Diamonds: Life According to Maps | Book Two

C
opyright
© 2015 by Nash Summers

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

F
or Teagan
, who makes me laugh.

“
W
ell
, that’s never happening. Not today, not this year, not next year, not in ten million years when I am half-cyborg ruling my own space station. The very notion, in fact, is absurd. Absurd and preposterous. Absurdly preposterous.”

Maps’ dad took his glasses off his face, set them down on the table, and rubbed his temples. They were sitting down at the kitchen table across from each other. Maps had his arms crossed in front of his chest, while his father slouched in the wooden chair.

“Mattie,” his absurdly preposterous father said. “Other kids your age get part-time jobs. It’s perfectly normal.”

“But dad, as you well know, I am not perfectly normal,” Maps stated as though it were his crowning achievement.

His father mumbled something under his breath.

“Also,” Maps went on, “I’m much too busy to get a
job
.” He put his fingers in the air, making quotation gestures as if job was a made up word his father had just created to be cruel to him. “A person with my level of intellect does not need a
job
.”

“I have a job,” Benji hollered from where he was seated on the couch watching America’s Next Top Model. The top of his head was just peeking over top of the couch.

“See?” His father pointed in the general direction of Benji. “Benji has a job.”

Maps gave his dad a meaningful look.

“Hey, I saw that!” Benji yelled.

“Benji, I’m sure your IQ is huge. Gargantuan, even. Too large to be measured on any scale. Large enough to send all the ladies aflutter,” Maps said.

“That’s right,” Benji replied. “Ladies love big IQs.”

Maps’ dad looked like he’d rather be on a plane ride to Eastern Europe with only screaming newborn babies in the seats around him.

“Your mother and I think it’s best for you to get a job instead of sitting around the house all day, lighting things on fire and sulking about Lane being away at baseball camp.”

Maps’ jaw dropped. He guffawed and threw his hands up in the air.

“Sulking!” he said, his eyebrows touching his hairline. “Maps Wilson does not sulk. He prowls and ponders, and perhaps peruses, but he does not sulk.”

“He also lies through his teeth!” shouted Benji from the couch.

Maps had
not
been sulking. He’d been living the free life while Lane was away at baseball camp for the summer. And how was baseball camp even a real thing? And who was crazy enough to sign up for it? Toss, catch, toss, catch. How much more could there be to it?

Maybe Maps and Lane had left things a little up in the air when Lane left, but that didn’t mean he was sulking. In fact, now that Lane hadn’t been around with those distracting teeth of his, Maps had got a lot done.

He’d conducted a few experiments involving the shaving of his armpits with his mom’s razor, which, for some reason, sent her into one of her frenzies. There was an experiment involving panty hose and garlic, one that resulted in Benji running from a rabid poodle, and his own personal favorite, the one with the electrical wires and the robot parrot toy that he named Frankenbird. That was the experiment that Maps’ dad referred to when he mentioned Maps setting things on fire. And it only happened twice, so he wasn’t really sure what all the fuss was about.

Regardless. He had been living the sweet, sweet bachelor life doing experiments and hanging out with his best friend, Benji. What more could a rakish rogue like Maps ask for?

Still, he had to admit that he’d stared longingly a time or two at the outside of Lane’s window. And, yeah, okay, maybe a time or two he’d taken the maps that Lane had given him off the wall and studied them for a few hours. And he’d admit that once or twice he’d worn Lane’s old baseball cap and fallen asleep in his bed wearing it and listening to Maps by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

But that didn’t mean he
missed
Lane.

Sure, he missed the sound of Lane’s laugh, Lane’s big ‘ol gapped teeth, his pear-green eyes, his smile, his pale blond hair, his face, really, his impossibly tight baseball uniform, helping Lane with math, Lane playing ball with him, and just the air in general when Lane was around.

But that didn’t mean he missed Lane.

Maps was, after all, a rakish bachelor.

He had to admit, though, that when Lane and he talked before Lane went away for the summer to baseball camp, Maps was disappointed to find out Lane would be gone.

“I’d take you with me if I could,” Lane had said.

“And what would I possibly do in a field all summer?” Maps asked.

“We don’t sleep on the baseball field, Maps. There are cabins and a lake and trails for hiking.”

