The Bong Cloud -

Then it was over. The cloud retracted, panting softly (if a cloud could pant), and dimmed to a worried gray.

The Bong Cloud stretched toward her, curious. It had never seen her before. It swirled, colors churning—deep indigo, a flash of chartreuse.

The old janitor, Mr. Elara, was the only one who knew about the Bong Cloud. It lived in the disused greenhouse behind the high school, a shimmering, opalescent mass the size of a beanbag chair, smelling faintly of sandalwood and forgotten dreams. the bong cloud

She didn't say thank you. She just ran out, back toward the art wing, where she knew a pottery wheel sat unused in the corner of Ms. Gable's room.

"That's not a lie," Mr. Elara said, leaning on his mop. "That's a possibility . A big, scary, beautiful one. The cloud doesn't show you what will happen. It shows you what could , if you stop being afraid of the clay." Then it was over

"What is that?" she whispered, eyes wide.

He wasn't supposed to be here. The greenhouse was condemned. But Mr. Elara had a key, and the Bong Cloud had a secret: it could show you things. Not the future, not the past, but the potential . The quiet what-ifs. It had never seen her before

It enveloped her, not cold, but a thick, honeyed warmth. And then she saw .