Kitabı oku: «sleepoverclub.com»

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Sleepover kit List

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Have you been invited to all these sleepovers?

Copyright

About the Publisher

Sleepover kit List

1 Sleeping bag

2 Pillow

3 Pyjamas or a nightdress

4 Slippers

5 Toothbrush, toothpaste, soap etc

6 Towel

7 Teddy

8 A creepy story

9 food for a midnight feast: chocolate, crisps, sweets, biscuits, in fact anything you like to eat.

10 Torch

11 Hairbrush

12 Hair things like a bobble or hairband, if you need them

13 Clean knickers and socks

14 Change of clothes for the next day

15 Sleepover diary and membership card

“I’m having first go!”

Kenny charged into the bedroom, elbowing the rest of us out of the way. We all squealed loudly, as she sent us flying in all directions.

“No, you’re not,” Frankie said firmly, sticking her foot out and tripping Kenny up. “It’s my turn!”

“Ow!” Kenny yelled. She fell forward, and collapsed face-down on the bed. “You little toad, Francesca Thomas!”

“Get her!” Rosie shouted, and we all piled in on top of Kenny, screaming and laughing.

Just another normal sleepover, right? Right! You remember all of us, don’t you? The Sleepover Club? Well, if you don’t, you’ll soon work it out!

“I think we should let Fliss have first go,” Rosie said in a muffled voice. Frankie was sitting on her head. “After all, she’s the only one of us now who hasn’t got a computer at home.”

Fliss’s stepdad Andy did normally have a computer, but it was away being fixed. Someone (who shall remain nameless) had spilt nail varnish remover all over the keyboard, and it had gone bonkers!

“Nah, I reckon we should arm-wrestle each other, and the winner gets to go first!” Kenny argued, trying to push me off the bed. I banged into Fliss, and she slid off the duvet and landed on the floor on her backside with a THWACK.

“No, I reckon the tallest person should get first go,” Frankie said, rolling off Rosie.

“Oh yeah, you would say that, beanpole!” Kenny scoffed.

“How about the most sensible person?” Rosie suggested, sitting up and looking smug.

“Oh, you mean Lyndz!” Kenny grinned.

“Thanks a lot,” I said. “I’m not that sensible!”

The reason why we were all fighting over who’d get first go on the computer was because we now had our very own website on the Internet. Yep, the Sleepover Club was online! I don’t know if you remember, but we entered a competition to design a Home Page, and we won one of the runners-up prizes, which was to have our Sleepover Club site on the Net. We had a special section where people could send us messages, which was totally fab, and we were always arguing over whose turn it was to check them. So far we’d got emails from places like Canada, Norway and Germany – oh, and from Maria and our mates in Spain. (We met them when we went on that school trip, remember?)

“Rosie’s right,” Frankie agreed. “Let Fliss have first go.”

“So long as she hasn’t got any nail varnish remover in her bag,” I said meaningfully.

Fliss wasn’t listening. She was too busy rubbing her bottom, and staring round the room.

“Why do boys’ bedrooms always smell funny?” she asked, wrinkling up her nose.

My brother Tom’s room was a complete tip. There were clothes all over the bed and on the floor, and the desk was covered with paints and books and CDs.

“It’s all those horrible smelly socks,” Kenny replied. She scooped one off the floor and threw it at Fliss. It hit her smack on the nose.

“Kenny! Don’t be so disgusting!” Fliss howled, as everyone else collapsed in giggles.

“Come on, Fliss,” I said quickly, before she had a fit. “Frankie’s right. You have first go.”

“Why’s the computer in here, anyway, Lyndz?” Rosie asked, as Fliss sat down at the desk. “The Sleepover Club won it, after all.”

We’d won the computer in a radio competition in the summer, and the others were letting me look after it. But that’s a whole different story!

“Well, Dad’s converting the loft into a study,” I explained, switching the monitor on, “but there’s nowhere else for the computer to go for the moment.”

My dad’s always doing stuff around the house. One minute a wall’s there – the next, it isn’t! It’s like living on a building site.

“It’s not fair,” Fliss grumbled, flicking her hair off her face. “We’re the only ones who haven’t got a computer now.”

“And whose fault is that?” Kenny snorted.

Fliss ignored her. “I’m going to ask Mum to buy me and Callum one of our own for Christmas.”

Kenny winked at us. “I thought your mum asked you if you wanted your own computer last Christmas.”

Fliss turned pink. “Um – she did,” she admitted. “But she said if I got a computer, I couldn’t have a whole load of new clothes. So…”

“You went for the clothes,” Frankie grinned. “Surprise, surprise!”

Fliss is totally the Queen of Clothes. She’s got so many, Kenny says it would take her ten years to get around to wearing them all.

“So?” Fliss said crossly. “I need clothes! I mean, you can’t wear a computer, can you?”

“Ooh, I don’t know about that.” Kenny picked up the keyboard, and balanced it on her head. “And here comes Kenny McKenzie, the first female footballer to play for England, modelling the latest in headgear!”

“Kenny, put it down,” I warned her, as the others giggled. “You’ll drop it!”

