Sleepover Club Eggstravaganza (3 page)

Needless to say, the photos were a total hit.

“Oh, man,” giggled Kenny, wiping her eyes with one hand. “That has to be the funniest thing I’ve
ever
seen. Franks, what
do
you look like?”

“A small pink pig,” said Fliss promptly. “With a squirt of hair mousse on top for good measure!”

“No, whipped cream, more like!” gurgled Lyndz. “All you – hic – need is a cherry on top, Frankie!”

“And that
babysuit
!” groaned Rosie, clutching her stomach. “If I laugh any more, I’ll be sick!”

“Keep your voices down,” I hissed, giggling as much as the rest of them. “Especially you, Kenz – you can’t afford to annoy any more teachers this term!”

“Urgh, tell me about it,” said Kenny, calming down at once. “Remind me never to be a gardener when I grow up. And sorry, Fliss – I can’t look at you today.”

“What? Why?” said Fliss, looking really worried.

“Because you’re wearing yellow,” said Kenny, in a world-weary voice. “It reminds me too much of the D-word!”

I suddenly remembered the party. “Oh, by the way, you guys, we’re having a naming party for Izzy, Saturday week. Mum says you can all come over on the Friday before, for the night. Cool or what?”

Suddenly, I saw a two-headed M&M-shaped shadow approaching.

“Hey, give the pics here, quick!” I hissed in alarm. There was no way I wanted the M&Ms to see me looking so totally stupid.
Imagine
! I knew I’d never live it down. I didn’t think
they’d seen anything – but I felt a bit uneasy as they walked past, grinning at each other in that awful smirky way of theirs.

“Do you think they saw?” I asked anxiously.

Kenny looked a bit doubtful. “Dunno. Better put the pics in your bag, though. Emma’ll be out for revenge after that flowerbed stuff last week.”

Mrs Weaver clapped her hands. “A bit of fun for you today, class,” she said. “I’m going to show you how to blow an egg.”

“Blow an egg where, Miss?” piped up Danny McCloud.

“Blow up an egg, did you say Miss?” said Simon Graham in delight.

“No, no!” exclaimed Mrs Weaver as the class giggled. “
Blow an egg
– blow out the contents of an egg while still keeping the shell intact. Then we’ll decorate the eggshells to add to the Easter display, and use the egg whites and yolks for school cookery classes.”

She picked up an egg from a huge pile of egg boxes next to her desk.

“I don’t understand,” whispered Fliss to me.
“How can she get the insides of the egg out without breaking the shell?”

“Watch and learn,” I said wisely. To tell the truth, I didn’t have a clue either!

Mrs Weaver then placed a bowl in front of her, and picked a pin out of a small pincushion she had sitting on her desk. “Observe,” she said. “I prick a hole in the top of the egg like so…”

“Wow! She’s going to get in such a mess!” whispered Kenny, watching Mrs Weaver like a hawk. This was just the kind of mucky business Kenny loved.

“Then I make a hole in the other end of the egg…”

“She’s going to ruin her blouse,” Fliss muttered anxiously.

“Chill out, Fliss!” I snorted. “It’ll be fine!”

It was more than fine. It was amazing! We couldn’t believe the way the egg, yolk and all, slipped through the second hole like silk when Mrs Weaver blew, leaving a perfect shell still in her hands and the egg itself in the bowl. A round of applause rippled round the class,
and Mrs Weaver looked dead chuffed.

“Now, everyone must wear their overalls for this,” she explained, “or you’ll all get in a mess. Put all your books away, and make sure there’s lots of newspaper down on your tables.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to do this,” said Fliss worriedly, wriggling into her overall (and buttoning it up
really
tight to protect her clothes!).

“Oh, poo to that!” said Kenny scornfully, rolling her sleeves right up. “It’s dead easy! I’ll go up and get the stuff.”

“What an brilliant lesson!” said Rosie gleefully. “I can’t wait to get painting! What designs are you going to do on yours, guys?”

“Whoa,” said Lyndz, ever the practical one. “We’ve got to blow the eggs first.”

And believe you me, it was nowhere
near
as easy as you might think! My first egg cracked as soon as I stuck the pin in it. And one of Kenny’s had such a hard shell that when she stabbed at it with a pin, it shot out of her hand – straight up into the air like a bar of soap. She managed to catch it, but only just!!

“Wicked save, Kenz,” I said in admiration.

