My Robot Ate My Homework Read online

  Copyright © 2017 by Nancy Krulik and Amanda Burwasser

  Illustrations copyright © 2017 Mike Moran

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews and articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Sky Pony Press, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018.

  First Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are from the authors’ imaginations, and used fictitiously.

  Sky Pony Press books may be purchased in bulk at special discounts for sales promotion, corporate gifts, fund-raising, or educational purposes. Special editions can also be created to specifications. For details, contact the Special Sales Department, Sky Pony Press, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018 or [email protected].

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  www.realnancykrulik.com

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  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available on file.

  Cover illustration by Mike Moran

  Cover design by Sammy Yuen

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5107-1030-6

  Ebook ISBN 978-1-5107-1025-2

  Printed in Canada

  Interior Design by Joshua Barnaby

  For Jeff and Amy,

  two of the smartest smarty-pants I know

  —NK

  For Alex, the smartest cookie in the jar

  —AB

  To Patty and Kevin north of the Tappan Zee

  —MM

  CONTENTS

  1. What’s the Point?

  2. Spaghetti for Brains

  3. A One-Droid Band

  4. Icky Sticky

  5. Cheater, Cheater

  6. Time’s Up!

  7. Is There a Zoo in Kalamazoo?

  8. Smart Parts

  Use Your Noodle!

  1.

  What’s the Point?

  “Where is my geography work sheet?” I shouted as I dug through the homework pages scattered all over the kitchen table.

  “Here it is, Logan,” my cousin, Java, said. He pulled a sheet of paper out from under my toast.

  I wiped a big smear of butter off the work sheet. Then I wrote my name and the date at the top.

  I read the first question out loud. “What river runs near Columbus, Georgia?”

  I looked at the map.

  “The Chattahoochee River!” Java shouted out.

  He didn’t even give me a chance to find the answer for myself.

  “Don’t be such a show-off, Java,” I groaned. But I started to write the answer on my sheet anyway. C-h …

  “How do you spell ‘Chattahoochee’?” I asked him.

  Before Java could answer, my mother walked into the kitchen.

  “Finish up your breakfast,” she said. “The bus will be here any second.”

  “I need another minute, Mom,” I told her. “I just have to finish my homework.”

  “Well, don’t blame me if you miss the bus and have to walk to school,” Mom said. She turned to Java. “Is your homework finished?”

  “Yes,” Java told her. “It is in the homework folder, which is in my backpack.”

  “I’m glad one of you finished your homework on time,” Mom said. She gave me a look.

  “Homework is easy for Java,” I told Mom. “He’s a robot.”

  “I know,” Mom admitted.

  Of course she knew. Mom was the one who built Java.

  My mom is a scientist. She likes to build things.

  So she built me a robot cousin.

  His name is Jacob Alexander Victor Applebaum. But I just call him Java.

  Sometimes it’s kind of cool having a robot cousin by my side. Before Java, I was the only kid in the house. It’s nice to have someone around to play catch or just hang out with.

  But there are other times when having Java around can be a real pain. Especially when he does things like get his homework done perfectly, and on time.

  Which I never do.

  The hardest part about having Java in the family is I can’t tell anyone he isn’t human. That’s because he’s part of my mom’s secret project: Project Droid.

  Which is the perfect name for it, because that’s what Java is. An android.

  You just charge him up and he becomes a walking, talking, normal, eight-year-old kid.

  Well, sort of.

  There are some things about Java that aren’t exactly normal kid–like.

  Like, for starters, he has a computer brain, which means he’s even smarter than our teacher.

  And he’s built to be super strong.

  And to run really, really fast.

  He can even take his head off, spin it around, and put it back on backwards. Which is actually pretty hilarious—as long as he doesn’t do it in front of anyone but Mom and me.

  I looked back down at my work sheet and started read the next question. What are the names of the seven continents?

  Yay! I knew that one.

  I started filling in the blanks. Africa. Antarctica. Asia. Australia—

  Crack.

  Before I could finish listing the continents, my pencil snapped.

  Grrr. I was never going to get my homework done now.

  “There’s no point,” I grumbled angrily.

  Java’s eyes opened wide.

  “I can do it!” he shouted.

  Java grabbed the pencil from my hand.

  He stuck it in his mouth.

  Then he turned the pencil around and around with his hand, while he ground away at the wood with his sharp teeth.

  A moment later, Java handed the sharpened pencil back to me.

  “Now it has a point,” he said.

  That’s what I mean about him not being a normal kid.

  “Thanks, Java,” I said.

  I took the pencil back and tried to finish my work sheet.

  “I am happy to help you, Logan,” Java told me. “Always.”

  2.

  Spaghetti for Brains

  “Who can tell me the name of the world’s largest island?” my teacher, Miss Perriwinkle, asked our class during our social studies lesson later that morning.

  I tried to sink down under my desk. I had absolutely no idea. I hadn’t gotten that far in the chapter we were supposed to read for homework.

