by Zoe Sugg
The sick feeling reaches the tips of my limbs as I remember: Noah. I close my eyes tight and will myself to go back to sleep just so I can forget about it again. But it’s no good. Horrible memories crowd into my mind. Noah lied to me. About everything. He’s a professional musician. He has a record deal. And a girlfriend. A girlfriend who used to have pride of place on my brother’s wall—not literally, of course, that would be really weird, but in poster form.
It all feels so strange and unreal. I’m just a schoolgirl from Brighton. The closest I’ve ever come to a celebrity was the time Elliot and I walked past Fatboy Slim in Snooper’s Paradise and I sneezed and my chewing gum flew out of my mouth and landed on his coat. I do not get romantically involved with American YouTube sensations who also happen to be going out with Leah Brown. How has this even happened to me?
I sit bolt upright and stare into the darkness. Was nothing real? Had Noah just been using me? Was I just some entertainment for him while Leah Brown was out of town? It doesn’t make sense. Either he has to be the world’s worst liar or there’s some kind of explanation. Then I remember the text I sent him. How will he have responded? I fumble around for my phone and turn it on. Both my text alert and email notification go off. I think of the happy-new-year blog post I wrote and I cringe. Then I think of having to tell my readers that Brooklyn Boy was a big old con artist and I cringe some more.
I take a deep breath and click on my text messages. Two from Noah. The first one was sent right after I sent mine telling him I didn’t want any more contact with him.
What the hell? This is a joke, right? Call me! I can’t get through to your phone
The second text was sent at 5:30 a.m.—I check the clock on my phone—less than an hour ago.
I hope whatever they paid you was worth it. Damn right there’ll be no more contact. I’ve changed my number and email address. I never want to hear from you again. I trusted you
What the hell?! I click out of the message and back in again, to make sure I wasn’t seeing things, but it’s right there in front of me. Why is he so mad at me? And what does he mean, he trusted me? I’m not the one who’s been lying. I’m not the one with a girlfriend. Too angry to think straight, I start typing a reply.
YOU trusted me?! What about my trust? How could you have lied to me like that? How could you have thought I wouldn’t find out? Didn’t you care?
Adrenaline courses through my veins as I click send. Almost immediately the text notification goes off. Message failed. I look back at his text. He must have changed his number already. He’s cut me off completely. But why . . . ? And then I get it. He realized I’d discovered his lies and he’s gone on the defensive. Wow! I sit back on my bed, stunned at how wrong I’d been about him. He’s probably worried that Leah Brown might find out. Like I’m going to call her and say, “Hey, Leah, you don’t know me—in fact, I’m just some random schoolgirl from Brighton—but while you were spending Christmas in LA I was busy falling in love with your boyfriend in New York.”
My anger and indignation fade into sorrow. How has this even happened? How can the Noah and I who saw in the new year together in that magical tent now be so completely cut off from each other? I feel a weird stabbing ache inside my rib cage, like my heart has just been torn in two.
Hoping for a distraction from the tears welling in my eyes, I click into my email account. I have 237 new messages. I feel a tiny shot of happiness. People must have been posting their new year’s resolutions on my blog. But when I go to my inbox I see that at least half of them are Twitter notifications. I immediately feel uneasy. I only opened a Twitter account to share my blog posts and follow a few of my favorite photographers and other bloggers. I never get this many notifications. I click on one out of curiosity.
@girlonline22 you make me sick
What?! I click on another one.
@noahflynn cheats on @leahbrown with UK blogger @girlonline22. WTF?!!
Panic starts rising inside of me. Who are these people? Why are they saying these things? How do they know?
I go straight to my Twitter account and start scrolling through the notifications. There are a few from regular readers of my blog all saying things like: “Is it true? Is Brooklyn Boy Noah Flynn?” And a few saying, “Who is Noah Flynn?” But the rest are from total strangers and they’re horrible.
omg, like @leahbrown has anything to worry about? @girlonline22 is an ugly dog
Trying to get your 5 minutes of fame @girlonline22?
