Sleepover Club Makeover Read online

  “Or did their mums help them…?” finished the Goblin right on cue.

  But Mrs Weaver, like the Sleepover Gang, had had it with the M&M’s accusations. “That’s enough, girls,” she warned. “Be good sports, now.” And both Little Angels flushed red as the fires of you-know-where!

  Served them right.

  In Maths that day, we did percentages and the Sweetcakes were beating us by 2%. They were also beating Hot Wheels by 4%. But the Sleepover Gang was beating the Hot Wheels by 1% and the Little Angels by 17%. No wonder the M&Ms had resorted to telling tales to wind us up. They were 100% losers!

  It made Maths a really interesting subject, for a change. Especially since the graph was now a regular part of our Maths lesson. Every day it showed the different coloured teams moving up and up. Our class was making loads of money and the curtains looked more and more of a reality. Yep, everyone agreed school these days was more exciting than Big Brother.

  Of course, the Little Angels were determined to beat us, each day edging up a little farther on the graph, so that by Thursday we were neck and neck. (Aaargh!) Those goody-goodies had been doing their sweet little ‘helping out’ stuff: running errands, walking dogs and babysitting, and they were cashing it in. (They even tried it in school, but most of the teachers refused to pay them for collecting books and handing in the registers. Good.) The best part was when the little darlings complained that it wasn’t fair we’d got paid for advising teachers on fashion and hair, and nobody listened.

  Two-nil to the Sleepover Gang!

  Mind you, the Little Angels weren’t the only ones getting their knickers in a twist. Oh no. The Sweetcakes fell out with their friends the Super Stars and the A-Team turned nasty with the Footies. When the Hot Wheels got into a fight with the Big Boys Mrs Weaver was not happy. She gave the whole class a huge talking to about “Healthy Competition and Rivalry” and said if there was any more unsporting behaviour, the whole thing would be cancelled.

  That shut everyone up.

  But the tension was rising as fast as the colours on the graph, and by Friday we all needed a break from it. Good thing it was a Sleepover night. What would we do without our fave, brilliant Sleepovers? Not be the Sleepover Gang, you say? Wash your mouth out with soap!

  Tonight our Sleepover was at Rosie’s, for a big change. (Rosie usually wheedles out of having Sleepovers at hers because, no matter how much we tell her it doesn’t matter, she’s still embarrassed about the state of her house.) But Rosie wanted to do a style makeover on her mum, so she relented.

  “My mum dresses way too young,” she confided as she opened the front door and let us in. “It’s well embarrassing.”

  Rosie’s mum, Karen, had gone back to college to qualify as a nursery nurse, and Rosie reckoned she dressed like the other students so as to keep up with them. Sometimes, Rosie said, she even borrowed her sister Tiffany’s teenage gear!

  I’d be so humiliated if my mum did that.

  “Well, my mum’s been wearing flowery skirts for years,” said Kenny disgustedly, dumping her Sleepover kit in the hall. “She never wears trousers!”

  “My mum’s worn the same suits all her life,” said Frankie, whose mum’s a lawyer.

  “Only difference now is they smell of baby sick!” I teased, stacking my sleeping bag neatly next to Frankie’s.

  Frankie groaned. “I know. And our car smells of nappies! Izzy always manages to fill hers the minute we get in!”

  “Yuck!”

  “I’d rather have dog poo any day,” said Rosie. “Wouldn’t I, Jenny?”

  Jenny, Rosie’s mongrel, sat up and panted as if to say “yes” and we all laughed.

  “Your hall looks nice,” Lyndz said, admiring the freshly painted walls and shampooed carpets.

  “My mum’s boyfriend did it,” said Rosie.

  “I love lilac,” I said.

  “Mmm. Wish Richard would hurry up and do the living room too.”

  “I like your living room the way it is,” said Frankie, going in and throwing herself on to the big sagging couch.

  “Yeah,” agreed Kenny, kicking an imaginary football over to Frankie. “It’s Chill Out City in here.”

  It was true. At Rosie’s house you could really relax because her mum never worries about messes and stuff. Not like my mum.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about my mum since her go at me last Sleepover. See, me and my mum always used to talk about everything…Sleepovers, school, clothes, the house… But nowadays she never had time to have a natter over a plate of homemade cookies. It felt like she’d forgotten me.

