The Duff: Designated Ugly Fat Friend (17 page)

“She’s sweet,” I said.

“She needs to break out of her shell.” Wesley sighed as he watched her hurry up to the front porch. Once she’d disappeared
into the big house (it was no almost-mansion, but clearly his
grandma had money, too), he looked back at me. “You can take the front seat if you want.”

I nodded and got out of the car. I opened the passenger’s door and eased myself into the seat Amy had just abandoned. Right
around the time I got my seat belt fastened, I heard Wesley let out a low groan. “What’s your problem?” I asked, looking up.
But I figured out the answer before he said a word.

A woman in her sixties had just come out of the house, and she was walking toward the car. Wesley’s grandma, no doubt. Wesley’s
grandma who
hated
him. No wonder he looked like he wanted to hide. I felt a little anxious as I watched the woman, who was very well dressed
in an expensive-looking salmon sweater and perfectly creased slacks, stride toward the car.

Wesley rolled down his window when she got close enough to hear him. “Hi, Grandma Rush. How are you?”

“Don’t play with me, Wesley Benjamin. I’m furious with you at the moment.” But she didn’t sound furious. Her voice was high-pitched
and soft. Silky. She sounded like the sweetest old woman ever, but her words didn’t fit the part.

“What did I do this time?” Wesley asked with a sigh. “Wear the wrong shoes? Or is it that the car isn’t clean enough today?
What mild imperfection are you going to throw at me this afternoon?”

“I would suggest you refrain from using that tone with me,” she said in the least intimidating voice imaginable. This would
have been funny if Wesley didn’t look so unhappy. “Live your life how you like, but leave little Amy out of it.”

“Amy? What did I do to Amy?”

“Honestly, Wesley,” his grandma said with a dramatic sigh.
“Why don’t you just let Amy take the bus? I don’t approve of you driving her around with your”—she paused—“
friends
in the backseat.” She looked across Wesley, her eyes locking with mine for an instant before shifting back to her grandson.
“I wouldn’t want them to be a negative influence on your sister.”

For a second I was confused. I was a straight-A student. I’d never been in any trouble in my life. Yet this woman thought
I would somehow damage her precious granddaughter.

And then it hit me.

She thought I was one of Wesley’s tramps. She thought I was a slutty chick he screwed around with. Wesley had told me that
his grandmother disapproved of his “lifestyle.” She hated the way he slept around. And seeing me in the backseat, she’d just
assumed I was another floozy he’d picked up.

I looked away, staring out my window to avoid seeing the expression of disgust on the old woman’s face. I felt hurt and angry.

Mostly because I knew it was true.

“That is none of your business,” Wesley growled. I’d never heard him sound so pissed before. “You have no right to disrespect
my friend, and it certainly isn’t your place to decide what I do with my own sister. You should know me well enough to know
that I wouldn’t do anything to harm her, despite what you’ve convinced her of. I’m not the monster you tell her I am, you
know.”

“I think I should drive Amy home from school after today.”

“Go ahead,” he said. “But you won’t keep me away from her. She’s my sister, and Mom and Dad will have a fit if I tell them
that you’re trying to break apart our family, Grandmother.”

“I’m afraid your family is already broken, my dear.”

There was a buzz, indicating that Wesley had rolled his window back up, and the engine revved. I watched as the old woman
walked back toward her house. Then, with squealing tires, Wesley backed out of the driveway and sped down the street. I glanced
over at him, worried and unsure of what to say. Luckily, he spoke first.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was coming outside. She shouldn’t have treated you that way.”

“It’s okay,” I said.

“No, it’s not. She’s a shrew.”

“I gathered that much.”

“And the worst part is that she’s right.”

“About what?” I asked.

“About our family,” he said. “She’s right. It is broken. It has been for a long time. Mom and Dad are always gone, and Grandma’s
managed to come between Amy and me.”

“Amy still loves you.”

“Maybe,” he murmured. “But she thinks less of me. Grandma has her convinced that I’m some no-good son of a bitch. I’ve seen
the way Amy looks at me now. She looks at me like she’s sad. Like she’s disappointed in me. She thinks I’m a horrible person.”

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have made the joke about you only doing nice things for… for benefits.”

“It’s fine.” The car was slowing down a little. “Honestly, you’re right. And Grandma is, too. I just never wanted Amy to see
me that way.”

