Sleepover Girls Go Gymtastic!

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“Dunno,” I shrugged. “Ages away, I think. Anyway, wouldn’t it be great to have something to look forward to after the SATs? And in the meantime, practising for it will help us clear our minds a bit. What do you say?”

The others all looked at each other. Only Fliss was jumping about like she’d got ants in her pants.

“It’ll be so cool!” Fliss twittered. “This competition was made for me… I mean, us!”

I sighed. I just knew that that was because she thought she was little and perfect and would capture the judges’ hearts the moment they saw her. PUKE!

To be honest I was well cheesed off with the others. You’d think they could have mustered some enthusiasm when I was offering them the chance of stardom.

“Look guys, don’t you realise that if we win this thing, we actually get to star in our own TV programme?” I told them in exasperation. “And that’s not just going to be about gymnastics, is it? It’s going to be about us. Everybody will get to see us and we’ll be famous. Lyndz, they’ll probably film you at Mrs McAllister’s stables. You’ll be able to show everyone how much you love horses and you’ll be offered some top job where you can ride the best horses in the world all day. Isn’t that what you want?”

Lyndz’s eyes had begun to sparkle. She beamed and nodded.

“And Frankie, you’ll bowl everyone over with how witty and clever you are and no one will even notice that you’re as tall as a giraffe!”

Frankie batted me playfully on the arm. But I could see that she was beginning to realise what a mega-opportunity we were looking at here.

“And I’ll be spotted by a model agency, won’t I? It’s going to be totally cool!” Fliss gushed again. “It’s a brilliant idea, Kenny. Have you sent off for the factsheet yet? We’ve got to start planning everything. I mean, I’m brilliant at gymnastics, but you knew that, right? I’m sure I can teach you all a few moves, even you Lyndz.”

And with that she cartwheeled across the grass in front of us.

“Charming!” Lyndz tutted, but she was laughing really.

“So are we about to be famous TV stars then?” I shouted.

“YES!” the others chorused.

“We should start rehearsing right away!” Fliss reappeared, a little breathless from her exertion. “What about after school?”

“Revision!” the others reminded her.

“Who cares about stuffy old SATs when we’re going to be on TV?” she retaliated.

“I think you’re being just a tad hasty there, Fliss,” Rosie reminded her. “We’ve got to actually win the competition first, you know.”

But you could tell that there was no stopping Fliss now. She had that look on her face which spelt trouble with a capital T.

“Oh-oh, she’s in Cloud Cuckoo Land again,” Frankie whispered. And we just knew that Fliss’s fluffy little brain was filling up with images of herself being mobbed by adoring fans whenever she went out. Revision for SATs was going to have a really tough time competing with that.

To be honest with you, it was hard enough finding time to see each other at all, what with after-school revision clubs and the masses of homework that Mrs Weaver kept piling on top of us. But as soon as I’d received the factsheet about the competition, we made a firm arrangement to meet round at my place.

“So how was the science revision club?” I asked as Lyndz, Rosie and Fliss staggered through the door.

“I just don’t get it,” Lyndz moaned. “I mean, reversible changes? What’s that all about then?”

“Oh come on Lyndz, Mrs Weaver’s been going on about it for the last hour. You’ve got to understand it by now!” Rosie sounded really exasperated. “Water turns into ice when it freezes, doesn’t it? But you can melt ice when the conditions are warm enough, right? So that’s a reversible change.”

“And salt dissolves in water,” added Frankie. “But you can recover it again through evaporation, so that’s a reversible change too.”

“But what about bread turning into toast?” Lyndz looked puzzled. “If you burn it, you can scrape the black bits off so it looks like bread again, can’t you?”

“WHAT?” we all shrieked. “Changes involving burning are never reversible!”

Lyndz started spluttering.

“You’re having a laugh, aren’t you?” I yelled, wrestling Lyndz to the floor. “The question is, if I tickle you until you explode, what kind of change would that be, Lyndz?”

“An icky, gooey, horrible change!” giggled Rosie.

All the time we were fooling around, Fliss was stretching elaborately in the hallway, totally oblivious to us.

“What’s with her?” Frankie asked, when Lyndz and I had finally picked ourselves up.

“I don’t know,” Rosie shook her head. “She was like that all the time in the class. She wasn’t paying any attention at all.”

“Yeah,” Lyndz whispered, as we crept into the lounge. “I thought Mrs Weaver was really going to lose her rag at one point. It’s like she’s on another planet. Planet Gymtastic!”

