That'd be just what I need: a rash of car thefts across America, committed by dedicated readers.

Part 1- In search of Hot Chocolate-Chip Cookies

That's more than three questions, Max. And sometimes whether someone is your friend or enemy is all in how you look at it. But if you must know, I consider myself your friend, a good friend who loves you very much. No one loves you more than I do, Maximum. Now listen. I ask the questions, not you. You're just here... for the ride. For the incredible, indescribable Maximum Ride.

My mom had a soft heart after all! Instead of being chained by both wrists, we were only chained by one ankle! I mean, if I’d been looking for proof that she really did love me, this was it, right?

NOOOO!" On the screen, a woman's eyes bugged almost out of her head, and I tried not to scream. Tried not to scream in exasperation, I mean. The serial killer was right in front of her, wide open! Clearly, instead of weeping like a moron, she could be lunging forward and administering a swift uppercut to the chin. Then this entire pointless ordeal would be over with, and I could go home.

Where was the catch? 'Cause I knew one was coming.

What are you doing in there, waxing your mustache?” Iggy yelled, pounding on the bathroom door. I yanked the door open and pushed him backward hard, making him stagger. “I don’t have a mustache, you idiot!” Iggy giggled and put his arms up to protect himself in case I punched him. “And you know what?” I added. “You don’t have one either. Well, maybe in a couple years. You can always hope.” I left him in the hallway, anxiously fingering his upper lip.