“David Seaman, eat your heart out,” she said smugly.

Lyndz nudged me. “Hey, look at Fliss!”

Fliss was concentrating
really
hard, with these little lines on her forehead (don’t tell her that, or she’ll run straight for the moisturising cream!). She’d made one hole OK, and was just pulling out her pin for the second time. Lifting the shell daintily to her lips, she blew – and the egg slid neatly out and into the bowl.

“Fantastic, Fliss!” breathed Rosie.
Serious
respect waves rippled round our table.

“Oh, it’s quite easy, really,” said Fliss modestly, and placed her eggshell carefully on the side of the table.

Where it proceeded to roll off, straight on to the ground – and straight under Ryan Scott’s shoe!! I’ve never seen Fliss so mad! Especially with
Ryan
, He Who Can Do No Wrong. I thought she was going to bite his head off and spit out the bones!

“Tough luck, Fliss,” I said sympathetically once Ryan had scurried out of the firing line.
This is going to sound really awful, but between you and me, I was kind of glad Ryan had trodden on Fliss’s shell. Flissy can be a total nightmare when she knows she’s done something better than the rest of us.

“I could kill that Ryan Scott,” Fliss said moodily.

“Now that’s a first!” giggled Lyndz. “You’ll be able to do another one, Fliss – you did that one really well. You can show us all how.”

So Fliss chilled out a bit, and was soon showing the rest of us her Secret Method, as she put it – though there was nothing secret about it, as far as I could tell.

Suddenly Kenny reared her head up, and sniffed the air. “Yuck!” she said, wrinkling up her nose in disgust. “Can you smell something?”

Imagine the worst fart you’ve ever smelt in your life. Then add a bunch of Kenny’s famous stinkbombs, a sprinkling of cowpats and a dab of overboiled grey cabbage. Then times it by a million, and you’re still nowhere
near
how gruesome this smell was. Fliss practically fainted. There was chaos in the classroom as
everyone started shouting and making awful sick noises.
A ROTTEN EGG!

“Yeeeeuuuch!” squealed Rosie, flapping her hands around in the air.

“I…can’t… breathe!” gasped Lyndz, clutching her throat.

All around the classroom, people were holding their noses and shrieking. Mrs Weaver flung open all the windows and tried to calm us all down – but she looked close to fainting herself!

“Everybody out! Outside!” she cried, herding us all out of the room with one hand and pinching her nostrils closed with the other. “Give the room some time to air!”

“I think I’m dying!” howled Fliss. “I can’t see!”

“Open your eyes, you great wally,” said Lyndz sensibly. “The smell doesn’t affect your sight, you know!”

We were all milling around, pressing up close to the door in a desperate attempt to get out.
Phew
! The school corridor had never smelt so sweet! Everyone stood around the noticeboards, propping themselves up
against the walls in relief.

“Wow, that was seriously horrible,” said Kenny, pulling her jumper down from her face, where she’d been using it as a gas mask.

“Excellent, wasn’t it?” said Simon Graham happily.

“Yuck, Simon Graham, you’re disgusting!” stormed Fliss, close to tears.

“You probably felt at home in that stink, Graham, you great pig!” said Kenny scornfully.

“Oink, oink!” grinned Simon, before running off to join his gang on the other side of the corridor.

“Boys!” groaned Rosie.

“Quieten down, class!” Mrs Weaver was saying. “There are other lessons going on, you know.”

“Not if they get a whiff of that!” said Lyndz.

But the smell seemed to be disappearing. In fact, it was only a couple of minutes before we could all go back in, but it still smelt a bit like a loo after you-know-what…

Eventually we settled down, and started painting our eggshells. But you know what? I
got the distinct feeling that the M&Ms were up to something. They kept looking over at me and sniggering, whispering stuff.

“Hey,” I said slowly, looking up from this fab (even if I say so myself) space-age silver egg I was painting. “Does anyone else get the feeling that the M&Ms are talking about us?”

Kenny looked over. Immediately, there was an explosion of pathetic M&M giggles. “Hmm,” she said frowning. “Something’s smells a bit fishy here.”

“Don’t mention anything else that smells bad,” said Fliss weakly. “I still haven’t recovered from that stink!”

The bell went for break.

“Everyone stay where they are for five more minutes!” ordered Mrs Weaver. “We need to make up the time after that, er, interlude just now.”

