The DUFF: Designated Ugly Fat Friend

Because he was Wesley Rush.

And I was the Duff.

There was no way in hell I was going to torture myself that way. I’d learned my lesson with Jake. Getting too close just led to getting hurt, and Wesley had plenty to hurt me with. Last night he’d seen me at my weakest. I’d let him in. I’d opened up. And if I didn’t leave now, I’d pay the price.

No matter where you go or what you do to distract yourself, reality catches up with you eventually. Mom had said that about herself and Dad.

A bitter smile spread across my face as I reluctantly crawled out of Wesley’s arms. Mom had been right. Wesley was my distraction. He was supposed to be my escape from emotions. From all the drama. And here I was… feeling nothing but emotions.

I crept around the room, trying to get dressed without making any noise. After yanking on my sweater and jeans, I grabbed my cell phone and slipped out onto the balcony.

Before I could talk myself out of it, or convince myself that she wouldn’t answer, I dialed Casey’s cell phone number. I knew she’d still be pissed at me, but I couldn’t think of any other options. No matter how mad she was, I knew Casey would help me. She’d help anyone. It was just part of her nature.

“H’lo?” she grunted sleepily after two rings.

Damn, a little voice murmured in the back of my head. After all this time, I couldn’t believe this was how Casey would find out my secret. But I knew it was for the best. I knew if I didn’t leave then, I never would. I knew, but I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to feel what I felt. And I really didn’t want Casey—or anybody, for that matter—to know about it.

“Hello? Bianca?”

Too bad I never got what I wanted.

“Hey, Casey, I’m sorry to wake you up, but can you do me a big favor? Please.”

“B, are you okay?” she demanded, her drowsiness vanishing. “What’s up? What’s wrong?”

“Can you get your mom’s keys and come pick me up? I really need a ride home.”

“Home?” She sounded confused. Not a good thing when combined with fear. God, I was going to give the poor girl ulcers one day. “You mean you aren’t at home? You didn’t stay at your place last night?”

“Chill out, Casey. I’m fine,” I said.

“Don’t fucking tell me to chill out, Bianca,” she snapped. “You’ve been acting weird for weeks and totally ignoring me every time I tried to talk to you. Now you’re calling me early in the morning and telling me to pick you up, but I should chill out? God, where the hell are you?”

This was the part I’d been dreading, so I took a deep breath before answering her question. “I’m at Wesley’s…. You know the giant house on—”

“Yeah,” Casey said. “Wesley Rush’s place? I know where it is.” She was curious, but she tried to hide it behind her anger. Her acting skills were no better than mine. “Fine, I’ll be there in ten minutes.” And she hung up.

I shut the phone and shoved it into my back pocket.

Ten minutes. Just ten short minutes.

I sighed and leaned against the railing of the balcony. From here, boring-ass Hamilton looked like a creepy ghost town. The streets were empty this early in the morning (they were never really busy, to be honest), and all the little gray-roofed shops were closed. The image wasn’t helped by the dull, sunless sky that left everything under a layer of gloom.

Sunless gloom. Go figure, right?

“You may not be aware of this, but humans tend to sleep in on Saturdays.”

I turned around and found Wesley standing at the balcony entrance, rubbing his eyes sleepily with a little smile on his face. Despite the chilly wind, he was wearing nothing but his black boxers. Damn, he had an amazing body… but I couldn’t think about that. I had to end this.

“We need to talk.” I tried to find something to look at besides his hot, half-naked body. My feet seemed like the best option.

“Hmm,” Wesley mused, ru

“We should go inside.”

“That’s not promising.”

I followed him into his bedroom, wringing my hands uncontrollably. (Sweaty palms are so attractive.) He flopped onto his bed and waited for me to do the same, but I remained standing. I couldn’t get too comfortable. Casey would be there to pick me up in about eight and a half minutes—I was counting—so I had to keep this short and sweet.

Or just short. Nothing about this felt sweet to me.

Anxiously, I reached up and scratched the back of my neck. “Listen,” I said. “You’re a great guy, and I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

Why did this sound so much like a breakup? Didn’t you actually have to be dating someone to dump them?

“Really?” Wesley asked. “Since when? You’ve never referred to me as anything better than a scumbag. I knew I’d grow on you eventually… but something tells me I should be suspicious.”

“But,” I went on, ignoring him as best I could. “I can’t do this anymore. I think we should stop, um, sleeping together.”

Yep. Definitely seemed breakup-ish to me. All I needed to do was throw in an “It’s not you; it’s me,” and it would be perfect.

“Why?” He didn’t sound hurt. Just surprised.

It hurt me that he didn’t sound hurt.

“Because this isn’t working for me anymore,” I said, sticking with the traditional lines I’d heard in movies. They were classics for a reason, after all. “I just don’t think this”—I gestured between us—“is in my, uh… either of our best interests.”

Wesley narrowed his eyes at me. “Bianca, does this have something to do with what happened last night?” he asked seriously. “If so, I want you to know that you don’t have to worry about—”

“That’s not it.”

“What, then? You’re not making sense.”

I stared at my shoes. The rubber edges were starting to peel, but the bright red fabric of the Converse hadn’t faded at all. Bright red. “I’m like Hester,” I whispered, more to myself than to Wesley.

“What?”

I looked up at him, surprised he’d heard me. “I’m like…” I shook my head. “Nothing. We’re done. I’m done.”

“Bianca—”

Two quick honks from the driveway saved me.

“I—I have to go.”

I was so focused on getting the hell out of that house that I didn’t hear the words Wesley yelled after me. His voice simply faded into the distance, where I hoped to leave him forever.

19

Casey revved the engine as I climbed into her mother’s ancient pickup truck. Miss Waller (formerly Mrs. Blithe; she went back to her maiden name after the divorce) could have had a much nicer vehicle. Back when she was married to Casey’s dad, they’d had plenty of money. Mr. Blithe had offered to buy her a Lexus, but she’d refused. She loved the rickety old Chevy, which she’d gotten her junior year of high school. Her daughter, on the other hand, despised it. Especially since it was the only vehicle she got to drive.

Casey definitely wouldn’t have turned her dad’s Lexus down. Unfortunately, Mr. Blithe had lost what generosity he ever possessed after the divorce was finalized.

She was gazing through her windshield at the almost-mansion while I pulled on my seat belt. She had pink pajamas decorated with green frogs on under her jacket, and her short hair stuck up in every direction. Unlike me, Casey could make looking like crap seem cute and sexy. She didn’t even have to try.

“Hi,” I said.

She looked over at me. Her eyes swept across my face—already searching for telltale signs of trouble—and her forehead wrinkled. After a short staring contest, she turned away and put the truck into drive, struggling a little with the stick shift. “Okay,” she said as we pulled out of the driveway. “What’s going on? And don’t tell me things are fine, because I got my ass up at seven a.m., and I might just wring your neck if you don’t give me a real answer.”