The Manifesto on How to be Interesting

by Holly Bourne

  She wasn’t the first to hear anything any more. She got scraps of perfect posse updates chucked to her like stale chunks of bread – usually by the Year Sevens she spent an increasing amount of time with hiding in the library.

  Jassmine was going out with Uni Boy for Valentine’s Day. Had something happened? Was that it?

  Bree still hadn’t “dropped the charges” against Hugo, so that couldn’t be it. Unless he’d done something else terrible, which would make no sense. He’d been like half the Hugo recently – fewer jokes, less banter, less debauched behaviour.

  Maybe he’d got with Jessica or something?

  The thing was – maybe she was imagining it out of sheer desperation to know she still existed – but people were looking her way now and again.

  Maybe she was imagining it, but the whispers appeared to follow her. People kept going quiet as she passed them.

  She shook her head to herself.

  No, definitely just imagining it. She was nothing.

  The buzz seeped into her Latin class. Hushed voices spoke behind textbooks, notes were scribbled and passed around. It was like being in the middle of a gossip beehive. Eventually Bree gave up on learning and tried to overhear snippets of conversation.

  “What a bitch – seriously?”

  “If it really is her.”

  “Not just her, all of them. Do they really do that?”

  “No way. It can’t be.”

  “I don’t think it’s her. We would know if it was here.”

  “With a teacher?”

  That last one made her skin get all itchy.

  The moment the bell went, Bree had to confront the fact that she wasn’t being paranoid.

  Absolutely every single person in the hallway turned to look at her.

  The whispers got louder, the stares more blatant. She honestly couldn’t think what she’d done though…everyone was over the Hugo tape.

  A surge in noise made her look in its direction. Heading straight for her were her ex-friends. Jassmine’s face was the ugliest she’d ever seen it.

  Not wanting to be part of whatever this was, Bree crossed her arms over herself and slipped into a stream of people making their way to the canteen. She looked down and kept walking.

  She was sure they’d passed, when she felt a tug on her blazer. A strong one.

  She staggered back into the middle of the aisle, dazed, just as Jassmine slapped her hard across her face.

  It felt like her eye was going to pop out of its socket.

  Bree clutched her face defensively – just as a wave of “Wooooooah” echoed from mouths around her.

  “What the hell was that for…?”

  Gemma answered with another slap.

  Fire spread down the other side of her face. Everything stung. Bree’s brain went into meltdown. What was going on? Was this real? What had she done NOW?

  “I can’t believe you’ve done this!” Jassmine screamed. And Bree knew that, pretty soon, she’d be told what she’d done wrong.

  “Done what? You’re the one who just slapped me.”

  “You bitch. You horrible sad loser BITCH.”

  She went for her again but Bree, always quick to learn, ducked and Jassmine missed her.

  “Hit me again and I’ll tell a teacher.”

  “Ohhhh, you just love your teachers, don’t you, Bree?”

  Shit.

  “You just love telling EVERYBODY everything, don’t you?! I can’t believe, this whole time, you’ve been plotting, and lying…the things I told you…everyone knows…everyone’s seen.”

  Jassmine burst into tears and the others formed a protective barrier around her.

  Everyone in the school was there, and every one of them was watching.

  “I still don’t know what I did,” Bree said, although she was beginning to harbour a guess.

  Jass, suddenly outraged again, broke through the barrier of girls. “IT’S YOU! You’re the ‘Manifesto of being interesting’ girl on the internet, you sad little freak. You’ve lied and cheated and you’ve told everybody everything.”

  Shock divebombed into her heart; she could hardly breathe.

  “What?”

  “Everyone in the school knows it’s you. I didn’t think it was possible to hate you more than I already hated you. You slept with Hugo – my boyfriend – for what? To write about it, you loser? I trusted you, I let you into my life and you’ve stabbed me in the back.”

  There wasn’t enough time for Bree to collect her thoughts. How did Jass know about the Manifesto? It was anonymous. And she didn’t think anyone read it. It was just for her really. Oh God – what had she shared? Everything? Yes, everything.

