Superman: Dawnbreaker (DC Icons #4)(31)

“Not even a single mark,” she whispered in awe. “How’s that possible?”

He turned to her, his heart thumping inside his chest. “I rolled out as quickly as I could.”

“But your shirt—it’s torched.”

He didn’t have an answer for that part, so he kept quiet.

She stared at him for several long seconds, their eyes locked. He wondered if she might lean forward and kiss him.

Or if he might kiss her.

And what would that feel like?

She released an audible breath and turned to look out the windshield. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning, then,” she said.

He pushed open his door, stepped out of the car, and closed the door behind him. He ducked to look through the passenger-side window, trying to think of something to say. But he didn’t have words for what he felt. So he tapped the hood twice and turned around and started up his driveway.





The sun had just begun to rise when Clark left the house the following morning. He started down his driveway, thinking that he was early, that he’d have to wait for Lana. But there she was, her little hand-me-down Honda idling at the foot of his long driveway, as if she’d never left the night before. As he made his way to her, he worried it might be weird between them. Nothing had happened last night, of course. But there were a few intense seconds where it felt like something could have.

Luckily, he had it all wrong.

When he opened the door, Lana greeted him with a big smile, saying, “You want the latte or the mocha?”

Clark looked down at the two large cups, one sitting in each drink holder. “Oh, wow,” he said. “Maybe the latte?”

“Good. ’Cause I’ll drink any kind of coffee.”

He climbed in and picked up the latte and took a sip, feeling intensely grateful for their friendship. “You already stopped for coffee? What time’d you get up?”

“Early bird gets the blah, blah, blah.” She put the car into drive and pulled out onto the quiet street. “To be honest, I didn’t get much sleep last night. Just tossed and turned, thinking about my conversation with Gloria. And the fact that Wesco bought the Joneses’ farm.” She glanced at Clark. “And your run-in with that rich asshole, obviously.”

Clark sipped his coffee, staring out the window at a flock of birds flying in a great V in the sky. He turned back to Lana. “You know what I realized after you dropped me off last night? I’ve never been in an actual fight in my life. I didn’t even know what to do.”

“Um, I consider that a good thing.”

“No, I do, too,” Clark said. “I’m just saying. In many ways we’re lucky to be growing up in a place like Smallville. Some kids have to deal with stuff like that every day. I just wish…”

She followed Clark’s gaze to the VOTE YES ON ISSUE 3 sign proudly planted in a neighbor’s yard. “That we weren’t also racist?”

“Well…yeah.” Clark thought about this for a few seconds before amending his answer. “Though I truly believe that most people in Smallville are accepting of others.”

Lana raised an eyebrow and shot Clark a skeptical look. “Let’s let voter turnout be the judge of that.” She refocused on the road. “If you’re too busy to get out there and vote with your accepting little heart, guess what? You’re complicit.”

Clark nodded and took another sip of his latte. He couldn’t argue with her there.

A minute or two later, she pulled the car over at the Alvarez Fruits and Vegetables stand, saying, “I don’t know about you, Clark, but I could use a bagful of Honeycrisps right about now.”

“Let’s do it,” Clark said, knowing they were really here to ask some questions.

As he and Lana got out of the car, he called to Carlos and Cruz. “Hey, guys!”

The father-son duo waved and continued organizing one of their stands. Clark could tell by Carlos’s slumped shoulders that he wasn’t his usual jovial self.

While Lana went to pick out apples, Clark sidled up to Cruz. “Everything okay?”

Cruz stopped stocking bananas. He glanced over at his dad before telling Clark in a quiet voice, “The cops were here yesterday morning, asking questions.”

“Deputy Rogers?” Clark asked.

Cruz shook his head. “Two people I’ve never seen before.”

“What’d they want?”

“They said if we want to stay in business, we’ll have to submit a permit by the end of the month. My dad’s been selling produce here for over ten years. He’s never had to have a business permit before,” Cruz scoffed.

The thought of this conversation pained Clark. “So what are you guys gonna do?”

“Sell off what we have left,” Cruz said. “Then shut the stand down. Do something else.”

Clark couldn’t believe it. “I’m really sorry to hear that.” It was one thing for Cruz to move beyond the fruit stand when he got older. It was another to have his family’s livelihood taken away.

“Seems like there are more cops around now,” Cruz said. “My dad’s worried.”

Lana and Carlos joined them near the register, and Clark could tell that Carlos was in no mood to talk. He gave Lana the price for the apples, took her money, and handed her a couple of dollars as change. Then he went back to stocking fruit.