The Manifesto on How to be Interesting

by Holly Bourne

  Remember why you’re doing this. Even if tonight’s awful, it’s material.

  It took a few moments of anxious waiting – was this a trick? – before Jassmine opened the door.

  “Bree. Hi. You came.”

  Bree switched personalities and gave a beaming smile. “Yeah, of course. You invited me, remember?”

  Jassmine laughed and stepped aside to let Bree in. “Come on in.”

  The tackiness was emphasized indoors. Everything was painted a shiny white; there was marble everywhere and blown-up professional canvas prints dominated the staircase. There were several of Jassmine, posing with her hands under her chin or flicking her hair back while pouting.

  “Oh no. I can’t believe you’ve seen these,” Jassmine said, as they walked upstairs. “How embarrassing.”

  Her humiliation was totally fake. She looked incredible in all the photos. No matter how cheesy they were.

  “Wow, Jass,” Bree said. “These are gorgeous. You should totally be a model.”

  Jassmine looked delighted but at least pretended to be bashful. “Shut up. No way. I’m not tall enough.”

  “I still think you’d have a great chance.”

  Jassmine beamed. “The rest of the girls are already here.”

  And she held open the door to her bedroom.

  Jassmine Dallington’s bedroom. The inner sanctum. How many boys and girls had dreamed of accessing this place?

  It was just as tacky as the rest of the house. The walls were bright purple. And there were fairy lights over the bed. Bree bet Jassmine thought she’d had an inspired design moment coming up with that idea. The worst bit was the stencilled mural on the focal wall. Someone had carefully painted: “Dance like nobody’s watching, love like you’ve never been hurt, live like it’s heaven on earth.” It was in a garish calligraphy script and took up the whole wall.

  The perfect posse were all there already. Sitting on the four-poster bed. Staring.

  “Hi, guys,” Bree said confidently, giving them a half-wave.

  None of them smiled.

  Undeterred, Bree gestured towards the wall. “Wow, Jassmine. I love that quote!”

  “Isn’t it the best? It was on the front of a birthday card I got for my super sweet sixteenth and I just read it and got, like, tingles, you know? And I just thought, What a wonderful message for living your life. So Daddy hired some local artist to paint it on my wall.”

  “What a clever idea. You want to be an interior designer?”

  “I dunno. Maybe. I got a B in Art GCSE.”

  Bree had got twelve A stars. “Wow. That’s amazing.”

  The others were still staring. Gemma looked like she was chewing a lemon covered in salt. Jessica was snarling, still stung by the lipstick denial earlier. And Emily just looked utterly confused – like she couldn’t handle the sudden reversal in instructions from Laugh at this girl to Make friends with her.

  Bree pretended she wasn’t completely terrified and sat on the bed next to them. Jassmine followed.

  “So what’s the plan?” she asked, looking around.

  The posse didn’t seem to appreciate Bree taking the conversational lead but Jassmine wasn’t bothered.

  “Same as we do every Friday night. Get drunk and gossip.”

  “Sounds fascinating.” She struggled to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

  “It’s our tradition,” Jessica spat, giving Bree angry eyes. “It’s only ever been us until tonight. Nobody else has complained.”

  Ignoring her, Bree dug into her pocket. “Oh. I just remembered, Jass. I brought this for you. I had a spare.” She handed over her extra Princess Pink lipstick. Jassmine went nuts and Bree gave Jessica her own look over Jassmine’s shoulder.

  Screw you.

  “THIS IS INCREDIBLE, THANK YOU! Girls, you have to try it.”

  Bree still couldn’t explain the power of the lipstick. But it thawed the girls. Even Jessica cheered up when she was allowed to try it out. And soon, Jassmine had pulled out a collection of spirits and juices from under her bed and they started making cocktails.

  chapter nineteen

  Three cocktails later, and the primary activity appeared to be dressing up in Jassmine’s clothes, putting make-up on each other, and taking photos.

  “Make sure you get my legs in,” Jassmine yelled at Emily, who was head photographer. “I don’t do all those squats and lunges at body combat so you can miss them out of the frame.”

