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The Sleepover Club at Rosie’s
The Sleepover Club at Kenny’s
Starring the Sleepover Club
Rose Impey
Narinder Dhami
Contents
Cover
Title Page
The Sleepover Club at Rosie’s
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
The Sleepover Club at Kenny’s
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
GoodBye
Starring the Sleepover Club
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
GoodBye
Have you been invited to all these sleepovers?
Sleepover Kit List
Copyright
About the Publisher
Oh, hi there. You haven’t seen my dog, Pepsi, have you? She’s gone missing. She’s a black spaniel. She’s escaped lots of times before and someone always brings her back. The trouble is that this time she’s in season and, if we don’t find her soon, you know what that could mean. My mum’s in a real razz with me! I didn’t mean to leave the front gate open.
The thing is, last week I had this big argument with her and Dad because they won’t let Pepsi have puppies. It’s bad enough they won’t let me have a brother or sister, now they won’t let the dog have a baby either!
So Mum thinks I let Pepsi out on purpose. Dad’ll go ballistic when he knows. It would have to happen just now, when I was in their good books for a change.
I know, why don’t you come with me to look for Pepsi, then I can tell you about our latest Sleepover Club adventure? That was all to do with pets. It was excellent. Come on, we’ll head for the park, that’s one of Pepsi’s favourite places, and I’ll tell you all about it on the way.
It all started with the Pet Show in the Village Hall. It was organised to raise money for an animal refuge and the whole Sleepover Club decided to enter. We first heard about it at Brownies a few weeks ago. We all go to Brownies, everyone in the Sleepover Club, even Fliss and Lyndz who are old enough to go up to Guides if they want to, but they’re waiting for the rest of us. We like to stick together. Can you remember who everyone is?
First there’s Laura Mackenzie – we call her Kenny. She’s my best friend.
Felicity Sidebotham – we call her Fliss. Oh boy, I’m glad I’m not called Sidebotham. She gets teased all the time.
Then there’s Lyndsey Collins – we call her Lyndz. It was Lyndz that got us into trouble this time, or at least her dog, Buster, did. He’s a menace.
And Rosie Cartwright. The sleepover was at Rosie’s, which was totally cool because she’s never let us stay at her place before and her house is perfect for sleepovers: big and old and a bit spooky.
That just leaves me – Francesca Theresa Thomas, but you can call me Frankie.
So, that’s all of us. Yeah, yeah, I know five’s not a good number, someone’s bound to get left out, but five’s how many there are, so that’s that.
Now, back to the story. Brown Owl showed us some posters about the Pet Show and asked us each to take one home and put it up somewhere. She said she wanted all of us who have pets to go in for it as part of our Pet Lovers Badge. I couldn’t wait to ask Mum and Dad if I could take Pepsi. I was sure I’d win, but then so were all the others. And the trouble was three of us have dogs. We started arguing straight away, as soon as Brown Owl had finished.
“Buster’s so smart he’s bound to win,” said Lyndz. She’s got this weird little Jack Russell terrier, he’s absolutely mad. You should see him.
“Dream on,” I said. “He’s not that smart and he won’t beat Pepsi. She’s so cute.”
“Well,” said Rosie, “Jenny’s smart and she’s cute.”
Which is true. Jenny’s a mongrel, but she’s got a lot of sheepdog in her. Her coat’s really shiny, black and white and she’s got a wonderful big tail. And she’s clever, too. So that made me mad. But Fliss made me even madder.
“Well, you can’t all win,” she said, smiling.
“Oh, very good,” I said. “Now tell us something we don’t know.”
“I might win,” said Kenny.
Kenny doesn’t have a dog, although she’d love one, but she’s had loads of other pets. She had a hamster once, and a rabbit, but they both died. And a cat called Tinkerbell, which ran away, and a bird called Bobby which flew out of the window, and a goldfish, which the cat ate before she ran away. She’s not had much luck so far.
