The sea sings splish-splash, splish-splash. Memphis runs up and down the warm sand hugging a big beach ball. Little footprints follow along behind, all the way down the shore.
A little way off, a girl has built a sandcastle. Wow — so tall, so beautiful! It has seashell windows and a tiny seaweed flag right on top, waving in the breeze.
Whoosh! The wind snatches the ball away! Memphis chases it, running faster and faster and faster. Eyes on the ball — only the ball — and nothing else at all!
CRASH! No time to stop! Memphis's foot smashes right through the castle, and the towers tumble down — plof, plof, plof. The little seaweed flag lands flat on the sand.
Everything goes very quiet. The girl looks at the flattened castle, then at Memphis. Slowly, slowly, her eyes fill up with tears — like two little pools of sea.
Memphis's face feels hot, and there is a squeezy, uncomfortable feeling in the tummy. Even the sunshine feels too bright. Hiding somewhere — anywhere at all — sounds very good right now.
There is a word, a very small word, stuck in Memphis's throat. It is the hardest word to say. Memphis takes a deep, brave breath. One... two... three...
"I'm sorry. I ran too fast and smashed your castle," says Memphis, picking up the little red shovel. "Can we fix it together?" The girl blinks — and a small smile peeks out.
Two little shovels dig and pat, dig and pat. Layer by layer, the new castle grows taller and taller! The pink bucket flips over — plop! — and out comes a perfect round tower.
The new castle is even bigger than before, with two little flags on top! High-five, slap! Saying sorry and fixing it together feels so much better than pretending nothing happened.