Girl Online by Zoe Sugg

switch one out from the back.”
    â€œSee? All good. Just ignore Blake and I’ll come meet you after I’ve rehearsed.”
    â€œSounds 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.
    â€œUgh, 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 riseinto 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 .
    â€œYou’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 . . .”
    â€œI’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.
    â€œPenny?”
    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.
    â€œSo you’re Penny Porter.”
    I don’t really know how to respond to that, so I just nod again.
    â€œYou 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