The Manifesto on How to be Interesting (32 page)

It was bad.

Oh God. Had he told? What had he done?

“POTATOES,” Seth yelled and the whole class erupted in laughter.

The whole class minus Bree.

“Enough of that,” Mr Phillips said, before launching into a lecture about revising over Christmas.

Bree didn't hear a word he said. She was rationalizing for all she was worth. Was it about Mr Fellows? Surely Hugo wouldn't have told everyone about that? It was just an empty threat, something to lure her back into that crusty bed of his. If he'd told, she'd be in the headmistress's office, frantically making up lies. Had he told about what had happened at his party? She shook her head to herself… No…it wouldn't make sense. He would lose Jassmine, and he liked having her for his own screwed-up reasons. Plus, would anyone really believe him? Everyone knew Bree wouldn't do that to Jassmine… Well, everyone thought that, anyway. So what was it?
Potatoes?

She came to the conclusion that he'd just made up some silly joke rumour about her as punishment for her outburst. She'd find out from the girls at lunch and laugh it off, just in time for Christmas.

That had to be it…

She didn't bother talking to the guys after leaving the form room. They kept saying “potatoes” anyway, again and again – each time seemingly more hysterical than the last. She got to Latin super-fast – funny how easy that is, when a whole school parts in the corridor for you. She was getting impatient and double Latin didn't really help matters. The clock hands trudged wearily from second to second, apparently stopping at scenic pubs on the way to have a pint. Time dawdled and backtracked its way to lunch, while Bree tapped her foot so hard she almost wore a hole in the carpet.

Finally, FINALLY, the bell went. Bree shot out of her chair like a bullet covered in olive oil and jogged to the usual bathroom. The girls would be in here. They always were. She'd finally know what was going on.

The moment she pushed open the door she could hear wailing from the end cubicle.

“How could she do this?”

“I don't know, honey. Please stop crying, they're not worth it.”

“She's such a slut.”

“She is, and everyone knows that now.”

“But how…”

Bree's breath caught. It was them. Jassmine was crying.

He'd told. The sonofabitch had actually told.

She was gonna have to lie a LOT to get out of this one.

“Jass?” she called, as quietly and sympathetically as she could.

The cubicle made “Shh” noises and went quiet.

“Jass, I know you're in there. I can hear you.”

Still silence. Well, silence with a few added shushes thrown into the mix.

Bree sighed. “I don't know what Hugo's told you…but please don't believe him… I'm not sure what's going on but we need to sort this out… You're my best friend…”

The door slammed open and Jassmine appeared. Her face was so scary Bree took a step backwards.

“How dare you?” she hissed.

Jassmine had been crying so hard that her face looked as if it had had an allergic reaction to her own tears. Every centimetre of it was bright red and sodden. Her eyes were swollen, her hair matted. Grief oozed out of every pore. But there was anger there too. No, not anger, fury. Actually, not fury… What's worse than fury? This was it.

“Jassmine,” she protested weakly. “Don't listen to him. He's lying. Whatever he said, he's lying.”

“STOP LYING TO ME!” she yelled, and Bree's hair almost flew back with the ferocity. “How dare you? HOW DARE YOU? Not only have you taken the one thing – the ONE THING – that's good in my life and ruined it, you now, as someone who CLAIMS to be my friend, have the AUDACITY to lie about it? I hate you. I HATE YOU. Get out. Get out NOW. You're finished in this school, got that? FINISHED.”

She burst into tears again and slumped to the ground, howling and hiccupping.

That's when Bree got it.

She'd been trying to ignore it for so long, but Jassmine was a human. A real person. She wasn't just a character, a cliché, a popular bitch. There were emotions and insecurities and history and a life being lived by a
person
, a vulnerable human, just like everyone else.

Who could get hurt. And betrayed. And humiliated.

And she wasn't just a human. She was Bree's friend. A friend who'd been so amazing about Bree's scars, who'd welcomed her into her world. Yes she'd been awful to Bree in the past, but that didn't make what Bree had done to her right. And bitterness wasn't an excuse for anything.

