by Zoe Sugg
“No,” I whisper.
“Is this what growing up feels like?” he says with a small laugh.
“If you mean equal parts painful and happy, sad, terrifying and exciting, then I think you’re right,” I reply.
“How do we know if we’re ready to grow up?”
“I’m not sure we ever do. I don’t even think our parents know they’re ready.”
“Ha! Maybe that’s true of your mum and dad—but look at mine. They’re so set in their ways, they’re basically statues.”
“Is that true? Look at the changes they’re going through. They’re growing too.”
Elliot sighs. “Things are really changing now, aren’t they, Penny?” He leans his head on my shoulder.
“Yeah, they really are.”
“But we’ll never change, will we? We won’t let what we have slip away?”
I take his hand in mine and grip it tightly. “Never,” I say firmly.
I know we can’t stay here forever, so after a few more moments I say softly, “Elliot, you really scared us. Why didn’t you answer any of our messages? Alex has been out of his mind!”
Elliot wriggles in the blanket. “When I came up here I was using my phone as a light and I guess I fell asleep. My phone’s run out of battery, that’s all. I’m sorry I worried everyone, but I just needed some peace.”
“OK. Ready to join the real world again now?”
“Do I have to?” Elliot looks up at me pleadingly.
I nod. “You can’t live in here for the rest of your life. What about that gorgeous townhouse you’ve dreamt of? I’m not sure this suits you . . .”
“You’re so right. This isn’t very chic.” He puts the scrapbook back where he found it, rearranging the blanket over his duffel bag full of things.
I crawl back out of the tiny space, then help Elliot out as well. I brush the cobwebs off his hair and the dust from his shoulders.
“Pen?” he asks, as he takes my hand.
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you found me.”
“Wiki, I would never have stopped looking, ever.”
“I know.”
“You’re my best friend in the entire world. No, you’re more than that. You’re my whole life. I wouldn’t be able to go on without you. So you’re never allowed to leave me like that again. OK?”
“Never again,” he says. “I promise.”
Chapter Forty-Six
When we get back to my house, there’s no shouting or yelling—only relief. Alex runs into Elliot’s arms and showers him with kisses. When they finally remember they’re in a room full of people, they separate sheepishly, Alex’s hand remaining firmly gripped in Elliot’s. Elliot turns to his mum, and gives her a sad smile. “Sorry about the note,” he says.
“I’m sorry for everything,” she replies. “Can we . . . do you mind if we start again? The two of us?”
Elliot nods. “Only if I can have my room back?” he asks.
His mum’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Really? You want to come home?”
“If that’s OK.”
“Of course!” Then the two of them share the most halting, awkward hug I’ve ever seen, but it’s a start.
The expression on my mum’s face is one of pure relief. “Where’d you find him, Penny?”
I blush. “It was actually the caterpillar cake that reminded me of the little shared space off our bedrooms. It’s where Elliot keeps all his childhood memories. It used to be our favourite hiding place when we were little.”
“I remember that,” says Mum. “I lost you for a whole day when you were a little girl. I’d forgotten that was there.” Then her eyes light up. “Maybe that’s where I can store some of my spare clothes from the wedding shop!”
“Mum!”
“So, who’s up for marshmallows?” says Dad, coming out of the kitchen with impeccable timing.
“It’s not too late for Bonfire Night?” Noah asks.
“Oh, it’s never too late for Bonfire Night in the Porter house!”
“Righty-oh then,” says Noah, doffing an imaginary cap.
“Oh jeez, that’s a terrible British accent,” says Elliot with a laugh.
“What?” Noah’s face looks crestfallen. “But I’ve been watching My Fair Lady on repeat!” He grins.
“Eliza Doolittle you are not,” retorts Mum.
I grin too, fetching a bundle of sparklers from the cupboard underneath the stairs. We all walk through the kitchen into the garden, where Dad has prepared wood for a bonfire inside a large stone fire-pit. It’s not a proper bonfire, but as we’re not going down into town, it will work perfectly well to toast our marshmallows on.
Dad helps us light our sparklers, and Elliot, Alex, and I dance around, writing our names in lights. Then, after too many sparklers to count, I run back inside, grab my camera and take several long-exposure shots of Alex, who stands still while Elliot runs round him with a sparkler. The effect is that Alex looks like he’s surrounded by streaks of bright golden light. It’s epically cool.
Noah helps Dad with the fire itself, placing small pieces of wood and paper in the fire-pit to help the flame catch and ignite the larger logs. After a few minutes of prodding and persuading, the fire roars to life, bathing us all in a warm orange-red glow.
Dad throws little parcels of tinfoil on the fire, and after a few minutes, we have delicious gooey marshmallows encased in a biscuit and chocolate crumb. Totally yum.
“Well, they’re not quite what we’d have back home,” says Noah. We all look at him expectantly for his judgement. “But they are so good!”
Dad looks like he’s just won The Great British Bake Off and Noah is the new Paul Hollywood. “That might just be the greatest compliment ever!” he says, smiling from ear to ear.
“Can I help you, Rob?” Alex asks.
