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Casey and Jessica were waiting in the backseat of the Taurus. Both of them grinned mischievously at me when I
climbed into the passenger’s seat. “Someone’s dressing sexy,” Casey teased. “I gave you that shirt nine months
ago. Is this the first time you’ve worn it?”
“Um, yeah.”
“Well, it looks good on you,” she said. “Looks like I’m the Duff tonight. Thanks a lot, B.” She winked at me, and I
couldn’t help but smile. Casey had recently taken to using Duff as a word of her own, molding it into our casual
conversations. At first I’d found it kind of unsettling. I mean, the word was an insult. It was horrible. But after the
revelation I’d had that day in the bathroom with Vikki, I appreciated what Casey was doing. The word was ours
now, and as long as we held on to it, we could control the hurt it inflicted.
“It’s a messy job,” I teased. “But, hey, someone’s gotta do it. I promise to be the Duff next weekend.”
She laughed.
“Are you wearing a padded bra?” Jessica blurted out, apparently unaware of our conversation. “Your boobs look
bigger.”
There was a long moment of silence, and I suddenly realized that I would have been safer with my mother.
Casey burst into a fit of laughter as I buried my face in my hands, completely mortified. Toby didn’t show any
reaction. Thank God. If he had, I might have committed suicide right there in the car. Banged my head against the
window until my brain was flattened like a pancake. Instead of snickering or glancing at my chest to see if Jessica
was right, Toby acted like boobs hadn’t even been mentioned. He just stuck the key in the ignition and pulled out of
my driveway.
Note to self, I thought. Murder Jessica when there are no witnesses.
Though, in a weird way, Toby’s lack of reaction bugged me. Wesley would have made a joke. He would have
looked at my chest, of course, but then he would have said something. He would have made me laugh. He wouldn’t
have just ignored it like Toby.
God! Of all things, this should not have been something that bothered me.
“You know,” Casey said when she was finally able to stop laughing. “It was pretty cool of you guys to invite us
along.” She smiled at me, and I knew she was glad to be included. “But you realize this is totally going to ruin your
date, right?”
“How so?” Toby asked.
“Because we get to be your chaperones!” Jessica declared with way too much enthusiasm.
“Which makes it our job to put a stop to all forms of hanky-panky,” Casey added. “And we’ll enjoy doing it.”
“Yep.”
But Toby and I had no need to worry. The minute we got inside the Nest, my friends took off for the dance floor,
flipping their hair and shaking their butts in the usual fashion.
“It looks like they’re the ones who need to be chaperoned,” Toby chuckled as he led me to an empty booth.
“That’s usually my job,” I said.
“Do you think they can survive if you take a night off?”
“We’ll see.”
He smiled and touched my earring with his fingertips. “The band won’t start for half an hour,” he said, moving his
hand down my neck to rest on my shoulder. It didn’t do anything for me. But if Wesley had done this, trailed his fingers across my skin that way, I would have.
“Do you want me to get us some drinks before the bar gets too crowded?”
“Sure,” I said, choking back the thought of Wesley. “I’ll have a Cher—Diet Coke.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” He kissed me on the cheek and left for the bar.
People were spilling through the doors of the club. There was always a bigger crowd on nights when a band
played. A few eighth-grade girls took the booth behind me, bragging loudly about how they’d pretended to be in
high school to get in. A junior and one of his friends sidled past me, a poorly concealed beer bottle hanging out of
his baggy jacket, and, for a split second, I caught a glimpse of the dark-haired freshman Jessica and I had
watched at the basketball game weeks ago. She walked through the door, hand in hand with a cute boy I didn’t
recognize. Even from my distance, I could see the smile on her face. She looked beautiful, and I knew one of her
preppy blond friends was being forced to fill in as the Duff in her absence. Then she and her date were gone,
swept away by the crowd, leaving me with an inexplicable smile on my lips.
I didn’t know what kind of band was supposed to be performing, but based on the number of kids with purple hair
and lip rings who were walking in, I figured I’d be hearing Emo music.
There went my smile.
Great. Whiny boys with guitars. So my style, right?
I was absentmindedly watching the flood of people when he appeared among the crowd. At first I didn’t even
notice. He was with Harrison Carlyle, talking casually as they pushed their way toward the bar. It was easy to track
his movement. He stood a few inches taller than everyone around him, he glanced around the crowd with more
confidence than the rest of our classmates, he walked through the swarms with more grace than any normal
teenager could manage, and my eyes followed him without my brain’s consent.
Halfway to the bar, Wesley turned his head in my direction. His dark eyes locked with mine for an instant. Shit. I
looked away, praying he hadn’t noticed me, even though I was sure he had.
“God,” I muttered, clenching my fist under the table. “It’s like he’s everywhere.”
“Who’s everywhere?” Toby asked, taking his seat across from me and sliding my glass along the smooth surface
of the table.
“No one.” I took a sip of the Diet Coke and tried not to make a face. The lack of sugar left a bad taste in my mouth.
I swallowed and asked, “What’s the name of the band that’s playing again?”
“Black Tears,” he answered.
Yep. That sounded like Emo shit to me.
“Cool.”
“I’ve never heard their music,” Toby admitted, running a hand over his bowl cut blond hair. “But people have told me
they’re good. Plus, they’re about the only band in Hamilton. It seems like everyone else who plays here is from Oak
Hill.”
“Uh-huh.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, conscious of Wesley’s eyes on me. The way they crept along my skin made me
insane, and I hoped that Toby wouldn’t notice me twitching. He’d probably think I was on crack or something.
“I finished Wuthering Heights,” I said, desperate to start a conversation that would get my thoughts off Wesley. It
took me a minute to realize this was definitely not the best subject for that task.
“Did you like it?” Toby asked.
“Well, it gave me a lot to think about.” I could have slapped myself. Wasn’t it that damn book that had me so
freaked out in the first place? Why did I have to bring it up? But it was too late to change the topic now. Toby had
jumped into a full-on book critique.
“I know. I’ve always wondered what made Emily Brontë choose to write such unpleasant characters. I mean,
throughout the whole book, I just thought that both Heathcliff and Linton were such bastards, and Cathy”
I swirled my straw in my drink, only half listening. Every time Toby said Heathcliff, my eyes automatically darted
over his shoulder to glance at Wesley. As always, he looked gorgeous, wearing jeans and a tight white T-shirt
beneath a slightly too large black jacket. He was sitting alone at the bar, stretched out and casually leaning back
with both elbows on the bar molding. Alone. Not a single girl clinging to him. Hell, even Harrison had disappeared.
Joe was the only person close enough to keep him company, and he seemed to be busy with a herd of thirsty Goth
kids.
Wesley’s eyes stayed fixed on me the entire time. From where I sat, it was hard to read their expression, but they
never wavered for a second. Yeah, it was unnerving, but I knew that I would’ve been disappointed, maybe even
hurt, if I’d found that he’d turned away. I actually caught myself checking every few minutes to see if he was still
watching me.
“Bianca?”
Startled, I focused on Toby again. “Hmm?”
“Are you all right?” he asked.
My fingers had been toying with the little B charm around my neck without my realizing it. Immediately I dropped my
hand to my side. “I’m fine.”
“Casey warned me that you’re probably lying when you say that,” he said.
I gritted my teeth and searched the dance floor for my so-called friend. She was being added to my hit list.
“And I think she’s right,” Toby sighed.
“What?”
“Bianca, I can see what’s going on.” He glanced over his shoulder at Wesley before turning back to me with a little
nod. “He’s been staring at you since he got here.”
“Has he?”
“I can see him in the mirrors over there. And you’ve been staring back,” Toby said. “It’s not just tonight either. I’ve
seen the way he looks at you during school. In the hallways. He likes you, doesn’t he?”
“I... I don’t know. I guess.” Oh God, this was uncomfortable. I just kept spinning my straw between my fingers and
watching the little waves that appeared on the surface of my drink. I couldn’t meet Toby’s gaze.
“I don’t have to guess,” he said. “It’s pretty obvious. And the way you look at him makes me think you’re in love with
him, too.”
“No!” I cried, releasing my straw and glaring up at Toby. “No, no, no. I am not in love with him, okay?”
Toby gave me a small smile and said, “But you do have feelings for him.”
I couldn’t see any sign of pain in his eyes, just a touch of amusement. That made it a lot easier to give him an
answer. “Um, yeah.”
“Then go to him.”
I rolled my eyes without meaning to. It was just so automatic. “Jesus, Toby,” I said, “that sounds like a line out of a
bad movie.”
Toby shrugged. “Maybe, but I’m serious, Bianca. If you feel that way about him, you should go over there.”
“But what about—?”
“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “If you want Wesley, that’s who you should be with right now. Dating me won’t
make your feelings for him go away. I should know. Definitely don’t worry about me, Bianca. The truth is, I’m in
the same situation as you. I just didn’t want to admit it.”
“How?”
Now Toby was the one staring at his drink, nervously adjusting his glasses. “I’m not over Nina.”
“Nina? Your ex?”
He nodded. “We broke up over a month ago, but I still think about her a lot. I really do like you, so I thought that if we
dated, maybe I’d forget about her. For a while I did, but”
“Well then, you should call her,” I said. “Instead of just sitting here pouting, you should call Nina and tell her how you
feel. Tonight.”
He brought his eyes back up to meet mine. “You’re not angry? You don’t feel used?”
“That would make me a huge hypocrite since I was kind of using you, too. Even though I really didn’t mean to.” I slid
out of the booth and paused to steady myself on the platform shoes. “And for the record, if Nina doesn’t take you
back, she’s a moron. I think you’re probably the sweetest, most polite guy I’ve ever met in my life, and I’ve had a
massive crush on you for years. I seriously wish you were the one for me.”
“Thanks,” Toby said. “And if Wesley breaks your heart, I promise to well, I would say I’d kick his ass, but we both
know that’s physically impossible.” He frowned down at his skinny arms. “So I’ll write him a strongly worded letter.”
“Okay,” I snorted. I leaned across the table and kissed Toby on the cheek. “And thank you.”
He gave me one more perfect smile, one I would remember for the rest of my life, and said, “You’re stalling. Hurry
up and go.”
“Right. Okay. See you in class, Toby.”
“Good-bye, Bianca.”
I took a long, deep breath to calm my nerves as I locked eyes with Wesley again. Then, with a weak smile pulling at
the corners of my mouth, I began to push my way through the crowded club, leaving behind the nicest guy in the
world. The familiar techno music had stopped playing, and everyone on the floor stood around waiting for the band
to go onstage. I had to zigzag between their stationary bodies, no one being considerate enough to step aside for
even a millisecond.
I spotted Casey in the crowd—her blond head towering over everyone but the boy beside her, the basketball player
she’d been eyeing for weeks—and I knew she wouldn’t like my decision. In her head, it was Wesley’s fault I’d
neglected her. She’d be upset with me. She might even get pissed. She’d think I was leaving her behind again. I
would just have to prove her wrong. Prove to her that Toby, whom she adored, wasn’t right for me.
When I was about three yards from the bar, a sound filled the speakers, but it wasn’t the Emo music I was
expecting. Instead, a screech of feedback assaulted my ears—and totally scared the shit out of me. I was so
startled that I jumped, which wouldn’t have been a big deal in any other shoes.
My foot landed on the side of my platform, throwing me completely off balance. Before I could recover, my ankle
gave way and sent me flying—face first, naturally—into the wooden floor. Fan-freaking-tastic!
I couldn’t help letting out a whimper as pain shot through my twisted ankle. “Fuck!” I groaned. “Ow, ow, ow! God, I
hate these damn shoes.”
“Then why did you wear them?”
My skin tingled as two hands lifted me by the elbows and guided me into a standing position. Realizing I wasn’t
stable on my feet, Wesley wrapped his arm around my waist and walked me over to a bar stool.
“Are you all right?” he asked, helping me onto the seat. I could tell by his smile that he was fighting the urge to
laugh.
“Yes,” I mumbled, letting myself smile a little. I didn’t really feel that embarrassed. Not with Wesley. Had it been
anyone else, I would have run—or hobbled—right out of the club, but with Wesley it felt okay. Like we could laugh
about it together.
But the smile faded and his face became serious. He stared at me for a long moment, and his silence was about
to drive me up the wall when he finally opened his mouth. “Bianca, I—”
“Bianca! Omigosh!” Jessica materialized at my side, her cheeks pink from excitement and exercise. Behind her,
the band had started playing (or attempting to play) an Emo version of a Johnny Cash song. It was sickening, but
Jessica managed to talk over the racket. “Oh, Bianca, I finally found you! Did you see? Harrison and I were
dancing together! I think he might ask me to prom. Wouldn’t that be great?”
“Good for you, Jessica.”
“I have to go tell Angela!” Then she spotted Wesley. A knowing smile spread across her face as she said, “See you
two later.” And with a whip of her blond ponytail, she was gone.
Wesley watched her vanish into the crowd with an amused expression. “She does know Harrison prefers men,
right?”
“Let her have hope,” I said, smiling to myself.
He turned his attention back to me. “Yes. Hope is good. Bianca, I—” He grinned wickedly. “I knew you’d give in
sooner or later.” He put his hand on my knee and ran it smoothly up my thigh. “You’re finally going to admit that you
love me, aren’t you?”
I swatted his hand away. “First of all,” I began, “I don’t love you. I love my family and maybe even Casey and
Jessica, but romantic love takes years upon years to develop. So I don’t love you. But I will admit, I’ve thought a lot
about you lately and I definitely have feelings for you feelings other than hatred for the most part. And maybe it’s
possible—in the future—that I could love you.” I hesitated, a little scared of the words that’d just left my mouth.
“But I still want to kill you most of the time.”
Wesley’s grin turned into a genuine smile. “God, I’ve missed you.” He leaned down to kiss me, but I held up my
hand to stop him. “What’s the matter?” he asked.
“You’re not getting into my pants tonight, asshole,” I said, remembering Vikki and the scare she’d gone through. I
wasn’t going to suddenly become a nun or anything, but after realizing how easily we might have swapped roles, I
knew a few things would have to change. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right. We’re going to move
at the speed of a normal high school relationship.”
He reached forward and touched the little white B that lay right between my collarbones, twisting the charm that
Mom had given me between his thumb and forefinger, almost absentmindedly. “But neither of us is normal.”
“That’s true,” I acknowledged. “But this part of us will be normal. Look, I’m not saying we can’t build back up to that
point. We’ll just take it a little more slowly.”
Wesley thought about this for a moment before letting that crooked grin slide across his lips again. “Okay,” he said,
leaning forward a little to look me in the eyes. “That’s fine. There are other things we can do.” His fingers released
my necklace and moved across my collarbone, gliding down my arm and sending a shiver up my spine. “I have a
job to finish, I believe. We were interrupted last time—in your bedroom—but I could show you again. I look forward
to showing you.”
I took a deep breath, trying to ignore this statement and the burst of excitement it gave me. “You’re going to take
me on dates,” I continued, clearing my throat. “Nice dates. And you’re never ever going to call me Duffy again
either.”
Wesley’s smirk faded and he bit his lip. “Bianca,” he said quietly. I could barely hear him over the music. “I’m sorry.
I didn’t know how much it hurt you. I should never have called you the Duff in the first place. I didn’t know you then. I
didn’t—”
I shook my head. “Don’t bother making excuses,” I said. “Don’t waste your time because, the fact is, I am the Duff.
But so is everyone else in the world. We’re all fucking Duffs.”
“I’m not the Duff,” Wesley said confidently.
“That’s because you don’t have friends.”
“Oh. Right.”
“And,” I continued, “I’m probably going to be a bitch most of the time. I guarantee I’ll find a reason to yell at you
almost every day, and don’t be surprised if a few drinks get dumped on you from time to time. That’s just me, and
you’re going to have to deal with it. Because I’m not changing for you or anyone else. And I—”
Wesley slid off his bar stool and pressed his lips against mine before the words could get out. My heart pounded
as every thought vacated my mind. One of his arms encircled my waist, pulling me as close to him as possible,
and his free hand cupped my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. He kissed me so passionately I thought we
would catch on fire.
It wasn’t until after he pulled away, both of us in need of some air, that I could think straight again.
“You jerk!” I yelled, pushing him away from me. “Kissing me to make me shut up? God, you’re so obnoxious. I could
just throw something at you right now.”
Wesley hopped onto his bar stool with a big grin, and I suddenly remembered him telling me that I was sexy when I
was mad at him. Go figure. “Excuse me, Joe,” he called to the bartender. “I think Bianca wants a Cherry Coke.”
Despite my best efforts, I smiled. He wasn’t perfect, or even remotely close, for that matter, but, hey, neither was I.
We were both pretty fucked up. Somehow, though, that made everything more exciting. Yeah, it was sick and
twisted, but that’s reality, right? Escape is impossible, so why not embrace it?
Wesley took my hand and laced his fingers with mine. “You look beautiful tonight, Bianca.”
Showing posts with label The Duff by Kody Keplinger. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Duff by Kody Keplinger. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
The Duff by Kody Keplinger CHAPTER 26
After staying up all night to read—and folding my clothes at least ten times—I discovered that Wuthering Heights
doesn’t have a happy ending. Because of stupid, spoiled, selfish Cathy (yeah, I have no room to talk, but still),
everyone winds up miserable. Her choice ruins the lives of the people she cares most about. Because she picked
propriety over passion. Head over heart. Linton over Heathcliff.
Toby over Wesley.
This, I decided as I dragged my tired ass to school the next morning, was not a good omen. Normally, I don’t
believe in omens or signs or any of that destiny crap, but the similarities between my and Cathy Earnshaw’s
situations were too eerie to ignore. I couldn’t help but wonder if the book was trying to tell me something.
I was dully aware that I was reading way too much into it, but my lack of sleep coupled with the stress of everything
else made my mind go to some interesting places. Interesting, but not productive.
I was pretty much a zombie all day, but during the middle of calculus, something finally woke me up.
“Did you hear about Vikki McPhee?”
“About how she’s totally knocked up? Yep. Heard this morning.”
My head snapped up from the problem I was halfheartedly attempting to solve. Two girls sat side by side in the row
ahead of me. I recognized one of them as a junior cheerleader.
“God, what a slut,” the cheerleader said. “No telling who the father is. She sleeps with everyone.”
I hate to admit it, but my first reaction to this was pure selfish fear. I thought of Wesley. Sure, he’d rejected Vikki in
the hallway a few days ago, but what if something had changed? What if that letter had been a joke? A game to mess with my head? What if he and Vikki had I forced the thought away. Wesley was careful. He always used a condom. Besides, it was like that girl had said
—Vikki slept with everyone. The chances of Wesley being the father were slim. And I didn’t have a right to worry
about that, anyway. He wasn’t my boyfriend. Even if he had pretty much professed his love for me in a letter. I was
with Toby, and whatever Wesley decided to do wasn’t any of my business.
My second thought was of Vikki. Seventeen, on the verge of graduation, and, if the rumors were true, pregnant.
What a nightmare. And everyone knew. I could hear people buzzing about it in the hallway when I left calculus. In a
school the size of Hamilton, it didn’t take long for gossip to spread. Vikki McPhee was the girl on everyone’s mind.
Including mine.
