I can't believe I haven't touched this story in almost two years! That's ridiculous! But no worries; it will quickly be finished out :)

Thank-you for your continued support!

-Jackie


Left Foot Fowl
An Artemis Fowl Story

Chapter 3: Get Your Head in the Game


"Boys, space yourselves out and practice dribbling the ball back and forth. I don't want to see any balls flying up into the air; is that understood?" Coach Monroe glared down the tip of his pug-round nose.

A chorus of boys responded: "Yes, Coach Monroe."

Artemis turned to pace out his distance, only to receive a shocking bum-shot from his irritatingly accurate partner. Cormac was rolling in laughter as Artemis reflexively grabbed his cheeks.

"Just thought I'd help you get your head in the game, Arty."

"It's Artemis," he retorted coolly, rubbing his sore backside.

"Artemis, Arty; one's just as girly and faggoty as the other. I mean seriously, what girl wants to yell 'Artemis' when she's about to—."

"Gallagher, Fowl! Stop running your mouths and start dribbling that ball!"

"Sorry, Coach; I was just resuscitating the basic fundamentals of football to my inexperienced partner," Cormac fabricated with a fake smile.

"I believe you meant 'reiterating,' not 'resuscitating;' although your phonetics could surely use a little resuscitating of its own." Artemis couldn't suppress a grin at his colleague's equally mystified and aggravated stare.

"Shut it, Webbler."

"I'm sorry, but were you attempting to refer to Webster, as of the Merriam-Webster dictionary?" Artemis's smirk only widened, but the building arrogance blinded his judgment; he had forgotten they would soon be engaged in the world of physical exertion: Cormac's domain. And when in Rome, you do as the Romans do; you don't exactly make it a point to humiliate Caesar before his subjects.

"I'll show you who's dumb!" Bristling anger gripped his opponent, and it wasn't until the football was halfway across their separated distance that Artemis wiped the gloat off his face, turning at the last second to hide his front side—and expose his tender ribs for impact, in the process.

"Eeergh!"

Artemis thought he had made the feminine noise in an undertone, but obviously Cormac had overhead, seeing as how he was doubled over in laughter.

"You sounded just like a chick, dude!"

A blood-red blush overtook Artemis's face as he sorely rubbed his tender ribs; surely there would be another fresh, black bruise to soak that night in his tub.

"BASIC BALL CONTROL, GALLAGHER!" Coach Monroe was equally as enflamed as Artemis, but for an entirely different reason. "You boys either get to work now, or you'll start running until I get tired!"

"Sorry Coach, but Artemis asked for me to kick it to him."

Artemis, now bruised, humiliated, and thoroughly sickened of the dishonest boy, turned to face the coach.

"I find such insolent, deceitful chicanery to be reprehensible and deserving of reparation, Coach Monroe."

"His chicawhatta? Now look here boys: I don't know what the hell he just said," the coach gave an exhausted glance towards Artemis, "but I want some good, clean practice out of the two of you, all right?" Coach Monroe took turns giving each a prolonged, stern gaze. "And next time, leave your dictionary in the locker room, Art."

Wholly perturbed and discarding his usually proper student-teacher dialogue relations, Artemis allowed his annoyance to come forth.

"It's Artemis, not Art, and seeing as how I did not delineate, I believe you meant to say my thesaurus."

Coach Monroe was silent for some moments.

"Now what you talking 'bout dinosaurs, boy? Back sass me one more time, one—more—time, and you'll be receiving a pretty little zero in the grade book for the day, Ar-teh-mus."

Artemis choked down his humor at the coach's oafish response and merely replied, "My sincerest apologies, sir."

"Now get to work!"

Artemis thought he heard the coach mutter something along the lines of "damned smart boy" as he sourly walked away.

The two spaced themselves out again and finally practiced dribbling the football, albeit a little rougher than either would have liked. Artemis was slowly learning from watching Cormac repeatedly dribble the ball with spot-on success.

"Kick with the side of the foot, not the toe," he mentally logged. Useful information. Good. Gallagher was actually turning out to be of some use after all. "This is merely a question of angles and velocity; a poor angle leads to poor accuracy, whereas uncontrolled velocity takes the ball out of bounds. A simple fundamental, really."

As Artemis gained control over his feet, the lines on Cormac's forehead began to tighten.

"All right, boys, grab some cones and set up goals; it's time to explicate your dribbling skills." Coach Monroe specifically looked at Artemis with a proud sneer when he delivered the whopping three syllable word.

"Nice attempt, Coach, but not quite," he thought with a snicker.

"Get ready to meet your maker, Fowl," Gallagher grunted threateningly while tossing two small, rubber cones into Artemis's hands. "No one bests me at my sport; especially not a brainiac like you."

The pale boy grinned. "Congratulations; you finally made a comprehensible reference."

"Shut up, Sherlock, and go find some football skills before you're on the ground crying like the little girl you are."

"Remarkable; you're beginning to acquire an aptitude for germane insults."

Cormac kicked the ball up into his hands with a growl as they each took position between their goals.

"And you're about to acquire an aptitude for a good beating."

Artemis knew he was foolishly overconfident, but he couldn't help a cocky smile from having caused such disgruntle in his opponent.

"What is it you football players say before a match? Oh, I recall; bring it on."


Oh, snap.

Thank-you so much for reading, even though this has sat inactive for a ridiculously long time :( Review anyways? :D

-Jackie :)