Page 45 of The Underachiever’s Guide to Love and Saving the World

A touch of guilt nagged at my stomach, the same sort of guilt you get when you refuse to participate in an interactive magic show you never wanted to go to in the first place.

Like you’re somehow a bad person for letting a total stranger down, and it’s your fault a grown man’s magic career is crumbling.

“It was his fault.” I pointed a finger at Bryce, only to find him already pointing a finger at me.

Amy’s eyes narrowed shrewdly as he looked between us. “Perhaps you two aren’t even the heroes we supposed you to be,” he said slowly.

“Of course we are,” I blurted. This was bad. Now that I’d had Bryce’s lips on mine, I wasn’t exactly ready to turn myself in. I wanted to get home safe with him.

Bryce stepped forward, wobbling a little.

“Relaaaaax, Amy.” He spread his palms, expression mellow, dulled by alcohol.

“We’re definitely legit. Courtney is my not-evil sidekick, and I’m the Chosen One.

I can prove it. For one thing, I won the tournament.

For another…” Gingerly, he plucked the sword off the ground, letting it dangle between his thumb and pointer finger. “I have the sacred sword… ssssSusan?”

Amy shook his head. “Its name is—”

“We call her Susan,” Bryce said, sticking to his guns.

“Sue, for short.” I linked my hands behind my back, nodding wisely.

Bryce spun on me, stumbling over his own feet. “ Sue? Come on, Courtney.”

“Like Susan is better?” I hissed back. “Why is this the hill you chose to die on?”

“Shh, he’ll hear us,” Bryce said, very loudly.

“ Susan is a bad name for a sword, and you know it.” I rolled my eyes.

“Ooh, feel the wrath of Susan. A blade with a name that will strike fear into the hearts of all who hear it. Strike me down with Susan, and together we will rule the galaxy. Even Karen would be a more infamous name, if not fearsome.”

Amy’s eyes bounced between us like he was watching a Ping-Pong match.

He paused, as if waiting to see if we were finished, before continuing, “Ever since you two arrived, the people have been uneasy, and chaos has taken over the land.” Amy wagged a finger.

“Very suspicious. I will assemble the council and sort this matter out once and for all.”

I sobered up real quick. If Amy was onto us and everyone figured out I was an imposter, they might lock me up and have me hung—hanged—hung? Which was something I definitely hadn’t considered when I’d thought turning myself in was a good idea.

“Hold up,” Bryce said. “Let’s talk this out like adults.”

“Yeah, Amy, grow up.” I primly brushed invisible lint off my dress.

“We have an animal sidekick, so there’s nothing to worry about,” Bryce said. “We’re definitely the heroes.”

Amy looked between us. “A talking animal approached you? In the prophecy…” His face went white, and he backed toward the door. “I thought it was a hedgehog, but perhaps I mistranslated. I must discuss this matter with the king. I fear things are not as they seem.”

Before his fumbling fingers could turn the knob, a tiny brown blur dashed under the door, darting between Bryce’s feet—Greg, the animal sidekick in question.

Greg ran, gait off-kilter, as he lugged a jar of peanut butter on his shoulder. The blood drained from Amy’s face as he looked at the rodent by his toes.

“I knew he stole my peanut butter!” I said.

Amy tried to stomp on Greg—a real dick move—gangly limbs flying.

Undeterred, Greg heaved the lid off the peanut butter and shoved his fist inside. “All disputes can be solved over peanut butter,” he said confidently. “It’s how my kin settle matters.”

“I don’t think—” I began, but Greg was already scrambling up Amy’s robes. Amy flapped his arms, trying to shake him free, but Greg clung to the fabric. He wriggled onto Amy’s shoulder.

“Get off me,” Amy yelled. “Cursed beast! Evil foe!”

Greg shoved his peanut butter–coated fist into Amy’s mouth.

Bryce and I both cringed.

Amy sputtered, smacking at the peanut butter. Slowly, the agitation bled from his face.

“See?” Greg hopped to the floor, brushing off his hands and slinging goo everywhere.

Amy coughed several times, working his tongue along the roof of his mouth. He tried to say something, but only a gasp escaped his lips. His face grew red.

“What’s going on?” Blood pounded dully in my ears. My vision was too fuzzy, too unsteady. I drilled the mouse with a glare. “What did you do?”

Amy clutched at his throat. Hives broke across his skin. He fell to his knees.

“Oh, shit,” Bryce said, which was the understatement of the century.

Our mentor, it seemed, had a peanut allergy.

Greg wrung his soggy paws. “I only wished to help by giving him a tasty morsel as a peace offering, my lady.”

Panic seized hold of my limbs. “You call shoving your fist into someone’s mouth an offering ?”

“I was trying to save you,” Greg said.

Bryce ran a shaking hand through his hair. “What do we do? We don’t have an EpiPen. We can’t call nine-one-one. Should we… should we boil water?”

