Artemis the Loyal (Goddess Girls)

by Holub, Joan

  Once again, Apollo’s face had turned red and splotchy with embarrassment and anger. “Hey,” said Artemis. “I’m sure he didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  Apollo scowled at her. “Maybe it’s time we did more stuff on our own,” he said. “Starting now.” Turning his back on her, he stalked off toward a trail at the side of the courtyard. Artemis hurried after him. “But—”

  “Stop following me!” Apollo yelled over his shoulder.

  “Fine!” she yelled back. “Be that way!” For the moment she was too mad to care if he ever came back! Still, there was a lump in her throat as she whipped around. She crossed the courtyard, then climbed the granite steps to the school’s massive bronze front doors. Venting her frustration, she yanked them open.

  She entered the main hall to find a bunch of students crowded around a sign that hung on the enormous column by the trophy case, where notices were always posted. Drawing closer, she saw that it was an announcement of a special event that was to be the grand finale of this year’s Olympics.

  “What’s a Python-o-thon?” she heard someone ask. Curious herself, she began to read:

  Attention Athletes:

  There’s a new event this year

  in the Olympic Games:

  THE PYTHON-O-THON!

  Think you have what it takes to tangle with

  the biggest, baddest, trickiest serpent ever—

  The Parnassus Python?

  Then enter this contest if you dare.

  But beware!

  Mere athletic prowess won’t be enough.

  You’ll need your wits as well.

  Correctly answer two tricky riddle-questions

  the python puts to you,

  and you’ll win this grand prize:

  YOUR VERY OWN TEMPLE!*

  Artemis gasped. This was some prize! No wonder everyone seemed so excited. Noticing the asterisk at the end, her eyes automatically sought out the footnote at the bottom of the poster. She found this:

  *Warning: Winning will be harder than you think. Hundreds have already tried. And failed. Good luck to all athletes!

  Underneath, someone had added four handwritten words: But no girls allowed.

  She gritted her teeth, wondering which of the god-boys had added that qualification. It wouldn’t surprise her to find out it was Actaeon. But it could have been one of the giants, too. Or Ares. Or even Apollo if he’d been in the main hall before she saw him out in the courtyard.

  “Wish I could enter,” someone said wistfully. Artemis turned to find Medusa standing behind her. “Bet I could beat that python. Snakes don’t scare me.” The green girl reached up to stroke her snaky hair, and her reptiles twined fondly around her wrist like bracelets.

  Talk about an unlikely ally! She and Medusa hardly ever saw eye to eye about anything. Of course, Artemis had no interest in this contest herself. She didn’t really like tangling with beasts. But why shouldn’t someone like Medusa, or, say, Athena—who was smarter than all the boys at MOA put together—be able to participate in such a contest of wits?

  “You should be able to enter,” Artemis said firmly.

  Medusa gave her a guarded smile. “You think so?”

  “Definitely,” said Artemis. Someone had to stand up for the girls. It might as well be her! “It’s not fair that we can’t compete in the Games if we want to. And I’m going to go talk to Principal Zeus about it. Right now!”

  4

  Visiting Zeus

  STOP! YOU CAN’T GO IN THERE!” ALL NINE OF Ms. Hydra’s heads swiveled to look at Artemis as she raced past the administrative assistant and burst into Zeus’s office unannounced.

  Before she could lose her nerve, Artemis blurted in a rush, “I have something important to say! It’s about the—” Suddenly she stopped, her shoulders drooping. The golden throne behind the principal’s desk was empty! Zeus wasn’t even here. But then she heard his unmistakable booming voice.

  “WHAT THE—?” he thundered in surprise. Whipping around, Artemis gasped when she saw him. Not because of his intimidating appearance, though that was terrifying enough since he was seven feet tall with bulging muscles, wild red hair, and piercing blue eyes. No, it wasn’t that. It was because he was standing there with his feet braced wide, holding an entire four-drawer filing cabinet horizontally over his head. And he seemed poised to hurl it at her!

  “MS. HYDRA?” he bellowed toward the door. “I THOUGHT I ASKED YOU NOT TO LET ANY-ONE INTO MY OFFICE UNTIL I FINISHED MY WORKOUT!”

