As soon as I’ve posted my blog, I sit down at my dressing table and start getting ready to go out with Elliot. It’s almost midday and Mum and Dad have gone to the supermarket to do a mega-shop as there’s hardly any food in the house. Tom is back home and downstairs doing some last-minute work on a uni assignment. Everything around me is going back to how it was before New York—but I’m not.
As Noah’s song plays in the background, I look at my reflection in the dressing-table mirror. On the surface I’m the same person—the same sprinkling of freckles on my nose and the same auburn hair—but how I see myself is totally different. It’s a bit like when you watch a movie with a killer twist at the end and you discover that the goodie is actually the baddie. But in this case the twist is that I’ve discovered that I’m not embarrassing and ugly after all. I’ve discovered that the things I thought were ugly actually make me look like autumn—and sunsets. I don’t need to conceal my freckles with a layer of foundation anymore. I don’t need to tie my hair back to hide its redness. I can leave it down and show it off.
Seeing myself through Noah’s eyes has helped me to see the truth. I look at the photo of Noah pinned to the top of my mirror. I printed it out as soon as I woke up this morning so that I’m still able to see him whenever I want. “Thank you,” I whisper to his smiling face.
I’m just about to brush my hair when the text alert goes off on my phone. My first thought is Noah but as I click into my messages my heart doesn’t just sink—it plummets. It’s from Megan.
Hey, Penny! Are you back home? It would be lovely to catch up xoxo
I stare at the screen. And then I realize that this is one of those “put your money where your mouth is” moments. If I truly have changed I have to prove it with my actions, starting right here, with Megan. I click on reply and text back.
No thanks
As the text alert goes off my heart pounds so hard it actually feels like it might come bursting up through my throat.
What?!!!
I take a deep breath and start to type.
I don’t want to catch up with you because I’ve got nothing to say to you
I sit tapping my fingers on my dressing table waiting for her response. I picture her throwing her hair back over her shoulder and pouting. She seems so silly now—so childish. It’s as if going halfway across the world has allowed me to see everything so clearly; it’s like it’s given me a bird’s-eye view of my life and everything that needs to change. My phone goes off.
I can’t believe you’re being like this! And after all I’ve done for you!
What?! I stare at the phone. All she’s done for me? This time I feel no nervousness as I type my reply. This time I’m fired up by anger.
What, like posting that video of me on Facebook and constantly putting me down? I can do without that kind of friendship, thanks. Don’t contact me again
I press send and, although my hands are shaking like crazy, I feel really proud. And then I realize that I just managed to achieve all three of my resolutions in one go. I faced my fear of Megan, I believed in myself, and it’s made me feel incredibly happy. I refresh the page on my blog and see that I’ve already got two comments.
Hi Girl Online,
Happy New Year!
My three resolutions are:
1. To be proud of how I look
2. To read more books
3. To cut down on sugar
Amber xx
I quickly post a reply to her.
Thanks, Amber. Good luck—especially with the sugar one! Xx
I scroll down to the next comment and what I see makes me freeze.
I just have one resolution this year—to make sure I never put the online world before the real one.
But it isn’t the comment that’s making me feel so sick, it’s the username: Waldorf Wild. Elliot has posted on my blog. He never posts on my blog. It’s a kind of unwritten rule we’ve had from the start, to make sure that it stayed anonymous. And it has to be me he’s talking about. I stare at the screen as I try to work out why he would write that. It must be because I blogged about Noah again. But what does he expect me to do when he keeps acting so weird about it all? At least my readers are supportive. At least they want to hear about it.
I hear the doorbell ring downstairs. Elliot’s not supposed to be calling till one. I feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe he’s feeling bad about the blog post. Maybe he’s come around early to apologize.
I hear Tom and another male voice talking, then the sound of footsteps on the stairs and a knock on my bedroom door. I put my laptop on my dressing table and take a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare myself as I call out, “Come in.” But no amount of deep breathing could prepare me for what happens next. The door opens, and Ollie walks in.
“Ollie!”
“Hi, Penny.” He shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot and runs his hand through his tousled blond hair. “I hope you don’t mind me coming round like this. Your brother—he told me to come up.”
“Oh.” I stare at him for a moment, not having a clue what else to say. Why is he here, in my house? He looks so awkward and embarrassed, like he isn’t sure why he’s here either. “Come in, sit down,” I say finally, gesturing at my armchair.
Ollie comes in and stands by the chair. He really does look embarrassed. He’s holding a flat package wrapped in Christmas paper. He sees me looking at it and holds it out. “I—er—I got you a gift.”
“Really?” I’m barely able to conceal my shock. I take the present from him and put it on the bed. “Sit down—if you want?”
Ollie sits down. “You look really different,” he says, “really great. Not that you didn’t look great before of course.”
OK, what is happening here? Then I get a horrible sick feeling. Has Megan sent him around? Is this all part of some elaborate trick to get back at me for my texts? But it can’t be. Ollie got here way too quickly. And he looks way too shy.
“Thank you,” I mumble.
“So, did you have a good time?” he says.
“Yes, it was amazing.” And just the thought of New York and Noah makes me feel calmer again. This situation is very weird but it’s OK. I can handle it.
“Good.” Ollie looks down at the floor. “Look, I—the reason I—I wanted to see you before we go back to school is to say that I’m sorry.”