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A short message for grown-ups.
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Hello, friends, and welcome to Sleep Tight Stories.
It is Saturday, and Bobby is asleep. until his mother smells something funny.
She follows her nose all the way to Bobby's room and wakes him up.
While she tells him that he'll need to clean out his bag, all Bobby can think about is how he can use this to help his robot.
Bobby and the Banana-Powered Robot.
Bobby's mom sat in the kitchen with her morning tea while his dad buttered toast.
She wrinkled her nose suddenly.
She got out of her chair and checked the usual places in the kitchen, but found no source.
Do you smell that?
Bobby's dad paused, knife in hand.
I thought I caught something earlier when I passed Bobby's room.
Figured it was leftovers from one of his experiments.
He's building robots, not brewing potions, she sighed, standing.
The smell was strong and getting stronger as she climbed the stairs.
The moment she opened Bobby's door, the source was found.
His school backpack, sitting slouched in the corner, looked suspiciously swollen.
She could almost swear it was glowing faintly green.
Bobby, she said firmly, you'd better wake up.
Whatever science experiment is inside that bag needs to be handled before the health department shows up.
Bobby cracked one eye open at his dinosaur alarm clock.
Mom, it's Saturday.
Sleep in Saturday.
I thought you said it was okay to stay up late working on science if I had no practice on Saturday.
And well, today I have no practice.
And you know how important sleep is for a big brain like mine, right?
This can't wait, she said.
It might be an emergency.
Bobby groaned.
Oh, is there yellow gas leaking out or squeaking creatures?
If not, it can't be that bad.
Bobby, what do you have in your bag?
He sat up rubbing his eyes.
Okay, okay.
But can we talk about getting a cat?
Bernice has a cat and I think I am ready.
Or maybe a dog, a big dog that can pull a sled in winter.
That way I don't need to walk in the snow to the bus stop.
I don't like walking in the snow before sunrise.
Answer the question.
She said handing him a hoodie after giving it a quick sniff to make sure it was clean.
All right.
I think Bobby squinted at his bag.
I had to think for a minute.
I haven't had my morning toast and peanut butter and, as you may well know, before I eat breakfast my brain isn't fully ready for solving problems.
Anyway, I think I left this week's bananas in there at the bottom of the bag and uh, they might have gotten squished or something.
Bobby, bananas don't just... Actually, Mom...
They grow on trees, he interrupted.
She gave him the look.
Get dressed.
Bring that bag downstairs.
Clean it out before breakfast.
Your dad is in charge of the toaster.
No pancakes?
Bobby asked hopefully.
It's Saturday, and we always have something like that.
Pancakes and peanut butter with a little bit of egg, so that you guys know I am eating something you like.
Maybe, she said, softening with a laugh, maybe we can use your bananas and make banana pancakes.
That's okay, Bobby called as she headed back down.
I'm fine with toast, just trying to keep the tradition alive.
After Bobby finished getting dressed, His hoodie said I'm going to be a mad scientist across the front and his gym pants had a dinosaur stomping down one leg.
He walked over to his backpack to bring it downstairs and clean.
But then he paused.
Bobby always had ideas at funny times, and this was one of those moments.
What if the stinky bananas, he thought, peeking inside.
They were less like bananas and more like banana soup.
What if they could actually power my newest robot?
Wouldn't that be super cool?
He read all about biofuel, so he knew it must be possible.
It would also mean Bobby reasoned that since he was doing important science work, maybe even something useful for school, he might be able to skip some chores today or at least avoid the dreaded trip to the grocery store.
He carefully pulled out his important stuff from his backpack, then carried the whole bag downstairs toward the back door.
I'm putting the bananas outside and um, I'll take care of them later, he announced as he set his bag on the porch.
Can I have some toast and peanut butter first?
You know I work much better on a full stomach.
Bobby slid into his chair at the kitchen table, just as his dad brought over a plate of toast.
Bobby wasted no time.
He grabbed two slices slathered peanut butter on thick and crunched down like he hadn't eaten in days.
Between bites, he mumbled, this is perfect fuel for me and maybe for my robot.
His mom raised an eyebrow.
Fuel?
For a robot?
Yes, Bobby said with his mouth full.
I think those bananas have reached their ultimate destiny.
They're no good for eating anymore, but maybe, maybe they're just right for powering machines.
His dad chuckled.
Or maybe they're just right for the compost bin.
Bobby ignored that His brain was already racing ahead.
Bananas have sugar, right?
And sugar can be turned into energy.
That's why runners like Bernice's mom eat them before races.
What if my robot can eat them too?
