The Duff: Designated Ugly Fat Friend (12 page)

“You’re a moron.” The cheerleader turned around and stormed away, ponytail swinging behind her.

Jessica just stood there, looking down at the plate of salad with big, sad eyes. She seemed so small then. So weak and mousy.
At that moment, I didn’t think of her as beautiful. Or even all that cute. Just fragile and skittish. Like a mouse.

“Hurry up, Jessica,” one of the other cheerleaders called from their table, sounding annoyed. “We’re not saving your seat
forever. Jesus.”

I could feel Casey looking at me, and I knew what she wanted. And, staring at Jessica, I couldn’t exactly pretend I didn’t
understand why. If anyone needed a little bit of Casey Saves the Day, it was this girl. Plus, she didn’t look anything like
her brother. That made my decision a little easier.

I sighed and said, loudly, “Hey, Jessica.”

She jumped and turned to look at me, and the fearful expression on her face almost broke my heart.

“Come sit with us.” It wasn’t a question. Not even an offer. It was pretty much an order. I didn’t want to give her a choice.
Even though, if she was sane, she totally would have chosen us.

Then Jessica was hurrying toward us, and the senior cheerleaders were pissed, and Casey was beaming at me. And that was that.
History.

Though it didn’t seem so much like the past just then, as I watched the little freshman girl hurry off toward the concession
stand. I could see the way her jeans hung on her wrong—she didn’t quite have the curves for low-rise pants—and that awkward
slouch in her shoulders that made her look strangely unbalanced. Those little things that separated her from her so-called
friends. A walking echo of the girl Jessica had been. So long ago. Only now I had a new word for it. For that girl.

Duff.

There was no way around it. That freshman was definitely the Duff in comparison to the pretty bitches bossing her around.
It wasn’t that she was so unattractive—and she definitely wasn’t fat—but out of the four of them, she was the last one anyone
would notice. And I couldn’t help wondering if that was the point. If they used her as more than just the errand runner. Was
she there also to make them look better?

I looked at Jessica again, remembering how small and weak she’d seemed that day. Not cute. Not pretty. Just kind of pathetic.
The Duff. Now she was beautiful. Voluptuous and adorable
and… well,
sexy
. Any guy—except Harrison, unfortunately—would want her. But the strange thing was, she didn’t look all that different. Not
on the surface, at least. She’d been curvy and blond even then. So what had changed?

How could one of the most gorgeous girls I’d ever met have been the Duff? How did that logic even work? It was like Wesley
calling me sexy and Duffy at the same time. It just didn’t make sense.

Was it possible that you didn’t have to be fat or ugly to be the Duff? I mean, Wesley had said, that night at the Nest, that
Duff
was a comparison. Did that mean even somewhat attractive girls could be Duffs?

“Should we go help her?”

I was startled for a second, and a little confused. I realized Jessica was watching the freshman make her way down the sideline.

I had a horrible thought then. One that officially made me the biggest bitch ever. I seriously considered going and claiming
that freshman as our own, so that maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t be the Duff anymore.

I could hear Wesley’s voice in my head.
“Most people will do anything to avoid being the Duff.”
I’d said I wasn’t most people, but was I? Was I just like those cheerleaders—now long since graduated—who’d mistreated Jessica
or like these three perfect ponytailed juniors on the bleachers?

Before I could make a decision, though, to help the freshman—be it for the right reasons or the wrong—the buzzer sounded over
our heads. Around us, the crowd stood, all cheering and whooping, blocking my view of the small, dark-haired figure. She was
gone, and so was my opportunity to save her or use her or whatever I might have done.

The game was over.

The Panthers had won.

And I was still the Duff.

Valentine’s Day might as well have been called Anti-Duff Day. I mean, what other day can hurt a girl’s self-esteem more? Not
that it mattered. I hated Valentine’s Day even before I was aware of my Duff status. Honestly, I didn’t even understand why
it was a holiday. Really, it was just an excuse for girls to whine about being lonely and for guys to worm their way into
getting laid. I found it materialistic, indulgent, and, with all of the chocolate, completely unhealthy.

