Free Beauty and the Bully by Andy Behrens Page A

upright.
    Hmm said Duncan.
    â€œLooky!” said Jessie. She grinned at Duncan. “I’m gonna go introduce myself!”
    Duncan gripped her arm before she could open the door.
    â€œTo who?” he asked. “The driver of that car? We don’t know that’s Sloth just because it says ‘Sloth’ on the window. That could be a family member—his mom borrowing the car, maybe. Or it could be . . .”
    â€œ. . . a different Sloth altogether?” said Jess sardonically. “You’re right, Duncan. That could be any old Sloth.”
    â€œWell, let’s just wait a second,” Duncan said. “There’s no sense getting out and walking over there until we know that it’s . . .”
    An astonishingly hairy person wearing a red flannel shirt emerged from the car. He seemed to roll out. He scratched his prominent gut and shrugged his shoulders as he stood beside the open door. His arms angled away from his massive chest, as if ready to draw guns. Or bring down a foal and drag it to his cave.
    â€œOh,” said Duncan.
    â€œThat’s our boy,” said Stew.
    Jessie wrenched free and opened the driver’s-side door. She began walking quickly toward the Chevy. Duncan and Stew soon followed. Duncan felt a jolt of fear as Sloth beheld them for the first time. His unkempt beard began high up on his cheeks and continued down his neck. He wore a backwards Cubs cap and scuffed work boots.
    â€œHey there!” shouted Jess, sounding uncharacteristically perky. Sloth twitched, saying nothing. “You don’t happen to go to North, do you?”
    Slowly, almost robotically, Sloth’s lips began to move. “Yee-aay-ah,” he grumbled. His eyes narrowed.
    â€œSo you’re Sloth, then? Like it says on the window. Do you prefer Sloth or—”
    â€œSloth’ll do,” he muttered.
    â€œGreat,” said Jessie. An uncomfortable pause followed. “So,” she continued, “we have a favor to ask. Actually, it’s more of an arrangement to discuss.” She stepped aside and swept her arm out toward Duncan. “Sloth, meet Duncan. Duncan, meet Sloth.”
    Sloth spit a loogie onto the asphalt. “Hey,” he said.
    â€œHi!” said Duncan, sounding squeaky and nervous. “Hi,” he said again in a deliberately lower-than-usual tone. “Hi,” he repeated, finding his normal voice.
    â€œSo, Duncan?” said Jessie, urging him to make his pitch.
    â€œRight,” he said. “My friends and I have become familiar with your reputation. It’s impressive.” Sloth’s face was totally still. Duncan reasoned that it couldn’t be easy to identify any emotions, no matter how strongly felt they were, in someone so scary.
    â€œMy reputation,” Sloth repeated.
    â€œYes,” Duncan said. “As your school’s preeminent tough guy. Um . . . tough person. Person of toughness.”
    Sloth simply stared. He was several inches taller than Duncan, and at least a foot wider.
    â€œTough,” said Sloth, yawning.
    â€œYes,” said Duncan. “That’s the opinion of your classmates. We took a poll.”
    â€œSo you don’t go to North?” Sloth asked.
    â€œNope,” said Stew. “But we hear it’s nice. Except for that Dr. Ween.”
    â€œYeah, he’s a weirdo,” said Sloth, nodding.
    â€œAnyway,” said Duncan, his voice wavering, “we’ve heard a lot about you.”
    Sloth took a step forward, causing Duncan to recoil. Sloth looked at him curiously, then reopened his car door, removing a backpack.
    â€œIs there somethin’ you need, Duncan?” Sloth asked. He pointed at Duncan’s battered face. “If you want someone to protect you, you’ve got—”
    â€œOh no!” said Jessie. “He doesn’t need protection. He needs another beat-down.”
    â€œWell,” said Duncan, “not a real beat-down,