by Zoe Sugg
“Megan . . . thanks. A lot,” I say. “I’ll see you around.”
She nods and disappears down the hall towards the front door. Blake follows a step behind.
“What are you doing here?” comes a high-pitched voice from the hallway. I cringe as I realize Elliot must have come into the house just as Megan was leaving. Talk about bad timing.
“I was helping out my friend, which is more than I can say for you.”
I let out a noise that is somewhere between strangled cat and deranged weasel, then jump up and run into the hallway. A battle between Megan and Elliot is not what I need right now.
“Elliot,” I say, and I give him a look I hope says, It’s OK. Megan might have redeemed herself but I’m not sure yet. Can a single look convey that entire message? I’m not too sure.
He seems to get it though, in the way that only best friends can.
“See you later, Megan,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Bye,” she says, before finally leaving, followed closely by Blake.
“Don’t let the door hit your giant head on the way out!” he shouts at the closed door. He looks up and takes in my appearance, which I imagine can be summed up in one word: disaster. I’ve changed into my favourite onesie, my hair is a bedraggled mess, and my eyes are still swollen from crying.
We all regroup in the living room. “Princess Penny, what happened?” asks Elliot.
I decide to tell him the condensed version of the story—I can always fill in the details later, in private, and he’ll also read the blog I wrote. It’s not just my feelings that I have to consider right now—I’m also aware of the look on my mum’s face, the frown that deepens every time she hears me talk about how panicky I got. I’m not used to seeing her look so worried. Normally she’s carefree and breezy, taking every concern in her stride.
But now I can feel my chance to go on tour with Noah slipping through my fingers. If she thinks I can’t handle it . . .
Dad pours more tea into my mug—a Disney one with Piglet, my favourite character, on the front. I hug the mug to my chest, feeling its warmth spread through my body. I lean into Noah’s arms. He’s holding me so tightly I don’t think he ever wants to let me go.
Elliot sits down on the floor, and my parents both take chairs opposite. I feel like we’re about to go into full-blown interrogation mode. Mum and Dad exchange a long look, before turning to Noah and me. “I think this is exactly what we were afraid of,” says Dad, his voice grave.
Mum nods. “Your dad’s right, Penny. There’s no way we can let you go to Europe now.”
Chapter Ten
“Mum, what? No!” I say, my jaw almost hitting the floor.
“Not if this is how it’s going to be, Noah,” continues Mum, and she sounds angrier than I expected. “It’s not going to be possible for Penny to just walk home from a concert in Berlin or Paris! You promised she would be taken care of—if this is how it works in Brighton, how will she cope in Europe?”
“It was my first time backstage, Mum; I promise I’ll be more prepared next time . . . ”
Mum shoots me a look that makes me snap my mouth shut. I’m going to have to work a lot harder to prove to them that I’m ready for this; I certainly haven’t proved it today.
Noah removes his arm from round me and leans towards my parents. “I promise this will never happen again. Penny won’t have to go out into the crowds by herself at the concerts in Europe—it was only because she was going to sit with her friends this time that she even had a separate ticket. And I promise every single person on my security team and The Sketch’s will know her face and will always look out for her. She’s already met Larry, my bodyguard, and I’ll make sure he doesn’t let her out of his sight.”
“Larry’s really nice,” I say.
“And you see this?” He grabs my hand, holding it tightly in his. “I’m not going to let go of this hand.”
“Well, you can let go when you go to the bathroom,” I say, a small smile playing on my lips.
Noah roars with laughter. “Yeah, except for that! You know what I mean. I’m going to be there for Penny,” he says, returning to his serious expression. “She’s my girl, and I will look after her.”
“I still don’t know if this is a good idea,” says Mum, biting her lip. “This is just the beginning, honey. Are you sure you still want to do this?”
“I’m sure,” I say. “I still want to go. Tonight was scary, but I made a mistake. It won’t happen again.”