Now she’s got a big white rat called Merlin. She says he’s mega-intelligent and she’s training him, but he doesn’t seem to have learnt much! There’s something about the way Kenny lets him sit on her shoulder that gives me the heebie-jeebies.
Kenny’s sister, Molly the Monster, shares a bedroom with Kenny and she hates rats, so Merlin has to live in the garage. I know Kenny’s my best friend and everything but, to be honest, I agree with Molly; I wouldn’t want to sleep in a room with a rat either.
The Pet Show wasn’t only for dogs, of course, you could take other pets. On the poster it said there were prizes in each different class: hamsters, rabbits, cats, and lots of others, but there was no mention of rats!
“It’s not fair,” said Kenny. “What about Merlin?”
“Don’t worry, Laura,” said Brown Owl. “I’ll find out if rats are allowed.”
So that just left Fliss, who was a real problem, because Fliss doesn’t have a pet at all, apart from her goldfish, Bubbles. And you can’t do much with a goldfish, can you?
“It’s just not fair,” she said. “My mum’s so mean.”
Fliss’s mum is not mean, she’s just mega house-proud.
“You have loads of things we don’t have,” I reminded her. “You’ve got more clothes than Princess Di for a start.”
“And toys…” said Lyndz.
“And CDs…” said Kenny.
“OK, OK, but I haven’t got a pet to take to the Pet Show and you lot have.”
Which was true and we couldn’t seem to think of a way round it. Anyway, there was no point in us arguing about which one of us was going to win because we already knew who would. You didn’t have to be a genius to work that out.
“The dreaded M&Ms,” said Kenny. We all made being-sick noises.
It was lunchtime and we were sitting on the steps in the studio at school with just the spotlights on. We were supposed to be working on a dance routine for assembly but we were having a rest.
“Why would they win?” said Rosie. She’s new to our school, so she doesn’t know all about the M&Ms yet.
“Because they win everything,” said Fliss.
Have I told you about the M&Ms? They’re in our class at school and, as if that isn’t bad enough, they go to Brownies as well. Their real names are Emma Hughes and Emily Berryman, but we call them the M&Ms. Or sometimes The Queen and The Goblin. I’ll tell you why:
Emma Hughes is tall and soppy and really annoying, but she’s everybody’s favourite: our teacher’s, the headteacher’s, the dinner ladies’, Brown Owl’s, Snowy Owl’s…And all the boys like her. She always gets the best marks and gold stars and wins competitions like the Brownie Cook’s Challenge and gets picked to be milk monitor and take the register. She is so stuck up. That’s why we call her The Queen.
Emily Berryman’s nearly as bad. She’s dead small, with big eyes and a deep, gruff voice, so we call her The Goblin. She always gets good marks and wins things too. We don’t know how they do it. We think it’s because they cheat, but we haven’t been able to prove it. Not yet, anyway.
The worst thing about them is the way they whisper and giggle. They are seriously gruesome. The moment Brown Owl told us about the Pet Show they started giggling and behaving as if they’d already won.
And the annoying thing is they probably will win. Emma Hughes has this dog that she’s always bragging about and Emily Berryman has a cat. We’ve never seen them, but we’ve heard plenty about them.
The M&Ms are our worst enemies and the thing we hate most in the whole world, the whole universe in fact, is being beaten by them.
“We’ve got to think of a way to stop them,” I said.
“How?” said Lyndz. “I don’t think Pepsi and Buster stand much of a chance against Duchess of Drumshaw The Third and Sabrina Sprightly Dancing.”
Can you believe those names? I didn’t make them up. I don’t suppose that’s what they call them everyday, when they take them out for walks or call them for their food. That would be too stupid, even for them. But those are their pedigree names and when they’re showing off that’s what they call them.
“Pepsi’s a pedigree spaniel,” I said, “but she doesn’t have a stupid name like that.” She’s the best dog in the world and I love her to bits. She’s got a black curly coat and long ears that trail on the ground and the saddest eyes in the world. Sometimes she looks at me as if I’ve just eaten the last Rolo.
