The Duff: Designated Ugly Fat Friend (15 page)

And it was. Mrs. Romali passed out a worksheet that kept us all busy until the end of the block. By the time the bell rang,
I was really starting to question my affection for Spanish class, and I wasn’t alone.

“Is it too late to switch classes for the semester?” Angela asked Jessica and me when we walked out of the classroom.

“About a month too late,” I told her.

“Damn it.”

“Bye, Bianca!” Jessica called as they ran toward their chemistry class. “See you at lunch!”

I waved and started walking down the other hallway. Today, though, I was actually looking forward to AP government. Toby Tucker
had asked me to sit near him. I wouldn’t be the lonely girl in the back of the room anymore. I’d never thought that would
change or that I would be so happy when it did. What can I say? The self-imposed isolation was finally beginning to bug me.

But Toby wasn’t there. His seat was completely, one hundred percent empty when I walked into the classroom (for once I was
way early, the way Mr. Chaucer liked), and my heart kind of sank a little bit… or, you know, a lot. At least I didn’t have
to sit alone.
Jeanine practically dragged me to the front of the room, apparently lost without Toby to keep her entertained. She must have
been disappointed that I wasn’t nearly as clever with political quips as her usual companion. All I could offer were a few
sarcastic statements about the usefulness of the judicial system. God, I missed Toby.

So did Mr. Chaucer. He seemed to get bored with his own uninterrupted lecture, and he dismissed the class only halfheartedly
when the bell rang, his lower lip sticking out like a toddler’s.

And they say teachers don’t play favorites.

I was relieved to be out of that classroom, which seemed cold without Toby’s enlightening commentaries, until I got into the
cafeteria.

The lunch table wasn’t exactly a warm, loving environment that afternoon. Casey glared at me all through lunch, obviously
pissed that I’d hung up on her the night before. But apparently not pissed enough to skip out on meeting Jessica and me after
school to hear my excuses.

I’d promised to explain things after class. Of course, that meant the second the last bell sounded, they dragged me into an
empty bathroom and started making demands like “Spill!” and “Out with it!” before I could take a single freaking breath.

I groaned and slid down the cold concrete wall to land in a sitting position on the floor. I hugged my knees loosely and said,
“Okay, okay. So Mom showed up here yesterday afternoon.”

“Is she back from her trip?” Jessica asked.

“Not exactly. She just came to talk to me. She and Dad are getting a divorce.”

Jessica clapped a hand over her mouth in shock, and Casey
knelt down beside me, taking my hand. “You okay, B?” she asked, abandoning her anger toward me.

“I’m fine,” I said. I knew they’d be more upset about it than I was. Casey, whose parents had gone through a long, bitter
divorce, and Jessica, who could never imagine something so upsetting and unhappy.

“Is that why you skipped out on Valentine’s Day last night?” Jessica asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Sorry. I just… didn’t really feel like celebrating.”

“You should have called,” Casey said. “Or said something to me on the phone last night. I would have listened, you know.”

“I know. But really, I’m fine. It was just a matter of time. I’ve been expecting it for a while now.” I shrugged. “And, honestly,
it doesn’t really bother me. I mean, you know Mom hasn’t been around much in the past few years, so it really won’t change
that much. But she’s only in town a few days, which is why I need to be going right now.” I stood up.

“Where are you going?” Casey asked.

“I told Mom we’d see a movie together this afternoon.” I grabbed my backpack and glanced at my reflection in the mirror. “Sorry.
I know you guys want to talk about it or whatever, but Mom’s leaving at the end of the week, so…”

“You sure you’re okay?” Casey asked skeptically.

I hesitated, my hand raised to brush some auburn waves from my face. I could have told them then. I could have told them about
Dad and the beer bottles and how confused I was. They were my best friends, after all. They cared about me.

But if I ratted Dad out, what would happen? What if word spread? What would people think of him then? I couldn’t handle that.
Even the thought of my best friends judging him made me uncomfortable. He was my dad, after all. And this was a small thing.
He was just going through a rough patch. Nothing to worry about.

“Positive,” I said, turning away from the mirror with a forced smile. “But I should get going. I don’t want Mom to wait.”

