Plus her mom was so awesome. She was strict about some things—don’t leave your socks lying around—but so not strict about other things, like calling the cops about my bullet wound.

I don't damsel well. Distress, I can do. Damseling? Not so much.

Max?” said the Gasman. “Are those, um, rats?” Lovely. “Yes, those do appear to be either rats or mice on steroids,” I said briskly, trying not to shriek and climb the walls like a girly-girl.

"Yeah sure, why not?" i said, making a mental note to get a good look at his wings. For all I knew, they were remote-controlled and duct taped to his back.

Walking over to Iggy, he poked him with his shoe. "Does anysing on you vork properly?" Iggy rubbed his forehead with one hand. "Well, I have a highly developed sense of irony." Ter Borcht tsked. "You are a liability to your group. I assume you alvays hold onto someone's shirt, yes? Following dem closely?" "Only when I'm trying to steal their dessert," Iggy said truthfully.

It's so strange. Everything can be going alone just great, and then one day, whack, you're blindsided-- a lousy, crammy blow you didn't see coming.

I'm magnetic," she whispered, half awed and half horrified. "I hope you don't start sticking to fridges and stuff," I said in disbelief. Fang dropped down next to me, and the Gasman joined us, squishing in next to Nudge. "What's going on?" Fang asked. "I'm Magnet Girl!" Nudge said, already coming to terms with her new skill.