by Zoe Sugg
And again.
“What’s up, Penny? You’ve gone as white as a sheet.” It’s Elliot standing in the doorway, staring at me staring at the computer. Noah and Alex swing round to look at me too.
I swallow hard. “Looks like you were right after all, Wiks. Megan can’t be trusted one little bit.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The video footage that Leah has sent me is from the CCTV cameras inside the recording studio at Octave. Megan’s on there, doing something with her phone, and then you see her leaving it on the mixing table, right on top of the button that brings in the sound from the live room. Then she gets up and leaves. That would be when she came upstairs and asked me where the bathroom was, I think. So even though she’s not there in the studio herself at that point, she’s still recording the song.
I can hardly believe my eyes. Why would Megan do something like this again? And why would she be so stupid as to think she wouldn’t get caught?
I show Elliot, Noah, and Alex the video, and Elliot’s face screams I told you so.
Noah puts his arms round my waist. “What are you going to do, hon?”
I snap his laptop shut, then spin round so I can bury my face against his shoulder. “I don’t know,” I mumble, and I pull away, shaking my head.
“Milkshake, milkshake,” Elliot starts chanting, harking back to the time we threw our milkshakes over Megan when she needed standing up to.
I laugh bitterly. “Elliot . . . this is serious! Somehow, if Milkshakegate didn’t get through the first time, I don’t think it’s going to work now.” I let out a strangled groan. “Leah’s not pressing charges, and she’s leaving it up to me to do what I think best.” Then my hand flies instantly to my mouth and I let out a cry: “Posey! I was so mean to her! I didn’t believe her when she was telling the truth this whole time!”
“You can make up with her,” Elliot says gently. “But, if I were you, I wouldn’t tell Megan that Leah’s not pressing charges. Some guy went to jail for a couple of years for leaking Madonna songs.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, copyright breaches are serious business in the music industry. Especially if someone’s done it for profit, which is what it looks like in this case.”
I think of all the money that Megan’s been throwing around lately: the expensive makeup in Covent Garden, the lavish Halloween party. The thought makes me shiver. She messed with me before, and I managed to forgive her for that. But now she’s messed with not one but two of my friends: Leah in a big way, and Posey too. Megan convinced me that Posey was the one who leaked the song, when she knew all along that she’d done it. She destroyed my new friendship, got herself the big role in the show, and catapulted her status at Madame Laplage from nobody to Miss Popular.
You have to hand it to the girl. She knows how to play to win.
It makes me seethe with rage, and I know I will never be able to trust her again.
Elliot comes up and whispers in my ear: “Revenge!”
Luckily, all it does is break me out of my fury. I laugh. “Elliot, I wish she was worth it. But this time I don’t think she is. All I want is to never speak to her again. I think I just want her out of my life.”
“Aw, there must be something you can do. She can’t get away scot-free.”
I drum my finger on my bottom lip. “You know what, Wiks? You’re right. I think there is something she can do to make up for it.” I allow myself a small smile. I won’t take no for an answer and I’m not going to let her wriggle out of it.
“Do tell,” says Elliot, his foot tapping impatiently.
I shake my head. “No . . . but you guys are free tomorrow night, right? Do you want to come to London to see a show?”
• • •
Once Elliot and Alex have gone and it’s just Noah and me, I can’t help the tears that well up in my eyes. Megan might have been a terrible friend to me on too many occasions now to count, but she was also a good friend, once upon a time. Even recently, she’s seemed to really open up to me. And she was so great about my anxiety. But I guess you never really know some people. Sometimes they can be wonderful; sometimes they can be the absolute worst. You just have to decide how much of either you can accept.
But I’ve had enough of accepting Megan.
“Penny, it’s OK. You couldn’t have known.”
“Couldn’t I? Elliot’s right, the signs were there. She’s basically made a fool out of me.”
“And like a good friend, a good person, who gives other people the benefit of the doubt, you chose to believe she could be better. That she couldn’t be isn’t your fault at all.”
“The things I said to Posey . . .”
“Posey will forgive you. You didn’t know.”
“Oh, I hope you’re right. This is something I need to apologize for in person—some things can’t be said by text.”
“So, can you give me any hints as to this secret project of yours?”
“Nice change of subject,” I say with a small smile. “But just because I’m upset doesn’t mean I’m going to give away all my secrets.”
Noah puts his hand on his chest in mock outrage. “Moi? Try to get your secrets out of you?”
“I promise you, you’ll know when it’s ready.”
“OK, I can live with that.”
I sigh, and we curl up on the sofa. There’s a DVD on low volume in the background, an old BBC nature documentary that Elliot had put on. We lose ourselves watching it, my head on his chest, and I marvel at how well we fit together.
“What about you?” I ask, my eyes drifting over the array of musical instruments in the room.
“Hmm? What do you mean?”
“When am I going to get to hear what you ’ve been working on?”
“Ah, you’re not the only one who can make someone wait.”
“Aw, really?”
“Nah, you think I can resist that face? I have something super special I’m working on that you will have to wait for, but for now let me play you something a bit different.”
