I got up, stretching, as the sun was streaming through my curtains.

Well, it wasn’t the welcoming sun waking me up. It was-

“Get up, you sleepy-head! It’s Melanie’s 11th birthday!”

-My sister. Who else would it be, intruding on others' peaceful sleeps? Anyways, in the end I was in the kitchen, wearing my favourite apron, with a book titled, "How To Make A Mud Cake?" tightly gripped in my left hand. Stephanie took ages to get ready, and by the time she was, the clock had already hit 7- she had taken a whole 30 minutes!

“Hurry up next time!” I hiss at her, thrusting the book into her arms. She rolled her eyes and immediately started flicking through the pages.

“Mud cakes are disgusting. Melanie will hate them.”

“No she won’t. She specifically told us, a week ago, that she had been craving a mud cake all the way from her tenth birthday. She’ll love it, and it’s not my fault that you keep on forgetting what type of food she likes!”

“Oh, whatever,” Stephanie said carelessly, stopping on a page. “Let’s do mud cake number 41.”

We started making the mud cake. (Well, I did. Stephanie kept on bellowing instructions at me.) We were halfway through when Stephanie started whinging and whining.

“Oh- my- GOODNESS! You just got some of the mixture on me! This dress was $105!”

I peered closely at Stephanie’s flowery dress. As far as I could see, there was nothing. My frown starts to crease.

“What do you mean?” I yell, annoyed. “There’s nothing! Even if there was, it’s your own fault you were wearing glamorous clothing!”

Stephanie howls, her eyes going red. I couldn’t stop myself- I just had to do it.

In my burst of anger I ‘accidentally’ knocked over the bowl full of melted chocolate, onto her new Jordans. (And yes, she wears shoes in the house. It’s ridiculous, especially when it stains the shiny floor.)

Stephanie screamed at me so loud, that it drilled holes in my ears.

“IT’S YOUR FAULT IF MELANIE’S BIRTHDAY GOES WRONG!”

She took a deep breath, and bent down to clean up the mess, cursing.

Inside, I felt a deep hole of guiltiness growing larger. Stephanie was right (for once): it would be my fault if Melanie's birthday went wrong. But then again, it wasn’t my fault if my older sister was such a brat.

A sudden idea struck me. So... Mud cakes were called mud cakes for a reason, right? What if it’s because they taste like mud? Or maybe they are made out of mud?

Maybe I could fix this... But would it work?

“Wait here,” I tell my sister, even though she clearly wasn’t going anywhere. She ignores me, and I run out into the backyard.

By the time I arrived, it was nearly 9. Melanie always woke up at 9. I set my mud down on the counter.

“What the?-” Stephanie began, bewildered, but I shushed her. I sculpted the mud into a cake as quick as I could, the clock ticking on and on. And before Stephanie could stop me, I placed it in the fridge.

Later that day, we celebrated Melanie’s birthday. She was just about to have a slice of cake when Stephanie stopped her.

“Wait- You might not like it-”

But it was too late- Melanie had already taken a crunch.

“It’s not bad!-”

A feeling of triumph overwhelmed me, when suddenly Melanie said-

“-It’s disgusting.”

In the dead of the night that day, I lay on my bed, gazing up at the ceiling, dreaming of all the things I could do to Melanie’s breakfast the next morning. Cockroaches seemed all right…

Well, let’s see what she likes, if she doesn’t like my mud cake!

Written by Hazel Emory Antler

Edited by Sienna Lockwood

Proof-read by Connor Callahan