The Dare Game Read online

  'How about coming home with us for tea?'

  said Alexander's mum. 'You too, dear,' she added, nodding at Football a little warily.

  'Yes, do come,' Alexander begged. 'My mum's mega-good at baking. Can we have chocolate cake, Mum?'

  Football seemed keen on the idea. His own tea was usually just a trip down to the chippie. I was equally happy to go along with things seeing as I was starving hungry (it seemed months since I'd munched my Big Mac) and I didn't have any

  home of my own to go to.

  We helped Alexander

  out onto the hospital

  steps. His dad went to get

  the car and his mum

  returned the wheelchair to

  the ward. Football and I

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  supported Alexander, one on either side.

  'You're a real gem for not telling your mum and dad it was all my fault,' I whispered, and I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

  'It was my fault really,' said Football. 'I kept picking on you. But I won't any more, I swear.'

  I could feel Alexander trembling. His face was peony red. 'You're both really my friends?

  You're not kidding me? This is so great!'

  'You're great. Alexander the Great. Though you're also crazy, because your so-called friends have broken your leg,' I said.

  'Yeah, you've had to spend hours and hours in hospital,' said Football.

  'I like it in hospital,' said Alexander. 'It's been ever so interesting. The doctor showed me the X-ray and explained all about bones and it was fascinating. I think I might be a doctor when I grow up. So I suppose I'd really better stop bunking off school or I won't pass my exams. You have to get top grades to do Medicine. And school won't be anywhere near as bad if I'm off games for six whole weeks.

  Then you'll just have to push me hard again, Tracy, so I can break my other leg.'

  'It was only a little push!'

  'I know. I fell awkwardly. I am awkward.

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  That's why I'm so useless at football. My legs don't work the right way.'

  'Your head's fine though,' said Football.

  'Here, maybe I'll train you to do my famous Bonce-Buster so you can head the ball into the back of the net, easy-peasy.'

  'That would be great,' said Alexander.

  'That would be a blooming miracle,' I said.

  Alexander and Football seemed to be bonding like Superglue. They chatted together in the car all the way to Alexander's home.

  It was a huge house, one of those big black and white ones with criss-cross windows and neat little trees in tubs on either side of the front door. We hadn't realized quite how posh Alexander is. Things got even ritzier inside, with polished wood everywhere and matching sofas and chairs

  so vigorously tidied with

  cushions at exact angles

  that I only dared perch on

  the end of a hard chair with

  red and white stripes like

  toothpaste. Football stayed in

  the middle of the carpet

  standing on the outside edge of his trainers, his ball clasped close to his chest.

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  Alexander's mum got Alexander tucked up on an armchair with his bad leg propped on a footstool, and then she went away to make us all tea.

  Alexander's dad gave us another one of his lectures about bunking off school and it all got seriously heavy and Alexander's face was as white and stiff as his plaster and Football rested his chin on his ball and I slid down the red and white stripes till my bottom was off the seat altogether. But then Alexander's mum came darting back with juice and home-made chocolate chip cookies which livened things up a little. I thought this was tea but it turned out this was just to keep us going until she'd cooked the real tea. She wanted Football and me to ring home to explain we were out for tea so no-one would worry.

  Football said his mum was at work so she wouldn't know – and added under his breath that she couldn't care less anyway.

  'And what about your foster mother, Tracy, dear?' said Alexander's mum.

  'She won't worry either, honestly,' I said firmly, though Alexander frowned at me.

  Football had to drop his football to cope with his juice and cookie. His ball started 227

  rolling away so he gave it a nifty little kick up onto his trainer and back again.

  'That was neat footwork, lad,' said Alexander's dad.

  'Football's brilliant at football, Dad,' said Alexander proudly.

  'I'm not bad,' Football mumbled, surprisingly bashful.

  Alexander's dad started talking soccer-speak and after a few sentences Football joined in, and even demonstrated a few of his party tricks.

  'Ooh dear, you will watch

  the ornaments, won't you?'

  said Alexander's mum,

  rushing back with bowls

  of crisps and saucers of

  Smarties.

  'How about if we nip out into the garden, lad?' said Alexander's dad.

  They went out through the French windows and almost immediately they were kicking the ball backwards and forwards like old pals.

  Alexander peered at them a little wistfully.

  'My dad likes Football,' he said.

  'He likes you too, Alexander. Underneath.'

  Alexander frowned and shook his head.

  228

  'Well, your mum definitely likes you.'

  Alexander gave a little nod.

  'And Football likes you. And I like you lots and lots. You do know that, don't you, Alexander?'

  He seemed to. His head was bobbing about like he was little Noddy. 'I like you too, Tracy,' he said. 'And Football likes you ever so. He wants you to be his girlfriend.'

  'Well. I'm not so sure about that,' I said. 'I might be his girlfriend. But I'll be your girlfriend too. If you want.'

  'I do want! And – and your mum maybe can't always like you, but Cam does. It sounds like she really really cares about you.'

  'No she doesn't. Anyway. I've blown it with her.'

  I let myself think properly about Cam. All the stuff we did together. Daft things – like we'd dance to Top of the Pops and we'd shout out silly answers to the quizzes and we'd invent all sorts of new rude funny things to happen in all the soaps. And at night Cam would always tuck me up and ruffle my hair.

  And if I got scared at night – a bad dream or something – I could always go and climb into her bed. She'd moan and go, 'Oh Tracy Fidget 229

  Bottom,' but she'd still cuddle me close. And though her food was so boring and healthy she took me to McDonald's too. And when I didn't get invited to Roxanne's party at school Cam said we could have our own private party just us two instead and we even had birthday cake.

  It wasn't all Party

  Time of course. She

  could get dead narked

  sometimes and do a real

  moody on me – but then

  I suppose I could get a

  bit stroppy at times

  too. She didn't ever

  leave me alone at home. She didn't go off with any men. And one time when she was going to this very special concert with Jane and Liz and another friend was looking after me, Cam cancelled because I had this stomach upset.

  Imagine, she gave up going to a concert to mop up all my sick.

  We got on OK, Cam and me. Like real friends. Sisters. A l m o s t . . . almost like she was my mum.

  It was weird. Alexander's mum fixed us this most magnificent tea ever, with pizza 230

  triangles and quiche

  fingers and little

  sausages and amazing

  chocolate cake and a

  sponge with pink icing

  too and ice cream with

  special strawberry sauce – but when it was in my mouth it all tasted like Alexander's cardboard.

  I couldn't chew properly because I had this big lump in my throat.

  I wanted to go home.

  231

  So I did go