“You’re an idiot.”
“I know.”
“So are you finally admitting it?”
“No, I’m acknowledging that you think I’m an idiot.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Yes it does. If you were as intelligent as me, you would understand.”
“Shut up.”
“With pleasure.”
“I meant ‘shut up’ as in the playful expression.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Come to the bookstore with me.”
“I can’t. My grandparents are coming over.”
“Liar. Why don’t you ever tell me the truth? Just say it: you don’t want to go.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“Good. I am proud of you.”
“You’re strange.”
“I know. But, do admit it; my strangeness makes me a more interesting person.”
“No, you’re just strange.”
“I hate you.”
“You don’t hate me.”
“No. I’m in love with you.”
The last line is in my head.