Diamonds: Life According to Maps | Book Two (7 page)

“How did you turn the lights on?” Maps asked.

Lane shrugged, grinning. “Magic.”

“Not that I don’t think it’s cool and all, but why are we out here?”

Lane reached out and took both of Maps’ hands in his. “I thought this would be the best place to talk. I’m myself when I’m standing in a field. My head is clear, my heart is racing. Everything makes sense when I’m out here in the diamond.”

Maps couldn’t help but look down at the small, orange rocks beneath his feet. “Then why didn’t you come say hi to me when you got home from camp?”

“Our team was just passing through town. We had a game earlier that day in a different county, and another game the next day in a different town. No one from our team stopped at home. I thought about sneaking off to see you, but I thought it would be too hard to leave again after that.”

“So, you weren’t really home?”

“Not for another week or so. But when I got home I—“ Lane paused for a minute, his face turning cherry. “I got grounded. I almost got suspended from the team. After the whole Chicken Castle thing, I was upset—really upset. I got in a fight with another guy on my team."

Maps swallowed hard, and dropped Lane’s hands. He looked out into the darkness of the far off field as he walked down the marked pine in the dirt toward the next base. Lane followed close behind.

When Maps’ foot touched the edge of the once-white base, he turned to Lane.

“Why did you call me your neighbor?”

Lane’s shoulders sank. “Because I’m not smart, Maps. And I’m not brave. Liking a boy is still fresh for me. I don’t care what other kids say. I mean, I guess I do, but I don’t want to. It’s scary. I’ve regretted it every second since I said it, though."

“Liking a boy is new for me too, you know,” Maps said. “Well, to be honest, liking anyone is new to me. I never really thought about this kind of stuff until you came around.”

Lane smiled. He reached out and tugged on one of Maps’ strands of hair. Maps hoped he would remember which strand it was so that he could make sure Perry never cut it.

“You and me, we're like a game of baseball. When I’m up to bat, sometimes I strike out, or life throws me a curveball and I swing and miss. But I’ll never stop swinging, hoping one day I’ll hear the crack of the ball against my bat as I watch it soar into the air. I’ll keep swinging for a home run.

“And there are plates along the way that sometimes I’ll stall at, but I’ll keep running home—to you.”

Lane was talking absolute gibberish again, but Maps didn’t care. He stared up into Lane’s expressive green eyes, and watched the way he talked with his hands and moved his whole body as though anything he was saying made a lick of sense.

Maps didn’t know why, but when he looked at Lane, he thought the world made a little more sense.

Lane stopped talking. He looked down at Maps with a twinkle in his eyes. Slowly, he wrapped both of his arms around Maps’ body, pressing his hands against Maps’ lower back. He pulled Maps closer. Maps could feel the heat radiating through Lane’s plaid shirt when he they pressed against each other.

Maps looked at Lane. The lights were reflecting off his hair. And then Lane smiled at him. All Maps could do was reach up, wrap his arms around Lane’s neck, push up onto his toes, close his eyes, and…

The lights turned off.

A voice from somewhere in the blackness shouted, “Hey, you damn kids! Get out of here!”

They both froze. Maps could feel Lane’s warm breath against his face. In the distance, a flashlight turned on and pointed right at them.

“Get out of here, you damn cowboy!” the voice bellowed. “And take your cat with you!”

Lane grabbed Maps’ hand and immediately took off. For a moment, he thought Lane might’ve yanked his arm right out of the socket. But he managed not to stumble and they ran in the opposite direction of the man with the flashlight.

By the time they got to the other side of the field, Maps was panting hard. He tugged on Lane’s hand and they stopped. When Maps bent over, hands on knees, breathing hard, Lane asked, “Are you okay?”

Maps wheezed in reply.

Lane reached out and rubbed his back. Even though it didn’t really help his breathing, he felt better already.

After a few minutes and some of his childhood memories flashing before his eyes, Maps was good enough to stand up straight.

“Okay,” Maps said. “I’m good.”

They walked together down the sidewalk toward their houses. After a few minutes, Lane said, “Too bad that guy ran us off. We didn’t even make it to third base.”

There was a hint of humor in Lane’s voice, but Maps had no idea why.

“Is that a special base or something?” he asked.

Lane looked at him sideways, huge grin on his face. “You could say that.”

“What’s so special about it?”

Lane started laughing. Maps thought this was totally weird, but decided not to press him for more information. Maybe it was a sensitive topic. He could look it up on the internet when he got home.

By the time they’d reached their houses, Maps was beginning to get cold. He wrapped his arms around himself as he turned toward Lane on the sidewalk between their houses. He rubbed his bare arms up and down with his cold hands.

“You should get inside,” Lane said. “You must be freezing.”

“Kind of.” Maps looked at the front door of his house, but didn’t budge.

“So, uh,” Lane said, stumbling over his words. “Are we good?”

“Don’t call me your neighbor again.”

“Never.”

Maps nodded awkwardly. “Then we’re good.”

Lane looked at the front porch lights of his house and then back at Maps. “I’ll see you at school on Monday? I’d ask if you wanted to do something tomorrow, but my family is going to my aunt’s house. Plus, I think I’m still grounded.”

“No, Monday is fine. I’ll, uh, see you on Monday.”

They stared at each other for way longer than socially comfortable. Maps, despite how cold he felt, was internally sweating buckets.

Lane took a big step forward, leaned in, and placed a chaste kiss on Maps’ lips.

