CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

COMPETITIVE CORNFLAKES

The next morning Jonny woke up with a weight on his chest and cheese in his ears.

‘Would you like some cheese from me? Would you like some cheese from me? ­Because MY CHEESE is the best!’

Alfie was straddling Jonny, pinning him to the mattress as he sang a ridiculous song about cheese.

‘Morning!’ said Alfie. ‘Bet you’re awake!’

‘I am now!’ huffed Jonny. ‘What are you thinking? It’s six thirty! And there’s a sign on the door. Can’t you read?’

‘I was bored,’ said Alfie. ‘Can we have breakfast? Bet I can eat a bigger bowl of cereal than you!’

‘Are you really making a bet with me, at half past six on a Tuesday morning, about who can eat more cereal?’ groaned Jonny.

Alfie nodded fast.

‘Seriously?’ said Jonny.

He tried to roll over and go back to sleep, but Alfie kept poking him. Then he began prizing open Jonny’s eyelids with his tiny fingers. This felt extremely unpleasant. It was the final straw.

‘Get OFF!’ shouted Jonny, shoving Alfie on to the floor. He got out of bed and stood there, panting a little. His fists were clenched. His eyes were shining. Something had flipped inside him.

‘You want to bet me? About cereal? Right here, right now?’ Jonny said.

Alfie nodded, half excited, half nervous.

‘OK, fine. I’m in. Let’s do this, brother. Bring. It. On. It’s going to be fun, isn’t it? And fun is good. Fun is the best! Fun is what you’re supposed to have with your brother. So let’s go. Absolutely. What are you waiting for?’

Alfie jumped up, looking slightly confused by Jonny’s strange, wide-eyed eagerness.

‘I bet I can eat more cereal than you. I’m nearly nine you know!’ he said, following Jonny out of the room. But on the stairs Jonny stopped suddenly and turned to face his tiny competitive brother.

‘Just one thing,’ Jonny said. ‘If I win, you never bet me again. Ever!’

‘OK …’ said Alfie, sounding a bit uncertain, but only for a split second. ‘But I will win!’

In the kitchen Jonny measured out cornflakes into two bowls, pouring out equal amounts of milk and setting the kitchen timer.

‘One minute to clear the bowl, starting …’

Alfie grabbed his spoon, his baby-blue eyes looking suddenly steely.

‘Now!’

Both boys attacked their cereal. Their spoons were a blur. Milk splattered their faces and their jaws jumped up and down as they demolished the cornflakes. Jonny was fast, but – giant, really colourful swear word! – Alfie was quicker. His mouth looked like a hamster’s, rapid-fire chewing the food, turning it into cornflake mush and swallowing it.

DING-A-LING-A-LING!

The boys threw down their spoons. Alfie had cleared his bowl. Jonny still had a few flakes floating at the bottom in a puddle of milk.

‘Ooof!’ said Alfie, doing some kind of victory gesture that looked faintly rude. ‘Told you I could beat you! I win the bet!’

‘Best of three!’ said Jonny. He couldn’t quite believe he was doing this. A cornflake-eating competition at 6.30 a.m.? Madness! But Alfie’s restless energy and need to compete had pushed Jonny to the brink. If Alfie was to work out as his brother, Jonny had to show him who was boss, and prove he was the oldest and the best. He had to fight, conquer, WIN! And, hopefully, shut Alfie up once and for all.

Jonny refilled the bowls, poured the milk, reset the timer and they were off again.

This time Jonny shovelled as fast as he could, barely breathing between mouthfuls. When the timer went, he dropped his spoon and gasped for air. He had done it! His bowl was empty. He glanced at Alfie’s. There were still some cornflakes left in it.

‘Beat you!’ shouted Jonny. ‘Ha! I did it! You got owned! Beaten!’

‘There’s still one more round,’ said Alfie.

Both boys now looked grimly determined. This was the decider. Jonny had never felt more competitive in his life. The fate of his whole existence, his home, the town he lived in, the very world seemed to be resting on this final bowl.

Jonny set the timer again, gripped his spoon and …

‘Go!’ he shouted.

They plunged their spoons into their third bowl of cornflakes. Jonny’s jaw ached but he was determined to win. He glanced at Alfie and was delighted to see him slowing down. Then Alfie clutched his stomach and dropped his spoon with a clatter on the floor. Jonny looked up, just in time to see Alfie open his mouth and let out an enormous …

BUUURRRPPPP!

The blast hit Jonny in the face. It was so powerful it seemed to blow him backwards in his chair. Powerful, and also damp. It smelled of milk and mashed cornflakes. There was even a whiff of yesterday’s doughnuts in there too. Disgusting, Jonny thought, and his body agreed. He raced upstairs to the bathroom and was sick. Outside the door he could hear Alfie laughing.

‘Did you just throw up?’ he said. ‘Excellent! You know what that means? I win the bet.’