You're lying through your fangs," Iggy accused. Fang tried to play innocent--but "innocent Fang" is an oxymoron, so it didn't work.

Fang (sarcasticaly): Go pick out a tree and I'll carve our initials in it. Max: (screams and goes in the bathroom)

I saw the first episode of "The Walking Dead," and that's all I've seen. I thought it was good. I used to love zombies when I was little, but I don't like them the way I used to. I'm not knocking the show.

What are you doing in there, waxing your mustache?” Iggy yelled, pounding on the bathroom door. I yanked the door open and pushed him backward hard, making him stagger. “I don’t have a mustache, you idiot!” Iggy giggled and put his arms up to protect himself in case I punched him. “And you know what?” I added. “You don’t have one either. Well, maybe in a couple years. You can always hope.” I left him in the hallway, anxiously fingering his upper lip.

I’m not comfortable in this stadium,” I explained, trying to look calm. “I know. And you hate Fang looking at those girls. But we’re still having fun, and Fang still loves you, and you’ll still save the world. Okay?

Is it important to be right or is it important to do what's right? That's one of the hardest lessons to learn.

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