Girl Online

  Chapter Seven

  Of course, as soon as I get to the beach, my newfound confidence begins to slip. What if he doesn’t show up? What if it was all a prank? What if I trip just as he’s about to kiss me? Oh my God, what if he kisses me?! He’s not going to kiss you, you fool. On and on, my inner voice spirals into near hysteria.

  I decide to walk to the café along the beach so that I can get closer to the sea in the hope that it might calm me down a bit. The pebbles are wet! You’re going to fall over! You’re going to fall over and end up with seaweed stuck to your bum, just like you did at Tom’s birthday barbecue. I slow right down. The sea is nice and calm and the winter sunshine sparkles on it like a sprinkling of glitter. I take in a deep breath of the salty air. And another. What if a seagull poos on your head?! “Shut up!” I mutter out loud but I look up quickly to check there are no gulls hovering. When I look back down, Ollie is standing a few feet in front of me.

  “How did you get there?” is the first thing I can think to say.

  “I walked,” he says, looking at me weirdly. “Are you OK? You looked as if you were talking to yourself.”

  “What? Oh no, I was just—I was just—singing.”

  “Singing?”

  “Yes, you know, like, a song.”

  “Yes, I know what singing is.”

  “Of course you do. Soz.” Soz?!! Since when did I ever say “soz”?! I’ve been with Ollie for precisely ten seconds and already he must think I’m a singing, sozzing loony. This doesn’t bode well for our lunch at all.

  “Have you got your camera on you?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I reply, my heartbeat quickening—could he be about to ask for a photo of us already?! “Why?”

  “I was just wondering if you could take a few headshots of me, down here on the beach. I could really do with some, you know, like arty ones for my profile online. And you’re such an awesome photographer.” He dazzles me with one of his megawatt smiles.

  “Oh. OK.” I don’t know what to make of this. Surely this isn’t the reason he invited me to meet him? No, he definitely said lunch yesterday. The photos must be an extra. Something he just thought of. I tell myself not to be so stupid and take my camera from my pocket.

  “I was thinking maybe we could take some over by the pier.”

  “Sure.”

  As we start walking along the beach, a woman jogger passes us and smiles. I feel a surge of happiness. It must look to her as if Ollie and I are “together.” If only it could feel a bit more relaxed and enjoyable. I search my brain for something interesting—and non-embarrassing—to say.

  “So, you must be really proud of your brother.”

  Ollie looks at me blankly. “Why?”

  “Well, with him being so good at tennis.”

  Ollie mutters something and stares out to sea. There’s something about his serious expression and the way the light is falling on his face, accentuating his cheekbones, that would make an awesome black-and-white shot.

  “Hold it right there,” I say, turning my camera on.

  “What?” Ollie frowns at me.

  “Keep that expression and look out to sea again. It’ll make a really cool picture.”

  “Oh, right.” Instantly, Ollie’s expression softens and he looks back at the sea. “How about this?”

  “Perfect.”

  I zoom in and adjust the angle until I’ve got just the right shadowing on his face, then I take the shot.

  “Let’s see.” He leans in to look at the camera display and our heads are so close they’re almost touching. He smells of aftershave and peppermint. My heart starts pounding. “That looks really great.” He looks at me and smiles. Up this close, his eyes are impossibly blue. I realize that if he wanted to kiss me right now he would barely have to move. We continue looking at each other for a second longer. “You’re really good at this, aren’t you?” he says, his voice softer than usual.

  “Thank you.” Embarrassed, I look away and the moment is gone. We carry on walking. Two more joggers run past us, their feet crunching on the pebbles.

  “How about one of me lying on the beach?” he says. “You know, for something a bit different.”

  “Sure.” A vision of us both lying on the beach wrapped in each other’s arms pops into my head. My face instantly begins to flush.

  Ollie scrambles down onto the stones. “How about if you take one from above me?”

  “OK, that could be fun.” I stand next to Ollie and try to take a shot but it doesn’t quite work; it’s not centred enough. “I think I’m going to have to stand right over you,” I tell him.

