Girl Online (24 page)

“Penny, I don't know what to do! I have to tell Alex. If this gets out . . .” Elliot lets out a huge sigh. He sounds defeated, like this has sucked all the energy out of him. “You know how he is about us, Penny. He isn't confident about coming out to
his friends and family. Even when we're away from Brighton, when there's no one we know around, it's rare that he holds my hand. That concert was one of the best moments in our whole relationship. And your house is our safe place. If he thinks we're not even safe around you . . . he's going to be so upset.”

Visions fill my mind of Alex's absolute horror at knowing the photo exists full stop, let alone in the wrong hands. Although this sort of picture would be no big deal to lots of people, to Alex it will be a very huge step—one he certainly isn't ready to take.

Yet I know too that Elliot secretly wishes he could have the photo as his profile pic. This is the happiest I've ever seen him in a relationship. The only thing that makes Elliot sad is being unable to express his feelings in the way he'd like. He'd love to be able to hold hands and cuddle up on a picnic blanket in the park in the summer, but Alex just isn't in that place yet.

“I don't know what to say, Elliot. I'm so sorry that I took the photo, and that they stole it from my phone. They must have had enough time to download the last lot of photos I had taken before I changed my passwords and everything. How do they even know that Alex is this private?”

It's quickly occurring to me that TheRealTruth isn't some obsessed fan. But what are the chances of my phone falling into the hands of someone who knows me, and has an agenda like this? It was an accident.

I start racking my brain for any evidence of who this could be? Maybe it was Megan? Was it too convenient that she found me in the crowd, just after my phone went missing? She would have been surprised at seeing the picture of Alex
and Elliot on my phone, since no one knew they were together. Could she still be annoyed about our confrontation and jealous of my relationship with Noah? Surely not, especially considering the conversation we had after the concert. It all seems too weird.

“I thought you understood, Penny. Taking a photo like that in the first place would have always unnerved Alex.” Elliot looks awkward.

“I know. I'm sorry, E. You know what I'm like—I take photos of everything. I didn't think anyone would see it. And I would
never
have posted it anywhere without asking you first.” I continue to try to put Elliot's mind at ease, but he remains downhearted and distant. “I can come home if you want? Try to make it right?”

“No, no, it's OK, Pen. I'll deal with this. And, whatever you do, don't let it come between you and Noah—it's just some stupid bully. I better go call Alex and let him know . . .” He ends the conversation, waving sadly at the camera.

For a few moments I stare at the blank screen, paralysed with indecision. But Elliot's right: this is just a bully, and they can't break us. I also decide that I can't deal with this on my own now.

I pull up my email again and send a note to all my closest friends and family, warning them about the bully and potential stalker, and let them know that I am gathering all the evidence to go to the police. That way, if it really
is
Megan or someone else who knows me, they will also know that I mean business.

I am Ocean Strong, and no bully is going to threaten my friends or stop me from living my dream.

Chapter Thirty-Four

I'm just about packed and ready to leave Rome when a wave of sadness passes over me. Even though I got to do a little bit of exploring yesterday, I feel like I've hardly scraped the surface of this amazing city. I stare out of the window and make a vow to come back.

There's a frantic knocking at my door, and for a moment I think I must be late—but there's still lots of time left.

“Penny? Are you in there?”

“Coming!” I open the door for Noah. He's got his backpack slung over his shoulder, and I can see a little tag with Dean's details scrawled on the side. He's so used to being ferried from one place to another that he doesn't know where he's staying in each destination or what time his planes are. Dean keeps track of all that life admin for him.

“I saw your email this morning—did that creep really strike again?”

I nod. “This time with Elliot.”

“I can't believe that! Good idea to keep a note of all the
incidents—we can give it all to Dean and he can handle it with the police.”

“That sounds great,” I say, relieved that I can share the burden.

“Now,
ma chérie
, are you ready to go?”

“To Paris?” I pull a face, attempting to look sophisticated and Parisian. “
Mais oui!
I've never been more ready.”

•  •  •

Landing in Paris, I feel so excited I want to run about like a child at Disney World. As we drive from the airport to our hotel, I gawp like a fish in a tank at the sights we're passing.

