The DUFF: Designated Ugly Fat Friend

by Kody Keplinger

  “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.”

  We reached the empty table and exchanged smiles, though mine was halfhearted. “That’s it,” I said. “That was the last of them.”

  “Yep.” Toby leaned against the table. “You know, I’m glad they forced you to help. I would have been bored out of my mind if I’d done this by myself. It was fun talking to you.”

  “I had fun, too,” I said, trying not to sound too enthusiastic.

  “Listen,” he said. “You shouldn’t sit in the back of the room in AP government. Why don’t you take one of the desks behind Jeanine and me? There’s no reason for you to be alone back there. I think you should join us—the nerds in the front of the room.”

  “I might.” And, obviously, I knew I would. How could I refuse such a request from Toby Tucker?

  “Bianca Piper?” The secretary rounded the corner and approached us. There were no flowers or candy boxes in her hands this time. “Bianca, there’s someone here to sign you out.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Um, okay.” Weird. I had a car. There was no reason for me to be checked out.

  “See you later, Bianca,” Toby called as I followed the secretary toward the front desk. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

  I waved just before turning the corner, trying to remember whether or not I had a doctor’s appointment that day or something. Why was I being checked out of school? But before my mind could invent any family tragedies, the answer hit me like a ton of bricks, and I stopped dead in my tracks.

  Oh. My. God.

  She stood at the front desk, looking like she’d just stepped off a soundstage somewhere in Hollywood. Her blond hair, lightened by the sun, fell around her shoulders in gentle, perfect waves. She wore a knee-length teal dress (without panty hose, of course) and high high heels. Dark sunglasses covered her eyes—eyes that I knew were green. She lifted the sunglasses as she turned to face me.

  “Hi, Bianca,” the beautiful woman said.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  14

  I could tell she was nervous by the way she stepped toward me. She looked shaky, and her eyes were wide with, from what I could guess, fear. For good reason, too. Unlike my father, I knew she’d meant to send those divorce papers, and I hated her for it. For not warning either of us. So I shot her a warning glare and moved away when she approached me. This must have confirmed her worries, because her glance sank to the floor and she focused on the toe of her stiletto.

  “I’ve missed you, Bianca,
” my mother said.

  “Sure you have.”

  “Did you finish signing her out, Mrs. Piper?” the secretary asked, returning to her chair behind the tall desk.

  “Yes, I did,” Mom said. Her voice found its smooth, natural tone again. “So are we free to go, warden?”

  “You’re released,” the secretary laughed. She fluffed her hair and added, “And I wanted you to know, I bought a copy of your book. It has been such a lifesaver for me. I read it once a month.”

  Mom smiled. “Oh, thank you! Glad to meet one of the ten people who’ve actually read it.”

  The secretary beamed at her. “It changed my life.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  Everyone loved my mother. She was funny, intelligent, and gorgeous. She looked a lot like Uma Thurman—as far from being the Duff as you could possibly get. All of her flaws were hidden behind that pretty face, and her smile could deceive people into believing she was perfect. The secretary, who giggled and waved as Mom led me out of the school, was just another fool.

  “Where exactly are we going?” I didn’t bother to shield her from my bitterness. She deserved it.

  “Um… I don’t know,” Mom admitted. Her heels clacked on the smooth pavement as she walked. The sound stopped when we reached her car, a red Mustang that looked like it had been lived in for a few days. It wasn’t hard to tell she’d driven here all the way from Orange County. “Somewhere with heat?” She was trying to sound perky. “I’m freezing my booty off.”

  “If you put some decent clothes on, you might not have that problem.” I yanked open the passenger’s side door and pushed some junk out of the seat before sliding in. “Sorry this isn’t California. It gets cold here.”

  “Oh, California isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Mom said. She looked tense as she got into the car, and her bubbly laugh was clearly nervous, not humorous. “It’s not as fun as the movies make it look, you know?”

  “Really? That’s weird. You seem to like it better than Hamilton. But then again, you like to be anywhere but here, don’t you?”

  The laughter died, and the car became silent. Mom started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. Finally, with all of her veils shredded, she whispered, “Bianca, we have to talk about this. I don’t think you understand what I’m going through right now.”

  “Yeah, it looks tough, Mom,” I snapped. “Nice tan, by the way. I know Orange County must have been a real hellhole. How did you manage?”

  “Bianca Lynne Piper, I won’t take that attitude from you!” she shouted. “Despite what you think of me right now, I am still your mother, and I deserve a certain amount of respect.”

  “Really?” I snorted. “Like the respect you showed Dad by sending fucking divorce papers without warning him? Or me! For God’s sake, Mother, what the hell is the matter with you?”

  More silence.

  I knew this would get us nowhere. I knew I should listen to her, consider her side, and share my feelings reasonably. I’d seen enough Dr. Phil to know we needed to compromise, but I didn’t want to. Selfish, childish, immature… I might have been all of those things, but my father’s face, the empty beer bottles I’d picked up last week, and the stupid divorce papers just kept popping into my mind. Listen? Consider? Be reasonable? How were those even options? She was just as childish and selfish as me. The only difference was that she hid it better.

  Mom let out a slow breath before pulling the car over to the side of the road. She shut off the engine without saying a word, and I stared out my window at an empty field, which would be full of high cornstalks when summer finally showed up. The gray February sky said everything. Cold. Bleak. A wasted day. A wasted effort. But I wouldn’t speak first. I would let her be the adult for once in her life.