  Ollie looks at me and grins. I feel a weird tingling sensation shimmy up my spine. I carefully step one foot over his body so that I’m standing astride him. I look through the lens. He’s grinning up at me.

  “I hope you’re not looking up my dress,” I say jokily.

  Ollie chuckles. “As if!”

  For a brief moment I feel as if I’ve actually managed to achieve the impossible and have a humiliation-free flirtation. But then, just as I’m taking my bird’s-eye shot of Ollie, the pebbles begin to give way and both my feet start sliding in opposite directions. I desperately try to keep my footing but this only makes it worse and suddenly I am sitting right on top of Ollie’s stomach.

  “I’m so sorry,” I gasp, trying to scramble back up.

  He catches hold of my wrist, laughing. “Don’t be. It’s hilarious. You’re hilarious.”

  I look at him suspiciously. But he’s not saying it the way Megan says, “You’re so quirky.” It actually sounds affectionate. “Thank you,” I say.

  “Oh my God! What are you doing?”

  We both jump at the sound of Megan’s voice. I turn to see her standing a few feet away, glaring at us. The twins are right behind her, grinning from ear to ear.

  “I-I was just taking Ollie’s picture,” I stammer, my face going redder than a postbox, “and my feet slipped.”

  “Right.” Megan keeps on glaring at me. I notice that she’s changed out of the jeans and hoodie she was wearing when she left my house and is now wearing a skintight plum-colored dress with knee-high boots.

  Somehow, I manage to clamber off Ollie without causing either of us an injury.

  “What are you guys doing down here anyway?” Megan says, and she looks at Ollie pointedly. “I thought you were supposed to be going for lunch together.”

  “How did . . . ?” Ollie instantly looks embarrassed. “It was nothing major; I just wanted Penny to take some photos of me for my online profiles.”

  Megan turns to look at me and her smile actually looks triumphant. See, I told you it wasn’t a date, it seems to be saying.

  “Your photos are so good,” Kira says, coming over to me.

  “Yes,” says Amara. “I loved that one you took of the old pier for your art project.”

  I smile at them weakly.

  “So, where were you guys thinking of going for lunch?” Megan says.

  Ollie shrugs. “Hadn’t really thought about it, to be honest.”

  I stare at him, confused.

  “We were just going to Nando’s,” Megan says sweetly. “Do you fancy joining us?”

  “Sure,” Ollie replies in a beat.

  I instantly feel sick with anger and I kick out at the stones. One of them goes sailing into the air. I gasp in horror as I watch it sail straight into a passing West Highland terrier. It yelps in pain, and its owner—an old man with extremely bushy eyebrows—glares at me.

  “I’m so sorry! It was an accident,” I call over. I’m just a walking accident, I feel like adding. I can’t even get angry without something excruciatingly embarrassing happening.

  “Penny!” Megan says, scolding me like she’s my mum. “That poor little dog!”

  “Actually, I think I’m going to head off home,” I say, fighting the urge to kick a stone at her.

  “Oh really?” Megan can barely disguise her glee.

  “But what about my pictures?”
Ollie says, sounding really disappointed.

  I can’t even bring myself to look at him. “I’ll email them to you later,” I mutter.

  “OK then, see you in school tomorrow,” Megan says breezily.

  As the twins call out goodbye, I bite down hard on my lip and start marching away from them across the beach. My head feels all tangled up in anger and confusion. But one thing I know for sure, without any shadow of a doubt, is that I’ve absolutely had it with Megan.

  Chapter Eight

  “Can you please, please, please promise me that you will listen to everything I have to say quietly and calmly, without making any catty remarks until I’ve finished?” I beg Elliot, now that I’m back home and have summoned him with the dire-emergency code of ten knocks on the wall.

  Elliot leans back in the rocking chair and strokes his chin thoughtfully. “Does what you’re about to tell me involve Mega-dull and the Walking Selfie?” he asks.

