Sleepover Girls on the Range Page 4

  “Are we talking about one of your sleepovers?” Dad asked cautiously.

  “Sort of. Will you do it? Please!” I begged.

  “I dare say we could rustle up some good campfire grub, couldn’t we?” My dad looked at the other dads. “What do you say? Should we live like cowboys for an evening?”

  “I don’t see why not!” the others agreed, coming over all macho.

  “Thanks Dad!” I leapt up from the settee. “You’ve just agreed to cook at the Open Day for Mrs McAllister’s stables. You’re a star!”

  I hugged my dad and Frankie, Kenny and Fliss hugged theirs (well, Andy isn’t Fliss’s dad quite yet – he and her mum are getting married next month).

  Rosie’s mum burst out laughing and started to clap.

  “Well done, girls! That was a fine piece of feminine trickery!”

  The dads sighed and looked very sheepish.

  “We were done there, good and proper!” Dad laughed. “Well, it’s in a good cause I suppose!”

  I took the poster down to the farm the next day, and was just giving it to Mrs McAllister when Mrs Chandri turned up. I was sure that she was going to find fault with it when I showed it to her, but she seemed really impressed. Ruth the line-dance caller had apparently already been in touch about the line-dancing, and Mrs Chandri asked me to give Stuart her number so that he could pass on the details of the Bucking Bronco.

  “You’ve done very well!” she smiled. “And the posters will look stunning. I’ll get them printed up as soon as possible. Shall I arrange to put them up, or do you want to do that?”

  “No you can if that’s OK,” I smiled back at her. I remembered all too clearly the problems we’d had putting up posters in the past …

  “Right then. I’ll get in touch with you nearer the time, and we’ll go over the details,” she told me. “I think this Open Day is going to be a big success. Well done!”

  Right up until the Open Day itself, all the planning went smoothly. Too smoothly. Mrs Chandri had estimated how many people she thought would turn up, and had bought food and drink at a discount rate. She’d sorted out prizes for the competitions and we’d helped to build the enormous campfire with our fathers. (I think they were still a bit miffed that we’d conned them like that, but they were kind of excited about it too, you could tell.) Ruth had checked out the stable yard and told Mrs Chandri where she wanted to put her stuff for the line-dancing, and they’d even rigged up a special sound system too. And Stuart had delivered the Bucking Bronco and a whole pile of crash mats to land on. Did this sound too easy or what?

  The night before the Open Day, we all went down to the stables. The whole thing looked pretty awesome.

  “This is going to be so cool!” we giggled.

  “And don’t forget we’ve got the sleepover to look forward to as well,” I reminded the others. “So don’t forget all your sleepover goodies, will you?”

  As if!

  The next day we got to the stables by two o’clock. It was humming with activity, but Mrs McAllister was pacing about looking very anxious.

  “I’m sure it’s going to rain,” she moaned. “And what will we do then? The whole day will be a complete washout!”

  “I’m sure it won’t,” I tried to reassure her. “Look, the sun’s starting to shine. Shall we just put our stuff in the barn?”

  She nodded weakly.

  “Crikey, she’s not much fun, is she?” Kenny moaned. “All that effort we’ve put into arranging this and she doesn’t seem grateful at all!”

  “I’m sure she’s just anxious,” I said, flinging open the barn door.

  It was very dark inside, and smelt of warm hay.

  “Come on! Make yourselves at home!” I giggled, running up the large straw bales which were piled up in one corner.

  The others stepped in gingerly. Suddenly Fliss started to scream.

  “I’m not sleeping in here!” she yelled. “Not with that thing around!”

  Now if someone said that to you, you’d be expecting a one-eyed monster at the very least, wouldn’t you? Well there was no monster there, only Alfie.

  “Hello, boy! What are you doing here?” I rushed over to stroke his muzzle. “Don’t you want to be involved in the Open Day then?”

  “Never mind ‘doesn’t he want to be involved in the Open Day’!” snorted Fliss. “I don’t want him to be involved in our sleepover!”

  “You did agree to that, Lyndz,” Frankie joined in.

