Party Time

Fiona Cummings

Cover Page

Title Page

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Top Sleepover Tips

Have you been invited to all these sleepovers?

Copyright

About the Publisher

Hi there. I know what you’re going to say. “Frankie, you’re late!”

I’m right aren’t I? That’s what the others are always saying these days. It always used to be Lyndz who was late, and I was super-dooper organised. Not any more! My house is so manic at the moment it’s a wonder I ever get out at all. But I’ll tell you all about that in a minute. We really ought to sit down and catch up on all the goss. Poor Fliss is still recovering. It all got a bit much for her – and her mum. But Kenny was in seventh heaven because she managed to do her doctor bit at last. And Lyndz and Rosie, well they’re still hiccuping and giggling about it whenever anyone even mentions what happened.

Sorry I’m gabbling, but there’s just so much to tell you. Come on, let’s sit over here and I’ll fill you in on all the details. But boy, where do I start? OK, well I guess the beginning’s as good a place as any.

It all started before Christmas. No, much sooner than that. It all really started months ago when I found out that Mum was pregnant. I’d wanted a little baby brother or sister for as long as I could remember, and when I found out that Mum was expecting a baby I was totally blown away by the excitement. The others all tried their hardest to put me off by giving me loads of grisly details.

“Babies are just totally embarrassing,” warned Lyndz. “Didn’t you learn anything when we were helping Rosie’s sister with her babysitting last time?” (Now that’s a story and a half – if you haven’t read about it yet, you’re in for a real treat!) “Babies are either pooing or being sick. And my older brothers aren’t much better.”

Poor Lyndz has four brothers and she reckons that they make her life a misery.

“At least you’ll be a lot older than your brother or sister,” reasoned Kenny. “You’ll be able to boss it about all the time. How cool is that!”

Her eyes gleamed at the thought. Molly the Monster, as you know, is only a year older than Kenny, but is one major super-witch when it comes to being horrible.

“Yeah, when you’re wanting to go out, it’ll be pestering you to play!” laughed Rosie. “Tiff always says that I’m a major pain when she’s getting glammed up, and she’s only four years older than me! But I’m sure that you’ll have a lot more patience than her,” she added. “And you won’t have a boyfriend as ugly as Spud either.”

The others all nodded.

“I won’t have a boyfriend at all!” I said indignantly.

“Yes you will!” snorted Fliss. “When the baby is our age, you’ll be twenty! Imagine that. You’ll probably be at university then. You might even be married!”

We all guffawed.

“No way!” I yelled. “You’ll be married to Ryan Scott, more like!”

Fliss just blushed and went all giggly – as usual!

We had loads of conversations like that, and the others always told me horror stories about being a sister. Now don’t get me wrong. I was still desperate to have a baby to look after, but the more they told me, the more nervous I got. I mean, it just seemed so long since I’d found out about the baby, and it wasn’t even due until January.

“I wish it would hurry up!” I told Mum one day at the beginning of December. “I just want to get on with being a big sister.”

“Well, I’m not ready to be a new mum again just yet, thank you very much!” she laughed. “We’ve still got far too much to do!”

That was true. They still hadn’t sorted out where the baby was going to sleep for one thing. At this rate, it would be sharing Pepsi’s basket in the kitchen!

“But how will I know if I’ll be any good as a sister?” I asked Mum.

“You’ll be just great!” she smiled, ruffling my hair. “If you’re so worried, you could always practise on something. There are some schools that make students look after a bag of flour as though it’s a baby. I know it sounds weird, but it gets them used to having someone else to think about.”

“You want me to push a bag of flour about in a pram?” I asked, open-mouthed.

“It doesn’t have to be a bag of flour,” Mum explained. “You could use one of your old dolls. The important thing is to treat it as though it really is a baby. No dumping it under your bed when you’re fed up with it. Just look after it for a day or so and I guarantee it will open your eyes.”

Yes, I know, I know – it sounds really wacky, doesn’t it? But I thought it might be worth a try. I went up to my room and pulled the box of old dolls out of my cupboard. I hadn’t looked at them for absolutely ages and it felt really weird holding them again.

“You’re way too old for all this, Frankie,” I told myself.

But I got them all out anyway and sat them in a line on my bed. I felt kind of funny seeing them like that, because it brought back memories of when I was little. I had this one doll I used to call Diz that I used to take everywhere with me. I picked it up now, and it looked so tiny and shabby. I felt really bad, like I’d abandoned it or something. But I couldn’t use that as my baby because it just didn’t look right. It was too small for a start and had matted wool hair. The others didn’t look much better, to be honest with you.