Girl Online (6 page)

If there’s anything guaranteed to wipe the probably-just-been-asked-out-on-a-date smile off your face, it’s the sight of one of your best friends sitting on your bed, staring sullenly into space like she’s about to keel over and die from boredom. Since Megan got here, twenty minutes ago—or it could be twenty days, it feels that long—everything I’ve suggested we do has been greeted with a bored shrug or a tight-lipped “no thanks.” What was the point in her coming over if she’s just going to sit and sulk all night? And then I get it. This must be my punishment for what happened at JB’s last night. She obviously still hasn’t forgiven me for breaking her fingernail. I internally groan. What was I thinking, asking her over? How could I have possibly imagined it would be like our sleepovers used to be?

Megan and I have been friends since our first day at secondary school, when our teacher sat us next to each other. I’ll be honest: at first this friendship was formed out of fear. I’d spent the entire summer holiday worrying that no one would want to be my friend and I’d be destined to spend SEVEN
YEARS drifting from classroom to classroom alone. But it wasn’t long before our friendship changed from desperate to genuine and all of my fears faded away.

My favorite memory of me and Megan was when we were twelve and my dog Milo had just died. (Milo dying is not my favorite part—obviously—that was one of the worst things that
ever
happened to me.) But, when she found out, Megan came around to my house with a little goody bag of gifts, including a poem she’d written about Milo called “Cutie Paws” and a framed photo of me chasing him around the park. That’s how she used to be—kind and caring. But then she got into acting and it totally changed her—especially when she got her first TV role. Megan calls it a TV role but actually it was for a TV advert for GlueStick. She had to stick two pieces of card together and smile at the camera and say, “Wow, it’s so sticky!” She was only on-screen for about five seconds but the way Megan talks about it, it’s as if she’d been cast in the lead role of a movie. And ever since then it’s like she thinks she’s better than everyone else. Including me. Now, every time I’m with her I feel as if I’m being interviewed for the job of best friend and I spend the whole time dreading I’m going to say or do the wrong thing. Like right now.

“So . . .” I say. “What would you like to do?”

“Dunno.” Megan looks around the room and her gaze comes to a rest on one of the photos on my wall. “Oh my God! Why have you taken a photo of a stone?”

I get a weird squirmy feeling in the pit of my stomach. The photo is of a snowy-white stone with three holes in it.
According to Elliot, stones with holes in them always used to be considered lucky charms. “It’s a lucky stone,” I say.

“Why’s it lucky?” Megan stares scornfully at the picture.

“Because it has holes in it. Fishermen always used to take them on their boats with them, to keep them safe.”

Megan smiles a tight little smile. “You’re so quirky, Penny!”

Usually, I like the word “quirky.” But whenever Megan says it about me it sounds like the worst thing in the world and it makes me want to punch her. I hug a cushion to me and sigh. I can’t face an entire night like this. I have to do something to rescue the situation.

“Do you want to do face masks?” I ask hopefully. “I’ve got a couple of those strawberry peel-off ones we used to use.”

Megan shakes her head. “No thanks.”

I glance at the wall and wonder if Elliot is sitting on his bed too. It feels horrible thinking that he might just be a couple of feet away from me and yet I’m trapped here—unable to see or talk to him—in this Sleepover from Hell.

I’m about to ask Megan what she’d like to do again when she kicks off her shoes and wriggles back on the bed.

“What was up with you yesterday in the diner?” she asks, staring pointedly at her missing false nail. “Why did you act so weird?”

I think about coming up with an excuse. Then I remember my last blog post and how good it felt to open up about my panic attacks. I haven’t mentioned them at all to Megan. But maybe it will make things a bit easier between us if I’m honest.

I take a deep breath. “You know I was in that car accident with my parents a while ago?”

Megan looks at me blankly for a second. “Oh, yeah.”

“Well, ever since then, I’ve been getting these weird panic attacks and I feel just like I did when I was trapped in the car. Like I get all kinds of hot and feel as if I can’t breathe and—”

“Oh my God, do not talk to me about getting panicked!” Megan interrupts. “I can’t believe there’s only two days till the school play. I am so scared I’m going to mess up.”

“You won’t mess up. You’re the best one in it.”

“Really?” She looks at me, widening her chocolatey-brown eyes. “It’s just so much pressure, though, knowing that the success of the show is riding on my shoulders. Jeff said that I remind him of a young Angelina Jolie, which is, like, super-cute of him but it just makes the pressure even worse.”

“Right. Well, I’m sure you’ll be fine.” I feel a sour mixture of anger and hurt. Yet again, she has turned the conversation back on herself—even when I was trying to tell her something private and serious.

“I’m so glad I have such great chemistry with Ollie,” Megan continues. “Jeff says we’re like Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt in that movie they did together—you know, when they first fell in love.” Megan looks at me and gives me another of her tight little smiles. “Ollie tells me everything, you know.”

I feel a bit sick. “Oh, so you—you know about tomorrow then?”

She frowns. “What about tomorrow?”

My face instantly flushes. “He’s asked me to meet him for lunch.”

It’s almost as if I can see the cogs in her brain whirring as she processes this information. Clearly she didn’t know. Clearly Ollie doesn’t tell her everything after all.