“It can’t be as bad as that school trip to Amsterdam when your class thought the air-raid warnings were going off and all ran screaming through Vondelpark,” says Elliot. He’s right—Mr. Beaconsfield had told us all to hide under park benches, which we did until a nice Dutch couple came past and explained that the siren was a normal thing that happened on the first Monday of every month at exactly noon. On Noah’s tour, there will be far more people looking after me. And I have to conquer my fears at some point.
“Mum, Dad, please. I’ll be fine.” I give them a reassuring smile, but I’m not sure how convincing it is with my still-puffy eyes. “Hopefully I can have Tom’s old phone and get a new SIM card before we go to the airport. That way I can still call you whenever I need to.”
There’s a tense moment of silence. Mum and Dad look at each other.
“OK. You can still go,” says Mum.
I jump up and hug my parents. “I won’t let you down,” I say.
“You never have, Penny. We just worry about you,” explains Dad.
“And now I’m worried that you’re not going to be packed on time!” adds Mum. “Don’t think I haven’t seen the state of your room.”
“I’ll manage it!” I say.
Elliot smiles. “Good. Now that’s sorted, I’m heading home—I need to get my beauty sleep. Alex is forcing me to use the season ticket my dad gave me to watch rugby tomorrow. Can you imagine? The things you do for love. At least the rugby men are fit. If only Alex would meet my dad, they’d probably get along—” Elliot snaps his mouth shut, as if he’s not sure what he’s just said. I raise an eyebrow but Elliot gives me a Don’t ask me gaze. He turns to Noah. “The concert was awesome,” he says. “You stole the show. The Sketch had nothing on you!”
Noah pulls him into a bear hug, squishing Elliot so tight his trilby almost comes off. “I wish you could come with us too, Elliot!”
“And cramp Princess Penny’s style? No way.”
“Another time then.”
“For sure.” Elliot turns to me. “I can’t believe you leave so early tomorrow! I’m not going to get to see you for ages! I’m going to miss you so much.” Now it’s time for him to give me a huge hug.
“I’m going to miss you too!”
“You have to promise to write to me every day.”
“And text!”
“And call!”
“Come on, you two, it’s not like Penny’s off on a mission to Mars. She will be back in a couple of weeks,” says Mum.
“A lot can happen in a couple of weeks,” says Elliot. “You’re going to have to tell me everything. Everything. Especially about Paris. I want to know all about Paris.”
“Of course! And you have to keep me updated on every minute of your internship!” We finally release each other and I walk Elliot into the hallway. He skips out of our house and round to his house next door. He blows me a kiss before I shut the door.
“I’d better go too, Penny,” says Noah from behind me. They’re words I don’t want to hear.
“But you just got here,” I say, squeezing Noah tight.
“I know, but soon we’ll have two weeks together. I have to head back to the hotel to get everything ready for Berlin tomorrow. I’m so psyched. I’ll be back before you know it—five a.m. Bright and early.” He reaches up and pushes a stray strand of hair off my face, tucking it behind my ear. “Are you sure you’re OK? I promise you nothing like that will ever happen again.”
“I know.” I stand up on my ti
ptoes and kiss him gently on the lips. “I can’t wait. It’s going to be perfect.”
“It really will be. We can have a Magical Mystery Day in every stop! Except it’ll be a mission to find the best baked goods in whichever country we’re in. Germany! Italy!”
“France! I want to eat all the macarons in the world. They’re my favourite. Is that a promise?”
“It’s a deal.”
His warm, dark eyes are staring straight into mine. “I love you, Penny. Just never scare me like that again.”
“I won’t,” I say, and I mean it. Tomorrow we’re going to Europe and I’m not going to let anything ruin our big trip.
Chapter Eleven
Back in my room, I finish throwing as many clothes as will fit into my suitcase and zip it up tight. As long as I have my camera, laptop, Mum’s cardigan, and a change of underwear, everything else is just extra.
