The Manifesto on How to be Interesting by Holly Bourne

specially-designed ink-black sleeves.
    â€œHuh?” Bree looked around to check he was talking to her.
    He pointed to the pile. “A sleepover? Looks like you and your mates are preparing for a chick-flick fest.”
    â€œUmm. No. They’re just for me.”
    He gave her a My, you’re an even bigger loser than me look. “Riiiiight.”
    Bree had never been to a girly sleepover – not since puberty anyway. She’d never played truth or dare, never rung up the boy she fancied while her friends giggled manically in the background, and never swapped kissing tips. A whole teenage-girl rite of passage whirred past as the guy rang up the register.
    â€œThey all need to be back by seven tomorrow.”
    â€œI know.”

chapter eight
    She exited into the drizzle and stormed home, clutching her carrier bag like it was stuffed full of stolen goods. With the films rented, she felt even more compelled to put her plan into action. She was just turning onto her long, well-manicured road when her mobile went off. She dug in her coat pocket, retrieved it, and looked at the screen.
    Holdo. Well, who else would it be?
    â€œMorning,” he said. “I feel like absolute hell. Was it you who put that bucket next to me? If so, thanks. I very much needed it at about three o’clock this morning.”
    Bree grinned. “I thought you might.”
    â€œWho knew burgundy could be so dangerous?”
    â€œIndeed.”
    â€œHow’s your head?”
    As if it had overheard the question, Bree’s forehead thumped dully. “Not great. Not awful though.”
    â€œGod, I really was wasted last night, wasn’t I? Were you? I can’t even remember you leaving.”
    Bree grimaced. His voice sounded rehearsed and she wondered if he was lying. Was this his way of bringing up the leg-grab thing (or lack of)? Did he remember? To be honest, Bree was relieved he hadn’t done anything. The thought of what could’ve happened made her feel a bit sick. And she didn’t need to have sex with Holdo any more. Not now she had her plan.
    â€œI don’t remember much.”
    â€œOh.”
    So he did remember…awkward.
    â€œI just woke up this morning with my notepad stuck to my face…”
    Holdo laughed. “Night-time drunken writing?”
    â€œI suppose so.”
    â€œSo…” Holdo started. “What you up to today?”
    Bree looked at the carrier bag swinging alongside her, thought about lying, and decided against it. “Watching some films.”
    Holdo’s voice lit up over the phone. Could voices light up? Or was it only faces? Bree’s head hurt. She needed her duvet. And more carbs. Soon. Very soon.
    â€œAwesome. Hangover day of cinema. I might join you. What you watching?”
    Bree gulped.
    Er…what could she say? A wide selection of chick-flicks, all featuring girls being made over and discovering that life is sooo much better when they’re pretty and thin and beautiful and swept away by the hottest boy in school. She whispered a few of their titles, noticing they spanned several decades.
    Holdo went quiet.
    Then: “You’re kidding, right?”
    â€œNope.”
    â€œAm I allowed to ask why?” His voice was angry; actually angry. Like Bree had just revealed she was planning to drown puppies or something.
    â€œI need them for a…project I’m working on. That’s all.”
    â€œWhat is this project? Lobotomy by Pop Culture 101?”
    â€œHoldo, come on. I’m probably the only girl alive who hasn’t watched these movies.”
    â€œAnd that’s why we’re friends.”
    Bree arrived at her house and punched in the security code. Hard.
    â€œIs this something to do with your book?” Holdo asked, his voice still all superior. “Are you having some kind of meltdown because it got rejected again?”
    She gritted her teeth. She wasn’t ready to tell Holdo about her