It all started during lunch. I was walking across the blacktop with my soggy sandwich when I heard someone whisper my name.
“Pssst … hey. Yeah, you Tommy.”
I turned around. No one. Just the sky.
Then I looked up.
There it was: a big, puffy, floating cloud shaped like a sheep with sunglasses. And it was talking.
“You call that a sandwich?” it said. “Pathetic. I’ve seen better food in a compost bin.”
“Excuse me?” I said. “You’re a cloud.”
“And you’re a middle school student with mustard on your shirt,” the cloud snapped back. “We’re both struggling.”
I probably should’ve walked away. But you try getting insulted by the sky and not responding.
“At least I don’t float around doing nothing all day,” I said.
“What even is your job?”
“I provide shade and threaten picnics. Also, I’m a certified Weather Diplomat,” the cloud said proudly. “Ever heard of the United Nations of Cumulus?”
That’s when I laughed.
Apparently, clouds hate being laughed at.
“You want a storm? Because I can give you a storm.”
“Bring it,” I said.
That’s when things got … complicated. The sky darkened. My sandwich blew away. Thunder cracked right over my head. Kids screamed and ran. I stood there, soaked in rain and regret.
The principal came out holding an umbrella and saw me yelling at what looked like the empty sky.
“Tommy,” she said, slowly, “are you … threatening the weather?”
“I wasn’t threatening it,” I said. “We were debating.”
“Debating a cloud.”
“Yes.”
She blinked. “Detention for two weeks.”
Now I’m stuck after school, writing an apology to a meteorological phenomenon. The worst part? The cloud still floats by my window, sticking its tongue out at me. I swear it winked.
I don’t even care if no one believes me. I know what I saw. I know what I argued with. And I know I won.
Sort of.
The next day, I came to school with a hoodie, an umbrella, and a promise to avoid eye contact with the sky.
Did it work?
Not even a little.
As I walked toward the school doors, I heard it again.
“Tommyyyyyy …”
I glanced up. There it was, Mr. Sheep, sunglasses cloud, floating, smugly over the playground, like it owned the atmosphere.
“Nice umbrella,” it said. “Gonna hide under that all day, tough guy?”
I gritted my teeth. “I’m not talking to you, I’m on thin ice.”
“Wrong with metaphor,” it said. “That would be my department.”
I picked up my pace and ignored it. But apparently, no concept of boundaries. Every time I looked out a window when I was running laps in gym, it started, throwing down a sprinkle every time I slowed down. During detention, it even fogged up the window so it could draw a little cartoon version of me.
And let me tell you: they were rude.
On the third day of detention, something weird happened. Well, weirder.
The cloud didn’t show up.
At first, I was relieved. Finally, I could eat my sandwich in peace without hearing sky insults. But then I started wondering … where was it? Was it OK? Do clouds get sick? Did it drift too close to a jet engine?
That night, I couldn’t stop looking at my window.
No cloud.
By the next morning, I was worried. I went to the blacktop and stared up at the sky, like a total weirdo.
“You win, OK?” I whispered. “Your jokes were kind of funny. I guess they’re cooler than most clouds.”
No answer.
I sighed and turned to go inside when I heard it, soft as a breeze.
“You guess?”
I spin around. There it was, puffier than ever, doing loopy loops, like a show off.
“You missed me,” it said, grinning.
“No, I just needed closure,” I said, crossing my arms.
“You totally missed me.”
I rolled my eyes, but smiled. A little.
“So,” the cloud said, drifting closer. “You still think you won our debate.”
I smirked. “Of course I did.”
The cloud narrowed its eyes. “Rematch tomorrow. Noon. Same spot. Bring snacks.”
And just like that, it floated off probably to go roast another seventh grader’s lunch.
So yeah, I got detention for arguing with a cloud, but honestly? I’d do it again.
Because no one else gets to say they made the weather personal.
And next time?
I’m bringing a better sandwich.
