Hit the Beach!

I’d just walked in through the school gate when I saw the freakiest thing. You’ll laugh, I know, but I had to sit down on one of the playground benches, because I honestly thought I was having a funny turn.

What I saw was this: Frankie talking to Emily Berryman. They were actually having a conversation. Neither of them looked like they were enjoying it much, it’s true, but they weren’t yelling or pinching each other or taking the mickey.

“All right, Kenny?” said Lyndz, bounding up to me.

“What’s going on?” I said, pointing at Frankie.

“Oh that,” said Lyndz, all breezy like it wasn’t strange at all. “Just a Sleepover Club plan.”

I looked at her. “What do you mean? How come I don’t know about it? I’m in the Sleepover Club!” A horrible thought – that they’d thrown me out for being grumpy yesterday – shot into my brain. “Aren’t I?”

“Course you are,” laughed Lyndz. “Don’t worry. The rest of us talked on the phone last night and decided we had to do something to help, that’s all.”

I didn’t have a clue what to say – and that’s a rarity for loudmouth McKenzie, I can tell you. I didn’t much like the idea that Frankie, Lyndz, Rosie and Fliss had been talking last night and had left me out of it. On the other hand, I felt a whole heap better knowing that my friends were on the case.

“So – spill. What’s the plan?” I said.

“Ask Frankie,” said Lyndz. And before I could grab her and threaten her with a Chinese burn, she’d dashed off.

So I legged it across the playground towards Frankie, but as I passed the window of Mrs Poole’s office, I slammed on the brakes and did a major double take. It couldn’t be… it was! Fliss and Rosie were in there, talking to Mrs Poole. What on earth was going on?

This was seriously weird. Shaking my head, I set off again. By now, Frankie had finished her cosy chat with the Goblin.

“What’s going on, Frankie Thomas?” I demanded, grabbing her round her middle. “Tell me, or I’ll tickle you till you wee yourself!”

“Aaaagh! Ah-ah-ah, noooo!” Even when she’s doubled up with giggles, Frankie’s a good match for anyone. With one nifty move, she twisted out of my grip and leapt away, laughing. “You’ll find out, Sherlock! We’ve got a plan. It may not work, though…”

Just then the bell rang.

What could I do? Short of biffing Frankie with my rucksack (and I was in enough trouble anyway, thank you very much), I couldn’t think of a thing. So I tramped inside along with everyone else and sat there like a lemon while Mrs Weaver took the register. Just as she got to the Ts there was a knock on the classroom door. It was Mrs Lynch, the seriously scary school secretary.

“I’m so sorry to disturb you, Mrs Weaver,” she said, “but could you spare Emily Berryman for a moment? Mrs Poole would like to see her.”

“Of course,” said Mrs Weaver, looking surprised. “Run along, Emily.”

Though Mrs Weaver looked surprised, the Goblin didn’t. She shot Frankie a look I couldn’t fathom, and followed Mrs Lynch out of the room.

I have to say, when Emily came back ten minutes later and said to Mrs Weaver that now old Pooley wanted to see me, I was past being surprised. Mrs Poole could have walked in with a blancmange elephant on her head and I wouldn’t have batted an eyelid (though I might have fallen off my chair laughing).

As I stood up, Frankie squeezed my hand. “Good luck,” she whispered. Good luck with what? I wondered. Was I going to be carted off to the Tower of London after all?

When I reached her office, though, I found Mrs Poole looking a lot jollier than the day before.

“Some more facts have come to light about yesterday’s unfortunate incident with the yoghurt, Laura,” she said. “I understand that there had been some provocation.”

“Yes, Mrs Poole,” I began. “I tried to tell you…”

But Mrs Poole held up her hand. “Emily admitted to me that she and Emma ruined your papier-mâché project. However, this was no excuse for what you did. If someone behaves badly, you only bring yourself down to their level by retaliating – do you understand?”

I nodded.

“Still, I do see that in the circumstances, banning you alone from the Devon activity week seems unfair.” Mrs Poole frowned. “I could of course make you, Emma and Emily all stay behind…”

Aaargh! The thought of having a week alone with the M&Ms was so hideous it made me feel dizzy.

Luckily, Mrs Poole quickly went on, “…but some of your classmates made an appeal to me this morning, saying that they wouldn’t enjoy the trip without you. How lovely to have such loyal friends, Laura!”