“That sounds like some sort of punishment, a place they send all the bad kids to toughen them up. Like Australia.”

Lane had looked up at Maps’ bedroom ceiling, suddenly looking nervous. “There’s something else I have to tell you. It’s not, uh, good.”

Maps’ spine had immediately gone straight. He sat perfectly still on the edge of his bed, looking at Lane in his baseball uniform, afraid that Lane was going to tell him something terrible.

“Well,” Lane had said, “I, uh, flunked a few classes. A lot of classes. I was focusing too much on baseball. I’m not going to graduate this year. I’ll have to go back to school next year for a few classes.”

Maps furrowed his brow. “You flunked?”

Lane had nodded and stared at the ground, not able to look him in the eye. “Yeah. I’m so...stupid.”

Maps had instantly jumped up. “You are not stupid, Lane. You’ll try harder next year, right? We can graduate together. I’ll help you study.”

Huge arms wrapped around Maps and squeezed him tightly. Lane pressed his nose into Maps’ hair. “What would I do without you? I’m so dumb, and you’re so smart. I’d be so lost without you.”

Maps, heart racing, had wrapped his arms back around Lane’s much bigger frame. “Don’t worry, Lane. If you ever get lost, I’ll loan you one of my maps.”

“Sorry, Mattie,” his father said snapping Maps out of his daze. “But it’s final. You’re getting a job. School is starting again in a few weeks, and your mother and I want you to form some good habits.”

“I have many good habits,” Maps squawked. “Showering, for example. Not eating with my hands. Not yelling at strangers who clearly deserve to be yelled at.”

“I can try to get you a job at the daycare where I work,” Benji chimed in.

“Now there’s an idea.” His dad sat up a little straighter in his chair.

Maps glared at the back of Benji’s head, hoping his hair would ignite. “We are no longer friends. We are now mortal enemies.”

“Only until you’re half-cyborg. Then you’ll be immortal,” Benji said.

“Well, duh,” Maps replied.

“So it’s settled,” Maps’ dad said as he stood from the kitchen table and began to walk away. “You find yourself a job, at least for the rest of the summer, or else you’re going to work at the daycare with Benji.”

“That’s cruel and unusual, and unusually cruel!” Maps hollered at his father who had managed to escape. Finally giving up, he slumped down in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “This is so unfair.”

“I know,” Benji replied. “Your poor future co-workers.”

“
T
hanks for coming
with me to hand out applications,” Maps said. He and Benji were walking outside of the strip mall near attempting to find Maps a job.

Really.

The sun was beaming brightly in the light blue sky, a few clouds scattered about. In the parking lot were parked cars, and mothers with kids and strollers talking to each other in between cackles.

“And miss you trying to find a job?” Benji said. “Few things in life humor me more than the thought of you actually working.”

Maps had his resumes folded up in dishevelled little square
ish
bundles of paper. He had two in his shirt pocket, and one in his hand that somehow obtained mustard stains all over it. But employers wouldn’t care about something like that. They’d probably take one look at him and hire him on the spot.

They walked by a pet store to which Maps exclaimed, “This might be the one, Benji! Think of all the fun I could have.”

Benji grabbed his best friend’s arm and kept pulling him down the sidewalk.

“Yeah, right,” he replied. “You’re one critter away from becoming a mad scientist.”

“I would never harm an animal! Although, I wouldn’t mind seeing which species is more susceptible to mind-control: cats or dogs.”

“If they have any brains at all, they’ll know to run from you,” Benji replied.

And then they walked by a trendy-looking women’s clothing store. Maps and Benji both stopped to look in the window, their hands above their brows to shield their eyes from reflections.

“Since I’m gay and all, I’m bound to know about fashion, right?” Maps said.

Slowly—patronizingly slowly, Maps might add—Benji lowered his hands, stood up straight, turned toward Maps, and looked him up and down.

“What?” Maps asked, facing his friend.

“Let’s see. Your glasses are held together by duct tape, you’re wearing a yellow polo shirt with grass stains on the shoulders, your pants are clearly on backward, and you’re wearing two different flip-flop sandals, which, by the way—” Benji made a show of waving his hand at Maps’ feet. “Ew.”

“Hey! These pants are not backward, they’re reversible,” Maps replied.