  And it was all the twins’ fault.

  “You’re lucky you don’t have baby brothers or sisters,” I remarked to Rosie, studying the row of family photographs on the bookcase.

  “No, I’ve got Adam,” laughed Rosie just as Adam came bursting through the door in his electric wheelchair. Adam has cerebral palsy so he can’t go anywhere without his “Mean Machine” (as he calls it).

  “Adam!” Lyndz rushed over to get her usual ride on the back of the wheelchair.

  “Hi.”

  “Wheee!” yelled Lyndz as the two of them zoomed about the room like loonies.

  “Yee hee!” Adam laughed and his voice box screeched loudly.

  Adam loves mucking about with us. You’d never believe how much you can understand him, even though he can’t talk properly. His voice box and his expressions can tell you loads.

  We each had a turn riding on the back of the Mean Machine and then Frankie got out her Sleepover kit. Tonight, she’d brought her face paints with her because she wanted to try out some designs to do on the little kids. “Cuddington’s full of the little monsters,” she said. “We can’t afford to lose them as customers.”

  “You said it.” I have to admit, even if Frankie does take over, she’s good at making money.

  Naturally, Adam wanted to get his face painted so Frankie agreed to try out her skills on him.

  “Do one like the robot face you had at Animal World Wildlife Park,” I said. “Remember when Lyndz was a tiger and I was a flower?”

  “And Rosie was a frog?” said Kenny, who’d had her face painted in Leicester City colours. “That was well cool.”

  We all agreed that was great. So Frankie got to work. And while she turned Adam into a robot, Kenny gave him a haircut with her mum’s electric clippers. Meanwhile, Lyndz spread out on the floor to work on a Swap the Head collage. (She planned to charge 25p a go for it.)

  As for Rosie and me, we had more important things to do. We had to turn Karen Cartwright into Rosie’s dream mum!

  Upstairs, we started going through Rosie’s mum’s wardrobe. “We need to weed out the dross,” said Rosie. “There’s masses here.” Luckily, Karen was working late at college and couldn’t see what we were up to. As for Tiffany – she was too busy talking on the phone to even notice us. “This can go!” said Rosie, “And this, and this…” She was pulling things from their hangers and flinging them on to the floor.

  “Are you sure your mum won’t mind?” I said nervously, picking up the things Rosie was throwing out, so I could fold them into a neat pile. (I’m a total neatness freak, in case you didn’t know.)

  Rosie just shrugged. “Mum said she wanted a major chuck-out, so I’m helping her. Anyway, she can always get new stuff.” Rosie knew as well as I did that her mum didn’t have much money, but she was in an unusually reckless mood.

  Suddenly, I had a brainwave. (Yes, Fliss the fluff-brain does have them sometimes, you know! Who was it thought of the Makeover, anyway?)

  “Hey, my mum’s put on a bit of weight since the twins were born and lots of her things don’t fit her any more,” I said. “Maybe they’ll fit your mum.”

  “Fliss, you’re the best!” Rosie jumped up and down on the bed. “Your mum’s gear is coo-el.”

  It’s true. My mum’s fashion sense is top, like mine. (I’ve inherited my dress sense from her.) I reckoned Karen would look bang up-to-the-minute in some of my mu
m’s things.

  Two phone calls later, and it was all settled. My mum was trying to make it up to me for ruining our last Sleepover, so she was being as sweet as pie. She promised she would go through her wardrobe and see what Karen might like, and she’d bring it over when she got a chance.

  Watch out Karen Cartwright! You’re in for a style change bigger than any you’ve ever seen on telly!

  Some Sleepovers are great and some are mega. Tonight’s just started great and kept getting better. Everyone was in a party mood, so we decided to create some atmosphere. First we turned the lights down low and the music up loud. Then we piled cushions on to the floor to laze around on and spread out our Sleepover midnight feast – Cheesy Wotsits, crisps, M&Ms (the sweet kind!) and nuts – about the room in bowls.

  “Let’s party!” yelled Kenny, punching the air, and we all danced about, singing loudly. Even Adam jerked his wheelchair in time to the music. He was well good too.