So when I walked out of a bathroom stall a few minutes before English and found Vikki standing at the sink,
reapplying her dark pink lipstick, I had to make an effort to avert my eyes.
But I had to say something. I mean, we weren’t close or anything, but we did eat lunch together every day. “Hey,” I
mumbled.
“Hey,” she replied, still tracing the lipstick across her lower lip.
I turned on the faucet and stared at my reflection in the mirror, trying hard not to sneak a peek at her. How far along
was she? Had her parents found out yet?
“It’s not true, you know.”
“What?”
Vikki capped her lipstick and dropped it into her purse. She was watching me in the mirror, and I could see now
that her eyes were a little red.
“I’m not pregnant,” she said. “I mean, I thought I was, but the test was negative. I took it two days ago. But I guess
someone overheard me telling Jeanine and Angela and whatever. But I’m not pregnant.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good.” Yeah, probably not exactly the right thing to say, but I was kind of caught off guard.
Vikki nodded and tugged at one of her strawberry-blond curls a little. “I was relieved. I don’t know how I would have
told my parents. And the guy never would have made a good father.”
“Who?”
That was such a selfish question.
“Just this guy, Eric.”
Thank God, I thought. Then, of course, I felt incredibly guilty. This wasn’t the time to be thinking about myself.
“He’s just this stupid frat boy who gets a kick out of fucking high school girls.” She looked down, so I couldn’t see
her eyes in the mirror anymore. “And I didn’t even give a shit. I just let him use me, and I never thought even when
the condom broke” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Anyway, I’m glad it was negative.”
“Right.”
“It is scary, though,” she said. “I freaked out when I was waiting for the test. I just couldn’t believe I was in that
situation, you know?”
“I’m sure,” I said, but I didn’t find it all that surprising. It was Vikki, after all. Hadn’t she been setting herself up for
that kind of thing for a while? Sleeping with people she didn’t care about. Forgetting about the consequences.
Just like I did+
Okay, so it hadn’t been people. Wesley was the only guy. And I did care about him now, after I’d stopped
sleeping with him. But that was just well, I didn’t know what you’d call it. Not quite luck. Maybe coincidence?
Either way, I was smart enough to know that it didn’t happen often.
But I had forgotten about the consequences. And it suddenly hit me how easily Vikki and I could trade places. I
could have been the girl everyone was talking about. I could have had a pregnancy scare. Or worse. I mean, I was
on birth control, and Wesley and I were always safe, but these things fail sometimes. It could easily have failed for
us. And yet there I was, judging Vikki for pretty much the same thing. I was a hell of a hypocrite.
“You are not a whore.” I had a sudden flash of Wesley that last night in his bedroom, telling me exactly who I was.
Telling me that the rest of the world was just as confused as me. That I wasn’t a whore, and I wasn’t alone.
I didn’t know Vikki that well. I didn’t know what her home life was like or anything that personal aside from her boy
issues. And standing there in the bathroom, listening as she told me her story, I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d
been running away from something, too. If I’d been judging her, thinking of her as a slut all this time when, in reality,
we were living scarily similar lives.
Calling Vikki a slut or a whore was just like calling someone the Duff. It was insulting and hurtful, and it was one of
those titles that just fed off of an inner fear every girl must have from time to time. Slut, bitch, prude, tease, ditz.
They were all the same. Every girl felt like one of these sexist labels described her at some point.
So, maybe, every girl felt like the Duff, too?
“God, I’m late,” Vikki said as the tardy bell rang. “I should go.”
I watched as she gathered her purse and textbooks off the counter, wondering what was going through her head.
Had all of this made her realize the consequences of her choices?
Our choices.
“See you around, Bianca,” she said, moving toward the door.
“Bye,” I said. Then, without meaning to, I added, “And, Vikki I’m sorry. It’s really messed up the way people are
talking about you. Just remember that what they say doesn’t matter.” Again, I thought of Wesley and what he’d said
to me in his bedroom. “The people who call you names are just trying to make themselves feel better. They’ve
fucked up before, too. You’re not the only one.”
Vikki looked surprised. “Thanks,” she said. She opened her mouth like she might say something else, but then
closed it again. Without another word, she left the bathroom.
For all I knew, Vikki might go out and hook up with another guy that same night. She might not have learned
anything from this experience. Or maybe she’d change her behavior altogether—at the very least, she might be
more careful. I might never know. That was her choice. Her life. And it wasn’t my place to judge.
It was never my place to judge.
And as I walked down the hall, five minutes late for English, I decided that I’d think twice before calling Vikki—or
anyone else for that matter—a whore again.
Because she was just like me.
Just like everyone else.
That was something we all had in common. We were all sluts or bitches or prudes or Duffs.
I was the Duff. And that was a good thing. Because anyone who didn’t feel like the Duff must not have friends.
Every girl feels unattractive sometimes. Why had it taken me so long to figure that out? Why had I been stressing
over that dumb word for so long when it was so simple? I should be proud to be the Duff. Proud to have great
friends who, in their minds, were my Duffs.
“Bianca,” Mrs. Perkins greeted me as I walked into the classroom and took my seat. “Well, better late than never, I
suppose.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Sorry it took me so long.”
When I got home that afternoon, I was too exhausted to climb the stairs, so I collapsed on the couch and fell into a
nice doze. I’d forgotten how good it felt to take a nap in the middle of the day. I mean, Europeans have the right
idea with their siestas. Americans should consider adding them to their daily schedule because they’re incredibly
refreshing, especially after a dramatic day like I’d had.
It was almost seven when I woke up, which didn’t give me much time to get ready for my date. My hair, which
looked like a haystack after snoozing on the couch, would take almost the entire hour to repair. Just great.
Since I’d started dating Toby, I’d been paying more attention to how I looked. Not that he cared about that kind of
thing. The guy probably would have said I was pretty in a clown suit—rainbow wig and all. But I felt this constant
need to impress him. So I straightened my hair and pulled it into a high ponytail, put on a pair of silver clip-on
earrings (I’m too chicken to get any piercings), and found the shirt Casey had given me for my seventeenth
birthday. The silky material was white patterned with intricate silver designs, and it fit me tight in the chest, which
made my itty-bitty boobies appear somewhat bigger.
It was almost eight o’clock by the time I struggled down the stairs in my platform wedge sandals, risking my safety
for the sake of looking taller. I was careful to avert my eyes when I walked past the kitchen because Dad, obviously
thinking the roses were from Toby, had put the bouquet in an antique vase on the dining table last night. It was a
sweet gesture, but seeing the bright red flowers only brought back the annoying questions. So I stumbled into the
living room and plopped down on the couch to wait for my date, promising myself that I’d figure out my romantic
mess sometime over the weekend.
For lack of anything better to do, I picked up the copy of TV Guide that was lying on the coffee table and began
scanning the program schedule. A yellow Post-it note wedged between the pages caught my attention, and I
flipped to the section it was marking. Dad had highlighted a Family Ties marathon for the following Sunday night,
using the little slip of paper as a bookmark. I smiled and pulled a pen out of my purse, scribbling, “I’ll make
popcorn,” on the Post-it. Dad would see it when he got home from his meeting.
Just when I put the magazine back on the table, the doorbell rang. I stood up as quickly as I could without falling
and walked over to the door, expecting to be greeted by a big undeserved Toby smile. But the smile that flashed in
front of me, while sparkly and white, belonged to someone quite different.
“Mom?” I practically gasped the word, sounding like some chick in a soap opera who’s just learned her evil twin is
still alive or something. Embarrassed, I cleared my throat and said, “What are you doing here? I thought you were
in Tennessee.”
“I was, but I came to visit you, of course,” my mother replied, cocking her head to the side in her movie-star fashion.
Her platinum blond hair was pulled into a neat clip at the back of her head, and she was wearing a red-and-black
knee-length dress. Typical Mom.
“But it’s, like, a seven-hour drive,” I said.
“Oh, believe me, I know.” She sighed dramatically. “Seven and a half in bad traffic. So are you going to invite me
in or not?” I could tell by the way her hands twisted around the strap of her handbag that she was nervous to be
back in this house.
“Um, yeah,” I said, stepping aside. “Come in. Sorry. But, uh, Dad’s not here.”
“I know.” She was looking around the living room in a way that made me feel anxious for her. She eyed the
armchair and couch that had once belonged to her as if debating whether she was allowed to sit there now. “He
has his AA meetings on Fridays. He told me.”
“You talked to him?” This was news to me. As far as I’d known, my parents had been avoiding contact since Mom’s
reappearance last month.
“We’ve spoken on the phone twice.” She pulled her eyes away from the furniture and focused them on me. They felt
like heavy weights on my shoulders. “Bianca, sweetie” Her voice was soft and sad. Painful to hear. “Why didn’t
you tell me he was drinking again?”
I shifted, trying to slide out from under her gaze. “I don’t know,” I mumbled. “I guess I just hoped it would pass. I
didn’t want to worry you over nothing.”
“I understand, but Bianca, this is a serious issue,” she said. “You know that now, I hope. If it ever happens again,
you don’t get to keep it to yourself. You have to tell me. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
“Good.” She sighed, looking immensely relieved. “Anyway, that’s not why I’m here.”
“Why are you here?”
“Because your dad also told me something else,” she teased. “Something about a boy named Toby Tucker.”
“You drove seven and a half hours because I have a date?”
“I have other reasons to be in Hamilton,” she said. “But this is the most important. So, is it true my baby has a
boyfriend?”
“Um, yeah,” I said, shrugging. “I guess.”
“Well, tell me about him,” Mom urged, finally deciding to sit down on the sofa. “What’s he like?”
“He’s nice,” I said. “How’s Grandpa?”
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “He’s fine. What’s wrong? You’re taking your birth control, aren’t you?”
“God, Mother, yes,” I groaned. “That’s not the issue.”
“Thank the Lord. I’m too young and hot to be a nana.”
No kidding, I thought, remembering Vikki.
“Then, what’s the problem?” she pressed. “I came because I heard you had a hot date tonight, and I wanted to
have that special Mommy moment. But if you’re having problems, I get to spill out some Mommy advice, too. It’s
like a two-for-one visit, isn’t it? Makes the travel time worth it.”
“Thanks,” I grumbled.
“Oh, honey, I’m kidding. What’s wrong? What’s the matter with this boy?”
“Nothing. He’s absolutely perfect. He’s smart and nice and totally right for me. Only there’s another guy” I shook
my head. “It’s stupid. I’m being an idiot. I just need a little time to think things over. That’s all.”
“Well,” Mom said, standing up. “Just remember to do what makes you happy, okay? Don’t lie to yourself because
you think it’s safer. Reality doesn’t work like that. I think I told you that before.”
She had.
But I’d been running for so long I wasn’t sure what I wanted anymore.
“Though,” Mom continued. “I brought you a little something for your date, and it might help you out while you’re
thinking everything over.”
I watched with mild horror as she pulled a pink-and-yellow box from her handbag. Any object that came wrapped in
those colors couldn’t be a good thing. “What is it?” I asked as she placed the box in my outstretched hand.
“Open it and find out, silly.”
Sighing, I pulled the hideous bow off the box and flicked open the lid. Inside was a small silver chain with a little
white metal charm in the shape of a B. Like the ones girls wear in middle school, as if they’ll forget their own name
or something.
Mom reached forward and removed the necklace from the box. “I saw it and thought of you,” she said.
“Thanks, Mom.”
She put down her handbag and moved around to stand behind me, pushing my hair aside so that she could fasten
the chain around my neck. “It’s gonna sound corny, so try not to roll your eyes at me, okay? But maybe this will help
you remember who you are while you’re figuring things out.” She moved my hair back into place and stepped in
front of me again. “Perfect,” she said. “You look wonderful, sweetie.”
“Thank you,” I said, and this time I really meant it. Seeing her made me realize just how much I’d missed my
mother.
At that moment, the doorbell rang, and I knew it had to be Toby. As I reached for the knob, I felt Mom slide into
place behind me, ready to observe.
Oh, great.
“Hey,” I said, opening the door and glancing away from Toby’s blinding smile.
“Hi,” he said. “Wow. You look beautiful.”
“Of course she does,” Mom interjected. “What did you expect?”
“Mother,” I hissed, shooting her a dirty look over my shoulder.
She shrugged. “Hello, Toby,” she said, waving. “I’m Gina, Bianca’s mother. I know, I look more like her sister, right?”
I gritted my teeth. Toby laughed.
“Have a good time,” Mom said, kissing me on the cheek. “I’m going to pack up some of my things that are still
here, but I’m talking at a retirement center in Oak Hill Sunday, so I’ll be staying at a hotel for the weekend. We’ll
have lunch tomorrow so I can get all the details.”
have lunch tomorrow so I can get all the details.”
She pushed me out the door before I could argue with this, and then I was alone with Toby on the porch.
“She’s funny,” he said.
“She’s insane,” I muttered.
“What kind of talks does she give? She said she was going to a retirement home?”
“Oh. She wrote a self-esteem book.” I glanced back at the house, watching through the window as Mom moved
past, headed for the bedroom she used to sleep in, prepared to pack up the last few things she’d left behind. I’d
never realized the irony until that moment. For the past couple months, I’d been struggling with my own self-esteem
while my mother coached others on how to improve theirs. Maybe if I’d talked to her, it wouldn’t have taken me so
long to figure things out. “She talks to people around the country about learning to accept themselves.”
“Sounds like a fun job,” Toby said.
“Maybe.”
He smiled, wrapping his arm around my waist and leading me off the porch.
I sighed and danced out of his grip as I let myself into the car.
doesn’t have a happy ending. Because of stupid, spoiled, selfish Cathy (yeah, I have no room to talk, but still),
everyone winds up miserable. Her choice ruins the lives of the people she cares most about. Because she picked
propriety over passion. Head over heart. Linton over Heathcliff.
Toby over Wesley.
This, I decided as I dragged my tired ass to school the next morning, was not a good omen. Normally, I don’t
believe in omens or signs or any of that destiny crap, but the similarities between my and Cathy Earnshaw’s
situations were too eerie to ignore. I couldn’t help but wonder if the book was trying to tell me something.
I was dully aware that I was reading way too much into it, but my lack of sleep coupled with the stress of everything
else made my mind go to some interesting places. Interesting, but not productive.
I was pretty much a zombie all day, but during the middle of calculus, something finally woke me up.
“Did you hear about Vikki McPhee?”
“About how she’s totally knocked up? Yep. Heard this morning.”
My head snapped up from the problem I was halfheartedly attempting to solve. Two girls sat side by side in the row
ahead of me. I recognized one of them as a junior cheerleader.
“God, what a slut,” the cheerleader said. “No telling who the father is. She sleeps with everyone.”
I hate to admit it, but my first reaction to this was pure selfish fear. I thought of Wesley. Sure, he’d rejected Vikki in
the hallway a few days ago, but what if something had changed? What if that letter had been a joke? A game to mess with my head? What if he and Vikki had I forced the thought away. Wesley was careful. He always used a condom. Besides, it was like that girl had said
—Vikki slept with everyone. The chances of Wesley being the father were slim. And I didn’t have a right to worry
about that, anyway. He wasn’t my boyfriend. Even if he had pretty much professed his love for me in a letter. I was
with Toby, and whatever Wesley decided to do wasn’t any of my business.
My second thought was of Vikki. Seventeen, on the verge of graduation, and, if the rumors were true, pregnant.
What a nightmare. And everyone knew. I could hear people buzzing about it in the hallway when I left calculus. In a
school the size of Hamilton, it didn’t take long for gossip to spread. Vikki McPhee was the girl on everyone’s mind.
Including mine.
So when I walked out of a bathroom stall a few minutes before English and found Vikki standing at the sink,
reapplying her dark pink lipstick, I had to make an effort to avert my eyes.
But I had to say something. I mean, we weren’t close or anything, but we did eat lunch together every day. “Hey,” I
mumbled.
“Hey,” she replied, still tracing the lipstick across her lower lip.
I turned on the faucet and stared at my reflection in the mirror, trying hard not to sneak a peek at her. How far along
was she? Had her parents found out yet?
“It’s not true, you know.”
“What?”
Vikki capped her lipstick and dropped it into her purse. She was watching me in the mirror, and I could see now
that her eyes were a little red.
“I’m not pregnant,” she said. “I mean, I thought I was, but the test was negative. I took it two days ago. But I guess
someone overheard me telling Jeanine and Angela and whatever. But I’m not pregnant.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good.” Yeah, probably not exactly the right thing to say, but I was kind of caught off guard.
Vikki nodded and tugged at one of her strawberry-blond curls a little. “I was relieved. I don’t know how I would have
told my parents. And the guy never would have made a good father.”
“Who?”
That was such a selfish question.
“Just this guy, Eric.”
Thank God, I thought. Then, of course, I felt incredibly guilty. This wasn’t the time to be thinking about myself.
“He’s just this stupid frat boy who gets a kick out of fucking high school girls.” She looked down, so I couldn’t see
her eyes in the mirror anymore. “And I didn’t even give a shit. I just let him use me, and I never thought even when
the condom broke” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Anyway, I’m glad it was negative.”
“Right.”
“It is scary, though,” she said. “I freaked out when I was waiting for the test. I just couldn’t believe I was in that
situation, you know?”
“I’m sure,” I said, but I didn’t find it all that surprising. It was Vikki, after all. Hadn’t she been setting herself up for
that kind of thing for a while? Sleeping with people she didn’t care about. Forgetting about the consequences.
Just like I did+
Okay, so it hadn’t been people. Wesley was the only guy. And I did care about him now, after I’d stopped
sleeping with him. But that was just well, I didn’t know what you’d call it. Not quite luck. Maybe coincidence?
Either way, I was smart enough to know that it didn’t happen often.
But I had forgotten about the consequences. And it suddenly hit me how easily Vikki and I could trade places. I
could have been the girl everyone was talking about. I could have had a pregnancy scare. Or worse. I mean, I was
on birth control, and Wesley and I were always safe, but these things fail sometimes. It could easily have failed for
us. And yet there I was, judging Vikki for pretty much the same thing. I was a hell of a hypocrite.
“You are not a whore.” I had a sudden flash of Wesley that last night in his bedroom, telling me exactly who I was.
Telling me that the rest of the world was just as confused as me. That I wasn’t a whore, and I wasn’t alone.
I didn’t know Vikki that well. I didn’t know what her home life was like or anything that personal aside from her boy
issues. And standing there in the bathroom, listening as she told me her story, I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d
been running away from something, too. If I’d been judging her, thinking of her as a slut all this time when, in reality,
we were living scarily similar lives.
Calling Vikki a slut or a whore was just like calling someone the Duff. It was insulting and hurtful, and it was one of
those titles that just fed off of an inner fear every girl must have from time to time. Slut, bitch, prude, tease, ditz.
They were all the same. Every girl felt like one of these sexist labels described her at some point.
So, maybe, every girl felt like the Duff, too?
“God, I’m late,” Vikki said as the tardy bell rang. “I should go.”
I watched as she gathered her purse and textbooks off the counter, wondering what was going through her head.
Had all of this made her realize the consequences of her choices?
Our choices.
“See you around, Bianca,” she said, moving toward the door.
