The Manifesto on How to be Interesting

by Holly Bourne

  “I think your new fringe is gorgeous,” Bree whispered to Emily. “Ignore Jassmine. She’s just taking relationship stuff out on you.”

  Emily looked like she was gonna fall over from the endorsement. “Really? You think?”

  “Yes. Makes your face look uber-skinny. Don’t take it personally. It was just Russian roulette who she was going to vent on. You were the unlucky one today.”

  “Well, that was awkward,” Gemma announced and they all dissolved into giggles, the tension in the air evaporating.

  “They’ve been fighting so much recently,” Jessica said. “Especially since the weekend. It doesn’t help that he keeps refusing to wear that necklace.”

  “I wonder why…” Seth said ponderingly, and they all pissed themselves again.

  Equilibrium restored, lunch continued. Bree took another crisp. Matt moved up nearer to her, close enough she could feel his breath tickling her neck.

  “Hey, Bree.”

  She swallowed. “Hey, yourself.”

  “I just wanted to apologize, you know, for my behaviour at Hugo’s.” He twisted his hands in his lap and his pale face was bright red.

  “Your behaviour?” She didn’t understand.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry. I was out of line…”

  “Matt, I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He turned even redder, if possible. “Well, you know, when I tried it on, on the dance floor. You weren’t very happy.”

  “Oh, that.”

  He’d grinded on her in the tent. She’d completely forgotten. Jeez, out of all the bad behaviour various people – herself included – had indulged in that evening, Matt’s grinding practically made him a nun. Could you get male nuns? Never mind.

  “Yeah, that. I’m really sorry.”

  “Matt, it was nothing. I’m over it. I was never under it.”

  “Oh.” He looked disappointed.

  “Don’t worry about it.” She was about to turn to Gemma but he got another line in.

  “I’d like to make it up to you.”

  She bit her lip. “There’s no need.”

  “No, I really want to. Sorry. I was so drunk.”

  “Honestly, it’s fine. Just buy me a drink next time we’re all out if you really want to.”

  He leaned closer. She could smell ketchup on his breath.

  “I could take you out for a drink? If you’d like?” All his normal brazen confidence had disappeared and he’d morphed into a vulnerable, adorable boy. An adorable boy who was about to get his heart rugby-kicked.

  Bree wasn’t sure what face to make, or what to say.

  “Just us?” he said hopefully, like her silence was her not understanding.

  “Erm…I’m not sure, Matty. I really like that we’re mates.”

  His face fell, then went hard. The adorable boy abruptly vanished. “Yeah, well, I was only asking to be polite. And I only grinded you cos I was wasted.” He budged over to sit next to Seth.

  Bree sighed and turned away. “Gemma,” she called. “What’s up with Hugo and Jassmine?”

  Gemma blew her hair up, looking bored. “He’s been nasty to her since his party. She’s convinced he cheated on her.”

  For the first time that day, horridness shot through her happy bubble. She prayed to every god available that her face gave nothing away. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. Don’t know why you look so surprised.”

  What did that mean? Did she know?

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it’s Hugo, isn’t it? I would be more surprised if he’d stayed faithful.”

  She was safe. Thank you, all the available gods.

  As if they knew they were being talked about, Jassmine and Hugo reappeared at the table, arms round each other and nuzzling.

  “Oh great,” Gemma muttered. “They made up…again.”

  “So, guys,” Jassmine said, like no drama had occurred only minutes before, “we have exciting news.”

  Seth clapped his hands together. “Mate, have you got her preggo? Thought you were looking a bit tubby, Jassmine.”

  Everyone laughed, until they saw Hugo and Jassmine’s faces. They stopped.

  “Shut up, dickhead. At least I have the sperm count to get a girl pregnant.”

  Seth didn’t speak again.

  “Anyway,” Jassmine continued, “we just saw some saddos putting the posters up. Queen’s Hall is having a Christmas party in two weeks’ time. Fancy dress!”

