by Ali Benjamin
Scapegoat. I knew the word well, actually. Teachers used the word scapegoat in my old school. Always in a lecture. Usually, that lecture was about Anna Spang. Why are you scapegoating her? Can you imagine how it feels to be the scapegoat?
I always felt like those lectures missed the point. I mean, it wasn’t as if we didn’t know we weren’t being nice. You don’t pick on someone because nobody’s ever taught you about kindness or whatever. Like, all those things we did to Anna—laughing at her, or sniffing the air when she walked by, like there was suddenly a bad smell—those things weren’t about chasing away misfortune. When we did them, we were…
We were…
Well, to be honest, I have no idea why, exactly, we were doing those things.
“Caitlyn,” Mags says. “You look like you’re thinking hard about something.”
“Huh?”
“There is little that brings me more joy than seeing a student concentrate with furrowed brow during a class discussion. So if you’re willing to share, I’d love to know what you think.”
“Oh,” I begin. “I just… I think the Greeks got it wrong, is all.”
“Tell me why.”
Obviously, I can’t talk about Anna, so I simply say, “It just seems like sort of a stupid thing to believe. I assume their lives didn’t miraculously improve as soon as the goat was gone, so why would they keep doing it?”
From across the room, Henry says, “I think I understand why they did it.” We all look at him in surprise. “I’ll bet it did work, in its own way.”
How could Henry, the kid who’s obsessed with facts—believe in something like pharmakos?
Interview: Henry
I have a lot of books about the ancient world. So I already knew a bunch of what Mags was teaching us. I knew about Plato’s cave, and I knew about Greek democracy, and I knew about all those gods and goddesses. I knew that Paulie had been kind of like Hermes, who was a trickster god, and that Fiona was kind of like Artemis, a goddess who protected girls and also had a hot temper and once got so mad she turned a guy into a deer, then watched as the guy’s dogs chased him down and ate him.
I knew other things, too—things Mags wasn’t telling us. I knew that the Greeks weren’t always so great. In some places, they abandoned weak-looking babies outside to be eaten by wolves. And often kids were told it was okay to attack each other in school, because people thought that this would make them strong.
But the thing Mags told us about the scapegoats? That whole pharmakos thing? I hadn’t known about that.
Did I believe it? Not literally. But I know this: A person’s brain can get stuck. It can cycle over the same old problems, or the same old fears, until there’s no room to think about anything else.
Maybe believing you can send your problem away is just a way of getting yourself unstuck.
You do it because you’ve run out of other ideas.
You do it because you see bad luck hurtling toward you fast, and your only other option is to stand there and wait.
Interview: Gabby
Every reality show has a scapegoat. The scapegoat is the person you love to hate.
Most of the time, the scapegoat is just someone who can’t sing, and they play the footage of the person’s worst performance over and over again, until the whole world has seen it and eventually that person gets to go on talk shows. But sometimes the scapegoat is a villain. Like, maybe they sabotage the other contestants, or they tell other people’s secrets, or they try to weasel out of doing work that everyone else is doing. And the thing is, the scapegoats just keep winning, as all these other contestants—better ones—get kicked out of the competition. And the longer it goes on, and the closer they come to winning, the more you can’t stand them.
Like Rexx Rowdy, who battled Jadelicious all through season two. The only talent he had was picking on Megastars he didn’t like. And for some reason, lots of people just ate that up. Audiences even started holding up signs that said THE REXX EFFECT and REXX WRECKS!
There’s no one Rexx hated more than Jadelicious. I don’t know why, but it’s like her very existence made him furious. So he’d get crowds to boo her and throw things when she was onstage. Everywhere she went, there were people in REXX WRECKS! T-shirts flashing a thumbs-down.
At a certain point, rooting for Rexx Rowdy was the same thing as rooting against Jadelicious. That became his whole thing. At first, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t win. But as the season went on, I started getting really worried. Because he was getting a lot farther than a villainous scapegoat ever should.
