The Manifesto on How to be Interesting

by Holly Bourne

  She stopped him by putting her finger over his lips and making a hushing sound. She’d seen someone doing it in the movies once. Logan ceased talking.

  Bree didn’t need to speak or hear any more words. For once, her favourite things were completely unwanted.

  She leaned over and kissed him again until time lost all meaning and there was only feeling and sensing and love and light and love and light and love.

  That night’s blog was a short one.

  I kissed him. I love him. He loves me. I kissed him. I love him. He loves me. I kissed him. I love him. He loves me.

  She typed it again and again, and each time she smiled from a deep place inside of her that she never knew existed.

  chapter forty

  There were some noteworthy aspects to being in love. And Bree wouldn’t have been Bree if she hadn’t taken the time to note them down.

  Note them down and publish them online…

  Things that are awesome about being in love

  Everything is happy

  Not the most eloquent of sentences, she knew, but it was the simplest way to describe it. That ever-elusive state – happiness – now followed her wherever she went, whatever she was doing. It was like her heart had turned to gold and thumped molten glowing goodness through her veins.

  Smiling was easy. Effortless.

  In fact, it was harder not to smile. She didn’t walk, she floated. Life’s tediums – Jassmine crying in the loos about Hugo again, getting an A− in her Latin coursework, the guilt she felt whenever she ignored Holdo in the corridor – didn’t affect her at all. Well, maybe a bit, but then LOGAN would pop into her brain and she was off again, listing all the things she loved about him to herself. Just the mere whisper of a thought of him made everything and everyone good.

  I…like myself

  Self-esteem. Bree had it in spades when it came to her intelligence. But when it came to other parts of herself – appearance, character, humour – she’d always ticked the self-loathing box.

  In truth, in her entire life up until last week, she’d hated who she was. Why else would she have scratched open her skin as punishment for the simple crime of being Bree? And yet now she was beginning to realize she wasn’t that bad after all. Logan saw things in her she’d never seen. He complimented her on stuff she didn’t know you could get complimented on.

  Like: “That’s what I love about you, Bree. You’re so dry in everything you say. It’s a gift.”

  Really? Terminal cynicism can be a gift? Not just a defence mechanism?

  Or: “The way you roll your eyes, it just kills me.”

  Apparently rolling your eyes could be sexy. Rather than nasty.

  And: “You’re a much kinder person than you give yourself credit for,” Logan told her one evening, when she’d revealed her ruthless abandonment of Holdo.

  The Bree he saw was so different to the one she knew. But, with a constant supply of complimentary analysis, she was beginning to see the Bree he saw.

  Yes – it was awful. Self-esteem shouldn’t be an egg that hatches and grows because some guy says he loves you. She was mad at herself for being so ethically floozy. But there’s nothing like being loved by someone who chose you entirely of their own free will. Especially when there were so many others out there available for love too. She’d been chosen. Her. And not because she was the last option, like in PE lessons. But because she was her. It was such a comfort. Such a warm, cosy, morally-wrong-but-she-didn’t-give-a-flying…comfort.

  You live for the moment

  Bree had always envied those live-for-the-moment people.

  The type of people who saw life as one big adventure after the next, shooting head first into anything exciting that rocked along.

  Whereas her life and thoughts revolved around two major narratives:

  Reliving and analysing every single regret of the past, on a loop, until she felt sick with cringing and remorse.

  Worrying methodically about the future and every little thing that could potentially go wrong.

  While she was busy doing that, life passed her by. Moments whizzed past, unnoted. Memories were left unmade. Time was wasted in such a vast way it was practically insulting.

  But not now she was with Logan.

  For once, “Now” was all that mattered. She stepping-stoned from one “Now” to another, hopping on and off brilliant moments without a care for the last one or the next.

  It was probably just as well. The past was just embarrassing. How they’d both behaved was almost funny when they dared talk about it. The future was…not worth thinking about. If she hadn’t been so intoxicated on love, she would have been worrying about:

  His wife.

  Being found out.

  Logan losing his job.

  His wife.

  How were they ever going to stay together?

  Going to university in a year and a half and being away from him.

  The age gap.

  His wife.

  Sleeping with him.

  Logan getting arrested and jailed.

  The awkwardness of the “how we met” speeches on their wedding day.

  His wife.

  Yet right now, all these were only fleeting thoughts, because she was living, living, living and loving, loving, loving.

  Her mum spotted the change first.

  “You’re different,” she declared one morning. One rare moment when Bree’s dad was eating with them too – though he was hidden behind a paper, his hand only emerging to pick up his extra-strong freshly-ground coffee.

  It was blunt. But – to be fair – Bree was humming as she ate her organic porridge with fresh fruit and honey from next-door’s bees. Recently, she just hadn’t felt like Pop-Tarts.

  She swallowed. “What?”

  Her mum crossed her arms. “What’s going on with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You keep…smiling.”

  Bree giggled and her mum gasped and pointed.

  “See, you just giggled! Since the day you came out of my womb you have never once giggled. Has she, Daniel?”

  Her dad lowered the paper enough so she could see the dark workaholic circles under his eyes and stared at her bemusedly.

