Page 20 of The Underachiever’s Guide to Love and Saving the World

COURTNEY

I closed my eyes and tried to do Amy’s assignment, even though I knew I’d find nothing.

To keep up appearances, every once in a while, I furrowed my brow or made a low humming noise, so it looked like I was going through some heavy character transformations.

I’d have to figure out a solution to my magic problem quickly.

I’d never read about an unlikable Chosen One, and if I didn’t gain Charisma soon, everyone would see me for the fraud I was.

Squinting one eye open, I peered at Bryce. I’d seen how his hands shook when he helped me off the horse. I’d also felt it, his fingers hot at my waist, trembling against my skin. He wasn’t joking about being scared, and yet he’d pushed past it. For me.

My mind went back to a day a few months ago.

It was after I’d gotten into an argument with someone on the Internet who tried to convince me cilantro tasted like soap.

He’d told me to touch grass, and that actually seemed like a good idea, so I went out and sat in the front lawn, my palms pressed to the earth beside me.

It was one of the first warm days of the year, and a green, earthy smell filled my nostrils.

“What are you doing?”

I’d looked up to find Bryce leaning over the porch railing, a bemused expression on his face.

“Touching grass because some idiot thinks cilantro tastes like soap.”

“Cilantro does taste like soap, so you should stand up. You’re going to get grass cuts.”

“Is that really how you see the world? You go through life seeing everything that can hurt you?”

“No,” he said, “I see people who can be hurt by everything.”

That was the difference between him and me. He still tried, still fought for people. Didn’t he know they wouldn’t fight for him back?

Hours passed. From time to time, Amy murmured particularly useless encouragements like “Reflect on where your own positive perceptions of others stem from,” and “Feel the validation of others flow through you.”

At last, Amy figured out neither of us was going to shoot fireballs out of our butts, so we headed back to the castle, the setting sun behind us.

“How can I convince people I’m worthy?” I asked. My shoulders hunched as my mind flashed back to exhausting years of working to earn love.

“How do I convince anyone to pledge their devotion to me?” Bryce asked, sounding equally weary.

I glanced his way. Perhaps he had his own insecurities.

“You must inspire the kingdom,” Amy said, voice shaking along with the hoofbeats of his ass. “The people expect a sort of silent strength from you.”

I perked up. “I can do stoic. I’ll be a freaking inspiration.”

“Oh no, I mean Bryce. You must be a kind, genteel woman.” Amy tapped the side of his nose, a grandfatherly twinkle in his eye that I suddenly wanted to punch out.

I pulled on the reins, dragging my horse to a halt. We stood on the bluff, a steep drop to the ocean on one side and rolling hills on the other. “Excuse me? Bryce can be all sulky and mysterious, and people will find him charming, but I have to be nice ?” I hissed the word.

It was the Mr. Darcy conundrum. Men could be antisocial assholes and people thought they were hot and wanted to understand them. If I was an antisocial asshole, people told me to smile more.

Bryce turned his horse to face me, knuckles white around the reins.

Amy sat trapped in the middle on his dumpy ass, eyes wide.

Probably, since he’d given us one singular magic lesson, he knew he’d served his purpose and his time drew nigh.

Typically, after mentors in stories found a Chosen One and told them enough information to keep them alive but withheld enough for no other reason than to make the journey difficult, they were expendable.

“The people expect a certain feminine grace,” Amy explained. “They need to see your empathy, your womanly, healing touch—”

“A healthy choice for you would be to stop talking,” I said.

Bryce looked between us. Salty air lifted the hair off his neck, and his horse pranced, impatient to get going. I waited for him to gloat or mock. He probably agreed with Amy, seeing as just yesterday, he’d urged me to change too.

Amy opened his mouth.

“No,” Bryce said. “She has as much right to be a dick as I do.”

I sputtered as everything inside me recoiled. There he went again, helping me. This was disastrous . Helping led to caring, which led to expectations.

This not-hate only started after we came here, after I appeared to be making an effort to save the world.

He’d expect it now: effort. His hate was simpler than his bothering .

While him liking me would help me get magic, it wasn’t worth losing our dynamic—a dynamic I was beginning to realize I valued more than I’d thought.

Collecting myself, I lifted my chin. “On second thought, I’ll pass on the problematic inner magic. I’ll defeat the Evil One without it.” I nudged my horse into a walk.