  “Hey guys.” I pulled myself away from Alfie and turned to face the others. “This is nothing to do with me. We’ll have to ask Mrs McAllister what’s going on. There must be a reason why he’s here. This isn’t where he usually stays.”

  “I wouldn’t fancy your chances with Mrs McGrumpy-Boots at the moment,” moaned Kenny. “She’ll probably bite your head off.”

  We all looked out on to the yard where Mrs McAllister was tearing a strip off one of the men who was setting up the speaker system for the line-dancing.

  “See what you mean!” I mumbled.

  “Hey look, Lyndz – your dad’s here!” Rosie suddenly squealed. “What does he look like?!”

  Sure enough, Dad was striding across the yard to the far field where a section had been cordoned off for the campfire. He was wearing his jeans and a checked shirt – and on his head was the biggest cowboy hat you’ve ever seen.

  “Oh no, my dad’s here too,” Frankie cringed.

  He was wearing the wackiest pair of cowboy boots on the planet. Talk about embarrassing.

  “Where have they dug those up from, then?” Kenny was killing herself laughing.

  “They are a bit, erm, loud, aren’t they?” Fliss screwed her nose up in disgust.

  “At least they’re entering into the spirit of things,” I said defensively. “Which is more than I can say for you lot. I thought we were supposed to be dressing up in Wild West stuff?”

  I was wearing my favourite jeans with the leather chaps over the top, and had a cowboy hat among my sleepover things.

  “I thought I’d be a Leicester City cowboy,” grinned Kenny, slapping her jean-covered thigh and straightening her football top.

  I suppose the others did sort of look like cowboys, because they were wearing jeans, checked shirts and waistcoats. They looked much better when they’d put on the cowboy hats they’d brought too. All except for Fliss, of course.

  She ran over to her sleepover stuff and pulled something out of a carrier bag. It was a full denim skirt with loads of white petticoats underneath, a suede waistcoat, lace-up boots and a hat.

  “Hey cool, Fliss!” we all marvelled.

  “But shouldn’t you be wearing it?” I asked her. “I mean, that is kind of the idea of dressing up, you know.”

  Fliss shot me a look and began to wriggle out of her jeans. She must have forgotten that Alfie was there, because she gave an almighty jump when he whinnied.

  “I’m not getting changed in front of him!” she snorted.

  As if Alfie cared! Anyway, she made us stand in a circle round her so that he couldn’t peek. Crazy or what!!

  She’d just donned her very stylish pair of boots when Mrs Chandri came rushing into the stable.

  “Oh, there you are, girls!” she panted. “We’re nearly ready for the off. Can two of you help Mrs McAllister with the entrance money? And the rest of you come with me to check that everything else is in place?”

  “You and Rosie help with the door money, Fliss,” Frankie said, going into hyperorganisation mode. “And the rest of us can help Mrs Chandri.”

  Fliss and Rosie headed off to the entrance, where a queue was starting to form. The rest of us followed Mrs Chandri. The horses were already out in Mr Brocklehurst’s field, so I couldn’t understand why Alfie wasn’t with them. I would have to ask Mrs McAllister later.

  In the field away from the stable block, Dad was busy lighting the fire with Frankie’s dad. Andy had appeared too. They were pretending to be cowboys and looked like they were having a bla
st. The line-dancing area had been set up and someone was testing the microphone. And Stuart was having a go on the Bucking Bronco, watched by a girl with short blonde hair.

  Before I could investigate Stu’s situation further, Mrs Chandri told us:

  “We’ll start with the fancy-dress competitions over here.” She waved an arm in front of the new stable blocks. “Mrs McAllister is keen to show as many people round the new buildings as possible, so do try to encourage people to have a look at them. Oh look – our first arrivals are here. Let’s go to welcome them!”

  She walked briskly down towards the entrance, leaving the rest of us to trot after her.

  To be honest, we didn’t really know what we should be doing. It was all right for her to smile at people and tell them how nice it was to see them, because she was sort of a celebrity around Cuddington. All we could do was stand there and look dumb, like a load of spare parts. At least there were loads of people pouring through the gates, which seemed to have cheered Mrs McAllister up. Unfortunately, you couldn’t really say the same for Fliss, who was looking frazzled beyond belief. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea of Frankie’s to have made her take the entrance money, because Flissy’s not that great at maths.

