have spoken to each other again. Frankie and I usually phone each other about a million times a day and we tell each other everything. When we fell out, we didn’t speak for three days. Mum is always saying that I can never admit when I’m in the wrong, and I guess that’s true.
Looking back it seems stupid that we let everything get so out of hand. But we have our diaries to remind us how awful we felt when we thought the Sleepover Club was about to split up.
I wrote:
If Fliss hadn’t thought of having a tenth birthday sleepover party, we’d still all be speaking now. It looks like I’ll be stuck with Molly-the-Monster all holidays. Pass the sick bucket! I wish we were going to stay with grandpa and grandma McKenzie now, rather than later in the holidays. At least I wouldn’t be bored there. I’m bored bored BORED here without the others.
Frankie wrote in her diary:
Why is it we never agree on anything? If only we could have decided to have a normal party, then none of this would have happened. I don’t see what was so wrong with my idea anyway. The others just don’t like to do anything different. Well I’m not making the first move to get the Sleepover Club back together. I always end up having to organise everybody. And I’m sick of it.
Fliss wrote in hers:
Went shopping with mum today. She bought me a great pair of shorts and some yellow nail varnish. They’re well cool! She said they were to cheer me up, but they haven’t. I still miss the others.
Rosie scribbled in her diary:
I’m never going to make any friends again. Nobody likes me. Belonging to the Sleepover Club was great and now I’m not sure whether there’s even going to be one any more. (You couldn’t read what else she’d written because the writing was all smudged where she’d cried over it. Breaks your heart doesn’t it?)
Lyndz had just written:
Can’t stand this anymore. I’m going to ring the others up and get them to meet round here tonight.
And that’s just what she did.
It felt a bit weird at first going round to Lyndz’s, knowing that there was this big ‘thing’ between us. We were just so polite with each other. It was as though some crummy old soap opera characters had taken over our bodies and we were sitting around discussing the price of tea or something. It was Frankie who sorted us all out – as usual.
“Look,” she said in her grown-up tone of voice. “I’m sorry if I was stroppy the other day. I don’t really mind what kind of party we have, as long as we all agree on it.” The rest of us mumbled that that was how we felt too. We all looked at the floor, as though our feet were suddenly the most fascinating things in the world.
Suddenly, Lyndz leapt on to her bed and started bouncing on it.
“Come on guys!” she yelled at the top of her voice. “It’s party time!” Yep! The Sleepover Club was back together. And just to prove it, Lyndz got hiccups.
“You do realise don’t you, that we’re the only people in the entire universe who know how to stop you making that appalling noise!” I said, as I dug Lyndz hard in the ribs. A shock like that sometimes does the trick.
“Ouch Kenny!” Lyndz doubled over. “Why do you think I got you all round here? Hic.”
“Without us, you’d probably have to walk hiccuping down the aisle on your wedding day,” laughed Frankie.
“I, Lyndsey, hic, Marianne, hic, Collins, hic, do take you, Hic, Hic, Hic…” said Fliss, who knows the whole marriage service backwards.
“Except I’m never getting married,” said Lyndsey. “My brothers are enough to put anyone off men for life!” The thought of getting married seemed to have stopped Lyndz’s hiccups anyway. Either that or the fact that Frankie had been doing her ‘thumb in the hand’ routine on her for the last few minutes.
“OK then, so what are we going to do for this party?” asked Frankie when we’d all calmed down. “And where are we going to have it?”
Well, it was like feeding time in the monkey house: we all started chattering at once. And we got louder and louder. And because we were all shouting, nobody could hear what anyone else was saying.
“Shut up!” yelled Frankie. That girl could be a sergeant major with a voice like hers.
“Right,” said Frankie, coming over all teacher-like. “If we decide where we’re going to have the sleepover, we might be able to decide what we’re going to do for it.”
“My place would be good,” said Fliss. “Because mum’s ever so good at organising parties and stuff.”
The rest of us weren’t very sure about that. Fliss’s mum would probably stand over us with a dustpan and brush in case we dropped any fairy cake crumbs on her precious carpet.
“I know my stupid brothers can get in the way,” said Lyndz. “But we have got a big garden and my parents are pretty cool about letting us do our own thing.”
That was true. But I wanted us to have the birthday sleepover at my place. That way I could organise a few wild, crazy games and the others couldn’t do anything about it. The problem was Molly-the-Monster: the rest of the Sleepover Club dislikes her almost as much as I do – and that’s lots!
“It’d be great if we had the sleepover at my place,” whispered Rosie. “Adam loves you all coming round. And there are lots of rooms we could use.”
Rosie has a stonking great house that her father was supposed to be doing up. He’s not around much now, so it’s chaotic and a bit run-down. But it’s a pretty cool place to hang out. And the staircase is wicked for our ‘sliding down the banister’ races.
Still, we could have a sleepover there another time. I wanted the tenth birthday one at my place.
“OK, I’m like the rest of you. I’d like you all to come to my place,” admitted Frankie. “My room’s large, my parents are cool and we’ve always had pretty great sleepovers there in the past haven’t we?”
“Are you saying that the sleepovers everywhere else weren’t much cop?” I asked. “What’s wrong with my place?”
“Molly-the-Monster?” Frankie laughed. The others groaned. My stupid sister spoils all my fun.
“How can we decide on where to have it, if we all want it at our own place?” Fliss grumbled. “It’s got to be fair!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I moaned. Sometimes I get sick of Fliss going on about what’s fair all the time.
“Just because you don’t like doing the same things as the rest of us, doesn’t mean that you can criticise us all the time,” Fliss suddenly turned on me. “And have you ever thought that it might be you who’s a bit weird for wanting to get all muddy and stinky rather than wearing make-up and having your hair nice?”
Well that was a shock! Fliss wasn’t usually so aggressive.
“I’m just not into all that sissy stuff,” I said.
“Sissy? That’s not fair!” screeched Fliss.
“Fair! Is that all you ever talk about?” I shouted.
And suddenly we were at each other’s throats again. This tenth birthday sleepover party looked doomed before the start! But I do admit that this time it was my fault.
“OK. Time out!” shouted Sergeant Major Francesca Thomas. “Have you two any idea what you look like? It’s pathetic!”
Fliss and I stopped yelling and looked at each other. Her face was bright red and she looked mad! I must have looked like that too, because when we caught sight of each other we just cracked out laughing.
There was a knock at the door.
“I