Hey, Inciting Incident, wassup? I miss you. Bella misses you. Sadie Lee misses you. Let me know when you’re awake and you feel like skyping
I stare at the text in disbelief. How has he got the nerve to be so blasé about it all? How can he send me messages like that when he has a girlfriend? But I have no energy left to get angry. I feel totally drained. Shaking and crying, I start writing a reply.
I don’t think this is going to work out and I think it’s probably best if we don’t contact each other again. Sorry
I frown at the text. Why have I written “sorry”? Why the hell should I be apologizing to him?! I delete the word “sorry” and send the text before I have time for any second thoughts. Then I turn the phone straight off again and get back into bed.
As I burrow down under the duvet, I remember what Bella said to me the time she caught me crying over Elliot. Whenever you’re sad, you should think of three happy things to chase the sadness away. I rack my brains. In the end, all I can think of is my blog. Right now, it’s the only thing that makes me feel remotely happy. At least on my blog I have people who understand me. At least on my blog I can totally be myself and everyone loves and supports me. I feel a tiny glimmer of hope. In the morning I’ll blog about what’s happened. I won’t go into the details but I’ll tell them that Brooklyn Boy turned out to be a total sham. My readers will know what to do and what to say. They’ll help me get over this. They have to.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
When I wake up, it’s still dark and I feel disoriented. What time is it? What day is it? What country am I in? And then a horrible nauseous feeling churns in my stomach. Something really bad has happened but I can’t remember what.
The sick feeling reaches the tips of my limbs as I remember: Noah. I close my eyes tight and will myself to go back to sleep just so I can forget about it again. But it’s no good. Horrible memories crowd into my mind. Noah lied to me. About everything. He’s a professional musician. He has a record deal. And a girlfriend. A girlfriend who used to have pride of place on my brother’s wall—not literally, of course, that would be really weird, but in poster form.
It all feels so strange and unreal. I’m just a schoolgirl from Brighton. The closest I’ve ever come to a celebrity was the time Elliot and I walked past Fatboy Slim in Snooper’s Paradise and I sneezed and my chewing gum flew out of my mouth and landed on his coat. I do not get romantically involved with American YouTube sensations who also happen to be going out with Leah Brown. How has this even happened to me?
I sit bolt upright and stare into the darkness. Was nothing real? Had Noah just been using me? Was I just some entertainment for him while Leah Brown was out of town? It doesn’t make sense. Either he has to be the world’s worst liar or there’s some kind of explanation. Then I remember the text I sent him. How will he have responded? I fumble around for my phone and turn it on. Both my text alert and email notification go off. I think of the happy-new-year blog post I wrote and I cringe. Then I think of having to tell my readers that Brooklyn Boy was a big old con artist and I cringe some more.
I take a deep breath and click on my text messages. Two from Noah. The first one was sent right after I sent mine telling him I didn’t want any more contact with him.
What the hell? This is a joke, right? Call me! I can’t get through to your phone
The second text was sent at 5:30 a.m.—I check the clock on my phone—less than an hour ago.
I hope whatever they paid you was worth it. Damn right there’ll be no more contact. I’ve changed my number and email address. I never want to hear from you again. I trusted you
What the hell?! I click out of the message and back in again, to make sure I wasn’t seeing things, but it’s right there in front of me. Why is he so mad at me? And what does he mean, he trusted me? I’m not the one who’s been lying. I’m not the one with a girlfriend. Too angry to think straight, I start typing a reply.
YOU trusted me?! What about my trust? How could you have lied to me like that? How could you have thought I wouldn’t find out? Didn’t you care?
Adrenaline courses through my veins as I click send. Almost immediately the text notification goes off. Message failed. I look back at his text. He must have changed his number already. He’s cut me off completely. But why . . . ? And then I get it. He realized I’d discovered his lies and he’s gone on the defensive. Wow! I sit back on my bed, stunned at how wrong I’d been about him. He’s probably worried that Leah Brown might find out. Like I’m going to call her and say, “Hey, Leah, you don’t know me—in fact, I’m just some random schoolgirl from Brighton—but while you were spending Christmas in LA I was busy falling in love with your boyfriend in New York.”
My anger and indignation fade into sorrow. How has this even happened? How can the Noah and I who saw in the new year together in that magical tent now be so completely cut off from each other? I feel a weird stabbing ache inside my rib cage, like my heart has just been torn in two.
Hoping for a distraction from the tears welling in my eyes, I click into my email account. I have 237 new messages. I feel a tiny shot of happiness. People must have been posting their new year’s resolutions on my blog. But when I go to my inbox I see that at least half of them are Twitter notifications. I immediately feel uneasy. I only opened a Twitter account to share my blog posts and follow a few of my favorite photographers and other bloggers. I never get this many notifications. I click on one out of curiosity.