The Duff: Designated Ugly Fat Friend Read Free Page B

in our school who was taller than Casey—at least six two. An entire
     foot taller than me. “Do I make you weak in the knees?”
    “As if.” I twisted out of his grasp, fully aware that I sounded like Alicia Silverstone in
Clueless
but just not caring. I knelt down and began to gather my books, and to my intense displeasure, Wesley joined me. He was playing
     the Good Samaritan role, of course. I bet he was hoping some hot cheerleader, like Casey, would walk by and think he was being
     a gentleman. What a pig. Always looking to score.
    “Spanish, huh?” he said, glancing down at the scattered papers as he grabbed them. “Can you say anything interesting?”
    “El tono de tu voz hace que quiera estrangularme
.” I stood up and waited for him to hand over my papers.
    “That sounds sexy,” he said, getting to his feet and handing me the stack of Spanish work he’d swept together. “What’s it
     mean?”
    “The sound of your voice makes me want to strangle myself.”
    “Kinky.”
    Without another word, I jerked the papers from his hands, tucked them inside one of my books, and stomped off to class. I
     needed to put as much distance between myself and the womanizing bastard as possible. Duffy? Seriously? He knew my name! The
     egotistical jackass just couldn’t let me be. Not to mention my skin was
still
itching where he’d touched me.
    Mr. Chaucer’s AP government class consisted of only nine students, and seven of them were already in the room by the time
     I walked through the door. Mr. Chaucer gave me a dirty look through his squinting eyes, impressing upon me that the bell would
     ring any second. To be late was a felony in Mr. Chaucer’s opinion, and to be
almost
late constituted a misdemeanor. I wasn’t the last one to show up, though. That helped a little.
    I took my seat in the very back of the room and started to open my notebook, hoping to God that Mr. Chaucer wouldn’t call
     me out on my near tardiness. With my current mood, there was no guarantee I wouldn’t start cussing at him. He didn’t, and
     we were both saved the drama.
    The last student entered just as the bell rang. “Sorry, Mr. Chaucer. I was putting up signs promoting next week’s inauguration
     ceremony. You didn’t start already, did you?”
    My heart skipped a beat when I looked up at the boy who’d just come in.
    Okay, so I’m not quiet about the fact that I hate teenagers who date in high school and constantly rant and rave about how
     much they “love” their boyfriend or girlfriend. I freely admit that I hate girls who say they love someone before they’ve
     dated them. I don’thide the fact that, in my opinion, love takes years—five or ten at least—to develop, and high school relationships seem incredibly
     pointless to me. Everyone knew this about me… but nobody knew that I was
almost
a hypocrite.
    Well, okay, Casey and Jessica knew, but that didn’t count.
    Toby Tucker. Aside from the tragic alliteration, he was perfect in every single way. He wasn’t a testosterone-loaded football
     player. He wasn’t an overly sensitive guitar-playing hippie. He didn’t write poetry or wear eyeliner. So he probably wouldn’t
     have been classified as the typical hottie, but that worked in my favor, right? Jocks, guys in bands, and Emo boys didn’t
     look twice at—as Wesley would have so delicately worded it—the Duff. I probably had a better chance with intelligent, politically
     active, somewhat socially awkward guys like Toby. Right?
    Wrong, wrong,
wrong
.
    Toby Tucker was my perfect match. Unfortunately, he wasn’t aware of this fact. That was mostly because I lost my ability to
     form coherent sentences every time he got close to me. He probably thought I was mute or something. He never looked at me
     or spoke to me or even seemed to notice me in the back of the room. For a girl with such a fat ass, I felt pretty invisible.
    I noticed Toby, though. I noticed his outdated yet adorable blond bowl cut and his