I hate people who kiss and tell @girlonline22 #noclass
On and on they go. Finally, I get to a tweet from the American gossip site Celeb Watch.
While the cat’s away: Noah Flynn has fling with UK blogger @girlonline22 while Leah Brown is out of town
I click on the link to their website and read the article in horror.
CELEB WATCH EXCLUSIVE!
While Leah Brown spent Christmas in LA with her folks it looks like her new love interest Noah Flynn found someone else to smooch beneath the mistletoe—UK blogger Penny Porter, better known as Girl Online.
I stare at the screen in horror. They know my name. How do they know my name?
Giving him the pet name Brooklyn Boy, Penny has been blogging all about her time with Noah, not caring at all that he’s currently in a relationship with Leah Brown. I guess some folk will do anything for their moment in the spotlight. Well, we wouldn’t like to be in Noah’s shoes when Leah gets back in town!
There are fifty-six comments beneath the post. I scroll down to the first one.
What a skank!
Someone has replied to it.
I don’t think she’s in it for the money. I think she sounds kinda sweet. He’s the skank, cheating on his girlfriend while she’s out of town.
Yeah but she must have known he had a girlfriend
How do they know what I sound like? I look back up at the article and see that they’ve linked to my blog. I click on the link and it takes me to the first post I wrote about Noah. I cringe as I reread my words, now knowing the truth. I look down at the most recent comments.
Yeah, but Prince Charming wasn’t a cheater and Cinderella wasn’t a ho.
Numb with dread, I scroll down and read more of the same. Then a couple of my regular readers posting “Is this true?” And finally, at the bottom of the feed, there’s a post from Pegasus Girl.
Dear Penny,
I know you probably don’t care what I think but I had to say something. The reason my parents’ marriage broke up and my mum started drinking was because my dad went off with another woman. I was so happy that you’d found someone and fallen in love but getting involved with someone else’s boyfriend isn’t good. It causes so much pain. Sorry, I know it’s none of my business but I feel so strongly about this subject I couldn’t not say anything.
I don’t think I can read your blog anymore.
Pegasus Girl
My email notification goes off again. Five more messages telling me that total strangers have mentioned me on Twitter. I click on one and see the word “hate” and quickly click out again.
I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at my phone in terror. I picture people all over the world reading about me, posting hate-filled messages about me. People I don’t know. People who’ve never even met me. But they know who I am. They know my name. And they know my blog. What if they find out where I live? What if they come to this house? My body starts shaking and tears start streaming down my face. What am I going to do? I have to go back to school tomorrow. How will I face everyone?
My throat tightens. I can’t swallow. I can’t breathe. I feel as if I’m shrinking. Tinier and tinier. I need help. I need someone to help me. But I can’t move. My limbs feel as heavy as stone. I look at the door. It seems so far away. So unreachable. What am I going to do? I picture a mob of people marching down the road to my house. Setting up camp on the driveway. Throwing stones up at my window. Waving placards filled with abuse. I have nowhere I can feel safe anymore. My read
ers will all hate me. Everyone will hate me. Tears are pouring down my face now. I’ve never felt so frightened or so completely and utterly alone. Pressure keeps building in my head, like it’s being clamped in a vise. I can’t swallow. I can’t see. I can’t breathe.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“Penny! Penny! What is it? What’s wrong?” Mum races into the bedroom and turns on the light.
I’m lying curled up in a ball on the floor. Why am I on the floor? What’s happened?
“Rob! Rob! Come here!” Mum yells. Then I feel her crouching down beside me and her hands clutching my arms. “It’s OK, darling, it’s OK.”
I’m wailing now. I can hear myself but I feel disconnected somehow, like it’s not really me, like I’m not really in my body.
“Can you sit up?” Mum says gently.
I hear feet pounding up the stairs.
“What’s going on?” Dad says. “Oh no, Pen, what’s happened?”
