Diamonds: Life According to Maps | Book Two (3 page)

Lane stared at Maps’ huge, chicken eyes, confusion written all over his face. His friends turned to leave, and Lane followed suit.

Maps turned and stormed away toward the front doors of Chicken Castle. Perry popped out, holding the door open for him.

“Are you okay, Maps?” he asked.

“Maps?” Maps thought he heard hurt in Lane’s voice, and a question in it, but he didn’t care. He was already walking through the front doors, toward the Employee’s Only room, and away from the worst moment of his life.

“
H
e’s the worst
, and I hate him,” Maps said. He was lying on his bed staring at the ceiling, phone to his ear.

Benji sighed. “You do not hate him. And, by the sounds of it, you over-reacted.”

“I did not!”

“You over-react to pretty much everything.”

“I do not! What an absurd notion. We are no longer friends.”

“Maybe he was busy for a few days. I mean, did you even try talking to him?”

Maps’ throat tightened. “No. I couldn’t stand to hear the words.”

“What words?”

“I don’t like you anymore, Maps. Sincerely, Lane.”

“I doubt that’s what he would say. He sent you postcards while he was away, right?”

“Right. Pity postcards. That’s what I received, Benji: pity postage. The worst kind of postage.”

“You have experience with pity postage?”

“From my grandma who keeps forgetting my name and calling me Marley. Also pity postage. Thanks for bringing that up. Jeez, Benji, you sure know how to make someone feel better. Want come over and kick me in the shin, too?”

“Kind of, but I’ve learned to live with that feeling. It’s perpetual.”

“Such a charmer.”

“Talk to Lane,” Benji said in that tone Benji had.

“Yes, Mom.”

“I mean it. Communication is key.”

“Like you’d know. You’ve never had a girlfriend.”

“You think a wild steed like me settles down? Yeah, right. That would be doing a disservice to our country. To our planet, really.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Later, Tater.”

Maps hung up the phone and sighed. It had been three days since that the debacle happened, but Lane still hadn’t come over to try to talk to him. Well, he hadn’t gone to Lane’s to try to talk to him either. But why would he? Lane obviously didn’t want to talk to him. He’d been home for days and hadn’t even come over to see him.

He felt like a kid who’d just dropped his ice cream on the pavement. Worse, he felt like Taylor Swift when Kayne West stole the microphone from her.

He felt
that
bad.

And what was worse, school was about to start. Then he’d have to see Lane in the hallways and avoid eye contact because he had no idea what to say. Maybe Lane didn’t know what to say to him either, and that’s why he hadn’t come over to talk.

Had he overreacted?

No, the chances of that were near to impossible. It was Lane’s fault.

Maps rolled off his bed and walked over to stare at the wall. Reaching out, he traced the lines Lane had drawn on the maps. He knew each of the lines by heart, but touching them still brought him some kind of ease.

He slinked over to the windowsill and touched that latch that he’d so many times opened for Lane to come in. The curtains were parted slightly, so he sat on the ledge and peaked through.

Across the small gap between their houses, Maps could see in through Lane’s window. The curtains were wide open, but the window was closed tight. Lane wasn’t there, not that he could see, but that didn’t stop him from staring at the window, wondering why Lane didn’t like him anymore.

Something caught his eye, and Maps turned his head. Immediately after, his heart jumped out of throat and splattered all over the floor. He tumbled backward and landed flat on his back. Grabbing his chest, he looked at the vision of a sweet-looking little girl with big, brown ringlets in her hair, and chocolate-colored eyes.

Oh, but Maps knew better. He knew there was a demon lurking just beneath the surface of the cute exterior in a poofy pink dress.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked Lane’s demon sister.

“Watching you,” she replied as if he were slow.

“How did you get in here?”

“Your servant let me in.”

Maps blinked. And then blinked again. “My dad?”

“Yeah, him,” she replied.

Okay, maybe Princess Madame Sprinkle wasn’t so bad after all. They’d gotten off on the wrong foot, sure, but maybe she had a few redeeming qualities.

