Girl Online (7 page)

Noah takes a deep breath, then walks out onto the stage in near-complete darkness. I can just about make out his silhouette as I watch from the wings. He adjusts the microphone in its stand, shuffling his feet until he feels comfortable. Then he places his hands on the guitar and strums his first note. The sound reverberates around the theatre.

The spotlight snaps on, he sings the first few bars of “Elements,” and the screaming cheers from the 4,500-strong audience rise into a roar.

And that's when I realize that I'm crying.

Chapter Seven

“Hey, Penny, you might want to go to your seat to watch the rest of Noah's performance,” says Dean from behind me.

“Oh . . . what?” Dean's voice snaps me from my spell; watching Noah out onstage is mesmerizing. Reluctantly I tear my eyes away from him. “I guess so. How do I get there from here?” I'm supposed to watch the rest of the show in the VIP area, where Elliot and Alex are too.

“Just follow this hallway and you'll come to a staircase. Go down it and out the door, then you'll be in the main stalls. You should be able to find your way around to the VIP sections up on the next level from there.” Dean is wearing a headset and he appears to be distracted by something someone has said in his ear, because his face loses some of its colour and he looks wound up like a clockwork toy.

“OK, thanks. I've got it,” I say with more confidence than I feel. Dean takes off and I try to follow his instructions quickly so I remember them. I know that Noah's set isn't that long, and I don't want to miss a moment.

I break into a jog, carefully picking my way through the
maze of the backstage area, and fly through the door that leads into the stalls. Just like that, I'm launched out into the crowd. Down here, it's so much louder than backstage. There are booming speakers, and girls (the crowd is pretty much all girls) are screaming and leaning across the barriers that separate them from Noah. They reach out, their arms waving, desperate for a piece of him. Like this, they stop being individuals and seem to merge into one entity, filled with rabid excitement. There was a specific announcement before the show not to throw presents up onstage, but I can already see girls are tossing teddy bears and flowers—and even a bra—at Noah's feet.

The adrenaline buzz of excitement rings through me, but it's edged with the extra-sharp teeth of nerves. The security staff move me along, not allowing me to linger by the entrance to the backstage area, and I'm thrown even deeper into the crowd. I look up at the balcony and try to find Elliot. Luckily, he's easy to spot, since he's right at the front by the railing with Alex. They're listening to “Elements” with their eyes locked together, arms wrapped round each other's shoulders. It's such a sweet—and rare—moment that my heart lifts.

They kiss, and I take out my phone and snap a picture of them, gutted that I left my proper camera in the dressing room. Even though it comes out dark, it still looks really atmospheric, and I can't wait to show Elliot later. He'll love it—he's wanted a picture of the two of them together for ages. Whenever I try to take a picture of them, Alex turns all shy. He isn't out to all his friends and family yet, so he shies away from any public displays of affection. Elliot has been really patient with him, and knows from his own experiences
that he needs to let Alex take his time, but it's still a challenge that they both have to deal with.

Someone bumps into me, knocking my phone out of my hand. “Hey!” I shout and turn round, but the girl who knocked me doesn't even notice—she's too busy singing along to Noah's lyrics and jumping up and down. I look down for my phone and spot it underneath her feet.

I make a dive for it, but it just gets kicked further along the sticky floor.

“Oh, sorry about that!” the girl shouts, finally noticing me.

“No problem,” I say, but the words catch in my throat. I need to get my phone. I lean down and try to follow its path, but every time I think I see it again it is moved further away.

I wince as someone steps on my fingers, and that split second is enough to make me lose sight of my phone. I swear my heart stops beating for a moment. Then I see it again—in a small clearing of feet. I drop down to the ground, grabbing for it. But, once again, it's kicked out of my reach. Through the sea of legs, I see a hand reach down and pick up my phone.

“Hey, that's mine!” I shout. Desperation sets in, and I crawl on my hands and knees, pushing through the crowd and nearly getting trampled.

“What are you doing?!”

“What the hell?!”

I ignore the complaints as I push past a forest of bare legs and ripped denim, but it's no use. My phone is gone.

I stand up before I get crushed, frantically searching the crowd for the phone thief. Every face looks the same: wide-eyed and staring at my boyfriend up onstage. I'm the
only one whose eyes are
not
on Noah. Another person shoves my shoulder, launching me into the person behind me, who yells at me. Luckily the crowd drowns her words out, but I know they aren't friendly. “I'm sorry,” I try to say, but I suddenly feel so enclosed. There's no space for me to move, let alone breathe.

