Maps (9 page)

Lane. The nicest boy he’d ever met. He might not be on track to winning a MacArthur grant, but he had the best laugh on the planet, and had more patience than a hundred saints combined. He was thoughtful and committed, and the way he blushed when he couldn’t understand a math problem was nothing short of enchanting.

Maps thought that if he could make an experiment to create a world full of Lane’s, well, that would be a world Maps wouldn’t mind living in.

It was late; he should be getting to bed. His parents were away visiting his aunt for the evening, and since Maps had complained enough about his shoulder, he hadn’t been forced to go. It was almost worth having Benji’s brother pummel him into the ground to not have to go to Aunt Helen’s house.

It was old and the furniture was covered in plastic and everything smelled like cats and old coffee beans. Plus, there was nothing fun to do there. The one time Maps had taken some old rags and tied them together to create an experiment on the effects of tying the rag-rope to the rafters and swinging Indiana Jones style, Aunt Helen had yelled at him until his ears bled.

Instead of grabbing his eReader like he normally would, Maps lay on his back, reached under the side of his bed, grabbed a baseball, and the red baseball cap he kept next to it. After securing the slightly-too-large ball cap on his head and being careful not to drop the baseball and nail himself in the face, he tossed the ball in the air and caught it.

Maps was getting better. He’d been practicing, of course, because practice makes perfect. He hadn’t told Lane that he was practicing outside of their sessions and he definitely hadn’t told Lane that he’d worn Lane’s old red ball cap each time he did, but he had a feeling that Lane already knew—at least the part about the practicing. He’d made such a big deal over the amount Maps had improved in such a short amount of time that it made Maps’ stomach swirl like a whirlpool.

He tossed the baseball up in the air and caught it, trying his best but failing to not think of Lane.

Minutes, hours, maybe lifetimes flew by until he heard a gentle tapping sound at the window. Maps whipped his head to the side and looked at the window, forgetting about the baseball. It dropped with a heavy thud on his chest.

“Maps?” Lane whispered from outside.

Maps’ heart skipped a beat. Or two. Okay, probably more like all the beats and he was now the walking dead. His body broke out into a cold sweat, his tongue was proverbially tied, and he couldn’t seem to make his legs work.

Maps wanted to move, wanted to speak, wanted to do something, anything, but his brain only had one singular thought at that moment:

Lane.

“Maps,” he went on, “I know you’re mad at me.”

Then, suddenly, Maps couldn’t help but move. He ran over to the window, pulled back the curtains, unlatched the lock and lifted it up wide enough for Lane to fit through.

Lane crawled it and shut it behind him. Then he turned and stood up tall, and looked at Maps.

Maps didn’t remember that last time he felt so small. He wasn’t exactly short, maybe an inch or two below average, but Lane could probably rival the Empire State Building. Maps tried his best not to notice how all of Lane’s clothes, including the red T-shirt he was wearing just then, always looked a little too small, like every time Lane got new clothes, his body would keep expanding.

Maps stared at the red shirt pulled tight over Lane’s chest, unable to meet his eyes.

A few silent moments passed by and then Maps noticed Lane was breathing heavier than normal and couldn’t help but look up at Lane’s face.

Shit.

Lane had that
I-want-to-punch-you-in-the-face
face again. Maps had no idea why he brought that out in Lane, but whatever it was, Maps hated it about himself. There couldn’t be a good thing in the world that would upset Lane Rhodes.

But then, instead of punching a hole through Maps’ teeth like he half expected, Lane leaned his head down towards Maps.

Maps’ eyes opened wide. His heart stopped. Well, it had already stopped earlier, but then it stopped again, and now he was definitely going to die because he also couldn’t seem to breathe.

Just as Lane’s nose was about to brush against Maps’, Lane’s eyes flickered just off to the side and he pulled back quickly.

“This isn’t right,” Lane whispered.

Maps’ heart sank.

But Lane reached out to Maps’ bare shoulder and gently touched his rough palm against the spreading bruise on his skin.

Maps couldn’t help but shiver and almost instinctively, as though the only thought in his mind at that moment was wiping that upset look off Lane’s face, Maps put his hand over Lane’s and whispered, “It’s okay.”

“I lost my head a little today,” Lane said quietly.

“I heard.”

“Are you upset with me? Because I’m not sorry.”

“I’m not upset about this afternoon, Lane.”

“Then are you upset with me?”

“I don’t want to be.” Maps dropped his hand.

Lane huffed and his shoulders tensed. “Okay, I can fix this.”

He took Maps by the arms and carefully steered him to the bed. Maps’ heart raced. But Lane simply sat him on the edge.

All of the lights were off in the room. Only streetlights shone in through the closed window and the bedside lamp brushed a smooth blanket of warm light across Maps’ bedroom.

