Maybe he was a good a good whitecoat—like Jeb. And maybe the moon was made of cream cheese.

Fang’s hand gently smoothed my hair off my neck. My breath froze in my chest, and every sense seemed hyperalert. His hand stroked my hair again, so softly, and then trailed across my neck and shoulder and down my back, making me shiver. I looked up. “What the heck are you doing?” “Helping you change your mind,” he whispered, and then he leaned over, tilted my chin up, and kissed me.

Who, last time I'd checked, was still on our official archenemy list. (Yes, we have to keep a list. It's kind of sad.)

Was this normalcy-predictable patterns, the certainty of doing the same thing everyday? Because if so, normalcy was about to make me freak out and start screaming.

Iggy. This is not a democracy," I said,(...)"It's a Maxocracy.

Holy [Insert your choice of a swear word here]," said Fang stunned.

I love Nudge, Nudge is a great kid, but that motormouth of hers could have turned Mother Teresa into an ax murderer.