The Manifesto on How to be Interesting (37 page)

“So…?”

“So, my legal advice would be not to bother.” He rubbed his hands together. “But my fatherly advice would be not to tell Hugo that for a while.”

The beginning of a grin twitched on Bree's face. “How long can we play him for?”

For the first time ever, you could see the resemblance between Bree and her dad. They both had exactly the same smile.

“I can eke it out for a month or two.”

“Did he really cry?”

“Kept sobbing that he was sorry.”

“He's not said sorry to me yet.”

“Oh, don't worry, he will. Soon. I'll make sure of it.”

Hugo corned her after school the next day to beg for forgiveness.

“Bree, I'm so sorry. Please drop the charges.”

She'd never seen him look so desperate. She was surprised his face even had the muscle memory to look that way.

She crossed her arms. “Are you sorry that you filmed me without my permission, broadcast it to the entire school and tried to ruin my life? Or are you just sorry that someone actually stood up to you for once?”

Hugo kind of lurched at her, like he was about to grab her, but he stopped himself and just scratched his arms like a crazy homeless person or something. “I'm sorry for everything.”

“I don't believe you.”

“Please! This could wreck my life.”

“You tried to wreck mine.”

“I know. I'm sorry.”

“You're not though, are you? You just know using that word might make things go away. This is what you're like Hugo, that's the problem. You've never once had to be accountable for who you are. Well, I'm sorry, but you picked the wrong girl to mess with.”

February the fifteenth.

A whole month had passed, the school had calmed down and Bree had settled back into social obscurity.

A whole month had passed and she'd managed to dodge and weave her parents' desperate attempts to get her into therapy. Too scared that she would be forced to open up and made to tell her parents everything, ruining her again in their eyes.

A whole month had passed without having any friends, or anything to do except write her blog.

But there was nothing to write about.

February the fifteenth.

A nothing day, usually. In fact, before this particular February fifteenth, the only thing of any note was people comparing Valentine's Day stories. Lucky people getting cards and going on dates. Unlucky people wallowing in their misery and checking their post eighteen times a minute, just in case.

So far, so not shocking.

But February the fifteenth was about to become a date of massive significance for students at Queen's Hall.

It would be a date pupils talked about for many years to come; titbits handed down through the year groups via hushed whispers in toilet cubicles and cafe queues.

Of course, Bree didn't know the significance of the day when she got up that morning. Most days blur past, punctuated by the odd life-changing moment.

She didn't know, that for her especially, this was going to be one of the big days.

Bree didn't know as she decided what to wear – another stylish, if a bit blendy-in-y, blazer and sheer tights. Bree didn't know as she brushed her teeth. She didn't know as she – yet again – checked her mobile with the stupid notion someone might've called.

She hadn't had one text message since before Christmas. Her mobile was a forty-quid-a-month alarm clock.

The first inkling Bree had that something was up was when she was waiting to get through security at school.

There were whispers. Everywhere. Again.

Bree could almost feel the excitement in the air as she unwound her scarf and took off her woolly hat. The atoms inside the building fizzled like fireworks.

Groups of people stood with other groups they didn't usually stand with. Swapping stories. Audible gasps punctuated her walk to double Latin. Along with “No ways” and “You thinks?”

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 and 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?”