Esuu set his juice box on the warm grass and pointed. Three friends sat in a dirt patch, buried in a tangle of blocks and trucks. "We can't find ten!" one called out.
Esuu stamped his bare feet on the grass. Thump. Thump. "I'll count," he said. "Watch me."
He patted each toy. "One. Two. Three… four— fourteen!" His friends snorted. The top block tipped, wobbled, and crashed with a loud THUD.
"Start over!" Esuu grabbed the fallen pieces and piled them back into a wobbly stack. The three friends watched, mouths open.
He counted again, pressing his finger on each block. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven— oh no!" A red truck rolled away across the grass.
Esuu scrambled after it, tongue out, boots scraping the dirt. He lunged forward and grabbed the truck. "…Eight!"
He stacked the last two blocks. The tower shuddered. The three friends leaned in, completely silent, eyes wide.
He whispered, "…nine. TEN." A butterfly landed on the very top block, its wings ticking softly against the wood.
The friends whooped and jumped, boots slamming the soft earth. Esuu scooped up the numbered toys, a dark juice drip still on his shirt.
They trudged toward the living-room door, the tower wobbling gently on top of the pile. Outside, cicadas hummed.