The Tall Block Tower

"Dinner in five minutes," called Mom, and Henry stacked his blocks faster.

He was building a tower. It already came up to his nose. Henry wanted to put the little red star block on the very top before the soup was ready. Nobody had ever built one this tall in his house.

Eleven blocks. Twelve. Thirteen. The tower wobbled, and Henry held his breath.

Then Biscuit the cat came strolling past, heading for her food bowl. Her tail swished. Her tail swished right into the tower.

CRASH.

Blocks went everywhere. One rolled under the couch. The star block bounced twice and lay still.

"Biscuit!" Henry shouted. "Look what you did!"

Biscuit did not look. She just wanted her dinner. She went on to her bowl.

Henry's face felt hot, hot, hot. His tummy felt like a kettle about to whistle. He stamped his feet. He growled, "Grrr!" Then he picked up the blocks and started again, but his hands shook, and the tower fell before it was even knee high.

"I hate this tower!" said Henry.

He sat down on the rug. He was still hot, hot, hot. He could hear Mom stirring the pot in the kitchen. He could smell the soup. He remembered how she always said, "Blow on it, Henry. It's too hot right now."

Henry looked at his hands. Then he took a big breath in, and he blew it out slowly, like blowing on a spoon.

Hot, a little less hot.

He did it again. A little less hot than that.

The shaking stopped. Henry picked up one block, then another. This time the tower grew straight and steady. Thirteen. Fourteen. He set the red star on top.

"Time for soup!" called Mom.

Biscuit sat down beside the tower and looked up at the star. Her tail curled around her feet, nice and still. Henry could hear the spoon clinking in the pot, and the tower stood, tall and quiet, in the warm kitchen light.