Sleepover Club Goes For Goal! (7 page)

“Well, what do you think?” I asked the others in the changing room afterwards.

“Great!”

“Cool!”

“When can we play again?” asked Fliss.

Well, I didn’t need asking twice. Every lunchtime we went into the gym, and if Mr Pownall was around he gave us some more coaching, which was cool. So as the five-a-side practices came round each week, we were getting better and better and more and more confident.

Of course, the more we played, the more the boys were rude to us.

“You’re not seriously going in for the competition, are you McKenzie?” Ryan Scott asked during our last practice. “You’re going to embarrass yourselves. Why don’t you stay at home and do some knitting or something?”

Of course his cronies cracked up about that.

“Don’t worry about him,” I told the others very loudly. “He can’t even pass wind, never mind the ball!”

Everybody just creased up, even Danny McCloud. Scotty-chops turned bright pink and looked dead embarrassed. Fliss gave me a filthy look.

“You shouldn’t embarrass him in front of his mates like that!” she scolded.

To sort of make up for it, she went all gooey in the goal whenever Ryan Scott took a shot. She let in every single one. I mean, she didn’t even
try
to save them.

“Promise me you won’t do that in the competition on Saturday,” I warned her after the practice. “Because if you do, I swear that I’ll chop off that precious blonde hair of yours with a knife and fork!”

“Give her a break.” Frankie came to her rescue. “She’s doing her best. The rest of us haven’t been playing as long as you, remember.”

“Yes, and the competition’s on
Saturday
,” squealed Lyndz. “Are you sure we’re going to be ready for it?”

‘“Course we are!” I reassured them. “We’re just going to have to practise like crazy so we’re ready to beat the pants off everybody!”

The others didn’t look too sure.

“Never mind about practising!” said Fliss. “What are we going to wear?”

Typical
! But she did have a point. None of us was too keen on Fliss’s suggestion of baby pink T-shirts and bright pink shorts though.

“What about just a plain white T-shirt and navy shorts?” suggested Rosie. “We’ve all got those already.”

“But how will anybody know which team we belong to?” asked Lyndz. “And what are we going to call ourselves anyway?”

Crikey, I didn’t realise it was all going to be so complicated!

“What about Cuddington Girls?” suggested Frankie.

“Nah, too boring!”

“All right then – Sleepover Girls United?” she proposed. “Because we are, aren’t we? United, I mean.”

“Great idea, Frankie!” Rosie was really excited. “And we could embroider S.G.U. on our T-shirts to show which team we belong to!”

Hmm – sewing is not my strong point. I figured that writing it on with a felt pen would be good enough for me! Besides, I had far too much to do before the competition without thinking about soppy sewing. There was our training to organise for a start, and I had to sort out all the details for the competition. I was determined that absolutely
nothing
was going to go wrong.

I knew that there would be hundreds of people turning up on Saturday, so I figured that we needed to organise ourselves as much support as possible. Well, what a performance
that
turned out to be! Frankie’s mum had her
ante-natal classes on Saturday morning, and – wouldn’t you know it? – Lyndz’s mum was teaching them, so that would be two fewer people we could count on. I mean, everyone knows how to have babies, don’t they? You’d think they could just skip the class for once. Fliss’s mum had a hissy fit when she discovered that her precious baby was playing football and insisted on being there to make sure that she didn’t come to any harm. And if you know Fliss’s mum, you know that that’s exactly the kind of support we didn’t need. My mum said she’d be there and Dad would come along when he could, but there would be no Molly, thank goodness. Honestly, it was like trying to organise the FA Cup and Posh Spice’s wedding all rolled into one.

The most important thing though was our training. And boy, did I put the others through their paces!

“I’m exhausted!” moaned Fliss on Friday night. “I’m not even going to have the energy to get up in the morning, never mind play football.”

“Quit whingeing!” I told her. “We’re going to win this competition and don’t you forget it!”

Fliss looked terrified. In fact they all did.

“Look, if we play like we have been doing over the last week, we’re capable of beating anyone. OK?”

“Yeah!”

We all stood in a circle and grabbed each other’s right hands. We held them together then raised them into the air as fast as we could, shouting “Sleepover Superstars!” at the tops of our voices. It was class, but everybody else thought we were totally bonkers!

“See you tomorrow! Sleep well!” we all called out as we left each other. But of course none of us slept at all. I was just too pumped up. I wanted to get on with it and start playing football.

I’ll never forget how I felt when I arrived at the Leisure Centre for the competition the next morning. My stomach was in knots and I felt kind of sick too but I was still totally hyper.

“I knew it was you jiggling about!” called
Frankie, running over to join me. “Dad said we should go inside to register – he’s gone to hold us a place in the queue.”

“I’ll try to spot the others and send them in to you,” Mum suggested, so Frankie and I headed inside.

But Frankie’s dad wasn’t in the queue. He was standing next to someone right at the front. It was Rosie! Apparently Adam had made her get there extra early because he was more excited than she was! We just joined her in time too, because she was about to give our name to the guy in charge.

“Sleepover Girls United!” we all said together.

“Oh, oh, I see,” he spluttered, looking up at us. “Well, yes, we’ll have to wait, there’s time yet! You will be team number 9. Here are your numbers, pin them on to your shorts. Next!”

