The DUFF: Designated Ugly Fat Friend

by Kody Keplinger

  “Don’t you want the grand tour?”

  “Not really.”

  Wesley shrugged. “It’s your loss. Follow me.” He led the way into the enormous living room, which was probably as big as Hamilton High’s cafeteria. Two large pillars held up the ceiling, and three beige couches, along with two matching love seats, were arranged around the room. On one wall I saw a huge flat-screen TV, and on another I found a giant fireplace. January sun spilled in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, lighting the space with a natural, happy feeling. But Wesley turned and started walking up the stairs, away from the comforting room.

  “Where are you going?” I demanded.

  He looked over his shoulder at me with an exasperated sigh. “To my room, of course.”

  “Can’t we write the paper down here?” I asked.

  The corners of Wesley’s mouth turned slightly upward as he hooked a finger over his belt. “We could, Duffy, but the writing will go much faster if I’m typing, and my computer’s upstairs. You’re the one who said you wanted to get this over with.”

  I groaned and stomped up the stairs. “Fine.”

  Wesley’s bedroom was on the top floor—one of the rooms with a balcony—and it was bigger than my living room. His king-size bed hadn’t been made yet, and video game cases were scattered on the floor beside his PlayStation 3, which was hooked into a big-screen TV. Surprisingly, the room smelled nice. It was a mixture of Wesley’s Burberry cologne and recently washed clothes, like he’d just put laundry away or something. The bookshelf that he walked toward overflowed with books by different authors, from James Patterson to Henry Fielding.

  Wesley bent over at the waist to look at the bookshelf, and I looked away from his Diesels as he pulled his own copy of The Scarlet Letter off the shelf and moved to sit on his bed. He gestured for me to join him, and I did, reluctantly. “Okay,” he said, thumbing absently through his hardcover book. “What should we write the paper on? Any ideas?”

  “I don’t—”

  “I was thinking we could do an analysis of Hester,” he suggested. “It sounds cliché, but I mean an in-depth characterization. Mainly, why did she have the affair? Why did she sleep with Dimmesdale? Did she love him, or was she just promiscuous?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh my God, do you always go for the simplest answer? Hester is way more complicated than that. Neither of those choices shows any imagination.”

  Wesley looked at me with one raised eyebrow. “All right,” he said slowly. “If you’re so smart, then why did she do it? Enlighten me.”

  “For distraction.”

  Okay, so maybe it was a little far-fetched, but I just kept seeing that damn manila envelope. Thinking of my selfish bitch of a mother. I kept wondering what my father was like drunk for the first time in eighteen years. My mind searched for anything—anything— that would distract me from the painful thoughts, so would it be too ridiculous to think that Hester felt the same way? She was lonely, surrounded by hypocritical Puritans, and married to a completely creepy, absentee English guy.

  “She just wanted something to get her mind off the bad shit in her life,” I mumbled. “Some way to escape…”

  “If that’s the case, that didn’t go well for her. It all backfired in the end.”

  I didn’t really hear him. My mind was rushing back to a night not long ago, a night when I’d found a way to push my worries out of my head. I remembered the way my thoughts had gone silent, letting my body take over. I remembered the bliss of nothingness. I remembered how, even after it ended, I’d been so focused on what I’d done that my other worries barely existed.

  “… so I guess that idea could make sense. It’s definitely a different angle, and Perkins likes creativity. We might get an A.” Wesley turned to look at me, and his expression grew suddenly concerned. “Duffy, are you okay? You’re staring off into space.”

  “Don’t call me Duffy.”

  “Fine. Are you okay, Bian—?”

  Before he could say my name, I closed the space between us. Quickly, my lips moved against his. The mental and emotional emptiness took over instantly, but physically, I was more alert than ever. Wesley’s surprise didn’t last as long as it had before, and his hands were on me in seconds. My fingers tangled in his soft hair, and Wesley’s tongue darted into my mouth and became a new weapon in our war.

  Once again, my body took complete control of everything. Nothing existed at the corners of my mind; no irritating thoughts harassed me. Even the sounds of Wesley’s stereo, which had been playing some piano rock I didn’t recognize, faded away as my sense of touch heightened.

