Dance-off! (4 page)

I grinned. What’s that Three Musketeers motto?
All for one and one for all
. Well, that’s just like the Sleepover Club – and it was good to know it, after the shock I’d just had. That afternoon we were going to be watching Lorna and Sean’s dancing demonstration. But somehow I knew that however brilliant it was, the Sleepover Club would have something else on their minds. Now it wasn’t just Kenny who’d be thinking of revenge.

The demonstration
was
brilliant. And actually, I have to be honest with you: it did drag my thoughts away from the M&Ms a bit. But that’s no bad thing. Sometimes I don’t think they deserve the thinking time we give them!

At home after school, when Mum was back from picking up Adam, I was bubbling with news about Lorna and Sean – what ace fun we’d had in the workshop, and how amazing their demonstration had been.

“It was
sooo
fantastic!” I said, leaping round the kitchen, and leaning on the back of Adam’s wheelchair to try and stand on my toes.

“Hey, don’t tip him over!” scolded Mum, but Adam was laughing at me and didn’t look as if he minded at all.

“They were wearing proper costumes. The woman had a sticky-out skirt on, made of net…”

“A tutu,” said Mum.

“… and it had glittery bits all over it,” I went on, “and from the audience in a theatre they look like real jewels but when you get up close – Lorna let us have a good look – you can see they’re fake. Close-up, the costume even looked kind of… tacky, I suppose. A bit worn, and the material wasn’t very nice.”

“And what was the dancing like?” asked Mum.

“Totally, totally awesome,” I said. “They did part of
Sleeping Beauty
, I think it was. Lorna did all these pirouettes on pointe…”

Adam was frowning at me, looking puzzled.

“… that’s spinning round on the tips of your
toes,” I explained. “And Sean lifted her loads of times, high in the air. And he did incredible jumps too. His feet went like this…” And I criss-crossed my hands really fast to show Mum what I meant.

“Did the whole school like it?” asked Mum.

“Pretty much. And I think Fliss has decided she wants to be a ballerina now instead of a model,” I said. “She’s even started walking with her toes pointing sideways, like a duck!”

This made Adam laugh so much he shook. He may have trouble speaking, my brother (he has cerebral palsy, as I expect you know) but he sure can laugh!

Just then the phone rang. “I’ll get it!” I said and raced to pick it up. I figured it might be one of the Sleepover Club – and I was right.

“Hey, Rosie.” I heard Kenny’s voice coming down the line. “Just calling to remind you about the sleepover tomorrow.”

“As if I would’ve forgotten!” I said, in mock outrage. “Have we got a theme?”

“Not really. I guess we’ve left it a bit late,”
said Kenny. “I did think we could all dress up for different winter sports, in honour of Fliss going skiing, but no one’s got the right gear.”

“Winter sports?” I repeated. “You mean like skating and ice hockey and things like that?”

“Yep,” said Kenny.

“I haven’t a clue what I’d wear.”

“Well, me neither. So just bring your usual stuff. And I reckon we’ll have enough to do plotting revenge on the M&Ms, anyway.”

Which sounded likely to me. And as it turned out, we had even more to plan than we’d expected.

The next morning – Friday – Mrs Poole made an announcement in Assembly.

“Most of you will have noticed by now that parts of the school roof are in a very bad state,” she said. I glanced at Frankie, who was sitting next to me.
She
certainly knew. Her chair still had a bucket on it.

“A new roof costs a great deal of money,” Mrs Poole went on, “and to raise that money I need the help of everyone at Cuddington Primary. Pupils…” she looked round the hall. “… teachers, even mums and dads.”

“I knew it,” muttered Frankie. “Sponsored spells, maths marathons, ugh!” Down at the end of our row Mrs Weaver’s head turned. Her teacher radar had sensed someone Talking In Assembly (a major sin in Weaver’s book), but she couldn’t make out who it was. Frankie zipped her lips tight shut.

“Our first fund-raising event is something I hope we can all be enthusiastic about,” Mrs Poole was saying. “On the last day of term we’re going to have a party!”

A ripple of excitement ran round the hall. Mrs Poole beamed. “I’d like each class to help make the decorations and plan the entertainments,” she said, “and we’ll sell tickets to as many mums and dads, grans and grandpas and aunts and uncles as we can.
There’ll be raffles and competitions and lots more to tempt people along.”

When we got back to our classroom everyone was talking at once about the party.

“Do you think we’ll play games?” said Fliss. “Imagine Pass the Parcel with the
whole school
!”

“It’d be the biggest parcel ever!” giggled Lyndz, spreading her arms out wide. “You’d have to roll it along like a giant snowball.”

“I vote for Pin the Tail on the Donkey,” said Frankie, with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Only instead of a donkey, use the M&Ms!” She clutched her bottom and started leaping around, shrieking “Ow! Ouch!” as if someone was trying to stick pins in her.

Well, that was it. Frankie looked so hilarious, bouncing about like a half-mad pixie, that the rest of us completely lost it. Lyndz started hiccupping, I giggled so much I got a stitch, and Kenny tripped over her bag and ended up sprawled on the floor, still laughing.

“Settle down, now!” bawled Mrs Weaver
over the noise, clapping her hands. “And do get up, Laura! Nothing is
that
funny.” (Which just goes to show what a hopeless sense of humour teachers have. Frankie was
definitely
that funny.)

Kenny hauled herself into her chair, wiping her cheeks with the back of her sleeve. Lyndz, I could see, was holding her breath against the hiccups. Meanwhile Emma Hughes, in her best goody-goody voice, was asking, “How can we help prepare for the party, Mrs Weaver?”

