The Manifesto on How to be Interesting

by Holly Bourne

  “Publicly what? Bree…what? Oh, that? You really think that’s what I did? I just panicked, that’s all. Come on, you can’t blame me for that. I am kind of putting myself in a dangerous position for you.” He scratched his head, looking exasperated.

  Bree thought she was in a pretty dangerous position too. Her heart was his, and he could stamp on it whenever he wanted.

  “Are you ashamed of me, is that it?” she asked, annoyed at her own insecurity.

  “Of course that’s not it.”

  “Then why did you just go hide in the toilets?” Her heart…hurt. She didn’t know organs could get cramp, but that’s what it felt like.

  “Bree…come on, that’s not what happened.”

  “That’s what it felt like.” She didn’t care that she was being immature – she was seventeen, she WAS immature.

  He tucked a bit of hair behind her ear. That thawed her a little and she hated herself.

  “You know things are…complicated between us.”

  “They don’t have to be.” She sounded like a small child.

  “What do you suggest? That I leave my wife and run off with you?”

  It wasn’t a bad idea.

  “You’re not even eighteen yet. I’d go to prison. I could even go to prison for this…they call it an abuse of trust.”

  “I don’t want you to go to prison… You’re the only one I do trust…”

  God – things were serious. She’d been so busy falling in love she hadn’t wanted to think through the Real World consequences.

  “I turn eighteen next September. It’s less than a year away.” It was something…

  “What do you suggest we do, Bree? I wait for you to finish school and then we run off into the moors like Kathy and Heathcliff?”

  He was making a literary joke about their relationship. She knew she was supposed to laugh but it really wasn’t funny.

  “I don’t know.”

  And she didn’t. She really didn’t.

  “Let’s just see where life takes us, shall we? How does that sound?”

  It sounded like a cop-out, to be honest. A get-out-of-jail-free card. But what choice did she have? She didn’t have the strength to give him an ultimatum…that would risk losing him. And Logan was the only person left in her life right now she could be herself with. If she lost him, who would she be? Would she morph into popular Bree for ever? Like, if the old Bree fell over in the forest and no one was there to hear her then did she make a noise?

  She found herself nodding.

  “That’s my girl.” He squeezed her so tight she almost couldn’t breathe. When he released her, she really looked at him. Just the beauty of his face – the slight wrinkles around his eyes, the strong arch of his nose and slight dimple in his chin – made it all forgotten. For now at least.

  “Now…why don’t you tell me more about this sheep costume? I can’t wait to see you in it on Thursday.”

  chapter forty-two

  They got ready for the dance at Jassmine’s, naturally.

  It was insanely festive in her bedroom. She’d taken fairy lights to a whole new level; they were draped over every available surface and the place stank of festive-scented candles.

  “ALCOHOL!” Jass announced, as she came back from the kitchen carrying a tray of odious-looking drinks.

  “What the hell are those?” Gemma asked, her face glimmering. She’d picked First wise man out of the hat. Gold. So, obviously, Gemma wore a revealing gold dress and had covered herself with body glitter. Bree was impressed with her make-it-sexy-somehow expertise. There wasn’t a false beard to be seen.

  Jass carefully put the tray down on her desk, which was overflowing with discarded clothes.

  “IT’S EGGNOG! Well, I didn’t know what eggnog was so I just tipped some Baileys over some sambuca. Look – they’re like mini Guinnesses!”

  Bree eyed them apprehensively and Jass caught her.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to get wasted again like at Hugo’s.”

  “Er…I thought your drink got spiked?” Bree asked innocently.

  Jass tipped a glass of fake eggnog down her throat, winced, and picked up another. “Oh, come on, we all know I just drank too much.”

  Gemma stood on the bed.

  “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, SHE’S FINALLY ADMITTED IT.”

  They all clapped and cheered and Jassmine joined in. She looked pretty. She’d got some twisty floaty white dress and cinched it in with gold braid. A delicate halo made of thin gold tinsel shone off her honey-blonde hair. It was surprisingly demure, especially in comparison to Gemma, and Bree was grateful not all of them were going to offend any Christians at the party that night.

