Mega Sleepover 4
Frankie and Lyndz agreed.
A brainwave suddenly hit me:
“Why don’t we just give one present each? We don’t need to buy it either, we could make it,” I said. “I’m sure I could knock something up out of a washing-up bottle and a bit of string. I’ve seen ‘Blue Peter’ often enough!”
Who says Frankie should have all the bright ideas?
“I know it’s the thought that counts,” laughed Lyndz. “But would we really want something you’d made, Kenny?”
The cheek of it! I couldn’t let her get away with that. I wrestled her to the ground until she was hiccuping and begging for mercy.
“I’d, hic, love anything you made, hie, Kenny! Really I would!” she spluttered.
“But how would we decide who we were getting the present for?” asked Rosie whilst Frankie dealt with Lyndz’s hiccups. She tried a cold marble down her T-shirt for a change. And it worked!
“We could have a lucky dip,” said Frankie. “We’ll all write our names on a piece of paper, put them in a hat and pull one out. As long as no one picks their own name, it’ll be cool.”
“And we could keep it a secret. Whose name we’ve got I mean,” said Lyndz. “Then when we get the presents at the party, we’ll all have to guess who bought them.”
“That means we’ll all have to wrap them in the same paper and put them in a special place at the sleepover when nobody else’s looking,” said Frankie. She always thinks of things like that.
We were all pretty excited about our presents. We each wrote our names on scraps of paper, which Frankie tore out of a notebook. Then she got out her favourite purple velvet hat, and we put all the pieces of paper in it. We each took it in turns to pull out a name. I was the last to pick, so there was only one left. It said:
I looked round to try to figure out who had picked my name, but everyone was shoving the papers in their pockets, and had sort of secret smiles on their faces.
“I’ve seen some great earrings in that shop in the village,” said Fliss. “I just thought it might help to give someone a few ideas!”
Oh great! Now we’d have to listen to Fliss dropping hints about her present right up until the sleepover. And we didn’t even know when that would be.
“Call me picky…” I said
“Hello Picky!” said the others together.
“Ha! Ha!” I said. “What I was going to say was, call me picky but it would be nice to know when we’re going to have this sleepover. Some of us have lives to plan you know!
“Right! You mean your hectic social life of showbiz premieres and parties I take it!” laughed Frankie.
“I wish!” I said. “I just want to know, that’s all.”
“Well, I say we should wait until after Brownies on Thursday,” said Frankie. “At least then we’ll know whose house the sleepover’s going to be at. Everything else should be easy to decide after that.”
“Right as usual Batman!” I said.
We never usually take this long to plan our sleepovers. I was beginning to think that this one would never happen.
When we saw each other at Brownies on Thursday, we finally showed each other the cards we had been working on for the Artist’s Badge. Mine was by far the worst, but that was no surprise. The others were good, but as soon as we saw all our cards together, it was obvious who would be holding the sleepover.
For the Artist’s Badge we could design any kind of card. Frankie, Fliss, Lyndz and I had just made ordinary birthday cards. Rosie had made a special ‘Happy Tenth Birthday Sleepover Club’ card, complete with a badge.
Coo-ell!
“Wow, Rosie. That’s brilliant!” I said.
“You’re bound to win! Yours is the best card by miles,” said Frankie.
“Thanks very much!” said Fliss.
Frankie ignored her.
“Why don’t we just agree that the tenth birthday sleepover will be at Rosie’s place?”
Lyndz and I nodded. But Fliss wasn’t having that.
“You said that we would ask the Tester to judge the cards,” she moaned. “So that’s what we should do. She might like something different.”
“Like yours you mean?” I asked.
“Maybe,” said Fliss.
When we saw who was testing us for our Artist’s Badge, we realised why Fliss had been so keen to wait for her opinion. It was Sally Davies, Snowy Owl’s best friend. And as I’m sure you remember, Snowy Owl is none other than Fliss’s auntie, Jill!
We’d had to do other things for the badge, besides our card. We’d had to design a pattern in three colours and paint or draw a picture. As well as the card, I’d made a bookmark. (I’d painted fluorescent squiggles on it with some of Molly’s special paint. She wasn’t very happy about that. One-nil!)