I tell Pepsi everything and she tells me all her secrets. That’s how I know she wants puppies! But when I tried to tell Mum that, she said, “Francesca, for the last time, I have told you, the answer is NO! Pepsi is getting too old to have puppies.”
“Yeah, even her ears are going grey,” said Kenny.
“So?” I said.
“Well, grey ears might stop her winning the Pet Show,” said Lyndz.
“Hmm,” I said. “I can’t see High-Jumping Dog winning either.” That’s what we sometimes call Lyndz’s dog, Buster.
He’s got these stumpy little legs, but he can jump up and reach a Smacko even when Lyndz holds it high over her head. It’s as if he’s got spring-loaded feet. And when he walks he looks like a little clockwork toy.
“I suppose he is a bit wild,” Lyndz giggled.
“Jenny’s our best hope of winning,” said Kenny. “Even though she’s a mongrel.”
Rosie didn’t like Kenny calling Jenny a mongrel. “She’s mostly sheepdog,” she said. “She can do all sorts of tricks and she’s brilliant with Adam.”
Adam is Rosie’s brother, he’s in a wheelchair.
For ages Rosie wouldn’t let us go to her house and, like idiots, we thought it was because she felt embarrassed about Adam. Then we found out it was nothing to do with Adam, she was embarrassed because her house was such a tip. Actually, it’s not really a tip; it just needs decorating. Now she lets us go round all the time.
Adam can’t walk and he can’t talk because he’s got cerebral palsy, I think that’s how you spell it. It means his brain was damaged when he was born, but he’s such a laugh. He loves jokes and playing tricks on Rosie. For instance, all their doors swing both ways, so that he can push through in his wheelchair. So he goes through in front of her and then lets it go with his feet so it whips back fast and nearly knocks her over.
Jenny, their dog, seems to know exactly what Adam wants even though he can’t talk. She brings him things. And she plays football with him.
Adam’s mad about football. He can’t use his hands because…I don’t know why, they sort of jerk about and he can’t stop them. But he can kick a football and Jenny runs after it and brings it back. She’s so clever.
Some days, after school, Rosie brings Jenny to the park, where I walk Pepsi. They love playing together and it seems really mean to me just having one dog. I’m an only child so I know how that feels! I’ve tried telling my mum and dad, but they seem to go deaf whenever I get onto that subject.
But at least I’ve got a dog. Fliss had no pet to take, as she kept on reminding us.
“It’s just not fair, I’m sick of hearing about pet shows.”
Sometimes Fliss is a real moaner. I call her the Mona Lisa.
“At least we’ve all got one thing to look forward to,” I reminded her. “Tomorrow’s our first sleepover at Rosie’s.”
“Humph,” Fliss grunted. “It’s the night before the Pet Show, so I know what’ll happen: you’ll be talking about it all night and leaving me out.”
“No, we won’t,” Rosie promised.
“If you like, we won’t even mention the word pets,” I said.
“Do you promise?” she said, satisfied at last.
The others nodded and made the Brownie promise, but in fact we needn’t have bothered, because the next day Rosie had her brainwave about Gazza, the class hamster. And in the end he came to the sleepover too.
It was Friday, the day before the Pet Show and the day of the sleepover at Rosie’s. Kenny and Lyndz had spent the dinner hour cleaning out Gazza’s cage. It was their turn on the rota. If you’re thinking that Gazza’s a dumb name for a hamster, well, it is. The boys in our class chose it. We wanted Cuddles, but we were outvoted.
Fliss had started up again about how unfair everything was. So Rosie said, “Fliss, if your mum won’t let you have a pet of your own, why don’t you ask her if you can take Gazza home one weekend?”
Fliss looked doubtful but everyone else thought it was a great idea.
“Yeah. Neat,” said Kenny. “What about this weekend?”
I jumped down to check the rota to see whose turn it was, in case it was someone who might swap with Fliss. “Uh, oh,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s Alana Banana.”
Mrs Weaver walked in just then and gave me one of her looks. She doesn’t like us calling each other names, but that is what we call her: Alana Banana Palmer.
