Page 16 of The Underachiever’s Guide to Love and Saving the World

COURTNEY

The morning after Bryce’s surprise voyage into my room, I woke to sunshine streaming through the thick-paned window. Bryce was gone.

While he was always game to hurl insults, he generally avoided touching me, shrinking away from any accidental brush of fingers like a schoolboy scared of cooties. Last night was different. It was as if, in this world, real-life rules no longer applied, and anything was possible.

For a moment, I remembered the weight of his body pressing against mine, the vibrancy of his eyes in the firelight, and the way he kept touching me.

The way his fingers—those fingers that had spent so much time shooting rude gestures at me—curved gently around my ribs.

The way, for a moment, I wondered what would happen if we kept on touching and touching and touching .

Also, why did the man never wear a shirt?

Oh my god. His plan was working. He was already in my head. I’d be an idiot to think he’d come to my room for any other reason.

Time to refocus.

Amy said training should be our priority, and we should wait until after then to organize a proper counterattack against the Evil One, but I wanted to dig into the investigation more.

The memory of Winston’s worried mom urged me to get to the bottom of the kidnapping, and that started with interrogating the visiting princess.

It couldn’t be a coincidence that the day she came to the kingdom, someone went missing.

Maybe she had a personal vendetta against Winston.

Maybe he’d stolen her pet chicken or something.

Once I solved the case, everyone could rest easy.

Well, everyone but Bryce, who I hoped would rest terribly, kept up by the knowledge that I’d bested him at being a Chosen One.

I was drawn from my thoughts by a barely audible knock against my door. I slid out of bed, crossing my arms over my embarrassingly thin nightgown before answering.

Nobody was there.

Someone cleared their throat, a tiny, high-pitched throat-clear. There, next to my foot, was a mouse standing on its hind legs. “Are you the one they call Lady Courtney?” he asked.

A scream tore out of my throat. Instinctively, I ducked behind the door, using it as a shield as I gaped at the tiny talking mouse .

Unfazed, the tiny talking mouse extended a hand. “Greetings. I’m—”

“Nope.” I slammed the door.

Was it a bit mean to slam the door on a small woodland creature? Perhaps, but I wasn’t keen on the thought of enduring the annoying antics of a no doubt snarky, no doubt cringey, no doubt ridiculously over-the-top animal companion. God forbid he broke into song.

Plus, I didn’t want the bubonic plague.

Before I could do anything else, another knock came at the door. This time, it was a servant telling me I was expected at the training grounds. I’d have to wait a little longer to interview the princess. In the meantime, I could only hope the city guards found Winston soon.

After dressing in puffy brown pants, a loose cotton shirt, and a hobbit vest, I ate a quick breakfast in the kitchen before the servant led me down to a central courtyard.

Bryce and another guy stood waiting. Bryce looked like a low-budget Jareth the Goblin King wannabe in a thin white shirt and leather breeches, and the other guy looked like an overeager camp counselor. He was youngish and blondish and shortish.

“Greetings!” The camp counselor smiled a pearly white smile, which was impressive considering dental hygiene couldn’t be great here.

He was practically vibrating with a level of joy I considered obscene, given the early hour.

“I have been instructed to help you refine your swordsmanship skills in preparation for the tournament! Which of you noble warriors wish to start us off?”

Bryce stared at the guy like he was trying to figure out if this was real life.

A few townspeople grew curious and walked over. Their expectant eyes reminded me of Thanksgiving. That moment after all the cousins flaunted their successes, and it was my turn to impress, proud familial eyes glowing brighter with each of my achievements even as my exhaustion grew heavier.

I remembered how dim the eyes of my family were when they didn’t look at me through the rose-colored lens of my accomplishments. Who did I think I was, volunteering to save the world when I couldn’t even keep a meaningless marketing job?

“Well?” Castle Camp Counselor asked, bouncing on his toes.

“I am sure you’re both naturally adept warriors, seeing as all Chosen Ones effortlessly slay legions of monsters with little to no training.

” His smile widened as his excitement grew.

“Nevertheless, I daresay there are always ways to improve!”

“Before we begin, I’m going to need you to take it down about ninety-eight percent,” I said.

“Pardon me?” Castle Camp Counselor asked.

I sighed. “You’re up here.” I raised a hand above my head. “And I’m going to need you about here.” I bent until my palm grazed the dirt.

“Ah! Indeed!” Castle Camp Counselor ambled over and lay on the ground at my feet.

