The Manifesto on How to be Interesting by Holly Bourne

pink stripes had gone, replaced by a daring pair her mother had picked out. There was a thicker denier at the bottom with fake seams up the backs, to give the illusion of suspenders. If they hadn’t cost twenty-five quid, they would’ve looked a bit tarty.
    â€œAre you sure I’ll get away with wearing these to school?” she’d asked.
    â€œOf course,” her mum said, tossing a duplicate pair into her hands, in case of ladders. “If they didn’t kick up a fuss about those horrendous pink things, they must allow these.”
    â€œHey!”
    Her mum smiled with her mouth closed. “Sorry.”
    As Bree left the safety of her home, she decided she was most concerned about the reaction of two people – Holdo and Mr Fellows. And she would have to face them both before 9.30 a.m. She was walking in with Holdo and then had English first thing.
    She tottered on her new heels as she walked to the usual meeting place.
    Holdo was at the corner already, off in music land, and so didn’t notice her at first. His giant headphones blocked out as much reality as technology could muster. His eyes were closed, so Bree crept up on him theatrically and grabbed them off.
    â€œWhat the hell?” The moment he clocked Bree his jaw fell open.
    â€œHi there,” she said, trying not to laugh at the look on his face.
    â€œBree?”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œSeriously? Is that you?”
    Holdo liked to think of himself as a feminist. He was always agreeing with Bree’s heated opinions about women’s rights and shared her disgust at the rugby boys’ banter that terrorized the school hallways. They’d spent many an evening together staying up late discussing rape culture, glass ceilings, how strip clubs should be made illegal. But it had to be hard to be a feminist and, well, a guy too. With urges and such. Because, moral as Holdo was, Bree had once found his porn stash. In a secret folder within a folder on his laptop, labelled Research . And Holdo’s porn tastes were, erm…well, the women weren’t spending a lot of their time making intelligent comments about the Israeli/Palestine conflict, put it that way.
    Evidently, Holdo was dealing with the same moral compromise as he looked at Bree now.
    The full-body checkout wasn’t something Bree had ever experienced herself. She’d seen plenty of boys doing it to plenty of girls in her time. A quick up-and-down flicker of the eyes, resting a moment too long on the cleavage.
    And here it was, happening to her, by Holdo of all people. You could see him fighting to look at her face, but his eyes betrayed him, dipping to her bulging top.
    That was the thing about a diet of Pop-Tarts. Apparently, with the right bra, they gave you a bit of a rack.
    â€œWhat the hell have you done to yourself?”
    Bree shrugged and pulled her blazer shut. This new sensation of physical attractiveness was somewhat thrilling, but also somewhat uncomfortable.
    â€œJust had a bit of a play with my appearance over the weekend. You like it?”
    More inner conflict crossed Holdo’s face. He was fighting between I can’t believe you’ve bowed down to the conformity of attractiveness in society, you are better than that and Hell, you look good. Please let me mount you.
    â€œIt’s…er…different…that’s all.”
    Bree had secretly been hoping for a compliment. “Different?”
    â€œSeriously, why, Bree?” The penis side of Holdo’s brain had lost out this time. “You look…erm…good, but you also look like you’re trying to be Jassmine Dallington or something. What’s going on with you?”
    â€œNothing. I just fancied a change.”
    â€œIs this something to do with the rejection letter on Friday?”
    Bree bristled. “No. Why do you keep bringing that up?”
    â€œIt is, isn’t it? What? You’ve given up on being a writer so you think