Girl Online

by Zoe Sugg

  No thanks

  As the text alert goes off my heart pounds so hard it actually feels like it might come bursting up through my throat.

  What?!!!

  I take a deep breath and start to type.

  I don’t want to catch up with you because I’ve got nothing to say to you

  I sit tapping my fingers on my dressing table waiting for her response. I picture her throwing her hair back over her shoulder and pouting. She seems so silly now—so childish. It’s as if going halfway across the world has allowed me to see everything so clearly; it’s like it’s given me a bird’s-eye view of my life and everything that needs to change. My phone goes off.

  I can’t believe you’re being like this! And after all I’ve done for you!

  What?! I stare at the phone. All she’s done for me? This time I feel no nervousness as I type my reply. This time I’m fired up by anger.

  What, like posting that video of me on Facebook and constantly putting me down? I can do without that kind of friendship, thanks. Don’t contact me again

  I press send and, although my hands are shaking like crazy, I feel really proud. And then I realize that I just managed to achieve all three of my resolutions in one go. I faced my fear of Megan, I believed in myself, and it’s made me feel incredibly happy. I refresh the page on my blog and see that I’ve already got two comments.

  Hi Girl Online,

  Happy New Year!

  My three resolutions are:

  1. To be proud of how I look

  2. To read more books

  3. To cut down on sugar

  Amber xx

  I quickly post a reply to her.

  Thanks, Amber. Good luck—especially with the sugar one! Xx

  I scroll down to the next comment and what I see makes me freeze.

  I just have one resolution this year—to make sure I never put the online world before the real one.

  But it isn’t the comment that’s making me feel so sick, it’s the username: Waldorf Wild. Elliot has posted on my blog. He never posts on my blog. It’s a kind of unwritten rule we’ve had from the start, to make sure that it stayed anonymous. And it has to be me he’s talking about. I stare at the screen as I try to work out why he would write that. It must be because I blogged about Noah again. But what does he expect me to do when he keeps acting so weird about it all? At least my readers are supportive. At least they want to hear about it.

  I hear the doorbell ring downstairs. Elliot’s not supposed to be calling till one. I feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe he’s feeling bad about the blog post. Maybe he’s come around early to apologize.

  I hear Tom and another male voice talking, then the sound of footsteps on the stairs and a knock on my bedroom door. I put my laptop on my dressing table and take a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare myself as I call out, “Come in.” But no amount of deep breathing could prepare me for what happens next. The door opens, and Ollie walks in.

  “Ollie!”

  “Hi, Penny.” He shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot and runs his hand through his tousled blond hair. “I hope you don’t mind me coming round like this. Your brother—he told me to come up.”

  “Oh.” I stare at him for a moment, not having a clue what else to say. Why is he here, in my house? He looks so awkward and embarrassed, like he isn’t sure why he’s here either. “Come in, sit down,” I say finally, gesturing at my armchair.

  Ollie comes in and stands by the chair. He really does look embarrassed. He’s holding a flat package wrapped in Christmas paper. He sees me looking at it and holds it out. “I—er—I got you a gift.”

  “Really?” I’m barely able to conceal my shock. I take the present from him and put it on the bed. “Sit down—if you want?”

  Ollie sits down. “You look really different,” he says, “really great. Not that you didn’t look great before of course.”

  OK, what is happening here? Then I get a horrible sick feeling. Has Megan sent him around? Is this all part of some elaborate trick to get back at me for my texts? But it can’t be. Ollie got here way too quickly. And he looks way too shy.

  “Thank you,” I mumble.

  “So, did you have a good time?” he says.

  “Yes, it was amazing.” And just the thought of New York and Noah makes me feel calmer again. This situation is very weird but it’s OK. I can handle it.

  “Good.” Ollie looks down at the floor. “Look, I—the reason I—I wanted to see you before we go back to school is to say that I’m sorry.”

  I stare at him. “What for?”

  “For what happened after the play—not that I posted that video or shared it or anything,” he adds quickly.

