Page 54 of The Underachiever’s Guide to Love and Saving the World

brYCE

Courtney’s plan was very simple and very stupid: march up to the army and threaten them until they went away.

So simple, it might work. Or, at least, that’s what my hero mouth told everyone. My Bryce brain told me we were going to die.

With Courtney on my right and four buffoons flanking us, we nobly stood together as the city gate creaked open—a side gate where no one could catch us, and the door only opened enough for us to squeeze through one by one.

The blacksmith got stuck halfway, and it became A Whole Affair trying to get him out.

The entire time, the skeleton army watched, which was really embarrassing.

At last, with Cuthbert pushing from the inside and the rest of us pulling tug-of-war-style on the other, he popped out like some kind of medieval Winnie the Pooh.

We reassembled our tough-guy formation and resumed our march, boots thudding into the soft grass as wildflowers swayed and bumblebees buzzed lazily through the pleasant spring air.

The stench of the undead was like roadkill on a hot summer day and only got worse as we approached.

They stood motionless, wind flapping through the tattered remnants of their banners, their undead horses stamping flies off their rotting flesh.

Some pesticide would’ve improved these guys’ quality of life—er, death.

Courtney came to a stop before the army, and with some bumping and jostling, the misfits formed a line behind her.

She squinted against the sun like John Wayne gearing up for a shoot-out.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m Courtney Westra of Lower-Middle-Class America, first of my name, rightful Chosen One, Protector of Nothing, Mother of…

Pearl? Ruler of a Pretty-Okay Residential-Duplex, the Sunburnt, the Breaker of Toaster Ovens.

” Face set, Courtney looked up and down the line of zombies before addressing them again.

“What you guys are doing here is not so chill.”

“I don’t think their being chilly has anything to do with their wanting to burn our city,” Cuthbert piped up from the peanut gallery. “Though I do see how one might suppose so, fire being warm and them lacking skin and whatnot.”

Courtney turned slowly, and I sensed her wanting to glare. “Thank you so much for your contribution.” She’d apparently discovered, as I had, that if we made sarcasm sound sincere enough, we could sneak it through the potion filter.

“Right-ho,” said Cuthbert. “Mayhap we could barter some blankets and coats in exchange for them leaving us alone. Things to keep them warm, like.”

“Yes,” she said excitedly, like she was genuinely encouraging him. “Maybe you could throw in a strudel as a peace offering.”

Cuthbert rubbed the back of his neck and kicked the ground. “That be…” He pointed at Winston. “He makes the strudel, not I, though I’m flattered you mistook me for someone who could make such a fine thing as award-winning strudel.”

I diverted my attention to a skeleton standing a little way ahead of the rest—an exceptionally ugly bastard with a caved-in skull, a missing arm, and a long skin tag dangling from his chin that I desperately wanted to cut off. “What do you guys want?”

The skeleton didn’t blink. Partly because he had no eyes. But I also sensed he didn’t blink figuratively either. Instead, he slowly pointed to the city behind us, tilting his head to the side.

“You can’t take the city.” Courtney stepped forward and poked a finger in the skeleton’s face. “It’s time for you to go.”

His teeth chattered, which was disturbing and unhelpful.

“Don’t give me that attitude,” Courtney said.

He shrugged, rusty armor creaking, decaying skin tag wobbling off his bony jaw.

“We mean it,” I said, the hero potion forcing me to stand my ground even though I wanted to grab Courtney’s hand and run. “Get out of here.”

The skeleton placed his hands on his hips and shook his head. A few surrounding skeletons caught on and began wagging fingers and wobbling their skulls in an obstinate way I didn’t appreciate.

“The undead are making us look foolish, sir,” Winston called helpfully.

“Yep, I got that,” I said, my hero mouth adding, “Thank you. I love and appreciate you.”

“Pack up and leave,” Courtney said to the skeletons, “or we’ll replant you so far down, you’ll be able to make friends with what’s left of the dinosaurs.”

The skeleton recoiled, placing bony fingers over his wide grin in a mocking depiction of a gasp. Nearby skeletons chattered, slapping one another on their backs. Armor clanked. A few bones clattered to the ground.

Our friend with the bashed-in skull—or Bash, for short—started marching around, waving a hand like he was issuing orders. The most deeply unsettling mime, maybe ever. And mimes were already fucking upsetting.

