The DUFF: Designated Ugly Fat Friend

  “Freaks,” I muttered, shaking my head and fighting a small giggle. I took a deep breath and pulled open the door. “Hey, Toby.”

  He stood on my front porch, looking as cute as always in his navy blazer and khaki pants. He looked like a Kennedy. With a bowl cut. He gave me a big boyish smile that showed off all his ivory teeth. “Hi,” he said, shifting to stand in front of me. He’d been waiting off to one side of the door. “Sorry. I decided to wait. I heard giggling.”

  “Oh,” I glanced over my shoulder. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

  “Wow. You look beautiful, Bianca.”

  “No, I don’t,” I said, totally embarrassed. No guy but my dad had ever said that to me before.

  “Of course you do,” he said. “Why would I lie?”

  “I don’t know.” Oh, wow, I was lame. Why couldn’t I just take a compliment? What if I sent him running before we even started the date? God, that would be shitty. I cleared my throat and tried to look like I wasn’t inwardly slapping myself.

  “So are you ready to go?” Toby asked.

  “Yeah.”

  I stepped outside and shut the door behind me. Toby took my arm and led me down the sidewalk to his silver Taurus. He even opened the passenger’s door for me, like boys do in those old movies. Very classy. I couldn’t help wondering, again, why on earth he was interested in me. He put the key in the ignition and turned to smile at me. His smile was definitely his best feature. So I smiled back, feeling the little butterflies flutter around in the pit of my stomach.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” he said.

  “Starved,” I lied, knowing very well that I was way too nervous to eat.

  By the time we left Giovanni’s, a tiny Italian restaurant in Oak Hill, I’d become a little more comfortable. My nerves were dying down, and I’d even managed to eat a small bowl of meatless spaghetti. We were laughing and talking, and I was enjoying myself so much that I didn’t want the date to be over when Toby paid the bill. Lucky for me, he felt the same way.

  “You know,” he said as the bells on the door jingled behind us. “It’s only nine-thirty. I don’t have to take you home yet… unless you want to go home, which is fine, of course.”

  “No,” I said. “I’m not in a hurry to go home. But what do you want to do?”

  “Well, we can walk,” Toby suggested. He gestured down the sidewalk that ran alongside the busy street. “It’s not very exciting, but we can window-shop or talk or—”

  I smiled at him. “Walking sounds fun.”

  “Wonderful.”

  He looped his arm in mine, and we began to stroll down the well-lit sidewalk. We’d passed a couple small shops before either of us spoke. Thank God he opened his mouth first because, even though I wasn’t that nervous anymore, I had no clue what I could say that wouldn’t make me sound like a complete goofball.

  “Well, since you know all about my college situation, I want to know about yours. Have you applied anywhere yet?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I’ve applied to a couple, but I haven’t picked one yet. I guess I’m kind of procrastinating.”

  “Do you know what you’ll major in?”

  “Probably journalism,” I said. “I don’t know, though. I’ve always wanted to be a reporter for the New York Times. So I applied to a couple of schools in Manhattan.”

  “The Big Apple,” he said, nodding. “Ambitious.”

  “Yeah, well, watch me end up like that girl in The Devil Wears Prada,” I said. “A complete loser working at some stupid fashion magazine when all I really want to do is write about world events or interview revolutionary congressmen… like you’ll be.”

  He beamed at me. “Oh, you wouldn’t be a complete loser.”

  “Whatever,” I laughed. “Can you imagine me writing about fashion? An industry where size fours are considered fat? No way. I’d wind up committing suicide.”

  “Something tells me you’d be good at anything you tried,” he said.

  “Something tells me you’re kissing my ass a little bit there, Toby.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe, but not much. You’re pretty great, Bianca. You tell it like it is, you don’t seem like you’re afraid to be yourself, and you’re a Democrat. That makes you awesome in my book.”

  Okay, so I blushed. Can you blame me?

  “Thank you, Toby.”

  “There’s nothing to thank me for.”

  Wow. Was he perfect or what? Cute, polite, funny… and he liked me for some unknown reason. It was like we were made for each other. Like he had the puzzle piece that fit with mine. Could I get any luckier?

