Besides, Kira, Amara, and the others don’t have to wait long. The drama students at the Madame Laplage school—the ones who were in the show—are rushing out of the stage door and into the waiting arms of parents and friends. But as Megan said herself, one of the major currencies at this school, as at any other, is gossip. Word travels fast. Practically the only thing everyone’s talking about is the big scene between Madame Laplage and Megan Barker. Everyone knows she must have done something really bad in order to get kicked out of the school.
There’s a tap on my shoulder. “Penny?”
I spin round, and there’s Posey standing next to a tall, slender woman with the same glossy back hair and dark eyes as Posey. “This is my mum, Christine.”
“Oh, lovely to meet you, Mrs. Chang.” I extend my hand.
Instead of extending hers back, she surprises me by pulling me into a hug. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for my Posey. She said she’d never have been up there onstage tonight if it wasn’t for you.”
I blush. “Honestly, it was all her.”
“I’m not totally convinced of that. You brought out the courage that I knew my daughter had all along.”
“She’s a remarkable girl,” I say.
“You both are,” says Mrs. Chang. “And I’m glad she’s got a friend like you.”
I smile warmly at Posey. “The feeling is most definitely mutual.”
Chapter Forty-Two
When the bell rings at the end of school the next day, I can’t wait to get out, so I race out of the doors. I’ve spent the whole day being amazed at how the tide can turn on a person—in this case, Megan—and I’ve even felt a twinge of pity for her. While no one knows the full details, there’s a lot of speculation, and none of it is good. Everyone pesters me for answers, but I refuse to divulge any of the details.
But that’s not the only reason I’m looking forward to the end of school today. This is the first proper day that I can come down the school steps knowing that I can text Noah and will be able to see him.
Hey—you around? Xxx
And when I hit send I have a huge smile on my face. It sounds like such a ridiculous thing to be happy about, but Noah and I have never been able to have that kind of normal relationship. The one where you know the person isn’t a million miles away. Where we’re not living for snatched Skype conversations, or navigating time zones, or looking up the price of plane tickets all the time.
This is our chance to see if we can really work. And that starts with being able to handle the ordinary stuff.
Within a few seconds, he replies.
With E & A in The Crêperie. Come join? N x
Now there’s an even bigger skip in my step. All my favourite people are hanging out in one place, and I’m so excited!
My school is a little bit far from the Lanes, so I hop on a bus on the way down to the sea. There are loads of people on board, including a bunch of kids from my school, all with their heads bent down low over their phones. I want to take a picture, but there’s no way I can do it discreetly. Instead, I sit on my hands and will the driver to go even faster.
The tiny crêperie is down a winding cobblestone lane and almost right on the seafront. When I walk in, the waitress gives me a smile and points downstairs.
“Thanks,” I say, making my way past a table of tourists. I catch the name of a well-known star who lives in Brighton—if they hope to see him, I think they’ll very likely be out of luck. I wonder what they’d say if they knew a famous American singer was just downstairs . . . ?
The whole of the lower ground floor is for seating and there’s a table at the back where I spot my friends. Elliot sees me first, and waves frantically at me to come over. I slide into the seat next to Noah, reaching over to take a sip of his Coke.
“Hey!” he says in mock indignation. Then he kisses me on the cheek.
“What? I was thirsty!” I grin.
“Did you know that crêpes are actually from the Brittany region of France, where they call them krampouezh ?” Elliot says, tucking into one that’s laden with strawberries and whipped cream.
“Can I get you anything, miss?” says the waitress behind me.
“Oh, just a lemonade, please,” I say.
When my drink comes, Elliot lifts his glass. “I want to make a toast. To the whole gang finally being back together—and to Noah finally coming to his senses.”
“Cheers!” we all say, lifting our glasses and clinking them together.
“And . . .” A sly grin appears on Elliot’s face. “Let’s say cheers to MegaNasty finally getting her comeuppance.”
“Hey, I think you should speak more quietly,” says Alex.
“What do you mean?” says Elliot. “Ding Dong, the MegaNasty’s Dead! And all that.”
Alex is really elbowing Elliot in the ribs now, and Elliot exclaims, “Ow! Quit it!” with a frown. But then he looks up, past my shoulder, and his mouth turns into an “O” of surprise.
I blink at the two of them as if they’ve gone crazy, but then a shiver runs down my spine, like someone is watching me. I turn round, feeling like I’m moving in slow motion, like I’m moving through maple syrup. When I look round, there’s Megan. Her hair is scraped back off her face into a ponytail and she doesn’t have a scrap of makeup on. Her eyes are rimmed red from crying and her lower lip is trembling. I automatically check—but there are no milkshakes in sight.
And no wonder because following her down the stairs is her mum. If there’s anyone scarier than Megan herself, it’s Mrs. Barker. She takes a seat at one of the empty tables near the stairs as Megan tentatively approaches us.
“Hi, Penny,” she says quietly.
“Hi, Megan,” I reply, swallowing hard. Underneath the table, Noah grips my leg, giving me a squeeze of encouragement. Elliot just glares at her.
