Girl Online

by Zoe Sugg

  “You have revenge fantasies?”

  “Oh yes. But they were nothing compared to that.” Then suddenly his face clouds over.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’d totally forgotten that I’ve run away.” We both look over at a homeless man lying in a doorway next to the station. His face and clothes are black with grime.

  “There’s no way you’re sleeping rough tonight,” I tell him. “You’re coming home with me. I’m sure Mum and Dad won’t mind you staying over. They were only saying yesterday how much they’ve missed you since New York.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. And then maybe we can get Dad to talk to your parents. You know how good he is in a crisis. He’ll know what to do.”

  • • •

  Dad knows exactly what to do. As soon as we arrive home and tell him what’s happened, he tells Elliot that he’s welcome to stay for as long as he likes and then he goes around to have a word with his parents. It turns out that Elliot’s mum had been really distraught when she read his farewell note—apparently his farewell note was five pages long so it was more of a farewell essay really—so she said she was going to have a serious talk with his dad when he got home.

  We spend the evening eating pizza and watching old episodes of Friends and every so often turning to each other and whispering, “Oh my God, the milkshakes!” and dissolving into fits of giggles. It feels so good to have this kind of normality again. But all the time I’m aware of a nagging sadness deep inside me that no amount of pizza or laughter is able to heal.

  At about eight o’clock, Elliot’s dad calls around, asking to have a chat with him. While they talk in the kitchen, I wait nervously in the living room. But there are no raised voices and at one point they even laugh. Elliot finally emerges with a nervous smile on his face.

  “I’m going to go back home,” he whispers. “He’s said I can keep my laptop and phone.”

  “But what about . . . ?” I give Elliot a pointed look.

  “Apparently he’s going to go for ‘counseling”’—Elliot mimes some quotation marks—“to help him come to terms with ‘my sexuality.’ ”

  “Wow. Oh well, at least he’s trying.”

  Elliot laughs. “Yes, very trying!” He hugs me tight. “Love you, Pen.”

  “Love you too.”

  Once Elliot’s gone, I make a mug of camomile tea and take it up to my bedroom. What a day it’s been. I think back to how I’d been feeling yesterday and I breathe a massive sigh of relief. Tom was right; it felt great being able to face the world again and stand up to Megan and Ollie like that.

  I look down at the floor at the unopened Christmas gift from Ollie. I wonder what he got me. I pick the present up and tear off the wrapping paper. Inside there’s a framed photo—of Ollie. It’s one of the ones I took of him down at the beach. I can’t help laughing. What kind of person gives photos of themselves as a gift? I immediately think of Noah and the presents he gave me. Princess Autumn, the photography book, the song. All of them were about me, not him—the way presents should be. Once again I feel that crushing sense of pain and disbelief. He seemed so genuine, so caring.

  I throw Ollie’s picture in the bin and go over to my CD player. It doesn’t make any sense, but that doesn’t matter; the fact is it happened and I have to deal with it. I eject the CD from the stereo and put it back in its case, along with the handwritten lyrics. I hold it over the bin. But for some reason, I can’t let go, so I take it over to my wardrobe instead and bury it under my mound of clothes.

  As I’m shoving the CD to the very back of the wardrobe, my hand brushes against my laptop. Can I truly say that I’m facing the world if I’m still too scared to go online? I pull the laptop out and stare at it for a moment. Come on, you can do this, I tell myself, thinking of Ocean Strong.

  I take my laptop over to my bed and log on to my email account. Because I’d deactivated my Twitter and Facebook, and disabled comments on my blog, I hardly have any new emails at all. But I do have one from Celeb Watch. My stomach starts to churn as I open it.

  From: jack@celebwatch.com

  To: girlonline22@gmail.com

  Subject: HUGE INTERVIEW OPPORTUNITY—EXCLUSIVE

  Hey there!

  As you’re probably aware, we’ve been featuring your friendship with Noah Flynn on our website recently and we’d really love to share your side of the story with our 5.3 million readers. For an exclusive interview with Celeb Watch about your relationship with Noah Flynn we’d be willing to pay $20,000 and obviously the exposure on our site would massively increase your profile, not to mention the potential for sponsorship deals via your blog.

  I stare at the screen, unable to believe what I’m reading. So now they want my side of the story, after telling a load of lies about me? And they seriously think I’d want their money after what they’ve done! I’m about to type a furious reply to them but then I have a better idea. I log out of my emails and into my blog.

  4 January

  From Fairy Tale to Horror Story

  Hello,

  As most of you probably know by now, in the past couple of days, this blog and I have become the focus of A LOT of online attention.

  A lot of very negative attention.

  For the past couple of days, I’ve had total strangers posting lies and abusive messages about me all over the Internet.

  And I’ve had celebrity gossip sites writing articles about me without even bothering to check their facts.

  These people don’t know me.

  None of you know me.

  None of you know the truth about what really happened to me.

  And yet you all think you have the right to post an opinion or call me names.

  I’ve only ever been completely honest on this blog. That was the whole point of it—so that I had somewhere I could totally be myself.

  Everything I’ve ever written here has been the truth.

  Or the truth as I’ve been led to see it.

