Girl Online: On Tour (29 page)

Except it’s not Noah. When the guy turns round, he doesn’t look anything like Noah. It’s just my desperate imagination playing tricks on me.

The taxi driver harrumphs as I slump down into my seat, and Elliot pats my hand gently.

Thankfully, the ride isn’t too long, but when we pull up outside the hotel that Elliot’s booked I can’t help but be dubious. It’s a far cry from the hotels I’ve been staying in on tour—the exterior is shabby and the walls are covered in graffiti.

Elliot shrugs. “It’s all I could find at the last minute. It has a good rating on TripAdvisor though!”

I squeeze Elliot’s hand and we walk into the hotel. Just the fact that he’s here is something no amount of money could ever buy, and I’d be happy to stay in a cardboard box as long as we are together.

Even though it’s early, the receptionist hands us the room key, and we lug my suitcase up three flights of stairs to our room. We are in fits of laughter trying to drag the heavy suitcase up each step and I can barely breathe. The combination
of being unfit (I definitely shouldn’t have skipped as many PE lessons as I have) and our giggling is making this task a lot more difficult.

The exterior isn’t the only thing that’s different about this hotel: it is also a lot more cramped. The two single beds in our room are pushed up against one another and the ends of the beds pretty much touch the wall. There is a tiny window, but no hope of a view of the Eiffel Tower—instead, I’m greeted with the sight of a brick wall and a fire escape. There’s graffiti on the outside wall that reads:
L’AMOUR EST MORT
. Elliot translates it: “Love is dead.” I know how that person feels. In the bathroom, the showerhead hovers over the toilet, and I have to hunch my shoulders to fit in.

“Well, that kills two birds with one stone.” Elliot laughs as he pokes his head round the bathroom door.

We both fall back onto the beds in an exhausted heap. Although I have been absorbed in my own misery about Noah and I breaking up, I’ve not really taken into consideration how Elliot must be feeling right now. Alexiot is no more, and a part of my heart breaks for him as I lie there thinking about it.

I reach out and grab his hand. “Wiki? Did you see this coming with Alex? Have you guys been arguing a lot?” I roll over onto my stomach and prop my head up with my hands.

Elliot lets out an exaggerated sigh and interlaces his fingers over his stomach.

“You know that Alex isn’t out yet, and of course I didn’t mind in the beginning. I would never pressure him into coming out—he needs to go at his own pace. But, as stupid as it sounds, I thought by now we would have jumped that hurdle
together. That maybe I would have been the one to change him and give him the confidence . . . I sound like a bad movie. I know I can never change anyone but, Penny, I’m tired of playing second fiddle. The photo of us kissing just magnified everything. He completely freaked out and demanded to know how on earth I ever let this happen. He said,”—Elliot’s voice sounds so small, my heart squeezes inside my chest—“he said he wished he had never kissed me at all. I felt so embarrassed.”

I look over at Elliot and he’s squeezing his eyes really tightly shut. Then he opens them again, blinks, and for the first time his voice sounds harder. He sounds more like his father, which is weird because he never sounds like his dad. “It’s just sad to invest so much in someone and not feel like that investment has had a good return. So it had to end.”

Elliot rolls over and, despite his words, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so upset about anything. I know that if he’s dealing with something sad he’d rather turn off the emotion tap completely than let the world know how badly he is hurting.

“Oh, Wiki, that’s horrible. But you have to know it’s not to do with you. This is something Alex needs to work out within himself, and that’s really awful for you because all you can do is sit and wait at the sidelines. But you haven’t done anything wrong by wanting your relationship and your feelings to be respected. He can’t hide you away forever.” I look at Elliot and smile a little, just to see if I can inject a bit of positivity.

To my relief, he smiles back at me. “I know, Penny. It’s just . . . I really like him. Like,
really
like.” He raises his eyebrows at me.

“Like, really
like
like?” I wiggle my eyebrows back at him
and we find ourselves giggling a little bit. Then he jumps off the bed.

“Like
really
like
like
like. Look at us, Penny. We’re acting as though the world has stopped turning. We’re stewing in our own sadness and it’s very unattractive. We’re in Paris, for goodness’ sake—we need to forget about guys and go out and have fun. You might not have had any Magical Mystery Days with Noah, but you are sure as heck having one with me.”

“Ooh, I know this great fashion street you will
love
,” I say, thinking back to my day out with Leah. Was that only yesterday? It feels like a million years. “It has all these fancy boutiques on it—”

Elliot frowns. “Wait, how do you know about a great fashion street?”

I blush. “Leah took me. She dressed me up for the after-party last night.” I take out my phone, even though it pains me to scroll past pictures of Noah and me together, looking so happy. I find one Leah took just after we left the hotel, when my hair, makeup, and outfit were all perfect. I show it to Elliot, whose jaw drops to the floor.

“Oh, Penny, you’re telling me Noah gave you up after
this  
? Honey, he’s a fool.”

I take back my phone and put it in my pocket, tears threatening to fill my eyes again. “I guess if I knew how to look like that all the time maybe I would be enough for him.”

“Oh, no,” says Elliot. “That is
not
the Penny I know. If he can’t love you like this”—he gestures at my schlubby leggings, shirt, and messed-up hair—“then he does not deserve to have you. Penny, you’re not a princess; you’re a queen. And queens deserve hot chocolate and croissants for breakfast, so let’s go.”

