Page 25 of The Underachiever’s Guide to Love and Saving the World

COURTNEY

My entire body ached for him.

Bryce had somehow turned the tables. I’d wanted him to have a tiny, harmless crush. Instead, he’d suggested sex, and now all I could think about was him. It was all because of the wink he shot me when he propositioned me. Winks were evil. They had the power of making anyone hot.

No. It was before then. In those moments when his brow was pinched in worry or fear, but I’d make a wisecrack, and his expression would smooth when he turned my way. When I found myself looking at his mouth. When his shoulder brushed mine, and shivers raced over my skin.

Or maybe it was last night, listening to his agonized sighs as he buried his face in a pillow and cursed my name.

Or what he’d confessed this morning about The Infamous Buzzing.

Whether it was true or not, the unbidden mental images that arose from it had me ready to combust: Bryce desperate and unwound as he listened to me getting myself off—

Well, suffice it to say, my scheme had backfired. I hated my body for reacting this way to the human equivalent of a dial tone.

I had to come up with a plan B. Who knew how much time I had before the dragon showed back up, or something happened to Winston, or worse, the Evil One made an appearance.

Screw Amy and his irrational rules. I couldn’t get people to like me from a distance. I needed to interact with them. I’d win them over the old-fashioned way: face-to-face bribery.

After a much-needed morning bath, and checking with the servants that the king was still asleep in his chambers, I got to work.

Grunting, I dragged a giant golden chair down a narrow stone staircase. The legs clunked loudly, bouncing from one step to the next. Sweat poured down my back, and my labored breaths echoed off the stone walls.

Maybe bribery wasn’t the most morally pure way to win affection, but it was the quick way, especially because it wasn’t like my personality alone would win me any points.

I called my plan Operation Dave. Everyone has one coworker that they can’t stand, but everyone else loves.

For me, that coworker was Dave from appliances.

It was obvious to me that Dave from appliances was a major kiss-ass, but everyone else was under his spell.

That was my plan. Being genuine would get me nowhere because I was a genuine, grade-A disappointment.

So, since I wasn’t terribly good at being good, I’d just have to be good at faking it. Amy would never have to know.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally reached the bottom, emerging outside the castle in a small, abandoned courtyard.

With a final heave, I hoisted the chair into the back of a wagon, which was full of all the other chairs I’d already stolen from the council room.

Amazingly, no one at the stable had questioned me when I showed up, still in my nightgown, asking for a horse and buggy.

After tossing a few blankets over the chairs, I clambered into the driver’s seat and flicked the reins.

As I emerged from the courtyard into the busier castle grounds, I smiled and waved as though it were totally normal to be out and about in the early morning in a coat and a nightgown, hauling a conspicuous heap of covered cargo.

Everyone smiled and waved back without a second thought. It was like Bryce had said. Everyone acted more like video game characters than real people. Strange. But convenient, given that normal people would have definitely realized Bryce and I sucked at being Chosen Ones by now.

I exited the castle walls and headed into the city. As I neared the market, the crisp morning air filled with the incredible smells of street food—the homey scent of warm dough, the savory aroma of spiced meat and caramelized onions, the sweet whiff of pastries.

Turning a corner revealed the busy main street. Women bustled from shop to shop. Children scampered underfoot. Traders’ carts and stands packed the street, displaying their wares—from colorful scarves to food to baubles and trinkets. Their shouts rang over the laughter and conversation.

It was slow going, but at last I found a spot to park my wagon between a flower stand and a meat pie vendor. I hopped off the wagon, unveiled my stolen wares with a flourish, and propped up a sign on one of the chairs that read: Free. Limit: One per customer.

Grinning, I pulled down one of the chairs for myself. “And now we wait,” I said to myself as I settled onto the plush purple upholstery adorning the gold frame.

Ten minutes passed.

Then another ten.

People would glance at the heap of blindingly reflective furniture, then scuttle away as though afraid. Growing impatient, I stood on top of my chair and began shouting along with the other hawkers, putting my marketing degree to good use. “WHY DO NONE OF YOU WANT A FREE, SUPER-VALUABLE CHAIR?”

