by Angie Bates
As we went through the door, Kenny muttered into her collar, “Operation Cupid, Phase One.” So then Fliss started up with the theme tune from Mission Impossible. “Dum dum der der dum dum…” This was the first time in the history of the Sleepover Club Fliss has done anything so mad! So of course we rushed straight out again in hysterics.
“Don’t,” gasped Lyndz. “Suppose I get my hiccups?”
I pulled myself together. “We’ll just strangle you.” Lyndz is famous for hiccups. She gets them at the worst times. And before you offer me your favourite family hiccup cure, believe me, that girl’s tried them ALL!
Just then we spotted Tiff through the window, checking through a massive bag of frozen peas.
“She looks terrible,” said Lyndz.
Kenny nudged me. “Spud doesn’t look too great either.”
“He keeps giving Tiff these sad little looks,” breathed Fliss. “He really loves her.” Fliss is truly mushy.
“Come on,” I said firmly. “Operation Cupid is going for it this time.”
In we went. We’d agreed that Rosie was dealing with Spud. Luckily she can wind him round her finger. As the rest of us slid past, we heard her say sweetly, “Hiya Spud.”
Actually I’m beginning to think she has hidden depths. In fact I’m dead jealous. You see, my original plan was for Rosie to pretend she’d twisted her ankle. But Kenny sensibly pointed out that Rosie’s mum would then naturally rush her off to Leicester Royal Infirmary for X-rays. “And by the time she’s spent three hours in casualty and found out Rosie’s faking, she’s going to be really mad,” she said.
Kenny’s big on anything medical. She’s going to be a doctor like her dad. She was right, too. If Rosie’s mum suspected a set-up, we’d never get our sleepover, not to mention the fact that Rosie would be in doom for ever!
Then Rosie came up with a wicked variation on my plan. I wasn’t too sure she’d pull it off. I don’t want to boast, but I’m the actress, right? Yeah, yeah, don’t get your undies in a twist. I’ll get to the point, if you give me a chance.
Where was I? Yeah, the Happy Shopper. Well, the rest of us were acting all innocent, filling our basket with Special Offer snowballs (snowballs are the Sleepover Club’s new obsession. They’re dee-licious white squidgy things coated in coconut, if you don’t know) when Spud came skidding round the corner.
“Tiff, Tiff!” he croaked. “Rosie’s fainted.”
That boy’s wasted as a footballer. He should go on stage!
Tiff jumped up and went sprinting down the aisles. We flocked after her like anxious little lambs.
Rosie was stretched out on the floor with her eyes closed. When Fliss saw her, she gave a huge gulp as if she felt faint too. Fainting’s catching, I don’t know why.
“Are you sure she’s not pretending?” Tiff whispered. She patted her sister’s cheek. “Rosie?” she said. Rosie’s eyelids fluttered and she gave a moan.
“Tiff?” she croaked. “What happened? Where am I?” Rosie opened her eyes and looked round.
Was that an Oscar-winning faint or what!
“Tiff, I just remembered,” I said. “Someone pinched Rosie’s lunch at school.”
“Yeah, poor Rosie. She only had a couple of Skittles, didn’t she Lyndz?” Kenny said, keeping a wickedly straight face.
Lyndz just nodded. “Mmm,” she mumbled, terrified her hiccups would start up and wreck everything.
“Her blood sugar probably dropped to zero,” Kenny added.
“It’s OK, Rosie,” said Tiff. “You fainted, that’s all.”
“She’s all right now, aren’t you, Rosie?” I said.
Rosie sat up. “I’m fine,” she said feebly. “I just need to go home and eat something. Tiff, will you take me? I feel a bit wobbly.”
Didn’t we all!
“I’ll take you,” said Spud quickly. “Tiffany can’t leave the till, can you?”
She blushed and shook her head. And then and there, Spud picked Rosie up in his arms and strode out with her. Well, he did stagger a teensy bit, but it was still totally and utterly brilliant.
Tiff stared after him, looking almost as woozy as Rosie.
“Spud is such a star,” sighed Kenny. “He seemed really upset about something though, didn’t you think, Frankie?”
“Yeah, sort of haunted.” I jumped as if I’d forgotten Tiff was there. “Ooh, sorry, Tiffany. Nearly forgot to pay for these,” I said.
