Lyndz nudged me. “Why’s Weaver loo-hicking at you?” she whispered.
But before I could answer, Mrs Weaver snapped, “Laura. Go and wait for me outside Mrs Poole’s office. Now!”
Man oh man. How can a load of teachers get so massively, crazily angry about one measly little yoghurt, for goodness’ sake? It was going to wash out of Emily’s games kit, no problem. And OK, her geography book was a bit slimy, but to be honest she’s not the world’s best brain at geography anyhow. She’d have been better off copying Emma’s notes in the first place, I reckon.
But that didn’t seem to be the point. Mrs Poole, our headteacher, went really po-faced and stony when Mrs Weaver explained what had happened.
“I cannot understand how you can be so utterly irresponsible, Laura,” she said, peering at me over the top of her glasses like I was some horrid insect she wanted to squash. “Not to mention so disrespectful of other people’s property. Did you think it was funny?”
Why do teachers always ask that? Dur! Of course I thought it was funny or I wouldn’t have done it, would I? But I couldn’t say that.
“No, Mrs Poole,” I muttered, looking at my shoes.
“How would you like it if someone covered your belongings in yoghurt?”
Blah blah blah. I tried to tell her what had happened to my pig but she wouldn’t listen. She just went on and on. By the time she’d finished droning it was home time, and I felt like one of Henry VIII’s wives who’d been sent to the Tower.
I headed back to the classroom in a daze. There I found Lyndz, Rosie, Fliss and Frankie, sitting in a huddle with their coats on. They sprang off the desks when they saw me and clustered round.
“Was that really what you did with my yoghurt?” asked Fliss, giggling.
“Ace plan, Kenco!” said Frankie, putting her hand up for high fives. “Serves the Goblin right after what they did to your pig!”
“Kenny – are you OK?” said Lyndz, peering at me. “You look a bit sick.”
“I feel majorly sick,” I said. Lyndz took a step back. I reckon she thought I was going to barf on her shoes right then and there!
“Pooley didn’t make a massive deal of it, did she?” asked Rosie.
“Course not,” said Frankie. “She’s a pushover!” Frankie’s right – usually Pooley’s nice, and much softer than Weaver.
But this time it was different. My nightmare had come true. “She made the most gigantic, humungous deal of it you can imagine,” I said, slumping into my chair and looking round at my friends. “I’m sorry, guys. I can’t go on the school trip.”
You know when someone gives you something, and then snatches it away the very next minute – it’s so much worse than if you’d never had it in the first place, isn’t it?
At that moment, I wished I’d never heard about the trip. Even better, I wished I’d never set eyes on Emily Berryman and her horrid bag in my life.
My friends were all just standing there, opening and shutting their mouths like goldfish. They couldn’t believe what’d happened. Well, that made five of us.
I got up and started stuffing my things angrily into my rucksack. “If you hadn’t been so picky about your yoghurt, Fliss, I never would’ve got into this mess,” I said.
“Hey!” Fliss protested. “It wasn’t my fault! It was your stupid idea…”
“Stop it!” yelled Frankie. Then, more quietly, she said, “It was the M&Ms’ fault for ruining Kenny’s pig in the first place. Come on, guys – we’d better get going.”
We all grabbed our bags and headed out of the classroom.
As we were crossing the playground I dodged round Frankie so I could walk next to Fliss. “Look, I didn’t mean it back there,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s OK.” Fliss nodded. “I’d be really upset too if I were you.”
Just then Lyndz bounced up behind us and flung her arms round me. “It’s not fair!” she wailed, squeezing me really tight. “It won’t be a proper Sleepover Club trip without Kenny!”
“Too right it won’t!” I said. I know it’s really mean, but I couldn’t bear the thought that they’d all be going on this fabulous holiday without me. “Hey…” I stopped in my tracks – the others stopped too. “Maybe the Sleepover Club should boycott the trip – you know, as a protest?” I said. “If one of us stays home, we all stay home!”
There was a silence. “Er… maybe,” said Lyndz.
“Oh, forget it,” I said grumpily. “I’ll be fine. Send me a postcard, guys.” And I stomped off.
