Girl Online

Chapter Forty-Four

The next morning I’m woken up by Elliot hammering the Can I come over? code on the wall.

I knock back Yes, rub my eyes, and look at my alarm clock. It’s only 6:30 a.m. My heart sinks. What could have gone wrong now? Still half-asleep, I stumble downstairs to let him in.

“OK, I know you said you were never going to blog again,” Elliot says, pushing past me into the hall.

“Ever,” I say.

“Yes, never ever, whatever,” Elliot says, waving his phone about excitedly. “But there’s something I really think you ought to see.”

I stare at him. “Is it to do with what happened with Noah? Because if it is, then no I don’t.”

Elliot grins. “It is, kind of, but it’s so good. Seriously.”

I sigh. “OK, it better be.” I take the phone from him. The screen’s displaying Elliot’s Twitter notification feed.

“You’ve got your very own hashtag!” Elliot says breathlessly.

“What?” I look at the tweets. They all have the hashtag #WeLoveYouGirlOnline after them.

“There’s also #BringBackGirlOnline and #WeWant GirlOnline,” Elliot says proudly. “Since you posted last night it’s gone crazy.”

I start reading the tweets. They’re all saying really lovely things about how much they’re missing my blogs and how I should ignore the haters. Then I see one from @PegasusGirl.

I’m sorry I judged you. Please come back #WeLoveGirlOnline

Elliot looks at me. “Isn’t it great?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” And the truth is I don’t. What happened before has left me so scared of the online world that I truly don’t know if I want to go back there—especially now that I don’t have the anonymity of Girl Online to hide behind.

“You said that the online world isn’t real, but some of it is,” Elliot says. “Your blog is.” He points to his Twitter feed. “And this is. They really love you.”

For all of Friday and Saturday I deliberate over what to do with my blog, with Elliot giving me regular updates on the hashtag campaign. On Sunday morning, I’m wide awake as soon as the seagulls start squawking. In the end, I decide to do the one thing guaranteed to help me get my head straight—go out and take some photos. I meet Dad in the kitchen as I’m about to head out.

“Oh, are you going somewhere?” he says, looking at me, surprised.

“Yes, I thought I’d go and take some photos down at the beach, while it’s still empty.” I grab a banana from the fruit bowl and stuff it in my pocket.

“How long do you think you’ll be?”

“I don’t know. About an hour, maybe two.”

Dad frowns. “OK, and then you’re coming straight back home?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Oh, I was just wondering when I should start Sunday lunch.” He disappears back behind his paper.

I’m just turning to leave when Mum appears. “Penny! Why are you up so early?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” I frown at her. “Why are you up so early? You do realize it’s Sunday?” Mum never normally gets up before ten on a Sunday; it’s the one day of the week she’s able to have a lie-in.

“I couldn’t sleep either.”

I shrug. “OK, well see you guys later.”

“How much later? Where are you going?” Mum asks.

“To the beach, to take some photos. I’ll be back by midday.”

“OK, well let us know if you decide to go anywhere else,” Dad says, peering at me over his paper.

“Will do. See you later.”

It’s only when I’ve gotten outside that I realize they’re probably still really paranoid about my last panic attack.

I send Dad a quick text.

Going to go down to the old pier

I guess it will make him feel a little better if he knows exactly where I’ll be.

The beach is completely deserted when I get there. It’s one of those bleak January days where the whole world seems to be painted in shades of grey. I kind of like it, though. I like being by myself with the sea and feeling as if the beach is my own private garden. I sit in the shelter of one of the shingles and watch the waves rolling out. And all of a sudden I’m engulfed by sorrow. It’s like now that I’ve finally stopped thinking about everything else—Elliot, my blog, school, Megan and Ollie—it’s left a space in my head for memories of Noah to rush into. I sit there for ages, rerunning everything that happened. I don’t feel angry anymore. I just feel sad. Finally, I force myself to get up. I need to think about something else. Something pain-free. I pick up my camera and head down to the old pier.

