The Manifesto on How to be Interesting by Holly Bourne

part of the plan.
    Bree stood there patiently waiting to get past, tapping her shoe as they all hiccupped with laughter.
    â€œGash Palace. That’s brilliant!”
    â€œIt should have turrets.”
    â€œMade out of thongs, condoms and hardened lube.”
    â€œI could be the king of Gash Palace and wear a crown,” Hugo said.
    More insane laughter.
    â€œAhh, man. If that’s the case, let me be in your court!” Seth said, almost dribbling.
    Bree cleared her throat and they all looked up, not the least bit embarrassed to have been overheard.
    Last Friday, they’d ridiculed her. And now, despite the earth only spinning a measly five times, everything was completely different.
    Bree gestured to the door. “Can I get by? You’re all kinda in the way?” She giggled.
    I’ve just giggled. And said “kinda”. Please, God, make this all be worth it.
    If her film marathon was anything to go by, giggling was an intrinsic part of breaking into a popular gang. Giggling, along with quick sassy comebacks, a bitch-eat-bitch mentality, and a kindness lobotomy. This was the first time she’d really tried it out.
    Hugo stared at her in confusion, like he was trying to place her face. Then he smirked, stood back, and bowed with a hand flourish – like she was a princess.
    â€œThis way, madam.”
    The guys guffawed, getting the joke. Bree fought the urge to smash their heads together.
    â€œYou can bow all you like, but I won’t be going into your Gash Palace, Your Highness.” She needed all her acting skills to make her voice sound playful and confident. She was dying on the inside.
    â€œOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHH!”
    They jumped on her comment in delight, pissing themselves with laughter.
    â€œWhoa. The Gash Palace backlash has already begun.”
    â€œDENIED.”
    Bree, hating herself, let out another giggle. She stepped past them, flicking her heavily-mascaraed eyes up at Hugo as she did so.
    He just stared at her.
    Bree had heard about Hugo’s legendary eye-shag. His deep-set blue eyes, framed with luscious completely-wasted-on-a-boy dark eyelashes, were apparently irresistible when he gave you “the look”. She’d heard girls who’d fallen foul to it drone on about it in the loos.
    She was quite sure she was getting it now. Her knees went buttery and her heart did this weird dive thing, as all sorts of hormones flashmobbed through her blood.
    It was a bit too soon. She couldn’t conquer phase two – the perfect posse – with Hugo eye-shagging her. So, trying to remain unflustered, she broke eye contact and sauntered straight past him.
    3) Some girls at school had started wearing the same tights as her
    And not even ironically, like the time Jassmine and the perfects had all worn pink stripy tights and walked behind Bree, sniggering.
    By Thursday, she’d spotted at least four other mock-stockings and heard grumblings from her Latin teacher that they broke uniform rules for not being corporate enough. Bree planned to keep the trend changing. Her mum had deposited yet another clothing bundle on her bed which included two new pairs of tights. One was sheer apart from perfect black velvet polka dots. The other had miniature stepladders on them. Bree didn’t know much about fashion – apart from that ponchos were bad – but even she knew these tights were cool. Her legs were getting a lot of admiring looks these days. From boys – enjoying her showing off some leg. And girls – wanting to see what she wore next.
    Things had certainly changed in a few short days. People had upped and noticed. However Jassmine etc. weren’t acknowledging her rise from loser to looker. They still ignored her. When she’d breezed past them earlier that day, they’d been busy congregating around Gemma’s phone, whispering and screeching with delight.
    â€œNoooo, Gemma, you can’t send that