Amy kicked his ass, hurrying after me. “Without Charisma, why will anyone follow you into battle? Who will care? What bards will sing your glory if no one is moved by your story?”

My stomach began to hurt.

I was losing myself and my only honest relationship.

Tempted by glory and adoration, I’d been morphing myself back into something society deemed acceptable.

I’d dug myself deep, surrounding myself with more and more lies to convince people I was worthy.

But I wasn’t, and I’d never get magic because no one ever liked me genuinely, not the real me; they only liked my pretty facade.

If I didn’t claw my way out soon, I’d lose myself again for nothing.

If I backed out now, maybe there was still time for Bryce to face his fears and figure out how to become the Chosen One he was. I was wrong before. I couldn’t be a better Chosen One than him. I couldn’t do this at all.

I didn’t know these people, didn’t even know they existed until a magical portal brought me to their world, but their lives were real, and they deserved a chance to live, even if they were foolishly putting their hopes on someone who didn’t deserve their confidence.

In the end, maybe Bryce was right to challenge the validity of my devil-may-care attitude, because I did care.

I cared too much about these innocent people to stay.

I’d quit this, just like I quit my old life, and flee back to the safety of perpetual failure, where I couldn’t let anyone down.

“Defeat the Evil One yourself,” I choked out. “I’m going back to the portal, and I’m going home.”

“Thank god,” Bryce said on a sigh of relief. “I’m out too.”

“You can’t be,” said Amy.

“I don’t even want to be a Chosen One!” I said. “I only said it to piss Bryce off. Can I please, please just go home?”

Bryce’s face softened. He opened his mouth, but Amy cut him off.

“I’m sorry. You cannot. It’s impossible.” To his credit, Amy’s eyes held pity. “In the past, when a Chosen One was summoned, the portal for them to return home didn’t open again until they left the world better off than when they came.”

Darkness flirted with the edges of my vision. My stomach twisted in on itself. We were stuck here? I guessed I sort of assumed Bryce and I could dip if things got too hairy.

“I thought you summoned us,” I said through gritted teeth. “Undo it.”

“Though I did summon our last Chosen One, it was not I who cast the spell this time,” said Amy.

“According to our history books, we often never discover who summons Chosen Ones. Sometimes it’s fates.

A skilled mage. A farmer who happens upon the spell.

Sometimes the universe itself summons warriors forth, as though the gods themselves have sent them to us. Indeed, since the dawn of time—”

Amy’s droning voice faded as rage swelled in my ears. I loathed this world. It was a sick parody of everything I used to think I wanted. I’d bet anything the universe dragged me here after I’d finally broken free to say, You’re not allowed to give up. Now run along and save the world.

There were milestones everyone was expected to reach in life.

Gatekeepers stood at each of those milestones, guarding the path to happiness.

When you were a kid, you were allowed to be content.

You weren’t allowed to do that once you’d reached a section of your life that said you had to go to college or get married or have a child before you could continue to achieve joy.

When I wouldn’t perform, I got shoved into this place as punishment, where I would be stuck until I broke.

I urged my horse into a run, leaving Amy in the dust. My fists balled around the reins, my pulse loud and hot in my ears.

By the time Bryce caught up to me, I was already back at the stables, handing my reins off to a groom. Bryce’s horse slid to a stop, puffs of dust swirling from its hooves.

“Thank you so much,” I said to the groom, lifting my voice to a high falsetto. “However can I show my appreciation?”

“Cut it out.” Bryce dismounted, shoving his reins at the same flustered stable boy. “That Yoda guy is an out-of-touch fossil. We’re going to find a way out of this. You don’t have to smile to save the world.”

Claustrophobia pressed in. The stable roof felt lower, the shadows darker. Who did I think I was, playing hero again? I was as naive and stupid as I was when I was ten, trying to use the Force to levitate my stuffed animals. The mental strain felt the same—exhausting, desperate, futile.

“This isn’t me,” I said. “It’s all an act. I’m not a hero. I can’t get anyone to like me, and I can’t get us home.”

“You can do it,” he said. “I can tell you’re trying.”

While I was pretending to be someone else, the compliment felt like he was saying, Thank you for not being you .

I’d slipped on a cape to play the part of a hero, and Bryce had fallen for it.

Instead of me showing him that even losers could save the world, he simply thought I wasn’t a loser anymore.

