Girl Online(84)

They told me they’d pay me $20,000 for it.

They also said that it would be great for raising the profile of this blog.

Like I want my profile raised by a bunch of liars.

The fact is I would never sell a story on anyone, let alone someone I love.

Even if they really hurt me.

So, to finish my last blog post on this site, I’ve got just one more thing to say.

Every time you post something online you have a choice.

You can either make it something that adds to the happiness levels in the world—or you can make it something that takes away.

I tried to add something by starting Girl Online.

And for a while it really seemed to be working.

So, next time you go to post a comment or an update or share a link, ask yourself: is this going to add to the happiness in the world?

And if the answer’s no, then please delete.

There’s enough sadness in the world already. You don’t need to add to it.

I won’t be posting on here anymore.

But to everyone who added to my happiness while I did, thank you so much—I’ll never forget you . . .

Penny Porter aka Girl Online xxx





Chapter Forty-Four

The next morning I’m woken up by Elliot hammering the Can I come over? code on the wall.

I knock back Yes, rub my eyes, and look at my alarm clock. It’s only 6:30 a.m. My heart sinks. What could have gone wrong now? Still half-asleep, I stumble downstairs to let him in.

“OK, I know you said you were never going to blog again,” Elliot says, pushing past me into the hall.

“Ever,” I say.

“Yes, never ever, whatever,” Elliot says, waving his phone about excitedly. “But there’s something I really think you ought to see.”

I stare at him. “Is it to do with what happened with Noah? Because if it is, then no I don’t.”

Elliot grins. “It is, kind of, but it’s so good. Seriously.”

I sigh. “OK, it better be.” I take the phone from him. The screen’s displaying Elliot’s Twitter notification feed.

“You’ve got your very own hashtag!” Elliot says breathlessly.

“What?” I look at the tweets. They all have the hashtag #WeLoveYouGirlOnline after them.

“There’s also #BringBackGirlOnline and #WeWant GirlOnline,” Elliot says proudly. “Since you posted last night it’s gone crazy.”

I start reading the tweets. They’re all saying really lovely things about how much they’re missing my blogs and how I should ignore the haters. Then I see one from @PegasusGirl.

I’m sorry I judged you. Please come back #WeLoveGirlOnline

Elliot looks at me. “Isn’t it great?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” And the truth is I don’t. What happened before has left me so scared of the online world that I truly don’t know if I want to go back there—especially now that I don’t have the anonymity of Girl Online to hide behind.

“You said that the online world isn’t real, but some of it is,” Elliot says. “Your blog is.” He points to his Twitter feed. “And this is. They really love you.”

? ? ?

For all of Friday and Saturday I deliberate over what to do with my blog, with Elliot giving me regular updates on the hashtag campaign. On Sunday morning, I’m wide awake as soon as the seagulls start squawking. In the end, I decide to do the one thing guaranteed to help me get my head straight—go out and take some photos. I meet Dad in the kitchen as I’m about to head out.

“Oh, are you going somewhere?” he says, looking at me, surprised.

“Yes, I thought I’d go and take some photos down at the beach, while it’s still empty.” I grab a banana from the fruit bowl and stuff it in my pocket.

“How long do you think you’ll be?”

“I don’t know. About an hour, maybe two.”

Dad frowns. “OK, and then you’re coming straight back home?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Oh, I was just wondering when I should start Sunday lunch.” He disappears back behind his paper.

I’m just turning to leave when Mum appears. “Penny! Why are you up so early?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” I frown at her. “Why are you up so early? You do realize it’s Sunday?” Mum never normally gets up before ten on a Sunday; it’s the one day of the week she’s able to have a lie-in.

“I couldn’t sleep either.”

I shrug. “OK, well see you guys later.”

“How much later? Where are you going?” Mum asks.

“To the beach, to take some photos. I’ll be back by midday.”

“OK, well let us know if you decide to go anywhere else,” Dad says, peering at me over his paper.

“Will do. See you later.”

It’s only when I’ve gotten outside that I realize they’re probably still really paranoid about my last panic attack.

I send Dad a quick text.

Going to go down to the old pier



I guess it will make him feel a little better if he knows exactly where I’ll be.

? ? ?

The beach is completely deserted when I get there. It’s one of those bleak January days where the whole world seems to be painted in shades of grey. I kind of like it, though. I like being by myself with the sea and feeling as if the beach is my own private garden. I sit in the shelter of one of the shingles and watch the waves rolling out. And all of a sudden I’m engulfed by sorrow. It’s like now that I’ve finally stopped thinking about everything else—Elliot, my blog, school, Megan and Ollie—it’s left a space in my head for memories of Noah to rush into. I sit there for ages, rerunning everything that happened. I don’t feel angry anymore. I just feel sad. Finally, I force myself to get up. I need to think about something else. Something pain-free. I pick up my camera and head down to the old pier.