I nodded again as a big grin crept over my face. Way to go, Sleepover Club!

“So – as long as Mrs Weaver and I can find no fault whatsoever with your behaviour during the next three weeks,” said Mrs Poole, “I’ve decided that you can go to Devon.”

I could have hugged her. I could have danced around her office and turned cartwheels right down the corridor. Instead, I managed to squeak, “Thanks, Mrs Poole!”

When I got out, my friends were waiting for me: four eager faces, looking hopeful and excited.

“Well?” said Frankie.

“She said I can go!”

“Yeeesssss!”

For ages we were one big jumping, hugging bundle. Then I did high fives with everyone in turn. “Thank you sooo much, guys,” I said. “I owe you, big time!”

“Well, we couldn’t really go without you, could we?” said Rosie.

“Not if it was going to make you so grumpy!” laughed Lyndz.

“I can’t believe it,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s going to be the most awesome week ever!”

“Swimming in the sea!” said Rosie, bouncing up and down.

“Donkey rides!” said Lyndz.

Fliss clapped her hands. “I’ll have to buy a new sunhat!”

“Only one?” laughed Frankie.

“Hey, Frankie,” I said a moment later, as we headed out to the playground for break. “How did you get Emily to admit it?”

Frankie grinned. “I told her the school’d had hidden CCTV cameras fitted in the classrooms at half term – you know, like they have in shops to catch thieves.”

I gasped. “No! Seriously?”

Frankie nodded. “I said Pooley had seen the tape, but she was waiting for them to own up.” She giggled. “I can’t believe she fell for it!”

“I have seriously got to keep away from the M&Ms now,” I said. “If you see me going within a hundred miles of them, grab me.”

“Don’t worry,” said Frankie. “I’ll lock you in the stationery cupboard if I have to. And once we get to Devon, even if they’re being totally annoying, I reckon there’s going to be loads to take our minds off them.”

And boy, was she right about that one!

“Sit down, everyone, so I can count you!”

Mrs Weaver had to yell above the noise. The whole class had piled on to the coach in a MEGA excited mood and people were bouncing up and down so much the coach was actually rocking.

“I’ve got buttons!” said Rosie, waving a bag of chocolates.

“I’ve got Pringles!” said Lyndz.

Fliss knelt up in her seat. “I only packed four swimming costumes. Do you think that’ll be enough?”

“Fliss!” I yelped. “The rest of us only own one! How many does a girl need?”

As the coach pulled away we all waved like mad things. It’s funny – if I’d been going somewhere on my own for a week, I would’ve felt sad saying goodbye to Mum and Dad. But heading off with my friends didn’t worry me at all – I couldn’t wait for our majorly wicked holiday to begin.

There was only our class on the trip, but we had three teachers with us: Mrs Weaver (of course), Miss Walsh who usually teaches Year 5, and Mrs Daniels who usually teaches Year 4. They were sitting at the front near the driver, miles away from us, thank goodness.

Frankie was next to me, Rosie and Fliss had the seats behind us, and Lyndz had a double-seat all to herself across the gangway. Now Rosie stuck her face in the gap between our headrests. “Which first, guys – magazine or choccies?” She was flapping a copy of Mizz, one of those really girlie mags that are filled with things about hair and make-up. Yawn! Luckily, I’d brought the latest Leicester City fanzine, so I pulled that out of my rucksack.

“I brought a puzzle book but it’s in my suitcase,” said Lyndz. Our suitcases were packed in a big compartment at the bottom of the coach.

As it turned out, though, we were far too excited to settle to reading anything. Instead, we played I-spy and scissors-paper-stone and took turns at trying on Fliss’s new sunglasses.

“Andy says they make me look like a film star,” said Fliss.

“Who? Tom Cruise?” I said, and she boffed me with the magazine.

It was a seriously long journey. After a few hours, we stopped at a picnic area and ate our sandwiches. Then it was back on to the stuffy coach. Frankie asked if the driver could put his radio on, and he said yes – way cool! When Will Young came on all the girls sang along (yep, even me!) while all the boys made sicky noises. It was hilarious.

“I can see the sea!”

Simon Baxter had been saying that for hours, every time there was something sparkly in the distance. The first time he said it we hadn’t even left Leicestershire, I reckon, which is about as far from the sea as you can get.

This time, though, Frankie nudged me in the ribs. “Hey – he’s right!” she said, jabbing her finger on the window.

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