  “Yes, but please can you not say anything rude about them until I’ve finished. And the phrase ‘I told you so’ is also banned.”

  Elliot looks aghast. “What, banned forever—or just while you’re telling the story?”

  “Forever.”

  Elliot sighs. “OK then, but you might need to gag me.”

  “Seriously!”

  “OK, OK, my lips are sealed.”

  I sit cross-legged on my bed, staring down at the duvet, and recount my tale of woe, from the World’s Worst Sleepover to Ollie’s immortal words “It was nothing major.”

  “It was nothing major?” Elliot echoes as soon as I’ve finished. “I told—”

  “No, don’t say it!” I cry, covering my ears. “Honestly, I can’t bear to hear it. I can’t believe I actually thought it was a date!”

  “And as for Mega-strumpet!” Elliot exclaims.

  I frown at him. “Strumpet?”

  Elliot nods. “It’s a word Shakespeare invented to describe women of ill repute.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “She really is vile,” Elliot says, shaking his head in disgust. “I can’t believe she crashed your lunch with Ollie. I told you—”

  “Elliot!”

  “OK, OK.” Elliot puts his hands up in mock surrender. “I know what you should do,” he says, grinning evilly. “You should Photoshop some spots and a hideous rash onto the Walking Selfie’s pictures. Maybe an extra nose too . . .”

  I look at Elliot and start to grin. I’m about to give him a huge hug when the unmistakable sound of a gong reverberates throughout the house.

  “OMG! OMG!” Elliot leaps up and claps his hands with glee. “Family meeting!”

  Our house is full of old theater props that my mum kept as keepsakes from plays she was in. One of them is a huge brass gong, which now lives in our hallway. When Tom and I were younger, we were always coming up with excuses to bang it, so in the end my parents made the rule that the gong should only ever be used to call a family meeting. I get off the bed and laugh at Elliot’s super-excited expression.

  “It’s probably something really boring—like who wants turkey for Christmas dinner.”

  Elliot looks at me blankly. “Why would it be that? Everyone has turkey for Christmas dinner.”

  “Yes, but Dad was talking about cooking a goose this year.”

  Elliot pulls a horrified expression. “He can’t cook a goose! That’s gross!”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know—it just is.”

  I go over to the door with Elliot right behind me.

  “Rekao sam ti,” he whispers in my ear.

  “What does that mean?” I say.

  “I told you so, in Croatian. You didn’t say I couldn’t say it in Croatian,” he shrieks as I poke him in the ribs.

  • • •

  “We want turkey,” Elliot announces as soon as we walk into the kitchen.

  Mum, Dad, and Tom are all seated at the table. Mum and Dad are looking all excited. Tom is slumped forward with his head resting on his arms.

  “Eh?” Dad says to Elliot.

  “For Christmas dinner,” Elliot explains. “We want turkey, not goose. That’s what this meeting’s about, right? Christmas dinner?”

  “Ah!” Dad says. “No. Actually, no it’s not—although in a way, I suppose it is, indirectly.” He looks at Mum and raises his eyebrows.

  Mum nods, then she looks at Elliot and gives him a sad smile. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to come to us for Christmas dinner this year, Elliot.”

  “What?!” Elliot and I say in unison.

  “We’re not going to be here,” Mum says.

  “What?!” Now Tom has raised his head from the table and joined my and Elliot’s chorus. We all stare at Mum in shock.

  “What do you mean, we’re not going to be here?” Tom says.

  “Where are we going to be?” I stare from Mum to Dad and back again.

  Mum and Dad look at each other and smile. “New York,” they say together.

  “No way!” Tom exclaims—but not in a good way.

  I’m too stunned to say anything.

  Elliot looks as if he might be about to cry.

  “We’ve agreed to do that wedding,” Mum says, smiling at me. “The Downton Abbey one—at the Waldorf.”

  “Oh. My. God.” Elliot looks at me wide-eyed. “You lucky thing.”

