Girl Online

Chapter Twenty-One

“Your turn,” Noah says, handing me back the penny.

“What?”

“Your turn. A penny for your thoughts.”

“But I told you—they’re worth way more than a penny.”

“Oh no.” Noah frowns at me and shakes his head. “Once a person’s told you their thoughts you have to tell them yours—for the exact same price. That’s the rules.”

“There are rules?” I pull a fake disgruntled face but my head is filling with nervous chatter. How can I tell him I was thinking “KISS ME”? He’ll think I’m a lunatic. I need to make up something else. But I don’t exactly have the greatest track record when it comes to thinking up clever things to say to boys on the spot. I make a mental note not to mention anything to do with fleas.

“Go on,” Noah says, nodding at the penny in my hand.

My mind goes completely blank. All I can think of is the truth. “I was thinking about how perfect today is.” Oh my God, could you be any more intense? my inner voice starts yelling.

“You were?” I feel Noah move back toward me.

I nod, still unable to look at him, just in case I’ve read things all wrong.

“I think—” Noah begins.

“Yo! Meatballs!”

We both jump at the sound of Antonio’s voice. He plonks two steaming dishes down on the table. In any other circumstances they would look incredible, but right now I hate those meatballs with their stupid secret sauce and their jaunty sprigs of basil. Why couldn’t he have brought them over one minute later? Why couldn’t I have heard what Noah was going to say? To make matters even worse, Antonio then hangs around for about FIVE WHOLE MINUTES telling us all about his grandma’s grandma and how she grew the most amazing “to-may-toes” and how people would come from all over Naples just to try a mouthful of her special sauce. By the time he eventually goes back to the kitchen, the moment has well and truly been lost. I try to wrap some spaghetti around my fork but just as I put it in my mouth, half of it unravels. Of course, it’s at exactly this moment that Noah looks at me.

“How’s your meatballs?” he asks.

“Mmm, good,” I mumble, trying—and failing—to style out the fact that I have about six inches of spaghetti dangling from my mouth like a family of worms. As soon as Noah looks back down at his own dish, I try sucking the spaghetti up through my teeth. Just at that moment, the song playing on the jukebox finishes and the silence is filled with a horrible slurping noise. My horrible slurping noise, as the spaghetti shoots up into my mouth, splattering my face with tomato sauce.

Noah looks at me. But instead of mocking me or looking ashamed to be sitting at the same table as me, he loads his own fork with spaghetti and sucks it up into his mouth. A blob of sauce splats onto the middle of his forehead. We both look at each other and crack up laughing, and in that moment I don’t just think Noah is drop-dead gorgeous and Rock-God–tastic—I really, really like him too, and that feels way more important.

“Here,” he says, picking up his napkin. “Let me get that.” And he moves closer and gently wipes the tomato sauce from under my eye. And from over my eye. And from my forehead. And from my chin. And from my upper lip. And my lower lip. And . . .

“Seriously?” I say, staring at him. “Did I really get sauce all over my face?”

He shakes his head. “No. I just like dabbing girls’ faces with napkins. It’s a fetish of mine. Don’t worry—my shrink says it’s harmless.”

Laughing, I pick up my own napkin and wipe the sauce from his forehead.

“Aha, you have the same fetish,” Noah says, laughing. “I told you we had lots in common.”

We both put our napkins down and carry on eating. Sheer joy has now set up camp in my entire body. Even my toes are tingling.

“So, is your dad still an artist?” I say, determined to find out as much as I can about Noah.

When he doesn’t instantly reply, I look up at him. He’s stopped eating and is staring down at his plate. “No, no he’s not. My dad . . . he’s dead. Both my parents are.”

I put down my knife and fork, feeling terrible. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.”

“I know. It’s cool.” But Noah looks really sad and I want to kick myself for asking the question. “They died four years ago. So, you know, I’m OK to talk about it.”

“Oh.” At first I feel completely stuck for something to say—I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like to lose one of my parents, let alone both. Just the thought of it makes me shiver. “So, do you live with Sadie Lee then?”

Noah nods. “Yes, me and my little sister, Bella.”

“You have a sister?”

“Uh-huh.” Noah’s expression immediately softens.

“How old is she?”

“Four—almost five.”

“Four? But . . .”

“She was just a baby when they died.”

“Oh—that’s so sad!”

