by Zoe Sugg
By the time we finish touring the Pavilion, we end up in the Tearoom. Bella is exhausted from the tour and her jet lag, and after she finishes her carton of apple juice she crawls up onto my lap for a nap. Elliot, Alex, and I have all ordered tea, and we giggle as we take sips.
Elliot leans forward over his chai tea. “I think we’re the only people under twenty in this whole room.”
I quickly glance around me, and he’s not wrong: most of the people sitting in here are much older. Still, the Tearoom serves amazing scones, so we aren’t going to complain.
“Want to check out a film tonight?” Alex asks us.
“I’d love that!” I say. “But I’ll have to check with Mum first if Sadie Lee is staying for dinner.”
Elliot grins. “Oh, a film sounds great. There’s this new subtitled film from Sweden . . .”
“No!” say both Alex and I in unison. Elliot pouts, but he’s not going to win this one.
“I want to see the new Avengers movie,” says Alex.
“Veto!” says Elliot. “No way am I watching another over-CGI-ed, eardrum-exploding Hollywood comic book spin-off.”
Movies might be the only thing that Elliot and Alex disagree on, even if they both love watching them.
I hold up my hands between them, before it turns into a full-blown world cinema versus commercial film debate. “How about I check what’s on before we start World War Three!” I say.
Moving slowly so that I don’t disturb Bella, I fish my phone out of my bag. Habit means that rather than open my browser I click straight away on the email icon, which is showing two new messages.
My hand flies to my mouth. “Yay!” I cry out, when I read the first message.
“What is it?” Elliot leans towards me and Alex raises an eyebrow.
“Posey’s going to come down next weekend! She can make it after all!”
“That’s great! That means Project Drama Student is on!”
I nudge Elliot in the shoulder. “She’s not a project; she’s a new friend. And I bet you’ll really like her. She’ll kick your butt at SingStar and everything.”
Elliot looks affronted. “Nobody kicks my butt at SingStar!”
Alex laughs. “That’s because we’re not brave enough to listen to you!” He turns to me. “Tell me—who’s Posey?”
I fill Alex in on my trip to see Megan and on Posey’s stage fright.
“Wow, which one is Megan again?” asks Alex.
“The one who’s always using Penny for her friendship,” snaps Elliot.
I grimace. “She’s not that bad . . . you just have to get past the front she puts on. Deep down, she’s a really nice person.”
“For sure . . . Grand Canyon deep,” mumbles Elliot.
If I didn’t have a sleeping five-year-old on my lap, I would kick him under the table.
“Actually, did you know that the Colca Canyon in Peru is more than twice as deep as the Grand Canyon?” says Alex, a teasing gleam in his eye.
“Well, see?” says Elliot, laughing. “I wouldn’t say she’s as bad as that! But now who’s the know-it-all!”
As they talk, I type a rapid reply to Posey.
That’s the best news!
I’ll wait for you in the station at 11 on Saturday. I’ll be standing next to the free piano. (But definitely not playing! No skills there I’m afraid.) x
Now that there’s a plan in place to see Posey, I feel much happier. There’s just a tiny niggle at the back of my brain, which is me wondering whether I should tell Megan. But Megan doesn’t police who I’m friends with. “Shall we go?” I say. “Oh, I forgot to look up movie times!”
“Don’t worry, we did it,” says Alex with a grin. “And we’ve decided on the newest Disney film. Are you in?”
“Yes! I’ll check with Mum.”
On my lap, Bella wriggles awake and yawns widely.
“Are you ready to go home?” I ask, brushing a few loose strands of hair from her face. She smiles and a dimple appears in her upturned cheek. Suddenly I’m struck by just how much she looks like Noah. But it’s time to stop seeing his ghost everywhere, and time to step out into the light. I have friends who love me, and new friends who I’m growing to love.
And that takes precedence over a guy any day.
