Artemis the Brave

by Williams, Suzanne; Holub, Joan

  “What kinds of things?”

  “Things like archery?” Athena suggested pointedly.

  Artemis sighed again. The problem was, her friends liked her just the way she was. Well, the way they thought she was, anyway. How surprised they’d be to know she wasn’t always as confident as they believed! They also seemed to imagine that guys would like the same things about her that they did.

  “Just keep being yourself. If he doesn’t like the real you, he’s not worth having,” Aphrodite advised.

  Artemis nodded and headed for her locker, still feeling a bit lost and not at all sure she’d learned anything that would help make Orion like her the way she wanted him to. But maybe she was wrong, for the minute Orion saw her in the hall, he rushed up and grabbed her in a bear hug, twirling her around.

  “Mega-mazing news!” he said when he set her down. “I got the part! Principal Zeus chose me to play Eros in The Arrow!”

  Artemis stared at him in astonishment. He’d been awful at target practice. How had he managed to land the lead role when he couldn’t even shoot? Beyond him, she saw Dionysus talking to Apollo by their lockers. She felt a little guilty that Dionysus had lost the part, but what could she do?

  “I’m going to need your help to run my lines,” Orion said, snagging her attention again. Looking up into his twinkling eyes, she was dazzled anew by his good looks. This handsome, shimmery guy wanted to hang out with her instead of all the other girls he might have chosen? That was nothing short of, well, mega-mazing!

  “Okay,” she agreed quickly.

  Nearly two weeks later, Artemis sat in the amphitheater after school watching rehearsals for The Arrow. Aphrodite and Orion were onstage acting out their parts, with Zeus sitting in the front row giving direction. She hadn’t seen Orion shoot yet, but tomorrow was the first dress rehearsal with arrows and costuming, and she was a little worried about what would happen.

  “But I don’t love you, Eros,” said Aphrodite, reciting her lines. “Not really. And you only think you love me. If you hadn’t accidentally shot yourself with one of your love-tipped arrows, neither of us would have fallen in love in the first place.” She paused, wrinkling her brow like she was trying to remember her next line. The rehearsal was nearly over, and this was the first time she’d faltered.

  “I must tell you that I have sworn never to marry,” Artemis called out from where she sat, third row center, with a script in her hand. Orion had asked her to cue him if he forgot a line. So far he hadn’t, but she’d cued the other actors as needed.

  “Thanks!” Aphrodite called down to her.

  After Aphrodite said her line, Orion continued with his. “That is only because you have been bespelled by a cruel goddess into mistakenly believing you cannot love.”

  Aphrodite whirled toward him and opened her mouth, preparing to speak her next line.

  Only before she could utter a word, Orion went on, “I know you trust me not, for I am a god and you are but a nymph and therefore not immortal.”

  Artemis sat up straighter, confused. He had changed Aphrodite’s line slightly so that it made sense for his character to say it instead of hers! Then he kept going, well past the part he was supposed to recite.

  “Those are Aphrodite’s lines,” Artemis and Principal Zeus corrected him at the same time.

  “Yes, I know,” Orion told Zeus, flashing his smile. “But don’t you think it would be more effective if my character says them instead?”

  Zeus shook his massive head of unruly red curls. “Nope.”

  “But the pathos of it will ring truer if it comes from me, don’t you think?” insisted Orion.

  “Nope,” said Zeus.

  “Sounds like Orion is trying to steal Aphrodite’s lines,” a voice whispered from behind her. Artemis turned to see that Persephone had come to sit behind her.

  “He’s not stealing them,” she protested. “He and Zeus are simply having an artistic difference of opinion.” During her script-reading sessions with Orion the week before, he’d explained all about artistic differences of opinion. Apparently, it was something he encountered a lot with temperamental directors. And Zeus wasn’t exactly easy to get along with. History was littered with stories of the troubles his mood swings had wrought in the world.

  “One other thing, Principal Zeus,” Orion said, drawing her attention. “In the scene where Poseidon is supposed to walk on water, I was thinking it might be more interesting if my character did the waterwalk. It would emphasize my godliness. And in the place where Dionysus battles the dreaded scorpion— I think that might work better if I did the fighting.”

