Dare Game

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘Hey, hey, careful, sweetie! Watch my cigarette! No need to be so dramatic. Looks like you’re the little actress!’ She dabbed at my face. ‘Real tears!’

  ‘No they’re not,’ I said, sniffling. ‘I don’t ever cry. It’s hayfever.’

  ‘Where’s the hay?’ said Mum, peering round Elaine’s office. Her ash was building up again. She tapped it into Elaine’s special Bunnikins mug. I hoped Elaine would look inside before making herself a cup of coffee.

  ‘I get allergic to all sorts,’ I said, wiping my nose.

  ‘Hey, hey, haven’t you got a tissue?’ said Mum, tutting at me. ‘I hope you’re not allergic to me.’

  ‘Maybe it’s your perfume – though it smells lovely.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Mum, dabbing at me with her own tissue. ‘That’s my Poison. That pig forked out for a huge bottle just before he cleared off. I’d like to poison him all right! The nerve! Left me for some silly little kid barely older than you.’

  ‘Typical!’ I said.

  Mum chuckled again. ‘Where do you get all your quaint ways, eh?’

  ‘Cam says “typical” a lot,’ I said, without really thinking.

  ‘Who’s Cam?’ said Mum.

  I felt a little thunk in my stomach. ‘My . . . my foster mum.’

  Mum straightened up and threw the damp tissue into Elaine’s wastebin. Well, she missed, but she didn’t seem to care. ‘Ah!’ she said, pinching the end of her cigarette so that she squeezed the light out of it. She threw it in the direction of the wastebin, missing again. ‘She’s the one who’s taken a fancy to you. Your social worker –’ Mum lowered her voice slightly, gesturing round the office – ‘what’s her name?’

  ‘Elaine. The pain.’

  Mum stopped looking stroppy and giggled again. ‘She is, isn’t she! Still, you watch your lip, Tracy.’

  I stuck my lip right out and crossed my eyes, like I was watching it.

  Mum sighed and shook her head at me. ‘Cheeky! Anyway, she gets in touch with me – eventually – and tells me this woman has bobbed up out of the blue and has taken you out of the Children’s Home. Right?’

  I nodded.

  Mum lit up another fag, getting dead irritated now. ‘Why did you go along with it? You don’t want to live with this woman, do you?’

  I didn’t know what to do. I just kind of shrugged my shoulders.

  ‘She sounds a bit suspect, if you ask me. Single woman, no spare cash – obviously scruffy standards, judging by your little outfit. Where did she get your clothes, a jumble sale?’

  ‘You got it.’

  ‘No! You’d think they’d be a bit more picky with their foster parents. Couldn’t they have found anyone better? Anyway, you don’t need a foster mum. It’s not like you’re an orphan. You’ve got a mum. Me.’

  I blinked at her.

  She sighed again, dragging on her cigarette. ‘I wanted you safe and sound in the Children’s Home where everyone could keep an eye on you.’

  ‘I don’t want to go back!’ I burst out.

  Mum narrowed her eyes at me. ‘What did they do to you there, then?’

  ‘It was awful!’ I launched in. ‘They kept locking me in the quiet room if I did the slightest little thing and everyone kept picking on me. I got blamed for everything. And there was this big girl, Justine, she kept beating me up. Though I beat her up too. And we played this Dare Game and I was heaps more daring than she was. I ran all round the garden of the Children’s Home without any clothes on and Justine only ate one worm but I ate two really wriggly ones—’

  ‘Hey hey, you’re a right little nutter, you are! They’re not a good influence, children’s homes. Still, don’t worry, you’re not going back.’

  ‘So . . . am I going to stay with Cam?’

  Mum put her head on one side. ‘Don’t you want to come and live with me?’

  I stared at her. I stared and stared and stared. I wanted to rewind her so that I could hear her all over again. And again. I couldn’t believe it. Or was she kidding? ‘Really? With you, Mum?’

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  ‘For how long? A whole week?’ I asked.

  ‘Never mind a week! How about for ever?’

  ‘Wow!’ She still had her fag so I didn’t jump on her. I jumped on Elaine’s swivel chair instead and whirled it round and round.

  ‘Don’t do that, you’re doing my head in,’ said Mum.

