The Giant Smugglers by Matt Solomon Read Free Book Online Page A

understood. “Secret.”
    â€œI’ll be there soon.” Charlie clicked off, pushed the antenna down, and stuffed the walkie into his backpack. The bell rang, and Charlie followed the kids back into the school.
    Next was sixth-hour study hall. Mr. Bachman, the monitor, sat at the front of the room behind an old wooden desk. He had three rules, which were written on a sign hanging on the wall above his head: No talking, no gum, no phones. He started every period by pointing at the sign, then scribbling in a Sudoku book.
    Charlie didn’t have any homework, so he eased his phone out of his pocket. On a whim, he searched “giants” on the Internet, expecting to find some Jack and the Beanstalk fairy tales. Instead, he uncovered centuries’ worth of people claiming that they had had encounters with giants. How had he not known this before? In the 1600s, thirty-foot-tall giants supposedly stomped around Australia. Others claimed a race of giants lived in the wild outside Chile during the eighteenth century. Giant kings ruled Peru, according to some stories.
    Even today, there were plenty of people claiming to see giants. Giants in Kentucky. Giants in Mexico. Even giants in Wisconsin! Many of the stories sounded sort of crazy, but Charlie had a pretty big reason to believe them now.
    â€œRule three, no phones,” warned Mr. Bachman in a stern voice. Charlie wasn’t the only kid who had snuck his out, and they all rushed them back into their pockets. Mr. Bachman hadn’t looked up from his Sudoku puzzle.
    The rest of the day passed by slowly, but finally the bell rang. Charlie sprinted to his locker, grabbed his backpack, and tore out of the school. It was giant time. Charlie pedaled as fast as he ever had. Adrenaline drove his legs, and his bike sped along streets like never before. He was just about to cross over to Hillside Drive.
    And that’s when he saw him.
    Their eyes met. His only hope was if Fitz didn’t recognize …
    But Fitz started his chrome-frame racing bike up the hill, his powerful legs pumping with purpose. White-knuckled fists gripped the handlebars, eyes locked on Charlie.
    â€œHey! Hey, you!” Fitz pointed his meaty index finger. “Game over!”

 
    7
    Panic had Charlie by the throat as he pedaled up Hillside Drive. The street was steep and the incline wore on his legs. He stood to push harder as his bike lurched up the tough grade in spurts. His lead over Fitz was evaporating by the second, and it didn’t take long for him to come to a realization: There’s no way I can outrun him! He’ll catch me before I can even get to the Siefkes’ house.
    Across the street, Charlie spotted a poorly paved path that ran down the hill’s front face to the Pine River. A wooden-planked suspension footbridge with rope webbing on the sides spanned the black water. Years of cycling around Richland Center had taught Charlie that the footbridge was a lousy place for a bike, but it was especially difficult for one bike to trail another. The lead bike shook the rickety suspension bridge, causing the boards behind to hop up and down. Fitz’s bike wouldn’t handle a rough ride as well as smooth pavement. It’s my only chance! He launched the BMX onto the path.
    Only twenty feet down the trail, Charlie found himself going too fast for pedaling to do any good. He held the pedals even and just concentrated on coasting. The bike staggered when his front tire collided with a stray hunk of asphalt broken up from the trail. The chunk went sailing. His front tire veered to the right, but Charlie went with the motion instead of over-steering.
    His BMX shuddered as Charlie eased the bike back on the trail, and it smoothed out again. He took the opportunity to look over his shoulder. Fitz had just plunged his racer down the path.
    Charlie hit the bridge and pedaled hard, building maximum speed and timing his next move. About one-third of the way