  I was fully conscious of Wesley’s hand as it slid up my torso and moved to cup my breast. With an effort, I pushed him away from me. His eyes were wide as he leaned back. “Please don’t slap me again,” he said.

  “Shut up.”

  I could have stopped there. I could have stood up and left the room. I could have let that kiss be the end of it. But I didn’t. The mind-numbing sensation I got from kissing him was so euphoric—such a high—that I couldn’t stand to give it up that fast. I might have hated Wesley Rush, but he held the key to my escape, and at that moment I wanted him…. I needed him.

  Without speaking, without hesitating, I pulled my T-shirt over my head and threw it onto Wesley’s bedroom floor. He didn’t have a chance to say anything before I put my hands on his shoulders and shoved him onto his back. A second later, I was straddling him and we were kissing again. His fingers undid the clasp on my bra, and it joined my shirt on the floor.

  I didn’t care. I didn’t feel self-conscious or shy. I mean, he already knew I was the Duff, and it wasn’t like I had to impress him.

  I unbuttoned his shirt as he pulled the alligator clip from my hair and let the auburn waves fall around us. Casey had been right. Wesley had a great body. The skin pulled tight over his sculpted chest, and my hands drifted down his muscular arms with amazement.

  His lips moved to my neck, giving me a moment to breathe. I could only smell his cologne this close to him. As his mouth traveled down my shoulder, a thought pushed through the exhilaration. I wondered why he hadn’t shoved me—Duffy—away in disgust.

  Then again, I realized, Wesley wasn’t known for rejecting girls. And I was the one who should have been disgusted.

  But his mouth pressed into mine again, and that tiny, fleeting thought died. Acting on instinct, I pulled on Wesley’s lower lip with my teeth, and he moaned quietly. His hands moved over my ribs, sending chills up my spine. Bliss. Pure, unadulterated bliss.

  Only once, as Wesley flipped me onto my back, did I seriously consider stopping. He looked down at me, and his skilled hand grasped the zipper on my jeans. My dormant brain stirred, and I asked myself if things had gone too far. I thought about pushing him away, ending it right where we were. But why would I stop now? What did I stand to lose? Yet what could I possibly gain? How would I feel about this in an hour… or sooner?

  Before I could come up with any answers, Wesley had my jeans and underwear off. He pulled a condom from his pocket (okay, now that I’m thinking about it, who keeps condoms in their pockets? Wallet, yes, but pocket? Pretty presumptuous, don’t you think?), and then his pants were on the floor, too. All of a sudden, we were having sex, and my thoughts were muted again.

  8

  I was only fourteen when I lost my virginity to Jake Gaither. He’d recently turned eighteen, and I knew perfectly well that he was too old for me. Still, as a freshman in high school, I just wanted a boyfriend. I wanted to be liked and to fit in, and Jake was a senior with a car. At the time, I thought of that as perfection.

  In the three months we were together, Jake never took me out on a real date. Once or twice, we made out in the back of a dark movie theater, but we never went out to dinner or bowling or anything like that. We spent most of our time sneaking around so that our parents and his sister, who later became one of my best friends, wouldn’t find out about us. I actually found that part, the secrecy, fun and
sexy. It was like a forbidden romance—like Romeo and Juliet, which I’d read in English class that semester.

  We slept together several times, and while I really didn’t enjoy the actual sex, the sensation of closeness, of connection, felt comforting to me. When Jake touched me like that, I knew he loved me. I knew sex was a beautiful, passionate thing, and it was right to be with him.

  Sleeping with Wesley Rush was entirely different. While I definitely got more physical pleasure out of it, the closeness and the love were missing. When it was over, I felt dirty. I felt like I’d done something wrong and shameful, but at the same time, I felt good. Alive. Free. Wild. My mind was totally cleared, like someone had hit the refresh button. I knew the euphoria wouldn’t last forever, but the filthy regret was worth the momentary escape.

  “Wow,” Wesley said. We were lying in his bed only a few minutes after we’d finished, with a foot or more space between our bodies. “I definitely wasn’t expecting that.”