Fliss gazed mistily through the window, still acting her socks off. “Poor Spud,” she said. “What in the world could be making him so-o-o sad?”
I deliberately didn’t look at Tiff but I heard her give a little gasp of sorrow, so I just knew we’d got a result!
I couldn’t wait to ring Rosie and find out if our plan was working. But in the end I had to wait after all.
That night the Cartwrights’ phone was engaged for hours. Mum kept telling me to go to bed, but I insisted I had to know if Rosie was OK. “Or what kind of friend would I be?” I demanded.
“Hmm,” said Mum, looking dead suspicious. I had to distract her by admiring her latest Mothercare buys. Actually, I think being pregnant is sending Mum slightly off her head. I’m sure she’s buying doll’s clothes by mistake. There’s no way a real person could fit into those dinky little things!
Finally I got through to Rosie. “Feeling better, poor little Rosie-Posie?” I giggled. “Or did Spud drop you on your head?”
“Don’t make me laugh,” whispered Rosie. “I can’t talk now.”
“Just tell me the important bit. Did we get a result? Yes or no will do!”
“Yes,” Rosie breathed in my ear.
“YES!” I punched the air.
“Rosie’s feeling better now, I presume,” Mum called in that sarky tone grown-ups use when they think they see right through you.
“So is our sleepover safe or not, Rosie?” I hissed.
“It’s safe,” Rosie hissed back. “But there’s… erm… a complication.”
“Another one?” I yelped. “Like what?”
“I’ll explain tomorrow,” she said. “Gotta go. I’ve got to tidy my room for our sleepover.”
Rosie and her mum are paranoid about visitors. Even us, Rosie’s very best friends. When they first moved here, Rosie’s dad did all this radical DIY – hacked off plaster and generally bashed the place about. Then he walked out for ever, leaving them in a house that looks like a bomb site. Her Dad says he’s going to come and help do things up, but he never gets round to it.
I put down the phone feeling mega fed up. I was going to have to wait all night to find out what Rosie was on about. Don’t you just hate that!!
I couldn’t believe it. First Rosie makes me wait all night, then next day she didn’t even show up!
“I bet she’s really ill now,” said Fliss. “I knew she shouldn’t have faked that faint. This sleepover’s totally doomed.” Fliss is dead superstitious.
“Double doomed,” grumbled Kenny. Kenny isn’t superstitious at all. She was just in a really bad mood!
To our relief Rosie appeared after lunch. “Mum only dragged me to the doctor’s,” she said, pulling a face.
Her mum wanted to make sure Rosie didn’t have some fatal fainting disease. The doctor said Rosie was as fit as a frog, which she thought was really rude. “I hate Doctor Mackie,” moaned Rosie. “He treats me as if I was five. And I hate that gruesome shoehorn he uses to see your tonsils. Yuk!”
Kenny’s eyes gleamed. “They’re called tongue depressors,” she said. “I can’t wait to use one.”
“So what’s this new problem, Rosie?” By this time I was beginning to think Rosie’s sleepover was under a curse too!
Rosie took a deep breath. “Mum’s been invited to the Harrisons. It’s some big welcome party for the Quormbys. They’re the ones with the baby, remember?”
“Tiff will be home though, won’t she?” asked Fliss.
“Kind of,” said Rosie uncomfortably.
“You’re so wei
rd, Rosie,” giggled Lyndz. “How can someone be ‘kind of’ home? She’s not invisible, like the Invisible Man, is she?”
“I meant she’ll be kind of busy,” explained Rosie. “With the baby. Usually the Quormbys take Morgan with them when they go out. But Mr Quormby thinks it’s time they used a babysitter. So Mum volunteered Tiff. That way, if anything goes wrong, they’ll only be over the road.”
“You said this sleepover was safe,” I groaned. “I wish your mum would make up her mind.”
“It is! She did!” said poor Rosie. “Only she thought our sleepover was off until last night, didn’t she? But now Tiff’s got back with Spud, she told Mum the sleepover’s cool with her.”
Honestly you’d think Tiffany was the Princess of Cuddington, the way Rosie goes on.
“But why isn’t Tiff babysitting for Morgan over at the Quormbys?” said Lyndz, puzzled.
