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He laughs softly. “I don’t think you’re capable of not talking.”

“I can,” I say, “forshortperiods of time.”

“Why do you talk so much?”

I’ve never really thought about it very much. My whole life I was a talker. Like Mama. I think the world created people like us to make sure there was never too much silence. “There’s just always so much to say. Everywhere I look, I see beautiful and fascinating things that make my mind race, and instead of holding back, I let all those thoughts out.”

“Really? What’s so beautiful and fascinating about this?” He motions around us to the road and school.

“What about that?” I point to a green plant poking through the sidewalk.

“A weed? You think a weed is beautiful and fascinating?”

I can understand the skepticism, but that’s only because he isn’t looking at it the same way as I am. “You see a weed. I see something else.”

His brow furrows. He crouches down to get a closer look. “Which is?”

“It’s growing somewhere it shouldn’t. Despite the odds, itmanaged to find a crack in the concrete and sprout. That’s pretty cool if you ask me.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s ridiculous.” He shakes his head. “That sounds like an intro to a book about peace and love.”

So what if it were? “Are you always so negative?”

“The real world isn’t as bubbly as you make it seem. More often than not, people hurt each other. That’s just what we do. It’s how we’re wired.” He stands back up and nonchalantly glances down the road as if he didn’t just say the most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever heard.

I find myself letting my thoughts run wild. He can’t possibly think that? Has no one ever given the poor kid a hug? “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

He shrugs, watching the road. I know he’s been hurt growing up, but I don’t think it’s fair to assume everyone will treat him the way his family did.

I decide his reasoning is completely unacceptable. “So what if there are some bad people out there. Not everyone hurts people. People aren’t born bad. It doesn’t matter where someone comes from or who they are, they get to choose who they become. That goes for you too, you know.”

I can tell by his sullen expression he doesn’t agree, but I don’t care. I know it’s the truth.

“You asked me why I talk so much: well, talking is my superpower. One word can change someone’s entire day for the better.”

“Is that so?”

I nod. “And I plan to change yours.”

He side-eyes me. “Really?”

I cross my arms and hold my head high. “Consider yourself warned. I’m about to brighten your day.”

So what if he hates the world? I’m determined to showhim another perspective. I don’t like knowing someone is as unhappy as he is when I know I can fix it.

“The bus is coming,” he says, nodding toward it. Then, he reaches down and grabs my backpack. He slings it over his shoulder. The bright blue fabric stands out against his dark clothes.

“I can carry it,” I say.

The bus stops in front of us, and the doors open.

“Don’t bother,” he replies, getting on the bus and not leaving any room for argument.

I’m not used to the version of Daniel who saves cats and holds bags. It makes me wonder if maybe Daniel isn’t as bad as he appears.

I scan my card and follow him to his usual spot at the back. My bag is on his lap and that’s where it stays the entire ride. He doesn’t hand it to me or gesture for me to take it, and I have a feeling if I tried to take it, he’d refuse to hand it over. When we get to his stop, he slings it over his shoulder again and carries it the entire way to the house.

I have to admit, it’s nice not carrying it. It’s heavy and always leaves me winded when I carry it around, but I’m not used to someone else taking it.