  When Frankie’s mum appeared, she volunteered to take over collecting admission money, so Fliss and Rosie came over to join us.

  “What’s up, Fliss?” we asked.

  She was the colour of a beetroot and looked just about ready to cry.

  “It’s those stupid M&Ms!” she spluttered.

  “They’re not here, are they?” we gasped.

  “They sure are,” Rosie told us grimly. “And they look as though they mean to cause trouble. They were very rude about Fliss’s costume and were just about to threaten us when Mrs McAllister asked if everything was all right. We’re going to have to watch them.”

  “Don’t worry – we will!” Kenny said menacingly. “Or maybe it should be them who should watch out for us”

  Before we could ask what she meant, a whistling pierced the air. Mrs Chandri’s voice began to float towards us from across the yard. She was obviously addressing everyone on the microphone, so we went to join the crowd who had gathered round her. I don’t think we really paid too much attention to what she was saying – we were too busy trying to spot the M&Ms. Unfortunately I clocked them at just the moment when Mrs Chandri had thanked us by name for making the Open Day possible. We just sort of stood there like lemons whilst everyone applauded and the stupid M&Ms sniggered behind their hands.

  When Mrs Chandri announced that the children’s fancy-dress competition was about to take place, we huddled together and tried to decide on a plan of action.

  “Whatever we do, we mustn’t let them know we’re having our sleepover here tonight,” Frankie warned. “They’d try to spoil it for sure.”

  “We’ll just have to put them off that scent,” Rosie said. “What about luring them somewhere else?”

  “Like the lassoing competition!” Kenny’s eyes lit up. “Now that could be very entertaining!”

  We walked over to the show-ring, where Mrs McAllister often teaches. It had been marked out for the lassoing competition with lines at various distances. Standing on the first line was a papier mâché cow, which Stuart had also managed to borrow from his mate Sam’s father. (I don’t know what kind of business that man is in, but it all seems pretty strange to me!) Dad and Frankie’s dad were there practising with the lassos.

  “Look at them – they’re just like big kids!” I sighed.

  “I heard that!” Dad turned round and grinned at us. “I guess it’s the nearest we’re ever going to get to being real cowboys, so we’re just savouring the moment. Mrs Chandri asked if we’d help to organise the competition. You don’t mind, do you? It’s just that the campfire’s already going but there’s not much we can do until it’s time to cook. And Kenny’s dad said he’d keep his eye on it for a bit.”

  To tell you the truth, we were glad of the offer. Especially as the Gruesome Twosome had just appeared behind us, along with a few more people curious about the competition.

  “Sure Dad, go for it!”

  When a large enough crowd had gathered, Dad explained to everyone that the winner would be whoever managed to lasso the cow at the furthest distance. The prize was free videos for a month from the local video shop.

  “Right, could all competitors line up in front of me please, and could all spectators please remain behind the fence,” Dad ordered.

  Kenny and Frankie lined up to take part. Rosie, Fliss and I went round the far side to watch. I’d practised at home, and I knew that I couldn’t lasso an elephant if it was standing still in front of me!

  Rosie nudged me. “Look who’s joining in too!”

  Emma Hughes had barged to the front of the queue, and her little sidekick Emily Berryman was standing round the other side of the ring opposite us. A group of older boys were taking part, plus three women who were obviously just having a laugh until the line-dancing started and a few men, including Andy.

  The competition started with the boys. Two of them were very good and lassoed the cow after a couple of attempts, but the others were hopeless. They had their three tries and had to drop out of the competition! When it came to Kenny’s turn, she lassoed it without even looking at it.

  “I think she’s been practising this at home, don’t you?” muttered Fliss.

  Frankie got it right on her third attempt. And so did Emma Hughes – worse luck.

  In the next round the cow was moved further away. A load of people had dropped out, so we figured the competition would be over pretty quickly.