I just need to make a converter, something that changes banana mush into battery power.
Or, his mom said, You could clean out your backpack before the green glow spreads to the porch.
But Bobby wasn't listening.
He was already sketching on the back of a napkin a squiggly drawing of a jar labeled Banana Fuel Tank, connected by lines and arrows to his robot.
When he finished his toast and licked the peanut butter off his fingers, he pushed back his chair.
Okay, step one.
Secure the bananas.
Step two, test banana energy output.
Step three, world fame.
Step four, his dad added, wash your sticky hands before touching anything.
Fine, fine, Bobby said, scrubbing quickly at the sink.
Then he marched out to the porch, grabbed the smelly backpack and carried it straight to the backyard shed his unofficial outside-of-the-house-with-that-stuff laboratory.
The shed already looked like a cross between a science fair and a gardening store.
Gardening gloves dangled from the nails in the wall right beside tangled loops of wire.
A cracked flowerpot sat on the floor next to a toolbox spilling over with gadgets, screws and half-finished ideas.
On the shelf plant fertilizer.
Shared space with jars of mysterious parts that rattled when you picked them up.
In the middle of it all sat one of Bobby's newest creations, a squat robot on wheels with a whisk taped to one arm.
It looked ready to whip cream, scramble eggs, or maybe knock over a flower pot by mistake.
The robot he had tinkered with late last night was still too early in development.
But this one?
This one might actually help in the kitchen, or at least cause some entertaining chaos.
He plopped his backpack down with a wet squelch.
Okay, buddy, he told the robot.
Today you're not just any helper robot.
Today you're going to be the world's first banana-powered machine.
Bobby rummaged through his tools until he found a mason jar, a funnel, and a bundle of wires.
He very carefully poured the slimy banana mush into the jar.
The smell was eye-watering. but Bobby grinned.
All great inventions smell weird at first.
Next he rigged the jar with two metal clips, attaching wires that ran into the robot's battery pack.
It was messy, sticky work and the banana goo kept dripping onto his sneakers, but Bobby didn't care.
Finally, he stepped back, wiped his hands on his hoodie, and took a dramatic breath.
Ladies and gentlemen, mostly Mom and Dad and maybe Bernice when I tell her later.
I present Bananabot, Mark One.
He reached for the power switch.
Click.
Nothing.
The robot sat there, perfectly still, its whisk arm drooping like a spoon in cold oatmeal.
Bobby frowned.
Hmm, that's unexpected.
Don't worry, Banana Bot.
First tries are just practice.
He tapped the side of the mason jar, half hoping it might magically bubble to life.
Nothing.
Not even a spark.
He crouched down and scratched his head.
Okay, think.
What do we know about fuel?
Regular batteries store chemical energy.
Biofuels are made from plants, right?
And bananas are plants, so technically... He trailed off, grabbing a notebook from the messy shelf.
Flipping past doodles of rocket-powered scooters and a diagram for homework copier 3000, he found the page he wanted.
His notes from reading about alternative fuels.
Step one.
Mash organic material.
Already done.
Step two.
Separate sugars.
Step three.
Fermentation makes alcohol.
Step four.
Use alcohol as fuel.
Bobby wrinkled his nose.
That might take a while.
I don't exactly have a whole distillery in the shed, but maybe I can fast forward.
He poured what was left of the banana goo into a second jar and added water from the gardening can.
He stirred it with a broken screwdriver until the mixture looked frothy.
Then he added a spoonful of sugar from an old tea tin.
Extra sugar should kick things into gear.
That's what biofuel is all about.
Energy from sugar.
To make it more science-y, He dropped in a little baking yeast he'd borrowed from the kitchen weeks ago.
It puffed a tiny cloud as it hit the goo.
Perfect.
Now we wait.
Or maybe we don't.
He set the jar beside the robot, clipped on the wires again and wiped his sticky hands on his pants.
This time for sure.
He flicked the switch with a flourish.
Click.
Still nothing.
The robot gave the faintest squeak of its wheels, then slumped back into silence.
Bobby sighed.
Banana Bot, I feel like you're not taking this seriously.
He sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at the lifeless machine.
The shed smelled strongly of bananas and yeast, as if someone had baked bread while wearing their shoes.
He imagined Bernice's voice in his head.
Bobby, you forgot the most important step.
You always forget something.
What did I forget?
He muttered aloud.
Wires are good.
The jar is full.
Electricity is supposed to flow.
Maybe... He leaned closer and sniffed.
Maybe it just needs more time to ferment.
But who has time for that?
He doodled a quick sketch in his notebook of Bananabot, rolling across the floor, powered by super turbo yeast fuel.
