The Dare Game Read online

  'You're the greatest idiots,' said Alexander tearfully.

  'You always try to spoil everything, Alexander,' I said. 'Go on. It's your turn now. I dare you.'

  'No!'

  'Come on, you've got to, if I dare you.' I 205

  tried to pass him the lighter but he put his fists behind his back.

  ' I ' m not going to. It's mad and dangerous,'

  said Alexander.

  'He hasn't got the bottle,' said Football, sneering.

  'Go on, Alexander,' I said. 'You felt great last time after you jumped out the window.'

  Alexander shook his head violently. 'I was mad then. What if the mattress hadn't been there? I'd have been killed. I'm not taking any more chances.'

  'Coward! Chicken!'

  'Cluck cluck cluck!'

  'You can cluck and call me all the names you like,' said Alexander. 'I'm still not going to do it.'

  'Because you're too scared,' I said.

  'You're only doing it because you're scared,' said Alexander. 'Scared Football won't think you as tough as he is. Only he's scared too.'

  'I'm scared?' said Football, outraged. 'Who am I scared of, Gherkin?' He took the lighter from me and stood in front of Alexander, flicking it on and off, on and off. 'Am I scared of you, is that it? Or scared of skinny little 206

  Tracy? I'm not scared of anyone, you stupid jerk.'

  Alexander still didn't give up. 'You're scared your dad doesn't care about you any more, that's what you're scared of.'

  I couldn't help nodding. 'Ah! He's got you there, Football.'

  'No he hasn't. I'm not scared. I don't give a toss about my dad any more,' said Football.

  'Yes you do,' said Alexander relentlessly.

  'That's why you act crazy – because it's driving you crazy.'

  'You think you know it all but you don't know anything,' Football shouted. 'Now button that lippy little mouth of yours or I'll set light to you.'

  'You wouldn't dare!' Alexander squealed.

  'Shut up, Alexander,' I said.

  'I'll dare anything,' Football declared, waving his lighter round wildly.

  Alexander snatched a cardboard

  shelf and held it up like a shield.

  Football lunged forward, expecting Alexander to dodge backwards.

  Alexander stood still – and there was a sudden flare of flame. Alexander stared, open-mouthed, unable to move.

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  I snatched the sizzling cardboard, threw it to the floor, and stamped on it.

  'Stop it, Football!' I shouted. 'This is getting too scary now.'

  'You can't stop me. No-one can stop me,'

  said Football. 'I'll show you, Tracy Beaker. I'll show you, Gherkin.'

  'Why do you have to bully us? We're your friends,' Alexander said desperately.

  'I don't need no friends,' said Football.

  'No, Football, you can't say "no" friends because it's a double neg— aaaaah!'

  Alexander was cut off in mid-grammatical quibble because Football

  grabbed him by the front of his

  shirt with one hand. His other hand was still waving in the air,

  clutching the lighter. Alexander suddenly made a grab for it –

  snatched it – and then threw it

  wildly. It sailed right across the room and out the window.

  'My lighter! My dad's lighter!' Football yelled, letting go of Alexander in his shock.

  'Oh help! I didn't mean it to go out the window. I didn't know I could throw that far!'

  said Alexander.

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  ' I ' l l kill you, Gherkin!' said Football, his eyes popping, his face purple.

  'Run!' I yelled to Alexander. 'Get out the house, quick!'

  Alexander ran – but he wasn't quick enough. Football caught him before he was even out the door. He raised his big fist ready to give him a punch – but I got there first. I shoved Alexander as hard as I could out the way and grabbed Football from behind.

  'Don't you dare, you big bully!' I yelled.

  Alexander collapsed in a heap and started whimpering. Football and I took no notice, too busy fighting.

  'Get off, Tracy! Ouch! Don't you dare kick me!'

  'I'll dare anything, same as you! You think you're so big and tough but I'll show you!' I kicked him again, wishing my trainers were socking great Doc Martens.

  'You little whatsit!' said

  Football, nearly knocking

  me over.

  I hit out hard, catching him

  right where it hurts most.

  'Oooooomph!' said Football,

  doubling up. 'No wonder your mum doesn't 209

  want you. No-one could ever want you, Tracy Beaker.'

  'No-one wants you either! Especially not your precious dad. He doesn't give a toss about you. It's obvious.'

  'You shut up!' He wres-

  tled me to the floor.

  'You shut up, you stupid snot-nosed bully,' I

  gasped, kicking out

  from under him.

  'That's all you can

  do, isn't it? Hit out at

  people. You think you're so great but you're useless. You're even useless at football.'

  'Shut up or I'll bang your head on the floor!'

  'You try!'

  Football tried. It hurt like hell. So I spat hard. Upwards, right in his face.

  Football stared down at me, wondrously spattered. 'You wouldn't dare do that again!'

  I did.

  'You dirty little monkey!' he said, banging my head again.

  'It'll be right in your eye next!' I warned.

  'I'll spit right back, I'm warning you!'

  'Go on, then. I dare you!'

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  He dared all right. It was totally disgusting.

  I went to spit back but my mouth was too dry.

  'I've run out of spit! It's not fair. Wait!' I tried but only managed the merest dribble.

  'That was a bit pathetic!' said Football.

  'You just wait. Oooh! I keep blowing rasp-berries instead of spitting.'

  'Can't even spit!' Football jeered.

  'Just give me a few seconds.'

  'So I'm going to hang around waiting?' said Football, leaning back.

  'Come here, Football!' I commanded, trying to summon up more spit by smacking my lips and sucking in my cheeks.

  'You look like you're about to give me a great big kiss with your lips like that!'

  Football grinned.

  'Yuck!' I couldn't help giggling at the very idea.

  'You watch out or I'll kiss you!' said Football.

  'No you don't!' I said, trying to wriggle free.

  'Hey, come on, get off me, you big lump.'

  Football did as he was told this time. The fight was over.

  'I didn't hurt you, did I?' Football asked, picking me up and brushing me down.

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  'Oh no, whacking great kicks on the shin and bashes on the bonce don't hurt a bit!'

  'You twit,' said Football. 'Hey, we made a poem!' He looked at Alexander. 'And you're a nit! There. You're in the poem too. Hey, Gherkin, we've stopped fighting. You can get up now.'

  'It's OK, Alexander. Alexander? Are you all right?'

  'N-o-o-o!' said Alexander, still lying on the floor, his leg stuck out at an odd angle.

  'I didn't hurt you,

  did I?' said Football,

  looking stricken.

  'It was – when – Tracy – knocked me – over.

  My leg!' Alexander gasped.

  'Oh help!' I said. 'Stand up, Alexander, and let me have a look.'

  'I can't. I really can't.'

  I bent over him. I saw his leg. 'Oh no, Alexander! I've really hurt your leg! It's all bendy. How terrible! What am I going to do?'

  'I think – better – get me – to hospital,'

  Alexander mumbled.

  I tried to help him up. Alexander groaned with the pain.

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  'Here, I'll ca