He moves over to the piano—which takes me by surprise, because I’ve never heard him play it before. He settles down at the keys, his fingers flexing. Then he starts playing a beautiful melody, his hands flying up and down the length of the keyboard with practised speed.
Then he sings the first few lines, and at first it’s just so amazing to hear him sing live again (I’ve been listening to his album while he’s been away, of course) that I forget to listen to the lyrics. When I do focus on them, I realize the song is about someone who feels he’s drowning, overwhelmed by a dark sea. The song is sad and slow, but so moving, and as it nears the end it builds up with an epic crescendo.
And when the last note hangs in the air between us I burst into applause.
“You like it?” Noah looks nervous but pleased.
“It’s incredible!” I enthuse.
“I wrote it during the darkest time, when I first got to Brighton after quitting the tour. Like I said, the words and the music just kind of . . . flowed straight out of me. But this had to be a piano piece, not guitar. It needed that more solemn, grounded sound. I haven’t sent it to Fenella yet.”
“She’s going to think it’s as great as I do, I promise.”
“Why, thank you kindly,” he says, imitating Sadie Lee’s southern drawl.
“You know, I still can’t believe you’re going to be living here.”
“Yeah, it’s crazy, right? I want you to take me to do all the British things. Maybe I’ll start talking in a British accent.”
“Noooo! I love that you talk like a New Yorker.” I attempt an American drawl for that, but it comes out a terrible mix, somewhere between Irish, Indian, and French.
“OK, OK, no accents!” he cries. “But I do want to do the whole British thing. Maybe we can go visit the queen at Buckingham Palace?”
“And go for afternoon tea!”
“Watch the footy!”
At that, I grimace. “Oh
no, don’t become a football nut either.”
“Ha, no worries about that!” Noah laughs. “If I wasn’t a sports fan in the USA, I don’t think a move across the pond is going to change things.”
“And we can do other things too. Like visit the Roman baths or go to a festival or learn how to talk about the weather non-stop.”
“As long as you’re with me, I’ll be up for anything.”
“This is going to be so much fun,” I say. I can’t remember the last time I felt this happy, this content. I snuggle closer against Noah’s chest, our feet entwined on one side of his L-shaped sofa. The moon outside casts its beam through one of the big bay windows, landing directly on our toes. I wish I could bottle the moonlight and take it home with me.
The thought triggers an unwelcome reminder.
“I better be getting home,” I say, looking at the time.
“I’m so glad we’re doing this.”
“Me too.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you and Alexiot tomorrow?”
“No, this is something I have to sort out on my own.”
“Well, don’t worry. You got this. I believe in you.”
It’s just the boost I need to settle my stomach. Tomorrow’s going to be one of the hardest days I’ve ever had to face.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
School the next day is pure torture. Everyone is talking about Megan’s party—how cool it was and how they hope she holds another one next year. Her popularity plan is going off without a hitch. Well, except for my planned hitch.
I can barely concentrate the whole day, so much so that Miss Mills has to call my name three times before I finally look up.
“Penny?” She sounds exasperated.
“Sorry, miss, my mind’s elsewhere.”
“You’re telling me! Can I see you for a minute after class?”
“Uh . . .” I look down at my phone. I was hoping to leave straight after my photography lesson. My free period means I can get up to London in plenty of time to intercept Megan and put my plan in motion.
“Penny . . . ?”
“Yes, sure, of course,” I say. I can spare a few minutes, and I feel guilty enough for ignoring my favourite teacher.
So, when the bell rings, I walk over to her desk, where she’s laying out papers.
“I haven’t seen you much lately,” she says without looking up.
“I’ve been working. I’m just . . . not ready to show my project quite yet.”
Now she looks up at me, her eyes scanning my face. I try to put on my best innocent look. It’s not like me to hide work from her—even unfinished stuff—but this is something different. Only one person has seen it so far, and they had encouraged me to keep going. The idea still feels too much like a shimmering bubble in a bath of bubbles. It’s too fragile and I’m afraid that if too many people look at it before it’s ready it might burst.
“OK. Well, as long as you’re not too distracted. This is an important time for you.” She gives me a small smile. “I read your blog. I’m glad you’re happy. Just make sure it doesn’t mean you waste all the progress you’ve made so far. You’re pretty brilliant on your own, Penny.”
“I won’t, I promise.”
“See you tomorrow then.”
“See you, miss.”
As soon as I step outside Miss Mills’s door, I’m accosted by Kira. I bite my lip. If I don’t get away soon, I won’t have enough time . . .
“Are you going to London later? Us too. Can we come with? You’ve been to the school before, so you know where it is and we won’t get lost.”
She speaks so fast I almost don’t have time to register what she’s saying. “Wait, what? You’re going to the show later this evening?”
“Uh, where have you been, Pen? Megan wants us all to come to her show.”
“Megan invited all of you?”
“Yeah, she said she had a load of extra tickets and, you know how it is. She wants us all to see her big debut.”
I swallow. This is going to make my plan even more difficult.
“So, are you going up?” asks Kira again.