Noah nods. “I know. But Sadie Lee’s a great mom to her and I try to be the world’s best big brother.” He pushes his plate away and looks at me really intently. “They were killed in a skiing accident—an avalanche. After it happened, it was like I saw the world in a whole new light. Have you ever been asleep and having a really awesome dream and then suddenly it turns into a nightmare?”

I nod—most of my dreams have turned out like that lately.

“Well, that’s how my life felt back then. Like, before the accident, everything was safe and fun and nice, and then, after, everything was terrifying. That’s why I totally get how you were feeling in the truck. Your accident’s made you see how fragile life can be.”

“Yes!”

Noah shifts in closer to me. “OK, I’m gonna tell you something pretty embarrassing but, what the hell, I’ve seen you splatter your face with Antonio’s grandma’s grandma’s tomato sauce.” He starts fiddling with the edge of his napkin. “I got real jittery after Mum and Dad died. I was so scared something was going to happen to Bella or Sadie Lee, I’d have to keep checking in with them when I wasn’t with them, to make sure they were OK. It got to be a real pain. I could never fully relax when we weren’t together.”

“Do you still get like that?”

“No, thank God. Sadie Lee figured out something was wrong and she arranged for me to go see a counselor.”

“And that helped you get over it?”

Noah nods. “Yeah—that and writing.”

I think back to the battered notepad in the truck. “What kind of writing?”

“Just my thoughts, my fears—that kind of thing. There’s something so good about just getting it all down on a page.”

I’m reminded of how my recent blog posts made me feel and nod.

“You know when I said to you in the truck that time’s a great healer?”

“Yes.”

“I remember Sadie Lee saying that to me after my parents died and at the time it made me really mad, but it’s true. It is.” He takes hold of my hand and smiles at me. “You will get over the accident. You won’t feel anxious forever. Do you wanna know something my counselor told me that really helped?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Don’t fight it.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you get panicky, don’t fight it. That makes it a million times worse. Just say to yourself, ‘OK, I’m feeling anxious right now, but that’s all right.’ ”

“And that works?”

“It did for me. My counselor got me to visualize my fear inside my body. She got me to give it a color and a shape and then she’d say, ‘Just sit with it and watch what happens.’ ”

“And what did happen?”

“It would fade away.”

“Wow.”

We both sit in silence for a moment.

“Well, this wasn’t exactly how I’d intended our lunch to go,” Noah says, looking apologetic. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be silly; it’s been great. This has really helped—so much. You have no idea. I’d been getting so scared that I was going crazy.”

Noah nods. “You’re not crazy—not at all—well, only in a very good way.”

I smile at him. “Ditto.”

My phone starts ringing inside my bag. I want to ignore it. I want to stay sealed in my little bubble with Noah, but I can’t.

“Sorry, I’d better take that. Mum might be having an emergency.”

Noah nods. “Sure.”

But I see from the caller ID that it’s Elliot. Feeling a pang of guilt, I send the call to voicemail. I’ll explain it all to him later—I’m sure he’ll understand. I put my phone back in my bag. “It’s OK. It was only Elliot.”

“Who’s Elliot?”

“My best friend. He’s over here with us. He’s out sightseeing with my dad.”

Noah nods. “Are you sure you don’t need to call him back?”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll see him later.”

Noah grins at me. “Cool.”

“Yo! Yo! Yo! How were the meatballs?”

Seriously?! Antonio bounds over to our table with a massive grin on his face. I now want to drown him in his grandma’s grandma’s sauce.

“They were awesome,” Noah says.

“Yes, they were great,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Awesome!” Antonio sits down on the edge of our table and I want to groan out loud. “So, Noah, you’ve been busy, my man!”

“Uh-huh.” Noah pulls his wallet out of his pocket. “Sorry, dude, we’ve gotta go. I’ve got to get Penny back.”

Antonio starts clearing up our dishes as Noah takes a load of dollar bills from his wallet. “OK, well, you come by again soon, you hear? It’s good seeing you here again.”

Noah nods and gets up from the table. As I follow him, I feel a bittersweet mix of relief and disappointment. I’m sad at having to leave this magical place but glad it will mean getting Noah back to myself again.

We say goodbye to Antonio and go back into the underwater corridor. This time, Noah doesn’t put the light on immediately.

“I sure am glad I got to go on a Magical Mystery Tour with you, Penny,” he says so quietly I can barely hear him.

“I’m glad too,” I whisper back.

Then, as he reaches past me to turn the light on, his hand brushes against mine. And although it’s the slightest of touches, like throwing a pebble into a pond, the tingling it causes ripples throughout my entire body.