Girl Online: On Tour (3 page)

“Of course. I have something that would go with your
Great Gatsby
vibe over here.” Alex walked across to another rail in the store.

“Did you know F. Scott Fitzgerald’s wife wouldn’t marry him until he had a book deal?” said Elliot, following Alex.

“I didn’t, but I did know that he was really bad at spelling,” replied Alex, without missing a beat.

I watched as the two of them walked away, swapping facts about an author I had yet to read (and I hadn’t seen the movie of the book either). It was like they’d known each other their whole lives. I knew then that I needed to leave Elliot to it. I didn’t want to cramp his style.

But, in true Penny fashion, I backed up straight into a coat stand, knocking a pile of vintage fur coats and stoles onto the floor. I blushed bright red and started picking up furs and heavy coats, but it was all a tangled mess. Trust me to have ruined Elliot’s moment.

Alex and Elliot were by my side in a flash. “I’ll clear this up—don’t worry,” said Alex.

“I’ll help,” said Elliot. They both reached down and each picked up one end of the same long fur stole, pulling at it until their hands touched. I could almost feel the spark
of electricity in the air. It was their
Lady and the Tramp
spaghetti-and-meatballs moment—a film I
had
seen, loads of times, as a kid. I mumbled some excuses and attempted to sneak out of the store once more, but this time neither of them noticed. They’ve been an item ever since. And I like to think that my clumsiness helped
just
a bit.

Now Alexiot have to help me answer the ultimate question: What do you wear to see your boyfriend in real life for the first time in two months? We rush up the stairs to the top floor, where my bedroom is. Alex takes the steps two at a time with his long legs. He’s much taller than both Elliot and me.

“Uh, Penny—aren’t you supposed to be leaving for the tour tomorrow?” Alex asks when he gets to the top of the stairs and stands in the doorway of my room.

“What do you mean?”

But I know exactly what he means. It’s like there’s been a tornado in my bedroom. Every item of clothing I’ve ever worn—every scarf, belt, and hat—is in a heap on my bed. Stacks of revision notes are piled high on my desk and there are scraps of cardboard discarded on the floor from where I put together my final photography portfolio.

The only place that’s clear in my entire room is the window seat, where I’ve tacked up a cutting from a celeb magazine with a picture of Noah and me, his arm wrapped round my shoulders. The caption reads:
Noah Flynn and his girlfriend
. It’s the first time I’ve been in a magazine and, even though my hair looks like a mess, I kept it as a memento. There’s also a calendar that’s nearly completely covered in gold stars, and today’s date is circled in red.

Elliot tiptoes through the rubble. “Holy wow. Ocean Strong does not know how to pack.”

“Ocean Strong” was the name Elliot and I had come up with for my alter ego, the one I channelled whenever I was feeling anxious, like how Beyoncé used to use “Sasha Fierce” as a protective presence onstage. Beyoncé doesn’t need Sasha anymore, and one day I hope not to need Ocean Strong. But, for now, I cling to the name like a life jacket that will keep me afloat on the stormy seas of my anxiety.

I gesture to my bed. “Um, take a seat, I guess.” I perch on top of a pile of jumpers on my dressing-table chair.

“I’m kind of worried that you’re hiding Megan’s dead body under here somewhere,” says Elliot, wrinkling his nose.

I stick my tongue out at him. “As if.”

Megan was my best friend when I first started school—but she changed, morphing into this high-maintenance, boy-crazy, selfie-obsessed girl that I no longer recognized. Last year she became jealous about my so-called relationship with Ollie—a guy I had a huge crush on before I met Noah. Nothing had happened between us, but even the hint of it seemed to be enough to drive Megan wild with jealousy. It was Ollie who found out about my then-anonymous blog and recognized Noah Flynn, and he told Megan. In turn, Megan put two and two together and told the media, exposing me to the press and the public.

