What are we but our stories?

Pain fades,” I said slowly. “But being a nutcase seems to stick around. Guess who got the better deal here?” The last thing I remember is Mr. Chu’s face blazing with fury.

Yes," I said. "My name is seven-five-nine-nine-three-nine-ex-dash-one. Junior.

Yeah, and so Max and Dylan are supposed to, like, go to Germany and have kids together," I heard Gazzy say. My eyes popped open and I bolted upright. "What?" Fang said, his voice icy. "Gazzy!" I yelled. Wide blue eyes looked at me in surprise, then back at Fang's stoic face. "Oh. Was I not supposed to say anything?" Gazzy asked.

He landed 10 feet below with a sickening crunch-i'm guessing his enhancements didn't allow him to bounce back up like a ball. we call that a design flaw.

I flipped down the visor so I could check myself in the mirror, and something small and heavy dropped into my lap. I froze, my breath stuck in my throat. What—? Gingerly, I looked down. It wasn’t a grenade. It was a key ring. One key was for this van. I looked at it blankly. “Well, that’ll simplify things,” Fang said.

There's a saying I remember from my grandmother: One today is worth two tomorrows.