“It’s my favorite day of the year!” Jessica cried as she danced her way down the hall toward Spanish one morning. It was the
first time I’d seen her truly bouncy since Jake’s departure two days earlier. “All of the pink and red! And flowers and candy!
Isn’t it fun, Bianca?”

“Sure.”

It had been almost a week since the basketball game, and
neither of us had mentioned the freshman girl since we left the gym that night. I wondered if Jessica had forgotten about
it already. Lucky her. I hadn’t. I couldn’t. That girl and the thing we had in common—our shared identity as Duffs—had been
lurking at the back of my mind ever since.

But I certainly wasn’t going to talk about it. Not with Jessica. Not with anyone.

“Oh, I just wish Harrison had asked me to be his valentine,” she said. “That would have been perfect, but we can’t always
get what we want, can we?”

“Nope.”

“You know, I think this is the first year that all three of us have been single,” Jessica continued. “Last year, I was dating
Terrence, and the year before that Casey was with Zack. I guess we can all just be each other’s valentines. That would be
pretty fun. It is our last Valentine’s Day together before college, and we haven’t really hung out together lately. What do
you think? We can hang out at my house to celebrate.”

“Sounds good.”

Jessica threw an arm around my shoulders. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Bianca!”

“You too, Jessica.” I smiled in spite of myself. I couldn’t help it. Jessica had one of those contagious smiles that made
it really hard to be negative when she was so freaking bubbly.

We reached the classroom door and found our teacher waiting for us inside. “Bianca,” she said as I walked in. “I just got
an e-mail from one of the secretaries at the front desk. She needs some students to come help distribute flowers people have
sent.
You’re caught up on all your work, so would you mind doing that for me?”

“Um… okay.”

“Oh, how fun!” Jessica released me from her one-armed hug. “You get to deliver flowers. It’s almost like you’re playing Cupid.”

Right. How fun.

“See you later,” I said to Jessica as I turned and walked right back out of the room. I pushed through the hordes of students,
fighting against the current to make my way to the front desk. Couples seemed to be everywhere, displaying their affection—holding
hands, batting eyes, exchanging gifts, making out—for the entire school to witness. “Disgusting,” I muttered.

I was about halfway to the front desk when a strong hand gripped my elbow. “Hello, Duffy.”

“What do you want?”

Wesley was grinning at me when I spun around to face him. “I just wanted to let you know that if you plan on dropping by tonight,
I might be a little busy. With it being the day of love, I have a pretty full schedule.”

Now he sounded like a
professional
man-whore.

“But if you’re desperate to see me, I should be free around eleven o’clock.”

“I think I can survive one night without you, Wesley,” I said. “In fact, I can survive an eternity.”

“Sure you can.” He released my arm and winked. “I’ll see you tonight, Duffy.” Then he was gone, swept away by the tidal wave
of students on the verge of being late for class.

“Prick,” I grumbled. “God, I hate him.”

A few minutes later, I stood at the front desk where the secretary, who looked like a nervous wreck, smiled at me with relief.
“Did Mrs. Romali send you? This way, this way. The table is over here.” She led me around the corner and gestured to a foldable,
square table with a vomit-green surface. “There it is. Have fun!”

“Not likely.”

The table was covered—I mean
covered
—with bouquets, vases, heart-shaped boxes, and Hallmark cards. At least fifty bundles of red and pink waited to be handed
out, and I got the privilege of being the bringer of such joy.

I was debating where to start when I heard footsteps behind me. Assuming the secretary had returned, I asked, without turning
around, “Do you have a list of the classes these kids are in so I know where to take the gifts?”

“Yes, I do.”

That didn’t sound like the secretary.

I whirled around, shocked by the voice that had replied. It was one I knew very well, despite the fact that it had never—not
once—spoken directly to me.

Toby Tucker smiled. “Hi.”

“Oh. I thought you were someone else.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. “So you were wangled into this, too, huh?”

“Um, yeah.” I was relieved to find my vocal chords weren’t in a state of paralysis.

As always, Toby was wearing a slightly-too-formal-for-school blazer, and his blond hair fell around his face in that old-fashioned
bowl cut. Adorable. Unique. Intelligent. He was the embodiment
of all the things I wanted in a guy. If I believed in stupid things like fate, I might have thought it was destiny that we
were working together on Valentine’s Day.