“Of course, come on!” says Dad.
Alex and Dad retreat to the bottom of the garden, where they begin to set up the fireworks. Elliot’s mum comes out with a tray of mulled wine and hot chocolate, Mum following not too far behind with a bundle of blankets. We curl up on the outdoor chairs, huddled round the fire.
“Noah, do you have any music you can play us?” Mum asks.
“For you, Dahlia, of course!” He jumps up and hurries into the house. When he returns, he has his guitar in his hand.
Noah strokes the neck of it gently, sliding his fingers down the strings. He plucks a couple of notes, then—satisfied that it’s in tune—he slips the strap over his neck.
He walks back over to us waiting for him round the fire, and Elliot and I make room for him between us.
His fingers absently pick at the strings, and I marvel at how good someone can be at an instrument, that they can make such a beautiful sound without even appearing to try. At Elliot’s request, he plays some of his old hits first, like “Autumn Girl” and “Elements,” and Mum asks for “Brown-eyed Girl,” which he plays perfectly—without missing a note.
When there’s a break between songs, we hear Dad shout from the bottom of the garden: “I think we’re ready! Three . . .”
I lean over to Noah. “That was amazing,” I say in a whisper. “I’d forgotten how much I miss hearing you play.”
“Two . . .”
“And I’d forgotten how much I love playing for you.”
“One!”
As Noah and I kiss, fireworks explode all around us.
• • •
After the fireworks, Elliot’s mum goes back round to her house, and Mum and Dad say goodnight. They’re all exhausted, they say. So, soon it’s just me, Noah, Elliot, and Alex.
“We’re pretty exhausted too,” says Elliot.
It’s been a long, emotional day for us all. I stand up and give Elliot a huge hug. “I love you,” I say.
“Love you too, Pennylicious.”
“Thanks for all your help today, Penny, Noah,” says Alex. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”
I smile. “
Just take care of him, OK? He’s very special.”
“With all my heart,” Alex replies, smiling at Elliot, and I really believe him.
When it’s just Noah and me alone with the stars, I want nothing more than to snuggle up in his arms. But, to my surprise, he keeps his distance. When I look sad, he smiles. “I have one more thing I want to play for you,” he says.
“Oh?” I lean forward and shuffle under my blanket, intrigued.
“It’s . . . one of the new songs that I wrote.” He plucks at a loose thread in the blanket, running his other hand up and down the guitar.
“Noah, you seem nervous!” I say with a laugh.
“I am,” he says, his eyes shining. “I always am when someone’s about to hear my new stuff. But mostly I’m nervous because I hope you like it. It’s called ‘My Forever.’ ”
He draws a deep breath, then his sweet, soulful voice fills the night air.
You have your life, I have mine
Plenty of reasons to deny
All these feelings runnin’ round in my head
But as I . . . have . . . always . . . said . . .
We may not be good for each other
But I know we’d be great together
Can’t spend forever this way
Can’t spend even one more day
Away from you
Apart from you
My forever
Seasons come, seasons go
From sun-soaked days, to crisp white snow
So many things I love through the year
But as I . . . have . . . always . . . said . . .
The thing I long for most in this world
Is to be in love with my Autumn Girl
Girl, you and I may be complicated
But if you ask me, distance is overrated
Can’t spend forever this way
Can’t spend even one more day
Away from you
Apart from you
Far from you
I long for you
My forever
As the last note disappears into the night air, I feel like I’ve melted into a pool of pure liquid. “Noah, that was . . .” But I don’t have enough words to say how the song was, what I’m feeling.
“It’s how I feel,” he says. His eyes lock onto mine, and he pulls me out of my chair and onto his lap. “It’s just that—Penny . . . I’m not sure forever is gonna be long enough.”
One month later
7 December
Girl Online Goes Out Into the World
Hi everyone!
This post has been a long time in coming, but I’ve also been really nervous about hitting publish. You guys have been my community, my heart and soul online, for the past two years and I wanted to do something to thank you. But most of all, I realized recently that I want to meet you. I want to take this little community that was built on the Internet and see if it will work outside.
I’ve been working on a little secret project that I haven’t told anyone about—not even Brooklyn Boy or my BFF Wiki, and I want you—the readers of Girl Online—to be involved. You don’t have to live near Brighton or even in England to participate.
Just send me your photos of your online space—your sanctuary. I want to know where you guys are while you’re reading this. Maybe that means on your computer in your bedroom, or your phone while out and about. The photos can be completely anonymous (you don’t even have to be in them!) and any quality.
I promise to let you know what I’m up to, as soon as I’m able to tell.
All the love as always,
Girl Online, going offline xxx
“Penny?” Noah’s voice comes from my living room. I step through from the kitchen.
“Yes?”
“I just read your blog—what’s the project all about?”
My eyes sparkle with the secret. “You’ll just have to wait and see, along with everybody else. Are you going to send in a picture?”
“What do you mean?”
“I want pictures of my readers in action. Where they read Girl Online.”
