Girl Online (22 page)

But the panic disappears as soon as she recognizes me, and is replaced by a warm smile. “Penny! Thank goodness it's you.” She looks over my shoulder at the man behind me. “It's OK, Callum, stand down—it's only Penny Porter, Noah Flynn's girlfriend.”

She pulls me over to a nearby bench and we sit down. Her security guard stands a short distance away. Leah looks up at him. “It's fine, Callum. You can go grab a drink or something. I'll be OK with Penny.”

He hesitates for a moment, looking from me to Leah and then back again, then he nods.

“I almost didn't recognize you,” I say, when he's gone.

“Well, that
is
kind of the point of wearing a disguise, silly. You must have a good eye!” She leans back against the bench so her face catches the full blast of the sun. The wig she has on changes her look from long blonde Hollywood hair to a short brunette bob, cropped at her chin. She's wearing bright
pink lipstick that exaggerates the shape of her lips, changing her natural pout. Accessorized with a pair of cheap sunglasses like the kind you can buy at a pound store, she is almost completely unrecognizable as the pop star that I know. Almost, but not quite.

“Isn't Rome amazing?” she gushes. “Have you had any gelato yet? It's honestly unlike anything on earth. Pinkberry in LA just doesn't compare. I don't often indulge in sweet treats, but gelato is my complete weakness.”

I shake my head. “Not yet. I don't really know where I'm going, to be honest. I'm mostly following the other tourists or trying, and failing, to follow the map in this beat-up guidebook.” We both laugh, and it feels strangely natural and quite nice.

“OK, well, follow me,” says Leah. “I know the absolute
best
place and you won't find it in any of those books.”

I can only imagine Tom's face when I tell him I was rescued by Leah Brown in Rome and she took me for gelato. He might be into dubstep and electronic dance music, but I've caught him mooning over pictures of Leah Brown on more than one occasion. “Plus, if we move fast enough, I can ditch Callum.” She winks at me, then grabs my hand and leads me through the narrow Roman streets.

It's so strange to be walking with Leah; of course she looks nothing like Leah, although there's still something in the way that she carries herself with confidence and poise that speaks the language of Leah Brown. That's not a look she can shake so easily.

We finally emerge into a large square, and I squeal with delight. There are artists and easels everywhere, painters
selling their wares and drawing portraits of the passersby. There are fountains at either end of the square, and huge columns that stretch up into the sky. It's classic Rome.

“This is Piazza Navona,” Leah says, giggling at my amazed expression. “Come on, the gelato place is just here.” She pulls me inside a small shop that looks different from any other gelateria I've ever seen. Rather than large, fluffy mounds of ice cream, this gelato is in round metal bins and scraped down almost to the bottom—a sure sign of its popularity.

“This one is to die for. It's pistachio,” Leah says, pointing to one of the round bins. “Definitely a firm favourite of mine.” She orders a scoop in a cup. When the gruff server hands her the order, she takes a huge scoop with her little plastic spoon and puts it in her mouth, making a satisfied noise as she does. “Mmmmmm. The trick is to look for a pistachio gelato that's not overly green. It means it's made from fresh ingredients—no chemicals. What are you going for?”

“Uh,
gelato alla fragola
,” I say, in a bad attempt at Italian, half to Leah and half to the man behind the counter. With my cup of strawberry gelato in hand, I follow Leah back into the square and we perch on the edge of one of the fountains, watching the people go by and the artists at work. It's amazing that no one recognizes Leah. But then I notice something
is
different about her: she's so relaxed.

“Can I take a picture of you?” I say, a bit out of the blue.

Leah looks up at me, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I won't share them with anyone,” I say hurriedly. “It's just that you look so pretty and relaxed, and the sun is coming down against these old buildings—the light is just perfect.”

To my relief, she smiles. “Sure.”

I put my gelato down—moving it far enough away so that it's out of my shot—and then take a few steps back so I can snap a picture of Leah. There are people on either side of her, moving about their day, but the light is hitting her so perfectly it looks like she's surrounded by a warm, golden glow. Like it's her aura.

I can see why my brother and so many others have a thing for her; she really is very beautiful. Behind her is an elaborate statue, right in the centre of the fountain, with figures bursting out of the water.
Talk about an alternative perspective
, I think, remembering my A-level assignment. Here is Leah, who would normally have more in common with the statue—something ornate, isolated, something to be looked at and adored but not part of real life—sitting amid everything, like a normal person.

I look down at the photograph, pleased with the effect. I take a few more, and Leah's natural sparkle and innate posing ability come out in full force. I show her a few of the thumbnails on the screen of my camera, but I can already tell they're going to look way better blown up. Leah, for her part, makes appreciative noises.

“Would you ever sell any of your prints to the public?” Leah nods towards the many art stalls as I put my camera away.

“Oh, I don't know. I'm not sure they're good enough.”

“Don't be ridiculous—you have serious talent. Is that what you want to be when you leave school? A photographer?”