  God, he ruined everything when he talked. Annoyed, and still wading through the emotional repercussions, I sneered. “What? Ashamed that you screwed the Duff?”

  “No.” I was surprised by how serious he sounded. “I’m never ashamed of anyone I sleep with. Sex is a natural chemical reaction. It always happens for a reason. Who am I to dictate who experiences the joy of sharing my bed?” He didn’t see me roll my eyes as he continued. “No, I just meant that I’m shocked. I was honestly starting to believe that you hated me.”

  “I do hate you,” I assured him, kicking off the covers and moving to pick up my clothes.

  “You must not hate me too much,” Wesley said, rolling onto his elbow and watching me dress. “You did pretty much throw yourself at me. Generally, hatred doesn’t inspire that kind of passion.”

  I pulled on my T-shirt. “Believe me, Wesley, I definitely hate you. I was just using you. You use people all the time, so I’m sure you understand.” I buttoned my jeans and grabbed my alligator clip from the nightstand. “This was fun, but if you ever tell anyone, I swear I’ll castrate you. Clear?”

  “Why?” he asked. “Your reputation could only improve if people found out you slept with me.”

  “That might be true,” I admitted. “But I have no desire to improve my reputation, especially not that way. So are you going to keep your mouth shut or do I need to find a sharp object now?”

  “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” he said.

  “You’re not a gentleman.” I put my hair back up in the clip. “That’s why I’m worried.” I glanced at my reflection in the full-length mirror on the wall. Once I was sure that I looked normal—not guilty—I turned to face Wesley again. “Hurry up and put your pants on. We need to finish this stupid essay.”

  It was a little after seven that night when Wesley and I finally finished the essay for English. Or at least, we finished the rough copy. I made him promise that he’d e-mail me the draft later so that I could edit it.

  “You don’t trust me to get it done?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at me as I put my shoes on in the foyer.

  “I don’t trust you with anything,” I said.

  “Except getting you off.” He was wearing that grin I hated. “So, was this a one-time thing, or will I be seeing you again?”

  I started to snort, to tell him he was dreaming if he honestly thought I’d be back, but then I remembered that I was about to go back home. The manila envelope would probably still be lying on my kitchen table.

  “Bianca?” Wesley asked. A shiver ran across my skin when he touched my shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  I jerked out of his reach and moved toward the door. I’d gotten halfway out before I turned to him and said, with a moment of hesitation, “We’ll see.” Then I ran down the front steps.

  “Bianca, wait.”

  I clutched my jacket closer to me, trying to fight the cold wind, and yanked open the door of my Saturn. He was behind me in seconds, but, thankfully, he didn’t touch me this time. “What?” I demanded as I slid into the front seat. “I need to get home.”

  Home, the last place I wanted to go.

  The winter sky had already turned black, but I could still see Wesley’s gray eyes in the darkness. They were exactly the color of the sky before a thunderstorm. He crouched down by my door to get to my eye level, and the way he was looking at me made me really uncomfortable. “You didn’t answer the other question.”

  “What other question?”

  “Are you all right?”

  I scowled at him for a long moment, assuming he was just trying to be a pain in my ass. But something about his lighted eyes made me hesitate. “It doesn’t matter if I am or not,” I whispered. I started my car, and he darted out of the way when I moved to slam the door shut. “Bye, Wesley.”

  And I drove away.

  When I got home, Dad was still in his bedroom. I finished cleaning up the living room, avoiding the kitchen altogether, and ran upstairs to take a shower. The hot water didn’t wash away the dirty feeling Wesley had left on my skin, but it did relax some muscles that were forming tense knots in my back and shoulders. I just hoped the dirt would wash away in time.

  I’d barely wrapped a towel around me when my cell phone started ringing in my bedroom, and I sprinted across the hall to answer it in time.

  “Hey, B,” Casey said into my ear. “So are you and Wesley done?”

  “What?”

  “You two were working on the English project today, weren’t you?” she asked. “I thought he was meeting you at your place.”

  “Oh,… right. Well, I wound up going over to his house instead.” I was trying hard not to sound guilty.