  I nod, remembering his comment that he thought I looked cute.

  “But I’m really sorry it happened. And that you had to stay off school because of it.”

  I study his face for any sign that he might be lying but he looks completely genuine and really concerned.

  “The thing is—I like you, Penny.”

  I become aware that my mouth is now actually hanging open in shock.

  “I need to go to the toilet.”

  I don’t know why I say it—well, I do—it’s because I have to get out of there for a moment to try to make sense of everything that’s happening, but still.

  “Oh. OK.” Ollie nods and takes a step back.

  “I’ll be right back.” Before he can say another word, I race from the room.

  Once I’m safely locked in the bathroom, I start pacing up and down—which is pretty difficult as the room’s only about six feet long.

  Ollie likes me. Pace, pace. What does he mean he likes me? As in like, likes me? Oh no! I actually groan out loud as I think back to my conversation with Noah. Everything really has changed since I’ve gotten back from New York, because for years I’ve dreamed about Ollie saying something like that to me. So many nights I’ve lain in bed, running through Ollie-telling-me-he-likes-me scenarios in my head. But I never, ever thought it would happen. And I never, ever thought that if it did by some miracle happen, I would end up feeling . . . nothing. All of the scenarios I played through in my head ended in a passionate kiss. But meeting Noah has made me realize that my feelings for Ollie were only a crush. They weren’t based on any reality. They were all based on my fantasies.

  But this isn’t a fantasy. This, right now, is very, very real and I have to deal with it immediately. I splash my face with some cold water and look at myself in the bathroom mirror. You can do this, I tell myself.

  When I get back into my bedroom, Ollie is, rather worryingly, sitting on my bed.

  “Please tell me you don’t have a crush on him too,” he says, nodding toward the picture of Noah on my mirror.

  “What?”

  “Noah Flynn. Megan won’t stop going on about him and that stupid “Bridge” song. I keep telling her that he’s madly in love with Leah Brown but she won’t listen.”

  Just like the moment before the car crash, everything starts happening in a weird slow motion. I hold on to the back of my chair to steady myself. “What did you say?”

  Ollie nods at the picture again. “The singer Noah Flynn. Have you got a crush on him too?”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  I focus my gaze on Ollie and try to ground myself. The world hasn’t just turned inside out and upside down. There has to be some kind of explanation for this. “I—I know him.”

  Ollie smiles. “Yeah, right.”

  “I do. I met him in New York.”

  I sit down at my dressing table, my brain going into overdrive. What did Ollie mean, do I have a crush on him? And why did he say Noah was madly in love with Leah Brown? Leah Brown is a mega-famous pop star.

  Ollie leans forward, looking really impressed. “Seriously?”

  I nod.

  “Wow, Megan’s going to be so jealous when you tell her. What was he like?” Ollie’s now looking at me so wide-eyed, it’s like I just said I met the president.

  �
�He was—is—really nice. I don’t get what you said before, though—about him and Leah Brown . . .”

  “Oh, they’re dating. And apparently he’s written a track for her next album or something.”

  Ollie says this so casually it almost makes me want to laugh. This is all so ridiculous. So unbelievable. Or is it? I feel a horrible sense of unease as the conversation I overheard between Noah and Sadie Lee pops into my head. Was this what she was saying he ought to tell me? But it can’t be. This is way too big. There’s no way Noah could be famous, and have a girlfriend, let alone a world-famous drop-dead-gorgeous girlfriend, without me knowing about it. Ollie must have the wrong person. It must be a coincidence.

  “Are you sure it’s him?” I say.

  Ollie gets up and studies the picture. “Yeah, definitely. He’s got the same tattoo on his wrist.” He turns and stares at me. “Why are you asking that? You must know it’s Noah Flynn if you met him.”

  “Yes, I . . .” It suddenly dawns on me that Noah never told me his surname.

  “I—I’m not feeling too good,” I say, sitting down on the bed.

