Page 37 of The Underachiever’s Guide to Love and Saving the World

COURTNEY

Half an hour and lots of hangry bickering later, Bryce and I managed to get a small fire going. The wood crackled, cicadas whined, and fireflies flickered among the swaying grass.

“What do you think?” Bryce pulled me from my thoughts, presenting a slab of bark with a pile of pizza rolls on it. He wouldn’t meet my eye. He hadn’t met my eye properly all day.

“The bark will burn,” I said.

“This is how the cavemen did it.”

“You have a fully stocked kitchen of bark cutlery and dishware?”

“Ha.”

“The instructions said to arrange them in a circle,” I said, trying not to notice how nice his skin looked in the light of the flickering campfire because only serial killers had creepy thoughts like that.

Bryce arranged the pizza rolls in a circle, fingers deft and sure.

I crossed my legs a little tighter, trying not to think of the places those fingers had been.

Bryce Flannery was mouthwateringly attractive when he was obliviously excelling at something, like fingerbanging or accounting or cooking. Maybe him heating pizza rolls for me shouldn’t have been a turn-on, but it was.

His competence had always stirred something in me—like that time I almost got scammed by a door-to-door vacuum salesperson before Bryce stepped out on the porch to spew a bunch of numbers, outlining how the payment plan was a total predatory rip-off, leaving the salesperson nearly in tears.

His brain was like a fleshy calculator. Meanwhile, I didn’t even understand why the word mortgage had a silent t because I’d always been too scared to ask; it seemed like one of those things that adults had silently and collectively agreed to accept and never discuss.

I’d never had anyone stand up for me like that—without prompting and not out of familial obligation.

But Bryce had gone out of his way to rescue me from debilitating vacuum debt, and I’d never felt more noticed or cherished.

Our whole duplex had felt safer, like as long as he was on watch, protecting us from solicitors, I could breathe a little easier.

I didn’t need to know why there was a silent t in mortgage .

I didn’t need to know everything or be perfect.

Bryce didn’t expect me to fix my shortcomings; he anticipated them, silently stepping in to have my back when he noticed me struggling.

In return for his help, I’d decided to repay the favor.

For some reason, spiders liked to build their homes in the corner of his doorframe, and he was always walking through their webs and shuddering with revulsion.

So I started checking every morning and rehoming any eight-legged friends I saw.

I didn’t know if Bryce noticed their absence, but it made me feel good to make his life a little better where it truly mattered, even if I enjoyed making it worse in every area it didn’t.

After the vacuum incident, I’d thanked Bryce via my Wi-Fi router name: ThxForMansplaining.

A few hours later, his Wi-Fi name had changed from cwwwwwwoissants4lyfe to: SucksUcantSuck.

I’d happened to catch the switch, and approximately thirty seconds passed before he corrected his name to: BecauseUdontHaveTheVacuum.

And again: NotInASexualWay.

And again: ImSureUcouldSuckIfUwanted2.

InASexualWay.

AndAlsoNot.

And finally: AtLeastURpersonalityStillSux.

I’d never mentioned the blip. I told myself it was normal for my enemy to think about how I sucked.

But now here he was making me food. And he’d braved my sharp teeth to poke my supposedly soft heart with a stick. Perhaps my make-Bryce-like-me plan had worked a little too well. Then again, I still wasn’t shooting light from my hands, so it couldn’t have been that effective.

“There. Pizza roll summoning circle complete.” Bryce waved his hands over the bark platter.

“It’d be great if it could summon us some power because Amy’s methods are worthless,” I grumbled.

“Maybe you have to trust the process. Wax on, wax off, and all that.”

Annoyance flared in my empty stomach. “I bet that cantankerous old man could tell us in two seconds how to save the world, but he won’t because he wants to teach us a lesson.”

Bryce positioned the bark on a forked stick and held it over the flames. Sparks crackled against the underside of the dry wood. Flames rose around the pizza rolls. An odd chill prickled across my skin.

“Have you tried asking him nicely?” Bryce asked.

“Nice. That’s the key to everything, isn’t it? Just be nice .” I knew I was being prickly, but my stomach wouldn’t stop growling, and we’d spent all day out here for nothing while the Evil One was free to inflict who knew what kinds of horrors at the castle.

“It wouldn’t hurt to try occasionally.” Bryce sighed. “You walk around with a chip on your shoulder like the world owes you something when you’ve done nothing but laugh at it your entire life.”

