Enter the Block Tower Bandit!

The swing set groaned under Leo’s energetic pumping, a rhythmic squeak that was usually the sweetest music to my ears. Today, though, it was just noise. Annoying, attention-hogging noise. Because Leo, my Leo, was currently looking over at *him*.

Him. Sam. The new kid. The one with the suspiciously bright red hair that looked like it had been styled by a very enthusiastic squirrel. He was over by the sandbox, not even playing properly, but meticulously arranging… what were those? Blocks? Oh, *great*. He was building a tower. A *tall* tower. And Leo, bless his oblivious, adorable heart, was watching.

My heart did a little flip-flop that had nothing to do with joy and everything to do with pure, unadulterated panic. This was bad. This was very, very bad. I’d already survived the Great Sharing Debacle of Tuesday, which had involved me nearly sacrificing my favorite sparkly unicorn sticker to appease Leo when he’d wanted to borrow my blue crayon. Now this? A rival? A literal *block-building* rival? It was too much.

I slid off the swing, my sneakers scuffing the woodchips. My mission: Operation Reclaim Leo’s Undivided Attention. I marched towards the sandbox, my tiny fists clenched. I was Lily, and Leo was mine. Or at least, he was supposed to be.

Leo’s head popped up from where he’d been leaning against the fence, watching Sam’s architectural endeavors. “Hey, Lily!” he chirped, his smile as bright as the sun. Oh, that smile. It could melt glaciers. And apparently, it could also melt my resolve to be a fierce, possessive girlfriend.

“Hey, Leo,” I mumbled, trying to inject as much casual coolness into my voice as possible. It probably came out sounding like a frog gargling marbles. “What are you looking at?”

“Sam’s building a really tall tower,” Leo explained, pointing. Indeed, Sam’s creation was reaching impressive heights, a precarious stack of primary-colored blocks that swayed precariously with every gust of wind. Sam, meanwhile, was humming to himself, a tiny frown of concentration on his face.

“It’s… wobbly,” I stated, because that was the only negative thing I could think of to say. It wasn’t *that* wobbly, if I was being honest, but I was desperate.

Sam’s head snapped up. His eyes, a startling shade of green, met mine. He didn’t look annoyed. He looked… curious. And then he grinned, a flash of mischief that made my stomach do another, even more violent, flip. “It’s supposed to be wobbly,” he said, his voice surprisingly deep for a kid who looked like he still needed help tying his shoelaces. “It’s a… a magic tower. For flying.”

Flying? My tower was good for sitting on and dreaming about ice cream. His was for *flying*. This was a major disadvantage.

Leo, ever the diplomat, clapped his hands. “Wow! Can I help?”

My world tilted. *Can I help?* No, Leo! You can’t help! You’re supposed to be helping *me*. We were supposed to be building a sandcastle empire, not a joint venture with the squirrel-haired block bandit!

“Sure!” Sam said, gesturing