Sally looked at all our things separately, then all the Brownies who were taking the badge had to sit at a table together and draw a vase of flowers. I went for the big and colourful look, the others copied what they saw. But that’s art isn’t it? Everybody looks at things differently.
Sally seemed pleased with everybody’s work. She complimented me on my ‘bold’ style, which sent Frankie into hysterics. When Sally had signed all our forms to say that we had gained the Artist’s Badge, Frankie explained about our cards and about the competition we were holding.
“Would you just tell us which card is the best?” she asked.
We’d laid them all out on the table, so it wasn’t obvious who had made each one. Although of course she had seen them before and could probably remember.
“I’m not sure that picking out one from the rest is a good idea girls,” said Snowy Owl. “You know that everybody’s work is as valuable as everybody else’s.”
We all rolled our eyes to the ceiling.
“No really Auntie Jill, we want Sally to choose,” explained Fliss. “We can’t decide where to hold our next sleepover, and whoever made the best card gets to hold it at her house. So you see, we really need her help.”
Frankie and I nearly cracked up when she said ‘Auntie Jill’ in that sweet way of hers. She was obviously trying to influence Sally’s decision.
“Alright then,” said Sally, picking up all the cards and looking at them very carefully. “I think you’ve all done a fantastic job. But I have to say that this one really stands out because it’s so different.”
She picked up Rosie’s card.
“Putting the badge on there was a very clever idea.”
We all patted Rosie on the back. All except Fliss, who scowled at Snowy Owl.
So we finally knew that our tenth birthday sleepover was going to be held at Rosie’s house, and that was pretty cool. Not only does she have a humungous house with about a million rooms, but her mum is really great, really young and trendy and a real laugh. The best bit though, is that we can actually write on Rosie’s bedroom walls!
I really thought that once we knew where the birthday sleepover was going to be held all our problems were over. How wrong can you be! They were only just beginning!
You know the story of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, where the guy has two completely different personalities? Well that was Rosie as soon as she knew that the birthday sleepover was going to be at her place. She was like some power-crazed monster. No one had ever seen her like that before. And I’m certainly not in a hurry to see her like that again.
We all met up at the shops in Cuddington on the Saturday after Brownies. They’re easy for us all to get to, apart from Lyndz who lives a little bit further out than the rest of us. And our parents are quite happy for us to go there by ourselves. You know what parents are like! Always worrying about something. But at least they know we’re safe there. Apart from the threat of Fliss driving us all crazy by telling us about some great earrings she’s just seen, and the cool nail varnish she ‘just has to have’. P-lease!
We always meet on the same bench outside the newsagents. Rosie was the last to arrive. When she did appear, she was carrying a mountain of paper.
“What on earth have you got there?” asked Lyndz.
“Plans for the sleepover. Is next Saturday alright?” asked Rosie, flopping down next to us.
“Now, let me just consult my diary,” I said, pretending to flick through some imaginary pages. “Let me see. Next Saturday you say? Hmm. I think I can squeeze you in!”
“Sounds good to me!” said Lyndz.
“Fine by me,” agreed Frankie.
“So we’ve got a week to sort the presents out!” said Fliss. The rest of us groaned.
From the pile she was carrying, Rosie pulled out four invitations. Pinned to each one was a copy of the badge she’d made for Brownies.
“Cool!” we all gasped.
“Adam did these on the computer for me. I thought it would be nice if we could all wear one for the sleepover,” she seemed very pleased with herself. “All you’ve got to do is cut them out and make them into a badge. Is that OK?”
“Yep, I think even we can manage that!” I laughed, pulling a face at Frankie.
“Now,” said Rosie, reading from one of her larger sheets of paper. “What I thought was: arrive at 5pm, put things in my room until 5.15pm, games outside until 6.15pm, make-up and hair, (possibly a fashion show if we can fit it in) until 7pm, food until 7.45pm, Twister until 8.15pm, then disco until mum sends us to bed, which she says will be about 10pm – if we’re lucky! Washing and undressing until 10.30pm, giving out presents until 11pm, then midnight feast. Everybody OK with that?”
We were all sitting round with our jaws scraping the pavement. Was this girl for real? This was more like a military exercise than a sleepover. It was supposed to be fun for goodness sake!
