OMG HONEY! DO NOT GO ONLINE UNTIL I GET THERE. I’M LEAVING RIGHT NOW
I hear his front door shut and the sound of his feet pounding up the path. I run downstairs to let him in.
“Have you just woken up?” Elliot says as soon as I open the door.
I nod.
“OK, I don’t want you to panic but something terrible’s happened,” he says gravely.
“It’s OK, I know,” I say back.
“You do?” I can’t help thinking Elliot looks the tiniest bit disappointed; he does love being the bearer of bad news.
“The video?” I say, leading him up the stairs.
Just as we’re walking across the landing, my parents’ bedroom door opens and Dad comes out. When he sees Elliot, he shakes his head and grins. “It’s seven o’clock in the morning,” he says.
“Actually it’s one minute to, but thanks, Mr. P,” Elliot says, looking at his watch.
Dad raises his eyebrows and sighs. “No, I wasn’t giving you the time. I was trying to say that it’s a bit early for a visit, isn’t it?”
“It’s never too early to give your best friend some moral support,” Elliot says seriously.
Dad instantly looks at me, worried. “Is everything all right, love? You rushed up to your room last night like you needed to put out a fire.”
“Yes, I’m fine,” I say. “It’s just a . . .”
“Homework crisis,” Elliot finishes for me. “Those pesky French verbs.”
“But Penny isn’t doing French.” Dad stares at me like he’s trying to see inside my mind to work out what’s really going on.
“No, but I am,” Elliot says, quick as a flash. “That’s why I need Penny’s help.”
“Oh.” Dad frowns and scratches his head. He doesn’t look convinced at all. “Well, when you’ve sorted your French crisis, come down and have some breakfast. I’m making eggs over easy,” he says in an American accent, “and we need to talk about New York.”
“Will do,” I call over my shoulder as Elliot and I race up the second flight of stairs.
As soon as we’re in my room, I shut the door tight.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Elliot says.
“I was too embarrassed.” I sink down onto my bed. “And, anyway, it’ll be OK. I’ve sent Megan a couple of messages asking her to delete the video so hopefully it’ll be off Facebook as soon as she wakes up.”
Elliot stares at me. “When did you last go on Facebook?”
“About five o’clock this morning.” I get a sick sensation in the pit of my stomach. Why do I get the feeling Elliot knows something I don’t? And how has he even seen the video? I untagged myself from the post, so it shouldn’t have come up on his Facebook feed; he isn’t friends with any of my schoolmates. I open up my laptop and refresh my Facebook page. “Oh no!”
Some kid from Year Nine has tagged me in a link to the video—the video that is now on YouTube. I’ve also been tagged in a link to the school “unofficial” Facebook group. The video is on there too.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” Elliot says to me gravely. “But it looks like you’re about to go viral.”
Chapter Eleven
“Penny!” Mum exclaims as soon as I walk into the kitchen. “What’s the matter?”
I sit down at the table and put my head in my hands. If I wasn’t feeling so numb I would wail.
“She’s about to go viral,” Elliot says solemnly, sitting down next to me.
“She’s got a virus?” Dad turns to face me. “I thought you looked a bit peaky earlier, love. Do you want a Lemsip?”
“No, she’s about to go viral . . . you know, as in on the Internet,” Elliot explains. “Like Rihanna did that time that naked video of her was posted on Twitter.”
“There’s a naked video of you on the Internet?” Dad sits down at the table opposite me. I’ve never seen him look so serious.
“No!” I say, shaking my head.
“Well, semi-naked,” Elliot says thoughtfully.
“There’s a semi-naked video of you on the Internet?” Dad stands up, and sits back down again. He looks at Mum.
Mum comes and sits beside me and takes hold of my hand. “What’s going on, darling?” And that’s all it takes for me to go into a full-on meltdown.
“There’s—a—video—of—me—in—my—unicorn—knickers!” I gasp between sobs.
“So, in some ways, it’s actually worse than being naked,” Elliot says.
