The Duff: Designated Ugly Fat Friend (11 page)

“Casey,” I groaned.

“I’m not kidding, B,” she said. “This guy really fucked you up freshman year. You were a crying, blubbering, panicking mess
after what he did, and I know it’s hard because we have to keep it
from Jess, but you need to deal with it somehow. I don’t want to see you go through that shit again.”

“Casey, I’m fine,” I assured her. “I really have found a way to relieve the stress, okay?”

“What’s that?”

Oh, shit.

“What’s what?”

Casey frowned at me. “
Duh
. Your way of relieving the stress. What are you doing?”

“Um… just stuff.”

“Are you working out?” she asked. “Don’t be embarrassed if you are. My mom does cardio when she’s pissed off. She says it
helps her channel the negative energy—whatever that means. So is that what you’re doing? Are you working out?”

“Um… you could say that.”

Damn it. My cheeks were definitely burning. I turned away from her, examining the hairs on the back of my arm.

“Cardio?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

But miraculously, she didn’t seem to notice that my face was on fire.

“Cool. You know, these pants are a size bigger than what I usually buy. Maybe we should work out together. It could be fun.”

“I don’t think so.” Before she could argue or see the scarlet color of my cheeks, I stood up and said, “I’ve gotta go brush
my teeth again. Then I’ll be ready to get out of here. Okay?” And I ran out of the room.

When I returned a few minutes later, I was forced to lie yet again.

“Wanna stay over at my place tonight?” Casey asked as she fluffed her short hair in the mirror. “Mom’s going to a bachelorette
party for a woman she works with, so it’ll just be us… and a few James McAvoy movies if you want. Jess will be sad she missed
it, but—”

“I can’t tonight, Casey.”

“Why not?” She sounded hurt.

The truth was that I had plans to see Wesley around eleven that night, but obviously I couldn’t just be honest. But I couldn’t
really lie either. I mean, my lies were always so fucking transparent. So I did what I was getting better and better at these
days. I withheld.

“I have plans.”

“After we leave the Nest?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Casey turned from the mirror and stared at me for a long moment. Finally, she said, “You’ve been busy a lot lately, you know.
You never want to do stuff with me much anymore.”

“I’m going out with you tonight, aren’t I?” I asked.

“Yeah, I guess, but… I don’t know.” She turned away and examined her reflection one last time. “Never mind. Let’s just go.”

God, I hated being dishonest with Casey. Especially because she clearly knew
something
was going on, even if she hadn’t figured out what just yet. But I was going to do everything in my power to keep my thing
with Wesley under wraps.

And, of course, Wesley acted totally casual about everything.
In public, we treated each other with the same sarcastic indifference as always. I insulted him, gave him dirty looks, and
cursed under my breath as he acted like a pig (not that there was any
acting
involved). No one would have guessed we were different behind closed doors. No one could tell that I was counting down the
minutes until we’d be meeting on his front porch step.

No one but Joe.

“You like him,” the bartender teased as Wesley, after enduring a verbal tirade from yours truly, went off to dance with a
giggling bimbo. “And I’m thinking he likes you, too. You two have something going on.”

“You’re insane,” I said, sipping my Cherry Coke.

“I’ve told you a million times, Bianca, and I’ll tell you again. You’re a bad liar.”

“I wouldn’t touch that douche bag with a ten-foot pole!” Did my voice convey enough disgust? “Do you really think I’m that
much of an idiot, Joe? He’s arrogant, and he sleeps with everything he can get his filthy hands on. Most of the time, I just
want to claw his creepy eyes out. How could I like him? He’s a jackass.”

“And girls love jackasses. That’s why I can’t get a date. I’m too damn nice.”

“Or too hairy,” I offered. I took the last drink of my Cherry Coke and pushed my glass across the bar to him. “Shave that
Moses beard and you might have better luck. Women don’t want to kiss carpet, you know.”

“You’re trying to get out of talking about it,” Joe pointed out. “That just proves there’s something going on with you and
Mr. Jackass.”

“Shut up. Just shut up, Joe.”

“So I’m right?”

“No,” I said. “You’re just really, really annoying me.”

