The Neat Corner

Super Crayon hovered inside Solitude Crayon Box, his red cape fluttering like a flag in a fan.

He fired a neat blue crayon blast at a cardboard wall. A smiling star target appeared. “Ten out of ten,” he said.

A pencil with a pink eraser hat stomped up, gripping a clipboard. “Show-off.”

“Morning, Pencilina,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

Pencilina held up a printed craft plan. Her phone was open to the same file, zoomed in. “The Bridge of Popsicle Sticks plan. Somebody nibbled it.”

Along one corner, the paper had clean semicircle bite marks and tiny dents, like little teeth tried and failed.

Super Crayon slid his sunglasses up and used X-ray vision. The paper showed faint crumb specks. No hidden worm. No tucked-away mouse.

“Where was it?” he asked.

“On the plan table. Right by the glue bottles,” she said, voice tight.

Super Crayon floated lower, tip pointed at the doorway, and listened for the softest crunch

Puddles and Paper

Super Crayon shot out of Solitude Crayon Box and skimmed low over Craft Room Metropolis, following Pencilina as she clutched her clipboard strap.

“Why are we going to the laundromat?” he asked.

“Because people print plans, spill glue, then dry them,” she snapped. “If more get ruined, my job is toast.”

Inside Suds & Spinners, warm air whooshed from metal dryers. A smart woman with short black hair—Squeegee Sue—jabbed at her phone. “Machine four is acting weird again,” she muttered.

A hose coughed.

Soapy water burst out and raced across the tile. Paper plans on a folding table went limp, ink sliding into blue and gray puddles.

“No!” Pencilina sprang forward, but her wooden feet skated.

Super Crayon grabbed the table edge with one gloved hand. With the other, he lifted a stack of plans high.

A brown-and-white sparrow swooped down, beak already smudged with ink. It snatched a wet corner of the bridge plan and flapped hard.

“Hey—drop that!” Super Crayon lunged, slid, and bumped the dryer door as the sparrow darted out into the street