Girl Online
Chapter One
Present day . . .
Hey, Penny, did you know that William Shakespeare is an anagram for “I am a weakish speller”?
I look at the text from Elliot and sigh. In the time Ive been watching the dress rehearsal for Romeo and Juliet (three hours of my life that I will never get back), Elliot has bombarded me with hundreds of random texts about Shakespeare. Hes supposed to be doing it to relieve my boredom but, seriously, does anyone really need to know that Shakespeare was baptized in 1564? Or that he had seven siblings?
“Penny, could you get a shot of Juliet leaning out of the trailer?”
I quickly grab my camera and nod to Mr. Beaconsfield. “Yes, sir.”
Mr. Beaconsfield is the Year Eleven drama teacher. Hes one of those teachers who likes being “down with the kids”—all gelled hair and “call me Jeff.” Hes also the reason our version of Romeo and Juliet is set in a Brooklyn ghetto and Juliet is leaning out of a trailer rather than a balcony. My BFIS (Best Friend in School), Megan, loves Mr. Beaconsfield, but then, he does always cast her in all the lead roles. Personally, I think hes a little creepy. Teachers shouldnt want to hang out with teenagers. They should want to mark books and stress about school inspections and whatever else they get up to in the staff room.
I go up the steps at the side of the stage and crouch down beneath Megan. Shes wearing a baseball cap with SWAG printed on the front and has a thick fake-gold chain with a huge fake-gold dollar sign dangling from her neck. Theres no way shed be seen dead in that outfit anywhere else; thats how much she loves Mr. Beaconsfield. Im about to take a picture when Megan hisses down to me: “Make sure you dont get my spot.”
“What?” I whisper back.
“The spot on the side of my nose. Make sure you dont get it in the picture.”
“Oh. Right.” I shift to one side and zoom in. The lighting from this side isnt the best but at least the spot isnt visible. I take the picture, then turn to leave the stage. As I do, I glance out into the auditorium. Apart from Mr. Beaconsfield and the two assistant directors, all of the seats are empty. I instinctively breathe a sigh of relief. To say Im not very good with crowds would be a bit like saying Justin Bieber isnt very good with the paparazzi. I dont know how people can actually perform onstage. I only have to go up there for a couple of seconds to take a photo and I feel uneasy.
“Thanks, Pen,” Mr. Beaconsfield says as I hurry down the steps. Thats another cringe-fact about him—the way he calls us all by a nickname. I mean, seriously! Its okay for my family but not my teachers!
Just as I get back to my safe spot at the side of the stage my phone bleeps again.
Oh my God, Juliet used to be played by a man back in Shakespeares day! You have to tell Ollie—Id love to see his face!
I look up at Ollie, who is currently gazing up at Megan.
“But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?” he says, in the worst New York accent ever.
I cant help but sigh. Even though Ollies dressed in an even worse costume than Megans—making him look like a cross between a Jeremy Kyle guest and Snoop Dogg—he still somehow manages to look cute.
Elliot hates Ollie. He thinks Ollies really vain and calls him the Walking Selfie, but, to be fair, he doesnt really know him. Elliot goes to a private school in Hove; hes only seen Ollie when weve bumped into him on the beach or in town.
“Shouldnt Penny take a picture of me in this scene too?” Ollie asks, when he finally gets to the end of his speech. Hes still talking in his fake American accent—which hes been doing ever since he got the part. Apparently all the top actors do it; they call it “method acting.”
“Of course, Ollz,” says Call-Me-Jeff. “Pen?”
I put down my phone and run back up the steps.
“Can you make sure you get my best side?” Ollie whispers at me from beneath his cap. His one has STUD printed on the front in black diamante.
“Sure,” I reply. “Er, which side is that again?”
Ollie looks at me like Im crazy.
“Its just so hard to tell,” I whisper, my face flushing crimson.
Ollie continues to frown.
“Because they both look good to me,” I say, desperation setting in. Oh my God! What is wrong with me?! I can practically hear Elliot shrieking in horror. Thankfully at this point, Ollie starts to grin. It makes him look really boyish and way more approachable.
“Its my right side,” he says, and turns back to face the trailer.
“Is that—er—your right, or mine?” I ask, wanting to make double sure.
“Come on, Pen. We havent got all day!” Mr. Beaconsfield calls out.
“Its my right, of course,” Ollie hisses, looking at me like Im demented again.
Even Megans frowning at me now. My face burning, I take the picture. I dont do any of my usual things, like checking the lighting or the angle or anything—I just press the button and stumble out of there.
When the rehearsal is finally over—and Ive learned from Elliot that Shakespeare was only eighteen when he got married and he wrote thirty-eight plays in total—a group of us head to JBs Diner to get milkshakes and chips.
As we reach the seafront, Ollie starts walking along beside me. “How you doin?” he says in his fake New York drawl.
“Um, OK, thanks,” I say, my tongue instantly tying itself in knots. Now hes out of his Romeo gangster gear, he looks even better. His blond surfer-dude hair is perfectly tousled and his blue eyes are sparkling like the sea in the winter sunshine. To be honest, Im not entirely sure if hes my type—he may be a little too boy-band-meets-athlete perfect—but its so unusual for me to have the undivided attention of the school heartthrob that I cant help feeling embarrassed.
“I was wondering . . .” he says, grinning down at me.
