Fiona Cummings - Sleepover Girls Go Gymtastic!

Cover

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Have you been invited to all these sleepovers?

Sleepover Kit List

Copyright

About the Publisher

Watch me, watch me, watch me!

Cool huh? I am Kenny, fantastic gymnastic! Did you see how I went straight from those cartwheels into a walkover-handstand combo? Wicked or what? I’ll show you how to do it later if you want, but whatever you do, don’t tell Fliss, OK? She thinks she’s queen of the gymnastics scene, and once you get her started she’ll show you her full repertoire of moves and you’ll be there for days !

I guess when you think of gymnasts, you usually think of someone like Fliss, don’t you? You know, all petite and bendy. You certainly wouldn’t think of the rest of the Sleepover Club, that’s for sure. I mean, Frankie is good at lots of sports, but petite she ain’t! She’s shooting up so fast that she’s about as tall as King Kong now (though not as hairy!). Rosie’s actually not bad at cartwheels and stuff, it’s just that she’s not completely confident in herself. So after every move, she stops to check that her leotard hasn’t ridden up her bottom. And Lyndz, hmm – what can I say? Gymnastics and Lyndz just don’t mix!

And me? Well, I’ll give anything a go once. And although I’m too much of a tomboy to look all neat and tidy, I am pretty hot when it comes to the old gymnastic moves, even if I say so myself. (In fact I used to go to a gymnastics club, but Mum said I had to pack it in because I never had time to do my homework.)

So what’s with all this gymnastic talk anyway, I hear you ask? Well, my little friend, you’d better sit down and make yourself comfortable because I have one wicked tale to tell. And it’s not just about gymnastics either. Oh no. It’s also about – and I’m going to whisper this next bit in case you’re of a nervous disposition – SATs. You know exactly what I’m talking about, right? Those yucky, pukey, stupid tests that some cruel person devised as a form of torture for us poor children.

We’ve known since about Year One that this particular set of SATs was coming up, and Fliss has been panicking about them for just as long. You just have to mention the food chain, or percentages, and her eyes glaze over like you’re talking a foreign language. She’s been attending extra revision lessons with Lyndz and Rosie so they can push their scores up to the next level in the tests. I think it’s just a question of giving them confidence really, and that’s something Frankie and I certainly don’t lack. It’s not that we’re brainboxes or swotty or anything. (Swotty? Me? Per-lease!) It’s just that we don’t get all jittery when we take tests. We go in there, do our stuff and come out again. Sorted!

Well, that’s the theory anyway. This time it all went badly wrong. And by the time the SATs came round we were all under pressure – Big Time!

So you want to know how gymnastics came to be muddled up with SATs, do you? I guess I’d better start at the beginning, then.

OK, there were a few weeks to go before we sat the dreaded tests and all we seemed to hear was “SATs this” and “SATs that”. We went over and over and over fractions and reading comprehension at school. Then we’d have to do revision on the solar system or something for homework. It was enough to make a girl reach for a jumbo-sized bag of Maltesers, I know that much. And if I remember rightly, that’s exactly what I was doing when I saw the programme which just about changed our lives.

I went into the lounge and the local news was blaring out of the TV – yuckarama! That was so not what I needed to chill out with after all my hard work. But Mum and Dad were engrossed in it as usual so there was no way that I could turn it over to The Simpsons.

“Don’t tell us you’re actually going to sit down and watch this with us!” Mum looked shocked and pretended to faint.

“No way!” I mumbled. “Who wants to see all that boring stuff? If I wanted to depress myself I’d follow Molly around and watch her sad life.”

I was referring to Molly my manky sister, in case you were confused. She’s one incredibly gruesome geek, and I’m embarrassed I’m even related to her if you must know.

“Now now, Kenny, enough of that,” Dad tutted. “Fortunately for you Molly’s still at Carli’s, but she’ll be back any minute.” He patted the empty cushion beside him on the sofa. “You really ought to start watching the news you know, Kenny. It’s always a good thing to be aware of what’s happening in the world around you. I know this is going to come as a terrible shock, but the entire universe doesn’t revolve around you, your Sleepover chums and Leicester City Football Club.”

“Oh no, Dad!” I collapsed dramatically next to him. “You mean there are other things out there too?”

Dad ruffled my hair and turned his attention back to the screen. To be absolutely honest with you, I was prepared to be bored out of my skull. I was even considering going back to my revision. But then up flashed this amazing footage of kids about my age doing these brilliant gymnastic routines. They were going from backflips into these wicked handstands where they actually did the splits in the air.

“Good gracious me!” Mum’s eyes started to water. “That can’t be good for you, can it?”

“Shh, Mum, I’m trying to watch,” I hissed. I could feel Mum and Dad exchanging one of their looks over my head.

The presenter had now appeared on the screen. “Amazing, aren’t they?” she smiled. “Well, gymnastics isn’t only for Olympic hopefuls like these…”

There was a loud thud as Molly burst through the front door and dumped her bags in the hallway.

“Mum, there’s someone at the door selling stuff,” she called out. “Will you come and talk to him?”

Mum sighed and got up. Thanks to Molly I’d missed what the presenter was saying. I think it was something about gymnastics encouraging coordination and teamwork. I missed the next bit too because the phone rang.

“Dad, it’s for you!” Molly yelled. “It’s Mrs Davies about her piles!”

I couldn’t believe it. The one time I was actually interested in something on the news, I couldn’t hear a word because my stupid sister kept yelling at everybody. I went to sit on the carpet about a metre in front of the screen. And a good job I did too, because the presenter woman was just moving on to the interesting bit.

“… looking for raw talent. So we’re organising a competition in the Leicester area to get all you 8- to 12-year-olds more involved. To make it fun we want you to get together with a group of up to five friends and work out a routine using some basic gymnastic moves. Each of you should perform a very short solo routine, and end by performing a routine all together. The music you choose is very important because it should enable you to express lots of different emotions. Now don’t worry, we’re not looking for anything like this…”

The film cut to a mind-blowingly complicated series of leaps, backflips and balances.

“What a load of prats!” Molly must have been watching from the doorway. “You wouldn’t catch me prancing around like that.”

“Well, seeing as you’re as flexible as a tree trunk when you try to dance, I don’t think there’s much hope for you in gymnastics anyway,” I grinned.