I shrug. “I don't really know right now. I guess it depends on my GCSE grades and how well I do at college. I'm just not sure it's a career. I always thought by now I'd know what I wanted to do.”

“What on earth is a GCSE?” she says. “Is that like an exam or something for you Brits?”

“Yeah . . . they're kind of important.”

“Well, an exam is an exam, but your talent is forever! Of course photography is a career. Surely there are famous photographers you admire? Anything is possible if you really believe in yourself, as corny as that sounds. It could very well be a lyric of mine, but there's a reason why I sing it.” She laughs at herself. “You need to aim higher than you think you're capable of.”

She goes back to her gelato and we're both quiet as I reflect on what she's just said. She's right: I'll never get there if I don't at least try. And I'm going to need to really apply myself if I want to succeed at something.

“Leah? Quick question.” I finish my gelato and wipe my hands with the napkin. “How do you cope with being so incredibly famous?” I let out a little laugh, trying to dissipate my nerves at asking such a direct question.

She laughs along with me, but I can sense a deeper emotion beneath it. “It's certainly something that takes a bit of getting used to. Which is why—Look, I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but I do worry about you and Noah. The music industry will chew you up and spit you out if you're not ready for it, especially if you're on the sidelines.” She looks at me with a deep frown on her face, and a hint of sadness follows it. “I'm guessing that's why you're out here on your own?”

I nod. “We had this big fight—”

“In the lobby? Yeah, I heard.”

“You did?” I want the fountain to swallow me up whole.

“Well, I didn't hear the fight but I heard
about
it. Word travels, I guess. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable, Penny. I just genuinely don't want this crazy whirlwind to suck you up. You are a really great girl, with such pure, individual talent, and it's so easy to get lost in all this. Before you know it, you're just following someone else's dream and not your own.”

I think about the tour so far, and how after each city I have felt less and less inspired, less
me
and more a piece of the furniture. How I have been content to be labelled “Noah's girlfriend.” Now I'm not sure if that will be enough. What label
do
I want though?

“I know what you mean,” I say, trying to inject as much confidence into my voice as possible. “But I do think Noah is different. Or, rather, that he will be different. It's new and exciting for him now, but I truly believe he's still the same guy I met at Christmas.”

“You're right. Noah is great, Penny. Honestly, I mean that one hundred per cent. But no guy is worth changing your life for. An ex-boyfriend told me that singing was never going to happen for me, and I believed him. He worked in Manhattan as a very successful stockbroker, and I lived with him and made sure he had a meal to come home to every evening. One day I realized I was living his dream and not mine. I was unhappy—not in my relationship necessarily, but with the path I was going down. I decided to move back to LA and work hard on my music. My boyfriend left me, and I became a successful pop artist with two platinum albums. Sometimes you have to look out for
you
. It will really pay off if you want it badly enough.”

I'm in awe of the woman sitting opposite me. I had no idea that Leah could have had any hardships in her life, or hurdles to struggle over. I guess you only see the glossy side of fame, but everyone has their demons.

The sun goes down as we stroll back to the hotel and chat about how Leah became famous.

Callum catches us up, looking red-faced as if he's been running. He glowers at Leah, but he can't be angry for long as she jokes, “You can always find me, honey. Just follow the gelato!”

•  •  •

Once I get back to my hotel room, I decide to type a blog post about how I'm feeling about the Noah situation and my conversation with Leah. This is something I need opinions on. My fingers hover over my keyboard as I try to convey all the thoughts that are whirring around in my mind.

OK, guys, after that post this morning, I've just had the most amazing day in Rome—but I don't want to talk about that right now.

Right now, it's time for the big question.

The one I'm almost certain every girl my age asks themselves on a regular basis, and one I've found myself asking more and more.

Do I need to know
now
what I want to be when I leave school?

I'm turning seventeen next year and starting my A levels in a few weeks . . . and I feel lost.

When I was a little girl, I wanted to drive an ice-cream van, because I knew how much joy it brought to others. Now that I'm older, I feel like I still want to spread that joy, just not in the form of ice cream (let's face it,
ice cream brings joy to people regardless, especially Italian gelato . . . but more on that later).

Someone once told me that if you love the job you do, you will never work a day in your life. It might take you a while to find that job, but ultimately you have to love what you're doing.

I think this is why I'm finding it all so overwhelming.

I know what I love—my camera—and it seems as though my photographs bring people a lot of joy. But how do I turn that into something real?

Right now, it's like I'm caught in a rip current. My friends are all doing something to further
their
passions, and even though I'm right where I wanted to be—next to Brooklyn Boy—I can't help but feel like I'm being swept away from my passions and my identity. After speaking with someone very influential this afternoon, my eyes are well and truly opened about the importance of following your own path in life. Yes, people may join you on the path, but you have to remember that it's yours and it can go in any direction you choose.

Girl Offline . . . never going online xxx

Chapter Thirty-Two