Girl Online: On Tour (24 page)

“And, after that, AFTER-PARTAYYYYY!” yells Blake from behind us, completely incongruous in the otherwise grand and peaceful scene.

Noah turns round and high-fives Blake. It’s the night that everyone has been super excited for: the night of the biggest after-party of the tour. It’s taking place at a hot Paris nightclub—one I normally would never be allowed in (not least because I’m underage) but, since it’s a private party, it’s OK. I’ve never been to an after-party before—not unless meeting up with your best friend after the complete disaster of the Year-Eleven ball and then gorging on a month’s worth of pizza can count as one . . .

Noah drops me at my hotel room, then dashes off to the venue—they have only hours before their set begins. I take a deep breath—the hotel room is stunning, with a wide bed that has a burnished-gold headboard and crimson velvet covers. Tall windows open out onto a little balcony, from which I can
just about
see the tip of the Eiffel Tower. It’s perfect.

I’ve got a few hours before I need to leave for the concert, so I take the opportunity to dump the entire contents of my suitcase onto the bed. Tonight is different from any other night, because tonight I’m going to be seen at Noah’s side by a lot of people.

The problem is, I have no idea what to wear to an after-party. And this is not just any old after-party, but the sort of after-party where everyone cool will be: all the guys from The Sketch, their girlfriends (undercover or not) and
their management, Leah Brown and her entourage, Noah and the rest of the guys from his band, and every single crew member who is on the tour. There will probably be paparazzi and media lining the streets—not to mention all the fans.

I stare at myself in the full-length mirror, its ornate gilded frame perfectly matching the gold headboard of the bed. It’s the type of mirror I could imagine Marie Antoinette staring into—but, unlike her, I hope this isn’t the night before
my
execution. In my mum’s big cardie and leggings, I feel anything but Parisian chic. To be honest, none of my clothes feel right. This is not the time to be wearing a tea dress. Everything I own feels very young and very uncool.

I know that Noah loves me no matter what, but tonight I don’t want to feel like the sixteen-year-old girl who probably shouldn’t be in cool bars with her famous boyfriend. I want to feel sexy and chic. Maybe makeup can solve all, but I’ve never exactly been a whiz with it like Megan and some of my friends are.

I grab my makeup bag out of the suitcase and sit down cross-legged in front of the big mirror. I take out my black eyeliner and smudge a little more round my eyes and attempt to add some false lashes. After wrangling with both sets of eyelashes for a good twenty minutes, I finally give up and try to apply more eyeliner to even everything out. I’m not sure that it works.

Next, I know I have to tackle my pale complexion. I’m starting to think I look slightly more gothic than I was hoping for. What would a makeup artist like Kendra say? Would she tell me to add a bit of bronzer? Would she recommend a red lipstick? Or avoid red lipstick with lots of eyeliner? It’s
times like these I could actually do with having Megan here, and I
never
thought that wish would
ever
cross my mind. Then someone else pops into my head.

“Hi, Leah. It’s Penny . . . Um, I’m just doing my makeup, and I wondered . . . do I go with an orangey-red lipstick with a smoky eye, or more of a pink red—”

I don’t get any further before Leah interrupts.

“PUT DOWN THE LIPSTICK, HON. What room are you in? I’m on my way.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Rushing around Paris with Leah Brown in a chauffeur-driven car is up there with my highlights from this tour so far. After ripping my poor attempt at false lashes off my eyes and removing my thick layer of black eyeliner, Leah insists on taking me out to help me get ready. Our first stop is makeup superstore Sephora, where she hands me product after product that I then stack neatly in my basket.

“Leah, I don’t know what to do with half this stuff. I mean, I think I can guess . . .” I turn over a pack of copper transfer tattoos and it suddenly dawns on me that I really have no clue at all. “When did transfer tattoos come back into fashion, and where do they go?”

Leah snatches the pack off me and places it back in the basket. “Penny, you aren’t going to be putting this on by yourself. I’m going to get my makeup artists and hair stylist to come and help you. And these tattoos have been the in thing for a while now, Pen. Don’t you read
Glamour  
?” As we walk around the store, I try to avoid noticing that everyone else is noticing
us
—or, rather, noticing Leah. I think there’s a
crowd gathering outside the windows, and I notice that the shop assistants have moved to the entrance to stop anyone else from coming in.

“Well, obviously, I love
Glamour
. It’s my favourite.” I smile weakly and pray she can’t sense my lies through my wonky voice.

“Oh, thank goodness, you almost had me fooled there.” She laughs and gives me a friendly nudge, while adding something called “bronzing dry oil” to the basket.

