Page 9 of The Underachiever’s Guide to Love and Saving the World

Oof. That one stung. I might be content with most aspects of my new life, but deep down, part of me still wanted to be loved and appreciated.

Maybe I had been pretending a little. I’d told myself I was displaying the real me, but what if what I showed Bryce was just another mask—one that hadn’t fooled him for a second?

Despite my thinking I’d shredded all my capes, maybe I was still hugging one around me—an ugly, unsightly thing nobody could like. Because it was easier to be despised by making myself despicable than it was to be despised because, underneath all the layers, I truly was as unlovable as I’d feared.

But maybe I needed this cape. It ensured that, if anyone did manage to care for me like this, at my worst, their love was surely true.

“This could be a fresh start,” Bryce was saying, his tone a nauseating, pitying thing that sounded like the faux empathy from my family, right before they realized I wasn’t just going through a postbreakup phase.

“Find a new neighbor you actually like and let them like you back. Don’t let the fear of failure hold you back from wanting more. ”

I bristled. Bryce, scared-of-everything Bryce, was accusing me of being afraid? I didn’t want more for my life; I wanted less. That was the whole point that no one, not even him apparently, could understand. He was just like Will.

A strand of Christmas lights took the tense moment as the prime opportunity to slide off the roof.

One end looped round and round at our feet, while the rest of the strand trailed behind, bulbs skittering merrily over the shingles.

When the tail end finally popped over the gutter and plopped on top of the pile of wires, I looked up at Bryce.

“Maybe I do float through life,” I said dully, turning to go. “But maybe everyone could afford to float a little instead of sprinting toward death. What about you, Bryce? If I should stop being happy with nothing, maybe you should start being happy with something .”

I left then, ducking into the house to grab my puke-green work vest and car keys.

My shift started in approximately thirty seconds, but I always arrived ten minutes late to maintain my reputation and stop myself from falling into my old overachiever habits—habits that might tempt me into taking Bryce’s advice and skipping across the country in search of more when I had everything I needed right here.

By the time I went back outside, Bryce was gone. Out of spite, I plugged the Christmas lights back in before hopping in my car. If I pretended today was just another day, maybe I could pretend the only unconditional relationship I’d ever had wasn’t crumbling.

When I got to work, I did a little grocery shopping on the clock. The home improvement retail store also sold home goods, which was great because I could get everything I needed—home improvement supplies, groceries, and clothing—all at once and get paid doing it.

Slipping from aisle to aisle, I filled my grocery bags. With my vest on, to an outsider, it looked like I was hard at work. To management, it absolutely looked like I was slacking off, but they hadn’t said anything yet. Probably because management Did Not Care almost as much as I Did Not Care.

I picked up some bread, jelly, peanut butter, pizza rolls, and a giant box of condoms, because I had a feeling I’d be looking for a distraction on Tinder later to avoid my feelings.

After I paid for my groceries, it had been a whole hour, and I deserved a rest. And, okay, I knew I wasn’t going to be winning any employee-of-the-month awards for neglecting my job so spectacularly, but frankly I was even less in the mood to care than usual.

I took a pit stop at the break room to nuke my pizza rolls, then I went to my favorite hiding place in the store. Maybe even the world.

The lighting department.

Hundreds of lights shone overhead and all around, from glittering chandeliers to lantern-shaped outdoor lights. Warm, glowing, magical. It made me feel surreal, like a sliver of magic existed in the real world.

My grown-up daydreams about magic were different from the ones I’d had as a child. All I wanted was a tiny alternate reality where I could simply be , somewhere I didn’t have to repopulate, run, or save the world to have value. A place like that truly would be magical.

Is Bryce really just like Will? a little voice in the back of my head asked. Will had pressured me to return to the life he liked me in, with his love as the reward for my compliance. All Bryce had encouraged me to do was find happiness and consider letting someone in.

And move to California for some reason , a second, more spiteful voice in my head reminded me. Probably because he figured I’d need to change my whole life to become acceptable enough for someone to even want to be let into my heart. Just. Like. Will.

After that fun mental pit stop to refuel my wrath, I made my way to the center of the aisle, where the clothing rack stood proudly.

It was one of those circular clothing racks, the ones kids hide in the center of when their moms take too long shopping.

No matter how many times other employees dragged it back to its own department, I always dragged it back here.

I parted the heavy coats and ducked inside. The coats hung to the floor, creating a sort of tent with an open roof. Overhead, the lights sparkled like stars. Settling in, I rested my back against the metal post in the center, ate a few pizza rolls, and let my eyes shut.

Screw Bryce. He didn’t know me at all. How dare he assume I’d never tried to make something out of myself?

It wasn’t my fault I wasn’t destined to be a hero.

As I floated awake, I became aware that the lighting department, usually hot and stuffy, was cool and crisp. I squinted my eyes open. The lights overhead were as pretty as ever.

Prettier, even.

But I could tell that something was off in the way the whole world felt different after you learned Santa wasn’t real. Like, you’d always suspected the world wasn’t the way people told you it was, but you were disappointed all the same.

I squinted, trying to process what I was seeing, but my mind was fuzzy with that post-nap daze where you had no idea how long you’d slept or where you were.

