Sleepover Club Blitz
by Angie Bates

CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Have you been invited to all these sleepovers?

Sleepover kit List

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Copyright

About the Publisher

HAVE YOU BEEN INVITED TO ALL THESE SLEEPOVERS?

1 The Sleepover Club at Frankie’s

2 The Sleepover Club at Lyndsey’s

3 The Sleepover Club at Felicity’s

4 The Sleepover Club at Rosie’s

5 The Sleepover Club at Kenny’s

6 Starring the Sleepover Club

7 The Sleepover Girls go Spice

8 The 24 Hour Sleepover Club

9 The Sleepover Club Sleeps Out

10 Happy Birthday, Sleepover Club

11 Sleepover Girls on Horseback

12 Sleepover in Spain

13 Sleepover on Friday 13th

14 Sleepover Girls at Camp

15 Sleepover Girls go Detective

16 Sleepover Girls go Designer

17 The Sleepover Club Surfs the Net

18 Sleepover Girls on Screen

19 Sleepover Girls and Friends

20 Sleepover Girls on the Catwalk

21 The Sleepover Club Goes for Goal!

22 Sleepover Girls Go Babysitting

23 Sleepover Girls Go Snowboarding

24 Happy New Year, Sleepover Club!

25 Sleepover Club 2000

26 We Love You Sleepover Club

27 Vive le Sleepover Club!

28 Sleepover Club Eggstravaganza

29 Emergency Sleepover

30 Sleepover Girls on the Range

31 The Sleepover Club Bridesmaids

32 Sleepover Girls see Stars

SLEEPOVER KIT LIST

1. Sleeping bag

2. Pillow

3. Pyjamas or a nightdress

4. Slippers

5. Toothbrush, toothpaste, soap etc 6. Towel

7. Teddy

8. A creepy story

9. Food for a midnight feast: chocolate, crisps, sweets, biscuits. In fact anything you like to eat.

10. Torch

11. Hairbrush

12. Hair things like a bobble or hairband, if you need them

13. Clean knickers and socks

14. Change of clothes for the next day

15. Sleepover diary and membership card

ATISHOO! Oops! Didn’t mean to sneeze on you! Oh, I don’t believe it. It’s you!

No, it’s great. I’m just embarrassed. You’ve caught me in my icky dog-walking clothes. I hadn’t expected to run into any Sleepover fans today. I must look a total mess.

Hang on, I’ve got to blow my nose. As you can see, I’ve got the WORST cold. My big sister, Tiffany, is threatening to enter me for the sneezing Olympics!

Oh, now I get the picture! A little bird leaked the news of our most outrageous sleepover since records began and you’re desperate for an update, right?

Well, it might not look like it, but you definitely came to the right girl. Yep, the amazingly groovy Rosie Cartwright gets a starring role again! Yes, I DO mean me, you fluff-brain!

Unfortunately, you’ve caught me at a bad moment. Not only am I looking a scruffbag, but also (yikes, this sounds incredibly rude), I was just on my way out!! Is that bad luck or what?

Literally FIVE minutes before you showed up, I promised Mum I’d take our dog for a run. Jenny has the MOST energy. It’s all I can do to keep up, while she drags me uphill and down whatever, chasing cute, fluffy (and totally imaginary) rabbits. Not the ideal situation for a girly chat, as I’m sure you’ll agree.

It’s such a pain. I’d heaps rather talk to you than walk our dog. No, I CAN’T take her later. The poor thing’s been crossing her legs for hours.

Strictly speaking, it was my big sister’s turn. I only agreed to do a swap on one condition. The absolute MICRO-second I get back, Tiffany has to march into that kitchen and make me a mega bowl of her dee-licious toffee-flavoured popcorn! Time-travel makes you incredibly hungry for some reason.

Sorry, I couldn’t resist dropping that in! You should see your face! You think I’m kidding, don’t you? Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’ve never wanted to go back in time, because I won’t believe you!

