Free B.u.g. Big Ugly Guy (9781101593523) by Adam Jane; Stemple Yolen

and . . .”
    â€œI
know
that story,” Sammy blurted out.
    Chaim became still again. That complete stillness. He looked carefully at Sammy and finally said, “
Do
you? I think you will find out more about it than you think. You will find out what makes a hero . . . and unmakes him.”
    â€œ
We
could, like, use a hero,” mused Skink.
    â€œMeaning?”
    â€œWell,” Sammy jumped into the conversation, “there’s these bullies at school, and they jumped Skink and stuck my head in the toilet and . . .”
    â€œWhat!!!!” Sammy’s father was up on his feet. “You didn’t tell us about the toilet, Sammy. Why didn’t you tell us about that?”
    Sammy shrugged. “It was no big deal . . .”
    Rabbi Chaim made an odd noise deep in his throat and interrupted. “Bullying is
always
a big deal,” he said. “For the bullies as well as those they prey upon. That’s why Reb Judah Loew, the chief rabbi of Prague, made a golem.” He spun away from them, went over to the bookcase, then came back with a small black book that he held up for them to see. It was definitely old, and looked to be made of leather, with gold lettering in a Germanic font.
    Possibly real gold,
Sammy thought, because the letters seemed to glow with some kind of inner light. He read aloud: “‘
The Golem
, by Gustav Meyrink.’”
    â€œA golem,” Chaim continued, “made of clay, animated by the name of God, to stand as protector of the Jews when death threatened them all.”
    â€œA story, boys.” Mr. Greenburg said. “As someone who works with clay, I can’t begin tell you how hard it is to make something that big.”
    â€œThe Chinese did, Mr. Greenburg,” Skink said. “You know, the terra-cotta army? We’ve been studying that in art class.”
    Sammy barely heard them. Not knowing why, he’d reached out for the book, but Chaim pulled it back protectively.
    â€œSounds like a good story,” Sammy said, somewhat breathlessly. The golden letters still glowed.
    â€œIt
is
a good story, Samson,” Chaim told him. “But like all good stories, the ending will surprise you.” He returned the book to its place on the shelf.
    Sammy memorized where Chaim put the golem book. A thought had formed in his head the moment the rabbi had first mentioned the golem. No, even earlier—when the letters on the book’s cover had begun to glow. No matter how he tried to ignore it, the thought kept popping up:
What if it’s true?
    Chaim turned back to them, hands empty once more. “That is enough about the golem. His story is best unsaid and unread. I apologize for bringing it up.” He made a funny sound, like a short, sharp laugh of a single syllable. “Hah! And so why, Chaim, did you mention it at all?” he addressed himself. “Because . . .” he answered his own question, “because we were talking about bullies.” Glancing at his watch, he added, “In fact, that’s enough until our next meeting.”
    â€œWhich is . . .?” Mr. Greenburg asked.
    â€œThursday,” Chaim said. “Sammy has a lot of work to do if he is to be ready for his bar mitzvah by the spring.”
    And with that Chaim began whisking them out of the classroom, out of the temple, shooing them on with waving arms and clucking tongue as if they were a flock of recalcitrant chickens.
    Recalcitrant
, thought Sammy.
A good word.
He started listing synonyms for recalcitrant in his head as if they could keep the other thought—the golem thought—out of it.
Ornery. Uncontrollable. Defiant. Rebellious.
    But it was no use.
    I need that book!
The glowing gold letters called to him. Turning, he ran back to the small classroom.
    I need that book!
    Past the
bimah
, past long benches with their book rests, almost to the door, it was all Sammy could