I love the old pier in Brighton. With its blackened, crumbling frame it looks like something from a spooky old film. And it looks even more atmospheric today with the wind whipping around it and the waves crashing at its legs. Behind me I hear a sharp whistle, like someone whistling for their dog.

I crouch down and zoom in on the pier thinking how cool it would be if I spotted the pale outline of a ghost hovering. I hear the whistle again, longer and more insistent this time. Maybe someone’s lost their dog or maybe it’s gone swimming in the sea. I turn around but I can’t see anyone. Then I spot a flash of color on top of the shingle where I was sitting. A flash of auburn. I instinctively train my camera on the object and zoom in.

“What the . . . ?”

I blink and look back through the lens.

Princess Autumn is sitting on top of the shingle. But it can’t be. I left her with Bella in New York. I start striding back up the beach, the pebbles crunching beneath my feet. There must be some explanation. I must have made a mistake. However, the closer I get, the more certain I become that it is her. I can see her blue velvet dress and the creamy-white color of her face and her hair billowing in the wind.

When I get within a few feet, I stop walking and look around. This has to be some kind of trick. But who’s playing it? And how? And why? Did Mum and Dad bring the doll home with them? Have they put it there? But why would they do that? It doesn’t make any sense. I turn and scan the length of the beach right down to the sea but there’s no one in sight at all. Then I hear a crunch on the stones behind me and I spin around.

“Oh my God!”

Noah is standing next to the shingle. He must have been crouching behind it. He’s wearing his leather jacket, black jeans, and scuffed boots, with the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up over his head.

“Bella told me she was missing you,” he says, nodding at Princess Autumn.

I’m actually unable to say a word. I’m so sure that I must be hallucinating, that this cannot be real.

Noah takes a step toward me and I instinctively take a step back.

“I need to speak to you,” he says with real urgency in his voice.

“But—I don’t understand.” A fresh gust of wind hits me straight in the face and snaps me back into reality. “Why did you—why did you lie to me?”

Noah looks down at the stones. “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you the truth but I didn’t want to ruin everything.”

What?! Now my shock is giving way to anger. “Yes, I guess telling me you already had a girlfriend would have that kind of effect.”

Noah digs his hands into his jeans pockets. “I don’t have a girlfriend. I didn’t.”

“Oh my God.” I’m feeling really angry now. “Have you seriously come all this way just to carry on lying to me?”

“No—I—I’m not lying.”

“Yes, you are! I’ve seen it all online. All the tweets and the articles and the—”

He interrupts me. “It’s all crap.”

“What? Even Leah Brown’s tweets about you?”

“Yes! Especially those.”

I glare at him. How can he lie so brazenly to me? And how can he expect me to believe him? “What do you mean ‘especially those’?”

Noah finally manages to look at me. “Her last album bombed. The record label was panicking. So, when they signed me, the marketing people said they wanted to orchestrate some kind of phony romance between us. They said it would help both our album sales. I didn’t want to go along with it but they said all it needed was a few staged photos and tweets. Although I couldn’t bring myself to do that bit,” he mutters. “It felt so sketchy. I hated it. I even thought about turning the deal down but I couldn’t; I’d signed a contract. I was locked in. So I figured, what the hell, it wasn’t as if I was actually going out with anyone. And then you came along.”

I stare at him, trying to compute everything he’s just said. “So you and Leah aren’t . . .”

“No! We never were.”

“So, she hasn’t been hurt by what’s happened?”

Noah laughs. “No. She was a bit pissed at first cos she said I made her look like an idiot but then her record sales went through the roof because everyone felt so sorry for her so she got over it pretty quick.”

“But I can’t believe a record company would make you do something like that.”

Noah shrugs. “I know. But apparently it happens all the time.”

I feel my anger beginning to fade. “So why didn’t you just tell me?”

Noah sighs. “I wanted to. And Sadie Lee kept on begging me to but I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“Losing you.” He looks out to sea. “Who wants to go out with a guy with a pretend girlfriend? And it’s so hard to find someone . . . who doesn’t just want their moment in the spotlight too.”