When he was finally eliminated in the second-to-last episode, I jumped up and danced around the living room. Even my grandma, who has such a hard time moving around, stood up and danced.
We had… what did Mags call it? Katharsis, that’s right.
Point is, I’m pretty sure that’s how it’s supposed to work. The scapegoats should never, ever win.
The Banana Challenge
We hold the second elimination ceremony on a Monday morning, just before feeding the goats.
I had only planned to eliminate Willow, but Lydia and Sam said that they were one for all, all for one. “Our campaigns begin together, and they end together,” Lydia told me.
“But if it’s okay, we’d like a few days to prepare our sacrifice,” Sam added.
At the time, I was relieved. I didn’t have a clue what the next challenge would be. Now, even as we gather at the Paulie statue, I still don’t know.
“Lydia. Willow. Sam,” I begin. I look at them holding hands, three in a row in matching pom-pom headbands. Their grips get a little tighter, even though they know exactly what I’m about to say. “I’m sorry, but none of you are the Next Great Paulie Fink.”
“We wanted to make some pom-pom ears for Paulie,” Sam says. “We thought they could be antennae, since he comes from the stars. But the Paulie statue doesn’t even have a head, so we have nowhere to put them.”
Lydia reaches into a paper bag. “So we made these instead.” She pulls out three long garlands of pom-poms, in every color under the sun.
They take a turn decorating the Paulie statue. Lydia wraps one garland around the branch, then Sam does the same. Willow drapes the final garland around the neck of the T-shirt, like a scarf, or a many-layered necklace.
The three of them step back to survey their work.
“He looks friendlier,” says Willow.
Lydia nods. “More festive somehow.”
“Also, you can’t see the PICK A WINNER part as much now,” Yumi remarks. “That seems like an improvement.”
I squint at the Paulie statue. By now, early October, most of the leaves have changed color. The neon T-shirt and rainbow pom-poms seem out of place against all those autumn colors.
“So, Caitlyn…” Gabby rubs her hands together in anticipation. “What’s the next challenge?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to think. I know that the challenges are supposed to get more interesting as the show goes on. And the most popular challenge so far was the one that descended into chaos. So how do you plan for chaos?
I run through every Paulie story I’ve heard. Chicken suit turkey sandwich desk drawers pizza glitter BoxMan fruit flies banana p—
That’s it.
Banana peels are funny. Everyone knows that, even me. They’re like the oldest joke in the world or something. I take a deep breath. “Aspiring Paulies,” I say. I’ve got my Speech Voice on, my fake it till you make it one, as if I hadn’t just come up with this challenge on the spot.
“Your departed classmate left one very crucial project unfulfilled,” I say. They stare at me blankly, so I add, “Think science projects.”
When they still don’t get it, I add, “And fruit flies.”
“Banana peels!” Thomas shouts.
I nod. “For this competition, I want you to finish the thing Paulie never could.”
“Are we going to try to make a teacher fall?” asks Fiona. “’Cause if so, I call Gleb
us!”
“You have to make someone fall,” I say. “Someone other than me, that is. Over the next few lunch periods, I want you to collect banana peels. When we have enough, you’ll lay them down in strategic places. The last one to make someone fall—”
“No,” Henry interrupts. “This isn’t a good challenge. Paulie never would have done this.”
“But he did try to do it, Henry,” says Lydia.
“He wrote that report,” Diego adds. “Remember?”
Henry turns to Diego. “But he never did it. The point of that project wasn’t making someone fall. It was trying to see if he could put one over on Mr. Farabi.”
“But he had the peels,” said Diego. “He was just getting ready.”
Yumi shakes her head. “Actually, I think Henry’s right. He had those peels for weeks. He had plenty of chances to use them, but he never did.”
“Exactly,” Henry says. “Because making someone fall would have been mean. And Paulie knew that funny and mean were two different things.”
