Page 11 of The Underachiever’s Guide to Love and Saving the World
COURTNEY
When Bryce showed up, I’d whipped out a princess wave and a smile and pretended I had it all together. It reminded me of my old life. Wearing a cape. Faking it. I hated that. But I hated the idea of him getting to live out my childhood dream more.
We argued in the street until twilight melted into night, Bryce’s rebuttals growing increasingly pathetic.
Though I was clearly decimating him at the Chosen One thing, I was somewhat impressed; Bryce Flannery adapted to a new world quickly for a man who’d once delivered a ten-minute speech on the dangers of flip-flops.
(I’d found out that unreliable footwear was a continuous source of annoyance in Bryce’s life when he caught me barefoot in our backyard once and decided the way he was going to torture me that day was by listing all the safety hazards of open-toed shoes.)
At last, the man wearing the crown—who I had decided must be the king—got hungry and suggested we head back to the castle. We piled into some stuffy carriages the king seemed deeply proud of, but my kidneys deeply hated, each bump and jolt rattling them around inside my body.
Bryce and I sat on one side of the carriage with the super-old dude wedged between us. The king lounged on the other side, trying to look luxurious and noble but failing because every time we hit a pothole, his crown slipped over his eyebrows, and he had to adjust it.
The farther into the city we traveled, the grander the houses became.
The city was layered, each street higher than the next, leading to a castle on the edge of a cliff—the tallest point in the city.
With the whimsical, impractical architecture of some of the buildings, the glowing mushrooms recessed in the shadows, and the way everyone we passed gave us a bright smile and a cheerful greeting, I felt more like I was on a movie set than in an alternate reality.
Meanwhile, Gramps had launched into another prophecy spiel that nobody had asked for.
I wasn’t sure why he was so fixated on the prophecy.
Everyone knew prophecies were always more misleading than they were helpful, but I guessed that was the benefit of growing up with books, movies, and video games to reference, rather than living in an actual world with magic.
The old guy said the prophecy was written in an ancient language no one could understand, but he was certain he’d finally cracked the code.
Apparently, one of us was destined to overthrow either an evil wizard or a dragon or maybe a hedgehog.
(Naturally, the translation grew a bit fuzzy when it came to pinpointing the Evil One’s actual identity.) The prophecy stated the wizard/dragon/hedgehog would launch a campaign to destroy the peace the old guy had worked so hard to create.
As far as I could gather, the wizard/dragon/hedgehog hadn’t actually done anything evil yet, but still, the old dude was convinced they were “on the rise” despite having little to no evidence that was the case.
The only thing “on the rise” was my outrage.
Whatever divine power ruled this land could get bent.
Clearly, they made a mistake. Either that or they sucked at being a divine power, because who would send for Bryce when their world needed saving?
Thinking Bryce could save the world was like thinking you could grab on to a spider’s web to keep yourself from plummeting off the side of a cliff.
“To clarify,” I said, “we’ve been brought here to save the world, but you’re not sure who the bad guy even is?”
“The Evil One’s identity will become clear in time,” the old guy trilled. “There will be signs. Terrible evils will occur throughout the land. All you must do is follow those evils to the source, and there the Evil One will be.”
“Makes sense,” I said confidently, even while my inner voice asked me what I thought I was doing. “When the sky blackens, monsters crawl from the earth, and mattress tags are removed by those who do not have the authority to do so, then we’ll know that he or she is near.”
“Indeed,” the old guy said gravely.
Despite all my joking around, a touch of worry began to creep up on me. Maybe I was too quick to accept this job. If there actually was danger lurking, I doubted I would be able to help. What if people got hurt because of me?
“Now, this is very important.” The old guy leaned in.
“There is a reason Chosen Ones in the past have always been outsiders. Just like your predecessors, you were not raised here; therefore no one has influenced your perception of our world, and your views remain unbiased. It is important you focus on your task at hand. You must not get involved with the politics of this world, nor should you interact with the people, lest they cloud your head with conspiracies, or you make friends who could be exploited and used against you.”
That was weird. Most stories featured a little band of heroes that overcame a master sorcerer’s thousand-year-old plan for world domination with the power of friendship.
