It's okay, Ig." said Fang. "Just give it your best shot." Sometimes the Fangster is incredibly supportive, just not with me.

I'll just ask now: What is it about my persona that draws every insane, power-hungry nutcase to me like a magnet?

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

Do we have any chlorine? It seems to be kind of explosive when mixed with other stuff." "Like what, your socks? No, we don't have chlorine. No swimming pool.

Every other person in the world would have looked at it and thought, Max would hate this. It was girly. It was beautiful. It wasn't made of titanium and black leather with spikes on it. But it seemed exactly right, in a weird, heart-fluttery kind of way. And I really loved it.

I love you. I love your smile, your snarl, your grin, your face when you're sleeping.

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.