I can’t help laughing now, and as I do, hope starts fizzing inside of me. Noah is here. In Brighton. On the beach just a few feet in front of me. He hasn’t got a girlfriend. He isn’t going out with Leah Brown. He never was. But . . .

“Why did you get so angry at me? Why did you change your phone number?”

He starts shifting from foot to foot. “I thought you’d sold a story on me. I thought it had all been to get publicity for your blog.”

“But I didn’t even know who you were. Hardly anyone’s heard of you in the UK—apart from my brother, but then, my brother’s into all kinds of obscure music.”

“Thanks!”

“No, I mean . . .”

Noah smiles. And just the sight of those dimples makes me feel all fluttery inside. “It’s OK. I just didn’t know what to think and I guess I freaked out. And then when they started saying that I’d had a breakdown after my parents . . . and revealing all my favorite places. I’m a really private person. I felt totally under attack.”

I nod. “Yeah, I know that feeling.”

Noah instantly looks concerned. “How have you been dealing with it?”

“OK. Well, OK once I went on an Internet detox.”

He laughs. “So I guess you haven’t seen my new YouTube video?”

I shake my head.

“Do you want to come here and I’ll show it to you if you like?”

I suddenly feel overwhelmingly shy. Noah is here. He’s actually here. And nothing is how I thought it was. Everything is OK. I think. We sit down behind the shingle and Noah takes his phone from his pocket. He clicks on a YouTube video and presses play. A tiny image of him appears on the screen.

“There’s been a whole bunch of crap written about me lately,” Video Noah says, “and as I’m not one for Twitter and all that, I’ll stick to what I know best instead. This song is going to be the first single from my new album. It’s called ‘Autumn Girl’ and it’s about the only girl I’ve ever loved.” Then he starts singing the song. My song.

Next to me, Noah coughs and shifts on the stones. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you,” he mutters.

“It’s OK.”

“Is it?” He turns and looks at me.

I look right back at him. “Yes.”

“When I read your last blog post, I felt like such a fool.”

“What do you mean?”

“For thinking that you could have ever sold a story on me. I guess when it all went crazy, my fear kicked in and I wasn’t thinking straight.”

I nod. “Mine too.”

“So.”

“So.”

He puts his hand over mine. It feels so warm and strong.

“Can we start again?”

“As friends?”

He shakes his head. “No, as inciting incidents.”

I laugh. “Yes.”

Noah grins at me. “Because, you know, I don’t say ‘I like you so much I think it might be love’ to all the girls.”

“Not even to Leah Brown?” I say, grinning back at him.

“Never to Leah Brown!”

He shifts closer to me. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes. Please.”

Noah cups my face in his hands. “Man, you British chicks are so polite.”

We kiss but it feels shy, apprehensive.

“How did you get here?” I ask.

“I flew.”

“No, to the beach.”

“Oh. Your dad gave me a lift.”

“Oh my God, did they know you were coming?”

Noah nods. “Uh-huh. I told them I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“It was definitely that!”

Noah looks at me nervously. “They know what happened. I’d told Sadie Lee not to say anything to them at first. But then, when I’d calmed down and realized what had happened, I called your dad to ask if I could see you and it all came out. I’m really sorry—I assumed you’d have told them.”

“It’s OK. It’s all sorted now. Isn’t it?” I look at him and he nods.

“Can we walk for a bit?” he says.

“Yes, that would be lovely.” But as I start getting up I lose my footing and slip and fall—right over the shingle. If I’d been doing a stunt in an action-adventure movie it would have probably looked spectacular but in the context of a romantic makeup it looks totally ridiculous.

“Are you OK?” Noah calls over to me.

I scramble up, my face red with embarrassment.

“That was an awesome body roll. I wanna try.” Noah takes a step back before hurling himself over the shingle. He crashes into me and we land on the beach in a tangled heap. And as we laugh our heads off, the very last traces of tension between us disappear.

“I’ve missed you so much, Inciting Incident,” he whispers.

And this time when we kiss it’s not apprehensive at all. This time when we kiss it feels like coming home.