Girl Online: On Tour (7 page)

I break into a jog, carefully picking my way through the
maze of the backstage area, and fly through the door that leads into the stalls. Just like that, I’m launched out into the crowd. Down here, it’s so much louder than backstage. There are booming speakers, and girls (the crowd is pretty much all girls) are screaming and leaning across the barriers that separate them from Noah. They reach out, their arms waving, desperate for a piece of him. Like this, they stop being individuals and seem to merge into one entity, filled with rabid excitement. There was a specific announcement before the show not to throw presents up onstage, but I can already see girls are tossing teddy bears and flowers—and even a bra—at Noah’s feet.

The adrenaline buzz of excitement rings through me, but it’s edged with the extra-sharp teeth of nerves. The security staff move me along, not allowing me to linger by the entrance to the backstage area, and I’m thrown even deeper into the crowd. I look up at the balcony and try to find Elliot. Luckily, he’s easy to spot, since he’s right at the front by the railing with Alex. They’re listening to “Elements” with their eyes locked together, arms wrapped round each other’s shoulders. It’s such a sweet—and rare—moment that my heart lifts.

They kiss, and I take out my phone and snap a picture of them, gutted that I left my proper camera in the dressing room. Even though it comes out dark, it still looks really atmospheric, and I can’t wait to show Elliot later. He’ll love it—he’s wanted a picture of the two of them together for ages. Whenever I try to take a picture of them, Alex turns all shy. He isn’t out to all his friends and family yet, so he shies away from any public displays of affection. Elliot has been really patient with him, and knows from his own experiences
that he needs to let Alex take his time, but it’s still a challenge that they both have to deal with.

Someone bumps into me, knocking my phone out of my hand. “Hey!” I shout and turn round, but the girl who knocked me doesn’t even notice—she’s too busy singing along to Noah’s lyrics and jumping up and down. I look down for my phone and spot it underneath her feet.

I make a dive for it, but it just gets kicked further along the sticky floor.

“Oh, sorry about that!” the girl shouts, finally noticing me.

“No problem,” I say, but the words catch in my throat. I need to get my phone. I lean down and try to follow its path, but every time I think I see it again it is moved further away.

I wince as someone steps on my fingers, and that split second is enough to make me lose sight of my phone. I swear my heart stops beating for a moment. Then I see it again—in a small clearing of feet. I drop down to the ground, grabbing for it. But, once again, it’s kicked out of my reach. Through the sea of legs, I see a hand reach down and pick up my phone.

“Hey, that’s mine!” I shout. Desperation sets in, and I crawl on my hands and knees, pushing through the crowd and nearly getting trampled.

“What are you doing?!”

“What the hell?!”

I ignore the complaints as I push past a forest of bare legs and ripped denim, but it’s no use. My phone is gone.

I stand up before I get crushed, frantically searching the crowd for the phone thief. Every face looks the same: wide-eyed and staring at my boyfriend up onstage. I’m the
only one whose eyes are
not
on Noah. Another person shoves my shoulder, launching me into the person behind me, who yells at me. Luckily the crowd drowns her words out, but I know they aren’t friendly. “I’m sorry,” I try to say, but I suddenly feel so enclosed. There’s no space for me to move, let alone breathe.

I see the bright red
EXIT
sign above everyone’s heads and I try to make a beeline for it. I feel like I’m swimming against a strong tide, caught in a current that is threatening to drag me under. I can hear Noah talking to the crowd between songs but it feels like a million miles away.

Then I feel a tap on my shoulder. “Hey, aren’t you that girl with the blog? Noah’s girlfriend?” asks a girl with her bright blonde hair tied to one side in an awesome fishtail braid.

“Uhh . . .”

“Oh my god, guys, it’s Noah’s girlfriend!” Fishtail Braid gathers all her friends round.

“Who, the blog girl?”

“Where?”

“Can you give this to Noah for me?”

Before I know it, the girl and all her friends are surrounding me. Other people in the crowd are noticing me, or maybe they’re just using the commotion to try to get even closer to Noah onstage.

“I need to get out of here,” I say, but it comes out as barely a whisper. All of a sudden this has turned into my worst nightmare. It feels like there are a million hands pressing down on me, all wanting to pull me in a different direction. My breath turns shallow inside my chest. I can’t see where to go—every path through the crowd looks the same, leading
deeper into all the faces staring at me. I can’t even hear Noah’s voice anymore over the screaming inside my head.

“Penny? Is that you?” asks a female voice.

I don’t know who it is, but I can only answer in a whimper. The girl grabs my hand and starts to pull me through the crowd. “Come with me. This way.” I feel stupid entrusting myself to her—all I can see is a cascade of long, dark brown hair—but, as she barges a path through the crowd, that feeling is quickly replaced by gratitude.

Chapter Eight

At last we break through the hordes of screaming girls and out into the wide hallway outside the stalls. I take a huge gulp of air, placing my hands on my knees. When I’ve finally managed to clear the fuzz from my mind, I look up. To my surprise, it’s Megan.

She looks genuinely worried about me. “Hey, are you OK? You looked pretty overwhelmed in there.” She puts her hand on my back.

I smile weakly. “I just couldn’t deal with the crowd. It was too much. I lost my phone, and then all the people were pressing down on me . . .”

“Were you crying? Your makeup is streaked.”

