To stop myself thinking painful thoughts about Noah, I think angry thoughts about Elliot. He must have seen what’s been happening online by now but still there’s been no knocking on the wall and no texts or calls. Unless he tried contacting me while I was in the bath. I feel a glimmer of hope and go over to the wardrobe to retrieve my phone. When I see that there are no messages, my hope turns back to anger. It must have been him. I think of what Tom said to me earlier and I know what I have to do. I can’t hide away in my bedroom. I have to go around there and have it out with him.
It’s only when I’m marching up Elliot’s driveway that I realize I haven’t set foot in his house for years. I can’t even remember what the doorbell sounds like. As I press it, a loud ding-dong rings out. I feel gripped by nerves. I hear footsteps on the wooden floor inside and the door opens. His dad looks at me like I’ve just interrupted him doing the most exciting thing in the world. He looks at everyone in this way, even Elliot, all the time.
“Yes?” he says questioningly, like he doesn’t even know who I am.
“Is Elliot there, please?”
He sighs. “Just a moment.” And then he pushes the door to, leaving me out in the cold.
“Elliot!” he bellows. “There’s someone at the door.”
I hear Elliot’s voice muffled, but can’t work out what he’s saying. The door re-opens and his dad reappears.
“I’m afraid he can’t come to the door at the moment.”
“What? But . . .”
“Thank you. Goodbye.” And that’s it. The door’s shut and he’s gone.
By the time I’ve stormed back home and up to my room, I’m in a fury. I stare at the bedroom wall, wishing Elliot and I had a secret knocking code for I hate you, you stupid coward! But we don’t have anything even close because we’ve never needed anything like that. We’ve never, ever fallen out. Until now.
I sit down on my bed and look around the room in despair. Why would Elliot do something like this to me? Why would he do something so horrible, and then hide away from me like this? But he can’t hide away from me forever. I consider keeping watch at my window so that I can ambush him the second he leaves his house. But that would be nuts. I contemplate drilling a hole in the wall to punch him through, but that’s even crazier. In the end, I get my phone from my wardrobe and send him a text.
I can’t believe you would do that to me. Some best friend!
As I press send, I feel a fresh wave of sorrow. I’m not alone, I remind myself, thinking of Mum and Dad and Tom. I’m not alone. But all I feel is loneliness and loss.
I stare at my phone, waiting for a reply. But there’s nothing. I get more and more frustrated. How dare he and Noah hurt me like this and then hide away from me? And then I do the worst thing I could possibly do. I get my laptop out of the wardrobe and go online.
First, I check Elliot’s Twitter to see if he’s updated lately. I’m not sure what I’m looking for really—proof that he’s been online, a hateful comment about me . . . But his last tweet was on Christmas Day.
@ElliotWentworth Worst. Christmas. Ever.
I can’t check his Facebook without reactivating my account so I leave that and check his Instagram. He hasn’t posted since his last day in New York—a selfie of me and him at breakfast, grinning over a bottle of maple syrup. For a moment, I wish I could magically transport myself back to when the picture was taken so that I could stop things from going so horribly wrong. But then I feel a stab of anger. I wasn’t the one who made everything go wrong in the first place.
And then I do something really stupid. I go onto Google and do a search for Noah Flynn. Now all of the top results are to do with me. I see a new headline from the Celeb Watch site: Noah Flynn Had Breakdown Over Parents’ Death.
I click on the link with trembling fingers.
Noah Flynn must really be regretting the day he decided to play away from home with UK blogger Penny Porter aka Girl Online. Another of the revelations to come from Penny’s blog is that Noah had a breakdown after the tragic death of his parents four years ago. Could this explain his less-than-wise choices over the holidays? Is he still struggling to deal with his loss? A spokesman for the new star declined to comment. Leah Brown has also remained silent over the Internet storm surrounding the couple. Girl Online has now deleted all of her posts referring to “Brooklyn Boy” but I think it’s safe to say the damage is done.
There’s a link at the bottom of the post to another article, titled: Girl Online Reveals Noah Flynn’s Favorite NYC Hangouts. I don’t click on it. I can’t. I’m too shocked by what I’ve just read. What are they talking about? What breakdown? Can they really just make stuff up like that? Then I think back to the post I wrote about facing fears and how I talked about the exercise Noah shared with me. My face flushes red-hot. But I didn’t say that he had a breakdown. I didn’t even mention his parents. I just said he’d lost someone close to him. I stare at the screen in disbelief. How can they do this? How can they twist things like this?
I click back to my search, swinging between feelings of guilt and anger. I scan through the list of results until I see one that fills me with dread: The Girl that Noah Flynn Cheated on Leah Brown for—yes, really!
I click on the link and it goes to the YouTube video of me falling over onstage. How have they found that? But it doesn’t take a genius to work it out. A simple search for my name would have thrown it up. The sad fact is, apart from my blog, my entire Internet presence before today was that stupid video. Thousands of people have now posted comments. I tell myself to shut the laptop, to put it back in the wardrobe, but it’s like I’m on some weird kind of self-destruct and I automatically start scrolling down. “Ew, gross” and “What a state” are the nicest comments on there. The rest are so horrible I can barely believe what I’m reading. Clearly Leah Brown’s fans have embarked on a major hate campaign against me.
“Penny, come and have some dinner,” Mum calls up the stairs.
I groan. I think about saying I’m not hungry but then that will only make them worry. So I drag myself downstairs, my head buzzing with thoughts of Elliot. I must have really hurt him to make him do what he’s done. To make him end our friendship in this way. I go into the kitchen and sit down at the table.