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

I blame Jeb for letting you be such a smart aleck.” I stared at her. “I blame you for altering my DNA! I mean, I have wings, lady! What were you thinking?

I want to know about my mom. And other stuff. I want to know the whole story, good or bad.” “Me, too,” said Gazzy. “I want to find my parents so I can tell’m what total scuzzes they are. Like, ‘Hi, mom and dad, you’re such scum!

A lot of times you get people writing wonderful sentences and paragraphs, and they fall in love with their prose style, but the stories really aren't that terrific.

Witihin seconds the headhunter had lost control of his car and it squealed, sliding sideways right into several other cars. Cool!' said the Gasman.

You can call me Agent Mickelson,' he told me with a smile. 'What about you? Is Max short for something? Maxine?' 'No, Dean. It's just Max.

When are you going to trust me Max?" asked Fang. "When I go completely bonkers," I laughed.