Another Bite

Another Bite
Ari Nicholl

When I was a boy, I had a favourite treat called chocolate concrete, I absolutely, truly, truly loved it. Normally I have that big fat bit around the edge, as fat as a panda, but sadly we only have chocolate concrete on birthdays. 
But one night, the night before my sister’s second birthday, I thought mmm, yum, mmm, yummy chocolate concrete tomorrow. Now you may be thinking that I was also thinking about the actual birthday, but no I was not. I was only thinking about the yummy, scrummy chocolate cake!
So that night I went to sleep, then I suddenly woke up again and thought, chocolate concrete again. 
Me thinking about eating the final crumbs of the chocolate concrete would not let me go to sleep, so I had to just have a quick peek. 
I pulled the duvet covers, then put them back where they were, just in case my mum or dad came in. I tiptoed through the corridor and remembered the creaky, screechy and unsafe floorboard, I tried not to tread on it, but I heard a little squeak, 
I stood as still as a statue, listened very carefully and tiptoed past.
I quietly slid down the stairs, into the kitchen. I opened the cupboard door and saw that big fat bit that was always, surely saved for me. It smelt as good as a chocolate factory, yummy, crummy, yummy.
Clatter, clang, clutter, I put the plate on the table, mmmm, I couldn’t resist just having a little lick of the truly scrumptious cake, I thought just one bit, but I had another bit then another and another, until when I was about to get one more bit, I looked down at the plate but all of the cake had gone! 
Oh no, I had eaten the whole birthday cake, then, I had an idea. I licked the crumbs, now the plate was clean as crystal, so I put it gently back in the cupboard, so no one would see it.
I joyfully went back upstairs, past the creaky floorboard and into bed, with a happy belly full of chocolate.
In the morning I woke up, got out of bed, went downstairs and had breakfast. Then my dad came in and said: “Don’t forget to get the cake ready for your sister’s birthday.”
I replied, full of guilt and full of chocolate ”Oh…oh…sure.”
“Hmmm, you normally jump at the sound of chocolate concrete,” he said.
Then my dad looked closely at the table and he saw some brown crumbly crumbs and, picking them up, he asked like a detective: “This isn’t chocolate cake is it?”
I replied nervously. “Urh… I don’t know.”
“I don’t believe you, your sister will be so upset! Go and get a wet wipe and clean it up!” he said furiously.
I went upstairs and got a cloth, but boy oh boy that chocolate concrete was worth the telling off… 
Do you think this will happen again?