“I was just saying, it’s Alana’s turn to take Gazza home this weekend,” I said.
Alana looked up surprised to hear her name, then she went bright pink. She said she’d forgotten to tell Mrs Weaver she couldn’t take him, because they were going away for the weekend. I think Alana’s really dippy. Mrs Weaver tutted, you could tell she thought so too.
“OK, now we have a problem.”
But before anyone else had time to volunteer Emma Hughes pushed to the front.
“That’s alright, Mrs Weaver, I’ll take him,” she said.
“Are you sure, Emma?”
She nodded and gave her one of those stoopid sickly smiles she does which make us really mad.
“Oh, yes. It isn’t a problem. Mummy won’t mind.”
But then, suddenly, without asking Fliss about it, Kenny said, “Fliss would like to take him, Mrs Weaver. She’s never had a chance before. Emma’s taken him lots of times.” Emma Hughes gave Kenny such a look but Kenny ignored her.
“Is that true, Felicity?” Mrs Weaver asked. Fliss went pink, but she nodded.
“Do you need to check with your mum?”
Fliss looked doubtful for a moment but Kenny gave her a dig in the ribs. “Oww! No, I think it’ll be OK.”
“Good. Well, I’m sure Emma doesn’t mind if Felicity has a turn,” said the teacher, turning round to find the register. “That seems only fair.”
The look on the M&Ms’ faces was too good to miss. We stood in a row and smiled back at them as if butter wouldn’t melt in our mouths, as my gran says.
“Everyone sit down now,” said the teacher. We went back to our table feeling really pleased with ourselves.
“Yeah. One-nil!” said Kenny. “That showed those M&Ms.”
But Fliss was already looking worried. “I don’t know why you made me say that,” she hissed at Kenny. “I’ll be in real doom when my mum finds out.”
That was when Rosie made her great offer: “Don’t worry. You can bring him to my house, if you like. You can play with him there and you won’t feel so left out.”
“Honest?” said Fliss, she couldn’t believe her ears. “Won’t your mum mind?”
“No,” said Rosie. “It’ll be fine.”
Fliss started to grin. “You’re my best friend ever!” she told Rosie.
“Oh, please,” I said. Kenny rolled her eyes, Rosie went bright red.
Then Fliss hugged her, which made her even redder. Rosie’s still a bit shy of us. She’s quite new to our club. She only moved into Cuddington last summer and into our class when we came back after the summer holidays. At first she seemed a bit of a sad case, but then we found out why.
Rosie’s dad had left them a few weeks after they moved in, because he’d met someone else. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he’d started to do the house up but then just left them in the middle of it. It looked a bit like a building site, really.
That’s why Rosie wouldn’t let us sleepover at hers, because everywhere was in a mess, especially her bedroom. We kept telling her it didn’t matter and in the end she changed her mind. She gave us these neat invitations. Adam did them for her on his computer. I’ve still got mine. Do you want to see it?
I was really looking forward to it because Rosie’s house is ever so big with lots of rooms. Some of them are only used for storing stuff, which means loads of places to hide and make dens. It’s magic. In fact I couldn’t decide which I was more excited about: the Pet Show or the sleepover. Now we’d got the hamster to cheer Fliss up, we were all looking forward to it.
But we might have known the M&Ms would have to go and spoil everything.
We were sitting in our places, supposed to be practising for a spelling test. Suddenly something dive-bombed our table and landed in Kenny’s lap. We knew straight away where it had come from. We looked over and saw the dreaded M&Ms giggling to themselves. It was one of their letters.
When we’re at war with them they send us the meanest letters they can think of. So we send them nasty letters back. Well, you would, wouldn’t you? They print them on the computer so we can’t recognise their writing, which is a bit pointless because we know very well it’s them and they know very well it’s us writing back.
Kenny started to unfold it.
“What does it say?” Fliss squeaked.
