The Manifesto on How to be Interesting (19 page)

Bree took the box and carefully opened it. A thick silver chain with a heavy pendant was nestled like a snake in purple silk.

It was vile. So vile that Bree instantly felt sorry for her. For her lack of taste and for how much she obviously cared for him.

“Wow, Jass, it's so tasteful.”

“Isn't it? Look, there's an inscription.”

Bree turned the pendant over, trying not to smudge the polished metal – although frankly, any sabotage would improve the thing.

It said:
I love you more today than yesterday but less than tomorrow.

Dry heave.

“Jeez, Jass, that's so thoughtful. Did you think that up all by yourself?”

Jass looked proud, like she'd crafted the damn thing herself. “No. I wish. I just Googled
nice love quotes
and this one came up and I thought it was really clever. It is, right? It makes you think for a bit and then you get it and think,
Wow, that's so clever and so sweet
.”

And so likely never to be worn on Hugo's neck EVER.

“Hugo will adore it.”

No, he wouldn't. Jass didn't know him at all. He'd pretend he loved it, and then ruthlessly rip the piss behind her back so his mates wouldn't do it first.

“You think?”

“Yeah. And it will be a great way for him to remember you when you both go to uni.”

“Oh…that.” Jass flopped down on her giant bed. “Don't remind me. I think I'll actually die from a broken heart.”

“Long-distance relationships work out all the time.”

Jassmine gave her a look. “Yeah, especially with guys like Hugo.” She stared into the blackness out the window and drained her glass. Bree watched her thin throat gulp. How many had Jass had already? It wasn't even seven o'clock.

As a distraction, Bree turned up the volume on the entertainment system and started singing along, pulling a silly face. Not one to ever be down for long, Jass giggled and quickly joined in. They sang as they curled Bree's hair with GHDs, while they drowned themselves in a napalm cloud of perfume, and hit incredibly high notes, fake-opera-style, as they put on their outfits.

Bree wore stockings with her dress – to update her tights look a bit, make it sexier for the evening. Unfortunately, they weren't the easiest things to put on, especially when singing opera pop. She hopped around on one leg before crashing backwards onto the bed, on top of Jassmine.

“
Oomph
.”

They both cracked up laughing.

“Bree, you've just crushed at least ten of my ribs.”

“Sorry. These stupid stockings.”

She rolled off and began yanking the stockings up again.

“Fucking hell, Bree, what's with all those cuts on your legs?”

The room went cold. Ice rushed into her head like drinking a slush puppy too fast. Bree looked down. Her dress had ridden up in the fall and her scarred mess of a top-thigh was exposed. It looked angrier and nastier than usual.

She whipped her skirt down. “Nothing,” she said abruptly.

“Bree.” Jass sat up. “What happened? Show me! Are you okay?”

Bree's ears were thudding hard and she tried to keep the tremor out of her voice.

“Oh that? It's nothing. Honestly. I just…er…” Her brain couldn't think of an excuse. Humiliation coursed through her. She crossed her arms. “Leave it, Jass.”

“Why won't you let me see?”

“There's nothing to see.”

“Did you do that to yourself, Bree?” Jass asked quietly, moving nearer on the bed.

“No.”

“It's okay. You can tell me.” Her arm appeared round Bree's shoulder. She shrugged it off.

“Please just leave it.” Bree's voice betrayed her and wobbled. She scratched her arms, focusing on the sting over the embarrassment.

How had she allowed this to happen? How had she been so stupid? The plan could never work now. Who would want a stupid self-harming freak in the perfect group? Jass was going to tell everyone and then everyone would know her awful little secret. And her parents might find out, and there was no way her dad would understand…or her mum…and then what?

She felt her throat go tight.

“Bree. It's okay. I understand…” Jassmine paused. “I used to do it too.”

The words didn't quite go in at first.

“What you do to yourself…I used to do it too.”

“Yeah, right.”

