lots.
“And that’s better than winning the lottery?”
“To me it is. All I’ve ever wanted is to play ball, and after moving here, I’m finally on a good team—a really good team—and that’s worth its weight in gold.”
“But if you won the lottery, you could buy your own baseball team. You could even name them the Lane-di-doodle’s, if you wanted.”
“You’re missing the point, Maps.” The bright smile on Lane’s face faded, and Maps felt like he’d just played soccer with a puppy.
“That’s great, Lane—really. I’m happy for you. I’ve seen you throw a ball, remember, and you almost lobbed my head off a time or two.”
Maps sat down on the edge of the bed and looked up at Lane. The lights from the street were shining in through his window, and the moon was casting a long shadow on the floor in front of Lane. Maps hadn’t noticed before, but Lane was still wearing his dirty baseball uniform: the snug white pants, the thinly-striped red and white button-up shirt, even the red baseball cap with a decorative letter H on the front. But then it was all Maps could look at, all he could think about. His entire universe shrunk into a singular question: How did Lane even fit into those little pants?
Lane’s face lit up again. “Thanks. The move has been hard on my whole family. Stacie cried for days, Mom didn’t want to move at first, and my dad has been so stressed out with uprooting the family. Moving out of my home state, away from my friends, and my old team has been really tough. I was worried I wouldn’t fit in here at all, and I wouldn’t meet any new friends.”
“You look like you have a lot of friends at school.”
Lane shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. It’s better now that Stacie’s older. When she was younger, I’d have to watch her all the time because Mom and Dad were always working. I’ll admit, I wasn’t always the best babysitter. We think that’s why she runs a little rampant now.”
“Well, thanks for that. I’ve suffered the repercussions of your apathetic youth,” Maps said. He was joking though.
Mostly.
Maps leaned back on the bed, supporting himself on his elbows. “So, what’s next for America’s Sweetheart, Lane Rhodes? You’re already on your way to becoming an All-Star baseball player, and your grades are improving. What next—the moon?”
For the first time since he’d arrived, Lane looked away from Maps and studied the pieces of paper on the wall nearest him. His hands were laced together behind his back and he was standing up straight, which only made Maps take more notice of how tall and broad he was.
“I don’t know,” Lane said. “Maybe meet a nice girl or something. Isn’t that what boys like me are supposed to do?”
Maps’ throat dried up within a fraction of a second. Of course Lane would meet a nice girl. It only made sense. In fact, Maps should probably think about doing that as well. But at that moment, Maps couldn’t seem to think of anything besides Lane’s grass-stained pants, let alone the whole girl thing.
“I wouldn’t know, Lane,” Maps said quietly. “I’m not exactly a boy like you.”
Lane turned around and looked at Maps in silence. After a few moments, he walked over to the edge of the bed, right in front of Maps, pulled his red ball cap off by the brim, and then carefully fit it on Maps’ head.
“No. You really aren’t like anyone else, Maps.”
And with that, Lane walked back over to the window, said goodnight, and crawled out, leaving Maps’ racing heart and the red baseball cap behind.
* * * *
“What are you doing?” some kind of devil-creature screeched.
Maps fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, accidentally ripping one off. He placed his hand over his head and looked through his open bedroom window into Lane’s bedroom window next door.
“Don’t scare me like that, Stacie!” Maps hollered back.
“My name’s not Stacie! It’s Princess Madame Sprinkle!”
“Fine, Your Majesty. What
“And that’s better than winning the lottery?”
“To me it is. All I’ve ever wanted is to play ball, and after moving here, I’m finally on a good team—a really good team—and that’s worth its weight in gold.”
“But if you won the lottery, you could buy your own baseball team. You could even name them the Lane-di-doodle’s, if you wanted.”
“You’re missing the point, Maps.” The bright smile on Lane’s face faded, and Maps felt like he’d just played soccer with a puppy.
“That’s great, Lane—really. I’m happy for you. I’ve seen you throw a ball, remember, and you almost lobbed my head off a time or two.”
Maps sat down on the edge of the bed and looked up at Lane. The lights from the street were shining in through his window, and the moon was casting a long shadow on the floor in front of Lane. Maps hadn’t noticed before, but Lane was still wearing his dirty baseball uniform: the snug white pants, the thinly-striped red and white button-up shirt, even the red baseball cap with a decorative letter H on the front. But then it was all Maps could look at, all he could think about. His entire universe shrunk into a singular question: How did Lane even fit into those little pants?
Lane’s face lit up again. “Thanks. The move has been hard on my whole family. Stacie cried for days, Mom didn’t want to move at first, and my dad has been so stressed out with uprooting the family. Moving out of my home state, away from my friends, and my old team has been really tough. I was worried I wouldn’t fit in here at all, and I wouldn’t meet any new friends.”
“You look like you have a lot of friends at school.”
Lane shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. It’s better now that Stacie’s older. When she was younger, I’d have to watch her all the time because Mom and Dad were always working. I’ll admit, I wasn’t always the best babysitter. We think that’s why she runs a little rampant now.”
“Well, thanks for that. I’ve suffered the repercussions of your apathetic youth,” Maps said. He was joking though.
Mostly.
Maps leaned back on the bed, supporting himself on his elbows. “So, what’s next for America’s Sweetheart, Lane Rhodes? You’re already on your way to becoming an All-Star baseball player, and your grades are improving. What next—the moon?”
For the first time since he’d arrived, Lane looked away from Maps and studied the pieces of paper on the wall nearest him. His hands were laced together behind his back and he was standing up straight, which only made Maps take more notice of how tall and broad he was.
“I don’t know,” Lane said. “Maybe meet a nice girl or something. Isn’t that what boys like me are supposed to do?”
Maps’ throat dried up within a fraction of a second. Of course Lane would meet a nice girl. It only made sense. In fact, Maps should probably think about doing that as well. But at that moment, Maps couldn’t seem to think of anything besides Lane’s grass-stained pants, let alone the whole girl thing.
“I wouldn’t know, Lane,” Maps said quietly. “I’m not exactly a boy like you.”
Lane turned around and looked at Maps in silence. After a few moments, he walked over to the edge of the bed, right in front of Maps, pulled his red ball cap off by the brim, and then carefully fit it on Maps’ head.
“No. You really aren’t like anyone else, Maps.”
And with that, Lane walked back over to the window, said goodnight, and crawled out, leaving Maps’ racing heart and the red baseball cap behind.
* * * *
“What are you doing?” some kind of devil-creature screeched.
Maps fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, accidentally ripping one off. He placed his hand over his head and looked through his open bedroom window into Lane’s bedroom window next door.
“Don’t scare me like that, Stacie!” Maps hollered back.
“My name’s not Stacie! It’s Princess Madame Sprinkle!”
“Fine, Your Majesty. What
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