Girl Online

Chapter Eighteen

“Hey? Are you OK?” Noah’s voice is suddenly louder.

I try to nod my head but my entire body feels paralyzed. I feel the car turning and then coming to a stop. I cautiously open my eyes. We’ve pulled into a side street, lined with towering buildings. Noah is staring at me; he looks really worried.

“I’m s-sorry,” I stammer, my teeth starting to chatter. I’ve literally gone from baking hot to freezing cold in a couple of seconds.

Noah leans into the back of the truck and fetches a tartan blanket. “Here,” he says, placing it on my lap.

I pull the blanket up to my shoulders and hug it around me tightly. “Thank you.”

“What just happened?” His voice is so soft and so concerned that it takes everything I’ve got not to dissolve into tears.

“I’m sorry,” I say again. It’s all I seem able to say.

Noah pushes his hair back from his face and looks at me intently. “Quit saying that. There’s nothing to be sorry for. What happened?”

My body is still shivering violently. I feel crushed by disappointment. I can’t believe that after getting through the flight OK, this has happened again. Is this how my life is going to be from now on? Plagued by stupid panic attacks?

Noah opens the glove compartment and starts rummaging around. He pulls out a chocolate bar. “You need some sugar,” he says, opening the wrapper and handing it to me.

I make myself take a bite of the chocolate. Noah’s right: as it melts on my tongue I do start to feel a tiny bit better. “I’m—”

“If you say ‘sorry’ one more time I’m going to have to play you Sadie Lee’s favorite country ballad,” Noah says, “and you wouldn’t want that, trust me. It’s called ‘You Flushed My Sorry Heart Down the Toilet of Despair.’ ”

I give him a weak smile. “OK, I’m not sorry.”

“Good. Now what just happened?”

“I—I was in a car accident a while ago and ever since I’ve been getting these stupid panic-attack things. I’m so sor—”

“Don’t say it!”

I glance at Noah. He’s still looking super-concerned.

“That sucks,” he says. “You should have said something—before we got in the car.”

“I know, but, to be honest, I forgot. I was having such a good time . . .”

“Really?”

I look at Noah and nod. He smiles a little. Then his face goes serious again. “So what do you want to do? Should we leave the car someplace and get the subway? Do you want me to take you back to the hotel?”

“No.” Even though I’m still numb from the panic attack, there’s one thing I know for sure—I do not want my adventure with Noah to end.

We sit in silence for a moment—well, New York silence, which means there’s still a load of sirens and horns and yelling going on in the background. But weirdly it doesn’t feel awkward. Even though I’ve had a meltdown in front of a boy I really like within an hour of meeting him, it doesn’t feel like the times with Ollie in the café or on the beach. For some really bizarre reason, I don’t feel eaten up with embarrassment. There’s something about Noah that makes me feel safe to be myself.

“I’ve got an idea,” Noah says, finally breaking the silence.

I look at him hopefully.

“How about I carry on driving, but this time I take it real slow and I tell you everything I’m going to do? So if there’s a turn coming up, I’ll warn you there’s a turn coming up, and if I see anything ahead that could panic you, I’ll let you know.”

I nod. “OK.”

“It won’t last forever, you know.”

“What?”

“Feeling like this. Trust me. You know the saying ‘Time’s a great healer’?”

I nod.

Noah swivels right around in his seat so that he’s fully facing me. “I hated that phrase the first time someone told me it. I thought it was just something people said to try to make you feel better. But it’s true. Time is a great healer. You will get better.”

There’s something about the certainty in his voice and the way he’s looking at me that makes me believe him without a shadow of a doubt. “Thank you,” I whisper.

“You’re welcome.” He turns the key in the ignition. “All righty, shall we do this?”

“Yes,” I say, trying to inject as much confidence into my voice as possible.

And so we make our way very slowly through Manhattan, with Noah giving a running commentary like an alternative tour guide, except instead of pointing out the landmarks, he tells me when he’s going to “hang a left” or that we’re “approaching an intersection.”

By the time we get to the Brooklyn Bridge, I feel like I’ve managed to push a lid down on my jitters, the way you sit on a bulging suitcase to get it shut. And I’m so glad because the bridge is amazing. There are huge Gothic-style archways at either end, like the entrance to an old castle, and the whole thing is encased in steel girders so it’s kind of like driving through a long cage—which is great because it makes me feel way safer. The view is breathtaking.

“You OK?” Noah says as we get about halfway across.

I nod, my eyes fixed on the skyline. Whereas the buildings in Manhattan are mainly gleaming mirrored glass or white stone, the Brooklyn skyline is made up of browns and reds, and it looks beautiful against the clear blue sky—like autumn leaves.

“Welcome to my hometown,” Noah says as we approach the final archway on the bridge.

I turn to look at him. “Do you live here?”

“Sure do. So, what do you think?”

“I love it. It reminds me of autumn.” Why did you say that? Why can’t you just speak normally? my inner voice instantly yells.

“The colors?” Noah says.

“Yes.” I breathe a sigh of relief that he understands what I was trying to say.

“I get that. Your hair reminds me of autumn too.”

I look at him questioningly.

“Autumn has all the best colors.”

I look away but my mouth won’t stop curling into a grin.

As we drive off the bridge, Noah carries on his running commentary of turns and intersections until we get to a way quieter, residential area where the streets are narrower and lined with trees. I begin to properly relax again.

