‘“Course we are!” I reassured them. “We’re just going to have to practise like crazy so we’re ready to beat the pants off everybody!”
The others didn’t look too sure.
“Never mind about practising!” said Fliss. “What are we going to wear?”
Typical! But she did have a point. None of us was too keen on Fliss’s suggestion of baby pink T-shirts and bright pink shorts though.
“What about just a plain white T-shirt and navy shorts?” suggested Rosie. “We’ve all got those already.”
“But how will anybody know which team we belong to?” asked Lyndz. “And what are we going to call ourselves anyway?”
Crikey, I didn’t realise it was all going to be so complicated!
“What about Cuddington Girls?” suggested Frankie.
“Nah, too boring!”
“All right then – Sleepover Girls United?” she proposed. “Because we are, aren’t we? United, I mean.”
“Great idea, Frankie!” Rosie was really excited. “And we could embroider S.G.U. on our T-shirts to show which team we belong to!”
Hmm – sewing is not my strong point. I figured that writing it on with a felt pen would be good enough for me! Besides, I had far too much to do before the competition without thinking about soppy sewing. There was our training to organise for a start, and I had to sort out all the details for the competition. I was determined that absolutely nothing was going to go wrong.
I knew that there would be hundreds of people turning up on Saturday, so I figured that we needed to organise ourselves as much support as possible. Well, what a performance that turned out to be! Frankie’s mum had her ante-natal classes on Saturday morning, and – wouldn’t you know it? – Lyndz’s mum was teaching them, so that would be two fewer people we could count on. I mean, everyone knows how to have babies, don’t they? You’d think they could just skip the class for once. Fliss’s mum had a hissy fit when she discovered that her precious baby was playing football and insisted on being there to make sure that she didn’t come to any harm. And if you know Fliss’s mum, you know that that’s exactly the kind of support we didn’t need. My mum said she’d be there and Dad would come along when he could, but there would be no Molly, thank goodness. Honestly, it was like trying to organise the FA Cup and Posh Spice’s wedding all rolled into one.
The most important thing though was our training. And boy, did I put the others through their paces!
“I’m exhausted!” moaned Fliss on Friday night. “I’m not even going to have the energy to get up in the morning, never mind play football.”
“Quit whingeing!” I told her. “We’re going to win this competition and don’t you forget it!”
Fliss looked terrified. In fact they all did.
“Look, if we play like we have been doing over the last week, we’re capable of beating anyone. OK?”
“Yeah!”
We all stood in a circle and grabbed each other’s right hands. We held them together then raised them into the air as fast as we could, shouting “Sleepover Superstars!” at the tops of our voices. It was class, but everybody else thought we were totally bonkers!
“See you tomorrow! Sleep well!” we all called out as we left each other. But of course none of us slept at all. I was just too pumped up. I wanted to get on with it and start playing football.
I’ll never forget how I felt when I arrived at the Leisure Centre for the competition the next morning. My stomach was in knots and I felt kind of sick too but I was still totally hyper.
“I knew it was you jiggling about!” called Frankie, running over to join me. “Dad said we should go inside to register – he’s gone to hold us a place in the queue.”
“I’ll try to spot the others and send them in to you,” Mum suggested, so Frankie and I headed inside.
But Frankie’s dad wasn’t in the queue. He was standing next to someone right at the front. It was Rosie! Apparently Adam had made her get there extra early because he was more excited than she was! We just joined her in time too, because she was about to give our name to the guy in charge.
“Sleepover Girls United!” we all said together.
“Oh, oh, I see,” he spluttered, looking up at us. “Well, yes, we’ll have to wait, there’s time yet! You will be team number 9. Here are your numbers, pin them on to your shorts. Next!”
“What was he on about then?” I asked the others, handing round our numbers.
“I think he was getting a bit flustered because there are so many people,” explained Rosie. “He’s been like that with everyone.”
