Dance-off! Read online

  “Did the whole school like it?” asked Mum.

  “Pretty much. And I think Fliss has decided she wants to be a ballerina now instead of a model,” I said. “She’s even started walking with her toes pointing sideways, like a duck!”

  This made Adam laugh so much he shook. He may have trouble speaking, my brother (he has cerebral palsy, as I expect you know) but he sure can laugh!

  Just then the phone rang. “I’ll get it!” I said and raced to pick it up. I figured it might be one of the Sleepover Club – and I was right.

  “Hey, Rosie.” I heard Kenny’s voice coming down the line. “Just calling to remind you about the sleepover tomorrow.”

  “As if I would’ve forgotten!” I said, in mock outrage. “Have we got a theme?”

  “Not really. I guess we’ve left it a bit late,” said Kenny. “I did think we could all dress up for different winter sports, in honour of Fliss going skiing, but no one’s got the right gear.”

  “Winter sports?” I repeated. “You mean like skating and ice hockey and things like that?”

  “Yep,” said Kenny.

  “I haven’t a clue what I’d wear.”

  “Well, me neither. So just bring your usual stuff. And I reckon we’ll have enough to do plotting revenge on the M&Ms, anyway.”

  Which sounded likely to me. And as it turned out, we had even more to plan than we’d expected.

  The next morning – Friday – Mrs Poole made an announcement in Assembly.

  “Most of you will have noticed by now that parts of the school roof are in a very bad state,” she said. I glanced at Frankie, who was sitting next to me. She certainly knew. Her chair still had a bucket on it.

  “A new roof costs a great deal of money,” Mrs Poole went on, “and to raise that money I need the help of everyone at Cuddington Primary. Pupils…” she looked round the hall. “… teachers, even mums and dads.”

  “I knew it,” muttered Frankie. “Sponsored spells, maths marathons, ugh!” Down at the end of our row Mrs Weaver’s head turned. Her teacher radar had sensed someone Talking In Assembly (a major sin in Weaver’s book), but she couldn’t make out who it was. Frankie zipped her lips tight shut.

  “Our first fund-raising event is something I hope we can all be enthusiastic about,” Mrs Poole was saying. “On the last day of term we’re going to have a party!”

  A ripple of excitement ran round the hall. Mrs Poole beamed. “I’d like each class to help make the decorations and plan the entertainments,” she said, “and we’ll sell tickets to as many mums and dads, grans and grandpas and aunts and uncles as we can. There’ll be raffles and competitions and lots more to tempt people along.”

  When we got back to our classroom everyone was talking at once about the party.

  “Do you think we’ll play games?” said Fliss. “Imagine Pass the Parcel with the whole school!”

  “It’d be the biggest parcel ever!” giggled Lyndz, spreading her arms out wide. “You’d have to roll it along like a giant snowball.”

  “I vote for Pin the Tail on the Donkey,” said Frankie, with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Only instead of a donkey, use the M&Ms!” She clutched her bottom and started leaping around, shrieking “Ow! Ouch!” as if someone was trying to stick pins in her.

  Well, that was it. Frankie looked so hilarious, bouncing about like a half-mad pixie, that the rest of us completely lost it. Lyndz started hiccupping, I giggled so much I got a stitch, and Kenny tripped over her bag and ended up sprawled on the floor, still laughing.

  “Settle down, now!” bawled Mrs Weaver over the noise, clapping her hands. “And do get up, Laura! Nothing is that funny.” (Which just goes to show what a hopeless sense of humour teachers have. Frankie was definitely that funny.)

  Kenny hauled herself into her chair, wiping her cheeks with the back of her sleeve. Lyndz, I could see, was holding her breath against the hiccups. Meanwhile Emma Hughes, in her best goody-goody voice, was asking, “How can we help prepare for the party, Mrs Weaver?”

  “Well, Emma, along with Mr Pownall’s class, our main job is to decorate the hall,” Mrs Weaver replied. “The party is in three weeks’ time, so we’ll spend our Art lessons between now and then working on our decorations.