It’s not like me to get down about things, but that night I was a real misery-guts. I think Mum and Dad presumed I’d had a row with my sister Molly – a good guess, since she’s about as annoying as they come and having to share a bedroom with her is torture. I didn’t want to tell them what had happened at school, because I couldn’t bear another lecture, and anyway I knew Molly would be all sarky and superior about it. Why does anyone think having sisters is a nice thing?
When I woke up the next morning, I felt fine – for about five minutes. Then I remembered everything and my heart sank with this awful whump. I didn’t want to go to school and have to listen to people talking about Devon all day and how cool it was going to be.
But I had no choice (if your dad’s a doctor, like mine, pretending to be sick never gets you the day off school).
I’d just walked in through the school gate when I saw the freakiest thing. You’ll laugh, I know, but I had to sit down on one of the playground benches, because I honestly thought I was having a funny turn.
What I saw was this: Frankie talking to Emily Berryman. They were actually having a conversation. Neither of them looked like they were enjoying it much, it’s true, but they weren’t yelling or pinching each other or taking the mickey.
“All right, Kenny?” said Lyndz, bounding up to me.
“What’s going on?” I said, pointing at Frankie.
“Oh that,” said Lyndz, all breezy like it wasn’t strange at all. “Just a Sleepover Club plan.”
I looked at her. “What do you mean? How come I don’t know about it? I’m in the Sleepover Club!” A horrible thought – that they’d thrown me out for being grumpy yesterday – shot into my brain. “Aren’t I?”
“Course you are,” laughed Lyndz. “Don’t worry. The rest of us talked on the phone last night and decided we had to do something to help, that’s all.”
I didn’t have a clue what to say – and that’s a rarity for loudmouth McKenzie, I can tell you. I didn’t much like the idea that Frankie, Lyndz, Rosie and Fliss had been talking last night and had left me out of it. On the other hand, I felt a whole heap better knowing that my friends were on the case.
“So – spill. What’s the plan?” I said.
“Ask Frankie,” said Lyndz. And before I could grab her and threaten her with a Chinese burn, she’d dashed off.
So I legged it across the playground towards Frankie, but as I passed the window of Mrs Poole’s office, I slammed on the brakes and did a major double take. It couldn’t be… it was! Fliss and Rosie were in there, talking to Mrs Poole. What on earth was going on?
This was seriously weird. Shaking my head, I set off again. By now, Frankie had finished her cosy chat with the Goblin.
“What’s going on, Frankie Thomas?” I demanded, grabbing her round her middle. “Tell me, or I’ll tickle you till you wee yourself!”
“Aaaagh! Ah-ah-ah, noooo!” Even when she’s doubled up with giggles, Frankie’s a good match for anyone. With one nifty move, she twisted out of my grip and leapt away, laughing. “You’ll find out, Sherlock! We’ve got a plan. It may not work, though…”
Just then the bell rang.
What could I do? Short of biffing Frankie with my rucksack (and I was in enough trouble anyway, thank you very much), I couldn’t think of a thing. So I tramped inside along with everyone else and sat there like a lemon while Mrs Weaver took the register. Just as she got to the Ts there was a knock on the classroom door. It wa
s Mrs Lynch, the seriously scary school secretary.
“I’m so sorry to disturb you, Mrs Weaver,” she said, “but could you spare Emily Berryman for a moment? Mrs Poole would like to see her.”
“Of course,” said Mrs Weaver, looking surprised. “Run along, Emily.”
Though Mrs Weaver looked surprised, the Goblin didn’t. She shot Frankie a look I couldn’t fathom, and followed Mrs Lynch out of the room.
I have to say, when Emily came back ten minutes later and said to Mrs Weaver that now old Pooley wanted to see me, I was past being surprised. Mrs Poole could have walked in with a blancmange elephant on her head and I wouldn’t have batted an eyelid (though I might have fallen off my chair laughing).
As I stood up, Frankie squeezed my hand. “Good luck,” she whispered. Good luck with what? I wondered. Was I going to be carted off to the Tower of London after all?
