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He’s still holding onto my hand, electricity zipping up my arm, and I’m not sure how long I’ve been standing here looking up at him. I pull my hand out of his and turn to Superman. “And you?” I say, hoping that if I turn my face away from both Dexter Kaplan and the sun, I will return to a normal body temperature.
“Oh, I’m nobody,” the guy says.
I raise one eyebrow at him. He looks at his feet.
Dexter Kaplan laughs, that musical, low rumble I first heard in the airport, that magnetic laugh that I hope to hear again, and soon. He says, “Hank is almost inhumanly humble.”
“Hmm. Doesn’t seem to be a common trait,” I say, cutting my eyes to Dexter.
Superman laughs out loud and puts his hand out to shake mine. “Oh, I like you. I’m Henry Grantham. You can call me Hank. Come on, Joey Harker. You’re on my team.”
Does Dexter look disappointed? Am I a terrible person if I hope he does?
I love this place.
I turn from him and jog after Hank.