“Bye,” I said. Then, without meaning to, I added, “And, Vikki I’m sorry. It’s really messed up the way people are
talking about you. Just remember that what they say doesn’t matter.” Again, I thought of Wesley and what he’d said
to me in his bedroom. “The people who call you names are just trying to make themselves feel better. They’ve
fucked up before, too. You’re not the only one.”
Vikki looked surprised. “Thanks,” she said. She opened her mouth like she might say something else, but then
closed it again. Without another word, she left the bathroom.
For all I knew, Vikki might go out and hook up with another guy that same night. She might not have learned
anything from this experience. Or maybe she’d change her behavior altogether—at the very least, she might be
more careful. I might never know. That was her choice. Her life. And it wasn’t my place to judge.
It was never my place to judge.
And as I walked down the hall, five minutes late for English, I decided that I’d think twice before calling Vikki—or
anyone else for that matter—a whore again.
Because she was just like me.
Just like everyone else.
That was something we all had in common. We were all sluts or bitches or prudes or Duffs.
I was the Duff. And that was a good thing. Because anyone who didn’t feel like the Duff must not have friends.
Every girl feels unattractive sometimes. Why had it taken me so long to figure that out? Why had I been stressing
over that dumb word for so long when it was so simple? I should be proud to be the Duff. Proud to have great
friends who, in their minds, were my Duffs.
“Bianca,” Mrs. Perkins greeted me as I walked into the classroom and took my seat. “Well, better late than never, I
suppose.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Sorry it took me so long.”
When I got home that afternoon, I was too exhausted to climb the stairs, so I collapsed on the couch and fell into a
nice doze. I’d forgotten how good it felt to take a nap in the middle of the day. I mean, Europeans have the right
idea with their siestas. Americans should consider adding them to their daily schedule because they’re incredibly
refreshing, especially after a dramatic day like I’d had.
It was almost seven when I woke up, which didn’t give me much time to get ready for my date. My hair, which
looked like a haystack after snoozing on the couch, would take almost the entire hour to repair. Just great.
Since I’d started dating Toby, I’d been paying more attention to how I looked. Not that he cared about that kind of
thing. The guy probably would have said I was pretty in a clown suit—rainbow wig and all. But I felt this constant
need to impress him. So I straightened my hair and pulled it into a high ponytail, put on a pair of silver clip-on
earrings (I’m too chicken to get any piercings), and found the shirt Casey had given me for my seventeenth
birthday. The silky material was white patterned with intricate silver designs, and it fit me tight in the chest, which
made my itty-bitty boobies appear somewhat bigger.
It was almost eight o’clock by the time I struggled down the stairs in my platform wedge sandals, risking my safety
for the sake of looking taller. I was careful to avert my eyes when I walked past the kitchen because Dad, obviously
thinking the roses were from Toby, had put the bouquet in an antique vase on the dining table last night. It was a
sweet gesture, but seeing the bright red flowers only brought back the annoying questions. So I stumbled into the
living room and plopped down on the couch to wait for my date, promising myself that I’d figure out my romantic
mess sometime over the weekend.
For lack of anything better to do, I picked up the copy of TV Guide that was lying on the coffee table and began
scanning the program schedule. A yellow Post-it note wedged between the pages caught my attention, and I
flipped to the section it was marking. Dad had highlighted a Family Ties marathon for the following Sunday night,
using the little slip of paper as a bookmark. I smiled and pulled a pen out of my purse, scribbling, “I’ll make
popcorn,” on the Post-it. Dad would see it when he got home from his meeting.
Just when I put the magazine back on the table, the doorbell rang. I stood up as quickly as I could without falling
and walked over to the door, expecting to be greeted by a big undeserved Toby smile. But the smile that flashed in
front of me, while sparkly and white, belonged to someone quite different.
“Mom?” I practically gasped the word, sounding like some chick in a soap opera who’s just learned her evil twin is
still alive or something. Embarrassed, I cleared my throat and said, “What are you doing here? I thought you were
in Tennessee.”
“I was, but I came to visit you, of course,” my mother replied, cocking her head to the side in her movie-star fashion.
Her platinum blond hair was pulled into a neat clip at the back of her head, and she was wearing a red-and-black
knee-length dress. Typical Mom.
“But it’s, like, a seven-hour drive,” I said.
“Oh, believe me, I know.” She sighed dramatically. “Seven and a half in bad traffic. So are you going to invite me
in or not?” I could tell by the way her hands twisted around the strap of her handbag that she was nervous to be
back in this house.
“Um, yeah,” I said, stepping aside. “Come in. Sorry. But, uh, Dad’s not here.”
“I know.” She was looking around the living room in a way that made me feel anxious for her. She eyed the
armchair and couch that had once belonged to her as if debating whether she was allowed to sit there now. “He
has his AA meetings on Fridays. He told me.”
“You talked to him?” This was news to me. As far as I’d known, my parents had been avoiding contact since Mom’s
reappearance last month.
“We’ve spoken on the phone twice.” She pulled her eyes away from the furniture and focused them on me. They felt
like heavy weights on my shoulders. “Bianca, sweetie” Her voice was soft and sad. Painful to hear. “Why didn’t
you tell me he was drinking again?”
I shifted, trying to slide out from under her gaze. “I don’t know,” I mumbled. “I guess I just hoped it would pass. I
didn’t want to worry you over nothing.”
“I understand, but Bianca, this is a serious issue,” she said. “You know that now, I hope. If it ever happens again,
you don’t get to keep it to yourself. You have to tell me. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
“Good.” She sighed, looking immensely relieved. “Anyway, that’s not why I’m here.”
“Why are you here?”
“Because your dad also told me something else,” she teased. “Something about a boy named Toby Tucker.”
“You drove seven and a half hours because I have a date?”
“I have other reasons to be in Hamilton,” she said. “But this is the most important. So, is it true my baby has a
boyfriend?”
“Um, yeah,” I said, shrugging. “I guess.”
“Well, tell me about him,” Mom urged, finally deciding to sit down on the sofa. “What’s he like?”
“He’s nice,” I said. “How’s Grandpa?”
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “He’s fine. What’s wrong? You’re taking your birth control, aren’t you?”
“God, Mother, yes,” I groaned. “That’s not the issue.”
“Thank the Lord. I’m too young and hot to be a nana.”
No kidding, I thought, remembering Vikki.
“Then, what’s the problem?” she pressed. “I came because I heard you had a hot date tonight, and I wanted to
have that special Mommy moment. But if you’re having problems, I get to spill out some Mommy advice, too. It’s
like a two-for-one visit, isn’t it? Makes the travel time worth it.”
“Thanks,” I grumbled.
“Oh, honey, I’m kidding. What’s wrong? What’s the matter with this boy?”
“Nothing. He’s absolutely perfect. He’s smart and nice and totally right for me. Only there’s another guy” I shook
my head. “It’s stupid. I’m being an idiot. I just need a little time to think things over. That’s all.”
“Well,” Mom said, standing up. “Just remember to do what makes you happy, okay? Don’t lie to yourself because
you think it’s safer. Reality doesn’t work like that. I think I told you that before.”
She had.
But I’d been running for so long I wasn’t sure what I wanted anymore.
“Though,” Mom continued. “I brought you a little something for your date, and it might help you out while you’re
thinking everything over.”
I watched with mild horror as she pulled a pink-and-yellow box from her handbag. Any object that came wrapped in
those colors couldn’t be a good thing. “What is it?” I asked as she placed the box in my outstretched hand.
“Open it and find out, silly.”
Sighing, I pulled the hideous bow off the box and flicked open the lid. Inside was a small silver chain with a little
white metal charm in the shape of a B. Like the ones girls wear in middle school, as if they’ll forget their own name
or something.
Mom reached forward and removed the necklace from the box. “I saw it and thought of you,” she said.
“Thanks, Mom.”
She put down her handbag and moved around to stand behind me, pushing my hair aside so that she could fasten
the chain around my neck. “It’s gonna sound corny, so try not to roll your eyes at me, okay? But maybe this will help
you remember who you are while you’re figuring things out.” She moved my hair back into place and stepped in
front of me again. “Perfect,” she said. “You look wonderful, sweetie.”
“Thank you,” I said, and this time I really meant it. Seeing her made me realize just how much I’d missed my
mother.
At that moment, the doorbell rang, and I knew it had to be Toby. As I reached for the knob, I felt Mom slide into
place behind me, ready to observe.
Oh, great.
“Hey,” I said, opening the door and glancing away from Toby’s blinding smile.
“Hi,” he said. “Wow. You look beautiful.”
“Of course she does,” Mom interjected. “What did you expect?”
“Mother,” I hissed, shooting her a dirty look over my shoulder.
She shrugged. “Hello, Toby,” she said, waving. “I’m Gina, Bianca’s mother. I know, I look more like her sister, right?”
I gritted my teeth. Toby laughed.
“Have a good time,” Mom said, kissing me on the cheek. “I’m going to pack up some of my things that are still
here, but I’m talking at a retirement center in Oak Hill Sunday, so I’ll be staying at a hotel for the weekend. We’ll
have lunch tomorrow so I can get all the details.”
have lunch tomorrow so I can get all the details.”
She pushed me out the door before I could argue with this, and then I was alone with Toby on the porch.
“She’s funny,” he said.
“She’s insane,” I muttered.
“What kind of talks does she give? She said she was going to a retirement home?”
“Oh. She wrote a self-esteem book.” I glanced back at the house, watching through the window as Mom moved
past, headed for the bedroom she used to sleep in, prepared to pack up the last few things she’d left behind. I’d
never realized the irony until that moment. For the past couple months, I’d been struggling with my own self-esteem
while my mother coached others on how to improve theirs. Maybe if I’d talked to her, it wouldn’t have taken me so
long to figure things out. “She talks to people around the country about learning to accept themselves.”
“Sounds like a fun job,” Toby said.
“Maybe.”
He smiled, wrapping his arm around my waist and leading me off the porch.
I sighed and danced out of his grip as I let myself into the car.
The Duff by Kody Keplinger CHAPTER 25
At one time, I thought being the Duff meant no boy drama. Clearly, I was wrong. How did this happen? How did I,
the ugly girl, end up in the middle of a love triangle? I wasn’t a romantic. I didn’t really even want to date. But there I
was, torn between two attractive guys that, by all means, I shouldn’t have had a shot with. (Trust me, not as
glamorous as it sounds.)
On one side, I had Toby. Smart, cute, funny, polite, sensitive, and practical. Toby was perfect in every conceivable
way. I mean, he was a little dorky, but that was what made him so adorable. I liked being with him, and he always
put me first. He respected me and never seemed to lose his patience. There was absolutely nothing to complain
about with Toby Tucker.
On the other side, there was Wesley. A jerk. An asshole. An arrogant, womanizing rich boy who put sex before
everything else. Sure, he was incredibly hot, but he could annoy the hell out of me. He was irritatingly charming, and
his cute little grin could really get under my skin. But he had a way of making my heart race and my head spin. I
wasn’t afraid to be a bitch around him. I hated to admit it, but Wesley understood me. I felt like myself when I was
with him, whereas I was always trying to hide my neuroses around Toby.
God, life had been so much easier when no one noticed me.
The note from Wesley weighed half a ton in my back pocket as I headed out to the student parking lot that
afternoon. To say I was confused would have been a massive understatement. I mean, that single sentence left me
with a million different questions, but there was one in particular:
Why the hell does Wesley want me?
Seriously. The guy had dozens of girls who would kill to be with him. Why me? Wasn’t he the one who had called
me the Duff in the first place? What the fuck?
But when I got home, it just got worse.
On Toby’s suggestion, I’d started reading Wuthering Heights in my spare time. Honestly, the main characters
pissed me off so much that it was hard to push through the book. I was considering putting it down for good that
day, but a line of dialogue caught my attention.
“My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods. Time will change it, I’m well aware, as winter changes the trees —my love
for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath—a source of little visible delight, but necessary.”
As stupid as it sounds, that little excerpt really got in my head, like a song you hate but can’t stop singing. I tried to
read on, but the words kept bouncing around in my brain. I turned back the page and read the lines again and
again. I was trying to figure out why they bugged me so much when I was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.
“Thank God,” I muttered, relieved to have a reason to slam the book shut. I jumped off my bed and ran downstairs.
“Coming!” I yelled. “Just a second!”
I pulled open the front door, expecting to find Toby, who’d said he might drop by later. But the man on my front porch
was a chubby redhead in his fifties. Definitely not my boyfriend. He wore a shabby green uniform and a hat that
didn’t quite fit. The name tag on his jacket read JIMMY. He was holding a bouquet of flowers in his right hand and
a clipboard was wedged under his arm.
“Are you Miss Bianca Piper?” he asked.
“Um yeah.”
His squinty eyes lighted with a smile. “Sign this, please,” he said, giving me the clipboard and a pen.
“Congratulations.”
“Er, thanks,” I said, handing the clipboard back to him.
He passed me the bouquet, which I now saw was full of real red roses, and produced a white envelope from his
back pocket. “This is for you, too,” he said. “You’re a lucky girl. It’s not often I get to make a delivery like this to
someone your age.” He smiled. “Young love.”
Young love? God, I had to fight the urge to correct him. To give him my long speech about how teenagers don’t fall
in love. But he was still talking.
“Your boyfriend must really be a keeper. Not many boys are so thoughtful at that age.”
I stared down at the roses and said, “You’re probably right.” Was Toby still trying to cheer me up? God, he was so
nice. Too bad I didn’t deserve all of the kindness.
After thanking the delivery guy, I closed the door. I felt guilty for considering my situation a love triangle. It was just
me and Toby, and Wesley danced along the outskirts, far away from us or that’s how it should have been. That’s
how Toby deserved for it to be.
I put the bouquet on the kitchen table and opened the envelope, expecting to find a sappy but perfectly worded
letter from my flawless boyfriend. It was the kind of thing I’d normally scoff at, but I’d let Toby get away with it. He
really did have a way with words sometimes. That would help when he became a famous politician.
But the handwriting on the letter was the same as the note in my back pocket. This time, however, there was much
more to absorb.
Bianca,
Since you keep running away from me at school, and, if I remember correctly, the sound of my voice causes you to
have suicidal thoughts, I decided a letter might be the best way to tell you how I feel. Just hear me out.
I’m not going to deny that you were right. Everything you said the other day was true. But my fear of being alone is
not the reason I’m pursuing you. I know how cynical you are, and you’re probably going to come up with some
snarky reply when you read this, but the truth is, I’m chasing you because I really think I am falling in love with you.
You are the first girl who has ever seen right through me. You’re the only girl who has ever called me on my bullshit.
You put me in my place, but, at the same time, you understand me better than anyone ever has. You are the only
person brave enough to criticize me. Maybe the only person who looks close enough to find my faults—and,
clearly, you’ve found many.
I called my parents. They’re coming home this weekend to talk to Amy and me. I was afraid to do this at first, but
you inspired me. Without you, I never could have done that.
I think about you much more than any self-respecting man would like to admit, and I’m insanely jealous of Tucker
—something I never thought I’d say. Moving on after you is impossible. No other girl can keep me on my toes the
way you can. No one else makes me WANT to embarrass myself by writing sappy letters like this one.
Only you.
But I know that I’m right, too. I know you’re in love with me, even if you are dating Tucker. You can lie to yourself if
you want, but reality is going to catch up with you. I’ll be waiting when it does whether you like it or not.
Love,
Wesley
p.s.: I know you’re rolling your eyes right now, but I don’t care. Honestly, it’s always been kind of a turn-on.
I stared down at the letter for a long moment, finally understanding what Amy had been thanking me for. Wesley
was trying to fix things because of me. Because of what I’d said. I’d actually managed to get through that thick
skull of his. That was absolutely shocking to me.
It took a second for the other surprises to sink in. Words like love and only leapt off the page at me. It was my first
love letter—not that I’d ever wanted one, but still—and it wasn’t even from my boyfriend. The wrong guy had given it
to me. The wrong guy wanted me. Wesley was the wrong guy.
Or was he exactly the right guy?
I was so consumed with my thoughts that I jumped when the phone rang, and I scurried across the linoleum in an
effort to answer it. “Hello?”
“Hi, Bianca,” Toby said.
My heart sped up and pumped shame through my veins. Wesley’s letter, which I still held, burned the fingers of my
right hand, but I managed to sound normal when I said, “Hey, Toby. Are you on your way over?”
“No,” he sighed. “Dad has errands for me to run, so I can’t come by this afternoon. I’m really sorry.”
“That’s okay.” I shouldn’t have felt relieved, but I was. Seeing Toby would have meant hiding the flowers and
entering a potential web of lies, and we all know what a shitty liar I am. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Thanks for being so understanding. But I was really looking forward to spending a little time with you. We just don’t
get much time together at school.” He paused. “Do you have plans tomorrow night?”
“Nope.”
“Then do you want to go on a date? A band is playing at the Nest, and I thought we could go. Of course your friends
can come, too. Would you like that?”
“Sounds great.” See, little lies like that I could pull off. I hated live music, and I despised the Nest, but pretending
the opposite would make Toby happy, and Casey would be thrilled to be invited along. So why not? White lies were
easy enough, but anything bigger and I was screwed.
“Cool,” Toby said. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“Okay. Bye, Toby.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Bianca.”
I hung up the phone, but my feet refused to move. The letter still blazed against my skin, and I found myself staring
down at the tempting words. Why wasn’t this easier? Why did Wesley have to come along and make me question
everything? I felt like I was betraying Toby with every sentence I read. Like I was cheating on him.
But now I knew that every time I kissed Toby, I was hurting Wesley.
“Arrrrrgh!” With a scream that exploded in my chest and clawed its way through my lungs, I wadded the letter into a
tight ball and hurled it across the room as hard as I could. It moved through the air slowly before bouncing delicately
off the floral wallpaper and landing on the floor.
Finally, with my throat aching, I sank to the floor, buried my face in my hands, and—I admit it—cried. I cried out of
frustration and confusion, but mostly for myself, for being caught in such a position, like the selfish little girl I was.
I thought of Cathy Earnshaw, the spoiled, selfish heroine in Wuthering Heights, and I remembered the passage I’d
been reading before the doorbell rang. But when the words drifted through my brain, they were slightly different.
“My love for Toby is like the foliage in the woods. Time will change it, I’m well aware, as winter changes the trees —my love
for Wesley resembles the eternal rocks beneath—a source of little visible delight, but necessary.”
My head shook back and forth feverishly. Like, I corrected myself. My like for Wesley is blah, blah, blah. I wiped
my eyes and got to my feet, trying to calm my ragged breathing. Then I turned and walked back upstairs.
All of a sudden I wanted to know how the book ended.
the ugly girl, end up in the middle of a love triangle? I wasn’t a romantic. I didn’t really even want to date. But there I
was, torn between two attractive guys that, by all means, I shouldn’t have had a shot with. (Trust me, not as
glamorous as it sounds.)
On one side, I had Toby. Smart, cute, funny, polite, sensitive, and practical. Toby was perfect in every conceivable
way. I mean, he was a little dorky, but that was what made him so adorable. I liked being with him, and he always
put me first. He respected me and never seemed to lose his patience. There was absolutely nothing to complain
about with Toby Tucker.
