“No. It’s all cool. I was just being silly. And tired. I’m probably still jet-lagged.” I start grabbing at excuses.
“Hmm.” Mum doesn’t sound too convinced.
But one thing I do know for sure in all my panic and confusion is that I can’t dump this on them. I can’t freak them out. I have to try to find a way to sort it myself.
“Do you want a cup of tea?” Mum says.
“Yes please.”
“And how about some breakfast?” says Dad. “Shall I make you some pancakes?”
I nod, even though I’m not at all hungry.
Once they’ve tucked me up in bed and I’ve reassured them that I’m OK, they both head downstairs. I grab my laptop and log on to my blog and delete all of the posts about Noah. Then I change the settings so that no one can post comments. Instantly I feel a tiny bit better, like I’ve managed to shut a door on the haters.
I go back onto my Twitter account. I already have over twenty new notifications. I don’t check them. Instead I fumble around in the settings and finally find the option to delete my profile. A message pops up: Are you sure you want to delete your account? I click down hard on YES. Another door shut.
I go to Facebook and take my account offline, once again ignoring all the new notifications.
Then I shut my laptop and stare at the wall in front of me. As the brain fog from my panic attack begins to lift a little, I start searching for answers. How has this happened? Who told Celeb Watch about me and Noah? Who told them about my blog?
My first thought is Ollie. He’s the only person who knows that Noah is Noah Flynn. But I only told him that I’d met him. I didn’t tell him that anything had happened between us. And there’s no way Ollie knows about my blog. The only person who knows about that is Elliot.
I get a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Surely Elliot wouldn’t have done something like that. But he’s been acting so weirdly about Noah. And he posted that snarky message on my blog yesterday. I never thought he’d do something like that so maybe . . . But Elliot didn’t know Noah’s true identity. Or did he . . . ? I think back to when I showed him the photo of Noah. He’d said something about him looking familiar. Had he recognized him then but not said anything? Is that why he changed the subject so abruptly? Oh my God, did Elliot leak the story? I stare at my bedroom wall, picturing Elliot on the other side, sending an anonymous message to Celeb Watch. It’s all beginning to make a horrible kind of sense. Elliot was jealous of Noah and my blogging about him. Then he saw his picture and realized who he was and he saw the chance to ruin things for good. He must have canceled going out with me yesterday because he already had it planned. And he hasn’t contacted me since. It’s unheard of for Elliot to go so long without knocking on the bedroom wall at least. And he must have seen what’s been happening online. I think of how he reacted when Megan posted the stupid knickers video. How he’d sent me a text to warn me and come around straightaway. But this time I haven’t heard from him at all.
As the terrible truth dawns on me, I feel as if I’ve been punched in the stomach. First Noah and now Elliot. At least I’d only just met Noah—at least I can put what happened with him down to an appalling error of judgment. But Elliot? Elliot and I have known each other forever. He’s my best friend. Or was.
I’m just about to start crying again when Mum comes in with a mug of tea. She places it on my bedside cabinet and sits down on my bed. “Are you sure there isn’t something more specific troubling you, sweetie? Something you want to talk about?”
I shake my head, not daring to talk in case a sob escapes.
“OK, well you know where I am if you change your mind.”
I nod and focus what little energy I have left on forcing my mouth into a smile. After she’s gone, I sit with my eyes closed until Dad arrives with a plate of pancakes.
“I used Sadie Lee’s special recipe,” he says with a grin.
I feel another blaze of pain as I think of how much I’d liked Sadie Lee. But she’s just another person who betrayed me.
After Dad’s gone back downstairs—having made me promise to yell for him the second I need anything—I put the pancakes down and stare into space. I feel so numb and so exhausted. All I want to do is stay in bed until this all blows over. If it ever does blow over.
Every time the email notification goes off on my phone I feel a stab of fear. In the end I turn my phone off and put it and my laptop in the bottom of my wardrobe, buried beneath a mound of clothes. For a while, this makes me feel safe, like no one can get to me anymore. But then I start picturing a mountain of abusive messages piling up inside my wardrobe, just waiting to engulf me as soon as I open the door.
And once again panic starts to take hold of me. But this time I remember what to do. This time I close my eyes and picture it inside my body: a large black ball of fear inside my rib cage. It’s OK, I tell it—and myself. It’s OK. And instead of panicking and trying to block it from my mind, I make myself picture it, right there inside of me. All black and dense and scary. I take a deep breath in through my nose. And another. “It’s OK,” I whisper out loud. And the fear starts to shrink a little. And as it does, I realize that it really is OK; it’s not going to kill me. And then another thought pops into my head—what’s happening to me won’t kill me either. Yes, it’s terrifying and yes, it’s hugely painful, but it’s not going to kill me. It’s OK. I take another breath. The fear shrinks again. Now it’s about the size of a tennis ball. And it’s slowly fading, from black to grey, to white, and now gold. I take another breath. Outside a seagull squawks. I think of the sea and I actually manage a weak smile. It’s OK. I can control this. I picture myself sitting on the beach, my entire body filling with golden sunlight. It’s OK.