Sleepover Club Eggstravaganza (5 page)

When Kenny’s on a crusade, there’s no changing her mind. It was really revenge for us both that she was after – she was still pretty mad about the flowerbed thing, to be honest. We sat apart from the others for the rest of that day.
And
the whole of Tuesday and Wednesday. Everyone in the class figured out that we’d all had a big fight, and no one liked to ask questions. Even the baby jokes started to dry up.

It was really weird, not talking to the others. I suppose I’d known Kenny for the longest, so it was kind of like being little again, just
hanging around with her. Fliss, Rosie and Lyndz all looked totally miserable – Lyndz kept trying to catch our eye, but Kenny blanked her. I fired a tiny smile in Lyndz’s direction once, but only when Kenny wasn’t looking. And Rosie and Fliss never looked at us at all. So Kenny and I just got stuck into our revenge plan. If I’m honest, I was more interested just then in getting back at the M&Ms than sorting out my mates – or ex-mates, as I suppose they were now. So Kenny and I just planned, and schemed, and planned some more. I just hoped that we would sort everything out afterwards – in time for Izzy’s naming party that weekend.

On Thursday, I met Kenny at the school gate. Just ahead, I spotted the others in a little huddle, with Lyndz looking back at us once or twice.

“Have you got your camera, Frankie?” whispered Kenny.

I patted my schoolbag. Tucked down among my books was my little yellow Polaroid camera, full of film.

“Excellent,” said Kenny with satisfaction. “Now we’ve just got to hope that…” and she lowered her voice so no one could hear.

We fidgeted all through the morning’s classes. It’s always really tough doing any serious work in the last week of term, and
doubly
tough when you’re waiting to kick a serious Revenge Plan into action. I’m really glad Mrs W didn’t ask me any questions, ’cos I’m sure I’d just have stared blankly at her like a total idiot.

At last, after about a hundred and fifty years, it was time for the cookery class.

“Here goes,” whispered Kenny, a fanatical gleam in her eye as she wriggled into her overalls. “We’ve just got to wait for the perfect moment. Then I’ll move over behind Hughesie with the eggs, and you move in front so you can take the picture when I tip them down her scrawny neck, OK?”

See what I mean about an evil plan??

“Right! Ingredients and mixing bowls over here, class,” called Mrs Weaver from the front of the room. “You’ll have to take it in
turns with the scales and the whisks, as there aren’t enough to go round.”

I shuffled up slowly to the desk to collect some ingredients for Kenny and me. All of a sudden, I was incredibly nervous about what we were going to do. We’d be caught, there was no doubt about it. Was it worth it?

“Psst, Frankie.” It was Lyndz, who’d sidled up to me in the queue.

“Oh, er, hi Lyndz,” I said a little stiffly, shooting a wary glance in Kenny’s direction.

“You’re not really going to do it, are you?” Lyndz asked.

She looked so worried that I softened. “I’ll be OK,” I said. “You’ve got to take a few risks in this life, as my gran always says.”

“What are you talking to Frankie for, Lyndz?” Fliss’s loud, disapproving voice came through the crowd, and my heart sank.

“Got to go,” whispered Lyndz. “Good luck.” And she shot off back to Fliss and Rosie.

That cheered me up a bit. I collected the ingredients, and headed over to Kenny, who’d
managed to wrestle a whisk and a set of scales off Ryan Scott.

“Excellent!” said Kenny, rubbing her hands together. “Let’s get stuck in!”

And get stuck in we did. What a mess! It was fantastic fun. We got the giggles quite badly when we started doing fake egg splats on each other’s heads – have you ever done that? If you curl you hand into a fist and rest it on the top of your mate’s head, and then smack the top of your fist with your other hand, it
totally
sounds like you’re cracking an egg. Then you run your fingers lightly down your mate’s hair – the feeling makes your toes curl!! Then there was the squidging together of the butter and the sugar into a lovely, grainy paste that got stuck under our fingernails. Kenny’d brought a little pot of raisins, which we tipped into our mixture towards the end.

We were so engrossed that we almost missed our chance.

Mrs Poole stuck her head round the door. “Er, Mrs Weaver, could I have a quick word?” she said.

Kenny and I looked at each other quickly.

“OK class, I’m only going to be gone for a minute or two,” said Mrs Weaver, wiping her hands (she’d been helping Alana Banana, who’d forgotten to add flour to her mixture,
doh
). “Just keep on mixing – and I don’t want to hear a peep out of any of you.”

And she started heading for the door.

