Information about the book
One year ago . . .
22 November
Hello, World!
I've decided to start a blog.
This blog.
Why, you might ask?
You know when you shake a Coke can and then you open it and it explodes everywhere? Well, that's how I feel right now. I have so many things I want to say fizzing up inside of me, but I don't have the confidence to say them out loud.
My dad once told me that I should start writing a diary. He said that keeping a diary is a great way of expressing our innermost thoughts. He also said it would be great to look back on when I was old and that it would 'really make me appreciate my teenage years'. Hmm, it's obviously been so long since he was a teenager he's forgotten what it's actually like.
I did try, though – writing a diary. I managed about three entries before I gave up. Most of them went something like this:
Rained today; my new shoes got ruined. Jenny contemplated skipping maths. She didn't. John Barry got a nosebleed in science because he poked a pencil up there. I laughed at him. He wasn't impressed. It was awkward. 'Night.
Not exactly Bridget Jones, right? More like 'can't be bothered'.
The thought of writing stuff to myself in a diary seems a bit pointless, really.
I want to feel like someone, somewhere, will be able to read what I've got to say.
That's why I've decided to give this blog a go – so that I have somewhere I can say exactly what I want, when I want and how I want – to someone. And not have to worry that what I say won't sound cool or will make me look stupid or lose me friends.
That's why this blog is anonymous.
So that I can be totally me.
My best friend Wiki (that's not his real name by the way – I can't give his real name or this won't be anonymous) would say that the fact I'm having to be anonymous in order to be myself is an 'epic tragedy'. But what does he know? He's not a teenage girl with anxiety issues. (He's actually a teenage boy with parental issues, but that's a whole other story.)
Sometimes I wonder if it's because I'm a teenage girl that I have anxiety issues. Let's face it – there is a lot to get anxious about.
Top Ten Reasons for Teenage Girls Getting Anxious
1. You're supposed to look perfect all of the time
2. This coincides with your hormones deciding to go bonkers
3. Which leads to the spottiest time of your entire life (making number 1 totally impossible!)
4. Which also coincides with the first time you've had the freedom to buy chocolate whenever you like (making number 3 even worse!)
5. Suddenly everyone cares about what you wear
6. And what you wear has to look perfect too
7. Then you're supposed to know how to pose like a supermodel
8. So you can take a selfie in your outfit of the day
9. Which you then have to post on social media for all your friends to see
10. You're supposed to be wildly attractive to the opposite sex (while dealing with all of the above!)
Please picture me giving a dramatic, heartfelt sigh at this point.
But surely I can't be the only teenage girl who feels like this?
I have this dream that secretly all teenage girls feel exactly like me.
And maybe one day, when we all realize that we all feel the same, we can all stop pretending to be something we're not.
That would be awesome.
But until that day I'm going to keep it real on this blog. And keep it unreal in 'real' life.
I'm going to say what I want to say, and it would be really cool if you (whoever you might be) join me.
This can be our very own corner of the Internet, where we can talk about what it truly feels like to be a teenage girl – without having to pretend to be something we're not.
I also love taking photos (don't you just love the way photos are able to freeze special moments in time forever? Beautiful sunsets, birthday parties, salted-caramel cupcakes with thick frosting . . .) so I'll be posting lots of those too. But there won't be any selfies, obviously, for anonymity reasons.
OK, well I guess that's all for now. Thank you for reading (if anyone actually has been reading!). And let me know what you think in the comments below.
Girl Online, going offline xxx
Chapter One
Present day . . .
Hey, Penny, did you know that William Shakespeare is an anagram for 'I am a weakish speller'?
I look at the text from Elliot and sigh. In the time I've been watching the dress rehearsal for Romeo and Juliet (three hours of my life that I will never get back), Elliot has bombarded me with hundreds of random texts about Shakespeare. He's supposed to be doing to it to relieve my boredom but, seriously, does anyone really need to know that Shakespeare was baptised in 1564? Or that he had seven siblings?
'Penny, could you get a shot of Juliet leaning out of the trailer?'