  “Yeah, yeah, okay…well, it was a good cover-up.”

  “Good?” Jessica said. Also an angel. Although for some mysterious reason (Jassmine), she’d been downgraded from gold tinsel to silver. “The police filed a report.”

  Jass handed out the other glasses. “Who cares? It’s not like any real crimes happen round here anyway… Bree, I can’t talk seriously when you look like that.”

  Bree looked down at herself and pretended to be confused. “Like what?”

  “Like a sexy sheep! How the hell have you managed it?”

  She stood up and twirled to show everyone her costume again. It had all come together somehow – her playsuit covered entirely with stuck-on cotton-wool balls. The VERY short playsuit…although adequate cotton wool had been applied to hide her thigh tops.

  “You look almost…cute. But then also really filthy. I’m in awe,” Emily said. She was dressed as King Herod, wearing a tiara instead of a crown.

  Bree opened her arms. “Do you want a hug? I’m so comfy.”

  “I want one!” Jass yelled and launched herself on top of her. They both fell backwards, laughing like tipsy teenagers. Probably because they were tipsy teenagers. Jass stroked her belly. “You’re so soft. I can’t stop stroking you.”

  “Back off, lezzer.”

  Bree hated to admit it, but she was having fun. The impossible had happened and the perfect posse weren’t taking themselves very seriously. Okay, so each nativity costume had a sexy twist, but at least they’d been up for it.

  Jass picked up yet another glass and stood on the bed. “I want to make a toast.”

  “Oh, no. She’s getting wasted again,” Gemma muttered. Loudly. Deliberately.

  “Shut up, Gemma.”

  And she did.

  “Christmas is about the year coming to an end. And I don’t know about you, but at the beginning of this year I never thought Bree, aka Twatty McGeek, would be here, drinking with us, and making us dress up as nativity characters.”

  Bree felt herself go a bit dark peach.

  “But, for whatever reason, Bree, you somehow got a life. Joined our friendship group. And, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m really glad you did.” And, to Bree’s utter shock and despair, Jass’s voice broke. “Bree, you’re, like, brilliant. We all love you, don’t we, girls?”

  The others chanted their agreement and Bree’s face went peachier and peachier.

  “So Happy Christmas, everyone. Now let’s go and make Queen’s Hall wildly jealous that they’re not us.”

  They all clinked their glasses before necking their drinks. Then Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You” came on Jassmine’s massive stereo and they all whooped and danced like strippers. Bree couldn’t join in. She was still stunned by what had just been said. And a little touched. She’d done it. She’d actually done it. Bree, total loser extraordinaire, had successfully hacked into the inner circle. Not only were they scared of and influenced by her, they actually liked her.

  Bree wasn’t used to being liked. It felt so great she felt instantly vulnerable.

  Would they still like her if they knew the truth?

  chapter forty-three

  The school looked fantastic. Any worries about it being a dowdy school dance evaporated when they saw all the upside-down Chris
tmas trees blinking with fairy lights and hanging from the ceiling.

  They made their entrance together. The boys and the girls.

  “No bloody way.”

  “They’ve come as the nativity.”

  “That’s so…random.”

  “That’s so…awesome.”

  “LOOK AT ME!” Hugo yelled at everyone, his face already pink from being half-drunk. “I’M THE VIRGIN MARY.”

  He yanked out a toy doll from nowhere, and held the mini-Jesus above his head like it was the FA Cup.

  By the response he got, you would have thought the guy had just won an NME award.

  “That is siiiiiiiiiiiiiick.”

  “Woooooah, go Hugo!”

  “I can’t believe Hugo’s come as the Virgin Mary. Virgin? Hugo?”

  “I can’t believe Seth’s come as Joseph.”

  Seth, keen to show off, ran after Hugo to share in his glory, but tripped on his dressing gown. The room cracked up.

  Matty Boy, a shepherd, shuffled over to Bree with a shy smile. “Aren’t I supposed to be looking after you?”