When I reached her office, though, I found Mrs Poole looking a lot jollier than the day before.
“Some more facts have come to light about yesterday’s unfortunate incident with the yoghurt, Laura,” she said. “I understand that there had been some provocation.”
“Yes, Mrs Poole,” I began. “I tried to tell you…”
But Mrs Poole held up her hand. “Emily admitted to me that she and Emma ruined your papier-mâché project. However, this was no excuse for what you did. If someone behaves badly, you only bring yourself down to their level by retaliating – do you understand?”
I nodded.
“Still, I do see that in the circumstances, banning you alone from the Devon activity week seems unfair.” Mrs Poole frowned. “I could of course make you, Emma and Emily all stay behind…”
Aaargh! The thought of having a week alone with the M&Ms was so hideous it made me feel dizzy.
Luckily, Mrs Poole quickly went on, “…but some of your classmates made an appeal to me this morning, saying that they wouldn’t enjoy the trip without you. How lovely to have such loyal friends, Laura!”
I nodded again as a big grin crept over my face. Way to go, Sleepover Club!
“So – as long as Mrs Weaver and I can find no fault whatsoever with your behaviour during the next three weeks,” said Mrs Poole, “I’ve decided that you can go to Devon.”
I could have hugged her. I could have danced around her office and turned cartwheels right down the corridor. Instead, I managed to squeak, “Thanks, Mrs Poole!”
When I got out, my friends were waiting for me: four eager faces, looking hopeful and excited.
“Well?” said Frankie.
“She said I can go!”
“Yeeesssss!”
For ages we were one big jumping, hugging bundle. Then I did high fives with everyone in turn. “Thank you sooo much, guys,” I said. “I owe you, big time!”
“Well, we couldn’t really go without you, could we?” said Rosie.
“Not if it was going to make you so grumpy!” laughed Lyndz.
“I can’t believe it,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s going to be the most awesome week ever!”
“Swimming in the sea!” said Rosie, bouncing up and down.
“Donkey rides!” said Lyndz.
Fliss clapped her hands. “I’ll have to buy a new sunhat!”
“Only one?” laughed Frankie.
“Hey, Frankie,” I said a moment later, as we headed out to the playground for break. “How did you get Emily to admit it?”
Frankie grinned. “I told her the school’d had hidden CCTV cameras fitted in the classrooms at half term – you know, like they have in shops to catch thieves.”
I gasped. “No! Seriously?”
Frankie nodded. “I said Pooley had seen the tape, but she was waiting for them to own up.” She giggled. “I can’t believe she fell for it!”
“I have seriously got to keep away from the M&Ms now,” I said. “If you see me going within a hundred miles of them, grab me.”
“Don’t worry,” said Frankie. “I’ll lock you in the stationery cupboard if I have to. And once we get to Devon, even if they’re being totally annoying, I reckon there’s going to be loads to take our minds off them.”
And boy, was she right about that one!
“Sit down, everyone, so I can count you!”
Mrs Weaver had to yell above the noise. The whole class had piled on to the coach in a MEGA excited mood and people were bouncing up and down so much the coach was actually rocking.
“I’ve got buttons!” said Rosie, waving a bag of chocolates.
“I’ve got Pringles!” said Lyndz.
Fliss knelt up in her seat. “I only packed four swimming costumes. Do you think that’ll be enough?”
“Fliss!” I yelped. “The rest of us only own one! How many does a girl need?”
As the coach pulled away we all waved like mad things. It’s funny – if I’d been going somewhere on my own for a week, I would’ve felt sad saying goodbye to Mum and Dad. But heading off with my friends didn’t worry me at all – I couldn’t wait for our majorly wicked holiday to begin.
There was only our class on the trip, but we had three teachers with us: Mrs Weaver (of course), Miss Walsh who usually teaches Year 5, and Mrs Daniels who usually teaches Year 4. They were sitting at the front near the driver, miles away from us, thank goodness.
