Hit the Beach!. Harriet Castor

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      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?

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