It all started like any other Wednesday. I was halfway through my soggy cereal, staring out the kitchen window, when I noticed something weird. The sky was a funny ombre of all colors, like a unicorn threw up when it was flying up there.
“Mom,” I said slowly, “is the weather … broken?”
Before she could answer, THUD. Something hit the roof.
Then another. THUNK. THUD. THUNK.
I raced to the front porch and froze. Gumballs. Hundreds of them. Bouncing down from the sky like candy-colored hail.
”Is this a dream?” I whispered.
Our neighbors were out too, poking their heads out of doors and windows, looking just as confused. Mr. Gonzales from next door picked up one, popped it in his mouth, and grinned, “Lemon-lime!” he said, like this was totally normal.
My best friend Jonas biked over, a purple gumball stuck to his helmet. “Dude,” he said, wide-eyed, “we have to find out where this is coming from.”
Obviously.
So we grabbed umbrellas (not that they helped) and set off toward the park, where it looked like the sky was the darkest. Along the way, gumballs bounced off stop signs, slid down car windshields, and even formed a tiny avalanche that just buried someone’s cat (don’t worry, it was fine … just a little sticky).
When we got to the park, we saw it: a floating machine, hovering above the playground. It looked like a giant metal jellybean, with rainbow lights and spinning gears. A small sign on the side read: “Experimental Candy Cloud: Do Not Disturb. Property of Dr. Sweetius.”
“Who’s Dr. Sweetius?” I asked.
Before Jonas could answer, a hatch opened and a person floated down—well, more like wobbled down on a jet pack shaped like a licorice twist.
“I told the Candy Cloud not to release yet!” she shouted, waving a clipboard in the air. “Ugh! These settings are ALL wrong!”
Dr. Sweetius, who looked about 30 but dressed like she worked in a candy shop, stomped over to us and sighed. “This was supposed to be a test in a remote desert. Not a residential neighborhood.”
“You made it rain gumballs,” I said, pointing at my gum-covered shoes.
“Yes. It’s my life’s work,” she said proudly, then paused. “Well … it was. I guess it needs more testing.”
Suddenly, there was a gust of wind. The cloud machine wobbled, sparked and then exploded in a loud POP!
Gumballs flew everywhere. One hit Jonas right in the nose. I got three in my hoodie.
When the smoke cleared, Dr. Sweetius looked around and sighed. “Back to the lab.”
She handed me a small gumball. “This one changes flavors every five minutes. Be careful, it ends on tuna fish.”
With that, she vanished into a poof of peppermint smelling smoke.
Jonas looked at me. “Well … that was the weirdest Wednesday ever.”
I nodded. “Next time it rains, I’m bringing a bowl,”
