Kody Keplinger - The DUFF - Designated Ugly Fat Friend

“But we’ve had classes together since we were freshmen,” I reminded him. “We didn’t have to talk for me to know you were awesome.” I grinned and clapped him on the back. “And you just proved me right.” The bell rang, and I turned toward the doors that led to the student parking lot. “See you later, Toby. Congratulations!”

“Yeah. Thanks, Bianca.”

As I walked to the double doors, I wondered if I’d said too much. Did I give myself away as a semi-stalker? God, I hoped not. The last thing I wanted was to scare the poor guy away after less than a month of actual human contact. That would really make me a loser.

I was about to push open the door that led to the student parking lot when a loud “Ahem” caught my attention. I turned around and saw Casey leaning against the school’s nearly empty trophy case, her arms crossed over her chest. The way her eyes were narrowed annoyed me right away.

“What?” I asked.

She scowled and let her arms fall heavily to her sides. “Nothing,” she grumbled. “Forget it!”

“Casey, what are you-?”

“Not now, B.” She turned around and started stomping away from me. “I have cheer practice.”

My hands flew automatically to my hips. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I demanded. “You sound like a total bitch.”

She stopped and looked over her shoulder at me. “I’m the bitch? You ignore me, and I’m the bitch? WTF, Bianca!” She shook her head. “Whatever. I’m not having this conversation right now. Not when we were supposed to have it ten minutes ago, like you told Jess we would. I guess you were too busy hanging all over that geek to-”

“Criticizing Toby sounds pretty damn bitchy to me, Casey,” I snapped. How dare she! She knew I liked him. She knew that having him pay any attention to me was a big deal! She knew, and yet she was bitching at me for it? “You’re acting like a preppy cheerleader snob.”

Her eyes flashed, and for a second it looked like she might pounce on me. I seriously thought I was going to get into an all-out, hair-pulling, reality-show girl fight with my best friend right in front of the parking lot doors.

But she walked away. Not a word. Not even a sound. She just drifted toward the gymnasium, leaving me pissed and totally confused.

I’d fought with Casey before; it’s bound to happen when you’ve been friends as long as we had. But this argument really unnerved me, mostly because I didn’t know what her deal was. I stormed across the parking lot, trying to figure out what I could have done to deserve that drama. Clearly I’d set her off somehow.

And of course things just had to get better and better.

My car wouldn’t start. I tried and tried again, but still got nothing. The battery was completely dead.

“Fuck!” I yelled, slamming my fist into the steering wheel. This was not what I needed. Hadn’t my day been bad enough? Hadn’t my life been bad enough? It was like nothing ever went right. “Shit! Damn! Hell! Start, you piece of-”

“Having car problems, Duffy?”

I paused mid-rant to glare at the offending shadow. I opened the door and told Wesley, “My fucking car won’t turn on.” Then I saw the girl standing next to him.

Skinny. Big boobs. It wasn’t Louisa Farr. This girl was cuter. She had a round, sweet face with curly brown hair that bounced around her shoulders and large gray eyes. Way prettier than me, of course. Probably some freshman who only had to take one look at Wesley’s sexy smile and pretty, shiny car before she put out. Again, that twinge of jealousy overpowered me. Just PMS.

“Would you like me to give you a ride?” he asked.

“No,” I said quickly. “I’ll just call…” But who would I call? Mom was in Tennessee. Dad was at work. Casey had cheer practice. Not that it mattered. She was pissed at me anyway, and she and Jess both relied on their parents-or me-to drive them around. Who would come get me?

“Come on, Duffy,” Wesley said, grinning at me. “You know you want to ride with me.” He bent down to look me in the eyes. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“That’s okay.” There was no way I was riding in the same car as Wesley and his latest conquest. Nope. Not a chance.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You can call someone later. There’s no point staying in the parking lot until dark. I just have to drop Amy off, and then I can take you home.”

Amy, I thought. So that’s the bimbo’s name.

Then something in the back of my mind clicked.

Oh my God! Amy! Amy was his sister! I looked at the girl again, wondering how I’d missed it. Curly brown hair, dark gray eyes, very attractive. Duh. The resemblance was obvious. I was an unbelievable dumbass.

Wesley reached past me and pulled my keys out of the ignition.

“Fine,” I said, feeling significantly better. I snatched back my keys and dropped them into my purse. “Let me get my stuff.” Once I had everything I needed, I locked the doors and followed Wesley to his car, which was easy to spot since it was the only Porsche in the parking lot.

“Now, Duffy,” Wesley said as he climbed into the driver’s seat. I slid into the back so that Amy, who was apparently the quiet type, could sit with her brother. “This means you’ll actually have to admit that I do nice things for people on occasion.”

“I never said you don’t do nice things,” I told him as I attempted to situate myself in the cramped backseat. God, for being such fancy cars, Porches had zero legroom. I had to sit sideways with my knees pulled up to my chest. So not comfortable. “You do. But only when it benefits you in some way.”

Wesley scoffed. “Did you hear that, Amy? Can you believe what she thinks of me?”

“I’m sure Amy knows what you’re like.”

Wesley went silent.

Amy laughed but she seemed kind of nervous.

She didn’t say much during the ride, though Wesley made several attempts to coax her into our conversation. At first I wondered if maybe it was because of me, but it didn’t take long to figure out that she was just shy. When we pulled into the driveway of the large, old-fashioned house, which I knew must belong to Wesley’s grandmother, Amy looked into the backseat and said quietly, “Bye. It was nice to meet you,” before ducking out of the car.

“She’s sweet,” I said.

“She needs to break out of her shell.” Wesley sighed as he watched her hurry up to the front porch. Once she’d disappeared into the big house (it was no almost-mansion, but clearly his grandma had money, too), he looked back at me. “You can take the front seat if you want.”

I nodded and got out of the car. I opened the passenger’s door and eased myself into the seat Amy had just abandoned. Right around the time I got my seat belt fastened, I heard Wesley let out a low groan. “What’s your problem?” I asked, looking up. But I figured out the answer before he said a word.

A woman in her sixties had just come out of the house, and she was walking toward the car. Wesley’s grandma, no doubt. Wesley’s grandma who hated him. No wonder he looked like he wanted to hide. I felt a little anxious as I watched the woman, who was very well dressed in an expensive-looking salmon sweater and perfectly creased slacks, stride toward the car.

Wesley rolled down his window when she got close enough to hear him. “Hi, Grandma Rush. How are you?”

“Don’t play with me, Wesley Benjamin. I’m furious with you at the moment.” But she didn’t sound furious. Her voice was high-pitched and soft. Silky. She sounded like the sweetest old woman ever, but her words didn’t fit the part.

“What did I do this time?” Wesley asked with a sigh. “Wear the wrong shoes? Or is it that the car isn’t clean enough today? What mild imperfection are you going to throw at me this afternoon?”