Chapter Text
Artemis Holmes
Long, fair fingers clasped the bow lightly but firmly as the violin sang, the music tinged with an emotion the player rarely tolerated in anything else. The music had been going on for hours; it helped the player to think, to analyze, and to deduce. There had only been the briefest pause as the pages of the original composition rustled as they were turned, or as the player carelessly pushed errant black curls backwards.
“Artemis,” a man plopped down on the sofa and steepled his hands underneath his chin, “That last run was flat,”
The music stopped with an angry twang, “I’m working on it, Sherlock, though I’m disappointed you didn’t find any eggs at the store. And sorry for your run in with one-two-no-three dogs: two terriers, one poodle. I know how you detest small animals.”
The man, who was the girl’s father but had long since consented to her calling him by his first name, smiled smugly, “Two poodles, one terrier, you really ought to give my treatise on dog fur patterns another once over. Pick up the smaller details. Though I am impressed with your progress on the Chopin piece. Though Ms. Quinn won’t move you up a chair position above Carlie, she’s sleeping with Carlie’s father.”
“Oh I knew that. They’ve been going at it four-no-five months. The plane tickets I saw a month ago and the first manicure was long before that. What clued you in?”
“At the Spring concert, she wasn’t wearing heels.”
“The shoes,” she hissed, “Of course. Are we going out to eat? Or do you have a date?”
“Very amusing. You know I don’t go on dates. Though by what I’m wearing and what I asked you to wear you should be able to figure out where we’re going.”
She smiled, “Caffè Positano,”
“Excellent,” he grabbed their coats, “Just for that I’ll let you go on that date you have planned with Brendan on Saturday. The one you weren’t going to tell me about. Aren’t you going to ask me how I know?”
“Oh no. Now that I think about it I left hints everywhere. Obvious, really,”
“Elementary,” he concurred.
Athena Watson
“Pass it here! Rebecca, I’m wide open! Now or never!” a tall, dark-haired girl yelled as she ran down the field.
Rebecca kicked the ball right to her, just as they had practiced in their run-throughs. Excellent. Athena then wove expertly between the enemy’s defensive line, seeing her father John, still wearing a cable knit sweater even on this rather warm day, cheering from the sideline. Almost there, dad. Just you watch.
“Kick it in, Athena!” Rebecca and Ashley shouted as Emma got herself in position for a possible rebound off the net or a throw if the goalie managed to catch it—but it was hardly likely and everyone knew it, once Athena was this close to a goal she would get it done. And she had to. There were seconds remaining in the match. And this was the championship game. As a senior on the team, and captain she had an obligation to pull through, but in that moment she wasn’t thinking about all of that. Only about her feet on the grass and her path to that goal.
She analyzed her current position, the relative positions of the defenders and goalie, the angle and force required for the perfect shot. It was all science really. Then she kicked.
“Westwood Wildcats take the championship!” an announcer yelled as Athena found herself being attacked from all sides by her team and hoisted in the air.
But it was long after the chants of “ATH—E—NA! ATH—E—NA!” wore off and the victorious squad slinked back to their cars for the long drive home that Athena finally got to talk to the person she had wanted to see the moment she knew she had made the goal.
“Some shot,” John laughed, “In the nick of time too. They’ll be talking about that one for years.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah of course. Some British girl stealing the championship from right under their nose. No one’s going to forget that easily.”
“They don’t know I’m British dad. I don’t even have the accent.”
“I’m just joking. You did good. I never thought in a game of football—“
“Soccer, dad.”
“Athena the rest of the world calls it football, but you know what. I’ll let it rest for today. You won your soccer championship. And I can’t argue for once.”
“Thank you,” she smiled smugly.
“I think we’re both too tired to go home and cook something up. We’ll eat out. Italian sound okay?”
“Perfect,” she agreed, eying the medal bouncing up and down on her chest, “Just perfect,”