Three Planets Before Bedtime
Hugo’s cardboard rocket is ready for its six o’clock launch—but it won’t budge. Luckily, his snack-loving co-pilot Inès knows a different way to take the whole street into space.
✨ Make a Storybook FreeA MayaLili Original · ages 6-9 · free to read and print
At five o’clock, Hugo’s rocket still smelled of bananas. At half past five, the eight-year-old engineer covered the last fruit sticker with a silver star. He had made a round window, three enormous fins and a control panel with a button marked SOUP. “What’s that one for?” asked Inès, his co-pilot. “Emergencies.” “Good. Have we packed snacks?” Hugo pointed to the launch notice: SIX O’CLOCK. EVERYONE WELCOME. Inès added a biscuit tin to the cockpit.
The whole story
At five o’clock, Hugo’s rocket still smelled of bananas. At half past five, the eight-year-old engineer covered the last fruit sticker with a silver star. He had made a round window, three enormous fins and a control panel with a button marked SOUP. “What’s that one for?” asked Inès, his co-pilot. “Emergencies.” “Good. Have we packed snacks?” Hugo pointed to the launch notice: SIX O’CLOCK. EVERYONE WELCOME. Inès added a biscuit tin to the cockpit.
At six, the neighbours gathered on the pavement. Someone brought a folding chair. Someone brought a dog wearing one sock. Hugo sat tall beside Inès. “Ten! Nine! Eight!” everyone counted. At “ONE!” he pressed the biggest button. Click. The rocket did not rise. It did not wobble. A silver star peeled off and landed on his knee. Hugo stared at his trainers. “I thought it might do something.” Inès looked through the round window. Then she gasped.
“Planet Crumb!” Inès whispered. “Look at those biscuit mountains.” Hugo looked. There was only the baker’s apron across the street. Then the baker leaned towards the window. “Careful,” she said. “Those mountains are terribly crumbly.” Hugo swallowed his disappointment. He turned a bottle-top dial. “Landing legs down.” The neighbours bent their knees. “Boing,” said the baker. “Boing!” said everybody. Inès opened the tin. “We’d better collect samples.” The dog sniffed hopefully at the new planet.
Next came Planet Backwards, where greetings went “Goodbye!” and hats belonged on elbows. Hugo put his paper captain’s hat on his elbow. It fitted rather well. At Planet Hush, nobody spoke. Even the biscuit tin opened quietly. A little boy at the back tugged Hugo’s sleeve. He pointed at the window, too shy to ask. Hugo stepped aside. The boy peeped through, then spread his fingers wide. “Ten moons,” Inès whispered. Everyone lifted their hands. Ten became a hundred.
When the streetlights blinked on, Hugo turned the dial towards home. “Smooth landing,” said the baker. The whole street straightened up, stretched and looked around as if the pavement were somewhere wonderfully new. Hugo checked his rocket. Still cardboard. Still banana-smelling. Still exactly where he had built it. “Three planets,” he said softly. “And one biscuit left,” said Inès. They split it beneath the round window. “Same time tomorrow?” called a neighbour. Inès brushed crumbs from her jumper. “Bring supplies.”