“What was he on about then?” I asked the others, handing round our numbers.

“I think he was getting a bit flustered because there are so many people,” explained Rosie. “He’s been like that with everyone.”

“Talking of everyone, where are Lyndz and Fliss?” asked Frankie, anxiously scanning the crowds which were starting to build up.

“You know Lyndz, she’s always late!” Rosie said.

“It’s not Lyndz I’m worried about,” I admitted. “It’s Fliss. What if she’s bottled out?”

“She wouldn’t!” gasped Rosie. “Not after all our hard work.”

“She’d better not,” I warned.

“What’s up with you lot?” Lyndz bounded up to us. “Who are we playing? Do we know yet?”

“Nobody, if Fliss doesn’t hurry up,” explained Frankie grimly.

“Maybe she’s lost in all these crowds,” suggested Lyndz.

There were certainly hundreds of people, and it was hard to tell who were players and who were supporters.

Suddenly a big siren sounded.

“Can I have your attention please,” announced a voice over the loudspeaker.
“Would all competitors please make their way to the playing arena, and could all spectators make sure that they are standing well behind the barriers.”

I looked around and saw Mum, Frankie’s dad, Rosie’s mum, Adam and Lyndz’s dad with Ben and Spike. They were all waving and giving us the thumbs-up.

“Where is Fliss?” I was getting really agitated now.

“She’ll be here,” Frankie tried to reassure me.

When it was just the teams and not the spectators, there didn’t seem to be quite so many people. The flustered guy was explaining how the competition would work. Four matches would be played at a time, and their results would be noted. It was a straightforward knockout format, with the winners of each match going on to the next round. There were sixteen teams, so the whole thing was going to take some time.

“If Fliss doesn’t turn up soon, we’ll be disqualified,” I hissed.

The man started telling everyone who they would be playing.

“If we’re not one of the first teams to play we’ll have a bit more time,” Lyndz whispered. “Keep your fingers crossed.”

I could see Ryan Scott and the others standing around. They were team number 4. The guy had just two team numbers left to call out for the first four matches.

“Pick number 4, pick number 4,” I chanted.

“Number 7 – that’s Ashley Park Boys.”

Phew!

“And number… 9. Ah, Sleepover Girls United. Where are they please?”

My heart sank.

“Sleepover Girls United? That’s me! I mean that’s us. Sorry I’m late!” Fliss came flying through the crowds. “It was my hair, and my make-up, and, oh never mind – I’m here now. Who are we playing?”

The guy in charge was open-mouthed. So were the rest of us. Not only was Fliss gabbling ten to the dozen, she was also done up like a dog’s dinner. She’d sewn the initials S.G.U. on her T-shirt in
sequins,
for goodness sake.

“Erm, I think we’re playing Ashley Park Boys. Is that right?” I turned to the guy.

“Well, you see, I’m afraid, well, the thing is,”
he spluttered. “Well, I’m afraid you won’t be playing anybody.”

“What?”
we all yelled together.

“Look, Fliss is only a
bit
late,” reasoned Frankie. “Surely that doesn’t matter?”

“No, the problem is that there are no more girls’ teams registered,” the guy explained. “And I’m afraid the rules are that girls can only play against other girls. I’m really sorry.”

I couldn’t
believe
it! All that training for nothing!

“You’d have thought that Mr Pownall would have told us that,” Lyndz growled in frustration.

“I thought that other girls’ teams would be playing in the competition.” Mr Pownall suddenly appeared behind us. “In fact, my friend from Hollymount School was supposed to be bringing a team of girls along, I don’t know what’s happened to him. I was sure that you’d have at least one game. Besides, you were so enthusiastic about the whole thing, I didn’t want to put you off.”

I felt
totally
gutted. The others looked pretty
devastated too. Apart from Fliss. A stupid smile of relief kept playing on her lips, and she had to try really hard to pretend that she was as miserable as the rest of us.

“Come on love, cheer up. I’m sure there’ll be another competition soon,” Mum came over to console me.

“No there won’t,” I grumbled. “Nobody wants girls to play football. It’s not
fair
!”

“You sound just like Fliss!” Frankie whispered, trying to cheer me up.

“That’s not funny,” I muttered.

“Come on Kenny, we might as well support the guys now we’re here,” suggested Rosie.

“Yes!” Fliss squealed. “We could be their cheerleaders! Come on!”

Before I knew where I was, the others had dragged me right next to the pitch where Ryan and Danny and the others were playing their first match.

“Cuddington Boys can really play,

They’re going to blow the rest away
!” Fliss began.

“Give me a C
!”

“C!” shouted the others.

“Give me a U
!”

Talk about embarrassing! I thought the boys were going to die when they heard them at first. It certainly rocked their concentration a bit, especially when Fliss started making up all these crazy dance moves for the others to follow. I thought Mr Pownall might be a bit annoyed too, but he just smiled and pretended he was conducting them.

“Come on Kenny, don’t be a spoilsport!” Frankie danced up to me. “You should join in too!”

But to tell you the truth I just didn’t feel like it. I tried to concentrate on the football. The boys were 1–0 up, but Ryan Scott was passing the ball like a donkey and giving it to the opposition far too much.

“Pass it out to Danny on the wing!” I kept yelling.

And of course when he followed my advice it worked a treat. They won their match 3–1.