“Give me a chance.” She smoothed it out and read it aloud to us. “To our enemies. We are watching you. Don’t think you’ll get away with this. We have put a spell on you. Goodbye forever, Horrible Stinkers.”
“What a cheek!” said Lyndz. “We don’t stink.”
“Right,” I said, “after the spelling test we’ll ask to go on the computer.”
While Mrs Weaver was busy hearing readers, we wrote back to them:
Dear Ugly Mugs,
We hope you both slip down a drain or
fall in a bowl of sick. There’s no way
you will win tomorrow. We’ll make sure
of that. Have a horrible day, Poshfaces.
It’s funny really, because that is what happened. Not the bit about them falling down the drain or in a bowl of sick, but about them not winning. When we wrote it we didn’t have a plan or anything. It was just one of those things you say. And then, when we met them on the way home from school, we said it again. Afterwards we wished we hadn’t, because it all turned out to be true.
But hang on, before I tell you about that, let’s look for Pepsi in the park, there’s a few bushes she likes digging around. I can’t see her anywhere yet, can you?
Oh, blow. Not a sign. Now where can we try?
I know: the other place she likes is the canal. I’m not allowed to go there on my own, but Dad and I often walk her there. We could go as far as the bridge next to the pub, you can see a long way down on to the towpath from there.
Come on and I’ll tell you what happened next.
By the time we’d collected up all Gazza’s bits and pieces, we were a bit late leaving school. Rosie put Gazza into his carrying cage and then we helped her carry everything round to her house. We were already loaded down with PE kit, lunchboxes, and school bags. So we must have looked like a travelling circus when we came round the corner of Mostyn Avenue, which is a couple of roads away from Welby Drive, where Rosie lives. Walking towards us were the gruesome M&Ms and who do you think was with them? Only Ryan Scott and Danny McCloud, two horrible boys from our class. That was all we needed.
“Oh, look, it’s the Famous Five,” said Emma Hughes.
“Which one’s the dog?” said Ryan Scott. He thinks he’s so funny.
“Ruff, ruff. Here, girls,” shouted Danny McCloud, “fetch a stick.” And he broke a whole branch off a tree by the side of the road and threw it at us. Good job for him he missed.
“Oh, very clever,” I said. But they’d both started now, whistling and calling us good dogs and silly things like that. Fliss looked like a boiled beetroot with embarrassment. Fliss actually likes Ryan Scott; she says she wants to marry him! She is so weird.
We just kept on walking, pretending we couldn’t hear them, but they followed us.
“Dogs are supposed to be kept on a lead,” shouted Ryan Scott.
“I’ve got a good idea,” said Emma Hughes, “they could enter each other for the Pet Show. That way they might win.”
“Well, you’re not gonna win, that’s for sure,” said Kenny.
“That’s what you think,” said The Goblin.
“That’s what we know,” said Rosie.
“And how are you going to stop us?” said The Queen.
“Don’t you worry, we have our ways,” I said, mysteriously.
We all smiled at each other, as if we’d got this big secret that they knew nothing about. We walked off down the road.
“What ways?” Emma Hughes shouted after us.
“You’ll find out,” Kenny called back to her. Then we carried on down the road trying to ignore the fact that those two stupid dodos were still whistling us to come and the gruesome M&Ms were giggling at them as if they were the funniest things on legs.
Fliss turned to Kenny, “How are we going to stop them?”
Kenny shrugged. “Don’t ask me,” she said, “ask Frankie.”
I shrugged too. I had no idea either. But, we’d got them worried and that was almost as good.
When we reached Rosie’s, she was right, her mum didn’t mind about Gazza.
“What difference can a hamster make?” she said. “It’ll be enough of a madhouse with all you girls round.” But she smiled, so we knew she was only kidding.
We were all so excited to be sleeping over at a different house, we raced off home to get our things packed. “See you at seven,” Rosie called after us. “Don’t be late.”
When I got home I gave Pepsi an extra good brush and clean up and told Mum and Dad they’d better keep her like that.
“Don’t let her roll in anything on her walk tonight,” I warned them.