Dare Game

by Jacqueline Wilson

  I started to think seriously about a treehouse. I could get Alexander to design it – not one of his cardboard concoctions, a proper planks of wood job. Football and I could knock it together and somehow secure it to the tree. Yes, a treehouse would be absolutely amazing. I could furnish it with blankets and cushions and have heaps of provisions and I could live up there all the time and spy on all my enemies and everyone would talk in awed tones about Tracy of the Treetops.

  I decided to make a start on the treehouse idea for real, but then I remembered I was going to live with my mum any minute now so there wasn’t any point and I got a bit distracted – and slipped. I scrabbled and grabbed the next branch down, hanging on for dear life. Or lousy life. Any kind of life.

  ‘Watch out, Tracy!’

  ‘Tracy! Come back! You’re the nutter now!’

  My heart was hammering and my hands were slippy with sweat but I thought I’d wind them up just a little bit more. I climbed higher, up and up, branch after branch, hand over hand, foot after foot, concentrating fiercely now. I climbed until I was fast running out of tree, the branches becoming so delicate and spindly that some broke right off when I took hold of them – but I dared go even higher so that I could just about reach up up up to the very top. I hooked my knickers round and attached them to the tip like a big white star.

  I saw stars too, a whole galaxy of constellations shining and sparkling in celebration. I’d done it! The most Daring Dare ever and I’d done it.

  Then I climbed all the way down, feeling my way with my feet, down and down and down until at long last I came level with the window, and there were Football and Alexander gazing out at me open-mouthed as if I was an angel swooping straight down from heaven.

  ‘Out the way then, you gawpers,’ I commanded, and they drew apart like curtains.

  I got ready to spring.

  I made it right through the window. I didn’t even fall over. I landed on my feet. Tracy the Fabulous Cat Girl with all her nine lives still in front of her.

  ‘How about that!’ I said, and I did this crazy dance around the room.

  Football danced with me, leaping about, clapping me on the back. ‘You’re the greatest, kid. Knickers off and all!’

  ‘Yeah, I’m the greatest, aren’t I? Aren’t I, Alexander?’

  ‘You’re the maddest!’ said Alexander. ‘I’m a total jelly with watching you. Look, I’m still shaking.’

  ‘Gherkin jelly! Yuck,’ I said.

  ‘You’re mad. You’re both mad,’ said Alexander. ‘Can’t you see? You could have been killed. It doesn’t make you the greatest.’

  ‘No, you’re the greatest! The greatest meanest bore ever,’ I said, poking him. How dare he try to spoil my Stupendous Achievement?

  ‘She is the greatest. And so am I,’ said Football, poking him too.

  ‘Stop poking me,’ said Alexander, hunching up small. ‘You’re not not not great, not just because you take stupid risks and nearly kill yourselves.’

  I was starting to feel like killing Alexander. He was acting like this irritating little gnat nipping away at my ankles. Any second now I’d stick out my hand and go SWAT.

  ‘Don’t make me really mad, Alexander,’ I warned him, giving him another poke.

  ‘You’re already mad at me for saying all that stuff about your mum. That’s why you keep picking on me.’

  ‘That’s got nothing to do with it,’ I said fiercely. I’m mad at you because you’re maddening!’

  ‘No wonder they all pick on you at your school,’ Football jeered. ‘No wonder even your own dad can’t stand you.’ He didn’t touch him this time but somehow it was worse than a poke.

  I wavered just a weeny bit. ‘Well, he must like him really.’

  ‘No he doesn’t,’ said Alexander. Big tears were rolling down his cheeks. ‘He can’t stand me.’

  I felt so mean that it made me even angrier with him. ‘That’s rubbish! Don’t be so stupid.’ I gave him a sudden push. ‘You’re really starting to irritate me now.’

  ‘You’ve always irritated me, Gherkin,’ said Football.

  ‘Don’t call me that,’ Alexander said, sniffling.

  ‘Gherkin, Gherkin, Gherkin!’ Football chanted. ‘Wizened little Gherkin who can’t play the Dare Game.’

  ‘I did play it! I did do a dare, didn’t I, Tracy?’

  ‘Yeah, you were mad enough to tell the whole school to call you Gherkin!’

  ‘Stop it!’

  ‘Gherkin, Gherkin, Gherkin!’ I yelled, right in his face.

