He sounds like he means it. But that isn’t enough to stop me from shaking my head because it isn’t true. I know it isn’t true. I’m ordinary. I’m plain. The only thing special about me is what I am and what I can do.

He lifts his head, and his brow creases in a frown. “You don’t believe me.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” I tell him, as if what I’m saying doesn’t matter. As if I don’t care what he thinks of me. “I know I’m not.”

He stares into my face for so long that I start wishing I was somewhere else—that I was someone...