This seemed to tickle the M&Ms pinker than ever. Now
that
was seriously weird. Whoever heard of someone giggling about staying in through break time?

“Frankie,” said Rosie uneasily. “Er, where
exactly did you put those photos of yours?”

My heart went cold, like an icy hand had just gripped it. I’d tucked them into my schoolbag, which was next to my chair.

But they weren’t there any more.

“My photos!” I gasped in panic. “Where are they? Mum’ll kill me!”

“Right, clear your tables and put your painted eggshells over on the windowsill to dry!” said Mrs Weaver. “Bring the egg whites and egg yolks over here – we’ll save them for the school cookery classes.”

“
My photos!
” I insisted, close to tears. “I’ve got to find them!”

“I think we can all guess who took them,” said Kenny grimly.

I was as mad as a hornet, and pushed through the class towards the M&Ms.

“Where are my pictures?” I shouted. “What have you done with them?”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Francesca,” sighed Emma, and she and Emily rushed off, giggling madly.

Simon Graham stuck his head round the
door. “Love the snaps, Frankie!” he chortled. “So attractive!”

“Hey, baby, baby!” crooned Ryan Scott and Danny McCloud, running back into the classroom with idiot grins on their faces. “Coochie coo!”

I stood rooted to the spot. Where had the M&Ms put them? Had they been passing them round the class?

“Er, Frankie…” It was Lyndz, standing sheepishly in the doorway. There seemed to be a lot of laughter coming from the corridor. “I think you’d better come out here.”

“Brace yourself, Spaceman,” said Kenny, gripping my arm. “Something tells me that we’re the only ones who ain’t laughing.”

I allowed myself to be led out into the corridor, where I hardly even noticed the giggles of the kids all standing round the noticeboard. All I saw was me. Stuck up on the board. Starkers. With a blob of bath foam on my head.

Have you ever had one of those moments when you turn into a machine? You know, all numb and automatic, just going through the motions? The others told me later that they had to take my arms and lead me away. I don’t remember any of it – I just remember those pictures getting bigger and bigger in my head. I had never been so embarrassed in my entire life. The M&Ms had pulled a fast one!

“I can’t go back into the classroom!” I said in panic, while the others all fussed round me in the playground. “I can’t! They’ll all be laughing at me!”

If there’s one thing in the world that I hate more than spiders, it’s being made to look like a total idiot.

“You’ve got to face them, Frankie,” said Rosie, chewing her thumb and looking all distracted.

“Yeah, hold your Sleepover Club head up high, Spaceman!” said Kenny in a rousing let’s-cheer-you-up sort of voice. “Besides, it’s still break time right now. Live for the moment!”

“Er, guys,” said Lyndz unhappily. “I don’t think Frankie’s gonna want to live for the moment right at this, um, moment.”

Emma and Emily were swaggering over to us, with Alana and Regina trailing behind them.

“Got your dummy, Frankie baby?” trilled Emma.

“She’s got loads of dummies,” chortled Emily in her gravelly little voice. “Only she calls them ‘friends’!”

“I suppose you still wet the bed, huh, Francesca?” continued Emma sweetly. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Yeah, you should know!” growled Kenny,
jumping to her feet and clenching her fists.

“Now, now, Laura,” said Emma reprovingly. “You don’t want to get into any more trouble with the teachers, do you? I suggest you go and change your friend’s nappy. Lessons start again in five minutes. Hope you’re a dab hand with that baby powder, or you’re gonna be late!”

And howling like a pack of hyenas on laughing gas, she and her cronies waltzed off down the playground.

“
Grrrrrr!
” growled Kenny, swiping the air a couple of times. “I
reaaallly
wish I’d bashed her then, teachers or no teachers! Take
that
…and
that
…”

“Thanks for the thought, Kenz,” I managed to say in a strangled voice. “But they’re not worth it. Come on. We’ve got to go in now.”

And we trailed miserably back into class.

I never want to go through anything like that again.
Ever
. By the time we were halfway through the week, I’d heard every baby joke that was ever made. Several million billion
times. Oh ha ha,
not
.

“Tell you what,” said Fliss, slipping her arm through mine as we slowly walked home on Wednesday. “Why don’t we plan a major sleepover fest this weekend? That’ll take your mind off things.”

“Whatever,” I said mournfully. “I don’t really care.”

Kenny stopped dead in her tracks. “What!” she screeched in horror. “You don’t care about sleepovers any more?”

