Free The Daring Game by Kit Pearson Page A

crumbs off her plate. Carrie poked her and pointed to the window. “There’s Madeline.”
    â€œI wonder why she’s out of senior prep so early?” said Eliza. “I think I’ll just go and say hello.”
    Slipping out of the dining room, and then the front door, she was just in time to meet her house captain at the top of the veranda steps.
    â€œHi, Eliza,” smiled Madeline. “Can you help me carry these boxes over to the New Residence?”
    â€œDo you think I’m allowed to?”
    â€œOh, I’m sure you are. Look, there’s Bix … Miss Bixley, Eliza’s just going to help me carry these—she’ll be back soon.”
    Her arms full, Eliza trotted to keep up with Madeline’s quick steps. “What’s in the boxes?”
    â€œAll the costumes from last year’s house plays. I thought I’d sort them out and see what we can use this year.”
    After they deposited the boxes in the hall Madeline invited Eliza into the Senior Sitting Room. Leading off it was a small kitchen.
    â€œYou seem to be having a lot of birthdays in your dorm,” said Madeline, handing Eliza a cup of cocoa.
    Eliza told her about her Saturday party and her presents, but inside she was feeling awed to be sitting here. The walls were plastered with posters of rock-and-roll stars. A sign on the refrigerator said “Lost! One gold hoop earring. If found, please return to Sharon before the Saints’ dance on Saturday.” Someone’s red high-heeled shoe had been abandoned on the couch.
    The room seemed soaked in the rumours that floated over to the Old Residence: that someone had pierced her dorm-mate’s ears with a hot needle; that two girls had been caught smoking in the bathroom; that the grade elevenshad mailed parts of a dissected frog they’d smuggled out of biology to Crewe, the boys’ school on the Island.
    â€œI don’t want to grow up,” Eliza blurted out suddenly.
    â€œYou’re certainly doing a good job of it,” teased Madeline. “Your uniform is already too short!”
    â€œThat’s not what I mean.”
    Madeline’s eyes lost their amused look. “Sorry,” she said quietly. “I know—you don’t want to be a teenager. I didn’t either when I was twelve.”
    It was as if Madeline had read her mind. Eliza waved her hand around the room. “I don’t! I hate all this stuff! Have you read the Narnia books?”
    Madeline nodded.
    â€œRemember when Susan doesn’t go back to Narnia because all she’s interested in is lipstick and nylons and invitations? I think it’s right that she misses everything. She doesn’t deserve to go back!”
    â€œBut, Eliza, that’s not growing up. It’s not just being silly about boys and make-up and things.”
    Eliza wondered if Madeline had a boyfriend at home, as many of the seniors did. If she did, she never talked about it.
    â€œYou aren’t like that,” she said hopefully.
    â€œWell, all I care about right now is becoming a pianist. It helps to know what you want to be—it gives you a reason not to go along with the crowd.”
    â€œI don’t know,” said Eliza. “I never think about it.”
    â€œDon’t worry, you’ll find out one day. Just enjoy being twelve.”
    â€œI do! But sometimes I think I shouldn’t. Everyone else in grade seven is different from me. Even Carrie likes teenage things sometimes. Jean doesn’t, but I bet Pam will change her.” Eliza wondered why she was telling all this to Madeline and stopped, her face hot.
    Madeline looked reflective. “Let’s see … when I was your age I felt different too, but I guess I didn’t care about it as much. It certainly must be easier to be like everyone else. Like wearing a disguise that you can throw off later when you don’t need it. You and I just don’t happen to like that