Starring the Sleepover Club

by Narinder Dhami

Contents

Cover

Title Page

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?

Please come to a sleepover at Felicity’s

Sleepover Kit List

Copyright

About the Publisher

Please come to a sleepover at Felicity’s

11 Clumber Close Parklands Cuddington Leicester

It’s on Friday 11 April. Please come at 6.30 pm and sleepover till Saturday morning.

Don’t forget, we’ll be making our Sleepover Club video – come prepared to be a star!

Oh, hi! It’s you again. Look, you can walk with me if you want to. I’m going to the video shop to borrow a film. But you’ve got to promise me one thing. You’ve got to promise that you won’t ask me what happened at our sleepover last night. I can’t tell you because it’s a Big Secret. The Biggest. So don’t ask me, OK?

My mum and dad said I could choose a film for the three of us to watch tonight. Usually one of them comes to the video shop with me and makes a big song and dance about which films are suitable, and which films aren’t. You know what parents are like. But today they said I could come on my own. I think it’s because they’re pretty relieved that nothing happened at the sleepover last night (or so they think). The last time we slept over at Fliss’s, we ended up wrecking her mum’s kitchen, as well as giving her gruesome neighbours a complete fit. This time we did something just as bad. We – oh, sorry! I forgot. I can’t tell you.

Come on, here’s the video shop. No, don’t bother going into the adult section. I’m not even allowed to look at the covers of the films over there. Anyway, Nathan Wignall’s standing there, trying to pretend he’s old enough to borrow a grown-up film. I’ve told you about Nathan Wignall before, haven’t I? He lives next door to me, and he’s a complete pain. I could tell you loads of embarrassing stuff about Nathan Wignall, but I haven’t got time right now.

We sometimes watch a video when we have a sleepover, but not every time. Like last night at Fliss’s, we – whoops, there I go again! Me and my big mouth.

No, I can’t tell you. Don’t ask me to. My lips are sealed.

Look, don’t get mad. Of course I trust you. As my grandma always says, if you can’t trust your friends, who can you trust? It’s just that if our parents find out what really went on at Fliss’s house last night, we’ll be up to our eyes in everlasting doom for the next five years. So, if I tell you what happened at the sleepover last night, do you swear never to breathe a WORD about it to ANYONE? Cross your heart and hope to die? Do you promise faithfully you won’t tell anyone, even if they offer you their last Rolo?

OK, you’ve twisted my arm. I give in. Let’s go behind the children’s videos so that no one else can hear us, and I’ll tell you all about it.

The sleepover at Fliss’s was going to be an ordinary sleepover right up until the day before. Well, what I mean is, no sleepover is ever really ordinary, but we weren’t expecting anything special to happen. Of course, we were wrong.

As my grandma always says, the best place to start is at the beginning. That was at school on Thursday morning. We were in the playground, and all of the Sleepover Club were there, except Fliss. Me (I’m Frankie, remember?), Kenny, Rosie and Lyndz. We were discussing our new teacher, Miss Jenkins. Our real teacher, Mrs Weaver, was ill and she hadn’t been at school all week. We missed her a bit. But not a lot. Compared to Mrs Weaver, Miss Jenkins was a pushover.

“OK, today I’m going for it,” Kenny said. “I bet I can make six trips to the pencil sharpener before Miss Jenkins tells me off.”

“What’s the record so far?” I asked.

“I managed five times yesterday,” said Rosie.

Kenny shrugged. “You only got the fifth one because Danny McCloud had stuffed two rubbers up his nose. You sneaked over to the sharpener while Miss Jenkins was telling him off.”

“Then they got stuck up there,” said Lyndz. “Poor old Miss Jenkins had a terrible time trying to pull them out.”

“I’m glad I’m not a teacher,” I said with feeling. “I wouldn’t put my fingers up Danny McCloud’s nose for a billion pounds.”

“Well, she couldn’t just let Danny suffocate, could she?” said Lyndz.

There was a thoughtful silence.

“I wouldn’t have a problem with that,” Kenny said with a perfectly straight face, and Rosie and I began to giggle.

