by Holly Bourne
This wasn’t about revenge… Well, maybe it was a little bit. She’d wasted many hours of her life fantasizing about how to get revenge on them – especially on the days she was their victim. But it was more about her writing – getting good stories, good material, stretching who she was and noting what happened along the way. Could she make it a bit about revenge too? Would she even be able to? For the sake of the perfect posse’s victims – herself included – shouldn’t she try?
She stared at the list, trying to work out what to do. Who to approach. And how. How does one go about making oneself popular? What was the secret ingredient?
Everyone in the circle of perfects offered something, she realized – brought something to the stockbroking table of popularity.
Jassmine was their high-roller. Oozing confidence and beauty, she was the sort of person who made perfection look effortless. You can’t learn that. It’s a gift usually bestowed on people who don’t deserve it. Yet she played her ace card well – keeping the school infatuated with her and Hugo’s relationship, living out a real-life soap opera. Being just nice enough for people to want her to like them. Not having any obvious flaws.
Gemma brought the nasty side. The fear factor. The lack of soul needed to dominate a school. She was smart. She got people – how they worked, what they wanted, needed, how to break them. Bree had heard she was amazing at maths and the teachers were priming her for a life as a merchant banker. She could imagine Gemma used those skills in her social life as well. Weighing up and calculating the risks of a nasty comment. Predicting market shifts in popular culture and Queen’s Hall’s collective opinions. Having the guts to go on her instinct made her a force to be reckoned with. None of the others brought that.
Jessica, well, she brought deluded self-confidence and apparent star power thanks to the school plays. School plays, in Queen’s at least, were cool. Achievement – including dramatic achievement – was another form of currency here. And what better way to showcase such currency than for every student and parent to part with twenty-five quid twice a year to watch seventeen-year-olds hurling themselves round a stage shrilling “I Feel Pretty” in the school’s three-hundred-seat, red-velveted, state-of-the-art theatre? Around the time of the play, Jassmine always got a tad twitchy as Jessica’s celebrity soared. Jessica would start wearing sunglasses to “hide her dark circles from all those late-night rehearsals” and glow whenever an eager Year Seven told her how good she was. There’d been an infamous moment last year when Jessica got cast against Hugo in Cyrano de Bergerac, which had meant they would have to do a kissing scene.
But Hugo mysteriously dropped out right before rehearsals began. Funny that…
So, what could Bree offer them?
She was smart. That was an asset. But she was a bit too smart. Geek smart. And she was probably a bit richer than them. But money wasn’t really an object for any of them. Then there was the fact that they were definitely a little scared of her transformation…but how could she use that to her advantage?
“Bree?”
Maybe set up a rival posse? But then who would she recruit? That would require a whole evening of list-making and she needed to strike while the makeover hype was still hot.
“Bree?”
“Huh?”
She looked up to find Mrs McQuire staring at her.
“The bell’s gone, Bree.”
The chairs around her were empty and the hubbub of student noise echoed out in the corridor. It was louder than usual, as the gossip and photo spread from person to person like a YouTube viral. In fact, the photo probably already was viral by now… She looked at her notebook. It was crammed full of illegible scrawl. For the best really, as her teacher was eyeing it disapprovingly.
“You’ll need to work on your handwriting for the exam. No one will be able to mark that mess.”
“Sorry…I was…”
And, without explaining herself properly, she dashed out the door. She folded her notebook into her new designer satchel and made her way to the quieter toilets in the chemistry block to reapply her lipgloss and, most importantly, to think. Yet when she pushed through the doors she heard she wasn’t alone.
Someone was in the far cubicle, crying.
Not just crying, but sobbing to the point of hysteria.
“Are you okay?” Bree called out. She wasn’t usually one to get involved, but this wasn’t the kind of crying you ignore.
Her voice didn’t stop the torrent of wails.
“Hello?” she called out again, tentatively.
Silence. Except for the odd gulping and sniffing noise.
