The little bakery glowed gold in the morning sun. Wooden signs creaked on the door. A kettle whistled softly inside.
Lumi stood on a step stool beside the big flour canister. Its silver marks climbed the side like a ladder. She traced them with her finger. Rough metal. Smooth glass. Her eyes went wide.
"One cup. Two cups. See?" her mom said, tapping the canister. Lumi nodded. She loved the silver lines. They made sense.
At the playground, Lumi counted every step to the big slide. One, two, three — twenty-seven! She smiled. That many was a lot.
A trike zoomed past. Six wheels spun. Lumi gasped and crouched to count again. One, two, three, four, five, six!
She scrambled up the ladder. Sneakers squeaked on the rungs. One, two, three — twenty-seven! She grinned and slid all the way down.
In the garden, Lumi knelt beside her tallest sunflower. She wrapped the yellow measuring tape around the stem. Twelve inches. Thirteen. Fourteen!
She marked the number on a wooden stake with a stubby pencil. Dirt smudged her knuckles. She patted the soil down hard.
At school, the class packed cupcakes for the garden party. Ms. Patel counted the boxes: one, two — oh no. "We need three boxes of eight."
Lumi's stomach dropped. She stared at the two empty boxes. A delivery truck rumbled outside. Ms. Patel clapped her hands. "Lumi — count on your fingers."
Lumi held up both hands, then added three more fingers. "Five!" she announced. The class cheered. Three fresh boxes rolled in from the truck.
That evening, Lumi pointed at the clock on the wall. "Math is everywhere!" Her mom laughed and ruffled her hair. "It sure is."