Girl Online: On Tour (22 page)

I nod. “We had this big fight—”

“In the lobby? Yeah, I heard.”

“You did?” I want the fountain to swallow me up whole.

“Well, I didn’t hear the fight but I heard
about
it. Word travels, I guess. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, Penny. I just genuinely don’t want this crazy whirlwind to suck you up. You are a really great girl, with such pure, individual talent, and it’s so easy to get lost in all this. Before you know it, you’re just following someone else’s dream and not your own.”

I think about the tour so far, and how after each city I have felt less and less inspired, less
me
and more a piece of the furniture. How I have been content to be labelled “Noah’s girlfriend.” Now I’m not sure if that will be enough. What label
do
I want though?

“I know what you mean,” I say, trying to inject as much confidence into my voice as possible. “But I do think Noah is different. Or, rather, that he will be different. It’s new and exciting for him now, but I truly believe he’s still the same guy I met at Christmas.”

“You’re right. Noah is great, Penny. Honestly, I mean that one hundred per cent. But no guy is worth changing your life for. An ex-boyfriend told me that singing was never going to happen for me, and I believed him. He worked in Manhattan as a very successful stockbroker, and I lived with him and made sure he had a meal to come home to every evening. One day I realized I was living his dream and not mine. I was unhappy—not in my relationship necessarily, but with the path I was going down. I decided to move back to LA and work hard on my music. My boyfriend left me, and I became a successful pop artist with two platinum albums. Sometimes you have to look out for
you
. It will really pay off if you want it badly enough.”

I’m in awe of the woman sitting opposite me. I had no idea that Leah could have had any hardships in her life, or hurdles to struggle over. I guess you only see the glossy side of fame, but everyone has their demons.

The sun goes down as we stroll back to the hotel and chat about how Leah became famous.

Callum catches us up, looking red-faced as if he’s been running. He glowers at Leah, but he can’t be angry for long as she jokes, “You can always find me, honey. Just follow the gelato!”

•  •  •

Once I get back to my hotel room, I decide to type a blog post about how I’m feeling about the Noah situation and my conversation with Leah. This is something I need opinions on. My fingers hover over my keyboard as I try to convey all the thoughts that are whirring around in my mind.

OK, guys, after that post this morning, I’ve just had the most amazing day in Rome—but I don’t want to talk about that right now.

Right now, it’s time for the big question.

The one I’m almost certain every girl my age asks themselves on a regular basis, and one I’ve found myself asking more and more.

Do I need to know
now
what I want to be when I leave school?

I’m turning seventeen next year and starting my A levels in a few weeks . . . and I feel lost.

When I was a little girl, I wanted to drive an ice-cream van, because I knew how much joy it brought to others. Now that I’m older, I feel like I still want to spread that joy, just not in the form of ice cream (let’s face it,
ice cream brings joy to people regardless, especially Italian gelato . . . but more on that later).

Someone once told me that if you love the job you do, you will never work a day in your life. It might take you a while to find that job, but ultimately you have to love what you’re doing.

I think this is why I’m finding it all so overwhelming.

I know what I love—my camera—and it seems as though my photographs bring people a lot of joy. But how do I turn that into something real?

Right now, it’s like I’m caught in a rip current. My friends are all doing something to further
their
passions, and even though I’m right where I wanted to be—next to Brooklyn Boy—I can’t help but feel like I’m being swept away from my passions and my identity. After speaking with someone very influential this afternoon, my eyes are well and truly opened about the importance of following your own path in life. Yes, people may join you on the path, but you have to remember that it’s yours and it can go in any direction you choose.

Girl Offline . . . never going online xxx

Chapter Thirty-Two

After typing up my post, I lie back down on my bed. I still haven’t heard from Noah since our argument, so I haven’t had a chance to apologize, and I feel like if I check my phone any more than I already have been I’ll start getting blisters. Just as I’m imagining what Elliot would be up to right now back at home, my phone buzzes next to my head. I jump up and grab it like it’s Willy Wonka’s Golden Ticket—a ticket that will entitle me to Noah’s complete forgiveness for my embarrassing outburst, so we can go back to being disgustingly in love.

However, it’s not Noah. It’s a text from Leah.

I smile down at my phone and feel somewhat comforted by Leah’s text, and less alone in this crazy whirlwind. It’s nice to know that I can trust her.

I’ve downloaded the pictures I took onto my computer, and there’s one of Leah that is magical. She looks almost like a Roman sculpture herself; she is that perfect. Even the disguise can’t hide how magnetic and beautiful she looks. I send my favourite to her with a message.

Then there’s a knock at my hotel-room door. Throwing my phone down on my bed, I call out, “I haven’t ordered any room service this evening! Wrong room.”

“I haven’t got any food, sorry.” It’s a voice I know all too well. That husky American drawl with a hint of charm can only belong to one person.