  I couldn’t let Miss Perriwinkle call on me.

  What would I say if she did? “My dog ate my homework”?

  That would never work. I didn’t have a dog.

  All I had was a robot cousin. And I couldn’t say my robot ate my homework.

  For one thing, I didn’t want anyone to know Java was a robot.

  And for another, robots don’t eat.

  Jerry and Sherry Silverspoon raised their hands. But before Miss Perriwinkle could call on either of them—

  “Greenland!” Java shouted out.

  “That’s correct, Java,” Miss Perriwinkle told him. “But please raise your hand next time. Now, who can name the largest country in the world?”

  Jerry raised his hand and said, “That’s easy. China.”

  “No Jerry, Russia is the largest country in the world,” Java corrected him. “China just has the most people.”

  “Very good, Java,” Miss Perriwinkle said. She looked down at her list of questions.

  Jerry rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out at Java.

  The Silverspoon twins hate being
wrong.

  I love it when they’re wrong.

  “Where is the highest point on Earth?” Miss Perriwinkle asked us.

  Nadine raised her hand. “The Eiffel Tower in Paris?” she responded.

  The twins snickered.

  “Everyone knows that’s not it,” Sherry said. “The highest point on Earth is Mount Everest.”

  Nadine frowned and looked down at her shoes.

  Those Silverspoons sure were mean.

  But they were pretty smart, too.

  “That’s right,” Miss Perriwinkle told Sherry. “Does anyone know what country is shaped like a boot?”

  The twins were really on a roll now. Their hands shot up quickly.

  “Jerry,” Miss Perriwinkle said, pointing at him.

  “Italy,” Jerry answered proudly.

  “Correct,” Miss Perriwinkle told him.

  “I love Italy,” Jerry said. “That’s where pasta comes from. I really like spaghetti.”

  “Actually, pasta wasn’t invented in Italy,” Java told him. “Marco Polo was an Italian explorer. He brought spaghetti back to Italy from China.”

  Miss Perriwinkle gave Java a big, proud smile. “Correct,” she said.

  The twins did not look happy.

  Which made me really happy.

  Brrinng. Just then, the bell rang.

  “Put your notebooks in your desks and line up for music class,” Miss Perriwinkle told us.

  As I got in line, Jerry and Sherry walked past me and giggled.

  “I guess Java must have gotten all the brains in your family,” Sherry sneered at me. “Because you sure didn’t.”

  I frowned. Maybe Sherry was right.

  Compared to Java, it did feel like I had spaghetti for brains.

  3.

  A One-Droid Band

  “Hot cross buns! Hot cross buns!”

  My whole class was singing in the music room.

  Well, almost my whole class. I wasn’t singing. I’m a really lousy singer.

  “Stop! Stop!” our music teacher, Mr. Fluff, said. “Somebody missed a note. Stanley, why don’t you show us how it’s done?”

  Stanley stood up straight.

  He cleared his throat.

  He looked up at the musical notes that were written on the board.

  And then he began to sing. “Hot cross buns! Hot cross buns! One a penny, two a penny, hot cross buns!”

  Wow! Stanley sounded like an opera singer.

  Everybody was impressed.

  Even the Silverspoons. I could tell by how angry they looked.

  The twins were always angry when they couldn’t figure out a way to make fun of someone.

  Jerry raised his hand.

  “Yes?” Mr. Fluff asked him.

  “I think we should sing a different song,” Jerry said.

  “Oh really?” Mr. Fluff asked. “Which song would that be?”

  “One Sherry and I have been practicing,” Jerry answered.

  “We wrote it ourselves,” Sherry added proudly.

  Oh brother.

  “I’m sure your song is lovely,” Mr. Fluff told the twins, “but today we are singing ‘Hot Cross Buns.’ It’s a famous folk song. People have been singing it for hundreds of years.”

  “That’s true,” Java said. “It was written in London in 1798.”

  “London is the capital of England, right?” Stanley asked.

  “Yes, it is,” Mr. Fluff said. “I thought it would be nice to sing something from another country, since you are studying geography. Now—”

  “But our song is so much better,” Jerry interrupted. “It’s about twins.”

  “Everyone loves twins,” Sherry added.

  Not everyone, I thought angrily.

  “What’s a hot cross bun anyway?” Sherry asked.

  “There are a few definitions of buns,” Java answered. “A bun is a type of sweet roll. It is also a hairstyle that ballerinas wear. And some humans use the word buns to refer to their rear end—”

  All of us kids started laughing. Even the Silverspoons.

  But Mr. Fluff wasn’t laughing.

  “Java!” Mr. Fluff scolded. “Rear ends are not something we talk about in music class. Now, please. Let’s try singing again.”

  Everyone—but me—began singing. “Hot cross buns! Hot cross buns! One a—”

  “Wait! Wait!” Mr. Fluff stopped us again. He looked straight at me. “Logan, why aren’t you singing?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Fluff,” I said. “I just don’t think I can hit that high note.”

