Girl Online (33 page)

I spend the next few hours lying curled up in my bed. Unable
to move. Unable to do anything apart from cry into my pillow. Thankfully, Mum and Dad think I’m sleeping off my jet lag so they’ve left me alone.

Finally, when the day has turned to night and my room is back in darkness, I feel able to face the world again. Well, my bedroom at least. I peel back the duvet and stare out into the darkness. The fact is, much as I might want to, I’m not going to be able to stay in my bed forever. I’ve got to face up to what’s happened. I turn on my phone and the text alert immediately goes off. A text from Noah. I feel a chill run through my body.

Hey, Inciting Incident, wassup? I miss you. Bella misses you. Sadie Lee misses you. Let me know when you’re awake and you feel like skyping

I stare at the text in disbelief. How has he got the nerve to be so blasé about it all? How can he send me messages like that when he has a girlfriend? But I have no energy left to get angry. I feel totally drained. Shaking and crying, I start writing a reply.

I don’t think this is going to work out and I think it’s probably best if we don’t contact each other again. Sorry

I frown at the text. Why have I written “sorry”? Why the hell should I be apologizing to him?! I delete the word “sorry” and send the text before I have time for any second thoughts. Then I turn the phone straight off again and get back into bed.

As I burrow down under the duvet, I remember what Bella said to me the time she caught me crying over Elliot. Whenever you’re sad, you should think of three happy things to chase the sadness away. I rack my brains. In the end, all I can think of is my blog. Right now, it’s the only thing that makes me feel remotely happy. At least on my blog I have people who understand me. At least on my blog I can totally be myself and everyone loves and supports me. I feel a tiny glimmer of hope. In the morning I’ll blog about what’s happened. I won’t go into the details but I’ll tell them that Brooklyn Boy turned out to be a total sham. My readers will know what to do and what to say. They’ll help me get over this. They have to.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

When I wake up, it’s still dark and I feel disoriented. What time is it? What day is it? What country am I in? And then a horrible nauseous feeling churns in my stomach. Something really bad has happened but I can’t remember what.

The sick feeling reaches the tips of my limbs as I remember: Noah. I close my eyes tight and will myself to go back to sleep just so I can forget about it again. But it’s no good. Horrible memories crowd into my mind. Noah lied to me. About everything. He’s a professional musician. He has a record deal. And a girlfriend. A girlfriend who used to have pride of place on my brother’s wall—not literally, of course, that would be really weird, but in poster form.

It all feels so strange and unreal. I’m just a schoolgirl from Brighton. The closest I’ve ever come to a celebrity was the time Elliot and I walked past Fatboy Slim in Snooper’s Paradise and I sneezed and my chewing gum flew out of my mouth and landed on his coat. I do not get romantically involved with American YouTube sensations who also happen to be going out with Leah Brown. How has this even happened to me?

I sit bolt upright and stare into the darkness. Was nothing real? Had Noah just been using me? Was I just some entertainment for him while Leah Brown was out of town? It doesn’t make sense. Either he has to be the world’s worst liar or there’s some kind of explanation. Then I remember the text I sent him. How will he have responded? I fumble around for my phone and turn it on. Both my text alert and email notification go off. I think of the happy-new-year blog post I wrote and I cringe. Then I think of having to tell my readers that Brooklyn Boy was a big old con artist and I cringe some more.

I take a deep breath and click on my text messages. Two from Noah. The first one was sent right after I sent mine telling him I didn’t want any more contact with him.

What the hell? This is a joke, right? Call me! I can’t get through to your phone

The second text was sent at 5:30 a.m.—I check the clock on my phone—less than an hour ago.

I hope whatever they paid you was worth it. Damn right there’ll be no more contact. I’ve changed my number and email address. I never want to hear from you again. I trusted you

What the hell?! I click out of the message and back in again, to make sure I wasn’t seeing things, but it’s right there in front of me. Why is
he
so mad at me? And what does he mean,
he
trusted me? I’m not the one who’s been lying. I’m not the one with a girlfriend. Too angry to think straight, I start typing a reply.

YOU trusted me?! What about my trust? How could you have lied to me like that? How could you have thought I wouldn’t find out? Didn’t you care?

Adrenaline courses through my veins as I click send. Almost immediately the text notification goes off. Message failed. I look back at his text. He must have changed his number already. He’s cut me off completely. But why . . . ? And then I get it. He realized I’d discovered his lies and he’s gone on the defensive. Wow! I sit back on my bed, stunned at how wrong I’d been about him. He’s probably worried that Leah Brown might find out. Like I’m going to call her and say, “Hey, Leah, you don’t know me—in fact, I’m just some random schoolgirl from Brighton—but while you were spending Christmas in LA I was busy falling in love with your boyfriend in New York.”