“Have fun,” Jessica murmured, her eyes still wide with innocent shock. Maybe I should have given her the news a little more
gently.

I was almost out the bathroom door when Casey called after me. “Hey, B, wait a sec.”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s go out this weekend,” she said. “To make up for not hanging out on Valentine’s Day. We could all go to the Nest. A
Girls’ Night Out. It’ll be fun. We’ll even buy you ice cream.”

“Sure. I’ll call you later, but I really have to go.”

With a wave, I ran out of the bathroom. Yeah, I did want to see a movie with Mom, but that wasn’t the reason for my hurry.
There was something else I had to do first.

Once I made it to my car, I wasted no time in pulling out my cell phone. I dialed the familiar number and waited for the professional
male voice to answer.

“You’ve reached Tech Plus. This is Ricky. How may I assist you?”

I wanted to talk to Dad. To make sure he was okay and let him know we’d get through this. Just, you know, be supportive. I
knew
he needed it. After the night he’d had, I knew he must be having a horrible day at work. Besides, if I was dealing with the
news so well, I could at least help pull him through it. “Good afternoon, Ricky,” I said. “Is Mike Piper available?”

“I’m afraid not. Mr. Piper didn’t come in today.”

I sat there, stunned for a minute, knowing what that meant. But I shook off the worries creeping into my stomach. He was just
having a bad hangover after a rough night. Probably more than enough to remind him why he’d quit drinking in the first place.
He’d be fine tomorrow.

I hoped.

“Thank you, anyway,” I said. “Have a nice day.”

I hung up the phone and started to dial another number. This time a woman with a clear, chirpy voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Mom.” I forced myself to sound at least semi-upbeat. If I was too happy, she’d know something was up. After all, I just
wasn’t the peppy type. “Still want to go see a movie tonight?”

“Oh, hi, Bianca!” Mom exclaimed. “Yeah, that sounds great. Listen, honey, have you talked to your dad today? Is he okay? He
just got so upset last night, and he was crying when I left.” By the way she spoke, I could tell she had no idea he’d relapsed,
that he’d touched a bottle. If she did, her voice would have been much more strained, full of concern. Maybe even on the verge
of panic. But she sounded calm. Only slightly worried. The fact that she was so blind really bothered me. I mean, he’d quit
drinking almost eighteen years ago, but still. The thought should have crossed her mind.

But I didn’t want to be the one to break the news to her.

“He’s fine. I just got off the phone with him a second ago. He’s going to be at work late tonight, so a movie works great
for me.”

“Oh, okay. I’m glad to hear that,” Mom said. “What do you want to see? I don’t even know what’s in theaters right now.”

“Me neither, but I was thinking a comedy would be good.”

Dad wasn’t better the next day.

Or the day after that.

He went back to work at the end of the week, but I was sure I wasn’t the only one who noticed the hangovers he took with him.
It seemed like there was always beer or whiskey lying around the house now. He was always passed out on the couch or locked
in his room. And he never mentioned it to me. As if I didn’t notice. Was I supposed to ignore it? Pretend this wasn’t a problem?

I wanted to say something. I wanted to tell him to stop. To tell him he was making a huge mistake. But how? How does a seventeen-year-old
convince her father that she knows what’s best? If I tried to stop him, he might get defensive. He might think I’d abandoned
him, too. He might get angry with me.

Since Dad had stopped drinking before I was born, I didn’t really know much about the whole sobriety process. I knew that
he’d had a sponsor once. Some tall, balding man from Oak Hill that Mom had always sent Christmas cards to when I was a kid.
Dad didn’t talk about him anymore, and I was sure that, even if I tried, I wouldn’t have been able to locate his number. If
I had, what would I say? How did that whole sponsor thing even work?

I felt powerless and useless and, more than anything, ashamed. I knew that, with Mom gone, it was my job to do something.
I just didn’t have a clue what that something was.

So in the weeks after Mom left for Tennessee, I spent most of my time at home avoiding Dad. I’d never really seen him drunk
in my life, so I didn’t know what to expect. All I had to go on were the little bits of conversations I’d overheard as a kid.
He’d been an angry person once. He had a temper. I couldn’t imagine this coming from my father, but I didn’t want to start
anytime soon. So I stayed in my bedroom, and he stayed in his.