  I didn’t know Brooklyn Boy’s true identity. I knew he was called Noah and I knew he liked music, but I didn’t know that he had a record deal and I definitely didn’t know he was in a relationship with someone else.

  If I’d known that I never would have gotten involved with him.

  I was lied to.

  I’ve had my heart broken.

  And, on top of all that, someone found out about this blog and leaked my identity.

  When it all happened, it felt as if my world had ended.

  For so long this blog has been my safe place—the one place I felt I could talk about my innermost feelings and not be judged.

  But in the past couple of days I’ve seen how shallow the online world can be.

  It’s a world where people think it’s OK to hide behind their screens and their usernames and say poisonous things about a person they don’t even know.

  And even websites like Celeb Watch think it’s OK to print a story without checking the facts first.

  Today, Celeb Watch contacted me for the first time since running their story on me.

  They asked me if I’d like to do an exclusive interview with them about my “relationship with Noah Flynn.”

  They told me they’d pay me $20,000 for it.

  They also said that it would be great for raising the profile of this blog.

  Like I want my profile raised by a bunch of liars.

  The fact is I would never sell a story on anyone, let alone someone I love.

  Even if they really hurt me.

  So, to finish my last blog post on this site, I’ve got just one more thing to say.

  Every time you post something online you have a choice.

  You can either make it something that adds to the happiness levels in the world—or you can make it something that takes away.

  I tried to add something by starting Girl Online.

  And for a while it really seemed to be working.

  So, next time you go to post a comment or an update or share
a link, ask yourself: is this going to add to the happiness in the world?

  And if the answer’s no, then please delete.

  There’s enough sadness in the world already. You don’t need to add to it.

  I won’t be posting on here anymore.

  But to everyone who added to my happiness while I did, thank you so much—I’ll never forget you . . .

  Penny Porter aka Girl Online xxx

  Chapter Forty-Four

  The next morning I’m woken up by Elliot hammering the Can I come over? code on the wall.

  I knock back Yes, rub my eyes, and look at my alarm clock. It’s only 6:30 a.m. My heart sinks. What could have gone wrong now? Still half-asleep, I stumble downstairs to let him in.

  “OK, I know you said you were never going to blog again,” Elliot says, pushing past me into the hall.

  “Ever,” I say.

  “Yes, never ever, whatever,” Elliot says, waving his phone about excitedly. “But there’s something I really think you ought to see.”

  I stare at him. “Is it to do with what happened with Noah? Because if it is, then no I don’t.”

  Elliot grins. “It is, kind of, but it’s so good. Seriously.”

  I sigh. “OK, it better be.” I take the phone from him. The screen’s displaying Elliot’s Twitter notification feed.

  “You’ve got your very own hashtag!” Elliot says breathlessly.

  “What?” I look at the tweets. They all have the hashtag #WeLoveYouGirlOnline after them.

  “There’s also #BringBackGirlOnline and #WeWant GirlOnline,” Elliot says proudly. “Since you posted last night it’s gone crazy.”

  I start reading the tweets. They’re all saying really lovely things about how much they’re missing my blogs and how I should ignore the haters. Then I see one from @PegasusGirl.

  I’m sorry I judged you. Please come back #WeLoveGirlOnline

  Elliot looks at me. “Isn’t it great?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.” And the truth is I don’t. What happened before has left me so scared of the online world that I truly don’t know if I want to go back there—especially now that I don’t have the anonymity of Girl Online to hide behind.

  “You said that the online world isn’t real, but some of it is,” Elliot says. “Your blog is.” He points to his Twitter feed. “And this is. They really love you.”

  • • •

  For all of Friday and Saturday I deliberate over what to do with my blog, with Elliot giving me regular updates on the hashtag campaign. On Sunday morning, I’m wide awake as soon as the seagulls start squawking. In the end, I decide to do the one thing guaranteed to help me get my head straight—go out and take some photos. I meet Dad in the kitchen as I’m about to head out.

  “Oh, are you going somewhere?” he says, looking at me, surprised.

  “Yes, I thought I’d go and take some photos down at the beach, while it’s still empty.” I grab a banana from the fruit bowl and stuff it in my pocket.

  “How long do you think you’ll be?”

  “I don’t know. About an hour, maybe two.”

  Dad frowns. “OK, and then you’re coming straight back home?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Oh, I was just wondering when I should start Sunday lunch.” He disappears back behind his paper.

  I’m just turning to leave when Mum appears. “Penny! Why are you up so early?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.” I frown at her. “Why are you up so early? You do realize it’s Sunday?” Mum never normally gets up before ten on a Sunday; it’s the one day of the week she’s able to have a lie-in.

  “I couldn’t sleep either.”

  I shrug. “OK, well see you guys later.”

  “How much later? Where are you going?” Mum asks.

  “To the beach, to take some photos. I’ll be back by midday.”

  “OK, well let us know if you decide to go anywhere else,” Dad says, peering at me over his paper.

  “Will do. See you later.”

  It’s only when I’ve gotten outside that I realize they’re probably still really paranoid about my last panic attack.

  I send Dad a quick text.

