Dare Game (14 page)

‘Alexander?’ I called. It came out indistinctly, because my mouth was full. I tried again, louder. ‘
Alexander?
’

I heard a little mousy squeak from the living room. Alexander was sitting cross-legged on a little rug in front of another cardboard box. There was a drawing of smiley
Blue Peter
presenters on the front and another label:
THIS IS THE TELEVISION
.

‘It seems to be on permanent freeze-frame,’ I said wittily.

Alexander seemed unusually immobile too, hunched up with his chin on his chest.

‘Are you OK?’ I asked, sitting down beside him.

‘Yes,’ he said. Then, ‘Well, no, not really.’

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘What’s up, then?’

Alexander sighed heavily. ‘Everything,’ he said sadly, and went back to watching the frozen TV programme.

‘How did you get on at school?’ I asked.

He didn’t react, though his eyes flicked backwards and forwards as if the presenters were really doing something on the screen.

‘You know, with the big bully boys in the showers?’

Alexander sighed again and slumped even further into his shoulders. ‘The entire school calls me Gherkin now.’

I couldn’t help spluttering. Alexander looked at me as if I’d kicked him.

‘Sorry.
Sorry!
It just . . . sounded funny.’

‘Everyone thinks it’s very funny. Except me.’

‘Oh dear. Well. Never mind.’

‘I do mind. Dreadfully.’

‘Still.’ I struggled hard to say something optimistic. ‘At least you won the dare. I dared
you
to do it, didn’t I? And you did. So you get to win that dare.’

‘Big deal,’ said Alexander.

I thought hard. ‘OK. You get to dare me now.’

‘I don’t really want to, thank you.’

I couldn’t believe his attitude. Didn’t he realize the potential of my offer??? ‘Go
on
, Alexander,’ I said impatiently, standing over him.

Alexander wriggled backwards on his bony bottom. ‘I can’t make up any dares,’ he said meekly. ‘You make one up, Tracy.’

‘Don’t be so wet! Come on. Dare me to do something really really wicked.’

Alexander thought hard. Then I saw light in his pale blue eyes. ‘All right. I dare you to . . . I dare you to . . . stand on your head.’

He just didn’t
get
it! But I decided to show willing. I spat on my hands and sprang forward. ‘Easy-peasy,’ I said, upside down.

‘Gosh! You’re really good at it.’

‘Anyone can stand on their head.’

‘I can’t.’

I might have known. I tried hard to show him. He was useless. He just crumpled in a heap
whenever
he tried to kick his legs up.

‘Watch
me
!’ I said, doing headstands and handstands and then a cartwheel round the room.

‘I can see your knickers,’ said Alexander, giggling.

‘Well, don’t look,’ I said breathlessly.

‘I can’t help it,’ said Alexander. Then he started singing this weird song about leaping up and down and waving your knickers in the air.

‘You what?’ I said, right way up again.

‘It’s a song,’ said Alexander. ‘My dad sings it when he’s in a good mood. Which isn’t often when I’m around.’ He sang it again.

‘Is that another dare?’ I said.

Alexander giggled.

‘Right!’ I said, and I whipped my knickers off and leapt up and down, waving them like a flag.

‘Tracy! Um! You are
rude
!’ Alexander spluttered, nearly keeling over sideways he was laughing so much.

I leapt right round the cardboard television, waving away, and pranced past the window.

‘Tracy! Get away from the window! Someone will see,’ Alexander screeched.

‘I don’t care,’ I said, bouncing up and down as if the bare floorboards were a trampoline. ‘Look at me, everyone! Look at m-e-e-e!’

A football suddenly came flying through the window and bounced right across the floor. Alexander must have seen it coming but he didn’t duck in time. It caught him bang on the bonce.

‘Ouch! A football!’ he said, rubbing his head.

‘
My
football,’ I said, retrieving it triumphantly.

‘Who on earth threw it in here?’ said Alexander.

I didn’t need three guesses. Football himself came climbing through the window. It’s a harder window to negotiate than the one in the kitchen at the back. He jumped down, lost his balance, stumbled forward . . . and landed on Alexander.

Alexander lay quivering, hands over his head.

‘You clumsy great oaf!’ I said to Football. ‘Are you all right, Alexander?’

‘No,’ said Alexander, whimpering.

Football picked him up and brushed him down. ‘Yes you are,’ he said firmly.

‘Bully,’ I said, bouncing the ball one-handed. ‘First you beat me up. And I’m a girl and I’m younger than you. And then you pick on a total wimp like Alexander.’

I was
defending
Alexander but he crumpled again at the word wimp. I sighed. There’s something about Alexander that kind of makes you
want
to bully him. Even though you know it’s mean.

‘Bully, bully, bully,’ I said, bouncing the ball in time.

‘Give me my ball back, kid,’ said Football.

‘It’s
my
ball.’

‘You gave it to me.’

‘And then I took it back. It’s my ball now. And this is
my
house and you’re not invited so you can just clear off. What are you doing following me, anyway?’

‘I didn’t follow you. I was just checking up
on
you. And it’s not
your
house.’

‘It is, it is, it is,’ I said, bouncing.

‘It’s my house too,’ said Alexander.

I smiled at him and bounced the ball to him. An easy-peasy bounce but he totally misjudged it. His hands closed on thin air and the ball bounced past. Football stuck out a paw and caught the ball.

‘Alexander!’ I said.

Alexander hung his head.

‘
My
ball now,’ said Football, smirking. He started bouncing so hard the cardboard furniture vibrated.

‘You’ll break the television,’ said Alexander.

‘You what?’ said Football.

‘You’re interfering with the reception, look,’ said Alexander.

I twigged that he was deliberately distracting him. I grinned – and as Football peered in disbelief at the cardboard box I whipped the ball from his arms. I used two hands – and Something fell on the floor. Football peered hard at the Something.