The Manifesto on How to be Interesting

by Holly Bourne

  “What you do to yourself…I used to do it too.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “It’s true.” Jass squeezed her hand, before tipping her head over so her hair spilled onto Bree’s lap.

  “What are you doing?”

  “See? Can you see it?”

  Bree’s mouth dropped open as she leaned in to get a better look. “Jass, I never noticed. What happened?” She prodded the bald patch with her forefinger. It felt smooth.

  Jass righted herself and her hair fell into place. The bald patch was hidden again, like a rabbit in a hat.

  “I told you. I did what you did.” She spoke so calmly and matter-of-factly. For the first time ever, she sounded wise.

  “But I don’t do that. Pull out my hair, I mean. It’s totally different.”

  Jass gave her an almost-patronizing half-smile. “Self-harm isn’t just about cutting, you know. People do all sorts of things.”

  Self-harm.

  She’d just said it, just like that. Like it was a really common word, like postbox, or bin or something. But to Bree, who’d done it for three years now, never told a soul, and hated herself for every moment, the word felt almost too twee. It didn’t come close to how she felt about it when she did it.

  “No one’s ever called it that to me before,” she admitted.

  “Does anyone even know?”

  She shook her head. If she’d been a crier, she would have been sobbing by now. Instead she just continued to scratch her arm. “No one understands.”

  “Understands what? That sometimes you feel like a boiling kettle, getting hotter and hotter, and the only way to let it all out is to do this – like it’s erupting steam all over the place? Or that sometimes, when you’re really low, it’s just nice to feel…something, any kind of physical sensation…and pain is the sensation with the most powerful pull? Or that, maybe, it’s a way of proving you’re alive? I must be, there’s blood coming out of me, this proves I exist. Or, Look, I’ve got an entire tuft of hair filling my fist – I must be here, I must be real, I can prove it.”

  The walls of Jassmine’s room had somehow disappeared and Bree felt like she was floating above the situation.

  One of her favourite quotes of all time was one by Alan Bennett, from his play, The History Boys. It was something the English teacher, Hector, said about reading:

  The best moments in reading are when you come across something – a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things – which you had thought special and particular to you. And now, here it is, set down by someone else, a person you have never met, someone even who is long dead. And it is as if a hand has come out, and taken yours.

  She’d felt that beautiful sensation so many times in her lonely life. So many authors’ hands had metaphorically leaped from the page and snatched her heart, leaving her breathless. And she would read the magical passage again and again, laughing to herself. Then she would get out her notebook and write it down to return to in an inevitable lonely time in the future.

  It had never happened with a real life person though. Let alone a real life person who also happened to be the most popular girl in school. Someone who Bree, on principle, hated. But right then, in that moment, with the red of shame still on her face, Jassmine’s hand had metaphorically and literally grabbed her and articulated how she’d always felt, but could never find a way of expressing.

  Her consciousness found its way back into the bedroom. She looked over at Jass in confusion.

  “I don’t understand. You, your life, it all seems so…”

  “So what? Perfect?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “It is mostly. But only recently. Dad lost all his money in the crash. We didn’t think he was gonna get another job. They were talking about selling this place, and even sending me to the free college down the road. Then, of course, that was the time Hugo dumped me…” She trailed off.

  “I never knew. You always seem so…together.”

  “That’s weird,” she said, smiling. “Cos that’s exactly what I would say about you.”

  A warmth grew in Bree’s heart as they just sat there, staring at each other, giggling. It was the warmth of attachment…of friendship. It felt like the world was hugging her.

  What the hell was she going to do?

  “I’ve never noticed it – your hair, I mean.”

  “It’s fine if I don’t wear a ponytail. Luckily they’re not in vogue at the moment.”

  “Do you still do it?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ve found other ways to let it out. Why do you think I’m always in body combat class on a Sunday morning? I feel like I’ve mostly outgrown that need now, maybe. Anyway, Dad’s got a new job now. We’re rich again. Hugo and I are back together. Maybe it was circumstantial?”

