Listen, street punk. You're a guy, and you're a couple inches taller, and maybe forty pounds heavier, and ooh, you're in a gang. But I've survived ten years of Catholic school, and I will cut you off at your knees without a blink. Do you understand?

Fear is not the answer, not ever.

I hate you!” I screamed at Fang. Tucking my wings in, I aimed downward, diving toward the ground at more than two hundred miles an hour. “No you dooonnn’t!” Fang’s voice spiraled away into nothingness, far above me. Inside my head, almost drowned out by the roar of wind rushing by my ears, I heard the Voice make a tsking sound. You guys are crazy about each other, it said.

Well, that's an evil smile.

On the other hand, even a big, '80s love van was less noticeable than six flying kids and their talking dog. So there you go.

Are you fangalicious? -Jess, a random blogger I could never be as fangalicious as you'd want me to be.-Fang

Fang (sarcasticaly): Go pick out a tree and I'll carve our initials in it. Max: (screams and goes in the bathroom)