“They’re not reversible, they’re sweatpants.”

“Which, by default, are reversible.”

“The drawstring that ties around the waist is tied at the back.”

“I stand by what I said. Perfectly reversible.”

Again, Benji grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the clothing store. “Women everywhere will thank me one day,” he mumbled.

“I
highly
doubt that, Benji.”

“Oh, haw-haw, you’re hilarious.”

Next they walked up to a sporting goods store. The display window showcased a tall mannequin wearing white pants and a red, striped T-shirt. The turf on the bottom of the display was that fake, plastic stuff that looked like grass, but everyone knew felt like tiny little knives, and in his band was a baseball bat.

For some unexplainable reason, Maps’ heart hurt.

Not that he was thinking of Lane or anything. It was probably indigestion. Or maybe he was having a heart attack.

Yes. It was definitely indigestion or a heart attack.

Benji came up beside Maps and tossed his arm over his shoulders.

“Miss him, huh?” Benji asked.

“No,” he replied automatically and also because he did
not
miss Lane.

“You’re the worst liar. So are you two, like, boyfriends now?”

Maps shrugged. “I don’t know. We never really talked about anything. Lane and his big, dumb teeth told me he liked me and then he ran away to baseball camp.”

“Communication is the key, young Mapsamillion.”

“What does that even mean?” Maps kicked at the pebbles on the sidewalk.

“Like I’d know. People on those daytime talk shows are always saying it and my mom always says, ‘Don’t I know it, girl’ to the TV, so I figure it’s something important.”

“So, like, texting and stuff?”

“Probably. Has Lane texted you since he left?”

“No,” Maps said, turning to stare back at the mannequin holding the baseball bat. “But I don’t think he’s allowed. He sends me postcards, though.”

“How old is he, ninety? What do the postcards say?”

“Well, one was a very rude drawing he did of himself. He definitely doesn’t need any help in the ego department.”

Benji blinked.

Maps made a hand gesture.

Benji’s eyes went wide.

Maps nodded.

After a moment, Benji said, “Are you sure it wasn’t supposed to be him holding a baseball bat?”

Maps scratched the top of his head. “Now that you mention it… maybe. The thought never even crossed my mind.”

“He’s at baseball camp, Maps.”

“I don’t have time to decipher things like drawings, Benji. I’m a very busy person.”

“A psychiatrist could make a mint off of you.”

“Pft! Who needs a psychiatrist when you have the internet? I can diagnose myself. I’m very capable, you know.”

Benji stared at Maps as though he were some strange alien that fell from outer space, landed on the pavement in front of him, and asked for his pants.

“I’m so glad you’re my best friend,” Benji said with a straight face.

“Of course you are, Watson. I am magnanimous. Now, come along. We need to find me a job before my mom lays an egg and my dad forces me to work in the pits of hell with you,” Maps said, turning and beginning to walk away from the sporting goods store.

“It’s called Fluffy Bunny’s Magical Day Care.”

Palm flat against his chest, Maps replied, “My sincerest apologizes. I meant to say the
fiery
pits of hell.”

“Ah, Maps. Never a dull moment.”

“Wait a second—did you call me Mapsamillion?”

A hoard of giggling girls walked around them, and entered the sporting goods store. Maps looked over at his friend whose eyes seemed to be unblinking as he watched the girls go into the store. Benji was breathing heavily, and very creepily. Maps wasn’t sure he wanted to have a mouth-breather as a best friend.

“Maybe we should check them out. I mean it out. The store. Yes, we need to check out the store,” Benji said.

Before Maps could even object, Benji was rushing into the store so fast, he literally kicked up a little cloud of dust. Maps sighed but followed along in his friend’s path, entering the store.

Inside was a whole lot of…. shit. Maps had no idea what any of it was. On the walls were some kind of banana-looking boat with giant things that looked like flat wooden spoons. There were also bikes in more sizes than a rainbow had colors, and some kind of nylon rope things with little metal buckles.

The floor was covered in that fake green turf that Maps personally liked because it never grew which meant he’d never have to cut it. He made a mental note to tell his mother about it so they could get some for their lawn and perhaps also living room.

In the distance were rows upon rows of more crap he’d never seen in his life. It all looked bizarre and weird, like something out of a strange toy factory for adults. But Maps figured that was basically what sporting activities were anyway—recess games for adults.