“I think you’re horrible,” said Lyndz. “Poor Miss Jenkins. I feel—”

“Really sorry for her!” we all chimed in. Lyndz has got a heart of pure marshmallow.

“Oh, shut up!” Lyndz grinned, and stuck her tongue out at us. She’s used to us winding her up. “By the way, where’s Fliss?”

“Yeah, where is Fliss?” said Kenny. “She’s going to be late if she doesn’t get here soon.”

We all looked at each other. Fliss is never late for school. She’s the sort of person who’s never late for anything, not even the dentist.

“Look, there she is.” Rosie pointed across the playground. “What’s the matter with her?”

Fliss was racing madly across the playground towards us, waving her arms in the air. Her face was bright red, and she was puffing and panting like she’d just run the London Marathon. She was so out of breath that, when she skidded to a halt in front of us, she couldn’t speak.

“What is it, Fliss?” I asked, feeling a bit alarmed.

Fliss took a huge breath.

“My mum and Andy have bought a camcorder, and my mum says we can video the sleepover tomorrow night!” she squealed.

“Really?” Rosie gasped, her eyes as round as dinner plates.

“Coo-el!” shrieked Kenny and Lyndz.

“You lucky thing, Fliss!” I said. I was green with jealousy. I’d been nagging my mum and dad for months to buy a camcorder. I’d tried everything from bribery (promising to do the dishes for a year), to tugging at the parental heartstrings (asking them how they’d feel when they had no videos of their little girl to watch when I’d grown up). My dad had said, “Relieved”. I think he was joking.

“This is so cool,” Kenny said happily. “We’re going to have an official Sleepover Club video!”

“I’m going to ask my mum if I can get some new pyjamas,” Lyndz babbled excitedly.

“Me too,” I said. My favourite Snoopy pyjamas were a bit too old and uninteresting to be on a video. Come to think of it, my sleeping bag was a bit old and uninteresting as well. I could do with a new one. That meant I was going to have to do some major sweet-talking to my mum and dad when I got home tonight.

Fliss was looking as smug as a cat who’s eaten twenty cartons of cream. “That’s not all,” she said. “Andy says he’ll make some copies of the video so that everyone can have their own.”

That knocked us all out. We couldn’t believe it.

“Fliss, you’re the best,” Kenny said enthusiastically.

Fliss beamed.

“We’ll be able to watch our videos and remember what it was like to be in the Sleepover Club, when we’re all old and wrinkly,” she said.

“We can still carry on having sleepovers when we get old, though, can’t we?” Lyndz asked anxiously.

“Course we can,” I said. “But just in case we get too old and creaky to play International Gladiators—”

“Or in case we get too old and tired to stay up for midnight feasts,” said Kenny.

“Or if we haven’t got any teeth left to eat the midnight feasts,” Rosie said.

“—we’ll always have the videos to remind us,” Fliss finished off.

“Oh, I can’t wait for tomorrow night,” Lyndz sighed. “It’s going to be excellent.”

We didn’t know it then, but we wouldn’t need a video to remind us of that sleepover at Fliss’s. It was going to be a long, long time before any of us forgot it.

As I said before, I was really set on having new pyjamas for the Sleepover Event of the Century, so I started my campaign as soon as I got home that night.

“Mum,” I said casually, “have you seen my Snoopy pyjamas recently?”

“Is that a trick question?” My mum was putting a family-size packet of vegetarian lasagne in the microwave. No-one cooks in our house, except for my dad’s famous pizzas. We’re a strictly “heat ’n’ eat” family. “I saw them yesterday when I took them out of the washing-machine.”

“No, I mean have you seen the state of them.” I pulled my Snoopy pyjamas from behind my back like a magician producing a white rabbit, and flapped them at my mum. “Look at them, they’re gross.”

My mum raised her eyebrows.

“I can’t see anything wrong with them.”

“Look!” I showed her the pyjama bottoms. One of the legs had started fraying after a sleepover at Rosie’s when Kenny had grabbed me by the ankles and tried to throw me off the bed. I’d kind of helped it along a bit with my nail scissors. “I can’t wear these at Fliss’s sleepover tomorrow.”

