Dare Game (26 page)

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.
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.

‘I’ll 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
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 wrestled 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!’

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 raspberries 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.

‘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.

‘Here, I’ll carry you. Come here, little guy. Don’t worry, I’ll be ever so gentle,’ said Football, putting Alexander over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift.

‘Oh Alexander,’ I said, holding his hand. ‘
Please
be all right. I can’t stand it if I’ve hurt you. You’re my best friend in all the world. Please please please get better!’

Alexander’s Real Home

WE TOOK ALEXANDER
to hospital. Football was willing to carry him the whole way but I still had some money from Mum’s wallet so we took a taxi.

The taxi driver sighed when he saw Alexander. ‘You kids been rough-housing?’ he said, shaking his head.

Alexander looked delighted to be thought capable of roughing up a house. He was very brave. He was obviously in terrible pain, his face greeny-white, his fringe sticking to his sweaty forehead, but he didn’t cry at all.

We waited with him at the hospital until he was whisked away in a wheelchair to the X-ray department.

‘We’d better get going then,’ said Football. ‘They’ve phoned for his parents. I don’t fancy meeting up with them. Especially the dad.’

‘But we’ve got to wait to see if Alexander’s all right!’

‘Of course he’ll be all right. He’s in hospital,’ said Football. He looked round the bleak orange waiting room and shuddered. ‘I hate hospitals. They give me the creeps. I’m off.’ He stood up. ‘Come on, Tracy.’