Sleepover in Spain

Cover

Title Page

Have you been Invited to all these Sleepovers?

Sleepover Kit List

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Copyright

About the Publisher

PLUS: sun cream and sunglasses!!

Hiya, I’m back! It’s me, Frankie, remember? I thought it was about time we had a chat ’cos it’s been ages since I last talked to you. And I’ve got loads to tell you.

You haven’t forgotten us, have you? There’s me and my best mate Kenny, and Fliss and Rosie and Lyndz – the Sleepover Club. We’ve been having sleepovers for months now, and we always have a great laugh. So we were a bit shocked when Kenny said what she did. I mean, you know Kenny – she likes to stir things a bit. But this time what she said really made us sit up.

Anyway, it all started one afternoon at school. We were making models of horses out of clay (after our horsey sleepover, we’re all nuts about horses now), so, of course, there was clay everywhere. Even Fliss was covered in it, and she’s the neatest person in the known universe. She even gets her mum to iron her knickers!

“Hey, look!” Kenny stuck a lump of clay on the end of her nose, and grinned at the rest of us. “Pinocchio!”

“Thanks a lot, Kenny!” Fliss snapped, yanking it off her. “That’s supposed to be my horse’s tail!”

“All right, how about this then?” Kenny started sticking tiny bits of clay all over her face. “Look, it’s Emma Hughes!”

We all fell about laughing. Emma’s been off school with chickenpox, so her best mate Emily Berryman’s had to hang out with dozy Alana ‘Banana’ Palmer instead. You remember Emma and Emily, otherwise known as the M&Ms, don’t you? They’re our Number One Enemies. Alana Banana’s sort of our enemy too, but she hasn’t got any brains so we don’t worry about her that much.

“OK,” I said, squinting down at my model. “Be honest, you lot. I can take it. Does this look like a horse to you or not?”

“Nope,” said Lyndz.

“No way,” said Fliss.

“No chance,” Rosie added.

“It looks more like a giraffe,” Kenny remarked.

“Oh, great,” I said crossly, crushing my model flat. “Don’t hold back, will you?”

“Your horse looks like it’s been run over by a steamroller, Frankie,” Mrs Weaver said, coming towards us. She raised her eyebrows at the squashed heap of clay in front of me. “What have you been doing for the last hour?”

“Sorry, Miss,” I said quickly. “I just couldn’t get it right.” As my grandma always says, if at first you don’t succeed – give up.

Mrs Weaver glanced at the clock. “Well, you’ve got about ten seconds left before we tidy up, so it’s not worth starting again.” Then she looked at us. We were all wearing overalls, but our hands were caked in clay, plus Lyndz had some in her hair and Kenny still had bits stuck on her face. “I think you’d better go and clean yourselves up too.”

We lobbed our leftover clay into the clay bin, and ran for the sink in the corner. Fliss got there first.

“Ow! Stop pushing!” she complained, as we all tried to elbow our way in front of her.

“Hurry up or I’ll shove a lump of clay down your neck!” Kenny warned.