Lane walked to the computer desk, pulled his MP3 player out of his back pocket, and plugged it in.

Maps
by the
Yeah Yeah Yeahs
began to play, and Lane turned to look at him. The song filtered through the air and echoed against the walls; it felt to Maps like the band was right there playing a song just for them.

Lane went to Maps then kneeled down on the floor in front of him. Lane reached out to flick the baseball cap off Maps’ head to look at him; they were almost eye to eye.

Maps’ hands were shaking, not that he’d ever admit it.

Lane produced a thick bundle of papers and stuck them in Maps’ hands. Maps didn’t have to look down to know what he was holding.

Quietly, Maps began to unfold each piece of paper, looking at them one by one. They were maps of different towns, different cities, in all different countries across the world. Lane had highlighted each lane on each of the maps. Hundreds of yellow vines snaked across the papers, creating a beautiful, intricate pattern. In the corner, right near the legend, on each of the maps, was a note reading:

If you’re ever lost, I’ll find you.

There wasn’t a single thing in the world Maps wanted more than Lane to find him whenever he was lost, or confused, or had almost blown himself up with some hair-brained experiment. He couldn’t imagine a time he’d ever not want Lane to find him.

Just as Maps was about to fold the papers up, he also noticed that Lane, none too subtly, had drawn little yellow hearts over top of all the baseball stadiums.

Maps threw his head back and laughed.

Lane wrapped his fingers around Maps’ biceps. “Can I kiss you?”

Maps gulped.

An actual gulp. Not a loud swallow or a choke, but an actual gulp. Maps wouldn’t have believed they really existed until he himself had experienced one. A genuine gulp.

“Well,” Maps said, “if you feel that you should—”

Lane’s lips brushed against Maps’.

If Maps’ heart really had stopped—twice—earlier in the night, then it started back up in full force when Lane’s mouth was pressed against his.

Lane’s lips were soft, and he tasted like root beer and toothpaste. But where Maps was inexperienced, Lane knew what he was doing, especially when he almost surprised Maps’ out of his pajama bottoms by sliding his tongue into Maps’ mouth.

Maps tangled his fingers in Lane’s soft hair as Lane framed Maps’ face with his hands.

Maps made a noise half way between a moan and a squeak—a very manly squeak—and Lane’s kiss hitched. He pressed closer against Maps and ran his hands over his shoulders and arms.

When they pulled away from each other,
Maps
was still playing on repeat. Lane smiled that huge, goofy grin, gapped teeth and all, and Maps couldn’t help but smile back.

“You know this song isn’t actually about maps, right?” Maps said. “It’s about some guy named Angus.”

Lane grinned wider then reached down to lace Maps’ fingers with his own. “It’s the thought that counts.”

There were so many things Maps wanted to ask Lane about, to talk with Lane about, but he couldn’t possibly decide where to start. Instead, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “So… gay? Yes? No?”

Lane laughed. “Maybe. I don’t know. I like girls.”

The smile inadvertently slipped off Maps’ face. “I hate to be the one to break this to you, but…”

“Believe it or not, I
have
noticed that you’re a boy.”

Maps jokingly wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Well that’s a load off.”

“I like girls. And you.”

“So I’m one of three point five billion and one? Oh, you romantic!”

Lane leaned forward and pulled Maps close to him in a tight hug. He nuzzled his nose into the place between Maps’ neck and shoulder, and said, “No, Dumby, just you.”

Maps thought his bones might melt. Or at least thought his teeth might fall out from how sweet this was. Maps hadn’t been wrong—Lane really was the corn, well, corny older brother.

He wrapped his arms around Lane.

“So, no Lacey?” Maps asked quietly.

Maps could hear the smile in Lane’s voice. “No Lacey.”

They stayed like that, hugging each other for a few minutes until Lane pulled back, reached for something on the bed, and held it out in front of him.

“A baseball, huh?” Lane said.

“It’s not mine, I swear! I’m holding it for a friend!”

Lane laughed. “Maps, I know you’ve been practicing without me. We live next door to each other, remember? I see you playing with it in your bedroom sometimes, or out in your yard. I’ve even seen you stream a game on your laptop.”

“Oh, thank god.” Maps sat back. “Keeping it a secret was all becoming too much. I—” Maps swallowed hard. “I love… baseball.”

“You better mean the sport and not some guy named Baseball,” Lane joked.

“Oh, if there was a guy named Baseball, you’d be out of the picture so fast.”

Lane laughed. He sat back on his heels and then lost himself in running his fingers through Maps’ hair.

“Maps,” Lane said quietly, “be mine, even just for a little while.”

“All right, Lane,” Maps replied with a smile on his face. “Even just for a little while.”

THE END