Sleepover at Kenny’s: Definitely Not For Boys!. Rose Impey

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      Kenny can’t earn extra pocket money washing up or drying the pots either, because they’ve got a dishwasher. She used to be able to earn a bit extra if she loaded it for her mum, but not any more. Last summer they had this big birthday barbecue and Kenny loaded it with paper plates which disintegrated and blocked up the outlet and they had to call a plumber.

      “How was I to know?” she said. “They were dead cute plates, with shells and fish on. I thought you’d want to use them again.”

      “Not much chance of that, now they’re sandblasted onto the sides of the dishwasher,” her dad yelled at her.

      Anyway since then she hasn’t been allowed to do any jobs in the kitchen.

      Helping out in the garden was another idea, but there’s not much to do in December. And Kenny’s dad said he had no intention of spring cleaning their garage at this time of year just to please us. So that was that. Back to the drawing board, as my dad says.

      “What about washing cars?” Kenny suggested at last.

      “That’s the first sensible idea you’ve had,” I said. “Whose shall we start on?”

      We started on my mum’s VW and we were just in the middle of doing it when Lyndz came round on her mountain bike. We’re usually dead pleased to see Lyndz but this time we weren’t, for obvious reasons.

      “Hiya. What’re you doing?” she said.

      “Crocheting a pair of mittens for the dog!” I said. “What does it look like?”

      Lyndz grinned. “Can I help?”

      Kenny and I looked down at our feet and sighed. We were both hoping she wouldn’t ask that. My mum had agreed to pay Kenny and me 50p each, if we did a good job and didn’t leave too much mess. We’d been really sensible and we’d nearly finished, so we didn’t want to have to share it with Lyndz. But we both felt really mean leaving her out.

      “OK,” I said. “But no water fights, or else.” I don’t know why I even bothered saying that. When Kenny and Lyndz get together they always go bananas. Like that time they had a shopping trolley race in the supermarket and knocked down a humungous stack of bottles of mineral water.

      Fortunately, this time Mum didn’t go too mad because it was only soapy water they were throwing around and they got most of it over themselves. In fact she gave us all 50p and an ice lolly each.

      After that we all cycled round to Kenny’s house and persuaded her mum to let us clean her Fiesta. And then Kenny’s next-door neighbour, Bert, who’s really nice, said we could do his. We didn’t charge him as much because he’s a pensioner. But by the end of the afternoon we’d each made $1.25.

      “This is great,” said Kenny. “We’ll soon be rich.”

      “How do you make that out?” I said. “My mum won’t have her car cleaned again for months.” And I knew my dad wouldn’t let us loose on his BMW, he’s too proud of it.

      “We’ll ask the other neighbours,” she said. “Down your road and in our close.”

      “What? You mean knock on people’s doors?”

      “We’ll put a note through their letter boxes, like a proper business.”

      “Are you mad?” I said.

      “I think it’s a great idea,” said Lyndz. So that was it. I was outvoted, which was a bit off since I was the one who’d started it all. But that was only the beginning. On Monday morning, when old Bossyboots Fliss heard about it, she took over straight away.

      “Listen, I’ve got a great idea: we can print the notices out on Frankie’s computer,” she said, “so we look really professional.”

      “We?” I said. “Since when did you need to earn any money? You’re loaded already.”