“Talking of everyone, where are Lyndz and Fliss?” asked Frankie, anxiously scanning the crowds which were starting to build up.
“You know Lyndz, she’s always late!” Rosie said.
“It’s not Lyndz I’m worried about,” I admitted. “It’s Fliss. What if she’s bottled out?”
“She wouldn’t!” gasped Rosie. “Not after all our hard work.”
“She’d better not,” I warned.
“What’s up with you lot?” Lyndz bounded up to us. “Who are we playing? Do we know yet?”
“Nobody, if Fliss doesn’t hurry up,” explained Frankie grimly.
“Maybe she’s lost in all these crowds,” suggested Lyndz.
There were certainly hundreds of people, and it was hard to tell who were players and who were supporters.
Suddenly a big siren sounded.
“Can I have your attention please,” announced a voice over the loudspeaker. “Would all competitors please make their way to the playing arena, and could all spectators make sure that they are standing well behind the barriers.”
I looked around and saw Mum, Frankie’s dad, Rosie’s mum, Adam and Lyndz’s dad with Ben and Spike. They were all waving and giving us the thumbs-up.
“Where is Fliss?” I was getting really agitated now.
“She’ll be here,” Frankie tried to reassure me.
When it was just the teams and not the spectators, there didn’t seem to be quite so many people. The flustered guy was explaining how the competition would work. Four matches would be played at a time, and their results would be noted. It was a straightforward knockout format, with the winners of each match going on to the next round. There were sixteen teams, so the whole thing was going to take some time.
“If Fliss doesn’t turn up soon, we’ll be disqualified,” I hissed.
The man started telling everyone who they would be playing.
“If we’re not one of the first teams to play we’ll have a bit more time,” Lyndz whispered. “Keep your fingers crossed.”
I could see Ryan Scott and the others standing around. They were team number 4. The guy had just two team numbers left to call out for the first four matches.
“Pick number 4, pick number 4,” I chanted.
“Number 7 – that’s Ashley Park Boys.”
Phew!
“And number… 9. Ah, Sleepover Girls United. Where are they please?”
My heart sank.
“Sleepover Girls United? That’s me! I mean that’s us. Sorry I’m late!” Fliss came flying through the crowds. “It was my hair, and my make-up, and, oh never mind – I’m here now. Who are we playing?”
The guy in charge was open-mouthed. So were the rest of us. Not only was Fliss gabbling ten to the dozen, she was also done up like a dog’s dinner. She’d sewn the initials S.G.U. on her T-shirt in sequins, for goodness sake.
“Erm, I think we’re playing Ashley Park Boys. Is that right?” I turned to the guy.
“Well, you see, I’m afraid, well, the thing is,” he spluttered. “Well, I’m afraid you won’t be playing anybody.”
“What?” we all yelled together.
“Look, Fliss is only a bit late,” reasoned Frankie. “Surely that doesn’t matter?”
“No, the problem is that there are no more girls’ teams registered,” the guy explained. “And I’m afraid the rules are that girls can only play against ot
her girls. I’m really sorry.”
I couldn’t believe it! All that training for nothing!
“You’d have thought that Mr Pownall would have told us that,” Lyndz growled in frustration.
“I thought that other girls’ teams would be playing in the competition.” Mr Pownall suddenly appeared behind us. “In fact, my friend from Hollymount School was supposed to be bringing a team of girls along, I don’t know what’s happened to him. I was sure that you’d have at least one game. Besides, you were so enthusiastic about the whole thing, I didn’t want to put you off.”
I felt totally gutted. The others looked pretty devastated too. Apart from Fliss. A stupid smile of relief kept playing on her lips, and she had to try really hard to pretend that she was as miserable as the rest of us.
“Come on love, cheer up. I’m sure there’ll be another competition soon,” Mum came over to console me.
“No there won’t,” I grumbled. “Nobody wants girls to play football. It’s not fair!”