  A cold March breeze was blowing, and I began regretting that I’d let Casey and Jessica dress me. They’d never been seasonably sensible when it came to clothing. My bare legs were freezing (they hadn’t let me wear panty hose), and the thin material of my blouse definitely didn’t shield me from the wind. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself in an effort to warm up.

  “Oh, here,” Toby said. He pulled off his blazer, just like boys are supposed to do, and held it out for me. “You should have told me you were cold.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Don’t be silly.” He helped me slide into the sleeves. “Honestly, I’d rather not be dating a Popsicle.”

  Dating? I mean, this was a date, but were we dating now? I’d never dated anyone, so I wasn’t really sure. Either way, hearing him say that made me very happy… and strangely nervous at the same time.

  Toby turned me around and adjusted the blazer around my neck and shoulders.

  “Thanks,” I murmured.

  We were standing in front of an old antiques store, its windows illuminated by the light of fancy, old-fashioned lamps, like the ones my grandpa had in his living room. The glow spilled onto Toby’s angular face, glinting off the rims of his glasses and highlighting his almond-shaped eyes… which were staring down at me.

  His fingers still lingered on the collar of the blazer. Then his hand slid up from my shoulder to my jaw. His thumb grazed my cheek, stroking it over and over again. He leaned toward me slowly, giving me plenty of time to stop him if I wanted to. Yeah, right! As if I would dream of it.

  And he kissed me. Not a make-out kiss, but not just a peck either. It was a real kiss. Gentle and sweet and long. The kind of kiss I’d wanted to share with Toby Tucker since I was fifteen years old, and it felt exactly like I’d always imagined it would. His lips were soft and warm, and the way they moved against mine made the butterflies in my belly go berserk.

  Okay. I know, I know. I think PDA is gross and immature, but come on. I was a little too distracted to care who might be watching. So, yeah, I put my usual values aside for a second and wrapped my arms around his neck. I mean, I could always go back to my crusade against public make-outs in the morning.

  I slipped into the house around eleven o’clock that night and found Dad waiting for me on the sofa. He smiled at me and muted the TV. “Hey, Bumblebee.”

  “Hi, Dad.” I shut and locked the front door. “How was your meeting?”

  “Strange,” Dad admitted. “It’s weird being back again… but I’ll get used to it. What about you? How was your date?”

  “Amazing,” I sighed. God, I couldn’t stop smiling. Dad was probably going to think I’d had a lobotomy or something.

  “That’s good,” Dad said. “Tell me again, who did you go out with? Sorry. I can’t remember his name.”

  “Toby Tucker.”

  “Tucker?” Dad repeated. “You mean Chaz Tucker’s son? Oh, that’s great, Bumblebee. Chaz is a good guy. He’s the technology director for a company downtown, so he comes into the store all the time. Wonderful family. I’m glad to hear his son’s a nice kid, too.”

  “He is,” I said.

  The sound of shuffling came from upstairs, and we both glanced up at the ceiling. “Oh.” Dad shook his head and looked back at me. “I almost forgot about them. They’ve been suspiciously quiet all night.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I should get up
there before Casey has an aneurysm. See you in the morning, Dad.”

  “Okay,” Dad said. He reached for the remote and turned up the volume on the television. “Good night, Bumblebee.”

  I’d danced halfway up the stairs before Dad called out to me again. “Hey, Bumblebee?”

  I paused and leaned against the banister, looking down at the living room. “Yeah?”

  “Whatever happened to Wesley?”

  I froze, feeling myself choke a little. “W-What?”

  “Your friend. The one who, um… was with you that night.” He looked up at me from the couch, readjusting his glasses. “You don’t talk about him much.”

  “We don’t hang out anymore,” I told him, using that voice that made it clear he shouldn’t ask questions. All teenage girls know that voice and use it on their fathers frequently. Usually, the unspoken order is followed. My father loved me, but he knew better than to delve into the drama of my high school experience.

  Smart Dad.

  “Oh… I was just wondering.”