  Bree was trying very hard not to laugh. She’d been put in a see-through top, applied about eight coats of the new lipstick and had her hair backcombed. She was posing on the bed with Jassmine like they had been friends for ever.

  “Why are we doing this again?” she asked through the gritted teeth of yet another smile.

  The flash on the phone went off. Then flashed again.

  “What’s the point of being fabulous unless you rub it in everyone’s faces?” Jassmine replied, beaming at the lens and bending a leg forward to make it look even slimmer.

  “But what are we doing with these photos?”

  “Posting them online, duh. I bet hundreds of people look at them tomorrow morning and cry because they weren’t here.”

  “Riiiight.”

  “Come on. Say ‘Wogan’ really slowly when Emms takes the next photo. It’s what models do to get a really good pout. One – two – three…”

  “WOGAN,” they said together.

  Forgive me, Virginia Woolf, Bree thought to herself, for I have sinned.

  The whole evening seemed utterly bizarre to her. Bree had spent most Friday nights either alone, writing, or drinking overpriced wine with Holdo. She’d heard people talking about Jassmine’s “crazy” girls-only parties. And, no doubt, desperates at school would look at these photos and get the wrong impression that this was fun and their life wasn’t. That Jassmine and co. were cool and they weren’t. But it was just a huge illusion.

  After they grew bored with squeezing their cleavages together, the girls turned to jumping on the bed and singing along to music Bree didn’t know. It was at this point that Jessica took a leading role – pushing everyone to the side and launching into a solo.

  “Oh no, Emily. You totally aren’t filming this, are you? I’ll be so embarrassed.”

  So embarrassed you’ve checked to see if the camera is on twelve times.

  Bree was bored. And a little let down, to be honest. To compensate for her disappointment, she drank more cocktails.

  Now cocktails were something she HAD missed out on. They tasted so damn good. If only Holdo would get over himself enough to try one.

  Holdo… Her tummy wiggled uncomfortably.

  More songs. Bree’s head got swimmy and she found it increasingly difficult to contain her real personality.

  They were now in a circle, all a bit pissed, bitching about people who weren’t there.

  Jessica’s cocktail swirled around dangerously in her ornate glass. “Don’t get me wrong,” she said, taking another slurp. “Sara is, like, one of my best friends. But sometimes I worry about her, you know? She’s just so…easy.”

  The other girls nodded animatedly.

  “And I just worry, cos it’s not like she has to be. She’s soooo pretty. Isn’t she pretty?”

  “Oooh yeah.”

  “Gorgeous.”

  “Stunning even…”

  “That’s what I’m saying.” She drained the cocktail and looked surprised that it had gone. “She’s gorgeous. But she just gives it out, you know? It’s like, ‘Hello. You fancy me, right? Brilliant. Let me just open my legs and present to you my vagina…’”

  The girls sniggered.

  “I mean, if I didn’t know her…and if she wasn’t one of my best friends… Well, I would think she was a total slut. And that’s what everyone else thinks, especially the boys. I know she says she doesn’t cheat on Ethan, but I think she’s lying to me. And it’s such a shame, because we’re mates and we wouldn’t judge her, would we?”

 
“No.” The others shook their heads determinedly.

  “I dunno. I love her, but she’s just a slag, isn’t she?”

  More sniggering.

  Bree was still trying to work out what system they used to define girls as “sluts”. She thought maybe the golden rule was: Every girl who has sex once, with anyone, is a slut…unless you are in the perfect posse. It was like playing double-standard bingo. She felt sick.

  Gemma took over.

  “Okay. Fair dos. Sara, bless her, is a total slut.”

  More hilarious laughter.

  “But at least she’s not a scary psycho like Natalie! Did you see her come up to me today? The idiot actually cornered me after bio and said she was going to kill me! Can you believe that?”

  They all gasped.

  “I know. It’s not my fault she’s got burger nipples.”

  The girls all burst out laughing again, and Bree’s nausea got worse.