  “You look like something out of Star Wars,” giggled Lyndz, pointing to Adam’s silver painted face.

  Adam made robot noises and we all laughed.

  “Paint my face too!” begged Rosie, slurping Coke down her chin.

  “Mine too!” squealed Lyndz.

  “And mine,” I said.

  So Frankie did all of us. She did Lyndz as a kitten, Rosie as a gypsy and me as Barbie (which according to her didn’t take much). Even Kenny allowed her face to be painted in the red white and blue of the Union Jack! We looked ace.

  Frankie, of course, did herself too. She was a lion with a furry face and black nose.

  “Let’s get down!” shouted Rosie and she put on I’m the Urban Spaceman loud and proud. We danced around the house, pulling Adam with us in circles, a spaceman, a kitten, a gypsy, a doll, a lion and a Union Jack.

  “I’m the Urban Spaceman, Baby! I’m the one… I’M A LOTTA FUN!”

  Man, the place rocked!

  “Yeeeheee!” Adam was screeching away, being a robot.

  Nobody heard Karen come in, and for a second she just stood there in shock, looking from one painted face to another. Then she cried very loud, over the music, “What happened to my little boy!”

  “Bleep! Bleeep!” went Adam, screeching to a halt in front of her. “I. AM. A. ROBOT.”

  We all laughed. (All except Karen, that is.) Slowly, very slowly, she leaned forward and stroked Adam’s shaved head. “A robot, eh?” she muttered. “Well, I liked you better as my little boy…”

  “Bleep! Bleep!”

  Karen had to laugh at that. She didn’t like Adam’s shaved head, but you could tell she was dead chuffed to see her “little boy” having so much fun.

  “I must take a photo,” she said, going to the stairs. “I’ll get my camera…”

  “WAIT! Mum, wait!” screamed Rosie, and she hared up behind her mum in a desperate effort to get upstairs before her.

  Too late.

  “We are in the middle of…” began Rosie, but she was interrupted by a loud shriek of horror.

  “Aaargh! I’ve been robbed!”

  “HUH?” We all looked at each other.

  “Robbed! My clothes, my wardrobe…”

  “No, no it was us,” interrupted Rosie, looking at her mum with a sickly sweet smile. “We just helped sort out your clothes for you.”

  “WHAT! You’ve stripped my wardrobe bare!” Karen was staring in shock at the one dress left hanging there.

  “Not exactly bare…” Rosie protested feebly.

  “What do you think you were playing at?”

  But Rosie didn’t have to answer. Because luckily, very luckily, this was the very moment my mum decided to arrive, carting three bulging carrier bags with her. (And, believe me, I’ve never been so pleased to see my mum in my entire life.)

  “Mum!”

  Mum smiled. “Tiffany said I could come up, Karen. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Karen flopped back on to her bed, shaking her head in disbelief. “No, no. It’s a relief to see another grown-up!” she sighed.

  “I know just what you mean,” smiled Mum.

  “Just look at what these girls have been up to!”

  “Oh dear,” said Mum gravely, surveying the pile of discarded clothes. “The usual Sleepover Club madness, I see…”

  “Yes…” agreed Karen, then suddenly her eyes met my mum’s and they both burst out laughing.

  “The Sleepover Club madness!” They went on and on saying it as if they’d discovered the joke of the century.

  “Sometimes I feel like I’m living in a mad house!” said Karen hysterically.

  “Me too! I had to get out of mine,” shrieked my mum, “before I turned into a zombie…”

  “So you thought you’d let Andy become one instead…”

  “Yes. Let him babysit the twins for a ch-change…” They were both killing themselves by then, clutching their stomachs and wiping their eyes as if it was hilarious.

  Rosie raised her eyebrows at me and all I could do was shrug.

  Grown-ups! Can you figure them out?

  We stayed up all night telling jokes and gorging on sweets. It was class. There was a huge moon shining right through Rosie’s bedroom window and it felt like we were the only people on some silent planet.

