Sleepover Girls Go Dancing

by Harriet Castor

  “It’s not the same without you, Fliss,” said Kenny.

  “Of course it isn’t,” said Fliss briskly. “But you’ll just have to manage somehow, won’t you?”

  On Thursday each of us brought in a selection of clothes that we thought might be suitable. Fliss laid them out on one of the benches in the girls’ changing room, so that she could see them all together.

  “You should be in toning colours,” she said strictly, hobbling up and down, and removing items she disapproved of. “I’m thinking pinks and purples, with quite a bit of silver.” (Which is Frankie’s favourite colour – all the silver things were hers.)

  Kenny – who is definitely not a pinks and purples kind of person – was chewing her lip in a desperate attempt to stop herself saying “Yeuch!” She only just succeeded.

  Fliss handed garments to each of us, and told us to stand in a line, holding them up. I had a purple T-shirt (my own) and a short pink skirt (Fliss’s). I wasn’t at all sure the skirt would fit me.

  Suddenly we heard the growly voice of Emily Berryman behind us. “Working out costumes, are you?” she said. Then she added, really sarcastically, “Mmm. Lovely.”

  Emma Hughes was standing beside her. “It’s touching, really,” she said to Emily, in a loud voice so that we could hear. “They haven’t a clue how hopeless they’re going to look next to us, have they?”

  And with that, they went cackling off down the corridor like two horrid witches.

  “Losers!” shouted Kenny after them. Which was exactly what we hoped they were going to be next week.

  I was worried, though. With Fliss’s section missing from our routine, it just wasn’t the same. The whole thing felt unbalanced, somehow.

  Though I wasn’t really aware of it, I must have kept turning the problem over and over in some dark corner of my brain, because on Tuesday, three days before the competition, I suddenly felt like a light bulb had been switched on inside my head.

  It was slap bang in the middle of a maths lesson, and we were having my least favourite thing in the whole world: a mental arithmetic test. I was so amazed by this thing that had come zinging into my brain, that I didn’t even hear three of the questions Mrs Weaver read out, and I didn’t write any answers for three more.

  As soon as the bell rang at the end of the lesson, I dashed between the desks, dodging shoving bodies. “Fliss, Fliss,” I said breathlessly. “You shall go to the ball!”

  Fliss turned round. She’d just levered herself up on her crutches. “What on earth are you talking about, Rosie?”

  I was so excited I must have looked mad. “The party,” I said. “I’ve just had the most wonderful idea!”

  “Hand-jive???”

  We were out in the playground. Fliss, Frankie, Kenny and Lyndz were looking at me in amazement.

  “Of course!” I said. “Don’t you see? It’s perfect! Fliss can’t join in with the whole routine, obviously, but when it’s her turn to do a solo, she can come to the front and do a wicked hand-jive. She won’t have to move her feet at all.”

  Suddenly Frankie cracked a big grin. “Rosie,” she said. “You’re a genius. It is perfect!”

  “But what about my crutches?” asked Fliss. “I need them to get into position, but while I’m doing the hand-jive I won’t be able to hold them.”

  “That’s easy,” I said. “Once you’ve got to the front, two of us can step forward and take the crutches. We can give them back to you at the end of your spot.”

  “Can you make up a routine in time for Friday?” Kenny asked Fliss.

  “Thursday,” corrected Lyndz. “Mrs Weaver said she wants to have a look at the routines the afternoon before the competition, remember?”

  “Of course I can!” said Fliss. “What’s a little hand-jive when I could have been Britney Spears?”

  That set us all off laughing. “Way to go, Fliss!” giggled Lyndz.

  “Hang on, there is one problem,” said Fliss suddenly. “You’re all sorted with costumes, but I don’t have anything to wear.”

  “I’ll give you mine,” said Kenny quickly. She was just dying to get out of wearing the pink shorts Fliss had chosen for her.

  “No, wait,” I said, “I’ve got another suggestion. Because you’re missing your skiing holiday, Fliss – and because they’ll fit our colour scheme, too – I reckon you should wear your pink salopets.”

  “Hey, yeah!” said Lyndz. “We’re all dying to see them.”