  “That might be just as well,” said Rosie, looking up to the sky. “I’m sure I felt a drop of rain just then.”

  The sky was looking very black.

  “Come on Kenny, you can do it!” we yelled when it was her turn.

  This time she did look at the target – and lassoed it first time. Unfortunately Frankie missed it completely, so she came to join us.

  “I hope Emma Hughes misses, because she’s winding Kenny up big time,” she told us.

  But unfortunately, Emma didn’t.

  By the time the cow was moved again, there was only Emma, Kenny, one of the boys and Andy left in. When it came to Kenny’s turn, she turned to Emma and said:

  “Why don’t you go first?”

  Emma looked unsure, but the drops of rain were bigger and coming down faster and you could tell that she just wanted to get out of there. She took the lasso and had her three attempts, but missed each time.

  “Bad luck!” said Kenny sarcastically, taking the lasso from her.

  As Emma started to run with Emily towards shelter, along with the rest of the crowd, Kenny turned and grinned.

  “A moving target! Just what I like!”

  She raised the lasso above her head and aimed for the M&Ms!

  “No Kenny, don’t!”

  I could see disaster ahead! But obviously so could Andy, because he ran towards Kenny, knocking her off balance. She stumbled to the ground, the lasso on top of her.

  “That wasn’t a very smart move, Kenny,” he told her gruffly, picking up the rope. “Get into the shelter now before you get soaked.”

  The rest of us pulled Kenny to her feet and started to run. If anyone else found out what Kenny had been about to do, she’d be in big trouble. But that wasn’t the only trouble we were going to have to face, because everyone was running to shelter in the barn. OUR barn. Where all our sleepover stuff was.

  “You don’t suppose …” panted Rosie as we flew through the door.

  But it was too late. There in the corner, standing over our sleeping bags, were the M&Ms, wearing their cheesiest, most sickening grins.

  “What do we do now?” hissed Fliss through gritted teeth. “They’re bound to sabotage our sleepover things, aren’t they?”

  “Well they can’t do anything with all these people here, can they?” reasoned Frankie. “We’ll just have
to make sure that they’re never alone in here, OK?”

  We watched the M&Ms like hawks whilst we were all in the barn, which wasn’t easy because people kept coming over to distract us. Like Fliss’s mum, who came to coo over her precious baby Fliss and ask why she hadn’t entered the fancy-dress competition.

  “Because it’s for children, Mum!” Fliss looked dead embarrassed.

  “But you are a child, darling!” Mrs Sidebotham giggled, tweaking one of Fliss’s perfect blonde plaits. “Anyway, I’m going to enter the adult competition, so one of us should win a prize today!”

  The rest of us raised our eyes at each other. Poor Fliss – having a mother like that was as embarrassing as still liking Teletubbies.

  “It’s stopped raining, everyone!” Mrs Chandri suddenly called. “It was only a little shower. Could all contestants for the adult fancy-dress competition please make your way to the stable yard? And I hope you’re all ready for some line-dancing, because that will be taking place shortly.”

  “Bye darling, I must get a good spot for the competition,” Fliss’s mum laughed as she dashed away. “See you later for the line-dancing!”

  “See you later for the line-dancing!” mimicked two voices behind us. No prizes for guessing who that was.

  “Oh, shut your faces!” snarled Kenny. “You’re a couple of wusses, you are! I challenge you both to ride on the Bucking Bronco! And I bet I can stay on longer than the both of you put together!”

  “Oh yeah?” retorted Emma Hughes. “It’s funny how it’s always you who challenges us, isn’t it? Are the rest of your little friends wimps then?”

  She looked menacingly at our faces.

  “All right then – challenge any of us to the Bucking Bronco!” Kenny dared her. “We’ll still whup the pants off you!”

  “OK.” Emma Hughes stared at us all steadily. “Who do you think we should choose, Em?”

  Emily Berryman grinned in that stupid way she has. “It just has to be Felicity Wimpy-Knicks, doesn’t it?”

  They both started to cackle. Fliss went white, then she went red, and then she went white again. But to give her credit, she didn’t start to cry or anything – she just swallowed hard a few times and whispered: