Girl Online

Chapter Eight

“Can you please, please, please promise me that you will listen to everything I have to say quietly and calmly, without making any catty remarks until I’ve finished?” I beg Elliot, now that I’m back home and have summoned him with the dire-emergency code of ten knocks on the wall.

Elliot leans back in the rocking chair and strokes his chin thoughtfully. “Does what you’re about to tell me involve Mega-dull and the Walking Selfie?” he asks.

“Yes, but please can you not say anything rude about them until I’ve finished. And the phrase ‘I told you so’ is also banned.”

Elliot looks aghast. “What, banned forever—or just while you’re telling the story?”

“Forever.”

Elliot sighs. “OK then, but you might need to gag me.”

“Seriously!”

“OK, OK, my lips are sealed.”

I sit cross-legged on my bed, staring down at the duvet, and recount my tale of woe, from the World’s Worst Sleepover to Ollie’s immortal words “It was nothing major.”

“It was nothing major?” Elliot echoes as soon as I’ve finished. “I told—”

“No, don’t say it!” I cry, covering my ears. “Honestly, I can’t bear to hear it. I can’t believe I actually thought it was a date!”

“And as for Mega-strumpet!” Elliot exclaims.

I frown at him. “Strumpet?”

Elliot nods. “It’s a word Shakespeare invented to describe women of ill repute.”

“Ah, I see.”

“She really is vile,” Elliot says, shaking his head in disgust. “I can’t believe she crashed your lunch with Ollie. I told you—”

“Elliot!”

“OK, OK.” Elliot puts his hands up in mock surrender. “I know what you should do,” he says, grinning evilly. “You should Photoshop some spots and a hideous rash onto the Walking Selfie’s pictures. Maybe an extra nose too . . .”

I look at Elliot and start to grin. I’m about to give him a huge hug when the unmistakable sound of a gong reverberates throughout the house.

“OMG! OMG!” Elliot leaps up and claps his hands with glee. “Family meeting!”

Our house is full of old theater props that my mum kept as keepsakes from plays she was in. One of them is a huge brass gong, which now lives in our hallway. When Tom and I were younger, we were always coming up with excuses to bang it, so in the end my parents made the rule that the gong should only ever be used to call a family meeting. I get off the bed and laugh at Elliot’s super-excited expression.

“It’s probably something really boring—like who wants turkey for Christmas dinner.”

Elliot looks at me blankly. “Why would it be that? Everyone has turkey for Christmas dinner.”

“Yes, but Dad was talking about cooking a goose this year.”

Elliot pulls a horrified expression. “He can’t cook a goose! That’s gross!”

“Why?”

“I don’t know—it just is.”

I go over to the door with Elliot right behind me.

“Rekao sam ti,” he whispers in my ear.

“What does that mean?” I say.

“I told you so, in Croatian. You didn’t say I couldn’t say it in Croatian,” he shrieks as I poke him in the ribs.

“We want turkey,” Elliot announces as soon as we walk into the kitchen.

Mum, Dad, and Tom are all seated at the table. Mum and Dad are looking all excited. Tom is slumped forward with his head resting on his arms.

“Eh?” Dad says to Elliot.

“For Christmas dinner,” Elliot explains. “We want turkey, not goose. That’s what this meeting’s about, right? Christmas dinner?”

“Ah!” Dad says. “No. Actually, no it’s not—although in a way, I suppose it is, indirectly.” He looks at Mum and raises his eyebrows.

Mum nods, then she looks at Elliot and gives him a sad smile. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to come to us for Christmas dinner this year, Elliot.”

“What?!” Elliot and I say in unison.

“We’re not going to be here,” Mum says.

“What?!” Now Tom has raised his head from the table and joined my and Elliot’s chorus. We all stare at Mum in shock.

“What do you mean, we’re not going to be here?” Tom says.

“Where are we going to be?” I stare from Mum to Dad and back again.

Mum and Dad look at each other and smile. “New York,” they say together.

“No way!” Tom exclaims—but not in a good way.

I’m too stunned to say anything.

Elliot looks as if he might be about to cry.

“We’ve agreed to do that wedding,” Mum says, smiling at me. “The Downton Abbey one—at the Waldorf.”

“Oh. My. God.” Elliot looks at me wide-eyed. “You lucky thing.”

But the weird thing is I don’t feel lucky. Instead, the back of my neck feels really hot and my hands go clammy. Going to New York would mean traveling by plane and right now I get freaked out enough at the thought of getting in a car. I don’t want to go anywhere. I just need a nice normal family Christmas at home.

“I’m not going,” Tom says.

“What?” Dad looks at him, shocked.

“Melanie is home next week. There’s no way I’m going anywhere. I haven’t seen her for months.” Melanie is Tom’s girlfriend. She’s been away studying in France all this term. And, judging by the soppy updates he’s been posting on Facebook lately, he is really pining for her.

“But you have to come,” Mum says, looking really upset. “We’re always together at Christmas.”

Tom shakes his head. “If you want us to be together, you’ll have to stay here.”

“Tom,” Dad says in a low warning voice.

“I don’t want to go either,” I say quietly.

“What—but . . .” Mum stares at me. She looks so upset it’s horrible. “It’s Christmas in New York! I thought you guys would jump at the chance.”

“Yeah,” Elliot mutters. “What’s up with you?”

I look at him imploringly and finally see a flicker of recognition cross his face, like he’s worked it out. He takes my hand and gives it a squeeze.

“Why do you have to work over Christmas anyway?” Tom says.

“Because we really need the money,” Dad replies, and his tone is so serious that we all turn to look at him.

“It’s been such a slow winter,” Mum says. “This job is the answer to all of our prayers. They’re paying more than we’d get for ten weddings in Britain. Plus our expenses.” She looks at me pleadingly. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

“I can’t,” I say. “I have to . . .”

“Do that English project,” Elliot fills in for me. “The one that counts toward your final grade.”

“Yes!” I say, giving him a grateful smile before turning back to Mum and Dad. “So I’m going to have to work flat out on that over the holidays. But you guys go. We’ll be fine.”

Tom nods too. “Yes. You guys go. We can always have Christmas together when you get back.”

Mum looks at Dad. “I don’t know. What do you think, Rob?”

“I think we need to think about it,” Dad says. He looks just as upset as she does.

I feel terrible. I think about telling them the truth: that just the thought of having a panic attack trapped in a plane miles up in the sky is bringing me out in a cold sweat, but I can’t. I don’t want to worry them. There’s no way they’d leave me if they knew what’s been happening and then they’d miss out on the much-needed money. Them going to America and me staying here is definitely the best solution, but I can’t help feeling sad inside. As my fear of the panic attacks gets bigger and bigger it seems to be making my world feel smaller and smaller.