Frankie was next to me, Rosie and Fliss had the seats behind us, and Lyndz had a double-seat all to herself across the gangway. Now Rosie stuck her face in the gap between our headrests. “Which first, guys – magazine or choccies?” She was flapping a copy of Mizz, one of those really girlie mags that are filled with things about hair and make-up. Yawn! Luckily, I’d brought the latest Leicester City fanzine, so I pulled that out of my rucksack.
“I brought a puzzle book but it’s in my suitcase,” said Lyndz. Our suitcases were packed in a big compartment at the bottom of the coach.
As it turned out, though, we were far too excited to settle to reading anything. Instead, we played I-spy and scissors-paper-stone and took turns at trying on Fliss’s new sunglasses.
“Andy says they make me look like a film star,” said Fliss.
“Who? Tom Cruise?” I said, and she boffed me with the magazine.
It was a seriously long journey. After a few hours, we stopped at a picnic area and ate our sandwiches. Then it was back on to the stuffy coach. Frankie asked if the driver could put his radio on, and he said yes – way cool! When Will Young came on all the girls sang along (yep, even me!) while all the boys made sicky noises. It was hilarious.
“I can see the sea!”
Simon Baxter had been saying that for hours, every time there was something sparkly in the distance. The first time he said it we hadn’t even left Leicestershire, I reckon, which is about as far from the sea as you can get.
This time, though, Frankie nudged me in the ribs. “Hey – he’s right!” she said, jabbing her finger on the window.
Suddenly, I was awake. Seeing the sea was always going to be exciting, but after hours and hours of boring motorways it was like a dream come true. It was only a shimmering strip on the horizon at first, but it got wider and wider as the road wound nearer to the water.
“Can’t they stop the coach so we can jump in right now?” sighed Lyndz.
“I can see people swimming!” said Rosie.
“Hey…” I pointed. “Isn’t that guy on the beach carrying a surfboard? Coo-ell!”
The road followed the edge of the sands for a while and then turned to the right, passing a sign saying “Welcome to Rawnston” and heading on through the little town. We still had our noses pressed to the window, and we saw loads of really cool-looking cafés with teenagers hanging around outside, dressed in excellent beach gear.
“They are seriously stylish,” said Frankie.
“We have got to check out the clothes shops here,” said Fliss. “I knew I should’ve brought more spending money.” Frankie and I rolled our eyes. Knowing Fliss, she probably had three times more than the rest of us anyway.<
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I flung the window open. “Oh wow – you can smell the sea!”
It was ten minutes later and we were bouncing around our room at the Beach Road Hostel. Thanks to Fliss, we’d managed to bag the only room in the house with five beds – two sets of bunks and one single. (Her case had been so heavy the coach driver’d had to carry it in, leaving her free to dash round and find the best room. Result!)
Frankie was the last to arrive. “Sleepover Club HQ!” she yelled, plonking her case down and punching the air. “Hey – bags I get a top bunk!”
“Me too!” I said, racing over from the window and clambering up one of/ the ladders. Rosie dashed for the bunk beneath me and Lyndz grabbed the one below Frankie.
Fliss was left standing in the middle of the room. She shrugged. “I don’t like bunk beds anyway,” she said. “If I’m on a top bunk, I always think I’m going to fall out. And if I’m on the bottom, I think it’s going to collapse on me.”
“Oh thanks,” said Lyndz. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“All right in here?” Mrs Weaver popped her head round the door.
“Yes, Mrs Weaver!” we chorused.
“Come down to the dining room at six o’clock. We’re going to explain how things will work this week and then we’ll have dinner. OK?”
The dining room was a bit like the one at school, with long tables and benches instead of chairs. When we went in, the teachers were standing at the front with an older boy and girl who looked just like the teenagers we’d seen hanging around the cafés in town.
“Who’re they?” hissed Rosie as we squashed together on one of the benches.
None of us had a clue. They both looked a bit grungy but really cool. They were tanned and their hair looked like they spent loads of time in the sun. The boy was wearing baggy shorts and a funky t-shirt, and the girl had on a short dress with cut-off leggings underneath. That probably sounds weird, but it looked really brilliant. She wore lots of bead bracelets and there were colours threaded through her hair.
Hit the Beach! Page 2