“Unicorn knickers?” Dad looks completely bewildered. “What unicorn knickers? What video? Will someone please explain what’s going on?”
“Penny fell over onstage last night when she was taking a photo and she flashed her knickers to the entire audience,” Elliot explains.
“My worst knickers,” I sob. “Well, actually, they were my favorite—that’s why I wore them.” I look up at Mum through tear-filled eyes. “They were so comfy. But not anymore. Now I just want to burn them.”
“Want to burn what?” Tom says, trudging into the kitchen, his hair all messy from sleeping.
“Her unicorn knickers,” Elliot says.
“OK, clearly I’m still asleep and dreaming,” Tom says, slumping down in a chair.
“So you’re not actually naked in this video?” Dad says.
“Yep, definitely still dreaming,” Tom mutters, putting his head on the table and closing his eyes.
I shake my head.
“Well, that’s OK then, isn’t it?” Dad says, looking at me hopefully. “So what if they saw your knickers for a second? They’ll have forgotten all about it by today.”
“Please tell me I’m dreaming,” Tom mutters, his eyes still closed.
“But they didn’t just see them for a second,” I wail. “It’s on a video on the Internet, in close-up and slow motion. People will be able to watch it over and over again. And they’re so faded and frayed!”
“What’s so faded and frayed?” Dad says.
Elliot and I answer in unison: “Her unicorn knickers!” “My unicorn knickers!”
“Oh dear.” Mum hugs me to her. “Haven’t you had those knickers since you were twelve?”
“Mum!”
She gives me a bashful smile. “Sorry.”
Tom looks up at us through sleepy eyes. “I’m not dreaming, am I?”
Elliot shakes his head. “Fraid not.”
“OK.” Dad places both his hands on the table. “Who posted the video online?”
“Megan,” I say.
“Mega-nasty,” Elliot mutters.
“Megan?” Mum looks really shocked.
“Yes, she put it on her Facebook page and now someone’s put it on YouTube and someone else has posted it on the school Facebook page.” I start to cry again as I think of the entire school watching action replays of my knickers.
Tom stares at me. “Are you serious?”
I nod.
“Right.” Tom gets to his feet, suddenly looking wide awake.
“What are you doing?” Mum says, looking at him anxiously.
“I’m going to go up to school and find everyone who’s posted it online and I’m going to make them take it down.” I’ve never seen Tom look so mad.
Mum jumps to her feet and grabs hold of his arm. “You can’t do that; you’re not a student there anymore.”
Tom frowns at her. “So what? Penny is and she’s my sister. I’m not going to sit back and do nothing.”
I smile up at him gratefully.
Dad shakes his head. “It’s OK, son, I’ll take care of it. The last thing we need is you getting into any trouble.” He takes hold of my hand. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll go up to the school this morning and I’ll get them to take it off their Facebook page.”
I shake my head. “It’s the unofficial Facebook page—the teachers don’t have any control over it. And so many people have been sharing it; everyone’s going to see it anyway.”
I think of going into school and everyone looking at me and laughing at me and sud
denly it’s as if I’m being pulled underwater. I can’t breathe, I can’t swallow, and my entire body starts to do this weird shaking thing. I just can’t cope with any more drama.
“Pen? Are you OK?” Elliot’s voice sounds muffled and far away.
Everyone else’s voices blend into one, kind of like a radio being tuned. “Penny?” “Pen?” “Sweetheart?” “Get her some water.” “Oh my God, she’s going to faint.”
I feel someone holding my shoulders. Someone strong. Dad.
“Take a really slow, deep breath, honey.” Mum.
“Here’s some water.” Tom.
I close my eyes and take a really slow deep breath. And another. In my mind I picture the sea, crashing in and rolling out, crashing in and rolling out. And, slowly, my body stops shaking.
“Penny, what just happened?” Mum says. She’s looking so concerned it makes me want to cry again. But I’m too scared to cry in case it brings the panic attack back, so I just keep focusing on my breathing.