Noah slouches back on the sofa, his phone in his hand. “You’re the better photographer. Why don’t you take a picture of me?”
“OK, one second.”
I run out to the hall, where my camera is in my bag as normal. Once it’s in my hands, I turn back towards the living room. From this angle, Noah’s face is hardly visible, but I can see the glare of his phone reflecting back off his hair. I take the shot. When I play it back on the camera’s screen, I smile. It’s perfect.
Chapter Forty-Seven
“What is this?” Noah asks. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see. Just trust me.”
We step off the escalator at Waterloo and see the station already decorated for Christmas. Underneath the old Victorian clock is a giant tree, covered in red and gold oversized baubles, and gathered round it a group of carol singers are bringing “Ding Dong Merrily on High!” to life.
This is one of my favourite times of year in the capital. London seems to come alive at Christmas, with shoppers, tourists and Londoners alike, all out on the streets. I think back to last Christmas, which I spent in New York. I can’t believe it’s been a year now since Noah and I first met. It feels like we’ve known each other forever and at the same time no time at all. We still have a lot to learn, and I—for one—can’t wait to know every single detail.
We cut across the crowds in the station, heading through the underpass towards the Southbank Centre. There’s a German-style winter market along the banks of the River Thames. A canopy of fairy lights is strung above our heads, and all around are wooden chalets selling glühwein, gingerbread stars, and carved ornaments.
“There they are,” I say. Mum and Dad, Tom and Melanie, Sadie Lee and Bella, Elliot and Alex, Posey, Miss Mills, Kira and Amara—all my favourite people, gathered in one place. They all look smart, dressed to the nines for the occasion. When they spot Noah and me approaching, they all gather round us expectantly. They all have the same question for me on their faces.
I take a deep breath. “I know you’ve all been wondering why I asked you to meet me here. Well . . . the truth is, I’ve been working on a photo series. It’s called Girls (and Boys) Online. François-Pierre Nouveau liked it so much, he set me up with my first gallery show here on the South Bank!”
Mum shrieks with delight, and her enthusiasm is infectious. Soon, everyone is showering me with kisses and hugs. I feel like the happiest girl on earth. It’s been absolutely killing me, keeping this secret for so long, but I know it’s been worth it just to see their delighted reactions now.
But it’s even more than that. This is going to be the first ever real-life Girl Online meet-up. I’m finally going to be putting faces to the names that have been with me for so long. Names like Pegasus Girl, for example.
My cheeks tingle with a mixture of excitement and cold—it’s freezing standing outside.
“Can we go in and see?” Elliot asks, stamping his feet impatiently.
“Of course! After you, guys.”
Everyone crowds in, but I take Noah’s hand and hold him back until it’s just the two of us.
“I’m so proud of you,” he says.
I squeeze his hand tightly. “It took me a long time, but I finally found something that was uniquely Penny. And I want you to share it with me.”
“And I want to share all these moments with you,” whispers Noah, his head leaning so close to mine, his breath tickles my lips.
“Then let’s do it,” I say. “One day at a time.”
We step inside the entrance to the huge Southbank Centre, which is packed with people milling around the foyer, waiting for a concert to start or just enjoying a drink in the cafe.
Over in one corner, there’s an area that’s marked off by a velvet ribbon, a small crowd of people already inside: I spot Melissa right away, in a chic black dress. With her bright earrings and long plaits piled up in an intricate knot o
n top of her head, she looks every inch the glamorous gallery manager.
“Welcome to your first ever main show, Penny Porter!” Melissa says, stepping forward to kiss me on both cheeks.
“Thanks, Mel! This is Noah,” I say, gesturing behind me.
Melissa’s eyes sparkle mischievously. “Yes, I guessed as much. Hi there. There’s a great photo of you in here—a late addition to the collection.”
“I can’t wait to see,” he says.
I introduce Mum to Melissa, then I take a moment to look round. My own little show! In its own corner of a huge, iconic space. Right in the centre of the show, blown-up and standing alone, is the photograph that inspired the collection. The self-portrait I took that day with Leah, of me working on a blog post. My face is a picture of concentration, and my laptop looks like it’s casting a shadow—but of light. Like the light I hope to send out into the world with Girl Online.
That’s the message of the collection. All around me are photographs of teens—kids, like me—who live their lives as much online as off. And while some people might bemoan wasted youth or wonder why we aren’t outside getting fresh air, I hope my photos offer a different perspective.
There’s the boy on FaceTime, connecting to his grandparents back in India.
There’s the group of girls taking a selfie and posting it to Snapchat, sharing the moment with all their friends.
There’s the French school group at the National Gallery, looking like they’re absorbed on their phones, but really learning so much about the paintings in front of them.
There’s Noah, on his phone, reading my blog.
It’s not just the photo of him, though. His photo is enlarged in a collage of others—the photos that my blog readers sent in. I must have received over five hundred images, and all of them are up on the wall. These are my tribe. My #TeamInternet.
“Penny, this is so cool!” says Miss Mills, hurrying over to me. “But don’t expect to automatically get top marks. You still have to work for those A levels,” she says with a wink.