  “But that’s not all.” Mrs Weaver walked round and sat on the edge of her desk, which is what she does when she’s feeling chatty. “Lorna and Sean from the British National Ballet have kindly agreed to be guests of honour at the party,” she said. “And you all did so well in their workshop that I thought this was too good an opportunity to miss. So – I’d like you to get yourselves into groups, and make up your own dance routines. On the morning of the last day of term we’ll have a competition, with Lorna and Sean as the judges. The winners will perform in front of everyone at the party.”

  “Fantastic!” whispered Lyndz, her eyes as big as saucers. Her hiccups, I could tell, had suddenly vanished.

  “To make sure no one’s left out,” said Mrs Weaver, “I’d like to know by the end of today who’s going to be in each group.”

  “We’ll be a group, right? Us five?” said Fliss, flapping a hand at the usual sleepover suspects.

  “Don’t be thick! Of course we will!” said Frankie.

  Over the other side of the classroom I saw the M&Ms huddle together with their heads down low, whispering. When they straightened up again, they were looking so smug and self-satisfied, it made me feel queasy.

  “Smug attack at 3 o’clock!” I whispered to Kenny. Kenny looked round. To show what she thought of the M&Ms she made a face, crossing her eyes and lolling her tongue out.

  As soon as the bell rang for break, we started talking about the dance competition. “Listen, guys,” said Kenny, beckoning us into a quiet corner of the playground. “This is serious. We have to win it. We have to beat the M&Ms!”

  Frankie nodded. “It’ll be the perfect revenge.”

  “They deserve to come last after what they did to you and Rosie,” said Fliss.

  “We’ll have to practise loads,” I said.

  “Too right,” said Kenny. “We can start making plans tonight at the sleepover. Bring all your best ideas. It’ll be a council of war!”

  It was great to feel we had a really important project on the go. I couldn’t wait for the sleepover. When I got home, I parked my bag by the front door ages before Fliss and her mum were due to pick me up. I was getting a lift with them to Kenny’s because it was one of Mum’s nights for being late home from college. That was why my sister Tiffany was in the kitchen right this second, complaining about having to come straight home after school to look after me and Adam.

  After tea I watched at the window for Fliss’s car, and was up and out before either she or her mum could get as far as ringing the doorbell. “See ya! Wouldn’t wanna beee ya!” I yelled to Tiff, who was upstairs giving herself a face pack (basically smearing loads of smelly mud on her face – bleurgh!), and banged the door behind me.

  “I’ve got so many ideas for the routine!” said Fliss, her eyes shining, as I opened the car door and slid on to the back seat beside her. “I would tell you now – but I guess I’d better save them till we get there. How about you?”

  “Er… I’ve got loads too,” I said, nodding vigorously. To be honest with you, I hadn’t. I’m not much good at making things up on my own. For some reason it’s miles better when I’m actually with the gang, and we’re all shouting out ideas at once.

  When we got to Kenny’s, the door was opened by her mum, who told us to go straight through to the garage. That’s where Kenny keeps her pet rat, Merlin, since she’s not allowed to keep him in her bedroom.

  “Yeuch! I’m not going in there with that thing!” whispered Fliss, clutching her rolled-up sleeping bag as if it were a magic charm to ward off rodents.

  The McKenzies have a normal-sized door that leads from the kitchen into the garage, as well as the big tip-up garage door. Fliss stood on the threshold of the kitchen door, wobbling her feet back and
forth over the ridge of the door-frame. I’d gone ahead of her into the garage, though I must admit I didn’t go very near Merlin’s cage.

  “I thought this would be a good rehearsal space,” said Kenny, flinging her arms out and spinning round. “We’ll make it the coolest, wickedest, funkiest routine we’ve ever done.” She strutted across the grimy garage floor, and struck a pose like a model, one hip stuck out to the side.

  I burst out laughing. My breath billowed out of my mouth in ghostly clouds.

  “It’s pretty cold in here,” said Fliss, shivering.

  “Too right – it’s an icebox!” said Frankie, appearing at my shoulder. “Let’s come and work it out in here when we know a bit more what we’re doing. We haven’t even talked about ideas yet. Hey – where’s Lyndz?”

  “Behind you!” We spun round to find Lyndz next to Fliss in the doorway.

