Girl Online: On Tour (12 page)

Please don’t fall, please don’t fall
, I pray to the gods of clumsiness.

They don’t listen.

The speaker drops to the ground with a sickening crack, pieces flying across the stage. I’m slumped on the floor, my shoulder throbbing, but my camera is in one piece—a tiny silver lining, at least.

“Penny! Oh my god, are you OK?” Noah runs over to me.

I stand up quickly, brushing myself off. I try to avoid wincing, which turns my smile into a weird grimace. “I’m fine, seriously, Noah—you better keep on rehearsing. I—I can pay for the speaker.”

“No, don’t worry about that. Blake, what the hell, man?”

Blake looks over at me and shrugs. “Hey, it’s not my problem if your girlfriend is a klutz.”

“He’s right—I’m a klutz,” I stammer.

Noah frowns. “Well, you’re
my
klutz and I don’t want you to get hurt. Those speakers are seriously heavy.”

I nod and, to hide the bright red blush of shame that has risen in my cheeks, I drop back to the floor and start to pick up the broken pieces of the speaker that have shattered across the stage. I’m never going to go on a stage again. Stages and I are officially cursed.

“Steve will help clear this up.” Noah gestures over to one of the roadies, who’s already at hand with a dustpan and brush. I vaguely recognize him from the quick-fire round of introductions when we first entered the venue. Noah knows the name of every member of the crew, even if he’s only met them once; it’s yet another thing that makes him so special. “We can get a new speaker here, right?”

“No problem,” says Steve. “We can switch one out from the back.”

“See? All good. Just ignore Blake and I’ll come meet you after I’ve rehearsed.”

“Sounds good,” I say. I’m still frustrated.
Why do I have to be such a liability?
Backstage is hopefully much safer.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and text Elliot.

He texts back almost straightaway.

I’m about to text back
No
, but all of a sudden that’s not true anymore.

Leah Brown walks into the backstage area, her hair pulled into a ponytail, her face makeup free. In fact, the only thing that marks her as an internationally super-famous pop star is the fact that about a dozen people are trailing after her, struggling to keep up with her long-legged strides. Leah looks down at the tablet one of her minions is holding.

“Ugh, I hate that. Weren’t there any better pictures than that one? Tell Frankie P. we might need to do another shoot if that’s the best he can come up with.”

I want a hole to open up and swallow me. If I look away she might not notice me, but I can’t stop staring at her. Even before she gets all her hair and makeup done, she’s beautiful, like a magnet that draws all eyes her way. I think this is what people mean when they say someone has star quality, the X factor. Her presence changes the air, makes everything feel more electric.

Elliot would call it a certain je ne sais quoi.

Megan would be jealous.

Ollie would be drooling.

I get the shivers.

I don’t understand how Noah could have been in a “fake” relationship with this girl. How could any straight guy spend time in her presence and not fall in love with her?

Even though I’m making a fool out of myself by staring like a lunatic, Leah and her posse walk straight past me without stopping—with the exception of the girl who’s been told to contact Frankie P. She grabs one of the other girls and I can hear her mutter, “Tell François-Pierre Nouveau that he has to redo this shoot? How am I supposed to do that?” Her face is white with panic and the ends of her sentences rise
into a high-pitched squeal. I’ve heard of François-Pierre Nouveau—he’s one of the most famous photographers in the world. I can’t believe I’m in the presence of someone who has had a photo shoot with François-Pierre—or, rather, someone who is
rejecting
the work of François-Pierre and calls him
Frankie P
.

“You’ll have to figure it out,” the other girl says. “This is LB’s
album
cover we’re talking about. If she’s not happy . . .”

“I’m going to die. I’m officially going to die.”

This time they see me staring and they both shoot me dark looks. I keep moving, stammering an apology.

“Penny?”

I turn round reluctantly. Leah is standing with one hand on her hip, and the rest of her group is looking at me like I’ve grown another head. I nod, and swallow hard. “Hi, Leah.”

She walks towards me, and it feels more like a predator approaching prey than someone coming over to say hello.

“So
you’re
Penny Porter.”

I don’t really know how to respond to that, so I just nod again.

“You were the one that gave me so much trouble last year,” she says, her drawn-out LA accent touched with a hint of her Southern roots. She looks me up and down, and I feel her entire group judging my outfit. I haven’t exactly made an effort today. I’m dressed to ride in a tour bus, so I’m in my comfy jeans and a zip-up sweater. I fold my arms protectively across my chest but stand tall.

“Well, I guess I owe you a thanks for the song inspiration. Sweet camera. See you around,” she says with a little wave, before turning back to her group.