Benji was off somewhere, likely following the gaggle of girls, while Maps stood there looking like a chicken caught in a rainstorm with his mouth hanging open staring wondrously at all the gadgets and gizmos around him.

“Are you coming?” Benji hollered. In the distance Maps saw Benji’s head pop up over what Maps assumed to be some kind of rack of snowboards. Or maybe skateboards. Or surfboards. It didn’t matter—boards of some sort.

Maps made his way over to Benji who was pretending to look at a helmet with flames on the sides while really—and quite obviously—he was staring at a pretty girl with long dark hair and a skirt that was a few inches shy of being a tube sock.

“Do you think she’d go out with me?” Benji whispered. “I mean, is she too far out of my league?”

Maps looked at the girl and then back at his best friend. “Probably.”

Benji gave Maps a death-glare. “You’re supposed to be my friend. That entails lying to me about things like this. Well, what is it? My hair? My clothes? My goofy personality?”

“Yes.”

Benji sighed. “Why do I hang out with you?”

“Every Sherlock needs a Watson, Benji.”

Just as Benji opened his mouth, likely to contradict his best friend on his choice of clothes and hairstyle, Maps walked away. Like the good Watson he was, Benji followed.

They came up to the baseball section. It was shelf upon shelf of baseballs in different sizes, brand names, and colors, along with all sorts of baseball bats that Maps had no idea existed.

Sitting on top of one of the display shelves, in all its glistening glory, sat the shiniest baseball bat Maps had ever seen. The lights were on it from above like it were a beloved gift bestowed upon humankind from the heavens.

Benji came up next to him and said, “Cool bat.”

“It’s the coolest bat I’ve ever seen.”

“Now there’s a string of words I never thought I’d hear coming out of your mouth.”

“Well,” Maps retracted, “it’s cool, I guess, for a baseball bat, or whatever. I mean, I could picture someone like Lane holding it.”

“Do you ever stop thinking about Lane?”

“Of course I do! I never think about him. Not even now.”

“Right.”

Maps leaned forward and flipped over the little hanging price tag from that bat’s aluminum handle. His eyes bugged out of his skull.

“How can they charge so much money for a hunk of metal?” he squeaked.

Benji leaned forward and rapped his knuckles against it. “It’s not even solid. It’s hollow.”

“For this price, I’d expect it to be solid.”

“Darn straight. Now let’s get outta here before it topples off the shelf or something and we have to buy it.”

“Well,” Maps said, putting his hands on his hips. “It is still nice. Maybe this job thing isn’t such a bad idea. I can probably save up some money and buy it for Lane as some sort of… thing.”

“Thing?”

“Yes, just a thing. Not a special or important thing. Just… a thing.”

“I think you’ll be saving up for a while. Like, until you’re three hundred years old. It would take me at least that long to buy this on my Day Care wages.”

Maps put his hand on his chin and stared at the bat. “There has to be some kind of job I’m good at where I can make a lot of money really fast. Let’s think. I’m good at science, and math, and don’t want to work around people.”

Benji blinked. Then he reached out, grabbed Maps by the wrist, and started hauling him away. “Oh no. I’ve seen Breaking Bad. I know how this one will end up. You’ll just have to get a normal job and save up like the rest of the teenage population.”

Maps’ shoulders slumped. “But I don’t want to wait. Or save. Or get a job.”

Benji stopped and turned toward his best friend. “Then do you plan on having a career as a criminal?”

Maps jumped back. “Why I never!”

“Exactly. So you’re out of options, and you’ll just have to get a regular job.”

As if on cue, the flock of giggling girls walked by Benji and Maps. Maps was counting on his fingers how long it would take to save up for the stupid piece of hollow metal, and Benji was leaning against a display for men’s athletic underwear that were, apparently, extra breathable.

Just as the group of girls was walking out the door, the pretty girl with the brown hair smiled at Benji. Maps watched Benji pretended not to notice. He was trying his hardest to look cool examining his nails and the ceiling fans.

When the front door bell chimed and the girls had left, Benji slouched theatrically and grabbed the material of his T-shirt over his heart.

“I think I’m in love,” he whispered.

Maps sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Teenagers.”