Children of the Wolf

his head at me. “Sometimes you don’t make any sense at all, Gruff. Come on, we’ve got to go in. Just stick with me and I’ll show you what to do.”
Paul opened the door.
“No, Paul!”
Too late. He was already inside. I had to follow. I couldn’t leave him to rescue his friends alone. I hoped he had a plan.
Taking a shuddery breath, I stepped into the room.
Instantly, all eyes switched to me. The lady at the front of the room started to turn. I braced myself. I wouldn’t let her take over my mind, no matter what!
“So, this is our new pupil,” she said, clapping her hands together.
My knees began to tremble.
“His name is Gruff,” said Paul. “Gruff, this is our teacher, Miss Possum.”
She smiled at me. Miss Possum had rosy cheeks and very blue eyes. They crinkled when she smiled. She didn’t look in the least dangerous.
The kids now began to fidget and whisper. I heard giggles that I knew were aimed at me.
“Pleased to have you here, Gruff. Do you have a last name?” asked Miss Possum in a very gentle and friendly voice.
“No last name,” said Paul quickly. “Gruff doesn’t speak English very well yet.”
One of the kids yelled out. “Ask him to speak wolf. He can howl like anything!”
A bunch of kids burst out laughing. I decided I liked them better when they were just sitting there like brain-dead statues.
Miss Possum frowned. It didn’t look very threatening. “Quiet, class,” she said mildly. “Gruff is new here and we all want to show him how pleased we are to have him in class.”
She turned back to me. “We’re having language arts class now, Gruff, and this is the book we’re reading.”
She handed me a big heavy book. I opened it but there were no pictures, just long lines of black squiggles. I turned the book around but the black marks still didn’t look like anything. I knew they were words—Kim had shown me words in some of her old picture books—but in this book there were so many and they were so small. I started to feel panicky.
Then a burst of loud laughter startled me. I looked up in surprise.
Miss Possum was staring at me wide-eyed.
Some of the kids were pointing and laughing so hard they were falling out of their seats. “GRRRUFFF!” shouted someone from the back of the room and everyone laughed harder.
I wanted to disappear through the floor.
Miss Possum frowned at the class and turned the book around in my hands. But the kids kept laughing. For some reason it was funny to them that I didn’t know how to use the book. And the longer I stood there wanting to sink through the floor, the harder they laughed.
So I started laughing myself. I turned the book upside down again, shrugging my shoulders. I laughed harder.
I laughed so hard I drowned out the other kids. And somehow that made it better. If I could laugh at myself then it didn’t sting so much when they did it.
Then I got a real shock. I looked out at all those mocking faces and saw that lots of them were grinning at me—in a friendly, interested way. And Paul was smiling, too, like somehow everything was okay now.
I started to feel like I might even fit in—in a year or so.
But just as I was starting to breathe again I saw a flash of movement outside the door.
My spine turned to ice. It couldn’t be!
I saw it again. A snarling face, covered with straggly hair, and sharp, dripping fangs.
A werewolf!
Here in the school! It was after the kids. We must have attracted it by making so much noise.
I couldn’t let it get away.
Growling deep in my throat, I leaped for the door.

Chapter 11
I opened the door and threw myself at the slobbering monster.
But as I lunged, my fighting snarl changed to a whimper.
I stopped so short my sneakers left rubber tracks on the floor.
There was no werewolf lurking outside the classroom. Again, I had mistaken the school principal for a monster.
“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Mr. Clawson furiously, backing away from me.
It was lucky I still couldn’t speak properly. The true explanation would have sent Mr. Clawson into an even worse rage.
“It must have startled him to see a face in the window,” said Miss Possum, hurrying to stand beside me. “I’m afraid the poor boy still isn’t used to so many people.”
I nodded eagerly. “Yes, Mr. Claw-son,” I said. “I sorry.”
“Poor boy! Sorry!” Mr. Clawson sneered. “He’s nothing but a wild animal.”
No one in the class laughed. It was so quiet I could feel how glad the other kids were not to be standing in my shoes.
“We have a long road ahead of us with this one, Miss Possum,” said the principal, stroking his lip. I could tell he was trying to think of a really good punishment.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Miss Possum with a little fluttery laugh. “He just needs a little time and guidance.”
Mr. Clawson nodded as if he was agreeing with her. He pointed a finger at me. “Detention!” he announced in a voice of doom.
Miss Possum looked sad. Behind me I felt the kids get even quieter. I started to shake with fear. What was this horrible thing called detention?
Mr. Clawson turned on his heel and walked out.
I couldn’t fix my mind on anything for the rest of the morning. I just kept worrying about what Mr. Clawson had said. What was detention? What would it do to me?
At lunch Paul tried to explain it to me. “It means you have to stay after school for half an hour.”
I nodded. “And what happen?”
“Happen? Nothing,” said Paul. “That’s it. Nobody likes to stay after school when everybody else is out playing. And Mr. Clawson doesn’t let you do homework or anything. You have to just sit so it seems to take forever.”
Sit for half an hour? That was all? I was so relieved my appetite came back. I