out?” asked Lyndz.
“Yes and where are we going to put the presents so the others can’t see them?” asked Fliss.
“Oh no!” gasped Rosie. “I’ve got to do some more planning. But you can’t be late. You just can’t be. It’ll mess everything up if you are!” She looked as though she was going to cry.
“Don’t you think you’re taking this a bit seriously?” asked Frankie gently.
“I just want it all to be perfect, what’s wrong with that?” snapped Rosie. “It’s not just any old sleepover. It’s our tenth birthday sleepover and I want to make sure we’ll all remember it.”
She was certainly right about that. I don’t think any of us will ever forget it!
“Is there anything you want us to bring?” I asked. “Stopwatches, so we don’t run over time? Running shoes so we can sprint from one thing to another?”
“Party clothes? Balloons? Cuddly toy?” asked Frankie.
“What about the cake?” asked Fliss. “We’ve got to have a cake.”
Rosie began to search frantically through all her sheets of paper.
“The cake!” she shrieked. “How could I forget about the cake?”
It was a bit sad really, seeing her get so upset.
“Don’t worry. We could buy one,” I suggested.
“We’ve no money,” Lyndz reminded me.
“Well let’s make one then!” Frankie said.
Now the Sleepover Club are not exactly the greatest bakers in the world. In fact, we are a total disaster in the kitchen.
“Is that a good idea?” asked Fliss. Her mum never lets her loose in their gleaming white kitchen. Not after we nearly burnt the place down anyway.
“Sure it is!” said Lyndz very confidently. “My mum’s a mean cook. She’ll give us a hand. She likes getting the chance to do stuff like that. She’s always complaining that my brothers aren’t interested in anything domestic. And neither am I, usually.”
“We’ll have to do it before next Saturday,” Rosie reminded her. “Is that OK?”
“No probs,” said Lyndz. “I’ll ask mum when I get back this afternoon and give you a ring. You can all come over to my place and we’ll have a girlie afternoon in the kitchen!”
Now I don’t know about you, but cooking isn’t really my thing. Eating, yes. Cooking, no way. But what could I do? I couldn’t let my friends down now, could I? So when Lyndz rang that evening to say that we could all go there on the Friday before the sleepover to bake the cake, well how could I refuse?
Anyway, before that I had other things on my mind – like what to give Fliss for her stupid sleepover birthday present!
I know that this sounds really mean, but I really resented having to spend my pocket money on something which Fliss would like for five minutes and then throw away. She’s like that is Fliss. She has to have all the latest fashions she sees in magazines, then when the next thing comes along, she forgets how desperate she was for this skirt, or that pair of trainers, and she wants something else. Frankie reckons that I’m jealous, but it’s not that. I’ll be quite happy wearing my Leicester City football shirt until I die. I don’t like frills and sequins like Fliss. And I don’t really care how I look.
I know it sounds really petty, but I didn’t want to buy her the earrings that she liked, just because she’d hinted that she wanted them. That would have felt like she’d won. I was determined to give her something different. And I wanted to make it myself, just to prove that I could.
I rummaged about under my bed. I was bound to find something useful there. I found piles of old football magazines, a couple of stinky socks which didn’t match, a baby’s dummy (I have no idea where that came from) and a length of clear plastic tubing. I couldn’t remember where I’d found the tubing, it was just something that I thought might come in useful one day!
I didn’t think Fliss would be very impressed by hand puppets made out of the socks. And I wasn’t going to sacrifice my football magazines for anybody. I picked up the tubing. It was so long that I could use it as a skipping rope. It was ages since I’d skipped. It was pretty cool!
“Watch it! You’ll go through the floor!” snarled Molly-the-Monster as she came into the room. “What is that anyway?”
“Plastic tubing,” I said showing it to her.
She wrapped it around her waist, then draped it around her neck.
“What do you want it for?” she asked, looking at herself in the mirror.
“Dunno. Something,” I shrugged.
“If you decide you don’t want it, I’ll have it,” she said, and slammed the door behind her as she went out.
That settled it. If Molly thought that the tubing was worth having, then I was going to keep it for Fliss’s present.
I still wasn’t sure what I was going to do with it though. I had some glitter left from the card I’d made for my Artist’s Badge. I held the tubing so there was only a short length, and poured some glitter into it. It looked brilliant, even if I say so myself. It was exactly the kind of thing that Fliss loves. So that’s when I decided to make her some glittery bracelets for her present.
When I had finished, I was well pleased with my efforts. Even Fliss should be kind of impressed. And no way would she ever suspect me of making the bracelets.
So then there was a long boring week until the Friday when we all met up again at Lyndz’s for the great birthday cake bake. And what an event that turned out to be.
If I’m honest, I wasn’t looking forward to the cooking party at Lyndz’s. I enjoy being with the others and everything. And Lyndz’s mum is great. It’s just cooking! You know what I’m saying?
Frankie had organised which cake ingredients we should each take to Lyndz’s. I had the huge responsibility of providing the flour.
“You do know that it’s self-raising flour we need, don’t you Kenny?” Frankie asked over the phone.
“You mean it can lift itself off the shelf, all by itself?” I asked really innocently.
“You are joking, right?” she asked.
“Of course I am, dummy!” I laughed. “I may not be into baking, but I think I know what kind of flour we need for a cake!”
So, on Friday afternoon, I arrived at Lyndz’s armed with a bag of flour. I thought that at least if things got really bad, I could make flour bombs with it. Although I don’t think Lyndz’s mum would have been too thrilled about that.
I was the last to arrive. The others were already in the kitchen with their hair tied back and their pinnies on. Aw, sweet!
“Here she is! Our vital ingredient!” laughed Lyndz’s mum when she saw me.
“That’s me!” I said. “You can’t do anything without Laura McKenzie!”
I put the bag of flour down on the work surface next to the butter, the sugar, the icing sugar and the eggs.
“Have you got an apron?” Lyndz’s mum asked me. The others spluttered with laughter.
“Kenny? Wearing an apron? You must be joking!”
“I hope you don’t spoil your football shirt,” said Lyndz’s