I see the bright red
EXIT
sign above everyone's heads and I try to make a beeline for it. I feel like I'm swimming against a strong tide, caught in a current that is threatening to drag me under. I can hear Noah talking to the crowd between songs but it feels like a million miles away.

Then I feel a tap on my shoulder. “Hey, aren't you that girl with the blog? Noah's girlfriend?” asks a girl with her bright blonde hair tied to one side in an awesome fishtail braid.

“Uhh . . .”

“Oh my god, guys, it's Noah's girlfriend!” Fishtail Braid gathers all her friends round.

“Who, the blog girl?”

“Where?”

“Can you give this to Noah for me?”

Before I know it, the girl and all her friends are surrounding me. Other people in the crowd are noticing me, or maybe they're just using the commotion to try to get even closer to Noah onstage.

“I need to get out of here,” I say, but it comes out as barely a whisper. All of a sudden this has turned into my worst nightmare. It feels like there are a million hands pressing down on me, all wanting to pull me in a different direction. My breath turns shallow inside my chest. I can't see where to go—every path through the crowd looks the same, leading
deeper into all the faces staring at me. I can't even hear Noah's voice anymore over the screaming inside my head.

“Penny? Is that you?” asks a female voice.

I don't know who it is, but I can only answer in a whimper. The girl grabs my hand and starts to pull me through the crowd. “Come with me. This way.” I feel stupid entrusting myself to her—all I can see is a cascade of long, dark brown hair—but, as she barges a path through the crowd, that feeling is quickly replaced by gratitude.

Chapter Eight

At last we break through the hordes of screaming girls and out into the wide hallway outside the stalls. I take a huge gulp of air, placing my hands on my knees. When I've finally managed to clear the fuzz from my mind, I look up. To my surprise, it's Megan.

She looks genuinely worried about me. “Hey, are you OK? You looked pretty overwhelmed in there.” She puts her hand on my back.

I smile weakly. “I just couldn't deal with the crowd. It was too much. I lost my phone, and then all the people were pressing down on me . . .”

“Were you crying? Your makeup is streaked.”

I'd forgotten that I'd cried at hearing Noah's singing, and I wipe my hands across my cheeks. That moment backstage seems like a lifetime ago now compared to the panic attack I just experienced. When I'm struck by anxiety, it's like everything else is pushed into the background and all my mind can focus on is
panic, panic, panic
. Nothing else matters. Even if my logical brain tells me that the exit is only a few steps away,
my body just won't listen. It's like the two are separated from each other by the beast of anxiety. “Oh no, it's not from that—these were happy tears.”

Megan smiles. “Do you want me to walk with you back to your seat?”

“Sure. It's upstairs . . . but—oh, I don't even know exactly where it is.” That's when I realize that I don't have my ticket with me. I must have left it in Noah's dressing room—along with my camera, jacket, purse, and backstage pass. As I explain everything to Megan I can feel myself getting frustrated. I can't believe my excitement led me to make such a silly mistake.

“Don't worry about that.” Megan strolls straight up to the nearest security guard, flicking her chestnut hair. “This is Penny Porter—she's Noah Flynn's girlfriend. She left her ticket backstage and she needs to get back to his dressing room.”

The security guard gives us both a sceptical look. “Yeah right, and I'm Prince Harry.”

“Sir, please,” I say. “I just came out of the stage door in the front . . .”

“Look, girls, why don't you go back to the concert and enjoy it like everybody else. No more of these silly games.”

“It's not a game,” says Megan. She manages to keep her calm exterior, even though I feel like I'm about to break down. “Look, sir, if you'll find someone from Noah's entourage they will recognize her and explain.”

He folds his arms across his chest. He's not going to budge one bit. “If you don't return to the concert now, I'm going to escort you from the premises.”

“This is outrageous!” says Megan. “When Noah finds out about this, you're going to be fired!”

I drag her away from the security guard before he can put her in handcuffs, or whatever it is that scary-looking security guards do. I can feel him still glaring at us as we talk in the hallway. “I appreciate you sticking up for me but I—I think I want to go.”

“Are you sure?” Megan puts a comforting arm round me. “You can just come back with me into the stalls?”

I shake my head. “Noah will find me if I'm at home.”