“Why would we boil water?” I bellowed.

“I don’t know! That’s, like, a medieval cure-all, right?” He sank to the floor, scrubbing at his eyes like he could wash away the sight before him.

Amy’s breaths grew ragged and loud. Crawling over to him, Bryce propped him up against a display case and began fanning his face.

“What if we can’t save him?” Bryce’s breaths became as concerning as Amy’s, but where Amy couldn’t get enough oxygen, Bryce gasped in far too much.

“He’ll die because of us. And then we’ll go to prison.

I won’t do well in prison, Courtney. I need Germ-X.

I’ve been known to moisturize . What if they torture us?

I’ve read about those medieval stretching machines. I take back ever wishing I was taller.”

“I was only trying to save you, my lady.” Greg gave me one last pitiful look, his eyes welling with tears, then he scampered into the nearest hole in a wall. This was the problem with animal sidekicks. They caused more problems than they were worth.

I took a deep, shuddering breath. I couldn’t reasonably blame a mouse for thinking peanut butter would solve the world’s problems. Besides, there were other things to worry about. Exhibit A, Bryce on the verge of an anxiety attack. Exhibit B, Amy on the verge of dying.

Squatting, I placed my hands around Bryce’s upper arms and looked him in the eye. “Focus. I know you’re the Chosen One, but stop making the mentor’s tragic death all about you.”

Strangely, that steadied Bryce. He nodded, swiping at his nose with the back of his hand. “We have to make it look like an accident.”

“Oh my god , Bryce. We have to save him. Stop freaking out.” I paced. “We need to find a doctor. Someone discreet.”

Amy let out a phlegmy snort.

“Shh, Amy,” I said distractedly. “We’re trying to think.” I snapped my fingers. “I’ve got it. Remember Leech Dude? I gave him a golden chair the other day. That’s how I got him to tend to you. I’m sure he’d help Amy without telling anyone about our involvement.”

“Amy will tell everyone about our involvement,” Bryce said, practically sobbing.

“No, he won’t,” I said darkly. “Will you, Amy?”

Amy quickly shook his head no .

I jerked my chin at Bryce. “Pack up and follow me.” The high-stress environment was familiar. Not wanted, but familiar. And I knew how to function in high-stress situations, even if I hated being stressed.

Bryce threw the gasping Amy over his shoulder and followed as I sneaked into the hallway. The physician lived deep in the city. We’d have to take the back way out of the castle so as not to be stopped. The problem was, I barely knew the front way.

Several wrong turns and near-misses with servants later, we emerged into the courtyard. It was a good thing Amy looked like he weighed as much as a large cat; otherwise Bryce never would’ve managed.

“We need a horse,” I said. “We’ll never make it on foot.”

“And what,” Bryce asked, panting as he readjusted Amy on his shoulder, “we stash Amy in a bush while we ask the groom for horses?”

I could ask Bryce to wait outside with Amy, but I didn’t think he was in any condition to help the old man if things got worse. If I asked Bryce to go in alone to get the horses, he’d probably panic-confess our entire accidental murder situation to the first person he saw.

“We’ll Weekend at Bernie’s it,” I said with a lot more confidence than a plan that involved the phrase Weekend at Bernie’s deserved.

“Oh yeah, that’ll be much less suspicious. Great thinking, Court. We’ll just ‘ Weekend at Bernie’s ’ our medieval wizard mentor around the city.”

“He’s not dead yet,” I pointed out. “It’s like… Week day at Bernie’s . Far lower stakes. Here, set him on the ground between us, and we’ll prop him up together.”

Shaking his head, Bryce did as I asked. I threw Amy’s arm over my shoulder and wrapped my hand around his back for support. Bryce did the same on the other side.

Amy’s breath rattled moistly in my ear. “Perfect,” I said. “This is fine. Everything is fine.”

“You being supportive makes me feel like everything is not fine.”

Together, we crossed the courtyard, Amy’s feet dragging between us. He was fading fast. When we entered the stable, a groom stopped sweeping and gave us a strange look.

“We need horses,” I said. “Chosen One business.”

“Is Amygronkphopoulozeetrop quite all right?” the guy asked, ducking his head to try to see Amy’s drooping face.

My hand that was around Amy pressed into Bryce’s side. Bryce was shaking, nervous tremors quivering through his muscles every few seconds.

“He’s fine,” I said firmly, trying to send a telepathic message to Bryce: You’re fine.

“Are you certain?” asked the groom.

With a nudge of my shoulder, I sent Amy’s head swinging and talked in a gravelly old person’s voice like a ventriloquist. “Quite all right, youngster. In fact, I could compare my strength to that of an oak leaf, the origin of which can be found ten thousand years ago, when a swamp nymph flew over a field and accidentally dropped an acorn—”

“All right.” The groom waved a hand. “I’ll fetch horses.”