“Kira said I might find you here. I know you probably don’t want to talk to me, and I get that you might never want to be my friend again, but I just wanted to apologize to you for the things I said yesterday, and for everything I did to you, Posey, and Leah. I know that it wasn’t right, and I can’t believe I let it get as out of hand as I did.”
“Um . . . OK,” I say, a little unsure of myself.
“I know it’s hard to understand,” she continues, reading my mind. “And I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I wrote more of my thoughts out and published them on my blog. Just so that you know I’m not hiding anymore.”
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. I thought Megan would instinctively want to protect her reputation at any cost, not post a public apology for all her friends and family—the world even—to see.
“After you’ve read it, will you let Leah Brown know for me? I don’t really have any way of getting in touch with her myself to apologize personally.”
“Yes, I’ll tell her,” I reply.
“Thank you,” she says. She turns round to return to her mum.
“Wait, Megan,” I call out.
“Yeah?”
“What are you going to do now? About school and stuff?”
“Madame Laplage has suspended me for the time being, but she’s letting me have my place back eventually. She’s suggested I take a year out to make sure that it’s what I really want before I go back. As for my first year, because of missing the first major drama performance this term I’m not going to get any credits for it.”
“Taking some time off sounds like a good plan,” I say.
“Well, see you around,” she says with a small wave.
“Yeah, ’bye,” I say, unsure of what else to add, and she walks away.
Mrs. Barker puts her hand on Megan’s shoulder and escorts her back upstairs. I wonder how many other people she’s having to call on just so that she can say sorry, and I hope she’s already apologized to Posey.
“Holy wow,” says Elliot.
“I know! I can’t believe Megan came all the way here . . .” I say, sitting back down on my chair with a bump.
; “No, not that—well, yes, that—but I’m reading Megan’s blog post. Want to see?” He turns his phone round so that I have a full view.
I’m sorry
Hello readers,
I know I usually use this space to show you the things I’m loving, but I have a few things I want to write about today.
I’ve done a really stupid thing that most of you probably know about already. I just want to say that I’m really sorry for all the hurt I caused. I wasn’t thinking about anybody but myself.
I wanted that part in the school performance more than anything—but that should have made me want to work harder, to be better, not to spoil someone else’s success just to beat them to the top. I did receive money from Starry Eyes for releasing the song, but I’ve decided to donate that money to Great Ormond Street Hospital.
I won’t be returning to Madame Laplage for a while. I need a bit of space to re-evaluate what it is I really want. A friend of mine gave me some great insight recently into finding your own feet and not relying on anybody else. For once, I think I need to take her advice on board. I can be extremely stubborn a lot of the time and I know I tend to bulldoze my way through life, grabbing everything I want. I’m really ashamed it’s taken getting suspended from my dream school for me to realize this. I have risked losing some good friends and my dream career all because of one selfish act.
Again, if you’re reading this and you’re one of the people I’ve offended or hurt, I’m truly very sorry.
Comments are closed.
Chapter Forty-Three
Elliot lets out a long whistle. “Well, you can’t say the girl isn’t brave,” he says.
Weirdly, reading Megan’s blog post has helped release the bundle of tension that had built up in my stomach. My friendship with Megan will never be the same, but then again it’s never really ever felt like a real proper friendship. At least now I know where I stand with her.
And, strangely, that’s OK.
Maybe this whole growing-up thing isn’t so bad after all.
Elliot’s phone buzzes, and he frowns down at it.
“What is it?” I ask.
“It’s your mum . . .”
“Mum? What does she want?”
“I don’t know. She just says that you and I need to come home now. Just the two of us, if possible.”
“Huh?” I frown at Noah, just as Elliot frowns at Alex. What could it mean?
“You two don’t have any strange surprises in store, do you?”
Noah holds his hands up. “Nothing to do with me.”
Worry gnaws at my tummy. It’s rare for Mum to text out of the blue, demanding that I come home. Especially now that I’ve started sixth form, both my parents seem happy to give me more independence.
“We’d better go,” I say. “It might be an emergency.” I kiss Noah and let him know I’ll be in touch with him later.
“OK,” says Elliot, unusually sombre.
“Call me?” Alex asks him, giving him a light kiss on the cheek. His normally calm features have a look of concern marring them. I suspect Alex feels the same unease that I do.
“Of course,” says Elliot. In typical style, he’s changed his tone so that it’s light and breezy, as if there’s nothing to worry about. He gives me a grin and a wink, and—I can’t help it—I feel better too. He slides out from his side of the bench, then links his arm through mine. “Come on, she probably just wants my expert opinion on the latest wedding decor.” Arm in arm, we practically skip back upstairs and out of the door.
By the time we get home, Elliot and I are back to normal, singing “We Are Family” and “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” at the top of our lungs and generally being complete nutters.
The mood changes, though, as soon as we walk into the living room, where Mum and Dad are sitting opposite two stern-looking lawyer-types: Elliot’s parents.
I immediately reach out and grab Elliot’s hand. It feels limp in my own. He starts taking steps backwards towards the door, and I feel his hand quiver, like he’s ready to bolt.
