Sleepover at Kenny’s: Definitely Not For Boys!

by Rose Impey

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Goodbye

Have you been invited to all these Sleepovers?

Sleepover kit list

Copyright

About the Publisher

Shall I tell you what I got for Christmas? A pair of shoes with heels. Coo-el. At first my mum said I wasn’t old enough for heels.

“I’m ten,” I told her. “How old do you have to be?”

Dad said, “You’re tall enough already.” But he’s just worried that one day I’m going to be taller than him.

I really, really wanted them, you know what I mean? So I just kept on and on and in the end… I won! One-nil to me. Yeah!

They’ve got silver buckles on them. They are drop-dead gorgeous. I told Mum and Dad, “You’re the best, most groovy parents in the whole wide world.” So it was really important to come up with something brill for them.

My dad was easy, I always buy him a big bar of Toblerone. It’s his fave chocolate. Then I found the perfect present for Mum: this fat little pig lying down in the mud with all her babies round her. It was so cute. My mum adores pigs, she’s got a whole collection. The only trouble was it cost four pounds fifty!

I’m always broke, are you? Kenny is too, money goes through her fingers like water. So we came up with this brilliant idea to earn some, and we got the rest of the Sleepover Club to help us. It was a great plan and we could have been seriously rich, if Kenny’s horrible sister, Molly The Monster, hadn’t spoiled everything. But don’t worry, we got our own back. When we had our last sleepover at Kenny’s house we gave her a real scare. It was excellent.

I know, I know, we got grounded again, but listen, it was worth it. She nearly went haywire. And I had the best part in it.

Come on. Let’s go up to my room and I’ll tell you all about it. But remember, this is Sleepover Club business, so don’t tell the others I told you.

Can you remember everyone? Laura McKenzie, otherwise known as Kenny. Fliss – her real name – Felicity Sidebotham. Lyndsey Collins – we call her Lyndz, we’ve been friends scince we first started school. And Rosie Cartwright. And me, of course: Francesca Theresa Thomas, but everyone calls me Frankie.

Now where should I start?

I suppose it really started early in December, the day we were helping our teacher, Mrs Weaver, put up the Christmas decorations in the hall. It was a great skive, it took all afternoon. She kept having to go out to check on the rest of the class so we spent most of the time wrapping ourselves up in paper chains and Chinese lanterns. It was such a laugh. Then we started talking about Christmas presents and what we were going to buy each other. After that I didn’t feel like laughing.

“I’ve got all your presents and they’re already wrapped,” said Fliss.

I couldn’t believe it.

“What’ve you got us?” said Kenny, straight out, just like that.

“The new Oasis tape.” Fliss looked so pleased with herself.

“What, all of us?” said Rosie. “Wowsers!”

The others were dead excited but at first all I could think was: it’s just not fair. Fliss has so much more money than the rest of us. She gets loads of pocket money. Even Lyndz can earn extra by helping her mum with Spike, their baby, but Rosie and Kenny and me just get regular pocket money and it’s never enough, especially at Christmas. Fliss had spent nearly as much money on each of us as I had to spend on everyone put together.

When I went home I tried to talk to my mum and dad about it but it was a waste of time. My mum and dad are lawyers; they have an answer for everything.

“Please, can I have some extra money? I really need it. Fliss has spent pounds on my Christmas present.”

“How do you know that?” said Dad. “Did she leave the price on?”

“Of course not. But everyone knows what tapes cost.”

“Well, perhaps Felicity can afford to spend that much on her friends, but it’s no reason why you need to,” said Mum.

“Remember it’s Christmas,” said Dad. “It’s not a competition.”

Well, I knew that. My grandma’s always telling me, it’s not the gift that counts, it’s the thought behind it. But it wasn’t just Fliss’s present I was worried about. I needed money for everyone’s. I went upstairs and emptied my purse and counted my money. But I’d only counted it half an hour earlier and it still only came to £8.43. If I spent £4.50 on my mum’s pig I’d have less than £4 to spend on everyone else put together. I wrote a list of the people I wanted to give presents to: Mum & Dad, Grandma, Grandad, Kenny, Fliss, Lyndz, Rosie and some chews for Pepsi, my dog. It just wasn’t enough and you didn’t have to be Mastermind to work that out.

I needed a good moan, so I got on the phone to Kenny. She’s my best friend after all and that’s what best friends are for.

“Hiya. It’s me, Frankie.”

“Oh, hi, Frankie.”

“I am so broke. I’ve only got £8.43 in all the world.”

“Well, that’s more than I’ve got.”

“I don’t know how I can possibly be expected to get all my Christmas presents with a measly £8.43.”

“No, nor me.”

“And now Fliss has spent pounds on us I feel terrible only spending 50p on her.”

“Mmmm. Me too.”

This conversation was not helping at all. It was a bit like talking into a black hole. What we needed here was some action.

I said, “So! What are we going to do?”

“Rob a bank?”

“Oh, Kenny, be serious. We need to find some way of making money where we won’t end up in jail.”

“OK. Let’s both make a list. I’ll ring you back.”

I sat down with a pen and a pad and tried to come up with some ideas, but the more I thought about it the madder I got. There are a few things about my family which I don’t think are at all fair. For example, I am an only child, which I think is completely unfair. I keep telling my parents how much I’d like a brother or sister, but they don’t take any notice. Although, come to think of it, if I had, it would mean an extra present to buy!

