Page 130 of The Goat in the Bedroom
And maybe a couple of goats who'd proven themselves to be excellent judges of character.
“Vincent Van Goat,” I said solemnly, “Holly Goatlightly, you're officially the best judges of character in this family.”
They both looked up at me, pieces of Sloane still hanging from their mouths, looking enormously proud of themselves.
As they should be.
They'd delivered the perfect verdict. Stinky, but perfect.
HOLLY JOLLY KINGMANS
ARTEMIS
“Fraser! Get your ass over here.” Coach Maher's voice carried across the pitch.
I jogged over, still breathing hard from our final practice before Christmas break. My teammates were already gathering, and I could see Gryff and Flynn setting up something behind Coach.
“What's going on?”
“What's going on,” Coach said, grinning, “is that someone forgot to mention they were ready to make a certain announcement this week.”
Gryff and Flynn pulled out a massive banner that read “TEAM USA BOUND” with my number and a truly terrible photo of me from my first practice where I'd face-planted in the mud.
“Oh my god, you guys.”
“Our girl's going to the Olympics,” Adrianna, our fly-half, shouted, and suddenly I was at the bottom of a pile of celebrating teammates.
“Can't... breathe...” I gasped, but I was laughing.
When they finally let me up, Coach handed me an unoffcial-official Team USA Rugby jersey with my name on it. “Came byspecial delivery this morning. I wanted to make sure you had it for Christmas.”
I held it up, and my throat got tight. Fraser. Number 15. Team USA.
Of course nothing would be official until a few months before the actual Olympics. But I was committed to Team USA and would do everything I could do to support the team win or lose.
We took about a million and two pics and I posted a slideshow of the announcement to my shiny new InstaSnap. Parker had made me do it, and for the most part posted content for me. If she wasn't such an IT genius, she'd be a great branding and marketing guru. I was already at a couple thousand followers and it grew every day. She said I was bound for sponsorships and a Sportsy award.
Just a few moments later, my phone buzzed with a call from my dad. I'd meant to call him before making the decision public, but team excitement and the twins shenanigans got the better of me.
“Hi, Dad.”
“So. Team USA.” His voice was carefully neutral with that Scottish rumble.
“Team USA,” I confirmed.
There was a long pause. “Your mother said this would happen. Said you were too American now.”
“Dad—“
“I'm proud of you, Artemis.” His voice cracked slightly. “Disappointed, aye, but proud. You've chosen your own path. That takes courage.”
“I'll still see you at international matches,” I offered. “When we destroy Scotland.”
He barked out a laugh. “Cheeky girl. We'll see about that.”
“I love you, Dad.”
“Love you too, hen. Give my best to that boy of yours. He's good for you.”