It took me half a beat to recover. “Look at that, Bryce. Most men know to bow before me.”

“Have you ever had a dream where you go to bed, and then you wake up still in the dream?” Bryce asked, swaying a bit, a dazed haze in his eyes. “That’s impossible, right?”

Did Bryce think we were in a dream? Suddenly, his unexplained confidence made sense, as did the comfort he displayed last night when he… Oh my god. Why was Bryce comfortable with crawling into my bed in his dreams? And why was I okay with him crawling into my bed when I knew it wasn’t a dream?

“You’re definitely in a dream, Bryce,” I said, and his shoulders sagged with relief. I’d considered telling him the truth, but I was too curious to see more of this Bryce, the Bryce that was only free to be his true self in the deepest, safest corners of his mind.

“When one’s whole life is a dream,” Castle Camp Counselor was saying from where he still lay on the ground, “you live in paradise whether sleeping or awake.”

This dude loved his job way too much.

“Do people usually worship me in your dreams, Bryce?” I nodded down at the counselor.

“Please. The poor bastard is under the illusion you could be the Chosen One.” Bryce walked over and held out a hand for Castle Camp Counselor.

“Arise, good citizen.” His voice took on a booming cheesy quality.

“For a good leader will raise you up, not put you down. It is I, your Chosen One. You can tell it is me by my flowing red hair.”

Castle Camp Counselor rose, a look of reverence on his face as he grasped Bryce’s hand.

“Red hair proves nothing,” I said.

“Sure it does,” said Bryce. “All Chosen Ones have flaming auburn hair and piercing eyes.”

“It is known,” Castle Camp Counselor said, gazing at Bryce with adoration.

Bryce had a point for maybe the first time in his life, but I had to keep my cool if I wanted to convince everyone I was the Chosen One. I narrowed my eyes in a challenge. “Fine. Where did you grow up?”

Bryce placed a hand over his heart. “You’re taking an interest in my childhood? I’m touched. Truly, truly touched.”

Still grasping Bryce’s other hand, Castle Camp Counselor reached for me, his overly happy smile still plastered to his face. “It warms my heart to see such comradery between—”

“Shut up,” Bryce and I said in unison.

“Where did you grow up?” I tried again. “Because I grew up only ten miles from a farm, which means I’m basically a farm child and therefore the Chosen One.”

Bryce’s Adam’s apple bobbed, but he recovered quickly. “I have a weird birthmark. I’m sure Amy could relate that back to the prophecy somehow.”

My heart clenched. I couldn’t compete with weird birthmarks.

“Shall we begin?” Castle Camp Counselor started demonstrating fencing positions, movements exaggerated as he transitioned from pose to pose.

“What about parents?” I asked, while Castle Camp Counselor waved his sword around next to us. “Is one or both of your parents dead or dying?”

Bryce averted his eyes. “I’m sure they’re fine.”

Disappointment overcame me. “Mine too.” I kicked at the ground angrily.

“Even still married.” Probably because they hadn’t found time to draft their own divorce papers yet.

I wished they could see where I was right now.

They’d take back all those years of telling me to get my nose out of fantasy books and start focusing on real life.

That was when I remembered. “I have a talking animal sidekick.”

“Sure you do. Where?” Bryce glanced at the space around my feet. “I was under the impression sidekicks were supposed to be… by your side.”

I shouldn’t have slammed the door in the mouse’s face. He’d never come back, and I’d never be able to prove he was real unless Bryce saw him.

The only way to claim the Chosen One title was to beat Bryce at the tournament. To do that, I needed to train… which would be a challenge, considering I couldn’t walk up a flight of stairs without getting winded.

We were given phenomenally unimpressive wooden swords and subpar instructions, thanks to Castle Camp Counselor, whose name was actually Cuthbert.

Everyone watched as Cuthbert casually crushed us. They shared how disappointed they were with our performance with grumbled insults like, “ These are the Chosen Ones?”

We “trained,” which was a loose term for “Cuthbert cheerfully kicking our asses,” for hours.

The grime and physical abuse wore me down, but I sought solace in the fact I was marginally better with a sword than Bryce, which I attributed to all those tennis matches I’d pretended to enjoy playing with Will.

Now, I took a break while Bryce and Cuthbert dueled. I stood outside the dirt ring with a few assorted castle employees who should’ve been working but were instead watching Bryce lose on company time. I felt a companionship with them on a spiritual level.