The other day, all of us girls in the Sleepover Club shared our secret time-travel fantasies.

Lyndz, who is totally horse-mad, if you remember, wanted to go back to before Columbus. She said she’d just LURVE to see what America looked like before white men turned up with their guns and chicken-pox germs and stuff. “I’d hang out with Native Americans, and ride bareback on those gorgeous pinto ponies they had,” she said.

Fliss wanted to go back to when girls wore Empire-line dresses, and those gauzy little shawls. I’m not saying Fliss is a bimbo or anything, but sometimes she really gives that impression!

“Could we have a teensy bit more info?” Kenny grinned. “Like when was this, exactly?”

Fliss looked vague. “I don’t know. They put their hair up in this really sweet style, and they visited each other’s houses the whole time. Ooh, and the men stomped about in serious riding boots and swishy jackets, looking incredibly gorgeous.”

It turned out Fliss had once caught an episode of Pride and Prejudice on TV, and fallen mushily in love with Mr Darcy!

Kenny’s choice was SO not romantic. She wanted to be whisked back to 1966, purely so she could see England win the World Cup…

Frankie didn’t fancy the past, full stop. “I’m not interested in stuff that’s, like – OVER,” she said dramatically. “It’s what’s coming next that I’m interested in. Like, how soon can I travel to other planets?”

Personally, I’d like to be one of those feisty girls in the days of the Wild West. They could turn their hand to anything. Like, one minute they’d be making blueberry pie. And next thing, they’d grab a gun and blast away at some wild bear who’d started guzzling the family’s maple syrup supply.

But what’s all this got to do with actual time-travel, I hear you cry?

Yikes! Jenny’s practically pulling my arm off. Sorry, but I’m going to have to go.

Tell you what! I’ve had a great idea. (If you’re up for it, that is?)

Could we meet up back at my house later? Not only would that give me a chance to change into something a bit less doggy, but you’ll have my undivided attention. You can even share my popcorn, if you like.

What do you mean, can’t I give you a tiny hint before I go? Boy, you readers show no mercy!

OK. Here’s a Sleepover mini-trailer to keep you going.

Picture one of those old-style newsreels, with that insanely cheerful male newsreader yelling over brass-band music.

SOUND OF WAILING SIRENS.

“Do you believe in time travel? You’d better! Because those five spunky Sleepover girls have just been back to the tremendously inspiring days of Spitfires, gas masks and ration books. Watch them dig for victory. Hear them warble about bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover. Laugh aloud as they try to find the outside toilet in the black-out. Find out what happens when our intrepid heroines give up the home comforts of the twenty-first century for one entire weekend, and drop in on (BOOM! CRASH!! CRUMP!!!) the Second World War – for REAL!”

Yes, I am feeling perfectly well, thank you very much.

No, I’m not making it up!

But like I said, if you REALLY want to know what happened, come back and meet me after tea, OK?

Till then, TTFN! I’ll translate later – gotta dash!!

You came back! That’s SO sweet. I was worried my disgusting germs might put you off. Actually, I think the fresh air blew my cobwebs away. I’m feeling heaps better now. Plus, I’ve got all my stupid chores out of the way.

Me and Tiff really have to pull our weight since Dad walked out, otherwise poor Mum would end up doing everything herself. Also, if you remember, my older brother, Adam, has cerebral palsy. He’d help out if he could (in some moods, anyway!). But where walking the dog is concerned, he’s not exactly a serious contender.

Anyway, the good news is, I’m finally free to chill out with our favourite fan!! That’s YOU, dumbo… Hope you noticed I swapped the doggy jogging pants for some stylish leisure wear? Us Sleepover girls have our reputations to keep up, you know!

My room feels cosy and welcoming, doesn’t it? It used to be the pits. I HATED coming up here. Every time I walked in, I’d find myself getting all uptight about Dad leaving Mum to cope with this like, HUGE falling-down house, all by herself.