Out of a natural overwhelming instinct to care for her, Bree tried to get to her side to make it better. But Gemma, her face so full of spite it was even uglier than usual, stepped in front of her.

“Get away from her.”

One by one, the perfect posse stood in front of Jassmine, stepping forward to protect their queen…their friend.

“I don't…know…” Bree tried to talk but words failed her. Words never failed her.

“You heard what she said,” Jessica said. “Get out.”

There was nothing else Bree could do but turn and walk out. The door slammed shut behind her, and Jassmine's renewed wails echoed down the halls, painting the air with utter heartbreak.

Bree needed to talk to Hugo.

What had he done? If she knocked some sense into him – preferably repeatedly with an iron bar – he'd realize how stupid he was and they could backtrack. Tell Jass it was a lie. A joke that got out of hand.

Where would he be?

There was only one place he would want to play out this spectacle so publicly.

The canteen.

The moment Bree pushed open the double doors, everyone fell silent. Dozens of heads turned in her direction in unison. Her heart thudded so loudly it was like a drumbeat. A death drum. She walked slowly and purposefully towards Hugo's table. He and the others were the only people not watching. They all stared instead at Hugo's stupid tablet, laughing like hyenas.

How could he? When his girlfriend was a sobbing mess only a hallway away.

As she passed tables she heard mutterings. Names being called. Each and every one meant for her. It was the longest walk of her life but she held her head high and strode with purpose. She got to his table.

“Hugo?”

Thank GOD, her voice sounded as self-assured as she needed it to sound.

He didn't look up.

“Hugo?” she said again. Louder, and with even more authority. “We need to talk.”

This was hard, what with two hundred people watching every moment.

He still ignored her.

“Hugo, come on, stop being a dick—”

Hugo held up one finger and broke her off. Then he slowly and deliberately brought it to his mouth.

“Shh,” he said, and his face made her tremble. “I'm watching something.”

The tablet. He just as slowly and deliberately turned it round. A video was playing, full screen. It had been filmed in night vision, so Bree couldn't make it out at first.

There was a toned white arse, glowing in the green artificial light. It was moving up and down on top of someone.

No…

It was Hugo's arse.

And there, screwed up in pain, was Bree's face. Under him. Her hair flicked over her face every time he thrust into her. Her eyes were clenched shut and she was whispering to herself.

It brought back every stabbing memory of that horrid, horrid moment.

Her body began to jitter like she was plugged into an electric socket. The video wouldn't stop. It kept on playing. She stared at herself. Nausea welled up in her stomach, twisting it into a knot that would never be untied.

“You…filmed us?” Her voice was so weak that everyone in the room leaned in to hear.

Then all the pennies dropped.

Just before they did it, he'd gone to his laptop to put music on. Or so she thought. But he'd actually been turning on his webcam.

In that moment she was certain no one would ever be as evil as he was. Her whole body was screaming.

Hugo grinned – utterly indifferent to the life he'd just destroyed.

“I thought it would be fun,” he said smoothly. “You know, to make a memento of our time together? Little did I know you would be crap in bed. Look at you. It's like shagging a sack of potatoes.”

Potatoes.

Just the mention of the word made Seth and Matty Boy piss themselves laughing again. And, from person to person, table to table, it spread. Until it felt like every single person in the cafeteria was laughing at her. Just like always. But, this time, it was so much worse.

There was only one thing to do.

Bree turned round and ran.

She knew he would be in his classroom. He always was. Every lunchtime. Said he hated all the politics in the staffroom.

Wonderful, dependable Logan. The man who loved her. He could make this better. He could take her into his arms, and smooth down her hair and say grown-up things and suggest adult solutions, like “Let's run away together, right this moment”.

Bree had never needed another person before. Now she needed Logan more than anyone had ever needed anyone. Ever. Ever. Ever.