  I stopped, sharpish.

  ‘It’s time we got together, darling,’ she said softly. ‘I’ve missed my little girl so much. We’re going to make a go of it together, just you and me.’

  It was like she’d taken me by the hand and we were climbing a golden staircase right up into the sky. And then I tripped on a step because I suddenly thought of something.

  ‘But what about Cam?’

  ‘What about her?’ said Mum. She took a last drag and then squashed her cigarette fiercely inside the Bunnikins mug. I imagined all their powder-puff tails scorching. ‘Never mind this Cam. She’s not family. Oh, Tracy, we’ll have such a great time together. First we’ll kit you out with some new clothes, smarten you up a little—’

  ‘I’ll smarten up all you want, Mum, no worries on that score. Designer clothes?’

  ‘Only the best for my girl. None of this shabby chainstore stuff. You don’t want to look the same as all the other kids. You want to look that bit special.’

  ‘You bet!’ I whirled round one more time. ‘Genuine logos, not fake market stuff?’

  ‘Who do you think I am?’ said Mum, hands on hips.

  ‘You’re my mum,’ I said.

  S-o-o-o-o . . . I’m going to have my fairytale happy ending and more than half this notebook is still empty! I’m going to live with my mum. I am. I am. Just as soon as we’ve got it sorted out with Elaine.

  ‘I’ll sort her!’ said Mum.

  And of course there’s Cam.

  Cam.

  Alexander’s Home

  I’M MAD AT Cam. I mean, I went through agonies telling her. I felt really bad. I was nearly crying. I thought it would be awful for her. But do you know something? She didn’t seem to care at all! She didn’t gasp and cry and cling to me. She just sat there, biting her nails, though she ticks me off something rotten if I do that. She didn’t say anything. Not a single word. No ‘Don’t leave me, darling Tracy, you mean the whole world to me and I can’t live without you.’ Nothing.

  So I got a bit mad then and told her that my mum thinks I look a right old scruffbag and she’s going to get me kitted out in a full set of designer clothes. I thought that might get her going. I thought she might say, ‘Oh, Tracy, I feel so bad, I’ve never given you decent clothes, but tell you what, if you promise to stay with me we’ll go into town right away and I’ll wave my credit card like a wand and you can wear anything you want, money no object, just so long as you live with me.’ But not a bit of it. She still said a big fat NOTHING.

  So I got really really mad because she obviously couldn’t care less so I went on about all this other stuff my mum was going to buy me, like a computer and rollerblades and a new bike and a trip to Disneyland and she didn’t even flinch. Didn’t try to compete. Simply couldn’t be bothered. She just sat there, nibble nibble on her nails, like she was bored with the whole situation and couldn’t wait to be shot of me.

  So then I was so mega-mad I just wanted to don Doc Martens and jump up and down on her so I went on and on about my mum and how great she is and fantastically beautiful and wonderfully dressed and how we had these amazing cuddles and it was just like we’d never ever been parted.

  And she still didn’t say a word! Nibble nibble on the nails till she was nearly down to her own knuckles.

  ‘Say something!’

  She just sat there and sat there and then she eventually took her hand out of her mouth and mumbled, ‘I don’t really know what to say.’

  Call herself a writer!

  ‘I thought you were meant to be good with words!’

  �
�Just at the moment they’re sticking in my throat,’ she mumbled, like I’d just squirted Superglue round her tonsils.

  I went and stood right in front of her. She was all huddled up, almost as if I had been jumping all over her. I had this sharp little pain in my chest. I suddenly felt like I was the mother and she was my little girl. ‘You’re sad, aren’t you, Cam?’ I said softly.

  She made more mumbly noises and started nail-biting again.

  I reached out and took hold of her nibbled hand. ‘You’re unhappy that my mum’s come back, aren’t you?’ I said hopefully.

  Cam didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then she gave me this weird smile, practically stretching from ear to ear. ‘I’m happy for you, Tracy,’ she said.

  I dropped her hand like it was red hot and ran out of the room.

  Happy! Smiling all over her face!

  She obviously couldn’t wait to be rid of me. She doesn’t care about me at all. Well, I don’t care. I don’t need her. I’ve got my mum now.

