Right now, America looks like a fatheaded, shortsighted, gas-guzzling arrogant blowhard to the rest of the world.

I learnt to love reading. And then I started scribbling stories, and I liked that even more.

Just for fun I flew in huge banking arcs, taking deep breaths, enjoying the feel of my newly weightless hair. The stylist had called it “wind tossed.” If only she knew.

Gazzy: "Captain, like the captain of a ship. And then Terror, you know, T-E-R-O-R.

Okay, so, flying,” I started, taking a deep breath and focusing on the thing I loved most in the world. “Flying is … great. It feels great when you’re doing it. It’s fun. Pure freedom. There’s nothing better.” Dylan smiled, a slow, easy smile that seemed to light up his whole face. “So the first thing we’re going to do,” I told him, “is push you off the roof.

Tell me again what we're doing here," I said, running a continuous scan of our surroundings. Fang popped some Cracker Jack into his mouth. "We're here to watch manly men do manly things." I followed Fang's line of sight: He was watching the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, who were not doing manly things, by any stretch of the imagination.

In the dictionary, next to the word stress, there is a picture of a midsize mutant stuck inside a dog crate, wondering if her destiny is to be killed or to save the world. Okay, not really. But there should be.