On the other side, there was Wesley. A jerk. An asshole. An arrogant, womanizing rich boy who put sex before
everything else. Sure, he was incredibly hot, but he could annoy the hell out of me. He was irritatingly charming, and
his cute little grin could really get under my skin. But he had a way of making my heart race and my head spin. I
wasn’t afraid to be a bitch around him. I hated to admit it, but Wesley understood me. I felt like myself when I was
with him, whereas I was always trying to hide my neuroses around Toby.
God, life had been so much easier when no one noticed me.
The note from Wesley weighed half a ton in my back pocket as I headed out to the student parking lot that
afternoon. To say I was confused would have been a massive understatement. I mean, that single sentence left me
with a million different questions, but there was one in particular:
Why the hell does Wesley want me?
Seriously. The guy had dozens of girls who would kill to be with him. Why me? Wasn’t he the one who had called
me the Duff in the first place? What the fuck?
But when I got home, it just got worse.
On Toby’s suggestion, I’d started reading Wuthering Heights in my spare time. Honestly, the main characters
pissed me off so much that it was hard to push through the book. I was considering putting it down for good that
day, but a line of dialogue caught my attention.
“My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods. Time will change it, I’m well aware, as winter changes the trees —my love
for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath—a source of little visible delight, but necessary.”
As stupid as it sounds, that little excerpt really got in my head, like a song you hate but can’t stop singing. I tried to
read on, but the words kept bouncing around in my brain. I turned back the page and read the lines again and
again. I was trying to figure out why they bugged me so much when I was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.
“Thank God,” I muttered, relieved to have a reason to slam the book shut. I jumped off my bed and ran downstairs.
“Coming!” I yelled. “Just a second!”
I pulled open the front door, expecting to find Toby, who’d said he might drop by later. But the man on my front porch
was a chubby redhead in his fifties. Definitely not my boyfriend. He wore a shabby green uniform and a hat that
didn’t quite fit. The name tag on his jacket read JIMMY. He was holding a bouquet of flowers in his right hand and
a clipboard was wedged under his arm.
“Are you Miss Bianca Piper?” he asked.
“Um yeah.”
His squinty eyes lighted with a smile. “Sign this, please,” he said, giving me the clipboard and a pen.
“Congratulations.”
“Er, thanks,” I said, handing the clipboard back to him.
He passed me the bouquet, which I now saw was full of real red roses, and produced a white envelope from his
back pocket. “This is for you, too,” he said. “You’re a lucky girl. It’s not often I get to make a delivery like this to
someone your age.” He smiled. “Young love.”
Young love? God, I had to fight the urge to correct him. To give him my long speech about how teenagers don’t fall
in love. But he was still talking.
“Your boyfriend must really be a keeper. Not many boys are so thoughtful at that age.”
I stared down at the roses and said, “You’re probably right.” Was Toby still trying to cheer me up? God, he was so
nice. Too bad I didn’t deserve all of the kindness.
After thanking the delivery guy, I closed the door. I felt guilty for considering my situation a love triangle. It was just
me and Toby, and Wesley danced along the outskirts, far away from us or that’s how it should have been. That’s
how Toby deserved for it to be.
I put the bouquet on the kitchen table and opened the envelope, expecting to find a sappy but perfectly worded
letter from my flawless boyfriend. It was the kind of thing I’d normally scoff at, but I’d let Toby get away with it. He
really did have a way with words sometimes. That would help when he became a famous politician.
But the handwriting on the letter was the same as the note in my back pocket. This time, however, there was much
more to absorb.
Bianca,
Since you keep running away from me at school, and, if I remember correctly, the sound of my voice causes you to
have suicidal thoughts, I decided a letter might be the best way to tell you how I feel. Just hear me out.
I’m not going to deny that you were right. Everything you said the other day was true. But my fear of being alone is
not the reason I’m pursuing you. I know how cynical you are, and you’re probably going to come up with some
snarky reply when you read this, but the truth is, I’m chasing you because I really think I am falling in love with you.
You are the first girl who has ever seen right through me. You’re the only girl who has ever called me on my bullshit.
You put me in my place, but, at the same time, you understand me better than anyone ever has. You are the only
person brave enough to criticize me. Maybe the only person who looks close enough to find my faults—and,
clearly, you’ve found many.
I called my parents. They’re coming home this weekend to talk to Amy and me. I was afraid to do this at first, but
you inspired me. Without you, I never could have done that.
I think about you much more than any self-respecting man would like to admit, and I’m insanely jealous of Tucker
—something I never thought I’d say. Moving on after you is impossible. No other girl can keep me on my toes the
way you can. No one else makes me WANT to embarrass myself by writing sappy letters like this one.
Only you.
But I know that I’m right, too. I know you’re in love with me, even if you are dating Tucker. You can lie to yourself if
you want, but reality is going to catch up with you. I’ll be waiting when it does whether you like it or not.
Love,
Wesley
p.s.: I know you’re rolling your eyes right now, but I don’t care. Honestly, it’s always been kind of a turn-on.
I stared down at the letter for a long moment, finally understanding what Amy had been thanking me for. Wesley
was trying to fix things because of me. Because of what I’d said. I’d actually managed to get through that thick
skull of his. That was absolutely shocking to me.
It took a second for the other surprises to sink in. Words like love and only leapt off the page at me. It was my first
love letter—not that I’d ever wanted one, but still—and it wasn’t even from my boyfriend. The wrong guy had given it
to me. The wrong guy wanted me. Wesley was the wrong guy.
Or was he exactly the right guy?
I was so consumed with my thoughts that I jumped when the phone rang, and I scurried across the linoleum in an
effort to answer it. “Hello?”
“Hi, Bianca,” Toby said.
My heart sped up and pumped shame through my veins. Wesley’s letter, which I still held, burned the fingers of my
right hand, but I managed to sound normal when I said, “Hey, Toby. Are you on your way over?”
“No,” he sighed. “Dad has errands for me to run, so I can’t come by this afternoon. I’m really sorry.”
“That’s okay.” I shouldn’t have felt relieved, but I was. Seeing Toby would have meant hiding the flowers and
entering a potential web of lies, and we all know what a shitty liar I am. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Thanks for being so understanding. But I was really looking forward to spending a little time with you. We just don’t
get much time together at school.” He paused. “Do you have plans tomorrow night?”
“Nope.”
“Then do you want to go on a date? A band is playing at the Nest, and I thought we could go. Of course your friends
can come, too. Would you like that?”
“Sounds great.” See, little lies like that I could pull off. I hated live music, and I despised the Nest, but pretending
the opposite would make Toby happy, and Casey would be thrilled to be invited along. So why not? White lies were
easy enough, but anything bigger and I was screwed.
“Cool,” Toby said. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“Okay. Bye, Toby.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Bianca.”
I hung up the phone, but my feet refused to move. The letter still blazed against my skin, and I found myself staring
down at the tempting words. Why wasn’t this easier? Why did Wesley have to come along and make me question
everything? I felt like I was betraying Toby with every sentence I read. Like I was cheating on him.
But now I knew that every time I kissed Toby, I was hurting Wesley.
“Arrrrrgh!” With a scream that exploded in my chest and clawed its way through my lungs, I wadded the letter into a
tight ball and hurled it across the room as hard as I could. It moved through the air slowly before bouncing delicately
off the floral wallpaper and landing on the floor.
Finally, with my throat aching, I sank to the floor, buried my face in my hands, and—I admit it—cried. I cried out of
frustration and confusion, but mostly for myself, for being caught in such a position, like the selfish little girl I was.
I thought of Cathy Earnshaw, the spoiled, selfish heroine in Wuthering Heights, and I remembered the passage I’d
been reading before the doorbell rang. But when the words drifted through my brain, they were slightly different.
“My love for Toby is like the foliage in the woods. Time will change it, I’m well aware, as winter changes the trees —my love
for Wesley resembles the eternal rocks beneath—a source of little visible delight, but necessary.”
My head shook back and forth feverishly. Like, I corrected myself. My like for Wesley is blah, blah, blah. I wiped
my eyes and got to my feet, trying to calm my ragged breathing. Then I turned and walked back upstairs.
All of a sudden I wanted to know how the book ended.
The Duff by Kody Keplinger CHAPTER 24
Wesley stayed on my mind for the next couple days, which put me in a really pissy mood—pissier than usual, that
is.
I didn’t want to think about him. I wanted to think about Toby, who was obviously way too good for me. He could tell I
was grumpy, but instead of harassing me about the cause, he just squeezed my hand, kissed me on the cheek,
and bought me candy in hopes of making me smile again. How could I be thinking of another guy—an annoying,
egotistical, womanizing guy—when such a wonderful one stood right in front of me? Maybe someone needed to
slap me or put me through shock treatments like they give crazy people in the movies. That might have brought me
to my senses.
But Wesley seemed to be everywhere. He was always climbing into his car just as I walked out to the student
parking lot or standing two feet ahead of me in the lunch line. Do you know how hard it is to forget someone exists
when they’re constantly in your sight? Pretty damn hard. For a second, I actually wondered if he might be doing this
on purpose, like stalking me or something, but I ditched that idea when I noticed that he didn’t even look at me
anymore. Like he was too mad about the things I’d said to acknowledge me.
It should have been a relief not to have his creepy eyes crawling all over me, but it wasn’t at all. It hurt.
Every time I saw Wesley, I was overcome with a flood of emotions. Anger, sadness, pain, irritation, regret, lust, and,
worst of all, guilt. I knew I shouldn’t have said those things about his attachment issues—even if they were totally
true. And despite my urge to apologize, I kept my mouth shut tight. Honestly, I would rather have dealt with the
knowledge that I was a terrible person than suffer through another uncomfortable conversation with him.
Though I couldn’t avoid the conversation with his sister.
I was in the library one morning, trying to find a book that didn’t contain romantic vampires or kids flying on
dragons, when Amy walked up to me. I swear, she was so freaking quiet that I didn’t have a chance to run. One
minute I was alone, the next she was right beside me. I was ambushed.
“B-Bianca,” she stammered. She was wringing her hands and staring at the ground, as if talking to me was actually
going to kill her.
“Oh. Um, hey, Amy.” I shoved the book I was examining back onto the shelf. “What’s going on?” I kept my face
pointed away from her, pretending I was still scanning the titles in front of me.
I didn’t want to look at her. For one, she looked too much like her brother, and I was trying—and failing miserably
—to forget about him. For another, I couldn’t stand to meet her eyes when she tore into me, which I just knew she
was about to do. Not that I could blame her.
Well, okay, so I couldn’t really imagine timid little Amy tearing into anything, but still.
“I, um I have something to say to you,” she said, trying to sound determined.
Or maybe Amy was upset at me for facilitating Wesley’s “lifestyle.” Maybe she wanted to blame me for the
distance between them.
If that was the case, I wanted to defend him. To tell her that her grandmother was misrepresenting Wesley. That he
wasn’t a bad guy—and definitely not a bad brother. But I knew not to get involved. It wasn’t my place to fix his family
issues. He wasn’t even part of my life anymore.
“Okay. Go ahead.”
Here it comes, I thought. Whatever she says, don’t cry .
“I... I want to” She took a deep breath. “Thank you.”
“Huh?” I turned around to face her. Surely I hadn’t heard her right. There was just no way.
“Thank you,” she repeated. “For Wesley. He he’s a lot different, and I know it has to be because of you. I... I appreciate it, so thank you.”
Before I could ask for a detailed explanation—spoken slowly so that I could follow—Amy turned around and hurried
away, her brown curls bouncing behind her.
I was left standing in the middle of the library, totally confused.
And it got worse later that day.
When Wesley rounded the corner after lunch while I was pulling notebooks out of my locker, I wasn’t really
surprised. Like I said, he was everywhere. Vikki was with him, clinging to his arm and flipping her hair like the girl
in a shampoo commercial. She was laughing, but I could have bet money that whatever Wesley had said wasn’t all
that funny. She just wanted to inflate his ego as if it needed to get any bigger.
“Over here,” she giggled, pulling him into the alcove ten feet away from me. “I wanna talk to you.”
Talk? I thought. Yeah, not likely.
I swear, I tried not to listen. I knew hearing them flirt would only get me worked up, but Vikki’s squeaky voice
carries, and they were standing really close to me, and yeah, a masochistic little part of me couldn’t stop myself. I
started arranging the textbooks in the bottom of my locker, trying to make enough noise that I wouldn’t be able to
hear their conversation.
“What are you doing for prom?” Vikki asked.
“I don’t have any plans,” Wesley answered.
I shuffled my papers loudly, hoping that, even if I couldn’t drown out their words, they would notice me and take the
make-out session elsewhere. I mean, they weren’t groping each other yet, but I knew both of them well enough to
be sure it wouldn’t take long.
“Well,” Vikki said, either not hearing me or just not caring. “I thought maybe we could go together.” I didn’t have to
look to know she was scraping her long, polished fingernails lightly down Wesley’s arm. Vikki used the same
moves on every guy. “I thought maybe after the dance we could have a little time alone at your place, maybe?”
I had the serious desire to puke. I grabbed my books, slammed my locker shut, and prepared to bolt toward my
next class before I had to hear Wesley say yes. Let them have each other! I thought bitterly. STDs all around! To
hell with it. But he answered before I could even take a step.
“I don’t think so, Vikki.”
I froze.
What? What? Rewind for a second, please. Did Wesley really turn down a girl? A girl who was perfectly willing to
fuck his brains out? I had to be dreaming.
Vikki seemed to be experiencing a similar reaction. “What? What do you mean?”
“I’m just not interested,” Wesley said. “But I’m sure you have plenty of other boys who would love to join you. Sorry.”
“Oh.” Vikki stumbled out of the alcove with a look of hurt surprise. “It’s, um, okay. Not a problem. Just thought I’d
offer.” She hesitated for a second. “I guess I’ll see you later? Gotta go to class. Bye.” And she took off down the
hall, obviously confused.
She wasn’t the only one.
Was this the difference Amy had been talking about? Was Wesley suddenly inclined to be less man-whorish? If so,
how was that because of me?
I stared as Wesley walked out of the alcove. Then, for the first time in days, he looked at me. His eyes locked with
mine. A weak smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but the expression in his eyes was unreadable. I could tell
he wasn’t angry, though. That fact sent instant relief through my tense muscles.
Knowing he wasn’t pissed at me made the guilt ebb a little but not entirely. I’d still said some cold things to him,
and in that second, as I held his gaze, I thought of speaking, of apologizing. I thought about it, but I didn’t say a
word.
Wesley took a step toward me, and I suddenly remembered who I was—who he was. While Wesley’s rejecting
Vikki was undeniably surprising, it didn’t change the fact that I didn’t have a chance with him; he would never want
a real relationship especially not with me. And then there was the fact that I was dating Toby. Plus, I knew that
communicating with Wesley would just make my steadily improving life complicated again. I wouldn’t punish myself
that way.
I spun around and started running down the hallway, pretending I didn’t hear him call after me.
I slowed when I turned down another hallway and saw Toby (my boyfriend? I wasn’t sure how this worked) waiting
for me by the old, out-of-order snack machines. He smiled and adjusted his glasses, and I could tell he was
genuinely pleased to see me. Was I equally happy to see him? I was. Of course I was, but the smile on my face felt
artificial.
Toby’s arm wrapped around my shoulders when I got close enough. “Hey.”
“Hi,” I sighed.
He leaned down and kissed me on the lips before asking, “Is it okay if I walk you to class?”
I glanced over my shoulder at the emptying hallway. “Sure,” I murmured, facing forward again. I leaned my head on
his shoulder. “That sounds perfect.”
A few days later, I found Jessica waiting for me outside my third-block calculus class. “Can we talk on the way to
English?” she asked without the usual bob in her step or swing to her hair. I could tell something was up by the way
she bit her lower lip.
“Um, sure,” I said, shifting my books under my right arm. Seeing my perpetually perky friend looking so solemn
made me uneasy. “Is something wrong?”
“Kinda, not really.”
We shoved our way through the packed halls together, trying not to step on too many people’s toes. I waited for
Jessica to speak, my curiosity and anxiety rising. I really wanted to say, “Hurry up! Out with it!” Luckily, though, she
started talking before my legendary low patience ran out.
“It’s about you and Toby. I just don’t think you’re right together.” She said it so fast that I wasn’t sure if I’d heard her
at first. “I’m sorry, Bianca,” she moaned. “It’s not any of my business, but I don’t see a spark there, you know? And
Casey totally disagrees with me. She says you’re better with Toby, and she might be right, but I don’t know. You
don’t seem like yourself when you’re with him. Please don’t be mad.”
I shook my head, trying to fight my sudden urge to laugh. That was it? That was what she was worried about? I’d
seriously thought someone was dying or, at the least, her Mom had forbidden her going to prom. Instead, it turned
out that she was worried about me. “Jessica, I’m not mad at you at all.”
“Oh, good,” she breathed. “I was really scared you would get p.o.’ed at me.”
Ouch. Was I that bitchy? So horrible that one of my best friends was afraid to tell me her opinion because I might
go into a rage or something? God, that made me feel like shit.
“It’s not that I don’t like Toby,” Jessica continued. “I do. He’s sweet, and he’s nice to you, and I know you need that
after after my brother.”
My heart may have actually stopped beating for a second there. I stopped right where I was and, after a stunned
pause, whirled around to stare at Jessica. “How do you?” I managed to whisper.
“Jake told me,” she said. “I was telling him about my friends when your name came up, and he told me about your
thing a few years ago. He feels horrible about it now, and he wanted me to apologize for him, but I didn’t want to
bring it up. I’m sorry, Bianca. It must be really hard for you to be my friend after what Jake did.”
“That’s not your fault.”
“I just can’t believe you didn’t say anything. It must have been on your mind when Jake came to visit. Why didn’t you
tell me?”
“I didn’t want you to think less of your brother,” I said. “I know you think a lot of him, and I didn’t want to ruin that.”
Jessica didn’t say anything. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me, hugging me as close to her
as humanly possible. It was a little awkward at first, especially considering the fact that Jessica’s giant boobs were
practically smothering me, but I gradually fell into her embrace. My arms slid around her waist, returning the hug.
Knowing I had someone who would hold me like this, with nothing to gain, made me feel like one of the luckiest
people in the world.
“I love you, Bianca.”
“Um, what was that?”
Jessica released me and took a step back. “I love you,” she said. “You and Casey both. You’re the best friends I’ve
ever had, and I don’t know where I’d be if you two hadn’t come along my sophomore year. I’d probably still be
letting those preppy girls walk all over me.” She looked down at her feet. “You two always try to protect me, like not
telling me about what an a-hole my brother was. And I want to do the same thing for you.”
“Jessica, that’s sweet.”
“That’s why I’m telling you this,” she went on. “I know Toby is nice and he likes you, but I don’t see a connection. I
mean, I’m glad you’re spending time with me and Casey again, and I think it’s cool that he hangs out with us
sometimes, but what I care about is that you’re happy. You might look happy, but I don’t think you are.” She took a
deep breath and tugged at the hem of her floral-print skirt. “I don’t want to bring this up, but I’ve heard some
rumors about Wesley lately.”
I bit my lip. “Oh.”
“He hasn’t been as flirty lately,” she said. “I haven’t seen him with any girls, and I thought”—she looked at me with
wide chocolate eyes—“I thought maybe you’d want to know. I mean, I know you have feelings for him, and—”
I shook my head. “No,” I said, “it’s not that simple.”
