"Stop being so nice to me," she pleaded, interrupting the flow of their conversation.
His smile faded to an expression of confusion, "What are you talking about?"
"If you value me as a friend at all, be a jerk to me more often. Please."
"I don't understand," they were walking side-by side, he slowed their pace.
"If you ever get the impulse to do or say something nice to me, don't. Just keep it to the usual sarcasm, mean jokes and serious conversation stuff."
"I still don't get it," he broke their stride and faced her, placing both of his hands on her shoulders, "Why would I need to do that? I like being nice to you."
She lifted her arms. "Like that," she used them to fling his hands off of her and stepped back, out of his grasp, "Don't do that anymore. Don't say that. Even if you really want to, don't. For my sake." She continued to walk ahead.
He caught up with her, "You're not making any sense right now."
"Just pinky promise," this time she broke their stride and faced him.
"Really? You're like, serious about this," he stared at her.
"Completely," she looked him in the eye and shook her fist, pinky outstretched.
His glance switched from her pinky, to her face, and back to her pinky, "No, you have to tell me why."
He left her arm outstretched. She pouted, "Don't make me do that."
"If I'm going to agree to this, I deserve to know why."
"I can't tell you. Just trust me, please."
She'd always been upfront with him about everything, it was his favorite thing about her. Why was she acting so weird?
Her thoughts danced around words that she swore she'd never say.