I couldn’t resist the urge to reach over to the gearshift and put my hand over Wesley’s. His skin was warm and soft, and I
could
feel his pulse throbbing steadily beneath my palm. I forgot about my stupid car and my fight with Casey. I just wanted Wesley
to smile again. Even that cocky grin would have worked. I hated that he was so hurt by the possibility of losing his sister’s
respect. I wanted to comfort him. I cared about him.

Oh my God. I actually
cared?

Ten minutes later, the Porsche pulled into my driveway. I grabbed my stuff and reached for the door handle. “Thanks for the
ride.” A glance back over my shoulder showed me that Wesley was still sulky. Well, hell! Why not? “You can come inside if
you want. My dad isn’t home yet.”

Wesley grinned at me as he cut the engine. “You’re a dirty-minded little girl, Duffy. It would appear that you’re trying to
corrupt me.”

“You’re way past corruption,” I assured him.

We got out of the car and walked up the driveway together. I dug the keys out of my purse and unlocked the front door, allowing
Wesley to walk inside ahead of me. I watched his eyes move around the living room, and I couldn’t help feeling a little self-conscious.
He must have been comparing the place to his almost-mansion.
Obviously there was
no
comparison. I didn’t even live in a coatrack house like Jessica.

“I like it,” Wesley said. He looked back at me. “It’s cozy.”

“That’s nice for
small,
isn’t it?”

“No. I’m serious. It’s comfortable. My house is too big, even for four people, and since I’m the only one in it most of the
time… I like yours better. Cozy, like I said.”

“Thanks.” I was flattered. Not that I cared what he thought, but…

“Where’s your room?” he asked, winking at me.

“I knew that was coming. Now who’s corrupting whom?” I took him by the elbow and led him up the stairs. “Right here.” I gestured
to the first door. “I warn you, it’s about the size of a Cracker Jack box.”

He opened the door and peered inside. Then he looked back at me with that familiar smirk. “We’ll have enough room.”

“Enough room for what?”

Before I knew what was happening, Wesley had grabbed me by the hips and was pushing me into my bedroom. He kicked the door
shut behind us, spun me around, and slammed me against the wall, where he began kissing me so hard that I thought my head
might pop off. I was surprised, but once that wore off, I joined in. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back.
He tightened his grip on my waist and shoved my jeans down as low as they would go without unbuttoning. Then he slid his hands
under the elastic band of my underwear and rubbed his fingers along my hot, tingling skin.

After a few minutes, he pulled his mouth away from mine. “Bianca, can I ask you something?”

“No,” I said quickly. “I am
not
giving you a blow job. No fucking way. Just the thought of it is disgusting and degrading and… No. Never.”

“While that’s a little disappointing,” Wesley said, “it’s not what I was planning to ask you.”

“Oh.” That was a little embarrassing. “Well, then what?”

He took his hands out of my pants and placed them gently on my shoulders. “What are you escaping from now?”

“Excuse me?”

“I know your ex-boyfriend left town weeks ago,” he said. “But I can tell there is still something bothering you. As much as
I’d like to believe it’s just me—you can’t get enough of me—I know there’s more to it. What are you running from, Bianca?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie.”

“It’s none of your business, okay?” I pushed him away from me and yanked my jeans back up where they belonged. Automatically,
I knelt down by the pile of clean clothes at the foot of my bed and started folding them. “Let’s just talk about something
else.”

Wesley sat down on the floor beside me. “Fine,” he said. I could tell he was using that I’ll-be-patient-until-you-decide-to-tell-me
voice. The one you use with little kids. Too bad for him. That would never happen. He was just my sex toy, after all, not
my psychiatrist.

We talked about school while I folded my clothes. When they were all in neat stacks, I stood up and moved to sit on my bed.

“Aren’t you going to put them away?” Wesley asked.

“No,” I said.

“Then what was the point in folding them?”

I sighed and stretched out on my back, kicking off my Converse. “I don’t know,” I admitted, resting my head on the pillow
and staring at the ceiling. “I guess it’s a habit or whatever. I fold the clothes every night, and it makes me feel better.
It’s relaxing and it clears my head. Then the next morning, I dig through the stacks for what I’m gonna wear, and they all
get messed up, so I get to fold them again that night. Like a cycle.”