“Stay cool, Lyndz,” Kenny said airily, strutting up and down like a supermodel beside the desk. “Look, no hands – oh no!”

Frankie, Rosie and me leapt forward, and grabbed for the keyboard as it fell to the ground. Frankie caught it, one-handed, just before it hit the carpet.

“Nice one, Frankie,” Kenny said, looking relieved. “That was a great save – you ought to play for Leicester City! And talking of Leicester City—”

“NO!” the rest of us chorused loudly. Whenever we put any of our computers on, Kenny always wants to look at mega-boring footie sites.

We had to wait a few seconds for the computer to connect to the Net, then Fliss typed our website address in the box. The Home Page of our site popped up, and we all cheered. We do that every time!

“Oh no, I’ve got to change that stupid photo of me,” Frankie groaned, covering her eyes. “I look like I’m about to be sick!”

“You always look like that,” Kenny replied, and got an elbow in the ribs.

We’ve all got our photos on there, underneath The Sleepover Club banner. Mine’s not too bad, but Kenny’s pulling this totally gruesome face – of course! There are sections called Midnight Feast, Sleepover Games and Spooky Sleepover Stories, and loads of information about all the things we get up to when we have sleepovers.

“It’s a shame we can’t add some more stuff to the site,” Kenny grumbled, as Fliss checked the messages section. “We could give people tips on how to set up their own Sleepover Club.”

“Yeah, and how to get into loads of trouble at the same time!” Rosie added with a grin.

It’s true, we do kind of get into trouble every so often, although it’s never really our fault. My mum says that wherever the Sleepover Club goes, trouble’s never far behind! But what do The Olds know?

“We can add stuff to the site if we want to,” Frankie said. “My dad’s really got into the Net, and he’s doing an evening class in web design. So he’ll be able to give us a hand.”

“Oooh, a message!” Fliss squealed excitedly, bouncing up and down in the chair. “A new message!”

We all crowded round the computer.

“Who sent it?” Kenny asked, “Is it from Chantal in Canada?”

“Is it from Anna in Norway?” Rosie wanted to know.

“Maybe it’s from Maria and the others,” I suggested.

“Come on, Fliss, get a move on!” Frankie moaned.

“I’m doing my best!” Fliss retorted, fiddling with the mouse. “But it’s taking ages to open.”

“What does that little paperclip thing mean?” Kenny asked, pointing at the screen.

“That means there’s something attached to the email,” Frankie said. “It could be photos or something.”

We were all dead excited. As soon as the email opened up, we all stared at the screen eagerly.

“Hey, it’s from the States!” Kenny gasped. “Cool, or what, dude!”

“I can’t see,” Rosie complained, trying to look over Frankie’s shoulder. “Read it out, Fliss.”

Hi, Frankie, Fliss, Kenny, Rosie and Lyndz! We are four girls from Miami who saw your site and think it’s just so cool! Our names are Darlene, Barbie, Jennie and Shannon, and we’ve attached some photos so that you can see what we look like. We love sleepovers, and we’re going to start our own club – if our moms and dads let us. They say we get into too much trouble when we’re all together, though – just because we accidentally lost Barbie’s dog last weekend! (We found him though.) Please email us back!

“Click on that bit at the bottom of the screen, Fliss,” Frankie told her. “Then we can see their photos.”

We all waited impatiently for the pictures to load. When they did, the four girls looked really cool. Shannon and Jennie were twins who looked exactly the same. Barbie had long black hair and was really pretty, and Darlene was pulling this horrible face that was nearly as bad as Kenny’s!

“Shall I write back?” Fliss asked eagerly, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. “What shall I say?”

“Put – Dear Barbie, Jennie, Shannon and Darlene,” Rosie began.

“It was totally fab to get your email,” I went on.

“We think you should definitely go for it, and start your own Sleepover Club,” Frankie added.

“You can get lots of info off our website,” Fliss tapped in, “and we can give you loads more. We’re the experts!”

“And take no notice of your parents,” Kenny instructed, “because we don’t!”

Fliss typed our names at the bottom, and then hit the Send button. A few seconds later we got a message saying that our email had gone.

“Isn’t it totally cool to think that our letter’s already on its way to America!” Rosie said. “It’s loads quicker than phoning.”

“Yeah, I can just see The Olds letting us phone the States,” Kenny said, bouncing on to the bed. “They’d have a mega fit!”

“We’re lucky we got a chance to use the computer at all,” I remarked, as I switched everything off. “Tom’s been using it every day since we got it. It’s only because he’s rehearsing with his band that we got a go today.”

“What band?” Frankie asked.

“Oh, Tom’s started this band with three of his mates,” I replied. “They practise in our garage.”

“Your brother Tom’s in a pop group?” Fliss’s mouth fell open. She looked dead impressed.

I nodded. “Yeah, didn’t I mention it?”

“No!” Rosie looked really impressed as well. Honestly, anyone would think it was Westlife practising in our garage! “What’re they called?”

“Aztec,” I replied.

“Uh?” Kenny didn’t look very impressed. “That’s well boring. They could have called themselves something really cool – like The Sleepover Club, ha ha!”

“Let’s go and check them out,” Frankie suggested.