“Are you OK?” Dad says. He’s still holding my shoulders tightly. It feels nice. Like I’m anchored in place.
“Shall I tell them?” Elliot asks softly.
I nod. And as I keep on focusing on my breathing, Elliot explains about the panic attacks I’ve been getting since the car accident.
Mum and Dad both look ashen-faced.
“I’m sorry,” is the first thing I’m able to say.
Dad looks at me and shakes his head. “What? Why are you sorry?”
“You should have told us,” Mum says.
“I didn’t want to worry you. And anyway, I thought it would get better, you know, once a bit of time had gone past.”
“Shall I make some tea?” Tom asks, and we all stare at him in shock. Tom never offers to make tea. I smile at him and nod.
“OK, first things first,” Dad says, putting on a businesslike voice. “We’re going to get you some help, to try to get these panic attacks under control.”
“Yes, there are lots of things you can do,” Mum adds. “I know some great breathing exercises from when I used to get stage fright.”
“You used to get stage fright?” I ask in disbelief. It’s hard to imagine my mega-confident mum being scared of anything.
Mum nods. “Oh yes—it was terrible. Sometimes I was actually physically sick before a show, but I managed to get it under control and you will too, honey.”
“That’s right,” Dad says, smiling at me. “And I’m going to call the school and tell them you’re off sick.” He takes hold of my hand. “I think you should stay off till the new year—give this all a chance to blow over. There’s only two days of term left.”
I give him a weak smile. “Thanks, Dad.”
“And thirdly,” he says, glancing at Mum, “we want you to come with us to New York.”
Elliot sighs.
I look at Dad, alarmed. “But I—”
“And we want Elliot to come too,” Dad interrupts.
“Oh my God!” Elliot’s mouth drops open so wide I can practically see his tonsils.
“We were planning on asking you both today anyway,” Mum says with a smile. “But now that this has happened, it’s even more reason for you to come.”
“It’ll only be for four days,” Dad says. “We’ll fly out on Thursday and come back Sunday, Christmas Eve.” He looks at Tom and smiles. “So we’ll still all be able to have Christmas Day together.”
I look at Elliot. He’s now grinning like he just won the lottery.
“I think it will do you a world of good to get away,” Mum says. “It’ll give you the chance to properly get over the accident—and this stupid video nonsense.”
“Yes, by the time we get back, it will be Christmas and it will have all blown over,” Dad says.
“He does have a point,” Elliot says to me, right before his phone goes off. He looks at the screen and frowns before taking the call. “Hi, Dad . . . I’m next door. Where else would I be? . . . OK, OK, I’ll be there in a minute.” He ends the call, looking at us apologetically. “It was my dad, wondering if I’m going to school today. I’d better get going.” He turns and grabs both my hands. “I know you were nervous about going on a plane, Pen, but we can all help you with that, can’t we?” He looks at my parents and they start nodding like those toy dogs people put in the back windows of their cars.
“Of course we will, darling,” Mum says with a smile.
“We’ll all be there for you,” Dad says.
Elliot’s phone starts ringing again. “Hello, Mum . . . I just told Dad . . . I’m next door . . . I’ll be back in two seconds.” He puts his phone in his pocket and sighs. “I swear, my parents never talk to each other about anything!” He suddenly looks really worried. “Oh, I hope they let me come with you. What if they say no?”
“Don’t worry, darling,” Mum says. “I’ll go round and have a word with them later. I’m sure they won’t mind—especially as our clients will be paying for everything.”
Elliot nods and grins. Then he turns and looks at me hopefully. “So, what do you reckon, Pen?”
I take a deep breath and smile. “I reckon we’re going to New York!”
20 December
Facing Your Fears
Hey, guys!
Thanks again for all of your comments on my blog about friendship. I know it sounds weird as I haven’t actually met any of you or anything but I really do think of you all as my friends—you’re always so lovely and kind and your support means so much to me.