Don’t tell anyone, but I think I went a bit off my rocker, those first few months. Maybe that’s why, when I first joined the Sleepover Club, I did everything I could to put the others off sleeping over at our place.

Back then I was convinced my new friends would despise me if they ever found out what a dump I lived in. Luckily they totally refused to take any notice! And I’m really glad now.

Not only were those sleepovers a real laugh (everyone just LURVES staying at our place, for some reason), but I think they improved its vibes or something, because the atmosphere has completely changed for the better.

During one of our sleepovers, my friends helped me redecorate it in my favourite colours. Now it’s my favourite place in the whole house. And boy! Since we came back from the 1940s it seems like total bedroom-heaven.

OK, keep your hair on – I’ll get around to the time-travel thing eventually. First, I want to let you into a big secret. An incredibly embarrassing secret, actually.

It’s about this boy.

This boy that I (I’m going to whisper it, OK?) – this boy I briefly, erm, gulp (eek, this is ridiculous!) – OK, here goes! This boy I really fancied.

YOU’RE shocked! Imagine how I felt!

Look, don’t panic, OK – I got over it in next to no time, so I can still wear my BOYS ARE YUCK T-shirt with pride. But for two whole lessons, I truly thought I was in L.U.R.V.E.

Is that scary or what!! Still don’t believe me? OK, I’ll give you an idea how bad it was. Would you believe an ordinary school day could feel as deliciously cool as Saturday morning hooked up to Live & Kicking and chomping your favourite brand of jelly beans? Me neither!

Then, one morning Owen Cartwright walked into our classroom – and I almost fell off my chair in awe.

I know what you’re thinking. This is not the gutsy girl you know and love, right? What can possibly have caused such a dramatic turnaround?

Well, first you should know that Owen is so-o good looking it’s unbelievable. He’s a total Prince William look-alike – except that Owen’s more your footballer type, if you get me. But he’s got that same floppy fair hair and amazing dark eyelashes. His eyes are hazel with gold flecks in. He’s also got this dreamy little smile hovering round his mouth, which gives the impression he’s smiling at these really deep private thoughts.

I don’t know if the others told you, but recently our regular class teacher, Mrs Weaver, has been away on a course. So we’ve been having this supply teacher, Miss Pearson. When she introduced Owen to the whole class, I was so dazed, all I could think was: Wow, if me and Owen got married, I wouldn’t even have to change my surname. And I leaned my chin on my hand and went into a total dream. (I told you this was embarrassing.)

Then I noticed something spooky. All the girls in the class were leaning their chins dreamily on their hands, too. All right, not Kenny. But that’s only because she’s got her image to keep up. Inside, she had turned to fluffy marshmallow like the rest of us.

No prizes for guessing the hot topic at break.

“I can’t believe it!” Fliss shrieked. “He was looking at me all through maths. I thought I was going to DIE!” She went bright pink at the memory.

OK, you’re thinking, no cause for alarm here! So what if Fliss did go soppy over some boy with a cute face? That’s just Flissy, right?

Wrong wrong WRONG! This was something WAY bigger.

Ever heard of a thing called “charisma”? I looked it up in the dictionary, in case you’re interested, and it means, “the special magnetic appeal, charm or power of an individual”.

Well, that’s Owen Cartwright to a T. He wasn’t just cute-looking. He didn’t just have this like, effortless cool. He had CHARISMA. And when girls saw him, even groovy streetwise girls like my mates, they totally lost it. They were like pitiful little iron filings, being sucked into a major magnetic field.

Boy, you should have seen the dirty look Frankie gave Fliss!

“Owen was looking at YOU?” she snapped. “Erm, I don’t think so, Flissy. Didn’t you see how when my ruler accidentally slipped out of my hand, Owen immediately handed it back? And he gave me this really gorgeous smile!” Frankie gave a big breathy sigh.

“Accidentally slipped, eh?” mused Kenny.

“Ooh, liar, liar!” spluttered Lyndz. “You practically beheaded him. That wasn’t a smile, Frankie. That was like, ‘Yikes! Don’t throw anything at me again, you strange scary girl’.”