The rain has started again, battering the windows. I grab my laptop and settle down on my window seat. I imagine every raindrop is a piece of my anxiety running down the glass, onto the street, and eventually out into the sea. I don’t need to hold on to any of it.
I see an unread comment from Pegasus Girl on my latest blog post. I rush to open it.
Hey, GO!
So nice to hear from you! How did the concert go?
I know EXACTLY how you feel about your friend. I’m going through kind of the same thing over here. A friend really wronged me, and I just don’t know if I can ever forgive her. But I think you have to offer people second chances. Even if you never become the best friends you once were, because now you’re older, wiser, and won’t make the same mistake twice, it’s better to have a friend than an enemy. Plus, you don’t need that kind of negativity in your life! Accept the apology, but also accept that you won’t be the friends you once were.
PG xx
I quickly type a reply.
Thanks for your advice. How can I describe the concert? It was kind of a disaster. I had a panic attack in the audience and had to leave before BB had even finished his set.
But the one good thing that came out of it was that it gave my friend the chance to apologize. I’m not sure that I can ever trust her again, but it feels like a weight has lifted now that I don’t have to look over my shoulder at every turn, wondering what she’s going to do next.
I’m about to go to sleep, because tomorrow . . . I’m getting on a plane to Berlin! I’m nervous and excited all at once. I’m still using Wiki’s tips on how to combat anxiety. Ocean Strong is going to be on board! I’m also taking my mum’s favourite cardie with me to wrap up in.
I’ll keep you up to date on everything that happens!
GO xx
I’m just about to log off when an email pops up on my screen. I wonder if it’s a notification saying Pegasus Girl has replied super quickly. I hate leaving an email unanswered, so I open it . . . but the email address isn’t one that I recognize.
From: TheRealTruth
To: Penny Porter
Subject: Enjoy it while it lasts . . .
ATTACHMENT: image_1051.jpg
The email itself is blank, but I can see a small thumbnail of the image and immediately my stomach turns in on itself. I feel like I’m going to be sick. I double-click on the attachment and up pops a photograph of Noah and me.
My mind begins to race. Is this a paparazzi shot? Or one of Noah’s crazy fans?
But then I realize it’s the selfie that I took earlier in the car.
The one on my phone.
Chapter Twelve
My heart beats faster inside my chest and my pulse quickens, but I take a big, deep breath. I am not going to let some phone thief bully me into panicking about this. I know exactly who I can turn to in this situation. I gather my laptop in my arms and run down the flight of stairs that lead from my cosy attic room and knock frantically on Tom’s door.
“Yeah?” I’m surprised he can hear me knock over the thrumming bass of his favourite dubstep music, but he’s very attuned to any disturbance of his privacy.
“It’s me.” I push open the door and see my brother at his computer. He spends so much of his time there that I’m surprised there isn’t a permanent indent in his desk chair.
“Everything OK, Pen-pen?” He takes off his head-phones.
I bring my laptop over to him and show him the picture. “This was taken from my phone—the one that was stolen at the concert. Look at the subject line. I think someone wants to use it against me?”
Tom’s body language shifts from relaxed to tense, like he’s gearing up for a fight. “OK, first of all, have you called your provider? They can shut down the phone remotely.”
I nod. “Yeah, I did that about ten minutes after I lost it. But I haven’t done anything else . . . I guess I was still holding out hope that someone would find it and hand it in.”
He grabs his phone and starts dialling a number. “Right, well, at least that’s something. Is there anything that’s really compromising on your phone? If they’ve got this photograph, they might have downloaded others from your phone already, or got your contacts list. Didn’t you have a password?”
“I had a password but . . . it was Noah’s birthday.” I cringe at how obvious that sounds, now that I say it out loud. “If someone had recognized it was my phone, that wouldn’t be too hard to guess. There are a few texts, and most of my conversations with Noah are on WhatsApp.”
“Let’s go through and change all your passwords—we can do that remotely, and set it so that your phone wipes if it’s connected to the Internet. Then you’d better let Noah know that someone might have got hold of his number.”