  Behind him, Artemis could see Poseidon and Dionysus glaring daggers at Orion’s back. Their faces were so angry that she wouldn’t have been surprised to see fire curl out of their mouths, like the dragon Hades had painted on the backdrop.

  “For now, let’s just carry on according to the script,” Zeus told him.

  “But—,” began Orion.

  Zeus held up a big beefy hand. “I’ll think about it.”

  That seemed to pacify Orion for the moment, and the rehearsal continued. When Zeus dismissed them at the end, Orion went to speak to Aphrodite. Gesturing animatedly with his hands, he said something that made her frown. A minute later she stomped off the stage. Seemingly unaware of his effect on her, he walked toward Dionysus and Poseidon to point out something that seemed to annoy them as well.

  Artemis and Persephone jumped up to intercept Aphrodite. “What did Orion say to you?” asked Persephone.

  “He keeps trying to give me acting lessons,” Aphrodite complained. “He thinks he’s the director!”

  “I’m sure he’s only trying to help,” said Artemis. Orion had so much more experience with theater than everyone else.

  Aphrodite frowned. “Well, he’s not helping. Would you ask him to stop?”

  “Me? Why don’t you ask him?”

  “I have, but he won’t listen. First he won the lead from poor Dionysus. But it looks like that isn’t enough for him. He’s trying to make his part bigger by stealing all the best lines and scenes from everyone for himself. I’m beginning to think your brother was right about him. Orion’s an egomaniac.”

  “He does seem ambitious,” Persephone said as if to soften Aphrodite’s remark.

  Though his ambition troubled Artemis a little too, she pushed her concern away. “He’s used to being a star and—”

  Aphrodite cut her off. “Why do you keep defending him?”

  “Because,” Artemis said lamely.

  “Because you like him,” said Aphrodite, folding her arms.

  Artemis shrugged, a little embarrassed. “Because I think he’s mega-tastic.”

  “Stop saying that word, ‘mega,’” said Aphrodite. “You’re starting to sound just like him. And that’s not a compliment.”

  Artemis glanced at Persephone, hoping for support. After all, no one, including herself, had liked Hades much when Persephone first started seeing him. If anyone would understand what Artemis was going through, it would be her.

  But Persephone just shrugged. “Aphrodite’s right. All you’ve talked about for the last week is Orion, Orion, Orion. If anyone says a word against him, you take his side.”

  “I’m sorry you don’t like him,” said Artemis, feeling a little annoyed. “I think he’s interesting. Just as you find Hades interesting,” she couldn’t help adding. “Don’t you think you could be as wrong about Orion as I—and everyone else—was about Hades?”

  “I guess so,” Persephone said uncertainly.

  Aphrodite sighed. “Okay, point taken. New topic. So, are we all still on for shopping this weekend? Athena’s busy rehearsing with the chorus now, but she said she’s up for it tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Artemis!” Orion snapped his fingers. “Where’s my script?”

  At the sound of his voice, Artemis jumped. “Coming!” she called to him. Then, in a quieter voice, she told her friends, “Sorry, but I can’t make it this weekend. I p
romised to help Orion with his lines before the play starts next week. You guys have fun without me, though.”

  Aphrodite stalked a few steps away. Then she turned around and glared at Artemis. “First rule of friendship: Never, ever dump your friends over a guy.”

  Persephone touched Artemis’s arm. “We just don’t want you to get hurt. Think about what we said, okay?”

  What in the world is she talking about? wondered Artemis. Why would she get hurt? She and Orion were getting along astronomically well, thank you very much. He spent more time with her than anyone.

  “Artemis?” Orion called impatiently.

  “Gotta go,” she told her friends, dashing off. Oomph. Not looking where she was going, Artemis ran straight into her brother halfway across the room.

  “Thought I might find you here,” said Apollo.

  “Huh?” Then she noticed he was carrying his bow and quiver. She put her fingers to her lips in horror. “Oh no! I forgot archery practice this afternoon, didn’t I?”

  His expression tightened. “Exactly.”

  “I’m so sorry. It’s just that I got caught up in the play.”

