Mega Sleepover 3

“Mama,” begged Fliss.

“Okay, okay,” Kenny said. “Tell you what we’ll do. We’ll put the CD on and try them all out and see which one we do the best.”

We soon found we had a mega problem. The louder we sang, the louder we had to turn the volume up in order to hear the Spice Girls. And the more we turned it up, the louder we had to sing, until we were screeching at the tops of our voices.

I switched the machine off in the middle of Mama.

“It’s no good,” I said. “We’ll just have to mime.”

“No, no!” Fliss wailed.

“Or else get hold of a karaoke tape with just the music on,” suggested Frankie.

That was the best idea anyone had had all day. In fact, we were so happy about it that we decided to eat our tub of ice cream, which was busy melting.

Before we could even pick up a spoon, doom struck in the shape of my oldest brother, Stuart. He hammered on my door and yelled, “Hey, Lyndz, you haven’t seen the food that was in the fridge in the garage, have you?”

My hand shot to my mouth and I felt quite ill.

Fliss let out a squeak like an electrocuted mouse.

Frankie groaned, “Oh, no,” then we all tried to be as quiet as anything.

But it was no good. Stu came barging in, totally ignoring my Keep Out notice on the door.

“Aha! Thought as much!” he said, swooping on the ice cream. Luckily, we hadn’t even got the lid off yet.

“I’ll have those chocolate biscuits, please. And the big bag of crisps,” he demanded.

“Er…” I went. The others had gone bright pink and were starting to giggle. “Shut up!” I hissed at them.

I saw Kenny trying to push the remains of one of the biscuit packets under the bed, but I had so much junk over there that it wouldn’t go.

“Don’t tell me you’ve scoffed the lot?” Stu said. “I’ve got Tony and Mick here for band practice. That food was for us. I bought it and hid it specially so that greedy pigs like you and Tom wouldn’t find it.”

I looked at my feet, wishing they’d disappear through a hole in the ground, with me following them. But no such luck.

“Sorry,” I said. “How was I expected to know that stuff was yours? Put your name on it next time.”

“Two pound fifty, that lot cost me. You can jolly well pay me back!” he said.

He went out, going, “Piglets. Oink, oink.”

I could hear his foul friends laughing. Foul fiends, I should say. Who’d have brothers?

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Next day, Mrs Weaver, our class teacher, said that anyone who intended to enter an act for the charity show had to tell her by the following day.

Frankie put her hand up. “Can we tell you now, Mrs Weaver?” she asked.

“Of course, Frankie,” Mrs Weaver replied.

I looked round. I could see everyone was bursting with curiosity. Especially the M&Ms. Emma’s eyes were just about popping out of her head and Emily’s ears were flapping like Dumbo the elephant’s.

“We don’t want everyone to know, though. We want to keep it a secret,” I said.

Mrs Weaver smiled and said, “I see. Then write down what you want to do and give it to me.”

Frankie tore a page out of her general notebook and started scribbling. She folded it up and passed it to Mrs Weaver, who unfolded it and started to read it.

My heart was racing. Please don’t give the game away, PLEASE! I begged her silently, trying to use telepathic powers to get through to her.

Well, they’ll never write an X-Files story about me, because my extra-sensory powers are obviously nil. The next moment, Mrs Weaver put her foot right in it by saying to Frankie, “So there’s you, Felicity, Laura, Lyndsey and who’s the fifth girl? I can’t read your writing.”

The five of us looked at each other in panic.

“It’s me,” Rosie squeaked.

“Rosie Cartwright,” said Mrs Weaver, writing it down.

I saw the M&Ms exchange excited glances. Emma gave Emily a big smirk.

Emily - The Goblin, as we call her - nudged The Queen (that’s Emily), who in turn nudged Banana, alias Alana Palmer. Then she said nastily, “I hope you don’t think you’re going to be the Spice Girls. We’re going to be the Spice Girls. That was our idea. They pinched it, Mrs Weaver.”

Kenny gave a gasp and jumped to her feet. “We never did!” she said. “Don’t tell porkies!”

I jumped up, too. “We decided days ago. We’ve already been practising!” I said.

Mrs Weaver waved her hand. “Now, now, girls, stop arguing,” she said. “There can be more than one Spice Girls act, and may the best one win!”

Emma, my personal worst enemy since yesterday when I’d spilt water down her stupid neck, turned round. She screwed up her face and her horrid, blobby nose so that she looked like a squashed tomato, poked out her tongue at me and said, “See?”

I pulled a face back.

“So I take it you and your friends want to be the Spice Girls, too?” Mrs Weaver said.

“Yes please, Mrs Weaver,” replied The Goblin, in her most sucking-up tones. Creep! She’s just pathetic.

“And who else will be singing with you?” asked Mrs Weaver.

The M&Ms nudged their slave, the slimy Banana, and she put her hand up.

I looked at Rosie. She was giggling. “They’ve only got three Spice Girls,” she said.

“I’ll join you, if you like.”

We all stared as Regina Hill spoke. Even the M&Ms stared. Regina hasn’t been in our class for long. Her family have only just moved to Cuddington from London and we don’t know much about her, especially as she’s rather quiet. So everyone was amazed when she spoke.