I feel his arms around me, big and strong. I somehow find the strength to ease my way into a seated position and lean into him. I can’t stop crying. I want to cry and cry my way back to being a baby again so that I don’t have to worry about anything anymore.
“What happened?” Dad says again softly.
“Is it . . . ? Did you have another panic attack?” Mum says. I hear her moving about behind me, then I feel her wrapping my duvet around me.
I nod, unable to speak. My teeth are chattering like crazy.
“What caused it?” Dad says. He hugs me tightly. I want to stay like this forever, snuggled in a Dad-and-duvet cocoon.
How can I even begin to tell them? Noah lied to me about everything and now the whole world hates me. Or will hate me, once they’ve all found out.
“I don’t know,” I mumble. “I was just stressing about going back to school.”
I feel Dad tense. “Has there been any more nonsense about that video? Because if there has I—”
“No. It’s all cool. I was just being silly. And tired. I’m probably still jet-lagged.” I start grabbing at excuses.
“Hmm.” Mum doesn’t sound too convinced.
But one thing I do know for sure in all my panic and confusion is that I can’t dump this on them. I can’t freak them out. I have to try to find a way to sort it myself.
“Do you want a cup of tea?” Mum says.
“Yes please.”
“And how about some breakfast?” says Dad. “Shall I make you some pancakes?”
I nod, even though I’m not at all hungry.
Once they’ve tucked me up in bed and I’ve reassured them that I’m OK, they both head downstairs. I grab my laptop and log on to my blog and delete all of the posts about Noah. Then I change the settings so that no one can post comments. Instantly I feel a tiny bit better, like I’ve managed to shut a door on the haters.
I go back onto my Twitter account. I already have over twenty new notifications. I don’t check them. Instead I fumble around in the settings and finally find the option to delete my profile. A message pops up: Are you sure you want to delete your account? I click down hard on YES. Another door shut.
I go to Facebook and take my account offline, once again ignoring all the new notifications.
Then I shut my laptop and stare at the wall in front of me. As the brain fog from my panic attack begins to lift a little, I start searching for answers. How has this happened? Who told Celeb Watch about me and Noah? Who told them about my blog?
My first thought is Ollie. He’s the only person who knows that Noah is Noah Flynn. But I only told him that I’d met him. I didn’t tell him that anything had happened between us. And there’s no way Ollie knows about my blog. The only person who knows about that is Elliot.
I get a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Surely Elliot wouldn’t have done something like that. But he’s been acting so weirdly about Noah. And he posted that snarky message on my blog yesterday. I never thought he’d do something like that so maybe . . . But Elliot didn’t know Noah’s true identity. Or did he . . . ? I think back to when I showed him the photo of Noah. He’d said something about him looking familiar. Had he recognized him then but not said anything? Is that why he changed the subject so abruptly? Oh my God, did Elliot leak the story? I stare at my bedroom wall, picturing Elliot on the other side, sending an anonymous message to Celeb Watch. It’s all beginning to make a horrible kind of sense. Elliot was jealous of Noah and my blogging about him. Then he saw his picture and realized who he was and he saw the chance to ruin things for good. He must have canceled going out with me yesterday because he already had it planned. And he hasn’t contacted me since. It’s unheard of for Elliot to go so long without knocking on the bedroom wall at least. And he must have seen what’s been happening online. I think of how he reacted when Megan posted the stupid knickers video. How he’d sent me a text to warn me and come around straightaway. But this time I haven’t heard from him at all.
As the terrible truth dawns on me, I feel as if I’ve been punched in the stomach. First Noah and now Elliot. At least I’d only just met Noah—at least I can put what happened with him down to an appalling error of judgment. But Elliot? Elliot and I have known each other forever. He’s my best friend. Or was.
I’m just about to start crying again when Mum comes in with a mug of tea. She places it on my bedside cabinet and sits down on my bed. “Are you sure there isn’t something more specific troubling you, sweetie? Something you want to talk about?”
I shake my head, not daring to talk in case a sob escapes.