The thought of that makes me feel anxious all over again, but Tom reminds me that it’s just a phone number, and not passport details or a full-blown medical history. “Pen-pen, it was an accident. Noah will understand. He cares more about you than a stupid mobile number.”
After an hour sitting on the edge of Tom’s bed, I’ve managed to shut down the phone, wipe it clean, and change all my passwords. I feel so much better knowing that I’ve done as much as possible, and that there’s nothing more TheRealTruth—whoever they are—can do to hurt me. I don’t want to be a victim anymore to people who think they can abuse my privacy and my emotions. I remind myself that they don’t know anything about me and Noah, and how solid our relationship is after everything we’ve been through. I’m stronger than I was last year, and I want to remain that way.
I stand up and hug Tom from behind as he taps away at his computer, changing the last of my log-in details. “Thanks, bro. I love you.”
He pats my arms. “I’m proud of you for not freaking out, Penny.” He spins round in his chair. “And be careful in Europe. If anything happens, I’ll be on the first plane out.”
“I know.” As I leave, I take a deep breath and finally feel like I am actually going. And I can’t wait.
• • •
When Noah picks me up the next morning, my adrenaline is still running high from the previous night. I tell him all about TheRealTruth and he doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he grabs my hand.
“Remember what I said, Autumn Girl. I’m here for you. Sounds like you and Tom got things sorted, but if anything else from this creep comes up we’ll face it together. You and me against the world, all right?”
“All right,” I say, and my heart lifts as I realize that whoever is trying to . . . blackmail me? Scare me? Trigger my anxiety? Whatever it is they’re trying to do, I won’t have to face it alone. If anything, our chat about TheRealTruth ends up being a welcome distraction from the short plane journey because, before I know it, we’ve landed and Noah is taking my hand and escorting me through the airport, into the car park, and up to the tour bus.
It is just as I had imagined: a great big black bus, with huge, tinted windows. It’s super shiny and swish. Noah’s face is lit up with excitement and he squeezes my hand so tight I feel my bones crush together.
“This is really happening, Pen! L
ook at this absolute beauty.” He skips ahead and stands in front of it, attempting to take a tour-bus selfie—but of course he only manages to get his face and a tiny bit of black behind him.
“Let me take it, you doofus.” I snatch the phone from his hand and take a much better shot with his arms outstretched and the bus behind him.
Larry pops his head out of the door and waves us in. “Oh, good. You’re here!” he says. As we step inside, I realize how much of a boys’ paradise this is. There are several mini fridges, games consoles, and TV screens everywhere. The rest of Noah’s band starts filing in and, surprisingly, I don’t feel claustrophobic. It’s a lot roomier than I could ever have expected. There are two sofa areas, a small kitchen, a shower with a toilet, and at the back of the bus there are a few caravan-style beds in case anyone feels the need for a quick snooze.
I feel a hand slide behind my back and a husky voice in my ear.
“Wanna play?” I turn to see Blake gesturing towards the Xbox.
“Oh, I’m not very good really!” I say modestly, although secretly I’m an absolute whiz at Sonic the Hedgehog and Mario Kart. Having an older brother means that the majority of the time I’ve spent bonding with him has been over lengthy gaming sessions. A lot of my fondest memories with Tom are of the days and weeks we used to spend trying to complete various games together, snacking on handfuls of cereal and leaving the room only for the occasional toilet break.
What is he doing right now? That’s not hard—he’s probably on his computer, playing Halo. I bet Mum is cleaning the kitchen, wearing her dusting shoes, flapping around with a feather duster and singing along to eighties classics. My dad, on the other hand, is probably playing solitaire on his computer, or pretending to do the crossword in the paper. He never does them properly; he just tries to think of the most immature words he can to fill the spaces, then leaves the crossword out for my mum to find on one of her cleaning sprees. She will usually laugh uncontrollably and they’ll end up smooching like teenagers in a heap on the sofa. I shudder and quickly snap out of my daydreaming.