Deep beneath the cobblestone streets, where the lamplight never reaches, lies the Underground World of Lost Objects. It’s a place where mismatched socks go to dance, where single mittens play hide-and-seek, and where half-eaten cookies crumble into dust. The air smells like old library books mixed with bubblegum—sweet and musty all at once. A faint clink-clank echoes through the tunnels, like a hundred tiny spoons tapping against teacups.

This is where Zoey tumbled one rainy Tuesday, her rain boots slipping on the slick pavement above. Whoosh! Down she went, landing with a plop in a pile of something squishy—like a mountain of jellybeans, but warmer. She sat up, rubbing her nose, which now smelled faintly of banana pudding. "Well," she said, "this is new."

Before her stretched a winding path lined with shelves taller than giraffes. Each shelf groaned under the weight of forgotten things: keys that jingled when you walked by, hairbrushes that hummed lullabies, and a single roller skate that wobbled like a drunk penguin. Zoey’s fingers trailed over a stack of notebooks, their pages as rough as a cat’s tongue. Rrrrip. She pulled one free and gasped. On the cover, in wobbly letters, it said: Zoey’s Big Adventure (Do Not Lose This Again).

"Oh no," she whispered. "I did lose this. Last week." She flipped it open. Inside, a note from her teacher: "Zoey, your bead necklace project is due tomorrow! Don’t forget!" Her stomach did a somersault. She’d promised to make a necklace for the school fair, but she’d lost her beads somewhere between the playground and the ice cream truck. Clink. A single bead rolled out of her pocket and bounced away.

Just then, a voice squeaked, "Looking for these?" Zoey spun around. Perched on a teetering tower of shoeboxes was a tiny, round creature with fur like a dust bunny and eyes like polished marbles. It held up a handful of beads—her beads!—but they slipped through its paws like water. Plink. Plink. Plink. "Oopsie," it giggled. "I’m Glimmer. Keeper of Lost Things. And you, my dear, are very lost."

Zoey’s cheeks burned. "I didn’t mean to lose them," she said, her voice smaller than a mouse’s sneeze. "I just… forgot." Glimmer tilted its head. "Forgot? Or fibbed?" Zoey’s toes curled inside her boots. She had told her teacher the beads were at home, safe and sound. But the truth was, she’d left them on the bus, and now they were here, scattered like confetti after a party.

Glimmer hopped down, its fur brushing against Zoey’s arm—softer than a cloud, but with a staticky zzzt. "Here’s the deal," it said. "To get your beads back, you gotta make a necklace. All the way to the end. No breaks, no excuses. And you gotta say sorry to the beads for leaving them behind." It crossed its arms. "Deal?"

Zoey swallowed. The beads on the ground gleamed like tiny suns. She knelt and picked one up. It was warm, like it had been waiting for her. Clink. She threaded it onto a string Glimmer handed her—a string that smelled like birthday cake and felt bumpy, like a caterpillar’s back. Clink. Clink. The beads slid into place, one by one, but her fingers fumbled. A blue bead slipped. Rolllll. It bounced under a shelf. Zoey groaned and flopped onto her belly, reaching. Her fingers brushed something cold and smooth—a marble? No, a bead! She grabbed it and—SPLAT!—her elbow knocked over a tower of thimbles. Ding-ding-ding! They rained down like tiny bells.

Glimmer sighed. "You’re terrible at this." Zoey’s shoulders slumped. "I know," she muttered. "I’m sorry, beads. I should’ve taken better care of you." The beads on her string seemed to glow brighter. Clink. Clink. Clink. Her fingers moved faster now, like they knew the way. The necklace grew, each bead snug against the next, until—ta-da!—it was done. A perfect, shimmering circle.

Glimmer clapped, its paws making a sound like popcorn popping. "Well done!" it cheered. "Now, one last thing." It handed Zoey a tiny silver key, its bow shaped like a heart. "For the door back home. But remember: honesty is the best glue. It holds things together, even when they seem broken."

Zoey hugged the necklace to her chest. It smelled like rain and sunshine mixed together. She turned the key in the air, and—whoosh!—a door appeared, its doorknob warm as a freshly baked cookie. She stepped through and found herself back on the sidewalk, the rain just a drizzle now. Her backpack sat beside her, untouched. Inside, her notebook—and a new pack of beads.

At school the next day, Zoey handed her teacher the necklace. "I’m sorry I fibbed," she said. "I lost my beads, but I found them again. And I found something else, too." Her teacher smiled. "What’s that?" Zoey grinned. "That telling the truth feels like wearing a necklace that never breaks."

And if you listen very closely on a rainy day, you might hear a faint clink-clank beneath your feet. That’s just Zoey’s beads, still shining bright in the Underground World of Lost Objects.