“Well, that was the original plan. But Mum rang the Quormbys to explain about our sleepover. So now they’re bringing Morgan to our place. Mum swears the baby is totally no trouble. So you can all still come.” Rosie’s eyes were huge with worry. “It’s just that there’s going to be this little baby there. Is that OK? Or do you all really hate me?”
For some reason Rosie thinks we’ll go off her if she ever lets the Sleepover Club down, like once!
“It’s OK with me,” said Kenny looking round. “What about you lot?”
“I lurve little babies,” said Fliss.
“What about Frankie?” asked Rosie.
“It’s cool,” I said. “I need all the big-sister practice I can get.”
“Lyndz?”
“No problem. Sounds just like home,” she said cheerfully. Lyndz has got four brothers, including a baby brother, Spike.
Rosie beamed with relief. “Thanks, guys! I was really—”
But then this sickly sweet singing started up, drowning her out.
You know when people try to sound like pop singers, but they can’t actually sing a note? And they still think they’re totally cool?
Yes, strange but true! It was the Gruesome Twosome, Emma and Emily, with their creepy backing singer Alana Banana, murdering Juice’s latest hit, Forever Love.
“Poor ole Juice,” giggled Lyndz. “Imagine being fancied by the M&Ms!”
“Imagine fancying Juice,” I said. “He needs a babysitter if you ask me. He’s got a real baby face.”
“That’s why he wears those huge trousers,” spluttered Kenny. “To make room for his nappy.”
I fell about. But Fliss went all huffy.
“Juice is sweet. And Forever Love is a brilliant song.”
“It’s OK so long as you don’t have to clock his nappy while he’s singing.”
I got the giggles again. We all did. Well, except Fliss.
“I don’t know why you’re laughing,” she said stiffly. “It’s not that funny.”
That set Lyndz off again. “Yes it is!” she spluttered. “Hic! Oh, no!” she wailed.
“Not again,” we groaned. We marched Lyndz off to the toilets and experimented with dropping her own door key down her neck a few times. But that just made her need to go to the loo. Then we all had to go – you know how it is.
But while we were in there, we discovered why the M&Ms were killing Juice’s song. We were wondering! (Probably you were too?)
Remember Kenny’s crack about the M&Ms having their own sad little sleepovers? Well, like Gran says, “Many a true word spoken in jest.”
You’ve guessed, haven’t you? Don’t laugh! This is deadly serious. Those little clones were planning the first M&M sleepover in history. Is that gruesome or what? We heard Alana tell Regina when we were in the loos.
Naturally the M&Ms don’t have a clue what normal kids do at sleepovers. So they were devoting the night to their new heartthrob. Playing Juice songs and sighing over stupid pop magazines, you know – the kind that describe pop stars’ favourite colours and what jelly they like. Gosh, bet you wish you’d been invited! (NOT!!)
Alana was trying to persuade Regina to sleep over with them. “We really want you to,” she whined.
“I bet they do,” Lyndz muttered, from the next cubicle. “Regina’s the only one who sings in tune.”
“Don’t go over to the dark side, Regina,” chanted a spooky voice from one of the toilets. It was Kenny. She’s such a laugh. But what she said was true too. Regina’s new to our school. And we still can’t work out if she’s in with the M&Ms or not. Like Gran says, she’s an unknown quantity.
When we came out and were washing our hands, Alana gave Kenny a spiteful look. “You girls are such babies,” she spat.
“You’re the ones who fancy a singer in a nappy,” I said, and we sailed past with our noses in the air.
I’m sorry to say, the rest of the day was one big yawn. Unless you lurve long division. So hold on tight, OK, while I fast-forward us to the good bit. The part where I finally went home with Rosie.
Rosie’s mum had told my mum I could go straight from school. I think Mum was glad of the rest actually. She gets really tired now.
Rosie’s house is so brilliant, even though it is a bit of a wreck. When we got there it was full of the most de-licious baking smell.
“Chocolate cake,” I thought. “Yummee!”
Tiff makes wicked cakes. She does ace popcorn too, if you get her in a good mood.
Rosie’s mum had just got home from college and she had to belt round organising Adam. He was still going to stay with his dad, even though Tiff had cheered up again. The taxi came just as we finished singing Forever Love to him. We’d sung it twice. The first time just to take off the M&Ms. But Adam enjoyed it so much, we sang it again. Before he went, Adam typed us a message on his computer. It said, “Juice is a cool dude!”