  “Really?” Fliss looked pleased. “They’ll be a bit warm, but I guess I won’t be moving around much – and I can change out of them after our routine. OK, Rosie, you’re on!”

  … Which was how we came to be S Club 5 again. And how Fliss came to be dressed for our routine like a pink Abominable Snowman. I hadn’t realised salopets were so all-over-thick-and-squashy. In their own strange way they were quite stylish, I suppose. They just looked a bit out of place in a Cuddington Primary classroom, rather than out on some glamorous Alpine mountainside.

  Fliss wore them for the first time that Thursday in the lunch hour, when Mrs Weaver made each group go through their routine in our classroom.

  “What’s she want to see it for?” hissed Kenny, as we were waiting outside for our turn. “Is she worried we’ll be singing rude words, or taking our clothes off, or something?”

  “Maybe she’s hoping that’s what we’ll do,” snorted Frankie.

  “Hey, take a look at this!” said Lyndz. She was standing on tiptoe, peering through the glass in the classroom door. “It’s the M&Ms and Alana!”

  Quick as a flash, we squashed up like sardines against the door, so we could all get a peek.

  “What’s the Queen doing?” said Kenny. “She’s moving really jerkily.”

  “She’s standing on her toes!” gasped Frankie. “Look! Right on the ends like a ballerina!”

  It was true. Emma Hughes was wearing pink ballet shoes with ribbons criss-crossed round her ankles. And she was standing on the ends of them.

  “She doesn’t seem very comfortable,” I said. “She looks like she’s walking on stilts.”

  “And check out her face,” laughed Kenny. “It’s like she’s sucking a lemon!”

  “Who cares whether she’s comfy or not? This is disastrous!” wailed Fliss. “They’re doing ballet, aren’t they? And Emma’s doing proper pointe work! Didn’t I tell you that that’s what Lorna and Sean would go for? They’re bound to win!”

  “It’s not good,” agreed Lyndz. “Not good at all. Rosie, that’s what their secret weapon must’ve been – those ballet shoes.”

  “I guess,” I said gloomily.

  “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now,” said Frankie. “And it’s a good job we didn’t decide on a ballet routine ourselves. We would’ve been relying on you, Fliss, so we would’ve been in a right fix now.”

  “We’ll just have to stick to our guns,” said Kenny.

  When the M&Ms had finished, Lyndz opened the door and we went into the classroom. We heard Mrs Weaver saying, “Emma, are you really sure you know how to dance in those shoes?”

  “Oh yes, Mrs Weaver,” Emma replied, with a smug glance in our direction. “I go to lessons, you know.”

  It was a useful trial run, doing the routine in front of Mrs Weaver. It went quite well, though I bumped into Kenny at one point, which made her forget the steps. Mrs Weaver thought Fliss was brave to be taking part.

  “And I like the hand-jive, Felicity,” she said. “It’s very catchy!” As she said this she tried to copy some of the movements, but she got them hopelessly wrong. I didn’t dare look at the others. I knew if I made eye contact with any of them I’d burst out laughing.

  “Were we fantastic or what?” said Frankie in the changing room afterwards. “Weaver loved it! We just need to do the same tomorrow and we’ll definitely win.”

  “Tomorrow’s the scary part,” I said. The thought of dancing in front of Lorna and Sean gave me the collywobbles. They were such cool dancers themselves,
I couldn’t imagine they’d do anything but laugh at us.

  The next morning the whole school was buzzing with excitement about the party. First thing after Assembly, our class and Mr Pownall’s class joined forces to decorate the hall. Mr Pownall and Mrs Weaver climbed great big step-ladders and strung banners from the ceiling which said:

  CUDDINGTON PRIMARY

  PARTY TIME!

  HELP US RAISE THE ROOF!

  They hung up the lanterns we’d made in Art, too, while we covered every inch of wall space we could reach with the paintings and collages people had made.

  “Those lanterns look so excellent from a distance!” said Frankie. “You’d never guess they’re made of sweet wrappers and tin foil.”

  Meanwhile, other classes were helping set up trestle tables round the edges of the room and covering them with big tablecloths. Plates of yummy things like flapjacks, fairy cakes, chocolate brownies and muffins were starting to appear.