My mum has always loved Paris—especially as she thinks she is living in the film
Amélie
when she's there. It's her favourite place in the world to be, and when she was eighteen and a young, aspiring actress she ran away to live the bohemian life in the Latin Quarter for a few months. Now she and Dad make a special point of coming here for little breaks away, and now finally I'm able to see why they love it so much.

I'm in the city of love, with the guy I love. Could it get any more perfect?

“Paris is going to be the best, Penny. Tonight at the gig, all the top music journalists are going to be there, reviewing the show. We're going to have to be better and play harder than ever,” Noah says, as we exit the car in front of the hotel. It's the grandest hotel we've been to yet, with porters collecting our luggage and hauling it up a wide staircase. It's exactly how I imagined our Paris hotel to be, and I know it's going to be so romantic. I turn and look at Noah, his face eager with excitement, and I smile a big, toothy smile—the kind you only do when your grandparents ask you to pose for a photo
with your siblings. I'm not sure if it's an attractive smile, but at this point I don't care.

“And, after that, AFTER-PARTAYYYYY!” yells Blake from behind us, completely incongruous in the otherwise grand and peaceful scene.

Noah turns round and high-fives Blake. It's the night that everyone has been super excited for: the night of the biggest after-party of the tour. It's taking place at a hot Paris nightclub—one I normally would never be allowed in (not least because I'm underage) but, since it's a private party, it's OK. I've never been to an after-party before—not unless meeting up with your best friend after the complete disaster of the Year-Eleven ball and then gorging on a month's worth of pizza can count as one . . .

Noah drops me at my hotel room, then dashes off to the venue—they have only hours before their set begins. I take a deep breath—the hotel room is stunning, with a wide bed that has a burnished-gold headboard and crimson velvet covers. Tall windows open out onto a little balcony, from which I can
just about
see the tip of the Eiffel Tower. It's perfect.

I've got a few hours before I need to leave for the concert, so I take the opportunity to dump the entire contents of my suitcase onto the bed. Tonight is different from any other night, because tonight I'm going to be seen at Noah's side by a lot of people.

The problem is, I have no idea what to wear to an after-party. And this is not just any old after-party, but the sort of after-party where everyone cool will be: all the guys from The Sketch, their girlfriends (undercover or not) and
their management, Leah Brown and her entourage, Noah and the rest of the guys from his band, and every single crew member who is on the tour. There will probably be paparazzi and media lining the streets—not to mention all the fans.

I stare at myself in the full-length mirror, its ornate gilded frame perfectly matching the gold headboard of the bed. It's the type of mirror I could imagine Marie Antoinette staring into—but, unlike her, I hope this isn't the night before
my
execution. In my mum's big cardie and leggings, I feel anything but Parisian chic. To be honest, none of my clothes feel right. This is not the time to be wearing a tea dress. Everything I own feels very young and very uncool.

I know that Noah loves me no matter what, but tonight I don't want to feel like the sixteen-year-old girl who probably shouldn't be in cool bars with her famous boyfriend. I want to feel sexy and chic. Maybe makeup can solve all, but I've never exactly been a whiz with it like Megan and some of my friends are.

I grab my makeup bag out of the suitcase and sit down cross-legged in front of the big mirror. I take out my black eyeliner and smudge a little more round my eyes and attempt to add some false lashes. After wrangling with both sets of eyelashes for a good twenty minutes, I finally give up and try to apply more eyeliner to even everything out. I'm not sure that it works.

Next, I know I have to tackle my pale complexion. I'm starting to think I look slightly more gothic than I was hoping for. What would a makeup artist like Kendra say? Would she tell me to add a bit of bronzer? Would she recommend a red lipstick? Or avoid red lipstick with lots of eyeliner? It's
times like these I could actually do with having Megan here, and I
never
thought that wish would
ever
cross my mind. Then someone else pops into my head.

“Hi, Leah. It's Penny . . . Um, I'm just doing my makeup, and I wondered . . . do I go with an orangey-red lipstick with a smoky eye, or more of a pink red—”

I don't get any further before Leah interrupts.

“PUT DOWN THE LIPSTICK, HON. What room are you in? I'm on my way.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Rushing around Paris with Leah Brown in a chauffeur-driven car is up there with my highlights from this tour so far. After ripping my poor attempt at false lashes off my eyes and removing my thick layer of black eyeliner, Leah insists on taking me out to help me get ready. Our first stop is makeup superstore Sephora, where she hands me product after product that I then stack neatly in my basket.