Page 31 of The Incredible Ordinary

I don’t care.

What’s more, I don’t want to care.

All I want is to get Rory’s punishment sorted so I never have to go to his school again and deal with authority figures and rules and regulations. I get hives even thinking about it, so getting this thing off my to-do list is my sole goal.

Except seeing Jordan again.

It’s another thing I don’t want to admit to myself.

I want to see him again.

I don’t want to admit it, sure, but at least that wish makes sense. The man is hot and easy to hang out with. He’s a friendly face in my miserable sea of incompetence.

Now, Rory? That’s a whole other deal.

Somehow, between Thursday and now, instead of just wanting to make sure he showed up for soccer, I now find myself… rooting for him to enjoy himself.

Fuck knows where that’s coming from.

I want him to have a good experience. At first I told myself it was because it’d make things a lot easier, because then it’d be much less likely that he’d put up a big fight about going every damn time.

And that’s a part of it, sure.

Part of it, but not all of it.

I want him to have a good time just because I want him to have a good time.

It’s a perplexing realization, and since I’m not sure what to do with it, I refrain from poking at it. I’m sure it’ll pass. I’m not actually known for being sentimental, so this is just a trauma reaction or something. I’ll get over it eventually, and until I do, I will do the mature, healthy thing and pretend it’s not there.

We arrive at the stadium, and I point out the changing room to Rory. He looks down at his jeans and T-shirt.

“Oh, man. I forgot my change of clothes,” he says in an impressive monotone. An acting career is clearly not in his future, unless he plans to be typecast as a moody teenager until he grows facial hair.

“You’re in luck.” I give him a nice, wide grin and shrug off the backpack. “I grabbed them.”

I hold the bag out to him, and he stares back for a few seconds before he huffs, snatches the bag, and stalks into the changing room.

“I’ll be cheering from the sidelines,” I call after him. “T-shirts with your name on them should arrive shortly.”

He ignores me. I wait for a bit to make sure he doesn’t try to sneak out, then make my way to the field.

I spot Jordan as soon as I walk through the gate. He’s on the field setting up a series of cones while talking and laughing with two other people, dressed in the same kind of tight pair of sweats he was the last time I saw him: a V-neck T-shirt and a pair of light gray running shoes.

I stuff my hands into the pockets of my own sweats and take a moment to enjoy the view whenever he bends down to place another one of those bright orange cones.

He turns around once he reaches the end of the field and absently scans the rows of seats. Could he be… Nah. I don’t think he’s looking for me. That’s an absurd hope.

His eyes land on me.

And he smiles.

I lift my hand in a dorky wave, and his grin widens before he jogs toward me.

“So?” he says when he reaches me. “Did the bribe work?”

“We now call it motivation. For posterity.”

He laughs, and I smile back.