I couldn’t even set him straight because, in order to get home, I’d have to keep wearing the cape. I missed what we used to have. He’d made me feel seen, even if he only saw me as a nuisance. Now, it was like he didn’t see me at all.

Distance. We just needed distance again. Straw crunched under my boots as I marched for the stable doors. My nose filled with the musty scent of manure and hay.

Bryce’s footsteps pounded closer. “Wait.” He caught up, slowing to walk beside me.

The light streaming through the cracks in the stable boards flickered over his face with each step, highlighting the stubble along his jaw, the angle of his cheekbone, his eyes.

His lips. The light swept across them, and my finger itched to do the same—to trace the ridges of his cupid’s bow, to see if his breath would catch.

Something under my ribs jumped and tingled at the thought. Touching Bryce should inspire existential dread, not tingling. I shouldn’t want his breath to catch unless it would catch and stop altogether.

His brows furrowed as he looked me up and down. “Damn it, Court, say something. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry it’s unfair.”

I stopped, and he plowed into me, nearly knocking me off my feet. Turning, I shoved him off. “Why did you do that?”

He pressed a hand over his chest where I’d touched him. “Do what?”

“Court,” I breathed. “You called me Court .” My voice grew louder. “Then you sympathized with me?” My heart pounded in my ears. Last night. His lingering looks and half smiles… they all added up to something. Something bad. “Why’d you call me Court?”

“I don’t know? I couldn’t be bothered to say the whole thing? Would you rather I go with the second half of your name and call you Ney?”

I shook my head, already backing away. Everything felt too fast, like I could suddenly feel the whole world spinning and slinging around the sun at sixty-seven thousand miles an hour.

Real-world, part-time job, paid-the-rent-late Courtney never caught his eye. Only fantasy-world, aspiring-Chosen-One, planning, scheming Courtney. Whatever positive feelings he felt for me were built on a lie. Just like Will’s had been.

“I don’t want a friend, Bryce,” I exclaimed. “Friends want what’s best for each other. I don’t want what’s best for me. I want what everyone believes is worst for me, and no friend can understand that!”

I always knew, if someone started to care for me, they’d try to help me.

If I cared for that someone back, I might just let them, and then I’d be living a lie again.

I’d change to try to keep them, to convince them I was worthy of their affection.

The next thing I knew, I’d be serving Thanksgiving dinner ten years from now with ten million goals involving PTA, HOA, and every other type of stifling, mind-numbing acronym.

And then, one day, all the lies would come to light, and I’d be left alone again.

I turned and ran.

I burst into my room back at the castle, buried my face into my pillow, and screamed.

Someone tapped my arm.

I lifted my head and screamed again. There, standing on the bed, was the mouse.

“I found your dragon,” the mouse announced, which didn’t make me want to scream any less.

I shot upright. “Why’d you come back? I slammed a door in your face.”

“All is forgiven, my lady. ’Tis an occupational hazard.” The mouse plopped onto the bed and sat like a human beside me.

I shrank away because I was still pretty concerned about the bubonic plague.

“The prophecy states—” he began timidly.

“Not you, too, with the vague prophecy nonsense.” But he looked so earnest that I wearily waved for him to continue.

“The prophecy states that on the eve of the second day of the Chosen One’s arrival, they will venture north-northeast into the woods for two miles, whereupon they will come across an abandoned barn, inside of which they will discover a dragon.”

“Oh. Well, that’s actually—highly specific.”

“According to ancient lore, the wrath of a dragon can be tamed by a Chosen One,” the mouse said. “If you should accomplish the task, having such a mighty force on your side will aid you in the fight to come.”

Slowly, I nodded. This was more doable than Amy’s popularity magic.

I wasn’t sure why the mouse still had my back after I’d slammed the door in his face, or why he believed I was the Chosen One when his only interaction with me was the aforementioned door slamming, but he wasn’t such a bad sidekick after all.

This was the quick solution to getting us out of here.

Once I figured out who kidnapped Winston, I could swoop in on a dragon and rescue him before incinerating the Evil One’s fortress—wherever it was.

I was pretty sure Bryce was the Chosen One, not me, but I couldn’t ask Bryce, scared-of-grass-cuts Bryce, to try to tame a dragon. How hard could it be?

I was sort of in the mood to burn something down anyway.