  Apollo’s brows went up. “Since when do you like theater more than archery?”

  She shrugged. “Well . . .” Her eyes went to the stage and Orion.

  Apollo followed her gaze. His eyes narrowed. “I don’t get it. What do you see in that guy?”

  “What do you see in that nymph, Daphne?” she shot back.

  “Huh? I thought you liked her. She’s nice, and . . .” Apollo had the good grace to blush as he realized she’d turned the tables on him. “Touché.”

  Softening a little, Artemis said, “For one thing, I think Orion’s performances are . . . magical. He’s really good.”

  “Good at acting,” Apollo conceded. “Has it ever occurred to you that he might only be pretending he likes you to get you to do things for him?”

  Artemis took a half step back, as wounded as if he’d shot her with an arrow. He looked sorry for what he’d said, but she didn’t give him a chance to apologize or explain. She was too mad now. “Worry about yourself, not me,” she told him as she stomped off. “I’ll see you at the contest tomorrow morning.”

  Shoot

  THE NEXT MORNING ARTEMIS WAS RUNNING late. Frantically she searched her room yet again for the silver arrows her friends had given her for her birthday.

  “Opsis! Loxos! Hekaergos!” she called for what seemed like the millionth time. Why didn’t her arrows show themselves? Tossing things this way and that, she made one last try at finding them. A knock sounded on her door, and she called out, “Come in!”

  Aphrodite flung it open and leaned in. Still in her bright pink nightie with faux phoenix feathers around the hem, she yawned, looking beautiful even though she’d obviously just gotten out of bed. “What’s all the racket?”

  “I can’t find my silver arrows,” said Artemis.

  “You lost something in this mess? How could that happen?” Aphrodite teased. She seemed to have momentarily forgotten yesterday’s tiff. Or maybe she was just still half-asleep.

  “This is important!” insisted Artemis. “I’m supposed to meet Apollo on the Olympic field for the archery contest this morning.”

  Aphrodite straightened and came inside, suddenly all business. “When did you see them last?”

  Artemis thought for a second, recalling it had been when she’d taken Orion to the Forest of the Beasts. “A few weeks ago,” she admitted. As soon as she said it, she realized she hadn’t practiced archery since then. Every minute of her time outside of class had been devoted to Orion and what he wanted or needed. She’d neglected her friends, her brother, and her archery. She was even behind in her homework.

  “Okay, don’t panic. I’ll help.” Aphrodite dove into the piles of clothing, dog toys, old school projects, and athletic equipment scattered across the floor. “Oh, hi, Suez. Hi, Amby, Nectar,” Artemis heard her say as she discovered them snoozing under a mountain of laundry. Aphrodite dug deeper, tossing things out of her way: wrinkled chitons and bent scrolls with drawings of dogs that Artemis had made in elementary school. Barbells. A broken javelin. A head form with poorly applied makeup and a spiky wig that was so hideous that Aphrodite dropped it in fright.

  “Hey! My fourth-grade Beauty-ology project. I wondered where that went,” said Artemis, picking it up. Giving the wig a fond pat, she then tossed it over her shoulder and continued searching.

  Awake now, Artemis’s dogs joined in the search, snuffling through the piles. Though they couldn’t actually know what they were hunting for, they were always ready to dig.

  Eventually Aphrodite emerged from the mess, victorious. “Found them!”

  Seeing the shimmering shafts in Aphrodite’s raised hand, Artemis smiled in relief. “Oh, thank godness.”

  “Why didn’t you come when I called, arrows?” she asked as she took them from Aphrodite. They didn’t respond, but she didn’t have time to wonder why. Quickly she slipped them into her quiver.

  She started to dash out the door, but then turned back to look at Aphrodite. “Wish me luck?” she asked. It was the same request Aphrodite had made of her during auditions for the play. Artemis could see from Aphrodite’s smile that she remembered.

  “Knock ’em dead,” she said, giving Artemis the same answer.

  Artemis shot her a quick grin, glad that Aphrodite didn’t seem mad anymore. “I’m off!” She ran for the door, her dogs at her heels.

  “I’ll change and be right behind you to watch from the stands,” promised Aphrodite.

