I step back from the front of the stage, edging towards the shadows. Noah is standing in a pool of light in the middle of the stage, dressed in a maroon Harvard hoodie and black jeans, singing the first few bars of “Elements.” I snap a picture of that too: the performer before the performance, the many hours of rehearsal and hard work that the fans almost never get to see. This is turning out to be perfect for my A-levels project.
I’m lost in the image of Noah losing himself in his music, until Blake smashes the cymbals on his drum kit behind me, making me jump. I stumble backwards, tripping over a bundle of cords on the floor. I’m so concerned with preserving my camera that I don’t reach out to break my fall and I crash against a stack of speakers. The smallest speaker at the top wobbles precariously from the force of my impact.
Please don’t fall, please don’t fall, I pray to the gods of clumsiness.
They don’t listen.
The speaker drops to the ground with a sickening crack, pieces flying across the stage. I’m slumped on the floor, my shoulder throbbing, but my camera is in one piece—a tiny silver lining, at least.
“Penny! Oh my god, are you OK?” Noah runs over to me.
I stand up quickly, brushing myself off. I try to avoid wincing, which turns my smile into a weird grimace. “I’m fine, seriously, Noah—you better keep on rehearsing. I—I can pay for the speaker.”
“No, don’t worry about that. Blake, what the hell, man?”
Blake looks over at me and shrugs. “Hey, it’s not my problem if your girlfriend is a klutz.”
“He’s right—I’m a klutz,” I stammer.
Noah frowns. “Well, you’re my klutz and I don’t want you to get hurt. Those speakers are seriously heavy.”
I nod and, to hide the bright red blush of shame that has risen in my cheeks, I drop back to the floor and start to pick up the broken pieces of the speaker that have shattered across the stage. I’m never going to go on a stage again. Stages and I are officially cursed.
“Steve will help clear this up.” Noah gestures over to one of the roadies, who’s already at hand with a dustpan and brush. I vaguely recognize him from the quick-fire round of introductions when we first entered the venue. Noah knows the name of every member of the crew, even if he’s only met them once; it’s yet another thing that makes him so special. “We can get a new speaker here, right?”
“No problem,” says Steve. “We can switch one out from the back.”
“See? All good. Just ignore Blake and I’ll come meet you after I’ve rehearsed.”
“Sounds good,” I say. I’m still frustrated. Why do I have to be such a liability? Backstage is hopefully much safer.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and text Elliot.
One day in Berlin and I’m already a disaster
He texts back almost straightaway.
What happened?
Let’s just say I’m not meant to be onstage
Don’t tell me there was an incident with the unicorn pants again?
NO. Worse. I probably broke hundreds of pounds’ worth of equipment
I’m sure The Sketch can afford it. Seen anyone else famous yet?
I’m about to text back No, but all of a sudden that’s not true anymore.
Leah Brown walks into the backstage area, her hair pulled into a ponytail, her face makeup free. In fact, the only thing that marks her as an internationally super-famous pop star is the fact that about a dozen people are trailing after her, struggling to keep up with her long-legged strides. Leah looks down at the tablet one of her minions is holding.
“Ugh, I hate that. Weren’t there any better pictures than that one? Tell Frankie P. we might need to do another shoot if that’s the best he can come up with.”
I want a hole to open up and swallow me. If I look away she might not notice me, but I can’t stop staring at her. Even before she gets all her hair and makeup done, she’s beautiful, like a magnet that draws all eyes her way. I think this is what people mean when they say someone has star quality, the X factor. Her presence changes the air, makes everything feel more electric.
Elliot would call it a certain je ne sais quoi.
Megan would be jealous.
Ollie would be drooling.
I get the shivers.
I don’t understand how Noah could have been in a “fake” relationship with this girl. How could any straight guy spend time in her presence and not fall in love with her?