  This, apparently, was welcome news.

  “Wicked,” Matty Boy said, leaning back in his chair. “I’m going to get some of those fit Year Elevens under the mistletoe and show them what a Christmas present really is.”

  Bree tutted. “How respectful. And what if you’re not on any girl’s ‘Dear Santa’ list?”

  The look he gave her made it clear Matty’s short-lived crush had passed.

  “Where is this party?” Jessica asked.

  “Right here. In the school hall.”

  Everyone made “Aww, what?” noises.

  “That’s pathetic,” Gemma said. “Couldn’t they hire out a boat on the Thames or something? I mean, our parents pay for us to go here.”

  “I think the whole point is that it’s…rustic.”

  “Sounds a bit naff to me.”

  “A party’s a party.”

  “Two weeks. God, is it Christmas that soon?”

  “Fancy dress?” Gemma spoke again. “What the hell are we all going to go as?”

  chapter thirty-nine

  “The nativity scene,” Bree answered, as she pressed the button on the photocopier.

  Logan raised both eyebrows. “The nativity scene?”

  “Yes, I know. Look, it was the best I could do. Have you not seen Mean Girls? Saying the words ‘fancy dress’ to girls like Jassmine is like hiring an aeroplane to spell out Go on, show us your tits in the sky. Getting them to give up their lifelong dream of wearing sexy Santa outfits was pretty damn hard.”

  The photocopier fired up and started whirring.

  He gave her an impressed nod. “I can’t believe you’ve got the most popular people in school to dress up as the nativity.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s kinda backfired…” She picked up a pile of warm photocopies and folded them in half, before handing them over to Logan to staple.

  Logan smiled with his eyes. “Backfired how?”

  Bree sighed and picked up a spare stapler to help.

  “Well, the last I heard, Jass and Gemma were discussing how to ‘sex up’ their nativity costumes. See-through tops were mentioned, so this may be the very first Christmas we get to see Angel Gabriel’s lingerie…” She sighed again. “I don’t know what’s more offensive: the sexualization of Santa’s wife, or the sexualization of the Bible.”

  “The Bible,” Logan said, smiling properly now, not taking it seriously. “Definitely the sexualization of the Bible.”

  “Oh God, what have I done?” She rested the cool metal of the stapler against her face and exhaled.

  “Oh God? You’re blaspheming already?”

  “Shut it.”

  He bit his lip, trying to hold in his amusement. “So what character have you got?”

  Oh yeah…that.

  “A…sheep,” Bree said.

  Logan put his papers down and burst out laughing. “A sheep?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “It was lucky dip! Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll look more like a stripper than a sheep by the time they’re done with me.”

  He looked her up and down, taking in the new blazer she’d bought the other weekend that nipped in her waist. Not in a leery gross way, but just in a nice appreciative way.

  “I bet you will.”

  And it was there again. The sexual tension. She was surprised all the inanimate objects in the supply cupboard didn’t come to life and start rubbing themselves.

  They were photocopying the new edition of the creative-writing club�
��s magazine, read only by members and their parents. It was gone five, most of the school had left, and they were holed up in the supply cupboard with a good stack of photocopies still to get through.

  “So what’s it like?” Logan asked.

  “My sheep costume? Umm, cotton-woolly…?”

  He shook his head. “No, not that. What’s it like to be part of the most popular group in school?”

  The photocopier whirred and beeped as Bree had a little think.

  “It’s not that great. I just feel like I’m leading some kind of double life… I suppose I am really.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  The machine ground to a halt, announcing its finish with an angry beep. She lifted up the top to replace the sheet. When she closed it Logan was right there, up in her face, his expression all wild and intense.

  “What is it?” She felt all self-conscious under his security-light gaze.

  “Nothing.”

  He stepped even closer so that his taut stomach touched hers. The contact sent electric ripples up through every part of her; her breath caught. Logan’s face was so tight she thought for a moment he was going to cry.