My bed creaked as Wesley climbed on top of me, wedging himself between my knees. “You know,” he said, looking down at me.
“That’s pretty strange. Neurotic, really.”

“Me?” I laughed. “You’re the one who’s trying to get in my pants again, like, ten seconds after a failed attempt at a heart-to-heart.
I’d say we’re both pretty fucked up.”

“Very true.”

We started kissing again. This time his hands moved up my shirt and unhooked my bra. There wasn’t much room in my little twin
bed, but Wesley still managed to get my top off and my jeans unzipped in record time. I started to undo his pants, too, but
he stopped me.

“No,” he said, moving my hand away. “You might not agree with blow jobs, but I have a feeling you’ll enjoy this.”

I opened my mouth to argue but shut it quickly as he started kissing down my stomach. His hands began moving my jeans and
underwear down toward my knees, one of them pausing briefly to squeeze the ticklish place above my hip, causing me to jerk
once
with a giggle. His lips moved lower and lower, and I was surprised by how much I was anticipating their final destination.

I’d heard Vikki and even Casey talk about their boyfriends going down on them and how good it felt. I’d heard, but I didn’t
entirely believe it. Jake and I had never done that, and I’d always just assumed it was gross and weird.

It was kind of weird at first, but then it wasn’t anymore. It felt… strange—but in a good way. Dirty, wrong,
amazing
. My fingers curled in the sheets, gripping the cloth tightly, and my knees shook. I was feeling things I’d never felt before.
“Ah,… oh,” I gasped with pleasure and surprise and—

“Oh, shit.”

Wesley jumped away from me. He’d heard the car door slam, too. That meant my dad was home.

I pulled up my underwear and fastened my jeans quickly, but it took me a minute to find my bra. Once I was completely dressed,
I flattened my hair and did my best not to look like a kid with her hand caught in the cookie jar.

“Should I leave?” Wesley asked.

“No,” I said breathlessly. I could tell he didn’t want to go back to the empty almost-mansion. “Stay a little while. It’s
fine. Dad won’t care. We just can’t… do
that
.”

“What else is there to do?”

So, like complete losers, we played Scrabble for the next four and a half hours. There was barely enough space in the floor
of my tiny room for someone as tall as Wesley to stretch out on his stomach, but he managed, and I sat across from him, the
board between us as we spelled out words like
quixotic
and
hegemony
. Not exactly
the most exciting Friday night, but I enjoyed it way more than I would have if I’d gone to the Nest or some lame party in
Oak Hill.

Around nine, after I’d kicked his ass three times—finally, something I could beat him at!—Wesley got to his feet. “I guess
I should go home,” he sighed.

“Okay.” I stood up. “I’ll walk you downstairs.”

I was in such a good mood that I’d managed to forget all about Dad… until we ran into him in the living room. I smelled the
whiskey before I saw the bottle on the coffee table, and my cheeks burned with embarrassment.
Please don’t notice
, I thought to myself as I walked Wesley toward the front door. I guess I should’ve started worrying when he hadn’t checked
upstairs to see whose Porsche was in our driveway. I mean, it wasn’t like having a car that shiny in front of our house was
a common occurrence. Maybe Wesley hadn’t thought about that either. It was a Friday night, after all. Dads could drink whiskey
on weekends… well, ones that weren’t recovering alcoholics, but Wesley didn’t know that side of the story. As long as my father
acted normal, this might slide by as nothing out of the ordinary.

But, of course, I never had that kind of good luck.

“Bumblebee!” Dad said, and I could tell he was already smashed. Great. Just fucking fantastic. He stumbled to his feet and
looked over at the front door, where Wesley and I stood. “Hey, Bumblebee. I didn’t even know you were home. Who’s this?” His
eyes narrowed at Wesley. “A boy?”

“Um, Dad, this is Wesley Rush,” I said, trying to stay calm. “He’s a friend of mine.”

“A ‘friend.’… I bet.” He grabbed the whiskey bottle before
taking a few unsteady steps toward us, his eyes squinting at Wesley. “Did you have fun up in my little girl’s bedroom, boy?”

“I sure did,” Wesley said, clearly trying to sound like one of those innocent oh-gee-whiz! boys from fifties TV shows. “We
played three games of Scrabble. Your daughter is really good with words, sir.”