Fiona Cummings
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Top Sleepover Tips
Have you been invited to all these sleepovers?
Copyright
About the Publisher
Hi there. I know what you’re going to say. “Frankie, you’re late!”
I’m right aren’t I? That’s what the others are always saying these days. It always used to be Lyndz who was late, and I was super-dooper organised. Not any more! My house is so manic at the moment it’s a wonder I ever get out at all. But I’ll tell you all about that in a minute. We really ought to sit down and catch up on all the goss. Poor Fliss is still recovering. It all got a bit much for her – and her mum. But Kenny was in seventh heaven because she managed to do her doctor bit at last. And Lyndz and Rosie, well they’re still hiccuping and giggling about it whenever anyone even mentions what happened.
Sorry I’m gabbling, but there’s just so much to tell you. Come on, let’s sit over here and I’ll fill you in on all the details. But boy, where do I start? OK, well I guess the beginning’s as good a place as any.
It all started before Christmas. No, much sooner than that. It all really started months ago when I found out that Mum was pregnant. I’d wanted a little baby brother or sister for as long as I could remember, and when I found out that Mum was expecting a baby I was totally blown away by the excitement. The others all tried their hardest to put me off by giving me loads of grisly details.
“Babies are just totally embarrassing,” warned Lyndz. “Didn’t you learn anything when we were helping Rosie’s sister with her babysitting last time?” (Now that’s a story and a half – if you haven’t read about it yet, you’re in for a real treat!) “Babies are either pooing or being sick. And my older brothers aren’t much better.”
Poor Lyndz has four brothers and she reckons that they make her life a misery.
“At least you’ll be a lot older than your brother or sister,” reasoned Kenny. “You’ll be able to boss it about all the time. How cool is that!”
Her eyes gleamed at the thought. Molly the Monster, as you know, is only a year older than Kenny, but is one major super-witch when it comes to being horrible.
“Yeah, when you’re wanting to go out, it’ll be pestering you to play!” laughed Rosie. “Tiff always says that I’m a major pain when she’s getting glammed up, and she’s only four years older than me! But I’m sure that you’ll have a lot more patience than her,” she added. “And you won’t have a boyfriend as ugly as Spud either.”
The others all nodded.
“I won’t have a boyfriend at all!” I said indignantly.
“Yes you will!” snorted Fliss. “When the baby is our age, you’ll be twenty! Imagine that. You’ll probably be at university then. You might even be married!”
We all guffawed.
“No way!” I yelled. “You’ll be married to Ryan Scott, more like!”
Fliss just blushed and went all giggly – as usual!
We had loads of conversations like that, and the others always told me horror stories about being a sister. Now don’t get me wrong. I was still desperate to have a baby to look after, but the more they told me, the more nervous I got. I mean, it just seemed so long since I’d found out about the baby, and it wasn’t even due until January.
“I wish it would hurry up!” I told Mum one day at the beginning of December. “I just want to get on with being a big sister.”
“Well, I’m not ready to be a new mum again just yet, thank you very much!” she laughed. “We’ve still got far too much to do!”
That was true. They still hadn’t sorted out where the baby was going to sleep for one thing. At this rate, it would be sharing Pepsi’s basket in the kitchen!
“But how will I know if I’ll be any good as a sister?” I asked Mum.
“You’ll be just great!” she smiled, ruffling my hair. “If you’re so worried, you could always practise on something. There are some schools that make students look after a bag of flour as though it’s a baby. I know it sounds weird, but it gets them used to having someone else to think about.”
“You want me to push a bag of flour about in a pram?” I asked, open-mouthed.
“It doesn’t have to be a bag of flour,” Mum explained. “You could use one of your old dolls. The important thing is to treat it as though it really is a baby. No dumping it under your bed when you’re fed up with it. Just look after it for a day or so and I guarantee it will open your eyes.”
Yes, I know, I know – it sounds really wacky, doesn’t it? But I thought it might be worth a try. I went up to my room and pulled the box of old dolls out of my cupboard. I hadn’t looked at them for absolutely ages and it felt really weird holding them again.
“You’re way too old for all this, Frankie,” I told myself.
But I got them all out anyway and sat them in a line on my bed. I felt kind of funny seeing them like that, because it brought back memories of when I was little. I had this one doll I used to call Diz that I used to take everywhere with me. I picked it up now, and it looked so tiny and shabby. I felt really bad, like I’d abandoned it or something. But I couldn’t use that as my baby because it just didn’t look right. It was too small for a start and had matted wool hair. The others didn’t look much better, to be honest with you.
Then I spotted ‘the doll with no name’. A friend of Mum’s had given it to me just as I was growing out of my doll phase and I’d never really played with it. But it was about the right size for a baby. It had no hair and it still smelt kind of clean and new.
“Come on then!” I said, picking her up. “You can be my baby. Are you going to be a good girl?” I cooed, tickling her under the chin.
I was amazed how quickly I got into all the baby stuff. Before long it didn’t seem weird at all to be wandering round with a doll. But you know my friends. As soon as they saw me with the doll one Saturday, they thought I’d lost it completely.
