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
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
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