  “I…it wasn’t me…I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

  Gemma stepped forward. “Stop lying. We all know you’re lying.” Her face was unreadable, her lips a thin downward line.

  They all stepped forward in turn and Bree started to feel a little threatened.

  “We know you got it on with that teacher,” Jessica said, stepping forward again.

  “We know you hurt yourself,” Gemma said.

  “We know he left you. I can’t imagine why – it’s not like you’re a massive freak or something.”

  None of it seemed real. Bree kept blinking to try and double-check the authenticity of the situation. Hearing them mention Logan hurt. A lot.

  More steps. Were they going to beat her up? She took a step backward but bumped into the swelling crowd.

  “You’re going to regret doing this,” Jass said, her voice full of menace. “You’re going to regret this for the rest of your life.”

  They were so close now. Their expressions terrifying. She couldn’t get out of the crowd. Bree had no other option but to close her eyes. She scrunched her face up, waiting for the worst.

  I’m not here. This isn’t real. Everything’s fine.

  “WAIT.” Someone interrupted her thoughts.

  A girl she hardly knew walked in front of her, forming a barrier between her and them. “If Bree is the blogger, and Queen’s Hall is the school, does that mean it’s you guys who write all that stuff about people on Dirty Gossip?”

  “Shut up,” Gemma said.

  “And does that mean you give everyone nicknames? What were they? Personality Hair? The Pleaselikemes?”

  “And that means Jassmine lied about getting her drink spiked at the party,” someone else in the crowd said.

  “And you deliberately take photos of yourselves all dressed up to make us think you’re amazing when you’re all actually just desperate and insecure?”

  “Don’t you have a bald patch, Jassmine?”

  “Gemma, apparently you look proper rank under your make-up.”

  The posse didn’t know what to do with themselves. More and more insults, hand-picked from Bree’s blog, were hurled at them like the verbal equivalent of a public stoning. They kept yelling at everyone to shut up, but the crowd was too strong.

  “I can’t believe it was you guys who spread that rumour about me.”

  “Do you have any idea how horrible you girls are? To, like, everyone?”

  “Do you blame Bree for doing this?”

  “Is Hugo really that bad in bed?”

  The perfect posse went into meltdown, actually brought to tears by the mass interrogation. Jassmine’s face had rivers of mascara all down it. Jessica’s was so red it looked like she might explode. Even Gemma was sobbing.

  Bree could only watch and listen in wonder, as her written words were repeated back by so many people. Her entire body was shaking.

  “Do you girls have any idea how sad you are?”

  “I cried myself to sleep after you told everyone what happened at Pizza Express. Do you even care that you did that?”

  A mob. It had become a mob, of Bree’s creation. It was all she’d ever wanted. For Jassmine and the others to cry, to be brought down, for them to feel as miserable and lost as she’d felt since they’d singled her out as a child a
nd kicked her self-esteem into the dust.

  Bree didn’t want it any more. Finally, she stopped watching what was going on. She stepped between the mob and the perfects, and yelled:

  “STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!”

  And they did.

  “Stop it,” Bree yelled, before she got self-conscious, before she lost her nerve. She turned to Jassmine and her snotty tear-wrecked face. “Jassmine, I’m sorry, I really am. But I don’t understand why you’re angry at me.”

  Jassmine’s mouth dropped. “Are you kidding me?” she asked. “Are you KIDDING ME?”

  “Isn’t this what you want, Jassmine? You spend your entire life making yourself and everyone else miserable, for what? For the whole school to care about you? To think you’re important and interesting? If so, isn’t this your DREAM? An entire blog, dedicated to you, Gemma, Jessica and Emily? Wouldn’t you pay someone for that if you could?”

  One by one, Gemma, Jessica and Emily’s mouths dropped open in a line. Like a dance routine.

