I never meant for it to go this far. One minute, I was just trying to make life better for Swallow Falls—turn water into food, solve the sardine crisis, make my dad proud. The next, cheeseburgers are falling from the sky like hail, the mayor’s ballooning into a human beach ball, and a spaghetti tornado is chasing tourists off the pier.

Now, up here in the stratosphere, the FLDSMDFR pulses like a living heart inside a colossal meatball of congealed lasagna and mashed potatoes. Sam’s gasping below me, her face swelling from peanut exposure, and the rope’s slipping. I can see the kill switch—just a few more feet—but I’d have to cut her loose to reach it.

Brent’s voice crackles through the radio: 'Flint, we’re not leaving you!' But Sam’s barely conscious. I look down at her, then at the machine that was supposed to save us all.

What do I do?