It was raining in Upside-Down Land. Nose plugs were practical, but to wear them was to mark oneself for the kind of ridicule that is the special purview of children who no longer think of themselves as children. So he squished about the playground, sneezing when rain dripped up from the asphalt and found his nostrils despite – somehow – the umbrella shoes his mother insisted upon.
He found his way to the basketball court, picked up the wet and lonely ball, and dropped it through the hoop. “What goes up, goes,” he muttered as the ball disappeared into the sky.
“One day,” he said to himself, “I’m just going to jump and see what’s up there.”