The Duff: Designated Ugly Fat Friend (6 page)

I pushed my way past the loud jocks and smooching couples—PDAs are so disgusting—and headed for the science hallway. It took
only a few minutes to get to my locker, which, like the rest of the fugly school, was painted orange and blue. I spun my combination
and yanked open the door. Behind me, a group of cheerleaders ran through shouting, “Go Panthers! Panthers! Panthers!”

I’d just grabbed my coat and backpack and was about to close the door when
he
showed up. Honestly, I’d expected him sooner.

“Looks like we’re partners, Duffy.”

I kicked the locker shut with a little too much force. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Wesley grinned, running his fingers through his dark curls as he leaned against the locker next to mine. “So, your place or
mine?”

“What?”

“To do the assignment this weekend,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t be getting any ideas, Duffy. I’m not chasing you.
I’m just being a good student. Wesley Rush doesn’t chase girls. They—”

“Chase you. Yeah, I know.” I pulled my coat on over my T-shirt. “If we have to do this, I was thinking we’d—”

“Wesley!” A skinny brunette that I didn’t recognize (she looked like a freshman) threw herself at him right in front of me.
She stared up at Wesley with big sappy eyes. “Will you dance with me at Homecoming tonight?”

“Of course, Meghan,” he said, running his hand down her back. He was tall enough to look down her shirt without any problem.
Perverted bastard. “I’ll save a dance just for you, okay?”

“Really?”

“Would I lie?”

“Oh, thanks, Wesley!” He bent down, and she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before scampering off, not looking at me once.

Wesley turned his attention back to me. “You were saying?”

Through gritted teeth, I growled, “
I was thinking that we’d meet at my place
.”

“What’s wrong with my house?” he asked. “Are you afraid it’s haunted, Duffy?”

“Of course not. I’d just prefer to work at my house. God knows what kind of diseases I could get just by stepping foot in
your bedroom.” I shook my head. “So, my house, okay? Tomorrow afternoon at, like, three. Call before you show up.”

I didn’t give him a chance to respond. If he had a problem with it, I’d write the paper myself. So, purposely forgetting to
say good-bye, I walked off, darting around the groups of gossiping girls and hurrying toward the cafeteria.

I found Casey and Jessica waiting for me by the old vending machines.

“I don’t get it, Case,” Jessica was saying. She slipped a dollar into the only working machine and waited for her Sunkist
to drop into the slot at the bottom. “Don’t you have to stay and cheer at the game?”

“Nope. I told the girls that I couldn’t make it tonight, so one of
our alternates, this cute little freshman, is taking my place. She’s been wanting to cheer all year, and she’s got skills,
but there just hasn’t been a place for her until now. They’ll be fine without me.”

I was standing right next to them before Jessica spotted me. “There’s Bianca! Let’s get the heck out of here! Woohoo! Girls’
Night In!”

Casey rolled her eyes.

Jessica pushed open the blue door that led to the parking lot, smiling from ear to ear, and said, “You guys are the best.
Like,
really
the best. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Cry into your pillow every single night,” Casey said.

“Think your other friends were ‘really the best,’ ” I offered, returning her smile. There was no fucking way I was going to
let Wesley Rush drag me down. No way! This was Girls’ Night In, and it wasn’t going to be screwed up by an asshole like him.
“You didn’t forget that ice cream promise, did you, Jessica?”

“I remember. Chocolate swirl.”

We crossed the parking lot and climbed into my car. Instantly, Jessica wrapped herself in the old blanket, and Casey, shivering
visibly, glowered at her with envy as she pulled on her seat belt. With a quick stomp on the gas, we zoomed out of the student
lot and hit the highway, speeding away from Hamilton High like prisoners running from their cells… which was sort of what
we were.

“I can’t believe you weren’t nominated for Homecoming Queen this time, Casey,” Jessica said from the backseat. “I was sure
you would be.”

“Nah. I got voted queen at Football Homecoming. There’s a rule about people winning more than once in the same year. I
wasn’t eligible to be nominated this time. It’s gonna be Vikki or Angela, I’m sure.”

“Do you think they’ll fight if one of them wins?” Jessica sounded worried.

“Doubt it,” Casey said. “Angela couldn’t care less about that kind of shit. Vikki is the competitive one…. I really was looking
forward to seeing the drama tonight, though. Did I tell you that Vikki is thinking of meeting up with Wesley Rush, too?”