Another thing is that I already do all sorts of jobs which other people could get extra pocket money for, like walking the dog for instance. Yes, I know she’s my dog, but even so… And like washing up, or drying and putting away. Other people get extra money for doing that, but I’m expected to do it anyway. Mum and Dad are always telling me, “We’re a team, Frankie. We all do our share. That’s fair, isn’t it?”

I suppose it is, but it doesn’t help me make any money, does it? The other thing is, my mum and dad don’t give me as much pocket money as other people get, even though they could afford to, because they don’t believe in spoiling me! Huh! I wish. They think all the adverts on TV make children want lots of things they don’t really need, and I suppose they do. But this is different. This is to buy presents for other people, for them even.

But they have an answer to that too. My mum and dad would be happy if I just made them something out of egg boxes, because, yeah, yeah, I know – it’s the thought that counts. I just wish all my friends knew that!

At least Kenny did. And, however broke I was, I knew that Kenny was more broke. She’s a disaster area where money’s concerned.

Kenny can’t earn extra pocket money washing up or drying the pots either, because they’ve got a dishwasher. She used to be able to earn a bit extra if she loaded it for her mum, but not any more. Last summer they had this big birthday barbecue and Kenny loaded it with paper plates which disintegrated and blocked up the outlet and they had to call a plumber.

“How was I to know?” she said. “They were dead cute plates, with shells and fish on. I thought you’d want to use them again.”

“Not much chance of that, now they’re sandblasted onto the sides of the dishwasher,” her dad yelled at her.

Anyway since then she hasn’t been allowed to do any jobs in the kitchen.

Helping out in the garden was another idea, but there’s not much to do in December. And Kenny’s dad said he had no intention of spring cleaning their garage at this time of year just to please us. So that was that. Back to the drawing board, as my dad says.

“What about washing cars?” Kenny suggested at last.

“That’s the first sensible idea you’ve had,” I said. “Whose shall we start on?”

We started on my mum’s VW and we were just in the middle of doing it when Lyndz came round on her mountain bike. We’re usually dead pleased to see Lyndz but this time we weren’t, for obvious reasons.

“Hiya. What’re you doing?” she said.

“Crocheting a pair of mittens for the dog!” I said. “What does it look like?”

Lyndz grinned. “Can I help?”

Kenny and I looked down at our feet and sighed. We were both hoping she wouldn’t ask that. My mum had agreed to pay Kenny and me 50p each, if we did a good job and didn’t leave too much mess. We’d been really sensible and we’d nearly finished, so we didn’t want to have to share it with Lyndz. But we both felt really mean leaving her out.

“OK,” I said. “But no water fights, or else.” I don’t know why I even bothered saying that. When Kenny and Lyndz get together they always go bananas. Like that time they had a shopping trolley race in the supermarket and knocked down a humungous stack of bottles of mineral water.

Fortunately, this time Mum didn’t go too mad because it was only soapy water they were throwing around and they got most of it over themselves. In fact she gave us all 50p and an ice lolly each.

After that we all cycled round to Kenny’s house and persuaded her mum to let us clean her Fiesta. And then Kenny’s next-door neighbour, Bert, who’s really nice, said we could do his. We didn’t charge him as much because he’s a pensioner. But by the end of the afternoon we’d each made $1.25.

“This is great,” said Kenny. “We’ll soon be rich.”

“How do you make that out?” I said. “My mum won’t have her car cleaned again for months.” And I knew my dad wouldn’t let us loose on his BMW, he’s too proud of it.

“We’ll ask the other neighbours,” she said. “Down your road and in our close.”

“What? You mean knock on people’s doors?”

“We’ll put a note through their letter boxes, like a proper business.”

“Are you mad?” I said.

“I think it’s a great idea,” said Lyndz. So that was it. I was outvoted, which was a bit off since I was the one who’d started it all. But that was only the beginning. On Monday morning, when old Bossyboots Fliss heard about it, she took over straight away.

“Listen, I’ve got a great idea: we can print the notices out on Frankie’s computer,” she said, “so we look really professional.”

“We?” I said. “Since when did you need to earn any money? You’re loaded already.”

“Well, I’m not,” said Rosie. “I could do with earning some money before Christmas. Adam wants a new game for his computer and I said I’d give Tiff something towards it.” Adam is Rosie’s brother, he’s computer-mad. And Tiff is Rosie’s older sister. She’s fifteen and she works after school in the local supermarket, so she could afford it on her own really.

“Listen,” said Kenny. “If we do it together and get properly organised, we’ll be much quicker, so we’ll do more cars, so we’ll earn more money, so there’ll be enough for all of us.”

“Yeah,” said Lyndz. “And it’ll be more fun, if it’s all five of us.”

I nodded. I supposed she was right. But I had a funny feeling that things were already getting out of hand. It felt like another of those times when, as my gran says, it would all end in tears.

After school everyone came round to my house and we went up to my bedroom. I’m not supposed to have friends round after school, I’m supposed to go next door to Auntie Joan’s until my mum and dad get home from work, and watch TV with the gruesome Nathan. He’s not my cousin, thank goodness. And Joan’s not my real auntie, I just call her that. But she’s a good sport and she said that just this once we could go up and play on my computer, and she’d look in on us and bring us some cookies, when they came out of the oven.