“OK, well you know where I am if you change your mind.”
I nod and focus what little energy I have left on forcing my mouth into a smile. After she’s gone, I sit with my eyes closed until Dad arrives with a plate of pancakes.
“I used Sadie Lee’s special recipe,” he says with a grin.
I feel another blaze of pain as I think of how much I’d liked Sadie Lee. But she’s just another person who betrayed me.
After Dad’s gone back downstairs—having made me promise to yell for him the second I need anything—I put the pancakes down and stare into space. I feel so numb and so exhausted. All I want to do is stay in bed until this all blows over. If it ever does blow over.
Every time the email notification goes off on my phone I feel a stab of fear. In the end I turn my phone off and put it and my laptop in the bottom of my wardrobe, buried beneath a mound of clothes. For a while, this makes me feel safe, like no one can get to me anymore. But then I start picturing a mountain of abusive messages piling up inside my wardrobe, just waiting to engulf me as soon as I open the door.
And once again panic starts to take hold of me. But this time I remember what to do. This time I close my eyes and picture it inside my body: a large black ball of fear inside my rib cage. It’s OK, I tell it—and myself. It’s OK. And instead of panicking and trying to block it from my mind, I make myself picture it, right there inside of me. All black and dense and scary. I take a deep breath in through my nose. And another. “It’s OK,” I whisper out loud. And the fear starts to shrink a little. And as it does, I realize that it really is OK; it’s not going to kill me. And then another thought pops into my head—what’s happening to me won’t kill me either. Yes, it’s terrifying and yes, it’s hugely painful, but it’s not going to kill me. It’s OK. I take another breath. The fear shrinks again. Now it’s about the size of a tennis ball. And it’s slowly fading, from black to grey, to white, and now gold. I take another breath. Outside a seagull squawks. I think of the sea and I actually manage a weak smile. It’s OK. I can control this. I picture myself sitting on the beach, my entire body filling with golden sunlight. It’s OK.
I sit like this for at least an hour, with my eyes closed, focusing on my breathing and listening to the seagulls. Then there’s a knock on my door.
“Pen, can I come in?” Tom says.
I open my eyes and sit up straight. “Sure.”
As soon as he walks into the room, I know he
knows. I’ve never seen him look so worried.
“I’ve just been online,” he says, sitting on the end of my bed. “Is it true? Did you and Noah Flynn . . . ?”
I look down at my lap.
“Is he the Noah Mum and Dad have been going on about? The one you were staying with?”
I nod, then I look up at Tom. “But I didn’t know who he was, honestly. I’d never heard of him before. Had you?”
Tom nods. “Yeah. I’d heard on a music site that he’d been signed to the same label as Leah Brown and that they were an item. Didn’t he tell you?”
I shake my head. “No! I’d never get involved with someone who had a girlfriend.”
Tom frowns. “So he lied to you?”
I nod. “How did you find out?”
“It’s all over Facebook. And Twitter. And Tumblr. And—”
“OK, OK.”
“Have you seen what people are saying?”
I nod again and hot tears start burning my eyes. “I don’t know what to do, Tom. I’m so scared.”
Tom takes hold of my hand. “It’s all right, sis. We’re gonna sort this. How did that website find out?”
“I don’t know. Someone must have told them.”
“But who?”
I shrug. There’s no way I can tell Tom I think it was Elliot—not until I’m absolutely sure.
“OK, well that doesn’t matter for now. What matters is getting your side of the story out there.”
Instantly, I start to panic. “Oh no. I can’t. I can’t go online again. No way.”
Tom looks me straight in the eye. “Do you remember when I started secondary school and that kid Jonathan Price started picking on me and starting rumors about me?”
“The one who used to take your lunch?”
“Yeah. And do you remember how I’d pretend to be sick and beg Mum and Dad not to make me go in?”
“Yes.”
“And then one day you said to me”—Tom puts on a squeaky high-pitched voice—“But if you don’t ever go back to school, no one will realize that he’s lying.”