  “I still can’t believe that photo. It TOTALLY serves her right for getting together with Danny,” Jessica said. “I mean, she knew how you felt about him, Gem.”

  Gemma had the audacity to look sorry for herself. “I know… Bitch,” she added as an afterthought.

  Bree had managed to get through up till now with lots of head nodding and shaking, while looking around her to ensure she was nodding or shaking at the right time. Sometimes she muttered pointless stuff like “Yeah, scary”, or “Oh no, wow”, but it was half-hearted.

  In truth, she was drunk, tired, and finding this whole experience very unpleasant. She downed the rest of her Sex on the Beach and focused on focusing.

  “What about you, Bree?”

  “Huh?”

  Gemma was staring at her over the top of her pink Martini glass.

  “You talking to me?”

  “You’re just very quiet over there.”

  Bree’s head wasn’t quite sober enough to decipher the hidden meaning in those words. All she could tell was that nastiness may be heading in her direction.

  She shrugged. A nice safe shrug.

  “What’s your story anyway? Last week you were Twatty McGeek and now you’re here sipping cocktails with us.”

  Was that a question? The grammar in that phrase was all out.

  Another safe shrug. “I was invited.”

  Gemma laughed a huge fake laugh but her eyes remained narrow.

  “I know that, stupid. But what happened? Where did you come from?”

  “I’ve been going to school with you lot since I was a kid.”

  “Yeah, but you’ve always been hanging round with that computer freak. Sir Acne of Loserdom.”

  The others giggled.

  “Holdo?”

  “Oh yeah. I forgot about his stupid nickname. Like he’s even read Catcher in the Rye.”

  Holdo had. At least twice a year since puberty.

  Her brain was struggling. She still wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say. “What about him?”

  “Well, what’s the deal? Were you guys shagging or something?”

  The circle drew nearer, their faces garish. The sweet smell of alcohol on their breaths was putrid and overpowering.

  Bree made a face. “Ergh. No! I don’t want to catch his terminal acne!”

  That was apparently the right thing to say. They all threw back their heads and laughed viciously while she felt sick with guilt. It didn’t stop her continuing though.

  “Our parents are just friends, that’s all. But he’s such a geek. He, like, alphabetically organizes his pornography into different files.”

  More laughter.

  Bree had never really made anyone laugh before. Not a roomful of girls anyway. She supposed it was meant to feel good, to be responsible for Jassmine’s mouth hanging open, her white teeth vibrating in hilarity.

  It didn’t feel good.

  It felt terrible.

  Sorry Holdo, sorry Holdo, sorry Holdo.

  chapter twenty

  The drinks continued. Bree experimented with drinking away the guilt. The girly shrieks got louder. The phrase “terminal acne” got yelled a lot.

  And as the minute hand of Jassmine’s glow-in-the-dark pink clock inched round, Bree felt worse and worse about her betrayal.

  Two drinks later, she was rescued.

  Jassmine’s mother – who was shockingly “earthy”, all woolly-jumpered and make-up free – came into the room, clapping her hands.

  “Come on, my gorgeous girly girls. Home time.”

  They picked themselves off the carpet, staggering here and there, mumbling thank yous to Jassmine’s mother.

  Downstairs, Bree found herself hugging them all goodbye. The squeezing only made her feel sicker. She was desperate to get out and grateful for the cool night air that hit her on Jassmine’s doorstep.

  “Bye, everyone.” She waved backwards.

  “Bye, Bree,” they chorused.

  Luckily Jessica, Gemma, and Emily were walking in the opposite direction, so Bree could be alone with her thoughts as she stumbled home.

  Her stomach bubbled with guilt. Her head drowned in self-loathing. And her entire body itched with the whole…anti-climax of it all. She’d expected a wealth of knee-jerking discoveries about these girls. A glimpse into the hidden brilliant-ness of what made them so powerful. But they just seemed like normal, average girls, who were just a bit luckier (and more evil) than everyone else.

  But, mostly, more than anything, she felt horrible about Holdo.