Chapter Eleven
The next day at school, I wash the last of the chemicals off my black-and-white prints and hang them up to dry on the line in my school’s darkroom. I’d taken shots of Bella playing with Princess Autumn, but they just haven’t turned out the way I wanted them to and I thank my subconscious brain for making me take some on my DSLR too. Normally, the darkroom is one of my happy places (even if it does leave me with brown fingernails when I forget to wear gloves). But today, it’s just not working for me.
Ever since I saw all the work Callum put into his portfolio I know I need to up my game. I can’t help the niggling feeling I’m just not putting enough time and effort into my craft—not if I really want to make it as a professional. I’ve had a few lucky breaks, but I don’t want to get by on luck alone. Plus, the words “uniquely Penny” keep ringing in my brain. These shots don’t even come close. I have half an urge to just turn on my iPhone and use the light to ruin them all. Unfortunately, I need to share the darkroom with my classmates, so I just grit my teeth and leave the prints to dry.
Miss Mills is sitting in the classroom outside, and she looks up as I slam the door to the darkroom, my frustration getting the better of me. Her eyes open a little wider. “Everything OK, Penny?”
“Oh, sorry, miss—yeah, I’m OK.” She waits a few moments until I cave in. “It’s just I can’t seem to get things right with the film camera lately. Everything I try is just . . . off. I don’t know what to do or how to change it. I don’t want to rely only on digital shots and Photoshop for this project.”
She gestures to the chair opposite her for me to sit down and I sink into it, dropping my bag at my feet. “You have been putting an awful lot of pressure on yourself, Penny. You’re doing fantastically well in your coursework and you need to keep things in perspective. Not every photo you take is going to be album-cover worthy,” she says with a wink.
“I know that, I do . . .”
“But?”
I grin. Miss Mills knows me so well. She’s been a rock for me since the events of last Christmas turned my life upside down, and she supported me all through the craziness of the tour with Noah—even though it was the summer holidays. She’s also one of the few people who read Girl Online when it was private. I trust her implicitly. “But I want to get better. I want to have a style that’s mine. I want someone to look at one of my photos and say, ‘Oh! That’s Penny Porter!’ ”
She leans forward across the table, resting her chin in her hands. “A style is something you develop over time, and you often have to try lots of different things until you find something that’s yours. I think what you need is a change of scene. Many of your pictures are of places round here in Brighton, but some of your best work has been when you’ve pushed out of your comfort zone a little.”
“Hmm, that’s true, I guess.” My mind starts to whirl, thinking of where I could go to take different photos, then: “Oh! I’m going to Scotland for half-term. Maybe I can take pictures there.”
“That’s great! But remember to look beyond the ordinary. You’re good at that, but I think that’s why you’re feeling a little lost right now—you’ve only been looking at what’s right in front of you. You just need to refocus and open your eyes again.” She sits back in her chair. “I’m not worried, Penny. You always find your way.”
“Thanks, miss. Are you doing anything nice for half- term?”
“I wish! It’s all marking, marking, marking for me . . . Good thing I love what I do.”
“Aw . . . well, I hope you get a bit of a break.”
“Me too, Penny!”
I grab my bag off the floor and head out of the door. As I walk towards my locker, I can see Kira and Amara waiting for me.
“Hey, guys!” I wave and run up to them.
“Penny! How was Megan’s fancy-pants new school?” Kira’s eyes sparkle.
“Honestly, it was like something out of Glee ! It’s very cool. It suits her a lot.”
“That’s good. Maybe we should go visit her too,” Amara suggests, perking up.
“When? I have so much studying to do!” Kira moans. She is definitely the most worried out of all of us about her marks. I put my hand on her arm and give her a quick squeeze.
My phone buzzes and I fish it out of my bag. I bite my bottom lip as I open the text message—
I can’t believe it’s actually happened.
“Penny? What is it?”
I look up at Kira. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve gone as red as a tomato!”
“Well, when I was at Megan’s, I met this guy . . .”
Amara and Kira let out a synchronized squeal that I’m sure only twins can pull off.
“What? Spill!” says Kira.