“No!” Jessica and I cried in unison.

“Yep,” Casey said, nodding. “I guess she’s really trying to make her boyfriend jealous or something. She’s dating a junior,
taking an OHH kid to our dance, and telling everyone she has the hots for Wesley. She claims they fooled around after a party
recently—I guess her boyfriend doesn’t know about that yet—and she’s thinking of doing it again. She said it was amazing.”

“He slept with her?” Jessica gasped.

“He sleeps with everyone,” I said, turning the car onto 5th Street. “If it has a vagina, he’ll screw it.”

“Ew! Bianca!” Jessica yelped. “Don’t say the… the
V
word.”

“Vagina, vagina, vagina,” Casey said flatly. “Get over it, Jess. You have one. You can call it what it is.”

Jessica’s cheeks were the color of tomatoes. “There’s no reason to talk about
it
. It’s crude and… personal.”

Casey ignored her and said to me, “He might be a player, but he’s pretty damn sexy. Even you have to admit that, B. I bet
he’s awesome in bed. I mean, you made out with him. Was he amazing? Can you really blame Vikki for wanting to hook up with
him?”

“You made out with Wesley?” Jessica croaked, choking on her own excitement. “What? When? Why didn’t you tell me?”

I shot a glare at Casey.

“She’s embarrassed,” Casey explained, fluffing the back of her short pixie cut. “Which is dumb because I bet she had a blast
kissing him.”

“I did not have a blast,” I said.

“Was he a good kisser?” Jessica asked. “Tell me, tell me, tell me! I really want to know.”

“Yes, if you must know, he was. But that doesn’t make it any less disgusting.”

“But,” Casey interjected, “with your experience, answer my last question. Can you really blame Vikki for wanting to hook up
with him?”

“I don’t have to.” I switched on my turn signal. “She’ll blame herself when she gets a venereal disease… or when her boyfriend
finds out about it. Whichever comes first.”

“And this is exactly why I wanted to go to the dance,” Casey sighed. “We could have witnessed it all firsthand… like Hamilton’s
own episode of
Gossip Girl
. Vikki’s boyfriend would be getting pissed and plotting revenge as his unfaithful girlfriend screws the hottest guy in school,
and Bianca, hiding her secret love for Wesley, would mope and pretend to hate him while silently pining for his super-sexy-hot
kiss again.”

My jaw dropped open. “I would
not
be pining for anything of the sort!”

Jessica snorted with laughter from the backseat, pulling her
ponytail in front of her mouth to hide a grin when I scowled at her in the rearview.

“Oh well,” Casey sighed. “I’m sure we’ll hear all about the drama on Monday.”

“Or tomorrow if the story is good enough,” Jessica said. “Angela and Jeanine never keep gossip to themselves. If it gets crazy,
you know they’ll call us and tell us what we missed. I’m sure that they will.” She smiled. “I hope they give lots of details.
I can’t believe I’m missing my last Homecoming.”

“At least you’re not missing it alone, Jess.”

A few seconds after pulling onto Holbrooke Lane, I turned into the Gaithers’ driveway. Yanking the keys from the ignition,
I said, “Let the Girls’ Night In officially begin.”

“Woohoo!” Jessica jumped out of the backseat and practically danced up to her front porch. She pushed open the door, and Casey
and I followed her inside, shaking our heads with amusement.

I slid off my jacket and hung it on the hook just inside the door. Jessica lived in a coatrack house—clean, neat, shoes off
at the front door… you know the type. Her parents were super-picky about order. Casey did the same and said, “I wish my mom
could keep a house this nice. Or she could at least hire a maid or whatever. Our place looks like shit.”

Mine didn’t look that great either. My mom had never been much of a clean freak, and Dad only believed in cleaning once a
year, during the spring. Other than laundry, dishes, and the occasional dust-and-vacuum job (usually all my doing), not much
housework got done in the Piper home.

“What time will your parents get here, Jessica?” I asked.

“Mom will be home at five-thirty, and Dad should get here a little after six.” She was waiting for us at the foot of the stairs,
ready to run up to her bedroom as soon as we joined her. “Dad started seeing a new patient today, though, so he might be a
little late.”