Even though I’m making a fool out of myself by staring like a lunatic, Leah and her posse walk straight past me without stopping—with the exception of the girl who’s been told to contact Frankie P. She grabs one of the other girls and I can hear her mutter, “Tell François-Pierre Nouveau that he has to redo this shoot? How am I supposed to do that?” Her face is white with panic and the ends of her sentences rise into a high-pitched squeal. I’ve heard of François-Pierre Nouveau—he’s one of the most famous photographers in the world. I can’t believe I’m in the presence of someone who has had a photo shoot with François-Pierre—or, rather, someone who is rejecting the work of François-Pierre and calls him Frankie P.
“You’ll have to figure it out,” the other girl says. “This is LB’s album cover we’re talking about. If she’s not happy . . .”
“I’m going to die. I’m officially going to die.”
This time they see me staring and they both shoot me dark looks. I keep moving, stammering an apology.
“Penny?”
I turn round reluctantly. Leah is standing with one hand on her hip, and the rest of her group is looking at me like I’ve grown another head. I nod, and swallow hard. “Hi, Leah.”
She walks towards me, and it feels more like a predator approaching prey than someone coming over to say hello.
“So you’re Penny Porter.”
I don’t really know how to respond to that, so I just nod again.
“You were the one that gave me so much trouble last year,” she says, her drawn-out LA accent touched with a hint of her Southern roots. She looks me up and down, and I feel her entire group judging my outfit. I haven’t exactly made an effort today. I’m dressed to ride in a tour bus, so I’m in my comfy jeans and a zip-up sweater. I fold my arms protectively across my chest but stand tall.
“Well, I guess I owe you a thanks for the song inspiration. Sweet camera. See you around,” she says with a little wave, before turning back to her group.
Leah had used the media storm that exploded around her fake breakup with Noah to launch her latest number-one internationally bestselling single “Bad Boy.” Leah writes a lot of her own music, and this one had been primed and ready in case of any eventuality—in this case, using her breakup with Noah to her advantage. I’m sure there were songs about how deeply in love they were too, in case things had continued to be smooth sailing.
As she walks away, I feel like I could faint with relief. I need to speak to Elliot. Stat.
Chapter Sixteen
From: Elliot Wentworth
To: Penny Porter
Subject: THE ELLIOT REPORT
Dear Pennylicious, aka Ocean Strong,
You’ve been gone ONE DAY and already I’m in a conundrum. Just HOW am I going to suffer through the next two weeks without you? Things have gone from bad to worse in this seaside town. I didn’t tell you over text, but my dad is back. He’s insisting on taking me to dinner. Something his therapist told him to do so he can “come to terms” with my “sexuality.” He’s staying in the house with Mum’s permission, but they keep having these mega blow-up arguments whenever they’re in the same room together. There’s been more emotion in this house over the past day than I’ve seen in sixteen years.
Anyway, Mum’s decided she doesn’t want to see him. She hasn’t even come home this evening—instead, she’s putting in even more hours at work. Sometimes I wonder if she doesn’t even want to see me either? Ugh, why is family drama so hard? I think I preferred it when my parents just ignored me and let me get on with
life.
Speaking of life, my internship with CHIC magazine started EARLY! They wanted me in today, even though it’s a Friday—ARGH. But it was so amazing. I got to work with a stylist and she actually complimented my blazer—you know the one I sewed those crazy buttons on? OK, so it’s a lot of getting coffee and detangling about a million necklaces from an unholy knot but it’s REAL FASHION WORK.
But enough about me and my monotonous life. How are things with you?
What’s your hotel like?
Have you seen the Berlin Wall yet?
Did you eat any currywurst?
And most importantly . . . DID YOU MEET LEAH BROWN?
Miss you to the maximum, Penny P.
Elliot xx
From: Penny Porter
To: Elliot Wentworth
Subject: RE: THE ELLIOT REPORT
Dearest most dear of dear Elliots,
I did! I met Leah!
She was in the middle of rejecting images by François-Pierre Nouveau. CAN YOU IMAGINE? It’s like telling Vincent van Gogh, “Yeah, your painting is all right, but just not good enough for my walls.”
She’s even more intimidating in person.