“Yeah, let’s get their autographs now, and when they’re famous, we can sell them for mega-bucks!” Kenny chortled, jumping off the bed and heading for the door. We all followed, and tried to shove through at the same time.

“Ow!” Fliss yelled. “That was my foot you trod on, Kenny!”

“Last one down loves Ryan Scott!” Kenny shouted, racing for the stairs. Ryan’s in our class at school, and Fliss is in love with him anyway, so she didn’t mind being last!

We charged into the kitchen, where my mum was making spaghetti and tomato sauce for our tea. Spike, my baby brother, was in his playpen (his name’s Sam really, but his hair sticks up in this cute little spike at the front), and Ben, who’s four, was playing with our mad dog, Buster.

“Mum, is it OK if we go into the garage?” I asked. “We want to listen to Tom’s band.”

My mum smiled. “Are you sure?”

“Why? Are they that bad?” Kenny asked.

“I haven’t a clue,” my mum replied. “Luckily Lyndz’s dad soundproofed the garage, so I don’t have to listen to them!”

“They can’t be that awful,” I pointed out. “I mean, they’ve got their first gig soon.”

“A gig?” Fliss squealed. She was so excited, I thought she was going to wet herself! “They’re actually going to be playing somewhere?”

I nodded. “There’s a disco at Tom’s school in a few weeks’ time, and the band are playing there. My dad fixed it up.”

My dad’s the head of the Art department at the local comp. Tom usually moans like crazy about having to go to the school where Dad teaches, but now he’s got a gig for the band out of it, he’s shut up!

“Come on then, you lot.” I went over to the connecting door, which led from the kitchen into the garage. “Let’s sneak in and have a nose around.”

I pulled open the door, and immediately a wall of sound hit us.

“DON’T WANNA GO WITHOUT MY BAY-BEEEE! OH NO!

It was mega-loud.

“Shut the door, Lyndz!” my mum yelled, as Ben and Spike both began to bawl. “Now!”

“AWOOOOOOH!” Buster howled, joining in with the singing.

We all hurried into the garage and slammed the door behind us. The music was so loud, Tom and his mates hadn’t even noticed us come in. They were all bent over their instruments, shaking their heads in time to the beat.

Frankie nudged me. “Blah blah blah blah?” she said in my ear.

“WHAT?” I yelled back. I couldn’t hear a word.

“Blah blah blah BLAH!” Kenny said in my other ear.

“I CAN’T HEAR!” I shouted.

“I DON’T RECKON MUCH TO THIS SONG!” Kenny roared. And we all heard that because the song had suddenly finished, and the room was dead quiet. Kenny went as red as a ripe tomato.

“Actually, I don’t reckon much to it either, Kenny.” Tom grinned at us. “I think we’ll drop it, guys. What do you say?”

“Hey, I wrote that song!” said Dan, the drummer, indignantly.

“Tom’s right, man,” said Liam, who’s the lead singer and quite cool (even though I’m not into boys much).

“Nah, I think we should keep it.” That was Jack, the other guitarist.

“Oh, great, Kenny,” Frankie said. “You’ve split the band up before they’ve even done their first gig!”

Kenny shrugged. “Well, that song was rubbish!”

“The lead singer’s quite cute,” Fliss said dreamily.

“Better watch out, Flissy.” Kenny elbowed her in the ribs. “Or Ryan Scott will be getting jealous!”

“So, girls, has Lyndz been telling you how it feels to have a superstar for a brother?” Tom came over to us, still carrying his guitar.

“Who’s that then?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

“Funny!” Tom slapped me on the back. “Wait till I’m a famous rock star. I won’t give you a ride in my flash car, or on my private jet!”

“Oh, I’m dead upset!” I said, punching him on the shoulder.

Fliss was looking worried. “What if his band does become famous, Lyndz?” she whispered anxiously. “You’d better be nice to him.”

The others started giggling, but Fliss really was serious!

“Yeah, Fliss is right, Lyndz,” Tom said with a grin. “You can start by buying me a really cool present for my birthday – a sports car would be great!”

“What’s up, Lyndz?” Frankie asked, as Tom went back to join the rest of the band. “You’ve suddenly got a face on you like a totally wet weekend.”

“I forgot Tom’s birthday was coming up,” I said, biting my lip. “And I’ve just gone and spent all my money on new riding gear. I haven’t got enough left to buy him a prezzie.”

“I don’t think he really wants a sports car!” Rosie said.

“I can’t even afford to buy him a card with a picture of a sports car,” I sighed. I couldn’t believe I’d been so daft. I’d been saving for ages, and I really needed new jodhpurs and a riding hat. But if I’d remembered Tom’s birthday was coming up, I could’ve waited a bit longer. “I could kick myself.”

“I’ll do it for you, if you like,” Kenny joked, trying to cheer me up.

“Hey, brilliant idea alert!” Frankie whispered suddenly.

“I’m not borrowing any money from you lot,” I said firmly. “It’ll take me ages to pay it back.”

“It’s not that.” Frankie beckoned to us, and we all went into a huddle, like an American football team. “We could design a website for Tom about his band, and put it on the Net as a birthday surprise. What about it, guys?”