“Monday,” Lane said. He turned and walked toward his house.

T
ap
, tap, tap.

What the shit?

Maps reached over, grabbed his glasses, slid them onto his face, and then turned on his bedside table lamp. The time on the clock indicated it was a little past two in the morning. An unholy, hour. Unspoken of, really. Maps had no idea that people could even physically be awake at two in the morning.

Tap, tap, tap.

He tossed the blankets to the side and planted his feet on the ground. The yawn that escaped him almost sent him backward onto the bed and back into dreamland.

Knock, knock, knock.

Maps stood.

He was used to the tapping now. Rarely was there a knock. A knock warranted a special occasion. He had no idea what kind of special occasion the whacko Mr. Rhodes had in mind for two in the morning, but he knew he had to answer Lane’s annoying knocking before Lane woke up his parents.

Maps walked over to his bedroom window. He pushed the curtains apart, unlatched the window, and pulled it open.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” he asked, hands on hips. He felt like his grandpa, a grumpy old man who constantly asked if Maps knew what time it was without knowing the time himself, and likely not really caring.

Lane barely fit through Maps’ bedroom window. But he managed, somehow, and slid it shut behind him.

“My parents are going to wake up and murder me so hard if they find you in here, Lane,” Maps said in a flustered whisper. He incorporated hand motions and all to further his seriousness about the murder.

Lane turned his gaze on him. “Monday isn’t good enough.”

Maps blinked.

“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way,” Maps said, “but there’s really nothing I can do to change a day of the week. I mean, I’ve tried, even written some pretty wordy letters, but it’s no good.”

“I meant that waiting until Monday isn’t good enough. Waiting until Monday to tell you how much I like you isn’t enough. Waiting until Monday to make sure you’re my boyfriend isn’t good enough.”

Lane reached out, grabbed the collar of Maps’ totally not immature pajamas with race cars on them, and then kissed him.

This kiss wasn’t like the kiss Lane had given Maps earlier that night. This kiss rang louder than the bells at school. It chimed and bellowed and vibrated every inch of his body. This kiss was warm, and sweet, and tasted like Lane’s toothpaste and made Maps weak in the knees—and he didn’t even have knee problems.

This kiss was special, but not just because when Lane wrapped his huge arms around Maps and pressed his tongue into Maps’ mouth, he saw stars, it was special because it was Lane. With Lane, Maps felt his heart soar and stay still at the same time. When Lane’s soft lips pressed against his, he knew that not a single other thing in the world could take his attention away from Lane.

It was special because when Maps was with Lane, he found himself.

Lane liked him just as he was, even though Benji said he was insane, and his mother thought he liked to do things to torture her sanity. And Maps liked Lane just the way he was, even if he wasn’t good at math or science and thought fermentation was a dirty word about girls’ anatomy.

Lane pulled back first. He put his hands on Maps’ shoulders and gave him the most serious look he’d ever seen on anyone’s face—ever.

“Maps,” Lane said, “please, be my boyfriend. Hold my hand at school on Monday, and let me pummel the crap out of anyone who gives you a dirty look. Let me write my name on your notebook, and I’ll let you write your name on mine. Come to my baseball games, and I’ll totally do whatever weird, science crap it is you like to do.”

Lane paused for a moment. He slid one of his hands up Maps’ bare neck. Maps shivered, feeling Lane’s fingertips brush against his warm skin. Lane took another small step closer, their chests touching. Lane cupped his jaw, and ran his thumb over his chin, gently brushing his lower lip.

The look in Lane’s eyes, and the expression on Lane’s face, Maps knew, was enough to break hearts one day.

“But most of all,” Lane said finally, staring hard into Maps’ eyes, “change your online profile to say you’re dating me. That Perry kid keeps liking all your photos, and I swear to god Maps, I think I might kill him.”

Maps blinked.

Lane’s brow furrowed. “I’m not kidding. It’s driving me crazy.”

“Okay, okay,” Maps said, smiling wide. “We can be online boyfriends too.”

Lane grinned. He turned and sat down on the bed. Before Maps knew what Lane was doing, Lane grabbed him around the waist and pulled Maps on top of him.

“Nice pajamas,” Lane said.

“Cars are mature,” Maps replied. “Especially race cars. They’re not for little boys, either. Don’t listen to Benji if he tells you he had an identical pair when he was six. He’s lying—probably. And even if he’s not, he probably was just really mature at the age of six. In conclusion, my pajamas are awesome.”

Lane just smiled. “So, can we be school boyfriends too?”

Maps nodded. “Yep. And baseball game boyfriends.”

“And science boyfriends.”

“And cyborg boyfriends, one day.”

“Hopefully one day soon. Cyborgs are cool.”

“But mostly hand-holding boyfriends. Those are the most important kind.”

“Obviously.”

Maps’ throat went dry. He was about to word-vomit, and it couldn’t be stopped. His face burned.

“I’ll be any and all kinds of boyfriends with you, Lane. I feel so lost without you,” Maps said quietly.

Lane put his finger under Maps’ chin and turned his head so their eyes met.

“You won’t feel lost again, Maps, not because of me. I’ll keep you close and I’ll keep you safe, and we’ll never get lost when we’re together, because I have maps, and that’s all I need to find my way home.”

A
t school on Monday
, Maps found Lane leaning against his locker. When Maps couldn’t control the smile that burst across his face, Lane reached out and held his hand.

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