Chapter Forty-Four

Flaky, fluffy, melt-in-your-mouth croissants dipped in velvety smooth hot chocolate should be requisite morning-after-a-breakup food for everyone. I’m pretty sure the waitress gives us a disapproving look as we order their last six
pains au chocolat
, but we don’t care.

Elliot soon wins her over with his French chat, and before long they are exchanging tips on where to find the best macarons in Paris. Elliot sounds so cool; I swoon every time he speaks, which he starts to find really annoying after a while.

After breakfast, we walk the strip of very expensive shops that Leah took me to, and I feel a wave of sadness creep over me as I remember how much effort I went to for Noah last night only for it to all go so horribly wrong. Every time I start to look sad, Elliot pulls out the bag of leftover
pains au chocolat
and makes me take a bite while he does the same.

It works—until we run out of
pains au chocolat
. That’s when we sit down for lunch and I have the world’s cheesiest
croque-monsieur
—and, of course, a massive slice of apple tart.
Who says that food can’t solve every problem? Food and best friends are officially the ideal combination.

After lunch we head to the Pont des Arts on the Seine River, otherwise known as the love-lock bridge. Elliot is determined to get a padlock, write both our names on it, and attach it to the bridge forever as a little homage to our friendship, but when we get there we see that all the padlocks have been taken away. In their place, there’s a big sign asking people not to keep putting locks on because the weight of them is damaging the bridge.

Although Elliot is disappointed, I’m not. I don’t think I like to imagine my love as a lock. Instead, I prefer to think of it as being like the bridge we’re standing on—something that connects two hearts together that otherwise would never meet. The love locks are a bit like all the problems Noah and I had: each one was small, but together they were enough to make us buckle, and eventually break.

Despite the fact that the love locks are now banned, we are still surrounded by happy couples taking photos on this bridge which for so long has stood as a symbol of unending love. I wish Elliot hadn’t brought me here. The last thing I want to see are couples making kissy faces at their phone screens.

“OK, so no lock, but how about a romantic stroll along the Seine?” Elliot brings me back into the moment as he scurries along the bridge, dragging me by the arm.

“Did you know there are over thirty bridges that cross the Seine in Paris?” Elliot says, linking his arm with mine.

“I can believe it,” I say. It seems like we’ve passed half a dozen in our short walk. I lean my head against Elliot’s
shoulder and we follow the path alongside the river, watching as long boats packed with tourists glide serenely by.

“Look! Look!” Elliot points up at the Eiffel Tower, which is now looming in front of us.

Even though it instantly makes me think of Noah, and how close we got to having a Magical Mystery Night, I can’t help but be awed by how majestic it is up close, with its iron body stretching into the clear blue sky. It’s so iconic that my heart catches in my mouth as I look up at it. Elliot grabs my hand and we pick up into a run, desperate to get closer.

There are hundreds of tourists milling around us and we’re forced to slow down to a halt. Elliot lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed. Now my heart has stopped for a different reason: a group of Japanese tourists has just moved away, revealing a line of posters taped to a temporary wall, and on them is Noah’s face. They’re the first posters for the tour I’ve seen: he is holding his guitar and smiling at the camera, his picture just below a big photo of The Sketch. Although the headline band takes up a larger portion of the poster, it’s Noah’s face that stands out to me like a sore thumb.

He looks so rock-god-tastic—except he’s not my rock god anymore. Just as I feel like I’m about to have a breakdown, I hear “I Will Survive” booming from some speakers nearby. I turn to see a middle-aged guy singing and dancing in the street next to a boom box. There is a part of me that wants to cringe—I mean, how many people do you know who would rock out to a seventies disco anthem in the middle of Paris? The absurdity of it makes me want to cry and laugh at the same time.

There are so many different emotions running through my body and I can’t work out which one to convey, so I turn to Elliot for a bit of guidance. His face makes it a little easier for me, as he smiles so big I can almost see his fillings. He reaches out and lifts me into a dance. I follow his lead and, before we know it, we’re dancing around like absolute idiots under the Eiffel Tower along with the Frenchman, and we’re belting out the words to “I Will Survive” just as loudly as he is. Soon everyone around us is also joining in. It’s like we’ve created one giant Parisian breakup flash mob.

I feel like a lunatic, I feel crazy, but I feel free. And it’s the first time in a very long time that I feel like me again.

You know that day I thought would never come?

The one I could never picture in a million years?

It’s happened.

Brooklyn Boy and I are no more.

I can’t write more than that at the moment. I will say this, though: heartbreak is never easy, but they do say that music cures the soul. Along with Wiki, I’ve been compiling a list of the best songs to get through the emotional roller coaster that is a breakup.

1. “Someone Like You”—Adele

2. “Irreplaceable”—Beyoncé

3. “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together”—Taylor Swift

4. “End of the Road”—Boyz II Men

5. “I Will Survive”—Gloria Gaynor (courtesy of a French busker we danced with under the Eiffel Tower yesterday)

6. “Since U Been Gone”—Kelly Clarkson

7. “Forget You”—CeeLo Green

8. “Without You”—Harry Nilsson cover

9. “I Will Always Love You”—Whitney Houston

10. “You Could Be Happy”—Snow Patrol

11. “The Scientist”—Coldplay

12. “With or Without You”—U2