Robot Riot! Read online

‘No, Clive,’ said Jack, still chuckling. ‘You’ve missed the point. The grape doesn’t have feathers. That’s the joke.’

  ‘I’m going to tell my brother you said that,’ said Clive.

  ‘What? That grapes don’t have feathers?’

  ‘No,’ said Clive. ‘I’m going to tell him that you said I missed the point!’

  ‘Well, you did,’ said Jack. ‘But here’s another one. Why did the plane crash?’

  ‘Because of bad weather?’ said David.

  ‘No,’ said Jack.

  ‘Pilot error?’ said Fiona.

  ‘No,’ giggled Jack.

  ‘Because a plane doesn’t have feathers?’ said Clive.

  ‘Wrong again,’ said Jack. ‘Give up?’

  ‘Yes!’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘We give up.’

  ‘Because the pilot was a loaf of bread!’ said Jack, shaking with laughter.

  It was pretty funny . . . well, in a completely non-funny sort of way.

  ‘Can we do maths now?’ said Fiona.

  ‘No,’ said Grant. ‘I’ve got another joke. Why did the robot cross the road?’

  ‘To get to the other side?’ said Mr Brainfright.

  ‘No,’ said Grant.

  ‘Because there was another robot on the other side of the road and it wanted to make friends with it?’ said Jenny.

  ‘No,’ said Grant. ‘Robots don’t make friends with each other. They’re robots.’

  ‘Because it was scared?’ suggested Newton.

  ‘No,’ said Grant, becoming frustrated. ‘Robots don’t feel fear. They don’t have emotions. They’re robots!’

  ‘Are we going to be tested on this?’ said Fiona.

  ‘No,’ said Mr Brainfright.

  ‘Because it saw a horse?’ said Penny.

  ‘No,’ said Grant. ‘Robots aren’t interested in horses.’

  ‘What if it was a horse-riding robot?’ said Gina.

  ‘There’s no such thing,’ snapped Grant. ‘Give up?’

  ‘No,’ said Roberta. ‘Because I know the answer. The robot crossed the road because it was programmed to cross the road.’

  Grant was stunned. ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘Because it’s obvious,’ said Roberta. ‘A robot can only do what it is programmed to do. So if a robot crosses a road then it stands to reason that it was programmed to cross the road. But why? That’s the really interesting question here. Why did the programmer program the robot to cross the road?’

  ‘No it’s not,’ said Grant. ‘That’s not the interesting question at all. It doesn’t matter why the programmer programmed the robot to cross the road. It’s just a joke. It’s meant to be funny.’

  ‘I don’t see anything funny about programming robots to cross roads for no purpose,’ said Roberta. ‘A robot is a very expensive and complicated piece of technology. It could be hit by a car. And that definitely wouldn’t be funny.’

  Boy, she was really taking this thing seriously. She obviously cared a lot about robots and their safety.

  The whole class sat there in silence. For a joke-telling session there wasn’t much laughing going on.

  The bell rang for morning break.

  We all breathed a sigh of relief and rushed for the door.

  5

  Important joke-based lesson no. 1

  If your grape has feathers, it’s probably a chicken.

  6

  Important joke-based lesson no. 2

  Loaves of bread should not be put in charge of aeroplanes.

  7

  Important joke-based lesson no. 3

  Jokes about robots are not funny.

  8

  A most unusual girl

  At recess, Roberta accepted Jenny’s invitation to sit with us at our usual spot under the tree next to the basketball court.

  Penny and Gina Palomino, the horse-mad twins, were running around the edge of the court yelling ‘Giddyup!’ and ‘Faster! Faster!’

  ‘Are they all right?’ asked Roberta.

  ‘They’re fine,’ I said. I was so used to seeing Penny and Gina do things like this that I didn’t even notice anymore.

  ‘But what are they doing?’

  ‘They’re having a horse race.’

  ‘I don’t see any horses!’

  ‘They’re imaginary horses,’ said Gretel. ‘But don’t say that to Penny and Gina. To them, the horses are real.’