  Seconds ticked by. The only sound in the car was our breathing. Mom gave short, hesitant gasps, as if she were on the verge of speaking but changed her mind before the first word could escape her lips. I waited.

  “Bianca,” she said eventually. We’d been quiet for at least five minutes. “I’m…. I’m sorry. I’m so… so sorry.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “I didn’t want it to end like this.” The way her voice cracked made me wonder if she was crying, but I didn’t turn my head. “I haven’t been happy for a long time, and after your grandma died, your dad suggested I take a trip. I thought it might help. Like I’d escape for a little while, give a few speeches in different towns, then come back and everything would be better. Go back to how it used to be when your dad and I first got married. But…”

  Her long, thin fingers trembled as they closed around my hand. Reluctantly, I faced her. There were no tears on her cheeks, but I could see a misty glitter in her eyes. The dam just hadn’t broken yet.

  “But I was wrong,” she said. “I thought I could escape from my problems, but I was so wrong, Bianca. No matter where you go or what you do to distract yourself, reality catches up with you eventually. I came home, and after a few days, I felt it again, so I’d leave on another trip. I’d stay away a little longer, book a few more places to speak, go a little farther away… until I couldn’t go any farther at all. It caught up with me on the other side of the country, and I… I had to face it.”

  “Face what?”

  “That I don’t want to be with your dad anymore.” She looked down at our hands, still twined together. “I love your dad very much, but I’m not in love with him… not the way he’s in love with me. That’s cliché as heck, but it’s true. I can’t keep lying and pretending things are okay with us. I’m sorry.”

  “So you want a divorce?”

  “Yes.”

  I sighed and looked out the window again. Still gray. Still cold.

  “You’ll have to tell Dad,” I said. “He thinks it was a mistake. He doesn’t think you… you could ever do that to us.”

  “Do you hate me?”

  “No.”

  The answer didn’t really surprise me, even though the word just kind of flew out automatically. I wanted to hate her. Not so much for the divorce; as much as she’d been gone for the past few years, the idea of living with a single parent wasn’t all that new or upsetting. And honestly, I’d been expecting them to separate for a while. Really, I’d wanted to hate her for Dad. For the pain I knew she was causing him. For that night he’d relapsed.

  But it hit me then. She didn’t cause that relapse. I could blame her all I wanted, but that wouldn’t do any good. She had to take responsibility for her own life, and Dad had to do the same. By staying married, letting things go on the way they had for the past three years, they’d both be living in denial.

  My mother was finally facing reality. Dad would have to face it, too.

  “I don’t hate you, Mom.”

  The sky had been black for hours by the time Mom dropped me off in the high school parking lot, where we’d left my car. We’d spent the afternoon just driving around Hamilton and talking about all that she’d missed. The same way we did every time she came back from a tour. Only this time, she wouldn’t be coming home. At least not to stay.

  “I’m gonna go see your dad now… I guess,” Mom said. “Maybe you should spend the night with Casey, honey. I just don’t know how he’ll react…. That’s a lie. I do know how he’ll react, and it won’t be good.”

  I nodded, hoping she was wrong—though our definitions of not good were different. I hadn’t mentioned his relapse to her, mostly since it had passed without any significant drama. She was afraid of tears and yelling—the things that should be expected with a confrontation of this kind. I didn’t want to make her worry about the drinking, too. Especially since it hadn’t really been that big a deal in the end.

  “God,” she whispered. “I feel horrible. I’m telling my husband I want a divorce on Valentine’s Day. I’m such a… a bitch. Maybe I should wait until tomorrow and—”

  “You have to tell him, Mom. If you put it off now, you’ll never do it.” I unfastened my seat belt. “I�
��ll call Casey and see if I can stay with her. You should go now… before it gets too late.”

  “Okay.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay, I will.”

  I opened the door of the Mustang and climbed out. “It’ll be fine.”

  Mom shook her head and fiddled with the keys dangling from the ignition. “You shouldn’t have to be the grown-up,” she murmured. “I’m the mother. I should be comforting you, telling you it will be okay. This is so dysfunctional.”

  “Functionality is overrated.” I gave her a reassuring smile. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Mom. Good luck.”

  “Thanks,” she sighed. “I love you, Bianca.”

  “You, too.”

  “Bye, baby.”

  I shut the door and stepped away from the car. With my smile still firmly intact, I waved and watched as the little red Mustang drifted out of the parking lot and turned onto the highway, where it hesitated as if debating whether or not to proceed. But my mother drove on. So I kept waving.

  As soon as the taillights vanished, I allowed the smile to slip from my face. Yes, I knew things would be okay. Yes, I knew Mom was doing the right thing. Yes, I knew this was a step in the right direction for both my parents. But I knew Dad wouldn’t see it that way… at least not at first. I’d smiled to reassure Mom, but for Dad I hung my head.

  I pulled the car keys out of my back pocket and unlocked the door. After throwing my stuff onto the passenger’s seat, I climbed inside and shut the door, putting a wall between my already shaking body and the February night. For several minutes, I just sat in the silent car, trying not to think or worry about my parents.

  That was impossible, of course.

  I reached a hand into my purse and began sifting through the clutter of gum wrappers and pens. Finally, I located my cell phone. I pulled it out and paused with my thumb poised over the keypad.

  I didn’t call Casey.

  I waited through three rings before I got an answer.