“Where’s Benji? I like him more than I like you.”

Maps definitely had it right the first day. She was the worst person alive.

“Benji doesn’t live here,” he replied.

“I wouldn’t either,” she said, looking around at Maps’ room with her tiny nose pointed in the air. “Your room is yucky.”

Maps shot to his feet. “My room is not yucky!”

“It’s so messy. My mommy would be so mad at you if she saw this mess.”

“Well, it’s a good thing your mommy lives over there and I live over here.”

“Why were you staring at my brother’s room?”

“I wasn’t staring. I was looking out the window at the, uh, grass, and the side panelling of your house. It’s very nice. Good craftsmanship.”

Stacie, a.k.a. Princess Madame Sprinkle, a.k.a. Satan’s favorite child walked away from where Maps was still lying on the floor and went to his desk. She pulled herself up onto Maps’ computer chair and started spinning herself in circles.

“Lane likes you,” she wailed in between giggles.

Maps throat instantly dried up and his heart started pounding. “He does?”

“Yes. Do you like him?”

He gave himself a moment to think it over even though he already knew what the answer would be. “Yes.”

Sprinkle slowed down from her spinning until she’d come to a stop facing Maps. She scrunched up her face and a crease formed between her eyebrows.

“I don’t understand,” she whined.

Great.

Maps was going to have to explain homosexuality to a five-year-old monster, when he himself really had no clue what it entailed.

He sat down on the edge of his bed and faced Sprinkle with his hands folded in his lap.

“You see, Sprinkle,” Maps began, “when a boy has a thing for gapped teeth and really tight pants, he’s gay. Well, that’s not right. I guess there are probably gay people who don’t like those things—though I can’t imagine why. What I’m trying to say is, when boys like boys, they’re gay.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, that’s not true either, because Lane likes me and he’s not gay because he likes girls too. I guess that makes him bi. But then again, if doesn’t like other boys, just me, does that still mean he’s bi?”

Maps threw his arms out in front of him and doubled over, exhausted. “Ugh. This gay thing is confusing, Sprinkle. I’ll Google it later and let you know, okay?”

Sprinkle just blinked at Maps.

“I know some boys like other boys. I’m not stupid,” she said. “I just don’t get why Lane likes you. You have dumb hair.”

Maps lit ablaze. He was Hades from the Disney Hercules movie. He was wrath, one of the seven deadly sins, and his sights were on Sprinkle.

Lane was about to become an only child.

“You’re boring. I’m leaving.” Sprinkle jumped off the chair and skipped out his bedroom door, completely ignoring the look of pure, unadulterated rage Maps was directing at her.

Maps slammed his bedroom door shut behind her. He sat down on his computer chair, fuming, thinking of what Sprinkle just said.

His hair was
not
dumb.

Sure, it might not be fashionable or sleek, and maybe he cut it himself, but it wasn’t dumb. It was just hair. It wasn’t supposed to do anything, so why waste time on it?

Maps turned toward his computer and opened a new web browser. He realized he really had no idea what being gay entailed. Was there some sort of forum he had to join online? Some T-shirt he was supposed to own and wear around to let others know? Maybe as a gay man, he was supposed to have fashionable, sleek hair that he didn’t cut himself?

He decided to spend the rest of the afternoon researching. Maps Wilson was nothing if not well informed and knowledgeable.

Opening a website with a search engine, he typed in:
How to be a good gay man
.

There was probably some kind of check-list, right? Maybe there was something crucial he’d overlooked and that was why Lane decided not to tell him when he came back home.

Maps clicked on the first link that popped up in his search.

After exactly one point two seconds, he wholeheartedly regretted clicking that link. He screamed—and he’d even admit it because of what he just saw—and closed the web browser. He turned off his monitor and PC at a speed so fast, even Usain Bolt would be impressed, leapt onto his bed, dug his way under his covers, and buried himself there.

Probably forever.

F
irst day of school
.

