Sleepover Girls Go Dancing. Harriet Castor

      by Harriet Castor

      CONTENTS

       Cover

       Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

       Chapter Four

       Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Have you been Invited to all these Sleepovers?

       Sleepover Kit List

       Copyright

       About the Publisher

      

      Take your partner by the hand…Fling her high and watch her land!

      Hey, can I grab you for this one? I’ve been looking for you everywhere. It’s Rosie – remember me? ’Course you do! Woah, watch out for Kenny! When she gets on the dance floor, you have to keep out of the way – she’s like some crazy firework, shooting off in all directions. And just look at Frankie go! She’s strutting her stuff like she’s on the telly – she could be one of S Club 7.

      Hang on, maybe we should sit out for a minute, so I can fill you in on all the goss. The last day of term is always a bit crazy, but you won’t believe what’s happened this time. You’ll be on the edge of your seat when I tell you, I guarantee it.

      Talking of seats, let’s park ourselves on these chairs. We need a quiet corner or Fliss’ll hop over and butt in, ’cos it’s such a great story and she reckons she stars in it. I know she’s dying to tell you everything, but I found you first!

      You remember us all, don’t you? We’re another S Club – the Sleepover Club. S Club 5, I guess, ’cos there are five of us. There’s me, of course, and Fliss – Felicity Proudlove, if you want to be formal, though she used to be called Sidebotham before her mum married Andy. Poor Fliss – both names make the M&Ms snigger, but don’t worry, we’re always thinking of ways to get back at them for it. The M&Ms – that’s Emma Hughes and Emily Berryman (yeuch!) – are our worst enemies at school.

      Then there’s Frankie. You can never miss her, she’s so loud and funny, and dressed up in mad clothes half the time. She’ll boss you around, too, given the chance! And Kenny – Laura McKenzie to the teachers, but don’t call her that or she’ll karate-chop you! Kenny’s wild. She’s football-crazy, for a start, and always coming up with outrageous schemes too. You’ve got to watch her, especially when the M&Ms are nearby. There’s nothing Kenny wouldn’t do!

      Last but not least there’s Lyndz. Look – she’s over there, boogying with Frankie. Laughing Lyndz she should be called, ’cos she’s always cheerful, and loves giggling. Except, with Lyndz, two seconds of giggling turns into hiccups, and that’s that!

      As the Sleepover Club we have the wickedest time staying at each other’s houses every week. The Trouble Club, my brother Adam calls us – what a cheek! Except, when you’ve heard what’s just happened to us, I guess you might agree with him…

      It all started a few weeks ago, in the middle of a history lesson (yawn!), when Frankie started squealing. Now Frankie’s not one to make a fuss about nothing, so when I heard her making that noise –

      “Aieee!”

      – and saw her leap out of her chair as if she had a party popper up her bottom, I thought something major had happened, like the M&Ms had put slimy slugs in her socks.

      “Francesca Thomas, whatever is the matter?” said our teacher, Mrs Weaver.

      Frankie had her fingers in the back of her collar, and she was jumping up and down as if she was trying to shake something out of her clothes.

      “What did you put down her neck?” Kenny yelled at the M&Ms, who had been sitting right behind Frankie.

      “Laura, sit down!” barked Mrs Weaver.

      “Nothing, stoo-pid,” smirked Emma ‘the Queen’ Hughes. “We always knew she had ants in her smelly pants.”

      I could see Kenny seething at that. The M&Ms are so snooty and babyish, it’s just gross. Then I saw it. Plip! A big splodge of water landing on Frankie’s chair. I looked up.

      “Mrs Weaver!” I said, pointing up to the ceiling. “Something’s dripping!”

      It turned out that the classroom roof had sprung a leak right over Frankie’s chair, and it had dripped ice-cold water down the back of her neck. Mrs Weaver cheerfully sent Danny McCloud to get a bucket from the cleaners’ cupboard. It was weird. She usually got really narked about stuff like this.

      Frankie had to move seats. “What’s got into Weaver?” she whispered to me as she went by.

      “P’rhaps she’s won the lottery,” I hissed back.

      “She wouldn’t be giving us a history lesson if she had,” muttered Lyndz, who was sitting next to me. “She’d be in Barbados by now.”

      Just the mention of Barbados made me go all dreamy – thinking of hot sun, and sandy beaches and palm trees, or whatever they have over there. We used to go on ace holidays abroad when Mum and Dad were still together. Since they split up and Mum started college, though, we can’t afford it, worse luck. So here I was, stuck with my dreams on a wet wintry Wednesday in Cuddington.

      But not everyone was feeling grumpy. When the bell was about to go for break Mrs Weaver said, with a big smile on her face, “I have some really exciting news.”

      “I knew it!” I heard Kenny mutter. “She’s got engaged to Prince William!”

      Lyndz snorted into her pencil case. I thought she was going to get the giggles, but Mrs Weaver gave her a stern look.

      Then Mrs Weaver unrolled a glossy poster and pinned it up on the classroom wall.

      Fliss gasped. Kenny groaned. The poster said British National Ballet on it,