  “I was a nobody at school,” he half-whispered and she could feel his breath on her face. The smell of it, coffeeish and chocolaty, was thrilling. More electrical surges danced up her spine.

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “It’s true. I was skinny and awkward and spent all my time hiding in the stinky toilets writing bad poetry in a bound leather notebook. Not one girl fancied me. I didn’t even have my first kiss until I got to university.”

  He got even closer, if that was possible, and ducked his head so their lips were almost touching… They were going to kiss…it was going to happen again…she couldn’t wait.

  But then an unwelcome thought pinged straight into the mailbox in her brain, marked with a red “high importance” exclamation mark that she couldn’t ignore.

  “Logan?”

  “Hmmm?” He was staring at her lips, just centimetres away now.

  She turned her face to give herself more time. “I read once, a newspaper story, about teachers who fall for their students.”

  She hadn’t read a newspaper story, she’d researched it the other day when she was supposed to be updating her blog. She’d googled Student teacher relationships, along with Are they illegal? and Do they work out? Instead of finding the answers she wanted – No, go for it, and Yes, they always work out – she’d stumbled across some upsetting psychological research she couldn’t stop thinking about.

  “Huh?”

  He jerked back and she panicked. She didn’t want to lose him, to ruin this moment, but she needed to know.

  “Hear me out.” Her voice shook and she grabbed his hand. “It’s just…they quoted this psychologist who said the most common reason it happens is because the teachers themselves hated school. Like you just said. They couldn’t get anyone to fancy them at school and they were a loner and unpopular and, well, these affairs – I mean, the proper love affairs not the sleazy paedo affairs—”

  “Paedo?” His mouth gaped open in horror.

  “No, that’s not what I meant, sir!”

  “Bree—”

  “Please! Listen! It’s important.” Her voice was so close to breaking; surprise tears had sprung into her eyes. “These relationships…they usually happen with the popular students at school. This psychologist thought it was the teacher’s way of living out some kind of fantasy… They’re so flattered by the attention…and their self-esteem is all low because their own school years were so full of rejection…that they fall for the fantasy, not the student.”

  Logan looked so shocked she was sure she could pop ten grapes in his mouth and he’d just choke rather than chew.

  “So I’m scared, Logan. That this is all this is…that I’m just a fantasy…”

  If she was gonna cry she was gonna cry now and so she focused on breathing. Yet, in a second, he was by her side once more, cupping her face in his big wonderful hands and forcing her to look at him.

  “Bree, aren’t you forgetting something?”

  His eyes were welling up. Her teacher’s eyes were welling up.

  “What? What am I forgetting?”

  A small tear cracked out of his left eye but his face was beaming with happiness. She couldn’t keep up.

  “Bree, I loved you when no one at this school knew your name. I loved you when you dyed your hair purple and it washed out into some sludge colour. I loved you when your skirt clung too tight, you wore those terrible neon tights and put your hand up to answer every single question I asked the class.” He smiled again. “I love you, Bree. Popular or not. I love you.”

  And then words failed them both. His mouth was on hers and she actually let out a groan, it felt so good. He pushed her against the photocopier so that every part of their bodies was smushed together and she was so lost in his kiss she didn’t notice the angry beeping sound the machine made in complaint. Logan’s kiss was the complete opposite of Logan himself – urgent, strong, overbearing. He aggressively pushed his tongue into her mouth – yet it wasn’t like kissing Hugo. This was wanted. Her own tongue reciprocated, tasting him, trying to memorize every centimetre of his mouth. His hands tangled up in her hair and hers in his. It was so wonderful. She knew it was wrong, so wrong, and that made every millisecond so charged and so good. Somehow they found their way onto the floor, lying side by side, their legs entwined, their backs scratching against the grey industrial carpet. They didn’t once break the kiss. His hands stroked up and down the side of her ribcage, each touch making goosebumps erupt on her skin. Their feet smashed up against the cupboard door, subconsciously keeping it shut against intruders.