It wouldn’t be so bad. Maps liked school. He liked taking math exams, and doing science experiments, and hanging out with Benji during their lunch breaks. And most of the teachers at school loved him because he was a basically a genius and helped them by pointing things out to them when they were wrong.

But he didn’t want to see Lane. Even seeing Lane’s bedroom window hurt.

Maps missed Lane.

So, for a little bit of extra courage, he had taken one of the maps Lane had given him off the wall, folded it up, and tucked it into his back pocket. It would remain there all day like a little, tiny beacon of hope—hope that maybe Lane still liked him after all.

Maps looked down at his wristwatch. Still twenty minutes until class began, and he was early. Benji had said to meet by their lockers, so he decided to wait there. There was no chance Benji had beaten him to school. If Maps knew Benji at all—which he did—Benji would probably just be rolling out of bed.

With his backpack snug on his back, he walked up the few steps to his high school and in through the front doors. Other students were standing in the halls, chatting and laughing, binders held under their arms, coffee mugs in their hands.

Maps wasn’t supposed to have coffee. He’d tried it once and his dad said that he thought the universe was about to implode and turn into a singularity.

Heading toward his locker, he weaved his way down the poorly lit hallway through other students. He passed by the drama theatre and paused when his eyes caught on a familiar face.

“Perry,” Maps said walking up to his Chicken Castle co-worker. “Hey.”

Perry turned away from the girl he was walking to and gave Maps a once over. Twice. He gave Maps a twice over. From head to toe. And then he grinned, a wide grin that almost made him feel like a piece of food.

Perry was wearing a button-up shirt with a little polka-dot bow tie around the collar, and white skinny jeans that Maps thought were completely impractical. He also wore really colorful bracelets around his wrists, and a sparkly little diamond in his nose that was distracting. He finally understood how cats felt when there was a laser pointer around.

“Hey yourself,” Perry replied. Perry was weird. “Do I know you?”

Maps pointed to his face. “King Chicken, remember?”

A look of shock, followed by one of ease crossed Perry’s face. “Oh! It was you in that mascot costume? Maps, you said? I never saw your face.”

“Oh, well, this is my face.” Maps looked at his watch again. “I didn’t know you went to the same school as me.”

“I just transferred here from another school. Are you okay? I was kind of worried about you the other day at Chicken Castle. What were those jerks saying?”

“Well, for starters, I was about to deliver onto one of them the beat-down of his life. Secondly, I kind of just got in a fight with my, er, boyfriend. Or I guess ex-boyfriend. Or maybe not even boyfriend. We didn’t discuss it.”

“Oh,” Perry replied. He had a funny look on his face.

Maps looked at his watch again. “I gotta go. See you around school.” And then he was off.

When he got to his locker, his incredibly rude friend Benji, who was leaning against his locker trying to look like James Dean, didn’t even say hi.

“Who was that?” Benji asked, arms crossed.

“Who?” Maps looked back over his shoulder. “Oh, that’s Perry. We work together at Chicken Castle.”

“Hmmm,” Benji replied, stroking his chin as though he had a long beard and wears of wisdom in it. “He likes you.”

Maps burst out laughing.

“What?” Benji said, standing up straighter. “He does! I can tell. I have an eye for these things. Romance and wooing and such.”

“Not everyone who talks to me is gay. Or likes me.”

“No, but he is gay, and he does like you.”

“Just because he wears little polka dot bow ties and rainbow bracelets and has a really sparkly nose piercing does not mean he’s gay, Benji.”

“Uh, I know that,” Benji said, pointing over Maps’ shoulder and toward Perry. “But he’s wearing a gigantic
Gay and Proud
button, and won’t stop looking over here at you.”

Maps looked over his shoulder. Perry smiled and waved frantically. He waved back, then turned to Benji.

“You’re nuts,” Maps said.

“Oh, Maps,” Benji replied, tossing his arm over his friend’s shoulders. “How are you ever going to make it through life?”

M
aps had
no idea how he was ever going to make it through life.