  “Oooh, what a shame they’re all covered in clingfilm,” said Lyndz, who was practically drooling even though it wasn’t long past breakfast time. “I’d love to sneak a taste.”

  I nodded. But to tell you the truth, I couldn’t have eaten a thing, even if you’d wafted the gooiest chocolate cake in the world under my nose. My stomach felt like it was trying to tie knots in itself, and my teeth were chattering, though I had my cardie on and I wasn’t cold.

  “What time’s the competition?” I said to Kenny.

  “Eleven,” she replied, breaking off a piece of Sellotape with her teeth. “You asked me that five minutes ago!”

  “I think I’ll go to the loo again,” I said. That was the other effect nerves were having on me!

  At eleven o’clock our whole class was sitting cross-legged in the hall (except for Fliss, of course, who was on a chair with her Christmas-tree leg stuck out in front of her). There were so many different sorts of costumes, it looked like we’d raided a fancy dress shop. Ryan Scott and three of his friends had gone for the hip-hop look, with low-slung baggy jeans, long-sleeved tops, and baseball caps turned round the wrong way. One group were all in dark glasses, and there was someone dressed up as Woody from Toy Story (“Weird!”, as Frankie said). The M&Ms and Alana had leotards on, and wafty chiffon skirts, which I spotted Fliss eyeing enviously.

  But, don’t worry: no one outdid S Club 5. As well as my purple T-shirt and pink skirt, I had a silver belt round my waist, and tiny silver butterfly clips in my hair. Kenny looked great in the pink shorts, even though she didn’t like them, and somehow she’d persuaded Molly to lend her a white T-shirt with ‘Britney’ written in silver across the front. Kenny thought it was the most ridiculous thing ever – “But I love the way Fliss really thinks it’s cool!” she whispered to me.

  Frankie, to everyone’s amazement, had dug out a silver jumpsuit at the last minute, and she’d been striding around like a space action hero. (That girl has some seriously mad things lurking in the back of her wardrobe!) Fliss was in her salopets, of course, and Lyndz looked ace in a lilac crop top and deep purple ra-ra skirt. We were all wearing trainers and I’d bought some silver laces for mine, specially.

  But the finishing touch was the best. Fliss had brought in some silver body glitter – it’s like moisturiser with sparkly bits in – and we’d all rubbed that on our cheeks and arms, so they shimmered when we moved. In short, we looked mega, MEGA fantastic.

  When Mrs Weaver led Lorna and Sean into the hall, everyone went quiet.

  “Hi again,” said Sean, with a friendly grin. “It’s good to be back!”

  “We’re really looking forward to seeing your dances,” added Lorna.

  At which my tummy groaned, and I had to clutch it to make it shut up.

  Lorna and Sean sat down, while Mrs Weaver went over to the tape player. She had everyone’s tapes lined up, and was going to call us in turn.

  First up were the group in the shades, who did a routine to ‘Men in Black’. Then it was Alana and the M&Ms.

  They got into position, and Emily Berryman nodded to Mrs Weaver to start the tape. Soon Emma Hughes was tottering around on the tips of her toes.

  A second later, Lorna sprang out of her chair, shouting “Stop!” Mrs Weaver leapt at the tape machine and the music clunked off. Emily and Alana stumbled to a halt. Emma Hughes looked really cross at having been interrupted.

  “Where did you get those shoes, Emma?” asked Lorna, sounding quite agitated. “They’re not yours, are they?”

  “They are!” said Emma. Now she was beginning to look nervous. “I found them in a jumble sale.”

  “A jumble sale?”

  “What’s wrong with jumble sales?” Kenny whispered to me.

  Lorna said, “Pointe shoes must be carefully fitted. You can’t just wear any old pair. And you need years of training before you can dance on your toes.”

  Emma’s chin had started to tremble. “I–I’m sorry…” she stammered. “I thought—”

  “Oh, Emma!” interrupted Mrs Weaver crossly. “You told me you went to ballet lessons!”

  “I do!” said Emma.

  “But you don’t wear pointe shoes for your lessons, do you?” said Lorna.

  Miserably, Emma shook her head.