How am I supposed to compete with that? But, weirdly, she was kind of fine with me just now. I’m sure it’s an act in front of Noah, though.
And no, I haven’t seen anything of Berlin. But Noah and I are going on our Magical Mystery Day tomorrow so I will tell you ALL ABOUT IT.
That sucks about your dad. Majorly. But brilliant about the internship. I knew you would rock it! And OF COURSE they’re going to love your style—you’re Elliot! You’re the most fashionable guy in Brighton!
But are you sure you can’t hop on a last-minute flight to Berlin and come out and join me?
P xxx
From: Elliot Wentworth
To: Penny Porter
Subject: RE: Re: THE ELLIOT REPORT
Dear Pennylicious,
I wish.
Elliot x
PS Actually, Vincent van Gogh did get turned down many times. He only sold one painting in his entire lifetime and didn’t become super famous until after he died.
From: Penny Porter
To: Elliot Wentworth
Subject: RE: Re: Re: THE ELLIOT REPORT
Dear Wiki,
All right, know-it-all.
Penny x
Chapter Seventeen
There’s no doubt about it: my boyfriend rocks—and it seems like he’s got just as many fans in Germany as he does in the UK. There’s as much screaming for him here as there was in Brighton. I don’t know why I’m so surprised, but it feels like the levels of Noah’s fame keep rising higher and higher, while I’m feeling more and more left behind. He awes me with his talent. He’s only two years older than me, and already he’s accomplished so much.
I remind myself that Noah is not normal. I have loads of time to work out exactly what I want to do. Being “Noah’s girlfriend” is only one part of my future.
The time between the soundcheck and the actual concert is jam-packed with pre-show interviews and photographs, a string of journalists entering Noah’s dressing room one after the other. I sit discreetly in the corner, occasionally snapping a photograph but mostly just listening. Noah’s a pro at interviews, but I suppose you would be after answering the same questions again and again. It’s a wonder that not a single journalist asks him anything really interesting. Maybe it’s the domineering presence of Dean behind him, arms folded, always ready to interfere in case the line of questioning dances too closely to delicate subjects, like his parents—or, for that matter, me.
A couple of the journalists recognize me, and, because he knows it makes me nervous, Noah is careful not to reveal too much about our relationship.
The closest one of the interviewers gets to an interesting answer is when she asks a question about Leah Brown. “So, Noah,” a pretty brunette with a hugely popular German music blog asks, “what’s it like being in such close quarters with Leah Brown after last year’s . . . controversy?”
Noah smiles sweetly. “Leah and I are good friends, and I respect her musical talent. After all, I think she got her own back with ‘Bad Boy.’ ” He winks, applying his natural charm to the situation.
“And Penny doesn’t mind?” the blogger continues, undeterred.
Dean moves to interrupt, but Noah shrugs and answers, with a slight shake of his head to let Dean know to stand down. “Of course not. Penny has nothing to worry about.”
His words fill me with a warmth that spreads from my tiptoes to my forehead. I only hope that the blogger will print the statement as is, rather than twisting his words. Either way, the important thing is that he said them, and I heard. If only Blake were here—that would keep him quiet.
Dean claps his hands together. “OK, thanks, Ruby—that’s it for this interview. It’s showtime!” The room is already a hive of activity, but it seems to pick up tempo at Dean’s announcement.
My stomach clenches in a twist of nerves, but Noah is straight by my side and grabs my hand. He promised this time was going to be different, and already it feels like it is. “Do you have your new phone?” he asks.
“Yeah, hang on.” I dig it out of my pocket. He takes it from me and quickly dials a number. After a few rings, the screen lights up with the faces of two of my favourite people in the entire world: Sadie Lee and Bella.
“PRINCESS PENNY!” Bella bounces up and down on the screen, sitting so close her eyes bulge in the camera.
