms ached, his socks were still a little tangled, and—OH DEAR!—he’d accidentally put his underwear in the toy bin. But that was okay. Because now, his room felt as warm and bright as a star. And tomorrow? Well, tomorrow he’d tackle the underwear. One sock at a time.