I scuffed the ground with my toe, utterly fed up. “Not really, no,” I heard myself say.

Dong!
Some kind of funeral bell seemed to sound in the air. No one knew what to say. The thought of a sleepover had
always
been able to cheer any of us out of the deepest, darkest doom.

“Blimey, Frankie,” said Lyndz at last. “I guess this has really got to you, hasn’t it?”

I shrugged. “I guess so.”

Rosie clapped her hands. “Hey! Well, how about we make this not just
any
sleepover? How about doing some kind of theme?”

“And we could plot a really horrible revenge!” said Kenny, looking much cheerier.

I perked up, just the tiniest bit. “What kind of revenge were you thinking of, Kenz?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” Kenny intoned mysteriously, waving her hands in the air. “I look into the future, and I predict terrible things in store for the M&Ms!”

“So what do you think of my idea of a theme, guys?” asked Rosie excitedly.

“There’s only one thing it could be,” Lyndz grinned. “It’s nearly Easter, so we should have a
chocolate
theme!”

“Oh, man!” breathed Kenny. “Yeah! Chocolate cake, chocolate eggs, hot chocolate to drink…”

“Chocolate spread, chocolate toffees,” continued Lyndz dreamily.

“Listening to Mum’s old Hot Chocolate albums!” giggled Rosie.

“I saw some chocolate-scented candles in a shop in Leicester the other day,” I said, beginning to get excited.

“It doesn’t sound very healthy,” began Fliss,
but she quickly shut up when she copped the furious glares aimed at her.

“So, a chocolate theme it is, then!” said Kenny, rubbing her hands. “But where are we gonna do it? It can’t be at my place because…well, you know. I’m still not exactly flavour of the month at home.”

“Mum’s really busy at the moment with Izzy,” I apologised. “And anyway, we’re having a sleepover at my place the weekend after next, for the party, remember?”

“Sorry, guys,” said Fliss a little helplessly. “You know what my mum’s like about chocolate and her cream sofas!”

“Let’s make it my place,” offered Lyndz. “I’m sure my folks won’t mind.”

I suddenly got a real lump in my throat. “Thanks for being such great mates,” I mumbled. “Sorry I’ve been so down in the dumps all week.”

“No probs, Frankie,” said Rosie kindly. “By the time we’re through with our revenge plans, those M&Ms are gonna wish they’d never crossed swords with the Sleepover Club!”

How I survived the rest of the week, I’ll never know. But I’ve got a feeling it had something to do with the idea of the sleepover that weekend. A fiery rage had been building up in me ever since Wednesday, when my mates managed to pull me out of my mood. Revenge was now uppermost in my mind, and I couldn’t wait to get started!

As soon as the bell went on Friday, we all shot out of the classroom, our sleepover kits packed and banging against our backs.

“Right, race you all to Lyndz’s!” yelled Kenny.

It was great to breathe the weekend air. Have you ever noticed how the air smells different at the weekend? That’s the smell of freedom, I reckon. We all hared off down the road, giggling and shrieking – probably not setting a very good example to the younger kids, but we couldn’t help it!

“I’ve got a stitch,” moaned Fliss, leaning her hands on her knees and gasping for breath when we reached Lyndz’s gate.

“It’s called working up an appetite for all the choccy,” grinned Kenny, patting her bag. “You won’t believe the goodies I’ve got in here!”

“Hi kids!” Mrs Collins seemed really pleased to see us. “That was quick. Ready for some tea?”

Were we ready! We dropped our sleepover kits by the door, and galloped into the kitchen, where a fantastic tea was laid out. Lyndz’s two little brothers, Ben and baby Spike, were both sitting at the table, with huge pleading eyes fixed on the food. They’d obviously been told not to touch a thing until we arrived!

“Ben and Spike are delighted that you’re so early!” laughed Mrs Collins. “They’ve been under my feet all afternoon, like a pair of hungry puppies. Lyndsey told me that your theme was going to be chocolate. I hope you’re peckish!”

We all fell on the food. Bread and butter cut into squares, with at least three different chocolate spreads to try – a white chocolate
one, a nutty chocolate one, and one with chocolate and peanut butter all swirled together into gorgeous patterns in the jar. Then there were fantastically squidgy brownies, mugs of frothy hot chocolate, chocolate cake, little chocolate and cream eclairs, and a basket full of little foil-wrapped chocolate eggs. Man, I thought I was in heaven!