I just kept telling myself it would pass. In the meantime, I’d keep his little secret to myself. Lucky for me, Mom was gullible
enough to believe me whenever I told her everything was fine over the phone, despite my less than awesome acting abilities.

Honestly, I thought hiding my secrets from Casey would be the hardest. She could always see right through me, after all. I
tried avoiding her at first, ignoring her phone calls and making up excuses when she asked me to hang out. I never called
her about that Girls’ Night Out she’d suggested in the bathroom. I was sure she’d bombard me with questions the second she
got me alone, so I always tried to use poor clueless Jessica as a buffer. But within a week, I got this strange feeling that
Casey
was steering clear of
me
.

She called less and less.

She stopped asking if I wanted to go to the Nest on weekends.

She even switched seats with Jeanine at lunch, putting herself all the way across the table—as far away from me as possible.
Once or twice, I even caught her giving me dirty looks.

I wanted to know what the hell her problem was, but I was scared to confront her. I knew that if we actually talked about
it, I wouldn’t be able to keep lying about Dad. Not to her. But it was his secret, his shame, not mine to tell. I wouldn’t
let anyone, not even Casey, find out.

So I had to let her supreme weirdness slide for the time.

Wesley was really the only thing getting me through those weeks. Some part of me was appalled at myself, but what could I
say? I needed that escape—that high—more than ever, and he was always just a short drive away. A fix three or four times a
week was all it took to keep me sane.

God, I was like a fucking druggie. Maybe my sanity was long gone already.

“What would you do without me?” he asked one night. We were tangled in the silky sheets of his gigantic bed. My heart was
still pounding as I came down from the high of what we’d just done, and he wasn’t helping matters by putting his lips so close
to my ear.

“Live a happy… happy life,” I murmured. “I might even… be an optimist… if you weren’t around.”

“Liar.” He bit my earlobe playfully. “You’d be absolutely miserable. Admit it, Duffy. I’m the wind beneath your wings.”

I bit my lip, but I still couldn’t hold back the laughter—and just as I was finally catching my breath, too. “You just referenced
Bette Midler… in bed. I’m starting to question your sexuality, Wesley.”

Wesley looked at me with a defiant glint in his eye. “Oh, really?” He grinned before moving his mouth back to my ear and whispering,
“We both know that my manhood has never been in question…. I think you’re just changing the subject because you know it’s
true. I’m the light of your life.”

“You…” I struggled for words as Wesley pressed his mouth into the crook of my neck. The tip of his tongue moved down to my
shoulder and made my brain get all fuzzy. How was I supposed to argue under these conditions? “You wish. I’m just using you,
remember?”

His laughter was muffled against my skin. “That’s amusing,” he said, his lips still grazing my collarbone. “Because I’m pretty
sure your ex is out of town by now.” One of his hands slid between my knees. “Yet you’re still here, aren’t you?” His fingers
began gliding up and down my inner thigh, making it difficult for me to think of a retort. He seemed to like this, because
he laughed again. “I don’t think you hate me, Duffy. I think you like me a lot.”

I squirmed uncontrollably as Wesley’s fingertips danced along the inside of my leg. I wanted so badly to argue, but he was
sending electric currents up my spine.

Finally, when I thought I might explode, his hand moved to my hip and he pulled his mouth away from my shoulder. “Oh, thank
God,” I whispered as he reached for a condom in the nightstand drawer, knowing what came next.

“I suppose it’s a good thing I don’t mind having you around,” he said with that cocky grin. “Now, let me answer all of those
questions you claim to have about my sexuality.”

And my head filled with clouds again.

But I couldn’t deny things were getting way out of hand. It became painfully clear to me one Friday afternoon in English that
something wasn’t right.

Mrs. Perkins was passing out old papers she’d graded and chattering away about some Nora Roberts book she’d just finished—totally
unaware that no one was listening to her—when she stopped at my desk. She gave me this big, goofy smile, like the smile of
a proud grandmother. “Your essay was wonderful,” she whispered to me. “Such an interesting take on Hester. You and Mr. Rush
are an excellent team.” Then she handed me a tan folder and patted my shoulder.