The Daring Game (7 page)

Helen shook her head. “No, you'd better sneak down the stairs and stop off in the Red and Turquoise Dorms for safety. I know—send us a message on the Slipper Express when you get to the Turquoise Dorm and we'll let you know when the coast's clear.”

The Slipper Express had been invented by Helen and Linda O., one of the grade sevens in the Turquoise Dorm. She was always called Linda O. to distinguish her from Linda I., although there wasn't much need for this. Linda I. was quiet and dull, while Linda O. was almost as boisterous as Helen herself.

The Yellow Dorm associated mainly with the two dorms of grade sevens and eights near them, with occasional forays into the Nursery above. No one on their side of the house had much to do with the three dorms of grade nines beyond Miss Tavistock's bedroom. They were too loathsome, pimply and fat and full of self-pity because of it.

Visiting between dorms was allowed only before dinner and on Sundays, so the Slipper Express enabled messages to be passed between the Yellow and Turquoise Dorms at other times. The slick hall floor was a perfect
surface for a flat-bottomed slipper to coast along.

Now Helen wrote out a warning. “Carrie paying you a late-night call,” she muttered. “Be prepared.” She stuck the note inside one of Eliza's moccasins, the fastest slippers in the dorm, being both heavy and streamlined. Positioning it in the doorway, she sent the moccasin off with a strong push. It zipped down the hall and landed with a hollow thud at the other end.

Carrie hopped eagerly in her own fluffy slippers. “Shall I start now?”

“Go in bare feet, so you don't slip,” said Eliza quickly. She shivered; the roof was steep and there was concrete below it.

Carrie sat on the wide windowsill facing them, only her legs inside and her hands gripping the bottom of the half-open window. She tipped her head back: “I just have to get a hold on the gutter,” she called. Pulling herself up so they could see only her bottom half, she lifted one leg at a time onto the roof.

Eliza's heart beat in her ears as she leaned far out the adjacent window and watched Carrie scramble up until she disappeared. A squeal of alarm made her freeze; then she heard the sound of surprised laughter that meant Carrie had made it.

They went back to bed and waited for her return. Eliza knew
she
wouldn't have done it. Climbing trees was one thing, but this was much scarier. She wondered how her friend could be so brave. But Carrie never reflected about things; she just acted.

She was gone a long time, and Eliza started daydreaming about the ballet. It had been a revelation to her, even though they'd sat so high up the dancers had resembled a company of tiny dolls. There was something about their precise movements and the way their bodies and feet told a story that was deeply satisfying.

She tried to think of other things to take her mind off the dare. This morning they'd had Mark Reading. It seemed cruel, making everyone stand up in order as their marks were read out. But at least she had got mostly A's and B+'s—with one B in French—and she was secretly triumphant that she'd beaten Pam slightly. Later in the morning Miss Clark had praised Eliza's English exam. But then she'd read aloud with amusement her answer to a question about Tennyson's poem “The Eagle”: “The main impression in this poem is the sense of great height as the duck stands on a high rock and waits to strike.”

A duck! Wherever had the word come from? She hadn't been thinking about ducks at all. She blushed violently, but the class's laughter was appreciative, not mocking. Eliza decided that strange things happen when writing under pressure.

Carrie and Jean had received respectable B's, but Helen had been among the group who remained sitting, their marks undisclosed but below a C+. It was puzzling, how Helen rarely got her homework finished. The boarders had so much supervised prep that it was hard
not
to do it. In fact, Eliza had found that if she finished hers quickly she had time to sneak a book on top and read undisturbed.

Helen certainly seemed smart. Pam had been rehearsing for the inter-house spelling bee one night, and Helen had known all the words. “Why don't you enter it?” Carrie had asked her, but Helen had just replied it was too much trouble.

But Eliza didn't want to think about Helen.

Jean yawned. “Where
is
Carrie?” It was very late; Pam's eyes were closed, and Eliza would have liked to go to sleep herself.

WHAP! The slipper landed against the wall and startled them awake again. It wasn't Eliza's slipper, but a scruffy blue one. That was one problem with the Slipper Express: people forgot to send back the same one and you often had to retrieve your own the next day.

“Arrived okay. Safe to return?” read the message Helen pulled out. She stepped into the hall, listened for a second, then sent back an all-clear.