“Yeah, I am, but I have a free period now, so I was going to leave straightaway and catch Megan before the show.”
“Oh, boo. OK, well, we’ll see you there then.”
“Sure. See you.”
I just about have enough time to make it to the train. I need to get this earlier one if I’ve any hope of putting my plan into action. I bite my bottom lip at the thought.
My phone buzzes suddenly with a text.
Hi Penny. Look, I’m sorry but I don’t have time to meet up with you before the show. It’s a bit crazy. Sure you understand
There’s no kisses at the end, no emojis . . . Megan’s definitely still holding a grudge after the party. And now that she has everyone at school—her old school and Madame Laplage— eating out of her hands again, she has no need for her old friend.
She was never your friend, I remind myself.
She only used you.
Tears well up in my eyes. I thought, through everything, I knew Megan and she knew me. But then her words come back to me: what she said about students at Madame Laplage.
Everyone wants to be a star.
No one wants it more than Megan.
She’s prepared to do whatever it takes . . . no matter what the cost.
And the only person who can stop her is me.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The theatre is quiet in the last few hours before the show: everything’s ready and the place feels empty—like the calm before the storm. The stage set is designed to transport us all to New York City, and I’m reminded of when we did our school production of Romeo and Juliet. Our drama teacher had set that production in Brooklyn. Maybe he’d been a fan of West Side Story too. I can see, however, that this is a much better quality set than we had for our school show, and if I close my eyes, I can almost picture myself on a Manhattan street. I’m grateful that Megan gave me such a thorough tour the last time as I don’t have any difficulty finding my way.
I reach the main dressing-room door, which has a piece of paper pinned on the outside with the name MARIA scrawled across it. I take a deep breath, then give a knock.
“Come in!” says Megan’s melodic voice.
She has a huge smile on her face that falls to the floor when she sees that it’s me who comes in. I don’t know who she was expecting, but it clearly wasn’t me.
“Oh. Hi,” she says irritably. “Didn’t you get my message?” She turns back to the mirror, where she’s busy applying the first layer of her makeup. Her chestnut hair has been brushed to a mirror shine and I have to admit she does look like she’s made to be a show diva. It’s just a shame she chose to go about it in such a deceitful way.
“Yeah, I did,” I reply. “But this is important.”
“So important it couldn’t wait until after?”
I decide to just say it, before I lose my nerve.
“I know it was you who leaked Leah’s song.”
Megan pauses for a moment, then puts her brushes down. She turns to look at me.
“How dare you! I told you it wasn’t me. I wasn’t even there. It could only have been Posey . . .”
I roll my eyes, folding my arms across my chest. “Just stop this, Megan. Leah has the CCTV footage.”
“OK,” Megan says, unsteadily. At least now she has the decency to look less sure of herself.
“You know she can press charges,” I go on.
Megan’s face blanches. “Is she going to?”
“No,” I tell her. “You’re not worth it.”
“Well then, I guess we’ve got nothing more to say to each other. If this means I don’t have to be your friend anymore, I guess it’s win-win.”
My jaw drops. “What have I done to you?” I gasp.
“What have you done? This role was as good as mine; that girl was going to drop out. And then you had to give her this big confiden
ce boost—and you had the nerve to bring me along with you? I thought you were supposed to be my friend! You meet some random girl and after a couple of weeks you take her side? What kind of ‘friend’ does that, Penny?”
I frown. “What? I am your friend. Or at least . . . I was your friend. But you’ve gone too far this time, Megan.”
“What exactly do you want, Penny? If you don’t mind, I need to get ready for the show.”
“Give Posey back her role.”
Megan laughs, but stops again quickly. “Are you kidding ? No, Penny. I’ve worked too hard for this and you’re not going to take it away from me now.”
“I’ve got the CCTV footage of you recording the track. I could tell everyone you did it.”
Megan stands up now, shaking her hair out behind her. “Honestly, Penny? Who cares? It’s a song leak. I got a bit of money. Leah got some great exposure . . . It’s all good. I think you should go now. And besides, I know you don’t have it in you to release any video. That would make you as bad as me. And you’re too much of a goody-two-shoes to actually do anything.”
I realize my plan is beginning to crack and crumble. Megan’s right—I couldn’t release the video to hurt her. But I have to try again to make her back down—for Posey’s sake.
“You know,” I say, “I’m not sure where this all went so terribly wrong for you, Megan. I’ve given you the benefit of the doubt before, but you’ve changed. For the worse. You aren’t who I thought you were. The Megan I once knew was kind and considerate. She actually liked making people happy. She wasn’t this hard, self-centred person who steamrollers over other people to get what she wants. I think the least you can do is to give Posey back her role.”
“No,” she snaps.
“Are you sure about that?” A soft voice comes from over my shoulder, and Megan’s face has drained of colour.
I spin round.
“Madame Laplage?” Megan exclaims in surprise.
Behind me is a tall, stern-looking woman carrying a large bouquet of yellow and white flowers, which she drops unceremoniously down onto a table just inside the dressing room. This must be the renowned principal of the school herself. She folds her arms across her chest.