I muttered a swear word to myself. After I heard Angel cussing like a sailor when she stubbed her toe, my new resolution was to watch my language. All I needed was a six-year-old mutant with a potty mouth

Did you know that wasn’t me, the other Max?” I asked. “Yeah.” “When?” “Right away.” “How?” I persisted. “We look identical. She even had identical scars and scratches. She was wearing my clothes. How could you tell us apart?” He turned to me and grinned, making my world brighter. “She offered to cook breakfast.

Can you giggle while racing for your life and protecting a six-year-old? I can.

Well, it's like I have a GPS inside me," I told them. "One of the talking ones. I tell it where I want to go, and it tells me, Go twenty miles, turn left, take Exit Ninety-fourm and so one. It can be pretty bossy, frankly. Their eyes widened. "Really?" said one. No you idiot," I said in disgust. "I don't know how it works. I just know it has an unfailing ability to point me in the opposite direction of a bunch of boneheads.

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.

Sometimes being a leader isn’t about winning. Sometimes it’s about doing what’s right, instead of what’s powerful.

You love him so much it feels like you can't go on without him. You feel like you might die without him.