“Oh, Frankie, they’re perfectly all right.”

“No, they aren’t,” I persisted. Nagging is the only way to wear parents down. They’ll do anything for a bit of peace and quiet. “I told you before, Fliss’s mum is going to video the sleepover, and I need to look good.”

“Frankie,” my mum said, “this is a home video, not a Hollywood movie.”

“I know. But these pyjamas are dangerous. What if they keep on unravelling while I’m asleep, and they unravel right up to my neck and strangle me?”

My mum looked at me over the top of her glasses.

“Have you been reading those ‘Bonechillers’ again?”

“Mum,” I said solemnly, “I’m being straight with you here. I cannot wear these pyjamas to Fliss’s sleepover tomorrow night.”

“Fine.” My mum opened the fridge and took out a packet of ready-washed salad. “It’s lucky you have at least eight other pairs of pyjamas in your cupboard to choose from, then, isn’t it?”

“Oh, Mum,” I groaned. “Those aren’t sleepover pyjamas. And anyway, they’re all too small for me.”

My mum shrugged. “That’s life, Frankie.”

Parents. They’re so unreasonable. But I wasn’t finished yet. I went out of the kitchen, and into the living-room where my dad was laying the table and watching the news on the telly at the same time.

“Guess what, Dad?” I gave him my Best-Behaved Daughter of the Year smile. “Fliss’s mum’s bought a camcorder, and she’s going to video our sleepover tomorrow.”

“Really,” my dad said absently, his eyes fixed on the TV.

“So I was hoping I could get a new pair of pyjamas. Could you pick me up after school tomorrow and drive me into Leicester?”

“Sure, sweetheart.”

Like taking sweets from a baby.

“Thanks, Dad!” I said, just as my mum came in with the plates.

“Thanks for what?” she asked suspiciously.

“Er – yes, thanks for what?” The news had finished now, and my dad was looking bewildered.

“Dad says he’ll drive me into town after school tomorrow to buy some new pyjamas for the sleepover,” I said.

My mum put the plates down on the table with a thump.

“Francesca Theresa Thomas, you are the most cunning and devious child I’ve ever met.”

“That’s what comes of having lawyers for parents,” I said. “By the way, my sleeping bag’s looking a bit gross too.”

“Don’t push your luck, Frankie,” said my dad.

“OK, OK. But I really do need new jim-jams. I want to look good in our video.”

“So,” said my dad, “we’re finally going to see what goes on at these famous sleepovers, are we?”

“I already know what goes on,” my mum said, dishing up the lasagne. “Chaos, trouble and lots of junk food.”

“There’s a bit more to it than that,” I said, picking up my fork. “And anyway, we aren’t going to let just anyone watch the video. Sleepovers are supposed to be a secret.”

Especially from parents. I wasn’t quite sure how we were going to get away with keeping what we did at our sleepovers a secret if Fliss’s mum was going to be filming us. But I’d worry about that later.

First of all, though, we had to get through Friday at school. It was pretty difficult because we were all hyper-excited about the sleepover that night, and by the end of the day, we’d turned Miss Jenkins into a nervous wreck. Kenny had managed a record eleven trips to the pencil sharpener without being spotted, and we’d played Pass the Sniff in silent reading until our noses hurt.

As soon as the home bell rang, the Sleepover Club were first out of the classroom door.

“My dad’s taking me shopping,” I told the others. “I’m going to get some new pyjamas for tonight.”

“I’ve already got some,” said Kenny. “They’re so cool. They’re going to be the coolest pyjamas ever seen on video.’”

“What are they like?” asked Lyndz, but Kenny shook her head.

“You’ll have to wait and see!”

“Oh, I can’t wait for tonight!” Fliss squealed, and we all grinned. Tonight was going to be really special.

