Turn their drawing into a book about how they feel, kept exactly as they drew it.

In the yard, Mira spots her bulging cloud. It wobbles above lunch.

She grabs a bucket and holds it high, but water splashes over everything.

In the afternoon yard, Mira looks at the soaked swings and sandbox. She looks up again.

By late afternoon, dry grass rustles below. Small and pale, the cloud floats home with Mira.

In the bright kitchen, Tobias stood by the stove and stared at the teapot. His lips were already making a small O, and before even one note came out, the lid gave a quick tick.

From the chair by the table, he tried again, this time covering his mouth with both hands. Still the teapot answered first, knocking its own lid in nervous little jumps.

He looked from the burner to the wooden board on the counter, and a new idea came to him. The teapot only went wild while it sat over the heat.

Tobias stood taller than before beside the teapot, now only warm on the wooden board. The lid was still, and his single whistle drifted in the air after he blew it on purpose.

In the garden, Halle wants straight flight. She zooms up after other beetles.

She flaps fast, very fast, WHOOSH. Boop, she tumbles through petals.

Halle sits still on warm dirt. Then she tilts wide, and sideways.

By evening, her circle reaches home. Halle grins in her crooked doorway.

In Osei's room, the suitcase gapes open, too full to close. Osei tugs it into the hall, and shirts puff up again.

He pushes the lid lower, but a bright sweater peeks out again. He walks on, more slowly now, while the suitcase waddles beside his shoes.

Osei holds up a heavy toy drum, then leaves it with the books. He folds the soft sweater back in and tucks the drawings underneath.

He hurries on through the late light, carrying the lighter suitcase carefully. At last he arrives, late but smiling, with his closed suitcase in hand.