  Jassmine spoke for them. “I hate you!” she screamed, her voice echoing around the tall ceilings, bouncing off the rich tapestries.

  “Well, I don’t hate you,” Bree replied. “Again, why are you angry, Jass? So I’ve ruined your brand? So people know just how desperate you are to be popular? How much you let Hugo crap on you? Revealed your and Gemma’s horrible bullying? Aren’t you fed up of being a brand, Jass?”

  She turned to the huge crowd, her voice stuttering, feeling the urgent need to get her words out. To speak them for once, instead of just writing them.

  “Aren’t we all fed up of being a brand? Of having to portray this perfect version of ourselves? Of being obsessed with making sure everyone else thinks we’re doing and thinking the right thing? Why are we so scared of admitting to each other: ‘I’m messed up’ or ‘I’m lonely’ or ‘That really hurt my feelings’? Jass…” She turned back to her. “Why are you mad? You’re actually quite nice, aren’t you? You’re actually quite funny. Why don’t you want people to know this? Why are you mad at me for showing people that you’re real? Rather than a 2D cardboard cut-out?”

  Jassmine’s lip wobbled. “I…I…”

  The bell went, signalling the end of break, but no one moved.

  And Bree… Speaking on behalf of every single girl who’d ever had an awful time at school. Every girl who didn’t get invited to dances when people like Jassmine did. Every girl who had, at least once, cried in a school toilet cubicle about her sad excuse for a life. For every girl who couldn’t wear tight jeans and look good in them, who didn’t know how to speak to boys, who overheard nasty rumours or names about themselves spread through the corridors like wildfire… Bree said: “Don’t you see? How stupid all this is? How pointless it is worrying all the time what people think of us?”

  The bell rang again and Ms Masoon entered the crowd, clapping her hands, breaking the trance.

  “What are you all doing here? Get to class. Come on, everybody. NOW!”

  The perfects and Bree stared at each other as people pushed past. Gemma was crying the hardest still; all her make-up had run off. She looked quite nice actually.

  Then she heard, “Bree, BREE.”

  Holdo ran straight to her. Dodging and weaving through the dispersing mob until he was right in front of her. And he collected her into the biggest bear hug known to man.

  “Bree,” he said.

  In an instant, Jassmine was forgotten. The last ten minutes were forgotten. All there was was unadulterated joy that her old friend was hugging her, just like old friends do.

  She hugged him back with every molecule of her body.

  “We need to talk,” he said, grabbing her hand and tearing her away from the drama.

  “But what about class?”

  “Screw class. Bree, do you have any idea what’s going on?”

  “No. What’s going on?” The hallways were emptying quicker by the minute, the hum of excited whispers dulled by the closing of classroom doors.

  “You’re an internet sensation.”

  “I am?”

  “How can you not already know this?”

  He took her round the edge of the school and they ducked out the side entrance, unseen. It was freezing cold but Bree didn’t even put her coat on. Her brain was a blur.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To mine. I need a computer.”

  “Holdo, stop.”

  He did, and turned to look at her. It was weird – they hadn’t looked at each other in so long. He’d had a new outbreak of spots, but his hair was longer and it suited him.

  “What?”

  “Why are you talking to me again? I thought you hated me.”

  “I did hate you.”

  “Oh.”

  “I really hated you.”

  “Oh great. Rub in some salt, why don’t you? It’s not like my life isn’t some massive gaping wound right now.”

  “Your life is not a gaping wound, trust me.”

  “Why?”

  “Bree. The Manifesto on How to be Interesting, is it really you?”

  It was so surreal having her blog title said back to her.

  “It…it might be.”

  “So you becoming a shallow idiotic twat, swanning round school like you’re the best thing in the world, before getting your – no offence but – kinda just desserts, was all for the blog?”

  She smiled weakly. “Well, I’ve always thought I was the best thing in the world, you know that.”

  Her smile was returned. Then downturned.

  “Mr Fellows? Was that all true? Did he really just leave?”