“His name is Callum, and he’s a photography student at the Madame Laplage school.”
“Is he cute?” Amara asks.
“So cute,” I reply, and now I can really feel the blush building. “And Megan gave him my number.”
“And he texted?” asks Kira. “That’s awesome! Are you going to meet up with him?”
“What about Noah?” Amara asks.
Kira punches her sister in the upper arm. “What did you bring him up for? Penny doesn’t need to be thinking about that right now.”
“I know, but I love Pennoah. I always thought you two would get over this and be together forever,” Amara says with an apologetic shrug.
“Pennoah? When did we ever get called that?” I ask, completely baffled. I mock-retch at how sickeningly sweet it is.
Amara laughs. “Oh, it’s just something we saw online one time and thought it was so funny we had to adopt it.”
“Thank god that didn’t catch on!” I say, wincing. “And it’s OK. Noah and I will always be friends . . . if I ever hear from him again, that is. And Callum was really nice, but I don’t really know him yet.”
“Ignore my stupid sister,” says Kira. “This is a really good thing. You have to go for it, and then make sure you come back and tell us all about it.”
“OK, OK. Let me reply.”
I read his message one more time.
Hey Penny, this is Callum—we met at MLP? I’d love to meet up again sometime to chat more photography stuff. When are you free?
I take a deep breath, then type back a quick reply.
Hi! Nice to hear from you. I’m not free this weekend, but maybe the weekend after?
I hit send, and I’m surprised myself at how little I care about the wording of my text—especially compared to how much I agonized over my first message to Noah. I hope this is part of growing up and not because I don’t seem to be having those same spiralling, fizzy feelings I did when I was texting Noah.
My phone buzzes again. Kira raises a threaded eyebrow. “Wow, he must be really keen if he’s replying straight away! James takes ages to reply.” James is a rugby-playing pretty boy from another school and Kira’s current love interest.
“That’s good. It means he’s not playing some weird guy game,” says Amara. “What does he say?”
I read the text out loud:
Sounds good! Gives me time to plan something a little more exciting. I’ll send you another text when I figure out where to meet x
Kira clutches her hands together. “Oh my god. He’s going full on date-mode. I wonder where he’ll take you.”
“I have no idea,” I say. But wherever it is, it won’t be as good as my first date with Noah, I think. Then I curse my treacherous mind.
My phone buzzes once more.
Bring your camera. I want to see the great Penny Porter in action x
Reading his final message releases a tiny flutter of butterflies in my stomach. He’s not Noah, but maybe this will turn out to be something, after all.
Chapter Twelve
I spot Posey’s bright green beret coming down the platform and I wave wildly. I’ve felt a surge of nervousness leading all the way up to this weekend, wondering if maybe she was going to bail on me. It’s a pretty big deal to come all the way down on your own to meet someone you’ve only met once. I give myself a shake. It will be fine. We’ve exchanged about a hundred messages on WhatsApp, chatting like we’ve known each other our whole lives.
I’m standing just where I told her I’d be—by the piano in the middle of the station, which is there so that anyone who wants to can play for free. When she passes through the ticket barrier and walks over to meet me she’s smiling shyly. She stops a few feet away.
“Hey, Penny,” she says.
“Hi! Was your journey OK?”
“Not too bad.” Her eyes flit around the station, taking in the flower stall and numerous pasty stands and coffee shops. She seems to want to look anywhere but at me. She must be feeling as nervous as I’ve been feeling, but I’m determined not to make it awkward.
“Anywhere you want to go first?” I offer. “The Pier? The Lanes?”
She gives me a small shrug.
I keep talking as we start to walk down the street leading away from the station. “Well, of course you wouldn’t know where—you’ve never been here before!” When she doesn’t reply, I wish I’d invited Elliot along. He knows how to break anyone’s barriers down.
“Is that the sea?” she asks, her eyes widening. We’ve come to the top of Queen’s Road, a long hill that leads all the way down to Brighton beach. I’m glad that it’s a sunny September day, because Brighton is showing itself at its best. It’s hard not to be enchanted by the city when it’s sparkling in the sunshine.