  ‘But wouldn’t it be better to tell them that the horses aren’t real rather than allowing them to go on suffering this delusion?’

  ‘Well,’ said Jenny, ‘that’s the thing . . . they’re not suffering. They love imagining that they have horses! Penny’s is a beautiful black stallion named Midnight, and Gina has a snow-white mare named Ice. They’re pretty friendly when you get to know them. But don’t try to feed them sugar, or Penny and Gina will get mad.’

  ‘O . . . kay,’ said Roberta, looking at Jenny uncertainly, clearly thinking she was as deluded as Penny and Gina. ‘This is a very unusual school. You have imaginary horses, a principal who thinks he’s the captain of a ship, and as for Mr Brainfright . . .’

  ‘Yeah, he’s great, isn’t he?’ said Jack. ‘He’s the best teacher we’ve ever had. Not only do we get to tell jokes in class, but he taught us how to skid on banana peels once. That was really fun.’

  Roberta frowned at Jack. ‘I thought we came to school to learn, not to tell jokes and skid on banana peels.’

  ‘You must be missing your old school, Roberta,’ said Jenny, attempting to change the subject.

  ‘No, not really,’ said Roberta. ‘But aren’t you missing your friends?’ said Jenny. ‘I know I would if I had to change schools.’

  Roberta shrugged. ‘We were grouped according to our abilities,’ she said. ‘Friendship didn’t really come into it. We just did our work.’

  ‘But there’s more to life than work!’ said Jenny.

  Roberta stared at Jenny, a puzzled look on her face.

  ‘I’d be scared if I had to change schools,’ said Newton, looking scared just at the thought of it.

  ‘Why?’ said Roberta. ‘There’s nothing to be scared of.’

  ‘What if you went to a school full of brain-eating zombies?’ said Jack. ‘I bet you’d be scared then. You’d be sitting there in class trying to do your work and they’d all be sneaking up behind you with knives and forks in their hands going, “Yeah, let’s eat the brains of the new kid right out of her skull while they’re still warm”, and then they’d raise their knives and forks high above your head and—’

  ‘Jack!’ said Jenny. ‘Stop talking about brain-eating zombies! You’re scaring Newton!’

  Newton had turned as white as a . . . well . . . as white as a kid who’d just realised that a bunch of brain-eating zombies were eating his brains right out of his head while they were still warm.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Jack, ‘but you’ve got to admit that that would be pretty scary, right?’

  ‘Well, yes, it would be,’ said Roberta. ‘If there were such a thing as brain-eating zombies.’

  ‘Of course there are!’ said Jack. ‘How could they make movies about them if they’re not real?’

  Roberta looked like she was about to give Jack a lecture on the impossibility of brain-eating zombies existing but she was distracted by Gina, who ran past at that moment, a huge smile on her face. ‘Giddyup!’ she yelled, as she galloped by.

  ‘Faster, faster,’ yelled Penny, who was running along behind her, an even bigger smile on her face.

  Roberta shook her head. She obviously didn’t believe in brain-eating zombies or imaginary horses.

  Or friends.

  Or being scared of changing schools.

  Or telling jokes or skidding on banana peels, for that matter.

  She was a most unusual girl—the most unusual girl I’d ever met.

  9

  Spider!

  By the time Jenny, Jack, Newton, Gretel and I got back to class, Roberta was already seated at her desk.


  ‘Well,’ said Mr Brainfright, ‘let’s get on with it, shall we?’

  ‘No more joke-telling, please,’ pleaded Fiona.

  ‘No,’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘I think it’s time we did some writing!’

  ‘Essay-writing?’ said Fiona hopefully. ‘I love essay-writing!’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘I was thinking more along the lines of a story.’

  Fiona sighed with disappointment. But not me. As you know, I love stories. This was definitely my kind of lesson.

  Roberta, however, had other ideas. ‘A made-up story?’ she said. ‘I’ve never done that before. Could I write about something real instead?’

  ‘Real or made-up?’ said Mr Brainfright, shrugging. ‘What’s the difference?’