“Noah?” I open the door in surprise and see him standing there, one arm leaning on the door frame. His face is sullen and sad, and he looks more tired than I’ve ever seen him. But when he sees me it raises a small smile on his face, and his eyes light up. He’s wearing a pair of shorts with a long, baggy crochet jumper and his old, beat-up Converse. A beanie pulls his hair back off his face and he has a necklace on that almost reaches his stomach. He looks breathtakingly gorgeous, in his own infuriatingly effortless way.

“Can I come in?” he asks, as he tucks a stray piece of hair into his beanie.

I shrug, and open the door a bit wider. “Yeah, sure.”

He walks into the room and plops himself down on the bed, not caring about putting his dirty Converses on my duvet as he crosses his legs. He begins to speak. “Penny, I—”

“Noah, please. Let me say something first. I’m really sorry. I mean that. I shouldn’t have said the things I said. I was being immature and I know you have bigger fish to fry than to entertain me like I’m your kid sister. I just felt a bit let down, and I know there are better ways to communicate that to you, but it all boiled up and I exploded, and I’m sorry that it was so public, and I’m sorry that it was so awkward, and I’m sorry that—”

“Stop.” Noah places his finger over my lips. “You’re word-vomiting all over the place.” He smiles. “Penny”—now he is holding my hands, and he looks up at me from the bed as I stand in front of him—“I love you. I love you when you’re happy; I love you when you spill smoothie all over me; I love you when you are sad; I love you when you slurp milkshakes; I love you when you eat more pizza than I could ever imagine a human eating; I love you when you fall asleep at eight o’clock; I love you when you’re anxious; I love you when you get so excited about things like you’re a big kid; and I love you when you’re mad.”

I feel a small tear forming in the corner of my right eye, and I try with all my might to hold it in. I’m almost sure it’s twitching at this point.

“I don’t want to argue with you. I want us to be good, you know?”

“Me too. I’m sorry about everything. I—”

“Stop saying sorry! We’re fine,” he interrupts me. “Now,
let’s put all this behind us and move forward. I wish I could stay in and watch a movie with you tonight or go out together, but Dean and I have another meal at a restaurant with a really huge newspaper. I just wanted to drop by before I left to make sure we were OK.”

I nod, and let him pull me into a hug. It’s too short—milliseconds short. Before I know it, he’s pulled away from me. “I also brought this.” He steps back out into the hallway and picks up a large wicker basket. “I know it’s not the same as having me here, but I hope it makes this a tiny bit easier for you—and I know that none of this has been easy.”

I take the basket from him, and set it down on the bed.

“Think of it as a substitute-Noah present,” he says, with a wistful smile. “I better head off and at least try to make myself look presentable for this dinner tonight.” He leans in and kisses me lightly on the lips, then heads out the door.

This is not a view of him I like: his back, as he walks away from me.

I turn to the wicker basket, which is covered with something I recognize: Noah’s favourite hoodie. I immediately slip it on over my T-shirt, lifting the edge of the collar to breathe in the scent of his aftershave.

I roll up the sleeves, which are way too long, and peer into the basket. There’s a DVD in the bottom with the words
WATCH ME
written on it, and an array of delicious-looking pastries filled with fluffy white cream.

I put the DVD straight into the player on the TV in my room, then sit back on the bed.

Immediately an image of Noah pops up on the screen.
He’s wearing the same clothes I saw him in just now, so he must have filmed it today.

“Dear Penny,” on-screen Noah says. “I know I’ve made you angry. I know I’ve made you sad. Those are two emotions I never want you to associate with me. I’m running out of ways to say sorry, but I hope you know how much I mean it.

“Hopefully you are now sitting there wrapped up in my hoodie and about to eat one of those pastries in the box. I asked at reception, and apparently those are called
maritozzi
and they’re the most romantic pastry in Italy.

“Now, I know you’re thinking that this video is
still
no substitute for the real me. And you’re right: it’s not. I wish that I wasn’t talking into a camera right now. I wish I was there with you, taking you on a romantic stroll around Rome . . . but I’m quickly realizing how little I know about life on tour. How little I know about this career I’ve somehow fallen into. I’m basically just a big, ignorant doofus at the moment, and I keep making promises I can’t keep.

“Penny, there are some things I do know. I know that I love making music, and I know that I love you. Those two things have got to be enough to get me through anything.

“And so, just in case you were starting to doubt point number two, I’ve put together this little montage just for you. You’re my Inciting Incident, Penny. But I want you as the leading lady in every scene of my life. I hope this shows you that.”

What follows next brings proper tears to my eyes. It’s a movie montage of some of my favourite moments of our time together: the big orange moon Noah showed me in New York; Christmas morning opening presents on Sadie
Lee’s living-room floor with Bella; my sixteenth birthday at Easter when Noah came with my family to Cornwall; snippets of our Skype conversations that he’s recorded; and footage that I didn’t even realize was being filmed, like me watching Noah onstage for the first time.

The montage is set at first to “Autumn Girl,” but then it morphs into a new version of the song that I’ve never heard before. It’s haunting and beautiful—just Noah’s voice and a guitar, the way I like to hear his voice best. The words plant seeds in my heart that I know will continue to grow as long as my heart is still beating.