I fought to keep my expression unbothered to hide how, in all his poking around, he’d found a few old wounds. I hadn’t always laughed at the world. Once, I’d smiled demurely under its shadow. And it had gotten me nothing meaningful in the end either.

“I think the world does owe me,” I said with a shrug, “and maybe it does make me entitled—that I don’t think I should have to have a career, two-point-five kids, and a 401(k) to earn my value as a human being.”

Orange light danced across Bryce’s face as he studied me.

Leaning over, he tucked a tendril of hair behind my ear, fingertips like butterfly kisses across my brow.

“It’s never too early to start thinking about retirement, Court,” he said, softly, throat bobbing.

“Social security is so uncertain. If you don’t want a 401(k), you could consider a Roth IRA, or a SEP, or—”

I’d opened myself up to him more than I had to anyone in a long time, and here he was trying to sell me a retirement plan. Trying to get me to be better .

Then again, his response probably wasn’t intentionally malicious. He simply didn’t understand. No one did.

I pulled away, brushing off the hurt. “Between a minimum-wage salary and the money I make off of selling pictures of my feet on the Internet, I do all right.”

“Selling your feet on the Internet?” Bryce rubbed his temples.

“There are two types of people in this world. People who sell pictures of their feet on the Internet, and liars.”

“That’s not even a little bit true.”

“Look, I have my future under control.” Digging my phone out of my pocket, I powered it on before flipping to the appropriate screen and handing it over to him. “My retirement portfolio.”

“This is just an album with over three thousand pictures of your feet.”

“Retirement. Portfolio,” I corrected him, taking my phone back and powering it off to save battery. “I can keep selling pictures of my feet forever, even when they’re old and weird.”

“Oh my god.” Bryce scrubbed at his eyes.

He was sort of hot when he was peeved. When we got home, I was going to blackmail him into doing my taxes.

The prospect of getting to distress him like this for hours on end made my skin tingle.

I was an attention whore, if craving the undivided annoyance of one man counted as being an attention whore.

Seeing his expression and knowing he wasn’t going to let this go until I gave him a serious response, I gave in.

“My employer provides retirement benefits, not that it’s any of your business.

” Needing to defend myself, I went on, “I never wanted to be a burden to anyone. I told that to Will—my ex. I made this whole spreadsheet to show him that I could take care of myself, that my lifestyle wouldn’t hold him back.

He still said I was being selfish for not wanting to strive for more.

Everyone says I’m selfish. Maybe they’re right.

I don’t want kids, and my parents certainly have enough money to take care of themselves.

It’s a selfish choice. It impacts nobody but me, and it’s astonishing how many people take that personally. ”

Bryce’s gaze flitted over my face. “I get that you want a life that not many can understand, but you don’t even give people a chance. You just say something off-putting or insulting to make them dislike you immediately. Does that truly make you happy?”

“No.” The truth came easier with darkness pressed around us. Bryce was scared of the dark, but it made me feel safe, like any secret told in shadows would never come to light. I didn’t like pushing people away, but it was easier than letting them down.

“I want nothing,” I said after a moment, “but I want to be something to someone.”

“Well, you’ll always be a delightful pain in my ass, so that’s something,” Bryce said tenderly. I saw the real truth swirling in his gentle gaze: So you can stop believing no one cares about you.

Being his pain in his ass used to be enough, but it was starting to feel like we’d never be able to go back to how things were.

All his kindness lately was due to the fact he thought I had a secret soft side that made me redeemable.

And maybe I did, but I wondered if anyone could like all the hard, cold, ugly parts of me, too, or if the only affection I could have was a half love.

I wanted someone to like me because I was an unambitious smart-ass, not despite it.

Forcing a mischievous grin, I lightened my tone, casting away the shadows, secrets, and unspoken confessions.

“Fine, we can try things your way. I’ll humble myself before the world, apologize for laughing at it, and politely ask for help.

Oh, universe, we offer this pizza roll platter as a sacrifice.

” I lowered my voice to the wavering cadence of a Bible thumper on channel three calling down the wrath of god onto old people sleeping in recliners.

“Please send a divine power to deliver us from these trying times in return for our zesty offering.”

“Why are you the way you are?” Bryce ran a hand down his face.

“Oh, pizza god, bestow your greasy glory upon us—”

“Gross.”