  “No,” he said cautiously, like he wasn’t sure if he was being tested or not. “Bree doesn’t usually giggle.”

  She didn’t really know how to respond to that. Yelling How would you know? You’re never here? didn’t seem appropriate.

  “What’s happened? Have you met someone?” her mum continued.

  Hating herself, Bree felt her cheeks grow warm.

  “You have? A boy?”

  “Mum, leave it,” she warned, though her voice was too full of joy to sound threatening.

  Her dad’s eyebrows rose above the top of his paper. “I trust this boy isn’t a loser,” he said. “You’re worth more than that.”

  Bree evilled him. “No, Dad, he’s not a loser.” He’s just my teacher.

  Her mum squealed. “Well, well, well. My little girl…in love.”

  “MUM.” Bree sounded scarier this time.

  “Okay, okay, don’t tell me anything. It will save me dying from shock.”

  To her credit, her mum did leave it, and instead started questioning Bree’s dad about when he could next take some time off. Although she kept giving Bree little smiles for the rest of breakfast.

  Jassmine noticed it next.

  “You’re being less mean to everyone recently.”

  Never one to mince her words, Jassmine. It was one of the things Bree liked about her. Though she was sure Jassmine’s respect for words was unintentional.

  Bree examined her lipgloss in the mirror. Marvel’s newest addition to the range – 4D lipgloss. Her dad had been boring her to tears explaining the formula.

  “What you talking about?”

  “You. You’re being less sarky than normal.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm.”

&
nbsp; They were having a between-lessons make-up reapplication gossip. Usually this happened only twice a day. But, with new products and the upcoming dance to discuss, it’d become a between-every-lesson occurrence.

  “You just seem a bit…distracted is all.” Jass wasn’t giving up.

  “You’d be distracted too if you were spending every spare waking minute individually supergluing cotton-wool balls onto a playsuit.”

  Jassmine laughed. “See! That’s the first time you’ve snapped all week. I’ve missed it.”

  Bree blotted and dropped the paper towel in the bin. “You miss me being a bitch? Do you have self-esteem issues?”

  “It’s just weird… You seem happier.”

  “I won’t be happy when I’m wearing that sodding sheep costume.”

  Jass rifled through Bree’s make-up bag and picked out glitter eyeliner. “Why are you doing this to yourself again?”

  “Sheep is what I pulled out of the hat.”

  “I’m sure you’ll make it look good.”

  “Says Miss Angel Gabriel, who only has to put a bit of tinsel on top of her head. It’d better not rain though, otherwise the cotton wool is going to absorb all the water and I’ll expand horizontally.”

  They giggled together, just like friends.

  “So why are you so cheerful then, Bree?”

  “God, you’re not giving up, are you?”

  “I’m interested, that’s all… Have you met someone? You NEVER talk about boys.”

  “That’s cos I can’t get a word in edgeways when you’re always moaning about Hugo.”

  It was supposed to be a joke but Jassmine’s face scrunched up.

  Again.

  It had looked that way all week.

  “Sorry, Jass, it was supposed to be funny.”

  Jassmine blinked desperately so the newly-applied eyeliner didn’t smudge and make glitter tears. “Am I really that bad?”

  Bree gave her a hug. “It was a joke.”

  “A joke based on truth,” Jass sniffed into her shoulder.

  “Are things really that bad between you?”

  Hugo had been treating Jass like utter crap since his party and Bree couldn’t help but feel partly to blame. He kept putting Jass down, blowing her off, and flirting outrageously with Bree and others in front of her. And Jass kept coming back for more. It was painful to watch, but what could any of them do? Jassmine seemed determined that they were the perfect couple and the school would stop revolving if they broke up.

  And Jassmine didn’t even know about the torrent of texts Bree had been getting from Hugo since she ill-advisedly gave him her number to shut him up in the corridor one day:

  When’s the rerun then?

  If you’re playing hard to get, it’s working. I’m hard…

  Come over to mine? My parents are out. So is my penis.

  She’d ignored him but life was just a game to Hugo and ignoring him seemed to spur him on.

  Jass grabbed a wad of toilet tissue and carefully caught a stray tear. “No, it’s fine. Sorry, must have PMS or something.”

  Bree patted her shoulder. “You do know relationships are supposed to make you happy, right?”

  “We are happy,” Jass snapped. “If you knew what he was like when it’s just us two…he’s really sweet.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Anyway, you’ve still not told me why you’re so cheerful.” She blew her nose into the tissue and chucked it into the bin.

  “Can’t I just be full of Christmas joy?”

  “Is it Matty Boy? Have you two got together on the sly?”

  “No,” she sighed. “He asked me out but I said no.”

  “Ahh.”

  “What is ‘ahh’ supposed to mean?”

  “Well, it just explains why he’s been telling all of us that he thinks you’re a lesbian.”

  “He hasn’t?”

  “He has.”

  “The bastard… God, some guys just can’t take rejection, can they?”

  “Nope.”

  “I’m gonna get him.” What an arse. Bree tipped her newly-cut hair upside-down to revive its deflating 3 p.m. volume.