The first class of the day, and already he was miserable. And it wasn’t even because of Lane.

Okay, it was somewhat because of Lane, somewhat because he couldn’t seem to focus on anything the teacher was saying which was definitely
not
a side effect of the lack o’ Lane.

Maps fiddled with his pencil. Benji sat right in front of him. He wondered if he could get away with drawing on the back of Benji’s neck without him noticing. Probably not. He was considering it, though.

There was way too much sunlight in this classroom—a blinding amount. Maybe he could focus if a supernova wasn’t directly outside their classroom window reflecting its annoying rays onto his glass lenses.

First world problems
, he thought.

Then he remembered the way that sunlight reflected against Lane’s hair and his stomach gave a twist.

Benji swiftly turned around and glared at Maps.

“Would you stop fidgeting and making dying puppy noises?” Benji snapped in a whisper.

“I’m not fidgeting,” Maps snapped back, because, why the heck not? He was bored and totally not thinking about Lane, so he might as well annoy Benji.

Benji turned back around. Now Maps was back to fidgeting with his pencil.

Just when he thought he might take the risk and begin drawing on the back of Benji’s neck, the bell rang. Other students began filing out of the classroom in a hurry, while he stood slowly and tossed his bag over his shoulder.

“Come on, Romeo,” Benji said as he began walking out of the doorway.

Maps trudged along after him. “I need to stop at my locker.”

“Okay, but be fast. I want to get to our next class a little early.”

“Be fast, he says,” said Maps. “What would I possibly do at my locker that would keep me there?”

They made their way down the hallway packed with students. Coming up to Maps’ locker, Benji leaned against its neighbor. He unlocked the locker and pulled the door open. Something fluttered down onto the ground in front of him. Bending over, he picked up the folded piece of paper, unleashed it from its square prison, and read it.

M
aps
,

C
an we talk after school
? The benches near the gym doors.

Y
ours
,

Lane

“
M
ine
?” Maps squeaked.

Benji leaned forward to read the note he was holding out. “Yours,” he said.

“Mine.” He couldn’t hide the glee in his voice. “Mine!”

“Stop. You sound like an animated pigeon.”

“What do you think it means?” Maps slammed his locker door shut without getting his books. Forget the books. He currently had no interest in books, or anything besides the piece of paper in his hands.

“Well,” Benji said, pinching his chin, “I’m not a psychologist, but I
think
it means Lane would like to talk to you. Today. After school. Maybe even by the bench near the gym doors.” He held up his hands in a defensive position in front of his face. “But, hey, what do I know?”

“No, Benji, you know what I mean. I mean what does this mean? Like, what does it really
mean?
”

“You want me to try to analyze a one sentence note by a high school senior who thinks a circumference is a type of fruit? I think not.”

Maps glared at Benji. “It was an honest mistake.”

“He also thought a wisp was something you use to beat eggs,” Benji said, straight-faced. “And he thought Romania was a city in Rome. I can’t even wrap my head around that one.”

“Okay, moving on,” Maps declared.

Benji smiled and shrugged. “I don’t know what the note really
means,
Maps. Have you referenced your copy of Cosmo magazine? Taken the quiz? Found six new ways to please your man?”

“First of all, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Secondly—”

The bell rang. They looked around, only then noticing the hallways were completely vacant.

“Secondly,” Maps continued, “we’re late.”

T
hank God it was overcast
, because Maps was sweating bullets. He had no idea why, but he was unbearably nervous. He’d never had to have a talk with someone before—well, not someone who he
liked
. So this was different, and weird, and completely uncomfortable. His skin felt two sizes too small, and the fabric of his jeans never managed to dry his perpetually sweaty palms.

He was sitting on the bench which was right outside the gym. School had just ended and most people were already on their big, yellow buses heading home. He’d practically run here when his last class of the day finished.

After the sixth re-read of the note, Maps realized he had no idea where the gym was. He’d only had to take gym class once, and then had forever blocked the horrifying memory from his mind. He’d asked Benji where the gym was, but Benji, being Benji, just laughed.