  “Oh no.” Ollie puts his hand on my shoulder, making me wince.

  “Really, I think you should go.”

  “What—but—you were fine a minute ago.”

  “Yes, but now I’m not.” I don’t care how rude I sound. I just need him out of here. I need to get to the bottom of this.

  “Oh. OK. But I was going to—I wanted to ask you if . . .”

  How can Noah be a famous singer? It doesn’t make sense. Yet in a horrible way it does. His incredible voice. The song he wrote for me. But why would he write a song like that for me if he was with someone else?

  “Would you like to come out for a pizza or something?”

  “What?” I look at Ollie, horrified.

  “It’s all right, Penny—I know how you feel about me,” he says. “I’ve known for years. Megan told me.”

  OK, now I feel as if I’m trapped inside a horror story that just keeps on getting worse and worse with every twist.

  “And I think I might—well, I think I might finally feel the same.”

  Finally? Seriously?

  “I need you to go,” I say abruptly.

  “OK, but is that a yes?” Ollie looks at me hopefully.

  “No! It’s a no. I’m sorry. Please can you leave?”

  Ollie looks at me for a moment and there’s a terrible silence. “Right,” he says curtly. “See you in school then.”

  “Yes.” I can barely think straight as I practically bundle him out of the door.

  As soon as he’s gone, I go straight over to my laptop, click out of my blog, and Google the name Noah Flynn. This has to be some stupid mistake. I don’t know how or why, but Ollie must have been mistaken.

  “Oh no!” I clap my hand to my mouth as a load of results come up. There’s an image next to the second one. It’s Noah, holding a guitar. I click on the link feeling sick to my stomach.

  Sony Signs Internet Sensation Noah Flynn, the headline reads. I click on the article, overcome with shock and disbelief. Apparently, about two years ago Noah started posting songs on YouTube. He ended up getting over a million subscribers to his channel. Then a couple of months ago the record label Sony signed him. I feel a burst of pride as I read a quote from an executive at the label talking about Noah’s “raw talent” and how excited they are to be producing his first album.

  But then I remember what Ollie said about Noah and Leah Brown. Surely that can’t be true. Leah Brown is a major star. A “travels in a private jet, headlines big festivals, and sells out arenas” kind of major star. Tom and his friends saw her at the Isle of Wight Festival last year. Hands trembling, I type Noah Flynn and Leah Brown into the search engine. A page of results fills the screen, mostly from American gossip sites. All of them are from about a month ago and all of them say the same thing: Leah Brown and Noah Flynn are an item. I’m so tense now I can barely breathe. About halfway down the page I see a result from Leah Brown’s Twitter page.

  Chillin’ with @noahflynn at venice beach

  I click on her page, my heart pounding. Her most recent post is wishing her fans a happy new year. Then there’s one plugging her new single. And then . . . I shudder as I read it.

  Merry xmas @noahflynn so looking forward to seeing you when I’m back from LA Xo

  I scroll down again. It’s like I can’t stop now, no matter how much it hurts.

  With my baby @noahflynn at the sony xmas party Xo

  This one is attached to a photo of Leah Brown standing behind Noah with her arms draped around him. It’s dated the day before I met Noah. Seeing this actually makes me retch.

  I go to Noah’s Twitter profile in search of more incriminating evidence, but he’s only ever made three tweets and all of them are about his record deal. I look up at the photo of him on my mirror and my eyes fill with hot, angry tears. How could he have done this to me? How could he have lied so convincingly and so coldly, all the time knowing that he had a girlfriend? And not just any old girlfriend—a world-famous girlfriend who is madly in love with him. And how could Sadie Lee have let him do that to me?

  My text alert goes off. I have a moment of horror at the prospect of it being Noah. What am I going to say to him? What am I going to do? I pick up the phone with trembling hands. But it’s from Elliot.