I got a wicked pair of pyjamas in Leicester. They were bright orange – I mean really bright, the colour of an ice lolly – and they had apples and bananas printed all over them. There was a matching pair of fluffy orange slippers too, although I had to promise to wash up the dinner plates for two weeks to get my hands on those. By the time we got back home, I had an hour to get ready for the sleepover.

First I packed my sleepover kit. In went my new pyjamas and slippers, my diary, my toothbrush, my teddy bear, Stanley, a big bag of fun-size Mars bars, a family-size pack of cheese and onion crisps, my torch and personal stuff like a hairbrush and deodorant. Next I had to decide what I was going to wear. Usually we just wear jeans and tee-shirts, so that we can slob out and do exactly what we like, but tonight was different. Tonight I was going to wear my black hipster flares and my new lime-green shirt. And I was going to crimp my hair.

I don’t crimp my hair very often, because it takes ages, but I really wanted to look good in our sleepover video. After I’d done my hair, I painted my nails silver. I love silver nail varnish, and I’m allowed to wear it sometimes at weekends, if The Oldies are in a good mood. I was hoping that tonight I could get away without them noticing.

Wait a minute, the man at the video shop desk is giving us funny looks. Maybe we ought to pretend we’re looking at the films. Come on, Nathan’s over the other side of the shop now, so we should be OK. Just keep an eye out for him, that’s all.

Well, when I finally made it downstairs, carrying my sleepover kit and my sleeping bag, my dad raised his eyebrows.

“What happened to that scruffy little girl who used to be our daughter?” he said to my mum.

“Oh, zip it, Dad,” I said. “I just threw on the first things I could find.”

“It looks like you just threw on some silver nail varnish too,” said my mum.

“This is a special occasion, Mum,” I said. “When I’m a famous actress, people will be paying thousands of pounds to get their hands on this video.”

Did I mention to you that I want to be an actress when I grow up? That’s why I was really looking forward to tonight. It was going to be my very first chance to see myself on film.

“Come on then, Michelle Pfeiffer,” said my mum, “I’ll run you over to Fliss’s.”

“OK,” I said. Fliss doesn’t live that far away from us, but I had all my sleepover stuff to carry, and besides, it looked like it was going to rain, which would wash all the crimping out of my hair quicker than you can say “Bad Hair Day”.

“Mum,” I said when we were in the car and on our way, “can we—?”

“No,” said my mum.

“What do you mean, no?” I glared at her. “You didn’t even know what I was going to say.”

“Oh, yes I do.” My mum turned into Fliss’s road. “You were going to say, ‘Can we get a camcorder?’”

I was speechless. Parents can really make you mad sometimes, can’t they?

“Well, why can’t we?”

“Because they’re too expensive, that’s why,” my mum said. “Do you know how much they cost, Frankie? Six or seven hundred pounds. Which reminds me.” We stopped at some traffic lights, and she turned to look hard at me. “No fooling around tonight. Do exactly what Fliss’s mum tells you. Because if anything happens to that camcorder, you and your friends are going to be paying for it out of your pocket money for a very, very long time.”

“Oh, Mum,” I groaned as we pulled up outside Fliss’s house. “Have I ever let you down before?”

“Yes, you have.”

“Bye, then,” I said quickly, and dived out of the car before she could get launched on a list of sleepover disasters.

I was just about to open Fliss’s gate when Kenny’s dad’s car pulled up, and Kenny jumped out. I stared at her. She was still wearing her Leicester City top because that’s all she ever wore when she wasn’t at school. But she wasn’t wearing her favourite pair of jeans with holes in the knees or her Timberland boots. Instead she was wearing brand-new jeans and proper shoes. With heels. And she’d only gone and crimped her hair.

“You’ve crimped your hair!” I said.

“So have you!” Kenny stared back at me, and we both started to laugh. “We’re going to look like twins on this video!”

A little red car stopped by the kerb while we were still laughing. Rosie’s mum waved to us from the driver’s seat, and then Rosie got out. She looked really cool in a long skirt and a matching top. And her hair was crimped.

Rosie looked at me and Kenny, and her face went pink.

“You’ve crimped your hair!” she gasped.

“I think we’ve already had this conversation,” said Kenny.