I glance at the image of Jadelicious, still visible behind the pom-pom garland. I plant my feet a little farther apart, pull my shoulders back, and look straight at Henry. I give him my best I’m in charge look. If he notices, he doesn’t show it.
“But wait, Henry,” Fiona says. “Weren’t we sort of mean to one another in that Shakespeare challenge? All we did was insult each other. Why is this any different?”
“In the Shakespeare challenge, everyone was equal,” Henry explains. He’s like a little teacher right now, and for some reason that makes me feel furious. In the back of my mind, I get an ugly thought: You were the scapegoat, Henry. You were the one who had your backpack stolen for games of keep away. Not me. You.
“Each of us knew what all the others were up to in the Shakespeare challenge,” Henry continues. “With this challenge, you’re trying to trick someone who’s unaware, and you’re doing it in a way that could hurt them. You can’t see how this is different?”
Timothy shrugs. “I think it’s funny.”
“Maybe,” says his brother, “but Henry is usually right about stuff.”
“Besides,” adds Henry, “it’s dangerous. People have gotten skull fractures from slipping on banana peels. Some have actually died.”
“So hold on, Henry,” I say. I place my hands on my hips. “You think someone’s going to get a skull fracture if we do this? You think someone will die if we do this?”
“It’s statistically highly unlikely that someone will die,” he says. “But there’s a hundred percent chance that it’s mean.”
Well, that shuts everyone up.
Then they turn to me, waiting to see what I’m going to do. I want to reverse time right now. Go back to yesterday when I rescued Fuzzy from the pen. Or to the Shakespeare challenge, when I realized I could be in charge of something. No, as long as I’m going back in time, I’ll go back even further than that. I should have just said no when they asked me to run this competition.
Why did I ever think I could do this?
“Well, Henry,” I say. There it is, behind my ribs: that thing that makes me stronger than other people. “Since you’re so smart, why don’t you remind everyone of rules two and three?”
He doesn’t shift his gaze to the rules at all, just pushes up his glasses and keeps his eyes on me. The stone inside me hardens a little more.
“Gabby,” I say, my eyes still on Henry. “Can you read them, please?”
“Uh… okay.” She steps forward. Her voice shakes a little as she reads, “You, Originals, are to participate in every challenge as directed. If you refuse to participate in a challenge, you will be eliminated.”
“Do you want to be eliminated, Henry?” I ask. When he doesn’t answer, I turn to the others. “The competition’s on,” I say. “And apparently we have one less contestant.”
Henry gazes at me for a second. Then he puts his hands in his pockets and walks away without a word. He heads over to the goat pen. He picks up the feed bucket and opens the gate. Somehow, he manages to feed the animals without anyone there to distract them, before Mr. Farabi even arrives. And this fact alone—that he can do this without anyone’s help—is probably the most maddening part of all.
I stare past him, out toward the trees, and I remember the one time when Anna refused to play the part I’d written for her. She’d been standing at her locker, minding her own business, when I walked over. I didn’t have a plan; it was the act of saying something that mattered more than the words themselves.
“Hi, Anna,” I said. She’d been reaching for a book from the top of her locker, and her hand froze there, in midair. I heard muffled snorts of laughter from my friends behind me.
“I said, hi, Anna.”
“Hey,” she finally said. She kept her eyes on her locker. Pulled her book out slowly.
“Soooo,” I drawled, “did anyone ever tell you that you’re… a giant… dork?”
I expected she’d just look down. Say nothing. Take it. But that’s not how it went.
“Yes,” Anna said. She turned around, and she met my eyes. “You’ve told me that. About a million times already.”
“Oh. Well… good. Because you are.”
As I walked away, I glanced at my friends and rolled my eyes. I’d had the last word. But the whole thing left me feeling unsteady. Like somehow, by suggesting that I was repeating myself, she was saying there was something wrong with me.
