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

think about.
    I need that book!
    â€œLeft my homework behind!” he exclaimed, stopping at the door. It was even true. His backpack with his homework—both for school and now for Hebrew class as well—was sitting beneath his chair in Chaim’s classroom.
    Chaim stopped and assumed his finger-on-the-side-of-the-nose stance.
    â€œWell, go grab it,” Sammy’s father said. “We haven’t got all day.” He turned to the rabbi, shrugged. “If his head weren’t tied to his neck, he’d lose it on a daily basis.”
    â€œBoys that age . . .” Chaim began, and both men chuckled.
    Almost before his father was done speaking, Sammy was into the classroom. Ignoring his backpack, he ran straight to the bookshelf. He didn’t need to search; he knew right where the book was.
    Even if I hadn’t seen Chaim put it away, I’m sure I could have found it on my own.
    He touched the book’s spine. It felt warm, almost pulsing under his fingers, as if alive.
    I need this book!
    He stuffed the book into his backpack between his science homework and his snack box. He knew if he stopped to think, he’d realize how wrong it was to take the book without asking.
I’m just borrowing it after all.
    The thought of returning the book was even worse than the shame of taking it, and so Sammy decided not to think about it at all, and with that he walked as calmly as he could back to where his father, his friend, and the rabbi waited.
    Rabbi Chaim still stood with his finger to his nose, seemingly deep in thought. Sammy didn’t dare look him in the eye. Face burning, heart pumping, Sammy knew if he wasn’t careful, he would blurt out a confession.
    And then he’d take my book back.
    But Chaim only said, “See you next week, boys.”
    Sammy mumbled something in return, and then they were safe in the car with Skink in front this time and Sammy in back, squeezing his backpack to his chest like a drowning man with a life preserver.

    After a few silent miles, Sammy’s father said, “Well, Rabbi Chaim is certainly a character.”
    â€œI like him,” Skink said. 
    â€œMe, too,” Sammy’s father said. “How about you, Sammy?”
    â€œHrmm?” Sammy wasn’t really paying attention. He’d managed to slip the book out of his backpack and, protected from view by his science folder, had started reading:
And he shall not eat, nor drink, nor accept any pay, but he will protect you from harm and do your work and your bidding.
Sammy thought,
It doesn’t sound like a story, it sounds like a manual.
    â€œSammy!”
    â€œErg . . . what? Yeah, Chaim’s great.” And he went back to reading.
    Skink and Sammy’s father kept chatting, quickly leaving the subject of Chaim and moving on to pottery and school and how they thought the Bears were doing this season.
    Sammy kept reading, but wasn’t able to finish the book before they got home. And with Skink staying till just before dinner, he wasn’t going to be able to get back to the book any time soon. Besides, his father had other plans for the two of them.
    â€œYou’ve got homework, Samson.” And when his father said
Samson
there was never any point arguing. “I’m sure Skink has some, too. Why don’t you both go into the basement and work on it together? Your mother will give a shout when his father gets here to take him home. I’ve got some stuff to do, too. The clay never sleeps.” It was something he said often.

    Down in the basement, Skink snagged Sammy’s just-barely-bigger-than-a-toy keyboard off the music area bookshelf and began plunking away.
    â€œThat doesn’t look like homework, Skink,” Sammy said, channeling his father’s voice, though smiling.
    Skink smiled back over the keyboard. “I did mine already. In detention.” The melody he was playing turned suddenly martial and he