Page 36 of Joker

My fingers tighten slightly in the sleeves of his sweatshirt.

“He liked picking on Shadow,” Joker says. “Back then, Shadow hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet. Skinny, quiet. Easy target.”

I glance at him. There’s no emotion in his voice. But there’s something underneath it.

Memory.

“I stepped in,” he says simply. “Dropped the kid in one punch.”

My breath catches slightly. Of course he did.

“After that,” he continues, “he’s looking at me like he can’t figure out what just happened. We’d just had a Batman marathon that weekend.”

I feel something building in my chest, something unexpected.

“And I looked at him and said, ‘Why so serious?’”

There’s a beat. Then another.

And then I start laughing.

Not a polite laugh. Not a quiet one. A full, unexpected, can’t-stop-it laugh that hits me so hard I have to brace a hand against the dashboard because I actually can’t breathe for a second.

“Oh my God,” I manage between breaths. “You did not.”

“I did.”

“That’s—” I gasp, shaking my head. “That’s so bad.”

“It worked.”

“I can’t believe that’s how you got your name.”

“Could’ve been worse.”

“How?”

“They could’ve called me Penguin.”

That sets me off again. I lean forward slightly, laughing harder now, the sound filling the truck in a way that feels too loud and too bright for the life I’ve been living.

I can’t remember the last time I laughed like this.

Not forced. Not careful. Not measured.

Just…laughing.

It startles me even as it happens.

Because it feels good. Because it feels normal. Because for a few seconds, I forget everything else.

When I finally catch my breath, I sink back into the seat, pressing a hand to my chest.

“Okay,” I say, still smiling. “That was worth asking.”

Joker glances at me, something unreadable flickering in his eyes before he looks back at the road. “Glad I could entertain you.”

“You did.” The words come out softer than I intend.