Frankie, Rosie and me leapt forward, and grabbed for the keyboard as it fell to the ground. Frankie caught it, one-handed, just before it hit the carpet.
“Nice one, Frankie,” Kenny said, looking relieved. “That was a great save – you ought to play for Leicester City! And talking of Leicester City—”
“NO!” the rest of us chorused loudly. Whenever we put any of our computers on, Kenny always wants to look at mega-boring footie sites.
We had to wait a few seconds for the computer to connect to the Net, then Fliss typed our website address in the box. The Home Page of our site popped up, and we all cheered. We do that every time!
“Oh no, I’ve got to change that stupid photo of me,” Frankie groaned, covering her eyes. “I look like I’m about to be sick!”
“You always look like that,” Kenny replied, and got an elbow in the ribs.
We’ve all got our photos on there, underneath The Sleepover Club banner. Mine’s not too bad, but Kenny’s pulling this totally gruesome face – of course! There are sections called Midnight Feast, Sleepover Games and Spooky Sleepover Stories, and loads of information about all the things we get up to when we have sleepovers.
“It’s a shame we can’t add some more stuff to the site,” Kenny grumbled, as Fliss checked the messages section. “We could give people tips on how to set up their own Sleepover Club.”
“Yeah, and how to get into loads of trouble at the same time!” Rosie added with a grin.
It’s true, we do kind of get into trouble every so often, although it’s never really our fault. My mum says that wherever the Sleepover Club goes, trouble’s never far behind! But what do The Olds know?
“We can add stuff to the site if we want to,” Frankie said. “My dad’s really got into the Net, and he’s doing an evening class in web design. So he’ll be able to give us a hand.”
“Oooh, a message!” Fliss squealed excitedly, bouncing up and down in the chair. “A new message!”
We all crowded round the computer.
“Who sent it?” Kenny asked, “Is it from Chantal in Canada?”
“Is it from Anna in Norway?” Rosie wanted to know.
“Maybe it’s from Maria and the others,” I suggested.
“Come on, Fliss, get a move on!” Frankie moaned.
“I’m doing my best!” Fliss retorted, fiddling with the mouse. “But it’s taking ages to open.”
“What does that little paperclip thing mean?” Kenny asked, pointing at the screen.
“That means there’s something attached to the email,” Frankie said. “It could be photos or something.”
We were all dead excited. As soon as the email opened up, we all stared at the screen eagerly.
“Hey, it’s from the States!” Kenny gasped. “Cool, or what, dude!”
“I can’t see,” Rosie complained, trying to look over Frankie’s shoulder. “Read it out, Fliss.”
Hi, Frankie, Fliss, Kenny, Rosie and Lyndz! We are four girls from Miami who saw your site and think it’s just so cool! Our names are Darlene, Barbie, Jennie and Shannon, and we’ve attached some photos so that you can see what we look like. We love sleepovers, and we’re going to start our own club – if our moms and dads let us. They say we get into too much trouble when we’re all together, though – just because we accidentally lost Barbie’s dog last weekend! (We found him though.) Please email us back!
“Click on that bit at the bottom of the screen, Fliss,” Frankie told her. “Then we can see their photos.”
We all waited impatiently for the pictures to load. When they did, the four girls looked really cool. Shannon and Jennie were twins who looked exactly the same. Barbie had long black hair and was really pretty, and Darlene was pulling this horrible face that was nearly as bad as Kenny’s!
“Shall I write back?” Fliss asked eagerly, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. “What shall I say?”
“Put – Dear Barbie, Jennie, Shannon and Darlene,” Rosie began.
“It was totally fab to get your email,” I went on.
“We think you should definitely go for it, and start your own Sleepover Club,” Frankie added.
“You can get lots of info off our website,” Fliss tapped in, “and we can give you loads more. We’re the experts!”
“And take no notice of your parents,” Kenny instructed, “because we don’t!”
Fliss typed our names at the bottom, and then hit the Send button. A few seconds later we got a message saying that our email had gone.
“Isn’t it totally cool to think that our letter’s already on its way to America!” Rosie said. “It’s loads quicker than phoning.”
“Yeah, I can just see The Olds letting us phone the States,” Kenny said, bouncing on to the bed. “They’d have a mega fit!”
“We’re lucky we got a chance to use the computer at all,” I remarked, as I switched everything off. “Tom’s been using it every day since we got it. It’s only because he’s rehearsing with his band that we got a go today.”
“What band?” Frankie asked.
“Oh, Tom’s started this band with three of his mates,” I replied. “They practise in our garage.”
“Your brother Tom’s in a pop group?” Fliss’s mouth fell open. She looked dead impressed.
I nodded. “Yeah, didn’t I mention it?”
“No!” Rosie looked really impressed as well. Honestly, anyone would think it was Westlife practising in our garage! “What’re they called?”
“Aztec,” I replied.
“Uh?” Kenny didn’t look very impressed. “That’s well boring. They could have called themselves something really cool – like The Sleepover Club, ha ha!”
“Let’s go and check them out,” Frankie suggested.
“Yeah, let’s get their autographs now, and when they’re famous, we can sell them for mega-bucks!” Kenny chortled, jumping off the bed and heading for the door. We all followed, and tried to shove through at the same time.
“Ow!” Fliss yelled. “That was my foot you trod on, Kenny!”
“Last one down loves Ryan Scott!” Kenny shouted, racing for the stairs. Ryan’s in our class at school, and Fliss is in love with him anyway, so she didn’t mind being last!
We charged into the kitchen, where my mum was making spaghetti and tomato sauce for our tea. Spike, my baby brother, was in his playpen (his name’s Sam really, but his hair sticks up in this cute little spike at the front), and Ben, who’s four, was playing with our mad dog, Buster.
“Mum, is it OK if we go into the garage?” I asked. “We want to listen to Tom’s band.”
My mum smiled. “Are you sure?”
“Why? Are they that bad?” Kenny asked.
“I haven’t a clue,” my mum replied. “Luckily Lyndz’s dad soundproofed the garage, so I don’t have to listen to them!”
“They can’t be that awful,” I pointed out. “I mean, they’ve got their first gig soon.”