The Duff: Designated Ugly Fat Friend (20 page)

“If Wesley can’t see how adorable you are, he doesn’t deserve you,” she said.

“You just need to move on. Put Wesley out of your mind.”

Yeah, right. Move on to who? Who would want me?

Nobody.

But I couldn’t say that to Casey. It would probably just start another stupid fight, and we hadn’t really finished the first
one yet, so I just nodded.

“So… what about the Tucker kid?”

I looked at her, surprised. “Toby? What about him?”

“You’ve had a crush on him forever,” she reminded me. “And I saw you all over him in the cafeteria yesterday—”

“He hugged me,” I interjected. “That is hardly me being
all over
him.”

She rolled her eyes. God, I was really rubbing off on her. “Whatever. The point is, you were getting cozy with Toby, but now
you’re suddenly in—”

I shot her a warning glare.

“—you suddenly
like
Wesley,” she finished.

“What’s your point?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “It’s just… I feel like you’ve kept so much from me. Like so much has changed so fast with you.
I feel really in the dark right now.”

More guilt. Great. She was laying it on thick today, but I guess I deserved it.

“Not that much has changed,” I assured her. “I still have a crush on Toby… not that it matters. We’re just friends. He hugged
me yesterday because he got into the college he wanted and was really happy. I wish it had been more, but it wasn’t. And the
thing with Wesley is just… it’s stupid. It’s over. We can pretend it never happened. I’d prefer that, actually.”

“What about your parents? The divorce? You haven’t even brought it up since the day after Valentine’s.”

“Everything’s fine,” I lied. “The divorce is still happening. My parents are fine.”

She gave me a skeptical look before turning back to the road. She knew I was full of shit, but for once she didn’t push it.
Finally, after a long moment, she spoke again. Luckily, she changed the subject.

“Okay. So where the hell is your car?”

“At school,” I said. “The battery’s dead.”

“That blows. I guess you’ll have to get your dad to go fix it.”

“Yeah,” I muttered.
If I can get him sober for more than ten seconds
.

There was a long silence. After a few minutes, I decided to swallow the little pride I had left. “I’m sorry I called you a
bitch yesterday.”

“You should be. You also called me a preppy cheerleader snob.”

“Sorry. Are you still mad at me?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I mean, not as much as I was yesterday, but… it really hurt, Bianca. Jess and I have been so worried about
you, and you barely talk to either of us anymore. I kept asking and asking if you wanted to go out, and you totally blew me
off. Then I saw you talking to Toby when you were supposed to be talking to me, and… I was kind of jealous. Not in a creepy
way, but… I’m supposed to be your best friend, you know? It felt like you just tossed me aside. And now it really bothers
me that you started sleeping with Wesley instead of just talking to me.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“Stop saying that. Don’t just be sorry,” she said. “Sorry doesn’t change the future. Next time, think about me. And Jess,
too. We need you, B. And just remember that we’re here for you, and we care about you… for some ungodly reason.”

I cracked a little smile. “I’ll remember.”

“Just don’t abandon me again, okay?” The words came out in a weak murmur. “Even with Jess, I was really lonely without you…
and I didn’t have anyone cool to drive me around. Do you know
how much it sucks to have Vikki as your chauffer? She almost hit some poor old dude on a bike the other day. Did I tell you
that story?”

We drove around Hamilton for a while, just wasting gas and catching up on what we’d missed. Casey had a crush on a basketball
player. I was acing English. Nothing too personal. Casey knew my secret now—or part of it—and she wasn’t mad at me anymore…
well, not
that
mad at me. She assured me I had a lot of groveling to do before we were totally good again.

We drove around until her mom called at ten, demanding to know where her truck was, and Casey had to take me home.

“Are you going to tell Jessica about this?” she asked quietly as she turned onto my street. “About Wesley?”

“I don’t know.” I took a deep breath, deciding that keeping secrets wasn’t the best idea. It had only fucked things up so
far. “Look, you can tell her. Tell her everything if you want. But I don’t want to talk about it. I just kind of want to forget
about this if I can.”

“I understand,” Casey said. “I think she should know. I mean, she is our best friend… but I’ll tell her you’re moving on.
Because that’s what you’re doing, right?”