She nodded. “Okay,” she said. “I just thought I’d throw it out there. Sorry.”
I sighed and smiled, reaching out to take her hand and pulling her toward the English classroom. “It’s okay. I
appreciate you being concerned—I really, really do. And you might be right about me and Toby, I mean. But this
is just high school. We’re only dating. It’s not like I’m looking for a husband or whatever. I don’t think you need to
worry about me yet. I’m fine.”
“Casey says you’re usually lying when you say that,” Jessica informed me.
“She does, huh?”
I released Jessica’s hand as we walked into English class, determined to avoid answering her accusation. That
proved to be pretty easy, really. I was able to feign distraction—well, it wasn’t entirely fake—when I noticed the
folded piece of paper lying on my desk. I sat down and picked it up, assuming it was from Casey. Who else would
be writing me a note?
But Casey always drew a smiley face over the i in my name, and the handwriting on the outside of this paper was small, cursive, and faceless.
Confused, I unfolded the paper and read the single sentence that was scrawled across the top.
Wesley Rush doesn’t chase girls, but I’m chasing you.
is.
I didn’t want to think about him. I wanted to think about Toby, who was obviously way too good for me. He could tell I
was grumpy, but instead of harassing me about the cause, he just squeezed my hand, kissed me on the cheek,
and bought me candy in hopes of making me smile again. How could I be thinking of another guy—an annoying,
egotistical, womanizing guy—when such a wonderful one stood right in front of me? Maybe someone needed to
slap me or put me through shock treatments like they give crazy people in the movies. That might have brought me
to my senses.
But Wesley seemed to be everywhere. He was always climbing into his car just as I walked out to the student
parking lot or standing two feet ahead of me in the lunch line. Do you know how hard it is to forget someone exists
when they’re constantly in your sight? Pretty damn hard. For a second, I actually wondered if he might be doing this
on purpose, like stalking me or something, but I ditched that idea when I noticed that he didn’t even look at me
anymore. Like he was too mad about the things I’d said to acknowledge me.
It should have been a relief not to have his creepy eyes crawling all over me, but it wasn’t at all. It hurt.
Every time I saw Wesley, I was overcome with a flood of emotions. Anger, sadness, pain, irritation, regret, lust, and,
worst of all, guilt. I knew I shouldn’t have said those things about his attachment issues—even if they were totally
true. And despite my urge to apologize, I kept my mouth shut tight. Honestly, I would rather have dealt with the
knowledge that I was a terrible person than suffer through another uncomfortable conversation with him.
Though I couldn’t avoid the conversation with his sister.
I was in the library one morning, trying to find a book that didn’t contain romantic vampires or kids flying on
dragons, when Amy walked up to me. I swear, she was so freaking quiet that I didn’t have a chance to run. One
minute I was alone, the next she was right beside me. I was ambushed.
“B-Bianca,” she stammered. She was wringing her hands and staring at the ground, as if talking to me was actually
going to kill her.
“Oh. Um, hey, Amy.” I shoved the book I was examining back onto the shelf. “What’s going on?” I kept my face
pointed away from her, pretending I was still scanning the titles in front of me.
I didn’t want to look at her. For one, she looked too much like her brother, and I was trying—and failing miserably
—to forget about him. For another, I couldn’t stand to meet her eyes when she tore into me, which I just knew she
was about to do. Not that I could blame her.
Well, okay, so I couldn’t really imagine timid little Amy tearing into anything, but still.
“I, um I have something to say to you,” she said, trying to sound determined.
Or maybe Amy was upset at me for facilitating Wesley’s “lifestyle.” Maybe she wanted to blame me for the
distance between them.
If that was the case, I wanted to defend him. To tell her that her grandmother was misrepresenting Wesley. That he
wasn’t a bad guy—and definitely not a bad brother. But I knew not to get involved. It wasn’t my place to fix his family
issues. He wasn’t even part of my life anymore.
“Okay. Go ahead.”
Here it comes, I thought. Whatever she says, don’t cry .
“I... I want to” She took a deep breath. “Thank you.”
“Huh?” I turned around to face her. Surely I hadn’t heard her right. There was just no way.
“Thank you,” she repeated. “For Wesley. He he’s a lot different, and I know it has to be because of you. I... I appreciate it, so thank you.”
Before I could ask for a detailed explanation—spoken slowly so that I could follow—Amy turned around and hurried
away, her brown curls bouncing behind her.
I was left standing in the middle of the library, totally confused.
And it got worse later that day.
When Wesley rounded the corner after lunch while I was pulling notebooks out of my locker, I wasn’t really
surprised. Like I said, he was everywhere. Vikki was with him, clinging to his arm and flipping her hair like the girl
in a shampoo commercial. She was laughing, but I could have bet money that whatever Wesley had said wasn’t all
that funny. She just wanted to inflate his ego as if it needed to get any bigger.
“Over here,” she giggled, pulling him into the alcove ten feet away from me. “I wanna talk to you.”
Talk? I thought. Yeah, not likely.
I swear, I tried not to listen. I knew hearing them flirt would only get me worked up, but Vikki’s squeaky voice
carries, and they were standing really close to me, and yeah, a masochistic little part of me couldn’t stop myself. I
started arranging the textbooks in the bottom of my locker, trying to make enough noise that I wouldn’t be able to
hear their conversation.
“What are you doing for prom?” Vikki asked.
“I don’t have any plans,” Wesley answered.
I shuffled my papers loudly, hoping that, even if I couldn’t drown out their words, they would notice me and take the
make-out session elsewhere. I mean, they weren’t groping each other yet, but I knew both of them well enough to
be sure it wouldn’t take long.
“Well,” Vikki said, either not hearing me or just not caring. “I thought maybe we could go together.” I didn’t have to
look to know she was scraping her long, polished fingernails lightly down Wesley’s arm. Vikki used the same
moves on every guy. “I thought maybe after the dance we could have a little time alone at your place, maybe?”
I had the serious desire to puke. I grabbed my books, slammed my locker shut, and prepared to bolt toward my
next class before I had to hear Wesley say yes. Let them have each other! I thought bitterly. STDs all around! To
hell with it. But he answered before I could even take a step.
“I don’t think so, Vikki.”
I froze.
What? What? Rewind for a second, please. Did Wesley really turn down a girl? A girl who was perfectly willing to
fuck his brains out? I had to be dreaming.
Vikki seemed to be experiencing a similar reaction. “What? What do you mean?”
“I’m just not interested,” Wesley said. “But I’m sure you have plenty of other boys who would love to join you. Sorry.”
“Oh.” Vikki stumbled out of the alcove with a look of hurt surprise. “It’s, um, okay. Not a problem. Just thought I’d
offer.” She hesitated for a second. “I guess I’ll see you later? Gotta go to class. Bye.” And she took off down the
hall, obviously confused.
She wasn’t the only one.
Was this the difference Amy had been talking about? Was Wesley suddenly inclined to be less man-whorish? If so,
how was that because of me?
I stared as Wesley walked out of the alcove. Then, for the first time in days, he looked at me. His eyes locked with
mine. A weak smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but the expression in his eyes was unreadable. I could tell
he wasn’t angry, though. That fact sent instant relief through my tense muscles.
Knowing he wasn’t pissed at me made the guilt ebb a little but not entirely. I’d still said some cold things to him,
and in that second, as I held his gaze, I thought of speaking, of apologizing. I thought about it, but I didn’t say a
word.
Wesley took a step toward me, and I suddenly remembered who I was—who he was. While Wesley’s rejecting
Vikki was undeniably surprising, it didn’t change the fact that I didn’t have a chance with him; he would never want
a real relationship especially not with me. And then there was the fact that I was dating Toby. Plus, I knew that
communicating with Wesley would just make my steadily improving life complicated again. I wouldn’t punish myself
that way.
I spun around and started running down the hallway, pretending I didn’t hear him call after me.
I slowed when I turned down another hallway and saw Toby (my boyfriend? I wasn’t sure how this worked) waiting
for me by the old, out-of-order snack machines. He smiled and adjusted his glasses, and I could tell he was
genuinely pleased to see me. Was I equally happy to see him? I was. Of course I was, but the smile on my face felt
artificial.
Toby’s arm wrapped around my shoulders when I got close enough. “Hey.”
“Hi,” I sighed.
He leaned down and kissed me on the lips before asking, “Is it okay if I walk you to class?”
I glanced over my shoulder at the emptying hallway. “Sure,” I murmured, facing forward again. I leaned my head on
his shoulder. “That sounds perfect.”
A few days later, I found Jessica waiting for me outside my third-block calculus class. “Can we talk on the way to
English?” she asked without the usual bob in her step or swing to her hair. I could tell something was up by the way
she bit her lower lip.
“Um, sure,” I said, shifting my books under my right arm. Seeing my perpetually perky friend looking so solemn
made me uneasy. “Is something wrong?”
“Kinda, not really.”
We shoved our way through the packed halls together, trying not to step on too many people’s toes. I waited for
Jessica to speak, my curiosity and anxiety rising. I really wanted to say, “Hurry up! Out with it!” Luckily, though, she
started talking before my legendary low patience ran out.
“It’s about you and Toby. I just don’t think you’re right together.” She said it so fast that I wasn’t sure if I’d heard her
at first. “I’m sorry, Bianca,” she moaned. “It’s not any of my business, but I don’t see a spark there, you know? And
Casey totally disagrees with me. She says you’re better with Toby, and she might be right, but I don’t know. You
don’t seem like yourself when you’re with him. Please don’t be mad.”
I shook my head, trying to fight my sudden urge to laugh. That was it? That was what she was worried about? I’d
seriously thought someone was dying or, at the least, her Mom had forbidden her going to prom. Instead, it turned
out that she was worried about me. “Jessica, I’m not mad at you at all.”
“Oh, good,” she breathed. “I was really scared you would get p.o.’ed at me.”
Ouch. Was I that bitchy? So horrible that one of my best friends was afraid to tell me her opinion because I might
go into a rage or something? God, that made me feel like shit.
“It’s not that I don’t like Toby,” Jessica continued. “I do. He’s sweet, and he’s nice to you, and I know you need that
after after my brother.”
My heart may have actually stopped beating for a second there. I stopped right where I was and, after a stunned
pause, whirled around to stare at Jessica. “How do you?” I managed to whisper.
“Jake told me,” she said. “I was telling him about my friends when your name came up, and he told me about your
thing a few years ago. He feels horrible about it now, and he wanted me to apologize for him, but I didn’t want to
bring it up. I’m sorry, Bianca. It must be really hard for you to be my friend after what Jake did.”
“That’s not your fault.”
“I just can’t believe you didn’t say anything. It must have been on your mind when Jake came to visit. Why didn’t you
tell me?”
“I didn’t want you to think less of your brother,” I said. “I know you think a lot of him, and I didn’t want to ruin that.”
Jessica didn’t say anything. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me, hugging me as close to her
as humanly possible. It was a little awkward at first, especially considering the fact that Jessica’s giant boobs were
practically smothering me, but I gradually fell into her embrace. My arms slid around her waist, returning the hug.
Knowing I had someone who would hold me like this, with nothing to gain, made me feel like one of the luckiest
people in the world.
“I love you, Bianca.”
“Um, what was that?”
Jessica released me and took a step back. “I love you,” she said. “You and Casey both. You’re the best friends I’ve
ever had, and I don’t know where I’d be if you two hadn’t come along my sophomore year. I’d probably still be
letting those preppy girls walk all over me.” She looked down at her feet. “You two always try to protect me, like not
telling me about what an a-hole my brother was. And I want to do the same thing for you.”
“Jessica, that’s sweet.”
“That’s why I’m telling you this,” she went on. “I know Toby is nice and he likes you, but I don’t see a connection. I
mean, I’m glad you’re spending time with me and Casey again, and I think it’s cool that he hangs out with us
sometimes, but what I care about is that you’re happy. You might look happy, but I don’t think you are.” She took a
deep breath and tugged at the hem of her floral-print skirt. “I don’t want to bring this up, but I’ve heard some
rumors about Wesley lately.”
I bit my lip. “Oh.”
“He hasn’t been as flirty lately,” she said. “I haven’t seen him with any girls, and I thought”—she looked at me with
wide chocolate eyes—“I thought maybe you’d want to know. I mean, I know you have feelings for him, and—”
I shook my head. “No,” I said, “it’s not that simple.”
She nodded. “Okay,” she said. “I just thought I’d throw it out there. Sorry.”
I sighed and smiled, reaching out to take her hand and pulling her toward the English classroom. “It’s okay. I
appreciate you being concerned—I really, really do. And you might be right about me and Toby, I mean. But this
is just high school. We’re only dating. It’s not like I’m looking for a husband or whatever. I don’t think you need to
worry about me yet. I’m fine.”
“Casey says you’re usually lying when you say that,” Jessica informed me.
“She does, huh?”
I released Jessica’s hand as we walked into English class, determined to avoid answering her accusation. That
proved to be pretty easy, really. I was able to feign distraction—well, it wasn’t entirely fake—when I noticed the
folded piece of paper lying on my desk. I sat down and picked it up, assuming it was from Casey. Who else would
be writing me a note?
But Casey always drew a smiley face over the i in my name, and the handwriting on the outside of this paper was small, cursive, and faceless.
Confused, I unfolded the paper and read the single sentence that was scrawled across the top.
Wesley Rush doesn’t chase girls, but I’m chasing you.
The Duff by Kody Keplinger CHAPTER 23
“Oh God,” I muttered as Toby and I made a frantic effort to untangle ourselves. He scrambled off my bed and
grabbed his shirt off the floor, his face glowing scarlet. I reached down and picked up my T-shirt. “Wesley, how did
you get in here?” I demanded.
“The door was unlocked,” he said. “You didn’t answer when I knocked. Now I can see why.” His dark gray eyes
were big with what I could only guess was shock, dissolving quickly into disgust, and they stared directly at Toby.
Why was he shocked?
Because he didn’t think anyone else would fool around with the Duff?
“But what are you doing here?” I asked, feeling a sudden surge of anger rush through my veins. I yanked my T-shirt
over my head and stood up.
“You weren’t answering your phone,” Wesley muttered. “I was worried, but it looks like you’re just fine.” He glared at
Toby for a moment before looking back at me. “My mistake.”
Now he was the one who looked angry.
Angry and hurt.
I didn’t get it.
I looked over at Toby. His shirt was on and buttoned, and he was staring awkwardly at his feet. “Hey,” I said. He
looked up at me. “I’ll be right back, okay?”
He nodded.
I pushed Wesley into the hallway with one hand and shut my bedroom door behind me with the other. “God,
Wesley,” I hissed, irritated as I ushered him down the stairs. “I always knew you were a perv, but watching me?
That’s a whole new level of creepy.”
I assumed he’d say something to that. Something arrogant and cocky. Or maybe just tease me, the way he always
did. But he just stared at me, a serious expression on his face. Not at all what I’d expected from Wesley.
Silence.
“So,” he said at last. “You and Tucker are together now?”
“Yes,” I answered uneasily. “We are.”
“When did that happen?”
“Last week not that it’s any of your business.” Another jab. Another attempt to make this conversation normal.
But he didn’t take the bait. “Right. Sorry.” He sounded so awkward. So different from the smooth, confident Wesley
I was used to.
Another uncomfortable silence.
“Why are you here, Wesley?”
“I told you,” he said. “I got worried. You’ve been avoiding me for the past week at school, and when I called you
today, you didn’t answer. I thought something might have happened with your dad. So I came to make sure you
were okay.”
I bit my lower lip, a wave of guilt washing over me. “That’s sweet,” I murmured. “But I’m fine. Dad apologized for the
other night, and he’s going to AA meetings now, so”
“So you weren’t going to tell me?”
“Why would I?”
“Because I care!” Wesley yelled. His words crashed into me, stunning me for a second. “I’ve been worried about
you since you left my house a week ago! You didn’t even say why you left, Bianca. What was I supposed to do?
Just assume you would be all right?”
“God,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“I’m worrying about you, and you’re fucking that pretentious little—!”
“Hey!” I shouted. “Don’t bring Toby into this.”
“Why have you been avoiding me?” he asked.
“I haven’t been avoiding you.”
“Don’t lie,” Wesley said. “You’ve been doing everything you can to stay away from me. You won’t even look at me in
class, and you practically sprint down the hallway if you see me coming. Even when you hated me, you didn’t act
like that. You might threaten to stab me, but you never—”
“I still hate you,” I snarled up at him. “You’re infuriating! You act like I owe you something. I’m sorry I made you worry,
Wesley, but I just can’t be around you anymore. You helped me escape from my problems for a while, and I
appreciate that, but I have to face reality. I can’t keep running away.”
“But that is exactly what you’re doing right now,” Wesley hissed. “You’re running away.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t pretend, Bianca,” he said. “You’re smarter than that, and so am I. I finally figured out what you meant when
you left. You said you were like Hester. I get it now. The first time you came to my house, when we wrote that paper,
you said Hester was trying to escape. But everything caught up with Hester in the end, didn’t it? Well, something
finally caught up with you, but you’re just running away again. Only, he”—Wesley pointed to my bedroom door—“is
your escape this time.” He took a step toward me, forcing me to crane my neck even more to see his face. “Admit
it, Duffy.”
“Admit what?”
“That you’re running away from me,” he said. “You realized you’re in love with me and you bailed because it scared
the shit out of you.”
I scoffed as if it were ridiculous—wishing it were ridiculous—and rolled my eyes, stepping back to show he
couldn’t intimidate me, that he wasn’t right. “Oh my God. Get over yourself. You’re so fucking dramatic, Wesley.
This isn’t a damn soap opera.”
“You know it’s true.”
“Even if it is,” I cried, “what does it matter? You could sleep with anybody, Wesley. So what if I walk away? So what
if I have feelings for you? I was just a screw to you! You would never actually commit to me. You could never commit
to anyone, but especially not to Duffy. You don’t even find me attractive.”
“Bullshit,” he growled, his eyes on my face as he moved closer to me again.
He was so close. My back was pressed to the wall, and Wesley stood only inches away. It had only been a week,
but it felt like ages since we’d been in this kind of proximity. A shiver ran up my spine as I remembered the way his
hands felt on me. The way he’d always made me feel wanted, even if he had called me the Duff. Did he? Did he
find me attractive despite the nickname? How? Why?
“Then why would you call me that?” I whispered. “Do you know how much it hurts? Every time you call me Duffy, do
you know how shitty it makes me feel?”
Wesley looked surprised. “What?”
“Every time you call me that,” I said, “you’re telling me how little you think of me. How ugly I am. God, how can you
possibly find me attractive when you put me down all the time.” I hissed the last words through gritted teeth.
“I didn’t—” His eyes fell, staring at his shoes for a moment. I could tell he felt guilty. “Bianca, I’m sorry.” He looked
into my eyes again. “I didn’t mean—” His hand reached out to touch me.
“Don’t,” I snapped, shrugging away from him. I slid to the side and stepped away from the wall. I wasn’t going to be
cornered. I wasn’t going to let him have the power here. “Just stop, Wesley.”
It didn’t matter if some part of him found me attractive. That didn’t change things. I was just another girl he’d slept
with. One among many.
