Hey Baby! (6 page)

“Great big hairy deal,” said Kenny.

“Who’d want Juice to come to their house anyway?” I said. Then we fell about laughing. “The M&Ms!” we yelled.

Rosie sighed. “If we won those CDs, Tiff would totally forgive me! She lurves Juice.”

We stared at her, while the DJ droned on about getting permission to use the phone.

“Rosie, you’re brilliant!” I said, hugging her.

“Yeah, that’s such a cool idea!” said Kenny.

“It could work,” agreed Lyndz.

Rosie’s eyes went like saucers. “You don’t mean, phone in?”

“Sssh,” we hissed at her. “We’ll miss Juice’s question.”

“Stand by your phones,” said Juice in his new pop star voice. “Can anyone tell me the name of a famous Leicestershire giant?”

“DANIEL LAMBERT!” we shrieked.

“You stoopid wally,” added Kenny.

“That’s lemon squeezy,” I agreed. Every kid in Leicestershire knows about Daniel Lambert!

“Phone in, Rosie,” said Fliss.

“But I haven’t got permission!” Rosie wailed.

“Oh, per-lease,” I said, in disgust. “It’s only a total emergency. It’s only the phone call which is going to save your LIFE!”

Rosie finally caved in. “All right. But you all heard me ask Tiff first, OK?” Then she whispered, “Tiff, please can I use the phone?”

“I think I heard her say ‘yes’,” I said.

“Me too,” said Kenny.

“Definitely,” the others nodded.

Rosie made us go out of the room while she phoned in. We earwigged through the door, killing ourselves laughing.

“I’m shaking,” she giggled, when we went back in. “Won’t it be brilliant if we get those CDs?”

“We will,” said Fliss happily. “I can feel it.”

“They’re practically ours,” I agreed.

We were giving each other high fives when the latest Sugababes song came on. Kenny turned up the volume. And that was when I had my really bad idea. Only it seemed like such a cool idea at the time. It started like this.

“Isn’t Tiff’s dress awesome,” sighed Fliss. (Yawn yawn yawn.)

“I’d give anything to be as pretty as she is,” said Rosie.

So I said, “You’d look ace in Tiff’s dress, Rosie.”

Why oh WHY did I do that? I didn’t mean to get Rosie into any more trouble. I just hate how she puts herself down. I bet you do too, don’t you?

“Yeah, right,” said Rosie miserably. “You are kidding.”

“Try it on.” I said. “See for yourself.”

“Tiff will be up there titivating for ages,” grinned Kenny.

“All right,” said Rosie suddenly. “I will. So there!”

She whipped off her sweater and jeans. Fliss lifted down Tiff’s dress and handed it to her, giggling. Rosie slipped it over her head. Then she climbed on to a chair to look in the mirror. The dress was miles too big, but when Rosie saw herself, she beamed with surprise. She looked lovely. Well, except for her woolly socks!

“Take them off, dumbo,” giggled Fliss.

I waved a pretend wand. “Beautiful Cinders, you shall go to the ball!”

Then I went a bit crazy. I grabbed Rosie’s mum’s hat from the hall and danced around in it. Fliss picked Morgan up and danced her round too. Soon everyone was whirling round the room.

Sometimes Rosie has the worst luck. One minute she was dancing happily. Then she caught her foot and went flying. She landed on her bottom. Guess what she landed in?

Fliss’s messy, chocolatey plate.

And she’d got chocolate all over Tiff’s new dress!

“Take it off, quick!” Fliss told her. “We’ll get a cloth.”

Rosie scrambled into her jeans. The rest of us rushed the dress into the kitchen and sponged away with Vanish. But the stain didn’t. Vanish, I mean.

“It’s only on the back,” I said, trying to cheer Rosie up.

“Yeah, if you hang it up, she won’t notice,” said Kenny.

“Take it to the cleaners,” said Fliss. “They do a same-day service. You can pick it up before Tiff gets home from the Happy Shopper.”

“But how do I GET there?” wailed Rosie.

“We’ll figure something out,” I promised. But I felt really bad for her.

Fliss gave me the baby and helped Kenny put the dress back. I rocked Morgan absentmindedly. She snuggled up like a sleepy little bear and started yawning. Hey, I thought. I’m good at this!

“There,” said Kenny. “Tiff won’t suspect a thing.”

The doorbell went.

“You let Spud in, Frankie,” Rosie pleaded. “He’ll see I’ve been crying.”

It seems stoopid now, but I truly didn’t twig who was on Rosie’s step. I did think Spud looked kind of taller. But I put it down to the weird glass in Rosie’s front door. Anyway, I was having trouble with the security chain. Plus Rosie’s mum’s hat kept sliding over my eyes. But I finally got the door open. And there… was… JUICE!

I gawped long enough to notice he had a photographer and two massive bodyguards with him. Then I slammed the door in his face in a total panic. We hadn’t won the CDs and the baseball cap after all. We’d won Juice!!!

The door bell went again. This time Juice kept his finger there.

“Let him in, you idiots!” shrieked Tiff.

The others came to see what was taking me so long.

“Why did you slam the door on Spud?” Rosie asked, bewildered.

“I didn’t,” I hissed. “It’s Juice.”