  I’ll go and live with Mum and I shan’t mind a bit if I never see Cam ever again. I’m not going to take any notice of her. I’m just going to put my life on hold until I can go and live with my mum. I’m not going to go to school either.

  I’m in a bit of bother at school at the moment. I started up the Dare Game, quite by chance. Roxanne was calling me the B word again because she knows it really gets to me, so I dared her to say it in front of Mrs Bagley.

  I thought she’d chicken out. But her eyes glittered and she said, ‘Right!’ She marched right up to Mrs V.B. and said, ‘Tracy Beaker told me to say this weird word, Mrs Bagley,’ and then she said it straight out and added, all Little Miss Innocence, ‘Is it rude?’

  So guess who got into trouble.

  ‘And I won the dare,’ said Roxanne.

  I stuck my tongue out at her, waggling it as rudely as I could.

  ‘It’s my turn to dare you now,’ said Roxanne. ‘I dare you to stick your tongue out like that at Mrs Bagley!’

  So I did. And guess who got into trouble again.

  ‘But it’s my turn now,’ I said, catching up with Roxanne at break. I peered past the cloakrooms and had a sudden inspiration. ‘OK, I dare you to run right into the boys’ toilets!’

  So she did. But she said I’d pushed her in. So I got into heaps more trouble.

  And now it was her turn to dare me. She waited till lunchtime. It was spaghetti bolognaise. I don’t like school spag bol. The cook makes it bright red like blood and the spaghetti seems extra wiggly like worms. I pushed my plateful away from me.

  ‘Don’t you want it, Tracy?’ said Roxanne, her eyes going glitter glitter glitter. ‘OK, I dare you to tip it over your head!’

  So I did. And when Roxanne and all her stupid friends started screaming with laughter I tipped Roxanne’s spag bol over her head.

  I ended up in BIG BIG BIG trouble. I had to stand outside the head’s office for the rest of the day in Total Disgrace. Mr Hatherway went past and shook his head at me. ‘Hair ribbon?’ he said, picking a strand of spaghetti out of my curls. ‘It looks like you’ve really hit the jackpot today, Tracy. What’s poor Mrs Bagley going to do with you, eh?’

  I was sure she was going to invent some serious form of torture.

  I don’t see why I should submit to serious Vomit Bag Aggro. I won’t even go in for registration. What do I care if they phone up Cam and complain? I shan’t be at that school much longer. My mum will send me to a brand-new super school where I’ll be dead popular because of all my designer clothes and everyone will be in awe of me and be desperate to be my best friend and even the teachers will think I’m the greatest and I’ll be top of the class and the best girl in the whole school.

  You wait.

  You just wait and see.

  So when Cam took me to school this morning I waved goodbye and ran into the playground – and went on running, all round the kids and then back out again and down the road, running and running, and I kept it up for ages, acting like there were Tracy-catchers prowling with nets and hooks and manacles. I didn’t know why I was running like crazy.

  Then I realized where I was running to. My house.

  I rounded the corner – and a football came whizzing straight through the air, about to knock my head clean off my shoulders. But I’m Tracy-SuperStar, the girl-goalie with nanosecond-quick reactions. I leapt, I clutched, I tucked the ball close to my chest – saved!

  ‘Wow!’ I yelled, congratulating myself.

  This big burly kid came charging up, his head as round as the football but with little prickles all over, a serious don’t-mess-with-me haircut. Make that hairshave.

  ‘Give us that ball,’ he said.

  ‘Did you see the way I caught it?’ I said, leaping about. ‘What a save, eh?’

  ‘Sheer fluke,’ said the Football guy. He knocked the ball out of my hand and started dribbling with it.

  ‘Sheer skill!’ I said indignantly. ‘Come on, see if you can get another ball past me.’

  ‘I don’t play with girls.’

  ‘Girls are great at footie,’ I said. ‘Well, I am. Let’s play, yeah?’

  ‘No! Get lost, little girly.’

  I suddenly charged at him. He stiffened in surprise, expecting some kind of mad attack – and forgot about his ball. I gave it a nifty little hooking kick and whipped it right out of his reach.

  ‘Superb tackle!’ I yelled, nudging it along. ‘The great Tracy Beaker and her brilliant footwork yet again. She’s really come good, this girl – OUCH!’

