She didn’t grab him. Instead, she lowered her open palm, flat against the ground, creating a wall of flesh and bone. The baker skidded to a halt, trapped. Then, with one enormous index finger, she gently booped him. He tumbled backwards, unharmed, into the sandbox of the playground.

Easy for them to say. His apartment was three blocks from her left foot.

And Leo, heart hammering against his ribs, stepped onto her warm, soft skin.

“Ready or not!” she boomed, her voice a gentle hurricane. “Here I come!”

The first thing Leo noticed was the sound. Not a crash or a roar, but a soft, rhythmic thump-thump-thump that made the salt and pepper shakers dance across his kitchen table. Then the light through the window dimmed, replaced by the pale blue of a denim sky.

“Okay,” she said, her voice suddenly quiet, almost a whisper that rumbled the foundations. She lifted her hand, palm open, and placed it before him like a landing pad.

“You’re ‘It’ now, little guy,” she said, and with a flick of her wrist, sent the car tumbling gently— gently —into the net of the high school’s football goalpost.