Frankie’s lip curled. “You’re jealous, because I’m his type.”

“What type is that, then?” inquired Kenny coldly.

“Quirky. Interesting.” Frankie flicked her dark hair so that it fell over one eye. “Enigmatic.”

“Insane,” Fliss suggested, giggling.

“Get real, Frankie,” Kenny scoffed. “Didn’t you see his scarf? Owen’s a Leicester City fan, like me. Having stuff in common, that’s what counts. Not enigmatic hair or whatever.”

Fliss was studying her pastel-pink nails with their perfect half-moons. “My mum says boys prefer really feminine girls.”

Lyndz snorted. “Dream on, sister! Didn’t you see Owen’s face when I was chatting to Natalie? I was telling her where I go horse-riding. And I could see he was really fascinated.”

“Who’s the liar now?” demanded Kenny. “You expect us to believe us that was a private chat? I mean, you weren’t deliberately yelling at the top of your voice, so Owen would overhear it or anything?”

“No, I was not, Laura McKenzie!” said Lyndz angrily.

I stared at them open-mouthed. Had my friends gone raving mad?

OK, so I had a mushy True Romance moment, when Owen first walked in. But to hear them talk, you’d think he was like one of those old portraits where the eyes follow you all around the room!

“Owen can’t have been looking at ALL of you simultaneously. Unless he’s got like, some major eye defect!” I pointed out.

“Clean your ears out, Rosie Cartwright!” snapped Frankie. “I told you. He wasn’t looking at ALL of us. He was looking at ME.”

“And I told YOU!” Lyndz snarled. “The poor boy was just cringing, in case you lobbed something else at him.”

Kenny shook her head. “Guys, this is really stoopid.”

I puffed out my cheeks with relief. My mates were finally coming back to their senses! “I agree,” I said eagerly. “I mean, he’s a boy, right? He’s totally not worth all this—”

Kenny silenced me with an icy glare. “What I was going to say, before Rosie interrupted me,” she growled, “is that all we have to do is PROVE which one of us Owen likes best.”

“Oh, PERLEAZE!” I said. “Haven’t you guys got ANY pride?”

But obviously they hadn’t, because they instantly perked up.

“Kenz, you’re right,” said Frankie excitedly. “But who’ll be the judge? We’re going to need someone who’s not, you know, personally involved.”

“How about Rosie?” Lyndz suggested. “She’s not the romantic type, are you, Rosie?” she grinned. “She’s much too sensible.”

“That’s what you think,” I muttered to myself. But out loud I said, “Hey, don’t go dragging me into this, OK?”

But they totally ignored me. Kenny reached into her pocket and pulled out an old spelling book. She tossed it to me. “Here you are, Rosie Posie,” she said. “There’s some pages left. Keep score in that.”

“Keep score of what, bird-brain?” I demanded.

They stared at me.

“I don’t believe Rosie, sometimes. She wasn’t even listening,” Frankie complained.

“She’s so selfish,” agreed Fliss. “If it isn’t about her, she just doesn’t want to know.”

I waved my hands in front of their faces. “Hello! I’m still here, you know.” But they totally ignored me. “Hey! How come I’m selfish, anyway?” I said huffily. “It’s not me that’s scratching my friends’ eyes out over some stoopid boy.”

“Pleeease, Rosie,” Kenny coaxed. “We’ll make it easy for you.” She produced a stump of pencil. Then she leaned the spelling book against the wall and drew four roughly vertical lines down each of its spare pages.

“I’ll write our names on the left,” she explained. “Then I’ll label these columns. Erm – Column One for if Owen smiles at anyone. Column Two for if he actually says something to one of us.”

Frankie put on her fruity milkmaid voice. “And Column Three is for any like, special favours,” she giggled.

Fliss’s jaw dropped. “What kind of favours?”

“You know,” smirked Frankie. “If Owen shows he really, really likes one of us. A LOT!”