“Francesca Thomas, have you gone mad?” screeched Kenny when she saw me carrying Izzy. (I called my doll Isobel, Izzy for short, because that’s what I wanted Mum to call the baby if she had a girl.)
“I’m just winding her after her feed!” I explained, patting Izzy’s back.
“I’ll wind you in a minute!” she yelled. “What are you like?”
No amount of explaining what I was doing would make her shut up. And the others weren’t much better. Even Fliss had a go at me.
“You look really silly, Frankie,” she hissed. “I wish you’d put that stupid doll down. It’s going to be really embarrassing if anyone sees us.”
I must admit that I did feel a bit of a loon taking it to the shops with us, but a deal is a deal. Mum said that I had to treat the doll just like a real baby. If I had to go to the shops then it would just have to come with me. I couldn’t leave Izzy at home, could I?
“Couldn’t you ask your mum to babysit?” asked Lyndz. Kenny rolled her eyes.
“I don’t think so. I’m supposed to be learning how to be a big sister,” I explained. “Mum already knows how to be a mum, so asking her to babysit a doll would be a bit pointless.”
“The whole thing’s pointless if you ask me,” grumbled Kenny. “Well, are we going to the shops or not?”
To start with, I made a sort of sling with my scarf and kept Izzy snuggled under my jacket. The December wind was pretty fierce a
nd I didn’t want her to get cold.
“You are sad, sad, sad,” chanted Kenny, as I kept fussing beneath my jacket.
“At least no one can see the doll,” said Fliss. “You just look fat!”
“Thanks very much!” I said, feeling a bit miffed.
But it soon got uncomfortable having Izzy in one position so I started wriggling and jiggling, trying to move her about. It didn’t help that her arms and legs weren’t all sguidgy like a real baby’s. They were rigid plastic and kept digging into me.
“Don’t do that, Frankie!” Rosie reprimanded me. “You look as though you’ve got ants in your pants or something. People are looking at you.”
It was true. There were hundreds of people about doing their Christmas shopping, and I could sense that most of them were glancing at me and frowning.
“Maybe I should just show them Izzy,” I suggested, unzipping my jacket.
“Don’t do that!” the others all yelled together.
“That would be a major embarrassment for all of us,” hissed Kenny.
“Hey, what’s that poster?” Fliss suddenly shouted at the top of her voice. She was being so OTT, it was obvious that she was trying to divert our attention. She sort of galloped over to the noticeboard at the end of the high street. The rest of us cracked up and galloped after her. It wasn’t easy with a doll poking you in the chest with every step, I can tell you.
“It’s advertising a New Year’s Eve party at the church hall,” explained Fliss, standing in front of the poster. “Do you think we’ll be able to go?”
“Not a chance,” said Rosie. “My mum’s only ever let me stay up to see the New Year in once, and that was because I was sick.”
“I’m not sure I’d want to go anyway,” Kenny said. “It’ll be full of boring old duffers who we don’t even know. It’d be much better to have a New Year’s Eve party of our own.”
“Yes!” we all screamed. “Why don’t we? It’d be so cool!”
“We should try to organise a special New Year’s Eve sleepover,” I suggested. “I mean, we’re usually awake till well past midnight when we’re together anyway. It would be great to stay up properly. Everyone else’ll be up too, so who could object?”
We were so excited we started doing a little dance together on the pavement. And that’s when Izzy fell out of my jacket and bounced on to the ground.
“Oh no!” I screamed, picking her up. “I’ve killed her!”
“Erm, earth to Frankie!” hooted Kenny. “It is only a doll, you know!”
“But it’s supposed to be my baby sister,” I spluttered. “What if I do that to her?”
“Don’t be crazy!” shrieked Lyndz. “Do you think your parents would really let us loose in charge of their baby? I don’t think so!”
“But even so,” I wailed. “I was supposed to take care of Izzy and I haven’t. I’m going to be a useless sister!”
Fliss led me over to a nearby bench and we all sat down.
“You’re going to be a great sister, Frankie,” she reassured me. “That was just an accident when you forgot about the d… I mean, Izzy.”
“But what if I forget about the real baby when I’m supposed to be looking after it?” I asked.
“Believe me, you never forget when you’ve got a baby around,” Lyndz grinned. “They never stop crying. And they usually smell disgusting too!”
I was rocking Izzy in my arms and the others were all bending over her, just like she was real.
“Well I’ve seen everything now!” boomed a loud voice.
We looked up quickly, but with sinking hearts we already knew who it was. Why had the M&Ms picked that exact minute to walk past us?
“Aw, has Francesca got a baby? Diddums,” said Emma Hughes in a stupid voice.
“Does she like playing with her dolly then?” cooed Emma’s sidekick Emily Berryman.
“I always knew you were a big baby, Thomas!” cackled Emma. “I grew out of dolls when I was about four. You lot have never grown up, have you?”
Kenny was seething, I could sense it.
“Frankie’s taking part in some scientific research, if you must know,” she said in her weariest voice. “Not that you’d understand.”
“Oh right, that’s the first time I’ve heard playing with dolls called ‘scientific research’,” sneered Emily. “Why don’t you face it? You’re a load of little kids!”
