closer to me. “Let’s start over then,” he said softly.
I nodded.
“But you can’t say things like that I’m not normal, okay? I thought we were friends.”
We’re friends? I smiled, still looking down, and read from the book in front of me. “‘Wolves are social animals. They live in groups called packs.’” I finally glanced up at Sam, who was just sitting there, staring at me. “Shouldn’t you be writing this down?”
By the end of the hour Ms. Drake had given us for research, I had learned a lot about wolves. First, they aren’t a lot like dogs, who just sort of follow what people want them to do. Wolves take care of each other and themselves. Wolf packs, they’re really important. Each one has a male and female leader, or alphas, who lead the pack. But everyone in the pack works. They have jobs to do, depending on what they’re good at doing—hunting, taking care of the pups, even playing is a job. Everyone depends on everyone else. It made a lot of sense, and made me realize wolves must be pretty smart. Sam and I decided to make a big section of our report all about the different jobs wolves had within the pack. I wondered where I would fit if I were Lucy Wolf. But then Sam started sharing what he was reading about scapegoats. And I didn’t have to wonder any more.
“So these wolves, they’re the ones all the other wolves love to pick on. So they’re usually smaller and weaker than the rest of the pack. They’re mostly forced to do stuff alone, like eat after everyone else does or sleep separately while the rest of the pack sort of piles up together,” he said. “Sometimes, the rest of the pack bands together and just attacks the scapegoat for no reason.”
“They’re bullied,” I said.
“Right,” Sam said. His eyes were really bright; he got into this research stuff. Whenever it was his turn to talk and mine to take notes, I noticed he seemed really excited about what he learned. I guess I was, too, but this scapegoat stuff was depressing. “The rest of the pack bonds over picking on the scapegoat. So, in a way, that’s sort of that guy’s job.”
“Well, that’s stupid.” I dropped my pencil. I didn’t want to write any more notes about picked-on wolves. Suddenly, I hated wolves.
Sam just shrugged, though. “Yeah, but they’re not trying to be mean. It’s just the way their world works. Other wolves feel better about themselves—stronger, more capable, more important to the pack—by pointing out who is weaker and less capable.”
“Jerks,” I muttered. “Do the scapegoats ever fight back? Can they work their way back up to alphas?”
Sam flipped through a couple pages of his book. I caught a glimpse of two big wolves pinning down a third. One had its mouth on the pinned-down wolf’s throat. The other was pouncing, his two front legs on the back of the picked-on wolf. No problem guessing which one was the scapegoat, especially since the pinned-down wolf’s tail was tucked between his legs while the other ones held theirs high in the air. Jerks.
“Um,” Sam said. “Yeah, they can fight back, but it usually ends badly for them. It says here that if scapegoats act aggressively, more pack members join in to sort of prove who’s in charge. It looks like if the scapegoat fights back, he gets so beat up he usually leaves the pack.”
I chewed my lip, thinking of Lucy Wolf limping off alone. “Then what?”
“Huh?” Sam asked.
“Then what?” I repeated. “If the scapegoat goes off on his own, can he make his own pack?”
Sam looked at me, startled. “Why would a wolf want to be on its own? I mean, he should just deal with it. Being the scapegoat is a stinky job, but it’s still important.”
“No. He should go off on his own, form his own pack with other scapegoats, and be awesome.” I crossed my arms.
“A pack of scapegoats?” Sam half snorted, half laughed, which reminded me of Tom. I scowled at him. Sam stuck out his tongue, The Goblin shushed
I nodded.
“But you can’t say things like that I’m not normal, okay? I thought we were friends.”
We’re friends? I smiled, still looking down, and read from the book in front of me. “‘Wolves are social animals. They live in groups called packs.’” I finally glanced up at Sam, who was just sitting there, staring at me. “Shouldn’t you be writing this down?”
By the end of the hour Ms. Drake had given us for research, I had learned a lot about wolves. First, they aren’t a lot like dogs, who just sort of follow what people want them to do. Wolves take care of each other and themselves. Wolf packs, they’re really important. Each one has a male and female leader, or alphas, who lead the pack. But everyone in the pack works. They have jobs to do, depending on what they’re good at doing—hunting, taking care of the pups, even playing is a job. Everyone depends on everyone else. It made a lot of sense, and made me realize wolves must be pretty smart. Sam and I decided to make a big section of our report all about the different jobs wolves had within the pack. I wondered where I would fit if I were Lucy Wolf. But then Sam started sharing what he was reading about scapegoats. And I didn’t have to wonder any more.
“So these wolves, they’re the ones all the other wolves love to pick on. So they’re usually smaller and weaker than the rest of the pack. They’re mostly forced to do stuff alone, like eat after everyone else does or sleep separately while the rest of the pack sort of piles up together,” he said. “Sometimes, the rest of the pack bands together and just attacks the scapegoat for no reason.”
“They’re bullied,” I said.
“Right,” Sam said. His eyes were really bright; he got into this research stuff. Whenever it was his turn to talk and mine to take notes, I noticed he seemed really excited about what he learned. I guess I was, too, but this scapegoat stuff was depressing. “The rest of the pack bonds over picking on the scapegoat. So, in a way, that’s sort of that guy’s job.”
“Well, that’s stupid.” I dropped my pencil. I didn’t want to write any more notes about picked-on wolves. Suddenly, I hated wolves.
Sam just shrugged, though. “Yeah, but they’re not trying to be mean. It’s just the way their world works. Other wolves feel better about themselves—stronger, more capable, more important to the pack—by pointing out who is weaker and less capable.”
“Jerks,” I muttered. “Do the scapegoats ever fight back? Can they work their way back up to alphas?”
Sam flipped through a couple pages of his book. I caught a glimpse of two big wolves pinning down a third. One had its mouth on the pinned-down wolf’s throat. The other was pouncing, his two front legs on the back of the picked-on wolf. No problem guessing which one was the scapegoat, especially since the pinned-down wolf’s tail was tucked between his legs while the other ones held theirs high in the air. Jerks.
“Um,” Sam said. “Yeah, they can fight back, but it usually ends badly for them. It says here that if scapegoats act aggressively, more pack members join in to sort of prove who’s in charge. It looks like if the scapegoat fights back, he gets so beat up he usually leaves the pack.”
I chewed my lip, thinking of Lucy Wolf limping off alone. “Then what?”
“Huh?” Sam asked.
“Then what?” I repeated. “If the scapegoat goes off on his own, can he make his own pack?”
Sam looked at me, startled. “Why would a wolf want to be on its own? I mean, he should just deal with it. Being the scapegoat is a stinky job, but it’s still important.”
“No. He should go off on his own, form his own pack with other scapegoats, and be awesome.” I crossed my arms.
“A pack of scapegoats?” Sam half snorted, half laughed, which reminded me of Tom. I scowled at him. Sam stuck out his tongue, The Goblin shushed
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