Still, I got my own back when Elliot and I confronted Megan and Ollie in a café, ending up with our milkshakes being dumped over their heads. I haven’t had much to do with Megan since Milkshakegate. News of the incident—still
my single greatest moment of stand-up-for-myself bravery—spread around our school like wildfire.

But girls like Megan never stay uncool for long. It’s as though her inner confidence always shines through and bad or embarrassing stuff slides off her like water off a duck’s back. She even makes jokes about how ice cream is the key to her milky complexion. And now she’s got an acceptance letter from the top drama school in London. She’s back to being untouchable and on top of the world.

Even Ollie is leaving our school. His whole family decided to relocate to help his brother take his tennis to the next level. I feel bad for him. Even after what he did to me I don’t believe he’s a bad guy. And now he’s trapped in his brother’s shadow. My two “nemeses” gone like that. The only challenge I have left to overcome is myself.

Elliot claps his hands together. He’s in full-blown Monica-from-
Friends
organizer mode now. “OK, where’s your suitcase?”

“Uh, I think Alex is sitting on it.”

Alex jumps up and shifts a pile of clothes from underneath him. The sides of my bright pink suitcase finally become visible underneath the wreckage of my belongings.

“How long are you going away, again?” Alex says, appraising the bulging nature of my suitcase.

“She’s gone for fourteen days, three hours, and twenty-one minutes,” says Elliot. “I’m going to count every second!”

“I think my parents are too,” I say with a sheepish grin.

“Did it take them a lot of time to come around to the idea?” asks Alex.

“Oh, only the two months since Noah suggested it at Easter! To be honest I wasn’t sure if I could do it either.”
Going on tour with Noah was a huge deal. It was the first time I was really, properly, going to go away on my own. And, even though every detail had been raked over with a fine-toothed comb, I was still nervous about going.

“Of course you can. This is going to be an incredible experience and I am
so
jealous. Now, Penny, unzip and show us what you have.”

I follow his instructions and cringe at the first thing in my case. Elliot reaches inside and pulls out the biggest woollen cardigan you’ve ever seen, with wide, comfy sleeves I can wrap round myself almost twice. It belongs to my mum, who wore it—as she says—
only
when she was pregnant, and not before or since.

Elliot takes it out and holds it in front of him. It hangs down past his knees. “You do know it’s going to be the height of summer while you’re on tour, right? Why do you need to bring an entire flock of sheep with you?”

I snatch it out of his hands. “It’s my comfort sweater.” I hug it to my face and breathe in the scent of my mum’s signature perfume. It smells like home. “It’s to help with my anxiety. Miss Mills said that if I was worried about being anxious and homesick on tour I should bring with me the one thing that will always make me feel safe. That will remind me of home. Packing my entire duvet didn’t seem like the most practical option, so the second choice was this cardie.”

He takes it from me, folding it up neatly and putting it back in my suitcase. “OK, you can have that one. But this you can’t have!” He pulls out a baby-pink button-down with ruched fabric roses on the pockets. “You’re going to be on
tour
, not heading to afternoon tea with your nan!”

“OK, that one can go.” I laugh. “I’m no good at this!”

Elliot dramatically rubs his temples. “Sometimes I think you’re a lost cause, Penny! We’ll have to deal with this later. But back to business: What are you going to wear
tonight  
?”

Now it’s my turn to be dramatic. “I’ve literally tried on everything I own! I can’t find a single thing. Do you think I can get away with just throwing a black tank top on with my jeans?”

Elliot pulls a disapproving face. “No way. That’s not nearly dressy enough.”

“How about this?” Alex holds up a black skater dress I forgot I owned. It’s got a little daisy print on it in white and yellow. I bought it from ASOS one day while I was supposed to be revising with Kira and Amara but have never worn it.

“That is just perfect!” says Elliot. “My boyfriend, ladies and gentlemen: stylist extraordinaire.”

Alex shrugs. “Hey, you work in retail long enough, you pick up a few pointers.”

I take the dress from Alex’s outstretched hands and nip into the bathroom. I change into the skater dress, and face myself in the mirror.