I’d forgotten that I’d cried at hearing Noah’s singing, and I wipe my hands across my cheeks. That moment backstage seems like a lifetime ago now compared to the panic attack I just experienced. When I’m struck by anxiety, it’s like everything else is pushed into the background and all my mind can focus on is
panic, panic, panic
. Nothing else matters. Even if my logical brain tells me that the exit is only a few steps away,
my body just won’t listen. It’s like the two are separated from each other by the beast of anxiety. “Oh no, it’s not from that—these were happy tears.”

Megan smiles. “Do you want me to walk with you back to your seat?”

“Sure. It’s upstairs . . . but—oh, I don’t even know exactly where it is.” That’s when I realize that I don’t have my ticket with me. I must have left it in Noah’s dressing room—along with my camera, jacket, purse, and backstage pass. As I explain everything to Megan I can feel myself getting frustrated. I can’t believe my excitement led me to make such a silly mistake.

“Don’t worry about that.” Megan strolls straight up to the nearest security guard, flicking her chestnut hair. “This is Penny Porter—she’s Noah Flynn’s girlfriend. She left her ticket backstage and she needs to get back to his dressing room.”

The security guard gives us both a sceptical look. “Yeah right, and I’m Prince Harry.”

“Sir, please,” I say. “I just came out of the stage door in the front . . .”

“Look, girls, why don’t you go back to the concert and enjoy it like everybody else. No more of these silly games.”

“It’s not a game,” says Megan. She manages to keep her calm exterior, even though I feel like I’m about to break down. “Look, sir, if you’ll find someone from Noah’s entourage they will recognize her and explain.”

He folds his arms across his chest. He’s not going to budge one bit. “If you don’t return to the concert now, I’m going to escort you from the premises.”

“This is outrageous!” says Megan. “When Noah finds out about this, you’re going to be fired!”

I drag her away from the security guard before he can put her in handcuffs, or whatever it is that scary-looking security guards do. I can feel him still glaring at us as we talk in the hallway. “I appreciate you sticking up for me but I—I think I want to go.”

“Are you sure?” Megan puts a comforting arm round me. “You can just come back with me into the stalls?”

I shake my head. “Noah will find me if I’m at home.”

“OK,” she says, understanding. We may have fallen out recently, but she still knows a lot about me. “I’ll come with you, make sure you get home safe.”

“Really? You don’t have to do that. I can just . . .” I was going to say “call Tom,” but that’s not an option either as I’ve lost my phone and I don’t have his new number memorized. “It’s not that far to walk. And, besides, you’ll miss The Sketch and I know you were really excited about seeing them.”

Megan links her arm into mine. “I think you need me more than I need to see The Sketch right now. Plus, I could use some fresh air. The crowd was crazy.”

Megan being so nice to me still makes me feel uneasy, but I can’t hear any hint of bad intention in her voice. We walk together towards the exit.

As soon as we get outside, we discover that the rain has reduced to a drizzle. As the Brighton sea breeze whips through my hair, I feel it sweep some of my panic away. My chest still feels tight and my palms are sweaty, but Megan is clinging on to my arm like she’s afraid I could blow away at any moment. I couldn’t be more thankful to her.

“Do you want to grab some candy floss from the pier?” she asks. “The sugar might help.”

I smile and nod. “Sounds good.”

We stroll beneath the bright lights of the pier entrance, and I can see the waves crashing under us through the gaps in the wooden planks. We pick the stall with the brightest selection of candy floss and share a big white-and-pink swirl. I pick a large, fluffy section and put it in my mouth, letting the sugar dissolve in fizzes and pops over my tongue.

“Mmm, this is lovely,” I say. I lower my eyes. “Thanks for what you did back there. You rescued me—I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

Megan smiles, her hair flapping around her head in the breeze. She pushes it back off her face and sweeps it up into a loose bun on top of her head. It looks effortlessly cool. “It’s no problem at all. Do you want to use my phone to call your provider and tell them your phone’s been stolen?”

I nod. “Thanks. Luckily it’s got a password on it, and I hardly have any minutes left on my contract so they won’t be able to make a ton of calls or anything. I really hope the person who picked it up hands it in. I love that phone.”
And everything on it
, I think. Pictures of Noah and me. Text conversations. Even the case was special. Noah had stolen it off me one night and doodled all across the back in black Sharpie. It was my favourite case ever.

When I finish, I hand the phone back to Megan. “All done,” I say.

“Oh, good.” She sighs. “Look, Penny—I’ve been meaning to talk to you for some time, but there hasn’t been a convenient moment.”

“What do you mean?”

“I really want to say that I’m sorry. For everything that happened earlier this year. It . . . wasn’t me. I’m sorry for telling everyone about
Girl Online
. I feel so dumb, because I actually used to enjoy all your posts and I was just jealous that you were going out with a pop star. It seemed like you had everything. Ollie, then Noah and the crazy, wonderful trip to New York City—my dream place to live in the whole world—plus you’re this amazingly talented photographer and writer. Everyone is always saying how brilliant you are and what a great career you’re going to have . . . All I had was a terrible glue-stick commercial and a dream of being a movie star. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you the way I did.”

If my mouth wasn’t full of candy floss, it would have dropped open. I swallow the sugary goodness, but find I’m still speechless.

“Can you forgive me?” she continues, when I don’t say anything.

“I—I had no idea you felt like that. It always seems like
you
are the one who has everything. Megan, you’re so pretty and popular, and you’re a great actress—you got a place at that famous drama school! But I was really hurt after what happened . . .”