There's something wrong with the brakes." He didn't recognize his shaky, weak voice. He pumped them again. Nothing. "There's something wrong with the BRAKES?" "I don't think we have any." "We don't have any BRAKES?" "Bro, it doesn't help to repeat everything I say!" Jonah yelled.

When a family breaks you don't hear the crack of the breaking. You don't hear a sound.

When you lose your parents, the sadness doesn't go away. It just changes. It hits you sideways sometimes instead of head-on. Like now.

Hamilton awkwardly folded himself into the passenger seat. "Couldn't you get something bigger?" he asked as he banged his knee against the dashboard. "We're supposed to be a diversion," Jonah said. "Got to make an entrance. Can't do that in a minivan, Giganto Boy. Can't do much in a minivan except look about as uncool as it gets." "Hey! My dad drives a minivan." "Snap.

I'm so hungry," Amy said sleepily. "Hey, you stole my line," Dan said.

I loved all the parts of him, even the ones I didn't understand.

I understood the word 'swoon'. It felt that way, like 'sweep' and 'moon' and 'woo', all those words smashed together in one word that stood for that feeling, right then.