I quickly grab my camera and nod to Mr Beaconsfield. 'Yes, sir.'
Mr Beaconsfield is the Year Eleven drama teacher. He's one of those teachers who likes being 'down with the kids' – all gelled hair and 'call me Jeff '. He's also the reason our version of Romeo and Juliet is set in a Brooklyn ghetto and Juliet is leaning out of a trailer rather than off a balcony. My BFIS (Best Friend in School ), Megan, loves Mr Beaconsfield, but then he does always cast her in all the lead roles. Person- ally, I think he's a little creepy. Teachers shouldn't want to hang out with teenagers. They should want to mark books and stress about school inspections and whatever else they get up to in the staffroom.
I go up the steps at the side of the stage and crouch down beneath Megan. She's wearing a baseball cap with swag printed on the front and has a thick fake-gold chain with a huge fake-gold dollar sign dangling from her neck. There's no way she'd be seen dead in that outfit anywhere else; that's how much she loves Mr Beaconsfield. I'm about to take a picture when Megan hisses down to me: 'Make sure you don't get my spot.'
'What?' I whisper back.
'The spot on the side of my nose. Make sure you don't get it in the picture.'
'Oh. Right.' I shift to one side and zoom in. The lighting from this side isn't the best but at least the spot isn't visible. I take the picture then turn to leave the stage. As I do, I glance out into the auditorium. Apart from Mr Beaconsfield and the two assistant directors, all of the seats are empty. I instinctively breathe a sigh of relief. To say I'm not very good with crowds would be a bit like saying Justin Bieber isn't very good with the paparazzi. I don't know how people can actually perform onstage. I only have to go up there for a couple of seconds to take a photo and I feel uneasy.
'Thanks, Pen,' Mr Beaconsfield says as I hurry down the steps. That's another cringe-fact about him – the way he calls us all by a nickname. I mean, seriously! It's OK for my family but not my teachers!
Just as I get back to my safe spot at the side of the stage my phone bleeps again.
Oh my God, Juliet used to be played by a man back in Shakespeare's day! You have to tell Ollie – I'd love to see his face! ☺
I look up at Ollie, who is currently gazing up at Megan.
'But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?' he says, in the worst New York accent ever.
I can't help but sigh. Even though Ollie's dressed in an even worse costume than Megan's – making him look like a cross between a Jeremy Kyle guest and Snoop Dogg – he still somehow manages to look cute.
Elliot hates Ollie. He thinks Ollie's really vain and calls him the Walking Selfie, but, to be fair, he doesn't really know him. Elliot goes to a private school in Hove; he's only seen Ollie when we've bumped into him on the beach or in town.
'Shouldn't Penny take a picture of me in this scene too?' Ollie asks when he finally gets to the end of his speech. He's still talking in his fake American accent – which he's been doing ever since he got the part. Apparently all the top actors do it; they call it 'method acting'.
'Of course, Ollz,' says Call-Me-Jeff. 'Pen?'
I put down my phone and run back up the steps.
'Can you make sure you get my best side?' Ollie whispers at me from beneath his cap. His one has stud printed on the front in black diamanté.
'Sure,' I reply. 'Er, which side is that again?' Ollie looks at me like I'm crazy.
'It's just so hard to tell,' I whisper, my face flushing crimson.
Ollie continues to frown.
'Because they both look good to me,' I say, desperation setting in. Oh my God! What is wrong with me?! I can practically hear Elliot shrieking in horror. Thankfully at this point, Ollie starts to grin. It makes him look really boyish and way more approachable.
'It's my right side,' he says, and turns back to face the trailer.
'Is that – er – your right, or mine?' I ask, wanting to make double sure.
'Come on, Pen. We haven't got all day!' Mr Beaconsfield calls out.
'It's my right, of course,' Ollie hisses, looking at me like I'm demented again.
Even Megan's frowning at me now. My face burning, I take the picture. I don't do any of my usual things, like check- ing the lighting or the angle or anything – I just press the button and stumble out of there.
Click here for more information on this title.
){kind=link}