The sky is a mess of purples and oranges, like it’s trying to decide if it’s a sunrise or sunset. Zom, age 10, and his sister Bina, 7, are trudging home from the store. Zom’s lugging a box of Frosted Flakes under one arm and a pack of double-A batteries in the other, while Bina hugs a bag of pancake mix like it’s made of gold. The cold, crisp autumn air nips at their noses, their breath making tiny clouds that hang for a moment before vanishing.

They’re almost home, the warm glow of the streetlights flickering to life in the distance, when Zom skids to a stop. Bina crashes into his back, the groceries swaying dangerously, but not fatally since that’s just how this story goes.

“Hey!” Bina grumbles, rubbing her nose. “What gives?”

Zom’s squinting into the distance, his brow furrowed. “Hey, Bina… what’s that?”

“What’s what?” Bina asks, tilting her head, eyes wide and curious.

Zom flashes a grin. “Well, ‘what’ is a four-letter pronoun on Tuesdays and an adverb on Fridays.”

Bina’s eyes narrow. “Is that your dad joke of the day? What does that even mean?”

Zom shrugs, a grin tugging at his lips. “Well, see, pronouns have this sort of… schedule. Like, on Tuesdays, they—” He pauses, sees Bina’s confused face, and waves it off. “Never mind, just forget I said that. Look over there.”

He points across the field at a tall structure with bright red lines.

“What is that?” he asks again, this time a little more urgently.

“Oh, that?” Bina echoes, as if she just noticed it too. Then she drops to the grass with dramatic flair, crossing her legs and closing her eyes like some kind of mini-meditation guru. “Let me consult the ancient wisdom…”

Zom rolls his eyes, but he waits, because this is Bina and, well, because again this is how this story goes.

A half-hour later…

Bina pops her eyes open and jumps up like she’s been struck by lightning. “Great pancakes, it’s a battery!” she declares, thrusting her finger toward the thing.

Zom blinks, taken aback. “A… battery?”

“Yup!” Bina’s beaming like she just cracked the case of the century.

Zom stares at her. “It’s the size of a building.”

“Uh-huh.” She nods enthusiastically.

“With red slats?”

“Yup, those too.”

Zom rubs his forehead like he’s got a headache coming on. “Okay, Bina, you’ve gotta explain this one to me.”

Bina puts on her best “wise detective” face, then points back toward the field. “Easy. Look at the robot over there.”

Zom looks again and, sure enough, there’s a massive robot crouched in the field, a gaping hole in its back. “So… it’s a battery slot?”

“Exactly!” Bina beams, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world.

Zom’s mouth opens, then closes. “I hate to say it, but… that makes a weird amount of sense.”

“See?” Bina says, crossing her arms proudly. “Clearly, the robot ran out of juice, and that’s the battery it needs.”

“But how did the battery end up here and the robot over there?” Zom asks, scratching his head.

Bina taps her chin, deep in thought. “Look at the angle of the robot’s rear end. It’s all about the trajectory!”

“Okay, and…?” Zom presses.

“Pancakes, don’t you see?” Bina says with a dramatic flair. “Just before it ran out of power, the robot completed its final mission. It ejected—”

Zom cuts her off, wincing. “Please don’t say it shot it out of its butt.”

Bina grins. “You said it, not me. But yes, exactly like that! A SpaceX-style maneuver and—voilà! The battery lands over there.”

Zom groans, dragging his hands down his face. “I have no words.”

“Actually, that’s four words,” Bina corrects with a giggle.

“Thanks, Bina. On that helpful note, let’s just go home,” Zom mutters. “I need to put these double-A batteries in my Optimus Prime, and now I’m not sure I can do it with a straight face.”

Bina laughs. “Just do it with a bent face!”

Zom laughs too, despite himself. “That doesn’t even make sense!”

They reach the house, and Zom bolts straight for his room. He stops dead in his tracks. There, on the floor, his toy robot is hunched over, and its battery holder stands upright, looking eerily like the structure they saw in the field. The toy robot and holder are positioned on opposite sides of the room, with a strip of linoleum between them, much like outside.

Zom yells for Bina, and she runs over. They both stare at the scene in silence. Then, with a determined look, Zom slips the double-A batteries into the holder, which looks like a tiny version of the strange building. He slides the holder back into the robot’s back, his hands a little shaky.

The robot whirs to life with a low rumble that seems to echo from outside. Zom and Bina exchange a look, half excitement, half fear: “Pancakes for dinner?”

Their dad bursts in, looking frazzled. “Hey! First, those pancakes are for breakfast tomorrow! Second, what do pancakes have to do with the giant robot outside mimicking what your toy is doing, huh? Huh!”

Zom and Bina just grin. Because, of course, that’s exactly how this story goes.