The Manifesto on How to be Interesting

by Holly Bourne

  One girl, JoJo, caught Bree’s eye. Her nose was so close to the table it was almost rubbing it. She’d already filled a page of her book.

  How long until she finds boys and it all goes downhill?

  “Why do you do it then, sir?” Bree twisted in her wheelie chair and fixed him with a stare.

  “You get the odd student who makes it all seem worthwhile.” He stared back and time slowed a little.

  Then he chucked a book at her. Bree almost missed it, distracted by searching for the meaning in his words. She caught it just in time though and looked at the cover.

  “Franz Kafka?”

  “I thought it was about time you were enlightened.”

  Bree grinned and chucked the book back at him. “I’ve read it already.”

  Mr Fellows missed the book and it landed, splayed open, on the floor.

  “You’re kidding! I didn’t find Kafka until I was at university.”

  “Yes, well, I’m probably smarter than you were at my age.”

  Mr Fellows returned her smile. “As I said, some students make it all worthwhile.”

  It felt nice in there – in his classroom, with the little ones. She’d forgiven him for all the pretending-he-didn’t-kiss-her bollocks. Now she’d lost Holdo, Mr Fellows was the only person left with whom she could be Bree. He was her mini-break from her double life.

  As if guessing her thoughts, he said: “So what do your new mates think, then? Jassmine and her crew – I’ve seen you with them. Are they impressed that you’re running the creative-writing club?”

  Bree smirked. “They think I have detention.”

  “Extra-curricular activities aren’t cool, then?”

  “Sir, this is Queen’s Hall, the only school on earth where extra-curricular activities are ‘cool’, as you so out-of-touchly put it.”

  He picked up the Kafka book and put it away in his desk drawer. “So why the lies then?”

  “There are extra-curricular activities, and then there’s running the creative-writing club.”

  “So creativity isn’t cool?”

  “Please stop saying ‘cool’, sir.”

  He held up his hands. “Point made. So these new friends of yours? They can’t be good friends if you’re lying to them.”

  Bree turned to watch the students again, all of their heads off in a world created by their imagination. A million mystical miles away from the reality of school.

  “This is secondary school. Everyone lies to everyone. The earth would stop rotating if someone under the age of eighteen in this place said something that wasn’t utter bullshit…”

  She stopped herself and thought of Holdo. Was that true? Was she being fair? He never spoke bullshit…in fact, he was unpopular because he was so open about what he believed. Did he care? He didn’t seem to… Was it only Bree who cared?

  When she side-glanced, Mr Fellows was giving her another look. A look that said he got it. Similar to the look he gave her outside the golf club. She felt heat rise up her body.

  “Bree…”

  “What?” She flicked her new blonde “do” round to face him fully.

  “I—”

  “FINISHED!”

  Enthusiastic JoJo banged her exercise book on the desk between them.

  Bree jumped. “Wow – already?”

  She nodded, her ponytail bobbing.

  “What was your noun and action combo?”

  “Peanut butter sandwich and the storm one.”

  “Tough one. What did you come up with?”

  “A teddy bear’s picnic that gets out of hand,” the girl said confidently.

  “Riiiiight. Wow. Original. I never would’ve thought of that.”

  The girl glowed from the praise – it was like a light bulb illuminating her from inside. She leaned forward. “You’re friends with Jassmine Dallington and that lot, aren’t you?” Her voice was full of awe, like Jassmine and co. were Pulitzer Prize winners or something.

  Mr Fellows noticeably bent in to hear Bree’s answer.

  “Kinda, yeah.”

  The girl leaned in further. “What are they like? You know…in real life?”

  Bree was so tempted to say, Well, why don’t you visit www.themanifestoonhowtobeinteresting.blogspot.com and find out that they’re all actually dull bitches? but decided against it. Now was not the time to blow her cover. So much still needed to be done. So many words still needed to be written. Good ones. Interesting ones. Not like old-Bree ones.

  “They’re just people, JoJo.”

  “They’re not… I think Jassmine looks like an angel.”

