Chapter 1 Goat Intervention #2
The spotted goat who'd been trying to get her attention made a beeline straight for her mat, like he'd been planning this moment his whole life.
“You've been chosen,” I said, settling into child's pose as Professor Martinez guided us through the warm-up.
“Best decision ever,” Artie replied, adjusting her downward dog to accommodate the goat who was now perched on her back like he owned the place.
As we moved through the sequence, more goats explored.
They sought out the people who were most delighted by their presence, which meant Artie quickly became their favorite jungle gym.
By the time we were attempting warrior three, she had two goats perched on her back and a third trying to eat her braids.
“I think they've adopted you,” I said, managing to hold my pose despite the goat that had decided my shoulder was the perfect spot for a nap.
“I’m adopting them,” she replied, reaching back to scratch behind the ear of the goat on her shoulders. “Look at this little face. How could anyone not want to take him home?”
“Pretty sure your dorm has a no-pets policy.”
“Details,” she said airily. “I could smuggle him in. He's small. I bet he'd fit in my backpack.”
“No.”
“I'm just saying, Tempest hid a whole-ass donkey in her sorority house. How hard could it be to have a teensy baby goat in the dorm?”
The joy on her face was infectious. Around us, other students were laughing and taking pictures as the goats explored their temporary playground. This was exactly what I'd been hoping for, Artie forgetting about finals and the future, just being present and happy.
And if I happened to notice the way her eyes lit up when she laughed, or how graceful she looked even with baby goats using her as a climbing structure, well, that was just me appreciating how good it was to see my best friend smile again.
“Okay, everyone, let's move into our final pose,” Professor Martinez called out. “Tree pose. And remember to stay grounded even if your branches have visitors.”
I shifted into the pose, finding my balance just as the goat on my shoulder decided to relocate to my outstretched arms. Beside me, Artie was perfectly steady despite having what looked like the entire goat population draped across various parts of her body.
“Show-off,” I muttered, which made her laugh again.
“It's all about core strength,” she said seriously. “Rugby training. Very applicable to goat management.”
“Goat management is definitely going on your resume.”
“Right under accounting degree.” This mention of her major didn't have that frantic edge of study insanity to it.
I was congratulating myself on a plan well executed when I heard the collective gasp from the other students.
“Oh shit,” I said. The spotted goat was a good twelve feet off the ground, sitting on the bronze statue shoulders of DSU's winningest football coach of all time, a.k.a. my father, Bridger Kingman. His triumphant bleating echoed across the quad, like he'd just conquered Everest.
“Language, Gryff,” Professor Martinez called out, but she was staring up at the statue with the same mixture of amazement and horror as everyone else.
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.”
“Seriously,” Tyler added, shaking his head in amazement. “That coordination was epic. You two must be insane in bed.”
And there it was. The assumption that made both of us freeze for just a second too long before we started talking over each other.
“We're just friends,” Artie said quickly.
“Yep, just friends,” I added, maybe a little too forcefully.
“Right. Good friends. Nothing romantic.”
“Exactly. Just teamwork. Friend teamwork. Friendwork.”
Too many faces in the crowd around us exchanged those knowing looks that said they weren't buying our denials for a second. Which was ridiculous, because we were friends. Best friends. That's all we'd ever been.
“We should get this little escape artist back to his class,” Artie said, obviously eager to change the subject.
“Good idea,” I agreed, grateful for the distraction.
“I'm keeping him,” Artie announced as we approached the sanctuary's truck where the volunteers were trying to corral the rest of the baby goats back into their transport home.
“You can't keep a goat in your dorm room.”
“I'll figure something out. Look how calm he is with me.” She held up the goat, who was indeed perfectly content, though that might have had more to do with the fact that he was currently chewing on her hair tie than any special bond.
“Your roommate is allergic to everything that moves, breathes, or has fur.”
“Details,” she said dismissively, but she handed the goat over to the sanctuary volunteer with obvious reluctance. “Don't be surprised if you find a baby goat in a temporary pen of textbooks eating my notes later.”
“Don't let finals swallow you whole this time or next time I'm bringing in the big guns.” I wagged a finger at her.
Artie rolled her eyes and rocked her shoulders with hands raised as she sing-songed, “Ooh, oh no. What are you gonna do, bring tea-cup piglets to class next time?”
My phone buzzed with a text.
X
Library. Twenty minutes?
“Nope. I'll call your dad and have him give you the work-smarter-not-harder speech. Again.” He gave it to us both before our first semester at DSU in his once-a-semester phone call to her from his oh-so-fancy coaching job in Scotland.
Artie slugged me in the arm. Hard. “Don't you dare.”
“I'm hitting the library. Wanna come so I don't have to extract you from accounting practice test hell again?” I already knew she'd say no. Artie might be an amazing team player, but she had an I-can-do-it-myself, independent-woman streak that was gold medal worthy.
The stink eye she gave me called me on my bullshit. “You're not going to the library to study.”
Shit. Artie knew me too well. But there was something careful about the way she said it, not quite as teasing as I expected from her.
I might hit the library a lot, but it was never to study. I'd figured out my freshman year that the long dark rows of the school's little used top floor were better used for other more fun activities than studying.
“Hey, I have finals too.” That were all going to be a piece of cake.
My phone buzzed with another text.
X
Third floor stacks. Usual spot. Don't let anyone see you.
Right. I hated this secretive hook-up shit. And all I really wanted to do was talk through whatever this not-a-relationship was with Artie or Flynn. But my definitely-not-a-study buddy was complicated, hot as fuck, and great with his mouth.
He also didn't know what the fuck he wanted, except for me. So this was me finding some joy in an unexpected place.
Even if I was better at being the chaos than embracing it.