She bit her lip, wondering what to do. After a second or two, she went into the neighbouring cubicle, climbed onto the toilet seat and peered over.
She could distinctly see the top of Natalie’s head.
“Hey, Natalie, is it?” she said gently.
Natalie didn’t even look up. “Leave me alone,” she coughed out.
“Are you okay?” Bree asked, ignoring her.
“Please, just LEAVE ME ALONE!” Natalie shouted at her with such ferocity, Bree imagined her hair being blasted back.
“Are you sure?”
“Please…” And it was said so desperately that all Bree could do was get down off the toilet and go to her next lesson.
chapter seventeen
She spent the rest of the day ruminating. And the evening. She ate her dinner in her usual mute state while her mum’s hyper-babble filled the silence. But her mum must have noticed something was up, as she was standing outside Bree’s bedroom door later on.
“What do you want?” Bree asked, annoyed that her mum was blocking the entrance.
“I got you this today.” She stuck out her hands, and opened each palm to reveal two black tubes.
“What is it?”
Her mum started jumping up and down with a scary smile on her face, squealing through her teeth.
“Seriously. What is it?”
“Open one and see.”
Bree took a black tube and popped off the lid. “It’s a lipstick.” She twisted it and a Disney Princess pink twirled elegantly upwards.
“IT’S NOT JUST A LIPSTICK!” Her mum looked like she was about to wee with excitement.
“What is it then? Does it recite poetry?”
“Don’t be silly. Don’t you see?” Her mum twisted out the other one. “This is the Marvel limited edition Pink Princess lipstick. Sold out everywhere. Worn by every beautiful woman who matters. And apparently suits everyone who tries it on.”
Bree tried not to roll her eyes.
“I got you two! One to wear, and one to carry around to marvel at its beauty. Marvel – get it?”
“Great.” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
Her mum shot her daggers. “Bree, you’re missing out on how important this lipstick is. It’s the only plus side of your dad working so many hours and leaving us alone all the time – the freebies he gets from the cosmetic industries he represents. I could have given these away to the girls and been worshipped for ever. But I saved them for you instead.”
Bree held her hand up. “Wait. Dad works for a…cosmetics company?”
Her mum roared with laughter. “You don’t know what your own father does for a living?”
She shrugged. “Whatever it is, it makes him grumpy. And never here.”
“He looks after the legal interests of major corporations and specializes in the patenting of new products. He’s in charge of the Marvel brand relaunch. He is basically God of lipstick. And he will be around more soon…well in five years anyway, as he’s promised to retire early.”
“Huh?”
“Here.” She shoved both tubes into Bree’s hands. “Just take them and wear it tomorrow. All the girls in school will be queuing up to talk to you.”
Bree wasn’t sure if she could trust this information. She twisted the pink lipstick back into itself and eyeballed it suspiciously.
“Why do you think I want gi
rls queuing up to talk to me?”
“Come on, Bree. It’s not rocket science. Girls need friends. Girlfriends. It can hardly be stimulating spending all your spare time listening to Holdo moan on about his computer gadgets.”
Hearing Holdo’s name made Bree’s heart hurt. She pushed the uncomfortable feeling to one side and looked at her mum. “Thank you.”
“Any time. I’ve booked the personal trainer to start next week.”
“Great.”
Then Bree escaped into the sanctuary of her bedroom to have a think.
She did apply the lipstick the next morning. It couldn’t hurt, after all. Plus, it was a Friday and teachers were always a bit lax about make-up rules on a Friday. She matched her pink lips with another pair of statement tights – these ones had tiny flecks of hot pink in them. She hurried to school, still trying to work on her break-in plan.
What do I have that they don’t?
There had to be something.
It was freezing. Winter was hurtling towards them and soon all the trees would be bare. It was a shame really, that she was so alone. This was a fun time of year to have a social life. Halloween, Bonfire Night…annual events geared towards the misbehaviour of under-eighteens. Apparently Hugo was planning a massive firework display for his eighteenth. She really needed to wangle an invite to that. Soon. She’d prefer it not to come from Hugo himself though. That would definitely piss off Jassmine Incorporated.
