Sleepover Club Blitz. Angie Bates

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.