“I didn’t mean anything to you,” I told him.
“Then why am I here?” he demanded, turning to face me again. “Why the hell am I here, Bianca?”
I glared up at his hardened face. “I’ll tell you why. Your parents leave you by yourself, so you fill your life with
meaningless flings. With girls you’ll never have anything serious with—girls who practically worship you—so that
they don’t abandon you. The only reason you’re here is because you can’t take the thought that someone else
walked away from you. Your sensitive ego can’t handle that, and it’s easier to make me miss you than to make your
parents come home.”
He was speechless, just staring at me with his jaw visibly clenching for a few seconds.
“Did I hit the mark, Wesley?” I spat. “Do I get you as well as you think you get me?”
He glared at me for a few minutes—long minutes—before stepping back. “Fine,” he muttered. “If that’s how you
want it, I’ll go.”
“Yeah,” I said. “You should.”
He turned and stormed out of the house. I heard the front door slam, and I knew he was gone. For good. I took a
few deep, slow breaths to clear my head and walked back up to my bedroom, where Toby waited for me.
“Hey,” I sighed, sitting down on the bed beside him. “I’m so sorry about that.”
“What happened?” he asked. “I wasn’t eavesdropping, but there was a lot of yelling. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “It’s a long, complicated story.”
“Well, if you ever want to talk about it”—Toby adjusted his glasses and gave me a nervous smile—“I’ve got the time
to listen.”
“Thanks,” I said. “But I’m okay. Everyone has dirty laundry, right?” Well, everyone except you, Toby.
“Right,” he agreed. He leaned over and kissed me gently. “Sorry we were interrupted earlier.”
“Me, too.”
He pressed his lips to mine again, but I couldn’t enjoy it. I just kept thinking of Wesley. He had looked so hurt. But
that’s what I had wanted when I left him, just a little, wasn’t it? For him to miss me? I tried to push it down, wanting
so badly to lose myself in Toby’s arms. But I couldn’t.
Not the way I’d been able to lose myself with Wesley.
I pulled away, disgusted with myself. How could I think of Wesley when I was kissing a guy like Toby Tucker? What
was the matter with me?
“Is something wrong?” Toby asked.
“It’s nothing,” I lied. “Just we should probably start doing research for our editorials.”
“You’re right.” He didn’t seem irritated or offended or dejected at all. Perfect manners. A perfect smile. The perfect
boy.
So why wasn’t I perfectly happy?
grabbed his shirt off the floor, his face glowing scarlet. I reached down and picked up my T-shirt. “Wesley, how did
you get in here?” I demanded.
“The door was unlocked,” he said. “You didn’t answer when I knocked. Now I can see why.” His dark gray eyes
were big with what I could only guess was shock, dissolving quickly into disgust, and they stared directly at Toby.
Why was he shocked?
Because he didn’t think anyone else would fool around with the Duff?
“But what are you doing here?” I asked, feeling a sudden surge of anger rush through my veins. I yanked my T-shirt
over my head and stood up.
“You weren’t answering your phone,” Wesley muttered. “I was worried, but it looks like you’re just fine.” He glared at
Toby for a moment before looking back at me. “My mistake.”
Now he was the one who looked angry.
Angry and hurt.
I didn’t get it.
I looked over at Toby. His shirt was on and buttoned, and he was staring awkwardly at his feet. “Hey,” I said. He
looked up at me. “I’ll be right back, okay?”
He nodded.
I pushed Wesley into the hallway with one hand and shut my bedroom door behind me with the other. “God,
Wesley,” I hissed, irritated as I ushered him down the stairs. “I always knew you were a perv, but watching me?
That’s a whole new level of creepy.”
I assumed he’d say something to that. Something arrogant and cocky. Or maybe just tease me, the way he always
did. But he just stared at me, a serious expression on his face. Not at all what I’d expected from Wesley.
Silence.
“So,” he said at last. “You and Tucker are together now?”
“Yes,” I answered uneasily. “We are.”
“When did that happen?”
“Last week not that it’s any of your business.” Another jab. Another attempt to make this conversation normal.
But he didn’t take the bait. “Right. Sorry.” He sounded so awkward. So different from the smooth, confident Wesley
I was used to.
Another uncomfortable silence.
“Why are you here, Wesley?”
“I told you,” he said. “I got worried. You’ve been avoiding me for the past week at school, and when I called you
today, you didn’t answer. I thought something might have happened with your dad. So I came to make sure you
were okay.”
I bit my lower lip, a wave of guilt washing over me. “That’s sweet,” I murmured. “But I’m fine. Dad apologized for the
other night, and he’s going to AA meetings now, so”
“So you weren’t going to tell me?”
“Why would I?”
“Because I care!” Wesley yelled. His words crashed into me, stunning me for a second. “I’ve been worried about
you since you left my house a week ago! You didn’t even say why you left, Bianca. What was I supposed to do?
Just assume you would be all right?”
“God,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“I’m worrying about you, and you’re fucking that pretentious little—!”
“Hey!” I shouted. “Don’t bring Toby into this.”
“Why have you been avoiding me?” he asked.
“I haven’t been avoiding you.”
“Don’t lie,” Wesley said. “You’ve been doing everything you can to stay away from me. You won’t even look at me in
class, and you practically sprint down the hallway if you see me coming. Even when you hated me, you didn’t act
like that. You might threaten to stab me, but you never—”
“I still hate you,” I snarled up at him. “You’re infuriating! You act like I owe you something. I’m sorry I made you worry,
Wesley, but I just can’t be around you anymore. You helped me escape from my problems for a while, and I
appreciate that, but I have to face reality. I can’t keep running away.”
“But that is exactly what you’re doing right now,” Wesley hissed. “You’re running away.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t pretend, Bianca,” he said. “You’re smarter than that, and so am I. I finally figured out what you meant when
you left. You said you were like Hester. I get it now. The first time you came to my house, when we wrote that paper,
you said Hester was trying to escape. But everything caught up with Hester in the end, didn’t it? Well, something
finally caught up with you, but you’re just running away again. Only, he”—Wesley pointed to my bedroom door—“is
your escape this time.” He took a step toward me, forcing me to crane my neck even more to see his face. “Admit
it, Duffy.”
“Admit what?”
“That you’re running away from me,” he said. “You realized you’re in love with me and you bailed because it scared
the shit out of you.”
I scoffed as if it were ridiculous—wishing it were ridiculous—and rolled my eyes, stepping back to show he
couldn’t intimidate me, that he wasn’t right. “Oh my God. Get over yourself. You’re so fucking dramatic, Wesley.
This isn’t a damn soap opera.”
“You know it’s true.”
“Even if it is,” I cried, “what does it matter? You could sleep with anybody, Wesley. So what if I walk away? So what
if I have feelings for you? I was just a screw to you! You would never actually commit to me. You could never commit
to anyone, but especially not to Duffy. You don’t even find me attractive.”
“Bullshit,” he growled, his eyes on my face as he moved closer to me again.
He was so close. My back was pressed to the wall, and Wesley stood only inches away. It had only been a week,
but it felt like ages since we’d been in this kind of proximity. A shiver ran up my spine as I remembered the way his
hands felt on me. The way he’d always made me feel wanted, even if he had called me the Duff. Did he? Did he
find me attractive despite the nickname? How? Why?
“Then why would you call me that?” I whispered. “Do you know how much it hurts? Every time you call me Duffy, do
you know how shitty it makes me feel?”
Wesley looked surprised. “What?”
“Every time you call me that,” I said, “you’re telling me how little you think of me. How ugly I am. God, how can you
possibly find me attractive when you put me down all the time.” I hissed the last words through gritted teeth.
“I didn’t—” His eyes fell, staring at his shoes for a moment. I could tell he felt guilty. “Bianca, I’m sorry.” He looked
into my eyes again. “I didn’t mean—” His hand reached out to touch me.
“Don’t,” I snapped, shrugging away from him. I slid to the side and stepped away from the wall. I wasn’t going to be
cornered. I wasn’t going to let him have the power here. “Just stop, Wesley.”
It didn’t matter if some part of him found me attractive. That didn’t change things. I was just another girl he’d slept
with. One among many.
“I didn’t mean anything to you,” I told him.
“Then why am I here?” he demanded, turning to face me again. “Why the hell am I here, Bianca?”
I glared up at his hardened face. “I’ll tell you why. Your parents leave you by yourself, so you fill your life with
meaningless flings. With girls you’ll never have anything serious with—girls who practically worship you—so that
they don’t abandon you. The only reason you’re here is because you can’t take the thought that someone else
walked away from you. Your sensitive ego can’t handle that, and it’s easier to make me miss you than to make your
parents come home.”
He was speechless, just staring at me with his jaw visibly clenching for a few seconds.
“Did I hit the mark, Wesley?” I spat. “Do I get you as well as you think you get me?”
He glared at me for a few minutes—long minutes—before stepping back. “Fine,” he muttered. “If that’s how you
want it, I’ll go.”
“Yeah,” I said. “You should.”
He turned and stormed out of the house. I heard the front door slam, and I knew he was gone. For good. I took a
few deep, slow breaths to clear my head and walked back up to my bedroom, where Toby waited for me.
“Hey,” I sighed, sitting down on the bed beside him. “I’m so sorry about that.”
“What happened?” he asked. “I wasn’t eavesdropping, but there was a lot of yelling. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “It’s a long, complicated story.”
“Well, if you ever want to talk about it”—Toby adjusted his glasses and gave me a nervous smile—“I’ve got the time
to listen.”
“Thanks,” I said. “But I’m okay. Everyone has dirty laundry, right?” Well, everyone except you, Toby.
“Right,” he agreed. He leaned over and kissed me gently. “Sorry we were interrupted earlier.”
“Me, too.”
He pressed his lips to mine again, but I couldn’t enjoy it. I just kept thinking of Wesley. He had looked so hurt. But
that’s what I had wanted when I left him, just a little, wasn’t it? For him to miss me? I tried to push it down, wanting
so badly to lose myself in Toby’s arms. But I couldn’t.
Not the way I’d been able to lose myself with Wesley.
I pulled away, disgusted with myself. How could I think of Wesley when I was kissing a guy like Toby Tucker? What
was the matter with me?
“Is something wrong?” Toby asked.
“It’s nothing,” I lied. “Just we should probably start doing research for our editorials.”
“You’re right.” He didn’t seem irritated or offended or dejected at all. Perfect manners. A perfect smile. The perfect
boy.
So why wasn’t I perfectly happy?
The Duff by Kody Keplinger CHAPTER 22
My good mood lasted all the way through to Monday afternoon. I mean, what was there to be irritated about?
Nothing. Things were back to normal at home. My friends hadn’t dragged me to the Nest in weeks. Oh yeah, and
I’d just gone on a date with the perfect boy. Who could complain?
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy,” Casey observed as we pulled out of the student parking lot. Her voice
was full of pep, an unfortunate side effect of cheerleading practice, and she bounced up and down in her seat. “It’s
so refreshing!”
“God, Casey, you make me sound suicidal or something.”
“It’s not that,” she said. “It’s just that you haven’t been as bitter as usual lately. It’s a nice change.”
“I’m not bitter.”
“You are so.” She reached over and patted my knee. “But that’s okay, B. It’s just part of your personality. We accept
it. But you aren’t bitter now, and that’s freaking awesome. Don’t take it as an insult.”
“Whatever.” But I broke into a smile.
“See there!” Casey cried. “You’re grinning. You can’t stop, can you? Like I said, you’re happier than I’ve ever seen
you.”
“Okay, maybe you’re kind of right,” I admitted. It was sort of true. I had Casey and Jessica back. Things were
normal again with Dad. Why complain?
“I always am.” She leaned forward and changed the radio to some shitty Top 40 station. “So, what’s up with you
and Toby? Anything gossip-worthy?”
“Not really. He’s coming over this afternoon.”
“Ooh!” She sat back in her seat and winked at me. “Sounds gossip-worthy to me. You’ve picked up some extralarge
condoms, right?”
“Shut up,” I said. “It’s not that kind of thing, and you know it. He’s just coming over to work on our editorials for AP
government. It’s—”
I was cut off when my cell phone, which was lying in the cup holder, started vibrating and playing loud music. My
fingers instantly clinched around the steering wheel. I knew who I’d set that ringtone for, and those few chords were
all it took to derail my entire afternoon.
“Britney Spears? You have ‘Womanizer’ as a ringtone, seriously? OMG, B, that song is so, like, two thousand
eight,” Casey laughed.
I didn’t say anything.
“Aren’t you gonna answer it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t wanna talk to him.”
“Who?”
I didn’t respond, so Casey picked up my cell phone and checked the ID. I heard her let out a knowing sigh. A few
seconds later, the music stopped playing, but I couldn’t force my body to relax again. I felt stiff and anxious, and it
didn’t help that Casey had her eyes glued on me.
“You haven’t talked to him?”
“No,” I muttered.
“Since the day I picked you up from his house?”
“Mm-mm.”
“Oh, B,” she sighed.
The car became quiet—well, except for the annoying sound of an untalented pop singer on the radio, but she was
too busy whining about her cheating boyfriend to care about my issues.
“What do you think he wants?” Casey asked when the song ended. She sounded a little bitter.
“Knowing Wesley probably a booty call,” I grumbled. “It’s never anything more than that.”
“Well, then, it’s a good thing you didn’t answer.” She tossed my phone back into the cup holder and folded her
arms over her chest. “Because he doesn’t deserve you, B. And you’re with Toby now, and he’s perfect for you and
treats you the way you should be treated unlike the douche bag.”
Part of me wanted to stop her. To defend Wesley. He hadn’t really treated me badly. I mean, yeah, he’d called me
Duffy to no end, which was annoying and hurtful, but overall, Wesley had been good to me.
I didn’t tell Casey this, though. I didn’t say anything at all. She didn’t know about that last night with Wesley, how he
had been my friend for about twelve solid hours. She didn’t know about Dad’s relapse, or the way Wesley had
stood up for me. Those were things I could never tell her.
She was getting pissed at him only because she was scared. Scared I’d run back to him and forget about her and
Jessica again. Defending Wesley wouldn’t have helped put that worry to rest.
Toby had gone from geek to hero in Casey’s mind in a matter of days. Simply because he hadn’t taken me from
her. I wasn’t spending every afternoon with him the way I had with Wesley. I didn’t really want to. Sometimes that
scared me, but I figured that that was normal. This was a healthy, nonescapist relationship, unlike what I’d had with
Wesley. And at the moment, I was really happy to be spending some time with my friends.
I turned into Casey’s driveway and hit the automatic unlock button on my door. “Don’t worry about me. You’re right.
Toby is awesome, and he’s made it so much easier to move on. I already have. Things are going well for me, so
don’t worry.”
“Okay,” she said. “Good. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, B.”
“Bye.”
She climbed out of the car, and I drove away, wondering whether I’d just lied to her. Honestly, I wasn’t sure.
On the way home, Wesley called again.
I ignored him.
Because things were going well for me.
Because I was moving on.
Because talking on a cell phone and driving at the same time just isn’t safe.
I pushed Wesley out of my mind when I saw Toby’s car already parked in my driveway. Dad wasn’t home from work
yet, so he sat on the front porch steps with a book. The sun glinted off the rims of his glasses, making them look
extra sparkly. Like he was a trophy.
I got out of the car and hurried up the sidewalk toward him. “Hey,” I said. “Sorry. I had to take Casey home.”
He looked up at me with a smile.
Not a crooked grin.
I had to shake myself. I wasn’t going to think about Wesley. I wasn’t going to let myself miss him. Not when I had
Toby. Sweet, normal, sparkly-smiling Toby.
“It’s fine,” he said. “I’m enjoying the weather. It’s so unpredictable in the spring.” He stuck his bookmark in the
pages of his novel. “It’s nice to have a little bit of sunlight.”
“Brontë?” I asked, seeing the cover of his book. “Wuthering Heights? Isn’t that a little girly, Toby?”
“Have you read it?”
“Well, no,” I admitted. “I’ve read Jane Eyre, which was definitely full of early feminism. I’m not saying that’s a
problem. Personally, I’m a total feminist, but it’s a little sketchy for a teenage boy.”
Toby shook his head. “Jane Eyre is Charlotte Brontë. Wuthering Heights is Emily. The sisters are very, very
different. Yes, Wuthering Heights is usually considered a love story, but I disagree with that. It’s almost a ghost
story, and there’s more hate than romance. Every character is atrocious and spoiled and selfish. It’s kind of like
watching an episode of Gossip Girl in the eighteen hundreds. Except, of course, much less ridiculous.”
“Interesting,” I muttered, chagrined that I secretly watched Gossip Girl on a regular basis.
“It isn’t a favorite of most boys my age, I guess,” he said. “But it’s a page-turner. You should read it.”
“I might.”
“You should.”
I smiled and shook my head. “Are you ready to go in or what?”
“Absolutely.” He snapped the book shut and got to his feet. “Lead the way.”
I unlocked the door and let him walk inside ahead of me, where he immediately took his shoes off. Not that we live
like pigs or anything, but no one ever does that in our house. I couldn’t help being impressed.
“Where will we be working?” he asked.
I realized suddenly that I was watching him and looked away. “Oh,” I said casually. “Um my room? Is that okay?”
God, I hope he doesn’t think I’m a stalker freak for staring at him like that.
“If it doesn’t bother you,” Toby said.
“No, it’s cool. Come on.”
He followed me up the stairs. When we reached my bedroom, I pushed the door open a crack, checking quickly for
embarrassing items (bras, panties, et cetera) that might be lying on the floor. Sure the coast was clear—and
praying I hadn’t been too obvious—I swung the door the rest of the way open and gestured for Toby to walk inside.
“Sorry it’s a little messy,” I said, looking down at the pile of unfolded, clean clothes that always stayed on the floor at
the foot of my bed and trying not to think about the last time I’d had a boy in my room and how he’d laughed at my
neurotic clothes folding. What would Toby think of it?
“It’s fine.” Toby moved a stack of overdue library books out of my chair and placed them on the desk. Then he sat
down. “We’re seventeen. Our rooms are supposed to be messy. It wouldn’t be natural if they weren’t.”
“I guess not.” I climbed onto my bed and sat with my legs crisscrossed. “I just didn’t want it to bug you.”
“Nothing about you could bug me, Bianca.”
It took everything I had to ignore how cheesy that sounded. I smiled anyway and looked down at my purple
comforter. I’d never received so many compliments from one person, and I wasn’t very good at accepting them.
Mostly because I was always too busy mocking how mushy they were. But I was working on that.
And the truth was, I was kind of blushing.
I didn’t even notice Toby had moved until he was sitting beside me. “Sorry,” he said. “Did I embarrass you?”
“No well, yeah, but in a good way.”
“As long as it’s in a good way.”
He leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek, but I didn’t let him stop there. I turned my head and pressed my
lips against his, just as he started to pull back. It didn’t go quite as smoothly as I’d hoped. I mean, his glasses kind
of knocked me in the face for a second, but I pretended I hadn’t noticed.
His lips were so soft that I wondered if he used ChapStick. Seriously, nobody has lips that perfect naturally, do
they? He must have been disgusted by mine, which probably felt rough and scaly to him.