“Planet TV Star more like,” Frankie moaned. “That’s all she went on about today. It’s like everything else has just gone out of the window. And that’s really weird because until you told us about that competition, Kenny, she’d been driving us all crazy by stressing so much about the SATs.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” I agreed. “But now it’s like she’s forgotten all about them.”

“Maybe she’ll be OK once we’ve started practising,” Lyndz suggested. “You know, maybe it’s something she needs to get out of her system.”

“Hey guys, shouldn’t we be getting on with planning our routine?” asked Fliss, sticking her head round the door. “I mean, I know what I’m going to do for my bit, but we’ve got to get the rest of you looking decent as well, haven’t we?”

We all burst out laughing and chased her into the garden.

Now when Lyndz had said that she was useless at gymnastics, she wasn’t joking. You know when babies do that thing where they look as though they’re going to do a forward roll, then collapse at the last minute? Well, Lyndz was just like that. And the more Fliss tried to encourage her to do a cartwheel, the funnier it got. First she just ended up doing strange, lopsided little bunny hops. Then she kicked Fliss in the arm as Fliss tried to help Lyndz’s balance. And finally she ended up sprawled on her back in Dad’s compost heap.

“Aw yuck, Lyndz, you stink!” Frankie held her nose.

“Sorry, hic, guys!” Lyndz gulped. “I, hic, told you I wasn’t, hic, any good at this kind of, hic, stuff!”

“You’ll get there Lyndz, it’s just a matter of practice,” Rosie reassured her, as she rubbed Lyndz’s back to get rid of the dreaded hiccups. “Anyway Kenny, why don’t we have a look at your factsheet now? There might be a few suggestions on moves which would be suitable for Lyndz.”

“Good idea, Batman!” I agreed, racing up to my bedroom for the paper.

It did have some really helpful suggestions in it. And it described how in gymnastics the most important thing is the quality of the shapes you make with your body.

“There you go, Lyndz!” I grinned. “You could just stand at the back and make shapes. Like this!” I stood up and spread myself out like a starfish, then crouched down and stuck one arm in the air. The others doubled up in hysterics. Except Fliss.

“I don’t think it means that at all,” she sniffed. “But look, the bit about music is in bold type – that must be important.”

“It says that ‘gymnasts should choose music which enables them to express different emotions. Each move should be in tune with the music, and one move should move seamlessly into another.’ Well, that’s all right then!” I said, pulling a face. “What kind of music ‘expresses different emotions’?”

“It doesn’t, hic, mean classical music, does it?” wondered Lyndz. “I mean that, hic, would just put the icing on it if we had to, hic, prance around to that.”

“They mean show tunes,” Fliss announced smugly. “Gymnasts usually perform routines to songs from big musicals like Phantom of the Opera or Miss Saigon. Mum’s got loads of CDs from shows, I’m sure she’ll help us to pick some out.”

“No way!” I told her firmly.

The others backed off. They knew what was coming. We were winding up for another Kenny and Fliss showdown.

“You and your mum might like show tunes Fliss, but the rest of us don’t,” I continued. “I couldn’t even recognise a song from Miss Saigon if it bit me on the bottom. And just because other gymnasts use music like that, doesn’t mean that we have to, OK?”

“I was only trying to help!” Fliss said huffily. “I want us to win this competition, that’s all.”

“Well so do I,” I told her. “And that’s why we’re not going to tell our parents about the competition just yet. We’re going to win this by doing things our way, OK?”

“OK,” the others agreed.

But I could see by the look in Fliss’s eyes that things weren’t OK. Far from it. I’d never seen her looking so defiant before. It was almost like she was a different person.

The hairs pricked up on the back of my neck and a shiver crept down my spine. I knew then that this whole competition thing was going to bring us nothing but trouble. What I didn’t know was just how much.

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“Fliss has turned into a power-crazed freak!” Frankie flopped down on the lawn next to me. We were at her place after school, practising our gymnastic moves.

“She’s just been having a right go at me because I couldn’t hold my handstand long enough,” Frankie carried on. “I told her that it’s easy for her with her short little legs. Mine are so long it’s like trying to balance two drainpipes up there!”

“What did she say?”

Frankie put on her ‘prim Felicity Proudlove’ voice. “‘You must practise, practise, practise Frankie. I’ve got my work cut out as it is trying to get Lyndz to look half-way decent.’”

We both dissolved into giggles.

“Poor Lyndz!” I chortled.

We both squinted into the distance, where Fliss was demonstrating to Lyndz how she wanted her to kneel, lift and stretch her left leg behind her then move into a forward roll. But every time Lyndz tried to follow her instructions, Fliss found something to complain about.