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

said without smiling. “The table’s broken.”
    He walked away from James Lee and moved evenly toward Sammy, his shoulders squared back, head high, hands at his sides.
    The lunchroom went from deathly quiet to a standing riot in about twenty seconds, little Bobby Marstall leading the yells. Sammy didn’t know where to look—at Skink or James Lee or the seventh graders all of whom were clapping and high-fiving and grinning. But his attention was suddenly focused on Skink who was closing in on him.
    When he was close enough to speak, Skink said quietly, “I think I might have broken my hand.”
    Sammy glanced down at Skink’s right hand. It did look alarmingly swollen. “Let’s go to the nurse!” he hissed.
    Skink shook his head. “We’ll eat first.”
    â€œOkay.” It seemed the right thing to say. The only thing to say. Despite his obvious pain, Skink grinned. “You’ll have to share your lunch.” He waved his left hand at the heap that used to be a table. “Mine is somewhere under that.”
    Sammy chuckled uncertainly, and they walked to a table far away from the still-gawking James Lee and his crew of cretins. Walked away to a table by the door.

3.
    Nurse, Hearse, and . . .
    There was only one other person at the table, a dark-haired eighth-grade girl with a long face and a deep dimple in her cheek. Sammy had never had the courage to speak to her. She was as much a loner as he, but it didn’t seem to trouble her. In fact, she wore that aloneness like a badge. Her name—he whispered it under his breath—was Julia Nathanson. It had a softness to it that he liked.
    He didn’t even dare ask if they could sit with her, but she nodded at them anyway, the tips of her straight hair coming together to veil her face, hiding the dimple.
    â€œThis is good,” Skink said, his voice straining through the pain.
    They sat down and Sammy shared what was on his plate. They began to eat slowly, as if nothing was wrong or changed, though everything was wrong and at the same time changed beyond recognition.
    Several seventh graders—Bobby Marstall and another boy and a girl Sammy didn’t recognize at all—came over and tried to sit down with them, but Sammy waved them off.
    â€œSkink needs quiet after that karate chop,” he told them. “Julia stays because she was here already.” He was breathless having said her name, but she gave no sign that she had even heard him.
    The kids nodded, and Bobby spoke for all of them, saying, “Great karate chop, man!” Then they left, but not before Bobby whispered over his shoulder, “And thanks, Sammy.”
    Sammy grinned and was about to explain it to Skink, when Skink spoke first.
    â€œNot karate,” Skink said, his voice tight with pain. “It’s called Hwa Rang Do.”
    For a minute Sammy worried that Skink’s broken hand was making him feverish and that he was rambling. But then Julia repeated it.
    â€œNot karate. Hwa Rang Do,” she said to her tray. “The Way of a Flowering Knight. It’s a Korean martial art, eighteen hundred years old.” Then she took the tray and left the table, dumping what was left of her lunch into the proper bins.
    â€œShe’s right,” Skink said. “How’d she know that?”
    â€œI have no idea,” Sammy said, hoping to stop thinking about Julia Nathanson, “Eighteen hundred years old?”
    Skink nodded.
    â€œ
Whereas
,” Sammy used one of his favorite words, “whereas you and I are thirteen.”
    â€œWell, actually, I’m almost fifteen. Lost a grade with all that moving.”
    â€œWell, I skipped a grade so I’m not
quite
thirteen. In the spring. My mom tutored me.”
    â€œThat’s quite a not quite,” Skink said.
    â€œWe’ve moved a lot as well,” Sammy told him.
    â€œYou, like, an army brat, too?”
    â€œNah—a