So, most of you will probably remember my recent post about the panic attacks I’ve been having since the car accident. Well, this week I had a bit of a Glass Slipper Moment.
A Glass Slipper Moment is the name Wiki and I give to things that happen that are really bad at first but that actually end up leading to something really good—like when Cinderella loses her glass slipper but it ends up reuniting her with Prince Charming.
Earlier this week, something really, truly, hideously horrible happened to me and it caused me to have another of my stupid panic attacks. But I think/hope it’s all going to lead to something really good.
I’m going away somewhere this week and I’m going to have to go on a plane.
This is making me feel really anxious but I’m hoping that if I can do this—if I can face my fear—then it might make it go away for good.
When I was little I used to think that a witch lived under my mum and dad’s bed.
Every time I had to go past their bedroom to get to my own room, I’d run as fast as I could, so that the witch didn’t fly out on her broomstick and turn me into a toad.
Then one day my dad saw me racing along the landing looking all scared and he asked me what was up.
When I told him, he made me come into the bedroom with him and he shone a torch under the bed.
The only thing that was under there was an old shoe box.
Sometimes you have to face up to your fears to realize that they aren’t actually real.
That you aren’t actually going to die—or get turned into a toad.
I’m going to do that this week, when I get on a plane.
How about you?
Do you have any fears that you’d like to face up to?
Maybe we could do it together . . . ?
Why don’t you post your fear and how you’re going to face up to it this week in the comments below?
Good luck and I’ll let you know how I get on in next week’s blog.
Girl Online, going offline xxx
Chapter Twelve
“What you need,” Elliot says to me as we take a seat in a café in the departure lounge, “is your own personal Sasha Fierce.”
“My what?” My heart pounds like crazy as I look around the lounge. Very soon we’re going to be called to board the plane. And then I’m going to have to get on the plane that’s going to somehow stay miles up in the sky without crashing down. But what if it does come crashing down? What if—
“Sasha Fierce,” El
liot says. “You know, Beyoncé’s alter ego, her stage persona.”
I frown at him. “What are you talking about?”
Elliot leans back in his chair and stretches out his long legs. He’s wearing a vintage Harvard sweatshirt, pinstripe skinny trousers, and bright green chucks, which perfectly match his bright green glasses. How can he look so laid-back and cool when we’re about to get on a giant metal tube and go shooting up into the sky?
“When Beyoncé first started out in the music business, she was really quiet and shy and she hated going onstage,” Elliot says. “So she invented an alter ego called Sasha Fierce who was brave and feisty and cool. Then, every time she went onstage she could pretend to be Sasha and it helped her act all confident and hair swishy.”
“Hair swishy?”
“Yeah, you know . . .” Elliot swishes his head back and forth, causing his glasses to come flying off and land in my lap.
“Right,” I say, handing his glasses back, “and how is this supposed to help me?”
“You need to invent your own version of Sasha Fierce and then pretend to be her when you get on the plane.” Elliot strokes his chin the way he always does when he’s deep in thought. “How about Sarah Savage?”
“No! That makes me sound like some kind of psycho!”
I look at my parents queuing up to buy coffee—and a calming camomile tea for me. Although my mouth is as dry as sandpaper, I don’t want them to come back because then we’ll have our drinks, and then we’ll have to get ready to board the plane and—
“OK, how about Connie Confident?”
I look at Elliot and raise my eyebrows. “Seriously?”
Elliot sighs. “All right, you think of one then.”
A woman walks toward us, wheeling a small, bright pink case. She’s wearing tight grey jeans, pointy black boots, and a beautiful cape coat. She looks effortlessly cool and serene. Even her hair is immaculate—a sleek black bob, glowing with mahogany highlights. As she walks past me I see that she’s wearing a necklace with the word STRONG on it. It’s like one of those “signs from the universe” that Mum is always going on about.
“Strong,” I whisper.
Elliot looks at me. “What?”