  But the weird thing is I don’t feel lucky. Instead, the back of my neck feels really hot and my hands go clammy. Going to New York would mean traveling by plane and right now I get freaked out enough at the thought of getting in a car. I don’t want to go anywhere. I just need a nice normal family Christmas at home.

  “I’m not going,” Tom says.

  “What?” Dad looks at him, shocked.

  “Melanie is home next week. There’s no way I’m going anywhere. I haven’t seen her for months.” Melanie is Tom’s girlfriend. She’s been away studying in France all this term. And, judging by the soppy updates he’s been posting on Facebook lately, he is really pining for her.

  “But you have to come,” Mum says, looking really upset. “We’re always together at Christmas.”

  Tom shakes his head. “If you want us to be together, you’ll have to stay here.”

  “Tom,” Dad says in a low warning voice.

  “I don’t want to go either,” I say quietly.

  “What—but . . .” Mum stares at me. She looks so upset it’s horrible. “It’s Christmas in New York! I thought you guys would jump at the chance.”

  “Yeah,” Elliot mutters. “What’s up with you?”

  I look at him imploringly and finally see a flicker of recognition cross his face, like he’s worked it out. He takes my hand and gives it a squeeze.

  “Why do you have to work over Christmas anyway?” Tom says.

  “Because we really need the money,” Dad replies, and his tone is so serious that we all turn to look at him.

  “It’s been such a slow winter,” Mum says. “This job is the answer to all of our prayers. They’re paying more than we’d get for ten weddings in Britain. Plus our expenses.” She looks at me pleadingly. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

  “I can’t,” I say. “I have to . . .”

  “Do that English project,” Elliot fills in for me. “The one that counts toward your final grade.”

  “Yes!” I say, giving him a grateful smile before turning back to Mum and Dad. “So I’m going to have to work flat out on that over the holidays. But you guys go. We’ll be fine.”

  Tom nods too. “Yes. You guys go. We can always have Christmas together when you get back.”

  Mum looks at Dad. “I don’t know. What do you think, Rob?”

  “I think we need to think about it,” Dad says. He looks just as upset as she does.

  I feel terrible. I think about telling them the truth: that just the thought of having a panic attack trapped in a plane miles up in the sky is bringing me out in a cold sweat, but I can’t. I don’t want to worry them. There’s no way they
’d leave me if they knew what’s been happening and then they’d miss out on the much-needed money. Them going to America and me staying here is definitely the best solution, but I can’t help feeling sad inside. As my fear of the panic attacks gets bigger and bigger it seems to be making my world feel smaller and smaller.

  17 December

  Can You Outgrow Your Best Friend?

  Hey, guys!

  First of all, thank you SO much for all your lovely comments and tips on my blog about my panicky moments. Knowing they might be panic attacks weirdly makes me feel better. You guys are the best!

  Now, I know I said I’d blog about something a bit more lighthearted this time but something has happened that I really need to share with you . . .

  When I was little I had a coat that I absolutely adored.

  It was bright red and had shiny black buttons that were shaped like little roses.

  It also had a furry collar and furry cuffs.

  When I wore it I felt like a beautiful princess from a really cold faraway land like Russia or Norway (it’s cold in Norway, right?).

  I loved that coat so much I wore it everywhere, even when the weather started getting warmer.

  And when the weather got too hot I refused to put the coat away in my cupboard. Instead, I kept it hanging on the back of my chair all summer so that I could still see it every day.

  The second winter I had the coat it started to feel a little tight. But I didn’t care because I couldn’t bear the thought of life without it.

  But by the third winter I’d grown so big I couldn’t do the buttons up anymore.

  When my mum told me I’d have to have a new winter coat I was heartbroken. But after a while I grew to love my new coat. Although it didn’t have rose-shaped buttons or a furry collar, it was a beautiful shade of bluey green just like the sea. And after a while, when I looked at my old coat, the furry collar seemed a bit silly and it didn’t really feel as if it was mine anymore, so I let my mum take it to the charity shop.

  At the moment, when I’m with one of my best friends, it’s like we don’t fit anymore.