by Rose Impey
“I think we should vote on it,” said Fliss. “Who thinks Kenny should go and tell Emma the truth?” She put her own hand straight up. Lyndz hesitated, then shrugged her shoulders and put her hand up too. Rosie slowly lifted hers. Kenny looked at each of them as if they were no friends of hers. Then she looked at me. My hand felt like a lump of lead.
Kenny was my best friend. We’d been friends since playschool. I didn’t want to let her down but I could feel my hand starting to rise. Suddenly we heard a car coming along the road, slowing down and turning into their drive.
We all just about had heart attacks. Kenny jumped up off the bed, raced downstairs and burst into the kitchen. We were all just a step behind her.
“OK, it was us. We did it. It was just a joke. We didn’t mean to scare her to death. It was…” Kenny stopped in mid sentence.
Emma and Hayley and Molly were sitting at the breakfast bar eating chicken masala. They were all grinning like three fat cats that had got the cream. There was a heavenly smell of bananas cooking and I just kept thinking how we wouldn’t get any now.
The truth dawned on Kenny and her face screwed up. She was just about to start screaming at them, when the front door opened and in walked her mum and dad.
“Are you girls still up and about?” said Kenny’s mum. “I thought you’d have been in bed by now. Off you go and get ready and I’ll bring you all a drink up.” Then she spotted Molly. “Well, you’re looking a bit brighter. I told you all you needed was a good rest.”
“Mmm, mmm,” said Kenny’s dad. “Something smells good. Any left over?”
“You be careful,” said her mum. “You’ve just had that tooth fixed. We don’t want any more accidents. I’ll make you some scrambled egg.”
“Oh, thanks a lot. Baby food. Just what I need.”
We all headed off upstairs thinking, well, at least we’d got away without being interviewed by the police, when we heard Monster-face say, “By the way, Dad. I found the rest of that cake in the bin. I think I know what you broke your tooth on.”
We didn’t hang around to hear any more. We went straight off to bed.
We all got into our sleeping bags, apart from Fliss and Kenny who had the beds. We turned on our torches and lay there whispering.
“What do you think they’ll say in the morning?” I asked Kenny.
“Dunno.” She sounded as if she didn’t care much either. She was so mad with Molly, that was all she could think about.
It was bad enough that Molly had told Emma it was us and then got Emma to pretend she’d rung the police, and we’d fallen for it. But now she’d grassed on us to Kenny’s dad about the spider in the cake. That was really the pits.
“It’s just not fair,” said Kenny. “How is it she always wins?”
“She doesn’t always win,” I said. “She might have realised afterwards that it was me, but when she first woke up she was really scared. You should have seen her face. She looked as if she was going to wet herself.”
“Yeah,” said Lyndz. “It was worth it. What does it matter if we get grounded again. They always tell us we’re grounded forever, but they soon forget.”
That’s true, isn’t it? Grown-ups haven’t got very long memories.
“And it’s been the best sleepover yet,” said Rosie. “I’ll never forget this one.”
“Really?” said Kenny.
“Coo-el,” I agreed.
“Anyway it’s not over yet,” said Fliss. “We’ve still got our midnight feast to have and our Christmas presents.”
“Yeah, but that’s another thing,” said Kenny, miserably. “I still haven’t got any of your presents. I hadn’t got enough money and now I won’t be able to get any more.” She sounded as if she might start to cry, which I’d never seen Kenny do before.
“Look, it doesn’t matter,” said Lyndz. “I’ve only got little presents this year. I couldn’t afford anything big like Fliss.”
“Nor me,” said Rosie. “I don’t have much money.”
Fliss looked a bit embarrassed. “Well, I didn’t really have to pay for the tapes,” she admitted. “Andy got them cheap from the man who owns the shop. He did some plastering for him. Anyway,” she said, “it’s like my mum says, it’s not the gift that counts…”
We all joined in, “It’s the thought behind it.”
So I felt a lot better after that. We agreed that Kenny and I would give the others their presents on the last day at school. Rosie gave us each a cute pencil with the head of Pongo from 101 Dalmations on it and a matching rubber.
