Page 4 of The Goat in the Bedroom
I looked up at the statue, mentally calculating approaches. The bronze was smooth and offered limited handholds, but it wasn't impossible. Dad's statue was positioned mid-stride, one arm extended like he was calling a play, which could provide leverage if you knew what you were doing. Flynn and I had climbed it as kids more than once.
“Someone should call campus security,” a worried voice from the gathering crowd suggested.
“Or the fire department,” someone else added.
But Artie was already standing up, brushing off her yoga pants and moving toward the statue.
“I can get him,” she said, and something about the certainty in her voice made me believe her completely. “Plus, he came to me first, so he trusts me.”
As if to prove her point, the goat looked down at her and bleated what sounded distinctly like a plea for help.
“See? He's asking for backup.”
I looked at the statue again, then at Artie, then back at the goat who was now looking significantly less triumphant and more scared as he realized his predicament.
“Bring those football muscles over here.” Artie said, already assessing the situation. “If you boost me up on your shoulders, I can reach his shoulders from there.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” I said, moving onto the big stone base of the statue. No discussion needed, no argument about who should go or how we should do it. We'd been working as a team for so long that this felt as natural as breathing.
“I'm ready,” I said, moving to the base of the statue.
“You sure about this?” Professor Martinez asked, wringing her hands. “Maybe we should wait for professionals.”
“The goat's scared,” Artie said simply. “And the longer he stays up there, the more panicked he's going to get.”
She was right. I could see the little guy's confidence fading as he looked down at the crowd gathering below. What had seemed like a great adventure was starting to feel like a very bad idea.
“Okay,” I said, holding out my hands ready to boost her up. “Let's go save a goat.”
The trust between us was absolute. Artie stepped into my hands without hesitation, and I grabbed her waist, lifting her up to land her ass right on my shoulder.
“How's the view?” I called up.
“Your dad's got excellent posture,” she replied, testing her balance. “Very heroic. Good bone structure.”
“I'll be sure to pass along the compliment.”
The crowd around us had grown to at least fifty people, all of them recording what was definitely going to be viral by tonight. But I was focused entirely on Artie as she prepared for the next part of our impromptu rescue mission.
“Ready for phase two?” I asked, positioning myself directly beneath the goat.
“Ready,” she said, reaching toward the goat with infinite patience. “Hey there, little guy. Ready to come down from your big adventure?”
Her voice had taken on that gentle tone she used with all animals, soft and reassuring. The goat looked at her, then at the crowd below, then back at her, clearly weighing his options.
“That's it,” she murmured. “You're okay. I've got you.”
And then, with a soft bleat that sounded almost like relief, the goat stepped forward into her waiting arms.
The crowd around us on the quad erupted. Phones were flashing everywhere, capturing the moment from every angle.
“Victory,” Artie called down, grinning as she cradled the goat against her chest.
“Hell yeah,” I replied, carefully helping her down from my shoulders.
The moment her feet touched the ground, we were surrounded by cheering students. The goat, meanwhile, seemed completely unbothered by his adventure and was already trying to eat Artie's hair.
“That was incredible,” a girl from our class said, still recording. “You guys are, like, perfect together.”
