@girlonline22 you make me sick
What?! I click on another one.
@noahflynn cheats on @leahbrown with UK blogger @girlonline22. WTF?!!
Panic starts rising inside of me. Who are these people? Why are they saying these things? How do they know?
I go straight to my Twitter account and start scrolling through the notifications. There are a few from regular readers of my blog all saying things like: “Is it true? Is Brooklyn Boy Noah Flynn?” And a few saying, “Who is Noah Flynn?” But the rest are from total strangers and they’re horrible.
omg, like @leahbrown has anything to worry about? @girlonline22 is an ugly dog
Trying to get your 5 minutes of fame @girlonline22?
I hate people who kiss and tell @girlonline22 #noclass
On and on they go. Finally, I get to a tweet from the American gossip site Celeb Watch.
While the cat’s away: Noah Flynn has fling with UK blogger @girlonline22 while Leah Brown is out of town
I click on the link to their website and read the article in horror.
CELEB WATCH EXCLUSIVE!
While Leah Brown spent Christmas in LA with her folks it looks like her new love interest Noah Flynn found someone else to smooch beneath the mistletoe—UK blogger Penny Porter, better known as Girl Online.
I stare at the screen in horror. They know my name. How do they know my name?
Giving him the pet name Brooklyn Boy, Penny has been blogging all about her time with Noah, not caring at all that he’s currently in a relationship with Leah Brown. I guess some folk will do anything for their moment in the spotlight. Well, we wouldn’t like to be in Noah’s shoes when Leah gets back in town!
There are fifty-six comments beneath the post. I scroll down to the first one.
What a skank!
Someone has replied to it.
I don’t think she’s in it for the money. I think she sounds kinda sweet. He’s the skank, cheating on his girlfriend while she’s out of town.
Yeah but she must have known he had a girlfriend
How do they know what I sound like? I look back up at the article and see that they’ve linked to my blog. I click on the link and it takes me to the first post I wrote about Noah. I cringe as I reread my words, now knowing the truth. I look down at the most recent comments.
Yeah, but Prince Charming wasn’t a cheater and Cinderella wasn’t a ho.
Numb with dread, I scroll down and read more of the same. Then a couple of my regular readers posting “Is this true?” And finally, at the bottom of the feed, there’s a post from Pegasus Girl.
Dear Penny,
I know you probably don’t care what I think but I had to say something. The reason my parents’ marriage broke up and my mum started drinking was because my dad went off with another woman. I was so happy that you’d found someone and fallen in love but getting involved with someone else’s boyfriend isn’t good. It causes so much pain. Sorry, I know it’s none of my business but I feel so strongly about this subject I couldn’t not say anything.
I don’t think I can read your blog anymore.
Pegasus Girl
My email notification goes off again. Five more messages telling me that total strangers have mentioned me on Twitter. I click on one and see the word “hate” and quickly click out again.
I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at my phone in terror. I picture people all over the world reading about me, posting hate-filled messages about me. People I don’t know. People who’ve never even met me. But they know who I am. They know my name. And they know my blog. What if they find out where I live? What if they come to this house? My body starts shaking and tears start streaming down my face. What am I going to do? I have to go back to school tomorrow. How will I face everyone?
My throat tightens. I can’t swallow. I can’t breathe. I feel as if I’m shrinking. Tinier and tinier. I need help. I need someone to help me. But I can’t move. My limbs feel as heavy as stone. I look at the door. It seems so far away. So unreachable. What am I going to do? I picture a mob of people marching down the road to my house. Setting up camp on the driveway. Throwing stones up at my window. Waving placards filled with abuse. I have nowhere I can feel safe anymore. My readers will all hate me. Everyone will hate me. Tears are pouring down my face now. I’ve never felt so frightened or so completely and utterly alone. Pressure keeps building in my head, like it’s being clamped in a vise. I can’t swallow. I can’t see. I can’t breathe.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“Penny! Penny! What is it? What’s wrong?” Mum races into the bedroom and turns on the light.
I’m lying curled up in a ball on the floor. Why am I on the floor? What’s happened?
“Rob! Rob! Come here!” Mum yells. Then I feel her crouching down beside me and her hands clutching my arms. “It’s OK, darling, it’s OK.”
I’m wailing now. I can hear myself but I feel disconnected somehow, like it’s not really me, like I’m not really in my body.
“Can you sit up?” Mum says gently.
I hear feet pounding up the stairs.
“What’s going on?” Dad says. “Oh no, Pen, what’s happened?”
I feel his arms around me, big and strong. I somehow find the strength to ease my way into a seated position and lean into him. I can’t stop crying. I want to cry and cry my way back to being a baby again so that I don’t have to worry about anything anymore.
“What happened?” Dad says again softly.
“Is it . . . ? Did you have another panic attack?” Mum says. I hear her moving about behind me, then I feel her wrapping my duvet around me.