Page 2 of The Underachiever’s Guide to Love and Saving the World

COURTNEY

I was never shipped off to a magic school without parental consent to lead a troop of grown-ass adults and assorted woodland creatures into battle.

I never got to vanquish an evil overlord, subsequently earning the undying adoration of every peasant in the land. I was never anything more than just me.

So I decided to make myself into a lab-made snowflake and turn my life into the fairy tale I never had. I’d become something great—a real-life heroine. If I wanted to earn a Happily Ever After, I had to be perfect.

I wasn’t totally sure what a real-world Happily Ever After even looked like, but everyone else seemed to agree that it had something to do with having a dream job, house, and spouse, so I shaped my life accordingly.

The rules of the real world were clear. Regarding relationships: I must be sweet and agreeable in order to be lovable.

Regarding my profession: I must be the best in order to earn—well, if not the most, then the begrudging respect of my coworkers and a salary that was 18.

4 percent lower than a man’s, but which I would receive with a grateful smile because I couldn’t become my world’s version of a villain: an unlikable woman.

Although I secretly thought Earth’s world-building left something to be desired, I complied with the guidelines and set out on my quest.

Initially, I thought I’d be a doctor, but I couldn’t figure out all those Latin words.

My grades weren’t good enough for me to become a scientist. My gag reflex was too sensitive for the everyday heroism of plumbing.

During all the time I spent trying and failing to do meaningful things, I began to worry the rest of my Happily Ever After would fall apart too.

(Sure, maybe princes in Disney movies had soft spots for reclusive unemployed bookworms, but this was real life.)

Luckily, I ended up with a respectable degree in marketing and then a respectable job in marketing.

Was it perfect? Maybe not, but it was good enough to get me into the real-world version of a magical ball—the business mixer where I met my boyfriend, Will.

With a square jaw, strong nose, and wavy blond hair, Will had the sort of all-American good looks that made him seem approachable and like he was probably good at golf. A modern-day prince.

I’d almost done it. Almost conned my way into a quintessential Happily Ever After…

“Courtney?” my mother asked, snapping me into reality. Around me, seated at the long cherry dining room table, my family chatted and ate, no one else noticing my distress. “I asked if there’s something wrong with your turkey. You’ve barely eaten a thing.”

I realized my fingers were clenched too tightly around the delicate stem of my wineglass, threatening to snap it. I loosened my grip, fighting the urge to hold on to something , even though my idealized future was slipping through my fingers.

“Turkey is excellent.” I popped a bite into my mouth and choked it down before I could admit that I had no idea why people convinced themselves that turkey was a special holiday treat and not an atrocity.

The lie seemed to do its job, because Mom smiled, pleased, and returned to her conversation with my uncle. Probably, in her mind, if the turkey was fine, everything was fine; she’d never dream her perfect daughter wasn’t.

The house was overstimulating—too bright, too hot, too loud.

Silverware clinked and conversation hummed, peppered with the occasional polite chuckle.

Heavy Thanksgiving scents assaulted my nose—nutmeg, stuffing, and the sweet tinge of yams. The marble countertops and vaulted white walls were a monochromatic blur.

I hated marble countertops. They stained too easily to be practical, yet they were a staple in every Westra home because everyone knew your life had to look grand for your life to be grand.

I reached up and touched my mouth. My fingers hit teeth.

I was smiling.

I was somewhat of an expert at smiling convincingly through clenched teeth.

I’d mastered the art of becoming what people expected of me.

I could be everyone’s hero. It was just a matter of switching capes to look the part.

I was currently wearing the daughter cape, the one that would make me look smart and successful in the eyes of my family.

If it weren’t for what happened yesterday, today might have been the beginning of my epilogue—that wonderful conclusion where everything I’d worked for would come together to create my Happily Ever After.

Maybe I wouldn’t return to a hobbit hole as a lauded hero where I’d feast for weeks, but Thanksgiving dinner at my parents’ house was a decent compromise.

I wouldn’t chop the head off an ogre and bellow in triumph before an army of adoring soldiers, but I would tell my family about my promotion.