“You sound just like Fliss!” Frankie whispered, trying to cheer me up.
“That’s not funny,” I muttered.
“Come on Kenny, we might as well support the guys now we’re here,” suggested Rosie.
“Yes!” Fliss squealed. “We could be their cheerleaders! Come on!”
Before I knew where I was, the others had dragged me right next to the pitch where Ryan and Danny and the others were playing their first match.
“Cuddington Boys can really play,
They’re going to blow the rest away!” Fliss began.
“Give me a C!”
“C!” shouted the others.
“Give me a U!”
Talk about embarrassing! I thought the boys were going to die when they heard them at first. It certainly rocked their concentration a bit, especially when Fliss started making up all these crazy dance moves for the others to follow. I thought Mr Pownall might be a bit annoyed too, but he just smiled and pretended he was conducting them.
“Come on Kenny, don’t be a spoilsport!” Frankie danced up to me. “You should join in too!”
But to tell you the truth I just didn’t feel like it. I tried to concentrate on the football. The boys were 1–0 up, but Ryan Scott was passing the ball like a donkey and giving it to the opposition far too much.
“Pass it out to Danny on the wing!” I kept yelling.
And of course when he followed my advice it worked a treat. They won their match 3–1.
“Thanks Kenny, your advice seemed to do the trick.” Mr Pownall came up to me when their match was over. “Maybe you’d like to be my co-manager for the rest of the competition?”
I thought he was being sarcastic at first, but he was dead serious.
“I guess I could,” I told him. “It’ll get me out of being a cheerleader, anyway!”
As soon as we found out who our boys would be facing in the next round, Mr Pownall and I worked out our tactics. Ryan Scott wasn’t too happy about me being involved, but when he saw that I knew what I was talking about he accepted it. Especially when they made it through to the final. The cheerleading went down a storm too. The guys in the team acted like they were big Premier League superstars and lapped up all the attention. And the atmosphere for the final was just electric as the crowd joined in with the chants too!
“The team you’re up against has got a big gorilla at the back,” I warned the boys in the team talk before they went on the pitch. “You’ll have to watch him and try to dummy-pass around him because he’ll flatten you if you get too close.”
“Right boss!” they all nodded, like I was some hot-shot manager or something. It was cool. I mean I’d rather have been playing, but this was the next best thing.
By half-time the score was 1–1 and the boys looked to be on top of things. They scored again just after half-time, but the other team equalised straight away.
“Watch the gorilla!” I kept yelling. “Watch the gorilla!”
With about thirty seconds to go, it looked as though there was going to be extra time, but the gorilla bundled into Ryan Scott. Ryan took the free kick and their goalkeeper came out of his area to collect the ball.
“Penalty!”
We were all going wild.
“Let Danny take it!” I yelled.
Ryan stepped up with the ball.
“Let Danny take it!” I yelled again.
Ryan took the kick, missed, the goalkeeper collected the ball, rolled it out to the gorilla who lumbered up the pitch and …
“Oh no, he’s scored!”
Screee! The whistle went for full time. The guys had lost and I felt gutted for the second time that day. I couldn’t believe it.
“I told Scotty to let Danny take the penalty,” I moaned to the others afterwards. “It’s all his fault.”
“Oh come on now, that’s not fair,” said Frankie.
“I bet Ryan’s feeling awful now,” Lyndz agreed. “I feel really sorry for him.”
The only person I was feeling sorry for was myself. I’d been cheated out of playing in the competition, and I felt as though I’d been cheated out of being the winning manager too.
Fortunately, I’d got over it a bit by Monday morning when we got to school. I even managed to mumble “Bad luck, you played really well” to the guys in the team. But I just couldn’t face playing football. In fact I couldn’t face playing football for the rest of the week, and there was no way on earth that I was going to turn up to the five-a-side practice on Wednesday. What would be the point?
