Read Diamonds: Life According to Maps | Book Two for Free Online Page A

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.”

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    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