  Ms. Hydra’s long-necked grumpy green head had followed Artemis and was poking through the doorway frowning at her. “Don’t blame me. I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen!”

  “It’s important,” Artemis repeated, clasping her hands anxiously.

  Eyeing her, Zeus continued pumping the file cabinet up and down, muscles flexing. Then, he sighed deeply. “Oh, all right. It’s okay, Ms. Hydra.” As Ms. Hydra’s head snapped back out the door, Zeus tossed the cabinet over his shoulder to crash-land on its bottom end a few feet behind him. BOOM!

  “Take a seat,” he said, pointing her toward a small chair in front of his desk as he headed around to his throne. Her chair’s flowered cushion had a hole, where its stuffing poked out on the side. One of Zeus’s little accidents, she supposed. He was always zapping stuff with electrical sparks that flew from the tips of his fingers.

  As Artemis scooped discarded Thunder Bar wrappers and a gym towel off the chair seat so she could sit, she gazed around the office. Files, scrollazines, papyrus maps, and empty bottles of Zapple were scattered everywhere. Scorch marks from errant thunderbolts covered the walls.

  Seeing her stare, Zeus added, “Something wrong?”

  “Nope,” she said honestly. Everything looked fine to her. After all, her dorm room wasn’t any tidier!

  Zeus stepped behind his desk and lowered himself onto his huge golden throne. “Now, what’s this all about, uh—?” He glanced at her questioningly.

  “Artemis,” she supplied.

  “Right. The archer,” he said. Everyone knew that he wasn’t good with names, so she wasn’t offended he’d forgotten hers. And at least he’d remembered her skill with a bow and arrow. Suddenly leaning forward with his arms folded on top of the mass of papers on his desk, he pinned her to the chair with his intense blue eyes. “Well? Out with it! What’s so important?”

  Artemis gulped, staring at the wide, flat, golden bracelets that encircled his wrists. And the thunderbolt trophy on his desk that stood three feet tall. She squirmed in her chair. Now that she had his full attention, she didn’t feel quite so sure of herself. It was hard to feel confident talking to someone who was not only principal, but King of the Gods and Ruler of the Heavens too! No one told Zeus what to do. No one. Not even Athena, and she was his daughter!

  “I—um—” Artemis hesitated, trying to think how to phrase what she wanted him to do without making him mad.

  He drummed his fingertips on the desktop impatiently. With each tap, sparks of electricity zinged from his fingers. A curl of smoke wafted upward from one of the papers. Before she could jump up and put the fire out, Zeus slammed his fist down, snuffing out the tiny flame. She wasn’t sure he’d even noticed the paper was on fire. He was just annoyed. With her. Gulp.

  “This is a busy week for me, you know!” he boomed. “With the Olympics going on. I don’t have all day to shoot the breeze!”

  “But that’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about,” Artemis said quickly, fearing he might toss her out. “The Olympics.”

  Zeus lifted a bushy eyebrow. “Is there a problem? Nothing I hate worse than bad sportsmanship, and I heard something about a scuffle out on the field.” Eyeing her, he picked up the thunderbolt trophy from his desk and began pumping it with one arm. Artemis backed up a little in her chair, just in case the trophy accidentally slipped from his grasp. “Figured it was only a rumor, though, since the Games are meant to bring students together in harmony. Was I wrong?”

&
nbsp; Uh-oh. She hadn’t come here to rat on anyone. Especially since she was as much at fault as anybody for what had happened that afternoon. But it sounded like Pheme hadn’t been able to stop herself from spreading the news. “You? Wrong?” she replied, pretending to be shocked at the very idea.

  “It happens sometimes,” Zeus said, shrugging modestly. “Not very often of course,” he added quickly. “After all, I am King of the Gods!”

  Artemis nodded and scooted forward in her chair, seeing an opening. “Did you by any chance hear another rumor? The one about girls wanting to participate in the Games?”

  Zeus’s eyes took on a puzzled look and he slowly lowered the trophy he’d been pumping. There was a terrible silence. Just when she thought she might be thunderbolted into smithereens for her boldness, he suddenly cracked a huge smile, his eyes twinkling merrily. “Oh, I get it. This is a joke, right? Okay, I’ll bite. No, I didn’t hear that one.” He looked at her eagerly, waiting for her to tell him the punch line of her supposed joke.