When really, the whole conversation was supposed to be about her.
A Meeting of the Unoriginals
The worst part of what Henry said is the way I can’t get it out of my head all morning: There’s a hundred percent chance that it’s mean. Maybe that’s why I shift in my seat when Mags starts talking to us about honor and virtue.
She tells us that the Greeks had this concept called arete, which she pronounces like ah-REE-tay.
“Arete has no exact translation,” she explains. “But in English, honor and virtue come close. Most references to arete you find in literature involve soldiers in battle—so arete meant fighting wars bravely. But it was also about being your best self—bringing the bravest, fullest version of you into a situation, no matter what was happening around you.”
The whole lecture makes me feel squirmy and small, which is annoying.
I mean, it’s not like banana peels are that big a deal.
At lunch, Fuzzy asks me for a Paulie vs. the Gleeb story, just like she always does.
“Once upon a time…,” I start. And then I pause. I don’t want to think about Paulie Fink right now. Henry’s words tumble around inside my head: Paulie knew that funny and mean were two different things.
“You know what?” I say to Fuzzy. “My throat hurts. I think I need to take a break from telling stories today.”
When her lower lip sticks out, I hold up my pinkie, like I did on that first day. And just like on that first day, she wraps her finger around mine. I’m not sure what we’re promising this time. Maybe that she’s still my Mini, and I’m still looking out for her, even if I’m not in a storytelling mood.
I’m relieved to see that the kids who are still in the competition—the twins, Yumi, Fiona, and Diego—each have at least one banana peel next to them.
See, Henry? I won, I think. Which should make me feel good, but it just makes my food taste sour.
After lunch, Timothy and Thomas start picking through the garbage, searching for more banana peels. Fiona weasels her way between them. Then Diego joins them, and even Yumi. They’re fighting their way through the trash bin, all diving at the same time for any yellow peel they can find.
“Well,” says Sam drily. “This competition has reached a new low.”
None of us see Glebus coming.
“Excuse me,” she bellows across the cafeteria.
Instantly, everyone stands up straight with fistfuls of fruit scraps. Fiona and Timothy each grip a single peel by different ends.
“Can you explain to me,” Glebu
s says, drawing out her words, “why, precisely, you are removing food waste from the garbage?”
There’s a pause. Yumi and the twins look down at their feet. Fiona stares up at the ceiling and says, “Hmmmm…” like she’s thinking hard.
“First I discover your class throwing goat food at each other. Then I learn that some of you were doing yoga with younger children inside the goat pen. Now I find you rummaging through garbage in search of—” Glebus looks at the banana peel that Fiona and Timothy are both holding. Instantly, they both let go, and it falls, splat, on top of Fiona’s sneaker.
“—banana peels,” Glebus finishes. “So now I’m asking… why?”
“Um…,” begins Timothy.
“We’re… uhhh,” says Thomas.
They glance at each other, then Timothy bursts out, “It’s Caitlyn’s fault!”
Thomas nods. “Caitlyn made us!”
They go back and forth:
“We told her not to.”
“Everyone told her not to.”
“Well. Some people told her not to.”
“You didn’t.”
“Shut up.”
“You shut up.”
“Shut up, fusty nut.”
“You’re the fusty nut, idiot.”
Ms. Glebus holds up one hand. “Excuse me, gentlemen. What is it exactly”—she eyes me for a quick second, then turns back to the twins—“that Caitlyn made you do?”
“Caitlyn had such a good idea, Ms. Glebus!” Fiona starts rambling. “It’s so great. She thought we should… um… Well, I mean, you know Caitlyn always has good ideas, do you know that about her? She’s, like, an idea factory, it’s actually very impressive…”
“Goats!” exclaims Henry, taking a step forward. “Caitlyn thought it was silly to just throw out all these scraps when there are goats living here who might like them.” Henry pushes his glasses up on his nose, keeps his focus on Glebus. “It’s a very good idea.”