Re-Upload - Please read this first!

Hi, Everyone! I'd originally published the first two chapters of this story on March 18, 2025 (and got some really nice feedback from a few readers). However, when I tried posting more chapters a few days later, I ran into some issues with the site, getting an error message that read "This story has no chapters." Therefore, I decided to delete the story and have re-uploaded it here (with a few tweaks that didn't make my original upload!).

In an attempt to prevent future glitches, I'm going to post only one chapter every couple of days (I think I may have overloaded the system by posting too many chapters at once). Hopefully, all goes well from here. If you're a reader who's already read these first couple of chapters, I'd appreciate you sticking with me. :)

Finally, I thought it was worth mentioning (again) that I have loved Meet the Robinsons since it first came out in 2007, and it is my favorite movie of all time. This is my first Meet the Robinsons inspired story.

This story begins about a year from where the film left off. Wilbur is 14 years old. In this story, I introduce an original character. You'll have to read on to see!

Disclaimer: I do not own Meet the Robinsons or any of its characters.

Fourteen-year-old Wilbur Robinson zipped around his room, twisting and looping in midair like he was defying gravity—which, technically, he was.

The hover boots on his feet—sleek, black, and equipped with mini stabilizer thrusters—let him soar in every direction with barely a shift of his weight. His dad's latest invention, naturally. Wilbur was supposed to be using the boots for controlled testing purposes only, buuuuuuut . . . he had other ideas.

"Okay, okay," he muttered to himself, hovering near his bed before pushing off with his foot. "We're going for the triple corkscrew. No guts, no glory."

He tucked his knees and spun through the air, twisting into a lopsided spiral. His black t-shirt flapped slightly from the momentum, and his signature cowlick somehow remained perfectly defiant, pointing skyward no matter how fast he flipped.

"BOOM!" he shouted triumphantly as he stuck the landing—boots skidding lightly across the carpet before he slowed to a smooth stop. He held out his arms like a gymnast. "Ten outta ten. Nailed it!"

Just as he was about to launch into another trick, his bedroom door slid open.

Cornelius Robinson, inventor extraordinaire, stepped inside, calm and composed as always, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his lab coat. His sharp eyes scanned the room, lingering briefly on a half-destroyed model rocket on Wilbur's desk and a pile of laundry haphazardly stuffed into a chair.

Wilbur sailed by Cornelius with an easy-going wave. "Hey, Dad. What's happenin'?"

The blond inventor took in the sight of his son gliding lazily in midair, then arched a brow. "Wilbur, I thought you were done testing the hover boots."

Wilbur shot him a mischievous grin, slowly spinning upside down. "I am. This is... extracurricular use."

Cornelius shook his head lightly, though there was no real disapproval in his expression. "You'll want to save some of that energy for tomorrow," he said, strolling over to Wilbur's desk and tapping a small holographic interface. With a flick of his wrist, he powered down the boots remotely.

Wilbur gave a squawk of protest as the thrusters cut off, dropping him unceremoniously to the floor with a loud thud.

"Hey!" He sat up with a scowl, ruffling his hair back into its usual cowlick. "I was just getting warmed up!"

Cornelius turned to face him, casually pocketing the console. "Dinner tomorrow night. Extremely important business meeting. You're coming."

Wilbur blinked. "Wait, what?"

Cornelius crossed the room and helped his son to his feet. "Wilbur, we are having dinner with my new business partners," he repeated. "They're a husband-and-wife duo – Drs. Eric and Michelle Jackson. We're collaborating on next-gen robotics. It's a big deal, Wilbur. Real, cutting-edge science."

Wilbur raised his eyebrows. "Whoa. Pretty cool, Dad." He rubbed the back of his neck. "So, you need me at this 'extremely important' dinner because…?"

"Well, the Jacksons are bringing their daughter." Cornelius smiled. "I thought it'd be nice if you—"

Wilbur cut his father off with a loud groan. "Let me guess. You want me to babysit her."

"No, not babysit. Befriend," Cornelius corrected. "She's your age. I'm sure you'll get along just fine."

Wilbur rolled his eyes and sat on his bed with a disgruntled sigh. "Ugh, Dad. Come on. Seriously – you can't just force a friendship. We might not even click."

Cornelius sat on the bed next to his son. "Wilbur, I want you to be polite," he said matter-of-factly. "You'll show her around. Give her a tour of a few rooms in the house. You can even bring her upstairs to see my lab."

"Your lab?" Wilbur repeated incredulously. "You never want anyone just roaming around in your lab. I'm barely allowed in your lab!"

"You are. With my supervision," Cornelius reminded him. "But this is a special occasion, so, just this once, I'll allow you to show the Jacksons' daughter around my lab... by yourself."

Wilbur blinked. While the opportunity to meander around his father's lab - unsupervised - sounded like a dream come true, Wilbur couldn't bring himself to feel excited. After all, his father was only granting him this opportunity as a chore to impress these new business partners of his.

It didn't seem fair.

Wilbur remained silent. Cornelius placed a calm hand on his shoulder. "Son, it would really mean a lot to me if you at least tried to be a good host to the Jacksons' daughter. Please."

The raven-haired teen stared at his father, knowing he couldn't possibly let him down. He exhaled. "Fine."

Cornelius grinned and wrapped his arm around Wilbur's shoulder. "That's my boy."

"The one and only," Wilbur muttered, trying to crack a smile. He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "So, this girl. Does she have a name?"

"That, I do not know yet," Cornelius admitted.

"What's she like? Is she, you know..." Wilbur lightly spun his pointer finger near his temple, indicating the signal for "crazy."

Cornelius tried not to laugh. "Why would you assume that?"

Wilbur shrugged. "I dunno. You can never be too sure."

"I'm sure she's perfectly normal," Cornelius assured.

"Well, isn't there anyone else she knows around here?"

"I don't think so. The Jacksons just moved to Todayland earlier this week, so their daughter hasn't had a chance to make any real friends yet. From what her dad told me, she mostly keeps to herself." Cornelius smiled at his son. "She's a lot like you."

Wilbur's face grew hot. "I have friends," he mumbled, but this wasn't exactly true. Aside from his robot buddy, Carl, and his two cousins, Laszlo and Tallulah, Wilbur didn't have any friends.

Sure, he was popular at school because people knew him as the son of famous inventor, Cornelius Robinson, and musical genius, Francesca Robinson, but they were all too intimidated by these facts to really get to know him as a person.

Plenty of girls at school liked him because they thought he was handsome, but they usually had ulterior motives, like getting a grand tour of the Robinson mansion, boosting their own popularity, or simply making the other girls at school jealous.

What if the Jacksons' daughter was no different?

Wilbur wrung his hands together nervously. Cornelius gave his son a firm pat on the back and stood, smoothing out his shirt. "Be ready by six tomorrow, okay, Wilbur?"

"Sure, Dad," Wilbur muttered.

"Put on something crisp. And maybe... comb your hair," Cornelius added with a smirk.

Wilbur gave his dad a pointed look. His cowlick remained perfectly crooked, just as stubborn as he was.

Well, that's the end of Chapter 1! As I previously mentioned, I'll probably wait a few days before posting Chapter 2. If you've already read this from my prior upload, I apologize for the inconvenience and hope that you'll still stick with me.

Please review! :)