My jaw almost drops when I see her—I can’t believe how much she’s grown already. She looks more like a young lady than the bouncing four-year-old I saw at Christmas. “Bella! When did you get so big?” I say, unable to keep the astonishment from my voice. “Hi, Sadie Lee!” I can hear Sadie Lee’s warm laugh in the background as she gently pulls Bella away from the screen.
“Now, honey, Noah and Penny can see us much better when we’re sitting down nicely,” she says in her slow Southern drawl. Then she turns her twinkling brown eyes—the Flynn family trait—on me. “How is Berlin, my two shining stars?”
“I’m just about to hit the stage, G-ma!” says Noah.
“That’s great, Noah!” But then Sadie Lee’s eyes fill with concern. “Penny, I heard about what happened in Brighton. Are you being looked after now?”
My cheeks turn pink and I nod vigorously. Noah pulls me tight towards him with his free hand, the other one still holding the phone at arm’s length. “Penny’s going to sit just on the side of the stage and stream my set for you, so I’ll know all my favourite girls are watching.”
Sadie Lee laughs. “Why, Noah, I don’t think I’ve been called a girl for at least thirty years!”
He winks. “You know what I mean.” He looks up as Dean calls his name. He passes the phone to me, blows Sadie Lee and Bella a kiss, and kisses me on the cheek for real, then runs out to join the rest of his band.
I’m left holding the phone and, for a moment, I’m flustered. But then I stare straight into the friendly gazes of Sadie Lee and Bella and I remember that I have a job to do.
“Did you bring Princess Autumn with you?” asks Bella.
“Princess Autumn had to stay at my house, Bells—I didn’t want to bring her on tour in case she got lost!”
Bella nods sagely. “Oh, good. I don’t think she would like being on tour. It’s too busy for the princess.”
“I know what you mean,” I say with a bigger sigh than I intend.
Bella smiles and disappears off to find one of her toys to show me. Sadie Lee’s eyebrows have risen so high that I feel the need to explain: “I just don’t want to be a burden on Noah and Dean and everyone else . . .”
Sadie Lee slowly shakes her head. “Now you listen to me, honey. I know something very important that you might not realize: Noah needs you there as much as you need him. I promise you that. I’m glad you’re there looking after him—not the other way around.”
“But Dean—”
“O
h, don’t worry about him, darling. Dean is there to work for you both, and if he isn’t doing his job he’s going to have me to answer to.”
“Thanks, Sadie Lee.” I hear the roar of the crowd and I leap to my feet. I feel a surge of excitement and am so excited to have the chance to press the reset button on my experience of Noah’s set. “Here we go, ladies!” I say to the screen.
I jog to the side of the stage, where Noah is waiting, jumping from foot to foot, pumping himself up. When he sees me, his face lights up with a huge smile, and I make sure the camera on the phone is pointed straight at him so Sadie Lee and Bella have a great view.
“OK, I’ve had my friend Jake place these boxes here so you can sit and see from the wings.” He lifts me up onto the boxes just as the lights dim, ready for his onstage appearance.
“Good luck,” I whisper in his ear, and he waves to Sadie Lee and Bella on the phone. Then, the confident, rock-god-tastic boy I know takes a deep breath and walks out onto the stage.
Chapter Eighteen
I’m grateful that I have the distraction of making sure Sadie Lee and Bella see the whole show, because any nerves I might have had completely disappear. I realize that I know all the words to every song in Noah’s set by heart, but it’s incredible to hear the audience joining in on the big choruses.
“Hey, guys,” he says to the crowd, after forty-five minutes of energetic performance. “This is my last song.” He’s forced to pause for a moment while the crowd boos and complains, but he just chuckles into the microphone. “Some of you might not know this, but this is my favourite song on the whole album. This song makes me the luckiest guy in the world. Because the girl who inspired it is sitting just over there.”
He turns and looks at me. He’s sweaty, red-faced, and his hair is wet and dishevelled, but he’s still incredibly gorgeous—and everyone else melts away as he locks eyes with me. It’s only when I hear chants of “Autumn Girl! Autumn Girl!” that I realize the crowd out there knows me too. It’s so bizarre.