“Well, Emma, along with Mr Pownall’s class, our main job is to decorate the hall,” Mrs Weaver replied. “The party is in three weeks’ time, so we’ll spend our Art lessons between now and then working on our decorations.

“But that’s not all.” Mrs Weaver walked round and sat on the edge of her desk, which is what she does when she’s feeling chatty. “Lorna and Sean from the British National Ballet have kindly agreed to be guests of honour at the party,” she said. “And you all did
so well in their workshop that I thought this was too good an opportunity to miss. So – I’d like you to get yourselves into groups, and make up your own dance routines. On the morning of the last day of term we’ll have a competition, with Lorna and Sean as the judges. The winners will perform in front of everyone at the party.”

“Fantastic!” whispered Lyndz, her eyes as big as saucers. Her hiccups, I could tell, had suddenly vanished.

“To make sure no one’s left out,” said Mrs Weaver, “I’d like to know by the end of today who’s going to be in each group.”

“We’ll be a group, right? Us five?” said Fliss, flapping a hand at the usual sleepover suspects.

“Don’t be thick! Of course we will!” said Frankie.

Over the other side of the classroom I saw the M&Ms huddle together with their heads down low, whispering. When they straightened
up again, they were looking so smug and self-satisfied, it made me feel queasy.

“Smug attack at 3 o’clock!” I whispered to Kenny. Kenny looked round. To show what she thought of the M&Ms she made a face, crossing her eyes and lolling her tongue out.

As soon as the bell rang for break, we started talking about the dance competition. “Listen, guys,” said Kenny, beckoning us into a quiet corner of the playground. “This is serious. We
have
to win it. We have to beat the M&Ms!”

Frankie nodded. “It’ll be the perfect revenge.”

“They deserve to come
last
after what they did to you and Rosie,” said Fliss.

“We’ll have to practise loads,” I said.

“Too right,” said Kenny. “We can start making plans tonight at the sleepover. Bring all your best ideas. It’ll be a council of war!”

It was great to feel we had a really important project on the go. I couldn’t wait for the sleepover. When I got home, I parked my bag
by the front door ages before Fliss and her mum were due to pick me up. I was getting a lift with them to Kenny’s because it was one of Mum’s nights for being late home from college. That was why my sister Tiffany was in the kitchen right this second, complaining about having to come straight home after school to look after me and Adam.

After tea I watched at the window for Fliss’s car, and was up and out before either she or her mum could get as far as ringing the doorbell. “See ya! Wouldn’t wanna beee ya!” I yelled to Tiff, who was upstairs giving herself a face pack (basically smearing loads of smelly mud on her face – bleurgh!), and banged the door behind me.

“I’ve got
so
many ideas for the routine!” said Fliss, her eyes shining, as I opened the car door and slid on to the back seat beside her. “I would tell you now – but I guess I’d better save them till we get there. How about you?”

“Er… I’ve got loads too,” I said, nodding
vigorously. To be honest with you, I hadn’t. I’m not much good at making things up on my own. For some reason it’s miles better when I’m actually with the gang, and we’re all shouting out ideas at once.

When we got to Kenny’s, the door was opened by her mum, who told us to go straight through to the garage. That’s where Kenny keeps her pet rat, Merlin, since she’s not allowed to keep him in her bedroom.

“Yeuch! I’m not going in there with that thing!” whispered Fliss, clutching her rolled-up sleeping bag as if it were a magic charm to ward off rodents.

The McKenzies have a normal-sized door that leads from the kitchen into the garage, as well as the big tip-up garage door. Fliss stood on the threshold of the kitchen door, wobbling her feet back and forth over the ridge of the door-frame. I’d gone ahead of her into the garage, though I must admit I didn’t go very near Merlin’s cage.

“I thought this would be a good rehearsal space,” said Kenny, flinging her arms out and spinning round. “We’ll make it the coolest, wickedest, funkiest routine we’ve ever done.” She strutted across the grimy garage floor, and struck a pose like a model, one hip stuck out to the side.

I burst out laughing. My breath billowed out of my mouth in ghostly clouds.

“It’s pretty cold in here,” said Fliss, shivering.

“Too right – it’s an icebox!” said Frankie, appearing at my shoulder. “Let’s come and work it out in here when we know a bit more what we’re doing. We haven’t even talked about ideas yet. Hey – where’s Lyndz?”

“Behind you!” We spun round to find Lyndz next to Fliss in the doorway.

Kenny yelled, “All present and correct!” like a sergeant major. Then she bombed back into the house at a million miles an hour and pounded up the stairs, shouting, “Follow me to my HQ!”

Up in her bedroom we found packets of
crisps and popcorn, fizzy drinks and biscuits in a heap on her sister’s bed.

“Is Molly out all night?” I asked.

Kenny nodded. “She’s sleeping at her friend Janice’s house – so we can do what we like!” She leapt on to Molly’s duvet and started bouncing up and down.

“Hey! You’re crunching the crisps!” said Fliss. Some of the packets were going flying, others were getting trampolined. Kenny kicked her feet out in front of her and landed on her bottom. “Right,” she said, getting her breath back. “Let’s make a start.”

“I’m going to write down all our ideas and the things we’ll need,” said Frankie, diving into her overnight bag and bringing out a really cool purple notepad and a matching pen.

“Well, I think we should do a ballet,” said Fliss.

“You have to be joking,” said Kenny, reaching for a crisp packet, and tossing a couple more to Lyndz and me.

“No, think about it.” Fliss’s face was serious.
“Lorna and Sean aren’t just dancers, they’re
ballet
dancers, right? So what’s their favourite type of dance?”

“Baffuff,” said Lyndz with her mouth full. “Sorry…” she swallowed, “… ballet.”

“Right,” said Fliss. “And what d’you think they’ll like most at the competition?”