“Here are the class rosters,” he said, handing me a green binder. “We should probably get started; this could take a while.”
His eyes scanned the field of gifts from behind his oval glasses. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much pink in one place.”

“I have. My best friend’s bedroom.”

Toby chuckled and picked up a bouquet of pink and white roses. He eyed the tag and said, “The quickest way to get this done
might be to separate these into piles based on which class each student is in. It will make delivery much more efficient.”

“Right,” I said. “Organize by class. Okay.”

I was quite aware of how moronic I sounded with my less-than-eloquent replies, but there wasn’t much I could do about it.
I mean, just because my voice actually worked didn’t necessarily mean I could use it well in his presence. I’d been crushing
on Toby for three years, so to say he made me nervous would be a massive understatement.

Lucky for me, Toby didn’t seem to notice. As we sorted the various gifts into groups, he even offered up some polite small
talk. Slowly, I found myself easing into a semi-comfortable chat with Toby Tucker. A Valentine’s Day miracle! Well,
miracle
was too strong a word—a miracle would have been him sweeping me into his arms and laying one on me right there. So maybe
this was more like a Valentine’s Day benefit. Either way, my awkward, idiotic dialogue began to ebb away. Thank God.

“Wow, there’s a lot here for Vikki McPhee,” he said, placing a
box of candy on top of a steadily growing pile. “Does she have six boyfriends?”

“I only know about three,” I said. “But she doesn’t tell me everything.”

Toby shook his head. “Jeez.” He picked up a card and began to check the label. “So what about you? Any Valentine’s Day plans?”

“Nope.”

He put the card in one of the piles. “Not even a date with the boyfriend?”

“That would require me
having
a boyfriend,” I said. “Which I don’t.” Not wanting him to start feeling sorry for me, I added, “But even if I did, I wouldn’t
be doing anything special. Valentine’s Day is a stupid, pathetic excuse for a holiday.”

“You really think so?” he asked.

“Of course. I mean, there is a reason its initials are
VD
. I bet you more people contract syphilis on Valentine’s Day than on any other day of the year. What a cause for celebration.”

We laughed together, and for a minute it felt kind of natural.

“And you?” I asked. “Do you have plans with your girlfriend?”

“Well, we did,” he said and sighed. “But we broke up on Saturday, so those plans are now dead.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

But I wasn’t. Inside, I felt kind of ecstatic and overjoyed. God, I was such a freaking bitch.

“Me, too.” There was a momentary pause on the verge of being awkward, and then he said, “I think we have all of these sorted.
Are you ready to start delivering?”

“I’m ready, but not very willing.” I pointed to a large vase of assorted flowers. “Look at this. I would wager money that
some girl sent this to herself so that she’d look good in front of her friends. How sad is that?”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t do it?” Toby asked, a tiny smirk spreading across his boyish face.

“Never,” I said flatly. “Who cares what others think of me? So what if I don’t get a present on Valentine’s Day? It’s just
vanity. Who do I need to impress?”

“I don’t know. I think Valentine’s Day is more about feeling special,” he said, plucking a flower from the large vase. “I
think every girl deserves to feel special once in a while. Even you, Bianca.” He reached over and tucked the flower’s stem
behind my ear.

I tried to convince myself that this was completely cheesy and ridiculous. That if any other guy—Wesley for example—had tried
a line like that, I might have slapped him or just laughed in his face. But I felt my face turn pink as his fingers brushed
past my cheek. This wasn’t any other guy, after all. It was Toby Tucker. Perfect, amazing, dreamy Toby Tucker.

Maybe Valentine’s Day could be Duff-friendly after all.

“Come on,” he said. “Grab that pile and we’ll start passing these out.”

“Uh… okay.”

We might have been done delivering by the end of first block, but the secretary kept bringing more and more packages to the
little vomit-colored table. It became very clear to Toby and me that we’d be working until at least lunch.

Not that I minded spending the morning with Toby Tucker.

“I don’t want to jinx it,” he said as we returned to the table, only five minutes before the lunch bell. “But I think we might
actually be done.”