Okay, I definitely had to find some way of avoiding the Nest for a few weeks… or, better yet,
forever
.

“Your shot, Duffy.” Wesley leaned on his pool stick, a triumphant smirk on his face.

“You haven’t won yet,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“But I’m about to.”

I ignored him, focusing my attention on one of the two striped balls still remaining on the table. At that point, I really
wished Wesley and I had just stuck to our pattern—walk straight up to his bedroom, bypassing everything else entirely. But
that night on the way up the stairs, Wesley had mentioned having a pool table—and proceeded to brag that he was a wizard with
a pool stick. For some reason, it sparked a competitive nerve in me. I just couldn’t wait to wipe the floor with him and knock
that cocky little grin right off his face.

Only, I was starting to regret my decision to challenge him to this game because, as it turned out, his boasts hadn’t been
too far
from the truth. I wasn’t bad at pool either, but I was about to get my ass kicked. And there was nothing I could do to wiggle
my way out of it.

“Steady there,” he whispered, his lips brushing past my ear as he eased up behind me. His hands settled on my hips, fingers
toying with the hem of my shirt. “Focus, Duffy. Are you focusing?”

He was trying to distract me. And
shit,
it was working.

I jerked away from him, trying to thrust the back of my pool stick into his gut. But of course he dodged, and I succeeded
only in knocking the cue ball in the opposite direction of what I’d intended, sending it right into one of the corner pockets.

“Scratch,” Wesley announced.

“Damn it!” I whirled around to face him. “That shouldn’t count!”

“But it does.” He took the white ball out of the hole and placed it carefully at the end of the table. “All’s fair in love
and pool.”

“War,” I corrected.

“Same thing.” He eased the stick back, staring straight ahead, before shooting it forward again. Half a second later, the
eight ball sailed into a pocket. The winning shot.

“Asshole,” I hissed.

“Don’t be a sore loser,” he said, leaning his stick against the wall. “What did you really expect? I’m obviously amazing at
everything.” He grinned. “But, hey, you can’t hold it against me, right? We can’t help the way God makes us.”

“You’re an arrogant cheater.” I tossed my pool stick aside, letting it clatter to the floor a few feet away. “Sore winners
are way worse than sore losers, you know. And you only won because you
kept messing me up! You couldn’t keep your fucking hands to yourself long enough for me to make a decent shot! That’s just
low. And for another thing—”

Without warning, Wesley lifted me up onto the pool table. His hands moved to my shoulders, and a second later, I was flat
on my back, staring up at him as he smirked. He shifted so that he was on the table too, leaning over me with his face only
inches from mine.

“On the pool table?” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “Seriously?”

“I can’t resist,” he said. “You know, you’re pretty sexy when you’re pissed at me, Duffy.”

First, I was struck by the irony of that statement. I mean, he used
sexy
and
Duffy
—implying I was fat and ugly—in the same sentence. The contrast was almost laughable. Almost.

The thing that really got me, though, was that no one, not even Jake Gaither, had ever called me sexy. Wesley was the first.
And the truth was, being with him made me
feel
attractive. The way he touched me. The way he kissed me. I could tell his body wanted me. Okay, okay. So it was
Wesley
. His body wanted everyone. But still. It was a feeling I hadn’t experienced in… well, I’d never experienced it. It was exciting
and empowering.

But none of that could erase the stab of pain the last word in his statement gave me. Wesley might have been the first to
call me sexy, but he was also the first to call me the Duff. That word had been tugging at me, taunting me, for weeks now.
And it was his fault.

So how could he see me as both sexy and Duffy at the same time?

Better question: why did I care?

Before I could manufacture any decent answers, he started kissing me, his fingers already locating the buttons and zippers
of my clothes. We became a tangle of lips and hands and knees, and the issue was completely pushed out of my head.

For the moment, at least.

“Go Panthers!” Casey yelled as she and a few other members of the Skinny Squad did cartwheels along the sidelines.

Beside me, Jessica was waving a two-dollar blue-and-orange pom-pom, her face glowing with excitement. Jake and Tiffany were
having dinner with Tiffany’s parents that night, which meant I got to spend a couple of hours with her… even if that couple
of hours was at a stupid sporting event.

