“No,” I lied. “It’s nothing. He just pisses me off.”
Duff.
The word bounced around in my mind as I sped down 5th Street. I couldn’t bring myself to tell my friends about the wonderful new insult that had just been added to my vocab list, but when I glanced at myself in the rearview mirror, Wesley’s assertion that I was the unattractive, undesirable tagalong (more like dragalong) seemed to be confirmed. Jessica’s perfect hourglass figure and warm, welcoming brown eyes. Casey’s flawless complexion and mile-long legs. I couldn’t compare to either of them.
“Well, I say we hit another party, since it’s so early,” Casey suggested. “I heard about this one out in Oak Hill. Some college kid is home for Christmas break and decided to have a big blowout. Angela told me about it this morning. Want to go?”
“Yeah!” Jessica straightened up beneath the blanket. “We should totally go! College parties have college boys. Won’t that be fun, Bianca?”
I sighed. “No. Not really.”
“Oh, come on.” Casey reached over and squeezed my arm. “No dancing this time, okay? And Jess and I promise to keep all hot guys away from you, since clearly you hate them.” She smirked, trying to nudge me back into a good mood.
“I don’t hate hot guys,” I told her. “Just the one.” After a moment, I sighed and turned onto the highway, heading for the county line. “Fine, we’ll go. But you two are buying me ice cream afterward. Two scoops.”
“Deal.”
2
There is nothing more peaceful than quiet on a Saturday night-or very early Sunday morning. Dad’s muffled snores rumbled from down the hall, but the rest of the house was silent when I crept in sometime after one. Or maybe I’d been deafened by the thudding bass at the Oak Hill party. Honestly, the idea of hearing loss didn’t bother me too much. If it meant I never had to listen to techno again, I was all for it.
I locked the front door behind me and walked through the dark, empty living room. I saw the postcard lying on the coffee table, sent from whatever city Mom was in now, but I didn’t bother reading it. It would still be there in the morning, and I was just too tired, so I dragged myself up the stairs to my bedroom instead.
Stifling a yawn, I hung my coat over the back of my desk chair and moved over to my bed. The migraine began to subside as I kicked my Converse across the room. I was exhausted, but my OCD was totally calling. The pile of clean laundry on the floor, by the foot of my bed had to be folded before I’d ever be able to sleep.
Carefully, I lifted each piece of clothing and folded it with embarrassing precision. Then I stacked the shirts, jeans, and underwear in separate sections on the floor. Somehow, the act of folding the wrinkled clothes soothed me. As I made the perfect piles, my mind cleared, my body relaxed, and my irritation from the night of loud music and obnoxious, rich, sex-obsessed pigs ebbed. With every even crease, I was reborn.
When all of the clothes were folded, I stood up, leaving the stacks on the floor. I pulled off my sweater and jeans, which stank from the sweltering parties, and tossed them into the hamper in the corner of my room. I could shower in the morning. I was too tired to deal with it tonight.
Before crawling under my sheets, I took a glance at the full-length mirror across the room. I searched my reflection with new eyes, with new knowledge. Uncontrollable wavy auburn hair. A long nose. Big thighs. Small boobs. Yep. Definitely Duff material. How had I not known?
I mean, I’d never considered myself particularly attractive and it wasn’t hard to see that Casey and Jessica, both thin and blond, were gorgeous, but still. The fact that I played the role of the ugly girl to their luscious duo hadn’t occurred to me. Thanks to Wesley Rush, I could see it now.
Sometimes it’s better to be clueless.
I pulled a blanket up to my chin, hiding my naked body from the scrutiny of the mirror. Wesley was living proof that beauty was only skin-deep, so why did his words bother me? I was intelligent. I was a good person. So who cared if I was the Duff? If I were attractive, I’d have to deal with guys like Wesley hitting on me. Ugh! So being the Duff had its benefits, right? Being unattractive didn’t have to suck.
Damn Wesley Rush! I couldn’t believe he was making me worry about such stupid, pointless, shallow bullshit.
I closed my eyes. I wouldn’t think about it in the morning. I wouldn’t think about Duffs ever again.
Sunday was fantastic-nice, quiet, uninterrupted euphoria. Of course, things were usually pretty quiet when Mom was away. When she was home, the house always seemed loud. There was always music or laughter or something lively and chaotic. But she never seemed to be home for more than a couple of months, and in the time that she was gone, everything grew still. Like me, Dad wasn’t much for socializing. He was usually buried in his work or watching television. Which meant the Piper house was pretty much silent.
And, on a morning after I’d been forced to withstand all the racket of clubs and parties, a quiet house was the equivalent of perfection.
But Monday sucked.
All Mondays suck, of course, but this Monday really fucked up everything. It all started first block when Jessica slumped into Spanish with tear-stained cheeks and running mascara.
“Jessica, what’s wrong?” I asked. “Did something happen? Is everything okay?”
I’ll admit it; I always got really freaked out on the rare occasions when Jessica came to class looking anything less than perky. I mean, she was constantly bouncing and giggling. So when she came in looking so depressed, it scared the shit out of me.
Jessica shook her head miserably and collapsed into her seat. “Everything’s fine, but… I can’t go to Homecoming!” Fresh tears spewed from her wide chocolate eyes. “Mom won’t let me go!”
That was it? She’d gotten me all freaked out over Homecoming?
“Why not?” I asked, still trying to be sympathetic.
“I’m grounded,” Jessica sniffed. “She saw my report card in my room this morning, and she found out I’m failing chemistry, and she flipped out! It’s not effing fair! Basketball Homecoming is, like, my favorite dance of the year… after prom and Sadie Hawkins and Football Homecoming.”
I tilted my chin down and looked at her teasingly. “Wow, how many favorites do you have?”
She didn’t answer. Or laugh.
“I’m sorry, Jessica. I know it must suck… but I’m not going either.” I didn’t mention that I considered the whole practice of school dances degrading or that they were just giant wastes of time and money. Jessica already knew my opinions on the matter, and I didn’t think reminding her would help the situation. But I was pretty happy I wouldn’t be the only girl skipping. “How about this: I’ll come over, and we’ll watch movies all night. Will your mom be cool with that?”