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

pottery brat.”
    Skink just nodded as if he understood. And maybe he did. Or maybe it made no difference to him, and he just accepted Sammy as he was.
    Julia returned and looked at them through her hair. “It’s none of my business, but I think your hand is swollen and you should do something . . .”
    â€œI’m fine,” Skink said.
    â€œHe’s fine,” Sammy added.
    Julia shrugged. “Just saying.” She turned, walked a few steps away, then shook the hair away from her face. “Are you sure?”
    â€œSure.” They said it together, Skink’s voice tight with pain and Sammy’s tight with . . . well, with what he wasn’t quite sure.
    Julia shrugged again. “Okay then.” Without saying a word more, she went straight out the door, not looking back.
    â€œNice girl,” said Skink, his voice still controlled, like a clock too tightly wound.
    â€œYeah,” Sammy said, trying to match that control and failing. His voice cracked as if the word had two syllables instead of one.
    They were silent for some time after that, sharing the food. Skink ate clumsily with his left hand, all the while cradling his right in his lap. This gave Sammy time to consider what they should do next. At last he said, “The nurse is down the hall from here.” He gestured out the cafeteria door. “I’ll hold your back.”
    â€œIt’s my hand that hurts, not my back,” Skink said.
    â€œI’m
not
holding your hand,” Sammy said. “Life is tough enough here without . . .”
    â€œThat’s a
joke
, Samson,” Skink said, and got to his feet without help. “I think I’ll skip the nurse and go straight home. My dad always says ‘Go to a Nurse, Send for the Hearse.’”
    â€œThat’s an odd saying.”
    â€œThe major’s an odd man,” Skink replied, and walked into the hall.
    Sammy blinked at his back, then got up and quickly followed. “You call your dad ‘the major’?”
    â€œNot, like, to his face.”
    Sammy pulled a cell phone out of his backpack. “What’s your home number?”
    â€œAwesome,” said Skink. “My parents won’t let me have a cell.”
    Sammy shrugged. “My parents won’t let me go anywhere
without
one. Not since the day I came home from here with a black eye.”
    Skink looked at him under drooping eyelids. Sammy suspected that was because of the pain. “When was that?”
    â€œThe second day of eighth grade. And now it’s nearly Thanksgiving break. Lots of fun’s been had by all in such a short time.” It came out much more bitterly than he meant.
    Skink gave him the number, and Sammy dialed, then handed the phone to his friend.
Friend.
The word seemed odd here in the halls of Madison Junior/Senior High School where friends had been pretty thin on the ground. Sammy rolled the word around in his mouth, which is what he liked to do with any word he especially liked.
Friend
.
    After speaking a few sentences in hushed, tight tones, Skink handed the phone back. “The major’s coming to get me.”
    â€œDoes it hurt badly? Your hand?”
    Skink lifted his right hand up with his left. They both looked at it. It was clearly swollen and a bit bruised looking at the knuckles, though with Skink’s dark skin that was hard to tell. Skink wiggled his fingers tentatively. “Maybe not actually broken.”
    â€œThat would be good.”
    â€œThat would be, like,
excellent
.” Skink’s face lit up as if pain were only a memory. “I’m a guitar player. Well, actually, I’m learning to play.”
    Sammy started grinning like a manic Halloween pumpkin. “I play music, too.”
    â€œGuitar?”
    â€œNo—clarinet.”
    â€œGet out.”
    â€œOnly Madison has no school band.”
    â€œThat’s all right. I wouldn’t want to play