  Bree shrugged the comment off, a bit annoyed. “This looks like a good story,” she said, changing the subject. “Do you want another combo?”

  “Yes please.”

  She held out the two hats and JoJo grabbed more slips and ran back to her desk.

  Mr Fellows chuckled. “Wow. You hear that? You’re friends with angels, Bree.”

  She was more annoyed now. This was supposed to be her time to escape all that crap. “You know, magic tricks are never that interesting once you know how they’re done.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

  Bree looked out of the window in the door and watched students trickle past in big clumps. “I dunno. It’s just not so exciting, is it? Once you know it’s just a hanky stuffed up someone’s sleeve?”

  He got up and sat on the desk, blocking her view of the corridor.

  “Why are you suddenly close with them, Bree? What’s going on? You’re a completely different person from the girl I spoke to a couple of weeks ago.”

  “You’re the one who told me to live my life, sir.”

  “I said ‘life’. Not ‘a lie’.”

  She stood up, really annoyed now. The heat from her body shotgunned up to her face.

  “So me being pretty and popular is a lie then?” she whispered at him angrily.

  He held up his hands. “Whoa. No,” he whispered back.

  “Well, you’re suddenly talking to me now. You weren’t so interested in that different girl two weeks ago, were you?”

  Mr Fellows glanced over his shoulder to make sure the students weren’t listening.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” he whispered.

  But he did, she could see it in his face.

  “I think it’s you, Mr Fellows, who’s lying.”

  And, for the first time ever, she left creative-writing class early, banging the door behind her.

  chapter twenty-three

  She was in such a rage she didn’t look where she was going and smacked right bang into Hugo’s rugby chest.

  “Doooph.”

  “Ouch. Walk much?”

  She looked up, rubbing the arm which had taken the brunt of the collision. Recognition dawned in his face as their eyes made contact.

  “Hey, it’s you,” he said. “Where are you leaving in such a hurry?”

  “Detention.”

  Hugo raised one of his perfectly-formed dark eyebrows. “Detention? Already? You’re not starting out well, are you?”

  “Huh?” Bree tried to fight all the internal urges swimming round her belly triggered by the eyebrow raise.

  “It’s just, you’re new, aren’t you? I’ve seen you with Jass. Isn’t it a bit soon to be getting detention? Especially at Queen’s Hall…you’ll be down on the ‘naughty list’ straight away.”

  It was just as well she’d decided that “nonchalant” was the way to win him over. She bristled with anger. “Hugo. I’ve been in your form room since Year Seven.”

  He ran a hand through his gorgeously spiked hair and smiled mischievously. “No way.”

  “Yes way.”

  He laughed. “Well, that’s embarrassing.”

  “For you. I know who you are.”

  He puffed out his chest proudly. “Well, everyone knows who I am. Look at me.”

  She knew she was supposed to giggle, but – thank GOD – she didn’t think he worked that w
ay. Not really. Maybe when he was part of a boy herd, but not now, just the two of them. So she rolled her eyes and – bingo! – he unpuffed his chest. Just like her research movies had told her he would.

  “Have you really been in my form room since Year Seven? I’m sure I would have noticed you – I mean, look at you.”

  She tried not to blush. Or smack him round the face.

  “I honestly have…” She didn’t want to tell him she’d just been a weirdo loner until a few weeks ago. “So what’s happened? You run out of girls to hit on and now you’re opening your eyes to potential new victims?”

  He laughed again and mock-pushed her.

  She was right. He liked having the piss ripped out of him.

  “Tell me what you really think, why don’t you?”

  “I’m sure I’m the only person who ever has.”

  “Woooooaaahhh. Personal attack. I’m offended.”

  “You’re offended? You didn’t acknowledge my existence until sixty seconds ago.” She blew up her fringe and looked bored.

  “Okay. I’m sorry. I can’t believe I’ve never introduced myself. I’m Hugo.” He reached out his hand. “Nice to meet you. What’s your name?”

  She shook his hand. “I’m Bree.”