Holdo would think she was crazy for wanting to go to a Hugo party. She and Holdo always used to watch classic horror films on Halloween… God how she missed him.
She didn’t listen in English. There was nothing Mr Fellows could tell her about Philip Larkin that she hadn’t already taught herself. Class went much slower without her answering all the questions. He kept flicking her anxious looks, like a puppy wanting attention from its owner.
He was all “What do you think, Bree?” this, and “Bree, come on, you must know the answer” that, now she wasn’t making her crush blatantly obvious any more.
She couldn’t work out how it made her feel. Most of her felt warm everywhere with the thought that he cared; inside her head she was fist-punching in triumph that he was finally showing her attention again. But the cruel voice that always popped up to say hi whenever she felt good was saying: He couldn’t get you out of his classroom fast enough when you were a frumpy loser.
After yet more Latin, it was time for lunch, and Bree went to the ladies to reapply.
She put her make-up bag in the sink and leaned forward towards the glass to examine her reflection. Just as she was retrieving the Princess Pink, as if it were fate, Jassmine and Jessica sauntered in.
They gave Bree an unfriendly look and took a space two sinks down, jabbering inanely to each other.
“Oh my God,” Jassmine said. “I can’t believe there’s still, like, two whole lessons to get through until it’s the weekend. I just wanna get drunk and let my hair down, you know?”
Jessica nodded furiously, while looking at herself in the mirror. “Totally. At least I’ve got drama this arvo. But double Latin? Poor Jassmine.”
Jassmine wrinkled her nose. “Tell me about it. It’s so completely boring. Why do I need to talk like dead people who wore togas? My parents INSISTED I took it though. My teacher is such a div. She dresses like – I’m totally not kidding – like a cat lady on crack. I swear, everything she wears is crocheted. By herself. Probably while sobbing on a rocking chair, surrounded by pussies.”
Jessica almost giggled herself to death. “Oh my God, Jass. You are sooooo hilarious.”
Jassmine plumped her hair and smiled at her reflection. “I know.”
Bree twisted up the tube of lipstick. She leaned further forward and carefully smeared some on her top lip. Then her concentration was interrupted.
“No…effing…way.”
Jassmine was at her side.
“That’s not the limited edition Princess Pink you’ve got on, is it?”
The first time you ever speak to me and it’s because I have lipstick?
Bree didn’t miss a beat. She looked down at the tube like she was almost surprised at it being in her hand. “What, this? Oh yeah. I suppose it is.”
“But it’s a rip-off, right?”
Bree gave her most confident Oh please face. “I don’t do fakes.”
She didn’t even do lipstick this time last week, but last week could’ve been ten million years ago judging by the ecstatic look on Jassmine’s face.
“Can I try some on?”
Bree shrugged. “Sure.”
A high-pitched yelp escaped Jassmine’s mouth and the lipstick tube was swiped from Bree’s hand. Within seconds, Jassmine had a matching pinky pout.
“I can’t frickin’ believe you have this.” She kept making kissy faces in the mirror, turning this way and that. “Where did you get it? Did you rob someone?”
Bree maintained her aloof delivery. “Er…no. My dad’s kinda, like, a big deal in the cosmetics industry. He’s helping with Marvel’s relaunch.”
Like. She had just unnecessarily used the word “like”. Just as the films had subliminally told her to.
“No frickin’ way.”
She nodded. “Way.”
Bree watched Jassmine struggling to digest all this new and confusing information. It must’ve been hard for her. Until Monday, Bree had been easily categorized and plonked on the “loser geek” shelf. Not to be worried about, concerned with, or really bother acknowledging. Now she was a trendsetter with the ultimate “in” to a prettier world.
“Didn’t I see you in my body combat class?”
Yes. You saw me and looked at me like I had leprosy.
Bree made her eyes wide. “Was that you? I thought I saw someone I recognized.”