  And with that it was easier to hate her again…

  “You should get some help though,” Jass told her.

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “Seriously, Bree.”

  “Lay off, Jass. Can’t we just forget it and have a good night?”

  Jass looked like she was going to protest but decided against it, and broke into a wide smile.

  “Deffos. Come on, more cocktails are needed!”

  chapter twenty-eight

  By the time they arrived at the party, Jassmine was already a bit too drunk.

  “Whoops,” she said, flashing some side boob as she swung out of the taxi onto the ground. “Oh no, I’ve got mud on my playsuit.”

  She held up her hands like a toddler wanting a carry. Bree sighed and hoisted her to her feet.

  “Your mate alright?” the taxi driver asked, looking worried.

  “She’ll be fine. Won’t you, Jass?”

  But Jass had already stumbled away across the field. “Wow, Bree, have you seen anything like this before?”

  Yes. A field. The field was the dropping-off point for Hugo’s bash. Everyone was climbing over a stile and walking a hundred metres or so towards two massive illuminated marquees. The way was marked with tea lights, making all the half-pissed teenagers look sophisticated as they avoided muddy puddles.

  “I’m so frickin’ glad I’ve got wedges on,” Jass said, stumbling again. “Though I can’t believe Hugo’s making us walk in this weather.”

  The place looked like a summer music festival, even though it was November. And therefore freezing and pitch-black already. Bree crossed her arms over herself, wishing she was old enough for a coat to be fashionably allowed again. They shivered their way past the candles, drinking it all in.

  “Jesus, Jass, your boyfriend is in a different realm of wealth.”

  She nodded a bit too enthusiastically. “I know. Just wait till you see the boating lake.”

  As they got nearer, Bree could make out more of the set-up through the dark. The main house was huge, naturally. All Ye-Olde-style, but obviously modernized to within an inch of its life. There was another, smaller, building to the side, just off the drive.

  “The servants’ house,” Jass informed her. “Though they don’t have any now. Hugo just uses it as a house party venue…”

  It wasn’t really a garden, it was practically a National Trust landmark. Okay, Bree’s garden would have made most regular eyes bulge, but at least she didn’t have marble statues dotted around. Or a maze.

  “We had sex once in the middle,” Jass informed her as they passed it, Bree all agog.

  The party was already humming but it was a struggle to work out where to go first. The biggest tent had a live band playing and shedloads of people were crammed in, sweating all over the place, and generally moshing…which Bree had read about once but never actually seen in real life.

  Mosh pits. Holdo had a whole lot to say about mosh pits. “It’s not appreciating the music,” he would have said if he was here. “It’s just showing off. You should have to pass an IQ test before you’re allowed to listen to certain bands live.”

  But Holdo wasn’t here. He didn’t have an invit
e. Whatever test you needed to pass to get into Hugo’s eighteenth, he’d failed it. Not that Holdo would care.

  The smaller – but still huge – tent had a DJ pumping out noise and guests were dancing madly, a throbbing mass of bodies as the strobe lights hit them. Then there was a bar tent – free bar, naturally. A toilet block tent. A tent that had obviously been erected for the sole purpose of people exchanging bodily fluids – there were pillows and cushions everywhere. There was even a tent full of shisha pipes.

  “Where do we start?” Bree called over to Jass, yelling a little to ensure she was heard over the pounding music.

  “Er…duh, let’s go to the bar?”

  “You don’t think you need to take it easy for a bit first?”

  Jass wrinkled her nose. “Er. No? Loser.”

  And she stumbled off across the field. Bree sighed again and followed.

  The bar seemed to be home to everyone who was anyone. Gemma, Jessica, and Emily were all already there and screamed when they saw them.

  “You guys, you’re so fashionably late!” Jessica rounded them up into an overexcited group hug. “Bree, that dress is awesome.”

  “Thanks.”

  “We had a few cocktails at mine first.” Jass giggled. “Where’s Hugo?”

