of Breeâs foils that had fallen onto her forehead, before sitting back in her chair again. âThey barely knew I existed then, and have definitely forgotten me by now. That just seems so terribly unfair somehow. That theyâre so much a part of my life, and Iâm nothing to theirs. I still feel like the unpopular kid.â
Bree scratched the top of her neck where the peroxide itched.
âBut they might not be happy, successful, pretty and popular any more,â she told her mother. âThey mightâve failed horribly in life and are now fat, lonely and addicted to lottery scratch cards.â
Her mum shook her head sadly. âLife doesnât work that way, sweetie. Theyâre all doing just fine â better than me probably.â
âButâ¦â
âBut what? You think there should be some sort of karmic balance? That because they sailed through secondary school itâs only right that they have some suffering down the line to make up for it? Okay, in a weak moment, I might have wished that to happen, so they felt a little like I did when I was at school. But what does that achieve?â She trailed off and absent-mindedly picked up her magazine again.
âSo you think being popular at school is important then?â
Her mum shook her head like Bree had woken her from a dream.
âMaybe not important. But it helps. You donât carry the same scars around if secondary school was easy for youâ¦â Then she shook her head again, almost violently, like sheâd caught herself out. âNoâ¦no⦠You know what, donât listen to me, Bree. It isnât important. You know whatâs important? Being a good person. Thatâs the most important thing.â
Nice try, Bree thought. But Iâm not buying it.
That evening, Bree looked at her new self in the mirror. Massive cliché, but she actually didnât recognize herself. She was trussed up in tomorrowâs just-inside-the-school-rules outfit. Her hair was a buttery sheet of gorgeousness. It fell into her eyes, highlighting her perfect make-up, and shone like sheâd just returned from a three-week cruise. Her face had been transformed thanks to a make-up lesson from her mum. Her spots were expertly covered, her skin glowed, her lips looked juicy and utterly transfixing â sheâd never realized sheâd got such good lips before.
There was no escaping it, Bree looked stunning. She tried not to smile, annoyed that looking like this made her feel so good. But a grin crept onto her face anyway and she did a little jig of joy â before remembering everything she stood for and believed in.
Finally she dragged herself from the mirror, sat at her desk, and lifted the lid of her laptop.
THE MANIFESTO ON HOW TO BE INTERESTING
Rule number one: One must be attractive
Iâve made this my first ruleâ¦
In order to be interesting, one must be attractive to look at.
Especially if youâre a womanâ¦
Alright, okay, calm down. Donât all yell at once. âHOW DARE YOU?â you say. Call myself a feminist, do I? Modern life has evolved past such nonsense. Attractiveness doesnât immediately place you into the winning team.
But youâre wrong. Oh, how wrong you are.
Because, admit it, youâre gagging to know what colour Iâve dyed my hair. You canât wait to see the before and after and what my figureâs like now Iâve actually got the inclination to show it off. Hell, youâre frothing at the mouth in desperation to find out how Iâve made my lips look this damn gorgeous.
There is something about taking something ugly and making it pretty that is compelling to us. Itâs a satisfaction you cannot hide from. Who didnât watch Ugly Betty and want to pluck her eyebrows and see what she could âreally look likeâ? Even though that goes against the whole point of the show, you wanted her to be beautiful, didnât