Girl Online (7 page)

“If I were you, I’d go for a really casual look. You don’t want to seem too keen. I’d lend you my hoodie but I don’t think the color would suit you.” She takes a sip of her coffee and smiles at me sweetly. “It’s such a shame your hair’s red. It doesn’t really go with anything, does it?”

I realize there and then that for me to have any hope of actually enjoying my morning and looking forward to meeting Ollie, Megan has to go. Like, right now.

“I’m so sorry, but my dad’s just told me that I need to help out with something down at the shop this morning.”

Megan frowns. “On a Sunday?”

“Yes. So I’m afraid you’re going to have to go.”

Megan actually looks disappointed. “Oh, but I was going to help you get ready.”

I force myself to smile at her. “It’s OK, I can manage.”

She looks at me and raises her eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

“Oh yes, absolutely.”

•  •  •

It turns out that actually, when it comes to getting ready to meet Ollie, I can’t manage at all. It’s half an hour since Megan left and my room looks like a nuclear clothes bomb has gone off. In my desperate whirlwind of trying things on and ripping them off again, not a single inch of bedroom space has been left untouched by some random article of clothing. I look at the stripy tights dangling forlornly from the light fixture and sigh. What am I going to wear?!

I’m in a real dilemma. The kind that people write to advice columns about. Normally, if I’m having any kind of fashion crisis, Elliot is the first person I turn to, but I can hardly imagine him wanting to help me when Ollie’s involved. I wander around my room sighing; even the sight of the sea on the horizon doesn’t make me feel any better. Not when I’ve got to be down by the sea in one hour’s time and I’M STILL NOT DRESSED!

Then a question forms in my mind.
What would I wear if it were just up to me?
I go over to the heap of clothes on the floor by my rocking chair and I pull out a black tea dress dotted with tiny purple hearts. I put it on with a pair of black opaque tights and look in the mirror. The dress is a perfect fit and makes my waist look really tiny. I’m about to pull on a pair of ballet pumps when that question pops into my head again.
What would I wear if it were just up to me?
I root around in the bottom of my wardrobe for my biker boots. Then I put on my black leather jacket.

“
Don’t forget me!
” my camera seems to call out to me. I stuff it into my pocket. I learned long ago never to leave my camera behind. It was always on the days when I left it at home that I’d see the best photo opportunities ever. And who knows what photo opportunities I might get with Ollie . . . ? I instinctively blush as I imagine Ollie asking if I can take a picture of him and me together. Even though I hate selfies, I might not mind a couple’s one . . . OK, so I might be getting a bit ahead of myself—but isn’t it every girl’s right to get a bit overexcited, when her biggest crush has just asked her out?

Chapter Seven

Of course, as soon as I get to the beach, my newfound confidence begins to slip.
What if he doesn’t show up? What if it was all a prank? What if I trip just as he’s about to kiss me? Oh my God, what if he kisses me?! He’s not going to kiss you, you fool
. On and on, my inner voice spirals into near hysteria.

I decide to walk to the café along the beach so that I can get closer to the sea in the hope that it might calm me down a bit.
The pebbles are wet! You’re going to fall over! You’re going to fall over and end up with seaweed stuck to your bum, just like you did at Tom’s birthday barbecue
. I slow right down. The sea is nice and calm and the winter sunshine sparkles on it like a sprinkling of glitter. I take in a deep breath of the salty air. And another.
What if a seagull poos on your head?!
“Shut up!” I mutter out loud but I look up quickly to check there are no gulls hovering. When I look back down, Ollie is standing a few feet in front of me.

“How did you get there?” is the first thing I can think to say.

“I walked,” he says, looking at me weirdly. “Are you OK? You looked as if you were talking to yourself.”

“What? Oh no, I was just—I was just—singing.”

“Singing?”

“Yes, you know, like, a song.”

“Yes, I know what singing is.”

“Of course you do. Soz.”
Soz?!!
Since when did I ever say “soz”?! I’ve been with Ollie for precisely ten seconds and already he must think I’m a singing, sozzing loony. This doesn’t bode well for our lunch at all.

“Have you got your camera on you?” he asks.

“Yes,” I reply, my heartbeat quickening—could he be about to ask for a photo of us already?! “Why?”

“I was just wondering if you could take a few headshots of me, down here on the beach. I could really do with some, you know, like arty ones for my profile online. And you’re such an awesome photographer.” He dazzles me with one of his megawatt smiles.

“Oh. OK.” I don’t know what to make of this. Surely this isn’t the reason he invited me to meet him? No, he definitely said lunch yesterday. The photos must be an extra. Something he just thought of. I tell myself not to be so stupid and take my camera from my pocket.

“I was thinking maybe we could take some over by the pier.”

“Sure.”

As we start walking along the beach, a woman jogger passes us and smiles. I feel a surge of happiness. It must look to her as if Ollie and I are “together.” If only it could
feel a bit more relaxed and enjoyable. I search my brain for something interesting—and non-embarrassing—to say.

“So, you must be really proud of your brother.”

