Hit the Beach! (2 page)

I don’t really think anyone in the class had taken in a word since “sea” and “beach”. I looked round at Lyndz, Rosie and Fliss and we did a big thumbs up. “It’s our dream of a Sleepover Club summer camp – come true!” squeaked Rosie.

Everyone was chattering excitedly. “Settle down, now,” said Mrs Weaver. “Obviously, your parents will need to agree to it. In your envelopes there’s a form for them to sign and you’ll need to bring it back with a deposit. BUT – ”she looked round seriously “ – no one’s place on this trip is guaranteed. Each of you will need to prove to me that you can behave responsibly. Any misbehaviour may affect your chances of going.”

Yeah yeah, I was thinking. Usual teacher guff about good behaviour. We’d just have to make sure we didn’t get into any serious trouble between now and…Then it struck me.

Right at this moment there was a leaky yoghurt pot, sitting in Emily Berryman’s bag like a time bomb.

There was only one thing for it: I had to get the yoghurt back. And fast.

When she’d finished talking about the school trip, Mrs Weaver said, “Now, we’d better get on with our history lesson, hadn’t we? We’re going to start a new topic today: Henry VIII and His Six Wives. Who would like to fetch the books from the cupboard for me and give them out?”

As you probably know, I’m not usually the world’s keenest volunteer. Not unless
someone’s giving out Leicester City tickets as rewards! But today I shot my hand up faster than a goalie making the save of his life.

Even Mrs Weaver looked surprised. “Thank you, Laura,” she said. As I clambered out of my seat, I hissed to Frankie, “When I get to the Goblin’s desk, distract her!”

“What?” Frankie looked confused. “How? Why?”

But I didn’t have time to explain. I fetched the pile of books and sailed round the room handing them out, one between two. When I got near Emily I winked at Frankie; she tugged Emily’s sleeve and waved her exercise book in front of her nose, saying could she copy her notes on the Egyptians and did she have that stuff about Cleopatra from last week? I think Emily honestly thought Frankie had gone stark raving bonkers – and I don’t blame her. I took my chance, though – I bent down to Emily’s bag and had just got my fingers on the zip when I heard Mrs Weaver’s voice saying, “Laura, what
are
you doing?”

I snapped upright again. “Nothing, Mrs Weaver.”

Well, after that I spent the whole lesson feeling like I had ants in my pants. I couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t think of anything except the Yoghurt Pot of Doom. If only I could’ve made myself invisible for just two minutes, I could’ve sorted everything out, no problem. It was sooo frustrating.

Our last lesson of the day was P.E. In the girls’ changing room, everyone was excited, talking about the school trip. I was so busy imagining just how ace it was going to be that for a few moments I forgot all about Emily and the yoghurt pot.

“D’you reckon there’ll be donkey rides on the sands?” said Lyndz, sitting down to unbuckle her shoes. “I saw seals on a beach in Scotland once!” (Lyndz is animal mad, in case you hadn’t noticed.)

“Devon’s a long way from Scotland,” laughed Rosie.

“I
know
. But seals live in other places too.”

Frankie grinned. “I bet Fliss is wondering whether there’ll be hunky lifeguards on the beach.”

“Am not!” said Fliss from inside her games t-shirt. But when she pulled it over her head she’d turned bright pink.

Suddenly, there was a piercing shriek. “Aieeee!”

All around us the excited chattering stopped dead. I spun round to see Emily Berryman holding up a yellow t-shirt. It looked as if Frankie’s baby sister Izzy had been sick all down the front.

Emily dropped the t-shirt on the floor and started pulling more and more things out of her bag, all of them slimed with yoghurt. A sock, an exercise book, her games shorts…

“Gross! Look at her trainers!” By now, practically everyone in the room was shrieking with laughter. Next to me, Frankie and Rosie were giggling fit to burst, and Lyndz had already got hiccups. Fliss, though, was wincing – I reckon she was imagining how upset she’d be if someone messed with
her
clothes.

The next minute the changing room door swung open. It was Mrs Weaver and she didn’t look pleased. “Girls! What on earth is all this racket?”

“Mrs Weaver, Emily’s spilt a yoghurt in her bag.”

Mrs Weaver sighed and marched over to Emily. She wrinkled her nose when she saw the state of her things. “For goodness’ sake, Emily. You should keep your lunch more carefully.”

“But, Mrs Weaver!” Emily looked like she was about to cry. “It’s not
my
lunch. I didn’t have a yoghurt. Someone put it in my bag on purpose!”

There was a moment’s silence. I could almost hear Mrs Weaver’s brain whirring. Then – guess who was the first “someone” that popped into her head? Who had she spotted fiddling with Emily’s bag?

Lyndz nudged me. “Why’s Weaver loo-hicking at you?” she whispered.

