1.7 Are you running for saint?

"I don't have it, and I'm not arguing with you about that anymore," I respond when David asked me about his wallet. Again. I look in front, avoiding his eyes.

"What is it? Drive." I say when I notice that we're not leaving the driveway.

David is still not making a move, so I follow the direction of his gaze. Up ahead, an old lady is at the side of the road, about to cross the street. I scoff at David. "What? You want to help her? Seriously? Let's just go. She's not even on the road yet."

He glares at me, which is a bit too much. I said nothing wrong. The lady is too far from the center of the road. We're not going to run over her if we leave now.

"I'm helping her," he informs me before getting out of the car, slamming the car door loudly. Unbelievable. I don't even know what to think right now. I thought these things only happen in movies. David is definitely not normal. It's one thing to help the elderly cross the street when you're standing near them. It's another when you choose to help despite being in a car a couple of blocks away from them and when they haven't even started crossing the street yet.

"Are you kidding me?" I tell David as soon as he's back in the car. "Why would you do that? You don't even know her. Are you running for saint or something?"

He gives me another glare. I must have hit a nerve. That makes me snicker. "Shut up. I'm driving now," he says, finally starting the car. "Why are you so eager to go? I thought you didn't want to go to school."

"Because I don't want to hang around you any longer." I snap at him. "You know what, you're the kind that pisses me off. You just can't decide if you want to be good or evil. You're in-between. It's the worst."

To my surprise, David laughs. "What?"

"You can't decide," I repeat.

"What the hell do you mean by that?" he asks me, amused.

"You and your friends accuse me of something I didn't do and chase me down hallways. But you make a whole deal about helping some old lady cross the street." I explain.

"So?" David's forehead furrows.

I huff, frustrated. "So...you can't decide whether to be nice or not. It's annoying. But you know what I think? I think you're evil, deep inside."

There's a beat before David guffaws at my statement. I feel affronted. There's nothing funny about what I said.

"Eyes on the road." I remind him when I notice him turn to the side, wiping his eyes with his hands. I can't believe it. He has tears in his eyes from laughing.

"Fine. I'm evil." David says teasingly. "So, from one evil person to another, because I'm guessing that's what you are, evil," he emphasizes the last word to me, and I roll my eyes. He's so fixated about that wallet.

"I have a question for you," he tells me.

"Go ahead, as long as it's about that damn wallet," I reply.

"Okay, okay. I'll give it a rest," he says, holding his hand up before putting them back on the wheel again. I don't believe him for one bit.

"I want to know what your evil plans now are. What you're lying about to your parents." he queries, his eyebrows drawn together.

"I'm not lying to my parents." I correct him, but he just gives me a knowing look. I sigh. "Why would you want to know that?" I ask.

"Nothing." David shrugs, nonchalant. "Maybe I want to get tips from you. You have more experience at being evil than me."

I look heavenward, scoffing. It seems to be the only thing to do when I'm around David. I focus my eyes on the window of my seat, contemplating his question. Normally, a lie is my automatic response to questions like this one. But for some reason, I respond honestly, "I want out of Arnold's house. I figured he'd be mad at me enough for not going to school and throw me out. I mean, he worships that school."

"Why would you want him to kick you out?" asks David. He looks surprised at my response. I don't blame him. Arnold's a hardworking man with a good heart, and he adores my mother. Also, he owns the third largest video game company in the world, so he's filthy rich. To anyone, living in Arnold's house is a dream come true.

"Because he's not my real Dad," I answer simply.

"So I hear," David remarks quietly. "Well, how about living with your Dad instead?"

I give a start, turning to face him. His eyes are on the road, forehead creased in concentration. I study him for a bit, noting any changes in his expression. But there were none.

"I can't." I finally speak. "Look, it's complicated, and I don't think you want to know. Basically, I don't belong anywhere right now. I can't live with my Dad. Sooner or later, Mom and Arnold are going to have a kid. So, right now, there's only one place---nowhere for me to go."

Fear must have crossed my eyes at my almost slip. Hopefully, David hasn't noticed. I never told anyone about my plans to leave the US. My grandmother does not even know about it herself. She just thinks I will be visiting soon.

"You're being slightly honest right now. You're not scowling too. It's creepy. " David remarks, lifting an eyebrow, and the tension leaves my body.

"Shut up," I tell him, suppressing a smile.

David clears his throat, "You know, I have to disagree with what you said."

I peer at him, curious. "Oh yeah? Which of what I said do you disagree with?"

"Everything," he tells me.

I raise my eyebrows at him, "Wow. So sorry for having opinions then."

The corners of David's mouth lift. First, things are not black-and-white. I think there's goodness in everyone, and there are bad parts too. Second, you acting out won't make Arnold kick you out. You live with the guy; you know how he is. Third, you don't have to go anywhere to find where you belong. You can make a home where you are. You just need to give other people the chance to get to know the real you."

We are both silent for a while as I think about what he just said. I guess it makes sense in a way. But he doesn't know my life. My problems and the way I live are not things that you can just share with anybody.

"That's what you think. I wish I could agree with you, but my perspective isn't as bright and hopeful as yours. So..let's just leave it at that." I say to him in response.

David shrugs, "Okay. I'm just saying, you know. And according to statistics, I'm right 87.5% of the time."

"Are you making a joke?" I ask him, trying not to laugh.

"I wish I were. But a friend of mine actually did a study about me, so that would be a no."

I release my laugh then, looking down to hide my face. It's just so corny. I can't help myself. Suddenly, the atmosphere between us is lighter than it was the past couple of days. I'm even willing to admit that Mr. Cool is easy to talk to, even if we're almost always arguing whenever we do. Too bad there are secrets about me that he probably doesn't want to know. In another world, we might have been friends.