  “It’s okay,” said Bree, still a little pissed off at him for telling everyone she was a lesbian. “I’m a very independent sheep. Plus I’m a lesbian, apparently. Which if you think is an insult means you’re one very shallow-minded shepherd.”

  “Sorry.”

  “What was that?” She leaned towards him overdramatically with her hand to her ear.

  “I said I’m sorry.”

  “Oh yes. Brilliant. About what?”

  “Erm. About being a bitter bastard and spreading rumours about you?”

  “Oh, that. Well, you should be sorry.”

  He grinned. “Will it make it up to you if I tell you you’ve somehow made a sheep costume very sexy?”

  She was about to rebut but Hugo jumped over, picked her up and squeezed her tight.

  “Well, call me Welsh, but I may have to become a sheep-shagger by the end of the night.” He spun her round while she tried hard not to grimace. Even through her protective layer of cotton-wool balls, his touch turned her stomach. “You look so hot,” he whispered, his mouth right in her ear, making her shudder.

  She pushed him off and looked around. Everyone was watching, especially Jassmine, who looked quite rightly suspicious.

  “Don’t you need to be looking after your child? He is the son of God, after all.”

  “Who, this?” And he was about to drop-kick the baby Jesus across the dance floor when Jassmine ran over and grabbed it off him. She shrieked with fake laughter and used Hugo’s hilarious behaviour as an excuse to stand right between them.

  “Hugo. You can’t treat the son of God like a rugby ball. You’ll upset people.”

  “I can do whatever the hell I want.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  And then Jass was upside down, her dress falling over her head, showing off her white thong. He ran with her to the bar, her tinsel halo falling to the floor as she screamed. Loving. Every. Moment.

  Bree took the moment’s peace to analyse her surroundings. They were all being stared at by jealous faces. Somehow, from the outside, this soap-opera existence looked appealing.

  For what was effectively a school disco, the place really did look pretty damn good. As well as the trees hanging from the ceiling, there was a chocolate fountain, and a huge four-metre right-way-up Christmas tree covered in candy canes. A giant ball of mistletoe hung suspended over the middle of the dance floor and some students were already using it to maximum effect. She looked for Logan, wondering what he made of it all, and located him standing behind “the bar”, guarding the punch from a-spiking. He wore a suit, but scruffily – just how she liked it. His hair poked out from underneath a Santa hat. His eyes met hers at the same time and it passed between them again – the sexual tension – careering across the giant room. He nodded, silently acknowledging her and what they were. Her heartbeat went nutso and she was relieved when Gemma grabbed her round the waist and pulled her towards the bar.

  “Come on, we need to hit the punch while it’s still spiked.”

  “How’s it been spiked? It’s being guarded.”

  “Yeah, but it’s being guarded by that pathetic ‘I’m down with the kids’ English teacher. He deliberately turned a blind eye when Hugo poured in half a bottle of absinthe.”

  “Absinthe?!”

  “Yep. For massed pissed-ness, one needs to spike punches with absinthe.”

  Gemma’s description of Logan dented Bree’s pride. He wasn’t “down with the kids”. He just had a soul, unlike every other teacher. Her Latin teacher, in charge of distributing sausage rolls, was wearing tweed, for God’s sake!

  When they got to the bar, Logan dipped a cup into the punch and held it out to Bree.

  “Punch, girls?”

  God – he was so good at this.

  She took the plastic cup and took a sip. It was definitely alcoholic. “Thanks, Mr Fellows.”

  “You girls go easy now,” he said, handing one to Gemma. “Too much fruit juice can make you hyper.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind,” Gemma said sarcastically.

  “See,” she whispered as they walked away sipping. “He’s so cringe!”

  Bree felt like a porcupine that had just put all its prickles up. “He’s not. He’s cool…” She saw the look on Gemma’s face. “For a teacher, anyway. Shall we dance?”

  After Bree’s second glass of punch, things got a bit hazier. She remembered them playing a LOT of Christmas songs, especially The Pogues, her absolute favourite. Then, at her suggestion, the lot of them cleared a space on the dance floor and re-enacted the entire nativity scene. To music.