  Kenny yelled, “All present and correct!” like a sergeant major. Then she bombed back into the house at a million miles an hour and pounded up the stairs, shouting, “Follow me to my HQ!”

  Up in her bedroom we found packets of crisps and popcorn, fizzy drinks and biscuits in a heap on her sister’s bed.

  “Is Molly out all night?” I asked.

  Kenny nodded. “She’s sleeping at her friend Janice’s house – so we can do what we like!” She leapt on to Molly’s duvet and started bouncing up and down.

  “Hey! You’re crunching the crisps!” said Fliss. Some of the packets were going flying, others were getting trampolined. Kenny kicked her feet out in front of her and landed on her bottom. “Right,” she said, getting her breath back. “Let’s make a start.”

  “I’m going to write down all our ideas and the things we’ll need,” said Frankie, diving into her overnight bag and bringing out a really cool purple notepad and a matching pen.

  “Well, I think we should do a ballet,” said Fliss.

  “You have to be joking,” said Kenny, reaching for a crisp packet, and tossing a couple more to Lyndz and me.

  “No, think about it.” Fliss’s face was serious. “Lorna and Sean aren’t just dancers, they’re ballet dancers, right? So what’s their favourite type of dance?”

  “Baffuff,” said Lyndz with her mouth full. “Sorry…” she swallowed, “… ballet.”

  “Right,” said Fliss. “And what d’you think they’ll like most at the competition?”

  “You’ve got a point,” said Frankie, chewing the end of her purple pen thoughtfully. “But the problem is, ballet’s really complicated. And none of us knows how to do it. Just think of those steps Lorna and Sean did at the demonstration.”

  “If we want to win,” said Fliss, “we have to give ourselves the best chance. And anyway, I go to ballet lessons. I could be the swan queen at the front and you lot could be my corps de ballet.”

  “Corr de what?” asked Kenny.

  “The ones who stand at the back,” explained Fliss.

  Kenny grinned. “Ahhh, now I see why you want to do a ballet. You want to be the star!”

  “No!” Fliss said, turning pink. “I’m just trying to think up a good plan, that’s all.”

  “We need to choose something we can all do really well,” I said. I had a big bottle of cola between my knees and I was opening it really slowly – fzzzzzzz – so it wouldn’t spurt everywhere like the Goblin’s soda. “Let’s face it, we’re competing against the M&Ms, not Lorna and Sean. And the M&Ms are hardly going to be putting on Swan Lake, are they?”

  “Rosie’s right,” said Lyndz. “Sorry, Fliss, but I think ballet’s out.”

  “OK,” said Fliss brightly. I was surprised she wasn’t huffy, considering we’d all just shouted down her idea. Then straight away she said, “How about I be Gwen Stefani, and you four can be my backing dancers?”

  “Nooooo!” the rest of us squealed together.

  “But a pop routine’s a really good idea,” said Frankie.

  “What’s wrong with Gwen Stefani?” asked Fliss.

  “Nothing,” said Lyndz patiently, “but it’d be better if we were all equal, like in the Sugababes or Girls Aloud. Don’t you think?”

  “Hey, Sugababes!” I said. “We could be Sleepoverbabes!”

  “That’s absolutely brilliant!” grinned Frankie, writing it down. “We’ve got a name, then. That’s a good start.”

  “I tell you what we should definitely have,” said Kenny. “Those cool microphone headsets they wear – you know, the ones that wrap round your head, with a tiny microphone sticking out by your mouth.”

  “Oh, ace, Kenny,” said Frankie, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going rob a bank to pay for them, or has your mum just won the lottery?”

  “Ha, ha,” said Kenny. “I didn’t mean real ones. We could make fake ones – out of wire or something. It would look so wicked!”

  “It would, too!” said Lyndz. “What could we use? Coathanger wire or something?”

  “Wait a sec.” Kenny bounded over to the wardrobe. She pulled out one of Molly’s dresses, slipped it off its hanger and chucked the dress back in the cupboard. Then she took the coathanger and tried to bend it over her head by pulling the two ends down. “Nnnnrrrgh!” Her face screwed up with the effort. “Ooof! It doesn’t half hurt!”

  “Hmm, I think the wire’s too thick,” said Lyndz.

