Page 11 of The Incredible Ordinary

“Suspension? With all due respect, that’s a terrible policy.” Jordan crosses his arms over his chest. “How will a suspension help with this situation?”

“Actions have consequences,” the principal says. “The boys broke the rules.”

“Do consequences necessarily equal punishment?” Jordan asks. His tone is mild, but the look in his eyes is one of pure, steely determination.

I feel like I should take notes.

The principal sends him a tight-lipped smile. “Then what do you suggest?”

“Forced proximity,” Jordan says immediately. “They don’t have to like each other. Some people don’t gel. That’s fine. What they do have to do is learn how to cooperate and do it in a civilized manner.”

The principal studies Jordan silently for a few seconds. He looks back. There’s a calm air that surrounds the guy. It’s the demeanor of a rescue worker in a crisis.Everybody calm down. I know what to do. Sit back and relax. I’ve got this.

We’ve already quite securely established that this guy is younger than my thirty-five. He looks young. But there’s something about the way he holds himself. There’s a surety in it; the kind of easy way he fits into his own life that I’ve never felt.

“What do you suggest?” the principal asks Jordan.

He seems startled for a moment, but he gathers himself quickly.

Jordan turns his attention to Rory. “How do you feel about soccer, Rory?”

The kid scoffs, refuses to meet anybody’s eyes, but eventually shrugs.

Jordan gives me a questioning look. How the hell am I supposed to say that I have no idea what Rory likes? That so far, his only preferred activities seem to be rolling his eyes, scoffing, pretending I don’t exist, and having the occasional run-in with the law.

“Who doesn’t like soccer?” I force a tight, hopefully polite smile and say an additional, quiet prayer that a vague statement will miraculously work as an answer.

“Great,” Jordan says. If he’s surprised by my clear lack of knowledge about my little brother’s interests, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he smiles, all friendly and easygoing. The air of competence that already surrounds him like a cloud intensifies, wrapping itself around me until I’m lulled into some strange sense of security where the responsibility of dealing with this mess has been, at least temporarily, taken off my shoulders.

“I volunteer for our neighborhood boys’ team. We practice twice a week and there’s an occasional game on the weekend. Rory’s welcome to join us, and we can always use more volunteers to help with practices.”

Just like that?

What’s the catch?

We can always use more volunteers.

There it is.

I’m pretty sure Rory would prefer detention, suspension, or any other kind of punishment-related ion to spending time with me. I’m pretty much the sorriest excuse for a parental figure there is, and Aiden isn’t much better. You’d think between the two of us we’d be able to combine our limited skills into onesemi-decent guardian, but no. It’s like the blind leading the blind and doing it shockingly badly.

I mentally curse that moment of weakness in Gerard’s house. One second of Aiden tugging at my tiny heartstring, the only one I have left, and I folded like a cheap lawn chair.

And now, instead of doing the smart thing and bailing, I’m on my third month of purgatory with no end in sight, because I’m just proud and stubborn enough that I can’t give up. Giving up would mean defeat. It’d mean losing. I’ve never been good at that.

I know shit all about soccer.

Agreeing will get you out of here.

I square my shoulders.

“Sign us up,” I say.

Rory snaps his head toward me, eyes wide, chin jutting forward. It’s one of those very rare occasions when he doesn’t look sulky. Instead, he goes with surprise that swiftly transforms into defiance.

I stare him down.

Say a word, and you’re on your own, kid.