Not many other people had been very helpful, either. During lunch, he went up to three different guys he thought looked like the type to spend a lot of time in the gym. Unfortunately, none of them had responded well to his question of, “You look like your best subject is probably gym. Do you know where the gym is?”

It was a sincere question, and he had no idea why he’d received so many dirty looks.

Meatheads were weird.

But, eventually, a girl with a swingy ponytail and a volleyball under her arm had pointed him in the right direction.

Maps looked down at the flaking paint chips of the wooden bench. He was sitting on top of the table part with his feet planted on the seat. Cool kids
always
sat like this on benches.

Don’t tell me how or where to sit, bench!
Maps thought to himself as he picked at the paint with his fingernails.

“Hey,” someone said.

Maps looked up. Lane was standing next to the bench, his fingers wrapped around the straps of his school bag that was on his back. He looked about as nervous as Maps felt. He kept fidgeting and shifting his weight from side to side.

“Hi,” Maps replied smartly.

Lane slid his bag off his shoulders and set it down on the grass. He climbed up next to Maps and sat right beside him on the bench. His heart began to race. Lane’s eyes looked extra pear-colored that day, and the slight breeze in the air fluttered against his hair.

“I think we need to talk. There’s obviously something bothering you, and honestly Maps, I have no idea what it is,” Lane said.

Just as he was about to tell Lane that his feelings were hurt because Lane came home and hadn’t even come over to say hi to him, a group a guys who Maps recognized as Lane’s friends walked up to the bench. Lane visibly sat up straighter and the serious look on his face was instantly wiped away, turning into a big grin.

“Hey!’ Lane said as his friends stopped in front of him. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Just finished soccer practice,” one of the guys said. Maps had no idea what his name was because, well, he’d never really met any of Lane’s friends. “What are you doing here?”

Maps could practically feel the gaze of Lane’s friends move between him and Lane. It was completely unsettling. He tried not to make eye contact.

“Oh,” Lane said awkwardly, “this is my…. neighbor, Maps.”

Neighbor.

His
neighbor
, Maps.

Not his boyfriend, or even his friend—his
neighbor.

There weren’t many words in the English language that Maps hated. He hated the word orange because it didn’t rhyme with anything, and he thought that was just plain rude. Most other words had at least one other word that rhymed with it—why did orange have to be such a poor sport?

He also hated the word no, basically because he’d heard it fly from his mother’s mouth one too many times, usually when his experiments were involved.

And now Maps also hated the word neighbor. He hated it with every fiber of his being because with that one tiny, dumb word, he felt his last shred of hope shatter to pieces.

Maps instantly stood, moving to grab his bag and make a swift exit, but his belt loop caught on a piece of the bench, and he fell off, landing on his face.

Lane’s friends laughed, and really he couldn’t blame them. It probably looked pretty silly. But Lane immediately hopped off the bench, knelt down next to him, and tried to help him up.

Without saying a word, Maps shot up, grabbed his bag, and ran off. Probably looking a bit like a spaz while doing so, but he couldn’t help himself. He had to get away from Lane and his friends and that awful word.

Lane hollered after him, but he kept running. He had no idea where he was going, but he knew if he stopped, his dramatic exit wouldn’t look quite so dramatic.

He booked it out of the school parking lot and down a street that his old babysitter used to live on. Without thinking of where he was headed, he just walked along sidewalk after sidewalk, his head down, not paying attention to anyone or anything.

Eventually, something caught his attention. The sun was already beginning to set, and the veil of night was starting to fall. The sky was orange and red and yellow with bursts of white clouds fading off into the distance.

But Maps gaze was caught on some bright, glowing lights coming from the other side of the road. Looking both ways first—his mother would be proud—Maps crossed the street and walked up to a chain link fence that he wrapped his fingers around.

The bright lights of the outdoor baseball field that had caught his attention. He stared through the fence at a few young kids playing baseball, sliding along the copper dirt into the once-white diamonds.