Narinder Dhami - Mega Sleepover 2

Emily Berryman’s nearly as bad. She’s dead small, with big eyes and a deep, gruff voice, so we call her The Goblin. She always gets good marks and wins things too. We don’t know how they do it. We think it’s because they cheat, but we haven’t been able to prove it. Not yet, anyway.

The worst thing about them is the way they whisper and giggle. They are seriously gruesome. The moment Brown Owl told us about the Pet Show they started giggling and behaving as if they’d already won.

And the annoying thing is they probably will win. Emma Hughes has this dog that she’s always bragging about and Emily Berryman has a cat. We’ve never seen them, but we’ve heard plenty about them.

The M&Ms are our worst enemies and the thing we hate most in the whole world, the whole universe in fact, is being beaten by them.

“We’ve got to think of a way to stop them,” I said.

“How?” said Lyndz. “I don’t think Pepsi and Buster stand much of a chance against Duchess of Drumshaw The Third and Sabrina Sprightly Dancing.”

Can you believe those names? I didn’t make them up. I don’t suppose that’s what they call them everyday, when they take them out for walks or call them for their food. That would be too stupid, even for them. But those are their pedigree names and when they’re showing off that’s what they call them.

“Pepsi’s a pedigree spaniel,” I said, “but she doesn’t have a stupid name like that.” She’s the best dog in the world and I love her to bits. She’s got a black curly coat and long ears that trail on the ground and the saddest eyes in the world. Sometimes she looks at me as if I’ve just eaten the last Rolo.

I tell Pepsi everything and she tells me all her secrets. That’s how I know she wants puppies! But when I tried to tell Mum that, she said, “Francesca, for the last time, I have told you, the answer is NO! Pepsi is getting too old to have puppies.”

“Yeah, even her ears are going grey,” said Kenny.

“So?” I said.

“Well, grey ears might stop her winning the Pet Show,” said Lyndz.

“Hmm,” I said. “I can’t see High-Jumping Dog winning either.” That’s what we sometimes call Lyndz’s dog, Buster.

He’s got these stumpy little legs, but he can jump up and reach a Smacko even when Lyndz holds it high over her head. It’s as if he’s got spring-loaded feet. And when he walks he looks like a little clockwork toy.

“I suppose he is a bit wild,” Lyndz giggled.

“Jenny’s our best hope of winning,” said Kenny. “Even though she’s a mongrel.”

Rosie didn’t like Kenny calling Jenny a mongrel. “She’s mostly sheepdog,” she said. “She can do all sorts of tricks and she’s brilliant with Adam.”

Adam is Rosie’s brother, he’s in a wheelchair.

For ages Rosie wouldn’t let us go to her house and, like idiots, we thought it was because she felt embarrassed about Adam. Then we found out it was nothing to do with Adam, she was embarrassed because her house was such a tip. Actually, it’s not really a tip; it just needs decorating. Now she lets us go round all the time.

Adam can’t walk and he can’t talk because he’s got cerebral palsy, I think that’s how you spell it. It means his brain was damaged when he was born, but he’s such a laugh. He loves jokes and playing tricks on Rosie. For instance, all their doors swing both ways, so that he can push through in his wheelchair. So he goes through in front of her and then lets it go with his feet so it whips back fast and nearly knocks her over.

Jenny, their dog, seems to know exactly what Adam wants even though he can’t talk. She brings him things. And she plays football with him.

Adam’s mad about football. He can’t use his hands because…I don’t know why, they sort of jerk about and he can’t stop them. But he can kick a football and Jenny runs after it and brings it back. She’s so clever.

Some days, after school, Rosie brings Jenny to the park, where I walk Pepsi. They love playing together and it seems really mean to me just having one dog. I’m an only child so I know how that feels! I’ve tried telling my mum and dad, but they seem to go deaf whenever I get onto that subject.

But at least I’ve got a dog. Fliss had no pet to take, as she kept on reminding us.

“It’s just not fair, I’m sick of hearing about pet shows.”

Sometimes Fliss is a real moaner. I call her the Mona Lisa.

“At least we’ve all got one thing to look forward to,” I reminded her. “Tomorrow’s our first sleepover at Rosie’s.”

“Humph,” Fliss grunted. “It’s the night before the Pet Show, so I know what’ll happen: you’ll be talking about it all night and leaving me out.”

“No, we won’t,” Rosie promised.

“If you like, we won’t even mention the word pets,” I said.

“Do you promise?” she said, satisfied at last.

The others nodded and made the Brownie promise, but in fact we needn’t have bothered, because the next day Rosie had her brainwave about Gazza, the class hamster. And in the end he came to the sleepover too.

It was Friday, the day before the Pet Show and the day of the sleepover at Rosie’s. Kenny and Lyndz had spent the dinner hour cleaning out Gazza’s cage. It was their turn on the rota. If you’re thinking that Gazza’s a dumb name for a hamster, well, it is. The boys in our class chose it. We wanted Cuddles, but we were outvoted.

Fliss had started up again about how unfair everything was. So Rosie said, “Fliss, if your mum won’t let you have a pet of your own, why don’t you ask her if you can take Gazza home one weekend?”

Fliss looked doubtful but everyone else thought it was a great idea.

“Yeah. Neat,” said Kenny. “What about this weekend?”

I jumped down to check the rota to see whose turn it was, in case it was someone who might swap with Fliss. “Uh, oh,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s Alana Banana.”

Mrs Weaver walked in just then and gave me one of her looks. She doesn’t like us calling each other names, but that is what we call her: Alana Banana Palmer.

“I was just saying, it’s Alana’s turn to take Gazza home this weekend,” I said.

Alana looked up surprised to hear her name, then she went bright pink. She said she’d forgotten to tell Mrs Weaver she couldn’t take him, because they were going away for the weekend. I think Alana’s really dippy. Mrs Weaver tutted, you could tell she thought so too.

“OK, now we have a problem.”

But before anyone else had time to volunteer Emma Hughes pushed to the front.

“That’s alright, Mrs Weaver, I’ll take him,” she said.

“Are you sure, Emma?”

She nodded and gave her one of those stoopid sickly smiles she does which make us really mad.

“Oh, yes. It isn’t a problem. Mummy won’t mind.”

But then, suddenly, without asking Fliss about it, Kenny said, “Fliss would like to take him, Mrs Weaver. She’s never had a chance before. Emma’s taken him lots of times.” Emma Hughes gave Kenny such a look but Kenny ignored her.

“Is that true, Felicity?” Mrs Weaver asked. Fliss went pink, but she nodded.

“Do you need to check with your mum?”

Fliss looked doubtful for a moment but Kenny gave her a dig in the ribs. “Oww! No, I think it’ll be OK.”

“Good. Well, I’m sure Emma doesn’t mind if Felicity has a turn,” said the teacher, turning round to find the register. “That seems only fair.”

The look on the M&Ms’ faces was too good to miss. We stood in a row and smiled back at them as if butter wouldn’t melt in our mouths, as my gran says.

“Everyone sit down now,” said the teacher. We went back to our table feeling really pleased with ourselves.