  “And the ends are too sharp,” said Fliss. “It’d be dangerous. We could cut our mouths or something.”

  “That’s a shame,” said Frankie. “It was a cool idea, Kenny.”

  “How about garden wire?” I said. “You know – that stuff people use when they want a plant to grow up a cane. It’s quite thin, and it’s covered in plastic, which might make it less scratchy.”

  “Perfect!” exclaimed Kenny. “I’ll go and ask Mum if we’ve got any.”

  She dashed off, and was back a few minutes later with a whole roll of green-coloured wire. Unlike the coathanger, it was really easy to bend, and you could twist several pieces together if you wanted a thicker strip.

  After a few false starts, Frankie was the first to make a really good headband, with a little arm attached that curved down to her mouth.

  “You need a blob at the end for the microphone,” I said.

  “How about glueing on a Smartie?” suggested Lyndz.

  “I’d spend my whole time trying to eat it,” said Frankie, sticking out her tongue as if there was a Smartie just out of reach.

  It took us the whole evening making headsets for everyone, but it was worth it. They looked amazing. None of us wanted to take them off, even when we’d changed into our pyjamas and were snuggled inside our sleeping bags.

  “Ground control to Major Rosie,” said Lyndz.

  “Roger, ground control,” I replied.

  “This is Houston…” intoned Kenny. “Astronaut Frankie, do you read me?”

  “Loud and clear!” said Frankie. “Guys, we are so cool! The M&Ms won’t have a hope against us!”

  I was sure she was right. Little did we know, though, that the M&Ms were cooking up some major plans of their own. But we would soon find out.

  On Monday morning Kenny was the last of the Sleepover Club to arrive at school. As soon as she got through the gate the rest of us leapt on her.

  “Ace sleepover, Kenny!” yelled Frankie.

  “Taken your headset off yet?” giggled Lyndz.

  The best thing had been catching sight of Kenny on Saturday morning. She’d fallen asleep with her headset on, and when she woke up it was squashed into a weird shape, and she had a bright red stripe on her cheek where she’d been lying on the wire.

  Now Kenny growled in mock annoyance and launched herself on to Lyndz’s back. “Right, Collins!” she bawled. “Horseback punishment! Giddy-up, there!”

  “The only thing is…” shouted Fliss, above the noise of Lyndz whinnying and galloping round, and Kenny bawling out the Lone Ranger theme tune, “the thing is… we still haven’t got anywhere with the actual routine.”

  “Shhh! Keep it down!” hi
ssed Frankie, twitching her head in the direction of the playground railings, where the M&Ms were standing with Alana Palmer. From the way they were all waving their arms about, it looked like they were talking about the competition too.

  “I thought of that,” said Kenny, jumping down from Lyndz’s back. “And here’s what we do. It’s a two-pronged attack. One: keep our eyes and ears and everything else peeled for any sign – anything – that gives us a clue what those two snotty saddos are planning. And two: we hold an emergency meeting at break, round by the bins.”

  “Top plan, Captain Kenny!” said Frankie and we all did high fives.

  At break time Lyndz and I went to the loos. As we were hurriedly washing our hands, not wanting to be late for our emergency meeting, we heard voices coming from behind two of the cubicle doors.

  “It’s just going to make our routine so special,” said a gruff voice. “No one will even think of doing the same as us.”

  I nudged Lyndz. She mouthed “The Goblin?”, and I nodded and pressed a finger to my lips.

  “Of course not,” came the other voice, which belonged to the Queen, sounding really snooty as usual. “We’re leagues ahead of everyone else anyway. There won’t be any competition!”

  The next moment we heard the sound of flushing and, quick as a flash, Lyndz and I bolted out of the toilets. We didn’t want the M&Ms coming out and finding that we’d been eavesdropping.

  “What d’you reckon it is, this thing that’s going to make their routine so special?” I said, as we dashed round the gym block and headed towards the giant school bins.

  Suddenly Lyndz stopped dead in her tracks. I had to run back to her to see what was the matter.

  “You know what?” she said, clutching at my sleeve and looking really alarmed. “It sounds like they’ve got some sort of secret weapon!”

  “Secret weapon???”