“Thank you,” I say, staring out of my side window at the row of tall brownstone houses. “I feel so much better now.”

Noah grins at me. “No problem. Let’s go get the tiara and then we can get on with the rest of the Mystery Tour.”

“Good plan.”

Noah turns the corner into a small street lined with quirky-looking cafés and stores. It’s like an American version of the Lanes. He pulls into a parking spot and turns to me and smiles. “You sure you’re OK?”

I nod. “Yes, definitely.”

He reaches over to the backseat for a scuffed leather biker’s jacket and puts it on. Then he looks up and down the street, like he’s checking for something, before he gets out of the truck, and I follow. It feels good to be outside on solid ground. I take a deep breath of the crisp cold air.

“The store’s just up here,” Noah says, pointing ahead of us.

As we walk past a secondhand bookshop, the door opens and a girl comes out. She looks at Noah and smiles like she knows him, but he just keeps on marching ahead.

“I think we just went past someone you know,” I say, running to keep up with him.

“What?” Noah looks distracted.

“That girl, back there.” I turn and look back to see the girl still standing outside the bookshop, staring after us.

“No, I don’t think so.” He pulls up the collar on his jacket against the cold. “Here we are.” We’re standing by a store called Lost in Time. The window is crammed full of antique treasures. Noah opens the door and bustles me in. It’s like walking into an Aladdin’s cave. Everywhere I look I see something that immediately makes me want to take its picture—an old sewing machine, a gramophone, rails of vintage clothes. Elliot would love it here. I feel a wistful pang and wonder how Elliot is doing with Dad. I cannot wait to see him again and tell him all about Noah.

As I follow Noah through the store, I see a beautiful china doll dressed in a dark blue velvet dress with a lace collar that’s yellowing from age. Her hair is long and silky and the exact same shade of auburn as mine. She even has some freckles painted onto her nose. The doll is sitting on top of a pile of old books and her head has flopped to one side, making her look really sad. I instantly reach for my camera and take a shot. As the flash goes off, Noah jumps and spins around to look at me.

He instantly relaxes.

“She looks so sad,” I say. “I wonder how she ended up here. I bet she misses her owner.” I pick up the doll and straighten out her dress. “I hate the thought of abandoned toys. When I was younger, I wanted to start a toy orphanage. But then it got a bit out of control because every time we went to a school fair or walked past a charity shop I’d want to rescue every toy in there.” Stop rambling, my inner voice snips. I put the doll back on the pile of books.

“I know exactly what you mean,” Noah says.

I look at him hopefully. “You do?”

“Uh-huh. Only with me it’s musical instruments. I can’t stand it if I see an old guitar abandoned in a thrift store. Instruments were made to be played.”

I nod. “Just like toys were made to be played with.”

“Exactly.”

We look at each other and smile and I feel a strange sensation inside of me, like on some invisible level, part of me and part of Noah just slotted together.

We both walk over to the counter at the far end of the shop. An old man with an epic curly white mustache is sitting behind the counter, reading a book. “Yes,” he says without even looking up.

“We’ve come to collect a tiara,” Noah says, looking at the scrap of paper Mum gave him, “for a wedding.”

“Have you now?” The man slowly puts his book down and peers at us over the top of his glasses.

Noah and I glance at each other and I have to fight the urge to giggle.

“Aren’t you all a little too young to be thinking about getting hitched?” The man continues staring at us.

“It’s not for our wedding,” Noah says.

“No—we’re not getting married!” I exclaim, a little too forcefully.

Noah frowns at me. “Are you saying you wouldn’t marry me?”

“No—I—yes—I . . .” My face starts working its way through the crimson spectrum.

“And after we’ve been together for a whole”—Noah pauses to look at his watch— “a whole one hour, fifty-seven minutes.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, playing along with the joke. “I know it’s been ages, but I’m just not ready for that kind of a commitment.”

Noah looks at the man and sighs. “My heart is broken—broken!”

The man raises his white eyebrows and looks at us. Then he shakes his head and gets up and disappears off into the back of the shop.

Noah and I glance at each other.

“Where’s he gone?” I say.

Noah shrugs. “Your cruelty must have really gotten to him. He’s probably out back sobbing his heart out. He’s probably—”

“Here you are.” The man comes back into the shop carrying a flat square box. He puts the box on the counter and takes off the lid. Inside, on a bed of pale pink satin, is a beautiful tiara made of creamy teardrop pearls—it’s even better than the original one. I breathe a huge sigh of relief on Mum and Cindy’s behalf.

“It’s perfect,” I say.

Noah nods in agreement.

“I think my mum already paid for it on her credit card,” I say to the shop owner.

“She sure did.” He puts the lid back on the box and puts the box in a small paper bag.

“Thank you,” Noah and I say in unison.

“Welcome,” the man grunts, going back to his book.

“Have a nice day,” Noah says in a fake cheery voice.

The man doesn’t say a word.

“Wow, he was friendly,” I whisper sarcastically, as we head to the door.

“That’s New York charm for you,” Noah whispers back.

I go to open the door and I feel him reach around from behind me to open it for me.

“Don’t worry, we’re not all like that,” he says.

And I don’t know why, but there’s something about the way he says it that sends a shiver of excitement shimmying up my spine.