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.”
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.