  “Oh, he’s around here somewhere. Pretending he’s King of the Universe,” Gemma said. She was wearing some weird neon lace dress. It didn’t look great. But, of course, because it was Gemma, the whole world was tricked into thinking she looked hot.

  “That’s my boyfriend you’re talking about.”

  “Chill, Jazzy Spazzy, you know what he’s like when he gets a lot of attention.”

  Jassmine’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are girls throwing themselves at him?”

  Bree gulped. Scared for those girls. Scared a little for herself…

  “What do you think?”

  Jassmine straightened out her playsuit menacingly. “Right, let’s find him and sort this out.”

  “Chill, Jass,” Jessica said, her eyes wide and nervous. “Have a drink first.”

  “Okay.”

  That didn’t take much persuading.

  As Jassmine’s sort-of friend – bar the about-to-backstab-her part – Bree thought it best if Jass didn’t have anything else to drink. The others didn’t agree. In fact, they tipped alcohol down her like it was water.

  “Raspberry mojitos!” Gemma yelled, pushing a straw into Jassmine’s mouth like she was a baby bird. Jass sucked obligingly. “It’s always good to get her just that little bit more pissed when she gets psycho jealous,” she muttered to Bree. “Otherwise innocent girls’ eyes get plucked out.”

  “Riiiiiiight,” she replied. “Jass? Do you want a shot of sambuca?”

  Jass nodded.

  They stayed at the bar for a while, checking everyone else out, sneering at people they didn’t think should’ve been invited. Emily was far too grateful to be there, it was almost pathetic. She squealed and pointed at every single detail. A few shots sorted her out though. Bree hadn’t done shots before, and she couldn’t help but think of the disdain that would no doubt be on Holdo’s face if he could see her now…downing shots of tequila and licking salt off Gemma’s chest, plucking a piece of lemon out of Jass’s mouth – all as men looked on helplessly, their pupils (and trousers) bulging with lust.

  “Now this is what I like to see,” said Hugo as he and his mates arrived out of nowhere just as Bree was halfway through sharing a lemon slice with Jessica. “Bree, I didn’t think you were the type.”

  Bree wiped her mouth delicately and looked him straight in the eye. “Well, this party’s so crap, there was nothing for it but to get drunk.”

  “I know,” he said, looking around at the hundreds of people dancing on the lawn, laughing, snogging. “It’s really flopping, isn’t it?”

  “HUGO!”

  Jass launched herself at him like a missile, winding all her limbs around him at once.

  “Jass? How much have you had to drink?” He sounded annoyed.

  “Not much,” she said, her false indignation ruined by a stray hiccup. “Anyway, it’s your eighteenth, I wanted to make sure we celebrate it in style.”

  Matty appeared from behind Hugo and spotted Bree.

  “Bree, you made it.” He high-fived her. “We didn’t know if you girls were coming.”

  “What? And miss the sight of you all pissing in Hugo’s lake?”

  “Oi,” Hugo said. “No slashing in the garden. There’s a toilet block for a reason.”

  Seth swayed out from behind Hugo, a strong contender for someone drunker than Jass.

  “Guys, when the hell are we gonna start dancing?”

  “Good point,” Hugo said. “Come on, to the dance tent.”

  And the gaggle of them left the bar and entered the strobe-y glow of the dance marquee.

  chapter twenty-nine

  There must, Bree thought, be a correlation between popularity and one’s ability to dance without looking like an absolute twat.

  And as she had only recently become popular, this stint in the dance tent was possibly her biggest test yet.

  Hip hop was playing. Actual hip hop. And in true, upper-middle-class Britishness, this meant that all the girls had temporarily forgotten their ethnicity and were dancing like they had the right body parts to shimmy.

  The other girls, though, were just about pulling it off.

  Gemma played the part of the pole, and the other girls gyrated around her. If they weren’t tossing their hair, they were either stroking their boobs or crotch.

  Bree supposed with popularity came confidence, and it takes confidence to grind down to the ground, open your legs, and shimmy back up again, while maintaining a nonchalant look of disinterest and being watched by an entire rugby team.

