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.
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.”