The DUFF: Designated Ugly Fat Friend

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.

13

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 gri

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 sca

“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.”