  “OMG, you mean the mansion?” Casey asked. “Lucky! Did you walk out onto one of the balconies? Vikki said that’s half the reason she wants to hook up with him again. Last time, it was just in the backseat of his Porsche, but she really wants to see the inside of that house.”

  “Is there a point to this conversation, Casey?”

  “Oh, yeah,” she laughed. “Sorry. It’s no big deal. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  What was with everyone asking me that tonight?

  “I know you hate him,” she continued. “I wanted to make sure you were fine… and that he was okay, too. You didn’t, like, stab the boy, did you? I mean, I totally disapprove of murdering hotties, but if you need help burying the body, you know I’ll bring the shovel.”

  “Thanks, Casey,” I said. “But he’s alive. Today wasn’t as bad as I expected. Actually,…” I almost told her everything. How Mom and Dad were getting a divorce and how, in a moment of desperation, I’d kissed Wesley Rush, again. How that kiss had turned into something much, much more. How my body felt dirty all over, yet at the same time amazingly free. The words lingered on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t make them come out.

  Not yet, at least.

  “Actually what, B?” she asked, bringing me out of my thoughts.

  “Um,… nothing. He actually had some good ideas for the paper. That’s it. I guess he’s, like, a Hawthorne freak or something.”

  “Well, that’s good. I know you find smart boys sexy. Are you gonna admit you want him now?”

  I froze, not knowing how to respond to this, but Casey was laughing already.

  “I’m teasing, but I’m glad things turned out okay. I was a little worried about you today. I just had this feeling that something bad was going to happen. I guess I was just being paranoid.”

  “Probably.”

  “I’ve got to go. Jessica wants me to call her with all the details of my meeting with Harrison. She just doesn’t get it, does she? Anyway, I’ll see you at school on Monday.”

  “Okay. Bye, Casey.”

  “See you later, B.”

  I flipped the cell phone shut and placed it on my nightstand, feeling like a total liar. Technically, I hadn’t lied; I’d only withheld, but still… withholding from Casey was, like, a mortal sin. Especially when she made such a point of opening h
erself to my problems.

  But I’d tell her eventually. Well, about my parents, at least. I just needed to deal with it myself before I sprang it on her and Jessica. The Wesley thing, though… God, I hoped they’d never find out.

  I knelt at the foot of my bed and started folding the clean clothes, like I did every night. Weirdly, I wasn’t as stressed as I’d expected myself to be. I hated to admit it, but I definitely had Wesley to thank for that.

  9

  Dad didn’t leave his bedroom for the rest of the weekend. I knocked a couple of times Sunday afternoon and offered to make him something to eat, but he just murmured a refusal, never opening the door between us. His isolation terrified me. He must have been depressed about Mom, and ashamed he’d fallen off the wagon to top it off, but I knew this wasn’t healthy. I decided that if he hadn’t emerged by Monday afternoon, I would bust into the room and… well, I didn’t know what I’d do next. In the meantime, I just tried not to think of my father or the divorce papers on the kitchen table.

  Surprisingly, that was pretty easy.

  Most of my thoughts swarmed around Wesley. Ew, right? But I really didn’t know how to handle school on Monday. What did one do after having a one-night stand (or, in my case, one-afternoon stand) with the school’s biggest man-whore? Was I supposed to act nonchalant? Treat him with my normal undisguised hatred? Or, because I’d honestly enjoyed myself, should I act, like, grateful? Tone down the contempt and be friendly? Did I owe him something? Surely not. He’d gotten just as much out of the experience as I had, minus the self-loathing.

  By the time I arrived at school Monday morning, I’d pretty much settled on avoiding him entirely.

  “Are you okay, Bianca?” Jessica asked as we walked out of Spanish at the end of first block. “You’re acting… um, weird.”

  I’ll admit, my spy skills weren’t exactly smooth, but I knew that Wesley walked past the classroom on his way to second block, and I didn’t want to risk an awkward post-sex meeting in the hallway. I peered anxiously around the edge of the door, scanning the crowd for those unmistakable brown curls. But if Jessica could tell something was up, I was being way too obvious.