There wouldn’t be a prince whisking me away to a castle, but there was Will. He even had a ring. I saw it in his sock drawer. We’d discussed it, so it wasn’t a surprise. I’d say yes when he asked. Of course I would. That was what you did in an epilogue.

I dug my nails into the edge of the table. My stomach hurt. My stomach always hurt. I couldn’t remember a time when it didn’t. I’d thought having those ulcers treated in college would fix the issue, but it didn’t.

Having ulcers was a rite of passage in the Westra family. It displayed your grit, your drive. You didn’t truly want success unless you had the stress-induced medical problems to prove it.

“Ooh, quinoa!” Will exclaimed beside me, reaching for the dish my dad passed his way. It was, perhaps, the most excited anyone had ever been about quinoa in the history of the world.

“Great for the heart,” I said. It took all my effort to pretend like I cared about the health benefits of quinoa, but I slipped on a different cape—the girlfriend cape—a perfect blend of cute and sexy. I winked and leaned in. “Which is good news. Taking care of your heart is a priority of mine.”

Will smiled and squeezed my hand, which still had a death grip on the edge of the table. He was a good guy who didn’t deserve my messes. I still hadn’t told him what happened yesterday. Couldn’t. Not after I’d been assuring him for weeks I’d be getting that promotion.

I fought the urge to vomit.

For years, I’d been cramming myself into perfect glass slippers, but now the magic had worn off.

Once everyone knew of my failure, they’d realize I wasn’t the success I’d been pretending to be.

Maybe a girl who squeezed into Cinderella’s shoes and fooled a prince didn’t even deserve a Happily Ever After.

Will moved from an animated discussion about the country club to one of his other favorite topics: our future. “Courtney’s up for this great new promotion at work,” he was saying. “Senior marketing director.”

He went on to talk about things like Roth IRAs and early retirement, and I tried not to dwell on why talking about our life made me feel so life less .

At twenty-five, I was definitely old enough that I should enjoy participating in boring adult conversations, yet the topic of retirement made me feel like a clueless little kid and like I was ninety years old all at once.

As everyone started going around the table, sharing what they were thankful for—yachts, vacation homes, expensive handbags—I scrutinized their smiling faces.

Sometimes, most times, I felt distanced from everyone, as though my body were just a sim in a game that I was controlling from very far away.

My life didn’t feel like my own, but someone’s idea of what a life should be.

I wondered if anyone else felt as lost as I did.

It was like I blinked, and someone thrust this whole life on me that I’d somehow committed to seeing through, even though I never remembered choosing it. I picked a path, thinking I could figure out specifics later, only later was now, and I’d already gone too far to turn back.

I looked at my aunts, cousins, and parents, all at different points on the same sort of road I’d been pushing myself down.

The younger ones were full of fire and hope.

The older ones leaned back in their chairs with pride, like they’d really accomplished something, when I knew for a fact Uncle Lenny had three stress-related heart attacks in two years, my cousin Dina had a drinking problem, and my grandfather never took a vacation because he planned on enjoying life once he was retired, but he’d been spending his entire retirement in that urn on the mantel.

Everyone was comparing achievements, and they were asking me about mine, and everything became too loud.

But then Will stirred beside me. Before I could ask what he was doing, he stood. Time slowed as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a little black box.

He dropped to his knee.

My ears rang, muffling the delighted exclamations from everyone else in the room.

Once again, my future was here, and once again, I was too far in to turn back.

My vision went dark around the edges. I’d read an article once that said Olympic athletes convinced themselves the feeling they got in the pit of their stomachs before an event was simply excitement, not nerves, seeing as the two emotions felt so similar.

That twisting knot in the bottom of my belly was excitement .

In the corners of my eyes, my family’s smiles seemed to close in, twisting grotesquely as though distorted by fun house mirrors.

I couldn’t breathe. Except it wasn’t the breathlessness of a blushing bride-to-be.

It was the breathlessness of someone dying.

This was the life I’d always wanted, and yet the thought of accepting it made me feel as though my life was slipping away.

I sprang to my feet. “I got fired yesterday!” I yelled.

A collective gasp rose from the dining table.