But if he was, he didn’t show it. His hand moved up my arm and rested on my shoulder, pulling me a little closer.
We sat on my bed and kissed for a few minutes, but the sound of my cell phone broke the moment. Damn it!
And of course, it was that same Britney Spears ringtone—the one I wanted least to hear at that exact moment
—that seemed to scream at me. Toby pulled away and looked down at the floor where I’d dropped my purse.
When I didn’t move, he turned back to me with raised eyebrows.
“Ignoring someone?” he asked.
“Well, um, yeah.”
“Are you sure you don’t need to answer it?”
“Positive.”
Before he could ask any more questions, I kissed him again. Hard this time. And even though he hesitated for an
instant, he returned it. I fumbled to take off his glasses and placed them on the nightstand beside my bed before
our arms twisted around each other, the kiss deepening.
I pulled him down onto the pillows with me. There wasn’t quite enough room for both of us on my twin bed, so he
had to lie partially on top of me. One of his hands was in my hair, and the other rested near my elbow.
He wasn’t trying to grab my boob, he hadn’t slid his hand up my shirt, and he didn’t attempt to unzip my jeans.
Actually, Toby didn’t try anything risky. I had the feeling I was going to have to make all of the big moves, like
loosening the buttons on his shirt, which I did.
For an instant, I wondered if he was hesitating because of me. Because I was the Duff. Because he didn’t really
find me attractive. Despite all those compliments he paid me, it didn’t feel like he wanted me. Not the way Wesley
had.
No. I knew that wasn’t right. It wasn’t that Toby didn’t want the big things—he was a teenage boy, after all—but he
was a gentleman. A patient, respectful boy who didn’t want to cross any lines. And we’d only been dating for a
couple of days.
Did that make me a slut? The fact that we’d only been dating for, like, four days and I was already rolling around
with him in my teeny-tiny bed? Had my thing with Wesley totally twisted my perception of sex?
Or did every girl do it?
Vikki slept with most of her boyfriends on the first date.
The whole school thought Vikki was a whore, though.
Casey had slept with Zack only a week after they’d started going out.
Casey had been fifteen at the time, and Zack was her first real boyfriend. She was naive and stupid, and she didn’t
hesitate to admit that it was a major mistake.
But I knew I wouldn’t feel that way about Toby. I mean, I was the one pushing this forward. I wanted to go farther with
him. Because I liked him. Because he was cute and sweet. Because he wasn’t ashamed to date me. I couldn’t
think of one good reason not to sleep with him.
God, I just wanted to stop thinking. I kissed him harder, pulled him closer, trying to re-create that mind-numbing
feeling I’d had before with Wesley. But it wasn’t working. I couldn’t stop thinking.
I undid the rest of the buttons on Toby’s shirt and helped him throw it onto the floor. He was kind of scrawny with
hardly any muscle—Casey would have called him “skinny chic” or something. Tentatively, his hands began to lift the
hem of my T-shirt. He moved slowly in case I wanted to stop him. Just like how he kissed me, always worried he
might have crossed the line. I hooked my leg around his waist and ground my body against his. No lines. Maybe
there were no lines. Maybe I’d never had any to begin with.
God knows how long we spent making out on my bed, pieces of clothing being removed at a snail’s pace. I was
already breathless by the time he had the nerve to pull my T-shirt over my head and toss it to the carpet. While part
of me appreciated his patience, I couldn’t help thinking, Took you long enough.
I could feel his right hand inching—like a turtle—toward the clasp of my bra. At this rate, it would have been
midnight before he got it off, and for some reason, I felt urgent and anxious. I wanted him to get it off. I wanted to
feel attractive and desired. I wanted to stop thinking. So I pushed him away and sat up, my legs still wrapped
around him. We both breathed heavily, gazing at each other.
“Are you sure about this?” Toby whispered.
“Very.”
I reached around to undo the clasp, but right when my fingers grazed the hook, there was a knock on my bedroom
door.
“Bianca?”
Toby and I jumped. Both our necks snapped around just as the door swung open.
Wesley Rush stared back at us, frozen in the doorway.
Nothing. Things were back to normal at home. My friends hadn’t dragged me to the Nest in weeks. Oh yeah, and
I’d just gone on a date with the perfect boy. Who could complain?
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy,” Casey observed as we pulled out of the student parking lot. Her voice
was full of pep, an unfortunate side effect of cheerleading practice, and she bounced up and down in her seat. “It’s
so refreshing!”
“God, Casey, you make me sound suicidal or something.”
“It’s not that,” she said. “It’s just that you haven’t been as bitter as usual lately. It’s a nice change.”
“I’m not bitter.”
“You are so.” She reached over and patted my knee. “But that’s okay, B. It’s just part of your personality. We accept
it. But you aren’t bitter now, and that’s freaking awesome. Don’t take it as an insult.”
“Whatever.” But I broke into a smile.
“See there!” Casey cried. “You’re grinning. You can’t stop, can you? Like I said, you’re happier than I’ve ever seen
you.”
“Okay, maybe you’re kind of right,” I admitted. It was sort of true. I had Casey and Jessica back. Things were
normal again with Dad. Why complain?
“I always am.” She leaned forward and changed the radio to some shitty Top 40 station. “So, what’s up with you
and Toby? Anything gossip-worthy?”
“Not really. He’s coming over this afternoon.”
“Ooh!” She sat back in her seat and winked at me. “Sounds gossip-worthy to me. You’ve picked up some extralarge
condoms, right?”
“Shut up,” I said. “It’s not that kind of thing, and you know it. He’s just coming over to work on our editorials for AP
government. It’s—”
I was cut off when my cell phone, which was lying in the cup holder, started vibrating and playing loud music. My
fingers instantly clinched around the steering wheel. I knew who I’d set that ringtone for, and those few chords were
all it took to derail my entire afternoon.
“Britney Spears? You have ‘Womanizer’ as a ringtone, seriously? OMG, B, that song is so, like, two thousand
eight,” Casey laughed.
I didn’t say anything.
“Aren’t you gonna answer it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t wanna talk to him.”
“Who?”
I didn’t respond, so Casey picked up my cell phone and checked the ID. I heard her let out a knowing sigh. A few
seconds later, the music stopped playing, but I couldn’t force my body to relax again. I felt stiff and anxious, and it
didn’t help that Casey had her eyes glued on me.
“You haven’t talked to him?”
“No,” I muttered.
“Since the day I picked you up from his house?”
“Mm-mm.”
“Oh, B,” she sighed.
The car became quiet—well, except for the annoying sound of an untalented pop singer on the radio, but she was
too busy whining about her cheating boyfriend to care about my issues.
“What do you think he wants?” Casey asked when the song ended. She sounded a little bitter.
“Knowing Wesley probably a booty call,” I grumbled. “It’s never anything more than that.”
“Well, then, it’s a good thing you didn’t answer.” She tossed my phone back into the cup holder and folded her
arms over her chest. “Because he doesn’t deserve you, B. And you’re with Toby now, and he’s perfect for you and
treats you the way you should be treated unlike the douche bag.”
Part of me wanted to stop her. To defend Wesley. He hadn’t really treated me badly. I mean, yeah, he’d called me
Duffy to no end, which was annoying and hurtful, but overall, Wesley had been good to me.
I didn’t tell Casey this, though. I didn’t say anything at all. She didn’t know about that last night with Wesley, how he
had been my friend for about twelve solid hours. She didn’t know about Dad’s relapse, or the way Wesley had
stood up for me. Those were things I could never tell her.
She was getting pissed at him only because she was scared. Scared I’d run back to him and forget about her and
Jessica again. Defending Wesley wouldn’t have helped put that worry to rest.
Toby had gone from geek to hero in Casey’s mind in a matter of days. Simply because he hadn’t taken me from
her. I wasn’t spending every afternoon with him the way I had with Wesley. I didn’t really want to. Sometimes that
scared me, but I figured that that was normal. This was a healthy, nonescapist relationship, unlike what I’d had with
Wesley. And at the moment, I was really happy to be spending some time with my friends.
I turned into Casey’s driveway and hit the automatic unlock button on my door. “Don’t worry about me. You’re right.
Toby is awesome, and he’s made it so much easier to move on. I already have. Things are going well for me, so
don’t worry.”
“Okay,” she said. “Good. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, B.”
“Bye.”
She climbed out of the car, and I drove away, wondering whether I’d just lied to her. Honestly, I wasn’t sure.
On the way home, Wesley called again.
I ignored him.
Because things were going well for me.
Because I was moving on.
Because talking on a cell phone and driving at the same time just isn’t safe.
I pushed Wesley out of my mind when I saw Toby’s car already parked in my driveway. Dad wasn’t home from work
yet, so he sat on the front porch steps with a book. The sun glinted off the rims of his glasses, making them look
extra sparkly. Like he was a trophy.
I got out of the car and hurried up the sidewalk toward him. “Hey,” I said. “Sorry. I had to take Casey home.”
He looked up at me with a smile.
Not a crooked grin.
I had to shake myself. I wasn’t going to think about Wesley. I wasn’t going to let myself miss him. Not when I had
Toby. Sweet, normal, sparkly-smiling Toby.
“It’s fine,” he said. “I’m enjoying the weather. It’s so unpredictable in the spring.” He stuck his bookmark in the
pages of his novel. “It’s nice to have a little bit of sunlight.”
“Brontë?” I asked, seeing the cover of his book. “Wuthering Heights? Isn’t that a little girly, Toby?”
“Have you read it?”
“Well, no,” I admitted. “I’ve read Jane Eyre, which was definitely full of early feminism. I’m not saying that’s a
problem. Personally, I’m a total feminist, but it’s a little sketchy for a teenage boy.”
Toby shook his head. “Jane Eyre is Charlotte Brontë. Wuthering Heights is Emily. The sisters are very, very
different. Yes, Wuthering Heights is usually considered a love story, but I disagree with that. It’s almost a ghost
story, and there’s more hate than romance. Every character is atrocious and spoiled and selfish. It’s kind of like
watching an episode of Gossip Girl in the eighteen hundreds. Except, of course, much less ridiculous.”
“Interesting,” I muttered, chagrined that I secretly watched Gossip Girl on a regular basis.
“It isn’t a favorite of most boys my age, I guess,” he said. “But it’s a page-turner. You should read it.”
“I might.”
“You should.”
I smiled and shook my head. “Are you ready to go in or what?”
“Absolutely.” He snapped the book shut and got to his feet. “Lead the way.”
I unlocked the door and let him walk inside ahead of me, where he immediately took his shoes off. Not that we live
like pigs or anything, but no one ever does that in our house. I couldn’t help being impressed.
“Where will we be working?” he asked.
I realized suddenly that I was watching him and looked away. “Oh,” I said casually. “Um my room? Is that okay?”
God, I hope he doesn’t think I’m a stalker freak for staring at him like that.
“If it doesn’t bother you,” Toby said.
“No, it’s cool. Come on.”
He followed me up the stairs. When we reached my bedroom, I pushed the door open a crack, checking quickly for
embarrassing items (bras, panties, et cetera) that might be lying on the floor. Sure the coast was clear—and
praying I hadn’t been too obvious—I swung the door the rest of the way open and gestured for Toby to walk inside.
“Sorry it’s a little messy,” I said, looking down at the pile of unfolded, clean clothes that always stayed on the floor at
the foot of my bed and trying not to think about the last time I’d had a boy in my room and how he’d laughed at my
neurotic clothes folding. What would Toby think of it?
“It’s fine.” Toby moved a stack of overdue library books out of my chair and placed them on the desk. Then he sat
down. “We’re seventeen. Our rooms are supposed to be messy. It wouldn’t be natural if they weren’t.”
“I guess not.” I climbed onto my bed and sat with my legs crisscrossed. “I just didn’t want it to bug you.”
“Nothing about you could bug me, Bianca.”
It took everything I had to ignore how cheesy that sounded. I smiled anyway and looked down at my purple
comforter. I’d never received so many compliments from one person, and I wasn’t very good at accepting them.
Mostly because I was always too busy mocking how mushy they were. But I was working on that.
And the truth was, I was kind of blushing.
I didn’t even notice Toby had moved until he was sitting beside me. “Sorry,” he said. “Did I embarrass you?”
“No well, yeah, but in a good way.”
“As long as it’s in a good way.”
He leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek, but I didn’t let him stop there. I turned my head and pressed my
lips against his, just as he started to pull back. It didn’t go quite as smoothly as I’d hoped. I mean, his glasses kind
of knocked me in the face for a second, but I pretended I hadn’t noticed.
His lips were so soft that I wondered if he used ChapStick. Seriously, nobody has lips that perfect naturally, do
they? He must have been disgusted by mine, which probably felt rough and scaly to him.
But if he was, he didn’t show it. His hand moved up my arm and rested on my shoulder, pulling me a little closer.
We sat on my bed and kissed for a few minutes, but the sound of my cell phone broke the moment. Damn it!
And of course, it was that same Britney Spears ringtone—the one I wanted least to hear at that exact moment
—that seemed to scream at me. Toby pulled away and looked down at the floor where I’d dropped my purse.
When I didn’t move, he turned back to me with raised eyebrows.
“Ignoring someone?” he asked.
“Well, um, yeah.”
“Are you sure you don’t need to answer it?”
“Positive.”
Before he could ask any more questions, I kissed him again. Hard this time. And even though he hesitated for an
instant, he returned it. I fumbled to take off his glasses and placed them on the nightstand beside my bed before
our arms twisted around each other, the kiss deepening.
I pulled him down onto the pillows with me. There wasn’t quite enough room for both of us on my twin bed, so he
had to lie partially on top of me. One of his hands was in my hair, and the other rested near my elbow.
He wasn’t trying to grab my boob, he hadn’t slid his hand up my shirt, and he didn’t attempt to unzip my jeans.
Actually, Toby didn’t try anything risky. I had the feeling I was going to have to make all of the big moves, like
loosening the buttons on his shirt, which I did.
For an instant, I wondered if he was hesitating because of me. Because I was the Duff. Because he didn’t really
find me attractive. Despite all those compliments he paid me, it didn’t feel like he wanted me. Not the way Wesley
had.
No. I knew that wasn’t right. It wasn’t that Toby didn’t want the big things—he was a teenage boy, after all—but he
was a gentleman. A patient, respectful boy who didn’t want to cross any lines. And we’d only been dating for a
couple of days.
Did that make me a slut? The fact that we’d only been dating for, like, four days and I was already rolling around
with him in my teeny-tiny bed? Had my thing with Wesley totally twisted my perception of sex?
Or did every girl do it?
Vikki slept with most of her boyfriends on the first date.
The whole school thought Vikki was a whore, though.
Casey had slept with Zack only a week after they’d started going out.
Casey had been fifteen at the time, and Zack was her first real boyfriend. She was naive and stupid, and she didn’t
hesitate to admit that it was a major mistake.
But I knew I wouldn’t feel that way about Toby. I mean, I was the one pushing this forward. I wanted to go farther with
him. Because I liked him. Because he was cute and sweet. Because he wasn’t ashamed to date me. I couldn’t
think of one good reason not to sleep with him.
God, I just wanted to stop thinking. I kissed him harder, pulled him closer, trying to re-create that mind-numbing
feeling I’d had before with Wesley. But it wasn’t working. I couldn’t stop thinking.
I undid the rest of the buttons on Toby’s shirt and helped him throw it onto the floor. He was kind of scrawny with
hardly any muscle—Casey would have called him “skinny chic” or something. Tentatively, his hands began to lift the
hem of my T-shirt. He moved slowly in case I wanted to stop him. Just like how he kissed me, always worried he
might have crossed the line. I hooked my leg around his waist and ground my body against his. No lines. Maybe
there were no lines. Maybe I’d never had any to begin with.
God knows how long we spent making out on my bed, pieces of clothing being removed at a snail’s pace. I was
already breathless by the time he had the nerve to pull my T-shirt over my head and toss it to the carpet. While part
of me appreciated his patience, I couldn’t help thinking, Took you long enough.
I could feel his right hand inching—like a turtle—toward the clasp of my bra. At this rate, it would have been
midnight before he got it off, and for some reason, I felt urgent and anxious. I wanted him to get it off. I wanted to
feel attractive and desired. I wanted to stop thinking. So I pushed him away and sat up, my legs still wrapped
around him. We both breathed heavily, gazing at each other.
“Are you sure about this?” Toby whispered.
“Very.”
I reached around to undo the clasp, but right when my fingers grazed the hook, there was a knock on my bedroom
door.
“Bianca?”
Toby and I jumped. Both our necks snapped around just as the door swung open.
Wesley Rush stared back at us, frozen in the doorway.
The Duff by Kody Keplinger CHAPTER 21
I was pretty sure Wesley wouldn’t approach me at school. Why would he? It wasn’t like he’d miss me even if I really, really wanted him to. He wasn’t losing anything. He had plenty of replacement girls ready and willing to fill
any gaps I might have left in his schedule. So there was no need for an avoidance plan on Monday morning.
Except that I didn’t even want to see him. If I had to look at him day after day, I could never hope to forget about
him. I could never hope to move on. For this situation, I did need a plan, and I had one all lined up.
Step one: keep distracted in the hallway in case he passed me.
Step two: stay busy in English and never look over at his side of the classroom.
Step three: speed out of the parking lot in the afternoon so I didn’t run into him.
Dad made step three possible by fixing my car Sunday, so I was sure I could keep from seeing Wesley. In a matter
of weeks, I’d be able to put our relationship—or lack thereof—out of my mind. If not, well, we’d graduate in May and
I’d never have to look at that cocky smirk ever again.
That was the theory, anyway.
But by the time the final bell rang on Monday, I knew my plan sucked ass. Not looking at Wesley didn’t necessarily
equal not thinking of Wesley. In fact, I spent most of my day thinking about not looking at him. Then I just thought
about all the reasons I shouldn’t be thinking of him. It never freaking ended! Nothing seemed to distract me.
Until Tuesday afternoon.
I was on my way to lunch after an unbearably long AP government class when something happened that gave me
just the distraction I needed. Something unbelievable and shocking. Something pretty damn awesome.
Toby fell into step with me in the hallway. “Hey,” he said.
“Hi.” I did my best to sound at least halfway pleasant. “What’s up, Harvard Boy?”
Toby grinned and looked down, shuffling his feet. “Not much,” he said. “Just trying to decide what to write about for
the editorial assignment. Mr. Chaucer wasn’t very specific. What are you going to write yours about?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I’m thinking of doing it on gay marriage.”
“Supporting or opposing?”
“Oh, definitely supporting. I mean, the government has no right to dictate who can and can’t publicly declare their
love for each other.”
“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 kneelength
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.
But she had nothing to be afraid of. This was totally different from my relationship with Wesley. I wasn’t running
anymore. Not from reality. Not from my friends. Not from anything.
I smiled to reassure her.
“Go! Go!” Jessica squealed, her blond ponytail swinging as she bounced excitedly.
“Yeah,” Casey said, smiling back at me. “Don’t keep the boy waiting.”
They shoved me forward and disappeared back upstairs in a fit of giggles and whispers.
“Freaks,” I muttered, shaking my head and fighting a small giggle. I took a deep breath and pulled open the door.
“Hey, Toby.”