  Football did not tackle back with finesse. He went whack. I went smack. On my back.

  I lay there, groaning. Football stopped, bouncing the ball right by my head. ‘You all right, kid?’ he said.

  ‘Oh yeah. Sure. Just having a little kip on the pavement,’ I mumbled.

  ‘I didn’t mean to knock you flying like that. I didn’t realize you’re such a little kid.’

  ‘I’m not!’ I said, insulted.

  ‘Here.’ He reached out with his great pink hand and suddenly I was hauled upright. ‘OK now? Mind you, it’s your own fault. You shouldn’t have messed around with my football.’

  ‘I wasn’t messing, I was tackling! You’ve got a totally useless defence. Here –’ I gave a sudden lunge, all set to prove my point, but he was wise to me now and got the ball well away before I could get near it.

  ‘Give over, kid!’ he said, laughing – and then he dribbled the ball round the corner.

  ‘Don’t go! Hey, Football, come back. Play with me, eh? There isn’t anyone else. Go on. Football?’

  But he’d gone.

  ‘See if I care. You’re lousy at football anyway,’ I yelled.

  Then I sloped off. To the house. I decided it was definitely going to be my house. Until I go off and live with Mum and have my very own real house.

  I’d not got the cushion and the blanket organized. Or any proper provisions. I searched my pockets for forgotten goodies. The best I could do was an ancient chewed piece of gum stuck in the corner of a tissue. Well, I think it was gum. Certainly it didn’t look very appetizing, whatever. I didn’t have any cash on me either. It looked like I was going to have to play skinny-starving-to-death-fashion-model in my house – not my most favourite game.

  But the weirdest thing happened. I went up the scruffy path at the back, investigating an old Kentucky Chicken carton with my foot just in case. (No luck at all, totally licked clean to the bone.) I climbed in through the back window, negotiated the kitchen, and walked into the living room, my footsteps sounding oddly loud on the bare floorboards. The old curtains were drawn so it was quite dark in the room, but I could still see my red velvet sofa in the middle of the room . . . with a big black velvet cushion at one end and a blue blanket neatly covering the worst of the muddy marks.

  I stared at them as if I’d conjured them out of thin air. It was like one of those old fairytales. I squinted long and hard at the cushion and the blanket to see if they were being tot
ed about by disembodied hands. I liked this idea even if it was kind of spooky. Maybe the hands were perched in a corner somewhere ready to flap their flying fingers at my command?

  ‘OK, the cushion and the blanket are spot on, but what about some food?’ I said, snapping my own fingers.

  Then I stopped mid-snap, my nails digging into my thumbs. I’d spotted an upturned cardboard packing case over by the window, with a checked dishcloth neatly laid over it like a little tablecloth. There was a paper party plate with an entire giant packet of Smarties carefully arranged on top in rings of colour – brown, green, blue, mauve, pink, red, orange, with yellow in the middle so that it looked like a flower.

  I shivered from right up in the scalp down to the little taily bit at the end of my spine. My favourite food in all the world is Smarties. And here was a big plate of them beautifully laid out just for me.

  ‘It is magic!’ I whispered, and I circled the cardboard table.

  I put out a hand and picked up a red Smartie. I licked it. It was real. I popped it in my mouth, and then hurriedly shoved another handful after it in case they suddenly disappeared. Then I went to draw the old dusty curtains so I could have a closer look and suss out how this magic was working.

  I yanked at the curtain – and screamed. Someone else screamed too!

  A boy was sitting scrunched up on the window ledge, knees up under his little pointy chin, hands clasping a book, mouth gasping, eyes blink-blink-blinking.

  ‘What are you doing here? Are you trying to frighten me?’ I yelled.

  He clasped his book so tightly it was in danger of buckling. His eyes were little slits because his face was so screwed up. ‘You frightened me,’ he whispered.

  ‘What are you doing in my house?’ I demanded.

  He sat up a little straighter. ‘It’s my house, actually,’ he said timidly.

  ‘You don’t live here.’

  ‘Yes I do. Well, during the day I do. I’m making it my home. I brought the cushion. And the rug. And organized refreshments.’