  “Thanks!” Artemis and her hounds flew down the hall, the stairs, and across the school courtyard. Before she knew it, she was on the archery field behind the gymnasium. Zeus, who was going to judge the contest, was already there, along with ten teams of competitors and an audience of onlookers.

  “You came,” said Apollo, looking relieved when he saw her.

  “Of course. I’m your teammate,” said Artemis. “I told you I’d be here!”

  “I never know with you these days,” said Apollo. “And you missed the practice session already. The contest is about to begin.”

  Artemis winced at his criticism. She knew she’d let him down recently, but she was determined to make it up to him. As they watched, the first two archers stepped up to the shooting line. Then another team, and another. They were all good, but she and Apollo were better. After the round was nearly over, their turn came. They stepped up to the firing line. It was time to strut their stuff.

  “Hey, Artie,” someone called.

  Artemis looked up. “Orion? What are you doing here?”

  “Same as you. Competing.” He raised his bow. A quiver was slung over one of his shoulders.

  “By yourself?” asked Artemis.

  He smiled. “Sure, why not? The rules don’t say you have to be a team. I’ll just shoot twice as much.”

  “Mr. Big Shot, as usual,” Apollo scoffed, but only loud enough for her to hear. “Is he going to be competition for us?”

  Laughter bubbled from Artemis. She put a hand over her mouth, trying to suppress it. “Um, no.” She liked Orion, but he was a terrible archer. Why had he even bothered to enter this contest? And why hadn’t he told her he’d be entering? When Zeus saw how bad he was, he might lose the part. She’d hate for him to be embarrassed like that.

  “Artemis? Apollo?” Principal Zeus prompted. “You’re up.”

  Eager to show up Orion and win the competition, Apollo went first. His golden arrow zoomed straight, singing a phrase from one of his band’s songs:

  Nature’s music I inspire,

  with my gold, harmonious lyre.

  Zzzing! “Bull’s-eye!” called Zeus.

  “Good work,” Artemis murmured as she took his place, preparing to shoot.

  “Artemis!” voices called out to her. She glanced to one side and saw that Aphrodite, Persephone, and Athena had come to cheer her and Apollo on. Hades, Poseidon, and Dionysus were in
the stands as well.

  Nodding at them, she then turned her attention to the contest and pulled out her first arrow. In the sunlight, she noticed something odd. It seemed a little too glittery. And it was gold, not silver.

  “What’s up?” asked Apollo, glancing at the arrow. “I thought you were going to use the silver arrows you got for your birthday.”

  “I was,” said Artemis. “I don’t know where this one came from, but it’s not mine.”

  “Next!” Zeus boomed, sounding impatient. Artemis had little choice but to use the only arrows she had. She stepped up to the line, took careful aim, and released her bowstring.

  Zzzing! Her arrow flew toward the center of the target. But a few feet short of its destination, it began to wobble. Then it fell, poking point-first into the ground. It hadn’t even managed to reach the target! Artemis just stood there, staring in shock. That had never, ever happened to her before.

  “Guess that’s why they named you Artie-miss,” Orion called out. In the audience, his admirers laughed at his joke, and his smile widened.

  “What happened?” Apollo asked her.

  “I don’t know.” Humiliated, Artemis could only stare at the target, replaying her misguided shot in her mind over and over again.

  “You should have spent more time on the practice field,” Apollo chided.

  “You know that’s not it. It was that arrow!” Artemis protested. “It was trained by a really, really bad archer.”

  Halfway down the line, Orion stepped up to take his turn. His form was terrible. He had no skill. Yet when he released his arrow, it flew straight and true to pierce the end of Apollo’s, in the bull’s-eye.

  “Ye gods! He split my arrow right down the middle!” said Apollo. “You’re the only archer good enough to do that.”

  Now that the first round was over, the all-clear signal was given and everyone went to retrieve their arrows from the targets. After picking hers up, Artemis looked at it closely. Something wasn’t quite right. She scratched at the shaft with her fingernail. It wasn’t metal—it was wood! The glittery gold was just a coating! And it was the exact same color as Orion’s shimmer spray.