Suddenly they heard voices in the hall and froze. A few minutes later Carrie strolled through the door, calling over her shoulder, “Thank you, Miss Monaghan.”

“What happened?”

“Did you get caught?”

“Shhh!” said Carrie. “Wait till she thinks I'm in bed.” They waited five minutes.

“Now tell us,” whispered Eliza urgently.

“Okay. It was really scary. I slipped once on the roof—did you hear me yell? My bathrobe got caught under my foot.” Eliza winced.

“Then I rolled through the window onto Sandra's bed. Was she ever surprised! They thought it was wonderful and they wouldn't let me leave for a long time. I had to look at all their animals. I just love the juniors, especially Holly. They're so cute.”

“Brats, not cute,” growled Helen. “I know—I was with some of them last year. Go on!”

“I made it to the Red Dorm and talked to them for a while. Then I ran to the Turquoise Dorm and sent the message. But just as I was leaving I bumped into Matilda! She was coming up the stairs.”

“Oooh, Carrie!” cried Jean. “What did you do?”

“I said—I said—” Carrie was laughing so hard she could hardly continue. “I said I had a headache and I was looking for her! And she got all gushy and called me a poor lamb and gave me an aspirin in her room.”

“Did you swallow it?”

“I had to! I don't think it'll hurt me.”

“Hurray for Turps!” said Helen, and all at once Eliza felt jealous.

Pam pulled her sheet over her head. “You are all being so dumb. Carrie could have broken her neck. Shut up now—I want to go to sleep.”

“Prim P.J.,” whispered Helen.

Eliza heard her and sighed. She wasn't tired any more, and she tiptoed into the bathroom with a book. Pam always complained when Eliza pulled the curtains back to get more light. She had tried reading under the covers with a flashlight, but the Pouncer had confiscated it.

She couldn't concentrate on her book. Adjusting the bathmat under her on the cold floor, she leaned back against the tub and thought about the dare.

Pam was right; it
had
been dangerous. Was it brave to do something foolhardy? She didn't think so, but Helen seemed to. Eliza was only glad she hadn't had a chance to call Eliza a goody-goody again. But not having to perform this dare just meant Helen would think up another one for her.

Eliza decided she didn't like Helen. At first, the other girl had interested her, but they were too different to be friends. Carrie was much safer. Helen doesn't like me anyhow, she thought. And I don't care.

7

Two Birthdays

“W
ould you like to have all your dorm-mates out for your birthday next week?” Aunt Susan asked one Saturday in November.

Eliza considered it. Carrie came out with her almost every week, so she would be included of course. It would be nice to have Jean, if she didn't mind missing a Saturday at home. But Helen and Pam—did she want them to intrude into her peaceful Saturday life? Nothing ever happened on her weekly visits with Aunt Susan and Uncle Adrian. It was always the same, and a lot like being in her own home. She preferred it that way.

But she knew her aunt and uncle wanted to meet the other three; she and Carrie were always discussing them. Also, it was Helen's birthday four days after Eliza's. Even if she wanted to, she couldn't very well leave her out.

“I'll ask them,” she said finally. “But they might not be able to come.”

Surprisingly, they all could. Jean said she could skip seeing her parents for one week, and she seemed pleased to be included. Pam, who usually went out with her
friend Deb, said in a syrupy voice that Helen mocked that she'd love to meet Eliza's relatives. Eliza was the most puzzled by Helen's acceptance. She didn't understand why the other girl would want to come, but Helen said it would be good to have some freedom. She began to act friendlier, even though Eliza remained aloof.

T
HEY WERE READY
at the front door, holding their coats, at ten forty-five on Saturday morning.

“Don't you all look nice!” said Miss Tavistock, coming out of her study. “Many happy returns of the day, Elizabeth.” She threaded her way through the rest of the crowd of boarders waiting to be picked up.

Carrie giggled. “What does that mean? You guys use such funny expressions.” Carrie often pointed out what she considered to be Canadian oddities: French on the cereal boxes; singing “The Queen” at Friday afternoon assemblies; celebrating Thanksgiving in October; and saying “grade seven” instead of “seventh grade” and “dressing-gown” instead of “bathrobe.” Sometimes Carrie's comments were irritating; it was as if she were laughing at Canada.