  “Bree? Hang on…your name does ring a bell.”

  “Yeah, right. Stop lying.”

  He smiled another gorgeous grin. Ignoring it, she tossed her bag over her shoulder.

  “I’d better get going.”

  “What? Now? But we’re only just getting to know each other.”

  “You had your chance in Year Seven.”

  He laughed again. “You’re not going to forgive me very easily, are you?”

  She shook her head and looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Nope.”

  “Aww, man.” He threw his head back in defeat. Then: “I know. You forgive me and, in return, I’ll invite you to my incredibly amazing eighteenth. It’s gonna be more like a mini festival than a party.”

  The invite! The invite she so desperately needed.

  Bree wrinkled her nose, never missing a trick. “What? The Gash festival?”

  “Oh. You heard about that? It’s only a laugh, you know, with the lads.”

  “The rugby lads?”

  “Yes, well, you know what it’s like…tally-ho mixed with rampant chauvinism.”

  She actually let out a real laugh. “When did rugby players get so self-aware?”

  He ignored that. “So you coming to my party?”

  “Maybe.”

  “That’s the nearest I’m gonna get to an answer, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Okay. Come if you like. Don’t come if you don’t like. I’ll only cry myself to sleep…”

  “Using another girl’s knickers as a hanky.”

  He completely burst out laughing at that. “Maybe. It is my birthday. But I’ll make you the Queen of the Gash festival if you come.”

  “And they say romance is dead.”

  More raucous laughter. “You have BANTER, girl.”

  Bree resisted the urge to visibly shudder. “I’d really better go.” She walked past him.

  “Wait!” he called after her. “So is that a yes?”

  She spun round. “Okay then. I’ll see you there.”

  “Brilliant. I’m texting round the details – you’ll hear about it. See you there…Bree. See? I remembered.”

  “Congratulations,” she called behind her, knowing he was watching.

  Well played, Bree. Well played.

  chapter twenty-four

  Jassmine dropped the annoying bombshell on the way to school.

  “Bree, you’ll never guess what? Hugo and me. We’re back on.”

  She was almost too shocked to notice the grammar mistake. Hugo and I, HUGO AND I. “Huh? What? I thought you were still on a break? Where did that come from?”

  Jassmine giggled and hid behind her hair. “Last night. I invited him round after rugby practice to, you know, just catch up. And then he just came out with all this deep stuff. Like how he missed me. How rugby practice wasn’t the same without me cheering him along from the sidelines. And how he wants us to get back together.”

  Or he was tanked up on testosterone after the match and wanted to expel it.

  “Wow. Jassmine, that’s amazing! I’m so happy for you.”

  Crap crap crap crap crap crap.

  Seducing Hugo – the next rule on her list – was going to be painful enough, but if he had a girlfriend? Ethics alert. Ethics alert. Fair enough, ethics hadn’t exactly been oozing out of Bree recently, but a girl’s gotta try.

  “I know. I’m so happy for me too. I really missed him, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  It was warm, not really a winter day at all. Both of them had their blazers tossed over their shoulders. Bree had invited Jass over that morning to work out with her personal trainer – always worth upping your collateral. She could just about keep up with Jass, and her mum now. Lunges had become a routine part of life, alongside jogging on the spot while waiting for the kettle to boil. As a result, her body had slowly morphed into something she hardly recognized. Limbs were gradually being sculpted, and she couldn’t poke her cellulite dimples with her finger whenever she sat on the toilet any more. She’d started to actually look forward to her morning workout. Not so much because she cared about her body, but more, with all the new-life madness around her, it was the only time she felt entirely in control. Well, then and when she tucked herself up each night with one of her favourite books, easing away the stresses of not-being-her all day with soothing, beautiful words.

  “So…did you and Hugo talk about that girl at Seth’s party?”

  Jassmine flashed her a look and launched into an overly-prepared speech. “He said nothing happened. It was just a silly rumour. I trust him. We’re in love.”

  With yourselves.

  “Aww. That’s so romantic.”

  “I know, right?”

  “Hugo’s just such a great guy.”