  It took her a while to walk up her hill. The pavement kept moving and she stumbled into the road. It was late and there were no cars around – just as well, otherwise Bree would’ve been run over multiple times.

  Holdo…

  They had been through so much together and this was how she repaid him. Tossing him aside on some literary whim, like an unworkable two-dimensional character. And now she’d just profited personally from ridiculing him. Who was she? How could she make it up to him?

  She thought of last weekend and moving her leg onto his.

  She had an idea.

  I know what I can do…

  Holdo didn’t expect to find Bree at his front door after midnight, especially as they hadn’t spoken since that awkward walk to school.

  “Hello, dear friend.” She launched herself over the threshold and swaddled him in a suffocating, alcohol-fumy hug.

  He was too surprised to reply.

  “Come on, let’s go to your room.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him up the stairs.

  “Bree, wait.”

  She crashed into his room, an eager smile on her face, delighted with her problem-solving abilities. She looked around. There was an almost-empty bottle of red on his desk. The Godfather Part II flickered on pause on his television. And some pornography was still playing on his laptop. The faint grunts echoed round the room.

  “Hang on.” Holdo dived across the room and smashed the laptop screen closed. Bree opened her mouth to laugh hysterically – but, as soon as she did, she found she’d forgotten what was funny. The porn memory had been vanquished by the power of vodka and cranberry juice.

  She pulled Holdo onto the sofa. He looked scared and embarrassed. Mostly scared.

  “So how are you, Holdo?” she asked in a breathy voice.

  He looked over both shoulders, subconsciously checking she wasn’t talking to anyone else. “I’m…fine. And you?”

  Bree flicked her hair back and laughed again. “Oh, me? I’m brilliant. Perfect in fact.”

  “Well, that’s good to hear.”

  Bree stared at Holdo’s mouth. It wasn’t entirely un-kissable. It might even be enjoyable. “So what have you been up to?”

  He pointed at the screen. “Just, you know, watching the best film out of The Godfather trilogy.”

  Bree pushed him against the sofa arm and snuggled into his chest. “Great. I’ll watch too.”

  Holdo was too shocked to object.

  They watched in silence for a few minutes as Al Pacino mumbled his wa
y through scene after scene. Bree had watched the trilogy with Holdo multiple times but still never really understood what was going on. The actors never seemed to pronounce anything properly, but she didn’t consider that a cool enough thing to say. Instead of concentrating on the film, she decided her plan was still brilliant. The perfect karmic balance for her despicable behaviour earlier.

  “Holdo?” She tried to make her voice sultry again.

  “Huh?” He looked down, half-distracted by the film.

  “I don’t feel like watching a movie right now…”

  He pressed pause on the remote. “You want to watch something else?”

  She shook her head. It felt like a tidal wave was rushing from side to side. “I don’t want to watch anything right now.”

  She leaned over and kissed Holdo full on the mouth. It took him a moment to respond – maybe he was too stunned. But after a second or two, his mouth reacted. Spurred on, she pressed her body against his, pulled his face to hers and pushed her tongue into his mouth. He responded some more.

  It wasn’t so bad really. Her third kiss. With her eyes closed, she couldn’t really tell it was Holdo. He could be just about anybody. In fact, in her imagination, he was Hugo for a while. And then Mr Fellows. And then Al Pacino had a turn. Why not?

  Bored of kissing, she decided to move things up a notch.

  She grabbed Holdo’s hand and pushed it up under her cashmere jumper so he was cupping her boob. He groaned – a sort of puppy-like yelp of pleasure – and squeezed it so hard it hurt a bit.

  It was actually okay. Having Holdo cup her boob. Again, with her eyes closed, he could be just about anyone.

  With new confidence, Holdo moved his other hand up to her other boob all on his own. Bree analysed the sensation with detached interest. She decided it felt a bit like her boobs were two stress balls and Holdo had had a really hard day at the office.

  Well, that’s a new metaphor. See? This “make your life interesting thing” is turning out to be fruitful after all.