This morning, however, nothing could bother Eliza. It was her birthday. Before breakfast she had opened a parcel from her parents—two new books, a blue turtle-neck sweater and a fountain pen, something she'd wanted for a long time. Best of all, her birthday card contained a plane ticket to Toronto in December. Her mother had also sent a cake, which Eliza now balanced carefully in its box.

She felt older, but not too old. Twelve was the best age, she decided—still a whole year away from the terrors of thirteen, but more powerful than eleven.

They were all wearing one another's clothes. Eliza had Carrie's blue corduroy jumper on over her new sweater. It was too short, so she wore red tights with it. Eliza's kilt drooped on Carrie, but Carrie liked kilts and didn't have one of her own. Pam, who coveted Carrie's American clothes, had borrowed one of her flowery print blouses to match her own skirt. Jean's skinny figure was engulfed in Pam's fuzzy orange sweater-dress. Even Helen, who didn't care about clothes, had begged a baggy sweater from Eliza because she had nothing clean of her own to wear.

Eliza had lent it to her reluctantly. If she had to live all year with Helen, however, she couldn't ignore her completely. Instead she was carefully cool, and numbed herself to Helen's forceful presence. It was a rest to be so neutral.

Aunt Susan arrived with her baby and drove them downtown. They had a large, satisfying lunch at the Bon Ton. Carrie held the colicky baby on her knee all through the meal and bounced away her whimpers. Helen devoured three chocolate éclairs. Then Aunt Susan dropped them off at a movie, with careful instructions on how to get to her house on the bus.

There was time after the film to explore Granville Street. Eliza's aunt had never let her and Carrie come downtown alone before, and it made them feel important to be part of the bustling Saturday crowd.

Each of them chose a different store to go into. They looked at budgies (Jean), shoes (Pam), Chinese imports (Eliza), records (Carrie) and chocolates (Helen). In the last place the other four pooled their pocket money and bought Eliza peanut clusters for her birthday.

“It's great not to have a matron breathing down your neck,” said Helen to Eliza as they waited for the bus. Eliza wondered again why she was being so agreeable. In spite of her resolution to remain unaffected, Helen's comment made her feel sorry for the other girl, being confined inside the school walls week after week. Almost all the boarders visited with friends or relatives on Saturdays, but Helen seemed to have nobody to sign her out.

The bus wheezed over the Granville Bridge and continued along Fourth Avenue. Eliza watched attentively for their stop. “It's so nice out,” she said when they got off at Blenheim Street. “Do you want to see our secret beach? We don't have to be back at Aunt Susan's until five.”

She had discovered the beach the first day she'd been in Vancouver, and since then she had shared it with Carrie every week. It wasn't really a secret, but no one else ever came there. Now, as they continued down Waterloo Street, across Point Grey Road and through the tiny park to the cement stairs, she felt proud at being able to show it off.

The steps were wet and mucky and Pam complained that her shoes were getting dirty.

“We keep jeans and old shoes at the Chapmans',” Carrie explained in a superior tone. “I wish we'd changed, Eliza.” She seemed to be boasting that Eliza was her
special friend; Eliza was surprised and flattered that Carrie, who seemed so confident, would do that.

It was a messy beach, littered with rocks, long pieces of driftwood and lumber thrown up by the tide. There was hardly any room for bare sand.

“I've seen lots nicer beaches than this!” said Pam scornfully. “You should see Hawaii—miles and miles of white sand.”

“But look at the cliff!” said Eliza, who had only explored tame lake beaches before this year. “It's just like a cave.” The bank was hollowed out as if by a spoon into even layers of blue, green and rust-coloured rock. Water dripped continually from the overhang and bushes hung down like vines.

They sat gingerly on the cold rocks that dotted the grassy mound Eliza privately called the look-out.

“Where are the Lions?” asked Jean. Every Sunday, as the bus took them downtown to church, they looked for the two peaks that resembled sleeping lions. Here on the beach, it was too low to see them. Eliza stared dreamily at the snow-frosted mountains across the water; it was so clear that their lower slopes seemed covered in green fur. As she turned her head she could see the darker mass of Stanley Park, then the toy-like buildings of the city. Huge liners were anchored in the bay, as far out as she could look. Uncle Adrian said they came from all over the world. It was a view she never got tired of.