Kody Keplinger - The DUFF - Designated Ugly Fat Friend

“How romantic of you,” Toby said.

I snorted. “Hardly. I’m not romantic at all, but it’s basic logic. Denying homosexuals the right to marriage infringes on their liberty and equality. Pretty screwed up.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Toby agreed. “It seems we have a lot in common.”

“I guess we do.”

We walked for a couple of seconds in silence before he asked, “So, do you have any plans for prom?”

“No,” I told him. “I’m not going. Why pay two hundred bucks for a dress, thirty for a ticket, forty for hair and makeup, and a handful more for dinner, where all you can have is a salad with no dressing because you have to avoid getting gunk on the poufy dress? It’s kind of ridiculous.”

“I see,” Toby said. “That’s a little unfortunate… I was kind of hoping you’d go with me.”

Okay, so I hadn’t seen that coming. At all. Ever. Toby Tucker, the boy I’d crushed on for years, wanted to ask me to prom? Oh my God. Oh my God. And I’d totally bashed the whole institution of high school dances like an opinionated idiot. I’d practically rejected him without even meaning to. Oh, shit. I was a moron. A complete moron. And now I was at a loss for words. What did I say? Did I apologize or take it back or-

“But it’s fine if you feel that way,” Toby said. “I’ve always thought prom was a pointless rite of passage, so we’re on the same page.”

“Uh, yeah,” I said lamely.

Oh, someone fucking shoot me right now!

“But,” Toby pressed, “are you opposed to regular dates? Ones without poufy dresses or crappy salads?”

“No. I don’t have a problem with those.”

My head was spinning. Toby wanted me to go on a date with him. A date! I hadn’t been on a real date since… Hell, I’d never been on a real date. Unless you counted making out with Jake in the back of a movie theater a date.

I didn’t.

But why? Why would Toby want to go on a date with me? I was the Duff. Duffs don’t get dates. Not real ones. Yet Toby was defying the odds. Maybe he was a bigger man than most. Just like how I’d always imagined him in my stupid, girly, midclass daydreams. Not shallow. Not conceited. Not cocky or vain. A perfect gentleman.

“That’s good,” he said. “In that case…” I could tell he was nervous. His cheeks were turning pink, and he was staring at his shoes and playing with his glasses. “Friday? Would you like to go out with me on Friday night?”

“I’d like…”

Then the inevitable happened. I thought of the douche bag. The playboy. The womanizer. The one person who could ruin this moment for me. Yes, I had a crush on Toby Tucker. How could I not? He was sweet and charming and smart… but my feelings for Wesley were way beyond that. I’d skipped the crush kiddie pool and jumped right into the deep, shark-infested ocean of emotions. And, if you’ll forgive the dramatic metaphor, I was a lousy swimmer.

But Casey had told me to move on, and here Toby was, tossing me a float and offering to save me from drowning. I’d be stupid not to accept. God only knew how long it might be before another rescue party came along.

And, come on, Toby was adorable.

“I’d like that,” I said, hoping my pause hadn’t freaked him out too much.

“Great.” He sounded relieved. “I’ll pick you up at seven Friday night.”

“Cool.”

We separated in the cafeteria, and I think I skipped-yeah, skipped like a little kid-to the lunch table, my bad mood totally forgotten.

And it stayed forgotten.

For the rest of that week, I didn’t think about how I shouldn’t be thinking of Wesley. I didn’t think of Wesley at all. Not once. My brain was too full of things like What should I wear? and How should I fix my hair? All the stuff I’d never worried about before. Talk about surreal.

But those were the things that Casey and Jessica were experts on, so they came home with me on Friday afternoon, and they were eager to make me their own personal Barbie doll. If I hadn’t been so nervous about this date, I would have been horrified, my feminist sensibilities offended at their preening and squealing.

They forced me into, like, twenty different outfits (all of which I hated) before deciding on one. I wound up in a knee-length black skirt and a low-cut turquoise blouse, cut just low enough that you could make out the curve of my tiny boobs. Then they spent the rest of the time using a flatiron on my unwilling hair. It took them two hours-that’s no exaggeration, by the way-to get it all straight.

It was already six-fifty when they placed me in front of the mirror to examine their work.

“Perfect,” Casey announced.

“Cute!” Jessica agreed.

“See, B,” Casey said. “All of that Duff shit is ridiculous. You look freaking smoking right now.”

“What Duff shi-uh, stuff?” Jessica asked.

“Nothing,” I said.

“B thinks she’s the ugly one.”

“What?” Jessica cried. “Bianca, do you really think that?”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“She does,” Casey said. “She told me so.”

“But you’re not, Bianca,” Jessica insisted. “How could you think that?”

“Jessica, don’t worry about it,” I said. “It’s no big-”

“I know,” Casey said. “Isn’t it stupid? Isn’t she hot, Jess?”

“She’s super-hot.”

“See, B. You’re super-hot.”

I sighed. “Thanks, guys.” Time for a subject change. “So, um, how are you getting home? I can’t take you if Toby is picking me up in ten minutes. Are your parents coming to get you?”

“Oh, no,” Jessica said. “We aren’t leaving.”

“What?”

“We’ll be here when you get back from your date,” Casey informed me. “Then we’re having an ultra-girly, tell-all slumber party in honor of our B’s first big date.”

“Yep,” Jessica chirped.

I gawked at them. “You’re not serious.”

“Do we look like we’re kidding?” Casey asked.

“But what will you do while I’m gone? Won’t you be bored or whatever?”

“You have TV,” Jessica reminded me.

“And that’s all we really need,” Casey said. “We already called your dad. You don’t have a choice.”

The doorbell rang before I could argue any further, and my friends practically pushed me down the stairs. Once we were in the living room, they started straightening my skirt and adjusting the collar of my shirt, attempting to maximize the amount of cleavage I was showing.

“You’re going to have such a good time,” Casey sighed happily, pushing some hair behind my ear. “You’ll be over Wesley in no time.”

My stomach clenched.

“Shh… Casey…,” Jessica murmured. I knew Casey had told her the whole story by now, but she hadn’t said anything to me about it, which I appreciated. I really just wanted to keep my mind as far from Wesley as possible.

I hadn’t spoken to him since the morning I’d left his house. He’d tried to talk to me once or twice after English, though. I just avoided him, starting up conversations with Jessica or Casey and rushing out of the class as fast as I could.

“OMG, sorry,” Casey said, biting her lip. “I didn’t think.” She cleared her throat awkwardly and scratched the back of her head, ruffling her short hair.

“Have fun!” Jessica chimed, forcing the uncomfortable pause away. “But, you know, not too much fun. My parents might not like you so much if I have to bail you out of jail.”

I laughed. Only Jessica could save us from these awkward moments with such bubbly grace.

I looked at Casey, and I could see a spark of fear in her eye. She wanted me to move on after Wesley, but I knew she was worried. Worried I’d leave her behind again. Worried Toby would replace her.