The truth was, I hated pretty much anything requiring school spirit, because, obviously, I had none. I hated Hamilton High.
I hated the horribly bright school colors, the incredibly generic mascot, and at least ninety percent of the student body.
That’s why I couldn’t wait to leave for college.

“You hate everything,” Casey had said to me early that day when I’d explained to her why I had no desire to attend the basketball
game.

“That isn’t true.”

“Yes, it is. You hate everything. But I love you. And Jess. Which is why I am going to ask you, as your best friend, to bring
her to the game.”

When Jessica had told me she wanted to hang out that night,
my first instinct was to just go to my place and watch movies. But Casey’s obligations to cheer at the game had interfered.
That might not have been a big deal—Jessica and I could have watched movies on our own—but Casey had to make it so complicated.
She wanted to see Jessica, too. And she wanted us to see her cheer. Even if it went against everything I stood for.

“Come on, B,” she said, sounding irritated. “It’s just one game.”

She was irritated a lot these days. Especially at me. And I really wasn’t in the mood to argue with her.

So that’s how I’d been wangled into this. That’s how I’d wound up sitting on an uncomfortable bleacher, bored out of my mind,
as the cheers and shouts of the people around me brought on a fucking migraine. Absolutely wonderful.

I’d just decided to drive to Wesley’s after the game, when Jessica elbowed me in the side. For a second I assumed it was an
accident, like she’d gotten a little too excited waving her pom-pom around, but then I felt her tug on my wrist. “Bianca.”

“Huh?” I turned my head to face her, but she wasn’t looking at me. Her gaze was focused on a group of people a few bleachers
down.

Three tall, pretty girls—juniors, I thought—sat in a row, leaning back on their palms, their legs crossed. Three perfect ponytails.
Three pairs of hip-hugger jeans. And then, up the aisle, walked the fourth. She was smaller and paler with short black hair.
Clearly a freshman. She was carrying several bottles of water and a few hot dogs in her arms, like she’d just come back from
the concession stand.

I watched as the smiling freshman passed out the bottles and food. Watched as each of the juniors took theirs from her. Watched
as they gave her less than appreciative looks. She took her seat at the end of their little row, and none of the older girls
seemed to talk to her, only to one another. I watched as she tried to hop into their conversations, her small mouth opening
and closing again as each of the juniors interrupted her, ignoring her entirely. Until, after a moment, one faced her, spoke
quickly, and looked back to her friends. The freshman stood up again and walked, still smiling, down the steps and back toward
the concession stand. Back to do their bidding.

When I faced Jessica again, her eyes were dark and… sad. Or maybe angry. It was hard to tell with her because she didn’t show
either of those emotions very often.

Either way I understood.

Jessica had been like that freshman once. That’s how Casey and I had found her. Two senior girls Casey cheered with—complete
cheerleading stereotypes: bitchy, blond, and bimbo-like—had been bragging about some dopey sophomore they kept as a “pet.”
And, more than once, Casey had watched them talk down to her.

“We’ve got to do something about it, B,” she’d said insistently. “We can’t just let them treat her that way.”

Casey thought she had to save everyone. Just like she’d saved me on the playground all those years ago. I was used to this.
Only this time, she wanted my help. Normally I would have agreed just because it was Casey asking. But Jessica Gaither was
a girl I had no desire to even meet, let alone save.

It wasn’t that I was heartless. I just didn’t want to know Jake
Gaither’s sister. Not after what he’d done to me. Not after the drama I’d been through the year before.

And I’d managed to stand my ground quite firmly… until that day in the cafeteria.

“God, Jessica, are you fucking brain-dead or something?”

Casey and I both turned around in our seats to see one of the skinny cheerleaders glaring down at Jessica, who was at least
a head shorter than she was. Or maybe that was just the way Jessica slumped, cowering.

“I asked you to do one simple thing,” the cheerleader spat, jabbing a finger down at the plate Jessica was holding. “One stupidly
simple thing. No fucking dressing on my salad. How hard is that?”

“That’s how the salad came, Mia,” Jessica mumbled, her cheeks bright pink. “I didn’t—”