Jassmine nodded like a bobbing dog, while Jessica swung her head from side to side like she was watching a bewildering tennis match.
“It totally was you! I arrived late, otherwise I would have come over and said ‘hi’.”
Like hell you would.
Bree batted away the comment. “Ahhh. It’s alright.”
“Do you go to that class regularly?”
“Not really. Usually I just work out with my personal trainer…”
It wasn’t quite a lie.
“No way? You have a trainer? I’ve been begging my mum for one for yonks.”
“I actually work out with my mum.”
“Really? That is so cute.”
There was an awkward silence and Bree waited for Jassmine to fill it. She couldn’t get over how right her mum had been about the lipstick. This was better than anything she could’ve planned herself. She must make it up to her somehow…
“So. What you up to tonight?”
Nothing. Sitting at home and blogging about how horrible you are.
Another shrug. “I’m not sure yet…I’ve not made up my mind.”
“Do you…” Jassmine hesitated. “Do you wanna come over to mine? We’re having a girl’s night in. I would love to raid your make-up bag.”
Bree pretended the thought bored her. “Erm…maybe…I could do, I suppose…”
“Come on. It will be fun!”
“Alright then.”
Jassmine gave her a big beaming smile. A rare sight for anyone other than Hugo. “Brilliant. Here’s my address…” She grabbed an eyeliner and scribbled on Bree’s hand. “Come at seven. No need to bring drink.” Then she turned back to her reflection. “God, this colour really is amazing. They say it suits everyone, you know?”
“I know.”
Jessica was still reeling from the display of utter unlikeliness. She stumbled on her words for the first time ever.
“Er…Bree, is it? Could I try some of your lipstick on too?”
Bree confidently tossed her hair back, made a face, and made her voice sickly sweet – the sort of sugar-rush sweet reserved only for the bitchiest of comments.
“Oh? Really? I would but…well, it’s kinda sp
ecial and I don’t wanna use it up too quickly. You get that, right?”
Jessica looked like her world had just fallen in. “Right…of course.”
“See you at seven? I’ve got some old lipsticks I can bring for you to play with?” And, with that, Bree scooped up the contents of her make-up bag and sashayed out into the corridor – a lifelong power balance completely reversed in one toilet break.
Her Princess Pink lips couldn’t stop smiling.
chapter eighteen
Bree took aaaaages getting ready. What do you wear to a girl’s night in? She had absolutely no experience of such things. In the end, she swallowed her pride and asked her mum.
It took a while for the excitable shrieks to stop.
“Ouch. Mum. Eardrums, remember? They’re prone to perforation?” she said, unable to keep from smiling at her mum’s obvious delight.
Her mum ran into her bedroom uninvited, flung open her wardrobe and started tossing random articles of clothing over her shoulders.
“Right…where are those jeans I got you from Diesel? Here they are. Oh my God, Bree, you’ve not even taken the label off! Well, these are perfect…” She ripped off the tag and chucked them over. They hit Bree’s chest with a thump. “And you need a nice jumper – not too tarty, mind. It’s only girls. Where’s that gorgeous cashmere I got you last Christmas?” She ripped open another drawer. “This has the tag on too. Seriously, honey, I don’t understand you.”
An hour later and Bree was walking the short journey to Jassmine’s house. Most Queen’s students lived in the same area, where a collection of privately-owned roads were surrounded by the best of the suburban countryside. A few students lived “out in the sticks” – to have even more land – and were driven in each day by their mothers in blacked-out four-by-fours. Hugo’s home apparently had numerous acres, an actual boating lake, and he was always whingeing about how much he rinsed on taxi fares. But Jassmine’s was only five minutes away.
And, this time last week, an alternative universe away.
Not any more.
Bree’s house was bigger. She noticed that straight away and it surprised her. There was no security gate here either. It was also a little bit tackier – all fake columns this and lion statues that. But none of it made ringing the doorbell any less daunting. She took a couple of deep breaths before yanking the ornate chain.