“Erm, Rosie, I think you’ve forgotten one thing,” I said very seriously.
“No, I can’t have. I was up all night planning this. What have I forgotten?” she said, furiously reading through her timetable.
“What about toilet breaks?” I giggled. “I mean what if we need to go to the loo in the middle of the outdoor games? Should you plan for us to all to go together just to be on the safe side? Then we won’t mess up your timetable.”
“Like at school you mean?” Rosie looked very thoughtful. “That’s not a bad idea. I’ll see where I can fit it in.” The rest of us cracked up. Even Fliss knew that I was joking and Fliss has a sense of humour the size of a pea.
“And I’m not sure about the beginning bit,” said Lyndz. Rosie flicked through her notes. “You mean ‘arrive at 5pm put things in my room at 5.15pm?’ What’s wrong with that?”
“Well what if one of us is late? Or it takes us longer to get our stuff sorted out?” asked Lyndz.
“Yes and where are we going to put the presents so the others can’t see them?” asked Fliss.
“Oh no!” gasped Rosie. “I’ve got to do some more planning. But you can’t be late. You just can’t be. It’ll mess everything up if you are!” She looked as though she was going to cry.
“Don’t you think you’re taking this a bit seriously?” asked Frankie gently.
“I just want it all to be perfect, what’s wrong with that?” snapped Rosie. “It’s not just any old sleepover. It’s our tenth birthday sleepover and I want to make sure we’ll all remember it.”
She was certainly right about that. I don’t think any of us will ever forget it!
“Is there anything you want us to bring?” I asked. “Stopwatches, so we don’t run over time? Running shoes so we can sprint from one thing to another?”
“Party clothes? Balloons? Cuddly toy?” asked Frankie.
“What about the cake?” asked Fliss. “We’ve got to have a cake.”
Rosie began to search frantically through all her sheets of paper.
“The cake!” she shrieked. “How could I forget about the cake?”
It was a bit sad really, seeing her get so upset.
“Don’t worry. We could buy one,” I suggested.
“We’ve no money,” Lyndz reminded me.
“Well let’s make one then!” Frankie said.
Now the Sleepover Club are not exactly the greatest bakers in the world. In fact, we are a total disaster in the kitchen.
“Is that a good idea?” asked Fliss. Her mum never lets her loose in their gleaming white kitchen. Not after we nearly burnt the place down anyway.
“Sure it is!” said Lyndz very confidently. “My mum’s a mean cook. She’ll give us a hand. She likes getting the chance to do stuff like that. She’s always complaining that my brothers aren’t interested in anything domestic. And neither am I, usually.”
“We’ll have to do it before next Saturday,” Rosie reminded her. “Is that OK?”
“No probs,” said Lyndz. “I’ll ask mum when I get back this afternoon and give you a ring. You can all come over to my place and we’ll have a girlie afternoon in the kitchen!”
Now I don’t know about you, but cooking isn’t really my thing. Eating, yes. Cooking, no way. But what could I do? I couldn’t let my friends down now, could I? So when Lyndz rang that evening to say that we could all go there on the Friday before the sleepover to bake the cake, well how could I refuse?
Anyway, before that I had other things on my mind – like what to give Fliss for her stupid sleepover birthday present!
I know that this sounds really mean, but I really resented having to spend my pocket money on something which Fliss would like for five minutes and then throw away. She’s like that is Fliss. She has to have all the latest fashions she sees in magazines, then when the next thing comes along, she forgets how desperate she was for this skirt, or that pair of trainers, and she wants something else. Frankie reckons that I’m jealous, but it’s not that. I’ll be quite happy wearing my Leicester City football shirt until I die. I don’t like frills and sequins like Fliss. And I don’t really care how I look.
I know it sounds really petty, but I didn’t want to buy her the earrings that she liked, just because she’d hinted that she wanted them. That would have felt like she’d won. I was determined to give her something different. And I wanted to make it myself, just to prove that I could.
I rummaged about under my bed. I was bound to find something useful there. I found piles of old football magazines, a couple of stinky socks which didn’t match, a baby’s dummy (I have no idea where that came from) and a length of clear plastic tubing. I couldn’t remember where I’d found the tubing, it was just something that I thought might come in useful one day!
