Read Online The Manifesto on How to be Interesting by Holly Bourne - Free Book Online

hardly keep up. Sweat dripped down her face. Her legs started to seize up, still tight from her not-fully-healed scars. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and her face resembled a sunburned tomato just home from a last-minute trip to Lanzarote.
    And then, as if she wasn’t feeling terrible already…Jassmine Dallington arrived from nowhere. She looked brilliant – wearing some vibrant red top and tight black leggings. She mouthed her apologies to the instructor, pushed her way to the front, and joined in the routine in flawless synchrony. When Bree wasn’t focused entirely on not fainting, she watched Jassmine’s blonde hair swish about in front of her. Jassmine watched herself in the mirror, working through the moves effortlessly and smiling smugly at her own reflection.
    An emotion stronger than exhaustion passed through Bree.
    Anger.
    Suddenly she hated Jassmine. Her easy life, the way everyone seemed to care about her though she’d never done one nice thing to deserve it.
    Bree stepped up her effort and concentrated harder on the routine.
    Hatred drove her – as she squatted, lunged, boxed and panted. It soon eclipsed the knackeredness and pain. She bobbed and weaved to the music, now keeping pace with everyone around her. Sweat still poured from her body but she wasn’t aware of it.
    And then, with the heavy bass as a background, something began to happen to Bree. Something…good-feeling began to rush through her veins. Her heart pounded frantically – but no longer out of protest, now almost like it was spurring her on. Her breath finally caught up with her body and adrenalin rushed through her. She’d never felt like this before. Not naturally anyway. It was the same rush she got when she locked herself in the bathroom and made red patterns on her thighs. Her head thumped in the same way. She got the same tidal wave of relief. But she wasn’t bleeding. She wasn’t going to scab up tomorrow. Her thighs would hurt, but good hurt. Healthy hurt.
    When the music stopped, Bree was almost upset. She was just balancing in a calf stretch when Jassmine picked up her stuff and left. She passed Bree with barely a smidgeon of sweat on her forehead. A look of dim recognition crossed her face and she looked confused, trying to place Bree in her inner list of who’s-worth-knowing. When she realized who she was, she deliberately curled up her lip in disgust.
    I have never done one bad thing to you, Bree thought, and anger surged through her again. Nothing about my existence affects your life in any way, and yet you deliberately make me feel like shit.
    Jassmine gave a beaming smile to the instructor and waved goodbye, before she sashayed out the room.
    You don’t know or care who I am. But you will on Monday. I’m going to start fighting back with the best weapon I have: words. Indelible, permanent words.
    Bree’s mum came over, wiping her face with a towel.
    â€œYou enjoy it, Bree?” She tossed over the towel and Bree caught it and dabbed her forehead.
    â€œIt was…hard. But good.”
    Her mum looked nervous. “Do you still want to go shopping and get your hair done?”
    Not really. All Bree wanted to do was dollop vast amounts of Tiger balm onto every part of her and curl up with the new Booker Prize winner. But she wasn’t that person any more. Well, not publicly anyway.
    She scraped the last of the sweat off her face.
    â€œThat was the plan, right?”
    Her mum smiled.

chapter eleven
    After a long shower and clothes change in the gigantic marble changing rooms, they set off into town.
    â€œI didn’t know all the shops were open on Sunday,” Bree said, looking up and down the bustling high street. Sundays had always been her writing and reading day and she rarely ventured past the security gate.
    â€œDid I give birth to a daughter or an alien?” her mum asked, pushing the button at the pedestrian crossing.