Once the basket is almost overflowing with beauty products I didn’t even know existed, Leah takes it to the checkout, where the girl behind the counter starts beeping it all through. It comes to well over a thousand euros and my chin almost hits the floor.

“Leah, thank you so much for helping me, but I can’t afford all this . . .” I go to take the products and put them back on the shelves, but Leah grabs my arm.

“You British are always so polite. It’s cute.” She hands over a black credit card and the sales assistant swipes it through her machine.

“Thanks so much,” Leah says, grabbing everything, which is now packed in two huge paper bags tied up with black-and-white string.

“
Bonne journée
. I love your music, by the way,” the girl says in an amazing French accent.

I definitely wish I sounded that sexy. Maybe I should work on my accent and bowl Noah over? I attempt an
Au revoir
, but the shop assistant gives me a strange look that I think means I should never attempt to speak French again.

We hop back into the car and Leah instructs the driver
where to go next. He turns onto a wide boulevard lined with shops bearing designer names I’ve only ever seen in Mum’s fashion magazines. Each store seems to be attempting to outdo the one next to it with fancy window displays, mannequins contorted at different angles, and explosions of brightly coloured flowers everywhere. I swear I see a dress made entirely out of baked goods. Judging by the women I see walking in and out of the shops, though, that is probably the closest they come to a cupcake.

As we slow to a stop outside one of the fancy stores, I realize Leah’s about to spend a whole lot more money on me and I can’t help but feel awkward. “Leah, this is too nice of you. I wish there was a way I could pay you back.”

She puts her hand on mine. “Penny, please just let me do this. I like being able to do it—I don’t get a lot of time to go out shopping with my friends, and I needed a spree anyway. What better way than to do it with you, for you? I have everything I need and more, so shut up and enjoy this.” She opens the car door, grabs my hand, and pulls me out onto the pavement.

We run into the nearest shop, and I glance down the street to see a crowd of paparazzi storming our way. Once we’re inside the safety of the store, the bright flashes of camera bulbs illuminate the front window.

“Wow, Leah, no wonder you sometimes go around in disguise!” I say.

“Tell me about it,” she says, rolling her eyes. She walks straight over to the racks and starts pulling out dresses for me, bundling them into my arms. I end up trying on dresses that are more expensive than some of the entire wedding
budgets Mum has had to work with. I hobble out of the fitting room in a hot-pink cocktail dress and snakeskin stilettos that are way too high—I feel like a strong wind would knock me over.

“I’m not sure. I feel silly.” I look down at my hips and skinny ankles and grimace.

“Penny, you have a body to die for,” says Leah. “You have curves in all the right places. EMBRACE THEM.”

“It’s not my body I’m worried about. In these heels, I’m a liability to everyone else!”

“
Mademoiselle?
Perhaps you wish to try on something
un peu plus élégant  
?” The small Parisian man who runs the store is dressed head to toe like he is about to meet the Queen. “Something more . . . sophisticated?” He hands me a little black satin sleeveless dress that has a big satin bow at the waist and a lace insert across the entire back and along the bottom.

I feel as though this man is handing me a newborn baby. I don’t know how to hold the dress, how to feel about it, how it will look, but I take it into the fitting room with me. After struggling for a while with the whole stick-on-bra malarkey, I finally walk out of the fitting room. I’m met with stunned silence and then a flurry of applause. Even Callum, Leah’s bodyguard, is clapping wildly.

“Oh, Penny, you look absolutely beautiful! You really can never go wrong with an LBD.”

I put on a pair of slightly lower black stilettos (four inches high as opposed to six), then stare at myself in the mirror—and not in complete horror, for a change. I’ve never been glamorous in my life. Even when I’ve dressed up for weddings or
end-of-year balls, I normally go for vintage-quirky over sophisticated and cool. But standing here in this shop, looking at myself in this outfit, I feel like a grown-up for the first time. In this dress, I look like I belong on Noah’s arm.

“
Mon Dieu!
” exclaims Leah in unsurprisingly perfect French. She’s staring down at her watch in horror. “Look at the time! I have to be back at the venue or my manager will have my head. Jacques, will you have the dress steamed and sent to the hotel ready for this evening? Penny, how many times have you seen the concert?”

“Oh, like four times now, I guess.”

“Well, if you can stand to miss one night, do it. Let my makeup and hair people work their magic on you, then put on this dress, and I’ll come and get you after the show so we can go to the after-party together. You’ll knock ’em dead.”

I can’t help myself: I launch a full-blown hug at Leah, throwing my arms round her neck. “Thank you so, so much!”

“Aw, honey, you are so welcome! Now, watch the dress. I don’t want
anything
to happen to it, or you, before tonight. And that’s not a request—it’s an order!”

Chapter Thirty-Six