LITMIR.BIZ

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revenge straight away, but I really got into the sticking and gluing after that, so I forgot all about them.

      My pig was looking excellent. “When it’s dry,” I said, holding it up to show the others, “I’m going to paint it blue and yellow.” (Leicester City’s colours, of course!) “Then I’m going to cut a slot in the top so it’s a money box and use it to save up for match tickets and footie mags and stuff. How brilliant is that?”

      Nobody got a chance to tell me what a genius I was, though, because right then Mrs Weaver said, “Ten minutes to the bell, everyone. Start clearing up.”

      Rosie and Lyndz leapt over to the sink to wash up our paint brushes and glue pots. Frankie, Fliss and I picked up all the stray bits of sticky paper. Then we carefully lined up our balloons alongside everyone else’s on the shelf above the sink.

      Outside at break there was a massive grey cloud hanging over the playground. Soon spits and spots of rain started falling.

      “It’s supposed to be summer!” said Fliss, scowling up at the sky. “How will I ever get a tan when it’s like this?”

      “Brrr! I’m going to get my cardie,” said Rosie, and she dashed back towards the classroom.

      “I think we should go on a summer holiday,” said Lyndz. “Sleepover summer camp – wouldn’t it be ace? Somewhere hot…”

      “We could have midnight feasts under the stars every night,” said Frankie.

      “Dream on, guys,” I said. “Whose parents are going to take all five of us on holiday?”

      Just then Rosie came charging towards us, panting and flapping her hands. “Kenny!” she gasped. “Your pig! It’s floating in the sink. It’s gone all mushy!”

      It was obvious from her face that she wasn’t joking. I set off for the classroom at supersonic speed. The others followed.

      Sure enough, when we got there we found the sink half full of water, and bobbing around in it was my Leicester City pig. Or what was left of it. The papier-mâché had turned to gunge and was sliding off the balloon, making the water into gluey soup.

      “Nooo!” I fished the slimy balloon out and dumped it on the draining board. “I don’t believe it! It’s totally ruined!”

      “It must’ve fallen off the shelf,” said Rosie gloomily.

      “Fallen off?” I said. “No way. I was really careful not to put it near the edge.”

      “Maybe someone moved it to make room for theirs,” suggested Lyndz.

      “Uh-huh.” I shook my head. “This pig was pushed.”

      By now the bell had rung for the end of break and everyone was piling back into the classroom.

      “D’you mean someone did it on purpose?” said Fliss.

      Honestly! I’m not saying my friends are thick, but sometimes they’re too nice to see what’s totally obvious. “Of course they did,” I said. “And no prizes for guessing who.”

      “Settle down, everyone,” said Mrs Weaver, striding in with a pile of maths books under her arm.

      “I thought it was weird…” began Lyndz as we went back to our seats.

      “What?”

      “I noticed the M&Ms were at the back of the queue for the sink. Usually they push to the front. They must’ve let everyone else go first on purpose…”

      “Laura, Francesca and Lyndsey – sit down please,” said Mrs Weaver.

      I growled with frustration and flopped into my chair. A few seats away, the M&Ms were looking at Mrs Weaver with wide-eyed innocent expressions, like two puppies on a TV advert. This is it, I thought. A pig too far. This means Kenny on the warpath. Chaaaaarge!

      If I’d known what was going to happen, there’s no way I would have done it, would I? I just wish someone had turned me into Mystic Kenny for the day, and kitted me out with a crystal ball.

      No such luck. Instead, I spent the whole of the maths lesson racking my brain, trying to come up with a brilliant revenge plan. Frankie kept passing me little scribbled drawings of pigs called Emily and Emma to cheer me up. They made me giggle all right, but by lunchtime, though I was feeling happier, I still hadn’t had any ideas.

      Then, when we were sitting in the dining hall eating our packed lunches, I had a flash of inspiration.

      “Don’t you want that yoghurt, Fliss?” I said.

      “Urgh, no.” She pushed it away from her. “Andy did the shopping and he forgot to get low-fat again.” (Andy is Fliss’s mum’s boyfriend. He’s really nice.)

      “Fliss!” Lyndz laughed. “One yoghurt isn’t going to make you fat!”

      Fliss wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like the taste if I know it’s not low-fat.”

      “Can I have it, then?” I said.

      “If you want.”

      I didn’t eat it – I slipped it into my lunch box. I had the best plan.

      When we’d finished, we headed back to the classroom as usual to dump our lunch stuff. I hung back, pretending to look for something in my rucksack.

      “Come on, slowcoach!” said Lyndz, standing at the door.

      “You go ahead – I’ll catch you up,” I said. When she’d gone, I hurried over to Emily Berryman’s desk. Her bag was on her chair. Quickly, I unzipped it. Inside was a jumble of books and games kit – she’s not very neat. I took Fliss’s yoghurt and tweaked the lid back about halfway. Then I buried the pot deep in the bag.

      When I got out to the playground, I must’ve looked pleased with myself, because Frankie said, “Hey, Mystery Queen – have you been up to something?”

      “Maybe.” I wiggled my eyebrows. “You’ll find out.” It was going to be the funniest surprise ever.

      Back in the classroom at the end of the lunch break, Emily picked up her bag and dumped it on the floor, but didn’t open it. I was hoping she’d shake it around a bit – that would really get the yoghurt slopping – but no such luck. Anyway, I was soon thinking about other things, because Mrs Weaver came in clutching a stack of envelopes and started handing them out. They were addressed to our parents.

      “Hey, what’s this?” said Lyndz, holding hers up to the light in the hope that it was see-through. Sealed letters to take home always give us the jitters.

      “Something boring, I bet,” said Fliss. “PTA meeting. Or a sponsored spell.”

      We all groaned.

      “Quiet now, everyone,” said Mrs Weaver, clapping her hands. “I have something exciting to tell you. The letters that I’ve just handed out are to inform your parents about this year’s summer trip.”

      That made us sit up and take notice. “Please let it be Alton Towers,” muttered Frankie next to me. “Or the London Eye – that would be wicked!”

      “You’re a very lucky class,” said Mrs Weaver. “This trip is really something special – it’s an activity week on the north Devon coast.”

      Oh. My. Gosh. Frankie and I clutched each other. A week? A whole week? This was awesome!

      “Is it by the sea, with a beach?” Danny McCloud called out.

      Mrs Weaver smiled. “Yes, by the sea with a beach, Danny. But we won’t just be sunbathing all day. There’ll be a variety of activities to choose from, and we’ll be staying in a youth hostel, where we’ll all get involved with the cooking and cleaning. It’s about co-operation and working together as well as having fun together.”

      I don’t really think anyone in the

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