Fliss fanned herself with her hand. “Oooer,” she said.

“Cuckoo,” I told them. “You’re all completely cuckoo.”

“Oh, go on, Rosie,” everyone pleaded.

“You’ve only got to put ticks in boxes,” said Kenny. “We’re not asking you to donate a kidney.”

“We’d do it for you,” Lyndz added. “You know we would.”

Don’t you just hate it when your friends try to make you feel guilty?

“All right,” I sighed. “But when it goes horribly wrong, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“It’ll end in tears, my lovelies,” said Frankie in her sexy milkmaid’s voice. “NOT,” she added rudely.

After break, the Sleepover Club’s fascinating love-life was forced to take a back seat, because Miss Pearson made an unexpected announcement.

“For the next few weeks we’ll be doing a very special history project,” she beamed. “We’ll be studying the Second World War. More specifically, the Blitz.”

Everybody groaned.

“No-one cares about that stuff now, Miss,” Frankie complained. “If you ask me, it’s time everyone got over all that old war business and started looking to the future.” And she sneaked a little peep at dishy Owen!

He was nodding away, like he was in total agreement, but for all I knew a bee just flew into his ear.

I stuck up my hand.

“I agree with Frankie,” I said. Because I did, actually. “This is the twenty-first century. Children of today should be focussing on peace, not war.”

The other Sleepover girls clapped and cheered. At first I was chuffed that my mates were backing me up. Then I realised THEY were sneaking looks at Owen, too. They didn’t give two hoots about me. They were trying to impress their blue-eyed boy!

“Good point, Rosie,” said Miss Pearson cheerfully. “Except I’m not convinced that world peace comes about by ignoring huge historical events. Rather the reverse. We need to understand what happened, so we can make sure these things never happen again.”

“Oh, wah, wah, wah!” said Frankie loudly. And she flicked her hair over one eye, purely for Owen’s benefit.

Miss Pearson sensibly ignored her. “I can guarantee that you’ll find this project really enjoyable,” she went on. “It won’t just be about facts and dates, you know. It’ll be a hands-on experience.”

Frankie’s shoulders shook with phony laughter. “A hands-on experience of the Second World War!” she said scornfully. “How enjoyable is that!”

I’d slid so far down my chair, I was practically under the desk by this time. Frankie was totally embarrassing me! Personally, I don’t see why a girl has to make a berk of herself to get boys to notice her. And if he DOES find that kind of obvious behaviour attractive, then he’s simply not worth bothering with. That’s what Mum says, anyway.

After school the others pestered me for an update on their scores. Fliss screamed like she’d sat on a pin when she realised she was in the lead. Believe it or not, she’d actually got a tick in the “Special Favours” column. (It wasn’t for anything icky. Owen just gave up his seat for her at lunchtime!)

The others immediately got the sulks.

“I warned you this would happen,” I sighed. “If you ask me, we should stop this stoopid point-scoring business right now.”

But they wouldn’t hear of it.

You know what, though? I know this makes me sounds like a major headcase, but after being madly in love with Owen Cartwright for like, two whole hours, I’d totally gone off him.

It wasn’t just the depressing effect he was having on my normally sane and cheerful friends. It was Owen himself. He’d started to remind me spookily of somebody else. But I couldn’t think who.

Incidentally, I got a good look at Mr Heart-throb as we were hurrying out of the school gates, and guess what? His smile wasn’t nearly as mysterious and lovely as I’d thought. At close quarters, it was actually more of a creepy smirk.

Suddenly, I saw what should have been obvious from the start. Our point-scoring system was a waste of time. Because charismatic Owen Cartwright was already totally and helplessly in love.

With HIMSELF!

All at once, instead of being thrilled that we shared the same surname, it started to grate on me. Also, I’d found out that Owen was six months older than me. And it made me furious to think that this smirking boy had been a Cartwright for a whole six months before I came into the world!!!

But it wasn’t until I was drifting off to sleep that night that I finally figured out who it was that Owen Cartwright reminded me of.