  “It’s not a joke!” said Artemis. “Girls are good at sports too. Why shouldn’t we be allowed to compete?”

  Zeus looked confused. “Why would you want to? Think you could out-lift Atlas? Or wrestle a giant?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Didn’t think so,” interrupted Zeus, shaking his head. “There’s a reason girls aren’t in the Games. Because I, King of the Gods and Ruler of the Heavens, made a rule that they couldn’t be.”

  “But—”

  Zeus held out a hand to stop her, shaking his head. “It’s for your own good. The Games are fierce, you know. You could get hurt. No, there are plenty of competitions girls are free to enter here at MOA, but the Olympics are and always will be a boys-only event.” He folded his arms with finality, gold bracelets flashing.

  Artemis wasn’t giving up. This was too important. “Not all the events are about strength. What about the footraces? And this year’s special event—the contest of wits with the Python?”

  “I made my rule long ago, and I don’t see any reason to change it. I still believe that the best way for you—for all girls—to enjoy the Games is from a seat in the bleachers.” As if that settled things, he kicked back in his throne, unrolled an Immortal Sports scrollazine, and started to read. At the same time, he picked up his trophy again and began to pump it with his free hand.

  “Knock, knock.”

  At the sound of a woman’s voice, Artemis and Zeus both looked toward the door. Zeus immediately jumped up, dropping the trophy and scrollazine, a big smile on his face.

  “Hope I’m not disturbing you,” said a statuesque goddess with thick blond hair styled high upon her head. It was Hera, owner of Hera’s Happy Endings, a wedding boutique in the Immortal Marketplace. She and Principal Zeus had been seeing a lot of each other lately. They’d met at the last school dance after Athena’s mom, a fly named Metis who had lived inside Zeus’s head, had flown off to be with her fly buddies.

  “Come in,” said Zeus, ushering her toward his desk. “Artemis was just leaving.” He bent to sniff at a covered dish that Hera held in her hands. The delicious aroma of sweet nectar reached Artemis’s nose. “For me?” he asked, sounding as excited as a little boy.

  “MS. HYDRA, FETCH A SPOON!” he yelled out the door.

  “Not yet,” Hera said firmly. “It needs to cool.” Bustling past him, she set the dish on top of his desk.

  As Artemis rose from her chair and headed for the door, Hera peered at her appraisingly. Artemis glanced down at her chiton. It had dried stiff and wrinkled since her fall in the fountain. And her hair was probably straggly. She’d forgotten she was a mess! “You’re Athena’s friend, aren’t you?” Hera asked.

  Artemis nodded. Smoothing her chiton as best she could, she raked her fingers through her tangled hair. She wondered if Hera had caught much of her conversation with Zeus before she’d knocked. If so, she didn’t mention it. Hera just smiled and said, “Nice to see you again.”

  “You too,” said Artemis. And she meant it. After Metis left, Zeus had been in a horrible, stormy mood. The courtyard still bore the marks of the lightning bolts he’d rained down everywhere. His friendship with Hera had changed all that.

  After leaving Zeus’s office, Artemis zipped up to her room to change clothes. She guessed it was unrealistic to think she could get a long-standing tradition like the Olympics changed just three days before the Games began. And Zeus had a point that girls might get hurt in events of strength against the boys. Besides, the boys had been training all year long and it was probably too late for the girls to catch up.

  Hmm. Too late to catch up.

  Suddenly it hit her. A way to fix things so they were fair. It was so simple, she didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it before!

  5

  Zzzzing!

  YOU’LL NEVER BELIEVE WHERE I JUST WAS,” Artemis said to her friends as she plunked her tray on top of their usual table in the cafeteria.

  Persephone glanced up at her, a forkful of nectaroni halfway to her mouth. “Where?”

  “In Principal Zeus’s office.” Artemis slid a plate of ambrosia salad off her tray, then stuck a straw into her carton of nectar.

  Athena dropped the textscroll she’d been skimming. “Are you in trouble?” she asked worriedly. “I knew Pheme wouldn’t be able to keep her mouth shut about this afternoon. I’ll talk to Dad if you want. I’ll tell him Actaeon deserved what he got. Anyway, there was no harm done, and—”

  “Stop!” exclaimed Artemis, holding up a hand. “I’m not in trouble. I went to his office on purpose!”

