I hate you.

You're so bloody smart. You know everything better than me and whenever I get in an argument with you I can't say anything without getting it wrong.

I am sick of it.

Stop being smart.

I said stop it.

Now.

I have the hierarchy of smartness. Yeah, that's right. I drew up a table and everything and you're at the very top. See? You have a crown and a throne and one of the legs on your stick man representative is slightly short than the other. Underneath is that kid that left last term, I should cross her off. There's that guy you like, there's the girl who plays the flute, that one, that stick guy with the funny hair is that Asian kid who never talks.

But you're at the top. See that patch, that blue pen in the shape of a scribbled box? That's where I thought I was. Yeah, I wasn't on the throne, I was right next to it though, I was closer than anyone else.

And then you came along. And ruined it.

You ruined me. I thought I was smart. I was so wrong. Now I'm not even on the hierarchy. I'm less. I'm that loser kid who drew up the hierarchy.

I am less than below you.

Go away. I want to be sad by myself. Because if you're here you'll beat me at that, as well.

After-mentioning: I have the hierarchy on my chemistry book. She's on it, at the top, with a throne and a crown and all. That's all that's true. I don't hate her. If I hate her, she won't help me with my homework.