Read Maps for Free Online Page B

that warmed Maps in his chest.
    Above his bed was a gigantic collection of papers, color-coded and sectioned. It was a visual of all of the experiments Maps’ had ever done. Just his findings, his finals. Blue meant it was successful, red, not so much. Green meant he’d have to reevaluate at a later date, and black meant it was too dangerous, or so his mother said, to continue to work on that experiment.
    Maps crawled up on his bed and knelt right next to Lane, looking at the wall. “I know I use the term experiment a little loosely, or so Benji constantly tells me. They’re more just ideas, things that get trapped in my head until I let them out.”
    “Is this why everyone calls you Maps?” Lane asked.
    Maps shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much. Benji and I grew up together. The first day he came into my bedroom and saw all the papers on the walls. After that, he just started calling me Maps. Which is better than Scribbles, I guess.”
    “Listen,” Lane said, turning to Maps.
    Maps noticed the close proximity and mentally began to sweat. Okay, maybe a little physically, too.
    “I wanted to say thanks,” Lane said. “And sorry about earlier today in Mr. Rogers’ class. I kind of freaked, and well, what you did was real cool.”
    Maps just shrugged. He and his robot pajamas didn’t know what else to say to Lane and his gapped front teeth and his Ken-doll hair.
    “I mean it,” Lane went on. “It meant a lot. I shouldn’t have let you take the fall. I couldn’t sleep at all tonight thinking about it. I’m going to go to Mr. Rogers tomorrow and tell him that I switched our tests.”
    “No,” Maps squeaked. Then, recollecting himself, cleared his throat. “I mean, no. It’s all right. I was actually thinking that if you wanted—I mean, if you didn’t mind—or if you thought it would help, I could maybe tutor you or something. I’m good with math, so I just thought… you know, whatever.”
    Maps, right at that moment, was dying of humiliation. He kept trying to avoid all forms of eye contact.
    He lied. He hadn’t been thinking that at all, and it just came out of him like verbal vomit. He had no idea why on earth his stupid brain had decided to vomit all over Lane.
    Lane grinned at him—that big, honest, dolt of a grin, and Maps knew why his brain had told his mouth to puke words on Lane. He was definitely puke-worthy.
    “Are you sure?” Lane asked, sounding excited. “Because that would be amazing. I fell behind the past few years and never caught up, and honestly, was a little embarrassed to ask for help.”
    “Yeah, of course. No problem. The least I could do for kidnapping your sister and trying to eat her corn-brother.”
    “She still carries that thing around with her, you know.”
    “She started it. She asked me where babies come from.”
    Lane looked over at the clock on Maps’ desk. “I’d better go and try to get some sleep.”
    Maps nodded.
    For some reason or another, Maps thought it was the chivalrous thing to do to walk Lane back over to the window and see that he didn’t break his neck on the climb down. Just before crawling out of the window, Lane looked back at Maps. He had an odd expression on his face—a mixture of seriousness with a hint of curiosity and reserve. That slightly pained expression, the one that Maps had seen all too often in his short life, could mean only one thing—Lane wanted to punch him.
    Right in the face.
    Maps took a step back, and that seemed to do the trick. Lane shook out of his punch-craving stupor and smiled. Maps didn’t know what he’d done to warrant an almost-punch in the face, but it wasn’t like it was an uncommon occurrence. His mother said he just had a way about him that seemed to get on people’s nerves.
    Lane climbed his way back down the lattice on the side of the house, pausing when he flopped into the small snow bank at the bottom. Maps watched him from the sill of his window.
    With one hand over his heart and the other up in the air