Okay. So, it wasn’t my best work. But it didn’t make sense. One chair could turn someone’s whole life around.

I began to grow antsy, worried about what the king might get up to once he woke and left his chambers. I needed to be around to spy on him, in case he was involved with Winston’s kidnapping.

Catching sight of a cluster of young girls at the flower shop next to me, I turned. There were five of them working the stand, all appearing to be sisters, ranging in age from toddler to teen. They all had the same giant green eyes, snub noses, and dark hair.

They giggled and whispered to one another as they cut stems, arranged bouquets, and greeted customers.

Aside from Winston’s mom, it had been difficult to see the humanity in everyone else I’d met here.

Wizards, kings, people like Cuthbert who were genuinely happy with their jobs—they didn’t exist in my world and therefore didn’t quite feel real.

But these were normal girls. Put them in jeans and T-shirts, give them cell phones instead of flowers, and they’d be just like the kids back home.

My mission felt even more personal now. Real, actual children were counting on me.

Yes, I had to fix my mistakes and overthrow an Evil One for my own good to get back home, but I also had to do it for these girls and everyone else just like them.

Familiar pressure to succeed pressed against my lungs, but I would endure it. I had to.

Back in my coatrack, I’d dreamed of a magical land, a place where I wasn’t held responsible for other people’s comfort and happiness. Ironic how, now that I’d actually gotten my magical land, I was responsible for the fate of the world.

With new resolve, I scooted my chair over to the flower shop girls, the gold screeching over the cobblestones. Straightening, I planted my hands on my hips. “This is for you.”

Five sets of eyes blinked back at me. “We can’t accept this, my lady,” the oldest one said at last, with an airy laugh.

“Don’t be ridiculous. This isn’t the time for pride. I insist.”

“No. We cannot,” said a girl who appeared to be the second oldest—maybe eleven or twelve. She stuck her hands in her worn apron. “It is not the way of things.”

I inched the chair a little closer, wagging my eyebrows enticingly. “If you sold this, you could be rich.”

“We cannot be rich,” said the oldest with a little shrug. “We are peasants.”

Sighing, I rested my forearms on the back of the chair. “That’s what I’m saying. You won’t have to be peasants anymore.”

“We can never not be peasants,” she said with a cheerful smile.

I was about to give up and turn away, but my eye caught on her placid expression.

Before, I hadn’t paid much attention to any of this world’s cardboard cutout characters, writing them off as storybook clichés, but now I took a closer look.

The girl continued staring at me, a serene smile on her lips, but I almost thought I could see a hard glint of something deep in her eyes.

Then she blinked, and it was gone. “Would you like to buy a flower?” She held a daisy under my nose.

An idea struck me. “If you can’t accept the chair for free, would you take it as payment? You could even have it melted down before you sell it, if you’re worried about people realizing where it’s from.”

All the girls exchanged looks. “We don’t have enough flowers,” the littlest said.

I squatted to her level and grinned. “Tell you what. I’ll buy them all, and if you help me with a little project, we’ll call it even.”

Phase one of my little project was a shopping spree. With the girls staggering behind me carrying chairs, I went from booth to booth, purchasing clothing, junk food, and useless trinkets, and paying for everything with the furniture until it was gone.

Unfortunately, even overpaying everyone with life-changing amounts of wealth wasn’t enough to awaken my magic. I thought I could buy the people’s approval, but Charisma was not so easily fooled. They loved me for what I could give them, not for who I was. I probably should have known better.

Still, the morning was not altogether unpleasant.

The flower girls (who were all named after plants, of course) took one look at my nightgown and coat and insisted on dress shopping.

I bought them all dresses, too, and even if their awe for me was only inspired by gold, it still felt nice.

It still spoke to that part of me that craved adoration.

Still teased me with the idea that maybe, just maybe, I could be the amazing person they thought I was.