“We’re triplets now!” I said, and we all started to giggle.

Then I looked over Kenny’s shoulder, and saw Lyndz walking up the road with her brother Tom. Lyndz looked good in a pink skirt and a black top. But guess what she’d done to her hair?

“Oh-oh,” I said. “Crimped hair alert!”

“Oh!” Lyndz gasped when she saw the rest of us. “You’ve—”

“Crimped your hair!” we all chimed in. “Just like you!”

“Wow,” Tom said, grinning all over his face. “Looks like a hairdresser’s worst nightmare.”

Lyndz gave him a shove.

“Get lost, moron,” she said.

Still laughing, Tom went off, and we all stood outside Fliss’s house, and looked at each other and our crimped hair.

“Oh, well,” said Lyndz with a big grin, “I think we all look great.”

“Come on,” Kenny said, pushing open the gate. “I’m dying to get inside and get filmed!”

We all hurried up the path. I rang the bell, and Fliss opened the door. She was wearing a spotless, cream-coloured lacy dress with matching tights and shoes, and her hair was piled high on her head. It had been stuck with pins all over to keep it up, and it looked pretty uncomfortable. She took one look at our hair, and burst out laughing.

“You’ve all crimped your hair!”

“Yes, we had noticed,” I said.

“Is that the girls, Fliss?” Andy, Fliss’s mum’s boyfriend, came out of the living-room with a camcorder balanced on his shoulder. He stopped and moved it slowly in our direction. Immediately we all started squealing and giggling and shoving each other.

“Come on, girls, give us a smile!” Andy said.

We all began to wave and smile at the camera. This was certainly going to be one sleepover we would never forget.

So there we all were, sitting in a row on Mrs Sidebotham’s cream-coloured sofa, trying not to look bored out of our skulls. Which we were, actually.

“Oh, come on, girls.” Andy sighed from behind the camcorder. “Do something interesting, can’t you?”

We all looked down at our feet. Andy sighed again, and lowered the camcorder.

“What’s the matter with you?” he said, “You don’t usually sit here and do nothing when you come round for one of these sleepovers, do you?”

We all looked at each other. No, of course we didn’t usually sit there and do nothing when we had a sleepover. But today was different. Today we were being filmed, and although Andy wasn’t exactly Fliss’s real dad, he was still sort of like a parent. That meant that some of the things we might have done, we couldn’t do. So the safest thing was to sit on the sofa and do absolutely nothing. After all, as my grandma says, why go looking for trouble?

When we’d first arrived at Fliss’s, it had been fun being filmed. Fliss’s mum had made a great big tea, and we’d all sat down to eat, while Andy kept dodging around the table trying to film us all. It took us about ten minutes to get over the urge to wave and grin like an idiot every time he pointed the camera in our direction, and then after that we were OK.

It was after tea was over that things started to go wrong. If it had been a normal sleepover, there were lots of things we could have done. Sometimes we just used to sit and talk, until it was time to go to bed. But a lot of the things we talked about were Private and Top Secret, and we didn’t feel like talking about things like that with Andy and his camcorder sticking to us like glue.

One of the other things we do when we go to Fliss’s is think of ways to annoy her snobby neighbours. They’re called Charles and Jessica Watson-Wade (yes, really) and they have a baby called Bruno, which I thought was a dog’s name. The last time we slept over at Fliss’s, we had a killer of a time winding-up the Watson-Wades. Fliss’s mum went mad (and so did every other mum and dad), but it was worth it. The problem was, how could we play Winding-up the Watson-Wades when Andy and his camera were right behind us?

So Kenny had suggested that we played barging contests, one of our International Gladiators games. One person’s the horse, the other’s the rider, and you have to barge the other horse and rider off the lawn in the back garden. We always play barging contests when we sleepover at Fliss’s, because there’s not much else we can do. Fliss’s bedroom is too small for really tough stuff, and we can’t do anything inside because her mum is so house-proud. But the garden’s quite big, and we can play barging contests out there as much as we want to.

Not today, though. Fliss had gone pale at the very thought.

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