“I think you might be taking this too seriously,” Frankie suggested. “Why can’t you still play football for fun, like you used to?”
“It’s not the same,” I tried to explain. “I just feel cheated that we never got the chance to prove how good we are.”
“How good you are, you mean!” laughed Lyndz. “I don’t think the rest of us would have been much good in a competition.”
“We’ll never know, will we?” I told her sadly. “Anyway, are you going to the practice?”
“We can’t without you, can we?” Rosie pointed out. “We wouldn’t have a team.”
I knew that they were trying to make me feel guilty, but my mind was made up – I wasn’t going. Fliss looked quite relieved anyway.
Well, on the Thursday, I was just minding my own business in the playground before school when a football rolled on to my foot. I looked around, but I couldn’t see where it might have come from. The others hadn’t arrived yet so it couldn’t be them. I could see Ryan and Danny kicking a ball about over on the field, but they were too far away.
“Come on then Kenny, pass it back!” It was Mr Pownall. “It’s not like you not to kick the ball back.”
“I’m sorry sir, I couldn’t work out where it had come from,” I explained.
Mr Pownall walked over to me.
“You weren’t at five-a-side practice yesterday,” he said. “Don’t tell me you’ve given up on it?”
“There didn’t seem much point in coming, after the fiasco at the competition,” I sighed. “If we’re never going to get a game, what’s the point in playing?”
“And is that what your friends think?” he asked.
“Dunno,” I shrugged. “I think they were only entering the competition for my benefit, because they knew how much I wanted to play.”
“Very noble!” laughed Mr Pownall. “But they enjoyed playing too, didn’t they? They were getting quite good.”
“Yes, they were,” I admitted.
“So they’d be quite happy to play in a competition if I organised one with a girls’ team then?” he asked.
“Yes, but you’re never going to find one, are you?”
“Well Miss McKenzie, that’s where you’re wrong!” Mr Pownall beamed. “You know I told you that my friend should have been taking a team from Hollymount School to the competition? Well, their minibus broke down on the way there, and one of the girls was sick so they never made it. Now his girls are hungry for a
competition too. So we’ve arranged one for you all here – next Wednesday. What do you say? Are you up for it?”
I couldn’t say anything. For once I was speechless. All I could do was grin like an idiot. In fact I was still opening and closing my mouth like a goldfish when the others appeared.
“What’s up with you?” asked Frankie, prodding me in the ribs.
“Are you ill?” Rosie felt my head.
“Stop doing that, Kenny!” commanded Fliss. “You’re freaking me out!”
It was just hysterical, them fussing over me like that. I cracked up laughing.
“I think she’s really lost it this time,” Lyndz whispered behind her hand.
That made me laugh even more. I started leaping around and punching the air.
“It’s OK, it’s OK!” I yelled. “We’ve got ourselves a competition!”
The others all looked at each other then back at me.
“Game on!”
Well, you can imagine how totally hyper we were about the competition. This was going to be our chance to prove ourselves. But after we’d played football together that lunchtime, I started to have my doubts about the whole thing. I mean, it had been less than a week since we’d last played together, but the others seemed to have forgotten absolutely everything that Mr Pownall had taught them. And what made it worse was that they just laughed about it.
“Whoops, butterfingers!” Fliss giggled as she scooped the ball out of the net for about the tenth time.
“Concentrate for goodness sake!” I yelled. “This competition is serious, you know.”
“Lighten up, Kenny!” Frankie rugby-tackled me to the ground. The others all piled on top of us and started tickling me.
“Get off!” I gasped, struggling to get up. “It’s not funny, we’ve got to practise for the match.”
“You’re a right misery guts, do you know that?” Rosie grumbled, scrambling up from the ground.
“Look, I’m sorry,” I said. “But I thought you wanted to win this match as much as I do. This might be our only chance to play, and wouldn’t it be great to go out in a blaze of glory?”
Sleepover Club Goes For Goal! Page 5