  “I’m sorry to seem harsh,” said Lorna, coming forward and putting a hand on Emma’s shoulder, “but this is very important. I can see you’re nowhere near strong enough to start pointe work. And if you dance on your toes without the right training it can do terrible damage to your feet. So don’t do it, OK?”

  “OK,” mumbled Emma.

  “Now, do you want to take the shoes off and start again without them?” Lorna suggested.

  I could see that that was the very last thing Emma wanted to do, but she didn’t have much choice.

  “So much for secret weapons!” I whispered to Lyndz, who nodded and grinned.

  “Serves her right for being so smug,” she whispered back. “Though I feel a bit sorry for her too. It’s dead embarrassing!”

  Without the novelty of Emma dancing on the tips of her toes, the M&Ms’ dance was really boring. Well before the end, everyone was shuffling and fidgeting, obviously wishing it was over.

  “Thanks very much, girls,” said Lorna when at last the music came to an end. “That was lovely.” But I could tell she was only being polite.

  What a disaster for the M&Ms! They sat down with majorly crabby looks on their faces. Like Lyndz, I was almost beginning to feel sorry for them, but then Mrs Weaver said, “Felicity! Your group next,” so we grabbed our headsets, scrambled to our feet, and all at once we were on!

  Step, kick, shoulder, shoulder – hands up, turn around…

  As the familiar music blared, I concentrated as hard as I possibly could. Just getting my hands and feet working in the right order felt as complicated as conducting a whole orchestra!

  And – miracle of miracles – I made it through the first half of the routine without a mistake. But when I moved to the front for my solo, it was as if someone had suddenly pressed the ‘Erase’ button in my head – I went completely blank! For one dreadful, goose-pimply moment I thought I was just going to stand there like a lemon. But then I found myself repeating two of the steps from the chorus section, over and over. OK, it wasn’t the most exciting solo in the world but, boy, was I relieved! I felt like a goalie in a football match who’d just made a really tricky save.

  Fliss’s solo went down a storm, and no one else forgot a thing. At the end there was a big round of applause.

  “Were we hot, or what?” panted Frankie, as we went to sit down again.

  I was hot all right – but maybe not in the way Frankie meant!

  Now that my nerves had totally disappeared I really enjoyed watching the other groups. When it came to the end I’d even forgotten about the competition bit, and that Lorna and Sean were going to pick a winner.

  It was only when they left the hall for a few minutes to talk about it in private that I started getting excited.

 
“All hold hands!” commanded Frankie. I grabbed Lyndz on one side of me, and reached up to Fliss on the other.

  As Lorna and Sean came back into the hall, Frankie sent hand-squeezes back and forth along our line like a Mexican wave. I held my breath. I realised that, even though it’d made me so nervous, I really wanted to win, so we’d have another chance to do our routine.

  “You all did brilliantly,” said Sean. “Why did you have to make our lives so difficult by being so good? We nearly came to blows out there trying to choose a winner!”

  Everyone laughed.

  “And, in fact,” Sean went on, “we’re going to cheat a bit, because we’ve decided we’d like two groups to perform at the party tonight. A winner and a runner-up, if you like.”

  “So, let’s get on with the announcements,” said Lorna. “The winner is… the hip-hop group. That’s Ryan and company, isn’t it? Well done, guys, it was a brilliant routine!”

  I dropped Lyndz and Fliss’s hands to clap along with everyone else. My heart had sunk into my trainers. It made me feel mean, because Ryan and his mates had been really good.

  “But that’s not all,” said Sean, “because we simply couldn’t let the party miss out on a bit of hand-jive…”

  Hand-jive? I thought dimly. Who did hand-jive apart from us?

  “So,” Sean was saying, “S Club 5 – will you strut your stuff for us tonight as well?”

  “Yeaaaah!” Frankie punched the air.

  “You betcha!” Kenny shouted.

  “And I think you should teach everyone the moves,” said Lorna. “You’ll be a big hit!”

  And you know what? Lorna was right. We were the biggest hit, I reckon, in the history of Cuddington Primary.

  The party was totally awesome. The school hall looked amazing. The caretaker, as well as building the stage at one side of the hall, had rigged up coloured lights and an enormous mirror ball which spun round as the music played, reflecting flashes of orange and green and red over what ended up being a scrum of dancing bodies.