After the shopping spree, the girls piled the contents of their flower stand into the back of my now-empty wagon. Some of them squeezed onto the seat beside me and the others wedged in the back, then we were off.

The conversation back to the castle was joyous.

They showed off the day’s spoils and passed around the food we’d bought so everyone could try everything.

Their questions were incessant. How is it being a Chosen One?

When did you first know you were different?

What’s the worst monster you’ve ever faced?

They ooh ed and aah ed over my answers (terrifying, I still don’t believe it, and late-stage capitalism) as though they were impressive.

“In the stories of old,” said Lavender, the eldest, who was seated beside me, “Chosen Ones always found time to visit the less fortunate and listen to our opinions. Our last Chosen One, Edna Johnson, was said to have joined us in our festivals, visited our orphans, and made friends with members of our community. Quite a fan of mulberry ale, that one. Legends say she insisted on sharing her brew with everyone in the kingdom.”

Edna Johnson? I wondered if that was the flapper girl immortalized by the fountain in the gardens where we’d had lunch.

I guessed being free of Prohibition for a while must’ve been exciting for her, which would explain her hipster-ish obsession with craft beer.

But damn, if Amy had summoned her as he claimed, that meant Amy was even older than I thought.

“I must admit,” Lavender went on, “when you showed no interest in venturing outside the castle walls, we began to worry for the future of our kingdom. But I see now how lovely you are. You must have been quite busy with important matters, then, if it took you so long to come into the city?”

My stomach shifted uncomfortably. We’d been under instructions from Amy not to get involved.

But even if we hadn’t been… would I have bothered to learn more about the kingdom?

“We were told not to.” The excuse sounded weak even to me.

“For safety. For your safety. They told us if the bad guys knew we were friends, they may hurt you to get to me. Which is why you can’t tell anyone you met me.

If anyone asks where you got the chair, say a traveler traded it to you. ”

Her features softened, which made me feel even worse. “Of course.”

If what Lavender said was true, and other Chosen Ones, like Edna, were allowed to make friends with the people, what had changed in the last hundred years that made Amy so convinced it was safer for Chosen Ones to keep their distance? Had something happened with Edna herself?

Rose, one of the middle girls, piped up from the back, disrupting my thoughts. “What’s the other Chosen One like?”

My thoughts fluttered away. “Oh, Bryce?” I asked flippantly. “He’s okay, I guess.”

A brief silence ensued, followed by shrieks of delight and teasingly dramatic proclamations of Bryce’s name. Ahead, our horse’s ears twitched in annoyance, and I concurred.

“I didn’t say his name like that,” I called over them.

“Like what?” said the tiniest girl, Poppy. “ Ooh, Bryyyyyce ?” She spun on her heel in a swoon and collapsed onto a heap of flowers, a pudgy hand thrown over her ruddy brow.

“Is he handsome?” the quiet girl, Sage, who sat on the other side of me asked, stars in her eyes.

“No.”

The prickliest girl, aptly named Thistle, gave me a withering look.

“Fine, yes.” I sighed. “Unfortunately, he is.” They begged for details, so I stammered through a brief explanation of the Sickly Victorian Man phenomenon. “He’s not, like, muscly or conventionally attractive. He’s the kind of gorgeous that sneaks up on you.”

That was enough to convince them we were soulmates.

Their enthusiasm was contagious, and I found myself smiling as I described Bryce’s quirks.

The way I sometimes noticed him secretly grinning after I found a particularly clever way to annoy him.

The way he stuck by me, no matter what, even when it involved battling a dragon.

The way he cared so much about everything, even if it was starting to make me feel bad for caring about nothing.

I lapsed into silence for the rest of the trip as the girls planned our wedding. As we neared the castle, a strange sort of lightness fluttered behind my ribs—anticipation and excitement wrapped in fuzzy warmth. Inexplicably, I missed Bryce, and I couldn’t wait to see him again.

Something dreadful was happening, something I hadn’t felt since grade school, when I’d draw gel-pen hearts around my initials coupled with some pubescent boy’s.

I was developing a freaking crush on my asshole next-door neighbor.