B.u.g. Big Ugly Guy (9781101593523) Read Free Page B

Skink move seemed to cheer his crew and a few of them began to grin.
    â€œUp!” one of them added, and giggled. It was a surprisingly high giggle, and he was rewarded with an elbow in the side by one of his pals.
    â€œShut up, Marv,” the elbower said.
    Now, Sammy knew that James Lee was a lot of things. Most of them bad. But Sammy had no reason to think of him as a liar. If he said he was going to make Skink move, then Skink was going to get moved.
    It’s simply a law of nature, like gravity,
Sammy thought.
Or tornadoes
. They knew a lot about tornadoes in that part of the Midwest.
    If James Lee didn’t move Skink himself, his crew would. Individually, they were already the size of most of the seniors and already all on the football team, not just James Lee. Next year, James Lee, like his older brothers, was sure to be a starter. After all, his uncle Billy Jack Joliette was the secondary coach.
    â€œYou’ve got till the count of three.”
    Skink moved his tray to one side.
    â€œOne . . .”
    I’ve got to help him!
Sammy thought.
He’s got to get out of there!
    â€œTwo . . .”
    Here goes nothing. . . .
Sammy opened his mouth to shout, though he wasn’t quite sure what would come out. He was certain that after the shout—which was just to get everyone’s attention, like the old joke about hitting a mule on the head with a two-by-four—there would have to be some begging and then something amusing. Something
very
amusing. Often Sammy could get out of the worst of things by making James Lee and his cronies laugh.
As long as the joke is on somebody else.
They had absolutely no sense of humor about themselves.
    Whatever he did, though, Sammy knew he had to do it soon. After all, Skink was someone who might become a friend, and Sammy didn’t want to see him hospitalized on his very first day.
    Sammy cleared his throat. It wasn’t quite a shout, but nonetheless it worked. For a second, James Lee turned toward him.
    â€œJames Lee,” Sammy began, “Skink . . .”
    â€œShut up, Bug,” James Lee suggested.
    Before Sammy could get anything else out, Skink looked over and shook his head.
    â€œI got it, Sammy,” he said. And stood up.
    James Lee smiled like a snake—all thin lips and no teeth. “Good choice. I’d hate to mess you up on your first day. Now move along.”
    But Skink didn’t move. Instead, he stood there, feet about shoulder-length apart, arms away from his sides. His eyes were no longer focused on Sammy, and they never went over to James Lee. Instead he seemed intent on a spot either directly behind Sammy or infinitely more distant.
    â€œSkink,” Sammy said again, a pleading note in his voice. Wondering if this was always going to be his role, putting his own body in place of someone else’s. Getting dunked for someone else. “Skink.”
    â€œMove it, kid!” James Lee sounded a bit exasperated. This may have been the longest time anyone
hadn’t
done what he told them to since first grade.
    And maybe,
Sammy thought,
James Lee was afraid of having someone defy him successfully. Because . . . because . . .
Sammy almost had it, the key to James Lee’s personality.
    Before Sammy could finish that thought, Skink’s whole body tensed, and he inhaled loudly, causing James Lee to take an uncertain step backward. Then Skink’s right hand flashed high in the air, and he shouted a loud “Kee-eye!!” and plunged his hand down almost faster than Sammy could follow, punching right
through
the table.
    The Formica top shattered where he struck it, and the whole thing folded in on itself, collapsing to the floor with a horrible clatter.
    James Lee couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the broken table. Neither could anyone else in the suddenly graveyard-quiet lunchroom.
    â€œI don’t want to sit here anyway,” Skink