Why aren't you afraid of me? I've seen my death, and you're not it.

I wish I could say I write 9-5. It's usually more like 8-6, every day but the weekends.

Numb, I took the perfectly browned puff. Okay. Let me see if I have this right. Al provokes me into defending myself. I nearly kill him. Then Newt tries to kill me, thinking I'm Ku'Sox. Al stops her, saving my life. And now we're all going to have s'mores together?

The cookie maker needs someone to look out for him.

Can we get back to how we’re going to kill Nick? And what’s this about a dead body? You’d better start talking quick, Ivy, ’cause I’m not going to play hide-and-seek with a dead guy in my trunk. I did that in college, and I’m not going to do it again.” A smile quirked Ivy’s mouth. “Really?” she asked, and I flushed.

They weren’t idiots, but I attracted trouble that just begged me to beat it into submission.

See, this was why I liked coffee. You couldn’t screw up making coffee. Even the bad stuff was good.