I didn’t think Fliss would be very impressed by hand puppets made out of the socks. And I wasn’t going to sacrifice my football magazines for anybody. I picked up the tubing. It was so long that I could use it as a skipping rope. It was ages since I’d skipped. It was pretty cool!
“Watch it! You’ll go through the floor!” snarled Molly-the-Monster as she came into the room. “What is that anyway?”
“Plastic tubing,” I said showing it to her.
She wrapped it around her waist, then draped it around her neck.
“What do you want it for?” she asked, looking at herself in the mirror.
“Dunno. Something,” I shrugged.
“If you decide you don’t want it, I’ll have it,” she said, and slammed the door behind her as she went out.
That settled it. If Molly thought that the tubing was worth having, then I was going to keep it for Fliss’s present.
I still wasn’t sure what I was going to do with it though. I had some glitter left from the card I’d made for my Artist’s Badge. I held the tubing so there was only a short length, and poured some glitter into it. It looked brilliant, even if I say so myself. It was exactly the kind of thing that Fliss loves. So that’s when I decided to make her some glittery bracelets for her present.
When I had finished, I was well pleased with my efforts. Even Fliss should be kind of impressed. And no way would she ever suspect me of making the bracelets.
So then there was a long boring week until the Friday when we all met up again at Lyndz’s for the great birthday cake bake. And what an event that turned out to be.
If I’m honest, I wasn’t looking forward to the cooking party at Lyndz’s. I enjoy being with the others and everything. And Lyndz’s mum is great. It’s just cooking! You know what I’m saying?
Frankie had organised which cake ingredients we should each take to Lyndz’s. I had the huge responsibility of providing the flour.
“You do know that it’s self-raising flour we need, don’t you Kenny?” Frankie asked over the phone.
“You mean it can lift itself off the shelf, all by itself?” I asked really innocently.
“You are joking, right?” she asked.
“Of course I am, dummy!” I laughed. “I may not be into baking, but I think I know what kind of flour we need for a cake!”
So, on Friday afternoon, I arrived at Lyndz’s armed with a bag of flour. I thought that at least if things got really bad, I could make flour bombs with it. Although I don’t think Lyndz’s mum would have been too thrilled about that.
I was the last to arrive. The others were already in the kitchen with their hair tied back and their pinnies on. Aw, sweet!
“Here she is! Our vital ingredient!” laughed Lyndz’s mum when she saw me.
“That’s me!” I said. “You can’t do anything without Laura McKenzie!”
I put the bag of flour down on the work surface next to the butter, the sugar, the icing sugar and the eggs.
“Have you got an apron?” Lyndz’s mum asked me. The others spluttered with laughter.
“Kenny? Wearing an apron? You must be joking!”
“I hope you don’t spoil your football shirt,” said Lyndz’s mum seriously.
“How can she spoil it when it already looks like an old dishcloth?” asked Frankie. I strutted around the kitchen as though I was modelling an expensive ball-gown in a fashion show.
Then the others went into Delia Smith mode. (I’m not going to bore you with all the details. Baking a cake isn’t the most exciting thing in the world. I’ll just give you ‘Kenny’s edited highlights’ of the afternoon, which is all you really need to know.)
After the others had weighed out the butter and sugar and put them into a bowl, Lyndz asked her mum if we could use the electric whisk.
“Yes, but be careful. Are your hands dry?” She felt all our hands. “OK. Turn it on at the mains, then turn the whisk on gently to start with and keep the beaters in the bowl. Whilst one of you does that, someone else can be breaking those two eggs into a bowl. Careful not to let any shells in. When you’ve done that give them a good whizz together with a fork. Now that’s you lot sorted, you haven’t seen Spike anywhere have you?”
Spike is Lyndz’s baby brother. I think even I would have noticed if a baby had been crawling around the kitchen floor.
“Let me have a go! Please can I use the whisk?” begged Fliss.
“What are you like Fliss?” asked Frankie. “Is using an electric whisk the biggest thrill of your life?”
Fliss does tend to get a bit excited about weird stuff like whisks!
“This is cool!” she laughed.