Lyndz’s big brothers Tom and Stuart came sauntering in. “Mind if we help ourselves?” they said, diving on the food.

“Goo,” said Spike. Which just about summed up the state of his face and his bib!

“Greedy boys,” announced Ben. He looked hilarious, his chin all daubed in chocolate spread and speaking in a really disapproving voice.

“Greedy yourself, little bruv,” said Stuart, scooping out practically the entire jar of chocolate and peanut butter spread in one gloopy spoonful and smearing it on a bit of bread.

“Don’t eat all of our tea!” squealed Lyndz
crossly. “Mum made it for us, not you!”

“Oh, but Tom and I have got a treat for you girls, haven’t we, Tom?” smiled Stuart. “So I think we’ve earned it!”

“What kind of treat?” said Kenny cautiously.

Lyndz’s brothers could be a right laugh sometimes, but they often liked playing tricks on us, so we’d learned to be a bit wary.

“No, they really mean it,” assured Mrs Collins, briskly wiping down Spike’s bib and Ben’s face. “They’ve been planning something really special for you this evening. Didn’t you notice that they weren’t down in the living room at all last night, Lyndsey darling? They were up in Stuart’s room, plotting something.”

“Right,” scoffed Lyndz disbelievingly.

Tom looked a little hurt. “That’s a bit unfair, sis,” he said. “We’ve been working really hard on this.”

Lyndz relented. “OK, working hard on what?”

The rest of us leant forward eagerly to hear what they were going to say.

“An Easter egg hunt out in the garden,” said
Stuart with a huge grin. “Clues and everything!”

Fantastic! I totally
loved
working out clues. Everyone else looked really pleased too. What an ace sleepover this was turning out to be!

“We’ve just got to go outside and lay the clues and hide the eggs,” said Tom.

“Sure you don’t mean hide the clues and lay the eggs?” said Kenny with a giggle.

Stuart rolled his eyes good-humouredly. “So you can start the hunt at around, say, six o’clock?” he finished.

“But won’t it be too dark to see by then?” Fliss asked anxiously.

“That’s the whole fun,” said Stuart. “You’re going to do it…by
torchlight
!”

We couldn’t concentrate on our usual Gladiator games and stuff for the next couple of hours, because all we could think about was the treasure hunt. Everyone kept edging towards the windows and peeping outside, trying to spot the boys. But Mrs C kept pulling the curtains really tightly and laughing at us.
“Don’t cheat, girls!” she grinned. “It won’t be any fun otherwise!”

“Don’t teat,” said Spike primly.

The time dragged by
reeealllly
slowly – until at last, it was six o’clock. We sat in a row at the kitchen table, waiting for the go-ahead.

“Are you all wrapped up warmly enough, girls?” inquired Mrs Collins, checking her watch. “It’s a bit nippy out there this evening. And who’s got the torch?”

Lyndz rushed out into the hall, and came panting back with the torch in her hand. “I’ve got it here, Mum. Can we go yet?”

“Don’t you want your first clue?” twinkled Mrs C.

DOH! How were we gonna find anything without even the first clue to go by??

“Here goes, then.” Mrs C fished a piece of paper out of her apron pocket, and settled her glasses on her nose. “
Fishy business!
” she read.

“What, that’s it?” said Kenny in surprise.

“That’s OK! I know what it means!” screeched Lyndz, flying off her chair at a million miles an hour. “
The fish pond!
”

We all rushed out of the kitchen door, into the garden. Suddenly we were plunged into the darkness of the evening, with only the torchbeam for company. And I’ll tell you this for nothing – it was pretty scary!

“W…where’s the fish pond then, Lyndz?” quavered Fliss, getting as close as she could to the torchbeam. “I don’t want to hang around in the dark for long. There are too many shadows!”

“Don’t be such a wimp, Fliss!” said Kenny scornfully, and set off down the garden.

“Wrong way, Kenny!” giggled Lyndz. “It’s down by the orchard!”

Lyndz’s garden was amazing – all wild and tangled, full of trees and secret corners and flowerbeds. It was even more amazing at night, because it looked twice as big – a great dark wilderness for us to run about in.

We made it to the fish pond in record time, and Rosie pounced on a piece of paper, pale and glimmering in the torchlight. “Right,” she said, unfolding it. “Next clue, guys.”

Suddenly there was a rustling sound.

“What was that?” squeaked Fliss, her voice suddenly twice as high as normal.