  She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t dance, no one had ever taught her. She’d once been dragged to a cousin’s fancy wedding and managed to get through by pointing her finger in the air. If she tried to be sexy in the conventional way, she would fail instantly. There was nothing for it but to brazen out some kind of invented move and hope people thought it was the new thing.

  She shrugged her shoulders mechanically and jolted her body about in time to the music. She then added in a little step-tap, step-tap. And then decided to look completely and utterly bored by the whole process.

  “Wooooahhhhhhhhhhhhh, go Bree!” Gemma yelled.

  When the girls subtly altered their dance moves to look more like hers, she knew she’d pulled it off.

  The music was thumping, the beat infectious – although Bree would still never listen to it anywhere else. Hugo and the lads were jumping on top of each other’s backs, spilling beer over each other, or doing lame attempts at dancing too. Jassmine was getting more and more disorientated. She kept flicking her hair back. It wasn’t falling into place any more though – instead it was becoming more dishevelled. And once she noticed Bree getting attention, she took action. She hurled herself into the middle of their makeshift circle, grabbed Hugo and pulled him towards her. She turned her back to him and grinded up against him, using her arse. She’d obviously picked up a few tips from that recent documentary, Lap Dancing Uncovered. Bree thought Hugo would love it, but in fact he looked a bit uncomfortable. Each time Jassmine flicked her hair back, it whipped him in the face. She didn’t notice. She was too determinedly channelling her inner stripper.

  Distracted, Bree felt something rub up against her bottom. Something…bulgy. She whipped her head round.

  It was Matty. Grinding on her.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  He grinned. “Come on, it’s just dancing.”

  “No. It’s sexual assault. Get your bollocks off me. Now.”

  Matty laughed and did as she said.

  “COCKBLOCK!” Seth yelled, his face all sweaty.

  Everyone laughed. She caught Hugo’s eyes and a moment passed between them. A shiver ran down her back. She lost her balance on the g
rass in her wedges and tripped a little.

  “You okay?” Jessica caught her and pulled her up.

  “Yeah I’m fine.”

  “Matty SO fancies you.” She sounded almost wistful.

  “Nah, he just got horny watching the Jass and Hugo sex show.”

  She looked back at them but Hugo had disappeared. Jass stood with her arms wrapped round herself looking confused and upset.

  “He. Just. Left!” she half-screeched, punching her fists towards the ground like a child on the verge of a tantrum.

  “Abort the tent. Abort the tent,” Gemma yelled cheerfully into Bree’s ear, and the girly gang bustled Jass out of the marquee, leaving the rugby boys behind.

  She was wasted. Losing it. Bree had never seen Jass like this before.

  “Where’s Hugo?” she yelled into the darkness. A group of passing girls stared at her. Bree steered her away by the shoulders.

  “Come on, let’s get you some fresh air away from the tents.”

  “Do you know where he is?” she demanded. “I bet you do. You’ve always fancied him, haven’t you?”

  Bree was about to protest but Gemma put her hand on Bree’s shoulder.

  “Ignore her. She accuses one of us of shagging him every time she gets really drunk.” She turned to Jass. “Come on, Jassy-min. Bree doesn’t fancy Hugo. And even if she did, he’s only got eyes for you.”

  They coaxed her towards a quieter bit of the party – a pond with a water fountain lit up by sparkling lights. Away from the music and fuss, Jass appeared even more wasted. She slumped on a bench and slid down to one side.

  “HUGO?”

  Christ – she sounded nuts.

  “He’s coming. He’s just saying hello to all the guests.”

  “Hugo. I LOVE YOU!”

  “And he loves you too, sweetheart.”

  “You. Bree! She wants to shag him – well you can’t, HE’S MINE.”

  “Jass, I don’t want to shag your boyfriend.”

  “Okay then.”

  She was momentarily satisfied and closed her eyes. The lights lit up her face and, it had to be said, Jass had looked better. She was sticky with sweat, she’d smeared half her make-up off, and her hair was sticking to her head. Jessica and Emily came and crouched round their Queen, offering noises of encouragement.