It was our deadly enemies, the M&Ms.

Let me quickly remind you that in the never-ending cosmic battle between good and evil, the Sleepover Club represents the Good Guys (YAY!!). Whereas the M&Ms definitely walk on the Dark Side (BOO! HISS!!).

OK, I’m exaggerating, but you get the picture.

The M&Ms’ real names are Emma Hughes and Emily Berryman, otherwise known as the Gruesome Twosome. And they’re in our class, worse luck. In front of grown-ups, they’re as sweet as pie. Sweet, but seriously toxic. Their only aim in life is to get one up on us, the cool and groovy Sleepover crew. Though like Kenny says, it beats her why two such incredibly CATTY girls are so desperate to be top DOGS!

Anyway, when I walked into the playground next morning, all the girls in our class were in little huddles. Their faces were shining with excitement. As I passed, I heard the same name, over and over. “Owen, Owen, Owen.” It was like a horror film! I prayed that my mates, at least, had miraculously come to their senses in the night. But when I spotted them, round by the gym, they had that same distinctive Owen glow.

I soon learned that Owen’s G (for Gorgeousness) Rating had just zoomed off the scale. Apparently, lover boy was way cooler than everyone thought. Not only were his parents stupendously rich. Not only had he just moved into the ritziest, glitziest house in Cuddington. But gorgeous Owen Cartwright himself was actually (GASP!) a professional boy supermodel!!

To be fair, the others weren’t bothered about the house or the money. But they were totally gobsmacked by the supermodel thing. I hung around, listening to them witter. Now and then I’d say hopefully: “So about our next sleepover…”

But it was like I was invisible. It dawned on me that if I wanted their attention, I’d have to use the O-word. Like, “Hey, let’s give our sleepover an Owen theme!” But I absolutely refused to join in the madness. So it was a relief when the bell went and it was time to go into school.

That morning, we had to start our Second World War history project, and the whole class was having a major sulk.

“You could let us do the Tudors, Miss,” Fliss whined. “They had the coolest clothes.”

Kenny’s eyes gleamed. “Also the MOST beheadings!”

Kenny LURVES to gross everyone out. She says it’s because she wants to be a doctor like her dad, but if you ask me, she’s plain bloodthirsty!! Mind you, it was good to hear her sounding more like the pre-Owen Kenny, if you see what I mean.

“That does sound tempting,” Miss Pearson grinned. “But I think we’ll stick to my original plan. Bring your chairs to the front. I’ve got some things to show you.”

The class scraped and scuffled its way to the front of the class.

To our surprise, Miss Pearson produced a small cardboard case from under her desk. “What do you think is inside?” she asked.

No-one had the least idea.

She lifted out some bizarre apparatus – kind of goggles with rubber tubes attached. “Like to make a guess what it is?” she asked.

“Diving equipment?” said someone.

Emma Hughes flashed a superior smirk at Owen, who instantly smirked back.

“Getting warm,” smiled Miss Pearson. “It is a form of breathing gear. But for use on land.”

A forest of hands went up. “Oh, Miss, Miss!” everyone pleaded.

“Ryan?” she asked.

“It’s a kid’s gas mask,” he said.

Fliss is SO-O fickle! That girl has been in lurve with Ryan Scott for the longest time. But today she didn’t even glance his way. She was too busy fluttering her eyelashes at You Know Who.

“That’s right,” beamed our teacher. “People thought this new war was going to be a complete re-run of the first one, when our enemies used poisonous gas. They were wrong, as it turned out. But everyone was issued with a gas mask. Even little children.”

Miss Pearson passed the gas mask around, explaining that it originally contained asbestos and other dangerous substances. “But don’t worry. It’s been cleaned and it’s quite safe,” she said.

Of course Kenny had to try it on. “Peeyoo!” she choked. “It pongs.”

There’s no way I was putting that thing over my face. But Lyndz said it just smelled of rubber and disinfectant.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.