“Right,” I murmured.

I couldn’t help feeling anxious when she pulled into my driveway. I stared at the oak front door, at the shuttered windows
that looked in on my living room, and at our simple, clean, picket-fenced yard. I’d never realized what a mask my family lived
behind.

Then I thought of Dad.

“I’ll see you Monday,” I said, looking away so she couldn’t see the worry on my face.

Then I slid out of the truck and started walking toward my house.

I was standing on the porch before I realized I didn’t have my keys. Wesley had pulled me from the house so quickly the night
before that I hadn’t been able to grab my purse. So I found myself knocking on my own front door, hoping Dad was awake to
let me in.

Fearing, dreading, remembering.

I took a step back as the knob turned and the door swung open. There stood Dad, his eyes red and deeply circled behind his
glasses. He looked really pale, like he’d been sick, and I could see his hand shaking on the doorknob. “Bianca.”

He didn’t smell like whiskey.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Hi, Dad. I, um, left my keys inside last night, so…”

He moved slowly forward, like he was afraid I might run away. Then he wrapped his arms around me, pulled me into his chest,
and buried his face in my hair. We stood there together for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, I could tell the words
came through sobs. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“I know,” I murmured into his shirt.

And I was crying, too.

Dad and I talked more that day than we had in seventeen years. Not that we weren’t close before. It’s just that neither of
us is very expressive. We didn’t share our thoughts or feelings or do any of that stuff they tell you is important on those
public service announcements you see on Nickelodeon. When we ate dinner together, we were always in front of the TV, and there
was no way either of us would interrupt the program with lame small talk. That’s just how we were.

But that day we talked.

We talked about his work.

We talked about my grades.

We talked about Mom.

“She’s really not coming back, is she?” Dad took off his glasses and rubbed his face with both hands. We were sitting on the
couch. For once, the television was off. Ours were the only voices that filled the room. It was a good kind of semi-silence,
yet scary at the same time.

“No, Daddy,” I said, bravely reaching out to squeeze his hand. “She’s not. This just isn’t the right place for her anymore.”

He nodded. “I know. I’ve known for a long time that she wasn’t happy… maybe even before she knew. I just hoped—”

“That she’d change her mind?” I offered. “I think she wanted to. That’s why she kept leaving and coming back, you know? She
didn’t want to face the truth. She didn’t want to admit that she wanted a”—I paused at the next word—“divorce.”

Divorce
was just so final. More than a fight. More than a separation or a long speaking tour. It meant their marriage—their life
together—was really and truly finished.

“Well,” he sighed, squeezing my hand back. “I guess we were both running away in different ways.”

“What do you mean?”

Dad shook his head. “Your mother took a Mustang. I took a whiskey bottle.” He reached up and readjusted his glasses, an unconscious
habit—he always did it when he was making a point. “I was so devastated by what your mother did to me that I forgot how horrible
drinking is. I forgot to look on the bright side.”

“Dad,” I said, “I don’t think there is a bright side to divorce. It’s a pretty sucky thing all around.”

He nodded. “Maybe that’s true, but there are a lot of bright sides to my life. I have a job I like, a nice house in a good
neighborhood, and a wonderful daughter.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh God,” I muttered. “Don’t go all
Lifetime
movie on me. Seriously.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, smiling. “But I mean it. A lot of people would kill for my life, but I didn’t even consider that. I
took it—and you—for granted. I’m so, so sorry for that, Bumblebee.”

I wanted to look away when I saw the tears glistening at the corners of his eyes, but I forced myself to focus only on him.
I’d been turning away from the truth for too long.

He apologized multiple times for everything that had happened over the past few weeks. He promised me he’d start going to
weekly Alcoholics Anonymous meetings again, to go back on the wagon, to call his sponsor again. And then we poured every single
bottle of whiskey and beer down the drain together, both of us eager for a clean slate.

“Is your head all right?” he asked me about a million times that day.

“It’s fine,” I kept telling him.

He always shook his head and murmured more apologies for slapping me. For saying what he had. Then he’d hug me.

Seriously, a million times that day.

