Sleepover Club Makeover. Jana Hunter

Rosie – style makeovers

      3. Lyndz – advertising and manicures

      4. Frankie – jewellery and face painting

      5. Kenny – hairdressing

      “We should do a ‘Swap the Head’ challenge,” giggled Lyndz, when it was all written down in Kenny’s diary.

      “What’s that?”

      “You know, you cut up pictures of people and swap their heads around. Then you charge for guessing whose body belongs where.”

      Frankie gave a snort of laughter. “I can just see Emily Berryman’s body with the school hamster’s head!”

      “And Mrs Pickernose with its bum!”

      “Wicked!”

      Mrs Pickernose is our name for our gruesome dinner lady, Mrs Pickett. (Mind you, Pickett is a good name for her too, because she’s always picking on us lot.)

      “Imagine Dishy Dave with Mr Short’s knobbly knees!” laughed Rosie.

      We’d seen Mr Short’s knees when he wore shorts at the school fête and they were well knobbly.

      “Oh, Dave, Dave!” I sighed, pretending to swoon. “I never knew your knees were so knobbly!”

      Everyone shrieked with laughter and Lyndz went into a major bout of hiccups (natch!). We had to bash her on the back, and scare her with horrible faces, to try and stop her.

      Suddenly, there was a loud banging on the ceiling that made us all jump out of our skins. “Keep it down in there!” my mum called out. “I’m trying to get the twins to bed.”

      As if we didn’t know. Already, the babies’ ear-splitting howls were interrupting our important Sleepover Gang business. Why couldn’t they be the ones to “keep it down”, I’d like to know? Those twins were taking over the whole house!

      And as if that wasn’t bad enough, Mum’s knocking had made the gang go embarrassingly quiet. I knew just what they were thinking…

      My mum used to do all sorts of cool things for our sleepovers, making scrummy things to eat and treating us dead grown-up, but these days all she could think of was my baby brother and sister. Sleepovers were nothing but a nuisance to her since they came along and now she’d banished us to the living room it was even worse. It was really winding me up.

       Didn’t I count for anything in this house any more?

      “I know,” I said, trying to shrug it off, “let’s play Musical Make-up.” (Those twins were not going to ruin my Sleepover!)

      “Musical Make-up. Brillo!” squealed Frankie, forgetting to be quiet. She leapt up, knocking her tray of beads all over the floor.

      Who cares? I thought. We’ll clean up later.

      Musical Make-up is the Sleepover Gang’s own version of musical chairs. Difference is, when the music stops, instead of just finding a chair, you plonk yourself opposite someone. Then the two of you make up one side of the other’s face (both working at the same time