The halls were empty. Everyone was in the cafeteria, gorging themselves on the feast of gossip. There was so much to discuss, to dissect; not to mention the video footage to watch.

She was at his door in less than a minute. Looking through the glass, there he was, and already things felt a little better. Her heart lurched in her ribcage. She bashed through the door, her face wild.

“LOGAN!”

It would've been obvious, even to a more conventional teacher who didn't touch up his students in stationery cupboards, that something was seriously wrong.

And yet Logan didn't really react to her dramatic entrance. He just closed the book he was reading and turned to face her.

“Yes, Bree, what is it? Do you have a problem?”

It was like they hardly knew each other.

“Logan. Something awful has happened. I need your help.”

“I'm your teacher, Bree. You will therefore call me Mr Fellows.”

What?

“Logan?”

“Bree. I'm warning you.” His face was utterly passive, his lips drawn tight. He wouldn't look at her.

“What's going on?” She went over and kneeled down, trying to get him to look at her. But his eyes went left, right, up, down, anywhere but to her eyes.

“I don't know, Bree. You're the one who came into my classroom.”

“Seriously, what's going on?”

He picked up his book and turned a page over. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Then she got it. He already knew. Of course he did. Every person in the school knew, it was all they were talking about. Salacious gossip moved faster than an Olympic sprinter and would've been heard by everyone – teachers, TAs, students – probably by the time Bree was rushing to form room.

She pushed the hair back that had sprung free from her ponytail, unable to compute that this day was capable of getting any worse. She focused on getting through each second, one at a time, without screaming or curling up into a ball.

“Logan…I know you know.”

“Know what?” He turned another page even though he wasn't reading.

Seriously? He was acting like a child. But she was too desperate to be angry. She couldn't lose him too, that was unthinkable.

“Logan…it happened before us. It was…it meant nothing…it was just this thing I'm writing… It was the most awful thing that's ever happened to me…and he filmed it, Logan, he
filmed
it. And now everyone's seen…” Her voice broke, wavering like a shrill opera singer on a closing note. She was drowning in the enormity of how horrific everything was.

He looked up at her. Thank God. He was making eye contact.

“Logan…” She tried again, but he broke her off. His voice was full of nothingness.

“Do you know how it felt?” he half-whispered to her. “To find out like that? To hear the kids talking about it, all through every class I taught this morning? Do you know how it felt?”

She pleaded desperately. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you. It meant nothing. It was awful. It was before we even got together.”

He carried on. “I can't believe you slept with him. Hugo, the guy everyone calls Mr Popular. The guy everyone wants to be. And you didn't even have the courtesy to tell me yourself… You just knew the news would get to a sad loser like me eventually, is that it?”

“Sad? Loser? Logan, I don't get what you mean. Or why you're angry.”

He stood up, his eyes red. “I felt like I was seventeen years old again, Bree. And I didn't like it. I didn't like being seventeen back then, and I didn't like it today.”

“I DON'T LIKE IT EITHER!” she yelled back, not caring who saw or heard. “HOW DO YOU THINK IT FEELS FOR ME? DO YOU NOT CARE ABOUT HOW THIS FEELS FOR ME?”

“Don't yell at me, Bree. I'm your teacher.”

“You are NOT my teacher. You're my boyfriend.”

It was the first time she'd dared use the word. Funny how losing everything gives you such courage. The choice of word didn't go down well though. He flinched.

“I am not your boyfriend, Bree. Stop being so silly.”

“Then what are we? Where are we? You said you loved me. That you've always loved me… And now the worst thing that's ever happened to me has just happened – why aren't you helping to make it better?”

“We're nothing,” he said quietly.

And her heart, her fragile heart, combusted – spraying ash and dust down through her stomach. “You don't mean that.”

“I'm sorry. But we, this, it was a mistake. I don't want to see you any more.”

There was no emotion on his face. No pain in his eyes. No wobble to his beautiful lip. She couldn't take it. She would rather him be angry than emotionally defunct.