But Lyndz’s present was the best surprise. It was one big flat box wrapped in Christmas paper with a label which said: To the Sleepover Club.
We didn’t know what to make of it.
“But who’s going to open it?” said Fliss.
“All of us,” said Lyndz. “I’ll count. One…two…three…”
We all tore a bit of the paper until it was unwrapped. Inside was a box of five Christmas crackers. We could see through the cellophane there was one with each of our names on it. They looked dead good, really professional, but Lyndz and her mum had made them themselves.
Before we pulled them we sat round in a circle and instead of our usual Sleepover Club song, we sang, “Happy Christmas to us, Happy Christmas to us, Happy Christmas, to the Sleepover Club, Happy Christmas to us.” When we pulled the crackers they went off with a bang, like proper ones and they had a party hat inside and a joke and a present and a chocolate. I got a key ring with a little black cocker spaniel on it, just like my dog, Pepsi. It was brilliant.
We sat up wearing paper hats, reading out our jokes and eating our chocolates. Then we sang loads of Christmas carols. After that we had our midnight feast and it really was midnight; we heard the church clock chiming twelve.
When we snuggled down into our sleeping bags and turned off our torches, Kenny said, “I don’t care what they say tomorrow, it was a good laugh, so it was worth it.”
“It sure was,” I said. “The best.” And everyone agreed.
Kenny’s mum and dad had had plenty of time to calm down by the time we went home, so Kenny didn’t really get into mega-trouble. She did get a good telling off about putting things in cakes, though, because it could have been dangerous. As her dad pointed out, someone could have choked on it which, to be honest, we hadn’t really thought about.
Kenny wouldn’t speak to Emma at first for taking Molly’s side, even though Emma insisted she hadn’t. She said she thought that after what we’d done to Molly we deserved a bit of a scare ourselves.
Molly was dead pleased with herself, and kept rubbing it in, so Kenny refused to speak to her for a whole week. But she couldn’t keep it up because then it was Christmas and Molly did such a surprising thing. She got Kenny her very best Christmas present ever. It was an amazing pop-up book all about the body, with pictures of your insides and bits that move, with all the really gory bits. Kenny loved it. Molly had been saving for weeks and in the end she’d had to borrow a bit from their mum. So, you see, even gruesome older sisters can surprise you sometimes.
They had a truce which lasted for most of Christmas. It’s over now, of course, because Molly trod on Kenny’s picture of Emile Heskey and wouldn’t apologise. He’s a footballer who plays for Leicester City and Kenny worships him. But now he’s got a big footprint right across his nose. So it’s back to normal bedroom warfare at Kenny’s.
But there you go. It was still a pretty good Christmas. My mum was dead pleased with her pig and I had a brain wave which meant I didn’t need to spend lots of money on my friends. I remembered the photo Dad took of us the last time they sleptover at my house when we had the wedding! So I had copies made and put them in little plastic frames and everyone was really pleased because we all looked drop-dead gorgeous.
Which reminds me – everyone lurved my new shoes. They are really drastic. I’m trying to persuade Mum and Dad to let me wear them for school. They’ve said, “No way. Not a chance. Don’t even ask.�
�� But they always say that at first. It might take a while, but don’t worry, I’ll get round them.
Anyway keep your fingers crossed for me. See you some time. Bye.
Oh, hi! It’s you again. Look, you can walk with me if you want to. I’m going to the video shop to borrow a film. But you’ve got to promise me one thing. You’ve got to promise that you won’t ask me what happened at our sleepover last night. I can’t tell you because it’s a Big Secret. The Biggest. So don’t ask me, OK?
My mum and dad said I could choose a film for the three of us to watch tonight. Usually one of them comes to the video shop with me and makes a big song and dance about which films are suitable, and which films aren’t. You know what parents are like. But today they said I could come on my own. I think it’s because they’re pretty relieved that nothing happened at the sleepover last night (or so they think). The last time we slept over at Fliss’s, we ended up wrecking her mum’s kitchen, as well as giving her gruesome neighbours a complete fit. This time we did something just as bad. We – oh, sorry! I forgot. I can’t tell you.