“Yeah, right,” grinned Kenny. “Nice try, Frankie.”

“It is! It’s him!” squeaked Fliss. “I’m going to faint!”

“But I want those CDs for Tiff,” wailed Rosie.

I was hopping from foot to foot. “But what are we going to DO?”

“Make him his stupid cup of tea,” suggested Kenny. “Then he’ll go away.”

I opened the door again, faking a smile. “Hiya. So we won! Wow!”

“Hiya, everyone,” said Rosie feebly. “Come in.”

“Frankie didn’t mean to shut the door earlier. She was just overwhelmed,” Kenny explained. “She’s never met a pop singer before.”

Juice gave a lazy smile. “That’s OK. It’s a kind of weird situation.”

Oops! Hang on a tick. I’m putting this story on hold, so I can give you vital background info.

The truth is, I was seriously churned up at this point. You guessed Kenny was fibbing her face off to get me out of a sticky situation, didn’t you? Excellent! I think I told you before, that I used to know Juice, in his Julian Whately life? Now there’s no way he’d ever remember me, OK?

But unfortunately,
his
mum told
my
mum all kinds of highly embarrassing stories about him. Stories I’m sure Juice would much rather not remember.

You see, in his Julian days Juice was not remotely cool. In fact, he was so incredibly sad and weedy, he was constantly being bullied at school. And one day, after gym, some really stoo-pid boys deliberately stole his trousers.

Can you believe that poor old Julian/Juice had to walk down the school corridor to the secretary’s office in this absolutely
ancient
pair of Dr Who boxer shorts, with all the other kids laughing themselves sick?

Now, I’m not very proud of this, OK, but one day Juice’s name came up in conversation, and I found myself splurting out this tasty bit of goss to everyone. Then I totally forgot about it till now.

So when Juice turned up on Rosie’s doorstep, I was just about going into orbit, in case the others cracked up laughing right in front of him.

But they didn’t. And I didn’t. And you wouldn’t have either!

Because believe me, when you see Juice in person, you wouldn’t connect him in a million years with that picked-on kid in tatty Dr Who undies.

Why? Because he’s an absolute BABE!

I mean, obviously Juice has been hitting the spinach lately, because he’s got actual muscles now. But more than that, he’s just totally cool and laid back and, well, definitely CUTE!!!

We were all so gobsmacked, we stood around like waxworks, not knowing what to do next. Finally Rosie said, “Do I make just Juice a cup of tea, or shall I make some for everyone?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” said one of the bodyguards chirpily.

“Two sugars, thanks,” said the other one.

“Diet Coke,” said Juice. “No ice.”

We took him into the living room and Juice threw himself on the sofa. “Nice baby,” he said. “My sister’s got a kid about the same age.”

“Which of you little girls is the lucky winner?” asked the photographer.

Don’t you absolutely HATE it when grown-ups treat you as if you’ve only got half a brain cell? So does Kenny.

“All of us won,” she scowled.

“Yeah,” said Lyndz. “The entire Sleepover Club.”

Juice then made us tell him about our club. He was really interested. We were just explaining what you do at sleepovers when Rosie came back with the drinks.

Morgan was moaning again. It’s probably not too easy to get to sleep, with the whole Sleepover Club, a pop singer, one photographer and two bodyguards in your room. Plus there was something else bothering her, but we didn’t find that out till later.

“Is the little baby sleeping over too?” asked the photographer, in his ‘let’s humour the kiddies’ tone.

Kenny rolled her eyes. “As if.”

Juice swung Morgan up on to his knee. He looked a bit amazed when he clocked her modern-art sleepsuit. “Man, you should audition for Persil,” he told her.

We giggled. And I don’t know how it happened, but somehow we ended up telling Juice about Spud’s cake and how we’d wanted the CDs for Tiff.

Juice wasn’t a bit offended. He fell about laughing. “I’d better get those CDs to your sister, FAST.”

“That would be brilliant!” Rosie’s face lit up.

“Can we just have that photograph, everyone?” asked the photographer. I think he felt quite left out. He made us squeeze on to the sofa with Juice and do cheesy smiles. But his flashbulb wouldn’t work.

So Fliss told Juice about Morgan singing along to
Forever Love
. “Will you sing it for us now?” she asked, going bright red.

The rest of us were dead embarrassed. But Juice just started singing, right there on Rosie’s sofa. It was so-o-o sweet. Morgan gazed at him with total adoration. So did Fliss. (Surprise, surprise!)

I think that’s when the photographer snapped the picture. But I didn’t actually notice a flash. You see, I’d seen a funny expression flicker across Morgan’s face. And I was just going to tell Juice to stop jiggling her about, but before I got the chance, she gave a worried little cry. Then she did it.

Morgan sicked up her milk, mashed banana, toast, jam and stolen chocolate cake all over her and Juice.

Juice jumped to his feet, totally shocked. His bodyguards had already dived out of the way. (Bodyguards have excellent reflexes.)

Then Morgan gave a lopsided grin. I suppose she was feeling heaps better now. And in a clear little voice, she said, “Cool.”

It didn’t really seem like the right moment to tell Morgan how clever she was.

“Will you take her, Frankie?” said Juice politely. “I’d better get some clean clothes. We’re doing a gig at some university tonight.”