  “Bianca!” My bedroom door flew open, and Jessica, dressed in neon orange pajamas, leapt out of my room. She sprinted halfway down the stairs and grabbed me by the arm. “Stop making us wait! Come tell us everything.”

  The way Jessica was beaming almost pushed Dad’s mention of Wesley from my mind.

  Almost.

  “Goodnight, Mr. Piper!” Jessica yelled as she dragged me to my bedroom.

  After a few steps, my feet picked up again and I reminded myself that I’d just had the best date ever with the guy of my dreams. I felt myself succumbing to the giddy joy my best friends expressed as soon as I walked into the room. Squealing, jumping, cheering…

  I had the right to be happy about this. Even we cynics deserved a night off once in a while, right?

  22

  My good mood lasted all the way through to Monday afternoon. I mean, what was there to be irritated about? Nothing. Things were back to normal at home. My friends hadn’t dragged me to the Nest in weeks. Oh yeah, and I’d just gone on a date with the perfect boy. Who could complain?

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy,” Casey observed as we pulled out of the student parking lot. Her voice was full of pep, an unfortunate side effect of cheerleading practice, and she bounced up and down in her seat. “It’s so refreshing!”

  “God, Casey, you make me sound suicidal or something.”

  “It’s not that,” she said. “It’s just that you haven’t been as bitter as usual lately. It’s a nice change.”

  “I’m not bitter.”

  “You are so.” She reached over and patted my knee. “But that’s okay, B. It’s just part of your personality. We accept it. But you aren’t bitter now, and that’s freaking awesome. Don’t take it as an insult.”

  “Whatever.” But I broke into a smile.

  “See there!” Casey cried. “You’re grinning. You can’t stop, can you? Like I said, you’re happier than I’ve ever seen you.”

  “Okay, maybe you’re kind of right,” I admitted. It was sort of true. I had Casey and Jessica back. Things were normal again with Dad. Why complain?

  “I always am.” She leaned forward and changed the radio to some shitty Top 40 station. “So, what’s up with you and Toby? Anything gossip-worthy?”

  “Not really. He’s coming over this afternoon.”

  “Ooh!” She sat back in her seat and winked at me. “Sounds gossip-worthy to me. You’ve picked up some extra-large condoms, right?”

  “Shut up,” I said. “It’s not that kind of thing, and you know it. He’s just coming over to work on our editorials for AP government. It’s—”

  I was cut off when my cell phone, which was lying in the cup holder, started vibrating and playing loud music. My fingers instantly clinched around the steering wheel. I knew who I’d set that ringtone for, and those few chords were all it took to derail my entire afternoon.

  “Britney Spears? You have ‘Womanizer’ as a ringtone, seriously? OMG, B, that song is so, like, two thousand eight,” Casey laughed.

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Aren’t you gonna answer it?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t wanna talk to him.”

  “Who?”

  I didn’t respond, so Casey picked up my cell phone and checked the ID. I heard her let out a knowing sigh. A few seconds later, the music stopped playing, but I couldn’t force my body to relax again. I felt stiff and anxious, and it didn’t help that Casey had her eyes glued on me.

  “You haven’t talked to him?”

  “No,” I muttered.

  “Since the day I picked you up from his house?”

  “Mm-mm.”

  “Oh, B,” she sighed.

  The car became quiet—well, except for the annoying sound of an untalented pop singer on the radio, but she was too busy whining about her cheating boyfriend to care about my issues.

  “What do you think he wants?” Casey asked when the song ended. She sounded a little bitter.

  “Knowing Wesley… probably a booty call,” I grumbled. “It’s never anything more than that.”

  “Well, then, it’s a good thing you didn’t answer.” She tossed my phone back into the cup holder and folded her arms over her chest. “Because he doesn’t deserve you, B. And you’re with Toby now, and he’s perfect for you and treats you the way you should be treated… unlike the douche bag.”

  Part of me wanted to stop her. To defend Wesley. He hadn’t really treated me badly. I mean, yeah, he’d called me Duffy to no end, which was annoying and hurtful, but overall, Wesley had been good to me.

