Free Dare Game by Jacqueline Wilson

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.
    ‘I’ve got the ball, I’ve got the ball’ I gabbled quickly, to distract him again.
    This time it didn’t work. Football bent over, grinning , and picked up the Something with his thumb and forefinger. ‘What’s this, then?’ he said, grinning.

    ‘Nothing,’ I said. Though it obviously wasn’t Nothing. It was a pretty embarrassing Something.
    ‘It’s your knickers!’ Football chortled.
    ‘She’s been leaping up and down and waving her knickers in the air.’
    ‘Shut
up
, Alexander,’ I said furiously.
    I snatched my knickers back and stuffed them in my pocket.
    Football laughed loudly and made an extremely coarse remark. I told him to watch his mouth and he said I should watch his ball – as he knocked it out of my arms. He cheered himself wildly and then kicked the ball all round the living room, knocking the television over and severely denting the table.

    ‘Do you mind! This is my living room, not a football pitch,’ I said.
    ‘It’s my living room too,’ said Alexander, quickly dodging out of Football’s way.
    ‘I’ve got just as much right to be here as you have. And I say it’s not a dopey old living room, it’s a cracking indoor football pitch,’ said Football, but this time he dribbled the ball carefully
round
the furniture, keeping up a running commentary all the time:
    ‘Yeah, our boy’s got the ball again, ready to save the day . . .
yes
, he intercepts the ball brilliantly, heading it s-t-r-a-i-g-h-t’ (he took aim as he gabbled and suddenly kicked it hard against the wall) ‘into the net!
Yes!
’ (He punched the air.) ‘I’ve never seen such a brilliant goal.’
    ‘Sad,’ I said to Alexander, shaking my head.
    ‘You wait till I’m famous,’ said Football, kicking the ball in my direction. Aiming
at
me, rather than to me.
    But I’m no weedy Alexander. I stood my ground and kicked it straight back. ‘Wow! Tracy’s a gutsy little player!’ I commentated. ‘I bet I’m heaps more famous than you anyway.’
    ‘Women footballers are rubbish,’ said Football.
    ‘I’m not going to be a footballer, you nutcase. I’m going to be a famous actress like my mum.’
    ‘Now who’s sad?’ Football said to Alexander. He bounced the ball near him. Alexander blinked nervously. ‘You going to be a famous actress too?’ Football asked him unkindly.
    ‘He could easily get to be famous,’ I said. ‘He’s dead brainy. Top of everything at school. He could go on all the quiz shows on the telly and know every single answer. Only you’d better have a special telly name. Alexander isn’t