Come on, here’s the video shop. No, don’t bother going into the adult section. I’m not even allowed to look at the covers of the films over there. Anyway, Nathan Wignall’s standing there, trying to pretend he’s old enough to borrow a grown-up film. I’ve told you about Nathan Wignall before, haven’t I? He lives next door to me, and he’s a complete pain. I could tell you loads of embarrassing stuff about Nathan Wignall, but I haven’t got time right now.
We sometimes watch a video when we have a sleepover, but not every time. Like last night at Fliss’s, we – whoops, there I go again! Me and my big mouth.
No, I can’t tell you. Don’t ask me to. My lips are sealed.
Look, don’t get mad. Of course I trust you. As my grandma always says, if you can’t trust your friends, who can you trust? It’s just that if our parents find out what really went on at Fliss’s house last night, we’ll be up to our eyes in everlasting doom for the next five years. So, if I tell you what happened at the sleepover last night, do you swear never to breathe a WORD about it to ANYONE? Cross your heart and hope to die? Do you promise faithfully you won’t tell anyone, even if they offer you their last Rolo?
OK, you’ve twisted my arm. I give in. Let’s go behind the children’s videos so that no one else can hear us, and I’ll tell you all about it.
The sleepover at Fliss’s was going to be an ordinary sleepover right up until the day before. Well, what I mean is, no sleepover is ever really ordinary, but we weren’t expecting anything special to happen. Of course, we were wrong.
As my grandma always says, the best place to start is at the beginning. That was at school on Thursday morning. We were in the playground, and all of the Sleepover Club were there, except Fliss. Me (I’m Frankie, remember?), Kenny, Rosie and Lyndz. We were discussing our new teacher, Miss Jenkins. Our real teacher, Mrs Weaver, was ill and she hadn’t been at school all week. We missed her a bit. But not a lot. Compared to Mrs Weaver, Miss Jenkins was a pushover.
“OK, today I’m going for it,” Kenny said. “I bet I can make six trips to the pencil sharpener before Miss Jenkins tells me off.”
“What’s the record so far?” I asked.
“I managed five times yesterday,” said Rosie.
Kenny shrugged. “You only got the fifth one because Danny McCloud had stuffed two rubbers up his nose. You sneaked over to the sharpener while Miss Jenkins was telling him off.”
“Then they got stuck up there,” said Lyndz. “Poor old Miss Jenkins had a terrible time trying to pull them out.”
“I’m glad I’m not a teacher,” I said with feeling. “I wouldn’t put my fingers up Danny McCloud’s nose for a billion pounds.”
“Well, she couldn’t just let Danny suffocate, could she?” said Lyndz.
There was a thoughtful silence.
“I wouldn’t have a problem with that,” Kenny said with a perfectly straight face, and Rosie and I began to giggle.
“I think you’re horrible,” said Lyndz. “Poor Miss Jenkins. I feel—”
“Really sorry for her!” we all chimed in. Lyndz has got a heart of pure marshmallow.
“Oh, shut up!” Lyndz grinned, and stuck her tongue out at us. She’s used to us winding her up. “By the way, where’s Fliss?”
“Yeah, where is Fliss?” said Kenny. “She’s going to be late if she doesn’t get here soon.”
We all looked at each other. Fliss is never late for school. She’s the sort of person who’s never late for anything, not even the dentist.
“Look, there she is.” Rosie pointed across the playground. “What’s the matter with her?”
Fliss was racing madly across the playground towards us, waving her arms in the air. Her face was bright red, and she was puffing and panting like she’d just run the London Marathon. She was so out of breath that, when she skidded to a halt in front of us, she couldn’t speak.
“What is it, Fliss?” I asked, feeling a bit alarmed.
Fliss took a huge breath.
“My mum and Andy have bought a camcorder, and my mum says we can video the sleepover tomorrow night!” she squealed.
“Really?” Rosie gasped, her eyes as round as dinner plates.