  Not in the mood for going into town. Think I’ll stay in and do my math homework instead x

  I stare at the screen. So he isn’t sorry at all for writing that comment on my blog. He doesn’t even want to see me. I bet he would if he knew this latest twist. I suddenly feel overwhelmed by anger. I’m glad Elliot doesn’t want to go into town. I’m glad I don’t have to tell him what’s happened and see the look of pleasure on his face. And then it feels as if all of the foundations in my life have started to crumble. All of the strength I’d built up while I was away begins to dissolve.

  I get into bed, burrow right down under the duvet, and start to sob. And once I start I can’t stop because I keep on thinking of more things, more evidence that Noah was lying to me. The girl who’d kept staring at him when we went to the vintage store to get the tiara. What was it she’d said into her phone? “It is’’? It is what? It is him? And the way she’d started coming over toward us when we got in the truck. And the way Noah had sped off. Had he realized she’d recognized him? But then he’d taken me to the art gallery and introduced me to his friends. Why would he do that if he was lying to me about everything? But even that takes on a more sinister meaning now. When the woman we met in the corridor said well done to him, she must have been talking about the recording contract. It hadn’t been to do with not having a girlfriend at all. He’d barefaced lied to me.

  I feel feverish with shock and embarrassment. But I can’t stop the awful realizations from coming. The way he’d cut Antonio off in the café and hurried me out of there when we’d finished our lunch. I squirm as I remember how happy I’d been, thinking that he’d wanted to spend more time alone with me, but it had actually all been to protect his lie. I think of him hugging me in the darkened corridor and how special that moment had felt, and my embarrassment is replaced with fury.

  “Liar!” I yell, getting out of bed. I go over to my dressing table, tear the picture off the mirror, and rip it into pieces. “Liar! Liar! Liar!”

  I sink down onto the floor, sobbing my heart out. I’d actually thought I’d escaped my curse; that I could be myself and be accepted and loved. But it was all based on lies and deceit. And to think I’d actually blogged about it. I actually told the world I’d fallen in love and met my soul mate. What was I thinking?

  I spend the next few hours lying curled up in my bed. Unable to move. Unable to do anything apart from cry into my pillow. Thankfully, Mum and Dad think I’m sleeping off my jet lag so they’ve left me alone.

  Finally, when the day has turned to night and my room is back in darkness, I feel able to face the world again. Well, my bedroom at le
ast. I peel back the duvet and stare out into the darkness. The fact is, much as I might want to, I’m not going to be able to stay in my bed forever. I’ve got to face up to what’s happened. I turn on my phone and the text alert immediately goes off. A text from Noah. I feel a chill run through my body.

  Hey, Inciting Incident, wassup? I miss you. Bella misses you. Sadie Lee misses you. Let me know when you’re awake and you feel like skyping

  I stare at the text in disbelief. How has he got the nerve to be so blasé about it all? How can he send me messages like that when he has a girlfriend? But I have no energy left to get angry. I feel totally drained. Shaking and crying, I start writing a reply.

  I don’t think this is going to work out and I think it’s probably best if we don’t contact each other again. Sorry

  I frown at the text. Why have I written “sorry”? Why the hell should I be apologizing to him?! I delete the word “sorry” and send the text before I have time for any second thoughts. Then I turn the phone straight off again and get back into bed.

  As I burrow down under the duvet, I remember what Bella said to me the time she caught me crying over Elliot. Whenever you’re sad, you should think of three happy things to chase the sadness away. I rack my brains. In the end, all I can think of is my blog. Right now, it’s the only thing that makes me feel remotely happy. At least on my blog I have people who understand me. At least on my blog I can totally be myself and everyone loves and supports me. I feel a tiny glimmer of hope. In the morning I’ll blog about what’s happened. I won’t go into the details but I’ll tell them that Brooklyn Boy turned out to be a total sham. My readers will know what to do and what to say. They’ll help me get over this. They have to.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  When I wake up, it’s still dark and I feel disoriented. What time is it? What day is it? What country am I in? And then a horrible nauseous feeling churns in my stomach. Something really bad has happened but I can’t remember what.