“
Now!
” hissed Kenny. She wiped her hands up and down her overall and seized the little bowl of egg yolks that she’d put specially to one side. I reached for my camera, and started edging towards the M&Ms, while Kenny snuck round behind them.

We were almost at action stations when…

“Rosie, your cake mixture looks like something your brother Adam would make.”

Emma Hughes’ voice carried across the room with deadly accuracy. Kenny and I froze. If Rosie has one weak spot, it’s when people make fun of her brother. Adam has got cerebral palsy and is in a wheelchair, you see. I couldn’t believe how horrible Emma was, to make a joke like that.

Rosie went bright red, then pale as milk. “
What
did you say, Emma?” she said, in her most dangerous voice.

The whole class went absolutely quiet. Kenny and I didn’t move. Emma carried on talking.

“I said, that looks like something your stupid brother…”

But she got no further. With a tiger snarl, Rosie marched over to the M&Ms’ table, seized Alana’s
reeeallly
sloppy cake mixture – yup, the one without any flour in it – and tipped it over Emma’s head. Kenny and I stared open-mouthed as Fliss raced over and, quick as a flash, added a pot of glacé cherries on top.

Emma stood rooted to the spot, wet brown cake gloop and little red cherries pouring down her head and on to her shoulders. It turned her hair and face all the same colour. “W…W…WAAH!” she screeched.

“Food fight!” yelled Simon Graham, and seizing his bowl of eggs, he hurled it at Ryan Scott, who caught it full in the face.

That
really
put the king in the cake!! Suddenly it was like a total war zone in the classroom.

“Franks!” yelled Kenny, ducking as a glob of cake mixture sailed over her head. “
Photos!
”

The perfect moment was here! I pulled myself together and started snapping. Man, you’ve never seen the like! Emma fighting tooth and nail with Rosie –
Rosie
, who wouldn’t say boo to a goose! – trying to force toffee topping down her overalls. Flour being flung towards the ceiling and raining down in a fine, powdery mist. Cherries and chocolate drops, dessicated coconut, hundreds and thousands, and raisins hurtling round the room like small multi-coloured missiles. I snapped away like a wartime photographer on the battle front.

“Stop! Stop!” Lyndz was howling desperately through the chaos. “Mrs Weaver…”

Like a thunderclap, Mrs Weaver’s voice roared from the door.

“STOP IT THIS INSTANT!”

There were too many people in trouble for us all to fit into Mrs Poole’s office. So Mrs Poole came to us. With Mrs Weaver breathing fire beside her, Mrs P just looked at the dripping walls and desks and floor, and walked very slowly up to the front of the classroom. Then she used this awful, quiet voice that was a million times worse than if she had shouted. By the time she’d finished with us, everyone was trembling, and a number of people (including boys) were in tears.

“I hardly need add,” she said in a voice that chilled us all to the bone, “that this is a most
serious incident, and I will deal very strongly with those pupils responsible for starting this disgraceful fight. I expect this classroom to be cleaned from top to toe by the end of school today. Mrs Weaver, will you take care of it? In the meantime, Rosie, Felicity and Emma, please follow me. And I suspect that Laura and Francesca can help to explain
this
.” She held up my confiscated camera and incriminating Polaroid photos.

Emma Hughes sobbed hopelessly, like the wet blanket she is. She’s never normally in trouble, and twice in two weeks was a bit much for her. Like rats following the Pied Piper, Emma, me, Kenny, Rosie and Fliss all followed Mrs Poole out of the room, with Lyndz looking on in despair. Lambs to the slaughter, my gran would have said.

We were ushered straight into the loos, and made to wash ourselves as best we could. What a sorry sight we then made, all standing in a row in Mrs Poole’s office.

“This is the second time in two weeks that I’ve had to speak to you, girls,” said Mrs Poole.
“And both times, you have been filthy beyond recognition.” She peered more closely at Emma Hughes. “Emma, you would appear to have a glacé cherry still in your hair. Please remove it. This is an office, not a cake shop.”

Mrs Poole then stared at us for a full minute while we squirmed. “Now, while I quite understand your reaction to Emma’s unkind comment, Rosie, I cannot agree with the way you retaliated. You must learn to
think
harder before you act, in spite of what people might say.” And she looked at the blubbering Emma like she was a piece of old chewing gum stuck to her shoe, making Emma cry harder than ever.

Mrs P then turned to me. “And what explanation can you offer for the photographs, Francesca? According to your classmates, you and Laura had been seen behaving in a suspicious manner just before the fight broke out.”

I said nothing.