  Football was right beside me. ‘You clear off, Gherkin, this is our house,’ he said.

  ‘I was here first,’ Alexander wept.

  ‘But we’re here now,’ I said.

  ‘And we don’t want you, do we, Trace?’

  I couldn’t be quite that mean. There was still a bit of me that wanted to put my arms round Alexander and give him a hug.

  Alexander saw me wavering. He gave a giant sniff. ‘I’ll do another dare if you let me stay!’

  ‘OK then, climb up the tree and fetch Tracy’s knickers back,’ said Football, quick as a wink.

  ‘No!’ I said.

  ‘Yes!’ said Football.

  ‘All right,’ said Alexander.

  ‘Don’t be crazy,’ I said, suddenly scared. It was like everything was spinning too fast and I couldn’t stop it. ‘Football, please. You can’t dare him to do that.’

  ‘I did it,’ said Football. ‘And you did it too, even though you’re little and only a girl.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said Alexander. ‘I still think it’s mad and I’ll probably get killed but I don’t care. I’ll still do it. I’ll show you.’ He ran to the window.

  ‘You mustn’t, Alexander!’ I ran after him, but he was surprisingly fast. ‘You can’t climb, you can’t balance, you can’t do anything! You’ll fall!’

  ‘I told you, I don’t care,’ said Alexander, and he tried to jump up on the window ledge. He mistimed it completely and banged his nose hard on the window frame.

  ‘See, Alexander! Now you’re the one who’s being stupid,’ I said, rushing to him.

  He shook his head, stunned, his nose crimson.

  ‘Football, take the dare back quick,’ I said.

  ‘OK, OK, I take the dare back, Gherkin,’ said Football.

  ‘I’ll still do the dare if you promise never ever to call me Gherkin again,’ said Alexander, his voice muffled because his hands were cupping his sore nose.

  ‘You’re not doing any dare. You’re right, we were all crazy.’

  ‘You told me to go away,’ said Alexander, turning to the window.

  ‘I didn’t mean it,’ I said. ‘You’re my friend, Alexander. I like you. Football likes you too.’

  ‘No I don’t,’ said Football.

  ‘You do!’ I insisted.

  ‘No-one likes me, not really,’ said Alexander, and he made another dash for the window, a sudden quick dart that took us by surprise.

  He jumped high enough this time. He made the window ledge. But he didn’t stop. He swooped right out into space, like a little cartoon animal running in mid-air. But Alexander was real. He didn’t hang, give a yelp, and pedal backwards. He plummeted down . . . down down down into the dark garden below.

  The Garden Home

  WE THOUGHT HE was dead. He was still lying motionless when we hurtled downstairs and out the back window into the overgrown garden, his skinny arms and legs spread wide.

  ‘Alexander!’ I cried.

  ‘He’s copped it,’ said Football – and he started to snuffle. ‘I’ve murdered poor little Gherkin.’

  ‘You’re never to call me Gherkin again,’ Alexander squeaked in a little mouse voice.

  We fell on him, hugging him like he was our dearest friend.

  ‘Careful!’ said Alexander. ‘I’ve probably broken my neck. And my arms and legs. And all my ribs.’

  ‘Does it hurt terribly?’ I said, taking his little claw hand in mine.

  ‘I�
�m not sure,’ said Alexander. ‘I feel weird, like I can’t feel anything properly yet. But I think it might hurt a lot when I can.’

  ‘What do you mean, you can’t feel anything? Oh no, he’s paralysed!’ said Football.

  I tickled the backs of Alexander’s knees and he squealed and kicked. ‘No he’s not,’ I said.

  Do you know the most amazing thing ever????

  Alexander wasn’t hurt at all. He didn’t break so much as a fingernail! We stared at him in awe, wondering how he could possibly have survived that great drop unscathed. I’d always thought there was something not quite human about Alexander. Perhaps he was really an alien from another planet? That would explain a lot.

  But the real reason for Alexander’s remarkable survival only became apparent when he very gingerly got onto all fours and then stood up. He had fallen onto an old discarded mattress!

  ‘You must be the luckiest kid ever!’ I said.

  ‘Though you might have a fleabite or two,’ said Football.

  ‘I think I might have hurt myself somewhere,’ said Alexander, sounding wistful. ‘This leg feels a bit odd. It’s throbbing. I think I could have broken it. Definitely.’