Suddenly, it clicked and my eyes flew wide. Those weren’t lights overhead.

An evening sky stretched above me, periwinkle and dusty rose, sprinkled with glittering stars. Stringy clouds webbed across them like strands of spun sugar. And instead of coats creating a circle above me, there were faces .

Some old dude hovered over my head, his long white beard tickling my nose. Then, one by one, more people came into focus, framing the sky: a guy wearing a full suit of armor, a guy with pointy ears, and a short guy with a beard.

A middle-aged man joined them, squeezing in next to the ancient dude. The new man looked like he could be someone’s dad whose one spark of joy came from his wife letting him play golf every other month—except a giant golden crown rested on his depressed-dad brow.

Maybe I should’ve been freaking out or in denial, but enough of the little girl who clung to magic was still alive inside me that I believed .

I’d been transported to another world.

My first thought was: How? I’d hung out in the coatrack before and had never been shipped off to a different universe. Maybe it was the combination of things I’d brought with me. Between the groceries, a splash of wistfulness, and a side of rage, maybe I’d unwittingly created some kind of portal.

Or, if I didn’t create the portal, then for what purpose could I have been brought here?

That last question, at least, was quickly answered as the old dude leaned in closer to study me. He wrung his hands, his beard swaying in front of my eyes. “The Chosen One,” he rasped, unwinding his hands and extending one long, shaking finger until it stopped inches above my forehead.

I went cross-eyed, scrutinizing his crusty finger. So, maybe this guy had summoned me?

While part of me screamed that this was exactly what I was leaving behind from my old life—trying to be everyone’s hero—the little girl I’d bid farewell to a long time ago flipped with excitement and joy. It finally happened! I knew I was destined for more!

I glanced around to find everyone looking at me like I was their savior. Like I mattered . After months of dismissal, I couldn’t deny the warmth those looks inspired. The people-pleasing little girl inside of me basked in it.

This was my childhood dream—the grand adventure I always thought would come—

Ten years too late.

I reminded myself this wasn’t the magical world I’d had in mind as I’d sat dreaming in my coatrack. I didn’t want to be anyone’s hero anymore.

Pushing aside Old Guy’s finger, I sat up and saw my groceries laying scattered around me on the slimy cobblestone road.

Then I noticed a large horde of what I knew from years watching movies and reading fairy tales could only be described as peasants surrounding me.

In the background, some guy with his head and wrists stuck through a board was being brutally tortured via tomatoes.

Flickering streetlamps reflected in the wet cobblestone road, mirroring the starlight above.

White-and-brown timber-framed houses circled the courtyard.

Light glowed from thick, milky windows, making the dingy scene look charming, like a Thomas Kinkade painting.

This must be a mistake. I was no Chosen One, no matter what the old dude—who was clearly supposed to be a wise wizard type—claimed.

No one wanted a burned-out twentysomething to save their world. I almost felt bad, smothering the hope-filled little girl I used to be with jaded cynicism, but I felt ridiculous, like some kind of overgrown Percy Jackson poser.

These people were too late if they wanted me to be their champion against whatever evil surely plagued them.

Maybe once, when I didn’t know better, but not now .

I’d fail them on whatever quest they were about to send me on.

I wasn’t hero material—and not in the way farm boys with hearts of gold told themselves they “weren’t hero material” right before they saved the world and become the poster child for “hero material.”

I was an incompetent deadbeat who paid my rent late.

How could I protect anyone when my weakness for deal-hunting on sketchy websites made me a frequent victim of identity theft?

I couldn’t save the world when I couldn’t even manage to save leftovers properly.

I avoided commitment to the point I refused to start a Hulu miniseries; no way was I taking on this kind of responsibility.

Being special was overrated. Trying to be more only ended in pain and disappointment.

Right as I decided that whatever world I had just been transported to would be better off without me, the crowd started murmuring and pointing. I turned around, and there, standing on the other end of the courtyard, was Bryce.

It finally made sense.

This wasn’t about me. It was Bryce’s birthday, Bryce’s magical awakening, Bryce’s world. I must have accidentally been dragged along for the ride.

And that was when unexpected fury began boiling in my veins.

How dare he tell me to find a dream to chase, then show up here mere hours later to steal the dream I’d spent most of my life chasing?

I’d tried and tried, and when I had finally given up, here he was, taking the thing I’d desperately wanted for so long as though it were easy.

Fate wasn’t fair, the way it chose some and not others.

For the first time in a long time, ambition coursed through me, awakening my every nerve. Bryce was wrong. I wasn’t scared. Screw destiny and screw the universe and screw Bryce. I was taking back my dream.

I imagined all the cheering peasants hoisting me on their shoulders after I saved the day, imagined being knighted and revered and adored while Bryce sulked in the shadows.

Maybe I was just a scrappy peasant, and not a Chosen One, but that meant I had grit.

Bryce wasn’t that impressive. I could be a better hero than an (inconveniently pretty) accountant with a vending machine phobia.

That would put him in his place if I, the giant loser that he thought was such a failure, could be a better Chosen One than him.

I’d save the freaking world out of spite.