  “I know. Isn’t he? I’m so lucky.”

  They turned the corner and there he was. Waiting for Jass, leaning against the school gates in an oh-so-cool James Dean way. Jassmine ran over.

  “Hello, you.”

  She leaped into his arms and they launched into a passionate snog, perfectly timed so all arriving students got a full view.

  “Wow. Look at that.”

  “They must be back together.”

  “But I thought he cheated on her?”

  “Didn’t she cheat on him?”

  “They look so good together.”

  “Such a sweet couple.”

  “I wonder what happened?”

  The whole school was enthralled. It was all Bree heard about in lessons. Jassmine this and Hugo that. Blah blah blah blah. People were behaving like the two of them were A-list celebs who’d just announced their engagement. And in a way they were – the A-list of Queen’s. It was depressing how excited everyone was when, really, nothing of interest had happened at all. Boy meets girl. Girl meets boy. They fall in lust. Have an argument. Boy cheats on girl. Girl forgives boy. They live happily ever bloody after until a) they start uni, or b) – the more likely option – boy cheats on girl again.

  HOW WAS THAT INTERESTING TO PEOPLE?

  But Bree didn’t make the rules. If she did, everyone would be raving on about how Holdo would be a self-made millionaire before he hit twenty-five. And how Bree was likely to get a book deal before she graduated uni. How Hugo obviously had a severe case of narcissist disorder. And that Gemma Rhinestone was, in fact, evil. And Bree’s life could go on as normal and she could wear shoes that didn’t hurt her feet, and a face that didn’t need to be plastered on every morning, and she could raise her hand in English and say, Actually, I think one could argue that Christopher Marlowe is a technically better writer than Shakespeare, but his untimely murder meant he wasn’t able to evolve to produce his best work, and everyone wou
ld go, Yes, but of course, and lift Bree onto their shoulders, chanting her name.

  Or whatever.

  But instead she clopped after Jassmine in her heels, yelling, “Wait up!”

  An annoying side effect of the Jassmine/Hugo reunion vom-a-thon was that the girls now sat with Hugo and “the lads” at lunchtime. Time not spent groping through school jumpers was time wasted. So, the next day, Bree found herself in the company of complete cavemen. It was hot again, a final gasp of sunshine before the full force of winter hit, and everyone was making the most of it by “sunbathing” while trying not to shiver. They had prime spots, on the sloped bank next to the lacrosse field, which caught the most sun. Hugo lay with his hands behind his head and Jassmine on his lap. The other girls arranged themselves carefully in a semicircle facing the blokes, tucking their skirts around themselves.

  Matty Boy – usually known as Batty Boy when the “lads” were teasing – gave them all a full-on perv.

  “You see,” Matty said, lying back in an imitation of Hugo, “this is what I love about the sunshine. All you gorgeous things get your skin out. Mmmm, loving your legs, Gemma.” He winked at her.

  Gemma grabbed a tuft of grass and chucked it at him. It fluttered to the ground aimlessly and Matty laughed.

  “Oooo, I’m really scared of some grass.”

  “You should be, you perv,” she said, half-scowling, half-smiling.

  “Your legs are a bit hairy though.”

  “Hey! My legs aren’t hairy.”

  “Hmm, hang on, let’s check.” He reached over and quickly stroked them.

  “Get off!”

  “I was wrong, Rinestone. You’re a Gillette Goddess.”

  “And you’re a sex offender.”

  He smiled. “Guilty as charged.”

  Bree could never work out why Matty Boy was popular. On all aesthetic points, he shouldn’t have been. He was short. A bit chubs. GINGER. He had freckles all over his face and almost-white eyelashes. Plus he had a tendency to dress like a wannabe gangster, all gold chains this and baseball hats that, which looked ridiculous on his Caucasian-as-HELL skin. But he was a cocky little gobshite and that appeared to be his salvation. Never, on any account, underestimate the power of egotism. Bree had heard him referred to as “fit” and “well hot” by actual girls with actual working pairs of eyeballs.