âRight, well, at least thatâs something. Is there anything thatâs really compromising on your phone? If theyâve got this photograph, they might have downloaded others from your phone already, or got your contacts list. Didnât you have a password?â
âI had a password but . . . it was Noahâs birthday.â I cringe at how obvious that sounds, now that I say it out loud. âIf someone had recognized it was my phone, that wouldnât be too hard to guess. There are a few texts, and most of my conversations with Noah are on WhatsApp.â
âLetâs go through and change all your passwordsâwe can do that remotely, and set it so that your phone wipes if itâs connected to the Internet. Then youâd better let Noah know that someone might have got hold of his number.â
The thought of that makes me feel anxious all over again, but Tom reminds me that itâs just a phone number, and not passport details or a full-blown medical history. âPen-pen, it was an accident. Noah will understand. He cares more about you than a stupid mobile number.â
After an hour sitting on the edge of Tomâs bed, Iâve managed to shut down the phone, wipe it clean, and change all my passwords. I feel so much better knowing that Iâve done as much as possible, and that thereâs nothing more TheRealTruthâwhoever they areâcan do to hurt me. Idonât want to be a victim anymore to people who think they can abuse my privacy and my emotions. I remind myself that they donât know anything about me and Noah, and how solid our relationship is after everything weâve been through. Iâm 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. âThanks, bro. I love you.â
He pats my arms. âIâm proud of you for not freaking out, Penny.â He spins round in his chair. âAnd be careful in Europe. If anything happens, Iâll be on the first plane out.â
âI know.â As I leave, I take a deep breath and finally feel like I am actually going. And I canât wait.
â¢Â  â¢Â  â¢
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 doesnât even flinch. Instead, he grabs my hand.
âRemember what I said, Autumn Girl. Iâm here for you. Sounds like you and Tom got things sorted, but if anything else from this creep comes up weâll face it together. You and me against the world, all right?â
âAll right,â I say, and my heart lifts as I realize that whoever is trying to . . . blackmail me? Scare me? Trigger my anxiety? Whatever it is theyâre trying to do, I wonât 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, weâve 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. Itâs super shiny and swish. Noahâs face is lit up with excitement and he squeezes my hand so tight I feel my bones crush together.
âThis is really happening, Pen! Look at this absolute beauty.â He skips ahead and stands in front of it, attempting to take a tour-bus selfieâbut of course he only manages to get his face and a tiny bit of black behind him.
âLet me take it, you doofus.â 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. âOh, good. Youâre here!â he says. As we step inside, I realize how much of a boysâ paradise this is. There are several mini