The big clouds looked at him and shuddered. “Oh dear, no,” they huffed. “You’re far too bright. You’ll ruin our aesthetic for the landscape painters below. We can’t be friends.”

“Hey!” the orange fog yelled. “I’m Zip. I’ve been hiding in this cave because the other fogs think I’m too loud and too orange.”

Dub felt very lonely. He drifted down toward the mountains, thinking, Maybe I’m just not meant to have friends.

Once there was a little cloud named Dub. While most clouds in the sky liked to bunch together into big, fluffy blankets, Dub was a bit different—he was a bright, neon-purple mist.

Zip laughed, a sound like a bubbling brook. “Well, I think purple and orange look great together. Want to go make a sunset?”

Dub sighed a little puff of rain and drifted toward the high, wispy Cirrus clouds. They looked like delicate white feathers. “Hello! Want to play tag?”

Dub beamed. For the first time, he didn't feel like a misfit. They didn't need to fit in with the white clouds; they just needed to find each other. Together, they swirled into the evening sky, creating the most spectacular, weird, and colorful sunset the world had ever seen. Should we continue Dub’s adventure in , or