In a truly impressive display of douchebaggery, more skeletons got in on the action, strutting around and wobbling their heads. A few pointed at me, then twisted fists comically over their eye sockets. The very skilled managed to squeeze out a few earthworms like tears.

“Hey!” Courtney said, more emotion in her voice than I’d heard maybe ever. She grabbed Bash by his breastplate and shook him so hard he rattled. “What will raiding the city get you? Why follow Greg’s orders? Make your own choices. You think life is over for you because you’re dead?”

“I think they do, my lady,” Winston said. “I believe they do think it is over for them, seeing as they are dead.”

“Marvelous observation,” Courtney said, eyes bright.

She dropped Bash, who barely managed to keep his footing.

“Your life isn’t over, okay? You’ve got a second chance.

Maybe you got hurt—killed—once before,” she went on, “but that doesn’t mean you should get yourself killed again before you’ve had a chance to live.

” And though Courtney was talking to an ugly skeleton, it felt like she spoke to me.

My heart beat loudly in my ears. Courtney and I changed to be heroes, but in doing so, we erased the flaws that made us unique.

Even if we were right and a relationship between us would’ve burned out, in changing ourselves, we doused the flames before they formed.

The Courtney I’d fallen for was gone. She didn’t like me this way any more than I liked her. We’d messed up big-time.

My thoughts scattered as the skeleton leaned in, leering at Courtney, tilting his head this way and that, inches from her face. The rotten skin tag dangled in front of her nose.

“I hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” Courtney said in an overly cheerful way that made me suspect she didn’t mind that it had come to this. She slapped the skeleton hard across his grubby skull. Palm hit bone with a hollow thwack .

The skin tag went flying.

We watched in slow-mo horrified fascination as it arced across the sky, descending toward Cuthbert’s upturned face.

The skin tag landed wetly, flopping across Cuthbert’s cheek.

Cuthbert let out a perfect Wilhelm scream.

Winston sympathy vomited.

Bash was greatly offended by it all and in silent hysterics, spread fingers quivering over his now-bare skull.

The blacksmith droned on about how he didn’t condone violence in most circumstances, but he hadn’t decided if his views pertained to people after they died—even if they were alive.

Pants picked lint off her pants, because that was all that mattered in her world.

Cuthbert screamed for someone to please remove the rotten chunk of Bash from his face.

“We will bring forth a champion,” Courtney was yelling over the chaos, “to fight one of yours. We will settle this civilly—”

“Dear gods, not like this! Not like this!” Cuthbert howled at the sky, going cross-eyed as he stared in horror at the runaway piece of Bash’s face, which had apparently decided Cuthbert’s face was its new home.

“—and with integrity,” Courtney went on. “I call forth”—she turned to the three-ring circus behind her and pointed at Winston, who tore himself away from his Important Work, which consisted of circling Cuthbert while waving frantic hands and accomplishing nothing of use—“I call forth… you .”

Winston visibly gulped.

“I don’t mean to be a bother,” Cuthbert yelled, “but could someone…” He pointed at the piece of Bash. “We ought to return it to him, don’t you think?”

That was when things went from bad to worse.

The dull pounding of hoofbeats thundered behind us. I turned. A group of horses galloped from the city gates. At their head was a figure on a dumpy donkey wearing flapping purple robes.

Amy.

Behind him rode an army of soldiers.

We needed to get out of here. Now.

I opened my mouth to scream run . Instead, I said, “Let’s take a poll. I’d love to know where everyone’s feelings are regarding the likelihood of our survival. Let’s workshop some solutions. This is a safe space.” It wasn’t. “There are no bad ideas.” There were. “We value your opinions.” We didn’t.

Pants said something about running and pants.

The blacksmith said he felt uncomfortable overall, but he wasn’t sure if that was because of the sickening displays of brutality or because he was breaking in new boots.

Cuthbert gingerly peeled Bash off his face and announced he was okay with whatever the rest of the group wanted to do.

Winston looked among Courtney, the skeletons, and the rest of us, and asked if he was still supposed to be dueling someone, or if that was off the table now.

And Courtney… Courtney didn’t say anything, which meant she wanted to say a lot.

The hero potion made me look each of them in the eye in turn and say, “We hear your concerns,” like I was a politician who did not, in fact, hear anyone’s concerns. “The team’s morale and well-being are our primary focus.”

Thud thud. Thud thud. Thud thud. Horses advanced from behind. Skeletons blocked us in the front.

With the whole team in obvious peril, the word finally ripped from my mouth. “Run!”