Then again, now that my adrenaline was beginning to wear off, I was starting to get the sense that, as much as this place felt like a cartoon, it was a real world in real need of saving, and maybe I didn’t know as much about the rules here as I thought.
“We can’t talk to any of the actual citizens here?” I asked, to clarify. That felt like believing a CEO’s word that he ran a caring, upstanding family-oriented company without actually being allowed to talk to any of the overworked, underpaid employees.
Bryce cocked a brow, seeming to catch on to my skepticism. “How can you say we’ll remain unbiased when your opinion is the only one we’re allowed to hear?”
The old guy spluttered. “Why, because the king and I are looking out for what’s best for the kingdom, of course.”
“Of course.” I rolled my eyes, pushing aside my worries. Maybe this was a typical cliché fairy-tale land after all, where there were good guys and bad guys, no shades of gray.
“All you must do is defeat evil when it appears, and then you’ll be on your way.” He reached into his purple robes and pulled out a small flask. “A toast,” he said, “to the good we will accomplish together.” After pressing the flask to his lips, he passed it to me.
There was nothing I wanted less than to drink some old man’s backwash, but I was trying to win him over so he’d believe I was the Chosen One. I pretended to take a drink, wiping my mouth immediately after, when he wasn’t looking.
I went to pass the flask to Bryce, but he physically recoiled.
The old man looked at him expectantly. The thought of Bryce actually drinking out of the nasty, warm robe flask was revolting, so I took pity on him.
“Wow, look at that!” Excitedly, I pointed out the window.
When the old guy turned to look, I dumped the flask out before handing it to Bryce.
“I’ve never seen so many cows,” I explained when the old guy gave me a weird look.
But when Bryce handed him his empty flask, he looked pleased.
At last, we made it to the castle, which loomed at the edge of the city. Its walls were pale in the moonlight, towers tall and pointy. Behind it, a cliff dropped off, and sounds of whooshing ocean waves rose from the darkness.
As soon as we arrived, servants escorted us to our rooms. On our way, Bryce and I held a long debate over who would take the actual Chosen One’s bedroom and who would get the sloppy seconds—until a fed-up servant shoved Bryce into one room and me into another, across the hall, without telling us which was which.
Warm air wafted over my skin as I stumbled inside.
A fire flickered behind a grate. With the room’s elaborate woodwork and tapestries, it was the definition of look how rich I am decor.
Heavy furniture sprawled everywhere—a dresser, two chairs next to the fire, a four-poster bed, and a low couch that looked like something an actress would have a melodramatic sobbing fit on in a black-and-white movie.
I smiled. I for sure had the Chosen One’s room.
My door opened, and servants entered with new clothes.
They helped me undress, exchanging looks over the modern apparel as they peeled away my oversized T-shirt, ratty black shorts, and fishnets, leaving me in my matching set of pale pink underwear, the ones with the little bows in front.
Under the black sheep’s clothing, there was just a girl, not a wolf.
I wondered if Bryce would be surprised by that.
Not that Bryce would ever strip back enough of my layers, literally or metaphorically, to find out.
After dressing me in a regal burgundy dress, the maids twisted my hair up, admiring its color.
When they were satisfied, they led me into the hall.
Bryce’s door opened at the same time, and his servants stepped out.
Behind them, Bryce fiddled with his sleeve cuffs.
As he looked up, his gaze snagged on me, and he paused in the doorway.
I took in his ruffled shirt, embroidered jacket, tight pants, and tall boots.
“Lord Farquaad called. He wants his outfit back,” I said, even as my eyes trailed over him again.
If “medieval rogue” were a look, the prick pulled it off.
Somehow my meek, gloomy neighbor was thriving in this world.
With his hair slicked back and curling in damp ringlets at the nape of his neck and his perpetual I forgot to shave face, he actually looked like he might have been within five hundred miles of a battlefield at some point in his life.
Maybe. Or like he at least watched a gruesome battle scene in a movie one time.
“Look at you, wearing color,” he said. “Guess it was a phase after all, huh?”
I made a face at him behind the servants’ backs as they led us back through the castle. As we walked, I tried to remember the way, but after a while, one torch-lit hall started to look like every other torch-lit hall.