This is so cool," I said loudly as Dad walked away. "Have you met the tattoo artist? Is he hot?" "He's a she," Mom said. "Is she hot? Cause I'm still young, you know. My sexual identity isnt fully formed." "Your father can't hear you anymore, Maya." Mom sighed.

Speaking of death, LeBlanc boasted he could kill me in the waiting room. I broke his wrist. He wasn't impressed.

But was it wrong to put yourself first? That’s called survival, right? If you’re running for your life, you don’t get the luxury of being nice. They were going to learn that. It’s fine to wave the pompoms for teamwork—all for one and one for all—but when push came to shove, these guys wouldn’t be risking their lives for Chloe, maybe not even for each other. I was sure of it. Once things got worse, it would be every kid for himself. It always is.

Derek caught my arm again as I started to move--at this rate, it was going to be as sore as my injured one. "Dog," he said, jerking his chin toward the fenced yard. "It was inside earlier." Expecting to see a Doberman slavering at the fence, I followed his gaze to a little puff of white fur, the kind of dog women stick in their purses. It wasn't even barking, just staring at us, dancing in place. "Oh, my God! It's a killer Pomeranian." I glanced up at Derek. "It's a tough call, but I think you can take him.

Murder? You mean he's dead?" "No. He's resting comfortably," I said. "People always sleep best with their heads at a ninety-degree angle. He looks comfortable, doesn't he?" (Paige & Elena)

And the bad guys love to pick on the defenseless necromancer. This time, though, I swear I won’t get kidnapped or possessed. ~Jaime Vegas

We’re not naked, we’re skyclad!