  “I’d like to see that. When?”

  “I dunno. At this stupid dance.”

  “You could spike his drink and yank his trousers down or something.”

  “Or I could get the DJ to turn on the UV light – he’s so pale, his whole body will glow in the dark.”

  And they both pissed themselves. Jass gave her another big hug and Bree knew she was a) feeling better and b) going to let Bree off the hook.

  “It’s so annoying it’s on a school night. Queen’s is so lame.”

  Bree began packing up her bag ready for next lesson. “At least after it we only have one day of school to get through before the Christmas holidays.”

  “Yeah, I suppose. We can all go in hungover together.”

  The bell went.

  “S’laters.”

  “Laters.”

  chapter forty-one

  “Everyone keeps asking me why I’m so happy.”

  Logan grinned over his newspaper. “Oh, do they now?”

  She nodded.

  “I can’t think why.”

  “Me neither,” she said back, smiling.

  It was Saturday, the last weekend before the end of term. Logan had picked her up from the end of her road and taken her for coffee two towns away. She didn’t know what he’d told his wife and didn’t ask. They’d pulled over on a country lane on their way there for an enthusiastic kissing session. He’d reclined his driver’s seat and she’d ended up on top of him as they groaned into each other’s mouths, his hands running up her body. Now, with their hair still messy, they sipped gingerbread lattes on a soft leather sofa in a coffee chain, trying to ignore the cheesy Christmas carols playing in the background, and sharing the weekend supplements like an old married couple.

  Christmas had exploded that week, as it always does halfway through December. Shops were crammed, younger students wore tinsel in their hair at school, and everywhere smelled of either pine or cinnamon. The night before, Bree’s dad had come home brandishing a two-and-a-half-metre Christmas tree. Her parents were up late decorating it and, by the sound of all the popping corks, getting wasted at the same time. When Bree had tiptoed past the living room that morning she’d peeked in and found the tree lopsidedly daubed with baubles and three empty champagne bottles on the floor.

  Logan folded his paper and put it on the coffee table so he could scooch closer to Bree. She cuddled into him instinctively and took his hand. They squeezed each other’s fingers.

  “So you’re happy?” he murmured into her ear. Just his breath on her neck was enough for her to lose the ability to think coherently.

  “Deliriously so, and you?”

  He squeezed her hand tighter. “Bree, you have no idea.”

  They stayed like that for a while, just gently nuzzling each other, oblivious to the odd disapproving look flung in their direction, until Bree broke free to take another sip of coffee.

  “God, I love Christmas,” she said. “Everything tastes so good. Who would’ve thought gingerbread and coffee would go so well?”

  Logan pulled her back to him. “I wouldn’t have thought you were a Christmassy person.”

  “I wasn’t…until this year.”

  “Oh, is that right?” He pulled her in tighter. “Does this mean I’m going to have to get someone a present?” He kissed her all down the side of her face.

  “Perhaps…nothing big. Maybe just a first edition of To Kill a Mockingbird or something?”

  He nodded. “Of course, of course. And maybe the original manuscript of The Catcher in the Rye?”

  “Well, it is Christmas.”

  He kissed her more and she leaned into his mouth, savouring how good it felt. How everything felt. The kisses on her neck, the sweet taste of gingerbread on her tongue, the smell of cinnamon in the coffee shop. She’d already got Logan’s Christmas present; in
fact, she’d made it herself. She’d given herself a blog holiday and focused on writing him a short story instead. Although she hated to admit it, she’d struggled to write it. Words were harder to find when she was happy. Regardless, it was called The Story of Us and she’d even illustrated it herself with funny cartoons of them. The old Bree would’ve hated something so sentimental and sickly, but New Bree thought Old Bree was a sad lonely girl who just needed to be loved.

  A group of adults walked in and Logan tensed instantly. He ducked and hid behind Bree, who sat up to get a better look.

  “Do you know them?”

  “Shit. Maybe, I dunno. That guy – I think I might know him from somewhere.”

  A hard knot twisted in her intestines. Logan buried his face into the sofa.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  “What do you think I’m doing? Hiding. If he knows me then he might know Carol.”

  Carol. Her name. The Wife’s name. He’d never used it before. The knot twisted in on itself and Bree’s whole stomach cramped.

  “We’re miles from home – what are the chances it’s someone you know?”

  “Hang on. Let me go to the toilet so I can get a closer look.”

  And he was up, acting like he didn’t know her at all. He walked to the men’s toilet slowly, trying to look at the group naturally.

  Bree slurped her coffee sullenly. She stared into the dregs of her cup and felt the Christmas spirit leak out of her. When he returned, two minutes later and smiling, she wouldn’t let him put his arm around her.

  “What’s up?” he asked, trying again, but she shuffled across the sofa.

  “So you didn’t know him then?”

  He grinned. “Nope. False alarm.”

  “Brilliant news.”

  “Why are you being like this?”

  “Like what?” For the first time in her life, Bree really sounded her age.

  “Like this.” He gestured towards her crossed arms and pouting face. “All sullen, like a teenager.”

  “I am a teenager, remember? That’s why you just publicly disowned me.”