They both screamed with laughter and tottered down the high street on their platform wedges.
“I don’t believe that!” Fliss had her head in her hands. “Of all the people to see us with that stupid doll!”
“They’ll never let us forget it,” moaned Rosie. “It’ll be all round the school on Monday!”
“Not if I’ve got anything to do with it,” fumed Kenny through gritted teeth.
And when Kenny spoke like that the rest of us knew that it meant trouble. Trouble with a capital T!
To be honest with you, seeing those two galumphing gorillas put a real damper on our whole weekend. We didn’t even discuss the New Year sleepover again, so you can tell how bad we were feeling. And Kenny went totally weird. I mean, even weirder than usual. When the rest of us were panicking about the M&Ms, she was like, lost in a trance. Then she suddenly leapt up and announced that she had to go to the shop to buy some – get this – JELLY CUBES. I mean, here we were, facing doom and disaster from our biggest rivals, and Kenny’s planning a party tea! But she just had this crazy look on her face and kept saying that she needed jelly cubes to make everything all right. I prefer chocolate to cheer myself up actually, but each to their own, as my gran always says.
Anyway, before we said goodbye to each other on Saturday, we arranged to meet outside school on Monday morning. That way we could all face the Gruesome Twosome together.
I had a really bad feeling as I walked to school that morning. Doom and panic whizzed about in my stomach like one of Kenny’s disastrous cooking experiments. Fliss and Rosie were already standing together by the wall, and they looked as green as I felt. Only Lyndz seemed as bright and breezy as usual. I swear that if that girl was any more laid back, she’d be permanently asleep!
“Oh come on, we’ve taken flak from the M&Ms before,” she reasoned. “How bad can it be this time?”
Nobody answered.
When we got to the gate we could see the M&Ms in a little huddle with their stupid mate Alana ‘Banana’ Palmer.
“I wonder where Kenny is? She ought to be here by now,” mumbled Fliss. Her teeth were chattering, and I don’t think it was because of the cold.
Rosie stuck her tongue out and pulled gruesome faces at the M&Ms – well, at their backs, to be precise. Then she mumbled something no one could understand.
“What?”
Rosie stopped pulling faces. “I said ‘I don’t know but she seemed really mad on Saturday’!” she explained.
Just before the whistle went, Kenny came flying up to us, holding tightly on to her school bag. She didn’t look mad now. In fact, she looked positively perky.
“What’s up with you?” I asked her suspiciously.
“You’ll see,” she grinned. “Just distract the M&Ms for a couple of minutes when we get inside.”
“What?” Fliss looked horrified. “But we’re trying to stay out of their way!”
“We can’t avoid them for ever,” Kenny told her calmly. “Better to get all their sarky comments over with at once.”
Now it wasn’t like her to be so rational, so I knew she had something majorly wicked up her sleeve.
Just then the whistle sounded, so we had no choice but to go into school.
“Remember – distract them!” hissed Kenny as we headed towards the classroom.
As it was December, we were all muffled up in coats and scarves, so we knew that we’d be in the cloakroom with the M&Ms for a few minutes. When we got there, Kenny gave me this big wink, and headed behind the coat rack. The M&Ms were already tugging off their boots. As soon as they saw us they st
arted laughing in a really OTT way.
“Have you got your doll under there then, Frankie?” asked Emma loudly so that everyone could hear.
“We were wondering if you’d like to start a little dolly crèche in the corner of the classroom,” Emily Berryman rasped in her gruff voice.
“Or better still, go back to the nursery class!” guffawed Emma. “Four-year-olds are about on your level, aren’t they?”
We just took off our coats and ignored them. I could see Kenny ferreting about in the M&Ms’ bags and there was a bit of a weird smell, but I couldn’t tell what she was doing. All I did know was that when the M&Ms looked ready to go into the classroom, I had to stall them.
“I was conducting an experiment, that’s all!” I blurted out. The others looked horrified.
“You make me laugh Thomas, you really do!” sniffed Emma.
“What kind of experiment?” asked Emily curiously.
I didn’t really want to tell them about Mum being pregnant and everything. It felt like if they knew, they’d make fun of that too and it would spoil everything.
As I was trying to think of an answer, Kenny appeared and said, “She’s not going to tell you is she? It’s classified information.”
“Get real!” snapped Emma, and gathering up their bags, they walked into the classroom.
“What were you doing?” I asked Kenny when they’d gone.
“You’ll find out soon enough!” she smiled, and tapped her nose.
At least Mrs Weaver had something exciting to take our mind off the dreadful duo. At the end of the Christmas term, each class performs in a concert. This year Mrs Weaver told us that we would be writing our own play.
“Well it’s not a play exactly,” she explained. “It’s going to be a series of sketches about the twentieth century.”
We all looked pretty blank.
“Say someone born in 1900 was still alive,” Mrs Weaver continued. “What changes would they have seen?”
“There’s more football on the telly now!” Ryan Scott shouted out.
Mrs Weaver flashed him one of her ‘you-think-you’ve-got-the-better-of-me-but-you-haven’t-really’ smiles.
Party Time Page 1
