“Yeah?” I’m surprised he can hear me knock over the thrumming bass of his favourite dubstep music, but he’s very attuned to any disturbance of his privacy.
“It’s me.” I push open the door and see my brother at his computer. He spends so much of his time there that I’m surprised there isn’t a permanent indent in his desk chair.
“Everything OK, Pen-pen?” He takes off his head-phones.
I bring my laptop over to him and show him the picture. “This was taken from my phone—the one that was stolen at the concert. Look at the subject line. I think someone wants to use it against me?”
Tom’s body language shifts from relaxed to tense, like he’s gearing up for a fight. “OK, first of all, have you called your provider? They can shut down the phone remotely.”
I nod. “Yeah, I did that about ten minutes after I lost it. But I haven’t done anything else . . . I guess I was still holding out hope that someone would find it and hand it in.”
He grabs his phone and starts dialling a number. “Right, well, at least that’s something. Is there anything that’s really compromising on your phone? If they’ve got this photograph, they might have downloaded others from your phone already, or got your contacts list. Didn’t you have a password?”
“I had a password but . . . it was Noah’s birthday.” I cringe at how obvious that sounds, now that I say it out loud. “If someone had recognized it was my phone, that wouldn’t be too hard to guess. There are a few texts, and most of my conversations with Noah are on WhatsApp.”
“Let’s go through and change all your passwords—we can do that remotely, and set it so that your phone wipes if it’s connected to the Internet. Then you’d better let Noah know that someone might have got hold of his number.”
The thought of that makes me feel anxious all over again, but Tom reminds me that it’s just a phone number, and not passport details or a full-blown medical history. “Pen-pen, it was an accident. Noah will understand. He cares more about you than a stupid mobile number.”
After an hour sitting on the edge of Tom’s bed, I’ve managed to shut down the phone, wipe it clean, and change all my passwords. I feel so much better knowing that I’ve done as much as possible, and that there’s nothing more TheRealTruth—whoever they are—can do to hurt me. I don’t want to be a victim anymore to people who think they can abuse my privacy and my emotions. I remind myself that they don’t know anything about me and Noah, and how solid our relationship is after everything we’ve been through. I’m stronger than I was last year, and I want to remain that way.
I stand up and hug Tom from behind as he taps away at his computer, changing the last of my log-in details. “Thanks, bro. I love you.”
He pats my arms. “I’m proud of you for not freaking out, Penny.” He spins round in his chair. “And be careful in Europe. If anything happens, I’ll be on the first plane out.”
“I know.” As I leave, I take a deep breath and finally feel like I am actually going. And I can’t wait.
• • •
When Noah picks me up the next morning, my adrenaline is still running high from the previous night. I tell him all about TheRealTruth and he doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he grabs my hand.
“Remember what I said, Autumn Girl. I’m here for you. Sounds like you and Tom got things sorted, but if anything else from this creep comes up we’ll face it together. You and me against the world, all right?”
“All right,” I say, and my heart lifts as I realize that whoever is trying to . . . blackmail me? Scare me? Trigger my anxiety? Whatever it is they’re trying to do, I won’t have to face it alone. If anything, our chat about TheRealTruth ends up being a welcome distraction from the short plane journey because, before I know it, we’ve landed and Noah is taking my hand and escorting me through the airport, into the car park, and up to the tour bus.
It is just as I had imagined: a great big black bus, with huge, tinted windows. It’s super shiny and swish. Noah’s face is lit up with excitement and he squeezes my hand so tight I feel my bones crush together.
“This is really happening, Pen! Look at this absolute beauty.” He skips ahead and stands in front of it, attempting to take a tour-bus selfie—but of course he only manages to get his face and a tiny bit of black behind him.
“Let me take it, you doofus.” I snatch the phone from his hand and take a much better shot with his arms outstretched and the bus behind him.
Larry pops his head out of the door and waves us in. “Oh, good. You’re here!” he says. As we step inside, I realize how much of a boys’ paradise this is. There are several mini fridges, games consoles, and TV screens everywhere. The rest of Noah’s band starts filing in and, surprisingly, I don’t feel claustrophobic. It’s a lot roomier than I could ever have expected. There are two sofa areas, a small kitchen, a shower with a toilet, and at the back of the bus there are a few caravan-style beds in case anyone feels the need for a quick snooze.
I feel a hand slide behind my back and a husky voice in my ear.
“Wanna play?” I turn to see Blake gesturing towards the Xbox.
“Oh, I’m not very good really!” I say modestly, although secretly I’m an absolute whiz at Sonic the Hedgehog and Mario Kart. Having an older brother means that the majority of the time I’ve spent bonding with him has been over lengthy gaming sessions. A lot of my fondest memories with Tom are of the days and weeks we used to spend trying to complete various games together, snacking on handfuls of cereal and leaving the room only for the occasional toilet break.