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

boomed out, in a fairly good approximation of the major’s tones, “No one gets leave when there’s potatoes to be peeled!”
    Sighing, Sammy plopped into the folding chair. “I’d rather peel potatoes than do algebra. But I finished in detention, too. I’ve got a better idea anyway.”
    Skink raised an eyebrow at him.
    â€œA way to get back at James Lee.”
    Skink stopped playing and shook his head. “Just ignore them, Sammy.” He plinked a few random notes. “They’ll move on to softer targets soon.”
    â€œThat just paints a big bull’s-eye on some smaller kid,” Sammy said. “But I’ve got an idea that will take care of the problem permanently, and without us having to raise a finger.” He chuckled. “’Cause believe me, I
definitely
don’t want to fight them again.”
    â€œAll right. What’s your plan, Word Man?”
    â€œWe’ll make a golem!”
    Skink snorted. “Sure. Like that’ll work. Frankenstein lives.”
    â€œ
I’m
sure.” Sammy shot up out of his chair. “We’ve got all the clay and pottery tools we need in my dad’s workshop.” He reached the stairs and spun around. Then he marched back toward Skink. “I’ve thrown a pot or two with my dad, and he’s got plenty of pottery books lying around if we get stuck.” He reached Skink and stopped. “C’mon . . .”
    Skink shook his head and went back to playing the keyboard.
    Sammy frowned and pulled the book out of his pack and opened it to a page number he’d memorized.
    Skink gasped when he saw the book. “Did you steal that from Rabbi Chaim?”
    â€œBorrowed it,” he lied. “Here’s the best part—the spell!”
    Skink sighed and squinted at the page, scanning down to where Sammy’s finger pointed at some dark splodges. “Yeah, except it’s in, like, Hebrew!”
    Sammy grinned. “And we’ll be reading that soon enough. Besides, there’s a complete translation in the back.” He pointed to the front of the book because, of course, in Hebrew things went back to front, as he’d just learned.
    Skink said hesitantly, “You’re, like, insane. Maybe that’s why we’re friends.”
    â€œMad? You call me mad?” Sammy cackled in his best mad-scientist voice. Throwing the golem book aside, he raised clenched fists over his head. “I may be mad, but I’ll bring this clay to LIFE!!!”
    Shaking his head, Skink turned back to the keyboard and twisted the martial melody he’d been playing earlier into a Klezmer scale. Then he sang:
    Â 
    â€œ
To life, to life
    I’ll bring the clay to life.
    Frankenstein, he made a monster
    and made a monster’s wife.
    He robbed the local graveyard,
    which caused some local . . .”
    Â 
    â€œSTRIFE!” Sammy shouted.
    â€œGood word, Word Man!”
    Sammy grinned at the compliment. “Good Words ’R’ Us! Rhymes, too.”
    Skink nodded. “Yeah, I—like—noticed. And he began to sing again.
    Â 
    â€œHe robbed the local graveyard,
    which caused some local strife.
    Then villagers attacked him with pitchforks . . .”
    Â 
    He paused. “What else rhymes with life?”
    â€œKnife!” Sammy said smoothly. “With pitchfork, ax, and knife . . .”
    â€œRight!”
    Â 
    â€œ
 . . . with pitchfork, ax, and knife.
    But me, I won’t be troubled ’cause
    I’ll bring this clay to life!”
    Â 
    Sammy hooted with glee and added a doo-wop backing vocal that consisted of,
“Go-lemmmmmmm. Go-lemmmmmmm.”
    When Skink heard the backups, he couldn’t continue for laughing. Sammy joined in and soon they just alternated between laughing and shouting,
“Go-lemmmmmmm.”
    Eventually, they ran out of gas, and Sammy said, “But seriously,