“I understand that you considered Emma and Emily to be responsible for pinning up
certain photographs of you on the noticeboard,” said Mrs Poole. She doesn’t miss a trick, our Head. “And would this have been an attempt at revenge?”

Still no one spoke. Mrs Poole sighed. “Tomorrow you will all be excluded from your classes. I’m sorry Rosie, but this includes you too. You will all sit outside my office and do the work that Mrs Weaver will set you. And you will not speak to a single person, not even to each other. Do I make myself understood?”

Everyone gaped. Excluded from class? Sitting outside the Head’s office, where everyone could see us and point and whisper? That had to be the absolute
worst
punishment
ever!

“There will be letters to your parents. Laura and Emma, I hardly need add that you are in the worst trouble of all. I would not like to be in your shoes when your parents hear what I have to say this time. I hope you will all turn over a new leaf at the start of next term. Off you go.”

Emma broke into a fresh bout of wailing,
and we all trailed out of the office with our tails well and truly between our legs. As the door closed, I could have sworn that I heard a muffled snort of something that sounded suspiciously like laughter. But perhaps Mrs Poole had only sneezed.

I’ve never
heard
my mum go off on one like she did on me that afternoon when I got home and gave her the letter. She practically reduced me to rubble. “I expected more of you” and “I’m ashamed of you” and “Wait till your father gets home”. Even Izzy seemed to be staring at me with reproachful eyes. And Dad! Well, I’d rather not go into what Dad said. No matter how many times I tried to explain, it just came out sounding worse and worse. Face it, Franks, I thought to myself – you’ve really blown it this time.

More than anything, I wanted to know how the others were doing. The phone rang non-stop that evening, with all the parents talking to each other and getting the low-down. Needless to say, I was banned from calling
anyone. And I’d prefer not to describe how awful Friday was, all sitting outside Mrs Poole’s office for the whole world to stare at.

And the
party
. Well, that was going to be a whole lot of fun for me, wasn’t it? No friends, no sleepover, nothing. Just a lot of washing-up, I suspected.

“Just shoot me now and get it over with,” I muttered to Mum on Saturday morning, as we got ready to run into Leicester for some last-minute party shopping. We were taking Izzy with us as Dad had to spend the morning in the office, finishing off something important.

“You’re very lucky that I don’t do just that,” said Mum severely, securing Izzy into her little carseat. “Now get in and pipe down.”

I sank into the back seat and thought black thoughts all the way into town.

We were going to do all our last-minute shopping stuff in the central mall in Leicester, where there was a big supermarket. It was one of those massive developments that have a load of double-decker corridors all shooting
off from a central space, with a dribbly little fountain in the middle. People often chuck pennies into the fountain for good luck, so the bottom of the pool usually twinkles with copper and silver coins. As we were passing, I dragged a handful of coppers out of my pocket and flipped them in. Now, I’m not usually superstitious (I leave that stuff to Flissypants), but I figured that I could
really
use some good luck then. Right that minute, I wished more than anything that I could see my mates and talk to them.

Then, as if my prayers had been answered, I heard a familiar voice.

“Psst! Frankie!”

It was
Kenny
! She was being dragged along by her mum and dad, like a reluctant dog being forced out for a walk in the rain. I gaped at her, and just for a minute, I really believed in superstitions and wishes being granted and stuff.

“Kenny!” I managed to find my voice. “What are you…”

“Come on, Francesca.” Mum grabbed me
purposefully by the arm. “We’ve got no time for dawdling. Morning, Patsy – morning, Jim,” she said to Kenny’s parents, who were also pulling Kenny away. It was like they’d agreed beforehand not to let us talk to each other.

“But…” I protested – with no luck. Mum propelled me round the corner and into the supermarket like a rally driver, with Izzy’s pushchair in one hand and my elbow in the other.

“Mum, that is
so
unfair!” I said angrily.

Mum took no notice at all. “Right, fresh bread and some nice smoked salmon first, I think,” she said. “Will you go and find the fish, Frankie? Izzy and I will deal with the bread.”

I trailed off to find the salmon, muttering away to myself. Oooh, how I’d have loved to do like they do in films, and kick over a pyramid of baked-bean cans just then.

I slouched crossly down the Cosmetics and Shampoo aisle, bumping into a couple of people by mistake. They tutted and started to turn round. I felt like crying. It just wasn’t my day. But then…

“
Fliss?
” I said, hardly daring to believe my eyes.

“Frankie!” Fliss gasped. “Look, Mum!”

