Angie Bates - Sleepover Club Blitz

OK. Here’s a Sleepover mini-trailer to keep you going.

Picture one of those old-style newsreels, with that insanely cheerful male newsreader yelling over brass-band music.

SOUND OF WAILING SIRENS.

“Do you believe in time travel? You’d better! Because those five spunky Sleepover girls have just been back to the tremendously inspiring days of Spitfires, gas masks and ration books. Watch them dig for victory. Hear them warble about bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover. Laugh aloud as they try to find the outside toilet in the black-out. Find out what happens when our intrepid heroines give up the home comforts of the twenty-first century for one entire weekend, and drop in on (BOOM! CRASH!! CRUMP!!!) the Second World War – for REAL!”

Yes, I am feeling perfectly well, thank you very much.

No, I’m not making it up!

But like I said, if you REALLY want to know what happened, come back and meet me after tea, OK?

Till then, TTFN! I’ll translate later – gotta dash!!

You came back! That’s SO sweet. I was worried my disgusting germs might put you off. Actually, I think the fresh air blew my cobwebs away. I’m feeling heaps better now. Plus, I’ve got all my stupid chores out of the way.

Me and Tiff really have to pull our weight since Dad walked out, otherwise poor Mum would end up doing everything herself. Also, if you remember, my older brother, Adam, has cerebral palsy. He’d help out if he could (in some moods, anyway!). But where walking the dog is concerned, he’s not exactly a serious contender.

Anyway, the good news is, I’m finally free to chill out with our favourite fan!! That’s YOU, dumbo… Hope you noticed I swapped the doggy jogging pants for some stylish leisure wear? Us Sleepover girls have our reputations to keep up, you know!

My room feels cosy and welcoming, doesn’t it? It used to be the pits. I HATED coming up here. Every time I walked in, I’d find myself getting all uptight about Dad leaving Mum to cope with this like, HUGE falling-down house, all by herself.

Don’t tell anyone, but I think I went a bit off my rocker, those first few months. Maybe that’s why, when I first joined the Sleepover Club, I did everything I could to put the others off sleeping over at our place.

Back then I was convinced my new friends would despise me if they ever found out what a dump I lived in. Luckily they totally refused to take any notice! And I’m really glad now.

Not only were those sleepovers a real laugh (everyone just LURVES staying at our place, for some reason), but I think they improved its vibes or something, because the atmosphere has completely changed for the better.

During one of our sleepovers, my friends helped me redecorate it in my favourite colours. Now it’s my favourite place in the whole house. And boy! Since we came back from the 1940s it seems like total bedroom-heaven.

OK, keep your hair on – I’ll get around to the time-travel thing eventually. First, I want to let you into a big secret. An incredibly embarrassing secret, actually.

It’s about this boy.

This boy that I (I’m going to whisper it, OK?) – this boy I briefly, erm, gulp (eek, this is ridiculous!) – OK, here goes! This boy I really fancied.

YOU’RE shocked! Imagine how I felt!

Look, don’t panic, OK – I got over it in next to no time, so I can still wear my BOYS ARE YUCK T-shirt with pride. But for two whole lessons, I truly thought I was in L.U.R.V.E.

Is that scary or what!! Still don’t believe me? OK, I’ll give you an idea how bad it was. Would you believe an ordinary school day could feel as deliciously cool as Saturday morning hooked up to Live & Kicking and chomping your favourite brand of jelly beans? Me neither!

Then, one morning Owen Cartwright walked into our classroom – and I almost fell off my chair in awe.

I know what you’re thinking. This is not the gutsy girl you know and love, right? What can possibly have caused such a dramatic turnaround?

Well, first you should know that Owen is so-o good looking it’s unbelievable. He’s a total Prince William look-alike – except that Owen’s more your footballer type, if you get me. But he’s got that same floppy fair hair and amazing dark eyelashes. His eyes are hazel with gold flecks in. He’s also got this dreamy little smile hovering round his mouth, which gives the impression he’s smiling at these really deep private thoughts.

I don’t know if the others told you, but recently our regular class teacher, Mrs Weaver, has been away on a course. So we’ve been having this supply teacher, Miss Pearson. When she introduced Owen to the whole class, I was so dazed, all I could think was: Wow, if me and Owen got married, I wouldn’t even have to change my surname. And I leaned my chin on my hand and went into a total dream. (I told you this was embarrassing.)

Then I noticed something spooky. All the girls in the class were leaning their chins dreamily on their hands, too. All right, not Kenny. But that’s only because she’s got her image to keep up. Inside, she had turned to fluffy marshmallow like the rest of us.

No prizes for guessing the hot topic at break.

“I can’t believe it!” Fliss shrieked. “He was looking at me all through maths. I thought I was going to DIE!” She went bright pink at the memory.

OK, you’re thinking, no cause for alarm here! So what if Fliss did go soppy over some boy with a cute face? That’s just Flissy, right?

Wrong wrong WRONG! This was something WAY bigger.

Ever heard of a thing called “charisma”? I looked it up in the dictionary, in case you’re interested, and it means, “the special magnetic appeal, charm or power of an individual”.

Well, that’s Owen Cartwright to a T. He wasn’t just cute-looking. He didn’t just have this like, effortless cool. He had CHARISMA. And when girls saw him, even groovy streetwise girls like my mates, they totally lost it. They were like pitiful little iron filings, being sucked into a major magnetic field.

Boy, you should have seen the dirty look Frankie gave Fliss!

“Owen was looking at YOU?” she snapped. “Erm, I don’t think so, Flissy. Didn’t you see how when my ruler accidentally slipped out of my hand, Owen immediately handed it back? And he gave me this really gorgeous smile!” Frankie gave a big breathy sigh.

“Accidentally slipped, eh?” mused Kenny.

“Ooh, liar, liar!” spluttered Lyndz. “You practically beheaded him. That wasn’t a smile, Frankie. That was like, ‘Yikes! Don’t throw anything at me again, you strange scary girl’.”

Frankie’s lip curled. “You’re jealous, because I’m his type.”

“What type is that, then?” inquired Kenny coldly.

“Quirky. Interesting.” Frankie flicked her dark hair so that it fell over one eye. “Enigmatic.”

“Insane,” Fliss suggested, giggling.

“Get real, Frankie,” Kenny scoffed. “Didn’t you see his scarf? Owen’s a Leicester City fan, like me. Having stuff in common, that’s what counts. Not enigmatic hair or whatever.”

Fliss was studying her pastel-pink nails with their perfect half-moons. “My mum says boys prefer really feminine girls.”

Lyndz snorted. “Dream on, sister! Didn’t you see Owen’s face when I was chatting to Natalie? I was telling her where I go horse-riding. And I could see he was really fascinated.”

“Who’s the liar now?” demanded Kenny. “You expect us to believe us that was a private chat? I mean, you weren’t deliberately yelling at the top of your voice, so Owen would overhear it or anything?”