Gazzy: "Just Ten?" Angel: "No." Gazzy: "Five?" Angel: "No.

I learnt to love reading. And then I started scribbling stories, and I liked that even more.

Yes. I owed my life, Angel's life, and my mother's life to a mutant's ability to create industrial-strength snot.

Why do things this beautiful make me want to cry?" I asked Michael as I leaned into him. It was an unguarded question, one I'd never have asked of Hugh. "I don't know," said Michael. "Maybe beauty, true beauty, is so overwhelming, it goes straight to our hearts. Maybe it makes us feel emotions that are locked away inside.

I don't think of myself as a writer.

He's gonna be fine," I confirmed. Can we see him?" Iggy asked. Ig, I hate to break it to you, but you're blind.

Meaning what? We're going to pretend nothing's going on? That's stupid. The only way to deal with any of this is to get it out in the open." Have you been watching Oprah again?