Lyndz’s mum disappeared again on the track of Spike. It’s usually quite easy to find him: you just follow the trail of biscuit crumbs.
I was getting a bit bored. Fliss looked very serious. The temptation was too much. I sneaked up behind her and, yelling “Gotcha!”, I tickled her under the arms. Fliss jumped a mile and forgot that she was holding the whisk. She lifted it out of the bowl and mixture flew everywhere.
“Turn it off!” yelled Frankie, who almost dropped the bowl of eggs she was beating.
“I can’t!” shouted Fliss who seemed to have completely lost control.
The whisk suddenly stopped whizzing. Lyndz had turned it off at the mains.
“You stupid idiot!” yelled Fliss, turning on me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know that was going to happen.”
We looked round the kitchen. Everything was covered in tiny splatters of creamed sugar and butter.
“We ought to try and clean some of this up before your mum comes back,” said Frankie. She grabbed a dishcloth and started to wipe up the worst of the mess. The rest of us grabbed kitchen roll and started to do the same. I couldn’t help grinning to myself: an electric whisk was a pretty cool weapon.
By the time Lyndz’s mum reappeared, the worst of the mess was gone and the others were dropping tiny bits of egg into the mixture and giving it a good stir. Yawn, yawn, how boring!
Next we sieved the flour. I hadn’t helped with the baking at all so Frankie made me hold the sieve. She said that even I couldn’t get that wrong. And it really wasn’t my fault when I covered everyone in flour. It was Spike’s! He charged right into me and the sieve flew out of my hand. It was like a snowstorm! Fortunately Lyndz’s mum knew it wasn’t my fault.
But that didn’t stop the others from having a go at me – especially Fliss. Her hair was covered in flour. She looked like someone’s granny!
“If you’re not doing anything Kenny,” said Frankie, “you might as well make a start on the washing-up!” Charming!
“Right sir!” I shouted like a soldier and saluted to her. Frankie grinned.
I was up to my elbows in dirty dishes and bubbles when Lyndz’s brother Ben appeared. I didn’t see him dropping pieces of Lego into the cake mixture. I didn’t see him trying to feed it to Buster, the dog. But I did feel it on the back of my neck when he threw a handful at me.
“Oi! What are you doing you horror?” I shouted.
The others were already yelling and fishing the Lego out of the cake. They were not happy bunnies.
“Go to Mum!” Lyndz shouted. Even she can lose her cool sometimes.
The last thing we had to do was pour the mixture into the two tins. That was not as easy as it sounds, but we managed it in the end. And Buster ate all the dollops that fell onto the floor, so they didn’t really matter.
“Mum! We’re ready to put them into the oven now!” yelled Lyndz. She’s another who could be a sergeant major!
Stuart appeared.
“Mum says I’ve to put them into the oven for you,” he said. He stuck his finger into one of the tins. “Hmm. Not bad!”
“Aw Stuart!” moaned Lyndz. “We took ages smoothing the top of that. Now we’ll have to do it again.”
“Well hurry up,” grumbled her brother. “I’ve got to leave for the farm in a minute.”
“Be careful they don’t mistake you for one of the pigs, won’t you!” laughed Lyndz.
“Ha, ha!” said Stuart. “Do you want these in the oven or not?” He took the tins from Lyndz and put them on the middle shelf in the oven.
“Save me a bit of cake won’t you?” he called as he left. “I did play a vital role in making it!”
We ignored him.
“The recipe book says ‘25–30 minutes cooking time’,” read out Lyndz. “Who can remember that? What time is it now?” Lyndz is hopeless at telling the time, so we all looked at our own watches.
“Ten past four,” we all said together.
“So we should look at the cake at twenty-five to five then,” said Frankie.
Lyndz looked very confused, but the rest of us agreed.
When we’d finished the rest of the washing-up and had cleared away, we messed about with Spike and Ben. Then we went out into the garden.
“How’s your cake doing?” Mrs Collins called out to us. We all looked at each other. The cake! We’d forgotten all about it! It was almost ten to five. We raced inside. The kitchen was filled with sort of a thick, not quite a burnt smell.
“Quick! Mum! We’ll have to get the cakes out now!” yelled Lyndz.