I can’t believe I’m finally getting to see Noah in concert. It feels like I’ve been both waiting for and dreading this moment ever since he got the call that he was going to be supporting The Sketch on tour. I pull my long red hair out of its bun, and it falls in waves around my face. Mum has shown me a little trick with eyeliner, which I try now, flicking the line up past the outer corner of my eye. Instantly my eyes look more alluring and catlike. Maybe I can pull this off. My new tagline:
Girlfriend of Noah Flynn.

I think I’m going mad as the first few beats of Noah’s album start playing in my head, but when I open the bathroom door I realize that Elliot and Alex are playing “Elements,” one of the eight songs on
Autumn Girl
. Each song Noah has written is better than the last—but the title track, “Autumn Girl,” which was written for me, is still my favourite, of course.

Alexiot have linked hands, and Elliot leans his head on Alex’s shoulder. They’re just way too adorable and I don’t want to intrude. But Elliot must hear me because he looks over his shoulder at me. His jaw drops. “You’re
killing
it, Ocean Strong!”

“Why, thanks,” I say, doing a little curtsey.

“All right, kids—let’s blow this popsicle stand,” says Elliot in a low drawl.

Both Alex and I look at him, frowning.

“What, don’t you like my new Americanisms? I thought I’d practise before seeing Noah again. Now, accessories.” He pushes a handful of bangles onto my wrist and puts a long, dangling necklace round my neck. He smiles at me. “You just need your Converse, and then you’re ready.”

I look in the full-length mirror.

“You look great, Pen. That outfit is perfect,” says Elliot. “Leah Brown, you may be the hottest pop star on the planet but you’ve got nothing on my girl.”

I allow myself to smile, and tell myself I look good. And I do. I feel confident. But I still pick up a jacket to go over top. Elliot grimaces.

“What?” I say. “It might be cold in the restaurant.”

“Speaking of, we better get a move on!” Elliot looks down at his watch.

“Tom!” I yell down the stairs to my brother. “Will you drive us?”

I hear a grunt in response that I’m going to take as a “yes.”

But, when we get outside, Alex doesn’t join us in the car. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Sorry, guys, I have to head home to do something first. I’ll meet you at the concert, OK?”

Elliot’s happy mood deflates, his shoulders slumping.

“Are you sure?” I say. “I know it must be really boring to have to hang out with a bunch of Year Elevens but most of them are all right.”

“It’s not that,” he says. “I just have stuff to do.”

“Oh, OK.”

He leans over and gives Elliot a quick kiss, but Elliot’s heart isn’t in it. Then, once Alex is gone, he shrugs his shoulders and is instantly back to his normal self. “Let’s go!”

•  •  •

A few minutes later, we pull up in front of GBK, courtesy of chauffeur Tom. Elliot jumps out of the car, but just as I’m about to follow him Tom reaches over and grabs my arm. “If you get into trouble, or need any help, call me straightaway, got it, Pen-pen?”

I pull him into a hug, which he accepts with stiff shoulders. But I know he loves me really.

On a Friday night, Brighton is packed with commuters returning from work in London and revellers heading for a night out. There’s a boy who looks younger than me playing guitar on the pavement. He sings softly, but he has an amazing voice. No one else stops to look—not even Elliot, who is so wrapped up in his own world he could walk past the
London Symphony Orchestra and not notice—but I find myself lingering. I’m rooted to the spot by the boy’s beautiful music.

“May I take a picture?” I ask him when he strums a final chord.

“Sure,” he says. I snap a few shots, and then take a pound out of my purse and put it in his guitar case. He grins gratefully at me and I make a dash for the restaurant as the heavens open and it starts to pour with rain. Typical British summer.

Inside, everyone is waiting. Elliot rushes up to me and pulls me to a stop. “Don’t freak out,” he says.

“What do you mean?” I frown. But then he steps to one side.

Megan is standing behind him.

And she’s wearing the exact same dress as me.

Chapter Three