He stood on my front porch, looking as cute as always in his navy blazer and khaki pants. He looked like a
Kennedy. With a bowl cut. He gave me a big boyish smile that showed off all his ivory teeth. “Hi,” he said, shifting to
stand in front of me. He’d been waiting off to one side of the door. “Sorry. I decided to wait. I heard giggling.”
“Oh,” I glanced over my shoulder. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”
“Wow. You look beautiful, Bianca.”
“No, I don’t,” I said, totally embarrassed. No guy but my dad had ever said that to me before.
“Of course you do,” he said. “Why would I lie?”
“I don’t know.” Oh, wow, I was lame. Why couldn’t I just take a compliment? What if I sent him running before we
even started the date? God, that would be shitty. I cleared my throat and tried to look like I wasn’t inwardly slapping
myself.
“So are you ready to go?” Toby asked.
“Yeah.”
I stepped outside and shut the door behind me. Toby took my arm and led me down the sidewalk to his silver
Taurus. He even opened the passenger’s door for me, like boys do in those old movies. Very classy. I couldn’t help
wondering, again, why on earth he was interested in me. He put the key in the ignition and turned to smile at me.
His smile was definitely his best feature. So I smiled back, feeling the little butterflies flutter around in the pit of my
stomach.
“I hope you’re hungry,” he said.
“Starved,” I lied, knowing very well that I was way too nervous to eat.
By the time we left Giovanni’s, a tiny Italian restaurant in Oak Hill, I’d become a little more comfortable. My nerves
were dying down, and I’d even managed to eat a small bowl of meatless spaghetti. We were laughing and talking,
and I was enjoying myself so much that I didn’t want the date to be over when Toby paid the bill. Lucky for me, he
felt the same way.
“You know,” he said as the bells on the door jingled behind us. “It’s only nine-thirty. I don’t have to take you home
yet unless you want to go home, which is fine, of course.”
“No,” I said. “I’m not in a hurry to go home. But what do you want to do?”
“Well, we can walk,” Toby suggested. He gestured down the sidewalk that ran alongside the busy street. “It’s not
very exciting, but we can window-shop or talk or—”
I smiled at him. “Walking sounds fun.”
“Wonderful.”
He looped his arm in mine, and we began to stroll down the well-lit sidewalk. We’d passed a couple small shops
before either of us spoke. Thank God he opened his mouth first because, even though I wasn’t that nervous
anymore, I had no clue what I could say that wouldn’t make me sound like a complete goofball.
“Well, since you know all about my college situation, I want to know about yours. Have you applied anywhere yet?”
he asked.
“Yeah. I’ve applied to a couple, but I haven’t picked one yet. I guess I’m kind of procrastinating.”
“Do you know what you’ll major in?”
“Probably journalism,” I said. “I don’t know, though. I’ve always wanted to be a reporter for the New York Times . So
I applied to a couple of schools in Manhattan.”
“The Big Apple,” he said, nodding. “Ambitious.”
“Yeah, well, watch me end up like that girl in The Devil Wears Prada,” I said. “A complete loser working at some
stupid fashion magazine when all I really want to do is write about world events or interview revolutionary
congressmen like you’ll be.”
He beamed at me. “Oh, you wouldn’t be a complete loser.”
“Whatever,” I laughed. “Can you imagine me writing about fashion? An industry where size fours are considered
fat? No way. I’d wind up committing suicide.”
“Something tells me you’d be good at anything you tried,” he said.
“Something tells me you’re kissing my ass a little bit there, Toby.”
He shrugged. “Maybe, but not much. You’re pretty great, Bianca. You tell it like it is, you don’t seem like you’re
afraid to be yourself, and you’re a Democrat. That makes you awesome in my book.”
Okay, so I blushed. Can you blame me?
“Thank you, Toby.”
“There’s nothing to thank me for.”
Wow. Was he perfect or what? Cute, polite, funny and he liked me for some unknown reason. It was like we were
made for each other. Like he had the puzzle piece that fit with mine. Could I get any luckier?
A cold March breeze was blowing, and I began regretting that I’d let Casey and Jessica dress me. They’d never
been seasonably sensible when it came to clothing. My bare legs were freezing (they hadn’t let me wear panty
hose), and the thin material of my blouse definitely didn’t shield me from the wind. I shivered and wrapped my arms
around myself in an effort to warm up.
“Oh, here,” Toby said. He pulled off his blazer, just like boys are supposed to do, and held it out for me. “You should
have told me you were cold.”
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t be silly.” He helped me slide into the sleeves. “Honestly, I’d rather not be dating a Popsicle.”
Dating? I mean, this was a date, but were we dating now? I’d never dated anyone, so I wasn’t really sure. Either
way, hearing him say that made me very happy and strangely nervous at the same time.
Toby turned me around and adjusted the blazer around my neck and shoulders.
“Thanks,” I murmured.
We were standing in front of an old antiques store, its windows illuminated by the light of fancy, old-fashioned
lamps, like the ones my grandpa had in his living room. The glow spilled onto Toby’s angular face, glinting off the
rims of his glasses and highlighting his almond-shaped eyes which were staring down at me.
His fingers still lingered on the collar of the blazer. Then his hand slid up from my shoulder to my jaw. His thumb
grazed my cheek, stroking it over and over again. He leaned toward me slowly, giving me plenty of time to stop him
if I wanted to. Yeah, right! As if I would dream of it.
And he kissed me. Not a make-out kiss, but not just a peck either. It was a real kiss. Gentle and sweet and long.
The kind of kiss I’d wanted to share with Toby Tucker since I was fifteen years old, and it felt exactly like I’d always
imagined it would. His lips were soft and warm, and the way they moved against mine made the butterflies in my
belly go berserk.
Okay. I know, I know. I think PDA is gross and immature, but come on. I was a little too distracted to care who
might be watching. So, yeah, I put my usual values aside for a second and wrapped my arms around his neck. I
mean, I could always go back to my crusade against public make-outs in the morning.
I slipped into the house around eleven o’clock that night and found Dad waiting for me on the sofa. He smiled at
me and muted the TV. “Hey, Bumblebee.”
“Hi, Dad.” I shut and locked the front door. “How was your meeting?”
“Strange,” Dad admitted. “It’s weird being back again but I’ll get used to it. What about you? How was your
date?”
“Amazing,” I sighed. God, I couldn’t stop smiling. Dad was probably going to think I’d had a lobotomy or something.
“That’s good,” Dad said. “Tell me again, who did you go out with? Sorry. I can’t remember his name.”
“Toby Tucker.”
“Tucker?” Dad repeated. “You mean Chaz Tucker’s son? Oh, that’s great, Bumblebee. Chaz is a good guy. He’s
the technology director for a company downtown, so he comes into the store all the time. Wonderful family. I’m glad
to hear his son’s a nice kid, too.”
“He is,” I said.
The sound of shuffling came from upstairs, and we both glanced up at the ceiling. “Oh.” Dad shook his head and
looked back at me. “I almost forgot about them. They’ve been suspiciously quiet all night.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I should get up there before Casey has an aneurysm. See you in the morning, Dad.”
“Okay,” Dad said. He reached for the remote and turned up the volume on the television. “Good night, Bumblebee.”
I’d danced halfway up the stairs before Dad called out to me again. “Hey, Bumblebee?”
I paused and leaned against the banister, looking down at the living room. “Yeah?”
“Whatever happened to Wesley?”
I froze, feeling myself choke a little. “W-What?”
“Your friend. The one who, um was with you that night.” He looked up at me from the couch, readjusting his
glasses. “You don’t talk about him much.”
“We don’t hang out anymore,” I told him, using that voice that made it clear he shouldn’t ask questions. All teenage
girls know that voice and use it on their fathers frequently. Usually, the unspoken order is followed. My father loved
me, but he knew better than to delve into the drama of my high school experience.
Smart Dad.
“Oh I was just wondering.”
“Bianca!” My bedroom door flew open, and Jessica, dressed in neon orange pajamas, leapt out of my room. She
sprinted halfway down the stairs and grabbed me by the arm. “Stop making us wait! Come tell us everything.”
The way Jessica was beaming almost pushed Dad’s mention of Wesley from my mind.
Almost.
“Goodnight, Mr. Piper!” Jessica yelled as she dragged me to my bedroom.
After a few steps, my feet picked up again and I reminded myself that I’d just had the best date ever with the guy of
my dreams. I felt myself succumbing to the giddy joy my best friends expressed as soon as I walked into the room.
Squealing, jumping, cheering, I had the right to be happy about this. Even we cynics deserved a night off once in a while, right?
any gaps I might have left in his schedule. So there was no need for an avoidance plan on Monday morning.
Except that I didn’t even want to see him. If I had to look at him day after day, I could never hope to forget about
him. I could never hope to move on. For this situation, I did need a plan, and I had one all lined up.
Step one: keep distracted in the hallway in case he passed me.
Step two: stay busy in English and never look over at his side of the classroom.
Step three: speed out of the parking lot in the afternoon so I didn’t run into him.
Dad made step three possible by fixing my car Sunday, so I was sure I could keep from seeing Wesley. In a matter
of weeks, I’d be able to put our relationship—or lack thereof—out of my mind. If not, well, we’d graduate in May and
I’d never have to look at that cocky smirk ever again.
That was the theory, anyway.
But by the time the final bell rang on Monday, I knew my plan sucked ass. Not looking at Wesley didn’t necessarily
equal not thinking of Wesley. In fact, I spent most of my day thinking about not looking at him. Then I just thought
about all the reasons I shouldn’t be thinking of him. It never freaking ended! Nothing seemed to distract me.
Until Tuesday afternoon.
I was on my way to lunch after an unbearably long AP government class when something happened that gave me
just the distraction I needed. Something unbelievable and shocking. Something pretty damn awesome.
Toby fell into step with me in the hallway. “Hey,” he said.
“Hi.” I did my best to sound at least halfway pleasant. “What’s up, Harvard Boy?”
Toby grinned and looked down, shuffling his feet. “Not much,” he said. “Just trying to decide what to write about for
the editorial assignment. Mr. Chaucer wasn’t very specific. What are you going to write yours about?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I’m thinking of doing it on gay marriage.”
“Supporting or opposing?”
“Oh, definitely supporting. I mean, the government has no right to dictate who can and can’t publicly declare their
love for each other.”
“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 kneelength
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.
But she had nothing to be afraid of. This was totally different from my relationship with Wesley. I wasn’t running
anymore. Not from reality. Not from my friends. Not from anything.
I smiled to reassure her.
“Go! Go!” Jessica squealed, her blond ponytail swinging as she bounced excitedly.
“Yeah,” Casey said, smiling back at me. “Don’t keep the boy waiting.”
They shoved me forward and disappeared back upstairs in a fit of giggles and whispers.
“Freaks,” I muttered, shaking my head and fighting a small giggle. I took a deep breath and pulled open the door.
“Hey, Toby.”
He stood on my front porch, looking as cute as always in his navy blazer and khaki pants. He looked like a
Kennedy. With a bowl cut. He gave me a big boyish smile that showed off all his ivory teeth. “Hi,” he said, shifting to
stand in front of me. He’d been waiting off to one side of the door. “Sorry. I decided to wait. I heard giggling.”
“Oh,” I glanced over my shoulder. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”
“Wow. You look beautiful, Bianca.”
“No, I don’t,” I said, totally embarrassed. No guy but my dad had ever said that to me before.
“Of course you do,” he said. “Why would I lie?”
“I don’t know.” Oh, wow, I was lame. Why couldn’t I just take a compliment? What if I sent him running before we
even started the date? God, that would be shitty. I cleared my throat and tried to look like I wasn’t inwardly slapping
myself.
“So are you ready to go?” Toby asked.
“Yeah.”
I stepped outside and shut the door behind me. Toby took my arm and led me down the sidewalk to his silver
Taurus. He even opened the passenger’s door for me, like boys do in those old movies. Very classy. I couldn’t help
wondering, again, why on earth he was interested in me. He put the key in the ignition and turned to smile at me.
His smile was definitely his best feature. So I smiled back, feeling the little butterflies flutter around in the pit of my
stomach.
“I hope you’re hungry,” he said.
“Starved,” I lied, knowing very well that I was way too nervous to eat.
By the time we left Giovanni’s, a tiny Italian restaurant in Oak Hill, I’d become a little more comfortable. My nerves
were dying down, and I’d even managed to eat a small bowl of meatless spaghetti. We were laughing and talking,
and I was enjoying myself so much that I didn’t want the date to be over when Toby paid the bill. Lucky for me, he
felt the same way.
“You know,” he said as the bells on the door jingled behind us. “It’s only nine-thirty. I don’t have to take you home
yet unless you want to go home, which is fine, of course.”
“No,” I said. “I’m not in a hurry to go home. But what do you want to do?”
“Well, we can walk,” Toby suggested. He gestured down the sidewalk that ran alongside the busy street. “It’s not
very exciting, but we can window-shop or talk or—”
I smiled at him. “Walking sounds fun.”
“Wonderful.”
He looped his arm in mine, and we began to stroll down the well-lit sidewalk. We’d passed a couple small shops
before either of us spoke. Thank God he opened his mouth first because, even though I wasn’t that nervous
anymore, I had no clue what I could say that wouldn’t make me sound like a complete goofball.
“Well, since you know all about my college situation, I want to know about yours. Have you applied anywhere yet?”
he asked.
“Yeah. I’ve applied to a couple, but I haven’t picked one yet. I guess I’m kind of procrastinating.”
“Do you know what you’ll major in?”
“Probably journalism,” I said. “I don’t know, though. I’ve always wanted to be a reporter for the New York Times . So
I applied to a couple of schools in Manhattan.”
“The Big Apple,” he said, nodding. “Ambitious.”
“Yeah, well, watch me end up like that girl in The Devil Wears Prada,” I said. “A complete loser working at some
stupid fashion magazine when all I really want to do is write about world events or interview revolutionary
congressmen like you’ll be.”
He beamed at me. “Oh, you wouldn’t be a complete loser.”
“Whatever,” I laughed. “Can you imagine me writing about fashion? An industry where size fours are considered
fat? No way. I’d wind up committing suicide.”
“Something tells me you’d be good at anything you tried,” he said.
“Something tells me you’re kissing my ass a little bit there, Toby.”
He shrugged. “Maybe, but not much. You’re pretty great, Bianca. You tell it like it is, you don’t seem like you’re
afraid to be yourself, and you’re a Democrat. That makes you awesome in my book.”
Okay, so I blushed. Can you blame me?
“Thank you, Toby.”
“There’s nothing to thank me for.”
Wow. Was he perfect or what? Cute, polite, funny and he liked me for some unknown reason. It was like we were
made for each other. Like he had the puzzle piece that fit with mine. Could I get any luckier?
A cold March breeze was blowing, and I began regretting that I’d let Casey and Jessica dress me. They’d never
been seasonably sensible when it came to clothing. My bare legs were freezing (they hadn’t let me wear panty
hose), and the thin material of my blouse definitely didn’t shield me from the wind. I shivered and wrapped my arms
around myself in an effort to warm up.
“Oh, here,” Toby said. He pulled off his blazer, just like boys are supposed to do, and held it out for me. “You should
have told me you were cold.”
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t be silly.” He helped me slide into the sleeves. “Honestly, I’d rather not be dating a Popsicle.”
Dating? I mean, this was a date, but were we dating now? I’d never dated anyone, so I wasn’t really sure. Either
way, hearing him say that made me very happy and strangely nervous at the same time.
Toby turned me around and adjusted the blazer around my neck and shoulders.
“Thanks,” I murmured.
We were standing in front of an old antiques store, its windows illuminated by the light of fancy, old-fashioned
lamps, like the ones my grandpa had in his living room. The glow spilled onto Toby’s angular face, glinting off the
rims of his glasses and highlighting his almond-shaped eyes which were staring down at me.
His fingers still lingered on the collar of the blazer. Then his hand slid up from my shoulder to my jaw. His thumb
grazed my cheek, stroking it over and over again. He leaned toward me slowly, giving me plenty of time to stop him
if I wanted to. Yeah, right! As if I would dream of it.
And he kissed me. Not a make-out kiss, but not just a peck either. It was a real kiss. Gentle and sweet and long.
The kind of kiss I’d wanted to share with Toby Tucker since I was fifteen years old, and it felt exactly like I’d always
imagined it would. His lips were soft and warm, and the way they moved against mine made the butterflies in my
belly go berserk.
Okay. I know, I know. I think PDA is gross and immature, but come on. I was a little too distracted to care who
might be watching. So, yeah, I put my usual values aside for a second and wrapped my arms around his neck. I
mean, I could always go back to my crusade against public make-outs in the morning.
I slipped into the house around eleven o’clock that night and found Dad waiting for me on the sofa. He smiled at
me and muted the TV. “Hey, Bumblebee.”
“Hi, Dad.” I shut and locked the front door. “How was your meeting?”
“Strange,” Dad admitted. “It’s weird being back again but I’ll get used to it. What about you? How was your
date?”
“Amazing,” I sighed. God, I couldn’t stop smiling. Dad was probably going to think I’d had a lobotomy or something.
“That’s good,” Dad said. “Tell me again, who did you go out with? Sorry. I can’t remember his name.”
“Toby Tucker.”
“Tucker?” Dad repeated. “You mean Chaz Tucker’s son? Oh, that’s great, Bumblebee. Chaz is a good guy. He’s
the technology director for a company downtown, so he comes into the store all the time. Wonderful family. I’m glad
to hear his son’s a nice kid, too.”
“He is,” I said.
The sound of shuffling came from upstairs, and we both glanced up at the ceiling. “Oh.” Dad shook his head and
looked back at me. “I almost forgot about them. They’ve been suspiciously quiet all night.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I should get up there before Casey has an aneurysm. See you in the morning, Dad.”
“Okay,” Dad said. He reached for the remote and turned up the volume on the television. “Good night, Bumblebee.”
I’d danced halfway up the stairs before Dad called out to me again. “Hey, Bumblebee?”
I paused and leaned against the banister, looking down at the living room. “Yeah?”
“Whatever happened to Wesley?”
I froze, feeling myself choke a little. “W-What?”
“Your friend. The one who, um was with you that night.” He looked up at me from the couch, readjusting his
glasses. “You don’t talk about him much.”
“We don’t hang out anymore,” I told him, using that voice that made it clear he shouldn’t ask questions. All teenage
girls know that voice and use it on their fathers frequently. Usually, the unspoken order is followed. My father loved
me, but he knew better than to delve into the drama of my high school experience.
Smart Dad.
“Oh I was just wondering.”
“Bianca!” My bedroom door flew open, and Jessica, dressed in neon orange pajamas, leapt out of my room. She
sprinted halfway down the stairs and grabbed me by the arm. “Stop making us wait! Come tell us everything.”
The way Jessica was beaming almost pushed Dad’s mention of Wesley from my mind.
Almost.
“Goodnight, Mr. Piper!” Jessica yelled as she dragged me to my bedroom.
After a few steps, my feet picked up again and I reminded myself that I’d just had the best date ever with the guy of
my dreams. I felt myself succumbing to the giddy joy my best friends expressed as soon as I walked into the room.
Squealing, jumping, cheering, I had the right to be happy about this. Even we cynics deserved a night off once in a while, right?
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