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

you? Despite, no doubt, the fact you raved on to all your mates about how great the message of the show was.
    WE’RE ALL MASSIVE HYPOCRITES. We are. We want beauty. We want to watch beautiful people. We just don’t like to admit that to ourselves.
    And, let’s face it, would you really want to follow my little experiment if I was an ugly chick? If I did all this with a face that still resembled an arse? I’m lucky enough that, apparently, I’m naturally quite a looker. Who knew? This experiment would be a little harder if I was a troll.
    Oh how I wish it hadn’t come to this. So quickly as well. Oh how I wish that my makeover has no effect whatsoever on my life. That everything will remain exactly the same even though I’m hot now.
    But both you and I know that isn’t what’s going to happen.
    The fact I’m attractive now is going to change things. Pathetic. Depressing. But you know it and I know it.
    Let’s see what tomorrow brings, eh? When I reveal my new self to a school which has no idea what’s about to hit it…
    Over and out.

chapter thirteen
    Bree was a little less cocky the next morning.
    With an unfamiliar reflection staring back at her, she started to second-guess her idea. Although she would never admit it aloud, Bree got the occasional bout of self-doubt.
    She was wearing the blazer her mum had picked out. It hugged her figure – which would shape up nicely if she kept the exercise up. She’d done an exercise DVD with Mum at six o’clock that morning. Zumba – more like personal humiliation. Bree had never felt ashamed of her inability to shimmy before, but the Zumba lady somehow made it feel like a criminal offence. At least they’d been in the privacy of their own massive living room. Bree sweating like a pig on heat, her mum barely getting red and making this weird “Chooo, choooo” noise with her breathing. But the same flood of happy hormones had swamped her body like they had the day before. For an hour or so she’d felt capable of anything. She hadn’t got the urge to scratch her scars all weekend, which was major news – especially with all the stress of thinking about what was coming up.
    â€œWasn’t that fun?” her mother had said, dabbing her barely-perspiring forehead with her designer headband. “You know what? If you’re serious about keeping this exercise lark up, we could get a personal trainer to come to the house. What do you think? I’ve always thought it was too extravagant to hire one just for me, but together it could be fun?”
    Bree nodded, panting. “Sounds like it could work.”
    Her mum patted her on the head. “Right, I’d better get ready for Pilates with the girls. Good luck today showing off your new look…” She trailed off. “Are you okay, honey? I mean, you look fabulous, and, don’t get me wrong, I’ve had a really good weekend with you, but it’s a bit out of the blue. Is everything alright?”
    Bree wasn’t sure she knew the answer to that question. Was she alright? She had a writing project, one she had a gut feeling could really work. She had purpose for the first time in ages. And yet she felt a bit sick with fear at the same time.
    She smiled. “I’m fine, Mum. I just fancied a change, that’s all. I really enjoyed the weekend too.”
    There was a horribly uncomfortable moment where Bree thought her mum might hug her again. But she just gave Bree’s head another tap and ran upstairs to the master bedroom.
    Bree had been on a high then, but now – with her hair and make-up all done – her confidence had bellyflopped.
    â€œYou’re doing this for a reason, Bree,” she spoke aloud to the mirror. “Whatever happens will be good writing material. The important thing is something will happen, and that isn’t usually the case.”
    She pulled at her new pair of tights. The