“You ARE kidding!” I said. I think he was. You can never tell with Adam. He has a truly weird sense of humour!
The minute the taxi disappeared, Rosie’s mum had to rush around getting ready for the party. Tiff was in charge of tea. Want to know what we had? We had oven chips, crinkly ones, and some excellent chilli burgers that Rosie’s mum had bought for me specially.
I was expecting Tiff to break out the chocolate cake for afters. I was so-o-o fed up when it turned out to be Spud’s special anniversary cake.
“A whole cake for Spud? Can’t we have a tiny slice?” I moaned to Rosie.
Tiff heard me. “No way,” she said.
“It’s not personal, Frankie. She wouldn’t let me even look at it,” said Rosie.
So we had ice cream instead. They only had vanilla, but Her Royal Tiffiness said we could invent our own toppings if we wanted. So we really went for it! Heh heh heh!
This is what we put in them: chopped up Dime bar, rainbow drops (another Sleepover obsession!), walnuts, banana, left-over pineapple chunks. Ooh! And glace cherries. Eat your heart out, Ben and Jerry!
By the time we’d finished, I was truly stuffed. We all helped wash up, then Tiffany went off to her room, humming Forever Love. It turns out she’s a Juice fan too!
“Quick! Come and see my sister’s new dress,” said Rosie and she dragged me into the living room. I wasn’t in the mood to admire anything of Tiffany’s after that cake stunt, to be honest. But it was heavenly. It was even the right colour – silver!
“She saved up for it for ages,” explained Rosie.
“It’s gorgeous,” I whispered. I don’t know why we were whispering. I mean, it was only a dress – not, like, church!
“Tiff wanted to take it back to the shop, after the quarrel,” Rosie wittered on. “Now she’s wearing it to the school dance. She looks totally amazing in it.”
Yawn yawn yawn. I hate Rosie’s Tiffany-worshipping moods. To distract her, I said she should ask Tiff to make some popcorn. “She owes us!” I said.
“Sssh!” hissed Rosie. “She’d go ballistic if she knew I faked that faint!”
“I only asked,” I snapped. Honestly, what is the point of a good deed if you can’t g
et a bowl of popcorn out of it?
Luckily, the others turned up then.
“Ooh, yummy! Tiff’s made one of her cakes,” said Lyndz.
“Forget it,” I said. “It’s for boring old Spud.”
We carried the sleepover gear upstairs. Kenny immediately checked out the wall on the landing for interesting new graffiti. That’s one great thing about the Cartwrights’ house. Rosie’s allowed to write on the undecorated walls, until they’ve all been painted!
Kenny chewed her pen. Finally she wrote ‘ROSIE LOVES JUICE’. Fliss grabbed the pen, drew a swirly heart round Kenny’s graffiti and wrote ‘TRUE!’
“I do love Juice,” beamed Rosie. “Orange juice, apple juice, lime juice, lemon juice, pineapple juice, mango ju…”
I threw my teddy at her. “Knock it off, or we’ll juice you, OK?”
Lyndz took something out of her bag. “Look what I’ve brought.”
“Wow!” I said. “A plastic thing with a hole in. Can I have one?”
“It’s a bubble sword, you moron,” Lyndz explained. “Tom got it at a fair. The proper stuff ran out after half a minute, but we refilled it with Fairy Liquid and it’s still brilliant.”
It was. First you dip the sword in the part with the bubble stuff in, the scabbard thing. Then you wave the sword and zillions of HUGE bubbles stream out. If there’s a fair near you, make your parents take you immediately and DEMAND a bubble sword. They’re ace!
We ran around filling the house with bubbles, screaming our heads off.
“I love staying at your place, Rosie,” I yelled.
Rosie went bright red. “Thanks, Frankie.”
Kenny blew a massive bubble. “It’s bigger than my head!” she shrieked.
“It’s not bigger than Juice’s,” I shouted.
“You’re so mean,” giggled Fliss.
The door bell went.
“Can you get it?” called Rosie’s mum in a muffled voice. “I’m still putting my dress on.”
Rosie raced for the door, but Tiffany beat her to it. It was Mrs Quormby, with the baby.
“Aaah,” said everyone. Morgan has to be the most gorgeous baby on the planet. (Until ours arrives, of course.) Mr Quormby followed with the travel cot.