  ‘You couldn’t possibly have broken your leg,’ said Football. ‘You’d be, like . . .’ He mimed a footballer writhing on his back. ‘You’d have to be stretchered off.’

  ‘Maybe . . . maybe I’m just better at putting up with the pain,’ said Alexander, experimenting with a limp.

  ‘It was your other leg you were rubbing a minute ago.’

  ‘Perhaps I’ve broken both,’ Alexander persisted.

  ‘You haven’t broken anything at all and I’m so glad, Alexander,’ I said, giving him another hug.

  ‘Yeah, me too,’ Football said gruffly.

  ‘And you won’t call me the G word ever again?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Because I did almost do the dare, didn’t I?’ said Alexander. ‘Maybe I am Alexander the Great.’

  ‘You’re Alexander the Small,’ said Football, patting him.

  ‘You’re Football the ever so Tall,’ said Alexander. He turned to me. ‘And you’re Trace who wins every race. OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘And we’re all friends now?’ said Alexander.

  ‘Yes, of course we are,’ I said. ‘Alexander, stop limping. There’s nothing the matter with your leg.’

  ‘There is,’ said Alexander. ‘If I’ve got a broken leg I won’t have to do PE at school.’

  ‘You’re never at school anyway,’ I said.

  ‘No, but I might have to be soon,’ said Alexander, sighing. ‘They wrote a letter to my mum and dad and they went nuts. My dad says he’s going to escort me to school himself.’

  ‘You’re going to enjoy that!’ I said.

  ‘So it’s just going to be you and me hanging out at the house, Tracy?’ said Football.

  ‘Well. I can’t, can I? Not if I’m at my mum’s. I’ll be moving right away. Hey, my mum’s flat is incredible, you should see all the stuff she’s got!’

  They didn’t seem that interested. ‘You’ll just muck it all up anyway,’ said Football.

  ‘No I won’t!’

  I’ve got it all sussed out. I’m going to dust all her dinky little ornaments and vacuum the carpets and Mum will think I’m s-o-o-o useful she’ll never ever get fed up with me and send me away again.

  ‘I’m going to be my mum’s little treasure,’ I declared.

  ‘I don’t know why you want to go and stay with her,’ said Football. ‘You must be mad. She is mad, isn’t she, Gherkin?’

  ‘You’re not to call me that!’ Alexander said, stamping his foot. ‘Ouch! That was my bad leg.’

  ‘Sorry, sorry! But she is mad, isn’t she?’ said Football.

  Alexander glanced at me nervously – but nodded.

  ‘Who cares what you two think?’ I said fiercely.

  They were wrong. I wasn’t mad. Any girl would want to live with her mum. Even a girl who already had a sort-of mum.

  I haven’t written much about Cam recently. There have been lots and lots of Cam bits. I just haven’t felt like writing them. I mean, writers can’t put everything down. If you started writing everything exactly as it happened you’d end up with page after page about opening your eyes and snuggling down in bed for another five minutes and then getting up and going to the loo and brushing your teeth and playing games squeezing your name out in paste and seeing what you’d look like with a toothbrush moustache . . . well, you’d need a whole new chapter before you’d even got started on breakfast.

  Writers have to be selective. That’s what Mrs Vomit Bagley says. Did I put that she’s got wondrously unfortunate teeth? She spits a little bit whenever she says an ‘s’ word. If she’s standing too near you then you’re not wondrously fortunate because you get a little spray of V.B. saliva all over your face. Not that this has happened to me recently as I’ve hardly been to school, I’ve just been bunking off to go to the house.

  They’ll be getting in touch with Cam any minute. Maybe it’s just as well I’m going off to my mum’s. No, it’s weller than well. I can’t wait. I wish it wasn’t being done in all these daft stages. Elaine says I can go for a week. I can’t see why I can’t go for ever right away. All this packing and unpacking is starting to get on my nerves.

  Cam said she’d help me pack, but then she kept saying I didn’t need this and I didn’t need that – and I said it would be sensible to take nearly all my stuff seeing as I’d be staying there permanently soon.

  Permanently was a very dramatic sort of word. It was like it bounced backwards and forwards between us long after I’d said it. As if it was knocking us both on the head.