Mr. Gaither was a therapist. More than once, Casey had threatened to ask him if he’d take me as a patient for free. See if
he’d help work out my “issues.” Not that I had issues. But Casey said my cynicism was the result of some kind of internal
struggle. I said it was just me being intelligent. And Jessica… well, Jessica didn’t say anything. Even though it was only
ever discussed teasingly, she always got a little awkward when the subject came up. With all the psychobabble she heard from
her dad, she probably
did
think my constant negativity was part of an internal struggle.

Jessica
hated
negativity. Hated it so much, in fact, that she wouldn’t even say she hated it. That would have been too negative.

“Hurry, hurry! Are you guys ready or what?”

“Let’s get this party started!” Casey whooped, running past Jessica and speeding up the stairs.

Jessica giggled like a maniac as she made an effort to catch up with Casey, but I lagged behind, following them up the stairs
at a regular walking pace. Once I reached the landing, I could hear my friends laughing and talking in the bedroom at the
end of the hall, but I didn’t follow their voices. Something else caught my attention first.

The door to the first bedroom, the one on the left, was wide open. My brain told me to walk right past, but my feet weren’t
listening. I stood in the open doorway, willing my eyes to look away. My body just didn’t want to cooperate.

Perfectly made bed with the battered, navy blue comforter. Superhero posters covering every inch of wall. Black light over
the headboard. The room was almost exactly the way I’d remembered it, only there were no dirty clothes on the floor. The open
closet looked empty, and the Spider-Man calendar, which used to hang over the computer desk, had been taken down. But the
room still seemed warm, as if he were still there. As if I were still fourteen.

“Jake, I don’t understand. Who was that girl?”

“No one. Don’t worry about it. She doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“But…”

“Shh…. It’s not a big deal.”

“I love you, Jake. Don’t lie to me, okay?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Promise?”

“Of course. Do you really think I’d hurt you, Bi—”

“Bianca! Where the hell did you go?”

Casey’s voice made me jump. Quickly, I stepped out of the bedroom and shut the door, knowing that I couldn’t walk past it
every time I needed to pee that night. “Coming!” I managed to keep my voice normal. “God! Be patient for once in your life.”

Then, with a forced smile, I went to watch a movie with my friends.

After thinking about it for a while, I decided that there were a lot of benefits to being the Duff.

Benefit one: no point in worrying about your hair or makeup.

Benefit two: no pressure to act cool—you’re not the one being watched.

Benefit three: no boy drama.

I figured out benefit three while we were watching
Atonement
in Jessica’s bedroom. In the movie, poor Keira Knightley has to go through all of this damn tragedy with James McAvoy, but
if she’d been unattractive, he never would have looked at her. She wouldn’t have gotten her heart broken. After all, everybody
knows the “it’s better to have loved and lost…” spiel is a load of crap.

The theory applies to a lot of movies, too. Think about it. If Kate Winslet had been the Duff, Leonardo DiCaprio wouldn’t
have been after her in
Titanic,
and that could have saved all of us
a lot of tears. If Nicole Kidman had been ugly in
Cold Mountain,
she wouldn’t have had to worry about Jude Law when he went off to war. The list goes on forever.

I watched my friends go through boy drama all the time. Usually, the relationships ended with them crying (Jessica) or screaming
(Casey). I’d only had my heart broken once, but that was more than enough. So really, watching
Atonement
with my friends made me realize how thankful I should have been to be the Duff. Pretty screwed up, right?

Unfortunately, being the Duff didn’t save me from experiencing family drama.

I got home at around one-thirty the next afternoon. I was still recovering from the sleepover—where no one slept—and I could
barely keep my eyes open. The sight of my house in a state of complete devastation woke me right up, though. Broken glass
sparkled on the living room floor, the coffee table was upside down, like it’d been kicked over, and—it took me a minute to
register this—beer bottles were scattered around the room. For a second I stood frozen in the door, worried that there’d been
a burglary. Then I heard Dad’s heavy snoring in his bedroom down the hall, and I knew the truth was worse.

We didn’t live in a coatrack home, so it was perfectly acceptable to keep your shoes on when you walked on the carpet. Today
it was pretty much required. Glass, which I figured out had come from several broken picture frames, crunched under my feet
as I made my way to the kitchen to get a trash bag—one would be necessary to clean up this chaos.