In the sparkly-far-away galaxy of Twinkletoes, where the stars smelled like warm cinnamon and the planets hummed lullabies, lived a boy named Benjamin. His hair was as fluffy as a cloud kitten’s tail, and his laughter sounded like tiny bells ringing in a breeze. But Benjamin had one big, wobbly problem: he was terrified of the Star Beam.

The Star Beam was a long, glowing bridge made of stardust, stretching between two floating islands. It was smooth as a freshly licked lollipop and shimmered like a rainbow after rain. Every child in Twinkletoes loved balancing on it—except Benjamin. The last time he’d tried, his feet had turned to jelly, and PLOP! He’d landed in a pile of space marshmallows. The other kids had giggled, and Benjamin’s cheeks had burned hotter than a rocket’s tail.

One day, as the scent of bubblegum nebula clouds filled the air and the distant clink-clank of comet bells echoed, Benjamin’s best friend, a round, bouncy robot named Boing, rolled up to him. "Why the long face, space buddy?" Boing’s voice squeaked like a door that hadn’t been oiled in a century. His metal feet left squishy, jelly-like prints on the ground.

"I’ll never balance on the Star Beam," Benjamin muttered, kicking a pebble that zoomed off like a tiny spaceship. "I’m too wobbly. Too… too fall-y."

Boing’s eyes lit up like twin moons. "Ohhh, I’ve got just the thing!" He rummaged in his belly compartment and pulled out a pair of socks—one striped like a candy cane, the other polka-dotted like a galaxy. "Anti-wobble socks! Guaranteed to make you stick to the beam like space glue!"

Benjamin’s eyes widened. "Really?"

"Really!" Boing nodded so hard his head wobbled. "But there’s one rule: you have to take it super slow. No rushing!"

With the socks pulled up to his knees (they tickled like a hundred tiny space spiders), Benjamin stepped onto the Star Beam. The stardust felt cool and grainy under his fingers, like sprinkles on a cupcake. He took a deep breath—the air smelled like cotton candy and adventure—and lifted one foot. Wobble. He froze. Wobble-wobble. His arms flailed like a windmill in a storm. CRASH! Down he went, right into Boing’s squishy, marshmallow-soft belly.

"Oof!" Boing bounced backward, his springs squeaking. "Maybe… maybe the socks need a little help?" He scratched his head, leaving a smudge of grease on his forehead. "Aha! I’ve got it!" He pulled out a tiny umbrella. "A balance umbrella! Hold it tight, and it’ll keep you steady!"

Benjamin tried again. This time, he held the umbrella like a knight’s shield. Step. Wobble. Step. Wobble. The umbrella wobbled too, like a leaf in the wind, but Benjamin didn’t fall. His heart pounded like a drum in a parade, but he kept going. Step. Wobble. Step. Wobble. The other kids gathered below, their faces tilted up like little moons. "You’re doing it!" they cheered.

Then—SQUEAK!—Boing’s umbrella snapped in half. Benjamin’s arms pinwheeled, and SPLAT! He landed in a pile of space confetti, which smelled like birthday cake and tickled his nose. The kids burst into giggles, and even Benjamin couldn’t help but laugh. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

Boing rolled over, his springs creaking. "Okay, okay. Maybe the umbrella was a little too small." He pulled out one last thing from his belly: a long, stretchy scarf, as silky as a spider’s web and glowing like a firefly. "Tie this around your waist. I’ll hold the other end. If you wobble, I’ll pull you up!"

Benjamin tied the scarf tight. It felt warm and snuggly, like a hug from a star. He stepped onto the beam again. Step. Wobble. Step. Wobble. This time, when he wobbled, Boing gave a gentle tug. "I’ve got you!" he squeaked. Benjamin’s feet steadied. His heart slowed. The beam didn’t feel so scary anymore.

One step. Two steps. Three steps. Before he knew it, Benjamin was halfway across! The wind whistled in his ears like a friendly ghost, and the stardust sparkled under his feet. He wasn’t falling. He wasn’t wobbling too much. He was balancing.

When he reached the other side, the kids erupted into cheers. Benjamin’s chest puffed up like a balloon. He’d done it! Boing rolled up beside him, his metal body clanking happily. "Told you you could do it!" he said, ruffling Benjamin’s fluffy hair.

That night, as Benjamin floated in his cloud hammock (which smelled like lavender and felt like a kitten’s belly), he thought about the Star Beam. It wasn’t so scary after all. It just took a little time, a little patience, and a lot of wobbles. And maybe, just maybe, a silly robot with too many gadgets.

From that day on, Benjamin balanced on the Star Beam every chance he got. Sometimes he still wobbled. Sometimes he still fell. But that was okay. Because every time he got back up, he was a little braver. And every time he tried, the beam felt a little less like a challenge and a little more like a friend.

And Boing? Well, he kept his belly full of gadgets—just in case Benjamin needed a little help. Because that’s what friends do.