“Coo-el!” shrieked Kenny and Lyndz.
“You lucky thing, Fliss!” I said. I was green with jealousy. I’d been nagging my mum and dad for months to buy a camcorder. I’d tried everything from bribery (promising to do the dishes for a year), to tugging at the parental heartstrings (asking them how they’d feel when they had no videos of their little girl to watch when I’d grown up). My dad had said, “Relieved”. I think he was joking.
“This is so cool,” Kenny said happily. “We’re going to have an official Sleepover Club video!”
“I’m going to ask my mum if I can get some new pyjamas,” Lyndz babbled excitedly.
“Me too,” I said. My favourite Snoopy pyjamas were a bit too old and uninteresting to be on a video. Come to think of it, my sleeping bag was a bit old and uninteresting as well. I could do with a new one. That meant I was going to have to do some major sweet-talking to my mum and dad when I got home tonight.
Fliss was looking as smug as a cat who’s eaten twenty cartons of cream. “That’s not all,” she said. “Andy says he’ll make some copies of the video so that everyone can have their own.”
That knocked us all out. We couldn’t believe it.
“Fliss, you’re the best,” Kenny said enthusiastically.
Fliss beamed.
“We’ll be able to watch our videos and remember what it was like to be in the Sleepover Club, when we’re all old and wrinkly,” she said.
“We can still carry on having sleepovers when we get old, though, can’t we?” Lyndz asked anxiously.
“Course we can,” I said. “But just in case we get too old and creaky to play International Gladiators—”
“Or in case we get too old and tired to stay up for midnight feasts,” said Kenny.
“Or if we haven’t got any teeth left to eat the midnight feasts,” Rosie said.
“—we’ll always have the videos to remind us,” Fliss finished off.
“Oh, I can’t wait for tomorrow night,” Lyndz sighed. “It’s going to be excellent.”
We didn’t know it then, but we wouldn’t need a video to remind us of that sleepover at Fliss’s. It was going to be a long, long time before any of us forgot it.
As I said before, I was really set on having new pyjamas for the Sleepover Event of the Century, so I started my campaign as soon as I got home that night.
“Mum,” I said casually, “have you seen my Snoopy pyjamas recently?”
“Is that a trick question?” My mum was putting a family-size packet of vegetarian lasagne in the microwave. No-one cooks in our house, except for my dad’s famous pizzas. We’re a strictly “heat ‘n’ eat” family. “I saw them yesterday when I took them out of the washing-machine.”
“No, I mean
have you seen the state of them.” I pulled my Snoopy pyjamas from behind my back like a magician producing a white rabbit, and flapped them at my mum. “Look at them, they’re gross.”
My mum raised her eyebrows.
“I can’t see anything wrong with them.”
“Look!” I showed her the pyjama bottoms. One of the legs had started fraying after a sleepover at Rosie’s when Kenny had grabbed me by the ankles and tried to throw me off the bed. I’d kind of helped it along a bit with my nail scissors. “I can’t wear these at Fliss’s sleepover tomorrow.”
“Oh, Frankie, they’re perfectly all right.”
“No, they aren’t,” I persisted. Nagging is the only way to wear parents down. They’ll do anything for a bit of peace and quiet. “I told you before, Fliss’s mum is going to video the sleepover, and I need to look good.”
“Frankie,” my mum said, “this is a home video, not a Hollywood movie.”
“I know. But these pyjamas are dangerous. What if they keep on unravelling while I’m asleep, and they unravel right up to my neck and strangle me?”
My mum looked at me over the top of her glasses.
“Have you been reading those ‘Bonechillers’ again?”
“Mum,” I said solemnly, “I’m being straight with you here. I cannot wear these pyjamas to Fliss’s sleepover tomorrow night.”
“Fine.” My mum opened the fridge and took out a packet of ready-washed salad. “It’s lucky you have at least eight other pairs of pyjamas in your cupboard to choose from, then, isn’t it?”
“Oh, Mum,” I groaned. “Those aren’t sleepover pyjamas. And anyway, they’re all too small for me.”