  Her friends’ jaws all dropped in astonishment. “Why?” Aphrodite asked. Even with her mouth hanging open, she still managed to look gorgeous with her long golden hair and her sparkling blue eyes.

  Artemis swallowed a sip of nectar. “To convince him to let girls compete in the Olympics.”

  “Godness!” Aphrodite exclaimed. “Are you crazy?”

  “What did he say?” asked Persephone.

  Artemis shrugged, then answered both questions. “No. And no.”

  “Figures,” said Athena. “The only ideas my dad likes are his own.” She paused. “And maybe Hera’s, too, these days.”

  “Well, on the way here I got another idea,” said Artemis. “One he can’t say no to.”

  “Uh-oh,” said Aphrodite, only half-joking.

  “His main argument against us competing was that we might get hurt in contact sports with the guys.”

  “He’s got a point,” said Persephone.

  “Yeah, but I thought of a way around that,” Artemis said. “We’ll start a girls-only Olympics!”

  There was a brief silence at the table.

  “Well?” prompted Artemis. “No cheering? Where’s your enthusiasm?” First, Apollo wouldn’t support her and now it looked like her friends wouldn’t either!

  Athena spoke up. “What makes you think my dad’ll be okay with that?”

  “Because we’re not going to ask him,” Artemis informed her. “We’re just going to do it.”

  Athena looked uncertain.

  “Well, I think it’s a great idea,” Persephone chimed in.

  “Me too,” said Athena. “I’m just not sure my dad will agree. And the Olympics are in three days. No way we can be ready by then.”

  “True. We’ll need time to train, and to get word out about it to girls at other schools,” Aphrodite said slowly. “It won’t be much of a competition if we don’t actually have some competition!”

  Yes! thought Artemis. If Aphrodite was on board, she’d set an example for other girly-girls who might otherwise turn up their noses at a girls’ games.

  “We could probably be ready in a few months,” mused Persephone. “If we hold our games at a different time from the boys’, it won’t take attendance away from their games. So they shouldn’t mind, right?”

  “Right,” said Artemis. “And if they do mind, so what?”

  “If Dad sees how commit
ted we are, maybe he’ll listen to reason,” Athena said, sounding more enthusiastic.

  Artemis hoped she was right. “It’s worth a try.” While the girls were agreeing to meet that night to begin making a game plan, she looked around for Apollo. Maybe his mood had improved by now. Maybe he’d even be ready to apologize for what he’d said to her! Unfortunately she didn’t see him anywhere.

  Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed Actaeon, sitting with his back to her, at a table with Hades and Poseidon. Apollo had called her behavior toward him “inexcusable.” Now that she’d had time to cool off, she was beginning to think he might be right, and that she owed Actaeon an apology for turning him into a stag. Still, she wasn’t quite ready to talk to him, especially not with other boys around.

  When she went to empty her tray after dinner, Artemis ran into Dionysus, her brother’s fun-loving roommate. “Do you know where Apollo is?” she asked.

  “He was practicing his kithara when I left the dorm,” Dionysus told her. Apollo was a master of the seven-stringed lyre, and his and Dionysus’s band, Heavens Above, played for all the school dances. “He said he was going to skip dinner and go for a walk instead. Said he had some heavy thinking to do.”

  That’s weird, Artemis thought. Like most boys, Apollo was always hungry. Especially after sports. He never skipped a meal.

  “Thanks,” she told Dionysus. She headed toward the marble staircase to fetch her dogs for a walk. Maybe she could “accidentally” run into Apollo while she was out. She raced up the stairs to the fourth floor. As soon as she opened the door to her room, all three dogs leaped on her, wagging their tails. “Yes, we’re going for a walk,” she said, laughing. She threaded her way past a mountain of laundry, dog toys, and old discarded school projects to reach the far side of her room. After grabbing her favorite archery bow, she dug under a pile of textscrolls on top of her desk to unearth her quiver. “Okay, boys, let’s go!” she called, as she slung the tooled leather quiver across her back.

  Once outside the bronze doors of the Academy, Artemis squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on seeing Apollo in her mind’s eye. Slowly, she recited the chant she and Apollo had made up in childhood: