The Manifesto on How to be Interesting (29 page)

“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.”

“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.”

“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.”

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.