The Manifesto on How to be Interesting by Holly Bourne Page B

Valentine’s Day as hundreds of girls eagerly opened their lockers, only to discover that, no, Hugo hadn’t written them a card declaring his undying affection. Drama, drama, drama.
    Today, of course, the hallways were even scarier. Today it was Bree’s turn to walk the catwalk. Would she be ridiculed? Ignored? Openly embraced into Jassmine’s clique just because she had perfectly-applied eyeliner?
    She swung her new designer bag over her shoulder, took a deep breath, and began to walk…
    An immediate difference.
    People looked. Heads turned. Whispers followed her.
    â€œWho’s that?”
    â€œDoes she go to this school?”
    â€œI think I’ve seen her before.”
    And most surprisingly: “Who’s the fitty?” FROM A MALE VOICE.
    Bree began to swing her hips with each step. She held her head high, flicking back her beautiful hair with a confident jolt of her head. A mate of Hugo’s walked past, and she watched, almost in slow motion, as he did a double-take. Bree caught his eye, pushed down a bubble of insecurity, and gave him a sexy wink.
    He walked into a locker.
    It can’t be this easy. Surely, it’s not going to be this easy.
    It felt a bit like Moses parting the Red Sea, walking towards English. Of course Moses wasn’t just about to see the teacher he loved with his new look. Moses had it easy.
    She sashayed her way into the classroom and set her new bag on her desk. Mr Fellows hadn’t arrived yet, so she swept back her hair and practised her most Oh? What? This old thing? face while the class whispered around her.
    Chuck’s voice was louder than the rest. “Is that the twat who’s usually licking Philip Larkin’s arse?”
    â€œShh. She’ll hear you.”
    Bree smiled.
    â€œSo? She’s a loser. Just because she’s wearing eyeliner now…”
    â€œShut up, Chuck.”
    Did it…? Did that just happen? Did someone just stand up for Bree? Her smile stretched. She got out her poetry anthology and hid behind it, waiting for Mr Fellows…
    He strode in just as the bell was going. He whizzed past Bree’s desk and she caught a whiff of his smokey coffee smell.
    â€œOkay, okay, okay. Yes I’m late. Massive double standards on my part, I know. But that’s the thing about being a teacher, we can double-standard you to high heaven. But you’ll forgive me when you see what I’ve got in store for you today, people…” He dropped his briefcase onto his desk and whacked out his anthology. “This poem is going to make you ADORE Philip Larkin. By the end of the next hour, you’re going to be BEGGING me to study him further. And brace yourself, oh those of a sensitive nature…there are swear words. Actual real-life profanities. I know! ‘In Queen’s Hall?’ I hear you cry. Yes! Just don’t tell the headmistress on me.”
    He was pacing back and forth, lost in his book. Bree loved it when he got all fired up about literature. He became almost manic. Like the words stoked some sort of dying ember in him and reignited it into a fire, burning, making life worth living again.
    â€œSo, if you’ll all just turn to page 74… This is it. Are you ready?”
    He cleared his throat.
    â€œ They fuck you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do… ”
    And he broke off. Because he had finally seen Bree.
    Silence.
    Silence as he stared at her.
    Bree raised her eyes above her book and met his. She lifted her chin defiantly and flicked back her blonde fringe.
    â€œSir?”
    He barely registered the interruption. All he could do was stare. Bree ran her tongue over her top teeth, like Sandy does at the end of Grease before she does that “Tell me about it…stud” bit everyone in the world loves so much.
    â€œEr, sir?”
    Mr Fellows shook his head like he was being disturbed by an unwanted hotel wake-up call.