  It was ridiculous. But cool because it was them doing it. Jassmine was surprisingly hilarious, grinding up against Hugo and fake-flying about the place. Gemma demanded the DJ play the eighties tune “Gold” for a dance solo. And Bree spent a lot of her time running away from Matty Boy, who kept catching her with his shepherd’s crook. She could tell the evening was peaking when “Merry Christmas Everyone” came on and the nativity scene wrapped their arms around each other and bellowed along.

  She had to admit it – it was fun. This wasn’t the ice-cool, perfect, popular crowd she’d loathed from afar. These weren’t the twisted vindictive people she’d hated. This group of people were intelligent, up for a laugh, self-deprecating…and she couldn’t help but feel just a little bit responsible for the change. Well, she was definitely responsible for the decrease in bullying levels. Gemma had even closed her “Dirty Gossip” account the other day.

  Maybe Bree wasn’t so uninteresting after all. Maybe she was an…okay person? Maybe it was the absinthe. Maybe it was the Christmas spirit. But, for once, Bree was really actually proud of herself and who she was.

  She also needed a wee quite badly.

  She made her way to the toilets blearily, stopping to chat to people as she passed. It was only when she sat on the loo seat that she realized she was a bit drunk. So she sat there until her head stopped cartwheeling and took a while washing her hands too. Looking in the mirror, she saw her sheep costume was getting a bit tatty but she still looked awesome. She smiled at her reflection, dried her hands under the dryer and walked out, only to bump straight into Mr Fellows. He was leaning against the wall, his Santa hat all askew.

  “Logan.”

  “Shh,” he whispered, with a wicked smile. “Is there anyone else in the loos?”

  Miraculously – for a girl’s toilet – it was empty. Although she had, for some unknown reason, staggered to the “crying toilets”, like a homing pigeon, which were further away from the hall.

  Bree shook her head.

  “Brilliant.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her back into where she’d just left.

  “Logan, what are you doing?”

  He didn’t answer at first, just pushed her into a toilet cubicle and locked them both in. He pushed her against the wall and frantically kissed her, every inc
h of his body pinning her to the door. He tasted like absinthe.

  “Logan,” she giggled into his mouth. “Have you been drinking?”

  “You. Are. So. Gorgeous,” he replied, between kisses.

  She closed her eyes as the sensation of his lips took over all rational thought. “Logan, we’ll get caught.”

  “I don’t care.”

  She gave up and kissed him back. More than that, she jumped up slightly so he was holding her weight and wrapped her legs around his waist.

  “Oh my God, Bree.”

  She took that to mean he liked the leg-wrapping. He let out a man-sigh and slammed her body back. Everything was a blur of hazy lust and hormones. She loved the taste of him, she loved the way they could be caught at any moment, she loved that she felt so…wanted. There was only kissing and touching and stroking and groaning and all the other “ings” that happen between two consenting adults – but not so much between student and teacher.

  Eventually, Logan broke off.

  “What?” she said, suddenly all shy as he gazed at her adoringly.

  “You’re really something, you know that, right?”

  She looked down bashfully. “What do you mean?”

  “Did you see everyone in that hall? How they looked at you? How they circle you?”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  “It’s true.”

  He hugged her tight. “I can’t believe I’m kissing the most popular girl in school…”

  Bree’s trouble-detector kicked in. “What? Is that why you came in here?”

  “I was just joking.”

  “Oh…” The words still jarred with her. “That’s not why…is it…?”

  “SHHH,” he whispered urgently. “Somebody’s coming in.”

  The bang of the door made adrenalin surge through her. The clip-clop of heeled shoes racketed off the lino floor.

  Oh no oh no oh no oh no. Logan’s hand clamped over her mouth. She could feel the frantic beat of his heart pressed against hers.

  If they got caught…

  “Jassmine Dallington looks like such a tart,” a voice said. Bree didn’t recognize it – just someone from their year, maybe. The smell of the girls’ collective perfumes wafted under the gap at the bottom of the door.