  ‘I’d say there’s a lot of difference,’ said Roberta. ‘Real stories are true. Made-up stories are false.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that,’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘Sometimes made-up stories contain a great deal of truth, and true stories conceal a great many lies!’

  Roberta regarded Mr Brainfright sceptically.

  ‘Give me an example,’ she said.

  ‘Well,’ said Mr Brainfright, ‘one of the most famous and well-loved children’s stories of all time is set in a barn full of animals, including a talking pig and a spider who writes words in her web! It’s not literally true, of course. We all know that spiders can’t write and pigs can’t talk, but nevertheless the story contains a great deal of truth about life and death and friendship and love.’

  ‘I know what book you’re talking about!’ said Jenny. ‘Charlotte’s Web! I love that book.’

  ‘I’m scared of spiders,’ said Newton, who was white-faced and trembling.

  ‘Don’t worry, Newton,’ said Jenny. ‘Charlotte’s not a real spider.’

  But Jenny’s calming words had no effect on Newton. He was staring at a point somewhere above his head, jabbing at the air, mouth open in horror. ‘Sp . . . sp . . . sp . . .’ he spluttered.

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’ said Roberta.

  ‘I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure it starts with sp,’ said Jack.

  ‘Sparrow?’ said Fiona. ‘Spies? Spelling? Spaceship?’

  Newton was red in the face. He looked like he was going to explode. ‘SPIDER!’ he finally shouted, regaining the use of his voice. ‘SPIDER!’

  ‘It’s just a story, Newton,’ said Jenny. ‘There’s no spider.’

  ‘YES THERE IS!’ Newton cried, jabbing at the air.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘THERE!’ said Newton.

  We all leaned in and tried to see what he was pointing at. Slowly it came into focus. A spider. A tiny spider. A tiny spider swinging on an almost invisible thread, right in front of Newton’s desk.

  It was hardly any bigger than the full stop at the end of this sentence.

  But it was still a spider.

  Newton may have been alone in his fear of butterflies, but the whole class was united in our fear of spiders.

  We all screamed, jumped up from our seats and backed away to the edges of the room.

  Mr Brainfright, who was apparently even more scared of spiders than the rest of us put together, staggered backwards with such speed that he hit the window sill, toppled, and fell out the window!

  The only two people in the room who were not trying to get away from the spider were Newton—who was too scared to move—and Roberta, who didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

  She just sat there watching us blankly. ‘What’s wrong with you all?’ she said. ‘It’s just a spider. It’s completely harmless!’

  ‘It’s a spider!’ I yelled.

  ‘Yes . . . a completely harmless one!’

  Roberta stood up, went to the spider, and scooped it up in her cupped hand.

  I’d never seen anyone do anything like that in my life.

  I mean, to touch a spider accidentally is one thing, but to touch a spider on purpose was unthinkable . . . it was practically inhuman.

  ‘Just as I thought!’ said Roberta, studying it intensely. ‘A tiny house-dweller. From the family Lepodoctori harmlessoso, unless I’m very much mistaken.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Fiona, gingerly stepping towards Roberta and trying to regain her place as class know-it-all. ‘It’s just a harmless house spider. I knew that!’

  ‘No you didn’t,’ said Roberta. ‘You ran to the window like everyone else. You were scared.’

  ‘I was not,’ said Fiona, her face getting red. ‘I just needed some fresh air. Speaking of windows, I’d better go and see if Mr Brainfright is all right!’

  Fiona rushed from the room, obviously glad to have an excuse to escape Roberta’s clearly superior knowledge of spiders.

  Roberta calmly walked to the window and blew the spider softly off her hand.

  We heard Mr Brainfright scream.

  It was good to hear him.

  Even if he was screaming.

  At least we knew he was still alive.

  10

  Breaking the rules

  Mr Brainfright reappeared in the classroom a few minutes later.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course he is,’ said Roberta, before Mr Brainfright could answer. ‘A fall from that height into a recently dug seedbed would not cause serious injury. Of course, if it had been concrete, that would have been another matter. It could have cracked his skull wide open and sent his brains—’

  ‘Yes, well,’ spluttered Mr Brainfright, ‘let’s be very glad that Mr Spade’s garden beds aren’t made of concrete!’