  We kept going over the evening and laughing at how daft the mums had been. You should’ve seen them. They were so giggly they’d opened a bottle of wine and both got well out of order. They’d screamed with laughter when the gang and I mucked about dancing and Karen insisted on taking photos of our painted faces. Then the two of them had a fashion fest – trying on each other’s clothes, pretending to be in a teen video or something. Karen put on a pair of my mum’s shorts and bikini top and danced about the bedroom like she was at a beach party while my mum played imaginary bongo drums and sang some old Elvis song.

  It’s embarrassing when grown-ups get silly like that. We’re supposed to be the ones who do nutty stuff.

  “Honestly, my mum’s having her second childhood,” I said, chomping on a Crunchie Bar in the silvery moonlight.

  “And mine,” agreed Rosie, plumping up her pillow. “I’ve even had to give her boyfriend advice!”

  “And make her do her homework,” chuckled Frankie.

  “Exactly,” said Rosie primly.

  We all laughed at that. Since Karen was back to studying it was like she was the daughter and Rosie the grown-up.

  “It reminds me of that joke,” giggled Frankie.

  Son: Mummy Mummy, I don’t want to go to school.

  Mother: Son, you have to go to school.

  Son: But, Mummy, none of the kids like me, and I get bullied by the teachers. Do I have to go?

  Mother: Yes, you do.

  Son: But why, Mum?

  Mother: Because, Son… you’re the headmaster!

  Good one!

  You know how when you laugh that much you get so hysterical you forget what you’re laughing at? Well, this was one of those times. We were drumming our feet in our sleeping bags and nearly wetting ourselves. Natch, Lyndz got the hiccups. We tried to shock her by making weird noises and shining torches under our chins to make our faces scary, but it only made the Slushbucket (as we call her) shriek more. She had to stuff her head in her sleeping bag to stifle her snorts.

  No big surprise that next morning everybody slept late. When we finally surfaced from our sleeping bags, Rosie, Kenny and Lyndz were still so sleepy they just wanted to laze around watching our fave boy bands on TV. But I was anxious to get stuff for the fashion makeovers.

  “There’s only two weeks of the competition left,” I reminded my lazy friends. “We’ve got to beat those Little Angels.”

  “Yeah, and I need to get some beads to make into jewellery,” admitted Frankie. “Let’s you and me do the charity shops, Fliss.”

  I could’ve hugged her. “Wicked!”

  It’s funny. Frankie and me never used to hit it off. She was always acting like I was stupid or something, just because I’m not a maj
or brain at school. But everything changed when our parents got their little “bundles of joy” (as my gran calls them). It’s not that we don’t love the babies or anything. It’s just that now we both understand how it feels to be pushed to one side by the little darlings.

  “My mum doesn’t even care that I’m going through a difficult time,” I moaned as we made our way up Cuddington High Street.

  Frankie sighed. “Nor mine. When I reminded her what Mrs Weaver told us, that ‘preteens are a time of rapid growth’ my mum just laughed and said, ‘Yes, and parents can age twenty years overnight’!”

  “Trust your mum to compete with you about getting older.”

  “Trust yours to compete with you about being young!” snorted Frankie.

  I shook my head in despair. “No wonder I have to shop till I drop. I’m just a poor neglected child, looking for love in clothes!” Then, acting like a zombie hypnotised by the shopping bug, I pushed through the shop door into the stale, stuffy smell that says “charity shop”, and squealed, “Oooh, look at that ace top! And that big hat.”

  The charity shop had loads of gear, and even though most of it was out of the ark, there was plenty an ace fashion designer like me could do to make it up-to-date.

  “If I just cut this top short and add feathers…”

  “Mmmm… Fliss, look at these great glass beads.”

  “Pretty…” I agreed as I burrowed through a basket of scarves. “You know, I could tie these together to make a really groovy top. I saw one on the catwalks I could copy.”

  “And we could use the diamonds from this old brooch to stick on trousers.”

  It was cool finding stuff to work on. I was just sorting through a rack of leotards, when the rest of the gang walked in.

  “Hiya! Fancy seeing you here,” Rosie laughed.

  “We decided to help you out,” Lyndz grinned.

  Good old Lyndz. You can always rely on her to spur the rest of the gang into action. She gets loads of practice making her four brothers get off their bottoms.

  “Look for things that could be cut up and adapted,” I told the gang.