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

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.
    Maps sighed heavily.
    It wasn’t Lane’s fault, really. If he’d changed his mind about liking him, he couldn’t blame him. You couldn’t help who you liked. Or in Maps’ case, who you didn’t like.
    Still, that word hurt to hear.
    At least now he’d have more time to focus on experiments