Summer Secrets. Angie Bates

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СКАЧАТЬ this!” Rosie pointed sternly at my wastepaper basket, merrily spilling rubbish everywhere.

      “It’s only old tissues and apple cores,” I said defensively. “Not like, droppings from plague rats or anything.”

      Fliss crinkled her nose. “Lyndz, maybe you haven’t noticed, but lately it’s got really whiffy in here too.”

      “I’ll say,” Kenny agreed. “If you’re not careful, the council will stick plastic tape across your door and declare you a health hazard.”

      “Hey, stop right there!” I told them fiercely. I was really hurt. “I like my room just the way it is, thanks. It’s cosy and homey.”

      Kenny shrugged. “Yeah, right. Homey. If you’re a dust bunny!” She fished out several lumps of icky grey fluff from under my radiator and held them out with an accusing expression.

      I was incredibly embarrassed, but I tried to put a brave face on it. “That’s just dust,” I said breezily. “A bit of dust never hurt anybody.”

      “Dust breeds house mites,” Fliss said in her prissiest voice. “And mites cause allergies. That’s probably why you get those terrible hiccups all the time, Lyndz.” And she started on about some special vacuum cleaner her mum got from a catalogue, which sucks all this invisible dirt out of your mattress.

      I completely fell about. I mean, invisible dirt? Give me a break!

      “Mum says you can tell a lot about a girl’s personality from looking at her bedroom.” Fliss went on.

      She’s not kidding! Fliss’s bedroom is so pink and perfect, it’s like being beamed to a Disney film!

      “We honestly don’t mean to upset you,” Rosie said earnestly. “I mean, if we all help, we could get your room cleaned up in no time.”

      I’d gone into a major sulk. “I don’t need any help, because I’m not doing it. I told you, I like my room. So what if it’s untidy? I’ve got more important things to think about, OK?”

      But Fliss’s remark stuck in my mind all day. She had a point. My mates’ bedrooms do reflect their very different personalities.

      Kenny’s room is a total shrine to Leicester City football club, with eerie overtones of Casualty. Can you believe she owns a life-sized skeleton? (Don’t panic, it’s plastic!) Kenny’s excuse is that she’s going to be a doctor like her dad, but the rest of us think she takes an unnatural interest in gore.

      Frankie’s pad is TOTALLY futuristic. Not a pad so much as a pod – a silvery hi-tech space pod. If it was up to her, she’d probably come to school wearing jumpsuits with diagonal zips, like a girl in a sci-fi series.

      Rosie used to hate her room. When her dad left, they’d only just moved in, so their house was still a real tip. Then one time when we were staying over, we all helped her decorate it. Now she says it’s her favourite place in the entire universe.

      Anyway, this morning, when I got up, I stood in the middle of my bedroom in my Pjs and forced myself to take a good hard look.

      Oh dear, I thought. This place is seriously unsavoury. Three mugs of icky cold tea. Dirty clothes all mixed up with my dressing-up clothes. Crayons mashed into the carpet, along with a tube of body glitter. Plus my pony pictures had been up so long, they’d all peeled away at the corners. And all my riding trophies were thick with grime. Yeuch!

      That’s the problem with having four brothers. If you’re not careful, you kind of adjust to living in a tip. My little brothers, Ben and Spike, are at the stage where they drop bits of biscuit and apple everywhere. My big brothers are equally messy - they just drop bigger stuff. With Tom, it’s stinky socks and crumpled-up artwork. In Stu’s case, muddy wellies and bits of tractor gearbox.

      But today I’ve decided it’s high time I set a good example. I mean, most of this stuff dates back to the last century! From now on I intend to be a genuine twenty-first-century girl. I’m going to save up and buy some of those really cool files to store things in. And I’m definitely asking Dad to make me a grown-up-type desk, to replace the old kiddies’ one I inherited from Stu and Tom. Who knows – maybe my parents will even buy me that new computer I’ve been begging and pleading for (Yeah, well, I can dream!).

      Anyway, I’ve made up my mind. With or without a computer, by the time I’ve finished, my new-look bedroom is going to make my Sleepover Club mates sick with envy!

      But right now I could do with a rest. In fact, you must be a total mind-reader! I was just unpacking my rucksack when you walked in, but now I’ve got a better idea. I’ll empty everything out, and you see if you can figure out what we got up to on our last sleepover.

      Where did all this sand come from, hint hint!

      Ooh, and this teeny strand of pink seaweed!

      Hmmn, what else is there? Old rubber flipflops, sunglasses, assorted pebbles and pretty shells… Oh, and right down at the bottom, four absolutely ancient, hopelessly sandy adventure books.

      Don’t laugh! The characters might look like kids from a 1940s knitting pattern, but they provided crucial inspiration for our latest sleepover.

      And let me tell you this sleepover had EVERYTHING. Sun, sand, sea and a mad race against time to find hidden treasure.

      Yeah, that’s what I said. Hidden treasure!

      No, I’m not having you on. I’m deadly serious.

      Want me to tell you all about it? Look, shove those boxes out of the way and sit on my bed. Squish back against my cushions, go on, that’s what I do.

      Now are you sitting comfortably?

      Then I’ll begin…

      

      It all started with an earache.

      You know the kind of illnesses where you feel very slightly fragile and everyone spoils you rotten? I lurve those. Sometimes Dad buys me silly treats on the way home from work: sherbet necklaces and stick-on tattoos and puzzle books.

      Well, my ear infection was nothing like that. It made me totally miz, even after the antibiotics had kicked in. And I had to miss loads of school. I didn’t mind about lessons, obviously, but I hated not seeing my mates. Plus, my illness TOTALLY disrupted our Sleepover schedule.

      I was praying I’d recover in time to go on our school trip. But when the day came, Mum said I was nowhere near well enough to go bombing off to Skegness on a coach.

      On the other hand, she saw absolutely NO reason to cancel the paddling party she’d arranged. She’d invited her best mates and all their little kids to our house. Which, if you include my little brothers, makes eight screaming, sticky-fingered under-fives in total! Lucky me, eh.

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