Sleepover Club Blitz Read Online Free

idea.
    Then Danny grinned. “Oh, all right, I’ll give it ago.”
    “Yeah, why not?” smirked Owen Cartwright, like he was doing Miss Pearson some huge favour.
    “We’ll come, won’t we, Emma?” said Emily Berryman at once. She has this funny gruff voice, like one of those teddy bears you tip upside-down.
    My mates exchanged glances. No WAY were they leaving Owen to the tender mercies of the M&Ms!
    “You can put us five down, Miss,” said Frankie quickly.
    I shook my head. “Not me.”
    “You’ve got to,” hissed Frankie.
    “Give me one good reason!” I hissed back.
    Frankie pulled a face. “Because of that thing you’ve got to do. You know!” She nodded towards Kenny’s old spelling book.
    “Oh, that,” I groaned.
    “Is there a problem, Rosie?” asked Miss Pearson.
    “No, Miss,” I sighed. “I’ll be there.”
    When lunchtime came, I trekked dutifully down to the Home Ec room with the others. Suddenly Fliss reversed madly down the corridor. “Ouf,” she gasped. “It smells worse than Andy’s mum’s cabbage soup.”
    Unfortunately Miss Pearson saw us through the open door. “Just in time,” she called cheerfully. “I’ve started dishing up.”
    We were trapped!
    It wasn’t cabbage soup, as it turned out. It was something even more disgusting. Would you believe (gulp!) Dock Leaf Pudding? Those poor wartime housewives were so frantic to get vitamins into their kids, they’d even cook WEEDS!
    Miss Pearson dished up gruesome little helpings for everyone, explaining that the pudding had been cooked in a “hay-box”, a cunning wartime wheeze for saving fuel.
    Here’s how it worked. You started your stew, or whatever, on the cooker. When it was bubbling nicely, you took it off the stove and plonked it in your handy hay-box, which was a box packed with actual hay. (So
that’s
why they called it a hay-box! Duh!)
    In case you’re wondering, the hay was to stop all that precious heat from leaking out, while your stew carried on cooking in the box. It acted a bit like a Thermos flask.
    For those of you interested in a revolting culinary experience, here’s the recipe.
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Dock Leaf Pudding
    Take young dock leaves and boil them in a pan with chopped spring onions. Add a handful of oatmeal, a beaten egg and a knob of butter. Simmer for half an hour.
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    (Serving tip from R.C. Now bury at the bottom of the garden and evacuate surrounding area!!)
    Miss Pearson let us suffer for all of ten seconds. Then she gave a wicked grin. “However, I thought some of you might be allergic to dock leaves, so I brought some back-up,” she said. She whipped open the oven door and produced a tray of yummy mini-pizzas.
    Everyone gave sighs of relief. Then Miss Pearson nuked some packets of French fries in the microwave, and we got stuck into our REAL lunch!
    As you know, I’m not the kind of girl to turn up her nose at free pizza. Nor would I DREAM of saying “I told you so”. But would you believe that after we went to all that trouble, Owen didn’t turn UP? Nor did the M&Ms.
    “I smell a rat,” said Frankie darkly.
    “More like a frog,” I mumbled.
    My mates gave me funny looks.
    “I was trying to think of something really slimy,” I fibbed hastily. SomeONE really slimy, was what I actually meant!
    We were heading for the playing fields, gulping big breaths of fresh air. After our close encounter with the Dock Leaf Pudding, we were desperate for extra oxygen.
    But when we got there, who do you think was running round in his cute little shorts, merrily playing footie? And who do you think was cheering him on adoringly? Yep! Owen’s latest fans, the M&Ms, plus their sad little slave, Alana Palmer.
    My mates looked as if they’d just heard Christmas was cancelled. Personally, I thought they should have more pride. Plus I totally didn’t want the M&Ms getting one up on us.
    “Let’s go,” I pleaded.
    But all my friends were gazing at Owen as if they’d never seen anything so awesome. It was like