  Java smiled. His eyes opened wide.

  “I can do it!” he shouted.

  “Java, no!” I yelled.

  But I was too late.

  My cousin ran up to the front of the room.

  He jumped high in the air.

  And he punched his fist right through the highest note Mr. Fluff had written on the board.

  Everyone stared at him.

  “That is how you hit a high note,” Java announced to the class.

  “Oh no!” Mr. Fluff shouted. “The principal is going to be so angry when he sees that!”

  Java had a goofy smile on his face. He couldn’t understand why anyone would be angry.

  Java doesn’t understand a lot of things.

  Mr. Fluff ran out of the room to get the janitor.

  We all just stood there. We didn’t know what to do.

  “Nice move, doofus,” Jerry said. He slapped Java on the back.

  Boom!

  A loud drum sound echoed from the back of my cousin’s body.

  “Hey, how did you do that?” Jerry asked, surprised.

  “It is the way I am made,” Java replied. “It sounds louder from my stomach.”

  Java began banging on his stomach. It sounded like a drum.

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  “That’s so cool,” Nadine told him.

  “No it’s not,” Sherry said. “It’s weird.”

  Tweet, tweet. Flute sounds blew out of Java’s nostrils.

  Honk. Honk. When he flapped his arms, horn sounds came out of his pits.

  This was bad. Really bad. I had to cover for him.

  “Hot cross buns!” I sang loudly so maybe no one would hear him. “Hot cross buns …”

  “One a penny, two a penny,” Stanley joined in with his opera voice.

  “Hot cross buns!” Nadine sang out.

  Soon everyone was singing along with the music Java was making.

  The Silverspoons may have thought Java was weird for being a one-man band, but the other kids seemed to think it was pretty cool.

  And no one was wondering how he was doing it.

  Which was a good thing. Because I had no idea how to explain it to them—without telling everyone my cousin was actually an android.

  Ring, ring. Java wiggled his ears. They sounded just like bells.

  Twang, twang. He plucked the strands of his hair so they sounded like guitar strings.

  Crash! Crash! He clapped his hands together so hard, they sounded like cymbals!

  “Hot cross buns,” we sang. “Hot cross buns …”

  And then …

  OOOOMPPPPAAAA! Suddenly, Java let out an explosive noise. It sounded like a tuba.

  I don’t want to say where that tuba noise exploded from.

  It would be too embarrassing.

  4.

  Icky Sticky

  “Math is so hard!” I shouted angrily later that day as I sat in my room staring at my homework sheet. “I’m going to be up all night doing this.”

  The math problems were really tough.

  Even worse, I was getting a late start on my homework.

  Mr. Fluff and Principal Kumquat had made Java stay after school to help the janitor fix the SMART Board in the music room.

  I’d stayed after school with him—just to make sure he didn’t do anything too android-like.

  So in a way, this was all Java’s fault. Which just made me madder.

  “What
is wrong, Logan?” Java asked me.

  “It’s this math homework.” I threw my calculator across the room. “I’m pulling my hair out over it.”

  “I can do it!” Java shouted out suddenly. He reached over and yanked a hair from the back of my head.

  “Ow!” I yelled. “What did you do that for?”

  “I was helping you pull your hair out,” Java told me. He held up a strand of my hair. “This one still has the root on it.”

  “I don’t need your help,” I said angrily.

  Or did I… .

  I started to think. Maybe I did need Java’s help. After all, he was the brains in the family. Wasn’t that what the Silverspoon twins had said?

  “Actually, Java, I was thinking you could help me with my homework,” I said. “How about you do this math work sheet for me?”

  “You want me to do your work for you?” Java asked. “Isn’t that against rule two hundred forty-seven in the school handbook?”

  Leave it to Java to have memorized the whole school handbook.

  “I think it is against rule four hundred fifty-nine, too,” Java said. “And also rule …”

  Oh brother.

  “Didn’t you say you’d always be happy to help me?” I asked, interrupting him.

  Java nodded. “Yes.”

  “Well, then you should help me now,” I told him. “A real friend always sticks to his word.”

  Java jumped up from his chair. He opened my top desk drawer and grabbed a big bottle of paste.

  “I can do it!” he shouted. He began to cover his face with icky, sticky paste.

  “What are you doing?” I asked him.

  Java reached into his backpack and grabbed one of his vocabulary flash cards. He slathered paste on the card and stuck it on to his forehead.

  “I am sticking to my word,” Java said. “The word on this card is absorb. It means to soak up.”

  I shook my head. “That’s not what it means,” I told him.

  “I know I am correct, Logan,” Java said. “My database has a state-of-the-art dictionary. Absorb means to soak up. It can also mean to take in.”

  “No. I meant that’s not what sticking to your word means,” I explained to my cousin. “It means keeping your promise. And you did sort of promise you would help me if I needed it.”