Ollie looks at me blankly. “Why?”

“Well, with him being so good at tennis.”

Ollie mutters something and stares out to sea. There’s something about his serious expression and the way the light is falling on his face, accentuating his cheekbones, that would make an awesome black-and-white shot.

“Hold it right there,” I say, turning my camera on.

“What?” Ollie frowns at me.

“Keep that expression and look out to sea again. It’ll make a really cool picture.”

“Oh, right.” Instantly, Ollie’s expression softens and he looks back at the sea. “How about this?”

“Perfect.”

I zoom in and adjust the angle until I’ve got just the right shadowing on his face, then I take the shot.

“Let’s see.” He leans in to look at the camera display and our heads are so close they’re almost touching. He smells of aftershave and peppermint. My heart starts pounding. “That looks really great.” He looks at me and smiles. Up this close, his eyes are impossibly blue. I realize that if he wanted to kiss me right now he would barely have to move. We continue looking at each other for a second longer. “You’re really good at this, aren’t you?” he says, his voice softer than usual.

“Thank you.” Embarrassed, I look away and the moment is gone. We carry on walking. Two more joggers run past us, their feet crunching on the pebbles.

“How about one of me lying on the beach?” he says. “You know, for something a bit different.”

“Sure.” A vision of us both lying on the beach wrapped in each other’s arms pops into my head. My face instantly begins to flush.

Ollie scrambles down onto the stones. “How about if you take one from above me?”

“OK, that could be fun.” I stand next to Ollie and try to take a shot but it doesn’t quite work; it’s not centred enough. “I think I’m going to have to stand right over you,” I tell him.

Ollie looks at me and grins. I feel a weird tingling sensation shimmy up my spine. I carefully step one foot over his body so that I’m standing astride him. I look through the lens. He’s grinning up at me.

“I hope you’re not looking up my dress,” I say jokily.

Ollie chuckles. “As if!”

For a brief moment I feel as if I’ve actually managed to achieve the impossible and have a humiliation-free flirtation. But then, just as I’m taking my bird’s-eye shot of Ollie, the pebbles begin to give way and both my feet start sliding in opposite directions. I desperately try to keep my footing but this only makes it worse and suddenly I am sitting right on top of Ollie’s stomach.

“I’m so sorry,” I gasp, trying to scramble back up.

He catches hold of my wrist, laughing. “Don’t be. It’s hilarious. You’re hilarious.”

I look at him suspiciously. But he’s not saying it the way Megan says, “You’re so quirky.” It actually sounds affectionate. “Thank you,” I say.

“Oh my God! What are you doing?”

We both jump at the sound of Megan’s voice. I turn to see her standing a few feet away, glaring at us. The twins are right behind her, grinning from ear to ear.

“I-I was just taking Ollie’s picture,” I stammer, my face going redder than a postbox, “and my feet slipped.”

“Right.” Megan keeps on glaring at me. I notice that she’s changed out of the jeans and hoodie she was wearing when she left my house and is now wearing a skintight plum-colored dress with knee-high boots.

Somehow, I manage to clamber off Ollie without causing either of us an injury.

“What are you guys doing down here anyway?” Megan says, and she looks at Ollie pointedly. “I thought you were supposed to be going for lunch together.”

“How did . . . ?” Ollie instantly looks embarrassed. “It was nothing major; I just wanted Penny to take some photos of me for my online profiles.”

Megan turns to look at me and her smile actually looks triumphant.
See, I told you it wasn’t a date
, it seems to be saying.

“Your photos are so good,” Kira says, coming over to me.

“Yes,” says Amara. “I loved that one you took of the old pier for your art project.”

I smile at them weakly.

“So, where were you guys thinking of going for lunch?” Megan says.

Ollie shrugs. “Hadn’t really thought about it, to be honest.”

I stare at him, confused.

“We were just going to Nando’s,” Megan says sweetly. “Do you fancy joining us?”

“Sure,” Ollie replies in a beat.

I instantly feel sick with anger and I kick out at the stones. One of them goes sailing into the air. I gasp in horror as I watch it sail straight into a passing West Highland terrier. It yelps in pain, and its owner—an old man with extremely bushy eyebrows—glares at me.

“I’m so sorry! It was an accident,” I call over.
I’m just a walking accident
, I feel like adding. I can’t even get angry without something excruciatingly embarrassing happening.

“Penny!” Megan says, scolding me like she’s my mum. “That poor little dog!”

“Actually, I think I’m going to head off home,” I say, fighting the urge to kick a stone at her.

“Oh really?” Megan can barely disguise her glee.

“But what about my pictures?” Ollie says, sounding really disappointed.

I can’t even bring myself to look at him. “I’ll email them to you later,” I mutter.

“OK then, see you in school tomorrow,” Megan says breezily.

As the twins call out goodbye, I bite down hard on my lip and start marching away from them across the beach. My head feels all tangled up in anger and confusion. But one thing I know for sure, without any shadow of a doubt, is that I’ve absolutely had it with Megan.

Chapter Eight