Page 57 of The Incredible Ordinary

I wait.

“Same old,” he eventually says.

More silence follows. Rory finishes his sandwich and leans back in his seat. I expected him to take off as soon as he was done eating, but he doesn’t.

“We’re doing logarithmic functions in math,” he says.

I raise my brows at him. “Isn’t that something they usually teach in high school?”

At least I’m pretty sure that’s when normal people endure that torture.

Rory just shrugs in reply.

He’s still here, though, so I push for more.

“You like math?” I ask.

“It’s fine.”

“What’s your favorite, then?”

He hesitates again.

I wait.

“Art,” he finally says.

“Should’ve figured,” I say with a self-deprecating smile.

He nods. He picks up the fork and toys with it.

“History, too,” he adds.

“Yeah?”

“It’s stories,” he finally says. “Only it happened with real people.” His gaze moves over the kitchen, stops on the window, and stays there. “The teacher is good. In my old school they made it seem like everything happens, like, one after the other.”

“Linear.”

He nods. “But they don’t. It’s more like a web of events, and they intersect and intertwine. I like seeing the connections. How one event is connected to something completely different.”

He stops speaking and looks like he’s already regretting saying too much.

“How a choice somebody makes can alter something else,” I say. His eyes snap to mine, and I shrug. “I always liked history, too.”

He holds my gaze for a couple of beats before he pushes his chair away from the table and gets up.

And for a moment, the disappointment is loud.

“I have to finish my homework,” he says.

“If you need any help, I’m here.”

He stares.

“I’ll do my best,” I amend. “If you need it.”

“Okay?” he says slowly. The whole way out of the kitchen, he keeps sending me looks over his shoulder, like he suspects I’m up to something, but he just can’t figure out what the play is.