  Bree’s eye went a bit wet. “Yes.”

  “That must’ve been awful.”

  “It was.”

  Holdo hugged her again, squeezing the air out of her lungs. It felt so good. She clamped back as hard as she could. Her friend was hugging her because a guy had broken her heart and screwed her over. That was what friends did. Finally she had one again.

  Then everything that’d just happened rushed back.

  “Hang on…” She broke the hug. “How does everyone know it’s me? What’s going on?”

  “This”, Holdo said, “is why we need my computer.”

  chapter fifty-nine

  His house was empty as he led her up to his room. It had been so long since she’d been there and yet it looked – and smelled – exactly the same. Boy-blue wallpaper, art-house movie posters, the stale whiff of boy hormones and God-knows-what-else.

  Holdo powered up his huge computer. “Have you not been checking internet stats for your blog?”

  She pulled up a beanbag and plopped onto it, a little scared of what was about to happen.

  “No. I didn’t think anyone was reading it.”

  “Then why do it?”

  She shrugged. “Dunno. For me, I guess?”

  “But why go to all that trouble? Why ruin who you are? Just for you?”

  Bree wasn’t sure if she really had ruined who she was, but now was not the time to argue.

  “Here it is.” Holdo pulled up the blog.

  Bree gasped. She’d never seen it from a user point of view before. Only the back end when she was uploading posts and posting the occasional photo with the faces blurred out.

  It looked…quite good actually. Her hosting platform must’ve done fancy stuff on her behalf.

  “Wow, it’s actually real.”

  Holdo gave her a weird look. “Hang on, I’m just downloading some web-analytic software.”

  “Hmmm, yeah.”

  Bree grabbed the mouse and scrolled through the blog. Wow – she’d written so much. Her eyes scanned a few posts. Her writing wasn’t actually half bad. And there were loads of comments underneath each one.

  Comments? She didn’t even realize she’d got commenting enabled on the thing. She saw she’d ticked the “Enable All” box, so they must’ve gone straight through to the front end of the blog; the bit she never looked at. How could she have been s
o dim?

  She clicked on the post about Logan’s leaving letter – there was all sorts underneath it. Written by perfect strangers.

  What. A. Tosser. Honey, don’t worry. He’s not worth it. You’re the coolest (virtual) gal I know. Your blog has MADE my year.

  Three words. Get him arrested.

  Are you okay, Miss Manifesto? My heart is all smashed up after reading that, and it didn’t even happen to me.

  Tell someone! Seriously. This guy is a predatory jerk. This is so much more common than people think.

  Comment after comment after comment. All of them wishing her well. All of them on her side.

  No one had ever been on Bree’s side.

  “Who are these people?” she asked, clicking on another post and finding just as many comments.

  “Your fans, Bree.”

  “Fans? Bloggers get fans?”

  “You still don’t get it, do you? Brilliant, it’s downloaded, I’ll pull up some stats.”

  He took the mouse, which pissed her off a bit. She wanted to keep reading all the nice bits. Then he did his fast typing and clicking, and she couldn’t keep up until loads of small graphs littered the page.

  Holdo let out a whistle. “Holy hell, Bree, this blog is getting over two million unique user hits a month!”

  “Huh?”

  “That means people. Over two million people are reading The Manifesto on How to be Interesting.”

  Everything went hazy, like the words weren’t real.

  She had only one question. “Why?”

  Holdo looked almost sorry for her. “Bree, you’ve done something everyone wants to do but nobody else has the guts for. Do you have any idea how many people have a rough time at school and feel utterly alone, but no one’s reaching out to them? Or how many people wish they could change things but they don’t have the tenacity at the time? Except you. You’ve done it. You’ve reached them. And you’ve written about it so honestly, it’s like they’ve done it too.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “But I don’t think that’s what I meant to do.”

  “What did you mean to do?”

  “I just…wanted to become more interesting. I just wanted to become a better writer.”

  “Well, you’ve definitely done that.”