But before I could answer, Mrs Weaver snapped, “Laura. Go and wait for me outside Mrs Poole’s office. Now!”

Man oh man. How can a load of teachers get so massively, crazily angry about one measly little yoghurt, for goodness’ sake? It was going to wash out of Emily’s games kit, no problem. And OK, her geography book was a bit slimy, but to be honest she’s not the world’s best brain at geography anyhow. She’d have been better off copying Emma’s notes in the first place, I reckon.

But that didn’t seem to be the point. Mrs Poole, our headteacher, went really po-faced and stony when Mrs Weaver explained what had happened.

“I cannot understand how you can be so utterly irresponsible, Laura,” she said, peering at me over the top of her glasses like I was some horrid insect she wanted to squash. “Not to mention so disrespectful of other people’s property. Did you think it was
funny
?”

Why do teachers always ask that? Dur! Of
course I thought it was funny or I wouldn’t have done it, would I? But I couldn’t say that.

“No, Mrs Poole,” I muttered, looking at my shoes.

“How would you like it if someone covered your belongings in yoghurt?”

Blah blah blah. I tried to tell her what had happened to my pig but she wouldn’t listen. She just went on and on. By the time she’d finished droning it was home time, and I felt like one of Henry VIII’s wives who’d been sent to the Tower.

I headed back to the classroom in a daze. There I found Lyndz, Rosie, Fliss and Frankie, sitting in a huddle with their coats on. They sprang off the desks when they saw me and clustered round.

“Was that really what you did with my yoghurt?” asked Fliss, giggling.

“Ace plan, Kenco!” said Frankie, putting her hand up for high fives. “Serves the Goblin right after what they did to your pig!”

“Kenny – are you OK?” said Lyndz, peering at me. “You look a bit sick.”

“I feel majorly sick,” I said. Lyndz took a step back. I reckon she thought I was going to barf on her shoes right then and there!

“Pooley didn’t make a massive deal of it, did she?” asked Rosie.

“Course not,” said Frankie. “She’s a pushover!” Frankie’s right – usually Pooley’s nice, and much softer than Weaver.

But this time it was different. My nightmare had come true. “She made the most gigantic, humungous deal of it you can imagine,” I said, slumping into my chair and looking round at my friends. “I’m sorry, guys. I can’t go on the school trip.”

You know when someone gives you something, and then snatches it away the very next minute – it’s so much worse than if you’d never had it in the first place, isn’t it?

At that moment, I wished I’d never heard about the trip. Even better, I wished I’d never set eyes
on Emily Berryman and her horrid bag in my life.

My friends were all just standing there, opening and shutting their mouths like goldfish. They couldn’t believe what’d happened. Well, that made five of us.

I got up and started stuffing my things angrily into my rucksack. “If you hadn’t been so picky about your yoghurt, Fliss, I never would’ve got into this mess,” I said.

“Hey!” Fliss protested. “It wasn’t my fault! It was your stupid idea…”

“Stop it!” yelled Frankie. Then, more quietly, she said, “It was the M&Ms’ fault for ruining Kenny’s pig in the first place. Come on, guys – we’d better get going.”

We all grabbed our bags and headed out of the classroom.

As we were crossing the playground I dodged round Frankie so I could walk next to Fliss. “Look, I didn’t mean it back there,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s OK.” Fliss nodded. “I’d be really upset too if I were you.”

Just then Lyndz bounced up behind us and flung her arms round me. “It’s not fair!” she wailed, squeezing me really tight. “It won’t be a proper Sleepover Club trip without Kenny!”

“Too right it won’t!” I said. I know it’s really mean, but I couldn’t bear the thought that they’d all be going on this fabulous holiday without me. “Hey…” I stopped in my tracks – the others stopped too. “Maybe the Sleepover Club should boycott the trip – you know, as a protest?” I said. “If one of us stays home, we all stay home!”

There was a silence. “Er… maybe,” said Lyndz.

“Oh, forget it,” I said grumpily. “I’ll be fine. Send me a postcard, guys.” And I stomped off.

It’s not like me to get down about things, but that night I was a real misery-guts. I think Mum and Dad presumed I’d had a row with my sister Molly – a good guess, since she’s about
as annoying as they come and having to share a bedroom with her is torture. I didn’t want to tell them what had happened at school, because I couldn’t bear another lecture, and anyway I knew Molly would be all sarky and superior about it. Why does anyone think having sisters is a nice thing?

When I woke up the next morning, I felt fine – for about five minutes. Then I remembered everything and my heart sank with this awful
whump
. I didn’t want to go to school and have to listen to people talking about Devon all day and how cool it was going to be.

But I had no choice (if your dad’s a doctor, like mine, pretending to be sick
never
gets you the day off school).

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).