Mega Sleepover 1

“Isn’t he married?”

“I don’t think so,” said Fliss. “Why?”

“He could go out with Brown Owl,” Rosie suggested.

“What a brilliant idea!” said Fliss “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Probably because I thought of it first,” I said.

“It was my idea,” Kenny muttered.

“Rosie thought of it, actually,” said Fliss.

“How would you know?” I said. “You were asleep, actually!”

Things could have got difficult. Me and Fliss often get into arguments about who thought of something first, but then my mum called us for breakfast so that was that.

But whoever’s idea it was, it spelled t-r-o-u-b-l-e. And we’d have been better off if nobody had thought of it. But you know Fliss, once she gets hold of an idea she won’t let go, especially if it’s got anything to do with weddings.

“Just think,” she said, “they might fall in love and get married. I bet Brown Owl would be so grateful, she’d even let us be her bridesmaids.”

“I doubt it,” I said.

Kenny rolled her eyes. She doesn’t mind dressing up for a laugh, but she wouldn’t want to be a bridesmaid. Personally, I wouldn’t mind, if I could choose what I wore. I’m really into silver. I’ve got a pair of silver shoes and occasionally, at weekends, I’m allowed to wear silver nail varnish. The others sometimes call me Spaceman. But I couldn’t see Brown Owl wanting bridesmaids dressed in silver.

I said, “Knowing Brown Owl, she’d probably make us wear our Brownie uniforms.”

“But we’d still get to go to her wedding,” said Fliss.

“I think it’s a great idea,” said Lyndz. “It’d be nice for both of them.”

“Come on, let’s make a plan,” said Felicity.

“I think we’d better find out if he’s already got a girlfriend first,” I said.

“How will we do that?” said Rosie.

“We’ll ask him,” said Kenny.

“When?”

“On Monday,” I said. “The sooner the better.”

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We all go to the same school. It’s called Cuddington County Primary and it’s a great school. Our teacher’s called Mrs Weaver and she’s great too, so’s the Head, Mrs Poole. She never shouts, she just looks disappointed with you, if you get sent to her. It’s not so bad, as long as you keep looking at your feet.

There’s only one thing wrong with our school and that’s Mrs Pickett; she’s one of the dinner ladies. Mrs Pickernose, we call her. She does nothing but tell people off. She is bad news. But apart from her, we all like our school.

Dishy Dave is what we call Mr Driver. That’s because he’s dead tall and good-looking, a bit like Brad Pitt. And he’s a good laugh. He calls us ‘guys’ and the boys ‘girls’. He kicks a football around with them sometimes and he plays the piano for us to dance to; he knows all sorts of tunes.

Practising our dance routines is one of our best skives. We go into the studio and turn all the lights off, apart from one or two spots, and pretend we’re dancers with Oasis. Or sometimes we go in the hall to dance and Mr Driver plays the piano. If the M&Ms haven’t got there first, that is. The M&Ms are our biggest enemies – Emma Hughes and Emily Berryman, yuk! – but I’ll tell you about them another time.

Mr Driver lives just down the road from school and he’s always in and out. The only time he’s too busy to talk to you is at home time, when he has to get on with the cleaning, but apart from that he never minds a good old chat.

So, on Monday, we went looking for him at break time. We found him cleaning some graffiti off the side of one of the mobile classrooms. We sidled up to him and then hung around waiting for the right moment.

“Uh-oh,” he said, “here comes trouble.” But he smiled and went on scrubbing. “This wasn’t your handiwork, I suppose?”

“Nooo!” we said. “Certainly not!” And we all looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in our mouths, as my grandma says.

After a bit I said, “Dave…” He doesn’t mind us calling him Dave.

“Have you got a girlfriend?”

He stopped scrubbing and started to grin. “No. But I think I’m a bit old for you, don’t you?”

I went bright red. The others started to laugh as if it was so funny.

“She didn’t mean that,” said Fliss. “We were just interested. Have you really not got a girlfriend?”

“Nope,” he said.

“Would you like one?” said Lyndz.

“Nope,” he said. “Too much trouble.”

“No, seriously,” said Kenny.

Mr Driver sort of narrowed his eyes at us. “Why are you asking?”

“We could find you one, if you like,” I said.

“What’s the catch?”

We all said, “There is no catch.”

“In that case I’d like Pamela Anderson.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Fliss. “We don’t know Pamela Anderson.”

“Sorry, not interested, then,” he said. “I’m saving myself for Pamela.”

And he went back to scrubbing Wiggie woz here off the back of the mobile. Then the whistle went for the end of break. We shrugged and sort of drifted off.

“Do you think he was serious?” said Felicity.

“Oh, get a life,” I said.