Page 1 of The Goat in the Bedroom
GOAT INTERVENTION
GRYFF
Three weeks before finals and my best friend was buried alive under a mountain of practice tests like the academic apocalypse was nigh. I'd seen Artemis get tackled by an entire women's rugby team, then carry half of them down the field on her back to score without breaking a sweat. But watching her lose a fight to a pile of accounting textbooks? That was where I drew the line.
That was my cue to be the guy who stages an intervention. I was going with the nuclear option, weaponized cuteness involving baby animals.
It was time to remind her that some things were more important than accounting finals, like not losing her damn mind. Most guys would let their friends stress-spiral in peace, but I'd never been accused of being that fucking boring. Especially when Artie was involved.
If we weren't having fun together, we were probably dead.
I took the stairs to her dorm three at a time and rapped on her door. I wasn't that surprised I got no response. But I knew she was here by the sound of her binaural beats techno flow study music worming its way into the hall.
The fact that I had to use my emergency key to get into her room told me everything I needed to know about how far gone she was. I was intervening not a moment too soon.
“Jesus donkey, Artie,” I said, surveying the disaster zone that used to be her dorm room. “It looks like your textbooks staged a revolt in here.”
She was buried so deep in papers and books that I could barely see her brown braid poking out from behind the fortress of studying doom. The only sign of life was the swishy sound of a highlighter on paper and the occasional muttered curse.
“How did you get in here?” she asked without looking up. “I locked that door for a reason.”
“Emergency key. You gave it to me for exactly this kind of situation.”
“This isn't an emergency, Gryff. This is responsible adult behavior.”
I picked up one of the practice tests scattered around her like academic confetti. “Artie, you've already taken this same practice test three times. I can see your scores written on all of them.”
“Perfect practice makes perfect.”
“You got a ninety-eight the first time. There's nowhere left to go except completely insane.”
She finally looked up at me, and I bit back a wince. Dark circles under her eyes, hair that hadn't seen a brush in days, and the kind of manic exhaustion that came from too much caffeine and not enough sleep and sunshine.
This is what happened when the rugby season was over. Every damn year. But the added momentum of finals and graduation made it worse this time.
And maybe it was worse for me too, because watching her hurt always made something twist in my chest in a way that went beyond friendship. Not that I'd ever let myself think about thattoo long. We'd both always been with other people anyway, and some things were too important to risk.
“I need to be ready,” she said, gesturing at the chaos around her. “Finals are mere moments away, and I don't want to let my mom down by flunking out of college in my last semester. No one knows if I'll make the Olympic team, and I can't just coast on rugby skills and thick thighs forever.”
“First of all, you absolutely could crush skulls with those thighs and make a living doing that if you wanted to. Second, you're one of the best rugby players in the entire world, so the team is going to be lucky to have you. Also, finals are three weeks away, you already have straight A's, your mom is proud of you no matter what, and she called me asking when you had last left your study cave.”
Her mom hadn’t called me, but that was irrelevant.
Artie looked around like she was genuinely trying to remember what century it was much less if she’d been outside, which was answer enough.
“That's it,” I motioned with my hand for her to get up. “You're coming with me, right the fuck now.”
“I can't. I have four more practice tests to review, and I want to go through the tax section again because I'm still not confident about?—”
“Artie.” I used my captain voice, the one that made three-hundred-pound linebackers shut up and listen. “You're starting to resemble that creepy ghost girl who crawls out of the TV, and I’d be afraid, except you’ve got a cheesy poof in your hair.”
I threw open the blackout curtains, letting the sunshine in, and she hissed at me zombie-style.
“That's what I thought. Come on.” I started gathering up her shoes from where they'd been abandoned by the door. “We're going outside and getting your blood pumping.”
She stuck out her tongue at me.
“Professor Martinez moved class outside today because it's beautiful out and she wants us to connect with nature or some shit like that.” The lie rolled off my tongue smooth as butter. I'd been planning this for two weeks, since the end of the rugby season and the beginning of Artie's villain origin story or whatever the fuck was happening here.