“It's true.” Jass squeezed her hand, before tipping her head over so her hair spilled onto Bree's lap.

“What are you doing?”

“See? Can you see it?”

Bree's mouth dropped open as she leaned in to get a better look. “Jass, I never noticed. What happened?” She prodded the bald patch with her forefinger. It felt smooth.

Jass righted herself and her hair fell into place. The bald patch was hidden again, like a rabbit in a hat.

“I told you. I did what you did.” She spoke so calmly and matter-of-factly. For the first time ever, she sounded wise.

“But I don't do that. Pull out my hair, I mean. It's totally different.”

Jass gave her an almost-patronizing half-smile. “Self-harm isn't just about cutting, you know. People do all sorts of things.”

Self-harm.

She'd just said it, just like that. Like it was a really common word, like
postbox
, or
bin
or something. But to Bree, who'd done it for three years now, never told a soul, and hated herself for every moment, the word felt almost too twee. It didn't come close to how she felt about it when she did it.

“No one's ever called it that to me before,” she admitted.

“Does anyone even know?”

She shook her head. If she'd been a crier, she would have been sobbing by now. Instead she just continued to scratch her arm. “No one understands.”

“Understands what? That sometimes you feel like a boiling kettle, getting hotter and hotter, and the only way to let it all out is to do this – like it's erupting steam all over the place? Or that sometimes, when you're really low, it's just nice to feel…something, any kind of physical sensation…and pain is the sensation with the most powerful pull? Or that, maybe, it's a way of proving you're alive?
I must be, there's blood coming out of me, this proves I exist.
Or,
Look, I've got an entire tuft of hair filling my fist – I must be here, I must be real, I can prove it.
”

The walls of Jassmine's room had somehow disappeared and Bree felt like she was floating above the situation.

One of her favourite quotes of all time was one by Alan Bennett, from his play,
The History Boys
. It was something the English teacher, Hector, said about reading:

The best moments in reading are when you come across something – a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things – which you had thought special and particular to you. And now, here it is, set down by someone else, a person you have never met, someone even who is long dead. And it is as if a hand has come out, and taken yours.

She'd felt that beautiful sensation so many times in her lonely life. So many authors' hands had metaphorically leaped from the page and snatched her heart, leaving her breathless. And she would read the magical passage again and again, laughing to herself. Then she would get out her notebook and write it down to return to in an inevitable lonely time in the future.

It had never happened with a real life person though. Let alone a real life person who also happened to be the most popular girl in school. Someone who Bree, on principle, hated. But right then, in that moment, with the red of shame still on her face, Jassmine's hand had metaphorically and literally grabbed her and articulated how she'd always felt, but could never find a way of expressing.

Her consciousness found its way back into the bedroom. She looked over at Jass in confusion.

“I don't understand. You, your life, it all seems so…”

“So what? Perfect?”

“Well, yeah.”

“It is mostly. But only recently. Dad lost all his money in the crash. We didn't think he was gonna get another job. They were talking about selling this place, and even sending me to the free college down the road. Then, of course, that was the time Hugo dumped me…” She trailed off.

“I never knew. You always seem so…together.”

“That's weird,” she said, smiling. “Cos that's exactly what I would say about you.”

A warmth grew in Bree's heart as they just sat there, staring at each other, giggling. It was the warmth of attachment…of friendship. It felt like the world was hugging her.

What the hell was she going to do?

“I've never noticed it – your hair, I mean.”

“It's fine if I don't wear a ponytail. Luckily they're not in vogue at the moment.”

“Do you still do it?”

She shook her head. “No. I've found other ways to let it out. Why do you think I'm always in body combat class on a Sunday morning? I feel like I've mostly outgrown that need now, maybe. Anyway, Dad's got a new job now. We're rich again. Hugo and I are back together. Maybe it was circumstantial?”

And with that it was easier to hate her again…

“You should get some help though,” Jass told her.

“I'm fine, thank you.”