  It was everything Bree dreamed a kiss could be. It was a kiss that would be etched onto each of their memories for all time. A kiss to relive in boring periods of their future lives. One of those rare moments where every single other thing in life relinquishes its importance and becomes backing vocals. When they were finally done, they lay in each other’s arms, stunned by the magnitude of how brilliant it was. Logan’s face glowed as he nestled Bree’s head into him and stroked her hair and face, like he couldn’t believe his luck that he got to touch her.

  Some people spend their whole lives hoping they’ll be looked at the way he’s looking at me right now.

  Nothing had ever really felt good before. Her whole existence until that moment had been grey after grey after grey with the odd moment of black chucked in. Today – now – she’d finally met white. The colour of light and brightness and hope and redemption and purity and…and… oh, screw the descriptions, she wanted to kiss him again. So she did.

  Eventually, exhausted, they broke apart and reallocated their time to just staring at each other in wonder.

  Logan was tracing his fingers across her face again, drinking in every bit of her.

  “Hey, you,” she said shyly.

  He grinned lazily. “Hey, yourself.”

  “Do you really love me?” It really couldn’t hurt to hear it again. Multiple times. Preferably on a loop over and over.

  “Yes, Bree. I love you. For so long.”

  Her smile matched his.

  “You do realize you’ve not said it back, don’t you?” he half-joked and, at that moment, she saw the insecure boy he once was. And probably always would be, a little bit.

  “I haven’t?”

  “No.”

  “I thought it kind of went without saying.”

  “You’ve still not said it.”

  She sat up a bit straighter and readied herself. She’d never said those words to anyone; they were utterly alien to her. She’d read them a million times in text, seen them printed in black ink, or announced by actors on the telly. She’d heard people around her saying them – Jassmine, occasionally Hugo when he wanted Jassmine to stop being mad at him, her dad that one time he drank too much at Christmas. B
ut her own mouth had never formed that particular string of shapes. She had never clicked her tongue off the roof of her mouth for the “l” of love and then followed it up by pursing her lips for the “you”.

  She spoke uncertainly. “I love you too, Logan.”

  His already-broad grin stretched across every part of his face. “That wasn’t so hard.”

  She wanted to say it again. “I love you.”

  He threw back his head laughing. “It’s great, isn’t it?”

  And then – as always – a dark thought came along to gatecrash the party. This isn’t the first time he’s said those words…

  And then the dark thought rang up all its dodgy mates and told them to come along and smash stuff up… He probably says it all the time to his wife.

  And then reality turned up in a police car and told everyone at the party to clean up and go home.

  Bree untangled herself from him. “Logan, what are we doing?”

  He noticed the change of tone in her voice; she could tell by the way his face tightened. He knew her so well, this gorgeous man. “What do you mean?”

  She didn’t want to state the obvious but now was the time. How could she not ruin this? It was only the most perfect thing that had ever happened to her. She wouldn’t be Bree if she didn’t vandalize it.

  “You’re my teacher.”

  The words fell like cluster bombs, their gravity pushing their bodies apart.

  “I know that, Bree,” he said quietly.

  “You’re married.”

  “That I am.”

  She only had one word left. “How?”

  “How what? What are you asking? How is this going to work?”

  She nodded, too scared of what the next five minutes would bring.

  Logan sighed and used his hands to push himself up against the side of the photocopier.

  “This is serious, Bree, what we’ve just done. I could lose my job. Jeez – if I slept with you, I could go to prison.”

  Bad words, bad words, bad words.

  “But do you not think I’ve already thought of all this? That I haven’t gone over it and over it, all the reasons I shouldn’t love you, all the reasons I need to stay away, why I shouldn’t go there. Do you not realize how much those thoughts plague me every bloody day?” He sighed again and looked exhausted. “I can’t not kiss you though, Bree. I can’t not love you. It would be like telling myself not to breathe. And I’m not sure how we’re going to do this, how it’s going to work, how we can work out being together…”