The Giant Smugglers by Matt Solomon

carnival games at the edge of the midway, where they could talk in private. “Let me guess—you need to know how to handle the hundred-and-eighty-one-pound tough guy? Mr. Company-Swag Windbreaker?”
    Fitz was the last thing Charlie wanted to talk about. “No!”
    â€œC’mon, I saw you hiding from him.”
    â€œI wasn’t hiding. And that’s not what I need to talk to you about.”
    â€œYou know you can’t just keep running away, right?”
    â€œWhat am I supposed to do, fight him?” Charlie exclaimed, getting caught up in the argument despite himself. “You saw him—he’s twice my size! He’s a freshman, for God’s sake!”
    A serene look came over Tim’s face. “It’s like Bruce Lee once said—practice the art of fighting without fighting.”
    â€œFighting without fighting? What does that even mean?”
    â€œCharlie! Enter the Dragon! Come on, you’ve watched it, right?”
    Charlie just stood there and stared at his brother. This was going nowhere. Not only was he not getting the advice he needed, he couldn’t even get a word in edgewise. “I haven’t watched your stupid movies, Tim. But I do have to haul them around every time we move, which is all the time.”
    Tim kicked at the ground. “Sorry, man. Thought there might be some stuff in there you’d want.”
    â€œRita!”
    The brothers turned their heads in the direction of the man shouting their mom’s name. At the end of a bungee line, DJ shot up into the sky again, waving his arms like crazy to show off for his date.
    â€œWe so got to do that,” said Tim.
    â€œThere’s no way I’m jumping off that thing,” countered Charlie, watching DJ plummet through the air. And then the idea hit him. He had the answer he was looking for, even if he never got to ask the question. It was perfect. He knew how he was going to break back into the warehouse.

 
    10
    Early the next morning, while it was still good and dark, Charlie watched the old man’s truck come and go with the giant’s breakfast. When the sun came up, it was time to put his scheme into action. He contacted the big guy on the walkie-talkie.
    â€œOkay, I’ll be there as soon as my mom leaves for work.” The plastic walkie felt greasy in his nervous palm. “Which should be anytime. So be ready. This is going to have to be bang-bang fast. If anyone sees what I’m about to do, they’ll call 911 in a second. You got me?”
    â€œSecret,” returned the giant in a whisper.
    â€œSee you soon. Charlie out.” He ditched the walkie under his bed and clomped out to the kitchen to check on his mom’s whereabouts.
    â€œCharlie,” his mom yelled from outside. “You’re up already? Come out here, would you? I need some help.”
    He headed down the back stairs to find her sitting on a plastic bench in the grass, a red kerchief tied around her forehead to keep the hair out of her eyes. She held a monarch butterfly by its delicate wings, trying to pick up a sticker sheet full of butterfly tags that she’d set down just out of reach. She didn’t want to upset the monarch any more than necessary.
    Charlie picked up the slick of paper. He peeled off a small circle that was printed with tiny numbers assigned by some bug professors in Kansas.
    Rita took the sticky label and pressed it against the butterfly’s fragile black-and-tangerine wing. With the label attached, she opened her hand in a gentle invitation for the creature to take flight. The monarch shuddered and took a moment to recover. She lifted her palm, and the butterfly unfolded into the sky.
    Charlie couldn’t imagine getting up early on a Saturday morning for volunteer butterfly duty. “Remind me again why you do this?”
    Rita looked up and scrunched her face at Charlie. “I like to think I’m helping them on their way.