“Seriously, Bree.”

“Lay off, Jass. Can't we just forget it and have a good night?”

Jass looked like she was going to protest but decided against it, and broke into a wide smile.

“Deffos. Come on, more cocktails are needed!”

By the time they arrived at the party, Jassmine was already a bit too drunk.

“Whoops,” she said, flashing some side boob as she swung out of the taxi onto the ground. “Oh no, I've got mud on my playsuit.”

She held up her hands like a toddler wanting a carry. Bree sighed and hoisted her to her feet.

“Your mate alright?” the taxi driver asked, looking worried.

“She'll be fine. Won't you, Jass?”

But Jass had already stumbled away across the field. “Wow, Bree, have you seen anything like this before?”

Yes. A field. The field was the dropping-off point for Hugo's bash. Everyone was climbing over a stile and walking a hundred metres or so towards two massive illuminated marquees. The way was marked with tea lights, making all the half-pissed teenagers look sophisticated as they avoided muddy puddles.

“I'm so frickin' glad I've got wedges on,” Jass said, stumbling again. “Though I can't believe Hugo's making us walk in this weather.”

The place looked like a summer music festival, even though it was November. And therefore freezing and pitch-black already. Bree crossed her arms over herself, wishing she was old enough for a coat to be fashionably allowed again. They shivered their way past the candles, drinking it all in.

“Jesus, Jass, your boyfriend is in a different realm of wealth.”

She nodded a bit too enthusiastically. “I know. Just wait till you see the boating lake.”

As they got nearer, Bree could make out more of the set-up through the dark. The main house was huge, naturally. All Ye-Olde-style, but obviously modernized to within an inch of its life. There was another, smaller, building to the side, just off the drive.

“The servants' house,” Jass informed her. “Though they don't have any now. Hugo just uses it as a house party venue…”

It wasn't really a garden, it was practically a National Trust landmark. Okay, Bree's garden would have made most regular eyes bulge, but at least she didn't have marble statues dotted around. Or a maze.

“We had sex once in the middle,” Jass informed her as they passed it
,
Bree all agog.

The party was already humming but it was a struggle to work out where to go first. The biggest tent had a live band playing and shedloads of people were crammed in, sweating all over the place, and generally moshing…which Bree had read about once but never actually seen in real life.

Mosh pits. Holdo had a whole lot to say about mosh pits. “
It's not appreciating the music
,” he would have said if he was here. “
It's just showing off. You should have to pass an IQ test before you're allowed to listen to certain bands live.”

But Holdo wasn't here. He didn't have an invite. Whatever test you needed to pass to get into Hugo's eighteenth, he'd failed it. Not that Holdo would care.

The smaller – but still huge – tent had a DJ pumping out noise and guests were dancing madly, a throbbing mass of bodies as the strobe lights hit them. Then there was a bar tent – free bar, naturally. A toilet block tent. A tent that had obviously been erected for the sole purpose of people exchanging bodily fluids – there were pillows and cushions everywhere. There was even a tent full of shisha pipes.

“Where do we start?” Bree called over to Jass, yelling a little to ensure she was heard over the pounding music.

“Er…duh, let's go to the bar?”

“You don't think you need to take it easy for a bit first?”

Jass wrinkled her nose. “Er. No? Loser.”

And she stumbled off across the field. Bree sighed again and followed.

The bar seemed to be home to everyone who was anyone. Gemma, Jessica, and Emily were all already there and screamed when they saw them.

“You guys, you're so fashionably late!” Jessica rounded them up into an overexcited group hug. “Bree, that dress is awesome.”

“Thanks.”

“We had a few cocktails at mine first.” Jass giggled. “Where's Hugo?”

“Oh, he's around here somewhere. Pretending he's King of the Universe,” Gemma said. She was wearing some weird neon lace dress. It didn't look great. But, of course, because it was Gemma, the whole world was tricked into thinking she looked hot.