The Manifesto on How to be Interesting Read Free Page B

the classrooms like some really sad version of Chinese Whispers. Bree hoped her own silly crush would ultimately pass and the thought of getting with him wasn’t one she indulged. Not only because it would NEVER happen – he was ignorant of her very existence – but also because, well, he was an ARSEhole.
    Her form tutor, Mr Phillips, strolled into the room and everyone settled down immediately. That was the thing about private school – people behaved.
    â€œAlright, everybody?” he asked, putting his briefcase on the desk and opening it.
    Nobody replied.
    â€œI said, ALRIGHT, EVERYBODY?”
    Calm down , Bree thought. You’re not a rock star.
    â€œMorning,” the class chorused.
    â€œRight, UCAS form, UCAS form, UCAS form. I know you’re thinking, ‘What? But we’re only in Year Twelve!’ but your parents spend a lot of money ensuring I get you into the university of your choice. And that means applying in good time with a personal statement that’s been honed to perfection over a year. Now, does everyone know what subject they’re doing and what five universities they want to put down? Oxford and Cambridge applicants, do you know which college you want to try for?”
    Bree doodled in her notebook. She’d had her escape to Cambridge planned since puberty and a word-perfect personal statement and completed practice UCAS form had been sitting on her laptop for months, just waiting for the day she could hit Send . So she didn’t really need to be listening to Mr Phillips right now. Which was just as well because she was writing another list.
    Reasons why it is entirely unreasonable to fancy Hugo d’Felance
I have never heard him refer to the female species without using the words: gash, clunge, flange, pussy, bucket, windsock and the C-word that can definitely not be mentioned. Ever.
He is openly racist, homophobic, misogynistic and a massive bigot.
I have heard, from anecdotal evidence only, but lots of it, that he’s had at least one STI.
He once referred to Shakespeare as “that boring dude”.
If Jassmine ever found out she would gut me with her nail file, burn my intestines and eat my eyeballs with a spoon…
I have self-respect. I have self-respect. I have self-respect.
    Bree’s continuous list-writing had become her coping device. She had a special notebook and everything. The lists weren’t useful – just her views on the world at that moment. Sometimes she fantasized about them being displayed in a museum hundreds of years in the future, secured in glass, in a sell-out exhibition about her “early life”. A plaque next to her notebook would read: Bree’s unique insights on her sad teenage years were diarized here, in list form. You can already see her strong narrative voice beginning to emerge, soon to become the voi ce of her generation that would be treasured until far beyond her death.
    Mr Phillips was still droning on.
    â€œNow, university interviews. We’ll be holding training sessions on interview technique closer to summer so you can practise over the holidays. The sign-up sheets will be posted after Christmas. Don’t all rush to sign up at once, there are enough slots for everyone. But, in the meantime, I want you to be thinking about your extra-curricular activities. Remember – boring people don’t get into Oxbridge! You need to DO stuff. Get doing!”
    Bree heard Hugo and his mates laughing and looked over. Hugo had drawn a massive hairy penis on Seth’s practice UCAS form and was showing it off.
    â€œHey!” Seth tried to grab it back. “I need that.”
    Hugo put it behind his back. “Why do you want a picture of a knob so much, Seth?”
    â€œHa ha. Gay boy, gay boy,” the others sniggered.
    â€œShut up. You know what I mean. It’s my practice form. I need it.”
    At this point, the teacher noticed the kerfuffle. “Problem,