Instantly my inner voice starts finishing his sentence: What do you like to do in your spare time? Why have I never properly noticed you before? Would you like to go out with me?
“. . . if I could take a look at the picture you took of me? Just to make sure I look OK.”
“Oh—er—right. Yes, OK. Ill show you when we get to JBs.” Its at exactly this moment that I fall into a hole. OK, its not a big hole and I dont actually disappear inside it or anything, but I do catch my foot and end up tumbling forward—making me look about as attractive and sophisticated as a Saturday-night drunk. Thats one thing I hate about Brighton, where I live. It seems to be full of holes that exist just for me to fall into! I style it out and luckily Ollie seems not to notice.
When we get to JBs, Ollie dives straight into the booth next to me. I see Megan raise her eyebrows and I instantly feel like Ive done something wrong. Megans very good at making me feel this way. I turn away and concentrate on the Christmas decorations around the diner instead—the swirls of green and red tinsel, and the mechanical Father Christmas who yells, “Ho, ho, ho!” every time someone walks past. Christmas is definitely my favorite time of the year. Theres something about it that always calms me. After a few moments, I turn back to the table. Luckily, Megans now absorbed with her phone.
My fingers twitch as the inspiration for a blog post pops into my head. Sometimes it feels as if school is one big play and were all supposed to perform our set roles all the time. In our real-life play, Ollie isnt supposed to sit next to me; hes supposed to sit next to Megan. They arent actually dating or anything but theyre both definitely on the same rung of the social ladder. And Megan never falls into holes. She just seems to glide through life, all glossy chestnut hair and pouting. The twins slide into the booth next to Megan. The twins are called Kira and Amara. They have non-speaking parts in the play and thats kind of how Megan treats them in real life—as extras to her lead role.
“Can I get you guys anything to drink?” a waitress says, arriving at our table with a pad and a grin.
“That would be awesome!” Ollie says loudly in his pretend American accent, and I cant help cringing.
We all order shakes—apart from Megan, who orders a mineral water—and then Ollie turns to me. “So, can I see?”
“What? Oh, yes.” I fumble in my bag for my camera and start scrolling through the pictures. When I get to the one of Ollie, I pass it to him. I hold my breath as I wait for his response.
“Sweet,” he says. “That looks really good.”
“Ooh, let me see my one,” Megan cries, grabbing the camera from him and pressing at it wildly. My whole body tenses. Normally, I dont mind sharing things—I even give half my advent-calendar chocolates to my brother, Tom—but my camera is different. Its my most prized possession. Its my safety net.
“Oh. My. God. Penny!” Megan shrieks. “What have you done? It looks like Ive got a mustache!” She slams the camera down on the table.
“Careful!” I say.
Megan glares at me before picking up the camera and fiddling with the buttons. “How do I delete the picture of me?”
I grab the camera back from her a little too forcefully and one of her false fingernails catches on the strap.
“Ow! Youve broken my nail!”
“You could have broken my camera.”
“Is that all you care about?” Megan glares at me across the table. “Its not my fault you took such a terrible picture.”
In my head an answer forms itself: Its not my fault you made me take it that way because youve got a spot. But I stop myself from saying it.
“Let me see,” Ollie says, grabbing the camera from me.
As he starts to laugh and Megan glares at me even harder, I feel a familiar tightness gripping my throat. I try to swallow but its impossible. I feel trapped inside the booth. Please dont let this be happening again, I silently plead. But it is. A burning heat rushes through my body and I can barely breathe. The pictures of movie stars lining the wall all suddenly seem to be staring down at me. The music from the jukebox is suddenly too loud. The red chairs too bright. No matter what I do, I cant seem to control my own body. The palms of my hands go clammy and my heart starts to pound.
“Ho, ho, ho!” the mechanical Father Christmas by the door calls. But he doesnt sound cheery anymore. He sounds menacing.
“I need to go,” I say quietly.
“But what about the picture?” Megan whines, flicking her glossy dark hair over her shoulder.
“Ill delete it.”
“What about your milkshake?” Kira says.
I take some money from my purse and put it on the table, hoping they dont notice my trembling fingers. “One of you guys have it. I just remembered I have to help my mum with something. I need to get home.”
Ollie looks at me and for a second I think he actually looks disappointed. “Will you be in town tomorrow?” he asks.
Megan glares at him across the table.
“I guess so.” I feel so hot its making my vision blurred. I need to get out of here, now. If they keep me trapped in this booth for much longer, Im certain Im going to pass out. It takes everything Ive got not to yell at Ollie to get out of my way.
“Cool.” Ollie slides out of the booth and hands me my camera. “Maybe see you around then.”
“Yes.”
One of the twins, I cant tell which, starts to ask if Im OK, but I dont stop to answer her. Somehow, I make it out of the diner and onto the seafront. I hear the shriek of a seagull followed by a shriek of laughter. A group of women are tottering toward me, all spray tans on high heels. Theyre wearing Barbie-pink T-shirts, even though its December, and one of them has a string of learner plates around her neck. I internally groan. Thats another thing I hate about living in Brighton—the way its invaded by stag and hen parties every Friday night. I dart across the road and head down to the beach. The wind is icy and fresh but its exactly what I need. I stand on the wet pebbles and stare out to sea and wait until the waves, crashing in and rolling out, coax my heartbeat back to normal.