The drawing looked great.
He did well in art class, after all.
But the real robot just sat there, staring at him with its crooked whisk arm.
Bobby stood up, brushing banana peels from his lap.
Okay, round one, fail.
Round two, also fail.
But you know what?
That means round three is going to be amazing.
Nobody remembers the failed tries, only the big success.
The shed gave a little creak as the autumn wind rattled the door.
Bobby looked at the jars of banana goo, then at his robot.
His grin came back.
Don't worry, Banana Bot.
Tomorrow we're going to power you up for real.
And then, then Bernice is never going to believe it.
He flicked the switch one more time just in case.
Click.
Silence.
Fine, Bobby said, hands on his hips.
But don't get too comfortable.
Genius takes time.
He stood there a moment, the shed creaking in the wind.
The smell of damp soil and sour bananas made him wrinkle his nose.
You know what?
Waiting until tomorrow is for regular scientists.
I'm Bobby.
I can't wait that long.
He glanced at the jars of banana goo, then at his robot, and grinned.
Nope.
Round three has to happen somewhere better.
Warmer.
Cleaner.
More.
Scientific.
Bobby scooped the jars back into his backpack with a loud squish.
The shed is too drafty, too spidery, and too full of fertilizer smells.
But upstairs?
Upstairs is my super lab.
He slung the sticky backpack over his shoulder, pushed open the squeaky shed door and marched toward the house.
Bananabot Mark 3, he whispered to himself, is about to change the world.
It took a lot of huffing and puffing and one close call on the stairs when Bananabot's whisk arm nearly caught in the railing, but eventually he managed to drag the squat robot into his room.
His room was perfect.
Posters of rockets and dinosaurs covered the walls and shelves sagged under books with titles like Inventions That Changed the World and Beginner's Guide to Circuits.
Right in the middle of his desk now sat Bananabot, waiting patiently, with its whisk arm crooked like it was waving.
Okay, buddy, this time we're going to add science with a capital S.
Bobby pulled out his notebook and flipped back to the page about biofuels.
Fermentation plus sugar equals energy, and energy equals movement.
He poured the remaining banana mush into a clean jar and added more sugar, stirring with a pencil until the mixture fizzed.
Then, just to be safe, he tossed in a spoonful of yeast.
The mixture bubbled like a science fair volcano.
That's what I'm talking about, Bobby said, grinning.
He clipped the wires back onto the jar, double-checked the battery pack and dramatically cleared his throat.
Ahem.
Ladies and gentlemen, history is about to be made right here in my bedroom.
He flicked the switch.
Click.
For a moment, Nothing.
Then squeak!
The robot's wheels twitched.
Its whisk arm gave a slow, shaky wave.
Yes, it's alive!
Bobby shouted.
But then the jar made a suspicious gurgling noise.
The goo inside began to foam, rising higher and higher until it spilled out over the rim.
The foam oozed across his desk dripped onto his chair, and slopped onto the carpet.
Bobby scrambled for a towel.
Uh-oh.
Okay, maybe a little too much sugar or yeast or both?
The robot, still wired in, started rolling in circles.
It wasn't fast, but the whisk arm flailed wildly, smacking into a stack of comic books and sending them tumbling to the floor.
Banana Bot, calm down.
You're supposed to help, not redecorate.
Bobby lunged for the switch, but his hand slipped on the sticky foam.
The robot veered toward his laundry pile, whisking socks into the air like confetti.
By the time he managed to disconnect the wires, his room looked like a banana milkshake had exploded.
The desk was coated in slime.
The carpet squelched when he stepped on it, and his socks stuck to the whisk like they'd been glued.
Bobby plopped onto his bed, banana foam dripping from his elbow.
Okay, he said between breaths.
Maybe, just maybe, Banana Bot Mark 3 needs a few adjustments.
From downstairs, his mom's voice floated up.
Bobby, everything all right up there?
Yep.
Bobby called back, trying to sound casual.
Just conducting important science.
There was a pause.
Does your important science smell like bananas?
Maybe.
Well, clean up before lunch.
Bobby groaned. grabbing a mop that his mother kept nearby, just in case.
Guess this means I'll be spending the rest of the day scrubbing.
He looked at Banana Bot, who sat lifeless and sticky in the middle of the mess.
Don't worry, buddy.
Great inventions are always messy at first.
Bernice is going to laugh so hard when she hears about this.
As he started mopping up the foamy puddles, Bobby shook his head and smiled.
Note to self, biofuel experiments should not happen on carpet.
And that is the end of our story.
Good night.
Sleep tight. you