Around midnight, I joined him in his nightly ritual of turning out the lights. “Bumblebee,” he said as the kitchen went dark.
“I want you to thank your friend next time you see him.”

“My friend?”

“Yeah. The boy who was with you last night. What’s his name?”

“Wesley,” I muttered.

“Right,” Dad said. “Well, I deserved it. He was brave to do what he did. I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but
I’m glad you have a friend who’s willing to stand up for you. So please tell him I said thanks.”

“Sure.” I turned and walked up the stairs to my bedroom, praying that wouldn’t be anytime soon.

“But Bianca?” He winced and rubbed his jaw. “Next time tell him he should feel free to write a strongly worded letter first.
Hell of an arm on that kid.”

I smiled in spite of myself. “There won’t be a next time,” I told him, taking the last few steps and heading to my bedroom.

Both my parents were facing reality, giving up their distractions. Now it was my turn, and that meant quitting Wesley. Unfortunately,
there were no weekly meetings, no sponsors, or twelve-step programs for what I was addicted to.

I was pretty sure Wesley wouldn’t approach me at school. Why would he? It wasn’t like he’d miss me… even if I really, really
wanted him to. He wasn’t losing anything. He had plenty of replacement girls ready and willing to fill any gaps I might have
left in his schedule. So there was no need for an avoidance plan on Monday morning.

Except that I didn’t even want to
see
him. If I had to look at him day after day, I could never hope to forget about him. I could never hope to move on. For this
situation, I did need a plan, and I had one all lined up.

Step one: keep distracted in the hallway in case he passed me.

Step two: stay busy in English and never look over at his side of the classroom.

Step three: speed out of the parking lot in the afternoon so I didn’t run into him.

Dad made step three possible by fixing my car Sunday, so I was sure I could keep from seeing Wesley. In a matter of weeks,
I’d be able to put our relationship—or lack thereof—out of my mind. If not, well, we’d graduate in May and I’d never have
to look at that cocky smirk ever again.

That was the theory, anyway.

But by the time the final bell rang on Monday, I knew my plan sucked ass. Not looking at Wesley didn’t necessarily equal not
thinking of Wesley. In fact, I spent most of my day thinking about not looking at him. Then I just thought about all the reasons
I shouldn’t be thinking of him. It never freaking ended! Nothing seemed to distract me.

Until Tuesday afternoon.

I was on my way to lunch after an unbearably long AP government class when something happened that gave me just the distraction
I needed. Something unbelievable and shocking. Something pretty damn awesome.

Toby fell into step with me in the hallway. “Hey,” he said.

“Hi.” I did my best to sound at least halfway pleasant. “What’s up, Harvard Boy?”

Toby grinned and looked down, shuffling his feet. “Not much,” he said. “Just trying to decide what to write about for the
editorial assignment. Mr. Chaucer wasn’t very specific. What are you going to write yours about?”

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I’m thinking of doing it on gay marriage.”

“Supporting or opposing?”

“Oh, definitely supporting. I mean, the government has no
right to dictate who can and can’t publicly declare their love for each other.”

“How romantic of you,” Toby said.

I snorted. “Hardly. I’m not romantic at all, but it’s basic logic. Denying homosexuals the right to marriage infringes on
their liberty
and
equality. Pretty screwed up.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Toby agreed. “It seems we have a lot in common.”

“I guess we do.”

We walked for a couple of seconds in silence before he asked, “So, do you have any plans for prom?”

“No,” I told him. “I’m not going. Why pay two hundred bucks for a dress, thirty for a ticket, forty for hair and makeup, and
a handful more for dinner, where all you can have is a salad with no dressing because you have to avoid getting gunk on the
poufy dress? It’s kind of ridiculous.”

“I see,” Toby said. “That’s a little unfortunate…. I was kind of hoping you’d go with me.”

Okay, so I hadn’t seen that coming. At all.
Ever
. Toby Tucker, the boy I’d crushed on for years, wanted to ask me to prom? Oh my God.
Oh my God.
And I’d totally bashed the whole institution of high school dances like an opinionated idiot. I’d practically rejected him
without even meaning to. Oh, shit. I was a moron. A
complete
moron. And now I was at a loss for words. What did I say? Did I apologize or take it back or—