“Yeah. Want to go down there first?”
She nods, biting her lip. “I love the ocean.”
“Me too!” I link my arm through hers, and the mood lifts. From then on our conversation flows easily, like the awkwardness was a dam we managed to break through.
“I heard from Callum,” I say. “He asked me out.” I’d filled Posey in on all the Callum-and-Noah drama.
“Are you happy about that?” she asks.
“To be honest, I don’t know . . . It still feels strange.”
“I think that’s normal. He seems like a nice guy—you should give him a chance at least. What’s the worst that can happen?”
It’s refreshing to talk to someone who doesn’t just know me as Noah’s girlfriend. She doesn’t make me feel like I’m betraying him by considering going out with another person.
We breathe in the salty air down by the seafront, and Posey squeals at the sight of the pebbly beach. “Is it comfortable?” she asks. “I always see these photos of people cramming onto the beach in the summertime, but I didn’t realize there were so many stones!”
“You get used to it,” I say. “It’s like the Brighton hot stone massage—trying to find the right position to sunbathe!”
On the Pier, we get a tall, fluffy stick of candyfloss and laugh as the colour turns our tongues blue. We get a few tokens and ride the bumper cars, and I remember how much fun it is just hanging out with a girlfriend.
Once we’ve worn out the fun on the Pier, we stop at my favourite ice cream shop—Boho Gelato—where we both get cones of the best flavour: carrot cake. It’s so soft and buttery, it’s like a piece of cake melting in my mouth.
We make our way over to the Pavilion Gardens with our ice creams, and laugh until our sides hurt at the pigeons mating and squirrels stealing food from the school party of German kids trying to eat their lunch.
We then wander up through the Lanes, and I point out the antique jewellers, ogling at the 1930s Art Deco rings and the pearls and diamond necklaces from the 1950s. We pick out our engagement rings (even though we’re years away from that) and when we get bored we go to the candy store and both get jelly rings to wear.
“My mum’s shop
is just round the corner,” I say. “She’s dying to meet you. I apologize in advance if she’s a bit . . . full-on.”
Posey laughs. “I get full-on mothers, trust me!”
When we reach To Have and to Hold, Posey gasps at the window display. This week, the theme is Harvest Bounty, and everything is shades of bronze, red and gold, just like autumn leaves. The dress in the window is made of crimson silk, and has long sleeves that fall to a point, like something Maid Marian would have worn in the Middle Ages. At her feet is a basket with dozens of apples tumbling from it, and a reed-woven cornucopia full of autumnal delights: conkers, shiny and brown; oak leaves already crisp and orange; and all sorts of pumpkins and gourds.
“This is your mum’s shop? It looks amazing!”
“Why thank you! You must be Posey!” says Mum, who just then opens the door to see a client out and welcome us in. “See you later, Chantal!” she waves to the woman leaving. “Come on in, girls,” she adds, returning her attention to us.
I always love coming to Mum’s store. It’s a cornucopia in itself, stuffed to the brim with goodies and shiny things. Posey and I walk around first, Mum pointing out to us some of the store’s interesting props and telling us the stories behind them. “Ah,” she says, coming across a huge headdress adorned with black and red feathers. “I wore this when I was in Paris. Whenever anyone wants a Moulin Rouge theme, this is what I pull out . . .”
“Penny tells me you used to act in Paris in the eighties? What was that like?” asks Posey.
“Ah, Montmartre . . . those were the days,” she says dreamily. “It was a different Paris then, and I felt so bohemian. We didn’t call ourselves actors: we were troubadours, and we were as comfortable performing in the street as we were onstage.”
“Sounds like a dream,” Posey says.
“Posey’s a music and drama student at Madame Laplage, just like Megan,” I say. “She’s the lead in their production of West Side Story.”
Mum clasps her hands together. “That’s wonderful! Tell me all about the production. Are you performing the classic version of the show?”