  ‘What concerns me, however,’ Roberta continued in a voice that was nearly a drone, ‘is that your exit was in clear contravention of two of the rules that are so clearly laid out in the Northwest Southeast Central School handbook.’

  ‘Really?’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘Which rules are they?’

  ‘Section twenty-three, paragraph one states very clearly that windows are not to be used as exits, emergency or otherwise. Also, section forty-five, paragraph two clearly states that a teacher must not abandon his students under any circumstances.’

  I couldn’t believe it. Roberta could not only touch spiders, but she appeared to have memorised the whole school handbook . . . and she’d only been at the school for one morning!

  ‘That’s correct, sir,’ said David, quickly flipping through his well-thumbed copy of the handbook to confirm Roberta’s statement. David loved rules and looked slightly annoyed that he hadn’t been the one to spot these particular infractions first.

  ‘That’s all very interesting,’ Mr Brainfright said to Roberta, ‘but how on earth did you know all that?’

  ‘I read the handbook,’ she replied.

  ‘How many times?’ said Mr Brainfright.

  ‘Just once,’ said Roberta. ‘Like I said, I pay attention.’

  ‘And when did you say that?’ asked Mr Brainfright.

  ‘This morning!’ said Roberta.

  Mr Brainfright grinned at her.

  ‘Oh,’ said Roberta, finally catching on. ‘You were joking again, right?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Mr Brainfright, still grinning.

  ‘I think it’s very important to know the rules,’ said Roberta.

  ‘I can see that,’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘But sometimes it’s also very important to know when to break them.’

  ‘That’s silly,’ said Roberta. ‘Why bother making rules if you intend to break them? You might just as well not have rules in the first place.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think anyone necessarily sets out to break a rule on purpose,’ said Mr Brainfright. ‘I mean, I certainly didn’t intend to fall out that window—it was an accident—but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have a rule that says people shouldn’t exit or enter buildings by the window. That could lead to many unnecessary injuries. On the other hand, there are times when leaving a room by the window is the most sensible course of action, such as when there’s a fire . . .
or a . . .’

  ‘Spider?’ said Roberta.

  ‘Yikes!’ said Newton. ‘Where?’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I reassured Newton. ‘There’s no spider.’

  ‘That’s what Jenny said last time,’ he reminded me.

  ‘I know,’ I said, ‘but this time it’s true.’

  ‘I’m not taking any chances,’ said Newton, jumping up, running towards the window, and diving out.

  ‘That’s another clear contravention of section twenty-three, paragraph one!’ said Roberta.

  Jenny got up and headed for the door. ‘I’ll go,’ she said, sighing.

  I looked at Roberta.

  She was definitely the most unusual person I’d ever met.

  She not only appeared to have a photographic memory, but she also wasn’t scared of anything . . . not even spiders!

  I thought she was unusual, all right, but just how unusual I was about to find out.

  11

  Roberta’s diary

  Now, before I tell you what happened next, I’ve got to explain something.

  I am not a sneaky person. I am not a dishonest person.

  And I am certainly not the sort of person who would read somebody else’s diary without their permission.

  Well, not if I had a choice, anyway.

  But, in this instance, I had no choice.

  You see, at the end of the day I was the last one to leave the classroom, and as I left I saw somebody’s diary lying on the floor and I thought I’d better do the right thing and pick it up so that the cleaners didn’t mistake it for rubbish and throw it out. But when I picked it up it fell open and I just happened to accidentally see the following words:

  MISSION REPORT

  TOP SECRET

  NOT TO BE READ BY ANYONE,

  ESPECIALLY NOT HUMANS!!!

  Now, seriously, what would you have done?

  Pretend you hadn’t seen it, closed the diary and put it on the teacher’s desk?

  No, of course not!

  You would have done what anybody would have done . . . well . . . anyone human, that is. You would have kept reading.