by Frankie!” announced Frankie, looking up from the tray of beads balanced on her knees.
Kenny wrote that down. Then Frankie piped up again, “Oh, and I’ll do face painting.”
“Wh – what do you mean?” I spluttered. “You’re doing the jewellery.”
Frankie threw me a withering look. “And who has the face paints?”
My cheeks burned. “But I want to do make-up…” I finished lamely.
Kenny closed her eyes and sighed. “So, if you do regular make-up, Frankie can do face painting. OK?”
I busied myself with putting the top back on a lip gloss.
“Well?”
There was a silence, where it felt like everyone was thinking what a selfish thing I was to demand my rights. But it wasn’t like that. This was the first time in ages I’d had a major idea and Kenny was acting like it was nothing. I was shoved out at home and now I was shoved out with my best friends. It wasn’t fair.
Then good old Rosie chimed in, changing the subject. “I’ll do style makeovers in school and charge for them,” she said. (Her favourite TV show’s where they take someone with really awful dress sense and change her image completely. Now Rosie-posie wanted to do the same on some fashion disaster.)
“OK, ‘Rosie – style makeovers’.” Kenny wrote it down in her Sleepover diary. “So who’s doing hair?”
Pointing our fingers at her, we all shouted out, “YOU!”
“Noooo!” groaned Kenny, but you could tell she was secretly pleased. Her mum does hairdressing at home so she must have learnt something. Actually, hair was one of the other things I was dying to do, but there was no way I could make a fuss now, was there?
Lyndz consoled Kenny as if doing hair was a punishment. “You can practise haircutting on us, Kenny.”
(Not on my hair, she won’t! I vowed.)
“You’ll all probably end up bald!” Kenny warned, but she wrote down her speciality just the same.
I was feeling well bad that everyone had latched on to Kenny’s ideas so quickly. Didn’t my ideas count for anything? But it meant so much for the Sleepover Gang to beat the Little Angels in the competition, so I had to give in! And I have to admit it was fun getting into it. In the end, this is what we came up with:
1. Fliss – beauty treatments and make-up
2. Rosie – style makeovers
3. Lyndz – advertising and manicures
4. Frankie – jewellery and face painting
5. Kenny – hairdressing
“We should do a ‘Swap the Head’ challenge,” giggled Lyndz, when it was all written down in Kenny’s diary.
“What’s that?”
“You know, you cut up pictures of people and swap their heads around. Then you charge for guessing whose body belongs where.”
Frankie gave a snort of laughter. “I can just see Emily Berryman’s body with the school hamster’s head!”
“And Mrs Pickernose with its bum!”
“Wicked!”
Mrs Pickernose is our name for our gruesome dinner lady, Mrs Pickett. (Mind you, Pickett is a good name for her too, because she’s always picking on us lot.)
“Imagine Dishy Dave with Mr Short’s knobbly knees!” laughed Rosie.
We’d seen Mr Short’s knees when he wore shorts at the school fête and they were well knobbly.
“Oh, Dave, Dave!” I sighed, pretending to swoon. “I never knew your knees were so knobbly!”
Everyone shrieked with laughter and Lyndz went into a major bout of hiccups (natch!). We had to bash her on the back, and scare her with horrible faces, to try and stop her.
Suddenly, there was a loud banging on the ceiling that made us all jump out of our skins. “Keep it down in there!” my mum called out. “I’m trying to get the twins to bed.”
As if we didn’t know. Already, the babies’ ear-splitting howls were interrupting our important Sleepover Gang business. Why couldn’t they be the ones to “keep it down”, I’d like to know? Those twins were taking over the whole house!
And as if that wasn’t bad enough, Mum’s knocking had made the gang go embarrassingly quiet. I knew just what they were thinking…
My mum used to do all sorts of cool things for our sleepovers, making scrummy things to eat and treating us dead grown-up, but these days all she could think of was my baby brother and sister. Sleepovers were nothing but a nuisance to her since they came along and now she’d banished us to the living room it was even worse. It was really winding me up.
Didn’t I count for anything in this house any more?
“I know,” I said, trying to shrug it off, “let’s play Musical Make-up.” (Those twins were not going to ruin my Sleepover!)
“Musical Make-up. Brillo!” squealed Frankie, forgetting to be quiet. She leapt up, knocking her tray of beads all over the floor.
Who cares? I thought. We’ll clean up later.
Musical Make-up is the Sleepover Gang’s own version of musical chairs. Difference is, when the music stops, instead of just finding a chair, you plonk yourself opposite someone. Then the two of you make up one side of the other’s face (both working at the same time
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