Leah had used the media storm that exploded around her fake breakup with Noah to launch her latest number-one internationally bestselling single “Bad Boy.” Leah writes a lot of her own music, and this one had been primed and ready in case of any eventuality—in this case, using her breakup with Noah to her advantage. I’m sure there were songs about how deeply in love they were too, in case things had continued to be smooth sailing.

As she walks away, I feel like I could faint with relief. I need to speak to Elliot. Stat.

Chapter Sixteen

From: Elliot Wentworth

To: Penny Porter

Subject: THE ELLIOT REPORT

Dear Pennylicious, aka Ocean Strong,

You’ve been gone ONE DAY and already I’m in a conundrum. Just HOW am I going to suffer through the next two weeks without you? Things have gone from bad to worse in this seaside town. I didn’t tell you over text, but my dad is back. He’s insisting on taking me to dinner. Something his therapist told him to do so he can “come to terms” with my “sexuality.” He’s staying in the house with Mum’s permission, but they keep having these mega blow-up arguments whenever they’re in the same room together. There’s been more emotion in this house over the past day than I’ve seen in sixteen years.

Anyway, Mum’s decided she doesn’t want to see him. She hasn’t even come home this evening—instead, she’s putting in even more hours at work. Sometimes I wonder if she doesn’t even want
to see me either? Ugh, why is family drama so hard? I think I preferred it when my parents just ignored me and let me get on with life.

Speaking of life, my internship with CHIC magazine started EARLY! They wanted me in today, even though it’s a Friday—ARGH. But it was so amazing. I got to work with a stylist and she actually complimented my blazer—you know the one I sewed those crazy buttons on? OK, so it’s a lot of getting coffee and detangling about a million necklaces from an unholy knot but it’s REAL FASHION WORK.

But enough about me and my monotonous life. How are things with you?

What’s your hotel like?

Have you seen the Berlin Wall yet?

Did you eat any currywurst?

And most importantly . . . DID YOU MEET LEAH BROWN?

Miss you to the maximum, Penny P.

Elliot xx

From: Penny Porter

To: Elliot Wentworth

Subject: RE: THE ELLIOT REPORT

Dearest most dear of dear Elliots,

I did! I met Leah!

She was in the middle of rejecting images by François-Pierre Nouveau. CAN YOU IMAGINE? It’s like telling Vincent van Gogh, “Yeah, your painting is all right, but just not good enough for my walls.”

She’s even more intimidating in person.

How am I supposed to compete with that? But, weirdly, she was kind of fine with me just now. I’m sure it’s an act in front of Noah, though.

And no, I haven’t seen anything of Berlin. But Noah and I are going on our Magical Mystery Day tomorrow so I will tell you ALL ABOUT IT.

That sucks about your dad. Majorly. But brilliant about the internship. I knew you would rock it! And OF COURSE they’re going to love your style—you’re Elliot! You’re the most fashionable guy in Brighton!

But are you sure you can’t hop on a last-minute flight to Berlin and come out and join me?

P xxx

From: Elliot Wentworth

To: Penny Porter

Subject: RE: Re: THE ELLIOT REPORT

Dear Pennylicious,

I wish.

Elliot x

PS Actually, Vincent van Gogh did get turned down many times. He only sold one painting in his entire lifetime and didn’t become super famous until after he died.

From: Penny Porter

To: Elliot Wentworth

Subject: RE: Re: Re: THE ELLIOT REPORT

Dear Wiki,

All right, know-it-all.

Penny x

Chapter Seventeen

There’s no doubt about it: my boyfriend
rocks
—and it seems like he’s got just as many fans in Germany as he does in the UK. There’s as much screaming for him here as there was in Brighton. I don’t know why I’m so surprised, but it feels like the levels of Noah’s fame keep rising higher and higher, while I’m feeling more and more left behind. He awes me with his talent. He’s only two years older than me, and already he’s accomplished so much.

I remind myself that Noah is not
normal
. I have loads of time to work out exactly what I want to do. Being “Noah’s girlfriend” is only one part of my future.

The time between the soundcheck and the actual concert is jam-packed with pre-show interviews and photographs, a string of journalists entering Noah’s dressing room one after the other. I sit discreetly in the corner, occasionally snapping a photograph but mostly just listening. Noah’s a pro at interviews, but I suppose you would be after answering the same questions again and again. It’s a wonder that not a single journalist asks him anything really interesting. Maybe it’s the
domineering presence of Dean behind him, arms folded, always ready to interfere in case the line of questioning dances too closely to delicate subjects, like his parents—or, for that matter, me.