  Then Cam blinked hard and said, ‘Right, yes, of course, OK,’ in a quick gabble, shoving all my stuff in a suitcase, while I said, ‘Perhaps it’s a bit daft, and anyway, my mum will probably buy me all sorts of new stuff. Designer. Calvin Klein, Tommy Hilfiger—’

  ‘NYDK, yes, yes, you keep saying.’

  ‘DKNY! Honestly, you don’t know anything, Cam,’ I said, exasperated.

  ‘I know one thing,’ said Cam quietly. ‘I’m going to miss you, kid.’

  I swallowed hard. ‘Well, I’ll miss you too. I expect.’ I hated the way she was looking at me. It wasn’t fair. ‘Fostering isn’t, like, permanent,’ I said. ‘They told you that right at the beginning, didn’t they?’

  ‘They told me,’ said Cam. She picked up one of my old T-shirts and hung onto it like it was a cuddle blanket. ‘But I didn’t get what it would feel like.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Cam,’ I said. ‘I am. Really. But I’ve got to be with my mum.’

  ‘I know,’ said Cam. She hesitated. She looked down at the T-shirt as if I was inside it. ‘But Tracy . . . don’t get too upset if it doesn’t quite work out the way you want.’

  ‘It is working out!’

  ‘I know, I know. And it’s great that you’re being reunited with your mum, but maybe you’ll find it won’t end up like a fairy story, happy ever after, for ever and ever.’

  It will, it will. She just doesn’t want it to.

  ‘It will end happily ever after, you wait and see,’ I said, pulling my T-shirt away from her and stuffing it in my suitcase with all the others.

  ‘Tracy, I know—’

  ‘You don’t know anything!’ I interrupted. ‘You don’t know my mum. You don’t even know me properly. It’s not like we’ve been together ages and ages. I don’t see why you have to be so . . . so . . . so shaking your head and giving me all these little warnings about it not working out. You obviously think I’m so horrible and bad and difficult that my mum will get sick of me in two seconds.’

  ‘I don’t think that at all. And you’re not horrible and bad and difficult. Well, you are – but you can be great too. It’s just that even if you’re the greatest kid in the whole world and behave beautifully with your mum it still might not work out. Your mum isn’t used to kids.’

  ‘Ne
ither were you, but you took me on.’ Ah! I had a sudden idea. ‘You can take some other kid now.’

  ‘I don’t want some other kid,’ said Cam. She put her arm round me. ‘I want you.’

  I could hardly breathe. I wanted to cuddle close and hang onto her and tell her . . . tell her all sorts of stupid things. But I also wanted to shove her hard and shout at her for spoiling my big chance to get back to my mum.

  I wriggled away from her and went on packing my suitcase. ‘If you really wanted me you’d have made far more fuss in the first place,’ I said, tucking my scrubby old trainers under my gungy chainstore denims. ‘You’d have bought me decent clothes. And proper presents.’

  ‘Oh Tracy, don’t start,’ said Cam, suddenly cross. She got up and started marching round my bat cave in an agitated fashion like she was a dog with fleas.

  ‘You’ve hardly given me anything,’ I said, cross too. ‘I’ve never known anyone so stingy. And yet look at all the stuff my mum’s given me.’

  ‘A doll,’ said Cam, picking it up. She held it at arm’s length.

  ‘Yes, but it’s not like it’s any old doll. It cost a fortune. It’s not a little kid’s doll, it’s a collector’s item. She gave it me like an ornament. Lots of grown-up ladies have doll collections. You wouldn’t understand.’ I sneered at Cam in her worn old plaid shirt and baggy jeans. ‘You’re not that sort of lady.’

  ‘Thank God,’ said Cam.

  ‘I don’t fit in here, Cam. Not with you. Or Jane and Liz and all your other stupid friends. I fit with my mum. Her and me. We’re relatives. You’re just my foster mum. You just get paid to look after me, that’s all. I bet that’s why you’re making all the fuss, because you’ll miss the cash when I’m gone.’

  ‘Think that if you want, Tracy,’ said Cam in this irritating martyr voice.

  ‘It’s true!’

  ‘OK, OK,’ said Cam, folding her arms.

  ‘It isn’t OK!’ I said, stamping my foot. ‘I don’t know what you do with the money. It isn’t like you spend it on me.’