Mum must see it too, because she stands up. “Please, Elliot. Your parents have something they need to discuss with you.”
“I . . . I came here because I trusted you!” Elliot cries, wrenching his hand out of mine and clasping it to his chest as if it’s burning him. His words are directed at Mum, but they also feel pointed at me. “I wanted to get away from them, not have them here too.”
“We know, Elliot,” says his mum.
“Your parents—”
“My parents don’t get to decide when they want to come in and ruin my life!”
“Elliot, don’t talk to Mrs. Porter like that,” says his father.
“And you don’t get to talk to me at all, Dad.”
“See?” says Elliot’s father to his mother. “I told you this was pointless.”
“Yeah, I’m just pointless, as always.” And with that, Elliot spins on his heels and hurtles upstairs.
I’m left standing in the living room, my head fizzing with emotion. I still can’t believe Elliot’s dad talks to him that way—but I also can’t believe that Mum ambushed him.
Mum looks up at me, her face crinkled with anguish. “Penny, do you think you can talk to him? It’s really important that he hears his parents out. I know it’s hard.”
I nod, feeling numb. I climb the stairs slowly, trying to work out in my head what to say to my best friend. When I approach Tom’s room—Elliot’s room—Elliot is angrily throwing all his worldly belongings into a suitcase. This kind of anger doesn’t suit him. His face has gone splotchy with rage, and I can see he’s trembling.
Without saying a word, I walk up to him and envelop him in a hug. He struggles against me at first, his rage not allowing him to let go, but eventually I feel him relent and he leans his head on my shoulder. “I’m going to have to go and talk to them, aren’t I?”
I nod into him. “Even if your parents aren’t being particularly grown up here, you have to be.”
“Growing up sucks, doesn’t it?”
I pull away from him, and wipe a tear away from his cheek. “Yeah, big time. But Mum’s a good mediator, you know. She won’t let things get too bad for you. She’ll protect you from your dad.”
He nods miserably. “I think I’m going to need it. Did you see how on edge he was?”
“They’re going through a hard time too. Just whatever you do, don’t let them put the blame onto you. You’re a victim in all of this. This isn’t your fight.”
“Thanks, Pen-Pen.” He bends down to look in the mirror on the dresser, wipes away the remains of the tears from beneath his eyes, then straightens and shakes his shoulders out. “Wish me luck.”
“Do you want me to come down with you?”
He shakes his head, then gives me two kisses on the cheek. “No, this is something I’d better do on my own. But if I need anything, you’ll be here, right?”
“Of course.”
I spend the next hour staring at the ceiling in my room, unable to concentrate on any of my homework, my blog comments, or even on the email from Melissa that’s sitting in my inbox. I just about manage to compose a reasonable-sounding text to Noah that explains why Mum called us away, and he texts back with a frowny face emoji and a promise to come over if we need anything.
Three short knocks interrupt my thoughts, the only thing that could have broken my weird trance. I roll off the bed and open my door.
There, red-eyed but eerily calm, is Elliot. “It’s happening,” he says, his voice sounding small. “My parents are getting divorced.”
4 November
What to Do When Your Best Friend Is Suffering
Hi, everyone,
It’s advice time again. As in it’s time for me to ask you guys for some advice.
A friend is going through something really hard at the moment.
Something I’m not sure I can help him with.
But I know it’s something a lot of you out there have had to deal w
ith or are dealing with right now. So here goes:
How do you handle it when your parents are splitting up?
I know I’d find it so difficult to cope with. I think, in my friend’s case, the atmosphere in his house has been toxic for a long time because his parents weren’t happy together. So if this helps his parents be happier, then it has to be a good thing for them.
But for my friend, it’s shattering. I’m desperate to help, but how? There’s only so many creamy hot chocolates and upbeat playlists I can force on the guy to try to make it better. That’s not enough anymore. I know divorce happens a lot these days, so I was hoping some of you could help me out by sharing what got you through when your parents were splitting up.
I’d be really grateful for your advice.
Thanks in advance.
Girl Online, going offline xxx
Chapter Forty-Four
“Do you swear this is a real British tradition, and not just something you made up? You’re not pulling my leg?” Noah is in JB’s Diner with me, sipping hot chocolate, and I’m trying to explain to him the ins and outs of Bonfire Night.
I giggle at his scepticism. “Honestly, it’s all true!”
“What’s the nursery rhyme again?”
“Remember, remember, the fifth of November,” I recite. “Gunpowder treason and plot !”
“And you really burn someone on a bonfire?”
“Sometimes they burn an effigy on a bonfire—a ‘guy’—like a man made from old clothes and stuffed with newspapers. But we don’t tend to do that in Brighton. We just have a big bonfire and fireworks.”
“It still sounds pretty cool. Where did it come from?”
“For the history lesson, you’re going to have to wait until you see Wiki!” I say with a laugh. “This year Dad says he’s going to build a bonfire in the garden. He hasn’t done that for ages, but since you’re here, he wants it to be special.”