“He’s asked to meet you? Where?” She’s still smiling but it’s so forced it looks as if her jaw might crack from the strain.

“At Lucky Beach around midday.”

“What? Just you?”

There’s something about her shocked expression and the way she says “just you” that makes me really mad. I know that Ollie is way out of my league in the stupid School Leagues of Attractiveness and General Greatness but if a boy has asked you out for lunch, shouldn’t your friend be happy for you instead of gaping at you like a goldfish? Unless . . .

“Do you like Ollie?” The question pops out before I have time to censor it.

Megan looks at me coldly. “Of course I like Ollie.”

“No, I mean,
like
like?”

Megan throws back her head and gives a fake little laugh. “No, of course not. He’s way too young for me.”

I stare at her and all I can think is,
Who are you?
Megan might have been one of my closest friends for six years but right now it’s like I don’t know her at all.

Chapter Six

If
The Guinness Book of Records
ever wants to feature the World’s Worst Ever Sleepover they need to get in touch with me. Seriously. I wake up while it’s still dark—never good on a Sunday—and lie there sending psychic messages to Elliot through the bedroom wall. When we were little, we used to try to have the same dream when we went to sleep. We thought that because we slept right next door to each other it would be possible, like we could float up into one giant dream bubble hovering over our houses.
I’ve had the worst night ever
, I try telling him.

Megan is still fast asleep on the other side of the room on the sofa bed. As I look at her, a new blog title composes itself in my head—C
AN
Y
OU
O
UTGROW
Y
OUR
B
EST
F
RIEND
?—and all of my hurt and anger at Megan starts welling up inside of me, dying to spill out. It’s so frustrating when this happens and I’m not able to actually write anything. Once, in the middle of a math exam, I got this awesome idea for a blog—at the time I was certain it would be the funniest, most interesting blog I’d ever written. I’d come up with a really
clever title and everything. But then I got lost in a sea of algebra and when I came out of the exam the only letters I could think of were
x
and
y
. I still can’t remember what that blog post was supposed to be about.

Scared of losing my current idea, I take my phone from my bedside table and burrow under my duvet. I’d put my phone on silent when we went to sleep last night—at eleven thirty!!! Now I see that Elliot sent me a text at just gone midnight.

How’s it going with Mega-Boring? Are you missing me?! My project is making me want to poke my eyes out with a pencil. I mean, seriously, who needs to know about the Corn Laws? Why does corn even need a law?!

I start typing a reply.

Worst sleepover EVER! So bad I was already asleep when you sent your text!!! I think there needs to be a Corn Law and the law should be that hot buttery corn on the cob should be served with every meal. I MISS YOU SO MUCH!!!

Almost as soon as I’ve sent the text I hear a faint knocking on the wall. One knock, followed by four, followed by three:
I—love—you
. I’m about to knock back when I hear Megan groan.

“What’s that knocking noise?”

“I don’t know,” I lie.

“Is it that boy next door?”

Megan has met Elliot loads of times; there’s no way she doesn’t know his name. This fact makes me hate her even more.

“I don’t know why you hang out with him,” she continues. “He’s so weird.”

I lie on top of my arms to stop myself from leaping out of the bed and bashing her over the head with a pillow.

“Could I have some coffee?” she asks.

“Yep.” Even though she just insulted my best friend and even though she totally ruined last night and even though I want to kill her with a pillow, I’m so grateful for an excuse to get away from her for a few minutes that I leap out of bed and pull on my dressing gown.

•  •  •

Down in the kitchen, I find Dad sitting at the table, drinking a mug of tea and reading the paper. He’s an early bird just like me. His hair is still ruffled from sleeping and his chin is covered with a grey shadow of stubble.

“Hey,” he says when he sees me. “How’s the sleepover going?”

I look at him and raise my eyebrows.

“That good, huh?”

I nod, then go and turn the kettle on. A few weeks ago, when we were making a spag bol together, I told Dad that Megan and I hadn’t been getting on very well.

“Dad?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think that it’s possible to outgrow a friend?”

He smiles and nods. “Oh yes. It happens all the time, especially at your age when you’re changing so much.” He gestures at me to sit down next to him. “Did I ever tell you about Timothy Taylor?”

I shake my head.

“He was my best friend all through junior school. We were as thick as thieves. But then, when we got to secondary school, he really changed and I just didn’t want to hang out with him.”

“Why? What did he do?”

“He started playing rugby!” Dad chortles. Dad is a total football nut and can’t understand people who prefer rugby. “But seriously,” he continues, “it wasn’t just that. He started getting really full of himself too. I didn’t have anything in common with him anymore.”

“So what happened? Did you fall out?”

“Nah. Just drifted apart really. And we both found other friends we had more in common with. So don’t worry about Her Ladyship.” He nods toward upstairs. “You’ll be fine—sometimes you just have to let people go.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I get up and kiss him on top of his head.

“No problem.” He laughs. “Who knew I could be so wise so early—and on so little caffeine!”

When I get back to my bedroom, Megan is up and fully dressed. I internally cheer—hopefully this means she’ll be going soon.

“Here’s your coffee.” I pass her the mug. She takes it but
doesn’t say thanks. Instead she says, “So, what are you going to wear for your lunch with Ollie?”

I look at her blankly. In all of the stress of the Sleepover from Hell I hadn’t given it any thought.