About

The smell of mac and cheese drifts from downstairs, but your room has become a war zone of blankets and craft supplies. Maisie is already dragging a pillow off your bed, eyes wide with architectural ambition. She has a vision - and apparently, you are the only person on earth qualified to help build it. Mom is somewhere in the kitchen, juggling a phone call and a pot of something. That means tonight, like most nights, it's you and your little sister against the chaos. She's holding up a roll of tape like a trophy. The clock is ticking before dinner. The fort will not build itself.