  Going to go down to the old pier

  I guess it will make him feel a little better if he knows exactly where I’ll be.

  • • •

  The beach is completely deserted when I get there. It’s one of those bleak January days where the whole world seems to be painted in shades of grey. I kind of like it, though. I like being by myself with the sea and feeling as if the beach is my own private garden. I sit in the shelter of one of the shingles and watch the waves rolling out. And all of a sudden I’m engulfed by sorrow. It’s like now that I’ve finally stopped thinking about everything else—Elliot, my blog, school, Megan and Ollie—it’s left a space in my head for memories of Noah to rush into. I sit there for ages, rerunning everything that happened. I don’t feel angry anymore. I just feel sad. Finally, I force myself to get up. I need to think about something else. Something pain-free. I pick up my camera and head down to the old pier.

  I love the old pier in Brighton. With its blackened, crumbling frame it looks like something from a spooky old film. And it looks even more atmospheric today with the wind whipping around it and the waves crashing at its legs. Behind me I hear a sharp whistle, like someone whistling for their dog.

  I crouch down and zoom in on the pier thinking how cool it would be if I spotted the pale outline of a ghost hovering. I hear the whistle again, longer and more insistent this time. Maybe someone’s lost their dog or maybe it’s gone swimming in the sea. I turn around but I can’t see anyone. Then I spot a flash of color on top of the shingle where I was sitting. A flash of auburn. I instinctively train my camera on the object and zoom in.

  “What the . . . ?”

  I blink and look back through the lens.

  Princess Autumn is sitting on top of the shingle. But it can’t be. I left her with Bella in New York. I start striding back up the beach, the pebbles crunching beneath my feet. There must be some explanation. I must have made a mistake. However, the closer I get, the more certain I become that it is her. I can see her blue velvet dress and the creamy-white color of her face and her hair billowing in the wind.

  When I get within a few feet, I stop walking and look around. This has to be some kind of trick. But who’s playing it? And how? And why? Did Mum and Dad bring the doll home with them? Have they put it there? But why would they do that? It doesn’t make any sense. I turn and scan the length of the beach right down to the sea but there’s no one in sight at all. Then I hear a crunch on the stones behind me and I spin around.

  “Oh my God!”

  Noah is standing next to the shingle. He must have been crouching behind it. He’s wearing his leather jacket, black jeans, and scuffed boots, with the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up over his head.

  “Bella told me she was missing you,” he says, nodding at Princess Autumn.

  I’m actually unable to say a word. I’m so sure that I must be hallucinating, that this cannot be real.

  Noah takes a step toward me and I instinctively take a step back.

  “I need to speak to you,” he says with real urgency in his voice.

  “But—I don’t understand.” A fresh gust of wind hits me straight in the face and snaps me back into reality. “Why did you—why did you lie to me?”

  Noah looks down at the stones. “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you the truth but I didn’t want to ruin everything.”

  What?! Now my shock is giving way to anger. “Yes, I guess telling me you already had a girlfriend would have that kind of effect.”

  Noah digs his hands into his jeans pockets. “I don’t have a girlfriend. I didn’t.”

  “Oh my God.” I’m feeling really angry now. “Have you seriously come all this way just to carry on lying to me?”

  “No—I—I’m not lying.”

  “Yes, you are! I’ve seen it all online. All the t
weets and the articles and the—”

  He interrupts me. “It’s all crap.”

  “What? Even Leah Brown’s tweets about you?”

  “Yes! Especially those.”

  I glare at him. How can he lie so brazenly to me? And how can he expect me to believe him? “What do you mean ‘especially those’?”

  Noah finally manages to look at me. “Her last album bombed. The record label was panicking. So, when they signed me, the marketing people said they wanted to orchestrate some kind of phony romance between us. They said it would help both our album sales. I didn’t want to go along with it but they said all it needed was a few staged photos and tweets. Although I couldn’t bring myself to do that bit,” he mutters. “It felt so sketchy. I hated it. I even thought about turning the deal down but I couldn’t; I’d signed a contract. I was locked in. So I figured, what the hell, it wasn’t as if I was actually going out with anyone. And then you came along.”

  I stare at him, trying to compute everything he’s just said. “So you and Leah aren’t . . .”

  “No! We never were.”

  “So, she hasn’t been hurt by what’s happened?”

  Noah laughs. “No. She was a bit pissed at first cos she said I made her look like an idiot but then her record sales went through the roof because everyone felt so sorry for her so she got over it pretty quick.”

  “But I can’t believe a record company would make you do something like that.”

  Noah shrugs. “I know. But apparently it happens all the time.”

  I feel my anger beginning to fade. “So why didn’t you just tell me?”

  Noah sighs. “I wanted to. And Sadie Lee kept on begging me to but I was scared.”

  “Of what?”

  “Losing you.” He looks out to sea. “Who wants to go out with a guy with a pretend girlfriend? And it’s so hard to find someone . . . who doesn’t just want their moment in the spotlight too.”

  I can’t help laughing now, and as I do, hope starts fizzing inside of me. Noah is here. In Brighton. On the beach just a few feet in front of me. He hasn’t got a girlfriend. He isn’t going out with Leah Brown. He never was. But . . .