Mrs Sidebotham frowned. “Hello Frankie.” She didn’t look very pleased to see me. I guess she blamed me for getting her little darling into trouble at school. But Fliss had started the blooming food fight in the first place!!

“I’m sorry about everything, Fliss,” I said quickly, sensing that Mrs Sidebotham was going to drag Fliss away now. “That was pretty cool, what you did to help out Rosie.”

“Thanks, Franks.” Flissy blushed, and giggled. “Hey, I’m a poet and I don’t…”

“Gotta go,” I squeaked – I’d just spotted Mum and Izzy bearing down on us, the trolley full of squashy bags of warm, fresh bread. “We’ll try and meet up later, yeah?”

Mrs Sidebotham just scowled. “I don’t think so, Francesca,” she said crossly. “Come along, Felicity darling.”

“Haven’t you got the salmon yet?” asked Mum when she pulled up and parked our trolley next to me. I don’t think she’d seen me
talking to Fliss. “Honestly, Frankie – we haven’t got all day, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered. “I’ll get it now.”

Fancy seeing Kenny
and
Fliss, both in the mall! I couldn’t quite believe it. There was something in the air – I could feel it. We were
meant
to talk to each other, but I just couldn’t figure out a way of doing it.

“Mum,” I ventured, just as we were rushing off down yet
another
one of the endless mall corridors, this time in search of wine glasses.

“Hmm?” Mum was very distracted, staring down at her long shopping list and scratching her head.

“Are Kenny and the others coming to Izzy’s party tonight?” I asked, chancing my arm.

Mum sighed. “Yes, they are.”

I was about to let out a whoop of delight, when she interrupted me. “But they aren’t coming to mess around with you, Francesca,” she said sharply. “We’ve had quite enough chaos from you lot in the last couple of weeks to last us all a lifetime. They’re coming because their parents are
coming. You’ll all be expected to help quietly in the kitchen, that’s all. And they’re going straight home afterwards.”

I heaved a deep and tragic sigh. I guess that news didn’t surprise me, but it was still dead depressing. I suppose we’d get to talk to each other, at least. Our parents couldn’t stop us talking forever.

We got to Habitat after trying several other glassware-type shops and making several wrong turns. It’s so easy to get lost in shopping malls – everything just looks the same after a while. Mum made a beeline for the wine glasses, leaving old muggins here to carry the food shopping.

CRASH!

I turned round to see that someone had knocked a vase off one of the shelves. Just the kind of thing clumsy old Lyndz would do, I thought glumly. A wave of missing my mates washed over me. But hang on a minute – it
was
Lyndz! Sheepishly picking up the broken bits of vase with her mum and dad. And with them – was
Rosie
!

Third time lucky! I was determined that Mum wouldn’t stop me talking this time. Quickly looking over, I checked that she was busy – and she was, chatting to the guy behind the till.

“Hey, Rosie! Lyndz!” I hissed, rushing over to them.

They both seemed totally stunned to see me – and even more amazed as I quickly explained how I’d seen the other two as well! Mr and Mrs Collins just shook their heads and laughed at us. They are such laid-back parents. They didn’t even seem too bothered about the broken vase!

“This is a sign, guys!” I said in excitement, helping them pick up the broken pieces. “The Sleepover Club are obviously supposed to talk to each other today! How come you two are together, anyway? I thought you’d be like me – totally banned from having any fun ever again.”

“Well, Lyndz isn’t in trouble, and my mum completely understood why I tipped the cake mixture over Emma’s head,” explained Rosie.

“I do too,” I said fervently. “I couldn’t believe Emma Hughes when she said that. So are we friends again?”

“Too right!” said Lyndz with a grin, and we all high-fived each other there and then.

“Man, I’ve got so much to tell you,” gabbled Lyndz. “School’s been
reeaally
weird without you. I’ve had to work with Regina, can you believe it? I—”

“Hey,
look
!” squeaked Rosie, pointing out of the shop. “There are the other two!”

Sure enough, Kenny and Fliss were both walking past Habitat. Their parents were talking to each other, but they were both being held as far apart as possible, so they couldn’t do much more than grin rather desperately across the aisle.

I threw caution to the wind. Ignoring my mum’s angry “Francesca! Get back in here!”, I rushed outside.

“Kenny, Fliss, hey! Look, I’ve got Rosie and Lyndz here with me now! Can you believe it?” I called in excitement.

There was nothing for it. Their parents had
to stop and let us talk to each other now. Even Mum thawed out a bit when she joined us, talking about what Izzy was going to wear for the party.