Kody Keplinger: The DUFF: Designated Ugly Fat Friend

“No, you’re not. You’re bleeding. Let me help.” She reached out a hand and pulled me up. Then she turned and yelled at the kids who were making fun of me.

After that, she basically appointed herself my personal caretaker, never letting me out of her sight, determined to keep me out of trouble. From that moment on, we were best friends.

Of course, that was before popularity and Duffs got involved. She wound up being tall (almost six one-the girl was an Amazon!) and thin and gorgeous. I wound up looking like… well, the opposite. To see us separately, no one would ever think we were close. No one would guess the pretty Homecoming Queen was with the chubby mousy-haired girl in the corner.

But we were best friends. She’d been there for me through everything. She’d even stuck by me freshman year, after I’d had my heart broken for the first-and if I had anything to do with it, only-time. She never let me isolate myself or drown in my own misery. Despite the fact that she could easily find prettier, cooler, more popular friends, she stayed with me.

So when she asked me to drive her home after cheerleading practice on Wednesday afternoon, I agreed. I mean, after all she’d done for me over the past twelve years, the least I could do was give her a lift every now and then.

I waited in the cafeteria, staring at the psychedelic blue-and-orange walls (the guy who picked our school colors must have been on some serious drugs), attempting to finish my calculus homework. I was in the middle of asking myself the age-old question-where will I use this in real life?-when I felt a hand on my shoulder. That skin-crawly thing happened, and I knew exactly who was behind me.

Great. Just fucking great.

I jerked out from under Wesley’s hand and spun around to face him, gripping my pencil like a dart and aiming it right at his Adam’s apple.

He didn’t even flinch. His gray eyes examined the pencil with feigned curiosity and he said, “Interesting. Is this how you greet all the boys you like?”

“I don’t like you.”

“Does that mean you love me, then?”

I hated the smooth, confident way he spoke. A lot of girls thought it was sexy, but it was really just stalker-ish. Everything about him screamed date rape! to me. Ugh.

“It means that I hate you,” I snapped. “And if you don’t stay the fuck away from me, I’ll report you for sexual harassment.”

“Might be a hard case,” Wesley mused. He swiped the pencil from me and began twirling it between his fingers. “Especially considering you’re the one who kissed me. Technically, I could report you for harassment.”

I gritted my teeth, still hating to even think about it, not even bothering to remind him that he’d been more than willing to participate. “Give me back my pencil,” I muttered.

“I don’t know,” he said. “With you, this could be classified as a dangerous weapon… along with glasses of cherry soda. Interesting choice, by the way. I’d always pegged you for more of a Sprite girl. You know… plain.”

I just glared at him, hoping he would spontaneously combust before I grabbed my textbooks and notepads off the table. He dodged my attempt to stomp on his foot and stared after me as I marched down the hallway. I was halfway to the gym, where Casey, the cheerleading captain, should have been wrapping up practice, when he caught up with me.

“Oh, come on, Duffy. That was just a joke. Lighten up.”

“It wasn’t funny.”

“Your sense of humor needs some work, then,” Wesley suggested. “Most girls find my jokes charming.”

“Those girls must have IQs low enough to trip over.”

He laughed.

Apparently, I was the funny one.

“Hey, you never told me why you were upset the other night,” he said. “You were too busy shoving your tongue down my throat. So what was the problem?”

“None of your-” I began, but I stopped suddenly. “Hey! I didn’t… there was no tongue!” A shiver of rage ran through me as I noticed his mischievous smile. “You son of a bitch! Get the fuck out of here. God, why are you stalking me? I thought Wesley Rush didn’t chase girls. I thought they chased him, right?”

“You’re right. Wesley Rush doesn’t chase girls, and I’m not chasing you,” he said. “I’m here waiting for my sister. She’s making up a test for Mr. Rollins. I just saw you in the cafeteria and thought-”

“What? Thought you’d torture me a little more?” I clenched my fists. “Leave me the hell alone. You’ve already made me miserable.”

“How have I done that?” he asked, sounding a little surprised.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that Duff’ was plaguing me because of him. He’d enjoy it too much.

Instead, I took off running to the gym doors as fast as I could. This time he didn’t follow me-thank God. I hurried into the blue-and-orange gymnasium (Oh God. Bright colors… I could feel a headache coming already…) and took a seat on the closest bleacher.

“Great practice, girls!” Casey cried from the other side of the gym. “Okay, the next basketball game is Friday. I want you all to practice the dance, and Vikki, work on those high kicks. All right?”

The Skinny Squad murmured in general agreement.

“Awesome,” said Casey. “See you later, guys. Go Panthers!”

“Go Panthers!” the other cheerleaders echoed as they separated. Most of the girls hurried to the locker room, but a few headed for the doors, chatting excitedly with their friends.

Casey skipped over to me. “Hey, B,” she said. “Sorry we went a little overtime. Do you mind if I change before we get out of here? I feel a little stinky.”

“I don’t care,” I murmured.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, instantly suspicious.

“Nothing, Casey. Go change.”

“Bianca, I can tell-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I wasn’t about to get into another Wesley discussion with her. She’d probably wind up defending him like last time. “I’m fine, okay?” I said, softening my voice. “Long day. Headache.”

Casey still looked skeptical when she walked, with considerably less pep, to the locker room.

Fantastic. I felt like a total bitch. She’d only wanted to make sure I was okay, and I shut her out. I shouldn’t have taken my anger at Wesley out on her, even if she did think he was a fucking prince.

But when she came out of the locker room in her hoodie and jeans, her usual cheer had returned. She swung her purse over her shoulder and came to where I was sitting, a smile plastered across her spotless, smooth face. “Sometimes, I can’t believe the shit I hear in the locker room,” she said. “You ready to go, B?”

“Sure.” I picked up my books and started toward the gym doors, hoping that Wesley wasn’t still lurking in the hallway.

Casey must have noticed my anxiety. I could see the tense, worried look on her face, but she didn’t bring it up again. Instead, she said, “So, okay, Vikki is totally gonna get a reputation as a whore.”

“She already has one.”

“Well, yeah,” Casey admitted, “but it’s about to get worse. She’s dating that junior football player-you know, what’s-his-name-but she told some guy from Oak Hill High that she’d take him to Basketball Homecoming. I don’t know why she does this stuff to herself. You, Jess, and me will have a front-row seat for the drama when it all comes out that night. BTW, what are you wearing to the dance?”

“Nothing.”

“Hot, but I doubt they’ll let you in naked, B.” We were walking through the maze of tables in the cafeteria on our way to the parking lot.

“No. I mean, Jessica and I aren’t going to Homecoming,” I said.

“Of course you are,” Casey protested.