  I didn’t tell Casey this, though. I didn’t say anything at all. She didn’t know about that last night with Wesley, how he had been my friend for about twelve solid hours. She didn’t know about Dad’s relapse, or the way Wesley had stood up for me. Those were things I could never tell her.

  She was getting pissed at him only because she was scared. Scared I’d run back to him and forget about her and Jessica again. Defending Wesley wouldn’t have helped put that worry to rest.

  Toby had gone from geek to hero in Casey’s mind in a matter of days. Simply because he hadn’t taken me from her. I wasn’t spending every afternoon with him the way I had with Wesley. I didn’t really want to. Sometimes that scared me, but I figured that that was normal. This was a healthy, nonescapist relationship, unlike what I’d had with Wesley. And at the moment, I was really happy to be spending some time with my friends.

  I turned into Casey’s driveway and hit the automatic unlock button on my door. “Don’t worry about me. You’re right. Toby is awesome, and he’s made it so much easier to move on. I already have. Things are going well for me, so don’t worry.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Good. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, B.”

  “Bye.”

  She climbed out of the car, and I drove away, wondering whether I’d just lied to her. Honestly, I wasn’t sure.

  On the way home, Wesley called again.

  I ignored him.

  Because things were going well for me.

  Because I was moving on.

  Because talking on a cell phone and driving at the same time just isn’t safe.

  I pushed Wesley out of my mind when I saw Toby’s car already parked in my driveway. Dad wasn’t home from work yet, so he sat on the front porch steps with a book. The sun glinted off the rims of his glasses, making them look extra sparkly. Like he was a trophy.

  I got out of the car and hurried up the sidewalk toward him. “Hey,” I said. “Sorry. I had to take Casey home.”

  He looked up at me with a smile.

  Not a crooked grin…

  I had to shake myself. I wasn’t going to think about Wesley. I wasn’t going to let myself miss him. Not when I had Toby. Sweet, normal, sparkly-smiling Toby.

  “It’s fine,” he said. “I’m enjoying the weather. It’s so unpredictable in the spring.” He stu
ck his bookmark in the pages of his novel. “It’s nice to have a little bit of sunlight.”

  “Brontë?” I asked, seeing the cover of his book. “Wuthering Heights? Isn’t that a little girly, Toby?”

  “Have you read it?”

  “Well, no,” I admitted. “I’ve read Jane Eyre, which was definitely full of early feminism. I’m not saying that’s a problem. Personally, I’m a total feminist, but it’s a little sketchy for a teenage boy.”

  Toby shook his head. “Jane Eyre is Charlotte Brontë. Wuthering Heights is Emily. The sisters are very, very different. Yes, Wuthering Heights is usually considered a love story, but I disagree with that. It’s almost a ghost story, and there’s more hate than romance. Every character is atrocious and spoiled and selfish…. It’s kind of like watching an episode of Gossip Girl in the eighteen hundreds. Except, of course, much less ridiculous.”

  “Interesting,” I muttered, chagrined that I secretly watched Gossip Girl on a regular basis.

  “It isn’t a favorite of most boys my age, I guess,” he said. “But it’s a page-turner. You should read it.”

  “I might.”

  “You should.”

  I smiled and shook my head. “Are you ready to go in or what?”

  “Absolutely.” He snapped the book shut and got to his feet. “Lead the way.”

  I unlocked the door and let him walk inside ahead of me, where he immediately took his shoes off. Not that we live like pigs or anything, but no one ever does that in our house. I couldn’t help being impressed.

  “Where will we be working?” he asked.

  I realized suddenly that I was watching him and looked away. “Oh,” I said casually. “Um… my room? Is that okay?” God, I hope he doesn’t think I’m a stalker freak for staring at him like that.

  “If it doesn’t bother you,” Toby said.

  “No, it’s cool. Come on.”

  He followed me up the stairs. When we reached my bedroom, I pushed the door open a crack, checking quickly for embarrassing items (bras, panties, et cetera) that might be lying on the floor. Sure the coast was clear—and praying I hadn’t been too obvious—I swung the door the rest of the way open and gestured for Toby to walk inside.