My anger and indignation fade into sorrow. How has this even happened? How can the Noah and I who saw in the new year together in that magical tent now be so completely cut off from each other? I feel a weird stabbing ache inside my rib cage, like my heart has just been torn in two.

Hoping for a distraction from the tears welling in my eyes, I click into my email account. I have 237 new messages. I feel a tiny shot of happiness. People must have been posting their new year’s resolutions on my blog. But when I go to my inbox I see that at least half of them are Twitter notifications. I immediately feel uneasy. I only opened a Twitter account to share my blog posts and follow a few of my favorite photographers and other bloggers. I never get this many notifications. I click on one out of curiosity.

@girlonline22 you make me sick

What?! I click on another one.

@noahflynn cheats on @leahbrown with UK blogger @girlonline22. WTF?!!

Panic starts rising inside of me. Who are these people? Why are they saying these things? How do they know?

I go straight to my Twitter account and start scrolling through the notifications. There are a few from regular readers of my blog all saying things like: “Is it true? Is Brooklyn Boy Noah Flynn?” And a few saying, “Who is Noah Flynn?” But the rest are from total strangers and they’re horrible.

omg, like @leahbrown has anything to worry about? @girlonline22 is an ugly dog

Trying to get your 5 minutes of fame @girlonline22?

I hate people who kiss and tell @girlonline22 #noclass

On and on they go. Finally, I get to a tweet from the American gossip site
Celeb Watch
.

While the cat’s away: Noah Flynn has fling with UK blogger @girlonline22 while Leah Brown is out of town

I click on the link to their website and read the article in horror.

CELEB WATCH
EXCLUSIVE!

While Leah Brown spent Christmas in LA with her folks it looks like her new love interest Noah Flynn found someone else to smooch beneath the mistletoe—UK blogger Penny Porter, better known as Girl Online.

I stare at the screen in horror. They know my name. How do they know my name?

Giving him the pet name Brooklyn Boy, Penny has been blogging all about her time with Noah, not caring at all that he’s currently in a relationship with Leah Brown. I guess some folk will do anything for their moment in the spotlight. Well, we wouldn’t like to be in Noah’s shoes when Leah gets back in town!

There are fifty-six comments beneath the post. I scroll down to the first one.

What a skank!

Someone has replied to it.

I don’t think she’s in it for the money. I think she sounds kinda sweet. He’s the skank, cheating on his girlfriend while she’s out of town.

Yeah but she must have known he had a girlfriend

How do they know what I sound like? I look back up at the article and see that they’ve linked to my blog. I click on the link and it takes me to the first post I wrote about Noah. I cringe as I reread my words, now knowing the truth. I look down at the most recent comments.

Yeah, but Prince Charming wasn’t a cheater and Cinderella wasn’t a ho.

Numb with dread, I scroll down and read more of the same. Then a couple of my regular readers posting “Is this true?” And finally, at the bottom of the feed, there’s a post from Pegasus Girl.

Dear Penny,

I know you probably don’t care what I think but I had to say something. The reason my parents’ marriage broke up and my mum started drinking was because my dad went off with another woman. I was so happy that you’d found someone and fallen in love but getting involved with someone else’s boyfriend isn’t good. It causes so much pain. Sorry, I know it’s none of my business but I feel so strongly about this subject I couldn’t not say anything.

I don’t think I can read your blog anymore.

Pegasus Girl

My email notification goes off again. Five more messages telling me that total strangers have mentioned me on Twitter. I click on one and see the word “hate” and quickly click out again.

I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at my phone in terror.
I picture people all over the world reading about me, posting hate-filled messages about me. People I don’t know. People who’ve never even met me. But they know who I am. They know my name. And they know my blog. What if they find out where I live? What if they come to this house? My body starts shaking and tears start streaming down my face. What am I going to do? I have to go back to school tomorrow. How will I face everyone?

My throat tightens. I can’t swallow. I can’t breathe. I feel as if I’m shrinking. Tinier and tinier. I need help. I need someone to help me. But I can’t move. My limbs feel as heavy as stone. I look at the door. It seems so far away. So unreachable. What am I going to do? I picture a mob of people marching down the road to my house. Setting up camp on the driveway. Throwing stones up at my window. Waving placards filled with abuse. I have nowhere I can feel safe anymore. My readers will all hate me. Everyone will hate me. Tears are pouring down my face now. I’ve never felt so frightened or so completely and utterly alone. Pressure keeps building in my head, like it’s being clamped in a vise. I can’t swallow. I can’t see. I can’t breathe.

Chapter Thirty-Nine